#that kid got jumped on by three art kids and a teacher when that came out 😭😭😭 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

team-frightfur · 1 year

Text

Dramaturgy: Standard Chapters 1-3 (because looking back they’re super short.)

Archive of Our Own Link : https://archiveofourown.org/works/43361508/chapters/108999891

Episode: 1

Disclaimer: I Don't own any of the characters, stories, or even most of the plot points. - Text Glossary (this will get longer) Italics - Either emphasis or thoughts. Brackets - an aside. Brackets + Strikethrough - Repressed thoughts. Skippable.

Expect no consistent quality with the art. They are crimes for a reason.

Born from the discovery of implementing mass into Solid Vision, Action Duels! Duels where the field, monsters and Duelists' become one, pulls the crowd into the maelstrom of crazed excitement!

In Yuya’s opinion, action duels were, without a doubt, the latest and greatest evolution in duelling! Setting aside the sheer fun factor of riding Odd Eyes Dragon around the field, you just couldn’t get this kind of lighting anywhere else!

Admittedly, the lighting was doing way more for Gongenzaka than it was for him. Gongenzaka’s white clothes blazed like a star against the simulated firelit night, and the simulated wind made his red bandana flare out behind him. Above them, curtains of falling sakura cast dappled shadows on his shiny samurai monsters.

As if that wasn’t enough, the set was based on Ancient Japan! So the scarlet torii, paper screens, and wood houses fit Gongenzaka’s samurai themed monsters like a glove.

Yuya’s bright pink hip hippo, though, didn’t really blend in so well. Technology just couldn’t put yukatas on duel monsters yet.

Still! Never let it be said that Yusho Sakaki raised a quitter! Smiling for the camera, Yuya jumped his hippo right onto the roof of the main building. With the moon behind him, the backlighting would shine down like a halo - perfect for his dramatic turnaround!

- Is what Yuya would have said if Gongenzaka hadn’t accused him of messing around, followed by the real solid vision projector promptly dying, dropping Yuya face first onto the floor mats.

The impact took a moment to sink in.

Did I just nearly die?

It had been an 8 foot drop.

Luckily, or unluckily, depending on how much his head hurt in a minute, ‘nearly’ meant ‘not dead yet’, so the show could still go on! Groaning, Yuya forced his eyes open and sat up, scanning the room for why everything had shut off.

Instead, he landed on four different Tatsuyas, large grey eyes fixed on him with identical expressions of horror.

Ouch. Maybe he thinks I got one turn killed in real life.

If so, then that was not gonna fly! As an entertainer, Yuya made eleven year olds smile! He certainly didn’t traumatise them by breaking his neck onstage!

As such, he did the only thing he could think of.

He pulled a very funny face.

*****

You Show Duel had always been a small school. Even when ‘Yusho’ was a legendary name, it'd never opened outside 3-8pm, had more than two teachers, two floors, one stadium, seven rooms, and twenty students.

According to You Show’s current principal, Shuzo Hiiragi, it was by design. When it came to education, Yuya’s dad believed in ‘quality over quantity’, so he refused to have one person teach thirty kids. Workplace policy was that one teacher could teach ten max, making twenty a mark of success!

For over a decade, the sheer star power of Yusho’s name had kept the number of students maxed out. In Yuya’s memory, the attendance rate had only dropped below 100% twice.

First was when Yuya was six and the attendees had halved to ten. There was a long waiting list, though, so by the end of that year it was full up again.

Three years ago, on the other hand, they’d lost 16 students and, in all the days since, they’d never been able to hook another.

It was obvious why. Yuya and his dad were ruining this school. He knew it, Yuzu knew it, and Mr Hiiragi had to know it.

Despite that, no one had ever asked Yuya to leave. He’d always be grateful for that and he’d never forget what he owed to Mr Hiiragi.

Mr Hiiragi was a miracle worker. Yuya didn’t know how he did it but, no matter how few students showed, how much he was offered for the building, or how thin school finances got, Mr Hiiragi always pulled through. Because of him, the legacy Yuya’s dad had left behind always felt secure.

Seeing his face turn pained as he inspected the real solid vision projector made Yuya’s insides twist. The low ache in his nose didn’t even compare.

“We can fix it, right?” he asked, grip tightening on the ladder Mr Hiiragi was using. Any school without a real solid vision projector was dead in the water these days -especially one that focused on entertainment duelling like You Show.

“We’ll find a way.” Mr Hiiragi said nervously, before wailing. “-But in the meantime, my hot blooded coaching is going to be wasted !”

“Aw don’t say that.” Yuya tried. “I for one think your theory lessons are super hot blooded and fun!”

He did not, but, considering how the real solid vision projector had broken the instant he’d tried to play a card, Yuya was scared he’d been involved somehow. If he personally destroyed the school his dad and Mr Hiiragi had founded in a single duel, then Yuya’d have to start making up for it early.

Thank god that, while Yuya was resting on the front room couch fifteen minutes later, Mr Hiiragi reported that it was not, in fact, his fault.

Kinda.

Well, basically, Yuya’d upset Yuzu so badly that she’d smashed the keyboard up, which overloaded the system and caused the duel to shut down. An act which Yuzu, arms crossed on the couch next to him, was clearly unrepentant for.

“I don’t even see what I did wrong!” Yuya protested. “Tatsuya was laughing, wasn’t he?”

“He was laughing because you were making a fool of yourself!” Yuzu snapped.

“Exactly.” Gongenzaka added. “There’s a difference between laughing with someone and laughing at someone.”

“Buuut” - Yuya pointed out with a wink - “isn’t it better to be laughed at than ignored?”

Or worse…

Gongenzaka frowned, eyes narrowing in a way that made it clear he knew exactly what Yuya hadn’t said out loud. “You think too little of yourself.”

“Gongenzaka’s right! Promise me that you won’t make a joke out of yourself again!”

Yuya held back a sigh, he could tell it would be stupid to argue. “I promise.” to give it a shot.

Tragically, just like Gongenzaka, Yuzu heard the quiet part. Suspicious, she leaned in closely so that Yuya could see the fire in her blue eyes.

“You mean it?”

“Of course I mean it!”

“You liar!”

Caught red handed somehow, Yuya dodged off the couch as Yuzu swiped at him playfully? forcing him to hide behind Gongenzaka. Sweating, Yuya prepared for the next five minutes of “Hide from Yuzu or Die Horribly.”

Never had Yuya been more happy to hear the door burst open behind him. Smiling, he turned around and backed up towards the wall, hoping to welcome any other kids who’d dropped by.

Instead of a kid, though, it was an adult man with the most impressive moustache, bumblebee striped suit and sideburns that Yuya had ever seen. Honestly, he was kind of impressed. Sure, the style wasn’t his cup of tea, but you had to respect someone who wore their heart on their sleeve like that.

Mr Hiiragi was less stunned. “Who are you?”

Smiling wide, the man bowed slightly. “My name” -he supplied dramatically- “is Nico Smiley. I’m the manager of the current action duelling Champion, Strong Ishijima!”

Instantly, the air temp in the room crashed. Yuya’s heart froze to match, chest aching from the tangled mess of emotions twisting around inside it. He felt like he couldn’t breathe.

But there was a stranger here so he couldn’t show any of that.

Mr Hiiragi exploded. “I refuse!” he bellowed. “Yuya is a precious student of You Show! I won’t let him join your dog and pony show!”

“What a shame,” Smiley replied. “After all, if you did, we’d be happy to provide you with Leo Corporation’s latest real solid vision projector for free.”

“Whether or not he wins or loses?” Mr Hiiragi asked.

Yuzu kicked her dad in the shins.

“I mean -could we get back to you on that?”

“Of course, of course! The duel isn’t until tomorrow, after all.”

Yuya’s smile faltered. Tomorrow!? “Y-your promoters haven’t already advertised the match, have they?”

“We would never! That would be a violation of your rights.” Smiley assured him. “I can promise you that no advertising will occur until after you give us the go ahead.”

I guess the promoters working on who knows how many hours of crunch don’t get those sorts of rights.

Putting aside his sympathies, Yuya was happy he didn’t have to answer yet. There were so many questions, feelings, and obligations swirling around in his head that he’d need at least a half hour to sort through them all.

Luckily, half an hour was also the amount of time it took for Smiley to walk out of their school. Yuya was frozen to the couch at that point, so Mr Hiiragi saw him out.

The moment he heard the door click closed, Yuya’s smile dropped off his face.

“So, pros and cons!” Yuya started. “Pro number 1: The school survives-”

“-Don’t you even think about duelling just for that real solid vision projector!” Yuzu warned, scooting over and pressing a finger to his chest. “I won’t let you walk into this on our account!”

“But-”

“What’s more important is that you want to go,” Gongenzaka added.

“Exactly! Focus on yourself! No thinking about You Show, or our classmates at Maiami middle, and definitely no thinking about all of Ishijima’s fans!”

“But just imagine how much the crowd would laugh if I lost!”

“Yuya!”

*****

Three years ago, Yusho Sakaki disappeared. Since it happened the same day as his match against Strong Ishijima, instead of a 'disappearance’, they called it a ‘no show’, instead of a ‘missing person’, they called his dad a ‘coward’ and instead of getting any sympathy, Yuya was called a ‘coward’s son.’

But Yuya’s dad was not a coward! He was a legendary duellist who never ran from a challenge and always, always fought to the end! Nothing could shake Yuya’s resolution on that.

No, his dad must have had a good reason for leaving.

-Which meant there was no need to doubt him on anything else! Satisfied, Yuya shamelessly kicked the idea that he should ‘focus on himself’ under whatever dusty mind closet he had in his head. Dad was exempt.

“So!” -Yuya started, stepping into his room and diving onto his bed- “What would Dad want?”

As he considered it, his eyes wandered to the poster of his father on the wall. In it, his dad was dressed in his signature suit and top hat, triumphantly punching the air at Maiami Stadium.

If Yuya remembered correctly, that had been his big win against Ushio -a milestone that earned him the title of ‘legend’ -but what Yuya liked most about it was the clear, picture perfect angle on his dad’s face. Because of the pro-camerawork involved, It was bigger and more High Q than any other pictures in the house.

Thanks to this poster, he would never forget his dad.

(The grief would haunt him every day .)

Right now, Yuya needed those memories. Eyes fixed on it, he thought back to the day he’d been crying in the schoolyard. What had Dad said to him back then?

“Laugh when you want to cry” - he muttered, dragging the words out of the back of his mind - “and push forward when you’re frozen in fear. If you can do that, you’ll definitely have fun.”

The meaning was clear enough. Dad would want him to duel

In that case, Yuya had no choice. Taking a deep breath, he steeled his shoulders and switched his duel disk to communication mode. His hands shook as he dialled in Mr Smiley’s number but, no matter how fast his pulse was racing, Yuya’s heart was set.

“Hello, this is Nico Smiley speaking.”

“Hi Mr Smiley, this is Yuya Sakaki! I think I’m going to accept that duel!”

*****

The single saving grace to the duel being tomorrow was that the ‘tomorrow’ in question was a Sunday.

Sadly, this Sunday was looking to be worse than usual. Sure, it was partly Yuya’s fault for going to bed last night with toxic, man eating butterflies in his stomach, but he’d expected them to go away overnight! Not get married, buy a house, have five kids, and settle down for retirement!

Yuya could only thank his lucky stars that he still had one countermeasure: mum’s pancakes.

Everyone who’d ever finished a plate agreed that Yuko Sakaki’s pancakes were the best. The dough was so fluffy that it melted in your mouth and the lemon juice, strawberry, and cream on the side balanced their flavours perfectly. Yuya fully believed that, should he ever meet a monster down an alley one day, he could domesticate it with these pancakes.

Not even the butterflies stood a chance. By the time he’d finished digging in, Yuya felt ready to face anything.

“Thanks for the food!”

Mum waved him off. “No need. I figured you’d need a pick me up for the duel!”

“I can’t just not say thanks though”- Yuya muttered before the rest of the line crashed down on him. “-wait, you already knew!?”

“It was on the morning news, Yuya. I bought a ticket.”

The promoters worked at least 10 hours of midnight crunch, he decided. At least 10.

Since his Mum had already found out, Yuya wasn’t surprised when the doorbell rang. Hurrying over, he opened the door and found Mr Hiiragi, Yuzu and Gongenzaka all packed onto the footpath outside.

Gongenzaka spoke first. “You truly accepted Mr Smiley’s offer?”

“Sorry for not telling you! It was pretty late when I called Mr Smiley about it last night.”

“Well, that’s a relief! Guess I won’t be needing this after all!” Yuzu said brightly, hiding her paper fan behind her back. “In that case, I’ll be watching from the stands! Give it your best shot and not an inch less, Yuya!”

“And put You Show Duel School back in business!” Mr Hiiragi chimed.

“-But If you did actually do this just to pay us back, I promise I’ll make you regret it!”

“Trust me!” Yuya laughed, sweating slightly as Yuzu pulled out the fan again. “It’s nothing like that! I just wanted to …be brave and have fun!”

“Then you’ve already succeeded. After today, whether you win or lose, no one can deny your courage.” Gongenzaka said firmly. “Make sure that you try to enjoy it, too.”

“I promise! -and on that note, since you guys are here I may as well run this clown idea past you-”

*****

A few hours and several devastating discussions later, Yuya had to head out. The duel wasn’t for another hour, but it was good manners to show up early for the deck inspection.

Well over a decade had gone by since duel disks had been upgraded to shuffle themselves. That made most forms of card manipulation, like false shuffles, cuts, and passing, impossible. Somehow, though, there were still duellists out there who thought they could get away with marked cards, so inspections were still mandatory.

The deck inspection, along with “being too stupid”, “not respecting your opponent”, “making a joke out of yourself again ” and “making it seem like clowns and magicians are interchangeable” were just some of the many reasons Yuya was convinced not to sneak up behind Strong Ishijima in a jester costume. It wouldn’t be much of a twist if everyone in the entrance hall saw him jingling around.

“If you want there to be a twist, then win.” Yuzu huffed.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“It’s not about what’s likely or unlikely, it’s about what everyone expects.”

Yuzu was right, obviously. To everyone in the stands tonight, Yuya was less likely to win than an exodia user missing both legs. Only Mr Hiiragi, Yuzu, Gongenzaka, and his mum even entertained the thought of anything else.

Speaking honestly, Yuya agreed more with the majority. This was the champion of action duelling they were talking about! Compared to that, Yuya could barely qualify for the locals every second year.

Yuya was going to lose, he’d accepted that. As long as he did his best, that was what counted, right?

But if he knew that, then why wouldn’t his heart stop racing, why were his hands so sweaty they could barely hold his deck, and why was that same mess of emotions that had been dug up by Nico Smiley writhing around a day after he’d left?

Even when he took the field, Yuya was no closer to an answer.

*****

Maiami stadium could house up to twenty five thousand people. With that many seats, the field was almost dwarfed by the stands around it. Luckily, the stadium was fitted with state of the art drone cameras, which could capture the duel and project it onto wide screens behind the seats.

Yuya had sat in those stands more times than he could count to watch his dad leap, spin, and fly across the field. Since his dad disappeared, he’d come a lot less, but he could still be dragged out for the occasional match.

No amount of watching could have prepared Yuya for actually standing on the field. From here, the lights were blinding, the empty space around him felt massive, and Yuya could practically feel the thousands of cheers for Strong Ishijima shaking the air and grinding down his bones.

To his relief, the cheers quieted down when Smiley started announcing the match, allowing Yuya to hear Ishijima’s greeting.

“Here alone?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Hmph. I expected Sakaki Yusho to appear if we dragged out his son.”

Yuya couldn’t even imagine what to say to that.

( If that was enough, he’d have come back ages ago .)

Before either of them could say anything else, Mr Smiley announced the action field. In a flash of light, grass sprouted from gravel, and a forest appeared around them like a cage of trees. Under Strong Ishijima’s feet, a large stone castle materialised, carrying him so high up that Yuya couldn’t even see his face anymore.

Still, you couldn’t ignore tradition. If Yuya remembered correctly, the first part only took this long.

(“Duelists locked in battle!”)

“Kicking the earth and dancing in the air alongside their monsters!”

(“They storm through this field!”)

“Behold! This is the newest and greatest evolution of Dueling!”

*****

After his dad disappeared, things got difficult.

When he walked into You Show and his dad wasn’t there, the absence stabbed into his chest, when he walked home alone, it weighed on his shoulders until they ached and, when he walked through the front door and closed it behind him, it dragged him back to that day, three years ago, when he’d waited behind that door for hours.

Back then, Yuya’d really believed that, any second, the door would swing open and his dad would come back. Because of that, he’d been frozen behind it until the sky turned dark and the only light in the room was what streamed under the door crack.

But in the end, his dad never came back. His mum came home late from her own desperate search and, when she realised he hadn’t done anything but sit there, collapsed into tears.

Seeing Mum cry made Yuya swear never to sit in front of the door again. Still, he never stopped waiting.

*****

No matter how much things hurt, Yuya never cried. A single week of school was enough to teach him that, for most people, crying was weak.

Instead, when Yuya walked to school and was stabbed by a hundred mocking gazes, he smiled and dragged Yuzu to the lockers. When the word “coward” was scrawled on his locker and desk, he smiled, cleaned it off and moved on with his life.

No one had left a flower vase for him, yet. He was honestly surprised.

I don’t want to go back.

As the months passed, Yuya had to clean his locker less and less, people stopped staring at him when he went to school, and his smiles stopped making Yuzu angry. He got used to the ache in his chest until even the lack of students at You Show became something acceptable.

If Yuya lost, would people start writing “loser” on his locker? Would they glare at him every morning and put a flower vase on his desk?

The path in front of Yuya felt like a sheer cliff.

*****

“Entertainment Duelling has nothing to prove!”

No one outside You Show believed that. To them, if the father of Entertainment Duelling didn’t believe in his own style enough to duel till the end, what good could it be?

There was only one way to make people respect Entertainment Duelling again: for the students at You Show to win. As Yusho’s son, Yuya had to win more than anyone else.

He didn’t win enough.

What is wrong with me?!

All Yuya wanted was to protect Entertainment Duelling, but all he could do was drag it through the mud! He lost half his duels, acted like a clown, and could never keep his big mouth shut! Three years ago was proof of that -a smarter kid would know better than to challenge the champion!

Now, Yuya was going to lose the one match he shouldn’t. Finally, the open question of which was better, Entertainment Duelling or Ishijima beatdown, was being answered by the worst possible person.

Everyone’s eyes were on him! The pressure made his ears ring!

How could this possibly be fun!?

*****

In the end, though, it was everyone else’s problem.

His classmates were scum, one moment they pretended to be decent, the next they were rubbing salt in his wounds.

The audience was just as worthless. After seeing his dad take on pre-errata crush cards, monster reborn, and Yata-locks they thought that Strong Ishijima scared him?! Just think for one second and they’d realise that, even if his dad had lost, Entertainment Duelling was second best!

But no! That’s too much to expect! Better to make Yuya duel a man three times his age over a grudge with a missing person!

Didn’t anyone have standards?! Why wasn’t anyone worried?!

His dad might be dead or trapped somewhere!

Was it just that fun to drive him crazy?

If so, then it was working. Underneath the nausea, underneath the ache, underneath the ringing in his ears, his blood was always boiling. When the feelings faded thread by thread, anger was always last to disappear.

Maybe one day, it wouldn’t disappear at all.

I want to make them pay for these last three years!

(At that time, Would Yuya finally lose it?)

*****

( When he was younger, Yuya suspected that Strong Ishijima had kidnapped his father.

Obviously, that wasn’t right but, even after Yuya realised how silly it was, he kept looking for reasons. Maybe his dad had been taken by the Yakuza, or maybe he’d been teleported to some fantasy realm! Maybe he was sealed by an ancient curse and could only be freed by Yuya solving a puzzle!

Yuya’d outgrown those paranoid fantasies. Still, deep down, a part of him felt like if he won today, on the anniversary of Yusho Sakaki’s disappearance, his dad would finally walk back through that front door. He’d say he was proud of Yuya, give him a big hug, and Yuya wouldn’t have to deal with any of this fear, shame or anger ever again . )

Something has to change!

*****

No set cards, no hand traps, just 400 LP and 4 monsters to take down Ishijima’s 4000 LP and his ace monster.

The duel was over. As the cheering for Ishijima rattled his skull, Yuya didn’t know if he could smile through it anymore.

Maybe that was the worst part. Even if Yuya lost, he wanted to live by his father’s teachings.

#dramaturgy fanfic #can't catch me clogging sociological theory tags with fics #yugioh arc v #ygo arc v

1 note · View note

dream-diary-thoughts · 2 years

Text

9 27 22

2 dreams

First one we were a group of three. Traveling old western towns. There was one boy, a girl, and me. The boy was a writer forced to write something that had to be delivered by Sunday in another town to a bad person. He left our travel group and we spent years tracking him back to his home town. He lived in a shared shack by some stairs but he did everything to avoid seeing us. We were willing to travel with him again and deliver his paper to the bad person but we kept avoiding us. He tricked us and we thought he was hiding in a luggage bag meant to board the next bus to a big city. We thought we'd ride the bus and catch him as he climbed out. As we started to go I noticed he was never in the bag. We jumped off the bid and I skyrocket to the road he must have took out. I saw him running away. I used branches to catch my fall but it was getting dark and there was a rotting human arm in the side of the road. It would have been bad for me to try and go. Someone was coming so I tried to run back to town before they got to me. I met up with the girls and informed them of our friend and the body. We told the sherif and we planned to either wait at his home for years until he came back or to try and catch him when he delivered the paper he had to write. We chose to wait at his home.

2nd dream.

I was in school again and in my art class the teacher didn't want any good. We were all eating cereal though. A kid, carlos (the one that was jailed a week after graduation) was saying he didn't want me near him and I told him to mind his business. When I say down my foot accidentally touched him and he said I was dead. I said try it. Let to go to the 7th floor for something and there were 3 elevators. One for teachers and 2 for students. I used the teacher one since it was open. It was broken and it took me to the 6th instead and I had to switch back to the student one. On the top floor I went to use the restroom but the door was broken so I had to hold it closed and these weird circus themed guy/monsters started appearing. They told everyone they were going to kill us but still give us a fighting chance. One was already in the bathroom with me. I grabbed all the old weapons we had and started giving them to random students. I explained not a lot were sharp but you could still use it like a bat. I kept the shorter, sharp sword I used to play with as a kid. The circus monsters paired us off and as the battle started I tried to give another speech. He wouldn't do for me to speak so 3 had to scream it. I told the other students if you didn't have a weapon you can still fight. You can punch and hold them down. We had strength in numbers. We went from losing to almost winning instantly.

#9 27 22 #dream

0 notes

avocado-frog · 2 years

Text

Went to my high school orientation today

-Everyone is taller than I am >:I

-Sat down in the first of three gyms and the cheerleading kids had us all do cheers and sing. No one was having it and the principal was visibly disappointed. I don't know what he was expecting

-I had to go meet up with my advisory class. I saw a kid with a bucket hat and a my hero acadamia keychain and a striped purple and white polo shirt. She was smaller than I was so I decided she was a good person to follow in case I got lost. Turns out, she was slower than me. Evidentially I got lost

-At some point, a childhood friend of mine ended up in the same group as me, so I decided to follow her when I realized we were in the same group. She asked me where we were supposed to be going, and I told her that I'd been following her, and as it would turn out, we were following each other

-Our guides were these two girls who were only a year or two older than us, and also had no idea where to go, because my advisory teacher didn't show up

-We had to do ice breakers so me and my friend from elementary school pretended like we haven't known each other since first grade. We have not talked since fifth grade so I'm not sure why neither of us expected it to not be awkward

-There was a weird butterfly theme. Paper butterflies hanging from the ceiling, lots of inspirational quotes with stock images of butterflies, you get it. I give the ones hanging from the ceiling in the art wing a week before some kid jumps up and tears them down. Elementary school friend thinks it was a metaphor for something

-All of our parents were taken to a theater room for something else and had to learn all of our cheers. When we came back in to reunite with them (whoever was on the speaker's words, not mine) they all had to stand up and do the cheers. Humiliating for them, I'm sure

-My other friend Makayla started hitting people with her rolled up schedule, her girlfriend pretended not to know her like a traitor

-Makayla offered me a link to buy shoe inserts. Elementary school friend thinks I should come to school in high heels. I am outraged

-Afterwards, we had to go through our schedules with our parents. I took this as an opportunity to plan out a route. My mother got me lost five times

-On my way to my fifth period class, a boy who's name I genuinely can't remember made eye contact with me, and randomly shouted "IT'S THE OMORI KID :D" so I waved at him, and he goes "I FINISHED THE GAME LAST WEEK!!! I CRIED!!!!!" so naturally my response was "welcome to the depression club" and I think the other kids in that hallway were confused because we were yelling from across the hall at each other

-A kid didn't know where the library was, and I recognized the area due to the butterflies, so I directed him to it and felt intelligent

-There are a lot of vending machines, which is nice because I could barely breathe by the end of it

-There was also a bistro in the middle of the art wing?

-There is a class called floral shop. Unsure what that means, but there is a vending machine for flowers. Several classmates ended up with roses by the end of it

#isaac says things #high school orientation thing #I got there and I was immediately overwhelmed #I'm going to get lost

1 note · View note

myblckcty · 2 years

Text

Such | Rhythm & Blues

Join My Black City in Celebrating and Supporting Such | Rhythm & Blues. We Shine Brighter Together. #MyBlackCity https://myblackcity.org/such-rhythm-blues/?feed_id=15932 >> I'm a singer-songwriter and actress out of Denver. I feel like what I do is just give back to humanity through music. >> Open in Spotify Interview With Such What Do You Do? I'm a singer-songwriter and actress out of Denver. I feel like what I do is just give back to humanity through music. Up until January of 2012. I was actually a nurse. People think nursing and singing two completely different things opposite end of the spectrum. I don't think so. everything that I loved about nursing, which is taking care of people, building Rapport, just loving on them, I'm able to do with my music. So I feel like I've been able to wrap up nursing into what I do, which is really cool. How did you end up doing music? I'm a pastor's daughter. I grew up singing in church with both of my older sisters. I grew up listening to them singing. I started probably around three when I joined like the children's choir at church. once I hit Elementary School I joined every choir possible. And so music has always been like a consistent steady thing throughout my whole life. I never thought of it as a career though. I didn't know anybody whose parents were entertainers or artists musicians anything along those lines. the people that I saw that were my examples were doctors, teachers. when I was 15, I used to play the flute. my band director encouraged me to audition for a highschool jazz band. I send my vhs in and they selected me. I got a 10 day all expenses paid trip to perform with this group at different jazz clubs in LA. We got to record an album and attend the Grammys. it was an incredible experience. what I realize there was that all the kids that were there went to performing arts high schools,and all of these kids knew that they were going to be musicians. it and that was the first time that I was like, oh my gosh, I could do this. I came back home and I created a PowerPoint presentation for my parents as to why they should let me transfer out of my high school to the nearest performing arts high school, which was about an hour away from our house.I had it all planned out. They told me no., they didn't become a struggling musician. I think from that moment on I just was like, okay. Well then music will be my release and it'll be like my hobby. It'll be my way to get like my creative juices flowing or whatever. Do I headed down the medical path and became a nurse. And worked in that field for 4 years. then the earthquake hit Haiti. I'm Haitian American. I went to Haiti as a nurse to help. seeing the loss of life and Devastation really made me think about what I should be doing with this time here on Earth. when I came back from Haiti, I started to step back from nursing a little bit and step into singing, not really knowing how it was going to work out. then I had my son and I would say he was the second big Catalyst where I remember looking into his eyes like he was just a few days old. I'm just wanting to not be the kind of parent that lived vicariously through their kid, he had this effect on me where I was like, I want him to know that he could literally do and be anything like he wants to be and I realized in that moment that The only way he would truly get that message is if I lived that . What was the turning point in your music career? I ended up auditioning for america idol when my son was just a few months old and I made it to Hollywood week and I made it to the end of Hollywood week and by the time you know, I was eliminated and I came back home and I was sad for a little bit. But after that I was like, okay, it's time to say goodbye to my nursing job and just jump into this like headfirst I think back to that girl so many years ago who did the bravest thing ever because I had no Connections in the entertainment industry. I had no idea

what the industry was like, but there was just this overwhelming conviction that I knew this was the path that I was supposed to take and I'm so glad that I listened because so many amazing things have happened since then that I couldn't have even imagined. What are you learning about that process of of the business side of being a creative? I think it's important to surround myself with a good team of people, the right people. it doesn't happen overnight. Like I'm still building the team it takes a while. it's not something that I'm necessarily in a rush to do because I realized that I really want it to be the right people. Another piece of advice would be To really be present in the journey. .I feel like also in the entertainment industry. They do a lot of things where they try to lump you in a category and the reality is that there's room for everybody and that you're the only one who can do what you do. I can't do what somebody else says I can only do what such does and with that I feel like comes Liberation because then you don't have to compare yourself because no matter how hard I try to be somebody else. I can't be. so might as well be the best version of myself. So I would say do you enjoy the journey be present There is no formula. What's an important part of your music making process? before I even record a song I'll perform it live just to see If there's anything I could change if there are tweaks because there's something really magical about performing with a live audience and picking up on their energy and that whole synergistic thing going on. What Project are you currently promoting? my latest album is called wide nose full lips and if I could summarize the album into phrases, I would say that it is a love letter to myself to me falling in love with who I am and being more comfortable in my skin and it's absolutely an Unapologetic Love Letters to Blackness and all things] black. all things Melanin. It took me about four years to write this album and I think the reason why is because just needed to live. I think a lot of times like as a creative you're pouring out and sometimes you've got to stop and just get poured into and so I needed time to live to experience to think and meditate . When I was little I had a family member who used to tell me that I needed to squeeze my nose because it was too wide, but I needed to make my nose narrower more eurocentric because that was the standard of beauty. when you hear things like that as a child, that's something that you absolutely internalize and so that took the time to really reflect about like, where are these thoughts that I have about myself that I am not beautiful that I'm lacking and I was able to trace it back to my childhood. I think over the last few years I've just really been intentional about flipping the script, you know representation matters and if I can just throw one more thing in there so that little little black girls and black boys can say that they are beautiful, maybe they'll believe that too and maybe it'll just be one more thing to help them be comfortable in their skin. if there's one thing I want people to leave with after listening to the album. I want them to be empowered. I want them to feel good about themselves and I want them to be comfortable in their skin at least start that Journey, I write from a very real and authentic place. And so I hope that people are able to feel that but that speaks through, every song,every lyric every, Melody every line, every note.

#Creative #music #RhythmBlues

0 notes

hintofelation99 · 3 years

Note

The all had multiple expulsion threats and meetings at school no question. And yet Bruce somehow is voted the best parent at the PTA.

Bruce is the best soccer dad. Also they all get expulsion threats for different reasons.

Dick

Fighting -> He does get into a few fights at first, but after becoming Robin he stops getting into fights.

'Being Disruptive' ->Then he starts to get in trouble for not paying attention, talking in class, constant fidgetting. For the most part it's from teachers who don't even try to understand or accommodate kids with ADHD. Like he's a good kid, he's not trying to be 'disruptive' or 'rude', he just struggles with ADHD and needs teachers who are understanding of that.

Reckless Behavior -> There are several teachers who are amazing and work with his ADHD rather than against it, but even with them he gets in trouble a few times because of 'reckless behavior' (jumping from high places, climbing things that shouldn't be climbed, etc). These teachers aren't rude about it or critical, they're literally just concerned for his safety and that's why they call Bruce.

Jason

Fighting -> He sometimes gets into fights with rich pretentious kids who try to bully him. They quickly learn not to fuck with him.

Reading During Class -> This is usually only done in classes where he doesn't like the teacher —which is pretty common, he likes learning but sometimes he doesn't like school because the teachers annoy him, if he likes the teacher he's a wonderful student, if he doesn't like them... well, he can be a handful— or where he's so far ahead that he gets bored.

Cheating -> Jason has gotten accused of cheating several times, mostly because some people think a kid from crime alley can't get straight A's without cheating.

Cass

'Being Disrespectful' -> There has been at least one teacher who considers Cass' selective mutism to be a form of disrespect.

Physically Attacking Another Student -> One time this guy kept harrassing a classmate of Cass' the person was clearly uncomfortable, so when the guy tried to grope them Cass flipped him.

Ditching Class -> She has at least once just walked out of class after a teacher annoyed her. No comment, no response, no explanation, just left.

Tim

Ditching Class -> He has been known to skip class on occasion. Which honestly, understandable.

Sleeping During Class -> Self explanatory tbh.

Cheating -> He kept getting 100% on tests, even after constantly sleeping during class, so the teachers assumed he was cheating.

Duke

Fighting -> After his parent's went insane he was pretty depressed and angry. Ended up getting in a few fights.

Cheating -> Much like Jason some teachers also thought Duke shouldn't be able to do well in school. So, when he did exceedingly well they assumed he cheated.

Ditching Class -> This mostly happened right after the stuff with his parents, but he still occasionally skips, usually he ends up going to the library.

Damian

Insulting Teachers and Classmates -> Self explanatory.

Physically Assualting a Student -> Usually he's good about not trying to murder others, but he did attack one or two students after they made a racist remark.

Having a Rude Tone -> This got thrown out pretty quickly but there was a teacher who reported him based solely on the tone of his voice.

Everytime one of his kids gets in trouble Bruce comes in and listens to all available perspectives. If they actually did something wrong then Bruce is fine with them facing consequences. But if they didn't actually do something, or it's something he believes they shouldn't be punished for then he will fight it. His most well known fights with the school were over:

Their response to Dick's ADHD

Teachers accusing Duke, Tim, and Jason of cheating without evidence

The teachers response to Cass' selective mutism

The racist remarks made about Damian

As a PTA member he focuses a lot on mental health education, diversity, and funding the arts. He and Alfred tend to tag team events. Alfred handles everything baking always, but other than that they split responsibilites based on Bruce's schedule. Bruce likes to be as present as possible but sometimes he's just too busy, so when that's the case Alfred steps in.

With each kid Bruce learned different areas where the school was lacking, where he could help improve. First was with Dick, he learned that the teachers didn't have the training or resources to give Dick the support needed. None of them knew how to handle ADHD and at first it resulted in poor grades and 'behavioral problems'. To fix this Bruce set up a fund to send teachers to extra training seminars on common learning disabilities and mental health issues, these covered a wide range that not only helped Dick, but also other students who had similar needs. Bruce also helped planned a yearly fundraising event that would make sure the fund was sustainable and not relient on him.

With Jason he focused on revamping the bookfair, there were a lot of other projects he could/wanted/did do, but the bookfair meant the most to Jason so it meant the most to Bruce. He turned the bookfair into a yearly two week long event where authors came to speak, writing work shops were held, and books were donated (ofc books were also sold). Basically he turned it from a bookfair to a bookcon.

For Cass his efforts in getting the teachers the training needed to help students with disabilities was doubled, this time he focused on communicative and sensory disabilities. Like selective mutism, deafness, blindness, etc. His biggest goal was making sure all teachers took at least one sign language course and encouraging them to take more with bonuses and pay raises. Eventually this monetary reward system extending to other out of work classes that could prove beneficial to students.

In a lot of ways Bruce felt like he failed Tim, this was a kid who was his neighbor for years and who eventually became his Robin. Yet it still took him much too long to realize how neglectful Tim's parents were. It really made him question a lot of things, mainly how much child abuse went unnoticed. He started a campaign to raise awareness on types of abuse and the signs to look for. It focused on all forms of abuse, not just neglect. In a way it was therapeutic, not only did it help kids like Tim, but it also helped kids like Jason who faced physical abuse. It ended up begin a popular program that expanded to other schools in the area.

Duke made Bruce think of problems closer to home, namely how Rogue attacks affected children. So for Duke, Bruce worked on creating a support network for children who were victims or were close to victims of Rogue attacks/organized crime in Gotham. Outside of the support network for Rogue victims Bruce also worked with the PTA to schedule several writing competitions, Dick often places in the top three and Bruce is always insanely proud of this.

For Damian Bruce really focused on the arts. He and the PTA started doing art shows every quarter and having students help with school beautification/mural making on campus. These programs helped Damian bond with peers and encouraged him to participate in after school activities. Dick also helped with these programs and expanded them into the community, specifically he worked combining art/beautification programs with fundraising for animal shelters.

#batfam #batman #bruce wayne #nightwing #dick grayson #jason todd #red hood #tim drake #red robin #duke thomas #the signal #damian wayne #robin #headcanon #ask #mypost

709 notes · View notes

insomniac-dot-ink · 3 years

Text

Headlights Girl

Genre: Urban fantasy + wlw romance

Words: approx. 8k

Summary: The story of a girl with headlamps for eyes and the moth-girl she meets along the way.

My book 🌸 Ko-fi 🌸 Patreon

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

Most humans carry the night with them. Even during daylight hours, they can shut out the sun, turn off the light, recede into themselves and into that soft secret place behind their eyes.

Did you know certain animals don’t have eyelids? Gecko’s have nothing between them and the violent sun which wishes to cook the colors of their world. They have to use their tongue. Dust and sand and rain, can you imagine? I was obsessed with lizards as a kid.

I stacked up books on snakes and lizards and skinks. I traced the way that sand snakes crested across the dunes, sideways and wrong. I put glue on the pads of my hand and tried to climb the walls of my room— I didn’t even get one handhold up. I went to the zoo and peered into their cages, up on my tiptoes, trying not to smudge the glass or breath too hard. I tried make out their triangle heads and slow tongue-flicks, but they each shrank away deep into nooks and crannies of their cages. Most things do when I look at them.

Most humans carry the night with them, right there behind their eyelids is an entire world of darkness. I have something else inside me, not quite, not soft, not secret. They called me “headlights girl” in the newspapers.

There were even stranger kids born in the Age of Spirits. I checked. Every morning of fifth grade, I scanned the papers for mentions of “oddities” growing into anomalies.

A boy who could breath fire. A girl with leaves sprouting from her head. A kid with antennae that could taste the wind. There are stranger things than me in the age of beasts and magic. My father called it the “Epoch of Bastards,” sons and daughters of flickering fire elementals and wind ghosts who seduced half-asleep ladies from their beds.

He didn’t look at me much growing up. And I knew what he meant. I knew what he was getting at by calling it the Epoch of Bastards. Growing up, I played in my little puddle of carpet on the floor as he blustered in and out of rooms like gale force winds. He’d be looking for his keys or a left shoe or wallet since he was going out, out, out. I think I missed him at first, in the way you miss strangers you’ve never met.

Later, still on my puddle of carpet, still on my island, I would glare at him with that sour, acid taste in the back of my throat. Acrid, smoky, I would barely blink as he passed; he’d jump when he turned too quickly and accidentally fell into my path. Later still, I would begin to wish they were both like that—blustery and calling people names, gone more often than not.

It sometimes felt better than hearing my mom weep to herself on the couch. I wish she’d do it in her room or outside or anywhere else than that theatrical sobbing in the middle of the house, a naked heartbeat to the place. She spoke to her friends on the phone in that same watery voice, handkerchief in hand and sniffling, she spoke to them more than me.

What else am I supposed to do? This isn’t how it was supposed to be. She’d wail, just a bit, and then find a new thing to wail over. They could barely afford to send me to That School. They could barely afford the special doctor’s appointments for my eyes. They barely knew what to do with me.

Sometimes, I wanted to shout right back: It’s not like I didn’t want to be here either!

But she wasn’t talking to me.

School wasn’t much better. We weren’t the same, not really. None of us were the same age or had the same affliction. Plus, most everyone else stayed in dorms where they bonded with secrets and whispers and hiding from matrons. It wasn’t the same.

They called me The Lighthouse and Car Face and Nightlight. Sometimes they’d give me a few bucks to close my eyes so they could see my face. I did it. They’d laugh and reassure me I was as ugly as you’d think. Or beautiful. Or perfectly average-looking or I had a pig-nose or unibrow. I’d never seen anything but the blinding light of my own eyes in the mirror so I could never contradict them.

A boy with antlers handed me a twenty for a kiss in the 6th grade. I closed my eyes for that too. It was chapped and dry and he ran away with a screaming laugh afterward. There are stranger kids than me, I reminded myself. So why do I feel so much stranger than the rest of them?

I was 16 when I heel-toed my way down the stairs toward the front door. A duffel bag slung over my shoulder stuffed with loose clothes, change, a bath towel, three books with broken spines, all the tampons in the house, and a Swiss-army knife.

I hoped to stuff as many cheddar-cheese sandwiches in my sack as possible before the midnight bus came, but he was at the kitchen table. I don’t think either of us expected it, like running into your teacher at the mart and you’re both buying the same brand of toilet cleaner. There was a beer in front of his idle hands and he still wore his rumpled work shirt. He glanced at the bag on my shoulder for a long minute.

Finally, he sighed like I cut him off in traffic.

“Gimme a moment.”

My father leafed through a wad of cash he kept in a safe. He handed me almost three hundred bucks and we nodded at each other. At the time, I thought there was a kind of satisfaction to that nod, an endnote.

I was out the door before the midnight bus arrived.

Only three people were at the terminal. None of them looked at me with my pack and my knife stuffed in one hand and my eyes glowing. They did look at the glow, but not for long.

Remote and empty like maybe the world had ended and the last bits of if were nothing but strangers not making eye contact.

Finally, I watched the headlights of the midnight bus approach through dense summer night. I was struck by the thought that it was like looking at like, the glow of my eyes against its eyes. Can a bus be your father? Can your father be a man after all this time? Will your mother come looking for you?

I got on the bus and kicked my feet up against the seat in front of me. Scrunched into a ball, crossed my arms over my chest, and watched the trees turn into flickering bodies of shadow with each passing mile. ------------- My feet moved like tides. They tossed me against nameless city streets and toward empty forested slices of land. I stumbled into the painted deserts toward the west. I dipped my toes into the neon districts of the east with lights brighter than my own. I slept on benches and in kid’s treehouses and hunched my shoulders against brick walls of back alleys.

No one touched me. Maybe they’d approach now and then, but I’d open my eyes and they’d see nothing but heaven or devils or an absent lightning-God father that would smite them. I was the daughter of spirits after all.

I found my way to the ocean; beaches where other stragglers gathered and it was easy to stretch out on empty pieces of warm sand. I didn’t talk much by then, I didn’t like to; people stared whether I was speaking or screaming and clamping down on my jaw so hard it ached. Sometimes I get yelled at: Turn that off! No phone lights in here. You’re blinding me, bitch!

I’d never seen a movie in any theatres, but I could imagine what it’s like.

It was crowded, but I liked that ocean city, despite myself. It had pale buildings built into cliffs, narrow winding sidewalks where cars couldn’t fit, reckless bikers, and crushed seashell parking lots. I liked the tang of salt in the air and the way my hair crinkled from the ocean water as it sun-dried. I camp out on beaches and bummed cigarettes and hotdogs off strangers. I was good at taking care of myself once I got into a rhythm.

I had a tent by then and even an enormous sun umbrella to keep any prying eyes away. I still liked to sleep under the stars most nights though.

I often dreamed of sinking to the bottom of the ocean. I dreamed of descending on pointed ballerina-feet to the silted black bottom. I’d be weighted down through the cold and the silence to where no human being had ever been. I’d open my eyes there, open them all the way, lightning-bright, and unflinching. In my dreams, the salt didn’t even sting. I lit up the world, the whole untouched world of whales and fish and terror and maybe I’d do something good then. Maybe I’d do something good and bring the sun to places that had forgotten it.

I hated those dreams.

I met Mags on the beach after one of those dreams. Mags had one eye and twelve teeth and carried around nothing but string and scissors everywhere. She smelled like seawater and burning kelp, dank and crusted over. Her clothes were neat despite her leather-cracked skin and arms and neck covered in tattoos of shipwrecks. We ran into each other at some bum gathering and she cackled and pulled me aside.

“What’s your name?” Her voice was old creaking wood. I didn’t answer. “I could give you one.” She offered with a grin that was more empty space than anything.

“Nana.” I gritted out. “You want something?”

“Not sure. What do you want, kid?”

I glared openly, my beam of light slanting. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Come here.”

I didn’t know why I was chosen.

Mags liked me more than I deserved. I pocketed her last pair of socks when she wasn’t looking. She never mentioned it and dragged me down to the community showers to get clean with soap and shampoo. She took me to the soup and salad restaurant for something that wasn’t burnt or freeze-dried or from a convenience store. She cackled, she spat when she talked, people shot her looks as well.

I thought she was normal, not touched by the spirits, but she liked me more than most people and I didn’t know why.

“You like art, kid?”

I snorted. “No.”

“Why not? You broken?” Yeah. Probably.

“How am I supposed to know?” I snapped back.

“Lippy squirt. Come on, I’ll show you something worth your forked tongue.”

She heated the needle before she used it, red hot and untouchable. She dipped it into deep black inks, only black and sometimes red, she called them the only colors that matter. She shows me how to prick the skin and clean it. She showed me how to slowly, painstakingly etch images. I wasn’t sure I liked it, there was something so permanent and intentional about the act.

I watched her lessons though: stick and poke to her right foot, all over those fine little bones that must hurt, in and out, a little bloody.

It took her six hours to make a tiny shipwreck right above her big toe. It was a narrow schooner going under and I was the only witness. She made the waves come to life and crash against its sides and sometimes I forgot to blink. She didn’t seem to mind.

She washed another needle. She heated it red-hot. She dipped it in ink and handed it to me.

I still wasn’t sure I liked the permanence of it, but I told myself I was bored and it was something to do. I decided quickly I did like the bite of it, I liked the focus it took, and the ability to pull something from nothing.

I practiced all over my thighs first, there was enough meat there and it was easy enough to reach: a lizard design that looked like nothing but squiggles, a TV set playing static, a tiny smudged skink with its tongue out. I practiced designs in the sand and then on paper when Mags splurged on pen and paper.

Mags took me to the museum on Sundays. They were always free on Sundays.

Something stirred in my chest, even as the guards yelled at us about how flash photography wasn’t allowed in the museum. Even as I was shooed out of exhibits for ruining the paint. Still, an ache so old it rotted roared to life in my chest.

I stabbed in and out, gentle, a collection of stars right above my right knee. A winding sand snake on my wrist, and then finally, something good, something that gave people pause and reason to stare. I made it in the mirror: a ghost on my collarbone. Shadowed and intricate and yet simple, I put a ghost right above my collarbone and it bleeds more than any of the others.

That was a good year or so; one of the best I could remember.

I didn’t want to leave the ocean city though and Mags said she had to keep moving. She had places to be. She gave me a sloppy kiss on the cheek.

“You're a gem, kid. You’ll knock ‘em all to the pavement.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “You’ll be back?”

She cackled. “Wouldn’t miss it. You know me.” She winked as she turns to the bus, my second father. “You think I’ll miss your great becoming, kid? I’ll be back.”

I wanted to make her pinky-promise like I was a kid again begging one of the others to tell me if I’m beautiful when I close my eyes. I couldn’t do that; I waved as she tottered up the steps of the bus and was taken away with the tides of her own feet.

A had a moment of thinking it was the end then; I was ready to get back to my real normal. I was ready to disappear again. But even shipwrecks with no witnesses leave things left to be found.

------------ I got an apprenticeship. Technically, Mags talked them into it and I just followed up when I had nothing better to do.

I didn’t think I’d like it much, but couch surfing and camping out was the pastime of the especially young. And I’d lost my giant umbrella.

It was a small shop that smelled like bleach and dried flowers. A tattoo parlor in one of the steep arts districts neighbored by food trucks and beaded necklace shops.

Penguin Davies and Bitch-Annie ran it together. Davies walked like he’d never encountered land before, and Bitch-Annie had a throw-pillow embroidered with “If you don’t have anything nice to say then come sit next to me.”

Davies was covered in nothing but birds and dizzying M. C. Escher house-designs up and down his chest and arms. Bitch-Annie had topless mermaids and pinup girls across her shoulders and legs. She’d been asked to leave a number of stores before the children started staring or thinking thoughts.

Neither of them had ever met someone like me. It was not that type of town. I rankled at most their questions, a cat meeting a steel brush. Where are you from? What’s your family name? What kind of school did you go to? Is your sight better than other people you think?

I brushed off anything more personal than my favorite type of soda. Bitch-Annie called me “Shadow” probably as a joke, probably. Davies said I must be possessed by the ghost of some dead star: a blackhole that takes everything in and lets nothing out.

Neither of them let me touch a needle in those first six months. They had me practice on pig skin and trace designs and stand by their shoulders as they worked. I felt like a dental assistant except I was the hanging light shining into open mouths instead of anything with a pulse. I stood at their shoulder as they drew thick lines and thin dots and made hearts and wolves and names of dead lovers come to life.

They asked me to stand still and stop wiggling the light. I almost walked out several to find a new cliff to crash against, almost.

No one had ever expected anything of me before. They never expected me to show up somewhere or do something well. No one really cared if I went to school or if I did my homework, if I dressed well or went to bed on time. And no one kept any tabs on me at all after I took that first bus. That’s how I liked it.

I should’ve left, tattooing didn’t mean anything to me, not really. But Bitch-Annie stomped up to my attic-apartment one morning and threw pants at me.

“Get up, Shadow,” she barked. She was sterner than Mags, no hint of humor in her eyes. “I told you 9am so I expect 9am.”

“The fuck!?” I was eloquent in the mornings.

“Pants, shirt, shoes, and bra if you don’t want that desk idiot staring at something other than your eyes all day.”

“Are you serious?”

“Serious as a root canal. Mags swore up and down about what you. Let’s see some of that, up, up!”

I grumbled. I put on everything but the bra. No one ever expected me to be anywhere before and 9am shouldn’t have even been a concept much less a real thing. I told myself I hated it. I’d leave the next week. Or maybe the week after that or in just one more month. I kept a bus ticket under my pillow but every time the date arrived I shrugged and made myself busy.

There’d be no harm in having a savings too and seeing what all the fuss was about with having a dishwasher and a kitchen.

I wasn’t an artist of course. I didn’t understand what everyone else was seeing when they looked at the “old masters” paintings of water or war or lovers pulled apart. I didn’t feel anything in front of stain-glass windows in churches or mosaics on walls. Maybe there really was something wrong with me, my eyes. I didn’t let up though. I put on pants for it after all.

Penguin Davies hovered by my shoulder when I made my first real design.

“Mm.” He rumbled deep in his chest. He’d gone grey at an early age, had tired eyes and quick hands. The desk kid said he’d been in medical school once, a surgeon. It was hard to tell. Davies muttered a lot, stared off into space too much, and laughed like it was always a painful surprise

“Perfectionist,” he muttered at me as I start over on a crappy unicorn design. “That line was barely off. You’re being a perfectionist, Nana.”

I scowled over my shoulder and let the full weight of my light hit him across the face. “Got a problem with it?” I challenged. He chuckled darkly. His grin was crooked like a broken door handle. I tried to hide my work from him with my shoulder. “It’s not done yet.”

“It’s late.” The rest of the street was dark. I knew that.

“I said I’m not done yet! You can go home.”

“Hmm.” He scratched his grey beard.

“What?”

“Look at you. You know who makes the best artists, Nana?” He was always a bit of a philosopher. Maybe he used to study that before medicine.

“Yeah, yeah, shut up. I’m working on it.”

He gave my shoulder a light push. “The ones that don’t quit.”

They let me touch a needle gun after that. I told myself I’d only sign my new apartment lease as an experiment. I didn’t have to actually stay. I’d just run from the ink on paper and hope no one chased after girls with eyes that glow.

I didn’t break my lease. I drew suns and moons, trees and fireflies, hunks in speedos on tipsy college girls who swore they were sober and erotic vampires on the chests of men getting their first divorce. I had to give two refunds for a duck that turned out lopsided and a tattoo of someone’s dog which I swore really was that ugly to begin with.

There was one at the end of that next year though, another college girl with perfectly white piano-key teeth. She asked for a stick and poke, that was what I was best at anyway, she asked for a butterfly. Butterflies were easy, I could do the little ones in my sleep. She wanted one all across her back, she said I could make it look however I wanted. So I did. Wings like fringed shawls and straight heavy lines combined with wispy swirling ones. It was dark, black ink with red highlights and gray shadows under each wing to give it movement and flight.

I hid my smile when I finished and showed her the results in the mirror. She went to my bosses and jumped up and down. She pointed and babbled, ohmyspirits, the best thing I’ve ever seen! Fuck. I should pay you double! Where did you get this girl?

I held myself perfectly still and studied the ceiling until my eyes dried out.

I took the long way home that night. I stopped once, at the corner where the midnight bus arrived, and watched the the passengers trudge off. I didn’t expect to see Mags again so soon, not really, but sometimes I wanted to show her: Hey, maybe your work wasn’t all wasted. Maybe I did start to become.

---------------- “I’m getting you chocolate.” Annie spat, her thick arms flexing as she cleaned off the spotless counter. “I’m getting you fucking chocolate, Shadow, ‘less you tell me what flavor you actually like.”

I hung at the back of the shop next to the narrow window that faced the road. I let the sun warm my face in thick strips and watched the bicycles pass. “It’s not my birthday.”

“Tell us what your actual birthday is then, you sugar-toasted tart.”

I shrugged. “Not today.”

“Well happy fucking birthday. You’re turning two. You came to work for us two years ago today, washed up from the beach like a deranged feral cat, so this is your birthday now.”

I rolled my eyes which served to look like a flashlight given a shake. Annie spent another minute splashing disinfectant on anything that might have had even a passing conversation with a germ.

“You talk to Birdie?” She asked, but mischievously this time. I responded by setting my mouth in a hard line. “You’re turning twenty-something and you’re not even talking to Birdie, are ya?”

“I’m not telling you what I’m turning. It’s still not my birthday.” I dodged inelegantly.

“Birdie will give you a proper go-around. Even shadows like you must need a little rub now and then.”

“Go dunk your head, Annie.” I huffed.

“Afraid you’ll blind her in bed?”

I turned with a snarl. “I’ll start with you.”

“I’ve seen you flipping through those poetry books, every word about hands or mouths or rosebuds.” She gave me flat a once-over. “You’ve got a sweet tooth in you.”

I dragged myself over to the desk to snarl at her some more, but Annie was already putting her hand up and going toward the backroom.

“I’m getting you a chocolate cake either way.”

There must have been a proper way to get her to never look at my little leather poetry books again, the ones with watermarked pages, the spines broken-in, and words that oozed. No one had to know that I could read, much less that I read that.

The door dinged instead.

“Excuse me.” She walked in. Her. “Is someone, um, named Nana here?” I turned before I could stop myself. That was still my name. And it was still my work.

Twenty-something, curtains of straight black hair falling in her face, pinched nose, thin energetic lips, shorts that gave way to milk-dipped legs that never seemed to end. A slight girl in a university t-shirt. College kids came in often during their breaks, but this one was a bit different. My eyes dragged up and fish-hooked there.

Feathered tendrils sprouted from her head and reached toward the ceiling. Long and searching, a pearly green color that reminded you of leaves or plumage.

I knew within a moment where I’d heard of this: Antennae Girl. The newspapers ran our stories close together along with the boy that breathed fire and the girl with roots growing from her head. We were all born in the same year during the epoch of monsters and bastards.

I think she recognized me too.

We stopped like heartbeats seizing up before the ambulance could make it. A confused, unnatural silence. I glanced at the door and considered making a run for it.

She cleared her throat first.

“Someone said that Misty’s butterfly tattoo came from here?” She blinked once and I noticed how her feathered antennae seemed to twitch. I averted my eyes so I wouldn’t blind her. She took a step forward. “So are you . . . Nana?”

The door was right there.

“What do you want?” I had been spending too much time with Bitch-Annie.

“A tattoo?”

“What kind?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“Then why are you here?” I grunted. Footsteps came in from the back room. I was examining the smudged off-white tiles of the floor one by one.

“I wanted to . . . hey, you can look up if you want.” She said, curiously, softly. I didn’t look up. “I’m still figuring out the design.” She trudged on ahead.

“Fine.” I pivoted away. “But we’re busy. Come back later.”

A hand slapped across my shoulder. “This is Nana.” Annie stopped me from leaving. “Don’t let her eyes fool ya, it’s her personality that’s actually the problem. You saw her butterfly you said?”

“Yes!” She gushed. “It was gorgeous.”

“It was fine,” I corrected.

“It’s her birthday today.” Annie shared because she could and because she was a failed evil villain still trying to get her kicks in.

“Oh cool, happy Birthday.” A deep pause followed that could fill oceans. “You can look up. I don’t mind.” She repeated.

I opened my eyes wide and lifted my chin in one jerky motion. A beam of fluorescent headlights hit her across the face. “Is this what you want?” Venom dripped from my lips. This was why I tried not to talk too much.

The young woman squinted for a moment before covering her eyes and nodding. “I read about you,” she stated as if it was nothing. “I’m turning twenty-two this year . . . so I guess, you are too?”

“What?!” Delight filled Annie’s entire expression. “Hot damn! Twenty-two?” I groaned deeply. “Hey, you, girlie,” she addressed antennae-girl, “you want to come out for drinks tonight?”

I tried to protest as quickly as possible, but somehow didn’t summon the words quickly enough.

“Sure.” She agreed. ----------------------

The night was humid and clung to us like a second skin. I wandered through the hilly streets with Penguin Davies wobbling beside me. The desk kid—Daft Jeff, said Davies had some inner-ear problem that made it hard for him to keep his balance. Annie said he just didn’t belong on land— he couldn’t walk straight unless something was tilting and rolling under his feet.

Davies made his way up the hill, faltering and missing the musical beats of it. He refused to let me steady him and I refused to have him sing to me. It was apparently my birthday.

“Someone saw your design.” He noted on the downhill.

“Yeah. Some college girl.” I grumbled.

“What’d you think?” He asked in his usual mysterious way.

“She just wants a good look.” I returned in a neutral tone. “She read about me in the paper. All she wants to do is look.”

“She saw your design.” He paused. “And Jeff said she was like you.”

I blinked hard so the path ahead was eaten by shadow and Davies stumbled. “Not all of us have to be friends . . .” I said sourly and didn’t fill in the rest. “I’ve met kids with antlers and frog-hands before. I doesn’t mean anything.”

“Any of them come visit?”

“They’re smart enough not to.” I snark. “But the ones who manage to be pretty don’t have the brains to stay away.”

“Mm.” He made a soft sound. “What kind of tattoo do you think she’ll get?”

“How should I know? A heart or anchor or something dumb like that.” I walked on ahead. “Maybe I’ll give her a quote from some dead poet.”

“You like poetry.”

I huff dramatically, “Not what I mean. Girls like her don’t like my type of poetry, you know I’m saying.”

“What kind of girls?” Davies was patient. I hated that about him.

I stopped at the corner to let him catch up. “Don’t play dumb. Hot ones, college ones, getting a degree in money or music. They don’t watch over their shoulders enough or know when to stay away.” I scuffed my shoe on the ground. “Whatever.”

Davies was still thinking. I considered pushing him over. He finally spoke up again as we approach the bar, “That sea witch ever show up again?”

“Mags?” I snorted. “No. Why?”

“Cause I’m sure she’d like to see this.”

I didn’t say anything else as we reached the doorway. -------------------- The bar was loud. More people than I liked came to my “party.” I should have seen it coming. If the cliff city liked one thing it was an excuse to drink.

I crammed myself up against the bar and ordered a gin and tonic before the rest of the night crowd could arrive. Birdy was holding court at a corner table and waving at me. “There she is! Someone put a blanket over Nana, lights out, party up!”

Her puns usually left something to be desired. She sang “Blinded by the Light” every time she saw me for half a year.

I drank half my gin and tonic in the first gulp as a new stream of townies burst in. They arrived to buy me birthday beers and shout their opinions on the shitty new chain restaurant on 3rd street. I was almost tasting the bottom of my second glass when someone tapped on my shoulder.

I barely looked over.

The girl with sheets of black hair and a practiced-appearance stood before me—like she was at dress rehearsal and expected everyone else to know the lines as well. She carried a baby-blue bike helmet in one hand, and I noted there were two hand-drilled holes in the top.

“You.” I was tempted to shake her hand like I might make this a transactional hello and goodbye in short order.

“Hey.” She smiled, hesitant, like maybe the food on the fork might be too hot. “Nana, right?”

“Yep.” I sighed the word real long and heavy. “Listen, I really can’t give you a tattoo if you don’t know what you want.”

“No, no, I get it. But I want you to know . . . I didn’t know it was you.”

“Uh, okay. Though I’m pretty hard to miss over here.” I was looking at the dirty wine bottles stacked near the ceiling. Her antennae hang over both of us like fern fronds.

“No. I mean, when I saw the butterfly. That’s when I wanted to come here. Not after.”

“After what?” I was gonna make her say it.

“After I found that it was, well, you know, Headlights Girl.”

“Mm.” I was spending too much time with Davies. “You want something to drink?”

She sighed as well, real long and heavy. “Sure.” She took the seat next to me. “I’m Park by the way.”

“Park.” I rolled the name around in my mouth. “And you already know me.”

“I don’t think I do.” She laughed, sharp and bristly like something you can get cut on. “And I’ll have a beer. . . but only once you look up. Come on, I’m not like that.” I looked up. Her face was bright, round like the moon, her grin was sneaky and unearned. “There we go.”

She waved over the bartender Kipp and ordered her dark beer.

“It’s not really my birthday.” I informed her, dumbly. Every word felt dumb and clumsy all at once.

“Why not?” She was teasing. I knew that.

“That’s not how birthdays work.” I informed and wished I could backtrack into hostility again.

“Oh darn,” she winked. “And here I was about to make it my birthday too.”

“Uh, well,” I really should have left when I had the chance. “It’s not too late?”

“That’s the spirit!” She laughed, fuller this time and rounded. I looked her straight in the face and then quickly looked away again. Her grin was aimed at me, somehow, and seemed to reach high cupboards inside me you usually needed a stool for.

“Park,” I repeated the name and shifted in place. “So did you go to Haveryards or Simmons?” There were only two schools in the country for spirit bastards like us. Haveryards was close enough for me to get bussed to—an hour one way and then an hour home.

“Neither. I went to public and then Bakerville Uni.” She rapped on the counter. “Hey, you want another gin and tonic? Or I’ll mix you up something.” Her eyes flickered over everything. “I bartended my way through college so I can make a mean margarita.”

“Oh, Bakerville U., yeah. That ones close.” I stuttered a bit. She was leaning across the counter and trying to get Kipp’s attention a second time. My words were feeling dumber and dumber by the moment, perhaps losing all shape and meaning altogether. “That’s where you went?”

“How’d you guess?” She said playfully and pointed to her t-shirt. She finally got the bartender over. “Right, you want something hard? Vodka maybe? A mule?”

I scratched my chin. “ . . . I don’t care. I’m easy.”

She rolled her eyes and I knew she must feel me staring. “I can’t imagine shopping for you for today then.” She snickered and climbed over the counter. “Happy birthday, how about one chocolate mule for a free tattoo?”

“You wish.” I made a face. “You don’t even know what you want.”

“And you do?” She was still grinning, somehow. “I’ve decided I’m making you the equivalent of all the soda flavors mixed together at once. Close your eyes.”

I closed my eyes and I tried to turn off my thoughts. It was bright as knives inside my skull; I carry the daytime with me. Panic threatened to rise up (for no reason of course), but a soft hand brushed against mine, soft like sheets in fancy hotels and flower petals. I peaked and Park slid a full murky glass toward me.

“Drink up.”

It was sweet. It wasn’t even my birthday. I didn’t care. She called it a chocolate-mule-Park Special and maybe chocolate really was my favorite flavor. -------------- Park started coming around. She rode a sky-blue bike with a white basket and rusting hinges. I couldn’t imagine doing all the hills in the city without any gears, but she managed. She said she was figuring things out after graduating. She said she liked it here.

I grumbled when she came by. I complained like Annie when Wicker the cat visited: Get that thing away from me. I hate that. Smells awful. I’ve got allergies. Put that away, it’ll kill me.

I never said anything when Annie left fish heads out and bowls of milk of course.

Park smelled like sunscreen and breath mints. She had strong opinions on everything from street paving techniques to which sun hats went with which dresses. She invited me on walks. She invited me to help her change a flat tire. She invited me to the corner shop to help her pick out bottle can openers.

I said no. Sometimes I said no. I started to say yes.

“Look at this,” she liked to show me things. She liked to show me pictures of squirrels on her phone and weird pieces of glass she found. She liked to point out new restaurants (that I’d already been to) and play videos of funny traffic jams.

This time she held up a seashell. It was rounded and flat with a swirl in the center.

“I’m looking.” I said carefully.

“Watch how it catches light.” I shun my eyes on it and she moved it back and forth. There were bits of silver veins caught in the cracks of it.

“There’s tons of those.” At this point, I had valiantly refused to be impressed by even her cutest squirrel pictures.

“Ugh.” She pouted. “Are you kidding? I spent all morning looking for this.”

“They're right by the surf. I could find you five bigger ones than this before sunset.”

“Alright, hot-shot.” She jut her chin out and jabbed my shoulder. “Prove it.”

I said yes to that one. I left right after my shift ended with the sun setting in the waters like a stabbed orange bleeding out. I met Park by the parking lot with drooping palms trees lining the sides and lost flipflops everywhere.

“This is where you went wrong.” I announced. I couldn’t help it. “This is the tourist beach. You have to go somewhere real.”

“Alright, alright. You’ve already established you’re the hot-shot here. Lead the way.”

She followed me. I ignored how she lingered by my side. I ignored how her hand wrapped around my arm as she stopped us to look at a tiny horseshoe crab. Her hand was soft, like velvet, soft enough to smother something in my chest.

I found two seashells with streaks of silver and rainbow through them, both bigger than my palm. The sun was a flat line on the horizon before I could find a third and Park hooted.

“You said before sunset! It’s sunset, baby, pay up.” She called. “And you were so sure you were a better seashell hunter than me.” She tsked.

I scanned the ground more quickly. “It’s barely nighttime.” I pointed to the sky. “And I can keep looking. I have the built-in equipment for it.”

“Oh I know.” She planted herself on the soggy crusted sand and sat down in a heap. “But can you find why kids love the taste of not doing that? Take it easy. Take a seat.”

“So pushy.”

“You know me.” It was fond. It had only been a few months, but there was something fond there.

I ran a hand through my short choppy curls. “Fine.” I sat next to her, not too close. “It’s your loss.” We both looked out at the gently lapping waves, foaming and anemic. She let a long breath of air and for a moment I considered brushing her hair back. It was always in her face.

It was a quiet moment, bottled, and pitching toward something. Like the the moment where you miss a step on the stairs and the certainty of the fall was right there.

I was the one that scooted a little closer.

“I’m considering getting a storm cloud,” she commented off-handedly. “Can you do storm clouds?”

I made a sound of consideration. “Sure.” I glanced toward the opposite corner of the night sky. “I think I’ve seen one of those before. Big puffy wet things?”

“Kinda fluffy? You’re getting there.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” I’m smiling, which is alright since there’s no way she could see it. She’s silent for another moment longer.

“Or would you make fun of me if I got something like a butterfly? Like your other one.”

“A storm cloud butterfly?”

“No. The cloud would it’s own thing.” She chewed on her bottom lip, ragged and chapped. “I mean, I’ve been doodling some ideas. And tattoos should be personal, right? So I thought a storm cloud might be fitting. Kids used to pay me a couple dollars to predict the weather. It could be a memorial to childhood entrepreneurial spirit.”

I watched her speak and something beat inside my chest like a second animal. I wanted to be closer. I wanted to feel velvet again.

“Why?” I rasped after a moment.

“Uh, why did they pay me? It’s just something I can do. Whenever it's going to rain or storm or be sunny out. I dunno, I don’t know why the rest of you can’t sense it.”

“And you didn’t become a meteorologist?” I smiled a bit bitterly.

She made an indignant noise. “And you didn’t become a professional lighthouse?”

I choked on a laugh. “Not yet.” A quiet consumed us from both sides, I made sure my light didn’t crash into her. I made sure to look at anything but her. She’d have to squint if I did and cover her eyes and I’d be there, ready to run her over.

“Kids in my class paid me too.” I barely realized I started speaking. “They slipped me a couple bucks to close my eyes so they could see my face.”

“You got money for that?”

“There wasn’t always much to do. Teachers were quitting all the time and sometimes it was just the TV. I dunno, they paid me. Then they’d giggle and run away afterward.” My voice sounded automated like the announcer at an airport, informing travelers their flight was canceled. “They always said I had a pig nose or a unibrow or looked like the lead singer of that Minx girl band-- super hot, but you know, it didn’t matter.” The laugh that escaped was high, girlish in a grotesque way. “Since, you know, no one would ever see it.”

“Kids are fucked up.” Park contributed simply.

“Adults are too.” I sniffed. “Everyone wants a light show.”

“Oh.” She said slowly. “Is it . . . is it bad I wanted to meet you then? I mean, I wanted to see the art first, but I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t a factor.”

“No.” I said quickly. I lit up my own lap and empty hands. “Does it matter?”

“I never went to those schools,” she said hesitantly. “My parents fought them, said the schools were unfit. They shouldn’t be able to force us there. And that I wasn’t even dangerous since,” she gestured helplessly upward, “I just have these. So then, well, I never really met anyone else like me.”

“I mean, everyone’s different. It’s not . . . a big deal.”

“You’d think so,” she commented sardonically.

I folded up into myself like a complex origami piece. “Yeah, well, sometimes I wish I was dangerous. Actually dangerous.”

She giggled. “Didn’t you just say everyone’s different? I’d say everyone’s dangerous too. Just gotta find the niche.”

“Oh yeah,” I dared to turn toward her. “What’s yours then?”

“My danger niche? Hmm.” She was leaning now, pitching forward like a wave come to drown me. “I do have a few tricks up my sleeve I’ll admit.”

“You have a pair of wings hidden away?” I stopped breathing as her hand lifted up, strange and all at once. I wasn’t ready.

“Here.” Her skin was against mine. She cupped my cheek with one velvet-hand. It was heated cashmere, tiny feather-light hairs on her palm. “Feelers.” She whispered with a hesitancy there.

“Ah,” I was indulgent. I closed my eyes. I leaned in. “And you want to put a needle over these?” I put my hand over hers, loosely, so she could pull away if she wanted to. Tiny hairs pulsed there with some kind of life all their own.

“I wanted . . .” She paused and I peaked open my eyes. I could see every detail of her face, illuminated. “I dunno.” She finished. “I guess I just wanted whatever I saw there, before.”

“In the butterfly?”

“In the butterfly.” I turned toward the ocean, but my hand remained over hers. “I’m not sure how good it will be a second time. It’s not like I’m really an artist. . .”

“What did you want to be?” Soft.

“Who knows. I mean, I’m glad my parents didn’t try to fight the schools. Being there during the day was better than being home, listening to my mom crying all the time and my father exploding . . . They wouldn’t have wanted me home.”

Before the sunset, when I was walking over, I thought maybe we’d kiss that night. I thought I’d feel that first electric pulse and maybe we’d climb into the ocean and swim in circles, laugh until the moon rose. I thought maybe I’d get something out of my system and there wouldn’t be anything left to say or do.

I’d kiss Park, once, and she’d be satisfied. She’d understand. She’d go on her college path and I’d go on on mine.

But the words spilled out, unbidden. Park stayed in place, steady and unflinching. That made it worse, so much worse.

“My parents weren’t like yours.” There was an accusatory edge to it. Don’t you know? I wanted to shout. Don’t you know? Even without the eyes or the school bills or the bus.

“Hey,” she cradled my cheeks with both hands now and smeared the tears away from one eye. “Hey, listen, I know. Alright? I know.”

I scowled back at her feathered little feelers.

“It’s not about the damn antenna or head beams or anything else.” I tried to pull away. “Even the kid with the antler’s kissed me and I didn’t stop him. I ran away from home and my mom never came looking. It didn’t matter. It doesn’t matter! You wouldn’t even get it. You wouldn’t get it!” I squeeze my eyes closed. “You were wanted.”

Slowly, like an awkward animal burrowing into soft earth, she pressed her forehead to the crook of my neck. I could feel us both breathing in, strong and steady. She was lean and silky, and I swore I can feel her heartbeat hammering through my throat.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered. I inhaled her sunscreen scent. “I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t know. But I could.”

“Why are you here?” It was miserable and wet, I hated that my eyes were so different and yet still the same. Could still spill over like theirs. She took a long breath but didn’t move away.

“My last girlfriend broke up with me for being . . . sensitive and I thought maybe if I got a tattoo, I’d stop feeling so much. I’d prove something. I’d feel everything less, you know? It would hurt and then it wouldn’t.”

I took that in a parsec at time. “Are you,” I sniffed. “Are you alright?” Her legs and arms were plastered over mine. “You’re so soft, but, but I don’t want to,” I wipe at my face like it didn’t matter. “Hurt you.”

“I know.” Her face was still pressed to my neck and her lips fluttered across the hallow of my skin. “I didn’t want to hurt you either.”

A stillness settled into my bones. I glanced toward the moon, and it was like looking at like, a terrible moon to another moon. I gathered myself. I took a deep breath. I flattened.

“I shouldn’t have said all that.” My voice had dried up. “We led different lives.” It wasn’t her fault if she was wanted.

“No.”

“I wasn’t thinking . . .”

Her hand wrapped around my wrist. “I talk to Annie sometimes when you aren’t there.”

“Okay?”

“And Davies. And that front desk guy.”

“Daft Jeff. Yes.”

“They all say the same thing . . .” I blinked a couple times. “That I really should wait for you to give me the tattoo. You have a steady hand and an eye for detail.”

“Alright . . .”

“That someone taught you tattooing the right way. They wanted to show you the right way to do it.”

I snorted despite myself. “It’s not that hard. Mags was batty. Who knows why she showed me how to pick up a needle.”

“Don’t you see? They say they wouldn’t know what to do without you.” She was still there. She wasn’t moving, almost in my lap now. “You were wanted.”

“Park?” My voice cracked like a question.

“And you come with me to restaurants and help me buy bottle openers. You find shells for me and help me fix tires.” Her breath was hot and dragged across my cheek. “You are wanted.”

I blocked out her face, her voice, I turned on the sharp white sun inside and for a moment I imagine never opening my eyes back up again. Maybe I could make it night forever inside myself as well. Wouldn’t you rather have something quiet inside?

She wrapped herself around me, fully, one long arm at a time until it was cocoon. Soft. “Listen, sometimes the first people aren’t the right people. Sometimes your first relationship isn’t the right relationship. Sometimes you’re sure the world is one way, and like, always one way . . . and then it rains and the whole world is different again. You know? People pass.”

“My parents aren’t the weather.”

“But they’ll pass.” I should have pushed her off. But even against that, even those words— I liked being held, indulgent as chocolate and twice as guilty. “People sometimes feel forever, especially those kinds of people.” I was off again. “But it rains. And hey, I always know when it’s going to rain.”

I hiccupped; a smile found its way uninvited onto my face, unsure and just wobbly on its feet as Davies. I glanced down after a deep breath. Park grinned back at me and it reached the highest shelves of me all over again.

“So what happens when it rains again? Do you people like you pass?”

“Nah, not me. I don’t know how.” She winked. I didn’t notice that we’re lying flat now, stars and carpet of black above. “You can’t get rid of me. You haven’t given me that tattoo yet.”

The sound of shushing waves filled the midnight air and the moon looked down like that very first bus arriving to get me all those years ago. I wrapped my arms right back around her. She didn’t seem to mind that I was sticky or strange or sometimes kept tearing up all over again even after we’d stop saying anything worth tearing up over. ------------------

It happened. I felt like I should have been more prepared, brought flowers or poetry or earned it through honored warfare. But it happened. I was wearing ripped jeans, a spotty t-shirt and my breath smelled like coffee. We were looking for Park’s lost earring along an overgrown hill she usually biked along.

I found it, one shiny red dewdrop in all that green. Park pointed at some clouds that looked like my last “abstract” tattoo. We lay back in the grass and let the sky pass overhead. She giggled and touched my wrist, side by side. I let her.

“Summer’s almost over.” I mumbled it first.

“Yeah?”

“You find your next step then, college girl?” I tried to keep my tone light. She turned to be on her side.

“Maybe.”

“What do you want to do?”

“Oh, you know. This and that.”

“That does not sound like a college-girl plan.”

“Maybe I’ve got other plans. Maybe I’ve got other priorities, huh?”

“Ridiculous.” A playfully push her shoulder. “A lousy seaside town really isn’t priority material. There’s only one bookshop you know.”

“Two thank you very much. And that’s not my priority either.” Her voice wavered.

“Are you going to share with the class?”

“Is the class ready?” She whispered and I turned toward her as well now, taking in her perfect round face and question-mark mouth.

“I have been.” I matched her whisper. I tremor from my center outward and hopes she can’t tell.

“Do you know what they say about moths?”

“What?” I gave a breathy laugh. It wasn’t what I was expecting. “I’ve heard of them.”

“They tell your fortune.” She was grinning in that way that put out a stool and reached up. “I used to cry a lot growing up, because some kids said that moths are just evil butterflies. I was sensitive and ran all the way home. I threw myself at my mom’s feet and threw a fit about how moths were just evil butterflies. They were just ugly, wicked versions of a good thing.”

“Evil? Well, I suppose you are rather sinister when you haven’t eaten.”

“Shut up. I’m telling you something.” She put a hand on my shoulder. I inhaled deeply and turned over in place to face her. Only the shallow breeze kept us apart.

“I’m all ears . . . though maybe not as many as you.”

“You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“What can I say? The sun is adorable. I take after him.”

A finger ghosted over my cheek, tracing the arc of my cheekbone. “Well, you’re not so bad behind those headlights too. Some of us have good day vision you know. And good taste.”

I wished those words didn’t make my chest do funny things. “Thanks.”

“Do you want to hear what my mom said or not?”

“That you shouldn’t worry about evil butterflies?” I wiggled closer. “Because you’ll be really hot and funny and smart one day. So who cares if you’re evil?”

“Yeah, those were her exact words.”

“So?”

“So,” a firm hand took my chin. “Look at me.” I looked at her. I was glad she couldn’t see the flush in my cheeks in any way. “Moths show good fortunes she said.”

“Right. Lots and lots of good fortune.” I breathed, dumbly, of course. She was close and sweet and there was hair in her face. The fronds of her antennae tickle right past my ear.

“They can help you find good fortune. They’re good omens. You know why?” Park’s lips were barely moving as she spoke, hypnotic and unhurried.

“Why?”

“Because they follow the light.”

It happened all at once. Like every cheesy love poem or bad lyrics I wrote in my journals at night. It was every cracked-spine of a book using words like “rosebud lips” and every overdone song about people who find their way to each other.

I kissed her, leaning in with no life vest on or readied crash-landing position. She kissed me and my chest filled with her, breathless, drowning, soft as dreams and stranger than hope. I cradled her and she dragged me closer and closer until it was nothing but floods and brimming.

I’d been nothing before I think, I’d been an island that waits, a bus that leaves, a shadow that hides. And then I had been hers. ----------------- I was strolling home from work along the main road. The thin strip of sidewalk was streaked with bleached sunlight and the salt air was thick enough to burn throats. It was the long way home, but I was in the habit of going back to this corner.

The bus pulled up with little ceremony. It was an interstate one that crisscrossed over empty bellies of land. I stopped in place to watch, just in case, as I had many times before.

A silver head bobbed down the steps and planted herself on the concrete, unbelieving. She took an enormous noisy sniff of the air. “Not so bad!” She bellowed.

“Are you?” That wasn’t meant to be my first word. She was more stooped now and wearing shiny things on her wrist that clanked. She’d lost another tooth. “Mags.”

“Eh!” She yelled and waved frantically as if I hadn’t shot up another inch since I last saw her and started wearing clothes without holes in them. Her eyes sparkled as she tottered over. “So how’d you do, kid?”

“See for yourself.” I smiled. It was nice when the tides came back in. Mags gave me a thorough appraising. “Like this I guess.” I held up my hand. I wiggled my ring finger at her, heavy with a silver band and glittering opal.

“That’s my girl! Always knew you’d find your feet.” She cackled. “Am I too late to give you away, kid?”

I shook my head. She waddled over to me so I could take her hand. I took her home to show her my art and new tattoos, I showed her our terrible one-eyed kitten, Basket (Wicker’s son), and the little house we styled ourselves. I showed her our shoe closet and our queen bed, our messy kitchen and busted screen door. I showed her the moth tattoo over my heart, and Park showed her the matching lighthouse one over hers.

I tried to thank her, of course, I tried to say I owed her more than she knew for picking up an angry, dirty kid and seeing something in her. I owed her everything. But she just patted my hand and said that it’s not about our debts in life, kid. It’s about the becoming.

-----------

If you enjoyed the story please consider donating to my ko-fi or supporting me on patreon (even a dollar helps!), check out my Sapphic fantasy book as well!

#wlw #sapphic #found family #urban fantasy #writeblr #magical realism #fantasy stories #short story #writing #lesbian romance #patreon late release #femslash #f/f #8k #my work #long post #long post cw

411 notes · View notes

yinses · 3 years

Text

substitute

| you told yourself that you would do anything for satoru |

gojo satoru x reader

rating: 18+

a/n: i have an obsession i know. i’m working on it

it was to a soft tickling at the inside of your thighs that welcomed you into the next day. a soft sigh broke through your yawn as you shifted and twisted against the desires tugging at your veins.

somewhere in your mind, you registered that it was much too early.

but of course your body disagreed tenfold.

“ngh…” an equally tired chuckle vibrates against you and you jumped at the touch of a thumb brushing against your outer lips.

“the was a cute sound,” the voice purred. your hips lifted once more in reaction before they were assisted into submission by the firm weight of a forearm along your pelvis.

the sounds of your slick sliding against his tongue were as equally loud as it was lewd. there was no art to the madness, just a series of flicks and heavy suction.

your fingers clenched at the sheets, wrinkling the integrity as your chest heaved with every moan. in terms of wake up calls, the impending shrill of your alarm easily took last place.

“you are always such a sight to wake up to. thought i’d return the favor.”

and return it he did.

the insertion of a finger freed up the opportunity for his voice to waft around the room again. the rhythm was as languid as his lazy drawl as he bent a joint and raked the nail against your inner walls.

“i also might need a favor.”

the pinch of your brow came before the comprehension of his words. gojo was always a talker- a stronger contender as a firm charmer that managed to weave his way through society. as his position as ‘the chosen one’, his power spoke volumes.

with you- he leaned on alternative methods.

“fuck-toru… you bastard.”

you choked over the inclusion of a second finger, barely swallowing your words as you struggled to rock into them.

“that’s not very nice of you. to think i woke up so early to treat you this morning.

your boyfriend took the opportunity to curl both fingers this time, smirking when you all but managed to successful buck him off as you keened under his ministrations.

“it’s nothing big.” turquoise eyes, tinged with lust, met yours as he rose his head. the blanket fell off his shoulders, revealing more pale skin. “i just need a bit of a substitute today.”

substitute? as in substitute teacher? he had to be joking.

unlike gojo, after graduation you had more than willingly left behind the stuffy atmosphere of education. as a sorcerer, you never did stop learning. the always evolving curses not letting you hang too far off your game.

but to return to the classroom to put those young students through everything you hated in your youth?

no orgasm was worth that.

you disguised your grimace under the pretense of displeasure as he withdrew his hand all together. he tsked at your impatience, using the same hand as a crude form of lube as he fisted his growing cock.

“it will be easy. these classes are even smaller than ours were.”

it was difficult to voice a complaint when he was doing just the opposite and sliding into you. your back arched as he filled you to the hilt with little difficulty.

he experimented with a shallow thrust, a grin pulling at his lips when you responded positively. the pace he set was slower than either of you were use to on a regular basis, but it fit the mood of morning sex.

his forehead touched yours as he drew back for another long thrust. “shit-squeezing me so early. what a good girl.”

you whimpered when his hips met yours with more force than the last. “think of how excited they’ll be to have a new face. such a sexy one at that.”

your body slid along the mattress each time he buried himself within you. you didn’t want to admit that he was getting to you. not even his all seeing gaze needed to retell the obvious. his plan was flawless and in short you were too much of a simp for the man.

so you just accepted the early morning distraction, taking direct pleasure in the way it unraveled the tangle of sleep.

you clenched your inner muscles helpfully and your boyfriend groaned in appreciation as he chased both of your releases with new vigor. the twitching and shakiness began with you as the pace picked up. your climax tumbled out of you with a sharp gasp as your boyfriend filled the space with a grunt.

the two of you took a minute to regain your before he eventually pulled out and you pointedly ignored the stickiness as you relaxed your legs to give him the room to pull away. he didnt stray too far, white locks tickling your nose as he leaned in close again.

“i have more in store for you tonight as a thank you.”

with a huff, you pressed your palm against his cheek before his lips could chase yours.

“fine, fine. i’ll babysit your class. you better be on some super important mission.”

gojo made a pleased sound, somewhere stuck between a hum and a warm rumble as he nuzzled the side of your neck and pressed his lips there instead.

“super important. thanks babe.”

you don’t know why you agreed to this.

leaning back against the desk, you returned the silent gesture as the three first-years scrutinized your presence. aside from megumi, the other two were new faces for you. but your boyfriend’s knack for storytelling painted the picture in the absence of words.

nobara was obvious. the sole girl of the unit.

poor girl.

she seemed to share your sentiment of wanting to be anywhere else but here.

“so you’re dating sensei?”

you brought your arms closer to your chest as your shoulders rose with the action.

was that … judgement?

“i’m so sorry.”

it was the sincerity that scared you the most.

“oh wow, wow, wow. sensei’s really got it all. “

sukuna’s vessel was impossible to miss as any seasoned sorcerer. despite the boy’s positive demeanor, he reeked of the malevolent residue. yet in a way he made it work, there was nothing really about him that didn’t come off as approachable.

he had something to gain gojo’s infatuation. there was no doubt in your mind that he would use this boy to help him dismantle the systematic hierarchy of the sitting elders.

you just had to wonder.

was the kid his main tool or the curse?

“i can’t believe you actually agreed to this.”

ah, megumi.

the boy liked to express his love for distance, but the years swallowed up so much of it as you watched him grow. your boyfriend was a lot of things but you couldn’t deny the influence he had on the young sorcerer.

the boy who seemed to disdain the attention knew it too.

now that everyone had their turn to speak, you supposed it was your turn.

“he was very convincing,” you offered lowly before picking up the volume. “let’s not pretend you’re actually going to learn anything from me. im just a sit in until satoru gets back from his mission.”

megumi’s scoff shouldn’t have come as a surprise. gojo’s name was rarely spoken without it’s accompaniment.

“what makes you think he’s not off sightseeing?”

because killing gojo was impossible but you would happily tire yourself exploring your options.

your smile was tight as you gestured to the door,” lets kick the morning off with some practice matches. the second years are always eager.”

settled comfortably against the bleachers observing as your temporary students got their asses handed to them, you came to the conclusion that being a teacher couldn’t be too bad. perhaps in the future you might be more willing to offer your services with out your boyfriend’s extra persuasion.

speaking of gojo, you wondered how his mission was going. you never actually questioned his agenda.

you didn’t expect to wait long as the dial tone started up. outside of battle and life or death situations, gojo rarely ignored your calls. he knew in the thick of it you could protect yourself, but he preferred to keep himself available to your needs.

the sounds of mixed commotion greeted you before his voice did.

“toru … it sounds busy. where are you?”

gojo’s answering laugh should have been the first warning. to some it may have come off as eased but you could hear the way he forced it in to deflect.

“sweetheart, how are classes going? i hope they’re not giving you too much trouble.”

trouble seemed to be the opposite of what he was dealing with. there were a lot of people holding their own conversations in the background, all of them too casual to be in danger. in fact, there were too many in general to place him on a battlefield.

what exactly were you substituting for?

“order #217 for… gogo-san?”

the loud cluck of your tongue against the roof of your mouth was suddenly powerful enough to drown out the clamor.

gojo satoru prided himself on standing resilient to all threats. it was how he maintained his position as the strongest. he was sought out for his efficiency and ability to overcome all adversaries.

even against the most fearsome.

“honey, do i ever have a treat for you! today was a single-day special at my favorite bakery. you should have seen the lines. it's a good thing i got here so early!”

there were a lot of things you would do for satoru gojo.

and even more that you would do to him when you got home.

#gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #Jujutsu Kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo sins

2K notes · View notes

live-the-fangirl-life · 3 years

Text

A Starlit Swim

Aelin Galathynius x Rowan Whitethorn - Skinny Dipping Oneshot

Aelin shows Rowan to a lovely, secluded spot.

Written for Rowaelin Month 2021. Day 14: Skinny Dipping

Masterlist | Read on Ao3 | Rowaelin Month Masterlist

Warnings: Language, Lightest NSFW

1547 words

*******

“Shh!” Aelin hissed through a giggle, too loudly to be an actual reprimand.

Rowan snorted and kept a firm grip on his girlfriend’s hand as she pulled him through the woods towards what she insisted was a nice secluded spot.

“Aelin,” he shot his free hand out to steady her waist as she stumbled over a fallen branch, before righting herself and sending a quick smile over her shoulder. “Aelin, I didn’t say anything. That was all you.”

She either didn’t hear him or chose to ignore his point as she kept leading him down a path that only she was aware of.

The soccer team at Terrasen University had just won the championships, and as a Co-Captain, Rowan was very much to thank for that. He and the team set up a bonfire down by one of the lakes to celebrate. But what originally started as the team, their significant others, and friends, soon devolved into a full-on rager the moment some idiot posted a video on Instagram. Now, the entire lake and woods a couple of miles outside campus were crawling with excited, drunk college kids who were all celebrating the victory.

Rowan had been happy standing by the large fire with Aelin leaning into him, her back pressed to his chest with his arms looped her waist and his chin resting on her head. Lorcan and Elide were next to them, standing similarly, although Elide had to stand on one of the logs in order for Lorcan’s chin to reach her hair. Fenrys danced around handing out more drinks to everybody, while Lysandra and Aedion were somewhere in the group of people dancing by the speakers. Rowan had spotted more of his teammates around and recognized a couple of faces of people from classes in the hordes of partygoers, but he was perfectly content being with his small group of friends by the fire.

Until Aelin tugged his arm, urging him to lower his head so she could whisper into his ear. She’d said she knew of a hidden spot a little further into the woods, and that they should sneak off while everyone else was distracted. He almost argued, saying he was fine right where they were, but then she turned in his arms and kissed him in a way that had every coherent thought flying out of his head. He could only grin and nod as she pulled away satisfied and grabbed his hand.

So, now, Rowan was following Aelin as she maneuvered through the trees to this supposedly special spot.

They’d walked far enough that Rowan could no longer hear the music or voices from the party.

“Aelin, where are we going?” He hissed as he nearly tripped over another tree branch.

Aelin only giggled and shushed him again. A moment later she told him, in a horrifically bad haunting accent, “I’m luring you into the woods to kill you. No one will find your body.” Her laughter decimated the fake threat.

Rolling his eyes, Rowan snickered, “Nah, you like me too much to kill me.”

She looked back, almost tripping again as she winked, “I guess.” He caught her lip twitch as she unsuccessfully fought a smile.

“You guess?” he grumbled.

Aelin stopped abruptly and Rowan nearly sent them crashing to the ground before he stopped moving. She turned to face him and the next thing he knew, she was kissing the living daylights out of him. Rowan reacted instantly, the slight haze from a couple beers making him feel even lighter. Aelin pulled away before they got too carried away and ended up rolling in the leaves and dirt.

“Okay, maybe I do like you too much to kill you.”

Rowan laughed and Aelin grinned before spinning around and resuming her mission of pulling him through the woods to wherever she was imagining.

“Seriously, Fireheart,” he asked again as the trees slowly thinned out around them. “Where are we going?”

Instead of answering, Aelin’s giggling filled the air again.

Rowan chuckled under his breath; this was three-drink Aelin escorting him, then. It hadn’t taken Rowan long to notice Aelin’s varying drunk personalities. One-drink Aelin was affectionately named The Megaphone, the buzz of alcohol making her yell and shout. Two-drink Aelin, The Instigator, believed her purpose in life was encourage their friends to act on their ridiculous, sometimes insane, plans. Three-drink Aelin, this Aelin, was The Giggler because for whatever reason she found everything absolutely hilarious.

Rowan was also familiar with four-drink Aelin: The Horndog, who wouldn’t be dissuaded by a party full of people when she’d straddle his lap and practically jump him right there on the spot. Or, five-drink Aelin: The Francophone who gave up all use of their language and spoke solely in French. He wasn’t sure what six-drink Aelin was like—none of their friends were—but once, Rowan had witnessed seven-drink Aelin, forever deemed The Queen, because she’d insisted everyone call her Your Majesty and Queen Galathynius (Lorcan had quickly dubbed her Fire Breathing Bitch Queen much to her utter delight) and, just Rowan: Milady.

Aelin giggled again as she swayed trying to duck beneath a branch and Rowan gripped her hand tighter as he reached above her to push the leaves aside. It took him a second to take in what he was looking at. Aelin had led him to the edge of a small lake hidden within the forest. The sky was visible through the small openings between branches that stretched across the width of the lake, allowing Rowan to see the stars that were normally invisible by the lights of the city.

“How…” he trailed off, facing Aelin again to see her watching him with a rare, tentative expression.

“What do you think?” She asked hopefully.

Rowan stepped closer to her, pulling her into his arms. “Its beautiful, Fireheart. How did you ever find this place?”

She smirked and giggled again. “Magic.”

He raised a brow, amused, and waited.

Aelin sighed dramatically and tipped her head back, “Fine, Buzzard, if you want the boring answer it’s that I was out on a run one day and got distracted and lost and accidentally stumbled onto this place. It doesn’t look like anyone else comes here. Not that I’ve noticed, anyway.”

Rowan’s grip tightened around her waist, pulling her against him and grinning at her breathless gasp. Leaning down so his nose brushed her ear, he asked, “No one?”

She pulled back and flashed him a wicked grin. “Nope. You know what that means right?”

When all Rowan did was return her grin, she slipped out of his arms and stepped closer to the edge of the water. Aelin held his gaze, winking again, and she slowly lifted her shirt and tossed it aside.

Rowan crossed his arms, leaning against a nearby tree and smirked, content to watch the show his girlfriend was giving him. His gaze never left hers as she reached down to unbutton her jeans before rolling those down and throwing them into the pile with her shirt.

When she was standing there in just her underwear and bra she paused, raising a brow at Rowan.

“Well are you going to join me, Buzzard? Or are you just going to watch?” Her smirk told him there was only one right answer.

He slowly stalked towards her, his eyes darkening as she bit her lip while she watched him. When they were almost chest to chest, he gripped the back of his collar and pulled his shirt over his head, smirking at the way Aelin eyes roamed across his bare chest.

Once his pants were off, he grabbed her hand and made to lead her towards the water. Aelin followed without hesitation, only stopping once her feet hit the water.

“What?” Rowan asked, wading into the pleasantly warm lake and raising an eyebrow at his girlfriend still standing on the bank. “I thought you wanted to swim.”

She smirked, her eyes glinting in the reflected starlight. “Not exactly.”

Before he could ask what she meant, Aelin’s hand flew behind her to unclasp her bra, quickly pulling it off before slipping her underwear down her and throwing them into their growing pile of clothes.

Rowan practically growled as Aelin strutted into the water without a shred of clothing. Before she even reached him, Aelin watched as Rowan tossed his sopping wet briefs across the water and heard them land with a slap on the dry rocks.

When she got close enough, Rowan’s hand wrapped around her wrist and then her waist to pull her body flush with his. Aelin wove her wet fingers through his hair and wrapped her legs around his waist as their lips came together in a fierce kiss.

After a few minutes they pulled away, breathing heavily, and savoring the feeling of swollen lips and the other’s arms wrapped around them.

“Have you ever been skinny dipping before?” Aelin asked coyly, looking at Rowan through her eyelashes.

He ran a broad hand down her back, “Can’t say I have.”

She grinned, already having known his answer. “Then allow me to show you how fun it can be.”

By the time Aelin and Rowan meandered out of the woods, the hazy light of morning was just peeking through the trees.

*****

Taglist:

@acourtofsnakes @allthebooksunderthemoon @astra-ad-mare @becarefuloflove @booklover41802 @charlizeed @cookiemonsterwholovesbooks @danibutterr @doubt-less @emily-gsh @enormousbooklover @foughtconquered @fromthelibraryofemilyj @hakunamatatazz @i-have-but-one-brain-cell @in-love-with-caramel-macchiato @jorjy-jo @lemonade-coolattas @mariamuses @mayhemories @midsizewitch @miserablesmusings @morganofthewildfire @nehemikkele @rowaelinismyotp @rowansfirebringer @sayosdreams @sheharahu @sleeping-and-books @stardelia @story-scribbler @superspiritfestival @surielandiareendgame @swankii-art-teacher @tomtenadia @westofmoon @whimsicallyreading @moodymelanist @angelic-voice-1997 @realbookloverproblems @gracie-rosee @julemmaes @yesdreamblog @the-regal-warrior @rowanaelinn @thestoriesyoutell @autumnbabylon @sunflowermoonshinewrites @maastrash

#rowaelin #rowaelinmonth #rowaelin month #aelin #Rowan #aelin galathynius #rowan whitethorn #aelin x rowan #rowan x aelin #aelin and rowan #rowan and aelin #aelin galathynius x rowan whitethorn #rowaelin fluff #rowaelin fic #rowaelin Oneshot #skinny dipping #throne of glass #tog

128 notes · View notes

yutahoes · 3 years

Text

‘Mark me in your heart’

This was supposed to be my birthday special for Mark but a lot of things happened so this came out late. 😅 This is in connection to my Sakura series and requested by @cosmiclatte28

characters : babysitter! Mark Lee, Yuta, Yuta’s wife, Cherry, Jae, the girl Mark likes

word count : 2k words

genre: fluff

summary : Cherry and Jae tried to help Mark with the girl he liked.

warnings : Mark being bullied by two kids and their dad

a/n: I didn’t use Y/N here to avoid confusion and sorry for the endless conversations.

Mark tapped his foot along the concrete of the front of the Nakamoto household’s door. Maybe it will be Yuta who would open the door for him since he was the one who asked him to come. Maybe Jae since he liked visitors so much or even Cherry, when the other three are focused on what they usually do. So it was a surprise when his hyung’s wife opened the door for him, “Hi Mark,” she greeted, opening the door wide for him. “Thank you for agreeing to babysit.”

He shook his head. He had nothing to do anyway. And it’s fun spending time with the two kids. They both stopped in the living room of the house seeing the youngest in the household jumping on the couch, next to his dad. The older girl visibly sighed as Cherry can be seen on another chair, reading a book. “Mom is already angry.” She warned but Yuta kept jumping on the squeaking couch making Jae giggle.

The guest shook his head at the visible annoyance of the woman beside him. “I swear I’m taking care of three kids.” She whispered before calling Yuta’s name and giving him a glare.

“We really should have bought the trampoline,” he said, jumping on the couch then landing on the floor. “Hi, Mark. Thanks for agreeing to this.”

“No problem, hyung.” he whispered while bumping their fist together. Jae did the same, bumping fists with Mark, before returning to jumping on the couch that made Cherry roll her eyes. “I hope the check-up goes well.”

Cherry put down her book on the table. “Can’t I really not come, eomma?” She asked, pouting at her mom. “I want to see the baby.” She whispered before touching the older’s stomach bump.

The older woman shook her head, smiling at her. “We talked about this, right? We can come and see the baby later.” Cherry nodded that made her giggle then kissed the top of her head. “Don’t give Mark samchon a hard time.” Cherry nodded before kissing her on the cheek. “Jae.” The youngest boy went down the couch and kissed his mom’s cheek. “Behave yourself.”

“Can you buy me ice cream when you get back?” Jae asked that made his mom shake her head. He turned to Yuta who only nodded, making his wife hiss at him. “Also buy donuts for noona, she likes chocolates.” Yuta chuckled, nodding at him. “Mark samchon likes watermelons and buy apples for the baby, appa.”

“I swear you’re more pregnant than your mom.” Yuta joked before giving him a kiss on the top of his head. “Jae, no playing with anything flammable. And Cherry…”

“Yes dad, I know where the fire extinguisher is.”

Mark laughed. They’re a weird family. The couple bid farewell, again thanking Mark for looking after the two kids. He even heard Yuta apologizing although he doesn’t know why. Jae kept on jumping on the couch, Cherry lying on the small chair and still reading her book.

“Appa said you shouldn’t read against the light, noona.” Jae warned in between huffing breaths.

“And eomma will scold you if you keep jumping on the couch.” she claimed before flipping the page of her book, “Are you a monkey?”

Jae huffed and sat on the couch with a pout. “I swear you two are just like your parents.” The two kids made a disgusted expression, Jae explaining that they’re always hugging each other while Cherry claimed that Jae doesn’t shower so she doesn’t want to hug her brother. Mark only laugh at that.

“Samchon, don’t you have anything else to do today? It’s Saturday.” the younger boy asked and Mark shook his head, asking Jae what he wants to do while sitting next to him. “I’m a little tired. Can we just sit down?” Totally weird.

Cherry closed her book with a loud thud that made the two look at her. “Samchon, don’t you have a girlfriend?” Jae started bouncing on the couch, asking him repeatedly if he is seeing someone. Really, what’s wrong with these two? Mark shook his head. “Do you want me to introduce you to someone? My art teacher...”

“My Math teacher is pretty.” Jae stopped Cherry on her words then smiled as if proud of what he did. Mark just chuckled when the older glare at her brother. “She’s also hot.”

“Hot? Do you know what that means?”

“Pretty? Appa calls eomma that.” Mark shrugged. “Do you like someone, samchon?” A smile crept up Mark’s lips then masked it with a cough. “You do? Noona is good with love stuff. Appa comes to her for help.”

Cherry looked sideways with a smile on her lips that looks very much like her dad’s. They’re becoming too alike. "So who is this girl, samchon?" the girl asked, book forgotten on the table.

Mark sighed before leaning on the couch, the two kids on both his sides listening attentively. "She works in the coffee shop opposite the office building."

"Have you talked to her?" Jae asked.

"Did you ask for her name?" Cherry chimed in.

"I ordered coffee from her. And her name is written on the name tag." Cherry whispered that he's no fun and Jae just scoffed at him. "I just find her pretty. Like a crush."

Again, Jae laughed. "All girls are pretty. That was what appa says." Wow, Mark thought, he didn't know Yuta is that romantic. "You should talk to her. Cherry noona can help you."

He does want to strike up a conversation with her and not the usual 'I'll get a watermelon shake' or 'My name is Mark'. He wanted to know her name and what she likes for coffee. "You can help me?"

The younger girl smirked then lightly coughed. "The first step is to get her flowers." But he doesn't know what flowers she liked. And isn't it awkward? They haven't talked before and giving her flowers will be too much. "Pink roses are good, they mean admiration."

"How do you know these about the flowers?" Mark lightly glanced at Jae who just shrugged, whispering that it's a girl thing. "Pink roses. Got it."

"Then ask her out for a date." Jae claimed.

"That quickly?"

"It can be a dinner or movie," Cherry noted. "But samchon, don't ask her for coffee. She works in a café, she's probably sick of coffee." Mark nodded, that's right. Why didn't he realize that before?

So flowers then dinner or movies. "Then walk her home." Jae continued. Walk her home, got it.

"Don't kiss her yet." Wait, what? "Ask her if she wants to go for another date."

"What if she doesn't want to?"

"Then it's game over, samchon." Jae teased, tapping his shoulder.

Cherry smiled. "You'll do great, samchon. My technique is tried and tested by eomma and appa." Mark chuckled. "How are you going to introduce yourself to her?"

"I'm Mark…" he said hesitatingly, "You can mark me in your heart."

Jae giggled while Cherry just stared at him in surprise. "You do need a lot of help, samchon." The youngest exclaimed.

--------

The house is quiet, too quiet, that Yuta and his wife had to look at each other before entering the house. Did something happen? Yuta shouted for the kids and it was Jae who answered that they're upstairs. The pregnant woman sat on the couch and noticed the book Cherry was reading earlier as her husband put the snacks and fruits in the kitchen.

Footsteps can be heard followed by Jae jumping next to his mom and hugging her, whispering that he missed her. Yuta's laugh echoed through the whole room when Mark came down the stairs, his white hoodie filled with different colored stains that looks like make-up. His lips are red, eyes highlighted with thick eyeliner that he looks like a panda. There's a red circle on his cheeks and a colorful hat that is probably Jae's with a colorful scarf wrapped on his neck that is owned by Cherry.

"What did the two of you do to Mark?" the older girl asked, standing up to get some towels for the younger guy. He thanked her then wiped the color on his face, surprised that they put too much makeup on him.

Both Chery and Jae looked so guilty seated on the couch. "He's going on a date but samchon is really clueless." Cherry answered and Yuta bit his lip to prevent from laughing. Mark was surprised, he suddenly felt called out.

"He even said that she can mark him in her heart because his name is Mark." Jae chimed in.

Their mom sighed. "I know you two care about Mark samchon but isn't it better for him to be himself when he wants to date a girl?" Both Cherry and Jae nodded, apologizing for what they had done.

"And we can mark him in our hearts." Yuta teased that earned a glare from both his wife and Mark. He's really childish sometimes.

"What happened to the check-up?" Mark asked, sitting beside Jae on the couch and still wiping his face. The cap and scarf have already been removed. "Is it a boy or a girl?"

"A boy!" Jae exclaimed.

"A girl," Cherry claimed calmly. "And appa you said you're going to give us money if we guessed right."

The older girl glared at Yuta who took out his wallet and gave each kid a bill. Mark's eyes widened in surprise, "You have twins?" The pregnant girl nodded. "Congratulations noona!"

"I hope you won't get tired of babysitting." She whispered and Mark swore he saw his life flashed in his very eyes. Another boy and girl after Jae and Cherry? This will be chaotic as hell.

Jae handed him the two bills Yuta gave that startled the adults. "Samchon, you need this money to date." Cherry claimed that made the younger boy nodded.

"Thank you for saving me money to give Mark." Yuta exclaimed that made the two kids revolt.

"You pay samchon for playing with us?"

"I won't be a soccer player when I grow up, I'll be like Mark samchon instead."

Mark laughed. They're a handful but being with them is fun. Maybe he can still take care of them in the long run.

-----

Mark blew large breaths to regulate his breathing while staring at his reflection from the doors of the café. “Introduce yourself, ask her name, ask her for dinner.” he repeated to himself before blowing another heavy breath. “You can do this Mark. Cherry’s plan is foul proof.” With another heavy breath, he opened the door that created a small bell sound.

She was already smiling, welcoming her. “I’ll get an iced latte.” he started, twirling his fingers.

“Not the usual watermelon shake, Mark?” the girl asked that startled him. She knows his name? Knows what his order is? Of course, Mark. You always drink watermelon shake. He shook his head, not knowing what to say. She already knows his name, he doesn’t have to introduce himself. What now? “And thank you for the pink roses, Mark.”

Wait, what? “Pink roses?”

She gestured to the vase behind with three pink roses. “Your nephew and niece are really cute.” She smiled while writing his name on the cup. That took Mark’s attention. Nephew and niece? He looked at her in confusion and she pointed at three customers by the window of the coffee shop. Of course, it’s the three of them.

“I’m sorry. It might have confused you.” He said rubbing the back of his neck. “But I think you’re really pretty.” The girl lightly giggled. “Do you want to have dinner with me after your shift?” He lightly glanced at her nametag and mentioned her name.

“I’m here until six pm.”

“I’ll wait,” Mark claimed then handed her the payment for the coffee and his loyalty card.

“Samchon, buy me a carrot cake,” Jae shouted and Yuta hushed him up, pulling the cap down his face in an attempt to hide from Mark. He even heard Cherry whisper that the plan will get ruined because of him. Really, those three.

“They’re really cute.” The girl whispered, smiling at them.

Mark smiled. “You’re cuter.”

He rolled his eyes when Yuta faked vomit and Jae laughed. “At least it’s better than ‘mark me in your heart’,” Cherry claimed that made the two boys laugh.

The girl laughed at his defeated look. “No worries Mark, I already marked you.” She claimed before handing him the coffee and the card with the sticker.

Mark smiled. This might be the start of something new.

#mark lee #mark fluff #mark lee fluff #nct mark #mark lee scenario #nct mark fluff

66 notes · View notes

iam93percentstardust · 3 years

Note

First of all, Happy Birthday Month!!! Many happy returns!! I have been reading fanfiction for e very long time, but this is the 1st time I have ever submitted a prompt. I kinda think Stuckony would be great but I am down with Winteriron or Stony, wherever the prompt takes you. You're amazing so I know it's gonna be fantastic! Thanks in advance!💜💜💜 “Is that your robot?” “That’s a rude way to talk about my husband.”

This was such a fun prompt to write, thanks for sending it in! And thank you for the birthday wishes!

As always, everything I write is also on ao3

Something taps against Bucky’s foot. At first, he ignores it, figuring someone just bumped into him, but then it happens again and then for a third time. He looks down, fully expecting to see a small child, only to see a small gold and blue robot run into his shoe, back up, and then run right into it again. It looks a little like an atom with a central core and three rings spinning around it in multiple directions. He smiles at the oddly charming behavior and bends down to pick the robot up, wondering if it came from one of the many glittering exhibits he and Steve have walked past today or if it belongs to someone.

“Hey, Stevie,” he begins, thinking to share it with his husband, but when he looks around, Steve isn’t anywhere near him. Bucky sighs and turns in a circle, hoping to spot him somewhere in the packed crowd. Who knew the Stark Expo would draw so many people on a Tuesday in the middle of March? “Stevie, you’re too small to wander off like this.”

He feels a tug on the hem of his coat and then a small voice primly says, “Excuse me, Mister Sir, that’s mine.”

“Huh?” He looks down again, this time to see a young girl of about six or seven years holding onto his jacket. “Oh! Is this your robot?” he asks, crouching down to her level.

“That’s a rude way to talk about my husband,” she informs him, holding her hand out for the robot.

Bucky blinks at her. He’s heard about kids playing pretend with their toys but that’s usually things like Legos or dolls, right? Not a whirring, circular robot that doesn’t even have a face.

“Can I please have Jarvis back?” the girl asks, insistently tugging on his coat again.

“Oh, sure, sorry about that.” He passes it back to her and then looks around, hoping to spot the girl’s parents before she realizes she’s left them. He’s dealt with plenty of upset kids at the school he and Steve work at, so he’s more than capable of handling any meltdown she might have, but he’d like to stave it off if he can. Unfortunately, he doesn’t spot anyone frantically looking for a lost kid, so he’s just getting ready to resign himself to dealing with a crying kid when Steve appears from out of nowhere.

“Hey, Buck, sorry about that, got sidetracked by one of the exhibits. The person works with sand and sound to make art, it was really—” He stops short at the sight of the girl hugging her robot. “Bucky. You didn’t pick up another stray, did you?”

“Excuse me?” Bucky asks, affronted. “I never—”

“No? So what’s Alpine then? Or Dodger? Or, for that matter, me?” Steve crouches down next to the girl and holds out his boney hand for her to shake. “Hey, kid, my name’s Steve. This is Bucky. What’s your name?”

She gives him a suspicious look, but must decide that he’s safe because she says after a moment, “Morgan.”

“Well, Miss Morgan, why don’t we see about finding your parents?” Steve offers. “It looks like they’ve gotten lost.”

Morgan turns one way and then the other, noticing for the first time that she’s alone. Her lower lip trembles, eyes welling up with big, fat tears. “I—”

Bucky, sensing an impending meltdown, quickly says, “Hey, it’s okay. We’ll find them. We grown-ups are pretty good at getting lost. It’s up to brave kids like you to help us get found again.”

Morgan sniffs, but nods. “I’m here with Uncle Happy,” she says, sliding her small hand into Bucky’s.

“Then let’s find Uncle Happy,” Steve says decisively. “Would you like me to hold your robot?”

She shakes her head, clutching the robot tighter to her. “You can’t take JARVIS,” she says. “He’s mine.”

“Okay,” Bucky says soothingly. “We won’t take him away.” He shares a quick glance with Steve. “Should we start at Lost and Found?”

“If I may, Sirs,” the robot suddenly says in a cool British voice. Steve yelps, jumping away from it. Bucky startles, dropping Morgan’s hand.

Morgan giggles. “Don’t worry, that’s just Jarvis. He’s an artificial intelligence.” She pronounces the words carefully, like it’s something she’s been taught to say. She holds the robot up, who lights up with every word he says.

“The tracker in this device has been activated. There will be no need to move from this location. Sir will be here momentarily,” Jarvis tells them.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Steve mutters, taking a closer look at the robot. “It talks.”

“I am Just A Rather Very Intelligent System or—”

“JARVIS,” Bucky realizes. “It’s an acronym, not a name.”

“Quite so, though I was named for Edwin Jarvis, an old friend of Sir’s.”

“And Sir is…?”

JARVIS lights up like it’s going to talk again but before it says anything, they hear someone say loudly, “Morgan H. Stark!”

Morgan’s face brightens and she turns, running right into the arms of a slender man in a suit, closely followed by another larger man. “Daddy!” she exclaims, throwing her arms around the man, who catches her up in a tight hug.

“What have we said about running off?” the man asks, sounding worried. He has a familiar voice, Bucky thinks. He wonders where he’s heard it before.

“I didn’t run off,” Morgan protests. “JARVIS did and I had to get him.”

“You didn’t think to tell Happy where you were going?” The man gently brushes her hair out of her eyes before straightening up, setting Morgan on his hip.

“I didn’t have time! JARVIS was moving too fast.”

The man makes a dissenting noise. “Flaw in your logic.”

She shakes her head. “No flaw.”

“Yes flaw. JARVIS has a tracker. You, O’ Great and Powerful Maguna, do not.”

It’s adorable watching the two of them together, seeing the way the man softens the longer he holds Morgan and the way Morgan leans into him. And it doesn’t hurt that the man is wildly attractive too: all big brown eyes and curly hair that Bucky wants to feel between his fingers (he bets they’re as soft as they look). Bucky feels something stir in his heart that he hasn’t felt since the day he met Steve. He quickly glances at Steve, wondering if Steve feels the same way. Steve’s eyes could practically be cartoon hearts, he’s melting so obviously, and Bucky smiles to himself. Maybe, if they play their cards right…

“But I didn’t get lost,” Morgan protests and points at Bucky and Steve. “I had Mister Bucky and Mister Steve.”

Abruptly, all the warmth drains out of the man’s expression. He looks at Bucky and Steve coldly, mouth a thin, tight line. “Oh you did, did you?” He turns to the second man behind him. “Happy, could you take Morgan for a moment?”

“Daddy—” But Happy—who looks more like an Angry than a Happy—has already nodded and taken her from the man’s arms.

“You got it, boss.”

The man now stalks closer to Bucky and Steve. “Alright,” he says abruptly. “How much do I owe you?”

Steve’s expression goes blank. “I’m sorry?” he repeats, voice tense with hidden anger.

“What do you want for this?” the man says. “Finder’s fee, something to keep you quiet, what do you want?”

“Look, I don’t know who you think you are—” Steve begins heatedly, right as Bucky realizes where he’s seen this man before.

“Stevie, stop,” he mutters, catching Steve’s arm before he can get too angry and take a swing at the guy. “That’s Tony Stark.”

“Huh?” Steve looks again and then his face clears. “Oh. This must happen a lot, huh?”

Stark glances between the two of them, looking confused now, rather than angry. That’s good; that’s something Bucky can work with.

“Look, we’re sorry about all this,” Bucky says apologetically. “But we’re really not trying to cause trouble. Morgan’s robot ran into my foot, that’s how we met. We didn’t even know who she was until you got here. You don’t need to pay us off or anything.”

“Really,” Stark states suspiciously. “So I’m not going to wake up tomorrow and all the headlines are saying that I can’t take care of my kid?”

“We’re both teachers,” Steve says, gesturing at him and Bucky. “We know kids wander off all the time. They’re more slippery than a bar of soap in the shower. You’re not going to hear anything from us.”

Stark slumps and runs a hand through his hair. He looks tired all of a sudden, not that Bucky can blame him now that he knows this entire Expo is being run by him. “Sorry,” he says quietly. “You just can’t be too careful in this line of business.”

“I can imagine,” Bucky says soothingly. “If it would help, we’d be happy to sign an NDA.”

“Pepper would probably kill me if I didn’t ask you to,” Stark admits. He sighs. “Great, first time I contact her since the divorce and it’s about my fuckup.”

“You’re not a fuckup,” Steve insists. “Seriously, this happens all the time. Just last week, I had a kid decide he wanted to keep looking at the snails in the Botanical Gardens we took the kids to while the rest of us went to lunch. Took me an hour to find him.”

Tony gives him a hopeful look. “Really?”

“Really. It’s okay. You’re not a bad parent.”

“I’ve just—I’m supposed to be presenting in—” He checks his watch.

Happy shouts, “Five minutes ago, boss.”

“It’s my presentation, I think they can wait for me if I’m running late. Morgan didn’t want to wait while I was prepping so I asked Happy to take her to see some of the exhibits. I didn’t think she’d wander away.”

“Well, hey, we’d hate to make you any later,” Bucky says. “So we’ll let you—”

Morgan pipes up, “Daddy, can’t Mister Bucky and Mister Steve come too?”

“Well—”

“They were so nice,” she says, making her eyes big and wide. “And I think we should be nice and let them watch.”

Stark smiles helplessly at her. “You know what that is? That’s extortion.” He turns to Bucky and Steve again and shrugs. “Do you want to come? It’ll be backstage, so you won’t get to see as much as you would if you were watching from the front. But it’ll be fun, I’m presenting the new arc reactor. Oh—and please, call me Tony. We’re all friends here, no need to stand on formalities.”

Steve and Bucky have one of their silent conversations that always bothers their friends. “Are you sure?” Steve asks. “We wouldn’t want to be a bother.”

Tony gives Bucky a very obvious onceover, followed by a look at Steve, just as obvious and just as hungry. “Oh yes,” he murmurs. “I’m sure.”

“Then we’d love to,” Bucky says, giving Tony a onceover of his own. He and Steve don’t often invite a third partner to their bed, but there’s just something about Tony.

“Great!” Tony chirps. His eyes go dark and heated as he adds, “And maybe afterwards, we can talk about a way to pay you back for helping Morgan out.”

“Tony, really, we don’t need anything,” Steve begins.

“Please,” Tony purrs. “I insist.”

#alle writes #alle answers #stuckony #if you like please consider reblogging #chellibean86

145 notes · View notes