#you argue like a third grader and it's not landing

[whysojiminimnida]

Don't separate J and M ? When he obviously has.

I've already sent you links of him separating J and M. It was when he was wearing a suit I think. Not the one when he just got a lip piercing, but another moment. If you check in asks you can find

And if memory serves, I think we determined that was ring slippage during an official, styled event with branded product placement, right? That ONE time during a photoshoot when he was also holding a trophy, was it? Like a closer view of this?

IDK IDK here are some of the links you maybe want, I'm on a whole new laptop. Do your own homework, anon, I ain't getting paid to do your job.

Was it that one?

Or this one?

I honestly think I know the ONE TIME you mean but I'm not finding it via my tags probably because it was the exception that proves the rule. In case you're unfamiliar with that concept, let me throw this down for you:

Literally 99.9% of the time Jungkook does not bisect the J and M on his ring finger. I honestly have maybe ONE photo of it somewhere, and it was at a photoshoot. I have covered this extensively as seen above. And yet here you are.

I dunno maybe it's here

Care to explain why suddenly the J and M appear a shade or two darker on that finger? No?

#good lord anon #let it go ffs pls #you argue like a third grader and it's not landing #bring me back the photo or some shit idk #the exception proves the rule #i get it that's big concept but try #meanwhile i'm just over here looking at the pretty tattoos #jeikei's hand tattoos #jungkook's hand tattoos #those hand tats again #ring placement #anon wants me to do their homework #because of course they don't want to make their own point #okay we're done here for now bye #anon out here mining for bullshit and hoping to strike gold

[moon-spirit-yue]

Camp Chaos

(See the description if you’re confused I put it under the Camp Chaos tag)

Part 1/5

Raya groaned at the beeping of her alarm clock, effectively waking her up. There is truly no sound more hideous than that of an alarm. Despite every instinct in her body screaming at her to snuggle back into the blankets, she walks out of bed to put on her clothes for the day. ‘Maybe staying up until 3:00 am wasn’t the best idea,’ Raya thought absently.

Benja was already making breakfast for the two of them. The delicious smell was making Raya’s mouth water in anticipation.

“Morning, dewdrop! Are you ready for the first day of camp?” Bejna asked brightly. All he got was a groan in response. He laughed and served the exhausted girl her breakfast.

“Maybe if you weren’t up all night playing Mario Kart on your phone, you would be a little more awake,” her ba laughed. “But Ba! You don’t understand! I had to finish the courses!” Raya exclaimed in her defense.

“Oh so you have time to finish Mario Kart courses but no time for driving courses? Interesting, ” he grinned. Raya pouted as she finished her breakfast. “I’ll wait for you in the car. Hopefully by then you can stop being so RUDE to your only child!” she exclaimed, stomping into the car. She should probably start working on that driver's permit soon though.

Raya fell asleep on the ride over so it felt like no time had passed when they arrived at camp. Raya leapt out of the car immediately to find her only joy in this nightmare, her best friend Sisu. Raya was able to spot her light blue hair from a mile away, and walked over to greet her. And by greeting her, she meant collapse on her.

“You were totally up all night playing Mario Kart on your phone, weren’t you my ray of sunshine?” Sisu asked while laughing. Raya whined and buried her head further into Sisu. “You don’t realize the addiction Sisu, I was too invested!” Raya replied. Sisu cackled and brought a comforting hand on her friend’s shoulder.

“Well are you ready for camp? You have first grade girls right? They’re usually pretty cute and there’s only six of them so you shouldn’t go too insane,” Sisu attempted to comfort Raya. She nodded in response. “I forgot what group you have, remind me who you got,” Raya told her blueberry bestie. “I have third grade boys this year,” Sisu said happily. Raya couldn’t help but snort at that response.

“Yeah good luck with that. Let’s hope they don’t make you cry this year,” Raya laughed. (this actually happened the year before last a close acquaintance of mine was literally crying and so was the other counselor and JC I felt so bad for her but it was so funny)

Sisu laughed and shook her head. “That won’t happen this week Raya! I’ve got a good feeling about this group!” Raya rolled her eyes at that. “You say that about every group, Sisu,” Raya chuckled. Sisu nodded in agreement. “And I’m always right. Now let’s head down to the ampitheatre, the kids are going to get dropped off soon,” Raya nodded and followed Sisu out of the cafeteria and down to the ampitheatre.

“Oh I need to tie my shoe real quick, I’ll meet you down there” Raya told her. Sisu nodded and walked on by herself. Raya bent down and tied her shoe when she saw a shadow cast over her.

“Well would you look at that. Camp hasn’t even started and you’re already on your knees. Funny how that works isn’t it?” Raya knew that voice. She dreaded hearing it. It was the voice of Namaari.

Raya took a deep breathe and finishes tying her shoe. “Oh I’m sure you’d love me for me to be on my knees wouldn’t you binturi?” Raya asked, smirking. She knew how to push Namaari’s buttons like no other. And she would say whatever it took to get her through this week.

Namaari scoffed and rolled her eyes, irritation clearly spiking. ‘Good,’ Raya thought. ‘That’ll teach you, you beautiful binturi- wait did I just think beautiful? You know what that’s a problem for another day’ she thinks and mentally erases the thought from her brain.

“I don’t even know if you’re capable of watching your language long enough to take care of these kids,” Namaari said once she recovered from Raya’s jab. Raya scowled and started moving towards where her group is supposed to be. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of a small group of six year olds” Raya snarked back. Before Namaari could try to correct her, the kids came rushing in and they both had to put on their counselor acts on.

Raya had six first grade girls in total. The first portion of the day went on without a hitch. The girls were still a bit shy, but slowly warmed up to each other over the first couple of hours. By the time it was lunch, they were excitedly talking about going to the pool right. Raya couldn’t help but smile at their innocent and positive energy. “Alright girls, let’s head down to the pool,” Raya said, gathering their attention.

On of Raya’s campers noticed Raya wasn’t wearing and bathing suit, “Raya where’s your bathing suit?” Raya shrugged and simply stated that she wouldn’t be swimming because of the cold weather. She gathered the little girls to head down to the pool and waited outside the gates when she heard the most annoying voice in all of Kumandra speak.

“Where’s the bathing suit Raya? Scared of a bit of water?” Namaari teased, arriving with the first grade boys. Raya mentally groaned at her arrival. Of course this binturi was going to ruin her vibes. “I am not SCARED of the water it is freezing out here! I don’t understand how you can stand to be in a bathing suit right now,” Raya said, rolling her eyes.

Namaari just smirked. “Just one more way I’m better than you, dep la,” she said, obviously taunting Raya. Raya scowled and turned to her JC. “Watch the kids, I’m getting my bathing suit” she snapped. The little girls cheered as Raya rushed off to change.

Raya couldn’t help but stare at Namaari’s muscles being shown through her bathing suit. Raya was very smug to see Namaari checking Raya out in her bikini. Neither called the other girl out on their staring and just admired the view.

After playing mermaids with the first grade girls, one of Raya’s campers decided to wake up and choose competition because she yelled with no hesitation, “I bet Raya is faster at swimming than Namaari!” The girls obviously back her up while the first grade boys argued that Namaari was the superior swimmer. “Only one way to find out. Care for a friendly challenge Raya?” Namaari asked, grinning in an almost wicked way.

Raya rolled her eyes but nodded anyways. “I just hope you won’t be too upset when you lose, dep la,” Raya giggled. Namaari smirked and simply lined up on the wall.

A little boy form Namaari’s grouo started the count down. “Three, two, one, GO!” and the two were off, swimming with all their might. They were neck and neck, when suddenly a floaty landed right in front of both of them, blocking their path to the end of the pool. Their campers groaned at the abrupt end of the race when the life guards blew the whistle to signal everyone to get dried off.

“Saved by the whistle, weren’t you Namaari?” Raya asked grinning. Namaari snorted and rolled her eyes. “If anyone should be thankful for that bell it should be you Raya, I was about to win that race and you know it.” They continued their bickering until they walked back to their cabins.

One of the little girls grinned mischievously at Raya which made the eighteen year old girl feel very nervous. “Soooooo Raya, do you have a crush on Namaari?” She asked giggling. Raya gaped at the child with burning red cheeks. “I absolutely do NOT LIKE NAMAARI-“ she yelled in her defense as the girls kept on yelling how she totally did like Namaari. Raya groaned and thought of a way out of this mess.

“Who wants to go to arts and crafts?!” Raya yelled. The girls cheered in excitement and raced off to make some crafts. After the excitement of crafts, Raya rallied the girls to get their stuff together and head home for the day.

Once all of the children had gone, Raya crawled into Sisu’s car and whined, “Kids are such a handful I don’t know how I’ll survive four more days of this.”

“You’re just mad because a bunch of first graders called out your crush on Namaari” Sisu grinned. Raya bolted up right in her seat and friend at her blue haired buddy. “I do not have a crush on Namaari! I don’t know where those kids could have possibly gotten that idea,” she snapped.

Sisu nodded reassuringly. “Whatever you say Raya, whatever you say. Let’s go back to my place and eat some ice cream. You’ll feel better afterwards.” All Raya could do was nod in agreement and get whisked away to Sisu’s place. Raya closed her eyes and listened to the music blaring from the car, praying with all her might that the week will end before she strangled that stupidly attractive binturi.

(Guys I really hope this is adequate I am EXHAUSTED so I made so many spelling errors I promise I’ll fix them tomorrow but tonight I am hitting the hay I shall see you guys later)

#raya and the last dragon #ratld #rayaari #raymaari #rayamaari #ratld namaari #ratld raya #raya namaari #raya of heart #raya disney #disney raya #namaari x raya #namaari of fang #raya and namaari #namaari #raya x namaari #Camp Chaos

[searchingwardrobes]

The Convenient Groom: 11/14

I'm back! I know it's been a month, but I had things in real life that required my attention. To make it up to you, I give you about 4,700 words that I adore. I hope it was worth the wait! I also have the next chapter half written, so hopefully I can get that to you much sooner.

Summary: Killian Jones just happens to be there when Emma Swan gets the phone call that changes everything: her fiance is leaving her at the altar. The thing is, it could also mean the end of her career. Convenient that Killian has nothing better to do that day. Convenient that he’s secretly in love with her. Not that Emma has to know that. Written for @spartanguard​ .

Rating: M

Also on Ao3

Tagging: @snowbellewells​​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​​​ @kmomof4​​​ @let-it-raines​​ @teamhook​​​ @bethacaciakay​​​ @xhookswenchx​​​ @tiganasummertree​​ @shireness-says​​​ @stahlop​​​ @scientificapricot​​​ @welllpthisishappening​​ @resident-of-storybrooke​​​ @thislassishooked​​​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​​ @kday426​​​ @ekr032-blog-blog​​​ @lfh1226-linda​​​ @ultraluckycatnd​​ @nikkiemms​​ @distant-rose @optomisticgirl​​​ @profdanglaisstuff​​ @carpedzem​​ @ohmakemeahercules​​​ @branlovestowrite​​ @superchocovian​​ @sherlockianwhovian​​​ @vvbooklady1256​​ @hollyethecurious​​​ @winterbaby89​​​ @delirious-latenight-laughs​​ @jennjenn615​​ @snidgetsafan​

Killian Jones really needed to stop giving Emma more reasons to find him adorable and sexy. Like playing blocks with two year old Leo in the middle of the Nolan’s living room.

“Wow, lad! This is a super tall tower! Do you think we can add this last block?”

He was on his stomach, guiding Leo’s hand ever so carefully to add one last wooden block to their creation. Killian scooted up on his knees and grinned at the toddler.

“Now are you ready for the best part?”

Leo bent his knees and did a funny little bounce with his bottom sticking out. His grin was wide and his eyes sparkled with excitement.

“Okay,” Killian said, putting an exaggerated tough expression on his face, “ready to dinosaur stomp?”

Killian swung his arms a bit and “stomped” on his knees while growling. Leo did the same, scrunching his face up adorably as he growled. Then both of them let out a loud roar, and Leo swung his arms at the block tower, knocking it over with a satisfying crash. Killian cheered for the boy, and Leo grinned broadly as he launched himself at his “Uncle Killy.” Killian caught him, but fell backwards as if Leo was too strong for him.

“Oh no, it’s the tickle-saurus-rex!”

Liam’s giggles were so infectious, Emma found herself laughing too as he attempted to tickle Killian. She left the couch to join them, helping the toddler to tickle Killian.

“Not fair!” Killian gasped between bouts of laughter. “The giganta-saurus can’t help the tickle-saurus!”

“Hey!” Emma retorted. “Watch who you're calling gigantic.”

“You gi-unt. Leo wi-tul,” the two year old explained, jabbing Emma with a pudgy finger.

“I guess you’re right, Leo. You’re little, and I’m giant.”

Killian shrugged from his spot on the floor. His hair was a mess, and it was way sexier than it had a right to be.

“You can’t argue with the boy’s logic, can you, Swan?”

“Alright kids,” David teased from the dining room, “it’s time to eat.”

Emma scooped Leo up as she stood and balanced him on her hip. Killian stood, groaning as he did. Emma laughed at him.

“Feeling your age, old man?”

“Maybe,” Killian groaned, rubbing at his lower back.

Emma reached out to fix his disheveled hair. She couldn’t help herself. Besides, he didn’t want to look ridiculous in front of his old friends. Right?

“Thanks, love,” he told her softly.

Emma paused with her fingers just behind his ear. “No problem.”

“Hurry over here before the fish gets cold,” Mary Margaret called out.

Emma yanked her hand away, and Killina cleared his throat awkwardly. Mary Margaret gave Emma a look she couldn’t quite read as she approached the table. She deposited Leo in his booster seat, chatting with the little boy so she wouldn’t have to face whatever look Mary Margaret was leveling at her.

They all settled around the table, passing around food and chatting amicably. David had grilled some striped bass he had caught just that morning, and Emma held back a moan at how delicious it was. The fresh fish around here was one of the perks she had grown to love. She had never had anything like this in Manhattan.

As usual, she and Killian had to keep up appearances, so Killian’s hand would every so often land on her knee, or he would press a kiss to her cheek. When the plates were all clean, and they were simply enjoying the conversation, Killian leaned back and slung his arm around the back of Emma’s chair. He doled out casual affection so readily in a fake relationship, she wondered how attentive he would be in a real one.

“So,” Mary Margaret said as she hoisted Leo out of his booster seat, “when did Walsh leave you high and dry?”

Emma’s mouth dropped open, sure she had heard her friend wrong. Mary Margaret just waited for an answer while she wiped Leo’s face and hands with a baby wipe.

“Please tell me he at least gave you 24 hours,” added David.

Killian’s arm dropped away from her shoulder with a thud as he exchanged a shocked glance with her. Emma blinked rapidly, hardly able to process the turn the conversation had taken.

“I’m sorry. Who?”

Mary Margaret rolled her eyes. “You two don’t have to fake it with us. We know Walsh was your fiance, Emma. This building is old, the loft is right upstairs, and the walls are thin.”

David eyed them both as he crossed his arms over his chest. “So what’s going on?” Emma and Killian both released long sighs.

“Look, I was at Killian’s shop checking on the wedding arbor when Walsh called and dumped me.”

Mary Margaret gasped. “The day of the wedding?”

Emma nodded, then glanced at Killian again with an expression that said help!

“So, uh,” Killian began to explain, “I sort of . . . offered to stand in.”

“So this is a fake marriage?” David’s eyebrows arched.

“No!”

“Yes!”

Emma shook her head at Killian, and he ducked his head and scratched behind his ear. She had to tell him to quit doing that. Surely she wasn’t the only one who had figured out it was his nervous tick.

“What Killian means is, yes it’s a real marriage in that the wedding was real and there’s a marriage certificate and everything. It’s legal.”

“But,” Killian clarified, his face already turning red, “Emma means that we haven’t . . . that is to say it isn’t . . . “

“Consummated?” Mary Margaret asked.

Emma choked on the sip of water she had just taken. Killian’s face turned positively crimson.

“So that’s a no, thank God,” David muttered.

“Excuse me?” Killian blurted.

“You’re not my dad,” Emma muttered.

“David, seriously,” Mary Margaret scolded.

David lifted both hands in defense. “I just want to be sure Killian isn’t taking advantage of the situation.”

“I didn’t pimp myself out to him, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Emma snapped.

“Nobody is saying that,” Mary Margaret assured her.

“I would never assume . . . “ Killian stuttered, “I mean . . . “

His face might remain red for the rest of his life.

“David,” Mary Margaret announced decisively, “take Leo in the living room. Emma’s gonna help me with the dishes.”

“But -” David protested even as his wife thrust the toddler into his arms. Mary Margaret gave him a look, and he sighed and rose from the table.

“Killian?” Mary Margaret asked pointedly.

“Yes ma'am,” Killian told her, hanging his head and following quickly after Davd.

Emma laughed. “You use that teacher voice well.”

Mary Margaret shrugged as she started gathering plates. “Whatever works on third graders also works on men is what I’ve found.”

Emma helped her clear the table and take everything into the kitchen. The building was old, and except for the third floor loft apartment Emma had rented, it was the opposite of an open floor plan. She and Mary Margaret were tucked away from the men where they couldn’t overhear their conversation. Oh, Mary Margaret was good.

“Okay, spill it. Why did Killian Jones agree to marry you at the last minute?’

She also wasn’t subtle.

Emma avoided her gaze as she ran the hot water and squirted soap on the pile of dishes. “I don’t know. He said he hoped I could help his brother and his wife with some marriage issues.”

Mary Margaret snorted. “And you believed that?”

Emma scowled at her, but when Mary Margaret gave her a pointed look she sighed. “Killian honestly confuses me. I thought he was inconsiderate when he was just the carpenter downstairs blaring loud rock music. When he was making my arbor, I thought he was nothing but a shameless flirt. But now . . . I don’t know what to make of him.”

Mary Margaret tilted her head, regarding Emma in a way that made her blush. She looked quickly down into the sudsy water and started scrubbing at a saucepan.

“Are you falling for him?”

“You two really need a dishwasher,” Emma grumbled, scrubbing harder.

“Don’t change the subject.”

Emma looked up at her friend in frustration, blowing a strand of hair out of her face. “We have an agreement, okay? Nothing more. We fake this marriage for a year, then we part ways. Killian even says I can spin it in my favor.”

Mary Margaret frowned. “You mean paint him as the bad guy? Emma, that’s awful!”

“I’m not saying that’s what I’m going to do! I’m just saying that we went into this agreeing to no strings, know what I mean?”

Mary Margaret took the clean saucepan and began to dry it with a dishcloth. She said nothing as Emma started washing the plates, but Emma could tell something was bothering her.

“Spit it out,” she finally groaned.

“I don’t want to see my friend get hurt,” Mary Margaret admitted after a beat of silence.

“I won’t.”

“I wasn’t talking about you.”

Emma’s brow furrowed. “It was his idea.”

Mary Margaret put down the dish she was drying and turned Emma to face her, ignoring the sudsy water dripping from Emma’s hands and onto the floor. She cupped Emma’s face in her hands.

“Why do you think he offered, Emma? You can’t be that oblivious, you're too smart for that.”

Emma blinked and sucked in a sharp breath. Mary Margaret couldn’t mean that Killian had serious feelings for her. Could she? Sure, the man could kiss, and he had come to be an actual friend she could talk to, but that didn’t mean he lov - had feelings for her.

Emma shrugged Mary Margaret off and turned resolutely back to the dishes.

“We’re being careful.”

“I don’t see how you can be,” Mary Margaret muttered, “living together, pretending to be married, and all those little touches he was giving you tonight.”

“We had to keep up appearances. We didn’t know you had figured it out.”

Mary Margaret kept talking, ignoring Emma’s explanation. “I’ve also just never seen him this happy.”

Emma dropped a handful of silverware into the sink with a splash. She recovered her composure quickly and fished them back out of the water.

“I think you’re exaggerating.”

“You didn’t see him after Milah died. He was a mess. He sold the house they had been renovating for way less than he should have, bought that little cabin from Liam, then shut himself away. Then he started drinking too much. If it hadn’t been for Liam and David, I don’t know what might have happened.”

Mary Margaret’s words caused Emma to freeze, a sudsy plate in her hand, dripping water all over her jeans. What the hell had she gotten herself into? Mary Margaret pried the plate from her hand silently and started to dry it.

“I’m not trying to break his heart,” Emma whispered.

Mary Margaret looked at her gently. “I know that. I also know he’s a grown man who did this of his own free will. I guess I just can’t help worrying.”

“You’re a good friend.”

“I’m your friend too, Emma, so can I give you a little advice?”

Emma bit her bottom lip, the answer “no” on the tip of her tongue, but she finally found she couldn’t resist Mary Margaret’s earnest expression. “Fine, bring it on,” she answered with a teasing smile. “I don’t want anyone to say I can dish it out but can’t take it.”

“I know Walsh hurt you, and it may seem like building a wall around your heart is the wise thing to do. And that wall of yours might keep pain out, but it will keep love out, too. Just . . . open your eyes when it comes to Killian?”

Emma swallowed nervously as she turned quickly back to the dishes in the sink. She never did tell Mary Margaret yes or no.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So how long have you been in love with Emma?”

David Nolan was many things. Subtle was not one of them.

Killian groaned and dropped his head into his hands. “Is it that obvious?”

“You standing up in a tux sure was. Why else would you do this?”

“I’m a nice guy?”

David laughed. “No one’s that nice.”

Muppet Babies was playing on the tv to keep Leo occupied, and the two year old giggled at something Gonzo said. He shifted on David’s lap, and Killian noticed the boy’s eyelids drooping. David brushed a kiss across the child’s blonde hair, and Killian’s heart clenched as he looked away. The words Emma had him repeat - “it wasn’t my fault” - replayed in his mind. Yet he also realized that he wanted what David had more than he had been willing to admit. For the first time, hope for the future flickered within his heart instead of regret for the past.

“Seriously, though,” Killian told his friend, “I didn’t want to see her hurt and humiliated. Not to mention what it would have done to her career.”

David turned away from the dancing Muppets to level Killian with a look that he had seen before. David had given it to him every time he had tried to hide away or drink himself into oblivion after Milah died. Every time he lied and said “I’m fine,” David would give him that look. The look that basically said he wasn’t buying Killian’s shit.

“And you had absolutely no hopes for anything more?”

Killian rubbed wearily at his temple before answering. “I confess I hoped we might get . . . closer, but don’t forget, she was left at the altar. I have to proceed with caution.”

Leo had fallen asleep the way only children can - with no preamble. He was limp in David’s arms, his neck bent at an angle that no adult would be able to endure. Somehow, he was already sweaty. David moved with agonizing slowness to grab the remote and mute the cartoon. Then he turned to Killian with a serious expression on his face.

“Are you prepared for her to leave when this is all over?”

The thought kept him up at night, especially now that Emma shared his bed. He had to admit, he was falling harder every day. And yet . . . He met David’s gaze with resolve in his eyes.

“When I win her heart, it won’t be through any trickery or manipulation. It won’t be because I’m convenient. It will be because she wants me. If she doesn’t, I want her to walk away. All I want is her happiness. I mean that, David.”

His friend nodded. “That’s all I want too. For both of you.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Killian sat in the audience of The Tiana Show, sticking out like a sore thumb. Every other audience member was a woman.

He was amazed as well to see how small the stage was. On tv, it looked much bigger.

Not that he regularly watched The Tiana Show. He had little interest in “swoon worthy” male celebrities, fashion trends, or segments on “how to feel confident choosing a gynecologist.” He had only suffered through a handful of episodes with Emma while she prepped to be a guest.

The stage still looked bigger on tv.

Tiana herself came out on stage for a sound check and a walk through of her marks for the different segments. The crowd cheered, and she waved. She saw Killian, and her face brightened as she rushed over.

“I am so glad you could join us, Mr. Jones,” she told him, giving him a firm handshake.

“I’m happy to be here,” he told her. And he was. Emma was successful, smart, and cared deeply about her clients. She deserved all of the recognition she could get. “But call me Killian, please.”

“Okay, Killian. Did my team prep you on where the cameras would be?”

“Yes, and they made it clear I wasn’t to look at them.”

Tiana pointed a finger at him, “You might just be made for tv, Killian. God knows the camera loves you!”

Killian, unsure what to say, just chuckled nervously as he scratched behind his ear. Tiana winked at him, then returned to the stage where she would give her opening monologue. She addressed the studio audience, getting them pumped up to applaud before they went live.

Killian didn’t pay much attention to her monologue or the cooking segment that had something to do with a new diet fad. Finally they went to another commercial break, and Tiana moved to the other side of the stage where her interview couch was set up. She winked at Killian as she got settled. He assumed it was a “are you ready for this, proud hubby?” kind of wink and not a flirtatious wink.

“And we’re back from commercial in 3, 2 . . .”

“Alright, ladies,” Tiana announced, “are you ready for some tough love in the relationship department?”

The audience clapped and cheered loudly as they had been prepped to do during the commercial break.

“That’s what I thought! Well, today I’ve got a fantastic guest for you. She’s the author of the best seller Seriously, Ladies? , and is releasing tomorrow her new book Ladies, It’s Not Just About the Wedding. She’s got five hundred thousand followers on Instagram, and her videos on YouTube have hits in the millions. Ladies, give it up for relationship expert Dr. Emma Swan!”

The audience applauded, and Killian joined in enthusiastically. Emma smiled at the audience, and gave a little wave. He was probably the only one who knew this wasn’t her favorite part of her job, and he only knew because he’d been living with her for two months.

“Thank you for being here,” Tiana said to Emma as soon as the crowd quieted.

“I’m happy to be here.”

“We’re going to get to your new book in a moment, but first I have to ask you: how is marriage? It’s been two months, right?”

“Yes,” Emma answered, her smile widening as she caught Killian’s eye, “and I have to say it’s been an incredible two months.”

There were “awes” from the audience, and Killian knew there must be cameras on him. He blocked that out, though, and just kept his gaze on Emma. He didn’t have to fake his smile, though. Looking at Emma always made him smile. She looked especially beautiful today, her glorious blonde hair curled and pinned to one side with a gold barrette. She wore a bold, dark floral dress with a flared skirt. Simple gold bangles on one wrist were her only jewelry. He was seriously lucky to be married to this woman, even if it was only for a year. Who wouldn’t want to be her cheering section?

“Well everyone on social media loves him already.” Tiana gestured to a screen above them where Instagram and Twitter comments appeared. “Right here, lovestruck84 says If I can get man candy like that following Emma Swan’s advice, take my credit card, Swan! darcywaitsforme says Where’s Emma Swan been for the past two months? Are you kidding me? If I married a guy who looks like that, I’d disappear for two YEARs. But I think my favorite is hearteyes4ever91.”

The audience laughed as that particular Instagram comment filled the large screen. Killian had started blushing from the get go, but now his face burned even hotter.

“If you can’t see this in the back,” Tiana laughed, “it’s just a row of drooling emojis.”

When the audience quieted, Emma responded with poise. “Yes, he is handsome, and I am a lucky woman. But I hope everyone realizes that good looks isn’t what makes a man a great catch. That’s one of the things I address in my new book.”

“Yes,” Tiana agreed, “I was so impressed with your book. I was highlighting like a mad woman. It’s interesting that you wrote it before your wedding. Do you find yourself wanting to change anything now that you’ve settled down?”

“No, not at all. Many of the principles of dating apply to marriage as well. Any relationship requires work, communication, care, and respect.”

“Can you give us an example of that within your own marriage?”

Emma’s gaze turned to Killian again, and the tenderness in it took his breath away. He had no idea what she was going to share, but the look she gave him told him he had nothing to worry about.

“Everyone’s been going on and on about how handsome Killian is, but they should have seen the way he took care of me when I was sick a couple of weeks ago.” The audience once again melted with a collective awww. Emma pulled her eyes away from Killian’s and back to Tiana. “And believe me, I was not looking sexy one bit, nor was I the nicest patient. Marriage means seeing each other at your worst, so don’t say I do to a man who isn’t willing to hold your hair back while you puke.”

The audience laughed, and Tiana nodded. “Wise words.” Then she looked straight into the main camera. “And when we come back, we’ll hear more from Emma Swan as she fields questions from our studio audience.”

Tiana and Emma both relaxed a little on the couch and chatted in soft voices. A producer came out and explained to the audience how the Q & A would go. It would look like Tiana was choosing people at random, but they had actually been chosen ahead of time. The producer reminded those women not to change their questions and made sure Tiana knew where they were sitting. Emma, however, had no knowledge of what the questions would be, and he could see the worry lines on her face. When she caught his eye he winked at her. She rolled her eyes in response, but now she was smiling.

“And we’re back from commercial in 3, 2 . . . “

“Welcome back to the Tiana Show, everyone,” Tiana said, her relaxed posture replaced by one that was ramrod straight and bordered on regal. “Today we have Dr. Emma Swan, relationship expert, to talk about marriage. Emma, before we get to our Q & A portion, I’ve been dying to know: what exactly made you leave New York City. Was it just love for a certain carpenter?”

Emma smiled graciously. “Storybrook is where Killian’s family lives, but he’s very supportive of my career. He would never ask me to move if it wasn’t right. No, the real reason I moved is because I wasn’t satisfied in New York. I mean, I love the city, but my career there just wasn’t what I had set out to do.”

“How so?”

“Well, it got to the point that the only people who could afford my therapy were the super wealthy. I was seeing celebrities, socialites, politicians. I was giving advice to my followers online, but I still sort of felt like a fraud. I keep my past private, but I will share this: I didn’t grow up with a lot. By moving to Storybrooke, I can live more simply and have a smaller, less visible clientele.”

The audience applauded, and Killian joined them. He knew Emma was being one hundred percent genuine. She had told him the same thing before. He also suspected that Walsh hadn’t been completely on board with the move to Storybrooke.

“That’s beautiful, Emma,” Tiana said, reaching out to grasp her guest by the hand. By the tears glistening in the woman’s brown eyes, Killian sensed she was genuine as well.

“I’m not trying to be a savior or anything,” Emma laughed. She shrugged. “I just want to make a difference as much as I can.”

“Shouldn’t we all? Now, the moment our studio audience has been eager for! Are you ladies ready to get some free advice today?”

The audience responded with loud cheers. Tiana asked them to raise their hands if they had a marital problem they wanted Emma’s help with. Tiana’s show wasn’t shock tv, so Killian assumed the questions would be common ones and fairly innocuous. Nevertheless, Emma had expressed to him her nerves about this part. He found her gaze again and gave her an encouraging nod. Soon, the first woman was speaking into a microphone.

“Hi,” the dark haired woman said timidly, “I’ve been married for two years, and I had a question about some advice my mom gave me.”

“Okay,” Emma said calmly, nodding at the woman to continue.

“Well, she always tells me not to nag my husband, but it’s really hard. We both work, so we divided up the chores, but he always waits until the garbage is overflowing to take it out. It drives me crazy! How can I get him to take it out if I’m not supposed to nag?”

Emma nodded her head, her face neutral. Killian had never seen her do therapy, of course, but this gave him a tiny window into her professional life. She was giving this woman her full attention, with no trace of judgment or even humor on her face.

“First of all,” Emma began, “no offense to your mother, but this is one of those long held pieces of marriage advice that can be really harmful. I mean, it’s kind of sexist if you think about it. Do you ever hear people telling men not to nag?”

There was a ripple of laughter through the audience, and Killian smiled. They were hanging on her every word.

“I think we need to define the word nag. If you mean constantly yelling at someone or constantly reminding them of their failures, then yeah, you shouldn’t nag. No one wants to be talked to that way - not a friend, not a coworker, not a child with their parents. Unfortunately, so many women have taken this advice to mean you should never ask your husband to do anything or remind him of things or express your feelings. That is very dangerous because a relationship can’t work if you aren’t able to communicate your wants, needs, and feelings.”

“So how do I get him to take out the garbage?” the woman asked, and the audience laughed.

Emma smiled. “Well, first you have to tell him that it’s bugging you. He may have no idea that it bothers you. Have you told him?”

The woman wrinkled her nose sheepishly. “Um, no.”

“Then start there. He may think it’s totally fine to wait until things are falling on the floor to take it out. It may never have occurred to him that it bothers you. That actually may solve the whole issue.”

The audience clapped and the woman sat down with a smile on her face. Tiana looked at Emma and tilted her head.

“Now I know men. What if her sorry husband just keeps on being lazy with the trash? I know my boyfriend just keeps cramming stuff in there, and I’m like do you not see stuff falling all over the floor? Am I right, ladies?”

Emma chuckled. “I never said communication would fix your partner. The important thing is that you are open with your feelings. Another part of strong relationships is having patience with one another’s flaws and accepting the person just as they are.”

“So who’s the messy one in your house, Emma?”

Emma’s cheeks flushed as she glanced at Killian, then she stared at her hands in her lap and chewed on her bottom lip. Tiana threw her head back and laughed.

“Oh I see how it is,” the hostess quipped, then she turned to Killian. “Mr. Jones, who’s the messy one?”

If there was one thing Killian knew how to do, it was turn on the charm. He cocked an eyebrow and flashed a lopsided grin.

“Well, Tiana, let’s just say I will happily pick up Emma’s shoes and wet towels for as long as we both shall live.”

Another chorus of awww swelled through the studio audience as Killian winked at his wife. His bloody brilliant, amazing wife.

#cs ff #cs modern au #cs marriage of convenience #slow burn #humor #and some angst #for spartanguard

[the-star-named-dowoon]

Blank Faces

Mark lee has a lot on his hands, since he’s the city’s super hero. But he also has to face being a teenager, which is also a lot to handle. But With you there, he could get through anything. Even his feelings for you.

Genre: fluffy floof,action,angst, teen drama, spider man AU

Mark lee x female reader

words-23950+

Warnings!- blood, violence, cursing, kissing and hickeys lol

A/N I kinda wanted to make the villain somewhat like the main villain in into the spider verse like SUPER STRONG . I also wanted to make the reader badass so expect that. 

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

He swings his way through the tall buildings of the forever lively city after a long night of watching over the place he calls home. The boy finally makes a stop on top of a small business, landing firmly on his feet at the edge of the building with his sore muscles and aching feet getting the best of him. He pulls off his mask with a long groan, and begins stretching his arms and legs with expected cracks and pops surrounding the quiet atmosphere. With a slump, he steps down from the edge and faces upon the thing he stopped for in the first place: a black backpack decorated with a series of cat doodles on it.

Swinging one of the straps lazily on his shoulder, the boy makes his way back to the edge of the building, where he sits watching taxi cabs and pedestrians. His fingers ruffle through his hair, fixing the flatness caused by the mask and taking the time to wipe the sweat from his face. 

“Sssst my feet are killing me!” He complains and grips his ankle, squeezing his aching foot inside his shoes. Though making it easy to sneak around with little to no sound at all, the spider shoes provided no comfort to his poor feet. 

“God if I knew he would run that far, I would have knocked him out on the spot.”

“Should have known better, Markie” Mark flinches as the sudden voice coming from the speaker in his ear.

“I don’t need your side comments DongHyuck, I asked you to be my partner in crime, not my mother.” Haechan scoffs in an offended manner. 

Mark pinched the bridge of his nose, he knew it was much too late for this. “And don’t call me Markie.” 

“Please! Without me you’d be nothing but a bug on the wall just waiting to be squished!” Haechan argues, which only resulted in an eye roll from the young hero as he slips his mask back on. “I can tell you just eye rolled at me!” 

“Well maybe if you stopped nagging then you wouldn’t get the eye roll.” Mark stretches his sore muscles one last time and gets ready to take off again. Standing from where he sat on the edge and putting the bag on his back fully, he looks down from the building.

“Man if ___ was here you wouldn’t be so mean to me.”

Mark just chuckles at the appearance of your name. Your face already making its way into the young man's mind,

“Ya, she’d beat the both of us for fighting…” his mind wanders for a bit before something comes up. “Oh! Which reminds me, I have a movie night with her at 8:30. So I guess I’ll just head over right now. I’m supposed to meet her at the theatre.” Mark backs up to get a running start, but just as he begins to run, Haechan cuts in.

“Ugh Mark… it’s 9:50.” Haechan says hesitantly. Mark launches himself off the building right as that sentence ended. Those words hitting mark like a ton of bricks. 

“Wait...WHAT?!” Almost losing balance Mark steadies himself and shoots his webbing to the nearest building. Swinging as swiftly as he could, he made his way through the air. “She’s going to kill me! I’m so dead, Donghyuk please make sure my funeral is a beautiful one. “ Mark pleads. The boy on the other line just lets out a nervous laugh in return.

Which didn’t make Mark feel any better at all.

Sure you were a small teenage girl, but damn you are a force to be reckoned with. Being raised with and eventually by your older brother.

Due to your parents having to leave the city for a business offer they couldn’t refuse, you picked up a boyish personality. You never like to wear dresses or anything considered girly whatsoever. Usually jeans with a T-shirt and a cap thrown on top. Not that your brothers friends being over 24/7 helped because you acted like one of the boys. You would sit on the couch and play video games for hours with them: and kick their butts too. Not to mention the roughhousing and lessons from your brother that caused you to be an expert fighter, which means Mark got the short end of the stick. You punched hard to say the least. But just because it was mostly playful hits on the shoulder and not true rage, it didn’t mean to say it didn't hurt, but you were mostly harmless. Pro Tip: no one should get you angry.

Mark on the other hand, you’ve known him since he was in first grade. Since he wasn’t always the most popular, he got picked on for being what the kids called “a nerd”, and his cute nice attitude didn’t help with defending himself. 

Once on the playground, Mark and Donghyuk, who at the time was in kindergarten, were playing with Pokémon cards by the slide. Everything was fine until a group of mean bratty third graders decided to throw their cards down the slide and into the dusty wood chips. Then the group started to push the two around for no reason besides the fact that kids were terrible.

You, who was drawing a ladybug in the grass, saw it happening. You were usually never one to dislike anything, but there was one thing you hated, and that was bullies. Throwing your notebook and crayons down onto the grass, you marched over to the scene, a small girl who rocked her brothers giant t-shirt. Taking each of the kids in order, you picked on the boys by the back of the shirts and kicked them down the slide one by one. You, a kindergartener, single handedly kicked a group of 3rd graders off the playground. A smile of victory made its’ way on your small chubby cheeks that day. Turning around to see the two boys wide eyed and sitting closely together, you sat down across from them offering your tiny hand.

“I’m __ can I play with you?” You said with sweetest smile on your face. 

Ever since that day, you three became best friends and never left each other’s sides. Growing up together like siblings, until… 

Mark started to see you more than just a friend. 

From kindergarten to high school, you’ve grown so much, but you’re still the sweet girl who hates the existence of bullies and will attack if provoked. Mark couldn’t get enough of you, wanting to spend as much time with you as possible. But after the whole spider accident and being busy with saving the city and everything, it only became so much harder.

Often, you would ask to go see some art show but would always be let down by Mark saying he was busy that day or he would just not show up at all. It broke Mark’s heart to know that you were left alone. He has no choice, it is his responsibility and he shouldn’t be bothered by a missed occasion like a movie. 

But he is. It bothers him like no tomorrow.

Mark made it the the theatre in record time, looking down from the building searching for any sign of you. He tried spotting you through the crowd of people leaving and entering the theatre.

“You see her anywhere?” Haechan through the speaker asks. When met by silence, he continues, “Maybe she already walked home?”.

Mark only face palms and leaps back into the air once again.

“Ughhhh walking home alone? She knows better than to walk alone. Does she know what kind of people walk these streets?!” Mark nags as he sways through the massive skyscrapers of the brightly lit city. 

“You would know best what kind of people walk these streets, Mark.” Haechan says but Mark just ignores the younger boy and searches on the floor for any sign of you. But seeing the streets as nothing but normal, he assumes you got home safely. 

Now seeing your apartment building in sight, Mark lands on a building close by. Noticing that the light in your room was on, his shoulders relax. 

“Ugh! What am I supposed to say to her this time? I’ve already used every excuse in the book.” The boy sits at the ledge of the building, staring at the complex that holds his doom.

“How about you saying you had bad diarrhea?” Haechan suggests, but Mark’s face scrunches in disgust.

“That’s gross. Plus she’ll never believe that, we’ve already used that one before…” There was a pause and it was clear nothing could save him his time. Only luck could keep him alive.

“Well it’s not like you can tell her that you’re the city’s super hero and you fight crime with the risk of being stabbed and dying every single day.” Mark just huffs and falls back, rubbing his face through the mask.

“I wish I could.” 

Not being able to tell you, his best friend, that he was Spider-Man was the most difficult thing he’s ever done. Not only the hardest thing, but the biggest stressor on your relationship. So instead of telling you the biggest secret, he just totally skips out on you. Not that he wants to of course, nothing makes his heart hurt more than that one sentence. 

“___ I’m so sorry I had this thing I had to do! I’m sorry I couldn’t make it today, but you gotta understand…”

“It’s ok, I’m fine Mark. Just try not to skip out on me again, alright?”

But he does. Over and over again.

Climbing onto the building, Mark strips after reaching the floor. Pulling his normal clothes from the backpack he prepared and folding his suit gently, he places it in the bag. After checking if he was presentable, he books it to your floor. 

“Ok Romeo, how are you gonna handle this one?” Haechan asks.

Mark wasn’t really sure himself. If anything, he was just terrified.

“I guess I’ll wing it.”

After a five minute run, he makes it to the front of the building. Taking a deep breath before pressing the button of the building’s buzzer. 

A loud buzz emits and he waits. Moments later…

“Hello?” A deep voice is heard from the speaker. Holding down the button to answer.

“Um hey. It’s mark…” Silence was only present for a while. 

“Oooh you’re in trouble.” The voice pops out of nowhere. Giggles are heard in the background, meaning that your brothers friends were there.

“Aye who is it?” A deeper voice asks.

“It’s mark.” 

“Ok move… get out of the way Taeil… hello?” The voice asks. Mark already knew who it was, having heard that voice since childhood.

It was your brother. Your tall, scary, protective older brother, Johnny, though honestly, you were scarier in his eyes. You made Johnny look like an angel even when he’s angry. Don’t get him wrong, you were nothing but the sweetest to Mark, but when you got angry… that's a whole other story. Luckily, he never got you to that point. 

“Ah ya hey! It’s Mark…” 

“Ooh boy are you in for it. Come on up.” He allows entry easily. Mark, trying to take his time making it up to your floor, was terrified. Climbing up a flight of stairs that lead to your apartment, he it makes to the door. Through the small space under the wood, yelling and laughter could be heard, but mostly just yelling. After knocking on the door, Mark stood there awkwardly as shuffling sounds were heard from inside the apartment.

When the door opened, a tall figure stood in front of the much shorter boy. Johnny nodded and moved away from the door and went to sit back with his friends. Mark took it as his signal to come, and he set his backpack by the door. Johnny pointed his thumb towards the direction of your room, not making eye contact. Mark nodded as he made his way down the hall and towards your room, but not before he heard laughing and teasing from the group of grown boys. 

Your brothers friends were always over, almost like they're your brothers as well. The group of friends consisted of six boys. Johnny himself , Taeyong, Taeil, Doyoung, Yuta, and a guy named Sicheng but only likes to be called WinWin. 

“I swear they’re like a bunch of teenage girls.” Mark whispers as he makes it to your door at the end of the hall. Mark took no time to knock, and he waited patiently for an answer.

“I already told you Yuta! I’m not letting you borrow my scissors, not after what happened last time!” An annoyed yell emits from behind the door and a laugh comes from Marks mouth as he knocks again.

“It’s not Yuta.” It was quiet for a second, but he knows you are able to tell it is him. You know his voice like the back of your hand, but in situations like this, it wasn’t a good thing. 

“Come innnn.” It was said in a sickly sweet voice. 

Mark gulps and slowly turns the knob. The door opens just wide enough for him to pop his head through.  But as soon as he does, and object goes flying towards his face. Luckily because his senses are way beyond the average human, he was able to dodge it. The object lodges itself into the wall beside where is head was. 

A foam bullet stuck to the wall beside his head. His eyes look toward You as you cock the nerf gun, still aiming it towards the boy. Mark swings the door open looking where the object is sticking from the wall. His eyes as wide as saucers. 

“Jesus Christ! For a second I thought it would be those pair of scissors you were talking about...” Mark says grasping his heart. You, who is giving him the deadliest glare, turns back around in your chair and goes back to doing what you were doing like nothing happened. With the nerf gun in your lap of course. Mark just sighs and pulls the foam bullet from the wall and walks towards you and places the weapon back on your desk. 

“___ …” 

“Mark if you want to keep all of your fingers, you better have a good excuse to why you blew me off… again.” The last word was said with a not so surprising annoyance. Mark looks down onto your desk to see that you were drawing, quite harshly. The lead was pressed down onto the paper with such force that it broke before it could get a decent line down. 

“I was… I was with Donghyuk. We were playing Smash Bros and I lost track of time. You could even ask him.” He makes up the excuse from the top of his head. Hopefully it was enough to fool you, but instead a loud snap bounced off the walls of the bedroom. You snapped your pencil in half, one handed. The room was pin drop quiet.

“___?” Mark asks.

“I’m going to kill you…” Mark’s stomach drops, he knew it wouldn’t have gotten by you. You’re one of the smartest people he knows.

“You guys left me out?! I would have burnt you guys to the ground!” You argue.

Maybe not.

“But noooooo! You had me wait at the movies for an hour! Only to have me wait and order popcorn, that wasn’t even good! It was cold! Not to mention I dropped it on the way here!” You stood up from your desk and slowly take steps towards mark. 

“You dropped me just like that popcorn Mark Lee!” You push your pointer finger into his chest. “The rats on the streets enjoyed that popcorn more than me!” You say in a fake hurt voice. 

You were face to face with the boy. Backed up to were the backs of his knees hit the bed. 

“Now you have to make it up to me.” You say with a wicked smile on your face. Mark feels his stomach drop, what could you possibly have in mind? It didn’t help that you two being by the bed made his mind race to other things. But mark slapped himself mentally not wanting to think such perverted thoughts. Especially in this situation.

“W-what is it?” 

“You gotta have a movie night with me…” you whisper. Most of the Weight and anxiety flows off of Mark’s shoulders but he knows there is some kind of catch. No way you would forgive him that easily. “And you know what we’re gonna watch?” You ask.

“Oh god please no.” Mark already knows what’s coming. The worst punishment, in his opinion. 

“I’ll go get my Bob Ross CDs!” Mark just groans and plops down onto your mattress. Spreading his arms out and kicking his feet. 

To you, Bob Ross was some kind of God, but to him, it was hours of boring painting. When he first watched it with you all those years ago when you first invited him over, you watched it. I was the most boring thing a six year old boy could watch. 

Since you loved it, he would bare through it. Seeing that it interests you. He just loves the expressions on your face when you watch the show. Your joyful expressions were the only way he could get through the constant talk of happy trees and free clouds.

 Maybe it’s also because he loves everything you do. When you talk, draw, laugh, and just live life to the fullest. And when you smile, it’s the best thing in his eyes. Though you think your smile ain’t the best, he loves it more than anything. Seeing you happy gives him so much joy. Even if he has to watch something he hates to get that smile he loves so much.

You run to your drawer and pull out your collection of Bob Ross CDs that your parents gave you one Christmas. After you put it into the DVD player you ask Mark to go get snacks from the kitchen. He agrees with no problem and walks into the kitchen. 

As he reaches into the cabinet he senses something reaching towards him. Almost without thinking he turns quickly and grabs a wrist. Almost bending it into a painful positions but his senses quickly stop him. The person attached to the wrist flinches back. 

“Damn I can’t ever scare you anymore. You have cat senses ,I swear...But if you can let go that’ll be great because you got a crazy grip dude.” Johnny pointing to his wrist says. Mark let’s go immediately and mumbles a quick apology.

 “So you managed to survive the wrath of my sister?” Johnny asks rubbing his wrist. 

“Ya, I got off easy, again. But she did try to shoot me. But with those cat like reflexes I dodged it.” Mark chuckles and grabs chips from the pantry. 

“I guess you did get off easy.” Johnny pats Mark’s shoulder with a laugh. 

Soon a sound of dragging feet catch their attention. Yuta walks into the kitchen to refill his glass of water. As he turns the faucet on and he cringes instantly. Clutching his head as he filled his glass.

“God, I swear your sink is the loudest sink in the city.” Yuta complains and downs his whole glass of water like nothing. 

“Or maybe you’re an idiot who drinks like an alcoholic, and on a Monday might I add.” Johnny adds in and Yuta winks in response. His gaze lands on the younger boy and he swings his arm around his shoulders. Setting his empty glass on the table.

“Aye you only live once, right mark?” Mark just gives a small nod and johnny just rolls his eyes. “Which is why you gotta take chances, aye Mark?” Yuta asks.

“What do you mean.” Mark asks. Yuta slings his arm off mark and leans against the counter. 

“I’m talking about how you haven’t made a move on ___ yet!” Yuta says a little too loudly. Mark shushes him and looks around to see any sign of you near.

“Are trying to let her hear?!” Mark whispers harshly and the two older males just laugh. “You know I can’t do it… what if she doesn’t like me back. Like she only sees me as a friend?” The thought just makes Mark cringe. He would hate to be put in that situation. Not to mention is would kill his young fragile self esteem.

“I mean you never know. She could be head over heels in love with you. But that’s kind of hard to say because she’s my little sister and all…” Johnny says unsure but Yuta pats his shoulder.

“Big brother Johnny has a point! There are countless ways to find out.” Mark’s interest is peaked. 

“Really like what?” He asks.

“Say you know Spider-Man! She loves that guy.” Yuta comments and Johnny pushes the other male. Mark all of a sudden gets nervous and just lets out a small chuckle.

But, Since when have you liked Spider-Man? 

“ What? that’s all she talks about when we watch the news. Like she’s obsessed with the guy. I don't know why though.For all she knows he could be an ugly Middle Aged  balding man!” Yuta says, Mark would take offense but doesn’t blame, I mean it’s hard to imagine what someone who wears a mask all the time looks like. 

“I think he would have to think realistically, there’s no way she would believe that, yuta.” Johnny says and walks out the kitchen not wanting to hear Yuta give his usual dumb suggestions. 

“Aye women love a man who knows people!” Yuta yells towards Johnny. “ but I guess he’s right. A nerdy kid like you wouldn’t know Spider-Man.” Ok that one Mark takes offense to.

 “ so just try the regular way, make her jealous!” Yuta suggests.

“Jealous?”

“Yes! Women love a challenge...Or you can just ask her out. Ya know, just go for it..”

“Um I don’t think that’s a good idea…” Mark says unsurely. Yuta grips Mark’s shoulders and looks him in the eyes.

“Mark, my little little Naïve Mark. You just gotta seize the moment!”  

“What moment are we seizing?” You say as you enter the kitchen. Your arms crossed and a blank expression present on your face.

Nothing to get your pretty little head worried about.” Yuta reassures.

 “Whatever. Come on I got Bob ready. He’s painting mountains!” You say excitedly and walk back to the room.

“When does he not paint mountains?” Mark mumbled under his breath and says a quick goodbye to Yuta and trails behind you. 

When he enters the room he sees you cuddled into your blankets already. And a space next to you big enough to fit another person. You stick your hand out to pat the space next to you, signaling Mark to Join.

Mark places the snacks between you two and he lays beside you. You both sit on the bed and you press the play button. The soothing voice of Bob Ross is the only thing heard in your bedroom. Which of course didn’t bring mark relaxation, only boredom.

When your full attention is in theTV, mark tries to scoot closer. His hand only an inch away from yours but just as your hands are about to touch you reach into the chip bag and shoved a handful into your mouth. Mark raises a brow at your actions. Clearly,when your watch your show, nothing else matters around you. 

After about an hour and a half you start start to grow drowsy. It was late, around 11:30. You could hardly keep your eyes open at this point. Your Body falling over slightly, Mark notices right away and moves much closer, closing the gap between you and having your head land on his shoulder. This was nothing new. You would always lay your head on his shoulder. 

It was nothing but something friends would do,right?

Not that mark didn’t like it, he might love it a little too much. He pushes the hair from your face and looks at your relaxed features. 

Mark reached for the remote to turn off the tv but then you speak. “Mark I’m… sorry.” You say just above a whisper. “For shooting at you.” You add. He looks down at you, your eyes were closed, so you were clearly half asleep. 

“I deserved it. You did nothing wrong… I’m the one who should be sorry. I skipped out on you again. I’m the real jerk here.” Mark lays his hard on top of yours.

“Just try not to forget about me.” You almost whimper. His heart was almost torn in half. He always  hates doing this to you, more than anything. “That’s all that matters…” you finish as light snores come from your lips.

“I’ll… I’ll try.” He says. He of course knows you couldn’t hear when you’re asleep . “You mean so much to me, that’s why I have to keep you safe...” You wouldn’t know what he said later. It was almost like his words were empty. He knew there was no way to promise that he’ll not be busy or safe. This is a big responsibility, he’s a superhero that fights the nastiest and most cold hearted villains for a living. 

And yet, he’s so easily defeated by a girl. 

The door squeaks open to reveal johnny. Mark pushes a finger to his lips, johnny just nods. Johnny just nudges his head signaling him to come into the hallway. Mark agrees and gently take you in his arms and places you down onto the bed . Bringing the blanket over your body and takes the chips and other snacks, placing them on your nightstand. He turns off the TV and goes to Johnny who awaits in the hallway. After coming out of the room he finds that Yuta and Johnny are waiting.

As soon as Mark closes the door, he shoves his fingers in his hair and slides down the door.

“I’m guessing you feel bad?” Johnny says. Mark only gives a nod and stands back up. “Aight kid I think you should head home, you need a ride? There are some crazy people out and about at night.” Johnny asks. “Nah I’ll be fine. I only live five minutes away.” With that, Mark gives a goodbye to Johnny as he walks out the door. 

On the walk home nothing other than the thought of him lying to you goes through his head. One day, just maybe… he’d be able to tell you.

-

The next morning went like any other day. An alarm suddenly rings and with a result of Mark shooting up from his slumber. He shuts it off and proceeds to get ready for school. After taking a shower and getting ready, Mark says bye to his aunt and heads to go meet you and Haechan at the usual  meeting area, so you could walk to school together.

After walking for a bit and trying to wake himself up ,he can see you and Haechan chatting. A sudden burst of laughter comes from the both of you. Mark could feel the ends of his mouth rise. Oh, how mark could listen to you laugh all day. Soon, The both of you take notice of each other. Mark gives you a slight wave and jogs over to you. 

“ morning, Mark.” Haechan greets, though it holds a slight worried tone. Mark notices right away but you on the other hand seemed happier than usual. 

“Morning Donghyuk and you too __”

“Mark I’m glad you showed up today because I have something really cool to tell you.” The excitement overload shows. Mark looks at Haechan with an unsure look. “But I’m gonna have to tell you later when I know for sure.” She informs the two boys. Mark just raises a brow and just decides to forget about, thinking it wasn’t really anything.

 You guys make it to school faster than usual due to your fast pace walking and bouncing. Now it was starting to peek Mark’s interest seeing you this excited by something. He hadn’t seen you this excited since he took you to the art museum for the first time.

Waking into the halls of the school you disperse into your different ways. You have class on the opposite side of school while Haechan and Mark have a class in the same hall. Since Haechan and Mark we’re both way beyond their grade levels in academics, they had most of their classes together. 

“So what's got __ all excited.” Mark’s asks. But all he received was a nervous look from the younger boy.

“I’m sure it was just that she woke up in a good mood today.” Haechan reassures and makes his way to his desk.

Mark decided to not think much of it at that moment, but the moment Haechan left his side, it was on his mind. 

What wouldn’t he tell him? 

Why would he give him that kind of nervous look if I wasn’t something bad? Mark mindlessly scribbles on his chemistry paper. Not paying attention to the lecture didn’t really hurt him. This stuff was too easy for him anyway. 

How else could he make his spidey equipment without knowing the ins and outs of chemistry and science?

A few hours pass and then it was time for lunch. Mark quickly makes his way to the cafeteria and sees Haechan eating a sandwich, while working on a small device.

Sitting down next to him Mark takes out his bagged lunch that his aunt prepared for him. His eyes wander and take a peek at the work of Haechan fingers, and his curiosity gets the best of him.

“What are you doing?” Mark asks and takes a bite of his ham sandwich. 

“A new spidey tech attachment. I noticed that your strength outmatches the strength of you webbing, so I wanted to make something that could make it stronger. I know it was strong before but with this, you can swing with an elephant like nothing.” Mark was very much impressed. Haechan was usually the one to help make advancements to his gear. Thanks to Haechan his equipment was better than anything he could do on his own.

Haechan decided to go back to his work in peace while Mark sat in quietness. Which brought Mark back his worry in the first place. 

You.

“Hey I wanted to ask you something.” Mark directs at the working boy. But he seemed to be too caught up in his work to notice or care. Mark was about to ask again when a female figure caught his eye.

You were across the cafeteria. Waiting patiently by the doors of the building. Fumbling with the edge of your shirt nervously. 

Elbowing Haechan next to him Mark grabs his attention. 

“What?” He asks looking a bit annoyed.

“What’s __ doing?” Mark turns Haechan’s head to your direction. Haechan raises a brow turns back around going back to work. 

“Beats me. Maybe she’s waiting for someone?” He says. 

Waiting for who Mark thought. They were already both at the table and you didn’t talk to anyone else but them. 

But the worst did come. Well the worst In Mark’s mind.

A boy. A boy indeed makes his way up to you, to which you greet happily. He flashes a smile to you and offers to take your backpack. Mark smacks his friends shoulder. An annoyed grumble directs it’s way towards Mark.

“DongHyuk look.” Mark harshly whispers, slapping his shoulder again. 

“What?!” Haechan turns his head once again but immediately his eyes fall on you. 

“Oh boy.” Is all he could say. Glancing at the older boys direction, he could almost see the green in his eyes. It was true, jealousy bubbles in mark’s belly. His jaw clamped shut with a great force. 

“Hey chill maybe he’s just telling her that her shoe is untied.” Hyuk tried to reassure.

“She wearing her laceless vans today.” Mark with the vision of a hawk could see a mile away. Haechan was surprised by his quick and weird reaction.

After a good minute of the both of you talking, you follow him out of the cafeteria. His hand on your back guiding you out of the crowded room. 

How dare he touch you? Mark’s mind is racing with a million thoughts all at once.

“Mark chill, they’re probably just friends-“

“But we’re her friends DongHyuk!” Mark slams his fist on the table grabbing the attention of a few students next them. Mark lets out a sorry and sits down with his head in his hands. Haechan pats his back gently. Haechan badly wanted to say something but his promise to you rang in his head. 

“I wouldn’t worry about. Why would she have a boyfriend and not tell us? Isn’t it unlike us to jump to conclusions?” He was right. Mark knew they Weren’t ones to jump the gun right away. 

“Then why is she with him?” 

“I don’t know Mark, just calm down.” With that said Haechan takes his milk out of his lunch box and sets it on the table. 

“Why would she keep a secret? Aren’t I her best friend?” Mark’s asks, Haechan gave him a skeptical look before digging into his bag to find a straw.

“You get mad at her for keeping a secret? Look who’s talking buddy. You have no room to talk.” Haechan says annoyed. 

Mark knew his friend was right. He thought How dare he get angry at you when he was keeping the biggest secret of them all. That’s all Mark was now, secrets. 

But why was he feeling this way?

Disgust. Anger. Jealousy. Is all that he felt at once. 

Without noticing mark’s hand was around haechan’s milk carton, his fingers clamping down on the cardboard. But without noticing his strength the top rips open. And a volcano of milk splashes all over Haechan’s face. The younger boy inhaled deeply as he wipes the milk from his face. Mark was at his feet to get napkins in a hurry before his friend could get his hands around his neck. 

Grabbing the napkins he stops to look at those doors that you walked through earlier. But then rushes back towards the soaking boy.

-

The rest of the day mark didn’t see you. 

He would usually see you around in the halls. Where you would talk for a few minutes before getting to class. But you were nowhere to be seen.

And It kinda worried him. 

Leaving school he suited up and made his way through the city like Every day. Haechan making it home soon after to get on voice call with him.

“Any police calls?” Mark asks jumping of the building falling half way until he decides to shoot his web towards a building opposite of him.

“Nope just a few calls about barking dogs and loud neighbors. Nothing juicy yet.” Haechan can be heard adjusting in his desk, papers shuffling around.

“Did you finish your micro biology homework yet?” The younger boy asks. Mark just rolls his eyes, landing and sticking on the side of a building. Not taking his eye off the people down below.

“Now is not the time to ask that hyuk, besides I have a lot going through my mind.” A groan leaves the voice on the other side of the speaker.

“Are you really still worked up about that? I told you it’s nothing to worry about.” Mark just huffs and proceeds to patrol the neighborhood. 

“No! I just didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.” Mark explains. But DongHyuk could see through any lies that his best friend tells. But he decided to ignore it for now. 

“Well snap out of it. You’re working.”

-

It was calm out tonight. 

Today was a bunch of small things like walking a lady down the street and getting a few cats out of trees. So nothing too stressful for Mark. Swinging through the buildings of the city, Mark takes a minute to just look around. Haechan’s light snores could be heard but mark just let him sleep while he just listened to the police radio. 

Mark decided to take a break. Landing gracefully on top of a building. Taking off his mask to wipe the sweat off his damp forehead before he sits on the edge of the building taking in the scenery. 

The city was quite the place to live. There was never a dull moment. He was always on his toes…Kinda how he felt when he thought of you. 

Of course the city couldn’t never be as bright and beautiful as you in mark’s eyes. 

You’re his star. No his universe.

A slight chatting wakes mark from his thoughts. Looking down he sees you, the person who was just in his thoughts. Pulling his mask back down he crawls down the edge of the building. 

You’re on the phone. Talking to someone excitedly. 

Mark takes a moment to admire you. You looked beautiful tonight. You’re hair was done and you wore a casual but fancy outfit. 

What were you waiting for?

Mark found out his answer too soon. Because the same boy from earlier in the day rounded the corner. Mark’s fingers scraped against the brick at the sight of him. 

“Hyuk look at this.” Mark whispers. He hears Haechan snort and groan as he wakes up from his power nap.

“What?”

“Look it’s __” Haechan looks through the camera and indeed sees their friend, but also to his surprise, with the male from earlier. 

“Wowie.” 

“Is that really all you can say?” Mark’s bites. 

“Listen I’m not the one desperately in love with her, ok? It’s your fault that you didn’t have the guts to tell her how you felt anyway. Now look, she’s has a new man-“

“Hyuk!” Mark warns. 

Soon you start to walk with the boy into a nearby building. Which happens to be an art museum. 

“A museum… That's where I used to take her.” Mark’s voice sounded sad but Haechan could only huff.

“Mark you’re on duty. You can’t  worry about this-“

“Backup! We are in need of backup! An armed robbery with hostages at a bank. Backup is needed right way!” The police radio couldn’t be at a worse time. 

“You have to be kidding me!” Mark complains. “The one time-“

“Mark just leave her and hurry up!” Hyuk scolds. But like it was the hardest thing to do, Mark latches off the side of the building and into action.

Leaving you.

Mark made it in record timing. His swift swinging through the buildings made his pursuit to the bank easy. Landing on the nearest building he looked down to see the semi circle of police vehicles surrounding the bank. Other pedestrians around hoping and waiting for something to happen.

“Got anything Hyuk?” 

“I was able to hack into the security cameras already, you would think a bank would have tighter security.” Haechan snickers. His rapid typing in his keyboard rang into Mark’s ears. On his computer Haechan could see exactly what was going on in the bank. 

“Looks like a group of guys. With about 13 hostages.” Mark clicks his tongue looking at the situation like it was no problem. He had done this many times before. 

But this wasn’t like others. There seemed to be a leader to this robbery. A giant man in an all black expensive suit walked through one of the doors of the building. A group of buff and roughed up men behind him. Making his way through the main room of the building, kicking civilians from his walk way. 

“Donghyuk?” Mark was waiting in silence. Haechan shushed him with his eyes still in the Camera. 

Soon the man stood before a giant brown desk. With the snap of his fingers one of his goons wipes his arm across the table, causing papers and pens to fly across the floor. The man then takes a case from one of the others and places it gently on the table. And his men start yelling at the hostages to move into a giant safe. The Hostages quickly file into the safe as a man closed the door after they’ve entered, locking them in.

“Mark it looks like he has something and he’s got the people locked up in a huge money safe.” Haechan warns. Mark takes it as his cue to jump into action.

“I need a place I can get in. Any idea what he might have.” Mark swings on top of the building running towards the door leading to a staircase but it was locked. “Well that wouldn’t have been a subtle way of getting in anyway.” Mark says to himself. 

“Alright I think I found you a way in but it might be a tight squeeze.” Haechan sighs. Mark looks to his side to see the thing he was talking about. An air vent. Mark groans a bit to himself and makes his way to the vent. Pulling the heavily bolted vent cover like it was nothing and dives in. 

“So any idea what might be in the case?” Mark whispers as he crawls swiftly through the vents.

“No not yet it seemed like they have been discussing for a while.” Haechan looks deeper trying to find a good camera angle. But another thing catches his attention. The man who brought in the case was making a move out of there. Along with all the other men. Leaving the hostages along with a few the man that caused the robbery. Just waiting.

“Mark I think the boss is leaving but there are still some goons there.” A man who was heavily armed made his way to the case and flipped a switch that seemed to cause some kind of beeping. 

As soon as the beeping starts. They run for it, booking it out of the bank as soon as they can. Haechans heart dropped realizing what’s happening. 

“MARK ITS A BOMB!” Just as he yells that Mark finds the correct vent and kicks it down . Dropping into the floor of the main room. There he could see the briefcase sitting just where Haechan said. He acts quick taking the case off the table and running towards the doors, locked. 

30 seconds were on the clock.

Mark takes a few strides back before running toward the doors and kicking it open. What was waiting out front were the huge amount of cops. 

They flash their lights at him. Pointing their guns at him accusingly. 

“Spider-Man hands up!” 

“Sorry guys but I’m kinda in a hurry.” Mark sets the case down and points his web shooters at two lamppost a good distance away. Grabbing the two webs and tying them together to make a slingshot. 

“You guys might wanna duck!” The officers and civilians drop to the floor instantly as Mark pulls the case down as far as he can before letting go. The case went blasting off into the sky above them. 

But before it could come down a giant blast lit up the night sky. Causing various car alarms to go off and windows to be broken. Yells of civilians were heard all around as they ducked low, covering their heads. 

So mark took it as his time to leave before he has to deal with the police. 

Mark made it far enough so he can rest. His heart pumping at the close call back there. He lands into an ally way, but he could still hear the sirens of police cars and ambulances.

Mark slides into the floor and rests his head in his hands.

“Looks like they got the hostages out.” Haechan says through the speaker.

“That’s good.” Mark massages the back of his neck. “Why did this have to be such a stressful night?” Mark complains. Sliding his foot forward towards a can, knocking it against a wall.

“My question is why take over a bank for nothing? They had a chance to take money but decided to blow it up instead? That doesn’t make sense to me.” He couldn't wrap his head around the situation. Haechan looked through the cameras once more to see but what he saw surprised him.

“Mark I don’t think they did this for the money. I think it was a distraction.” 

“Why do you say that?”

“Well I’m looking back at the recordings from before the robbery. A banker was looking at the funding for several different events going on in the city . But in the next clip it shows the guy being thrown out and one of the goons takes a goon at these. He even downloaded it.”

“So what are you saying, Hyuk?”

“I think they used this bombing as a way to distract from something bigger.”

—-

The next day at school Mark couldn’t even think. He didn’t get a wink of sleep last night. But even though he didn’t sleep, he felt more awake than ever. The stress of you and the evil scheming had his mind about to explode. 

After putting his stuff away Mark closes his locker gently. But rests his head against the cool metal surface. Just wanting his mind to be clear for just one second. But Haechan ruins his moment by grabbing his shoulders and turning him around. 

“You look like a lifeless shell.” Haechan says just straight up. Mark would usually be offended by a comment like this but still carries no expression. Haechan just rolls his eyes and grabs his backpack to start dragging him.

“Where are we going?” Mark asks as he just lets himself be dragged like a doll through the halls. 

“To see __, she usually cheers you up.” Little did Haechan know, Mark was even more anxious to see you.

Since it was lunch, you decided to get some more artwork done. You were beyond excited for what was coming up that you didn’t think you could keep it in much longer. You couldn’t tell Mark yet, it had to keep a secret until you were sure.

you couldn’t hold yourself back enough because you ended up telling Haechan the first day. 

But you just had to surprise mark. You could hold off on telling him for sure.

You were in the art room waiting for Renjun, another art student, he said he would help you in exchange for help to talk to his crush, a thespian who was in the school play. He’s been spending time after school with you to help prepare. And you of course have been giving him the best advice you could give. He was very sweet and did his best to help you in every way.

A ding from your phone yanks you from your thoughts. A notification from the news saying that Spider-Man had saved the day again. You rest your hand against your chest, because how could you not swoon over that guy. Something just drawn you to the superhero. 

Maybe it was just hormones. 

You shake it off and decide to get back to painting. Painting two figure under a tree, the girl resting her head on the males shoulder as he held her hand. It looked beautiful so far in your eyes. And you couldn’t help but think of that special someone with you like that.

Mark instantly drills into your head. You try to wipe the thoughts away but you couldn’t. It’s what was on your mind most of the time. It’s hard having a crush on your best friend. 

You couldn’t possibly confess. No way!

What if he didn’t like you that way? Wait, you knew he didn’t. 

He thought of you just as one of the boys. Like all of them did. You’re rough and boyish exterior turning boys off or just uninterested in general. 

Maybe if you were more like a girl?

You’ve considered that sometimes. Maybe dressing up a little nicer than just your brother and his friends hand me downs. And some of the Mark's old T-shirts, the ones you love the most. 

Then maybe he would like you. 

But You remember when he told you he never wanted you to change. That You are perfect the way You are when you were feeling terrible about yourself.That stuck with you since and You couldn’t fall for him more after that. You love that he was there…

He’s always there. And how you wish you were more.

You were so into your thoughts that the blank face on the boy in the painting was now someone who resembled said best friend. His same soft features but mixed with his matured face shape. 

You painted someone perfect. Well perfect in your eyes. You couldn’t help but paint yourself on to canvas. The painting would just be a fun little thing, no one will see it.

But, you look up too see said perfect face through the window of the art room making his way to the classroom. You act fast and grab the nearest tarp you can find and throw it on the wet painting.

  The boys walk in, Mark still slumped over. You walkover to greet them but another person walks into the class. It was Renjun. 

He looks over to you and then back at Mark, knowing fully well about your crush. 

“Is this a bad time?” You were quick to stop him.

“No no this isn’t. Um guys this is Renjun, Renjun this is Mark and Donghyuk.” You introduce, Haechan happily shakes his hand.

“You can call me Haechan.” Renjun was happy to be greeted positively. But…

The second he goes to shake marks hand. Mark grips his hand a little too tight. Renjun flinches a bit. “You can call me Mark, just Mark.” Mark almost tried to make it as friendly as possible. Renjun lets go off his hand and moves his fingers trying to get blood flow back through. 

“ so __ did you want to head out now?” Renjun asks. Mark raises his brows and looks over to you, you’re a little nervous but grab your things. “Of course I have to get a few things done here and we can head out.” You grab your art brushes and head over to the sink to rinse them. 

“So, where you guys going?” Mark asks and you flinch. You almost lose hold of the brushes. 

“Um were just gonna head out into town, I’m already excused from my classes so it’ll be ok.” 

“You and him alone?” Mark asks.

“Um yes?” I says unsure of the situation.

“No.” 

“What?”

“ I said no. You’re not going anywhere with a boy into town, alone. Especially since I know you don’t know him that well.” Mark explains. Haechans eyes widen and he wants to step in but you go first.

“Excuse me? Since when did you tell me what to do, Mark Lee?” You were close to him, looking up at him with eyes like fire.

“Since I decided I don’t trust him.” Mark bites back. Never in your life have you seen Mark like this, he usually cool with new friends. 

“Umm if I may say-“ Renjun tried to step in.

“Shut up, we’re talking.” Mark hisses at the poor boy.

“Mark!” You grab his shoulder to turn him towards you again. “What the fuck had gotten into you? This isn’t like you.” Then It snapped, or he snapped. He looked at you. You were worried, it was true, he was never one to get angry at you. But for some reason he couldn’t take it here.

“I’m just trying to be a good friend.” 

“You’re not acting like my friend, Mark. You’re acting like a jerk.” His jaw clenched and he walked out. Straight out the door and down the hall…

Leaving you again.

You stood back in shock as you saw your friend swing the door open and walk out. But as stubborn as you are, you went back to putting stuff away. Haechan stayed back with you to help you out. Taking your water cups and rinsing them beside you , while Renjun carried some boxes to his car. 

“What’s gotten into him, hyuk?” You whisper, you couldn't just not talk about that little episode mark put on. Haechan just sighed and turned the sink off. 

“He’s just really stressed right now. He’s got a lot on his plate.” You couldn’t hold it. A frown makes its way on your face. Your hands getting rough as you wash the brushes. But it doesn’t go unnoticed by your other best friend.

“Hey.” He grabs you gently and turning you towards him. “What’s wrong?” You nod, not sure if you should tell him. 

“You can tell me anything. I’m your best friend.” He reassures. You didn’t have a choice but to talk to him.

“Well, he’s so secretive now. Like he’s hiding something from me…” Haechan tenses a bit but not that you noticed. He knew all along that you would catch on to his constant absence, it was only a matter of time.

“But that’s not the part that got to me.” 

“It was the fact that he said friend. And I hate that I’m just his friend.” As soon as you said that, Haechan brought you closer. You buried your head into his chest but Haechan looked at the wall,smiling just a bit.

—— 

Mark went on patrol in cold spirits that night. His mind was so out of place, his swings were sloppy. And he almost got hit by a car. 

He couldn’t help but feel bad about the whole thing that happened with you. He would scold you of course sometimes but he never really told you what to do. He knew you were very free spirited and did what you wanted. But he just couldn’t help it. His blood was boiling at the thought of you with some boy... alone. 

But you were with him… alone. So what’s the difference? Well the difference was what made 

Mark so angry.

It wasn’t himself. He knows he shouldn’t be angry, that you can do whatever you want and that he should be fine. But he wasn’t fine.

“Aye Mark.” Haechans voice was brought up. “You seem a little quiet.” Of course Haechan knew what was going through his head. Though Haechan was disappointed in the way his friend acted but he couldn’t help but feel some sort of pity.

“I’m fine Hyuk.” Haechan clicked his tongue, not satisfied by the answer. 

“Just go talk to her, Mark” he suggested. Mark just sat in silence for a bit. He sat on top of a skyscraper, looking into the city. The city you both lived in. 

He liked the city. 

He always thought, even though two people might not be near each other, they were still in the same city. Still in the same place. 

That’s how he would think. 

While he would swing all along the giant buildings and alleyways. Going god knows where in this giant city. But He knew you were in this city, the city he protected with all of his might. So you could be safe, his family could be safe. He wasn’t in to for the glory, the fame, no. 

He did it for the people and the city he loves.

“I think you’re right.” Mark let’s out breath. 

“I’ll do it now. I’ll confess my feelings”

——

After patrol, Mark just had to talk to you. He wanted to apologize, no he needed to. He didn’t want you feel like he didn’t trust you. So after changing into his regular attire he rushes straight towards your apartment. He was anxious to walk  up the steps, it was late after all. His patrol ended late and he doubted you’d still be awake at this time.  But he pushed himself to the buzzer and rang.

“Hello?” A voice rang. Johnny answered the buzzer of course. He would usually stay late playing video games with his friends or doing work on his computer.

“Um it’s Mark. You think I can talk to __? I know it’s late-“

“She’s actually not home right now.” And like nothing that feeling hit Mark’s stomach again, that nasty gross drop of his stomach. 

“Where is she?” If you’re not here this late at night then where the hell would you be? It wasn’t like you to stay out late at all. You’d usually want to be in bed before midnight. 

“She’s with her friend, Rodger? They went to go do some stuff for-“ 

“Mark?” 

Mark’s attention is no longer at Johnny, but you standing before him so late at night. You still looked stunning, like the other night he saw you out and about in the city. Your hair was curled around your face perfectly and light makeup done. It was unusual to see you like that ,but  what surprised him the most was your beautiful dress. He’d never thought he’d see the day when you would look like this. Though he thought you were beautiful all the time, you just looked so elegant.

“What are you doing here?” You ask. You didn’t seem angry, if anything you looked happier than ever.

And you had amazing news to tell him.

“I was just coming by to talk to you. What are you doing out so late?” Mark knew. He could only assume that you and Renjun were on some kind of date. And why you came back so late was something he didn’t want to think about.

“Umm I was with Renjun. But that’s besides the point I have to tell you something Mark. It’s been something that I’ve been wanting to tell you.” You say excitedly. 

But for some reason it made mark angry in the inside. 

Has Renjun kissed you? Held you? Touched you? Everything Mark has dreamed and this boy that you hardly know could have it all. What did he have that he didn’t? What could be so special about him to be granted the best human in the world? All the questions stormed in Mark’s head. Making him angry again.

“Actually i need to get going.” Mark says gruffly. Turning to walk the other direction. Not wanting to be there. 

“Already? I wanted to tell you something-“

“It’s late.” Mark cuts you off and walks away. He used a venomous tone. “I’m leaving.” You didn’t take the tone well and grabbed his shoulder.

“Mark.” You say with an equally as hard voice. His head turns slightly to get a glimpse. You’re stance said everything, you were on edge. “What’s up with you lately?” You ask but not harshly, more concerned than anything.

“What’s up with me? You’re the one who’s out so late at night doing god knows what with some dude.” He bit back, yanking his shoulder out of your hold. “You’ve been keeping stuff from me thinking I wouldn’t notice. But guess what __, i did!” His voice was getting louder by each word. But you stood your ground.

“Me being secretive? You’re one to talk Mark Lee because what I’m doing right now, is you everyday.” You pointed out. “And what could possibly be going on be me and Renjun? Oh wait, that’s really none of your business what I do Mark.” You throw down your bag to your side. He could tell you’re getting riled up.

“It’s ok I don’t need to ask anyway. I could already assume what’s going on. No girl just dresses nicely and returns home late on a regular day. I can tell what’s going on.” Your jaw clenches.

“You think Renjun and I are a thing? And what, you think I got back late because I was out on a date?Or out getting into trouble?Last time I thought you trusted me.” Your voice breaks a bit.

Mark stays emotionless.

How dare he accuse you of doing something like that, he was assuming for sure. And it just got under your skin.

“So that’s how it is. You can leave me when we have plans, you can miss my achievements, you can skip out on me when I need you. But the one time I skipped on you, I’m some kind of kind of villain ? A bad friend?” Tears were threatening to spill but you drag your palms against your eyes roughly. “All those times I was sad, I wanted to see you, you were god knows where! Hoping you were ok.” 

Mark couldn’t say anything. This was way more than Renjun or coming home late. You were angry, angry that he was mad at you for something stupid. And you thought now would be the best time to call him out on his BS.

“But instead of assuming you were some fuck boy or gangster Doing fucking crack. I waited, I waited and I forgave.” Your fists are tightly gripped. “ but little did I know that my best friend, the one I trust the most… thought so little of me and leave whenever he saw fit.” Your lips quiver.

“And now here i am. After I wanted to tell you something important to me, I’m here crying like a baby-“

“Maybe you should go to Renjun then. I don’t care what you do.”

Cold. His voice had never been so frigid. He didn’t know why. But immediately he regretted it. 

You grab the collar of his shirt, Mark was surprised. His eyes widen as you lift your face, tears running down your cheeks. Raising your fist, you wanted to punch him. Let out your anger, but that didn’t seem right. A punch wouldn’t make it go away.

Your boyish Mentality pushing through. But wasn’t that the thing that he didn’t like you for in the first place? It was clear now in your eyes. He’ll never be more, he never thought more of you.  You felt like nothing to him now. 

Your fist trembled. You just couldn’t do it. 

Your arm lowers lifeless to your side. And your hand lets go of Mark’s collar. Pushing away from him harshly. 

“I…thought you cared about me.” Then that’s when it hit him. “But I guess not. So why don’t you do what you do best and leave…” 

That was the final blow. At this point he would’ve wanted the punch in the face, hell, he would take a million. Because this pain was far worse.

All those things he said to you in that moment. He hated himself. He could feel his heart shatter into a million pieces. How could be that way to you? How could he hurt you like this, the person he wanted to protect most of all. He hurt you. He was so quick to jump to conclusions he totally went over you calling him out for being a terrible friend.

You grab a few rocks throwing them at him, crying.

“LEAVE! Get out of my face!” Mark tried to block the flying stones. “I don’t want to see you!” You screamed, not caring who heard. But soon it all came rushing down.

You fall to your knees. Crying into your hands. As Mark stood in front of you. A look of pure sorrow in his eyes. 

“Just please… leave.” And as you wished. Mark took off running. He couldn’t stop running, he didn’t care where he went. Taking out his web blasters he took to the sky. Tears running flying off his face as he flew through the building not caring who saw. Of course one one saw him. But when he reached a dirty alley, he kicked over every trash can in sight. Pounding his hands on the moldy bricks. 

As he cried. Hating himself. 

For hurting you all this time.

—-

Mark didn’t want to leave bed. After crying himself to sleep last night he wanted nothing more than to stay and rot. 

A soft knock was heard in his room. Mark didn’t say anything. So of course his aunt took it upon herself to walk in. “Hey mark? You ok honey?” Mark just shoved his face into the pillow more. A weight came on the bed as his aunt sits next to his feet. 

“Girl problems?” She asks. And mark just gives a slow nod. “You know I still think that __ will be my niece in law one day.” She says as she gets up and opens the curtains of his room. 

“Well maybe you should have her marry another nephew because I messed up.” She gives a sad smile and crouches down to where Mark’s head is.

“Come on, let's get you ready for school.” 

—-

Mark enters school almost with a soulless body. He ended up getting a ride from his aunt today. But he didn’t see you or Haechan in the morning. Probably due to the fact that he was late and you two had already walked to school together, which means Haechan…

“You fucking dickhead!.” As mark walks into class he was greeted by a five subject notebook coming his way, he dodged it of course. But Haechan was steaming around the class. Making his way to mark and grabbing him by his collar, much like you last night. “How are you going to do that to her?!” Mark just slaps Haechan’s hand away and starts proceeding to his seat. Pulling out his chair not so gently he sits and rests his head against his desk.

“You think I don’t feel like shitty? I’ve never felt this horrible in my entire life…” Mark lifts his head from his desk slightly and slams his head into the desk, repeatedly. “Stupid. stupid. stupid!!!” Mark chants, making a scene in the class. Haechan rolls his eyes and slams his hands on the desk besides mark’s head. “All because of my stupid jealousy! Just because I can’t get over the fact that she’s with Renjun-“

“Idiot! She told you she’s not with him!” Haechan counters. Of Course he would defend you, Haechan was as much as a best friend as Mark. 

“Ya right then why were they together so late at night?” Mark’s words were almost muffled because of his face against the desk.

“Man, you really are stupid. The reason she was with him wasn’t because she’s dating him! The guy already has a girlfriend-“

“What?!” Mark’s Head springs up. His full attention on Haechan . “He’s taken?! Then why was she trying so hard to hide things from me? And why did she only tell you things?” Mark had so many questions, too many things racing through his mind. How could he be so stupid to accuse you? Still even after you yelled at him about it yesterday?

“Maybe if you would let me fucking finish!” The younger male scolded. “The reason she was hiding it was because… I wasn’t supposed to tell you this but, she did it to surprise you.” Mark’s brows furrow. Haechan did seem uneasy just telling him something that you were planning to keep secret, but considering the circumstances, he saw no use in keeping it on the down low.

“What do you mean?” Mark was trying not to sound desperate. But he was truly thirsty for answers. With a nervous sigh Haechan explains.

“ The reason she only told me was because it slipped out, but the reason she was hanging around Renjun was because he was helping her get into an art show. One of the biggest art shows in the country, they said that they’ll select one lucky student from the city to display their art with professionals. It’s a once in a lifetime opportunity that any artist could possibly dream of. Not only will their art be on display ,but a full ride scholarship to the finest art school in the country would be granted.” 

“Don’t- don’t tell me-“ Mark couldn’t even bring himself to form sentences. 

“She got it.” Haechan wasn’t going to lie, he wanted Mark to feel the blow. But being both of their friends he felt both sad and glad. “ Her art will be on display with some of the most expensive and priceless art.”

“But why didn’t she tell me?” Mark asks, his palms started to get sweaty already. “Why did-“

“You were the person she wanted surprise the most, after you supported her. You were the one that she was looking forward to telling the most, but she didn’t want to unless she was sure. That’s what she was going to tell you last night but now you messed everything up. Now her feeling are destroyed because you decided to be a fucking jackass.” Haechan has no mercy. He always allaying it down honestly. 

Mark stands up quickly, his chair flying back. “I have to go find her! And tell her I’m sorry for being such a fucking jerk!” As mark tried to go for the door Haechan stops him.

“She’s not here today. She’s taking today off so she could prepare for the gallery opening night tonight .” Mark looks at the clock, class was about to start but he just had to talk to you. Ignoring his friends words Mark books it to the art room. 

Getting there in record time, he sees Renjun prepping the art supplies for later art classes. Mark opens the door catching the other boys attention. Renjun nearly almost drops the pencils he was holding in his hand as he sees a panting Mark. Mark stumbles into the art room, closing the door behind him. 

Renjun grows nervous. Moving towards the end of the class subtly. No one else was in the class because the lack of a first hour class. So it was just him and Mark. 

“You.” Mark points an accusing finger. 

“M-me?” Renjun was confused, but not only confused, he was unsure of Mark’s intent. 

“I need you to tell me everything.”

———

Mark skipped his whole first hour class just for Renjun’s reasoning. 

It was all true.

Mark lee was a total jerk. 

Mark could just feel his whole body react to the negativity. His stomach aches, hands sweaty and an overall gross feeling. Sure this might only be teen anxiety, but he still feels like garbage. 

Mark decided to attend the rest of his classes that day. While school was able to take his mind off it for a bit but was painfully reminded of it at lunch, when Haechan gave him the silent treatment the whole time. He even scooted away from him a few feet. 

So mark ate his sandwich alone. 

So he decided he NEEDED to talk to you. He needed to say sorry for being such a jerk. So after school, he decided to head straight to your building. He made a beeline to the buzzer, pressing it a little too eagerly. The obnoxious buzzing was ringing as he anxiously waited for an answer. He wasn’t sure if anyone was home, Haechan said you were preparing for the opening night. And Johnny doesn’t get off work till later in the evening. 

But he did get and answer. 

“Yo this is yuta.” The man answers. His voice had a tired feel, like he had just woken up. Probably crashed at your place after another night of drinking. 

“This is Mark.” He answers, he was bouncing on the balls of his feet as well. He couldn’t stay still, not when you were on his mind. 

“Oh….. bye.” Yuta ends abruptly. Mark wasn’t having it and pressed the buzzer again much harder as if it would make a difference.

“Yuta I need to talk to ___, it’s important.” Mark almost commands.

“Why the hell should I? After what you said to her? Besides she’s already busy getting ready for the opening night. So scram. She doesn’t need anymore stress on her big day.” With that Yuta leaves mark hanging. Mark’s teeth grits with stress.

“Yuta. Yuta!YUTA!” But no answer,He presses his finger one last time, cracking the buzzer. “Fine have it your way!” His finger finally lets go of the poor button and he starts his way home.

“I guess I’ll have to go to her another way.” Mark says and he books it somewhere else.

-

You had just arrived back at school for your final piece to display. After doing one last check of the art room, the canvas that you were working on previously, sat in the corner. Walking over the painting you try to lift the tarp off, but it stuck to the canvas. But only on the faces that you had freshly painted before throwing the tarp over it.

The painting of both you and mark, well it wasn’t supposed to be you both. But you did remember mindlessly painting yourself with him that day he had a sudden outburst. You remember throwing the tarp over the freshly painted faces, forgetting about the consequences of wet paint. 

You give the tarp a sharp tug and the tarp came off but brought the faces with it, leaving blank faces left on the two people,The bright white canvas showing. 

Without thinking, rage fills every vein in your body and fills your brain with such anger that You pick up the canvas roughly. 

And throw it across the room. 

It hits a table with a loud band and bounces back towards your direction, sliding in front of your feet. You look down at those blank faces, thinking about how accurate they are. 

The once bright faces of the both of you were gone. Who knew it be secrets that would be the one who torn you apart. His lying, his excuses of all the times he’s left you alone. The times when I walked home alone from the movies he forgot, or the time when You ice skated alone for two hours, just waiting. But...

You never thought to be mad… of course you liked to show it like that, but you never really got angry. If anything you were just disappointed, sad, but never really angry.

Until that one night, was when you finally let it all out. All you could remember is the anger on his face, and that’s when you got mad, then of course things happened and here you are now.

Just staring at those stupid blank faces. 

A slight buzzing in your back pocket takes your attention away from the pathetic painting. Taeil, one of your brothers best friends, name showed on your phone. Sliding the answer button, you go to sit on the stool.

“Hey you ready? I’m outside the school, Johnny said he was busy at work-“

“So he got the best next thing to pick you up!” Taeil was cut off, already knowing who it is.

“Ok Taeil and hey Yuta, I’ll be out in a minute.” With that you hang up the phone. Gathering your stuff to leave, you look at the painting one more time. 

With a sigh, you snatch it from the floor and rush out the door of the art room. Off to home to get ready for tonight.

—-

Hours had passed, and it was now time for the art show. Hundreds of people of all walks of life waited to enter one of the most prestigious art shows of the city. And for such a prestigious show, means fancy people were sure to come. Like CEOs, models, and famous talk show hosts. 

At first you couldn’t even believe you were in such a show, but you knew that you deserved this. You’ve worked hard for this. 

Now you stand in the gallery hall. Hearing the people chit chat from outside the building. Also looking around at the other artists, they looked like a million bucks, some dresses in outfits that could pay your college tuition. While you stand there in a dress, that you spent all your saving money for, just to look the part. 

“Hey you ok?” Renjun who was with you, helping you get everything ready. 

“Ya… just a little nervous.” Renjun pats you on the shoulder and give you a gentle smile.

“No need to be nervous. You’ll rock it.” He holds up his hand for a high five, which you gladly give to him. “Oh and by the way, I just hung up your newest painting.” He informs. You quickly thank him and he runs off with the school administrators who were monitoring your section of the gallery.

Checking the time on your phone, it was almost time and you wanted to be sure to touch up your makeup before the public sees you. Taking your small backpack you walk quickly towards the direction of the bathroom. Not really watching where you are going you bump into someone, causing you to stumble back a bit.

“Watch it brat!” You look up quickly and see a very large man wearing the security uniform. He’s was 6 foot at least and had the build of a pro wrestler. You stutter a quick apology and quickly go around the man, while he just grunted in response and proceeds walking. A heavy looking briefcase waving back and forth in his hand.

“What the heck is his problem?” You say to yourself and jog your way back towards the bathroom, not really having a good feeling.

——

“Sold out?!” Mark who was running through the crowds of people on the busy streets, yelled out. He had been looking for hours on how to get his hand on tickets to the event, but alas, they were sold out or either cost an arm and a leg. 

Thunder boomed as the night sky was covered with even darker storm clouds. Mark zipped up his hoodie further as he ran through thin puddles from the downpour earlier that day. His shoes are soaked and his socks the same, but that was the last thing on his mind. 

Making it to the area where everyone was lined up outside. The majority of people were covered in thick expensive coats, protecting them from the rain. Crowds of upper class people waited for this events doors to open, so that meant Mark couldn’t get in this way. 

Mark stood there and thought for a bit.

“Mark?” A person calls his name. Mark’s head snaps back seeing Haechan, dressed in a sleek black suit.  His hair slicked back nicely and shiny. He looked like he belonged in that crowd indeed, while mark stood with a hoodie and soaked shoes. 

“What are you doing here?” Haechan asks looking around anxiously. “If Johnny sees you, it’s not gonna be good.” He warns. Of course Mark knew to be wary of your older brother, he knew how protective he could be. 

But he never thought Johnny would be angry at him. Which made it scary to think about.

“I know… it’s just… I-i have to see her, Donghyuk. I was a huge jerk and this is the most important night of her life. And I just have to be there to see her!” He explains. Haechan could hear the desperation in his voice. 

Mark’s hands fly to his hair and grab roughly as his knees sink to the floor. “I’m such an idiot, I let my jealousy get the best of me and know I can’t even see my best friend on such an Important night…” his voice wavers at every word he speaks. Letting his regret do the talking. 

“Mark” Haechan sighs as he grabs mark by the back of the shirt and lifts him back to his feet. “Mark get ahold of yourself. I know you feel terrible but I think this is-“

“Donghyuk!” They both look over to see Johnny and Yuta. Along with the others, dressed just as nicely as Haechan . Johnny didn’t look happy, his fists clenched along with his jaw. 

“Let’s go.” Johnny almost hissed as he walks away from the scene but Mark was quick to be on his feet.

“Johnny I know you’re-“ Mark was cut off by your brother before anything else.

“I don’t wanna hear it lee. Not on an important night like this. Because unlike you, I actually care about how she feels.” Mark knew not to say anything after that. Instead he just walked away, not looking back.

“Mark!” Haechan calls but Johnny just scoffs. Fixing his tie, he walks to the vip line along with his friends.

“Come on donghyuk, he’s not worth her time right now.” And with that, Haechan walks away with Johnny.

-

“Fuck!” Mark yells as he slams his hands on a brick wall over and over again, in an empty alley.  His knuckles almost becoming bloody. But instead of the skin breaking first it was the brick. A large crack appeared on the wall that he punched. 

“Well I guess that makes two of us that are broken.” Mark slides down the wall of the alley, landing in a puddle but not caring at the moment. Taking out his phone and checking the time he sees that the doors have since opened, and you must be having the time of your life.

Without him there to support you.

Without any mind Mark chucks his phone at the opposite wall, shattering it into pieces. The bits and pieces falling into the wet ground in front of him. 

A hiss leaves his lips as he just realized what he’s done. Mark goes to pick up what’s left of his phone but a gruff voice catches his attention. Mark looks down the alleyway to see a spot of light.

“I’m telling you! Everything should go according to plan tonight. The police are still occupied with bank shit.” The voice grows closer as he walks towards the end of the ally. 

Mark quickly pulls his hood up and jumps into the wall nearest to him.

“I know you have worried but once we get the word, that art show will have another surprise coming to them.” The man laughs and hangs up the phone. He then walks over to a dumpster, throwing his suitcase into it. 

The man then picks up his phone again. Mark waits still listening closely. After seconds, someone has seemed to pick up.

“Evidence is disposed of, 30 minutes until we light it up. And the art will be ours.” The man smirks and takes out a cigar, taking a puff before throwing it into the dumpster, he then lets out the smoke and looks behind the dumpster. And behind holds a bottle of gasoline. 

Opening the jug the man spills the Fluid into the dumpster, lighting it a blaze. But what he wasn’t prepared for was the hooded figure above the dumpster. Looking down at him as he crawled down the wall. 

“W-what the fuck?!” Mark leaps into action. The man throws to throw punches but Mark was much too fast. Dodging the hits like nothing and returning punches twice as effective. Jumping off the man and back into the wall, Mark pushes himself forwards and nailing the man right in the face, making him stagger backwards. 

“What are you planning to do to the art show!?” Mark yells, has he walks towards the man. Whose nose was bleeding like no tomorrow. The man says nothing and lets out a growl as he charges towards mark. But like the blink of an eye the man was back on the floor, and into a dirty puddle. 

His arm bent back in an unnatural angle as Mark stands on top of him.

“I’m not gonna ask again scumbag! What the fuck are you planning?!” Pushing his arm back, the man lets out a wail of pain. 

“It doesn’t matter! It’s already done. There’s no evidence! All that art is ours and the artist, they would cost millions. Imagine having a personal money maker!” The man gives the most disgusting grin, not feeling any guilt.

“You’re planning to kidnap artist?! What would that do?” Mark was beyond angry but also confused. But then it hit him.

“You want some kind of art slave? So they could keep producing and you get the profit?” Mark had learned enough, he was sick but then the thought of you jumped into his head.

You’re there and an artist. 

Mark felt like he wanted to throw up. 

“It’s no use kid-“ 

A fist collided with the mans face immediately and the blow knocked him out instantly. Mark’s hands clench and he runs straight home. 

Because this wasn’t something for mark to handle…

This was Spider-Man’s job.

-

A nervous feeling swarmed around in your stomach as people came and gone from your art exhibit. Luckily people were nothing but impressed at such a young artist. 

Colleges and buyers of all over were amazed at your pieces. Some buyers offering thousands for your art but you kindly rejected. Seeing that these pieces were far more important than money. Your pay off was the fact that people enjoy your art. And that’s all you could ask for.

“Hey you ok kiddo?” Johnny, who had just come back from looking at the other exhibits asked. “You seem kind of on edge.” You just nod as if nothing was wrong but he saw right through you.

“Hey, I know you’re upset. But you shouldn’t be.Mark is the one who is a jerk and doesn’t deserve to be here.” Johnny tried to reassure but he really wasn’t doing a good job. He lets his own emotions take over what your feeling. 

But a cough cuts him off, Yuta, who’s carrying a water bottle and hands it to you. “Johnny, that’s not how you make people feel better. God, you’ve always been terrible at it.” You take the water bottle from his hands. “I’ll talk to her.” He says as he pushes away your brother gently. Johnny just huffs and walks away towards Taeil and winwin.

Wrapping his arm around your shoulder, yuta gives you a hug. “Listen hun, I know you feel upset. Betrayed even, but your brother is right. This is your big night. You’re the star. You look beautiful and the same goes for your artwork.” You stay quiet, taking a sip from your water without a word. Yuta sighs, taking your hand and lead you both to a bench. When you both sit, yuta places your head on his shoulder.

“Let it out.” He says. And right as those words come from his mouth, all he could hear were sniffles. You attempt to wipe your eyes but yuta stops you. You look up to see that he was grabbing the cloth in his suit pocket. 

And began wiping your eyes gently, trying not to smear your makeup. 

“I know it hurts. Not seeing the one you love here.”

Your eyes widen as you look at him dumbfounded. He just looks down with a slight smile and pushes your head back down to his shoulder.

“It’s ok, I promise that whatever Mark said, he didn’t mean.” You just nod and watch as people pass by.

-

Swinging with all of his might, Mark rushes towards the museum. He knew he didn’t have much time left. Plus he didn’t even know what’s going to happen anyway, so not only is he rushing into the unknown, you’re in there. Along with Haechan and your brother and hundreds of others. 

He had no time to waste.

You on the other hand, are mingling with the other art goers. Chatting with the people who were curious about your many art pieces.

“Now little lady, if you don’t mind me asking. What is that one supposed to represent?” A small old woman asked. Her old hands shaking as she pointed with the finger that was covered with diamonds. 

The art piece that seemed to catch her attention was the painting that had the faces ripped off. The last minute piece that You just decided to put up, which surprisingly didn’t get asked about until now. 

“Ya I’m curious about that one too.” Another man, one who was talking to you earlier about his prestigious art school that he ran, asked. 

“Oh um…” You didn’t really think of anything. You just put it up there for no reason really. “I actually don’t know.” You say, unfortunately letting people down. But then Yuta comes in. You look towards him and he gives you a wink in return.

“If I may say something.” The older folks look over that the handsome young man as he steps forward. “I think that this piece tells a story only your mind could comprehend, not one story set in stone. But the story that’s in your heart.” You blink, you were confused to say the least. But you wanted to see where he was going with it.

“If I could ask, __ can you look at it and see a story?” He asked you , turning the attention back into me. 

“I-i uhh..” now it seemed like more folks have gathered around to hear you speak. Curious expressions on everyone’s faces. Your eyes glance over to where Johnny and yuta stood, Yuta mouthing a quick ‘go on’ and sending yet another wink. 

You just let out a breath, trying to let go of everything that was built up inside. 

“Well, what I see… is secrets.” Looking at the painting again and those sickly blank faces that they held. “What i see are two people who are masked by secrets. Though they are together  and holding each other, they still can’t see what each other really look like. They are forced to trust that they are the person they were told they are. But maybe one day, when the secrets pass and trust emerges, then with their faces show.” Quiet, not a sound was heard. As all the faces of the crowd were all different, even Yuta and Johnny are surprised at such a description.

“I’ll pay you 100,000!” A lady shouted. 

“No she couldn’t even buy a yacht with that! I’ll pay 500,000!” A man butts in. Others soon start to swarm in, offers coming like no tomorrow. You didn’t know what to think of the whole situation so you try to calm everyone down but they instead that you sell it.

“Please it’s not for-“

“750,000!”

“800,000!”

“Hey you heard her it’s not for sale!” Johnny tries to conform but people instead came closer as Johnny and Yuta try to hold people back. Taeil and Haechan rush over and get in front of you. You couldn’t back up any further as your back touches the gallery wall, but the people still grew anxious as the security came in and tried to get people back. 

“This is unexpected.” You say to yourself but with somewhat of a proud attitude.

-

“When do you think they’ll get here?” A skinner man asks while lighting a cigar. Putting the cigar to his lips he lets out a dark cloud of smoke. They both stood guard behind the gallery hall. Waiting for the giant trucks so they could easily take and load stuff in. 

“I don’t know but if it’s not soon then we better be getting paid over time.” 

“Wait you’re  getting paid?” The two men look to the side to see spider man resting against the wall staring off into space. The two men act quickly and take out their guns aiming them at Mark straight away.

“Really guys? Did all those guys nights out mean nothing to you?” Mark asks but it didn’t get a very good response because both of the men charge. “I guess not.” 

And he leaps into action.

-

“You ok?” Johnny asks as you rest back down on the bench, the whole scene died down after security really dropped the hammer. 

Though it was overwhelming, you couldn’t have felt more proud of yourself. They wanted something of yours, they appreciated your art. You really count ask for anything better.

“Hey I heard what happened. Are you ok?” Renjun who rushes forward asks. He hadn’t been seen since the opening until now. He was much too busy exploring the gallery with his new girlfriend. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help.” He bows slightly to Johnny. And your brother walks away letting you both in peace.

“You’re fine. It wasn’t too bad. Nothing that we couldn’t handle.” You explain, which Renjun smiles back sitting down next to you. 

“So nothing from you know who?” Renjun asks reluctant, but you just shrug it off.

“Not since earlier today. But I guess it doesn’t really matter. This is my night after all, can’t always be a Mark Lee night.” Renjun frowns a bit but just leaves it as it is for the time being, not wanted to spark anymore bad emotion. 

“Ok.” He rubs your shoulder gently and goes to sit up but the sight of a very large man in all black blocks his path. 

“Oh excuse me..” Renjun tries to make his way around the man but with a rough grab, he's thrown back down on the bench.

“Sit down.” 

You immediately butt in. “Excuse you?!” But like Renjun he tosses you back like a rag doll. “What the fuck?! Johnny-“ a meaty hand slaps over your mouth pushing your head against the wall roughly. 

Both you and Renjun are speechless as he grabs the boy next to by the hair with his freehand. As Renjun tried to fight back but his head was immediately slammed against the wall behind you, knocking him out cold. 

You scream against the man's hand as Renjun slumps down in his seat. Trying to pry the hand off of you, his other hand was now locked around your neck. 

How could no one be seeing this?!

Your legs kick frantically, trying anyway to get out of this man's grasp. But it didn’t nothing, losing air and getting dizzy you try to claw his hands away.

“HEY!” Johnny comes running over with Yuta by his side, both of them having murder in their eyes. “GET THE FUCK OFF OF-“

Then everything trembled.

-

The two guards groan on the floor as Mark starts to look through all their stuff. 

“Hmmm nothing really helpful here. Just truck rentals and a recipe for triple chocolate cake.” Mark throws all the papers on the floor not having a use for them. “I take you as the kind of guy to like chocolate.” He mocks at one of the men knocked out on the floor. 

“Well it was nice hanging out with you guys but I got a gallery to save.” Quickly Mark runs towards the back door, jiggling the knob he noticed that it locked.  Not really having the time to search for the key, he just slams his fist against the knob, knocking it off like nothing. 

“Well.. call me when those trucks get here, ok?” The men again stay quiet and Mark goes to open the door but as soon as the door cracked open. 

Heat over took his whole body as he flew back away from the door. 

An explosion.

Flames rush out of the back door and clouds of black smoke surrounds the small back area. Mark looks down at the two unconscious men and grabs one by the collar.

“What did you do?!” Flailing the man back in forth, Mark saw no point in talking to a man who couldn’t hear him. But he then drops the man like a rag doll.

“Forget about the truck… my friends.” Mark’s Heart drops. “___!!!Donghyuk!!!” Mark yells and runs straight into the room of flames.

-

All you could hear was ringing in your ears. Along with bright orange flames on one side of the room. People were running around but you couldn’t hear them scream. 

You breath heavily as you try to pick yourself up from the floor. Broken glass and other debris scratched up your arms and legs as you moved. 

Then a muffled voice.

“___! Where are you?!__!” It was like they were speaking through a wall. The smoke burned your eyes and tears ran down your dirty sute covered cheeks.

“I’m right here…” you try to call. “I’m ok!” Picking yourself up you try to wobble your way to finding your brother. The ringing in your ears is starting to go away and the screams of people and flames replaced it.

“Johnny! Yuta! Donghyuk!” You yelled trying to go over the yells of other pedestrians. So many people rushed passed you in attempted to get to the exit. One even bumping into your shoulder roughly causing you to stumble but luckily someone caught you.

Yuta.

I didn’t even think before I wrapped my arms around him. Just thanking any god that would be listening to me because behind him was my brother along with everyone else.

“Oh my god __!” Johnny lumps over to you, pulling your head into his chest.

“You guys we have to get out of here!” Haechan says looking around at the building that was Engulfed in flames.

“Wait! Where’s Renjun!?” You panic, remembering he was knocked out cold before the explosion. “I have to go find him!” You say looking around for any sign of him. 

Then you saw him.

Renjun was being carried away by one of the men. He was unconscious on one of the man's shoulders while another artist was on the other. He seemed to be carrying them away towards the back.

“Hey!” You call out. The man just looks back at you not even batting an eyelash. “Get back over here!” You take off towards them. All of the boys call out to you.

“___ get the fuck back over here!” Johnny chases after. You try to make your way over to Renjun, jumping over things and making your way around fire. But before you could get to him you were grabbed. 

Another man yanked you away, covering your mouth as you tried to weasel away. “Well isn’t it our prized artist of the night. You’ll go for a high bid.” The man whispers to me and immediately I kick my legs trying anything to get away.

“Get your hands off of her!” Johnny who comes through with his friends tackle the man. Causing him to land on top of you and nearly knock the air out of you. Since it was a group of men against one, they start beating the shit out of the kidnapper.

Luckily you’re able to squeeze out from under and continue your pursuit towards Renjun. Haechan notices right away and runs after you.

“__!!”

You’re able to make it to a room that didn’t have fire or smoke. You squint your eyes due to the bright light. Around you, hundred of art work piled and being carried by giant men. But it wasn’t just art work but people as well.

Artists. 

Not wanting to get spotted you crouch behind a pillar big enough to hide behind. Soon Haechan  rushed through the door and you yanked him behind the pillar with you.

“What the hell are you doing?” You whisper yell at him but he only seemed to have a confused expression. 

“I could ask you the same thing!” He says a little too loudly. You quickly cover his mouth with your hand and check behind the pillar slightly. But you saw that the coast was clear.

“You idiot, are you trying to get us caught?!” He does nothing but roll his eyes, and reaches behind to his pants pocket and pulls out his phone.

“What are planning to do? Call the cops?” You ask but he does nothing but scoff.

“Are you stupid? The cops already know what is going on. I need to call someone else.” You go to say something else but he dished you with a finger causing you to stop. Letting the phone ring for a minute.. no answer.

“You gotta be kidding me…” he hisses. Pushing his phone back into his pocket. Looking around before grabbing your hand and yanking you up. “Come on we have to get out of here.” He says pulling you towards the door you came but you yanked your hand away.

“No I’m not Leaving without Renjun.” You state but it doesn’t seem to please haechan. 

“Oh ya and what’s your plan, huh? What the heck can we do against a bunch of jacked criminals?” He asks, already knowing you didn’t have any kind of plan whatsoever. “Listen I know you want to help but trust me I’ve seen enough stuff like this to know that we can’t do anything. Plus your brother is looking for you, we have to go.” He demands grabbing your hand again. 

“ How could you possibly know, heachan?” He was taken aback, scratching the back of his neck nervously. “Listen I just do ok? But for now we need to get out of here.” Pulling you towards him he didn’t quite watch his step and accidentally kicks a stand, holding a very expensive looking vases.

And In seconds the case knocks over and shatters on the floor. You both look up, life almost leaving your eyes.

“Who’s there?!” One of the guards shouts as heavy footsteps grow towards the both of you. Haechan looks around for anything and spots a small tarp on the ground. 

Pushing you both down he leads you towards the tarp. Lifting it slightly so you could crawl in. But just as you were expecting him to crawl under with you but instead he stands up taking a small  metal rod from his back pocket.

“Donghyuk! What are you doing?!” You called towards him but he still stands his ground. 

“Shut up and hide. They’ll expect someone who knocked over the vase. I don’t want them to find the both of us.” Kneeling back down to you he gently pulls the tarp over you completely. “I’ll be fine but after I distract them I want you to run.”

“But-“ 

“No, stop being stubborn and do something you’re told.” His voice was somewhat stern but also wavering due to nervousness. He stands back up waiting for the guard to come around. 

The small rod in his hand makes an appearance and he presses a small button on the side. Causing three prongs to pop out, all three with strong electrical currents. 

Soon the guard looks around the pillar slowly finding Haechan standing there.

And Haechan jumps toward the guard.

-

 Mark runs through the harsh flames. Looking for any form of survivors, luckily it seems like everyone made it out because he didn’t find any bodies. But still making sure he decides to run to the main gallery hall with the most open space. 

The main hall was in complete shambles, the walls were destroyed along with beautiful chandeliers that once hung from the ceiling. The sections of each hall had the names of each featured artist. Most of the names had burned or been completely blown to pieces. But one seemed to be fine. 

Your name.

Mark takes steps forward looking at the gallery wall that once held your hard work. Your passion that you adored so much. The walls blank now, because the art that you once worked so hard on was now being packed in a dirty truck only to be sold to someone who didn’t deserve it. 

If only he could see it.

“Help! Please help!” Mark’s eyes swerve toward the middle of the gallery hall, where he saw a figure running through the smoke. 

To his surprise, it’s Johnny.

Mark sprints towards him while Johnny makes his way through the smoke with no form of protection except a handkerchief around his face. Johnny stumbles through, tripping over his own feet as his eyes search frantically. Mark makes it over to him, steadying him by gripping his shoulders.

“What are you doing in here?! You need to be outside!” Mark yells through the overbearing sound of flames and falling structures.

“M-my sister! She wasn’t outside, I can’t find her anywhere!” He gripped mark’s forearms with little to no strength as fits of coughs escape from his mouth. Mark nearly drops Johnny, his heart beating frantically as his mind races to where you could be.

Not wanting to think the worst, he decides that you must have been taken by the robbers. He couldn’t even think of anything thing else happening. He knew you could be strong if you needed to, but he just needed to find you.

“Please… she has to be somewhere. She couldn’t have died-“ Mark cuts him off by throwing his arms around Johnny. Almost like a hug but Mark knew not to make it seem like one. But the thought of you dying was something that made the young hero want shatter into a million pieces. Johnny was now crying, from the thought of his sister or maybe the smoke in his eyes but he was crying. 

And Johnny never cries.

“I’ll find her. Please… don’t think like that.” Mark says the Johnny while supporting him, walking through the rubble and smoke. Johnny coughs roughly as Mark maneuvers his way back outside. Mark was fine since his suit had the feature of giving a clean air supply in these situations but he had to get Johnny outside quick.

Luckily he was able to get him outside safely. 

A group of people swarm the both of them, the media acting like vultures just to get any news. But mark pushes through.

“Johnny!” Yuta pushes through, roughly moving any media, along with his other friends. Yuta takes johnny from mark’s arms holding him close. “You idiot! I could’ve lost my brother!” Yuta eyes threatening to spill along with his other brothers.

“But __…”

“Not only her but Donghyuk is missing…” Taeil brings up. “He went to go for __ and never came out.” 

Johnny looks towards the hero but…

He was gone.

-

A painful yells leaves the giant mans throat as the rod makes contact. Haechan acts quick and rushes his legs under the man, making the man fall to the ground. 

You on the other hand stayed under the tarp like you were told. Hiding while your best friend risked his life out there. And that is just tearing you up inside. But you still decide to listen to Haechan,

But the younger boy seemed to have it under control as more men approach. It didn’t really faze the boy as he runs over into the group attacking with such strategy. Haechan didn’t have power but he had his smarts. He knew when to exactly attack and how, since he would always watch mark. He saw what worked and what didn’t from the hero, they learned together through his time of being spider man. And for that mark couldn’t be more thankful that he was his partner in crime.

But of course Haechan knew he couldn’t only fight for so long until more guys come through. Which they did. 

But it was just the gruff men but along with the men was a man in a bright colorful suit. Rings that cost more than his whole life’s earnings decorated his fingers. His face totally unfazed as he walks in with his whole group of goons. 

Scars littered across his face and neck, but an even bigger scar laid across his eye. His eye underneath was a sickly white. The man sure looked like he had his fair share of fights because the man was jacked. Twice as big as the others that surrounded him. Like the man wasn’t even human.

Haechan gulped nervously as the man pushed his way through the crowd. His had was still clutching the rod with white knuckles as the man grew closer with every second before stepping before Haechan. Towering over him as if he was nothing but a rat in front of a bear.

“Hey little man, you’re the one causing a scene?” The man grins down at the young boy. But Haechan tries to look up at the man as if not an ounce of fear was in his blood. 

“So what if I am?” Haechan hisses. But the flame in his eyes left a long time ago when the man first stepped in. But he couldn’t give in now, not until Mark arrived.

If he arrived.

It was a gamble Haechan was willing to play in order to keep you safe. It wasn’t only mark who had the will of fire to keep the city safe. This is what kept Haechan going, and he wasn’t going to back down now. 

“You got a bite, even in the situation you’re in? Please, let me put you back in your place.” You flinch at the words, you were still under the tarp waiting anxiously. Your nails dig into your skin as very second passes. Praying that Haechan will be ok.

But praying isn’t the only thing you could do.

“But please let me introduce myself, the name is Scar.” Haechan would’ve made a snarky remark be he didn’t see it as the appropriate time.

Before Haechan could even realize, a meaty hand wraps around his neck, lifting him a good distance from the ground. Haechan tried to act fast, lifting his arm with the rod in his hand, jabbing it towards the man but unfortunately, his arm was caught a mere inch before contact.

“Ah ah ah, I don’t go down that easy.” Scar chuckled as he lifted heachan higher and then throwing the poor boy. He flew across the room landing on his back roughly and skidding the rest of the distance before hitting the wall. 

In front of you. 

You heard the thud and rip the tarp over your head to see your best friend slumped against the wall. But a wobble catches your attention, a vase holder wobbled unsteadily due to the impact of the wall. Causing it to fall towards Haechan, but you take quick action pushing his body with all of your weight. 

Luckily you were able to get the both of you out of the way but you couldn’t stop the vases from shattering around you, having shards of glass around and on you. But you ignore the fragments of glass in your arms and legs and crawl towards Haechan who laid across the floor with blood dripping down the side of his head.

You grab his face in your sliced up hands but you didn’t care, your blood coated his cheeks and hair. You open his vest and lay your head against his chest searching for any chance of a heart beat.

His heart was still beating.

“Haechan! You’re gonna be ok, I promise-“

“Well well, what do we have here?” Scar watches amusingly at you both. You clench your jaw and pull Haechan closer towards you. “Looks like he had a friend or girlfriend-“

“Shut the fuck up you ugly ass bitch.” The man's eyes widen at your response. Not really expecting a phrase like that you come out of your mouth. “You did this and now you’re going to pay.” Your voice wasn’t loud, if anything it was quiet. A deadly whisper.

But the man saw nothing but humor. He thought nothing of you in anyway of being a threat. So with a clap of his hands the crowd of men start to walk towards you. You just sit and hold your best friend close, putting your forehead against his as the men surround you both. 

“I’m sorry Donghyuk. This is all my fault, you did everything so it’s my turn. I’ll fight with my life.” Whispering close to him. You knew you stood no chance against them but you would do anything for the people you love. 

Even if it meant getting kidnapped and shipped to god knows where.

One of the men reach towards you but you slap his hand away. Then another tries to wrap his arms around you but before he could you knock the back of your head against his nose. Making the man hold his face while you turn around quickly to kick right between the legs. The man falls to his knees when you deliver the last blow, grabbing his face and nailing him in the face with your knee. 

The other man watched awestruck as you look at them with no intent to go easy but it was not in your favor because an arm wraps around your neck, putting you in a headlock while the others grab your legs.

“You fucking bastards! Put me down!” You flail and try to bite the them.

“Now is that anyway to treat a lady?” A voice catches everyone off guard, a red blur swings into the room, in front of you, the man that was holding your legs goes flying. Soaring into two other goons and they slide across the floor.

Now that your feet are free, take this as an opportunity to free yourself. Swinging your legs you manage to kick his knee as hard as you could. Hearing a disgusting crack as his knee now bends the opposite direction. With a cry the man's grip lets up and you land on your feet.

“That’s what you get you fucking flamingo!” You finish with a kick to his chest. 

You we’re proud of yourself, you have to thank Yuta later so teaching you self defense. But you had other priorities and you look back to Haechan. He still laid on the floor while pure chaos was happening around him.

Mark while somewhat distracted, still kept an eye on you two. Grown men threw punches like no tomorrow towards the young hero but like nothing Mark managed to dodge them all. Maneuvering swifty, knocking people out, bending arms in unnatural angles. 

Seeing that there was a lot of them, Mark looked around for any thing that could help. when his eyes landed on a rolling shelf that carried various sculptures on each side of the room. Then a hungry grumble caught his attention. He didn’t eat all day but he couldn’t have had a better time to be hungry. 

He had an idea.

“Hey meat heads over here!” Calling for attention the men all snapped their heads towards the masked hero. He made a run towards the middle  of the room watching and waiting for the perfect moment. Just like he imagined the suckers moved to be in the perfect spot. 

Grinning under his mask the boy worked his magic. Stretching his arms out on opposite sides of the room he shot a webbing on two shelves pulling with all of his might. The shelves drove towards the middle of the room before they could even know it. 

Mark took this as his time to jump up just in time to see the two shelves squeeze the group of men like a sandwich. Making the sculptures crack and break with impact. The loud bang catches you off guard and you flinch, covering Haechan ears as well. Looking toward the noise you see a pile of men sandwiched between two shelves along with groans and even cries. 

You’re eyes loop around to find the swift hero but you didn’t see him. 

“How is he?” A sudden voice appears next to you. A squeak leaves your mouth as you fly back in surprise. A laugh was let out by Mark, he always knew you hated being surprised. Your hand flies to your fast beating heart and you give him a glare. “Here let me help” Mark reaches for Haechan  but you only pull him closer. Wrapping your arms around him protectively, afraid to let him go. 

“Hey it’s ok, I won’t hurt him. I won’t hurt you.” His voice sounded sincere. But in the situation you were in, you couldn’t really think straight. But this is your best friend you have in your arms, you needed any chance you could get, to make sure he was alright.

Reluctantly you push the boy gently into the hero’s arms. Stepping out of the way of the two males. Mark gives a sigh of relief when he puts his ear to his friends chest and hearing that his beat was strong. He was really a tough nut Mark thought. 

But it seemed right on cue that the injured boy wrinkled his nose. Soon his eyes open, adjusting to the bright lights of the room. It takes a while but the red blur in front of his face clears, seeing his best friend looking down at him. In the mask that was so familiar to him.

“M-mark?” A stream of coughs follows causing him to hiss. He reaches his hand to touch his throbbing head and feeling the warm liquid steam from the back of his head. He looks back up at  Mark pushing him away and he sits himself back up. Mark topples over into his back as Haechan rises furiously.

“Mark you idiot! You couldn't have come sooner?! I tried calling you but your bitch ass didn’t answer and now thanks to you I have this fucking crack in my head! You better hope this doesn’t affect my brain or else you’re dead.” Haechan jumps on Mark putting him in a head lock as the older boy pleads for forgiveness.

“Don’t say sorry to just me! Say sorry to-“ Haechan stiffens. Daring not to look toward the thing he feared the most. The person that they cared the most about stood right there. Now seeing the truth . Looking down at them with such conflicted eyes.

You.

You stayed silent as your fists clenched as the scene. You were safe, Haechan was safe but your stomach still burned. Not only your stomach but your heart stung. Your teeth hurt at the amount of pressure your jaw forced. 

The boys didn’t say a word. 

But instead of saying anything you turn your heel making your way towards the exit on which the art was carried through. Not only your hands but your knees shook. Anger, sadness, maybe even relief rushed through your Brain.

Haechan was the first to move towards you. Stumbling while he stood. He caught your arm halting you. “Please, we can explain!”  This only made you more furious as you yanked your arm away from his grip. The hurt in your eyes stopped him in his tracks. 

“You don’t need to explain anything. I’ve seen enough.” You growl. 

“___ please!” Haechan begs but you push him roughly. Regretting it afterwards as he stumbles back landing on the floor. Mark took this as his queue to come in, lifting Haechan off the floor. You watched and kept your mouth shut. Trying on to look towards the masked boy.

“__ please say something.” Mark pleads.

“What do you want me to say?! Huh mark?!” You yell causing the two boys to flinch back. “Thank you for saving me? You want me to say that? Just like everyone else in this god forsaken city?! Because that seemed to be what you saw me as! Just another person in the crowd admiring their precious hero.” Tears slide down your face taking the ash down with it making clears streams across your cheeks. 

“Just please understand this was to protect you!” Mark argues back taking a step towards you, but you take a step back for everyone of his.

“All this time. I didn’t know, that the both of my best friends, NO fuck it! My best friend and the love of my life went out putting their lives on the line every night. Every time I worried about you was for good reason. Now I just feel like an idiot, and idiot that stood at home not knowing the people she loved weren’t really the people she knew.” Wiping the tears from your eyes you smear the blackness across your face. Leaving your hands even dirtier “and that they lied to me every. Single. Day”

Mark didn’t even have the power to speak, the love of his life confessed her feelings, to who he doesn’t know. Whether it was him or Haechan it didn’t make him feel any less guilty. You thought you were an idiot, and it made him angry that you would even think of yourself like that.

Mark grasped your shoulders tightly. Wanting you to look at him, he needed you to look at him. But before your eyes could meet his, Haechan’s yell got his attention. 

It seemed to be to late because Malr had the air knocked out of him as he flew towards the wall. Landing on piles of shipping boxes to break his fall. The boss of this whole ordeal emerges from nowhere,

 how could you even forget he was there?!

“Spider-man!” You scream as you try to run towards him but Haechan stops you. “We have to get out of here! He can handle it!” Haechan tried to drag you away but you insist on helping. You run around looking for something to help.

Mark emerged from the boxes looking around but sees the monster of a man charging towards him. Thinking on his toes Mark webs himself towards the ceiling, hanging upside down as the man makes contact with boxes, causing them to fly all across the room. 

This guy must have been no joke because he managed to force a hole in the wall.

Scar tried to force his hands out from the wall but webbing forced his arms to the wall. Mark continued to shoot the webbing so that the man's whole body was covered. Scar struggled to get out. Mark lets out a relieved breath of air but it was short lived... 

A jagged piece of pottery rips through the webbing and allowed Scar to escape.

“Aw common! You’re one lucky dude, you know that?” Mark comments, the man just growls and picks up a large vase, one that hasn’t been broken surprisingly and rockets it towards Mark. Mark jumps down but before his feet touch the ground he shoots his webbing on each of the man's shoulders, pulling himself towards the boss. His feet make contact with his face.

The impact was supposed to knock Mark in the opposite direction But a strong grasp on mark’s ankle leaves him no way to escape.

“Mar- Spider-man!” You could only watch from afar as the two men go at it. 

“You little pest!” The grip on mark’s ankle tightens as he’s  hurled into the tile flooring, leaving an impressive crack. “I’ll squash you like a bug! You and those brats ruined everything!” Again mark is slammed into the floor like a rag doll being thrown by a child.

Haechan cringes at the sight and looks for anyway to get out. Seeing that an emergency exit is in good sight for the both of you escape but when he turns towards you,

You’re gone.

Mark couldn’t even comprehend what was happening. All he could feel was the intense power this simple man had. As he makes contact with the ground again he tries aim his webs towards the mans face but the boss grabs him by the wrist and tosses him against the wall. The air was totally knocked from the boy as he slides down the wall. His butt lands with a thud . He tries to keep himself straight. 

The man only chuckles as he stalks towards mark, as his meaty hand reaches into his jacket. His palms bleeding because of the jagged pottery before now held a gun. Aiming towards the young hero before he pulled the trigger. 

“NO!” Haechan yells as the bullet hits marks leg. 

“I’ve had enough of this shit!” He’s only a few feet from mark, towering over the poor boy. “Months of planning down the drain! Because of you brats! I’ll kill you!” Mark gulps heavily, the only thing on his mind, as scar points his pistol towards his heart. 

You. 

You’re the only thing on his mind, even at his last moments. 

Your smile, your laugh, your everything.

You’ve must have escaped with Haechan by now, getting as far away as possible, while mark, spider- man. Tried to take care of it. 

He was happy with dying if it meant you and haechan would be ok, he couldn’t wish for anything better. Maybe when he goes to the next world, he could watch you live your life, because he knew you had some much going for you. Though it pained his heart that the last time you would see him was when you were angry, sad and even betrayed. 

But he still loves you and that all that matters.

And maybe since there might be a chance that you loved him back too, made it all the more worthwhile.

Which is why you would do this.

With clenched teeth the man puts his finger on the trigger. Mark closes his eyes waiting for the final shot to end it all. 

Then he fired. 

The bang echoed in marks ears as he waited for the burn of the bullet but he felt nothing. Instead the bullet hits the wall near his head, missing.

“___!!!!!!” Haechan screams, his throat feeling like it would give. 

Mark’s eyes snap open to not only seeing the man but you infront of him. Guarding him as you held scar’s hand, the hole in your torso gushes blood. Leaving hot globs of crimson to leak into the tile. 

Mark’s world crashes around him. 

“What the?! You fucking brat!” The man roars but you just smirk, blood dripping down your mouth as you cough, splattering it on the mans face. 

“Didn’t I tell you… you’d pay for that.” The man's eyes widen as your arms swings it way towards the man. 

The rod in your hands and you stab it into scar’s thick neck. 

“Like I said, you’re an ugly ass bitch. And..” You press the button. “Don’t mess with the people I love.”

The man yells in agony at the intense pain running through his body. Falling to his knees to see you towering over him now. A fire in your eyes like no other. 

And for the final blow, you grab a brick and smash it on his head. Hopefully leaving another scar.

 And Knocking him out cold. 

The electric rod stops and the man's body is still left compulsing. 

“Fucking bitch.” You spit.

Soon the adrenaline leaves your body and you could feel everything. The gut wrenching pain of being shot takes effect. Your knees begin to wobble, your eyes roll to the back of your head as you fall .

But mark was there to catch you. 

“__?! Answer me! You’re gonna be ok! I promise! Just hang in there and don’t sleep!” Mark hoists you up into his arms, though he was experiencing the same searing pain in his leg. “Haechan  let's get out of here quick before this place falls. It’s only a matter of time before the fire spreads here.” Haechan follows the hero out from the emergency exit. 

But just outside the door, they are bombarded with bright lights and guns pointed. The police lower their guns seeing that it was no threat.

“Spider-Man!” The officer says but mark cuts him off.

“Please help! She’s been shot! Take her to the hospital!” Mark pleads and officers jump to action. Breathing masks are strapped to your face as they push you towards the ambulance. 

The paramedics shining the bright lights in your eyes for any sign of you still being there. Haechan and Mark were right beside you as they quickly push through the crowd.

The other paramedics swarmed Mark hoping to fix up his leg but he swatted them away.

The media swarmed around you three, trying to get any sight of what has happened but an angry figure pushed through a long with others.

“Get the fuck out of the way! That’s my sister!” Johnny and his friends push through, yuta couldn’t even look at the sight of you being like this. Johnny's face hovers above yours as tears and sobs could be heard. Making it to the ambulance the paramedics laid you in, Haechan and Johnny hop into the car watching over you.

Mark wanted to badly hop into the van with you but he was still in his suit. He stood while the sirens started and you were rushed to the hospital. The news outlets of all sorts surround the hero after the ambulance left, asking questions, but no thoughts rushed through Mark's head. He stood silently watching as the streets cleared for the paramedics.

A hand slaps it’s way onto Mark's shoulder.

“Get yourself fixed up. Go change and get out of here.” Mark’s heart drops at the familiar voice. 

Yuta, though he looked worried as anyone else, smiled at mark. 

The boy didn’t even question it as he made his way to the on scene paramedics as they fixed up his leg. Luckily the bullet barely grazed his leg, so it was an easy fix. After he got the ok he ran off and swung his way away from the mess of media and made his way towards the hospital.

-

The soft beats of the heart monitor steadily echoed off the bright white walls of the hospital room. Your slow breathing and rising and falling of your stomach was the only movement in the room. 

You could smell hospital. The smell of rubber gloves and hand sanitizer. Your eyes were still closed but you never felt more awake at that moment. You breath from your mouth breathing in a large gulp of air. 

Slowly opening your eyes, you try to adjust to the bright lights of the room. The white light almost making your eyes tear up. But you still open them wide, looking around at your surroundings.

You were indeed in a hospital room. IVs attached to your arms along with the hospital bracelets  that decorated your wrists. But a shuffle against your leg is what caught your attention. The Mop of brown messy hair, unkempt and sticking up in all different places. A small groan escapes his lips and he sticks his head up. Suddenly everything that happened rushes back into your head.

You’re alive. 

“Mark?” Your voice was barely above a whisper but he seemed to have heard it. His head pops up in surprise as you’ve finally awoken. Taking your hands in his, he squeezes firmly. 

“God, thank god you’re awake! I don’t know what I’d do with myself if you-“ his voice cracks as tears run down his reddened face. You look fondly at him, he was safe. That was everything you could have hoped. No more anger or sadness flowed through you but happiness and relief.

“I’m so sorry, I know I should have told you! I know I’m a complete idiot for getting mad and yelling at you! Im-“

You grasp his hands firmly, rubbing your thumb across his hands. Those hands that you held when you first went ice skating, the hands that you held when you watched a scary movie. The hands that saved your life along with hundreds of others.

Those hands were your lifeline.

“Mark… I missed you.” With a little bit of a struggle you bring his hand to your lips. Intertwining your fingers with his. You couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. “I’m so glad your safe.” Mark couldn’t help but smile as he brought both of your hands to his lips and giving them hundreds of kisses. 

Feeling like there isn’t a better time, given that you almost died. You wanted Mark to know now, no more secrets…

“Mark?”

“Hmm?” He hums against your hands. Closing his eyes at the caress of your hands against his face.

“It’s always been you, Mark.”’ Marks eyes open and look straight at you. You’re looking at the ceiling just smiling to yourself. “The boy I fell in love with when I was 6 and the man that I’m still in love with today.” You smile and he couldn’t help it he rushes up so that his face hovers over yours. Not wanting to be too overbearing given that you just woke up, he looks down at you.

“It’s always been you too,__ . You’re my rock, my best friend, my inspiration, my everything. Hell, you even saved my life. I love you so damn much that it hurts seeing you like this, because of me. Which is why I wanted to keep this from you..”

“Mark. I don’t care what happens to me if it means saving you. I wouldn’t even care if I lost both of my arms. So don’t ever blame yourself for this.” All he could do was nod. He place his forehead against yours, noses touching.

“I’ll make sure nothing happens to you.”

“I love you so much,Mark Lee ,and I’ll love Spider-Man just as much.” And like it was a dream, Mark pushes his lips against yours. Your hands make it on mark’s face as you bring him closer, moving your lips in perfect sync. 

As much as you both didn’t want it to, the kiss ended. Mark still had his eyes closed which made you giggle and flick his forehead playfully.

“Ouch what was that for?”

“For being best.”

“So all that anger from before is gone?” Mark asks sitting in the chair next to your bed again. You just scoff and roll your eyes.

“Take me getting shot as the easy way out. If I didn't you would be in a whole lot of pain right now. Plus I can’t kill spider man, the world would hate me. But take this as warning mark lee, don’t lie to me again.” You hiss crossing your arms and pouting.

“Never again. Plus I never want to go through this again, if you being shot  is the easy way out then I don’t want to risk finding out what’s worse. Plus that wasn’t the only thing that had me going through the wringer.” He sighs.

“Oh really, what else?” You questions as you prop yourself up with pillows, which mark got up to help place the pillows behind your back carefully.

“I thought there could have been a chance you were in love with Donghyuk.” You just laugh as the boy and he blushes.

“What I’m serious! If that were the case I would have launched myself off the highest building.” You smack his arm at the comment and he gives a small sorry.

“Well you’re lucky then.”

“Very.”

-

It has been a good four months since the incident happened. You found out that you had been asleep for three days from all the blood loss, and that had Johnny, Haechan and mark go through hell and back. Johnny told you how worried he’d been and that him and yuta would spend hours a day singing to you hoping that would wake you up. That ended up reminding you when he would sign to you to wake up in the morning for school. 

But what really caught you by surprise is that yuta told you that mark stayed by your side the whole time, watching you while Johnny had to go to work. He didn’t even leave to shower,while gross, is still sweet. 

Luckily Haechan only had a small cut in the back of his head but nothing serious. But he would be blaming his head aches on it for months to come. 

You were delighted to see Renjun come visit with flowers and all your favorite treats, which made Mark’s eyes roll. He was lucky to have the van that held the artists found by the authorities and gained his freedom. And even luckier the truck he was on also had most of your paintings, ones that you thought surely burned in the fire.

You hug him but not without a pout from mark.

As for Scar and his goons, they were taken and arrested for too many crimes to even count. The main boss would even go to say on live television that the girl who knocked him out still haunted his dreams. 

With that you felt even more proud.

Now that 4 months have passed and you’ve long since left the hospital. You felt more energetic now that you’re out and about. Of course your brother and mark occasionally scold you about taking it easy since the scar is still new. It’s a good thing you're a painter because anything other than that, mark and Johnny would have a heart attack. 

It’s evening and you waited desperately for an email. You’re going to graduate sooner than the rest of your class since you’ve taken a bunch of extra classes along with Donghyuk, which meant you would be graduating with Mark. 

But what comes with graduation… is collage.

Since the art show collages form all across the world wanted to get their hands on you, but with gently rejection you deny all of them. And chose to apply to a local university for art. You thought it would be best if you stayed close to family and Mark. 

Mark, who is now your boyfriend who’ve you know been dating for 3 months, would be very glad to know that you’ll hopefully be staying in the city. 

A ding sounded from your computer and you nearly fell off your chair. You quickly open your inbox to see an email from the uni you wanted to attend. You click on it eagerly and skim through the email as fast as you could. A sigh of relief leaves your lips.

You got in.

You slump into your seat just staring at the screen. Shutting your laptop gently, you stand up…

And start hopping around happily and throwing yourself into your bed signing and laughing with joy. Your stomps making your desk and art supplies shake and maybe making unhappy neighbors but you didn’t care.

You’ll be staying home.

“Well isn’t someone happy.” A voice says from behind you. You turn around to see mark, or should you say Spider-Man, standing upside down from your ceiling, his face inches away from yours. You almost yelp but mark covers your mouth with his gloved hand. You yanked his hand from your mouth and start smacking Him with a ruler.

“You scared the crap out of me, jerk!” You don’t stop with your assault, but he raises his hand trying to protect his face.

“Well maybe you shouldn’t leave your window unlocked so that anyone could get in.” He states and you just pout. 

“Mark no one else could climb up the side of a building.” You say and you sit on your bed, opening your arms waiting for your hugs. Mark hops from the ceiling, landing on his feet and taking off his famous mask. 

You laugh at his messy hair as he slides into your open arms. Lifting you from your bed, he wraps his arms around you tightly, you quickly wrap all of your limbs around him as he spins around.

Laughter leaving you both as you both plop onto the bed.

“You know I love you right?” He asks kissing your lips for the first time that night.

“Yeah yeah. You’ve might have told me once or twice.” He just laughs at your response. He probably tells you he loves you at least 20 times a day. At least.

He sits up from your bed, looking around your room, seeing that you’ve worked on quite a lot for your portfolio. “Any new school offers?” He asks, you push yourself up and wrap your arms around mark as you hug him from behind. Kissing his cheek lovingly.

“I actually think I found a school…”

Mark’s looks back at you excitedly. “Really? Where? Paris? Berlin? It doesn’t matter how far because I would still visit!” You laugh at his excitement and nuzzle your head into his neck.

“Well Mark, lucky for you. You don’t have to buy expensive plane tickets because I’m staying here.” You confirm. 

Then before you know it, you’re being spun around in his arms. “Really!?” He stops and looks down at you, you were dizzy and couldn’t really look straight.

“Yes mark, I’m not going anywhere.” Then his lips crashed on yours. You squeak in surprise but melt into the kiss anyway. Your eyes flutter shut as mark lifts you off the ground with ease and lays you on your bed. Hovering his whole body over yours as his lips attack yours. 

“Baby, you don’t know how happy that makes me.” His grin was ear to ear. 

“I’m glad” you pull him towards you again but this time the kiss was much more eager as you tangle your hands into his messy hair. His kisses begin to trail from your lips your jaw, then soon to your neck.  You hands wonder from his neck to his covered back, holding on as he kissed and bit on your neck, probably to leave marks that Johnny will have a heart attack if he sees.

But you both didn’t care.

The only thing on your minds is each other and the feeling of each other. His hand slides under your shirt slightly, lifting it just a bit. His fingers finding the scar that reminded him of that awful day. 

His fingers trace it gently as he continued to kiss your neck and collarbone. You didn’t mind, in fact you found it nice. 

Grabbing your legs and putting them at either side of his hips. Your head was far beyond the clouds as Mark kissed you like it’s the only thing he knows. His love bites now decorating your skin as attempted to show that he did that to you and you very much enjoyed it.

“Baby.” He says as he takes a break from your skin to look at you and You just hum in response. “Is anyone home?” He asks. Giving you another kiss on your lips.

“No.”  You answer. You both sit up but not without him dragging you into his lap, holding on to your hips protectively. 

“Then tonight. Let’s celebrate.” He states simply, pushing your hair away from the place on your neck that he’s marked.

“Celebrate what?” You ask looking into his eyes that held so much.

“Your achievements, our happiness…mostly us.” You couldn’t be more happy as you nod rapidly. The smile on your face not faltering. “How about we go out for dinner? We can swing there!” Like a child he gets excited and you just stare fondly at him, think what did you do to become so lucky?

“I would love that.” And like that his lips meet yours once more but with so much passion than the last. You both laugh as you pull him from the bed and getting him some normal clothes and escape out into town.

You both spent the night like any night, together.

No longer blank faces on a canvas.

Because you’ve truly found each other.

<3

#NCT #nct mark #NCT 127 #nct x reader #nct 127 x reader #nct dream #nct127 mark #nct scenarios #nct 127 scenarios #mark lee #mark lee x reader #nct oneshot #nct oneshots #nct spiderman au #spider man #spider man au #nct johnny #nct taeyong #nct taeil #nct winwin #nct yuta #nct au #nct dream x reader #nct reactions #nct imagines #kpop fanfiction #kpop oneshots #kpop masterlist

[nicolewrites]

canvas hearts

so i was supposed to read freud for class this weekend. instead, take almost 10k of blackstairs fluff since i just read the dark artifices series.

Rating: T Genre: Romance/Friendship Characters: [Emma Carstairs and Julian Blackthorn], Cristina R., Divya J. Words: 9,663

“Julian didn’t want to know if Emma was or wasn’t his soulmate. He was completely fine with the friendship that they shared, even if it wasn’t as strong at school as it was outside of school. He had never looked at any girl like he looked at Emma and even the idea that she wouldn’t be his soulmate made his insides twist” / blackstairs modern soulmate au

AO3 | FFN

“Hey, Emma, isn’t that Julian Blackthorn staring in this direction?” Divya asked suddenly, glancing over Emma’s shoulder.

Emma paused, her sandwich halfway to her mouth. She placed it back on her tray and gave Divya a disbelieving look. “I highly doubt it,” she said. Divya shrugged and tipped her chin outwards. Emma rolled her eyes and finally turned around.

She almost immediately made eye contact with a boy sitting halfway across the cafeteria. His lips flicked upwards into a tiny smile before he drew his blue-green eyes away and Emma was left staring at him. He looked as he always did with beautiful, sharp features and curly dark brown hair.

She spun quickly back to face Divya and the other girl was smirking. “Told you so,” she bragged.

Emma shrugged. “I’m sure it’s nothing. He was probably looking for his siblings. Jules and I have known each other for a long time. Our parents are friends so we’re family friends.”

Divya shrugged and bit into one of her french fries. “He looks like he’s pining.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “Almost the entire school has determined that we’re going to meet our soulmates in high school, and I’ll be the first to admit I don’t share that belief, but maybe Julian does.”

Before Divya could reply, a third girl plunked herself down at the table, next to Emma. She was fuming visibly and Emma quirked an eyebrow at her best friend. Cristina flipped her long dark hair over her shoulder and began winding it up into a bun to tame it. She was muttering in Spanish under her breath and Emma and Divya glanced at each other with matching apprehensive looks.

“Ay, dios mío, I hate her,” Cristina finally grumbled.

Emma turned and looked in the direction that Cristina had come from and instantly knew the source of the girl’s agitation. Zara Dearborn was clinging to the arm of Diego Rosales, smirking wickedly. Zara’s brown hair was pulled into an impossibly tight, smooth ponytail and she had on red lipstick that was far too dramatic for a casual day at school along with enormous silver hoop earrings.

Divya frowned, poking a fry angrily into her ketchup. “Tina, what did the bitch do this time?” Cristina huffed. “Just look at her clinging to Diego. She turned eighteen two days ago and apparently she’s going to get a tattoo today so she can prove Diego and her are soulmates.”

Emma studied her friend. Cristina looked annoyed, but as pretty as she always did, with a few dark hairs escaping her bun to frame her tanned face like a princess. “I thought you were over Diego. You guys broke up last year,” Emma pointed out. Divya’s face tightened a little at the mention of Cristina dating Diego, but Cristina just waved off the question. “Come on, Diego and were basically just friends, I just hate the idea that Zara of all people could be his soulmate. Plus, it’s not like I have any reason to still like Diego.” She held up her wrist and Emma’s eyes landed on the rose tattoo that decorated Cristina’s wrist.

Divya’s shoulders relaxed a little and Emma had to bite her lip to keep from giggling. Divya liked Diego, a lot, but couldn’t really do anything about it because he’d started dating Zara almost as soon as Cristina had broken up with him.

“It’s Zara though,” Emma pointed out, “there is no possible way someone as nice as Perfect Diego could be soulmates with someone as vile as Zara.”

Cristina shrugged and leaned across the table to steal one of Divya’s fries. “The bigger the hoops, the bigger the hoe,” she said sarcastically. “We can only hope that he dumps her soon.”

Emma laughed. She returned to eating her lunch as Divya and Cristina made easy conversation overtop of her. When she finished her lunch she fished her phone out of her pocket and opened her Instagram feed. Cristina slid an inch closer and looked over her shoulder at the phone.

The first photo that came up was a picture of a trio of tenth graders. It was a girl tucked in between two boys and the three of them were all grinning widely. The girl and the boy on her left had matching bone structures and similar smiles, marking them easily as siblings. The other boy had wild, curly blonde hair and sapphire blue eyes.

Divya leaned forwards to see what had captured the attention of her friends and she plucked the phone out of Emma’s hand. She studied the photo briefly before glancing over Emma’s shoulder. She shook her head and handed it back to Emma.

“Those Blackthorns and their jawlines, I mean what is it with them?”

Cristina laughed. “Well, most of them anyways. Livvy’s is softer, obviously, but she’s got the cheekbones.”

Emma glanced at the username of the photo: lvvyblckbrn. It clicked in her head. This was Livvy Blackburn, her twin brother Ty Blackburn, and their best friend Kit Herondale. Cristina was right in that Ty shared Julian’s cutting jawline and Livvy had the sharp, elegant cheekbones and blue-green eyes. The three of them were certainly more mature than Emma remembered them as.

She scrolled down her feed, skimming over boring landscape photos and pictures of her classmates. She was still swiping down when Cristina let out a half-screech and snatched the phone. She spun it face Divya and shoved it towards Emma’s face. Emma blinked and refocused on the photo in front of her.

It was a guy probably a year or two older than them, posing on a park bench. He was very pretty, with shockingly blonde hair and blue-green eyes. It wasn’t the attractiveness of the face though, that had caught Cristina’s attention, instead it was the curling rose tattoo that was displayed on his wrist. Emma grinned.

“Tina! That’s your tattoo!” she said excitedly. She grabbed the phone back and studied the caption, “And look at this: “My dearest wild rose, won’t you come out to play”. Wow, that’s romantic.” She took another look at the photo and laughed as she realized she knew who it was. “Also, that’s Mark Blackthorn. He’s the oldest boy and he graduated last year.” Cristina buried her face in her hands. “Wild rose?” she muttered. “What kind of madness is that?” Divya rolled her eyes and threw a fry at her. “It’s romantic. He’s obviously looking to meet you, so you should message him.” Cristina glared at Divya. “No way. I’m not just going to follow him out of nowhere and say, ‘hey dude I got that rose tattoo so you should totally be in love with me’, yeah, no way.”

Divya shrugged. “Then make Emma introduce you to Julian Blackthorn and get Julian to introduce you and Mark.”

Emma narrowed her eyes. “I do know Mark, too, I could just directly introduce you to him. Why do you seem so interested in Julian Blackthorn today, Div?” “I just think he likes you, Em.” She sighed. “No, he doesn’t, I promise. Jules and I basically grew up together. He’s a romantic anyways so I’m sure he’s waiting to meet his soulmate.”

Cristina nudged her. “Getting off the subject of how pretty all the Blackthorns are, have you given any more thought to what you’re going to get tattooed? And that question is for both of you.” Divya grinned and pulled out her own phone. She pulled up a photo of a silhouette of a tiger. “This, or something as close to it as possible,” she explained.

Cristina nodded in approval and turned to Emma. Emma slid her phone back into her pocket and shrugged. “I don’t know yet. I have some vague ideas, but no clue how to really pursue anything.”

Divya picked up her now empty tray. “Well, you had better decide soon, because we’re going this weekend.”

Emma tensed. “What?”

“I’ve been eighteen for a week and a half, but you’re not eighteen for another three months, but Cristina and I have graciously found a place that doesn’t care about the age limit. So you and I are going this weekend and Cristina is coming for moral support.” She stepped away from the table with one last smile. “See you later.” As Divya strode off, Emma whirled on her best friend. “My parents will kill me! I can’t get my tattoo before eighteen.” Cristina just laughed and laid her head on Emma’s shoulders. “You could put it so many places that your parents would never see, so yes, we are doing this. No more arguing.”

He had just been looking for Ty. Or at least, that’s what he was insisting to himself even as his eyes skimmed for long, vibrant blonde hair that definitely did not belong to his little brother. His eyes rested on the back of Emma Carstairs’s head and he sighed. He never intended to look for her, and yet he always seemed to be able to find her.

A second later, Emma was turning in her seat and looked at him curiously. Julian felt his pulse quicken but he forced himself not to blush and he gave her a small smile as they made eye contact. Emma’s lips curled into a matching smile before Julian forced himself to look away, back down at the sketchbook on the table in front of him.

He picked up his graphite and was about to go back to his drawing, but he was quickly startled into dropping it by two hands that covered his eyes. His heart jumped and he tensed. There was some laughter before the hands drew away and Julian craned his neck around to see his attacker.

His little sister Livvy was standing directly behind him, grinning. Kit and Ty were flanking her, as usual, and Julian rolled his eyes. “What do you need, Liv?”

“A ride home after school?” she said, smiling brightly at him.

Julian sighed. “No can do, I have to finish a project for my portfolio.” Livvy frowned and folded her arms. She didn’t reply though and Julian let his eyes skim over Ty and Kit. Ty had his headphones on and was studying something on his phone, not really paying attention. Kit, on the other hand, was frowning at the table of boys to Julian’s left, many of whom were looking appreciatively at his little sister. Julian sighed. He knew his sister was pretty and he was eternally grateful for Ty’s protectiveness of his twin and for Kit’s good looks. They chased off most of Livvy’s suitors, even if Kit was clearly interested in the other twin.

Livvy pursed her lips. “Did you at least invite Emma for dinner this weekend? Dad seems to be under the impression she’s coming, even if you haven’t told her yet.”

Julian turned away from his sister. “No, I haven’t talked to Emma yet, and I wasn’t planning on it.”

“Why not?” Kit asked curiously. “I’m going to be there so it’s not like she’s interrupting a family dinner.”

Julian’s shoulders tensed, as they always did when his family grilled him about Emma Carstairs. “I’m just not, okay? So let it go.” Ty’s gaze lifted and he narrowed his eyes. “If you just get your tattoo, it would answer all of your questions.” Julian felt his cheeks finally get hot. His brother always seemed to give the bluntest, and possibly the best, advice of any of the Blackthorns, but that didn’t mean Julian was eager to follow it. Ty viewed soulmates as a simple concept: get a tattoo when you turn 18. If your partner gets the same one, then you’re soulmates. If they don’t, you’re not, and you just move on.

Julian didn’t want to know if Emma was or wasn’t his soulmate. He was completely fine with the friendship that they shared, even if it wasn’t as strong at school as it was outside of school. He had never looked at any girl like he looked at Emma and even the idea that she wouldn’t be his soulmate made his insides twist. She was ridiculously pretty with golden blonde hair and warm brown eyes and a smile that made all of Julian’s insides melt and his fingers ache for something to draw with.

Finally, his siblings and their friend seemed to get that he wasn’t interested in talking about Emma and they shuffled away, drawing the prying eyes with them. Julian looked back down at his sketchbook. He was working on a small design: a trio of stars that looked a bit like breaking waves on the ocean if you looked at it the right way. There were a couple other small designs on the page, but the star idea had resonated with him the most.

As much as he didn’t want to get a tattoo, he did like drawing them. He had designed Jamie’s and had offered to do Mark’s and he knew that his two little sisters, Livvy and Drusilla, would both ask for him to do theirs when they were old enough.

He picked up his graphite and went back to work creating appropriate shading around the image and out of his peripheral vision he spotted someone slip into the chair across from him. He glanced up, expecting Jamie or maybe Diego, but instead it was Emma. He blinked at her, startled.

She smiled. “Hey Jules, Div ditched me and Tina had Spanish club so I thought I’d hang with you. I’m not bothering you, am I?” “No,” Julian replied quickly. Never, his brain added silently.

“Cool,” she said. She leaned her elbows on the table and one of her braids fell over her shoulder as she leaned forward to study his book. With most people, Julian might have slammed it shut on his designs, but he never felt that way about Emma.

Her eyes brightened as she realized what he was working on. “Soulmate tattoos?” she asked eagerly.

“Yeah,” Julian admitted.

Emma flipped her braid back down over her back and held out a hand. “May I?”

He passed her the sketchbook without protesting and watched her face as she studied each design carefully. Her eyebrows creased with concentration as her eyes darted across the page. Her lips formed a tiny ‘o’ as she studied the star design.

“This one is my favourite,” she said, touching it gently, careful not to smudge the graphite.

Julian smiled. “Mine too,” he agreed.

Emma passed him the sketchbook back, but a thoughtful expression flitted across her features. “Julian,” she began slowly. “Do you think you could design me one?”

At first, confusion wiped his mind blank and Julian looked between Emma and the sketchbook in confusion. Emma was still seventeen and wouldn’t be eighteen for another three months, so she shouldn’t be getting a tattoo anytime soon. “A tattoo?” he asked carefully.

Emma flushed a little. “Yeah,” she paused awkwardly. “I’ve just been thinking about it more and more since Cristina got hers and Div’s eighteen now too. There are places that do them before eighteen and I’ve thought about it.”

Julian’s eyes widened. He hadn’t even considered that Emma might be considering getting a mark earlier than eighteen. Probably because he was eighteen and was still in denial about the fact that he could get one if he wanted to. “Yeah, I can draw you something right now, if you want?” he offered carefully. He was internally terrified about the idea of Emma getting a tattoo and almost hated himself for offering.

Emma smiled. “Thanks, Julian, you are the best. I’d give you some suggestions, but I honestly have no idea what I want.”

Julian studied her face for a second longer before he looked down at his page. He picked up the graphite and began a small sketch. It was almost without thought, but the image came to focus quickly. It was a small drawing of the moon, with a radiant-looking halo behind it, almost like an eclipse. He touched his fingertip to one part and smudged a little and studied it for a second.

Satisfied, he spun the book back to Emma who’s eyes landed on it immediately. She inhaled sharply before looking back at him. “Julian, this is perfect! Thank you!”

She basically jumped from her seat and stepped around the table so that she was at his side. She hugged him tightly and Julian tensed before relaxing just as Emma drew away from him. He pulled the sketchbook back to himself and gently ripped around the design so that it detached cleanly from the page and presented it to her.

She folded it carefully and tucked it into her pocket, smiling at him. She stiffened suddenly and a grin spread across her face that Julian recognized as her mischievous look. “What?” he prompted. “I saw Mark’s post on Instagram,” she declared as if it explained everything. Julian just raised an eyebrow and Emma’s expression deadpanned. “But, of course, you haven’t.” She laughed and pulled out her phone. After fiddling for a second, she turned it towards Julian and he studied the photo of his older brother.

“Oh, he’s showing that off publically, is he?” Julian noted as he observed the rose tattoo on Mark’s wrist. His brother had decided not to get his own tattoo, but just recently the rose had etched itself onto his wrist anyways: his soulmate had gotten a tattoo.

“Yes,” Emma agreed. “But, lucky for him, I actually know who has the matching tattoo!”

Surprise rippled through him. “Really?” “It’s Cristina, funnily enough! She saw the photo on my phone and is mildly freaking out, but I swear I’m going to introduce them if its the last thing I do.” Something heavy knotted itself in Julian’s stomach. “So, you’re in favour of soulmates now?” The Emma he remembered had declared that soulmates were silly and that you should just love whoever you wanted.

She shrugged. “I want my friends to be happy and I know that Mark and Tina would love each other. For myself, I’m kind of just getting the mark to see what happens.” Julian felt a small smile tug at his lips. “Big earth-shattering revelations, and the like,” he joked. Emma grinned. “And this is why you are the absolute dad friend: crazy artistic talent, insane compassion and leadership, and dad jokes.” “Pretty sure you’re the one with the jokes,” he disagreed. Emma smiled again but didn’t argue.

She sat down beside him and nudged his shoulder playfully. “So, you’ve designed my tattoo, is there anything I can do in return for you?”

Come to dinner with me on Saturday, his mind blurted, but his lips stayed sealed. “Actually,” he said, “is there a chance you could drive Livvy, Ty, and possibly Kit home today? I have a project to do after school.” Emma touched her lip and furrowed her brow as she thought for a second. “Yeah, actually, I’ll just bum Cristina with Divya and then all is good.”

Julian smiled warmly. “Great, I’ll let her know.” He pulled out his phone and sent Livvy a text. Just as he was putting it down, Emma rose from the table. “I’ll see you later, Jules,” she said warmly. She gave him a little wave and walked off. Julian watched her go, his insides both twisted and warm.

“Emma, your friends are here!” her mom called up the stairs.

Emma jolted, dropping her phone onto her bed. She glanced at the clock on the wall and bit her lip. It was five minutes before Cristina said she would pick her up, but that wasn’t too big of a surprise. She grabbed her phone from the bed and swung herself up to her feet. She slung her purse over her shoulder on the way out of her room. She got halfway down the stairs before she realized she had forgotten the thing that she needed to bring today.

She ran back upstairs and grabbed the tiny scrap of paper that had been on her desk and shoved it into her pocket. She needed Julian’s sketch–it was by far the best of any ideas that she’d had and she certainly didn’t trust anyone to attempt to replicate his artistry. She pulled her shoes on, and with a brief glance at her mother, pulled her ponytail out so her long hair spilled over her shoulders. It would help to hide the tattoo when she came home.

She smiled one last time at her mom before ducking out the door and jogging down the drive to Cristina’s car. Cristina was driving and Divya was seated shotgun, so Emma climbed in the back, sliding into the middle seat so she was between her friends.

Divya twisted to look at her excitedly as Cristina pulled away from the curb. “So, are you ready?”

Emma shrugged. “I finally decided on a design so that’s good, at least. Not sure what else I should be feeling.”

Cristina laughed but kept her eyes on the road. “Honestly, everything will be fine. They don’t really hurt and they’re easy enough to take care of.”

“I’m getting mine on my arm,” Divya declared. “I’m eighteen so there’s no reason I can’t show it off.” Emma nodded, it made sense to her.

“And you’re going with the tiger silhouette?”

Divya grinned. “Of course. It’s my spirit animal after all.”

“And you don’t think your soulmate will mind?”

Divya shrugged. “They can deal with it. Besides, I’m kind of more in love with the idea of getting a tattoo than I am with finding my soulmate at this point.”

Emma smiled. Something nervous and heavy was twisting mildly in her stomach. She wanted this tattoo, she’d wanted it since she was seven years old and had first learned about soulmates from her mother. She’d wanted to know her soulmate since she was nine years old and she realized that Julian Blackthorn’s graceful shape and protective personality were very pretty.

She touched her pocket where Julian’s drawing was protected. Julian was almost unbearably pretty, but he was also one of her best friends and had been for a long time, even if they didn’t hang out that much at school. Julian’s friendship was too important to risk over anything and Emma knew that he was a romantic who would love his soulmate wholeheartedly. Idly, she wondered if he’d gotten a tattoo yet. He turned eighteen a month ago, but she had never thought to ask, even when she had spied him drawing tattoo designs.

Cristina pulled into a small complex. It had a kid’s toy store, a small grocery market, an optometrist, and a tiny little tattoo parlour. Cristina parked the car and turned to look at both Divya and Emma.

“So, Miranda won’t ask for proof of age, she’ll just do it, and she’ll do a great job. She’s clean and a good artist so she can tackle whatever you throw at her.”

Divya nodded. “I trust you, Tina, now let’s do this!”

Cristina led the way into the parlour which, true to her word, was clean, and presently empty. Cristina rang the little bell on the welcome desk and a woman poked her head out of a back room. She smiled at the sight of her guests and welcomed them in. The woman had a couple tattoos on her arms and one peeking out of her shirt collar, but otherwise, she looked like every normal person Emma had ever met.

“Welcome to Ink Search!” she greeted as she walked up. “Who am I helping today?” “Myself,” Divya said, “and my friend Emma.”

“Great! Is this the first time?” Miranda asked. Emma nodded and the artist waved to a couple of chairs. “I’m sure you’re here because you’ve heard I don’t care for the age restriction, so whoever wants to go first can come over and the others can take a seat.”

Divya quickly strode over, pulling up a picture of her desired image on her phone.

“Oh, how interesting! A wild heart, you have then,” Miranda said cheerfully.

“Yup!” Divya agreed. She slipped her jean jacket off, leaving her in a simple tank top, and passed the coat to Cristina, who folded it and held it in her lap. “If possible, I want it to go right here.” She outlined a patch of skin on the underside of her bicep.

Miranda nodded. “Great, I’ll get to work then!”

Emma scrolled through her phone and made casual conversation with Cristina as Divya got her tattoo. She cast her friend a couple glances, but Divya was smiling basically the whole time. When the process was nearly finished, Cristina’s phone rang and she excused herself to take the call.

Emma pulled Julian’s sketch out of her pocket and studied it carefully. She was going to be marking this on her body as well as on her potential soulmate’s body for the rest of their lives. She wanted this.

Cristina came back into the shop, looking like she was about to die of laughter. “Well, that was Diego. After two days of Zara insisting the tattoo would show up on him, it hasn’t, but instead, he’s actively having one drawn on while lying on his bed at home! He broke up with Zara and called me because he wants to know if I know anything that’s currently getting a tattoo of a tiger! I had to hang up on him so I could laugh!”

Divya looked startled. “Wait, I’m Diego’s soulmate?”

Emma laughed. “Apparently, you are.”

She laughed. “Cool, at least that solves my problem.” Cristina looked over at Emma. “And you promised to introduce me to Mark Blackthorn, so that will solve my problem as well.”

“And then it’s just little old me,” Emma drawled.

Miranda laughed. “Honey, you could not be a day over nineteen if you tried.” After another couple flourishes, she stepped away from Divya. “Alright, you’re all done! Just a few more last minute instructions and we’ll be good to go!”

Cristina and Emma both rose from their seats to take in Divya’s tattoo. It looked good: clean sharp edges and exactly the pattern that she had wanted. Emma suddenly felt much more reassured about handing over Julian’s sketch.

Once she was done helping Divya, Miranda turned to her and smiled. “So, what are you getting and where would you like it?”

Shyly, Emma handed over the slip of paper with Julian’s drawing on it. Miranda studied it and smiled.

“Your boyfriend is quite the artist. This is gorgeous,” she complimented, lifted it closer to her eyes so she could get a more detailed look.

“Boyfriend?” Emma questioned, suddenly taken aback.

Miranda glanced at her. “Or girlfriend, but this is clearly the work done by someone who cares a lot about you. And considering you’ve come to me, I’m assuming you’re not eighteen yet and you just really want to confirm that this person you’re with is going to be your soulmate.” Emma felt heat fill her cheeks. “What if I had drawn that?” Miranda waved a hand. “You don’t look like much of an artist yourself, no offence, and artists would usually bring an entire book and be unable to choose a design right to the last second.” “Well, yeah okay, but Julian’s my friend, not my boyfriend. He drew that for me as a favour.”

Miranda gave her a knowing smile. “Alright, hon, whatever you say. Now, where am I putting this?”

Emma snapped the hair elastic on her wrist and pulled her hair into a bun at the top of her head. She twisted slightly and tapped just above one of the bumps of her spine. “Right here.”

“Perfect, so let’s get to work!”

Julian woke up on Sunday feeling like someone had pressed pins to the back of his neck when he was sleeping. He rubbed it awkwardly and stretched. He must have just slept on it funny. He rose from his bed and made his way downstairs.

Livvy was already mixing a big bowl of pancake mix and she grinned when he reached the kitchen. Ty was setting the table and Drusilla and Tavvy were seated in their seats, having a conversation about some book that Tavvy was holding tightly. Mark was nowhere to be seen and Julian almost expected Helen too, except for the fact that Helen had moved out to be with her wife and soulmate, Aline.

“Ready to make some pancakes, big brother?” Livvy asked brightly.

Julian smiled and took the bowl from her. “I guess if I have to. Where’s Dad?” “Out with John, it’s Sunday,” Ty answered from across the room. Julian nodded. John Carstairs was Emma’s dad and one of his dad’s best friends. They always went for breakfast on Sunday mornings, Julian had just momentarily forgotten.

“You are Dad today,” Drusilla said cheerfully from the table.

Julian shrugged and pulled out a frying pan, turning on the stove heat to medium. He had his back to the rest of his family and didn’t think anything of it until Drusilla jumped up from the table and ran over. He glanced at her, but she waved him off so he turned back to the stove. She giggled loudly and he turned around, but she scampered back to her seat at the table without a word. Livvy looked as if she was trying and failing to smother a smile, while Ty and Tavvy were both blissfully unaware of whatever the two sisters were teasing Julian about. Julian sighed but turned back to his pancakes. It couldn’t be that important.

They got halfway through breakfast before the doorbell rang. Julian rose from the table and walked to the front door. He opened it and was surprised to see Emma standing there, smiling. She was wearing a yellow shirt with absolutely no sleeves or straps and white shorts. Her blond hair fell loosely around her shoulders and she looked so beautiful Julian nearly forgot how to breathe. He immediately felt self-conscious at his plain shorts and paint-spattered t-shirt.

His alarm faded a little when he saw that Emma wasn’t alone. Cristina Rosales was accompanying Emma, with her dark hair pulled back into to braids. Cristina was wearing a simple white dress and she looked considerably more nervous than Emma. For a moment Julian was confused; then he remembered that Emma had said that Cristina was definitely Mark’s soulmate.

“Is Mark home? I figured Sunday breakfast was as good as time as ever to catch all the Blackthorns together.” Julian glanced over his shoulder, about to say that he hadn’t seen Mark all morning when his brother appeared at the top of the staircase, shirtless and sleep dishevelled. He turned back to Emma and Cristina with a wry smile. “Speak of the devil and he shall appear.” He stepped into the house, inviting both of the girls in, and stepped towards the stairs. “Mark, put a shirt on, we have guests.”

Cristina flushed at his words and Emma laughed. “He would,” she teased. Julian shrugged and invited the girls into the kitchen. Livvy and Dru were both ecstatic to see Emma and Ty smiled at her over his neatly cut pancakes. A couple of minutes later Mark joined them in the kitchen, still looking slightly rumpled and tired. He brightened a little when he saw Emma and gave Cristina an appreciative look.

“Mark,” Emma greeted, “this is my friend Cristina Rosales. I think you two should talk.” She grabbed them both by their right wrists and dragged them towards the backyard.

Livvy raised an eyebrow at Julian as the three disappeared. “What’s that about?” Emma popped back into the kitchen and leaned on Julian with her arm like he was a wall. “They’re soulmates. Cristina got the rose tattoo, that’s how we know.”

Julian was surprised to see Emma acting so free and casual around him. Things hadn’t been this easy between them for a couple of years, but it made something in his chest swell and warm at the familiarity between them.

Livvy and Dru exchanged a secretive look that had Julian narrowing his eyes, but the girls just turned back to Emma easily and asked her some inconsequential question. With Emma sufficiently distracted, Julian studied her carefully. His fingers itched in a familiar way, but he wasn’t sure whether the desire to draw her or to touch her was stronger.

Emma had gotten used to wearing her hair down a lot more often now. Around her parents she couldn’t wear it up otherwise she would be baring her tattoo for them to see clear as day. She’d seen photos of it and its reflection in the mirror and she really liked how it had turned out. It was small and simple, but perfect for what she wanted.

She parted her hair with her brush neatly and pulled back the twin braids at the front of her hair into a braided crown. It looked nice, she thought, with a smile. She adjusted her shirt, made sure it wasn’t falling down as off the shoulder tops could. It was a shimmering metallic silver and she’d paired it with a white denim skirt and black boots. She turned to study her reflection in the mirror one last time and adjusted her hair so that her tattoo was fully covered.

She picked up her phone, forgoing her purse for the evening, and headed downstairs. Her father looked up from the couch as she came down the stairs. He smiled at her.

“Very pretty dear. Be safe tonight and I’ll see you tomorrow.” “Yeah, will do, Dad. Love you!” Emma blew him a kiss and slipped out the front door. The red car of the Blackthorns was idling at the bottom of the driveway. It wasn’t exactly what she had been expecting when Cristina said she had their ride to the party organized. As she got closer Emma realized Divya was in the backseat and Cristina was riding shotgun.

She opened the door and saw that Mark was in the driver’s seat, his blonde hair appropriately mussed and Cristina was holding his hand. The two had started dating almost immediately after meeting since they were indeed soulmates and had hit it off so well. Divya grinned at Emma’s appearance.

“Looking sharp, babe,” she teased. Emma winked. “Right back at you.” Divya offered her a bottle of vodka and Emma pursed her lips before accepting it and taking three hearty sips. Cristina giggled.

“Always the party girl, aren’t you, Em?” Emma blew her a kiss as the alcohol burned on the way down, warming her stomach. “You know it. And I’m assuming Tina talked you into driving, so thank you, Mark.” Mark smiled at her in the rearview mirror. “My pleasure, now where are we going?”

“Cameron Ashdown’s,” Divya supplied. Mark nodded and pulled out onto the road.

“Are you staying to join us, Mark?” Emma asked after a moment. Divya passed her the bottle again and Emma took another few swigs before handing it up to Cristina.

He shook his head. “Nah, I promised Ty and Dru I’d watch something with them tonight.”

The alcohol was already buzzing in Emma’s system by the time they got to the party. Divya pulled Emma out of the car quickly and Cristina lagged behind briefly to kiss Mark goodbye, but joined them shortly. As soon as they were in the front door, the music hit them as did the low lights with the bright flashes of colour for effect. Divya disappeared quickly, off to find Diego, and Emma was left with Cristina.

“Let’s go find something to drink,” Cristina suggested, dragging Emma towards where they knew Cameron’s kitchen to be. Cristina grabbed two clean shot glasses and poured them each a shot of tequila, grinning.

Emma clinked their glasses together and took the shot. She shivered after as the alcohol burned going down, but Cristina was already pouring herself a second one. Emma placed her glass off to the side and picked up a cider from an open cooler instead. Cristina handled her tequila much better than Emma did and Emma didn’t even like hard liquor which was a bit unfortunate with her friends since Tina loved tequila and Divya liked vodka.

Emma was about to say something to Cristina before she felt a warm hand on her elbow. She turned and saw Cameron staring down at her, smiling. He took in her outfit appreciatively.

“Hey Emma,” he greeted. She smiled at him politely. Cameron was attractive by stereotypical standards with short red hair and a nice body and a pretty smile. “Do you want to dance?” She nodded. She had no reason to say no and she and Cam had had a thing in the past and he wasn’t a bad guy by a long shot. Cristina downed her second shot and winked before wandering off, probably to bother Diego or Jamie Rosales. Emma took Cam’s hand and escorted him into the living room where most of the dancing was taking place.

The alcohol was already hitting her as she and Cam danced. The rest of the party was mostly a blur, with sharper memories around a couple drinking games that she handily destroyed the competition in. She and Jamie partnered up for beer pong against Diego and Divya and had beaten them so badly that Diego had escorted his girlfriend away quickly with a wink to heal her wounded pride.

Several hours later, Emma found herself dancing with Cameron again. His hands were on her hips and her arms were twisting in the air as she moved to the beat. She shut her eyes and her fogged mind briefly transported her to a different place where she was being held by a different pair of hands with long, elegant painter’s fingers. Her eyes snapped open and Cam gave her a quizzical look.

She ignored the feeling and kept dancing, but she couldn’t deny that Cam kept trying to kiss her. After one more attempt, Emma stepped way too close into his personal space and stepped up on her tiptoes to see the back of Cameron’s neck. The nape of his neck was bare and that was the last straw. Emma stepped out of Cam’s reach and wobbled. She was drunker than she thought.

Cam reached out and steadied her elbow. “I need to go home now,” she told him. Her tone was strong, but she could hear the slur behind her words. She was definitely drunker than she had intended to be.

She spun away from Cam without another word and headed for the front door. She ran smack into Jamie Rosales who let out a string of curses in Spanish as he stumbled into the wall. He raised an eyebrow at her as she was clearly on her way to the front door.

“Ay, chica, where are you going?”

Emma stumbled on a fold in the carpet and Jamie laughed, steadying her. “Home,” she answered.

Jamie looked pensive for a moment. “Weren’t you supposed to stay at Tina’s?” Emma frowned. “Yeah, I think so. I’m not supposed to go home anyway.” Jamie grimaced. “Yikes, well Tina left already. Mark apparently walked here and they walked back to her place already. And Divya and Diego left and I’m walking, but I’m sure you don’t want to stay at our place or here, so what are you going to do?”

Emma pulled out her phone. “Jules will pick me up. Julian is the best. He always looks after me and takes care of me. He’s going to be such a good boyfriend when he finally meets his soulmate. She’ll be so lucky,” Emma said. The words spilled out of her without thought and her cheeks flushed. She stepped past Jamie and tried to dial Julian’s number. Unfortunately, she also stepped directly onto someone’s discarded shoe and nearly tumbled straight to the ground.

Julian’s phone woke him up rudely. He groaned and rolled over, blindly reaching for it. Jamie’s picture lit up the screen in the darkness and Julian frowned. He swiped to answer the call and lifted it to his ear. “Jamie? It’s like two thirty in the morning, what do you want?” “Hey! Julian! Your girlfriend is drunk out of her mind and wants you to pick her up because all her friends ditched her. Come relieve me of this, my man!” Jamie’s voice filtered through the speaker. He was yelling over loud background music and Julian flinched away reflexively.

It took him a second to process all of what Jamie had said. “My girlfriend?” “Yeah, Emma Carstairs? Hot blonde? You’ve been in love with her for forever?” Jamie prompted. Julian flushed and hoped that either Emma hadn’t been listening or she was too drunk to remember.

“Okay, okay!” he urged quickly. “I’m coming, I’ll be there in like 10 minutes. It’s at Cam Ashdown’s right?” “Yeah, so hurry up dude otherwise I think Emma is going to take me apart!”

Julian shook his head and hung up the call. He grabbed the first shirt out of his drawer which turned out to be just a plain grey v-neck and he pulled on a pair of dark sweatpants. He quietly left his room and went downstairs. Mark had left him the keys to the car when he had walked over to pick up Cristina earlier and Julian grabbed them now, shoving a pair of sneakers onto his feet before he ducked out the door.

He drove to Cameron’s house in complete silence, his heart pounding loudly in his ears. He pulled up outside the house and parked the car. He got out and immediately saw Emma and Jamie on the porch. Emma was leaning against the railing, giving a drunk lecture to a significantly less drunk Jamie who looked thoroughly amused.

Jamie spotted Julian and waved him over. “Hey, Emma, there’s Prince Charming!” Emma turned and nearly fell down the steps of the porch as she tried to walk towards him. Julian surged forwards and caught her, his arms wrapping around her tightly.

“Jules! I knew you’d come! You always come and you’re the best!” Emma was a bubbly, happy drunk. Julian smiled softly.

“Come on, Em, let’s get you home.” “No, not home! I’m supposed to be at Tina’s! But, she brought Mark home so I can’t go there.” “Then we’ll go to my place,” Julian said as he helped Emma back to her feet. He glanced at Jamie who was just grinning at him slyly. Julian rolled his eyes. “Thanks for the call, Jamie.”

Julian managed to get Emma into the car without too much trouble and she didn’t say anything on the drive back to his house, just stared at him with wide brown eyes. She was clearly intoxicated, but she was Emma and still beautiful. Julian knew it wouldn’t be too weird for her to sleep over because they’d done it a lot as kids and it was certainly a lot better than leaving her at Cameron Ashdown’s house because Cameron definitely still had a thing for her, despite how he denied it.

He parked the car in the driveway and got out and walked around it to the passenger side. He opened Emma’s door and she scowled at him. Julian blinked at her.

“Emma, come on, just get out of the car.”

“Nope!” she said brightly. “You’ll have to drag me out!”

Julian sighed before he leaned in and undid her seatbelt. Then he scooped her up, one arm under her knees and the other along her back. She squealed and threw her arms around his neck to support herself and he lifted her out of the car.

“Jules, what are you doing?” she demanded.

He laughed and nudged the car door shut. “Dragging you, apparently,” he supplied.

Emma complained until they got to the house, but as soon as they went inside she fell silent as if she could tell how important it was for her not to wake up Julian’s siblings. Julian carried her up the stairs and brought her into his room. He deposited her on the floor. Emma stumbled a little but looked around his room with soft eyes. “It’s just like it used to be,” she commented softly. “So Julian.” He smiled a little. Now that she was standing, drunk, in his room, he wasn’t exactly sure what he was going to do. Emma, on the other hand, seemed to know exactly what to do. She removed her shoes and stripped off her shirt, depositing it on the floor and her skirt followed it quickly. Julian immediately flushed. Emma was now just standing in his room in a bra and underwear.

She turned towards him and frowned. “I don’t have anything to sleep in.” Julian mentally stumbled for a second before his brain restarted. She was drunk so this obviously meant nothing to her. “One second,” he said. He went to his dresser and pulled out an old, faded art camp shirt and passed it to her.

He watched as she gathered her hair and threaded it through the hole in the shirt as she pulled it on. It fell to her upper thigh and something in Julian’s stomach clenched. Somehow, seeing her in his shirt was almost worse than seeing her in basically nothing.

Instead, he steeled his nerves and stepped towards her. He turned her towards his half-made bed and pushed her toward it. Emma glanced back at him.

“Where are you going to sleep?” she asked quietly.

“Couch, downstairs, or here on the floor,” he answered quickly. They had used to share beds as kids, but that was much before Julian realized how pretty Emma was and how much he really liked her.

Emma frowned at him again and fell down towards his bed. She landed on it and in the process, grabbed Julian by the arm and yanked him down with her. He fell, unprepared and landed on top of her, barely catching himself by the arms as he hovered above her. They were so close and in the darkness of his room he could just barely make out the freckles on her cheeks and the wispy eyelashes that fluttered against her cheeks.

“Stay here,” she ordered.

“Em,” Julian breathed, not trusting himself to move.

Her brow creased. “Everyone thinks you like me, but now that I’m here and I’m literally telling you I want to sleep with you, you’re not kissing me,” she complained.

Julian’s arms went rigid as he processed her words. “Em,” he whispered, “what are you saying?”

Instead of an answer, she put her hands on either side of his face and pulled him down to her lips. Julian’s brain was frying and he knew it. Emma was kissing him and she was wearing nothing but his shirt and they were lying in his bed. His body responded to her touch eagerly as he kissed her back. Her lips were warm and smooth against his and her hands quickly reached for the hem of his shirt, pushing it up so that she could appreciatively run her hands along his chest and stomach.

She tugged the shirt up again and made a whining sound that twisted Julian’s brain horribly. He pulled back from her lips and let her pull his shirt up and over his head before she flung it away. In that instant, his racing mind caught up with his body and he remembered the alcohol on Emma’s breath and the fog in her eyes. She tried to pull him back down and he resisted, rolling off of her and standing next to the bed, breathing heavily. Emma sat up after him, looking disappointed. “Julian?” her voice was quiet and tentative. “Do you not want to?”

He exhaled slowly and turned back towards her. “More than anything,” he answered honestly. “I just,” he paused. “You’re drunk, Ems. I don’t want you to regret anything.” “I won’t!” she argued, the familiar stubborn edge glinting in her eyes.

Julian leaned forward and cupped her face. “You might, and I’m not taking that chance. Now, you should sleep.”

Emma sighed. “Fine, but we’re sharing the bed. That’s not a big deal at all.”

Julian really didn’t see a way to argue with that statement, so as Emma slid over, he scanned for the shirt she had basically ripped off of him. It was on the other side of the bed, partway across the room, but before he could move towards it, Emma had grabbed his wrist.

“Don’t need it,” she murmured sleepily. “Come on, Jules.” Sighing deeply, Julian lowered himself to the bed beside her. As soon as he was settled, Emma rolled towards him, tucking an arm across his chest. Her eyes slid shut and her lips curled up just the tiniest bit. Her blonde hair was strewn across her back, but Julian caught a peek of something beneath the curtain of hair.

He gently brushed away a few strands and saw his drawing inked into her skin. The moon with its radiant halo was in a small circle at the nape of her neck. He was surprised. Emma had mentioned considering a tattoo, but he didn’t think she would have actually done it before she was eighteen. He looked from it to her peaceful face as she was now fully asleep. It suited her.

Julian let his arms curl around her protectively and he shut his eyes, letting sleep take him.

Emma woke up warm, comfortable, and securely tucked against something even warmer than she was. She curled more tightly against it, letting out a contented sigh. A warm hand on her hip brushed against her gently through the shirt she was wearing.

Emma’s eyes shot open. Her head was aching, but to her surprise, she remembered everything that had transpired including trying to call Julian only for her phone to die and getting Jamie to call for her. Then Julian had picked her up and brought her home. As she recalled Drunk Emma’s activities, she flushed violently.

She had stripped in front of Julian and he’d given her an old shirt. Then he had tried to put her to bed and she’d pulled him down and kissed him. She wasn’t stupid, she remembered the warm and electric feeling she’d felt when she kissed Julian. It wasn’t like anything she’d felt before. But, he’d stopped her because she’d been drunk and he was perfect and wouldn’t take advantage of her, no matter if she’d wanted it or not.

Now, she blinked again and realized she was lying half on top of Julian and his arms were around her waist as he turned towards her. Their legs were a little intertwined, but her awakening did not seem to have woken Julian. His eyes were still shut and Emma took a moment to admire his peaceful sleeping face. He was beautiful and she was so stupid to think that she’d felt anything but love for him before. She’d crushed on other guys, but she’d never felt for them like she felt for Julian.

She looked down at her hands which were pressed against his warm, bare chest. Emma remembered pulling it up and feeling the firm lines of his stomach, but as she studied him in the dim morning light, she was able to appreciate him even more. She didn’t remember when Julian had gotten so fit, but he was painstakingly attractive and Emma praised her drunk self briefly for forcing Julian to sleep without his shirt.

She looked back up at his face and the curly dark hair that fell across his forehead. She reached up to brush it aside and some of her own hair brushed against Julian’s chest as it spilled over her shoulder. A cold realization gripped her suddenly and she slid her fingers carefully towards his neck. She just wanted to see if he had a mark because she wanted so desperately for him to have one.

As she reached for the side of his neck, Julian stirred and his blue-green eyes flickered open. He looked drowsy and temporarily content, but at seeing Emma awake and so close to him, he tensed under her touch. She carefully drew her hand back to the neutral area of his chest and smiled tentatively.

“Good morning,” she offered awkwardly.

“How’s your head?” he asked immediately.

Emma blinked. She had a headache, but it was low on her list of priorities. She hadn’t really acknowledged much past the half-naked, attractive boy she was lying with. “Hurts a bit,” she admitted.

Julian carefully drew away from her, letting her lying alone, as he moved to stand. “I’ll go get you some ibuprofen and water.”

As he turned his back to her to try and stand off the edge of the bed, something small and dark caught her eye at the base of his neck and her heart skipped.

“Julian, you have a tattoo,” she breathed.

He froze. “What?” he exclaimed, twisting to face her, clearly surprised.

Emma smiled brightly and sat up, crawling across the bed towards him. She reached up and pressed against it. It was small and circular, but it was undoubtedly a perfect match to the one that sat at the base of her neck. “Right here,” she said softly.

Julian reached and touched over her fingers, his brow knit in confusion. “I never got my tattoo,” he breathed.

Emma withdrew her hand and touched his cheek. “But I did.” She turned, drawing her hair over one shoulder to expose the matching mark on her neck.

“I saw that last night,” Julian admitted quietly. He stood up from the bed and Emma followed him with her eyes. “So what does this mean?” he asked.

“We’re soulmates. We share tattoos, that’s what it means,” Emma said.

Julian exhaled shakily and looked at her. His eyes were dark with emotion. “All this time I was so sure you felt nothing towards me. You dated Cameron, and you had a crush on Mark, and I thought you’d never fall for me.”

Emma’s stomach twisted unpleasantly. “Julian, no, I think I have always felt this way about you, I just didn’t figure it out until recently.” She stood from the bed and moved towards him. She raised a hand to touch his cheek.

He turned out of her touch and picked up a sketchbook from his desk. He turned back and curled her hands around it. “Look at it,” he urged.

She blinked, but opened it. The first was a charcoal sketch of her, smiling at what was probably a camera. She flipped through and saw more sketches of her face, her hair, her whole self and there were even a few watercolours or oil paintings tucked in between the pages but the book was undeniably her. She felt tears prick at her eyes. It was the most precious and wonderful thing she’d ever seen and Julian had spilled his heart into these pieces and they were all of her.

“This is my heart,” Julian said firmly. “Everything I feel for you is there and I am an artist. My feelings bleed onto paper and I could never show you before because I was so afraid you didn’t feel the same way about me.” He leaned down and pressed his forehead against hers. His eyes shut. “You brought colour into my world and let me paint out my heart on canvas.”

“Julian, I love you,” she breathed.

“And I love you more than I know how to express,” he replied softly.

Emma pulled away from him just enough to put the sketchbook back on the desk. There was a momentary flash of disappointment in his eyes before she threw her arms around his neck and raised her lips to his. She kissed him fiercely and without restraint and he responded to her touch immediately.

The lips moulded together like a perfect fit as Julian kissed the air from her lungs. It was as if a fire had been lit in her stomach and a hot coil was roasting her insides to mush. She pressed herself closer to him, drawing him in and Julian’s hands anchored on her waist and her back, hot through the material of the shirt he’d lent her.

Finally, Emma ran out of air and she broke away, gasping, but Julian’s arms kept her flush against him, with just a breath’s width between their lips. She slid her arms down from his neck down across his chest and his stomach. Julian shivered under her touch.

“I think Drunk Emma should have thrown away all of your shirts, not just the one,” she breathed slyly.

Julian’s laugh was breathy and his eyes were dark with wanting. “Don’t steal all my fun,” he replied.

Before Emma could process exactly what he meant he was kissing her hotly again. After a brief second his hands slid down, finding the hem of the shirt she was wearing and guiding it upwards. She gasped as he tugged it over her head and threw it away. The meaning of his sentence was made suddenly clear and Emma was about to seal their lips back together when Julian nudged her back towards the bed.

He dipped his head lower, pressing hot kisses to her jawline and down her throat and she made a squeaking noise she didn’t even know she could make as the backs of her knees bumped against the edge of the bed.

“Julian,” she gasped out. “Your siblings,” she reminded desperately.

He pulled away from her briefly, locking their eyes. “Everyone sleeps in on Saturday,” he replied.

Emma was the one who smirked this time as she wrapped her arms around his neck and fell back against the bed, her fingers just grazing the edge of the moon tattoo that bound them together as she pulled him down.

“No time to waste then.”

#the writing section #the dark artifices #blackstairs #rating: t #genre: romance #genre: friendship #soulmate au #character: emma carstairs #character: julian blackthorn #character: cristina rosales #character: divya #ship: julian x emma #ship: blackstairs #tda #tda fic #shadowhunters #words: 9.6k+ #nicole writes #highschool au #modern au

[wanderinguterus1]

Economy Class

“Deserve is a bullshit term. None of us deserves anything. We get what we get.” -Brit Bennett

I once read an article in which a researcher detailed a human behavioral study conducted on airplanes - particularly, among economy class passengers. On some planes, economy class passengers have to pass through the first class area before getting to their (inferior) seats. The study found that on these planes, negative behaviors increased. For example, arguing with flight attendants and fighting with other passengers - all significantly higher in economy class if first class seats were present. The researcher landed on this theory: seeing first class patrons - with their roomy seats, individual arm rests, and ample leg room - made economy class passengers like they were being treated unfairly. In other words, when people are forced to witness drastic inequality, their mindset shifts in a negative direction.

Teaching in a private school, I am often reminded of that article. A few days ago, after third period, I made my way around the classroom, sanitizing the students’ desks. In the beginning of the year, I delegated this job to students, but over time, I realized doing it myself was easier than overseeing reckless 14-year-olds with sanitizer bottles, fearing they would spray a friend in the face or drop the sanitizer on someone’s computer. The label on the bottle warned: “Attention: Can Cause Blindness.” I decided not to take my chances with teenage boys.

I had an hour until my next class arrived, so I sat down at my computer and began flipping through quizzes and recording grades. The soft tapping of the keyboard drastically contrasted with the sounds of hyper ninth graders who had filled the room a few minutes ago. I was enjoying the silence when a former student came by to visit.

“Hi Ariel!”

“Hi Ms. Long.”

Since I had taught her as an 8th grader, I remembered her as a tiny, overly nervous 13- year-old. Now a senior, Ariel moved with confidence, sitting in the desk to my right and straightening the quizzes I had graded and discarded haphazardly.

“Are these To Kill a Mockingbird quizzes?” she asked, looking over the students’ answers.

“Yes.”

“I hated that book.”

I shook my head and sighed. Pulling my mask down to take a quick sip of coffee, I resisted the urge to rebuke her for her bad taste.

“My sister got into Yale,” she announced.

“That’s awesome,” I responded tentatively. Ariel, an average student, had a genius sister. I wondered how Ariel felt about her sister’s acceptance into the Ivy league, although it couldn’t have been too unexpected. Caitlin had been winning academic awards since she was in middle school and had spent the previous summer shadowing a world-renowned journalist.

“Yeah, and I got a full ride to FSU.”

“Wow! I’m so proud of you! I bet your parents are so happy!”

“Yeah, but since it’s not really fair that they don’t have to pay for my college, and Caitlin’s tuition is like 40 thousand a year, they are going to give me the equivalent of that in cash every year to make it even.”

I stared at her, wondering if I had actually heard her correctly. And wishing someone had taught her to “read the room.” Did she just imply the injustice of a full ride? And admit that her parents would be giving her, an 18-year old, forty thousand dollars in cash? To make things FAIR?

Obliviously, she continued, “I’ll probably be able to buy a house as soon as I graduate college.”

Suddenly, I had a realization: being a teacher in a private school was like sitting in the first row of economy class with the first class section in clear view. Every day. For eternity.

I’m not jealous because I want a bigger house or a nicer car or a boat; I just want a baby. One baby. Forty-something thousand dollars stands in the way of my husband and I adopting or trying IVF, but here sits an 18 year-old who will be gifted that amount of money each year for the next four years of her life. She would be able to buy four babies by the time she's 21.

I think of money in terms of babies now. For example, I heard that a Pokemon card sold on eBay yesterday for 500,000 dollars. Instead of dollars, I imagined that Japanese cartoon character being traded for twelve and a half babies.

Don't get me wrong; I understand that compared to so many, I lead a privileged life. I come from a two-parent, middle class home, and I’ve never known what it’s like to suffer from racial discrimination. If I lived in a less developed country, I would be comparing myself to very different types of people: women who sit outside for hours every day, rain or shine, selling vegetables for next to nothing; taxi drivers who work seven days a week, twelve hours a day, just to be able to feed their families. These people don't spend time writing autobiographical essays about how flawed the system is. Even though I understand these truths, I can't help but feel, at times, that I've been shafted.

                                                       *

Two years ago, I lay naked save for the papery hospital gown, in a cold pre-operation room. Hooked up to an IV, I waited on my doctor to arrive and remove the twelve fibroid tumors he had found during my ultrasound. Luis stood by the bed, holding my hand and telling me about the infamous Star Wars holiday special of 1978 in an effort to distract me.

“It actually had Wookie porn in it. Wookie porn. What were they thinking? Chewbacca’s father just groans for like ten minutes straight. It's known as one of the worst films to ever air on television.”

The surgery, an abdominal myomectomy, consisted of cutting open the abdomen in order to remove the tumors. After a year of trying to have a baby and failing, this was our first expensive problem-solving attempt.

On the other side of the curtain, a nurse greeted her patient. “Good morning! What are we having today?”

The voice of a man replied, “It’s a girl.”

“How exciting, is it your first?”

“No,” his female counterpart answered with a chuckle.

I tried to focus on Luis’s Star Wars story, but I kept thinking about the happy couple, leaving later that day with their brand new baby girl all wrapped up in her soft, pink blanket, smelling like cookies after they’ve been dipped in milk. I would leave with nothing but a cleaner uterus and a fat hospital bill.

Moments later, a surgeon arrived, nodded his head to us and continued to the other side of the curtain. I heard him ask, “Ok, so C-section and tubal ligation today, right?”

I almost laughed out loud. So my body was about to be cut open to make it a welcoming home for a fetus while my roommate’s doctor would be rearranging her organs to do the opposite.

I hear the sounds of a table wheeling around and the clanking of instruments. “Do you have a name picked out?”

“Yes, her name is going to be Seven.”

“That’s unique.”

“Well, she’s number seven. I have had six kids in ten years. So yeah, I'm ready to get the tubes tied.”

I looked at Luis indignantly. Seven children in ten years!? I'd been diligently tracking my temperature in order to perfectly time our “lovemaking,” doing headstands after sex, and eating vegan cheese, and this girl is popping out babies every other year. How can two women’s bodies be so utterly different? Luis widened his eyes as if to say, “Well? Do you really want seven children?”

My husband had a way of reframing any depressing situation. When we visited friends who lived in houses much nicer and more expensive than ours, he said things like, “I didn't really like their shower head,” or “I wouldn’t want to live that far away from the city.” Whereas I was seriously considering asking my hospital roommate if she wanted someone to take Seven off her hands, he was probably just thanking the universe that he wasn’t going home this afternoon to a house full of seven kids. On a plane, he would probably find a way to prefer his tiny, middle seat in the back row near the bathrooms to the luxurious first class experience. “Economy people are more friendly than rich people,” he might say.

                                                   *

Before the surgery, I had asked the doctor multiple times how long I would be in recovery, but he would only respond with, “Everyone is different.”

Well, in my mind that translated to two or three days of bedrest, because I rarely use more than three sick days in a school year. Unfortunately, my superior immune system had nothing to do with post-surgery pain, and for seven days afterwards, I was confined to the couch, unable to stand up straight or move more than a few feet without stopping, and in serious pain when my abs contracted. Any time I sneezed, coughed, or tried to flip myself over, it felt like someone was using a straight razor to open my stomach as if it were an Amazon box.

After an entire week of lying on the couch and taking opioids every five hours, I went back to work, still a bit hunched over and rather pale. And on the eighth day, I had to go back to the doctor for a post-op appointment so the bandage could be removed and the healing process be judged.

The bandage - about six inches wide five inches thick, had been placed right on my underwear line. I had already tried to remove it a little myself, just out of curiosity, but I didn’t get very far because it felt like it had been super-glued to the most sensitive area of my body. No one had warned me to shave completely before surgery.

In the car on the way to the appointment, I worried about the removal process and, not wanting to experience more pain, asked Luis, “The doctor probably has something to put on this to make it come off easily, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know,” he said, sounding doubtful. This should have been a signal to me. Luis, being a man, knows how men think. He knew, but didn’t want to break it to me, that there was no way a doctor has ever concerned himself with how painful a bandage removal process would be.

Choosing to be naively optimistic, I decided to trust in the kindness of medical professionals; surely they wouldn’t put me through more pain after so recently having had my abdomen cut open. However, once I was lying on the examination table, naked from the waist down, feet up in the stirrups, doubts started to creep in. As the now familiar ultrasound wand moved around inside my body, Dr. Edwards crowed on about how clear and devoid of fibroids my uterus looked.

Ok, surgery was successful, fibroids are gone, good job, thank you, now please get this thing out of me. When the ultrasound finally ended, he asked, “Do you want to remove the bandage or do you want me to?”

I hesitated, because that question implied that there was no procedure involved... that any random Joe off the street could just stroll in with normal people hands and just rip off this thing with no training whatsoever. My wheels were turning... So... you aren’t going to like, put some kind of magic lotion on me first?

Unfortunately, magic lotion only existed in my fantasies. In reality, surgery proved just a portion of the pain I would endure before it was actually over.

I began to remove the bandage, deciding I would rather be my own executioner. I picked the top part until my fingernails could get underneath, and started to tug. The skin rose as I pulled- it had been eight days since its placement and the glue didn't seem to have weakened at all. How was that possible? If humans are smart enough to design SuperBandage, aren’t we also advanced enough to create anti-adhesive?

When I got to the lower half of the bandage, which was on top of hair, things went downhill quickly. Removing it felt like getting a bikini wax - which I’ve only tried once and chickened out halfway through.

Eventually, I conceded. I couldn’t willingly put myself through the torture. “Can I just do it later, at home? In the bathtub?” I pleaded.

The doctor gave me a puzzled look, as if he didn’t understand the question. “I need to see if your scar is healing.”

“I’ll send you a picture. I swear.”

He chuckled, but I wasn’t kidding. I have never hated anyone more than I hated him in that moment. I bet he had never endured a bikini wax. He probably winced when his wife plucked his eyebrows. I made a mental note to give him a horrible Yelp review.

I refused to continue, so Dr. Edwards took over: he pulled and the nurse pushed the skin down as he went across - yes, pushing right below my stitches. I have never felt such excruciating pain in my entire life; it was like being stabbed with a hundred tiny needles on a part of my body that was only meant to be touched with loving hands. At one point, I instinctively grabbed the doctor’s arm, forcing him to stop. Staring at the bandage, which was only halfway removed, I cursed all men, including Luis. Why didn’t anyone tell me to shave? Why didn’t they give me anesthesia for this?

When the torture finally ended, Dr. Edwards looked at me with amusement in his eyes, and asked, “You ok?” as if I had been overly dramatic. I decided that I would never, ever, forgive him. Public Service Announcement for Women: Shave before any abdominal surgeries. And never settle for a male doctor if a female one is available.

I often wondered why I was putting myself though so much pain to bring a new life into the world. Was the desire to have children an evolutionary curse? Growing up, I never questioned whether or not it would happen because that’s what women are meant to do, right? What is a woman if not a mother? At least that’s what all the women I knew growing up led me to believe. Receiving the hospital bill in the mail a few weeks later prompted me to further question this desire. If I hadn’t cared about being a mother, Luis and I could have used the surgery money to take a trip to our dream destination - South Africa - flying first class.

Sometimes, when I’m lying naked from the waist down with my feet in stirrups, I think about my early 30s, when eggs and fertile windows were blissfully far from my mind. Unfettered by thoughts of motherhood, I concerned myself with traveling as much as possible.

Reading Walden had convinced me that staring at a computer screen all day was no way to live. Thoreau had inspired me to work with my hands, to get outside, to “suck the marrow” out of life. So after six years of teaching, I quit my job and departed alone on a plane to New Zealand. Although I had never even set foot on a farm before, I planned to volunteer on various organic farms as a way to connect with the natural world. The research I had conducted for this adventure amounted to about one hour’s worth of googling.

Since I had lived in a country where I didn’t speak nor read the language for three years, I craved traveling without a language barrier. My inferior sense of direction often weakened my resolve for adventure, so I needed a place where, at the very least, I could read the street signs. My first stop was a dairy farm in Opotiki. I pronounced this as if the last two syllables were “tea- key” as in tiki bar. The bus driver couldn’t understand me; he said he had never heard of such a place.

After some discussion and help from the internet, he dropped me off at the bus stop in “Ah-PO-Tah-key,” where a 20-something-year-old French guy named Clement stood smoking a cigarette. He had been sent by the dairy farmer to pick me up and seemed bored by the task.

Getting off of the bus, I must have looked a bit like Elle Woods showing up for her first day at Harvard. I wore skinny jeans, pink Uggs, and a tie-dyed sweatshirt. Clement had on overalls smeared with a brown substance, work boots, and a look that said, “You have no idea what you are getting yourself into.”

“Hi!” I exclaimed, eager to make a companion after a long solo flight and bus ride.

Clement lifted his chin in greeting and pointed to an old, faded black Honda Civic.

I stuffed my backpack into the trunk, and headed for the passenger seat, after an awkward moment with Clement in which I realized that the right side of the car was actually the driver’s side.

Undeterred by Clement’s apathy towards me, I asked, “How has it been, working on the farm?”

“Lot of cow sheet,” he responded, in a thick French accent.

He then reached for the radio and turned the music up to a decibel that prevented me from responding. Maybe my expectations for companionship had been a bit high.

The drive to the farm consisted of Clement driving about 20 miles over the speed limit on tiny, winding dirt roads, and me closing my eyes and holding tightly to the sides of my seat with both hands. At some point, I felt the urge to vomit, but I just laid my head back and practiced yoga breathing. Clement did not seem to notice.

By some miracle, we arrived at the farm without incident, where I met John, an older man who owned a little red house on seven acres. He explained that Clement and I would be sharing the spare room, meant for volunteers, and he showed me where my overalls and work boots rested.

“Be ready to go at four a.m. I’ll have yogurt and granola ready for breakfast,” he said, handing me an empty water canteen. “Tonight, before you go to sleep, you need to fill this with boiling water and put it under your blankets. It's going to get cold in your room.”

Cold didn’t adequately describe the sleeping quarters. Until it was time for bed, Clement, John and I had been lounging in the cozy, carpeted living room near the fireplace. However, around nine pm, when we moved to the back bedrooms, the wood floors felt like ice on my bare feet. I retrieved a sweatshirt, a scarf, a pair of gloves, and two pairs of socks from my suitcase and put them all on. The temperature must have been around forty degrees, because I could actually see my breath in the darkness. Sleeping proved difficult; every hour, I put on another piece of clothing from my suitcase, eventually looking like the pigeon lady in Home Alone. The canteen was only big enough to heat up one body part and remained warm for just half the night. Throughout all of my tossing, turning, and the unzipping and zipping of my backpack, Clement slept peacefully in normal pajamas. At four a.m., when the rooster started crowing, I wanted to weep. I yearned for my warm Tel Aviv apartment, central heating, and my teaching job, which suddenly felt like a white collar position.

I snuggled deeper into my bed, hoping to enjoy the blankets for a few more minutes, until I saw Clement pop out of bed and don his overalls. Refusing to be the weakling that he probably expected me to be, I followed his lead.

“Did you bring a hat?” John asked, when I entered the kitchen.

“No. Why?” I asked, thinking if I had a hat, I probably would have worn it to bed last night.

“Some of the cows have lice and you could catch it.”

I eagerly accepted the hat John proffered.

Clement and I ate our yogurt in silence - not surprising for him, but I was just too cold and tired to care.

John led us to the barn after breakfast, where we would be milking the cows. When I walked through the doors, my hand instinctively covered my nose: the smell - similar to a Port- O-Potty at the end of a crowded, weekend-long music festival - attacked me. John and Clement, unaffected by the stench, chuckled at my reaction.

“Better than the smell of cars in the city,” John said, smiling.

I wasn’t convinced.

Now it was time to learn how to milk a cow. In my imaginings of this moment, I would sit on a cute step stool, a sweet little cow would trot up to me, and I would gently tug on her teats, squirting milk into a tin bucket below. I would repeat this a few times, and a day’s work would be done.

In reality, John owned about 200 cows. The barn housed 50 stalls into which the first herd of cows were guided; each stood so that her butt faced into the shed. John handed me one of many thick, black hoses that hung from the ceiling. At the end of the hose was a steel device with four suction cups; I needed to attach the suction cups to the cow’s teats. The three of us would walk up and down the stalls, eventually connecting the suction cups to all fifty cows, and then John would turn on the machine.

For the first set of cows, this went pretty smoothly; according to John, these were the “old gals” who were used to the process. But when the younger cows were led into the stalls, they seemed less than thrilled. I watched in horror as one of them furiously kicked her hind legs, trying to escape the suction cups. John ran over to her, adeptly tying each of her legs to the stall. What happened next was both horrifying and impressive. I remember learning about how vultures can vomit on demand; it's one of their defenses when threatened. Well, apparently cows have a similar skillset. The moment John finished tying up the second leg, that cow shot projectile diarrhea right onto his chest.

I managed to get through the morning milking - which took two hours total - without trauma. I felt victorious but exhausted; I longed to go inside and take a nap.

“Meet me back out here at noon,” John said, after the barn had been cleaned.

I wondered why we would need to come back to the barn so soon. Clement delighted in informing me that the cows were milked twice a day.

Eventually, Clement, John and I fell into a routine, and for two whole weeks, I milked cows (twice a day) without contracting lice or getting kicked in the face. I even learned some tricks for sleeping in 40 degree temperatures, like taking a scalding hot shower right before bedtime, throwing on clothes as quickly as possible, then running straight to the bed, where I had previously placed the hot water canteen.

When I look back on my New Zealand adventure, I marvel at my resilience. How I just trudged out to the barn in those big rubber work boots at four a.m. and kept talking to Clement even though he only responded in grunts. And even though I’m older now, and slightly less malleable, I’m still managing. Every day I go to school and greet those first class passengers without displaying any “negative behaviors.” (I still welcome Ariel when she comes to visit me.) And I’m going to keep tracking my ovulation and putting away money for adoption, at least for another two or three years. And if we are relegated to fly in economy class on a plane full of first class passengers for the rest of our lives, at least Luis will be there to remind me that first class isn’t all that great anyway.

[didanawisgi]

Is Yoga Kosher?

How a Modern Orthodox Jew struggled to reconcile her yogic practice with her Judaism by TAFFY BRODESSER-AKNER, JANUARY 05, 2010

“A few years ago, freshly moved to Los Angeles, I started practicing yoga. I was feeling anxious and worried, and if I were still a New Yorker, I’d have gone on anti-depressants. But I’m a big believer in doing what the Romans do, and, as it turned out, yoga helped a lot. Now, in class, as I take my first bow—a stretch upward, followed by an open-armed dive to my toes—I am no longer thinking about survival. Instead, with room to breathe and think, I instead wonder about the implications of bowing, of doing yoga in the first place. Yoga, with its meditation, with its mysterious secrets and ties to Hinduism and Buddhism, isn’t just a physiological practice; it’s a spiritual one. And I am a Modern Orthodox Jew. By practicing yoga, I’m now forced to wonder, am I practicing a religion outside my own? Am I sinning before God?

When I first took up yoga, this question never occurred to me. I was dealing with a difficult time, but I had also abandoned my religious upbringing. I was at peace with a secular life that included some high-holiday observance and crippling guilt when I didn’t observe Passover. Now, married to a man who converted so that we could be together, I find myself running an Orthodox home. (You know the old joke: don’t date a non-Jew unless you want to end up really religious.) I’m surprisingly happy in my lifestyle, but I’m also realizing that a true immersion in yogic practice may very well be a violation of my Jewish one.

There is a statue of Ganesh, the Hindu diety, in the yoga studio I attend. At the end of the class, my instructor says, “Namaste,” and bows toward the class. In turn, we bow back. I am bowing toward the teacher, but also toward the statue. Namaste means, “The Divine in me salutes the Divine in you.” During many of the meditation sessions, we are asked to put our hands in “prayer position,” which is what it sounds like: hands joined together at the heart. The more I thought about it, the more I worried that yoga might be its own religion, and that I might be committing a sin—worshipping an idol, even—by practicing it.

This might seem like a niggling question of minutia, but Judaism, especially Orthodox Judaism, is a religion filled with niggling questions of minutiae—how an animal is slaughtered, at what angle, exactly, a mezuzah should be affixed to a door post. There are serious implications to committing idolatry, whether you do so accidentally or not. In the Talmud (Sanhedrin 74), it states that there are only three sins in which a person is commanded to die rather than commit the sin: the second and third are incest and murder. The first is idolatry.

That was the Lubavitch rebbe’s rationale when, in 1977, he forbade his followers from practicing yoga, transcendental meditation, and the like. “In as much as these movements involve certain rites and rituals, they have been rightly regarded by Rabbinic authorities as cults bordering on, and in some respects actual, avodah zarah,” he wrote, using the Hebrew term for idolatry. “Accordingly Rabbinic authorities everywhere…ruled that these cults come under all the strictures associated with avodah zarah, so that also their appurtenances come under strict prohibition.”

But, of course, I’m not a Lubavitcher. So I asked my yoga teacher at City Yoga in West Hollywood, Linda Eifer, a Conservative Jew, what she thought. “Yoga is not a religion,” she said, emphatically. “It’s a spiritual practice that combines the body, the mind, and the spirit. It’s based on an ancient Indian tradition that includes inspiration from statues, which are a mythology that combine human and divine characteristics.” But, aside from the statues, that’s pretty much what my religion is to me.

David Adelson, a Reform rabbi in New York who is enrolled at the Institute for Jewish Spirituality, a two-year program that includes yoga retreats and text study, offered a distinction. “If I’m in a church around Christmastime, I sing and even say ‘Jesus’ in the hymns. I know that I am just singing because I like singing, and in no way praying, so it doesn’t worry me,” he said. “Yoga feels just a bit dicier because I am a full participant in the experience, not an observer. But I believe in general that to constitute avodah zarah, you probably need some kavana,” or intention.

Kavana is an interesting thing. Intuitively, it would seem that a religion demanding absolute morality would be concerned with intention. But, actually, that’s not really the case. If you eat bread on Passover, even accidentally, you have sinned. If you give charity but grudgingly, the charity still counts for the good. On Yom Kippur, we repent for sins we didn’t even know we did. And then there are Hannah’s sons—seven Jews who chose to die rather than bow to Antiochus, the Greek ruler who tried to forcibly convert Jews in 167 BCE. Bowing but not meaning it wasn’t an option. Judaism is concerned not just with your actions but also very much with how your actions appear to others. Bowing is the physical manifestation of idolatry, whatever your intention. “Do not make idols or set up an image or a sacred stone for yourselves,” says Leviticus 26:1, “and do not place a carved stone in your land to bow down before it.”

But let’s ignore that for a second, and accept Adelson’s argument that intention does matter. Even so, don’t I intentionally practice yoga? And while Eifer, my yoga teacher, had said she doesn’t find yoga incompatible with Judaism because her status as a Jew isn’t compromised by her practice of yoga, I have a more literal view of Judaism and what it expects from me. I believe that I’m supposed to practice only Judaism. I don’t believe the practice of another religion makes me an adherent of that religion, but I do believe that I choose to only practice Judaism. The rituals and chanting that was expected of me in yoga seem like another religion to me—and practicing another religion is practicing another religion.

But Srinivasan, the senior teacher at the worldwide Shivananda Yoga Vedanta Centers, says I have it backwards. “Yoga is not a religion, but a science of religion,” he explained. “It applies to all religions. It’s not that yoga comes from Hinduism. Hinduism originates in yoga. Buddhism comes from yoga, too.” Srinivasan doesn’t see how spiritual yoga practice and Judaism are incompatible. “Rabbi Shlomo Carlebach used to come to our Ashrams,” he said. “He understood we were talking about the same thing. Hasidic mysticism and Kabbalah are very much in line with yogic thought.”

I explain to Srinivasan that the approach may be similar—even some of the text and ideas may be similar—but that only proves my point that yoga is a religion. “There is yoga in every religion,” he responded. “Yoga means ‘union’ or ‘absolute consciousness’ with God. Don’t look at the differences; look at the similarities. Yoga is beyond words or institution. When you use the word ‘religion,’ people want to know what books you read, what language you speak.” He also says that though some sects of yoga won’t even use the word God, the tradition is similar to monotheism. “We’re all talking about the same God,” he said. To him, the statue of Ganesh at the front of many yoga studios is the same God to whom Jews pray. “Don’t confuse the map for the actual place,” he said. “God is everywhere. There is no conflict here. There is respect for that diversity. To explain God is to limit God.”

So could I just be bowing in front of this statue without bowing to the statue? I asked Pinchas Giller, an Orthodox rabbi who practices yoga at the same studio I do. “Many Hindus argue these days that their deities are just archetypal principles,” says Giller. “But any third-grader in Hebrew school will tell you that those are idols. Veneration and offerings are unacceptable. I avoid classes where the teacher is too into the mythos. It’s hard to escape the impression that if you take some of the practices too seriously then it could be avodah zarah.” Giller practices yoga for the exercise and only for the exercise, he’s careful to say.

Chanah Forster, a Hasid and yoga teacher in Brooklyn, may have found a solution. “Yoga absolutely is a religion,” she says. Before she became religious, Forster lived on an ashram, where she became certified to teach yoga. She still teaches it, but with an approach tailored to her current audience. There is no chanting in her class—not even Om, the vibrational sound recited at the start of most yoga classes. She describes poses, but won’t use their traditional Sanskrit names. She also won’t say their English translations, like Downward-Facing Dog. “Instead, I’ll say to raise your hips to the ceiling,” she explained to me. “The Sanskrit names have a spiritual meaning. If you don’t call these poses by their Sanskrit names, it’s just exercise.” Forster believes that when you do any of these things—chant, say Om, speak in Sanskrit—you are opening yourself up spiritually to outside influences. “These aren’t just words,” she said. “They have meanings and repercussions to your neshama”—your soul—“and they are at odds with Jewish spirituality.”

But despite all these things at odds with Judaism, yoga seems to have a strong pull on Jews. In the past few years, several yoga minyans, prayer services in which yoga stretches accompany liturgy, have gotten underway. At least half of the people who frequent my yoga studio, as well as many of its teachers, are Jewish. India is a hotbed of Israeli tourism and the great Hindu leader Ram Dass was born Richard Alpert, a nice Jewish boy. (The author Rodger Kamenetz wrote a whole book, The Jew in the Lotus, about Jews struggling to understand and relate to Eastern spirituality.) But though unresolved, it’s a debate that’s new to me and that has new urgency for me as I’ve returned to religious observance.) The Kabbalistic viewpoint asserts that we are born with a pintele yid, a Jewish spark always searching for spirituality. If you live in America in 2010, your pintele yid may be a little malnourished, and whether because of assimilation or a lack of Jewish practice, some Jews seek to feed this hunger outside of the synagogue.

And the question of yoga’s compatibility with Judaism might just be an unanswerable one. In Adelson’s Reform world, it’s the Jew’s intention that matters. But in the Judaism I know, the one I have chosen to participate in, intentions, or even wishes, are not the only things to consider. My Judaism is a Judaism that is preoccupied with my physical life as much as my spiritual one. It has laws for when I eat, what wear, how I wash my hands. The problem isn’t what yoga might ask me to think or believe; it’s what it asks me to do. And despite my physical flexibility—you should see my frog pose—I don’t have the same spiritual agility.

Further practice of Judaism has not, historically, helped me become more open-minded. But perhaps that is where yoga can be an asset, not a detriment, to my religious practice. Yes, yoga walks a fine line (verboten to some; certainly not to all). But maybe my uptight approach to religion requires yoga and its nuances of illicit practice to help me remain flexible in my spirit, as well as my body. Maybe having something that isn’t so easy to reconcile, a gray area, is good for me.”

Taffy Brodesser-Akner is a correspondent for GQ and a contributing writer for the New York Times Magazine.

#avodah zarah #chanah forster #david adelson #ganesh #yoga #judaism #cognitive dissonance #Religion #Taffy Brodesser-Akner #meditation #buddhism #hinduism #early christianity #kosher #controversy #debate #spirituality #morals and dogma

[lady-divine-writes]

Klaine one-shot - “Happy Haunt” (Rated PG)

Kurt has a special friend that makes his lonely life a little more bearable. (1776 words)

A/N: This is a re-write :) Kid-fic with Halloween spirited gore.

Read on AO3.

“B-but … but I don’t want to go in there,” Kurt stutters, staring up with wide, frightened eyes at the gloomy house before him. Greying wood slats fall from the siding. Dusty windows clatter while shutters swing off their hinges, smacking dully against one another. The house shifts on its foundation, complaining in high-pitched whines as icy winds pass through it. A small assemblage of older boys stand behind Kurt, dressed in an array of stereotypical monster costumes – a werewolf, a vampire, a mummy, Frankenstein’s monster, and a ghost – each one blocking Kurt’s escape as they push him towards the stairs. Outsized, outnumbered, and dressed in a satin, handmade, harlequin costume, Kurt does his best to resist without wrinkling his outfit.

“Too bad, new kid,” the vampire says, giving Kurt a shove and making him fall forward onto the first creaky step.

“Yeah!” The mummy follows, giving Kurt another shove. “Think of it as an initiation.”

“And what if I don’t go?” Kurt asks, holding his ground against a third shove.

“Then don’t even consider coming back to school,” the werewolf boy says, his voice muddied behind his plastic mask.

Kurt looks at the faces behind him shrouded by masks and makeup, which makes these boys feel braver.

It also makes them more dangerous.

Then Kurt looks back up the staircase. He’s on the second step. He has three more steps to go. He lifts a foot and plants it on the next stair, slowly raising himself up. The wood plank bends in the middle. For a second, he fears it will splinter beneath him … but it holds. He brings his other leg up to the fourth step.

Only one more step till he reaches the porch.

A breeze blows, and the shutters slam. Kurt gasps and starts back down, wildly shaking his head.

“No!” He wriggles, stopped by the arms of the thugs behind him. “No, I can’t do it! I won’t do it!”

But each of the hulking boys grabs him by a different limb and hoists him into the air, carrying him as he screams and kicks at the air.

“No!” he cries. “Don’t make me go in there! I’ll tell my father! I’ll tell your fathers! Someday you’ll all work for me! Mark my words!”

They shove Kurt in the house and slam the door shut. From inside the house, they can hear Kurt pounding on the door – palms flat, hitting the door so hard it rattles in its frame.

“No!” Kurt screeches. “Please! Let me out!”

The boys gathered on the porch laugh till their stomachs hurt as Kurt continues to scream, giving one another high-fives as they contemplate their next move.

“When are we going to let him out?” werewolf boy asks.

“I say we leave him in there all night!” mummy boy chimes in.

They all agree that’s a great idea until, all of a sudden, Kurt’s screams change. They’ve gone from panicked, to bloodcurdling, to strangled. And above the sound of Kurt choking for air, a hollow, evil laugh rises in volume and pitch, echoing around the walls and shaking the whole house.

The boys stop laughing and stand straight when they hear it, stumbling backward down the steps as the chilling sound grabs at their insides and squeezes tight.

“We … we should go check on him … maybe?” ghost boy suggests.

“Yeah,” Frankenstein’s monster agrees. “Why don’t you go ahead and check on him, Vince?”

Vince, the leader of the group, dressed in the vampire costume, looks at the boys flanking him side-to-side.

“Hell, no!” he says. “I ain’t opening that door for nuthin’!”

“It was your idea!” mummy boy argues. “You’re the one who wanted to bring him here!”

“Yeah!” werewolf boy intervenes. “This was your plan from the start! You should go check on him!”

“Well, you pushed him in, Dean!” Vince says, pushing ghost boy up the stairs toward the door.

“So did you!” Dean yells, pushing Vince a step higher.

All five boys start to argue, bickering back and forth, until the door of the house bursts open, breaking off its hinges and landing on the floor.

The boys stop. They look up. The gaping doorway stands open like a giant mouth breathing in the night air. Vince stands slowly, peering into the dark where Kurt should be lying on the floor, possibly dead.

“Hu-Hummel?” he calls out, swallowing hard. “K-Kurt? Wh-where are you, Kurt?”

Vince makes his way to the doorway with none of his gang behind him. He leans in a little, looking left and right. He turns his head back to his crew, all of whom have migrated down to the bottom stair, preparing to run.

“He’s not … he’s not in there.”

Suddenly they hear a horrible, tortured howl of pain, and there Kurt is, standing in the entrance, his satin costume covered in blood gushing from a gash in his neck that seems to go straight to the bone. Kurt’s eyes are gone – two huge, morbidly empty sockets staring down at his frightened tormentors who can barely scream. As they look on in horror, maggots pour from a hole in Kurt’s belly, spewing out onto the porch, scrambling into the wood with a scritching sound that burrows straight into the soul. Vince stumbles backward down the stairs to avoid them, finally managing a shrill wail as he flips over the gate and sprints off down the street, his four compatriots hot on his heel, at least one urinating noticeably.

Not until the boys are out of sight does Kurt begin to chuckle. He looks down as the glamour fades away – the blood withdrawing, the maggots disintegrating, his eyes returning from the spell that made them disappear.

“Now, don’t you think that was a little much?” Kurt asks out loud, but he’s not talking to himself. Blaine is there to hear him. He’s always there. He helped Kurt with this little scheme, which Kurt had been planning ever since he found out what those bullies were concocting for Halloween night.

“Go big or go home,” a voice echoes in Kurt’s ears. Kurt can see in his mind an image of the cocky boy shaking his head. “Eighth graders,” he huffs.

“Well, we went big.” Kurt stares down the street after the boys with a grin. “Let’s go home.”

“Do you have any … threes?” Kurt asks, arranging the cards in his hand.

Blaine uncrosses and crosses his legs.

“Go fish,” Blaine says, and Kurt picks a card.

“Do you have any … sevens?” Blaine asks, raising his eyebrows in a knowing way.

Kurt blows out an aggravated breath and hands over the cards.

“Wait,” he says, the cards just out of the reach of Blaine’s fingers, “are you cheating?”

Blaine rolls his eyes.

“Duh!” He leans forward and grabs the cards. “What’s the point of being a ghost if you’re not going to cheat at cards?”

“But Blaine, you promised to play fair!” Kurt whines, throwing down his hand.

“When did I make that promise exactly?” Blaine asks, picking up the discarded cards and reshuffling the deck. Kurt turns his head, sticking his nose in the air and crossing his arms over his chest in defiance. Blaine sighs. “Best two out of three?” he asks.

Kurt peeks at his pouting friend and relents.

“Fine! But this time we’re playing gin.”

The front door opens. Kurt glances up from his spot on the floor to see his father walk in, holding plastic bags from the take-out restaurant near his shop.

“Hey, Dad,” Kurt says, collecting the cards being tossed his way.

“Hey, kiddo,” Burt says, watching cards throw themselves at Kurt of their own accord. Burt wasn’t really accepting of Kurt’s abilities at first, and once he had come to grips with the fact that Kurt could communicate with ghosts and was being haunted by one, a part of him hoped it was Kurt’s mother, Elizabeth. After a few off-color pranks, Burt realized they hadn’t been quite so lucky. But three townships later, Kurt still had difficulty making friends, so it seemed that Blaine (which apparently was the ghost’s name) was a bit of an unexpected blessing.

It still kind of gave Burt the creeps.

“So, did you boys enjoy yourselves?” he asks, understanding the necessity of including Blaine in the conversation.

“Yup.” Kurt looks at his cards. “We made a group of bullies cry.”

“That’s good,” Burt says, brushing the comment off. He’s not too sure what bothers him more – the bullies or whatever it was that Kurt and his ghost friend did to make them cry. “You boys help yourself to some food. I’m going to go take a quick rinse.”

“Sure thing, Mr. H,” Blaine calls out. Kurt knows that Blaine realizes his dad can’t hear him, but he’ll answer him every so often like that. Kurt thinks it’s probably so that he can feel normal.

Kurt gets it. After his mother passed away, nothing in his life felt normal – that was until Blaine came along.

Blaine waits until Kurt’s father heads to the kitchen with the food before he says anything.

“Your father does know I don’t eat, right?” Blaine asks, launching one last card, which lands right in Kurt’s lap.

“He knows,” Kurt says, putting his cards in order in his hand. “He’s being polite.”

Blaine nods as he looks over his cards.

“Do you think …” Blaine moves one card to the end of his hand, and then puts it back in its original spot again “… that it bothers him? You know – me being here?”

Kurt shrugs. “I don’t think so, as long as you behave yourself.”

Kurt’s tone is stern, and Blaine knows what he’s referring to – the time he plugged all the toilets. It was just a joke, for laughs. Who knew Burt would try his hand at making chili that night?

“And … what about you?” Blaine finds a pair of twos in his hand and puts them down.

“What about me what?” Kurt bounces excitedly in his seat when he finds three pairs – fives, sixes, and nines – and lays them down on the carpet.

“Do you … you know … still like having me here?” Blaine puts down a pair of queens, and even though he has no other pairs, he looks at his hand while he waits for an answer.

Kurt peers at Blaine from over his cards. “Of course, I do. You’re my best friend.”

“Really?” Blaine smiles slow and wide, a little more bashful than his usual grin.

“Really,” Kurt says. “Now hurry up and cheat so I can go eat dinner. I’m starving!”

#klaine fanfiction #klaine fic #klaine #Frankie writes

[sp4c3-0ddity]

Ink on a Page, 5

an Inkheart AU (sort of)

Category:  Gen Word count:  ~8800 Chapters:  5/?

Summary:

Pidge has lived a normal - if unstable - life with her mother for the last fourteen of her sixteen years, but even the fantastical books she reads never could’ve prepared her for the wild twist it takes when an ‘old friend’ of her mother’s appears unannounced at their door.

Chapter Five Summary:

Pidge attempts to investigate Voltron

Read Chapter Five on ao3

Or read from the beginning

Or below the cut:

Chapter Five:

Pidge didn’t take the book out of her bag until lunchtime the following Monday, although she had ample opportunity to read over the weekend since her mother broke her promise to take her into D.C. to the Air and Space Museum, if unwillingly.

“I’m so sorry, love,” she’d said, barely glancing up from her laptop. “I have so much work I need to finish by Monday.”

“Can we do next weekend then?” Pidge asked hopefully.

“Nothing short of my death will stop me,” Colleen vowed, smiling.

Relieved, Pidge returned her smile, but a part of her still feared a cloud of tension hung over them since she discovered the book and Colleen hid it.

Her mother had yet to discover that Pidge stole it back.

She turned to the prologue at the start of her lunch period on Monday, grinning triumphantly as she started reading:

This is the tale of Voltron, a mighty warrior forged from a comet, a weapon built by the courage of Lions, a conscious artifact linked by five pilots.

This is the tale of King Zarkon, and how he made enemies of his allies and conquered the universe in his quest for power.

This is the tale of King Alfor, alchemist turned soldier turned politician, Zarkon’s greatest friend…and foremost nemesis.

And this is the tale of Princess—

The book was wrenched from Pidge’s grip, and she gaped at her hands, looking up to see her blond classmate from AP lit.

“What are we reading today, nerd?” he wondered, turning to the page she’d been reading.

“Don’t you think it’s ironic that an AP student would call another AP student a nerd?” Pidge retorted, struggling to regain control of the situation. She stood up, prepared to snatch the book back if she had to.

“I’m not the one who sits alone in the corner during lunch,” he said snidely. He turned a page slowly, deliberately, and for one heart-stopping moment she feared he would tear it out.

So Pidge tackled him, jumping onto his back and wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

“What the f—” He cut himself off when Pidge’s momentum pushed them over, and they collided with the ground.

Pidge had the leverage over him since she landed on top of him, reaching for the book, her knees digging into his stomach. He grunted and struggled beneath her, but the sounds of their fellow students shouting excitedly about a fight drowned him out. And even those voices faded as Pidge’s blood rushed in her ears.

Just as her hands closed around the book’s spine, strong arms grabbed her and pulled her away from her classmate.

“What were you doing, Pidge?” Hunk demanded.

“Protecting my book from that asshole!” Pidge shot back, wrenching herself from Hunk’s grip.

Dr. Yurak then appeared, calling for everyone to calm down while a few other teachers fought to disperse the crowd. He then helped Pidge’s classmate to his feet, and both of their gazes landed on her.

“Holt,” Dr. Yurak said, crossing his arms. “Why don’t the three of us take a walk to Mr. Iverson’s office?” Before Pidge and her classmate could follow him, he held his hand out to her. “First let me see what you fought over.”

Pidge stared at his outstretched hand, fear overcoming adrenaline for a moment, but when she met Dr. Yurak’s eyes – eyes that promised retribution if she didn’t obey, eyes that she now noticed were mismatched with one a lighter brown than the other – she stiffly passed the book to him.

“Voltron,” he read, gaze falling on the cover. To her amazement, he sounded curious rather than angry, and as she watched he flipped the book over to examine the back cover. With a frown and another brief instant of hesitation, he returned Voltron to her, face mostly impassive.

Pidge clutched Voltron to her chest, unable to resist smiling; her heart still beat with the thrill of a battle fought and won, so she couldn’t bring herself to even pretend to feel remorseful, not when a teacher that hated her didn’t even try confiscating an artifact so precious to her. So she followed Dr. Yurak towards the principal’s office without argument.

Her only regret was that her mother would be furious with her.

Pidge’s punishment for the fight was to be a single day of suspension and two days of detention after, which was fine, except for the fact that her mother hated leaving Pidge alone at home.

To her surprise and relief, Mr. Iverson considered it a warning infraction and didn’t call Colleen to report it, instead leaving it to Pidge to inform her, but when she asked her how school was over dinner that evening, she only responded in simple, one-word answers.

Colleen didn’t press her, likely interpreting her stiffness as disappointment over their ruined weekend plans, and Pidge let her. But it didn’t stop shame from churning in her gut, especially not the following morning when she woke up and prepared for school as usual, only to walk to the nearby public library and spend the day there instead.

Out of guilt, she didn’t even allow herself to touch Voltron, her curiosity dissolving in the wake of betraying her mother – twice in less than a week. She hadn’t even finished a page, and at the moment the book held no interest to her.

Instead she signed up for a library card and checked out a science fiction novel at random; when she started reading it, she learned that it was the third in a series she’d never even heard of before.

Pidge kept reading anyway.

She messed around on her computer for a couple hours too, logging into the library’s slow but free Wi-fi, playing games and researching colleges. Every time she broached the topic of going to college with her mother, even when she mentioned a specific university, Colleen was quick to suggest she start off at a community college.

Her mother was so stifling sometimes that Pidge couldn’t help but wonder how different their lives would be if her father – and brother – were still with them.

With them and not here. Why did Colleen never say they were ‘dead’? She spoke so carefully – a skill of her trade, Pidge supposed – and so rarely about them, but she never once mentioned their deaths.

Why the hell not? Pidge rubbed her face, suddenly weary of everything; her nerves felt frayed, like they usually were when she prepared for final exams or some other mentally exhausting ordeal. And analyzing every word Colleen spoke of her father and brother didn’t help. Even the quietly busy hum of the library couldn’t soothe her like usual, not when her eyes fell on mothers reading books to their small children, something her own mother never even did for her.

About an hour after school dismissal time, Pidge collected her belongings and left the library, heading back to the apartment complex. She put on her headphones, raising the volume on her mp3 player loud enough to at least deaden the sound of passing traffic if not drown it out entirely.

She hummed along with the music, trying to distract herself from her problems, but when someone tapped her on the shoulder, she jumped away from them, arms flailing wildly.

It was Hunk, who smiled apologetically at her. “Sorry about that,” he said. “I guess I should’ve been louder to start.”

Pidge paused the song and pulled her headphones down to rest around her neck as Hunk matched her pace. “Do you live in this direction?” she wondered. If she had to avoid him outside as well as in school…

“Nah, I convinced the registrar to give me your address so I could drop off some homework for you.” He reached inside his vest for a pocket and pulled out a neatly folded piece of paper. “I asked people in your classes and made a list.”

Impressed and flattered despite herself, Pidge accepted the paper from him. “Why?”

“Well, I figured that some of your teachers won’t appreciate late homework,” Hunk explained, “especially since you were suspended rather than sick.”

Pidge crossed her arms. “Yeah, I’m sure Dr. Yurak would love another reason to pick on me.”

“Dr. Yurak?” Hunk glanced sideways at her and nodded in understanding. “I’ve never had him, thankfully, but I’ve heard things about him…”

“Like what?” Pidge turned a little towards him, curious. “Dish.”

Hunk grinned, looking more impish than friendly, and said, “Of course, there are the rumors of him making his students burst into tears.”

“That’s not a rumor, Hunk,” Pidge pointed out. “I’ve seen it for myself, and I’ve only been here a week.”

“Right, right.” Hunk frowned thoughtfully and then continued, “Well, I guess I can skip to the craziest rumor.”

When he paused, Pidge prompted, “Which is…?”

“A former student punched him.”

Pidge halted in her tracks. “What?”

“Yeah, okay, here’s the thing:  did you ever meet Keith?”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Doesn’t sound familiar.” Except it did, but she couldn’t put her finger on why…

“Oh, then maybe he got expelled before you moved here,” Hunk said, shrugging as if it didn’t matter, “but anyway, Keith was – or is, I guess – a twelfth grader, and he was in Dr. Yurak’s AP lit class. Probably the same one you’re in now.”

“Of course.”

“So there was an incident at the very beginning of the school year a few months ago, and Keith’s…well, I’m not sure if they’re related, but his guardian got called in after a bad and very public argument in Dr. Yurak’s class.”

“What did they argue about?” Pidge wondered, captivated by the story, if only because there was something comforting about another student – however long gone they were – being targeted by Dr. Yurak.

“I don’t know, to be honest,” Hunk said. “That’s like the one thing no one ever talks about, but Keith’s guardian came in, and apparently he and Dr. Yurak knew each other – he might’ve been an old student or something – because next thing I hear, Dr. Yurak’s jaw needed to be wired shut.”

Pidge gaped at him, grip on her page of homework assignments loosening in shock. “You’re kidding.”

“I’m not,” Hunk said, his smile full of glee. “I saw the injury myself; it’s probably been fully healed for only a couple weeks now.”

“Oh my God,” Pidge said with a grin. “This is the best news I’ve ever heard.”

“Isn’t it?” Hunk shook his head. “Dr. Yurak is the only AP lit teacher, so I kind of hope he gets fired before next year when I have to take it.”

They walked through the entrance of the apartment complex, moving towards Building G, and Pidge didn’t even mind Hunk’s company.

“Maybe I can make something happen,” she considered, her mind working. When Hunk looked at her with interest, she explained, “I’m a bit of an amateur hacker. If I can find some dirt on—”

She cut herself off when her eyes fell on the empty parking spot labeled with their apartment number. “Where’s my mom?” she asked with a confused frown. When Hunk only shrugged at her, she said, “She should’ve been home by lunchtime today. Unless I got the day wrong…”

Heart beating with anticipation and a sudden rush of fear, Pidge took the steps up to the apartment door two at a time. Distantly she felt the vibrations of Hunk’s footsteps on the staircase, but she ignored it and rested her hand on the door knob.

The door swung open with a gentle nudge.

Pidge’s heart jumped into her throat as she took in the state of a ransacked apartment, books and plastic DVD and CD cases strewn over the floor of the front room, boxes still unpacked overturned, their contents – everything from clothes to kitchenware – dumped out onto the floor. Behind her, Hunk inhaled sharply in surprise as he peered over her shoulder.

The rational part of Pidge knew that whoever did this could still be around, could still pose a threat, but the rest of her just wanted to find her mother. She sprinted into the apartment, dropping her backpack in the doorway, and shouted, “Mom?!”

No one replied, and except for her erratic heartbeat and shallow frightened breathing, the apartment was silent. And after she ducked into each room – checking the shower and every closet and underneath the beds – she confirmed that Colleen was missing.

#voltron #pidge #/ #// #/// #reem writes fic #also btw i probably won't be posting any fic this weekend #because i won't have internet from saturday to monday #so yeah have fun with this #reem writes gen

[tatooedlaura-blog]

Patience

the series read as follows:

Superman … Monday … Cheezy Pouffs … Bacon … Stumbling … Trail Mix …  Punch … Friday … Preparation … Uncle Mudler … Normal … Backseat … Mudler-sense … The FBI … Unthinkable

___________________

Innocently mowing the lawn, Scully looked up at Betty and waved as the older woman made her way quickly across the street. Seeing what she took as a frantic face and not a happy to see you face, Scully cut the motor, “everything okay?”

Betty walked quickly past her, taking Scully’s arm as she did, “you haven’t watched the news, have you?”

Without question, Scully pulled herself from Betty’s and tore up the front steps, banging through the screen door, “Mom?! Mom? Turn on the news.”

Maggie, settled on the couch, scrambled for the remote, fumbling as she tried to find a local station.

Then the world shrank to the house, the living room, the television and Scully’s darting eyes, taking in the coverage of the destruction of half the Hoover building, the adjacent structure, the street between and what looked to be smoke choking the entire scene. Before she knew she was moving, she had keys in hand, turning to Betty, “can you stay with mom?”

Before Betty could say ‘yes’, “Dana?! Stop!”

“Mom, I need to go find them! What if they’re in that?” Housekeys and car keys now digging their imprint into her palm, knuckles white with stress, “I need to go find them!”

Trying to keep her daughter looking at her, maintain eye contact, “Dana, wait! It’s almost five. They were coming home at five. They may be on their way already. If you go down there, you’ll miss them. Please, give it a little while.”

Scully truly couldn’t believe what she was hearing, “how can you be so calm!? How can you tell me to sit here when you’ve got five kids possibly buried under rubble?”

With a deep breath, “I am so scared right now, I can barely breathe but from what the news is saying, you can’t get anywhere near there and if you miss them, Fox will get here and then go try to find you and it will be even more of a nightmare.” Pulling out her mother voice which she’d only used maybe three times in Scully’s lifetime, “Fox has them … now sit down.”

Fighting logic with emotion, she kept her keys in her hand and parked herself by the door instead, able to see the news coverage while surveying the street and drive. Attempting to dial Mulder every minute, the busy signal drove her anxiety through the roof, her blood pressure going with it.

She made it 43 minutes until she slammed her hand against the wall by the door, “God Dammit! Where are they!?”

Maggie was beside herself as well, as the news became bleaker, bodies beginning to be pulled from the wreckage and she jumped when Scully banged the wall, “Dana!”

“Mom, I can’t sit here and wait anymore!”

“You have to. They will be home so will you please just be quiet!”

Reprimand was not something she usually received from her mother and it got her to stay still another six minutes until the phone rang in her hand. Nearly dropping it in surprise, she listened through the crackling reception to hear someone faintly telling her Mulder was on his way home. She had no idea who it was and caller ID wasn’t showing up but she heard clear enough that Mulder was coming home.

She slumped against the wall, face automatically aimed to the street as she answered her mother’s barely heard, “was that Fox?”

“No but it was someone telling me they’re coming home. Maybe it was Skinner, maybe it was Frohike, I have no idea but they said he was coming home.” She stopped talking then, stopped listening to the horror on the television, pinpoint focus aimed on the quiet street before her.

&&&&&&&&&&

It took another 23 minutes but suddenly, there was a van pulling in the drive, Scully out the door like a shot, jumping down steps and pulling open doors, catching distraught children in hugs as they somberly climbed from the vehicle.

And then Mulder emerged, a disheveled, smoke-stained, bundle of nervous panic …

And then he saw her.

He would have pulled her to a hug but her hands on his cheeks pulled him in for a kiss first, a crushing, sobbing, mess of a kiss that made his knees weak and the day catch up to him. Skinner witnessed the embrace and breathed a little easier for a moment … he’d gotten Mulder back to her in one piece.

Mulder and five kids.

He dropped his head to the back of the seat, watching and knowing this could possibly the last happy thing that would happen to him for weeks. Debating whether he could slip away unnoticed, Scully leaned through the open door and planted a kiss on his cheek, “come inside, sir, have some water.”

Reality yet again, “I can’t. I need to get the van back to Frohike, then go down to the site.”

Sympathizing, she settled her hand heavy on his shoulder, “you need five minutes, Walter. Come inside, please. Show my mother you’re okay.”

&&&&&&&&&&&

They sat up the rest of the night, Mulder holding Betsy, Scully with Toby and the other three piled between Skinner and Maggie. It had been Sam who convinced Walter to stay, the 10-year-old’s fingers curling into the towering man’s hand, using Betsy’s moniker for him, “don’t go back, Mr. Skimmer. Please?”

And he didn’t, not until hours later, after Maggie was finally in bed and all the kids but Sam were restlessly surveying dreamland, nightmares hovering, waiting, at the edges, eyes closed, pupils roaming. He’d left them, curled in various sized balls, Betsy on Mulder’s lap still and Toby burrowing into Mulder’s side, Jake and Hannah at the foot of the sofa bed while Sam and Scully walked him to the door.

An hour later, Sam had settled between Mulder and Scully, watching wide-eyed the television and its circle of speculation and blame, “When were mom and dad going to call again?”

They’d gotten through, via the cruise company, to let the beyond terrified parents know that all their children were well and accounted for, safe and sound. Not able to talk long, all at least got to hear an ‘I love you’ from their parents before they were able to fall to a half-dazed slumber. Sam had been their holdout, the one who, even after Walter finally slipped out the front door and the lights were off, had managed to keep his eyes open.

“Tomorrow, when they get on land, they’ll be able to talk again. Not for long but probably a little longer than this time.”

He didn’t seem to take much comfort in that, “will Mr. Skimmer be okay?”

Scully’d answered this question four times since the man left but patiently answering a fifth, “he’ll be fine. He’s going home to sleep then he’ll go to work in the morning. They’ll need him there but he’ll be careful. He promised, remember?”

Sam had made him swear to be safe and in solemnity, Skinner had complied, hugging the boy as he told him with all the conviction he could muster that he would indeed promise to watch out for himself. Sam let go of him then, watching out the front door window until Frohike’s van disappeared into the night and Scully scooted him from the tile towards the bed, locking the door after, “I know.”

“But you’re going to worry anyways?”

Nodding, Sam slid down the back of the couch, settling on a pillow, “can we turn that off now?”

Mulder switched the television off, dropping the room in a veil of darkness, a darkness that wasn’t quite as comforting today as it had been yesterday. Sam, however, didn’t seem to mind, “are you guys sleeping out here tonight?”

Knowing he needed to talk to Scully alone, Mulder rubbed the boy’s upper back for a moment, “we will but I need to go talk to your Aunt Dana in the kitchen for a few minutes, if that’s all right?”

Sam complied with a finally sleepy nod, “just … come back though.”

After rearranging everyone, tucking in, distributing covers, straightening necks, returning stray stuffed animals to owners, they slipped from the room, waiting until they were still within earshot but out of view of the room then Mulder grabbed Scully, crushing her to his chest, allowing her to mutter only half an incomprehensible syllable, “I’m not letting you go for at least five minutes so shut it and hug me, please.”

She didn’t argue, wrapping arms around waist and holding on tight. Five minutes turned into eight before, by some mutually agreed upon but totally unconscious decision, they slowly pulled apart, lips taking over where hugging limbs gave way. Finally, Mulder’s hand woven through her hair, thumb against cheek in a gesture that should have seemed trite but warmed him against the cold inhabiting his marrow since 4:38 that afternoon, “I love you.”

With a stubborn set of tears hanging on her lower lashes, she nuzzled his hand, her own occupied with gripping the bare skin of his sides under his shirt, “I don’t ever want to be that scared again.”

“I’ll do my best to steer clear of scary things from now on.”

Going back in for another marathon hug, “I love you, too.”

They didn’t talk of motives or plans, present circumstances and future speculations but stood in quiet, thoughts going no further than five safe children sleeping in the next room.

Until the softest sound of whimpering reached their ears and Scully sighed, Mulder dropping one last kiss to the top of her head, “I had hoped they’d be able to sleep.”

“Go on in and see who it is. I need some water and I’ll go check on Maggie, then be back, okay?”

Stopping in the kitchen door, she turned back to see Mulder reaching in the cupboard for a glass, mussed hair, wide back, world-weighted shoulders, bare feet, cut-off sweats. She tilted her head in a moment of life-affirming understanding, “Mulder?”

He glanced back at her, looking wearily adorable with shadowed eyes and a half-smile on his lips, “yeah?”

“Will you marry me someday?”

Remaining stationary, glass now in hand, he didn’t hesitate for a moment, “of course. Will you marry me back?”

Fingers on the doorframe, foot unconsciously rolling back and forth on toes, much like a third grader about to tell her favorite boy she liked him, Scully smiled with a radiant subtlety that could have melted the sun, “I will.”

And with that, she rotated, heading to comfort nightmares while Mulder moved to check on his eventual mother-in-law, whispering to himself in chanted intervals, “breathe!”

#fox has them #Skinner #msr #xfiles fanfic #xf fanfic #Life part 2 series #my writing #maggie #of course

[frivoloussuits]

Oxymora, and Other Literary Devices

Summary: Louis and Harvey have always been too alike for their own good. Word Count: ~1.7K Ships: Louis/Harvey, Mike/Harvey

Features lots of pining + spoilers for S07E03.

Antagonist Louis does not cower in the library-- he would never cower. He does however make a strategic retreat to the back shelves on the third floor, where the fifth-graders won’t find him, where he can peruse the English language’s finest masterpieces in peace.

He turns time and again to Shakespeare, reveling in the drama and the soliloquies.

He finds himself sympathizing with the antagonists.

Foils Louis has always been fascinated by foils—characters written to match one another. Sometimes foils are utter opposites, but sometimes they’re nearly identical, and only the subtlest difference in character or position sets them forever at one another’s throats.

Louis sees a kindred spirit in Harvey from the day they meet. They’re both sharp and hungry, young and dangerous. They both hurl barbs and taunts indiscriminately. Louis suspects they are both hiding something decent, something sorrowful, down in their core.

They are so like each other-- they love to win. And when Louis and Harvey join forces, they inevitably raze their competition.

Meter Shakespeare is known for writing in iambic pentameter, but in truth he only bestowed that honor on his noblest characters—the rest spoke in free verse, without any rhythm to drive their speech.

Harvey does not constrain himself to iambic pentameter, would laugh at the idea. But there is undoubtedly a rhythm to his speech, giving each statement acoustic punch. His sentences are short and forceful and to-the-point, and in them Louis hears music of their own.

Play on, he finds himself thinking. Play on.

Asyndeton Sometimes a speaker will omit a conjunction for the sake of flow or emphasis. Such an omission is termed “asyndeton.”

Aloud, Louis only ever speaks of “Pearson Specter Litt,” yet he dares more in his fantasies. He dreams of “Specter Litt,” or perhaps “Specter-Litt,” or even “Litt Specter.” Never “Specter and Litt,” thank you very much. Their names will be as close as two names can be.

Foreshadowing “Don’t bother me, Louis.”

“But I need a new perspective on this contract, or else I’m going to have to go back to my client and tell them that I failed.”

“I’m sorry, did I give you the impression that I care?”

Protagonist Though Louis makes partner first, he knows it’s only because Harvey took the high road. He knows Jessica was rooting for Harvey. He knows partnership was Harvey’s to lose.

Because Harvey is loved, Harvey is golden, Harvey rolls in dirt and comes up clean. And though Louis wins just as often, though he lies and schemes and lashes out only a little more often, he is left out in the cold, because Harvey is the chosen one, the hero of this story.

Subtext Louis has long since mastered Shakespearean obscenities. He knows everything about nothing, being possessed of a magnificent wit and a more than passing understanding of country matters. He is a cunning linguist, a prince of more than one sort of cat.

He has not so thoroughly mastered the vulgar terms of his own day, and so he throws them into conversations entirely on accident, not noticing the sexual connotations until long afterwards. Those terms frequently take on a decidedly homoerotic slant. He chooses not to interpret those too carefully.

Where Harvey uses innuendo-- always on purpose, and often homoerotic-- Louis inevitably notices.

Rising Action Daniel and Jessica constantly pit Harvey and Louis against each other, and the similarities that make them brilliant allies spark the bitterest of rivalries. They swagger around the office in increasingly expensive suits, circling each other, spying on one another, playing each other with the moves and the cruelty they once reserved for opposing counsel.

Reversal They each strive to surpass the other, overturning the balance of power between them on a daily basis, occasionally overturning peace in the firm at large.

Louis finds his previous affection for Harvey fading, hardening into a superiority complex, even as his therapist reminds him that superiority complexes are often joined to the reverse.

Allusion They weren’t always at war, Louis remembers. Surely they were friends once.

Time and time again, Louis tries to cross the no-man’s land and meet Harvey on his own ground. He knows that, the same way he breathes ballet and Shakespeare, Harvey breathes sports and action flicks and slightly old music, and so Louis learns about those and throws in allusions and tries to speak the Harvey Specter language.

Harvey’s appreciation inevitably sours to mocking.

Cycle Louis screws up. Harvey lashes out. Louis lashes out harder.

On rare occasions, Harvey makes the first mistake, or lashes out in more dramatic fashion than Louis. On even rarer occasions, one or both of them will apologize or pretend to change.

Then the story starts all over again.

Soliloquy? Louis monologues to his Dictaphone, alone in his office, yet he can’t help feeling Harvey’s presence like-- well. Like a specter.

It’s no doubt a trick of Louis’ active imagination, but he feels Harvey everywhere, sees his scowl, hears his judgements, always caustic or, worse, disappointed.

The only other person who matters is Harvey. Louis only wins when he gets more than Harvey-- more billable hours, more new clients, more praise from Jessica. Because he hates Harvey, he declaims for hours on his smug smile, his perfect hair, his infuriatingly wrinkle-free face. Because he hates Harvey, Louis defines his own life entirely in relation to him.

Chekov’s Gun When Harvey hurls him into the coffee table, Louis is half-shocked at the violence and half-shocked it took this long.

Maybe Harvey didn’t really mean to set Louis off when he slept with Esther. On some level, Louis didn’t really mean to goad Harvey so far in response. But they’re drawing on years of study, years of memorizing all each other’s tells and fears, and so they each know where childhood insecurities have left cracks in the other’s otherwise formidable ego. They draw on all their knowledge and press where it hurts.

Of course the explosion nearly destroys them.

Polysyndeton Where “asyndeton” means “unconnected,” “polysyndeton” means “having many connections.”

They have the same anxiety and panic attacks, and they put on the same shows of heartlessness, and they hold the same fierce love for and loyalty to what’s theirs, and they both blunder through romances without finding anyone who will stay, and they both accomplish their professional dreams and go home to lonely apartments and wait for something more.

Dream Sequence Louis has never cared for dream sequences-- they’re too blatant, and he’d rather learn of a character’s deep subconscious desires through their waking actions than through a convenient nighttime tell-all.

Then the mudmare hits.

“We’re the only name partners now, Louis. And I meant it when I said it-- I want us to share things like this.”

“I can’t tell you how happy this makes me.”

He’s naked. In a room with Harvey. Also naked. And while Louis focuses on the part where they’re already in their separate tubs when he describes the scene to his therapist, his dream includes several visuals from earlier in the process.

“You’re not going to do the other thing you told me you did in the mud, are you?” Harvey’s voice is soft, richer than the mud surrounding them, worth bathing in in its own right.

“Harvey, I told you, that was a one-time thing. And believe me, you’re no Missy Dietler.”

It’s true-- Harvey is not Missy Dietler. Louis would never thus profane Harvey’s presence. Not without enthusiastic consent.

Then Alex strolls in and exiles Louis, because only he can mud with Harvey, and Louis protests because Harvey’s always argued mudding was “weird for male friends.” Clearly, Louis should be Harvey’s first.

“So Alex says, ‘But Harvey and I are more than just friends,’” Louis reports. “We’re best friends.”

He’s edited that last line in the version he gives his therapist, but the truth is blatantly obvious regardless.

Perhaps his waking actions have been screaming that truth for years.

Recognition He can’t possibly ignore it, not after he snaps at his therapist and blasts him with misaimed rage, rage that he truly feels at Harvey.

Rage that turns to sobbing, because Harvey will never, ever see.

Falling Action Louis sees too clearly, now. And though he has approached every previous love with a blend of paranoia and hope and hyperactivity, he can’t summon anything but heartbreak for Harvey.

He demands more of Harvey, demands to be treated as a friend and ally and an equal, yet he knows he’s never going to have what he desires.

And even as Harvey does better, actually listening to his advice, and spending hours in his company without being held at gunpoint by Jessica, and laughing with him instead of at him for the first time in years, Louis’ heart falls.

Irony Louis doesn’t see until the bachelor party.

He’s the only one remotely sober by the end-- Mike’s enjoying his special night to the fullest, and Harvey’s drinking at a rate that’s surprisingly fast, even for him-- and so he notices how Harvey’s smile keeps slipping whenever Mike looks away.

“Hey--” he sits down beside Harvey at the end of the night-- “Harvey, you okay?”

“You have no goddamn idea,” he slurs, “what it’s like.”

“What what’s like?”

“Being in love with someone you can’t have.”

“Ah.”

“I mean-- nobody else thinks like us. Nobody else wins like us.”

“You and Mike are a formidable pair.”

“We’re a pair, we . . . We match. Nobody else fits him like I fit him. And I hate all this caring and feeling, but I put up with it for him. I feel so goddamn much. For him.” He downs the rest of his shot and shakes his head, muttering, “You wouldn’t get it.”

They’ve always been too alike for their own good.

Resolution Louis loves stories for their endings-- in a Shakespearean comedy, the bad guys end up humiliated or imprisoned or dead, and the good guys end up happily married. It’s terribly predictable, and he appreciates the neatness.

Real life offers no such resolution.

Oxymoron A Greek term for a contradictory phrase, literally meaning, "clever foolishness.”

#suits #louis litt #harvey specter #louis litt/harvey specter #marvey #my fic

[biofunmy]

Playa del Rey, Los Angeles: Civic Pride Soars in This Tiny Beach Community

John and Sue Campbell loved their home in Bel Air, with its privacy, swimming pool and sweeping views. But in December 2017, as the Skirball Fire raced through Bel Air and the slopes of the Sepulveda Pass, scorching hundreds of acres and sending residents fleeing, their quiet cul-de-sac with only one way in and out began to feel dangerous.

Then came 2018, and with it the Woolsey Fire, which ripped through the canyons of Los Angeles and broke records for destruction in California. Mr. Campbell, 66, and Ms. Campbell, 62, decided they’d had enough.

“The fires just kept raging,” said Mr. Campbell, who grew up in Britain and is the founder of Palawan Productions, a music production company. “The helicopters would fly so close that we could make out the face of the pilot. We would wake up and our entire place would be covered in soot. It was very frightening.”

They sold their three-bedroom, three-bath home for just over $2 million and headed to Marina del Rey, where they keep a boat docked, living in a temporary apartment at the Marina Bay Club while they searched for a new home. They knew little about Playa del Rey, the tiny, funky beach community wedged between Marina del Rey, El Segundo and Los Angeles International Airport. But much like the new home they eventually moved into, the neighborhood, they realized, was well worth a second look.

In April they paid $1.5 million there for a new home with three bedrooms, 27-foot ceilings and windows offering sweeping views of the Ballona Wetlands Ecological Reserve and its egrets and blue herons.

“This is a friendly, tight-knit community where shops and the beach are all within walking distance,” said Mr. Campbell. “In our old home we would sit on our porch and look at the view and think it was wonderful, but we wouldn’t get up and do anything.”

The Ballona Wetlands also lured Wesley Bullock and Jhoanna Pugrad to Playa del Rey.

Mr. Bullock, 34, and Ms. Pugrad, 29, were renting in Marina del Rey when they began their house hunt. They only discovered Playa del Rey because of their regular bike rides down the seven-mile Ballona Creek Bike Path, which separates the two neighborhoods.

“All of Los Angeles’s beach communities are so congested and they’re surrounded by tourists,” said Ms. Pugrad, an accounting manager for Snap Inc., the company that developed Snapchat. “Playa del Rey has a huge beach that felt untouched. It shot to the top of our list.”

The couple landed in a 1,300-square-foot townhouse with two bedrooms, two baths and a bonus room, with access to a gym, pool and tennis courts. Their double-pane windows block out the noise from LAX, and on the weekends, they say, they love staying local.

“My job can be stressful,” said Mr. Bullock, a contracts manager for a number of tech companies. “Living in the neighborhood, I’ve noticed a difference in terms of staying grounded.”

Mr. Bullock and Ms. Pugrad have been dating for seven years. Both are well acquainted with the adjacent community of Playa Vista, where planned live-work-play communities and campuses for Google, Verizon and YouTube have sprouted up in two decades of frenzied development. Playa del Rey, Mr. Bullock said, is the antithesis of all that.

“The reasons we moved to Playa del Rey are the same reasons we would never want to move into a tech-impacted community like Playa Vista,” he said. “We share the same admiration for Playa del Rey as the people who have lived here for many years. We definitely don’t want to change it.”

Prince O’Whales, a quintessential Southern California dive bar, is a favorite among locals in Playa del Rey.Credit…Adam Amengual for The New York Times

What You’ll Find

In August 2018, the Los Angeles City Council voted unanimously to block the construction of the Legado 138 project, a mixed-use complex comprising 72 apartment units and 7,500 square feet of commercial space along Culver Boulevard. It was a huge win for local advocates, who had spent months campaigning against the proposal, arguing it would trigger a development rush and imperil the culture of Playa del Rey.

“When you look at Playa del Rey, you know you are not in Marina del Rey, Venice or Manhattan Beach,” the advocates wrote in a change.org petition that collected 4,390 signatures. “Playa del Rey is the last true small beach community left in Los Angeles.”

The language of that petition, entitled “Tell Legado to Fit In or Go Home,” offers a glimpse of the fierce sense of protectiveness many longtime residents feel over the community. There is no Starbucks in Playa del Rey, no upscale chain restaurants and no high-rise buildings.

Buildings, in fact, are capped at 37 feet or three stories, which gives the area the feel of a small village — albeit one with dive bars and a constant low roar from airplanes taking off and landing at LAX.

Around Culver Boulevard, a handful of new businesses, including Playa Provisions (from “Top Chef” winner Brooke Williamson) and the wine bar Bacari PDR share real estate with old standbys like the bar Prince O’Whales and the hamburger joint The Shack.

8324 DELGANY AVENUE | A four-bedroom, two-and-a-half-bath house, built in 1929 on 0.16 acres, listed at $2.75 million. 855-789-0891Credit…Adam Amengual for The New York Times

What You’ll Pay

Despite residents’ efforts to fight gentrification, Playa del Rey isn’t immune to the tech boom in its backyard. But while prices have been creeping upward, the median home price in the community is still much lower than in nearby beach towns like Venice and Santa Monica.

In 2017, there were 276 single-family homes and condos on the market in Playa del Rey, at a median sales price of $697,500, according to Miller Samuel Real Estate Appraisers and Consultants. In 2018, there were 239 homes on the market, at a median sales price of $762,000. In 2019, there were 227 homes on the market, at a median sales price of $777,000.

Renters should expect to pay about $2,200 a month for a one-bedroom apartment and $4,000 to $5,000 for a three-bedroom.

330 REES STREET | A three-bedroom, two-bath house, built in 1953 on 0.12 acres, listed at $1.599 million. 424-280-7400Credit…Adam Amengual for The New York Times

The Vibe

“Everybody is so intertwined here,” said Tom Corte, 70, a realtor with ERA Real Estate who has lived in the area since 1953. “There’s a sense of identity.”

Mara Epstein-Saidiner, 68, says that sense of belonging became so important to her and her husband, Grant Saidiner, 65, that when a family health crisis and bankruptcy forced them to sell their three-bedroom home two years ago, she insisted on staying in Playa.

“I said no matter what happens, we’re staying in the neighborhood,” said Ms. Epstein-Saidiner, who grew up in New York City and is the director of sales and marketing for Zalo USA, which makes high-end adult products.

8340 MANITOBA STREET, NO. 2 | A one-bedroom, one-bath condo, built in 1969, listed at $525,000. 310-766-1863Credit…Adam Amengual for The New York Times

The couple bought their home in 1999 for $340,000. They sold it for just over $1 million, and now rent a townhouse nearby with a rooftop garden.

Over the decades, Ms. Epstein-Saidiner became involved in Playa del Rey’s protests against development, which have run the gamut from protecting the wetlands and beach dunes to fending off large-scale developers. “They don’t like change here, they don’t want a Starbucks in our little town, and they’ll prevent things like that,” she said. “It’s a little time capsule of a place and it’s a very close-knit community.”

The Schools

Students in Playa del Rey are served by the Los Angeles Unified School District. Nearby elementary schools include Paseo Del Rey Elementary School (a science magnet school), Loyola Village Elementary (a fine and performing-arts magnet school) and Playa Vista Elementary.

During the 2018-19 school year, 44 percent of third-graders at Paseo Del Rey, 53 percent of third-graders at Loyola, and 81 percent of third-graders at Playa Vista met benchmarks for English language arts on the California Smarter Balanced Assessment test, compared with 43 percent districtwide and 49 percent across California.

During the same year, 23 percent of third-graders at Paseo Del Rey, 55 percent of third-graders at Loyola, and 81 percent of third-graders at Playa Vista met benchmarks in math, compared with 44 percent across the district and 50 percent across California. (According to the California Department of Education, students with scores at or above benchmark levels on these tests are ready for higher-level coursework.)

Most high schoolers attend Westchester Enriched Sciences Magnets, where during the 2017-18 school year, 60 percent of students taking the SAT exam met benchmarks for English, compared to 56 percent districtwide and 71 percent statewide; 24 percent met benchmarks for math, compared with 31 percent districtwide and 51 percent statewide. (For the SATS, the College Board defines students as “college ready”when their test scores meet a benchmark of 480 in English and 530 in math.)

The Commute

The eight-minute drive from Playa del Rey to Playa Vista can take up to 20 minutes in traffic. Downtown Los Angeles is about 30 minutes away, and the drive to LAX is about 10 minutes.

The History

In the 1870s, developers attempted to dredge the Santa Monica Harbor in what is now Playa del Rey. Its first land development, built in 1921, was called Palisades del Rey; the filmmaker Cecil B. DeMille was among its homeowners. After decades of building, the city of Los Angeles seized many of the homes in the city’s southern portion to make way for an expansion of LAX.

For weekly email updates on residential real estate news, sign up here. Follow us on Twitter: @nytrealestate.

Sahred From Source link Real Estate

from WordPress http://bit.ly/2Sk6AUZ via IFTTT

#IFTTT #WordPress

[pbpress]

Ugh not again.

by Madeleine Cerone

My science teacher just keeps going, like she didn’t see anything. But I felt that piece of paper hit the back of my head, and I know who threw it. And I know everyone else saw it, there’s no other explanation for why they’d all be looking at me. I’m not that attractive. With every kid in the class looking at me and not Mrs. Fitz, I don’t know how she doesn’t see it. It’s not like I’m invisible.

The first time I turned around just to see him snickering at me. The second time I raised my hand to get some sort of justice. After that I was dubbed “tattle tale” for a while. The third time I made my own to throw back, just to hit Jim in the nose. I wasn’t aiming for Jim, at all. That didn’t die down for a whole week, and every time I talked it was mentioned. And the fourth time I just sat there, but he ended up calling me a coward after class either way.

This being the fifth time, I pondered on what to do. I would love to be able to sit there and do nothing, but I was never that person and I don’t think I’ll ever be.

I turned around and smiled at him. The result was pleasing.

“What? Why would you smile?” he said in a whisper. “Did you just see that, she smiled at me! What, do you have a crush on me now is that it?”  

“No, I don’t have a crush on you,” I half-mumbled, half-laughed.

“No talking.” Mrs. Fitz said.  

***

“I swear Makayla, you should dump him”.

I ate my lunch in silence while Hailey and Makayla argued. About her “boyfriend”. Both girls have very strong opinions, so this quarrel could last into next period.

“But Hailey he’s…”

“I won’t hear it!”

I picked up my sandwich and tuned them out. It was very hard to make comments during conversations with my friends. It never seemed like they could hear me.

Lunchtime is only my favorite period because of recess. The eating part is torture. I don’t have any drama in my life, so my friends aren’t all that interested in me. I don’t mind sitting in silence though. Recess is only a few minutes after, but it’s a completely different story.

Elementary school recess had slides, monkey-bars, etcetera. However I enjoyed infected tag. I know that by sixth grade “play” should be in a grave. But without seesaws, swings, and other equipment, tag is one of the only activities available for children that have been cooped up all day.  To decide the tagger a “fishbowl” was made with a person’s arms, and hands were inserted. The last person to insert their hand is the tagger. Well, normally. The person making the fishbowl might switch it to be the first person to insert a hand, or (getting more complicated) they may ask the players to insert a second hand and whoever does, is it. The most important rule (I almost forgot) is that once you’ve been tagged, you are “it” along with the original tagger. The game ends once everybody is it.

I left my books and lunchbox inside, and ran out to meet the guys.

“FIIIIIISHBOOOWL!”

I smiled, and looked around to see who had made the exclamation. Slowly, a crowd of about 10 made their way over to Tyler, who had his hands together making his arms into a circle. Or a “fishbowl”. I placed my hand inside and looked up at him, waiting for him to determine the tagger. Today, his red shirt had a math pun on it, and in the cool October weather, his hair moved in the breeze.  

Unfortunately, I was among one of the only girls allowed to play infected, and that would be because Tyler let me. We used to be really good friends, but now I don’t see him as often as I’d like. As he narrowed down the people available to be “it”, I thought about everything we used to be able to do in the “pre-middle school” days. All the days when we were so young and innocent.

It was now only me and Aidan left. I locked eyes with Tyler and smiled.

“Aidan take out your hand, Ash is it!” As happiness flooded my veins, everybody else sprinted away from me as fast as they could.

***

“Ashley, is that you?”

I had just finished my walk home, which was about five blocks long. My cheeks felt rosy, and my backpack felt ten times heavier than it was when I first started out.

“Yeah, it’s me,” I replied to my mother, who was coming from her room.

“How was your day at school?”

“Ok, I guess,” I semi-lied.

“That’s good,” she said, giving me a hug after I put down my book bag.

“Mom, come on I have homework.”

“Ok, ok. I have to pick up your brother in a minute, you’ll be ok?”

“Yeah.”

My brother was a fourth grader at the nearby elementary school, which gets released at 3:00.

“Alright, try to get some homework done, ok?”

“Sure.”

***

The next morning, I got all three of my bags together, ate a quick breakfast, said goodbye to my mom and ran out the door to meet my not-neighbors.

They are called such, because according to Abby, you have to have a house directly adjacent to another person’s house in order for the two of you to be considered “neighbors”. My house was across the street from both Abby’s, and Kelly’s houses, but the both of them swore I was not their neighbor. Only they could be neighbors.

Not that any of this really mattered. It was just… annoying.

We walked down the street to meet Alexis, who walked with us, but lived a couple blocks from us. And since there was only enough room for three people to walk side by side on the sidewalk, I walked behind them, by myself.

I didn’t plan on talking to them for the whole walk to school, but suddenly Abby had her head turned on me, asking me a question.

“Ashley, do you still like Tyler?”

This was the topic that Abby loved to talk about, especially with me. But she already knew my answer, so I kept quiet. From this body language, knew it was yes.

***

My science teacher told us to stand up against the wall with all our books so she could assign new seats.

I was partially happy, because now there’s a chance that Cris won’t keep hitting me with wads of paper. However, I could get stuck with something worse. Someone from Michelle’s group could be seated next to me, or Jim could be seated anywhere around me, which would not be good. Michelle and all her acquaintances would just make me feel awful everyday because of all their cool looking clothes, and Jim is one of the most deceiving souls in the world. He may look nice (ok, maybe a little more than nice), but he uses that to his advantage, and he thinks he’s really cool.

“Michelle, you’re here,” Mrs. Fitz said, pointing to a seat at one of the rectangle tables. I crossed my fingers.

“Danny, take your stuff an sit next to her,” she said. One disaster averted.

She continued. “Ok, at the circular table we’ve got Frank there, Sofia you’re next to him. Jim you sit across from Frank… and Ashley you can sit across from Sofia, next to Jim.”

My whole day would’ve been made if it had been someone else. Anyone else.

***

In band, I quickly got out my instrument and my music and took my seat in front of the trumpet section. The loudest, most obnoxious section.

As I was getting ready to warm up, I heard a certain someone blasting out a military fanfare. The sound of a trombone playing a piece meant for bugles reached the library at the other end of the hallway.

“Brandon, could you play that any louder?” I asked him once he was done.

“I could try if you want,” he replied, getting ready to play it again.

“Please, don-” But it was too late. My reply was cut off by his trombone being played as loud as humanly possible. I covered my ears and smiled at him.

“You sound horrible!” I teased.

“I do not!”

“Yes you do!”

“At least my instrument doesn’t look like yours.”

“Yeah, but, at least…” He interrupted me.

“It’s all tube-y and twisty and weird.”

I opened my mouth to reply, but this was where I always got stuck. According to Brandon, the trombone was the most amazing instrument in the world, and there was nothing I could say about it that would stump him. The fact that he was popular didn’t help, everybody was always on his side. But don’t get the wrong idea, his popular was completely different from Chris’ type of popular. Brandon was responsible and never meant to hurt anybody.

Soon, my band director was telling us to be quiet and to start our “concert b flat scale.” After that we started working on the music for our concert. Every couple seconds our conductor would stop us, because our playing needed his fixing.

Suddenly, something small and green landed at my feet. I heard snickering from behind me, and knew that whatever was on the floor had been thrown by the trumpet section. I turned around to see Evan’s eyes staring back at me. There was a stupid smile plastered on his face.

I rolled my eyes as I picked up the neon green whatever-it-was.

“Is this… thing… yours?” I asked, quite annoyed.

“It’s not a ‘thing’,” he said, imitating my irritated response.

“Well then… what-?”

“It’s a jelly bean. Ripped in half,”  he interrupted.

“Ew,” I replied mildly disgusted, flicking it back over onto his stand.

In the next five minutes, at least three half-jelly beans landed on my stand, and twice that many landed on the floor next to me.

Finally, I had had enough. I picked up one of the sweet candies, turned around, and through it right back at the trumpet section. I really wasn’t expecting it to hit anything, except maybe a stray percussionist, behind the trumpets. But it hit Even right in the forehead.

***

In science, I took my seat next to Jim.

Mrs. Fitz started to teach. As we were taking notes, I noticed jim looking at me.

No not looking. Staring.

I don’t know if he thought he was being discrete or whatever, but I could clearly see him stealing glances. It was really creeping me out, I couldn’t think of any reason he would want to look at me. Plus he had a girlfriend at the time.

Finally, I couldn’t take it.

“What?” I said, meeting his eyes.

“There’s something in your hair.”

“What?” I whispered, fiercely.

“Yeah and it’s… green.”

I spent the rest of the period trying to get a seemingly half-eaten, jelly bean out of my tangled hair, while Jim snickered at me.

***

Study halls were worse than all of these previous events, put together.

With no certified teacher to watch us, we were insanely chaotic. For 82 minutes, because we had a block. Fridays were the worst, because we had these blocks in the last two periods of the day. Everyone just want to go home. And the teaching assistants just couldn’t control us.

First I tried to do homework, but I couldn’t focus and I was sure I was doing the whole thing wrong. Then I tried to read my book, but I took a break to go to my locker and when I came back, it was gone. So I went over to the boys table to get it back, but they were holding a ransom for it.

“Thomas, am I going to have to wrestle it from you like last time?” I threatened. But they didn’t think it was much of a threat.

“Aw, you’re gonna fight him now? Is that it?” Chris asked. I scowled at him, and gave up.

“Oh yeah, run away!” I heard from behind me. I turned around and glared.

Later on, the boys fought the TA for a chance to play “mum-ball”. This is a game in which the players throw a ball back and forth among themselves, until someone drops it. Then, that person is out. It’s called mum-ball because the word “mum” means to be quiet in some foreign language. However, when we played, no one was ever “mum”.

While they played, I stole my book back from their table. And I tried to read it a little. But only a few seconds had gone by, when:

POP!

I jumped in my seat and turned around to see Steven laughing, with a paper popper in his hand that he had just used to scare me. These were paper contraptions that he folded himself, like origami. They could make a tremendous noise, when wielded properly.

“Oh come off it Steve, you’re not funny,” Christie, from behind me, said. She was always very kind to me, and as the TA scolded him off, I thanked her.

When I’d had enough of my book, I went over to play mum-ball with the boys and Christie.

“Wait until next game,” Chris said to us. Then he let us play.

To start off the game, someone always counts down from three, and then the group is supposed to be quiet. We only listened to the counting part.

“Three, two, one, MUM!” Chris exclaimed. And then, from two feet away (not even), he hurled the ball at my face. In a split second, my whole face was numb with pain.

The boys howled, and Christie tried to pull me away to the bathroom, where I could cry without being seen. But I was too mad to go quietly.

“Chris, you bully others just to make yourself feel better!” I screamed.

And then the whole room was mum. For almost a minute.

#Madeleine Cerone #poetryfiction

[nicoleymcclam]

A book report

A couple of weeks ago while I helping M with her homework, writing a summary of a non-fiction book, and I decided to write my own summary​.​ I had heard scholars speak and read articles about the blatant racism in textbooks, but I had not caught it before. It was subtle, insidious. It was smoothly delivered so a 3rdgrader would -and would not- miss it. I wondered if I would have noticed it before participating in an Undoing Racism workshop? I have been asking that about a lot of things lately. It was disappointing and disheartening but not at all surprising to see internalized racial oppression in children’s books. And so, it begins.

The Story of Women Who Shaped the West​ ​shares the stories of white women who settled and influenced the development of what would become the western United States. In the mid 1800s as the United States was spreading west, women were discouraged from traveling because it was too dangerous but those who did travel west blazed a trail for other women. The book began with Narcissa Prentiss Whitman. (Do what you will with her name.) She was “the first white woman to settle in Oregon (11)”. She traveled with her husband as a missionary to spread Christianity to the Native Americans. The book made a point to say she was the first white woman, so it begs the question who was the first woman and why don’t we know about her?

Other recounts of white woman greatness included Henrietta King, she turned a heavily indebted ranch in Texas into a multi-million-dollar operation. Carrie Roach had the audacity to travel to Nebraska and build a house with her bare hands without a husband. (How dare she!) And Jessie Benton Fremont’s descriptions of the Dakotas were so inspiring, they created a boom of settlers relocating ​there.

Every story in this book starts with ‘secondly’ -to nod to Chimamanda Adichie’s TED Talk “Danger of a Single Story”. Narcissa Prentiss Whitman and her husband were killed by Native Americans, but it was after over half of the Native Americans died from the measles they contracted from the white settlers. Henrietta King and her husband fought off Mexican bandits as they settled in what is now Brownsville, TX. The men and women who settled in the Dakotas because of Jessie Benton Fremont’s writings pleaded to Congress to remove the Native Americans and make the Dakota territory a state so that it would be under the protection of the United States. The settlers and pioneers in the stories are portrayed as innocuous -striking out into the unknown to start a new life- and entitled to land already occupied by another group of people.

The Story of Women Who Shaped the West tells the stories of women who were not content to stay in their place. They taught. They built. They inspired. They survived and thrived in harsh weather and landscapes. They stood their ground against Union soldiers during the Civil War, against the Mexicans in the Mexican War, and in clashes with Native Americans. The book argues that this country might look quite different without the adventurous spirit of these women.

M liked my version and appreciated my honesty, but we both agreed it was not ready for the third grade. My version did spark a conversation about the non-fiction books available in her classroom. When I asked she told me she chose The Story of Women Who Shaped the West because it was a story about women. She was tired of reading about white men and dogs, which the non-fiction selections in her class leans heavily toward. This bothers me because representation matters. M is now in a school where 96% of the students are non-white. An overwhelming majority of the students are immigrants or children of immigrants. M’s school is an author and illustrator magnet, yet there a singular idea of storytelling presented.

I am not saying that the teachers and administration have to look like their students in order to be effective. I am asking that the non-fiction the students are required to read include stories the students can relate to. The teachers ask the students to think critically and to make  personal connections to the stories they read, how about providing stories about people who look like your students? The​ students​​ will be able to find personal connections and think critically about stories and people less familiar to them if they first think critically and connect to stories of people more familiar to them. And for those who argue that “to be fair” there need to be an equal number of books about white people if books about POC are added to the library? For starters, that is a bunch of bullshit and beyond the scope of this essay, but not to worry I will address that bullshit at a later date. And ‘secondly’, all the students have to do to see stories of exceptional whiteness is turn on a television or walk outside or look at their teachers and administrators whose racial makeup are the reverse of the students.

​Magnet school​s​ ​propose to offer a special program or curriculum to attract a diverse student body. The teachers need to​ live up to that promise and​ provide opportunities for the students to innovate rather than assimilate. One of the easiest ways to do that in a schedule stuffed to capacity with ​standardized ​test prep is to allow students read, write and share their stories about themselves.

Fox, Mary Virginia. The Story of Women Who Shaped the West. Children’s Press, Inc. 1991.