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pyroclastic727 · 4 years

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Owl House said fuck capitalism

So this episode was interesting. Lilith pretty much killed her sister. Why the fuck would she do that?

Even more interesting: why is Belos like that? How did Hooty put his head through one of those guards? Who the fuck is the Titan, and why does everyone like him? And how are these all tied together?

This episode was a metaphor for capitalism

...and another delicious step towards radicalizing the youth into dismantling this fucked-up neo-feudal system.

We’ll start with Belos.

Emperor Belos is a weird name, don’t you think? We all thought it was spelled “Bellows,” but it wasn’t. In fact, it’s five letters, starts with Be, ends with os, and describes a megalomaniac emperor that restricts people’s freedom in order to accumulate wealth for himself.

Sound familiar?

Emperor Bezos Belos created capitalism. He saw the beauty of magic and decided to make himself the most powerful.

Belos created a system that destroys the masses and boosts his power.

I’m dipping into fan theory a little, because the fan theory fits. We know that people get branded with coven magic that makes it so they can only specialize in one area. We know that Belos is the most powerful witch in the Boiling Isles. We know that the excess magic, magic created by restrictions, has to go somewhere.

It’s the same system that many viewers see all the time. A job takes up all your day and tires you for the night, so you can only do one skill for the rest of your life. Jeff Bezos is the most powerful man in the United States. Excess money, money taken by restrictions, has to go somewhere.

The magic goes to Belos, like how the money goes to Bezos. Belos created capitalism, and he won it.

The guards aren’t real.

Look, we’ve never seen their faces. They’re all the same. Why would you work so hard to get to the top, just to become a nameless, faceless killing machine?

Oh, also Hooty stuck his face through one. There is nothing under the armor.

Why? Well, it’s the same reason you see all those celebrities going around flaunting their wealth and bragging about how hard they worked. Like all those songs about how they grind every day and work harder than everyone else while you’re out clubbing, and that makes them dope. And then you take a closer look at them and see that they had a small loan of a million dollars fueling them, or an entire talent agency behind them, or their dad was a famous country star in the 80′s.

They’re fake. They’re hollow. They’re a ploy created by the capitalist emperor to try to delude you into working harder.

Let me put this into perspective. I guarantee that every single one of you has heard stuff like this: “Hard work makes you successful.” “I put in the work, and that’s why I’m successful.” “If you work hard enough, then you can be as successful as Mark Zuckerberg.”

And unless you’re a robot or really lucky, I’m sure all of you have failed at this. Maybe they told you that hard work would make you good at math, so you spent 22 hours a week working on calculus, only to pass it by 3 percentage points and have it destroy your perfect 4.0 GPA. Maybe they told you that if you talked to people enough, then you would make friends, so you spent a lot of time talking to people, only to end up lonely and friendless. Maybe they told you that if you did well in school, you would get a good job, so you spent all your time working hard to be a good student, and then ended up in a soulless, dead-end job.

The guards are there to delude you. Look, who really gains from you being productive? The answer is the ruling class, the CEOs, the government, the bourgeoisie. It has always been that. All you get from working is a paycheck that lets you survive. They get a paycheck that lets them get rich. Just like Belos gets the magic and productivity of the specialized coven witches.

The guards are there to trick you. The truth is that nobody can join the Emperor’s Coven. It’s just there to make you think that hard work will make you successful. Then you spend your entire life working hard, trying to prove to the person in charge that you’re worthwhile. You give your whole life to the Coven, and they give you nothing.

Magic is supposed to be something you pursue for fun. Being skilled at things, being good at something beautiful...that’s supposed to be something you do because you want to. But they took that and made it into a source of productivity. It doesn’t matter if you make good content. All people fucking care about is if you upload the day of premiere, if you make a lot of content quickly, if you maintain a million different conversations with strangers who expect you to be the most interesting person in the room. They don’t care how it hurts you. They don’t care how you crack from the stress. How you cry when you think no one can see you, and then you check your phone and someone can see you, someone did see you, and you have to put on your face and be the charming, magnetic person they want you to be. (oh by the way that’s why I wasn’t online much last week)

And it ruins it. Suddenly you can’t watch The Owl House without being stressed. You can’t make any content. You can’t make spells as powerfully as you want to. Your passion is replaced by perfectionism and insecurity, a voice telling you to keep being the best at what you do, or else they’ll forget you and let you die.

There’s also the Titan.

So nobody has mentioned him before, because in addition to the Boiling Isles being a hellscape full of witchcraft and queerness, it’s also full of atheists.

But suddenly we have people saying all this shit about him? Shit like, he gave witches the gift of magic, and then they learned to use it in a civilized manner, since being uncivilized was disrespectful?

I mean, first off, that’s fucking wrong. The island gives people magic. The island, which just so happened to be shaped like a titan-sized human. But the island/titan gives everyone all types of magic. Hell, even Luz gets to use magic, and she’s human.

It sounds really fucking familiar. (tw for discussion of homophobia and colonialism and misogyny). It sounds like when the news is on and they show some Tr*mp supporter talking about how fetuses have more rights than people and it is their holy duty to take away a woman’s control over her body and force her through unbearable pain and into an 18-year commitment she didn’t want to make. It sounds like all the times people tried to say homosexuality should be illegal, citing a single line in a book written two thousand years ago and heavily edited by a European king. It sounds like all the times people said God wanted them to conquer, to own the entire earth, to force the other races into pain to support them.

This is that bullshit thing people do where they commit awful sins and justify it by citing the will of God.

Or, it’s the Coven using religion as an excuse for evil.

Look, the Emperor’s Coven is clearly colonizer-coded. Saying that people’s original form of magic was wild (and showing a picture with the same joyous, rowdy energy of an 18th or 19th -century Black or indigenous party), and that it was God’s will for them to be “civilized?” Sounds like that thing that powerful white people did where they went and murdered people and forced them into their twisted capitalist system. God, gold, and glory, is what they said, because history books just love to omit the gore.

Lilith is passing the abuse cycle along.

You know, like a good little colonizer. God I fucking hate her. She’s a MILF, in the sense that she’s a Mother I’d Like to Fling off a cliff.

Ah, enough screaming about how much I want to drown Lilith in a tub of Hooty’s mucus. Let’s go into why I want to do that, and how she took the evils of capitalism and just...adopted those.

So, Lilith is sick and twisted for what she did to her sister. But, uhh, that’s the point. You see, there are so many other people out there like Lilith who would do the exact same thing, if given the chance. These are the people who do mean things when the teacher isn’t looking, and then act nice and try to frame you. These are the people who will hate you if you’re better than them. These are people who would do anything to bring you down, if you dare outperform them.

It’s greed, my friends. The mental illness that capitalism blesses us all with.

Lilith herself said it: she dedicated her entire life to the Coven. What she wanted was to be the best. And she almost was...except for her own sister. Someone who lived with her, annoyed her at home, bested her at school. Someone she could never beat, no matter how hard she worked. And her sister was younger than her, too! How insulting was that? Lilith wanted to be the best, and someone in her exact situation did better than her.

Lilith was insecure. And it consumed her.

But why? Why does insecurity consume her? I mean, no one can be motivated by insecurity forever. Well, not unless someone conditions it into you.

The lovely thing about the capitalist system is the morals it teaches you. Things like: “You’re only useful if you’re the best.” “Being school smart makes you smart, while being social smart or sports smart or creative smart or fandom smart is worthless.” “Your worth can be quantified by numbers and is based off arbitrary measures like your income or your grades.” Things that can and will drive us crazy if we let ourselves believe them.

And it did drive Lilith crazy. She got so twisted by a society that said being good at magic is her only worth. Look, Lilith used to be good at things, probably. She was good at sports. At times, she slips up and does an okay job of being Eda’s sister. She has a powerful presence when she’s in a room. And she’s wicked good at manipulating people.

But that didn’t matter. Lilith bought into the lies. She let herself believe that magical skill was the only way to measure her worth. And since she needed to be the best, she hurt Eda for it.

The beautiful thing is, Eda didn’t buy that. "It’s my power, kid. And before you showed up, I spent my whole life wasting it.” Is what Eda said, as she used up the last of her power, the last of her life, to save Luz. In her final moments, she proved that she’s not like them. She’s stronger than them.

None of this matters. Not magical prowess. Not the hierarchy. Not the promise of joining the Coven and having more power than anyone else.

The only thing that matters to Eda is her family. Her real family. Her Luz, King, and Hooty. And by extension, Willow, Gus, and Amity. Those are Eda’s real reason for fighting, for dying: to protect them. Look, there’s no way she would’ve come out of that fight alive. She has a family, and her love for them is stronger than greed or jealousy or capitalism.

Lilith never understood that. She thought the water of the womb was thicker than the blood of the covenant. Or, that the water of the womb and the blood of the covenant are stronger than the bonds of found family. She thought it didn’t matter if Eda loved, her, only if the Emperor loved her. Fucking bitch.

And now, a little something to worry about, before we go. Amity Blight. The girl who wanted to join the Emperor’s Coven more than anything, who dedicated her whole life to doing well in school, to being the best, to being perfect.

And then she met Luz. She fell for Luz. Now she’s in a tricky place, where habit and conditioning want her to join the Emperor’s Coven, but her heart wants her to do the impossible and destroy capitalism.

She wasn’t in this episode. Funny that being injured and unable to work ended up saving her from watching her future mother-in-law die. So she bought some time.

But Luz’s true mom is dead. This is the second mom she has lost, and she’s only fourteen. As powerful as King and Hooty are, Luz needs Amity. Luz needs Amity to support her and help her get back her mom.

So Amity has to make a choice. Fear and insecurity, or love and a high chance of death?

She’ll probably choose death. Because that’s the message that this family-friendly show is giving us kids. Fuck capitalism. All you need in life is to do what makes you happy and be with the ones you love.

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superangsty · 3 years

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ok ficlet prompt: tomgreg coffeeshop au but Tom is the barista and he's a total bitch about it. up to you whether this is a) an au where they don't know each other at all or b) post season 2 au where tom is on the outs. basically i just think it'd be funny to see tom forced into doing menial labor and taking it out on customer!greg by belittling his order. if you hate this, you never saw it lol

fsdgfgfdhs I feel like I didn’t get much snarkiness in there and I’m not sure if 1k+ words can still be called a ficlet, but here we go!

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Tom doesn’t normally pay attention to customers. Sure, some of them you get used to when you’re seeing their miserable faces day in, day out, and for an even smaller percentage you remember their orders and sometimes, if you’re feeling particularly generous (or bored, either works), you let the ones who look like they’re about to cry skip the queue, but for the most part the hundreds of faces he sees each day blend together.

Hard, though, for a face to blend in with the others when it’s a foot above everyone else in the store.

It’s eleven in the morning and the rush is on, but every time Tom looks up from the till or coffee machine his eyes automatically dart to where this guy is standing in the queue, just briefly before he gets back to what he was doing.

When the guy gets to the front of the line, he smiles and says “hey, how are you?”, and for the first time in his years in this job Tom smiles back.

Then he goes and ruins it all by ordering a skim milk vanilla mocha latte with, and this is a direct quote “some kinda sprinkle things?”. Asshole.

He comes back the next day, in mid-afternoon when it’s quieter and Tom’s the only one behind the bar (and thank god for that, because after he’d left yesterday Tom had got honest to god wolf-whistles from the others).

“Hi,” he greets, still with that carefree smile. He tucks a piece of hair behind his ear. “How’re ya doing?”

“I’m great,” lies Tom. “What’ll it be?”

“Um, an iced almond-milk macchiato with, like, do you have some caramel? Like a lot of caramel?”

This guy had better not become a fucking regular.

He becomes a regular. Every day for a week, and never at the same time, he comes in and orders a new, somehow even more ridiculous drink than the one before. It’s infuriating.

Still, Tom can’t help but notice things about him. His hair needs a cut, he’s carrying a backpack that needs to be thrown out, like, ten years ago, and his suits are cheap but if Tom knows his shoes – and he does know his shoes – he’s wearing a pair of Crockett & Jones oxfords.

A line has to be drawn somewhere. Luckily, the guy draws the line himself when he comes in one day, 10pm, and asks for a cappuccino with four shots of espresso.

“Absolutely not.”

“What, why?”

Tom cocks his head, frowning. “Because you would have a heart attack, that’s why, and I don’t feel like dealing with a lawsuit.”

“No, it’s fine, I’ve had it before, actually, so.”

“Then get it somewhere else.” Tom waves a hand towards the door when the guy doesn’t move, just stands there with his eyes wide like a deer caught in the headlights. “Shoo!”

He comes back the next day, orders himself a herbal tea, and introduces himself as Greg. Weird and unnecessary, as far as apologies go, but whatever.

Greg starts ordering normal drinks. Tom keeps on making ridiculous sugary crimes against humanity for him, and then telling him he’ll get diabetes when he accepts them. This is not flirting.

Greg starts staying to sit and drink in the café, rather than rush out. Sometimes he reads the newspaper, sometimes he flicks through paperwork. Sometimes Tom gives him one of the day-old cookies that are normally claimed by staff. This is still not flirting.

One day, there’s snow and no customers, and Greg says “hey, Tom, why don’t you sit with me for a bit?”, and Tom does.

They sit in silence for a couple of minutes, each sipping at their respective drinks, and then Greg asks “so you been working here long?”

“Couple of years,” Tom replies. “Came into some money, saw the storefront for sale, thought ‘why the fuck not’, right?”

He’s gotten very good at keeping this part vague. The money had come wrapped in the neat little bow of ‘redundancy package’, when in reality it was hush money in response to the breakup and the breakdown and the subsequent NDAs.

It’s not what Tom thought his life would be. It kinda sucks, actually, but whatever.

“Oh!” Greg says, again with those wide eyes of his. “I – I didn’t know you owned it, um, sorry? If I offended you?”

Tom waves it off. “New to the city?”

“Ha, yeah,” Greg says, smiling into his cup. “How could you tell?”

Everything about you, Tom wants to say. “You’ve just got a vibe,” he says instead.

A customer walks in, and the conversation is cut short.

This keeps happening. It’s like Greg knows when Tom won’t be busy, and he chooses those exact times to show up. It’s annoying, really. He’s annoying. And Tom isn’t flirting.

A couple of months later Greg walks in during the mid-morning rush with another, significantly shorter (not that it’s hard), man in tow.

Tom takes one look at him, unties his apron, and walks into the back room.

Kendall fucking Roy.

Of all the coffee shops in all of Manhattan, he had to come into Tom’s. Of all the customers in all the coffee shops in all of Manhattan, Tom had to befriend the one guy who just happened to know his ex-future-brother-in-law.

He stays back there until he hears Greg’s voice disappear out the door again.

“I brought my cousin by here yesterday, told him it was the best coffee in the city.”

The next day, Greg is back at his normal time and is sitting in his normal seat. Tom is reluctantly sitting across from him.

Cousins, jesus fucking christ, it keeps getting worse.

Also, Tom’s coffee is only okay. Greg should probably try some new cafes.

“And what did he think?”

Greg shrugs. “I don’t know, he said it was only okay. He also saw you walk into the back? Said ‘hey I know that guy’?”

“I used to work at Waystar Royco.”

Greg smiles incredulously. “No way! That’s where I work too!”

“Mm, nothing like a good bit of nepotism in the workplace, is there?” Tom bites out. But it’s not like he’s bitter, or anything. That would be hypocritical.

“Oh, ha, I guess.” Greg shifts awkwardly in his seat, like he’s worried Tom will think less of him. “So you used to work together?”

“Used to be engaged to his sister, too.”

Greg doesn’t drop his cup, but it’s a near thing. He gapes at Tom. “You’re Tom Tom?”

Whatever the fuck that’s supposed to mean. He wonders what they’ve been saying about him, whether Greg’s important enough to know the real story or if he got the version they feed their friends and colleagues.

Not that it matters, because there’s no way Greg’s coming back after this. There’s no way Tom would want him to come back.

“I think you’re done, Greg. I’ll clear up your cup.”

Greg looks like he’s going to say something, but Tom walks away and doesn’t look at him until he leaves.

Against all odds, he comes back the next day. And the next.

#Anonymous #tomgreg #ficlet #my child is fine your child just wrote a 1.25k tomgreg coffeeshop au in the space of like 20 minutes

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cloveroctobers · 4 years

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BLAKE JOLLEY —

IG info/bio: @/jollyblke | 8.4k followers | Activist | I’m here to save the world, it’s my right. & You should care about your environment too, get active. If not? Leave. Visit: theindigenousmovement.com

22 (23) years old

From Kensington, England

Choctaw nation & proud

Visits Oklahoma every other summer...sometimes it’s every few years

Majority of her family lives there on a reservation

She’s made a name for herself in the town for speaking up for the missing and m*rdered women of her community & how they continue to sweep that shit under the rug

Call it what it is, genocide

Has been arrested & charged a few times

Has a sense of dread when she goes back but also a form of happiness since her mom, some of her sibs, and other family members are there

Has 7 siblings

4 boys, 3 girls

Chelsea found that so facisinating!

I feel like there’s two sides to Blake? Either she’s rooting for you or she’s shitting you, there’s no in between

Willing to communicate & have intellectual conversations

Has to be in the mood to socialize, sometimes she just prefers NOT to talk since that requires energy

Always tired, doesn’t sleep much, probably has insomnia a little bit

Was on the debate team in secondary

Either you like her or you hate her, either way that’s a you problem

Kinda a loner, keeps to herself—always feeling like people should be doing more with their time on this earth

But she also understands that there are moments where you need to chill/relax/ have fun or take some time out for yourself

Donates to woman’s shelters often

Attends & organizes protests

Minimal makeup: mascara, nude blush, moisturizer mixed with sunscreen, a lip tint & she’s on her way

Knows how to ride a bull but will only do so if she’s back in Oklahoma

Knows how to work a g*n & is licensed to carry but prefers not to

Enjoys cliff diving & swimming as a form of exercise (not counting the hr long protests she travels to & attends)

Will do leg exercises more than anything at home, does not have a gym membership & will never get one

Favorite color is in the tropical blue shades: turquoise & aqua

Her home is her personal sanctuary, where she feels the most safe & allowed to be herself. Doesn’t invite anyone over to mess with the energy she has there, afraid that they’ll ruin that. She’ll meet you somewhere but one thing you’re not going to do is come into her space

Always has kale & quinoa in her flat

Has a chronic stomach condition

She’s a very blunt person & many don’t take that lightly, she doesn’t sugarcoat anything

Doesn’t have much experience in the love department

A few have tried but she either ignores them or tells them straight up that she’s not interested, always was focused on her school work & other things

That’s why she’s single

Now that she’s in her early twenties she feels like that she needs to experience love

She feels like she wants it? However a part of her isn’t sure if it’s something that she truly needs?

Possibly aromantic?

so when she met henrik, she immediately felt platonic energy with him & didn’t mind exploring it but also found noah quite aesthetically attractive?

Henrik fit into her lifestyle nicely outside of the villa, it was nice having someone else to talk to & spend time with. She wasn’t sure how she was meant to feel when he asked her to be his gf inside & outside the villa but she agreed so why not?

Her mother felt like she shouldn’t analyze the boy as if he was some sort of experiment, Blake did like watching experimental movies/documentaries based on true events or reading about them but she truly did not feel like that’s what she was doing with henrik

They had their differences ofc, henrik was more easy going/chill when it came to things whereas Blake observed before she attacked. If It don’t sit right with her, she’s gonna say some shit

She was the one to call it quits with henrik after almost two years passed

She was not heartbroken over it but she did realize how things changed now that he was no longer in her life

Loves clothing that have slits in them or v-necks

Loves going to flower shops since they remind her of her mom

I feel like she smells like cherries & cashmere musk

Adores sunsets, that’s the time of day where she feels most at ease

Interested in photography & is currently exploring what is her best subject to shoot...her activism helps

she hopes to have her own biography made about her one day

learning to gradually let her walls down but it’s extremely hard to do with the negative energy the world brings

Is cordial with mc...after some years have passed and they and their significant other always feel the need to have meet ups once a year where they invite EVERYONE somewhere else

Blake feels like they still have ties with the production company of love island but that’s not her business

Unless her services are truly required and the $ is right or if Elisa decides to drag her then she’s not going

Being on reality tv was not her main purpose

She hated the superficial and trying hard, things should just be natural

She’s above love island now & she doesn’t need to see henrik or Lucas OR single Noah every year

Her profile is filled with activism and how people can get involved

Along with a good dump of her face, she knew she was pretty but she didn’t need to use that to her advantage there was, “more to life than shallowness”

She barely remembers the other girls she entered the villa with. she thinks one or two tried to reach out to her in her dms but she ignored them

Is indifferent towards Shannon & jo

she gets jo confused with lily from season 3 when they both pop up on her explore feed. Again she doesn’t know why insta feels the need to show her other people’s lives if she’s not following them in the first place?

Doesn’t follow people back unless she’s got a strong platonic connection with you

Has lunch & dinner dates with her dad since he resides in England as well

She believes her parents marriage is a reflection on her non-existent/small percentage of relationships

They live in two different countries and they’ve been married for 15 years & still seem to be in love...hey whatever works! It works for Dolly Parton & her husband although they live in the same house? I think

On the outside it seems like she has a cold heart and many around her have told her mainly her sibs but she doesn’t believe that’s completely true

She has feelings!

If she was truly cold hearted, she wouldn’t have any remorse for the bad she’s done or wouldn’t be fighting for those who deserve it right?

Cap sun + Scorpio moon + sag rising

Thinks Mena Massoud, Rami Malek, Ben Hardy, Rahul Kohli, Kurt Cobain, Manish Dayal, Janel Parrish, Charles Melton, Manny Jacinto, Miguel Gomez, & Clayton Cardenas are all nice to look at

Listens to: Yuna, Aly & AJ, Pip Millett, Jaz Kris, Sinhead Harnett, Iyamah, James Vickery, Maluma, Kanye West, emotional oranges, & Jimmie allen

Anthem? Hope Tala — All My girls like to fight

#litg #litg2 #litg s2 #litg Blake #litg mc #litg moodboard #litg headcanon #litg headcanons #litg oc #basically lol #now I’m finally down with s2 #litg noah #litg henrik #litg Lucas

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draganasimpsforjeff · 3 years

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Hunting Dogs: Chapter Seven (proxies x reader)

Age was nothing but a number to them and most, if not, all the time it meant nothing. Like part of the human race, you can die at any moment but you take precautions and you try not to be a dumbass and take care of yourself and you'll be fine. Every year was celebrated with a birthday, announcing that you were still alive to your loved ones.

But when you're a proxy, there is nothing to celebrate. If there was, it was just to get by another day. They didn't live life by miles and those are limitless and no one knows when those miles will stop. For proxies, if you reached the age of 25, it was like a big deal in a way that not many men got to see or get to. Yes, in the mansion there are countless beings older than such, but there was less pressure as there was on these three men.

It was complete hell for Hoodie and Masky when they first started as Slender thought he would need to test every aspect of them in anyway he could, even if that meant putting them near death. But, they are over the age of 25. Although, don't be a complete idiot if you think that makes them safer. It doesn't. It just means they got past a milestone that a great percentage didn't have the opportunity to get to. Toby was the youngest out of them, 23, almost 24. But hell, no great being like a Slenderman could threaten to ruin his life when the damn boy does it to himself everyday. The only difference is that He could make it the ultimate ending and act like Toby never existed and he would expect the same from others.

So, in ways the three men relationship was complicated, much like a Zeppelin Bend, when they worked together they were stable, so tight-knit that they knew each other's next move, thoughts, feelings.etc., they could be stable when they wanted to and be the scariest goddamn creatures ever known to man. But, if something was in the way or their thoughts didn't link together, the connection between all three was nonexistent. Like it wasn't bad enough that after a good day and a mission completed, they would cut the cord so fucking quick and lash out, becoming blood thirsty monsters that just wanted each other dead.

And who could blame them? The stress of them job mixed in with their emotions, the need to survive, and whether or not a mission was high-impact or not they were expected and felt the need to have the right. And you wanna know what their treat was for not fucking up? Not a nice dinner, no hot baths with bubbles, no 'here take a day or two to rest' or any bullshit like that. It was, Congratulations! You get to live another day! Now go back to your dim lit rooms with just a desk, bed, nightstand and closet, that half the time it looks like they had nothing to themselves. Whatever they had, they could fit in a backpack, but what was the point of personalizing a room to your liking for your own self expression when there was a chance you could be gone and hell... they didn't even know who they were, self identity was a crucial factor here.

Sure, they may remember bits and pieces of what they like or, rather, what they thought they liked, but it was all blurry and covered in smudges, like imagine going to see ophthalmologist and instead of having you look through lens to correct your vision, it's worse and it's covered in black shit, yeah, that was basically they're mind. Amnesia though was the worst for Masky, but not like it was new to him at all. he suffered through it during his childhood and teenage years up till now. Hoodie just stopped caring even though he does miss his life in college and he became so invested in his study of Psychology and maybe that's something that comes in handy with this job, studying emotions, body language, and movement from a person or anything to be honest, the best course of action, why someone may be acting a certain way(most of this thought goes towards Toby) Masky lets himself be easy to read, even with the mask, nothing could hide an animal like him...unless sedated. Although, Hoodie does remember Alex and how he was no longer Brian..okay well, he was Brian, but...not the same.

It's life, going through life lessons and you're in the process of character development, it was like that but it happened so quick for him that he was like a switch, he doesn't remember the last time he felt 'normal'.

Now, Toby. It was like a slow boil, adding in ingredients, not following recipe and wondering what was gonna be created. So much had happened to him with bullies, his step dad and whoever else wanted to get on his nerves. He didn't have much but Lyra and that was pretty much all he remembers now. Bits and pieces of his past, only just enough to make sense of why he should be grateful for Slender and why Toby has taken this position among the proxies. But he didn't mind it so much, why the fuck would he want to remember his past- apart from Lyra. Yeah, sure it hurt and feels like there is a piece of him missing all the time, but, at least there was a reason for him being so unhinged.

"Wake up, Tobs." Hoodie says, kicking the edge of the mattress a little, trying to stir Toby awake with his best ability to not also make him upset. If there was one thing that he could agree with Masky on, it's that Toby becomes the biggest dick ever when forced to wake up- that or he's whiny. He got no response back from Toby and he sighs, kicking again, but again, no response. "Dammit...Masky, did you force the sleeping pills down his throat?' He growls, looking over his shoulder at Masky who was leaning against the wall by the door.

"And have the possibility of me having to carry him around like a limp dick that he is? No thanks. Maybe he just hasn't gotten enough sleep lately." he shrugs. Hoodie sighs, nodding as he looks down at Toby, who as he was an active sleeper, his legs were tangled up in the blankets, pillow tossed over his face, his body angled in a weird way and the bed sheets were pulled off.

"NO!" he suddenly shot up, the pillow flying and his eyes widened and like he was out of his mind, psychotic almost, but Hoodie knew better. He rushes over as the younger one breathes heavily, cold sweat breaking around his skin as he starts to shake. Hoodie sits near his legs, making sure to get in his line of vision. He doesn't snap or touch him as that would trigger Toby and it's not a good thing to snap someone out of an episode like this. "Hey, hey.. It's okay, You're safe." Hoodie says softly, moving his gloves hands in different motions and directions, making Toby focus in and follow them. "Breathe, inhale...1..2..3...hold...1...2..3..4 exhale." he continues this for a few more minutes until he knows that Toby's breathing was back to normal and was blinking, looking around at his surroundings, bringing himself back to reality.

"T-thanks. " He mumbles, he hates having to get help over something he should know how to deal with already. He's had these fucking nightmares for years and yet, they always feel like the first time and remain fresh on his mind until he snaps out of it. Masky swallows thickly, watching the two with mild interest before noticing the change outside. "It's not raining anymore." he says, making the other two look at the nearest window and nod, agreeing. "Let's get back to the mansion. Grab the things we need and see if BEN can figure anything with the girl." He says, standing up slowly from the bed as his back still hurts from when he fell off the ledge. He recovered mostly, thanks to Slender but his spine did give him a hard time whenever he had to bend a certain way. He use to be the type of sleeper to be on his back, but after the injury he had to figure out another way to sleep.

The men got situated, tightening their shoes and securing their items. Medication check, gun and bullets check, making sure they didn't leave anything behind of theirs or something that they may have missed in the apartment before leaving.

It was still chilly and their clothes were damp, but it was better than nothing and they were sure they spotted a laundry mat a few blocks down. Masky collected some quarters around the house so, at least they could get their hoodies warm and dry. After that, they made their way to the mansion.

"I don't know ma, I already paid for the room so I might as well use it." your mom called you this morning, wanting to visit you or vice versa. She thought that you could use a little break from working so hard and being 'so alone' at your place. Which, you appreciate the thought and could definitely get away from all the bullshit that was happening, but you were scared to go back to your apartment and pack what you needed. Plus, you didn't know if the men were there and just waiting for you. The thought makes goosebumps spread over your arms and neck, rubbing it nervously as you were forming an ache from the cheap bed. "I know, honey, but here, I can pay you the money you spent and take you out. It's been a very long time since I've seen you and I miss you sooooo much." you couldn't help but smile at that. Who could say no to getting paid for the money they wasted, getting spoiled and whatever else would happen.

For fucks sake, it wouldn't hurt you and you wouldn't have to think about being hunted and feeling like you can't close your eyes for even a few hours of sleep. "Okay, well, you know I don't have a car-"

"I'll pick you up. Just give me the address again and I'll be there in a few hours, mama had lots of coffee." she giggles, making you shake your head as she was a bit hyper when she has more than three cups of coffee. "Alright, just be careful. I'll text you the address." you say, stuffing items back into your bag and grabbing your keys and wallet, letting your pockets swallow them. "Okay, bye, love you." she says and you say the same, hanging up.

You blow out a breath, making your bangs lift up a little as you muster enough courage, picking up the bag and leaving the hotel room.

Please let things go back to normal.

#Hunting Dogs #HuntingDogs #proxies x reader #creepypasta x reader #cp headcanons

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cursebreaker-lilith · 4 years

Text

HPHM Bang--home

For the @hphmbang2020 !

It was fun to write this? The Weasley’s are great! I don’t focus on them enough. Math is not my forte (lol) but ages should be roughly: Bill-16, Charlie-14, Percy-11ish, Fred and George-9, Ron-7, Ginny-6.

The art that goes with this is done by @kathrynalicemc ! You can find the art here ^^

Story under the cut or on Ao3!

A day in the Burrow always begins with Molly Weasley in the kitchen. She’s up before anyone else, dressing quickly so she can get some food into her husband before he leaves for work.

It’s quiet in the house, save for the spells she whispers to ignite the stove fire and gather the dishes. Even the ghoul is quiet this early in the morning, no moans or thumps coming from the attic. It’s so different from how the Burrow is usually, and Molly always takes a moment to appreciate the quiet. She loves her family and doesn’t mind the cacophony they bring, but all that commotion just makes quiet moments like this sweeter.

Arthur is usually the first downstairs—and the first out the door depending on his work schedule. Molly gets a peck on the cheek as she hands Arthur a bowl of porridge. He smiles in thanks and begins to wolf it down. Molly holds back a sigh. Seems like today is one where he needs to leave early.

Her oldest three usually wander downstairs next. Both Charlie and Percy are natural early risers—Charlie likes to take a walk before breakfast in the early dawn light, while Percy basks in the rare silence of the house with a book. It’s the only time she doesn’t admonish him for having a book at the table. Molly knows how much he enjoys the calm.

Bill isn’t an early riser like his brothers, but he’s got into the habit of waking early anyways. When she had been pregnant at the same time as raising toddlers, she had relied on Bill to help her wake, dress, and feed his siblings. Even now, every time he comes downstairs, he asks her if she needs any help, to which she always replies that she doesn’t. She can handle the cooking just fine now, and she wants to let her eldest relax like a child should in the morning.

It’s usually the three of them, Molly, Bill, and Percy, for a while after that. Charlie is out walking, while the younger kids sleep. Ginny sometimes is with them, but as she’s gotten older, she has started to sleep in more. Molly misses bonding with her only daughter who is always so fascinated by seeing food float through the air, but she’ll let her daughter sleep in with her brothers.

Charlie’s arrival is usually when she goes to wake her other children—after she makes Charlie wash all the dirt he accumulated on his walk off at the door and change into clean clothing. None of them appreciate the wake up, especially Ron, but the smell of food wafting through the house usually convinces them it’s a good idea.

With the noise of groans echoing through the house and stomps coming up and down the stairs, she goes back down to the kitchen to start filling bowls. Once everyone’s downstairs, the quiet peace of the morning will be gone until tomorrow.

-x-

Breakfast is loud. Much too loud in the opinion of Percy. Why can’t they all just sit quietly and eat? Why does Fred have to chew with his mouth open to gross out Ginny who squeals? Why can’t his family be normal sometimes? It’s exhausting.

Percy is usually the first to finish because he actually eats his food instead of trying to convince Ron that spiders aren’t that bad. Percy scoffs inwardly. You’re not going to get anywhere, Charlie! He’s terrified of the pests.

He pushes his chair back. “May I be excused?”

His mother gives him a concerned look. “Did you eat enough? You finished pretty quick there.”

Percy considers it. “I’m—”

“Hey, are those the school owls? Percy, get the window.” Bill’s voice interrupts him, and Percy is out of his chair and opening the window before anyone can say anything else. He is turning eleven in a few weeks’ time, just before September 1st, and despite his parent’s assurances that he will be able to attend Hogwarts this year, a part of him is terrified he will have to wait another year.

His heart soars when he sees what the owl is carrying.

“Three letters!” Percy cries out triumphantly. He will get to go to Hogwarts!

Fred and George moan but that is to be expected. They are annoyances who are to be ignored whenever anything big happens. Ron and Ginny join in on the complaining as Percy passes envelopes to Bill and Charlie. He ignores them too, focusing only on his own letter.

Dear Mr. Weasley

We are pleased to inform you that….

He continues to read and desperately tries to ignore his younger siblings rising insistence that they all want to go to Hogwarts now. He can’t let them ruin this for him.

Percy switches to the booklist, scanning it. He has already read all the books for the year, except for the Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook. Percy thought it would be that way. He always read Bill’s schoolbooks after his brother finishes a school year.

“So, what’s yours say, Perce?”

A hand snatches the letter from him. Percy sputters as Fred holds the letter in front of his face.

“Fred! Don’t take something from your brother’s hands like that!”

Despite their mother’s reprimand, Fred is unrepentant. “I want to see what the letter looks like!”

Percy snatches his letter back, silently fuming. Fred and George are always like this, ruining every good thing Percy gets. He gets that they’re little kids, but do they have to be so annoying all day every day? “Like you haven’t read Bill or Charlie’s letters? I’m going to my room.”

“Percy—” his mother tries to call, but he ignores her and dumps his empty bowl in the sink. Percy retreats upstairs to his room, ready to savor his Hogwarts letter in the relative quiet of the currently empty upstairs.

This is supposed to be a happy moment and those are always ruined when he’s around the twins.

-x-

Charlie surveys the collection of bits and bobs spread out on a towel. While the assortment of rocks in front of him is undoubtedly very cool looking—one rock is dark grey and shaped like a shoe if you squint, while another seems to have some sort of quartz in it—no matter how you look at it, none of his morning finds is a dragon scale.

Logically, Charlie knows it is unlikely he will find a dragon scale—or tooth, or claw, or dragon related anything—by the Burrow. They live nowhere near a dragon reserve and the Ministry of Magic strictly regulates where dragons can fly, but Charlie can dream. It is possible he could dig and find some dragon scale left behind centuries ago. It isn’t an unheard of thing, just rare. A slim chance is still a chance, and Charlie is nothing if not optimistic when it comes to dragons. He fully believes that he can join the small percentage of people who have happened upon dragon relics.

For now, he stuffs his collection of rocks back into his bag. He usually puts them in a chest by his bed, but Percy is sulking in the room they share and he doesn’t want to deal with his little brother’s snappish mood. It always takes Percy a while to calm down after Fred and George rile him up.

Instead, he goes outside. It’s a nice day. Slightly cloudy, of course, but it doesn’t seem to be rain clouds. As good flying conditions as it’s going to get.

None of his family is outside, so Charlie isn’t interrupted as he takes a broom from the shed and lifts off gently into the sky. He gives himself a minute to just enjoy the feeling of being in the air. Usually, one of his siblings would have noticed him on a broom by this point and begged for Quidditch help so they could also make the Gryffindor team when they went to Hogwarts. Charlie doesn’t mind helping them, not in the least bit, but it is nice to just fly without distractions. To hover and take in the land laid out before him. See light glisten on the river that winds its way through the countryside and into the distant Muggle town. Feel the sun on his back, giving him the slightest bit of warmth against the wind. Flying calms him, and, slightly ironically, grounds him. It reminds him that there is more to life than dragons, believe it or not.

He can’t really leave the shadow of the Burrow—they live too close to Muggles for him to really be able to fly—but doing lazy laps around his home is fine.

“Oi, Charlie! If you’re flying, then can you help us with Quidditch?”

Charlie snorts. The moment of peace was nice while it lasted.

-x-

Ron trudges up another flight of stairs, seriously regretting picking the top floor to live in once he was old enough to have his own room. It is one of the biggest rooms in the house and super cool, no doubt about it, but having to walk up all those stairs after several hours of playing Quidditch nonstop with his brothers is not fun. Not fun at all. Every muscle feels like it’s on fire and those last few steps seem to take forever to make.

He can’t help but let out a groan as he collapses onto his bed. He is covered in sweat and dirt and probably should shower before he gets his blankets and sheets dirty, but he’s too exhausted right now to bother. Mum will clean them anyways before the week is over.

The impromptu Quidditch practice went well, in Ron’s opinion. Fred and George had persuaded him and Charlie into dodging balls that they sent flying, but that wasn’t very hard, even for Ron. Their family didn’t have real bludgers to practice with and had to settle for regular balls that weren’t enchanted to knock people off brooms. Fred and George’s aim was improving, but they couldn’t send the balls flying that high.

Charlie had been amazing to watch. Unlike Ron, who had kept higher in the sky to avoid the twins being menaces, Charlie had kept the ground. Ron could understand how he had become Gryffindor’s Seeker in his second year—there was a precision to how he flew. He seemed to know exactly where Fred and George were going to hit the balls and swerved out of the way easily.

Ron wishes he could fly like that. He tries to tell himself that Charlie is that good because he is fourteen and a teenager, but sometimes Ron has trouble believing that. Charlie has natural talent, everyone says so, but they never say that about Ron.

Quidditch Through the Ages is still on his bed from where Ron had dropped it when he went running to practice Quidditch. He flops over onto his stomach and sighs, flipping through the book. It automatically opens to the section on the teams in Britain, specifically where the small part on the Chudley Cannons starts. Ron isn’t much of a reader, but he’s read this book dozens of times over.

His brothers favor other teams, but Ron thinks his favorite is the Cannons. He maybe relates to them a little. No one expects anything from the Cannon’s, so anytime they do well it’s a celebration.

Flipping through the book, Ron loses track of time. Someday, he wants to play for one of the team’s mentioned. That would be so cool. Quidditch is so cool. Maybe if he bothers Charlie enough they could practice again later—

“Ron!”

He jumps at his mum’s voice.

“Yeah?”

She opens his door a bit and peeks through. “Lunch is ready, dear. Did you not hear me?”

Ron smiles sheepishly. “No, sorry.”

Molly smiles back. “It’s fine. Just be down quickly, okay.”

He nods, and sets Quidditch Through the Ages down. Practice is nice, but food is even better.

-x-

Ginny smashes the two dolls against each other, almost angry that her dolls are made of fabric and not something harder. If they were, then there would be banging noises to represent how upset she feels, and also one might break and that would represent her feelings too.

Well, no, she doesn’t really want to break one of her toys, but she is still so angry! Her stupid brothers spent the whole morning playing Quidditch and when she tried to play with them too, they hadn’t let her. It isn’t fair! Ron is only a year older, so it isn’t like she’s too young. They were only doing it because she’s a girl and that is such a stupid reason.

She smushes the dolls together again in anger—pretending that they’re Fred and George colliding midair because that would be funny to watch—then throws one of the dolls across her room. It hits the wall and then the floor with next to no noise. Ginny pulls her knees to her chest and puffs out her cheeks.

Boys are stupid. Brothers are stupid.

“You okay there, Ginny?”

Ginny looks over to Bill standing in her doorway.

Okay, maybe all brothers aren’t stupid. Just most of them.

She continues to pout but doesn’t yell when Bill comes into her room and sits down across from her.

Bill has a small smile on his face. “Still angry about this morning?”

“No,” she lies. “Maybe.”

He winks at her. “They were being kind of mean, weren’t they?”

Ginny throws her arms out. “Yeah! They wouldn’t even let me watch!”

“Awful.”

“Right? They’re all such stupidheads.”

“The stupidest.”

With that agreement, Ginny finally relaxes and launches into a ramble about all the ways that her brothers (except Bill of course) are very stupid and mean. Bill nods and doesn’t interrupt which is why he is Ginny’s favorite and the only boy in the whole world who isn’t stupid. Well, Bill and her dad. And Harry Potter. They’re all okay.

“You okay now?” Bill asks and Ginny nods. It feels good to have someone take her complaints seriously and not make fun of them (like Ron or Fred or George always do) or reduce them (like her mum sometimes does).

“Thank you for listening,” she says, because she’s polite.

Bill laughs and musses up her hair. She benevolently lets him. “Anytime, kiddo. Have fun playing with your dolls.”

Ginny nods once more as Bill walks out. She crawls over to the other side of the room and guiltily picks up the doll she threw earlier.

“Sorry about that,” she tells the doll who does not reply. “I didn’t really mean to throw you.”

She crawls back to her original spot and picks up another toy on the way, an old doll-sized toy broom that barely can float after years of being owned by the Weasley’s. She puts one of her dolls on the broom.

“There. So, you’re the new Chaser for the Holyhead Harpies and…”

-x-

“So, I think we should first try tricking Ron—”

“Yeah, but if we do, then he’s just going to squeal to Mum—"

“Yeah, but if we try to just sneak into Mum and Dad’s room without a distraction, then we’re more likely to get caught. Ron’s gonna squeal but it’ll have her distracted.”

“Distracted? More like Mum’ll make us wash dishes the Muggle way as punishment.”

Fred and George glare at each other, neither wanting to cede victory to the other. Usually, they get along swimmingly and know just what the other wants, but sometimes fights do happen.

The two noticed their dad sneak in some chocolate bars the day before, likely for Percy’s birthday coming up soon, and he had hidden the chocolate somewhere in his and Mum’s bedroom so no one could eat it. Well, that’s just a silent challenge in the twin’s eyes! It probably wouldn’t take long to actually find the chocolate—Mum kept her room clean and they knew her regular hiding spots—but getting in is the hard part. Their mum always seems to know when they are sneaking into rooms not their own, and they always are scolded for it.

“We could always bribe Ron to help us,” George says eventually. Ron is the easiest of their siblings to bribe. “Instead of tricking him. We are looking for chocolate bars after all.”

Fred wrinkles his nose. “It’d work, sure, but then we’d have to actually give him some of our hard-won chocolate.”

George shrugs. “Can always tell him we found less than we really did. Or not tell him about the chocolate at all and trade a favor.”

“That could work,” Fred strokes his chin as if he is pondering something important and not candy theft. He grins. “We’ll just tell him we won’t bother him for a whole two weeks. That’ll probably work.”

George laughs. Ron is their favorite victim after Percy. Soon, he’ll be their main victim since Percy is off to Hogwarts in a month. “Give him a small reprieve before the real pranks start.”

Identical smirks grow on identical faces.

“Oh, yeah, this will be good.” Fred is laughing now too. “We can even extend it; say we won’t bother him until the others leave for Hogwarts. Lull him into a sense of false security.”

“Obviously, this means we need to come up with something good to do to him on September first.”

“Obviously,” Fred agrees, eyes alight with mischief. “Something big to do the moment we get back from King’s Cross.”

The two of them laugh, any tension from their small fight earlier gone.

George calms down first. “We can plan for that later. Now, we need to convince him to distract Mum so we can have that chocolate.”

Fred falls backwards onto the floor, staring at the ceiling with a smile on his face. “Chocolate. That’s exactly what we need to plan the best prank ever.” He sits up and stretches. “Well, no time like the present! Let’s go.”

-x-

Bill studies the parchment in front of him. Only a few months previous he had taken his O.W.L.’s, and the letter with his exam grades had come a month ago. Despite all the panic he’d felt before and after the exams, Bill had done fine. His schedule the past few years, not even including any extracurriculars, had been packed with twelve classes. The fact that he passed every single one, that he received 8 O’s, 2 E’s and 2 A’s, was amazing and something to be celebrated. People would kill to have marks like that.

Still, part of him feels conflicted going into his sixth year. Apart from Divination and Muggle Studies, the two classes he received the Acceptable grades in, he can get into any N.E.W.T. level class he wants. He even managed to get the O necessary for Snape’s Potions class. But he doesn’t really want to leave any of his old classes behind. He knows it’s necessary and he knows what classes he needs to take to have a career in curse breaking, but he still is so reluctant to commit to them.

It’s the first step towards being an adult and, for the first time in a while, Bill doesn’t want to take the step.

He’s always had to act older than he was, told to look after his siblings and take care of them when his parents were busy, so he’s used to acting in adult ways. It isn’t anything new. But looking at his Hogwarts letter, it suddenly hits him that he is sixteen. One year from now, he’ll be considered an adult by wizarding laws. In two years, if he passes his classes and applies to Gringotts, he could very well be in a different country working to break curses in Egypt or Greece. It’s exciting, Bill can’t deny that, but also terrifying in a way.

Bill looks down once more at the letter from Hogwarts. Defense Against the Dark Arts, Charms, Transfiguration, Ancient Runes, and Arithmancy are the classes he needs to take to become a curse breaker. All are classes he received an O in. Bill loves learning and part of him wishes that he could take more classes than those five, but five N.E.W.T. level classes is already an insane workload. He can always study in his free time, or during vacation.

It’s later in the afternoon, the time of day he is pretty sure is called the golden hour. Outside, he can see that golden reflection in everything below him. He takes a steadying breathe, tries to feel as calm as the environment around him looks. It will be fine. Growing up and becoming and adult is okay.

“Bill? Are you up there? Dinner’s ready soon! Can you get your siblings down to the kitchen?”

Bill stretches, having been musing for quite a while. “Yeah! Be down in a sec.”

“Thank you, dear!”

He listens as his mum wanders away and smiles to himself. It’ll be fine. Growing up is just a new extension of what he’s already been doing his whole life—taking care of his family.

-x-

Depending on how work goes, Arthur usually comes home right as dinner is being served. He has no idea how Molly does it, how she always seems to know right when he finishes his paperwork and clocks out, but there’s rarely a day where he has to wait more than ten minutes for dinner.

He pecks Molly on the cheek, admires her smile, and listens to the jeers from the disgusted children at the table. Fred and George in particular are at that age where any sign of affection is considered sickening, while Ron and Ginny always try to mimic them.

“How’d work go, Dad?” Bill asks with a bright smile.

“Delightfully!” Arthur crows, mostly meaning it. There was more paperwork than usual today and he had to deal with Jameson, but he also had a Muggle-born witch explain to him how planes fly! Apparently, her Muggle brother works as an aerospace engineer and has spent a lot of time explaining the mechanics to her. He enthusiastically explains this to his considerably less excited children.

Ron crinkles his nose in confusion. “I didn’t understand any of that.”

“Dragons are cooler anyways,” Charlie adds predictably. “Do you want to know how they fly?”

“No,” comes several long-suffering voices, used to Charlie’s dragon rambles.

Charlie sulks a bit in his chair. “Dragons are cool,” he mutters.

“Maybe another time, Charlie,” Arthur says, smile still on his face. Charlie perks up a bit at that and nods. Arthur doesn’t mind listening to Charlie ramble—he knows what it’s like to have your passions thought of as weird and wants to give Charlie an outlet somewhere.

“Fred! George!” The two boys yelp at Molly’s loud exclamation. “You’ve barely eaten! Is there something wrong with the food?”

Both boys wildly shake their heads and begin to comically scoop large portions of shepherd’s pie into their mouths. Ginny laughs, but Molly purses her lips and gives Arthur a look. He nods slightly—the boys probably got into some food store and ate before dinner. He’ll have to look for that chocolate for Percy’s birthday cake he hid. That seems like the most likely thing they ate.

Conversation goes from there. Percy rambles a bit about receiving his Hogwarts acceptance letter and gets a proper congratulations for it. Bill talks about the classes he needs while Charlie valiantly tries to talk about dragons once more.

Dragon talk gets derailed by a long discussion about Quidditch after Fred makes a comment about something that happened earlier in the day. This draws in almost the whole family—only Percy and Molly stay quiet.

Arthur shares a smile with Molly as the discussion gets particularly lively. For all the still mornings they see and how much he enjoys those quiet moments, nothing beats the lively debates that happen at dinner where they are all together, as a family.

#hphmbang2020 #hphm #harry potter hogwarts mystery #bill weasley #charlie weasley #percy weasley #fred weasley #george weasley #ron weasley #ginny weasley #fic be mine #texttexttext post

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robotslenderman · 3 years

Text

I have Thoughts on engaging bigots, inspired by this Reddit thread. Not the article itself, but a quote from it:

Before any attempt at “unity” [with Trump voters] can be made, there needs to be a reckoning, an acknowledgment that so many of Trump’s actions have been unconscionable and do not align with societal ideals that claim to value all life. Building bridges with people who share Trump’s views sends a clear message that you are willing to keep the peace at the expense of the dignity and well-being of those with less power and privilege.

This is key.

When an allo person tells me to be kind to aphobes, they are telling me that I should put myself through pain, humiliation, trauma and emotional abuse.

When a white person tells a PoC to be kind to racists, they're asking the PoC to put themselves through pain, humiliation, trauma and emotional abuse.

This goes for every majority that tells a minority it's their job to be kind to bigots.

This is not the minority's job.

It is the ally's job to do the emotional labour of working with the bigot with patience and understanding, with a caveat:

They must walk the line of doing it in a way that clearly condemns the bigotry and upholds the dignity of the minority they are defending.

What do you know? You can do BOTH! You can reach out and educate kindly AND do it in a way that supports minorities instead of enabling bigotry!

Make it clear what they're doing is not okay, but try to do it in a way that shows a little compassion, if only to avoid reinforcing their persecution complex so that they're more likely to change their minds over the long term. If only to avoid them seeking that same compassion from other bigots.

I am female.

I don't want allies to tell misogynists to go fuck themselves. I don't begrudge it from other women or myself, because we have to protect ourselves, but allies don't have that excuse.

The goal of a true ally is to root out bigotry, and nobody ever stopped being a bigot because they got shouted to death. By shouting down misogyny instead of disarming it, the ally is taking the easy way out and doing it in a way that reinforces it in the long term by reinforcing the misogynist's belief that they are being victimised. The ally is trying to make themselves look good at the expense of women.

We have the right to defend ourselves in whatever means we have to. Do not make the mistake of thinking that an ally attacking someone is at all the same.

This is a sin I have committed many times. But the truth is, unravelling bigotry and banishing it is long term work. The short term satisfaction of an ally telling a bigot to go fuck themselves is overshadowed by the fact that the bigot will seek out validation in places that are far more malicious to women than the ally.

"Hey, I understand you're worried a woman will falsely accuse you of rape, but in reality only a very small percentage of actual rapists are ever convicted, and a lot of rape survivors report being isolated and not believed."

This is a statement that does two things - it acknowledges the misogynist's genuine fear of the harm they perceive women to be capable of, which goes a long way, while defusing it with truth.

Will the bigot instantly stop being one? Of fucking course not. This is long term, this is hard work. It is exhausting, not rewarding. This is about planting a seed and reducing the necessity the bigot feels of seeking out other bigots for acknowledgement of their false fear. This shows the bigot that their opinion is not okay, but in a way that they are more likely to be responsive to.

That is a discussion that would traumatise women to have, or more likely reinforce existing trauma.

This is where allies come in. I am a minority in some ways, an ally in others. One thing we can do as allies is show the patience and understanding that would exhaust or traumatise minorities to have to display for themselves. That way, we can plant seeds that are more likely to come to fruition over the long term instead of feeding the feeling of persecution within the bigot.

But again - it must not come at the expense of the minority. If you show too much compassion or understanding you risk reinforcing their bigoted views. The intention is to show that yes, we acknowledge that you have are afraid, we are not ignoring your fear, but what you're doing is still not okay despite that fear.

I believe that most bigotry comes from fear and ignorance, not genuine malice. I don't think that most men who promote more men than women actually hate women or think we're incompetent, I think he does it because it's what he's been conditioned to do without thinking twice. I think he's been conditioned to be more critical of women than men, if you'll excuse my binary example. That's not hatred. That's just a problem he needs to fix.

But if another man shames him for hating women, does it help women more that that man now feels defensive? Or does it just make the "ally" feel better, feel morally superior, without actually putting in the work the ally could have done of showing the first man that he's promoting less capable people because he views women through a different lens he's been conditioned to have? The man who promoted the men over more capable women isn't reflecting on his actions, he's occupied by the fact someone thinks he's something he's not. That man "knows" he doesn't hate women, he just didn't think about what he's doing, and now he's being demonised for a motivation he truly doesn't have without being equipped with tools to dismantle his own biases.

I truly believe a lot of bigots have genuinely good intentions, but in the wrong direction. Many misogynists are genuinely afraid of us women and think they are truly doing the right thing by standing up for men, but their fault is in not sympathising with our fear. So when a man calmly explains rape statistics and how rare conviction for rape is to a misogynist afraid of women "crying rape", I appreciate it because he's defusing that fear in a way that shows that he wants to tackle the problem from his fear-based perspective without giving it enough understanding that the misogynist feels vindicated.

Let's say I'm in a group of people, and there's a misogynist and a male ally. The misogynist says something shitty.

If the male ally just tells the misogynist to go fuck himself and leave, it makes me afraid that the ally is just performing his allyship, that he just wants to look good to women. It makes me feel safer in the short term, yes - but am I really safer if that misogynist then goes to other misogynists and claims he's being victimised?

If the male ally says something like "hey, I understand that you (were just making a joke and wanted to make people laugh/are afraid that good fathers will lose their children to abusive mothers who will hurt the children/are worried your life will be ruined and you'll be helpless to stop it if a woman accuses you falsely of rape), but (your joke is really hurtful to women/this is caused by women being shoehorned into a role as mothers/many rape survivors say that they lost friends because people didn't believe them). I understand you had good intentions but what you said isn't okay and if you keep saying that then I don't want you to join us."

Then that accomplishes several things:

It validates the bigot's belief that they are someone with genuinely good intentions

It gives them a graceful "way out" of their bigotry, increasing the likelihood feel supported to bow out of it - "yeah, I did just want people to laugh but I guess it landed badly!" (Not great, but better than a double down.)

It shows support to women and upholds their dignity by acknowledging the remark's impact on them, and that the male ally isn't okay with it.

It makes the misogynist more likely to confide his misogyny in the future in someone who won't reinforce it, but will instead take it apart piece by piece without reinforcing any persecution complexes.

If the misogynist genuinely made a fuckup, they're not going to think that they're thought of as scum of the earth for a genuine mistake.

Will they always react graciously? No.

Is this guaranteed to show a positive short-term result? No.

Is there always a chance they'll go back to a bigoted echo chamber anyway to complain about how horrible the male ally was? Yes.

But damn, I'd be impressed with the ally for actually doing the emotional labour of reaching out to a bigot with kindness so that a woman doesn't have to.

I don't want bigots to be friends with only bigots, that just makes things worse for me later. I want bigots to be friends with my allies, not other bigots, because it means that one day that bigot can be an ally instead.

Is this a one size fits all solution? Fuck no. There is no one solution to discrimination and this certainly isn't it. This isn't about asspatting rapists, murderers, or people calling for violence. Punch the Nazi, kick the rapist, boycott that company. If someone doubles down even after you've shown good faith, that doesn't mean you should continue to give them an opportunity to gracefully back down when they're clearly not interested. Use your head, give them an opportunity, but acknowledge they might not take it.

But even people who might not show signs of listening today might be mulling over what you said later on. Slam the door if you have to, but let them know that they can knock again later. Better that you listen to this shit than the minority it will traumatise.

If you absolutely have to choose between being kind to a bigot and supporting minorities, always show support instead of kindness. But a lot of the time people think you have to choose one or the other when you don't actually have to, and this is reinforced by people who want to do what's easier. Emotional labour is HARD.

This is about allies actually doing the work of an ally over the long term by condemning bigoted actions in a way that shows that you, the person who did something harmful, are welcome among us as a person if you stop committing harmful actions. We don't have a problem with you, we have a problem with the thing you said or did. You're going to think we want nothing to do with you if we say you're a shitty person who hates women, but if we say you're a good intentioned person who fucked up, well, clearly we're okay with you just not the mistake you made.

Think of it as a carrot and stick approach. Us women venting or lashing out to defend ourselves is the stick. Allies are the carrot. Let us do the short term work of surviving and demanding. Let allies do the long term work of smoothing ruffled feathers and letting others know that they have nothing to fear from us.

Do the work so we don't have to hurt ourselves because you don't want to help us in a way that isn't as easy as telling someone to go to hell.

#Dusty has opinions #long post #sexism #bigotry #I'm gonna regret this hot take aren't I

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cyn-00 · 4 years

Text

Moreid one shot, 8 - "how much"

Season 8, episode 18 "Restoration" (It's the one where the team is in Chicago and the unsub was one of the kids molested by Carl Buford, so Morgan is obviously really involved. At the end of the episode, after Derek finds out on the jet that Buford is dead - *yay*)

I have to say a couple things, since apparently if I don't write at least 20 lines of useless information before the actual fic, the Earth threatens to explode: 1) this is kinda obvious, but I always specify the episode and season so if you haven't watched that episode yet you probably shouldn't read the fic cause it may contain spoilers! 2) this is not obvious but highkey useless, I always imagine Reid having long hair (like season 4/5 or maybe a lil shorter), because FOR ME that's his best look (that's why you'll nearly always find expressions like "he tucked his hair behind his ear" even though for ex. in season 9 that wouldn't be possible lmao)

Update: goes unsaid that I partially re-wrote this as well as many others

Read it on AO3

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"Yes. Uh uh. No I understand, thank you for keeping me posted. I appreciate that."

Silence, following that call. Everybody looking at Morgan, waiting for him to say something - anything really. The look on his face was indecipherable, a mix of relief and uncomfort, and wanting to cry or break something or preferably both.

"...Buford is dead."

That was all he said. Not when, not how.

He kept his look out of the window of the jet, like meeting his friends' eyes could trigger an emotional response way too overwhelming for any of them to handle in that moment.

They all stared at him without making a single sound, not knowing what they were supposed to say, what he was expecting to hear from them. Not even Reid: his eyes remained glued to him for a while, unable to get back to reading his book with that lump in his throat suffocating him.

As soon as they got off the jet, Morgan vanished. Everyone thought he'd probably quickly got to his office to pick up his stuff and head home, without talking to anyone. But when the rest of the team entered the bullpen through the glass doors, they saw him, not in his office, but sitting at Reid's desk; elbows on his knees and eyes stuck on the floor.

Reid stopped walking and stared for a while from afar, frozen, deciding what to do; while the others headed to their desks and offices silently, not even able to small talk after what Morgan had announced.

Spencer felt a light touch on his shoulder. He turned around.

"He needs you, Spence." JJ's soft voice spoke sense into him. "It only works with you."

That last statement left Spencer a bit confused, but he nodded anyway, replying with a sad but grateful smile as she walked away.

His friend's encouraging words and a few more minutes of waiting were enough for Spencer to finally gather the nerve of walking toward the man.

Once he'd approached his own desk, he stood still and carefully looked down at his boyfriend, hunched on himself; waiting for him to notice his presence. But Morgan didn't move a single finger.

"...I thought you ran home." he said, softly.

Derek finally tilted his chin up to face him, straightening a little in his seat: he wasn't crying, but he did look upset. Still: the crack in Spencer's heart couldn't but widen at the damaged look on his usually warm, handsome face.

"Yeah I thought of that, but I- I feel like I need to...talk. To you."

Few seconds of silence.

"You really don't have to talk to me about it if you don't want to..." Spencer pointed out a bit nervously.

Derek didn't answer. He just stood up from the chair with his hands in his leather jacket pockets, staring straight into the other's brown eyes, with a look that said: "Please". Spencer answered with a nod.

Except for Hotch and Rossi, both in the former's office, the rest of the team had quickly got home: it was 11:30 pm. As for the other employees, they simply didn't have such a crazy schedule, so the bureau was empty. However, Morgan didn't feel like talking there, so he headed toward his office, Reid following without questioning.

Derek closed the door behind him, not bothering about the blinds, nor turning the light on. He sat on the black leather couch in the corner of the room, looking down at the floor as his elbows dug further in the holes they'd already carved earlier in his thighs.

Spencer put his satchel on the floor and stood there, 5 ft from him, with his hands in the pockets of his jacket: he had a feeling it was going to be a few minutes before Derek could feel like talking. But that was ok. That was the point: being there, silently or not.

The complete but slightly discomforting quiet, the dim light pervading the room coming from the bullpen, but most of all the presence of Spencer that made him feel like he was allowed to finally let go, weren't helping Derek from trying not to burst out crying. He kept his eyes squeezed shut and face down in the attempt to avoid that.

He accidentally let out a sniffle that gave Spencer the final clue that he was, in fact, about to cry. He buried his face in his palm, failing to stop the tears from falling any longer: he got "caught", there was nothing left to hide, at that point.

Spencer gulped. Before that, he had admittedly failed to pick up on how uncomfortable his boyfriend must have felt and how serious that situation was. He just wished he had the power to hug him tight and put the outer world on a pause while Derek let himself crumble down into smithereens; and then whisper comforting words in his ear while he fixed him, piece by piece, bit by bit, until he was somewhat whole again.

"Derek..." he murmured, feeling like his knees were wobbling under his weight at the sight of him like...that.

Spencer finally sat down next to him on the couch, not too close neither touching him. He knew the odds of Derek reacting well to physical comfort right after he exposed himself crying were few. He ran the statistics in his mind. Plus, he knew him. So he just sat there.

"I don't know why I'm reacting like this to the death of the man who ruined my childhood." Derek finally managed to say, a bit coldly, still eyeing down at the floor.

"I should be happy or at least relieved. That's what you're probably thinking." he added, pulling himself together just enough to find the courage to face Spencer; a deeply concerned but attentive look on his face.

"I'm thinking that you shouldn't beat yourself up for feeling whatever you are feeling right now." he answered reasonably, and quite frankly Derek wasn't expecting it.

Receiving no answer, Spencer continued. "I think," he paused, clearing his voice "I think that there's no right or wrong way for you to feel about it, because..." he paused again, contemplating whether he should mention Buford's name or maybe it was better not to.

"...cause Buford was never just an unsub for you." He mentioned him anyway, but stopped right there, staying vague, without openly addressing the fact that Buford had in some way been a father figure for Derek, when he was a kid. He didn't know how Derek would react to that: if he'd agree and see what his point was; or accuse him of justifying Buford's actions, in a small percentage.

Morgan didn't retort. He knew what Reid meant, and that what he meant made sense; nonetheless he couldn't erase those feelings of guilt and frustration and sickness that were possessing him. He nodded briefly and got back to facing the ground.

Spencer thought that it was the right moment for him to finally touch him without the risk of him flinching back. So he gently put his hand on the back of Derek's neck, stroking it with his thumb and looking at him with sad eyes.

The second Derek felt the comfort of his soft touch, he felt like crying again, like he had pressed some kind of vulnerable button. He screwed his eyes shut and clenched his jaw, letting out a heavy breath accompanied by a faint whine that he'd been trying so hard to keep buried down in the pit of his lungs.

"He should've rot in prison. What I said to the press gave him a way out." he paused and faced the other way, looking at the empty bullpen through the blinds. "It's- it's like he got what he wanted from me for the millionth time." he concluded, his voice hoarse and shaky.

Spencer understood, from his choice of words - he got what he wanted from me - that he was comparing that to the specific act of the abuse. The way he said it and the change in his demeanor - usually strong, both physically and emotionally - made Spencer's heart ultimately shatter and its fragments fall down to his stomach; and his eyes tingle. But he couldn't let himself go like that - he had to suck it up and support him. That's what Derek needed him to do in that moment; that's what Derek was always ready to do for Spencer, so it was only fair that he at least tried.

Reid switched position from sitting on the couch to kneeling on the floor right in front of him, in between his legs, so that he couldn't avoid his gaze anymore. He cupped his face in his hands to make their eyes meet again.

"You know that's not true." he asserted, pausing to let him process such statement and wiping off with his thumb a tear that managed to escape from one of Derek's eyes.

"He stopped getting what he wanted from you the moment you got out of that block and started becoming the man you are now. Catching people like him."

"He doesn't have to spend the rest of his life in jail now, does he? I did him NOTHING but a favor. And I didn't even notice, just like when I was a kid." Derek instantly blurted out.

"Derek why are you being so naive right now??" Spencer asked, though he wasn't really expecting an answer. He saw the man in front of him imperceptibly flinch at his tone, so he took a deep breath and explained.

"Don't you understand that if you hadn't made that speech to the press, his true identity would've remained secret to everyone? He was counting on restoring his reputation by becoming someone else. You SAW that, Derek." Spencer paused once again to lower his voice further - he didn't wanna come off as aggressive, but he wanted so hard to make him see what his eyes weren't seeing; clouded by his own trauma doubling back to him like a punch in the guts.

"The only person you did NOT do a favor to with what you said, it's him." he concluded.

Derek knew he was right. But - despite him being the one always talking sense into everybody - when it came to the abuse he suffered as a kid there was a small, hidden part of him that just couldn't help but feel guilty and subdued and victimized all over again.

He gently took Spencer's hands, still cupping his face, and put them down, looking at the floor. He felt in some way sorry for him, wasting his time, trying to convince him of the falsity of things that were so deeply rooted in his mind that not even his purest and most unconditional demonstration of love and support could conceal. But he knew it wasn't Spencer's fault and that he in the first place didn't have that kind of demand.

Spencer was hurt, but swallowed the words before they could come out. He figured that gesture meant he had to come to terms with the fact that there was nothing more he could say to him, to make him feel any better.

"Is that how I won?" Derek mumbled after a while, his deep voice piercing through the thick silence.

Spencer frowned apprehensively. "What do you mean?"

"I- I won because he died ? Was his death the only possible way for me to find a crumb of...I don't even know, of- of peace ?" Derek explained, looking straight into his eyes again, searching in Spencer's caramel irises for those answers that he already knew but needed someone external to say out loud.

"You won the second you realized you were no longer scared of letting other people know about what he did to you." Spencer replied lucidly, with no hesitation what so ever. "The first time being when you told us, and the second when you told the press. And the third exactly 23 minutes ago, when you chose to wait for me to talk about it instead of going home and closing me out." He paused. "and I honestly don't know how you did any of that but-" he swallowed and waited a second for the courage to say it to arise in him. "but I'm so proud of you I- I don't think you realize how much I am."

Spencer's hand instinctively made its way back to the other's cheek, stroking it with his thumb; uncaring of how it had been rejected earlier.

"You won when you finally understood that you are worth healing." he concluded in an almost whisper; eyes becoming glossy at the slight changes in expression on Derek's face.

Spencer wanted to do more than just brush a digit on his cheek, he wanted to hug him but guessed it wouldn't be the smartest choice. So he just stayed like that, gazing into Derek's eyes, with the other hand resting on his own thigh while his knees started to get sore from being in that position for the past 10 minutes.

Derek was speechless. After a seemingly endless silence, he reached his hand out to gently tuck Spencer's hair behind his ear.

"I- I love you. And I don't think you realize how much I do." he finally murmured, with watery eyes, purposely half-quoting what the other had just said.

Spencer's heart melted when he felt his touch and those words coming out so genuinely and uncensored. He slightly tilted his head to lean into such warmth, putting his hand over his and kissing his palm without breaking eye contact.

Derek craned to inch closer and made Spencer do the same by pulling him slowly toward him, with his hand placed on the back of his neck. He closed his eyes and softly pushed his lips into his, finally allowing himself to fully seek comfort in his touch.

He shifted forward so that he was sitting on the very edge of the couch, to eliminate whatever inch of air was left between their bodies, letting Spencer's arms slide up his torso and end up wrapping tight around his waist underneath his leather jacket, left unzipped; as if he was afraid Derek would let him go and run away - which he would never do. He would never let him go.

Both his hands on Spencer's jaw, Derek could feel it unhooking, which he took as a silent permission to let his burning tongue find its way into his mouth, melting when it collided with his; sinking in the warmth of only his slim body in a way he didn't know he needed and didn't know he could.

Spencer shifted slightly to lower his head and let it rest on the other's shoulder, nuzzling his nose and lips against Derek's neck; while Derek soothingly ran his fingers through his curls, tilting his own head to lean into the shock of brunette hair.

Spencer slid a hand up front to place it on Derek's chest; slitting a narrow gap between their bodies as a sign to stop, being completely out of air.

They looked into each other's eyes for a few seconds; arms still tying them together even if not so breathlessly tight as a few seconds before.

"You scared me." Spencer's whispery words blowing warm air on Derek's skin.

"I know. I didn't mean to." he answered in a heavy sigh; Spencer's head cradled by the up-and-down movements of the other man's chest as he inhaled and exhaled deeply.

They stayed like that for a while, for as long as it took Spencer to start wondering what time it was. He gently let go of him - not that he got tired of it - and checked his watch: midnight.

"Wow. It's late." he stood up, helping himself by holding onto Derek's knees. As soon as he got back on his feet, his face wrinkled in a faint grimace of pain.

"Look what you did to me. I can't feel my legs anymore." he said jokingly, realizing only after a couple of seconds that that wasn't the usual context in which he used such phrase...would've been better if he hadn't let that slip out, he thought.

"Alright. My place? Is that enough to make it up to you or your legs?" Derek asked mockingly as he stood up too, finally showing him that smile of his that Spencer was starting to miss like oxygen in his lungs; confirming that his previous - stupid - comment had either gone unnoticed or hadn't bothered him that much after all.

Even though Spencer was definitely not one to like change, he clearly preferred staying at his boyfriend's place rather than his own. His house was more comfortable and obviously way less messy, but those were just a couple of superficial reasons, he himself couldn't quite put his finger on it - despite his profiling skills, which just gave him answers that didn't sound accurate enough in his heart.

After a few seconds of hesitation - not due to indecision, rather to the brief short-circuit his brain was put through when he saw Derek's blinding smile - he grinned back and nodded, picking up his bag while the other opened the door.

Right in the moment they got out of the room, they saw that Rossi had just exited the bullpen, heading to the elevator. God knows what kind of conversation had taken him so long with Hotch, still in his office and probably not even halfway with all the paperwork.

During those couple minutes Derek took to search for the office keys in his pockets and lock the door; Spencer stared at him, leaning with his shoulder on the wall, fiddling with the buckle of his leather satchel.

Derek put the keys back in his biker jacket pocket and raised his eyes to look at him.

"...What?" he asked, feeling his gaze on him.

"Nothing." Spencer answered shaking his head and dropping his eyes, standing straight again.

He tried not to smile, not only failing but moreover making Derek slightly smile too, even being yet clueless to what he was going to be told.

"I love you too."

#criminal minds #moreid #shematthew #sperek #cm #criminal minds season 8 #criminal minds 8x18 #carl buford #derek morgan #spencer reid #behavioral analysis unit #bau #spencer reid x derek morgan #m/m #moreid fanfic #moreid one shot #criminal minds fanfiction #moreid one shot 8 #moreid hurt/comfort

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yarasun · 4 years

Text

Illicit Desire; l.dh

Word Count: 2K

Summary: A secret friendship between the heirs of rival companies. But behind the label of friendship, feelings of affection lingered. Donghyuck who would give up everything to be with you, goes out of his way to show you how he feels. It’s a risky decision, but he’d do anything to make you his. Despite being an illicit desire.

Author’s Note: This was all based of my imaginations. Plot was reccomended to me by a friend. Credits to the KDrama The Inheritors, this is where I got a small bit of the Business School idea from. As mentioned, these were mere products of my imaginations, and does not define the idols mentioned.

Your father calls out to you as soon as you descended from the staircase. You smiled at him and raised your brows to encourage him to continue with what he wanted to say. "As you already know, your brother already took over your grandfather's business. Your sister has also started her own business in the field of fashion and cosmetics. I am expecting you to take over mine."

Here we go again. This is one of the things you despise in this household. The responsibilities and pressure that comes with this family business and the name of the family, it's reputation. Since your siblings and you were young, you were taught how to act, how to maintain your characters and at a young age, you were already taught about your businesses so that you may be prepared to take over it as soon as your parents or grandparents, say so.

"What are you hinting at?" You asked bluntly. He sighs and pats your back, "Do you have a boyfriend?" You frowned at his question and it hit you hard. He wants to arrange a marriage for you. Probably a unification with the son or heir to another company in order for them to expand the business.

You were always told that at some point, things like this would happen. But you never agreed or liked the idea of it. They say its crucial and beneficial. But you don't agree with it at all. Sure, it may have worked for your brother, he fell in love with his fiance, which was a win-win situation because he got love, and it benefit the business.

Yet again, it can't happen all the time. It might not be the case for you, thus, you never liked the idea of an arranged marriage. "No, I don't." Your father nodded apathetically. As if he had an idea in mind, one that surely, you would not be in favor with.

"Father, whatever you are thinking of, I would not agree to it. So, let me leave for school in peace." And with that, you exited the tensed house and got into the car, your chauffeur driving you to school.

Upon arrival, your good friend Hana greeted you. She is as beautiful as ever. As if torn from a page in the books of Greek mythology. Her perfectly tanned skin as if drizzled by both honey and caramel, glows even from afar. Her cherry lips, a beautiful hue of red. If Aphrodite had a modern look, Hana would be the perfect embodiment.

"Goodmorning." She smiles. You greeted her back and walked to your class. Going to a business management school, there are three tiers. The highest tier are those wherein their families are founders or the CEO of a company. Students like you. Second tier are those like Hana, who share percentages of shares in the stockholders. And the last tier, those who are from the scholarship program, given by higher positions of a business.

Most people make a big deal out of the tier rankings, especially those of the lowest tier. Majority of them would pick on the students saying they don't belong to the school, but nevertheless, you didn't really think of it that way. Those from lower tiers could still graduate with a good degree and even start their own business. No one should just a book by its cover.

As both of you were walking, the hallway suddenly became stuffy. As if all the air was sucked out of it, leaving you to grasp your chest and breathe heavily. Everyone started crowding together and you were suddenly dragged into the crowd of students by your friend.

"Donghyuck. It's Lee Donghyuck and his friends!" The girls started squealing and whispering loudly amongst their friends. Whenever this happens, you tend to stay as far away from Hana as possible, knowing her huge crush on Lee Jeno, she'd drag you into all this mess, which you absolutely hated.

Lee Donghyuck. He was gorgeous. His face, perfectly shaped, as if molded ever so well by the gods and brought upon the Earth to wreak havoc towards the mortals. His fair skin, it glows in a different way unlike how Hana's glows. It's a glow that entrances you until you lose your mind, oblivious to the pain that comes after it. He was perfection, the ones that when you touch it, it stains gold that burns, beautiful yet painful.

Despite his good looks, it was prohibited that you fall for him. Lee Donghyuck is the heir to your family's rival company. All this feud started way back before both of you were brought into this earth. Both families fought for the #1 spot of businesses related to medicines. It has always been a close call, but your family always manages to stay on top with a few points ahead.

However, you had no hatred towards Donghyuck at all. You never had a thing for grudges or feuds, so as much as it was required to dislike him, you could never do so. You had always treated him as a friend. The one that you could never really have a strong connection with. The one that has to be kept in the shadows. A forbidden friendship.

It's once in a blue moon for you and Donghyuck to have a casual conversation, as it has always been imprinted in both of yours minds that rumors spread as fast as lightning, thus when articles spread about your little friendship, the reputation of both companies will hang on burning wires. Moreover, neither of you had the heart to cause problems.

You tried desperately to get out of the crowd as it was suffocating and the never ending squeals made your head hurt. Unfortunately, you couldn't. everyone was pushing like a herd of zebras in a waterhole. Instead of getting out, you were pushed towards the front, until you lost your balance. Your palms making contact with the marbled tiles.

"Are you alright?" A hand extended out in front of you, gesturing out a polite way to get you back on your feet. Lifting your head from the ground, you met with Donghyuck's beautiful face, the sunlight hitting every feature he has, making him seem bewitching. It was as if he was grazed gracefully by the sun god Apollo himself. A ravishing view indeed.

You heard him whisper, his soft and beguile voice rung in your ears, "Darling, you're staring. It drives me demented." With that, you placed your hand over his, as he helped to pull you up. Dusting your skirt, you shot him an annoyed look.

"I would never look at you that way Donghyuck." Lies. He raised his eyebrows, clearly refusing to believe your bold claims. He stood in front of you with his arms crossed over his chest and a stupid smirk played on his lips. "Why are you looking at me like that?" You sassed.

He just shrugged and continued smirking. Stupid smirk. It was that look that made you question yourself. How sure were you that you would never see him as anymore than a friend? Were you certain that you wouldn't fall for him? Those were questions, you might never get answers to.

You puffed out a breath of annoyance and shoved pass the crowd of confused girls. Clearly dumbfounded at the scene that played out before their eyes. As mentioned, you and Donghyuck rarely converse.

Donghyuck is the epitome of a collision between heaven and hell. He is everything beautiful yet dangerous. His quintessential features. Those as if perfectly sculpted by professionals. His soft eyes which can set your heart ablaze. His lips, a perfect color of pink. Luscious and soft, ones that make you lick your own. His dirty blonde hair, you can see the soft streaks of his brown roots, it looks so silky and glossy, it shines exquisitely as the sunlight beams over him.

However, he had a careless and fiery attitude. He strongly resembled a dazzling phoenix that soars through the sky. Setting everything it touches into flames and ruining them. He is elegant yet with his divine beauty, comes a riding agony.

———

After class, you walked out of the classroom with Hana beside you, relentless about her unfed curiosity. She has been bugging you the whole day, to spill details about your little encounter with Lee Donghyuck. But of course, you being the stubborn friend, you refused to answer her numerous questions and just continued walking.

As the both of you were talking, whispers and squeals once again fill the hallway. You raised your head to see Lee Donghyuck and his friends walking from afar. What an unfortunate event. Your eyes frantically searched for an escape route. The hallway exit towards the gym. You quickened your pace and turned your heel, walking out to the gym before you could meet up with the vexatious group of friends.

Completely ignoring Hana's voice calling out to you, you continue walking until you reached the entrance of the cafeteria. Taking a deep breath, you inhaled the sweet aroma of the school's cafeteria. You were quite hungry so you opted to buy a snack as you waited for the chauffeur to pick you up.

"In the mood for some cookies and milkshakes, darling?" An arm snaked around your shoulders as a familiar voice tickled your neck. Lee Donghyuck, why was he here?

You whipped your head to meet up face to face with the one guy you dreaded to see. He had that infernal smirk on his lips, once again. "Donghyuck, why are you here?" You asked him curtly. He withdrew his arm from your shoulder and stuffed it into the pockets of his black pants.

"Why are you avoiding me darling?" He asked. With every mention of the little endearment, you feel the butterflies in your stomach, palpitate. Your heart slowly melting like that of an ice cream in a hot summer day.

"Stop calling me that." You couldn't fall for him. It is a verboten feeling.

"Do I make your heart race darling?" He questions teasingly. You rolled your eyes, trying desperately to avoid falling deeper into those deep, alluring orbs of his. He was jesting you, and you were giving into it.

You would be lying to yourself if you said you didn't like him. You did, very much. But it was forbidden. What would your families say when rumors of you falling in love with the heir of Lee Medical Co. circulate? The companies' reputation would shatter.

Is Lee Donghyuck worth all that chaos? Maybe.

"You're a friend Donghyuck. You know the history between our families." You answered him, trying to seemingly forget the thousands of butterflies in your body. He licks his lips and crosses his arms over his chest. The way his tongue ran over his pinkish lips, it made your knees go weak, your mind fuzzy, unable to form coherent thoughts.

He reaches out to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear, and whispers, "I know darling. But what will you do about those looks of affection that you give me? You don't think I notice them?"

You pushed him away from you and raised your brow, "Notice what Lee Donghyuck?"

He smirks once more.

"The way you stare at me darling. As if you've never seen such a masterpiece. As if I was some deity that descended from the sky. How you lick your lips when you stare at mine and how eagerly you try to avoid making eye contact with me, apprehensive that you may fall deeper than the depths of tartaros, with no way of getting back up. I notice them all darling."

He was right, and there was no denying it. You were scared, agitated that these feelings you had for him, would put you at risk and end up bringing affliction to your cynical heart. He had such charms that lured you towards him. Those that make your sense of thinking, incomprehensive.

Lee Donghyuck was the type of love that never could be. He was the seemingly perfect love story that ended tragically. He was that love that was beautiful, a love so patient, so kind, so genuine, but impermissible. He was that love that the world conspired against.

He was an illicit desire.

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jungshookz · 5 years

Text

falling in crayolove; (kindergartenteacher!taehyung)

✎ pairing: kim taehyung x reader

✎ genre: kindergartenteacher!au, workingman!au, F L U F F, tiny bit of angst at the start :-( but this is literally 98% fluff; y/n and taehyung are like two little kids with little crushes on each other

✎ trigger warning(s): implications of getting an abortion!!

✎ wordcount: 10.5k

✎ summary: y/n is a very single mom and taehyung is a very single kindergarten teacher. emma knows exactly what she needs to do.

✎ note: okay LOOK before you get into reading, this isn’t technically a full fic! this is what happens when you cross a full fic and a baby drabble = this is a BABY FIC which explains why the word count is much smaller compared to the usual! (ps i will probably?? be writing more baby fics for characters such as garbageman!tae or.,,. oTher characters that i can’t think of right now lmao) i was originally going to leave kindergarten!tae as it was and i was just going to continue to write baby drabbles for him but i felt like he deserved a fic?? buT then i was conflicted because his original drabble literally already tells us the full story and i was like ok.,. what else is there to say.,,. sweats,,.. anyways this is what i ended up with! in case you were wondering, yES the original drabble is included in this fic since it’s a crucial part of the story and it would have been a waste to not use it but if you don’t want to read that you’re welcome to just skiP on over to the end lol. also emma is four years old and tae is a pre-kindergarten teacher because i changed my MIND - enjoy!!

pst if u wanna talk to y/n or emma or tae u know what to do ;-)

(gif isn’t mine!)

(((and the read more function iS there but most of the time it doesn’t work on mobile :// i am sorry don’t attack me by sending passive-aggressive anon messages)))

ah, yes.

to be young and i-

“i’m pregnant?!”

the reason why you came to the doctors today was because you thought you had some sort of stomach flu

at first it wasn’t a big deal

but then it started getting worse and you literally thought you had a parasite from eating at that dingy sushi place and you were mad at jin for like a week because it was hIs idea to go there and it’s not fair that hE didn’t get an upset tummy >:-(

jin reminded you that he warNed you about the sea urchin and you responded by smacking the back of his head

you have to admit

it is relieving to know that there isn’t a dangerous parasite living inside of you and feasting on your organs

it’s a,.,. ???

how would one describe a baby as a parasite

a perfectly natural parasite living inside of you!

well

it certainly explains things

the sudden onslaught of violent puking in the morning

you thought it was because your yogurt was starting to get a little funky but apparently it’s because there’s a baby growing inside of you!!!11!!!!

also you should probably start learning how to be more aware of the things that you’re putting inside of your body

also

this should have been a big hint: your period didn’T come this month and your red rain has never EVER been late

“but… i don’t understand.” you let out a breath and lean back against the reclining chair while staring up at the ceiling fan

the lightbulb flickers

“i- we use condoms and- we practice safe sex!!!” you exasperate and sit back up to look at dr. kim “we’re very vERy safe!!!”

“condoms are only effective 98% of the time.”

“yeAH that’s a preTTY BIG percentage” your knuckles grow white as you clench tightly around the arms of the seat in frustration

98%!!!!!!!

that means there was a 2% chance that the condom didn’t work and obviously you are part of that 2%!!!!!

“do you take birth control pills?”

“um, is the sky blue?? yes!!!!” you reply as if it’s the most obvious answer in the entire world

“the sky’s grey today.” dr. kim raises a brow at you before pointing behind you out the window “do you take them consistently?”

“ye-“ you press your lips together “…s…?”

sometimes you.,.., skip a day or two

you’re busy!!!!! you don’t always have the time to remember to pop a tiny pill into ur mouth

you didn’t think it’d be such a big deal

and you certainly didn’t think it’d result in u.., actually getting pregnant

“how many weeks…?” you trail off uneasily and pick at some lint on your sweater

you don’t feel so good now

it’s honestly probably because this baby is about to make you puke again but

oh god

you’re pregnant

you’re barely legal and you’re pregnant

you still see yourself as a kid!!!

you’re a kid who’s going to be raising a kid!!!!!!

kids should NOT be raising kids!!!!!!

“you are about… six weeks pregnant.” dr. kim flips through a chart before looking up at you with a small smile “currently, your baby is about the size of a sweet pea…”

in case it’s not clear

it takes two to tango

in this case

your tango partner is none other than son hyun-woo

otherwise known as

shownu

you’re going over to his apartment for dinner tonight and as much as you doN’t want to tell him you’re pregnant, he’s probably going to become suspicious when your stomach starts growing bigger and rounder as the months go by

you’ve been with shownu since grade eleven

it’s been a great four years!!!

shownu is very sweet and kind and caring and handsome and every other positive adjective that’s ever been recorded in the dictionary

you even chose to go to the same university as him just so you guys could stay together

he’s the captain of the soccer team which is a fact that you like to share with literally everYone because..,,. why wouLDn’t you brag about your soccer captain boyfriend

he’s… he’s the love of your life and that’s one thing you know for sure

you see yourself getting married to him and having kids with him and growing old with him

,..,you’re just not sure if he’d be down to do all of that stuff starting noW

you wipe your sweaty palms down on your leggings as shownu sets the plate of fried rice in front of you “i know you don’t like spicy things, but i threw in a liTTLE tiny baby bit of kimchi in here” he hums and takes a seat across from you “it should be fine though… if not, i made a backup plate of plain fried rice for you!”

you have half a mind to start off the announcement with ‘ah, yes, speaking of baBiES-‘ but perhaps that’s not the best approach to this delicate situation

frick

maybe you should tell him later

but.,,. it’s better to tell him soOner than later

you just don’t know what’s going to happen and you hate it when you’re unable to predict things

how is he going to take it??

he’s usually a very supportive boyfriend but this is a completely nEW kind of supportive

“by the way, thanks for helping me out with my sociology presentation. it went pretty well except for when the prof started asking questions related directly to my slides but luckiLy i was able to bullshit and finesse my way out of-“

“i’m pregnant.” you blurt out

shownu immediately chokes and his fork falls onto his plate with a loud clatter

“you’re-“ he pats his chest a couple times and takes a biG swig of water

he clears his throat

“you’re- i’m sorry, you’re what?”

“i… am… preg…nant.” you mutter sheepishly “pregnant.”

shownu stares at you with wide eyes and for a second you think you’ve broken your boyfriend

and then he snaps out of it

“dude, we’re 19 years old, i don’t wanna be a dad-!“

ok first of all did he just call you dude

and second of all

“and you think i wanna be a mom? we’re both part of this and we need to take full responsibility for our actions. w-we should have been more careful but-“

“i was the careful one! you were the one who was supposed to be on top of your stuPId pills and you couldn’t even remember to take them everyday and now look where we are!”

“look, it’s not the end of the world-“ your fingers tighten around the napkin on your lap

“god, y/n, how dumb are you?! this is going to ruin my life! you knoW how hard i’ve worked to get this soccer scholarship and all of that is about to be completely fucking derailed because of this dumb fucking baBy and- i’m not- no!” shownu snaps and slams a fist against the table

water sloshes out of both your guys’ cups from the vibrations

the dishes rattle slightly and you immediately divert your gaze to your lap

“i don’t want this baby!” he exasperates and throws his head back before placing his hands over his face “god, my parents… what the hell are they going to think??”

he looks over at you and shakes his head “you planned this, didn’t you?”

“wh- what??” your brows knit together and you let out a scoff “what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“you planned this so that i’d have no choice but to stay with you because you’re carrying my child”

“shownu- obviously i didn’t fucking plan to get pregnant, it was an acCIdent and-“

“if you keep this baby, i will leave you.” shownu growls “get rid of it.”

at first you were upset

but now you’re just angry

how dare he speak to you like this?

“what did you just say to me?” you scoff and cross your arms

“i don’t want this baby. we cannot keep this baby. we will not be raising this baby. understand?”

jesus

“fine.” you murmur quietly “we won’t keep this baby.”

you swallow the lump in your throat and blink away your tears before letting out a shaky breath

“good.” shownu visibly relaxes and clears his throat before picking up his fork

he shovels a big bite of rice into his mouth “after dinner, we’ll make an appointment to go to the abortion clinic tomorrow afternoon. i think it’ll be fine if i skip the first half of training but hopefully we’ll be back before-“

the chair screeches against the floor as you get up and shownu immediately gets up as well “hey, where are you going?”

“you’re right, shownu. we won’t be keeping this baby - i’ll be keeping this baby. and i will raise my baby on my own.” you snap and reach down to grab your bag before storming to the front door

shownu doesn’t stop you

and you don’t look back.

the rest of the night goes by in a blur

it’s pretty fitting that it’s raining like crazy outside

you drop your backpack and keys on the floor once you get back to your apartment

you peel your sopping wet jacket off and toss it on the couch before kicking your shoes off

honestly

it feels like time’s stood still

it’s just white noise in your brain and you can’t seem to focus on anything

you flick the bedside lamp on and a cast of warm yellow washes over your room

you sit cross-legged on the floor at the side of your bed and let out a breath

the atmosphere is completely silent except for the sound of rain gently drumming against the window

a flash of lightning briefly lights up the sky

in the distance, you hear the slight rumble of thunder

you dial your mom’s number with shaky fingers and click the speaker button before setting it down on the mattress

brrrrrinnng

brrrrri-

your mom picks up on the third ring which was wAY sooner than you thought she’d pick up

“hey, look who finally called!”

you open your mouth to speak when suddenly you feel an overwhelming wave of anxiety and fear rush over you

you should have planned something before calling her

what’s the right way for a teenage daughter to tell her mother that she’s pregnant?

is she going to be disappointed with you?

is she going to be angry with you? tell you that you’re irresponsible and that she saw this coming from miles away?

is she going to tell you that this is something you’ll have to deal with yourself?

your parents worked so hard to get you here and they work hard to this day to continue paying for your tuition fees

and you’re about to tell them that hey, i’m pregnant

you haven’t even said anything and you’re already losing your composure

your nails dig into the flesh of your palm as you ball your hands into fists

“-i was wondering when i’d hear from you. your dad isn’t back from work yet but i’ll make sure to tell him that you called. i’m just making dinner now, i’m trying out this new pasta dish that-“

“mom?” your voice cracks and you clamp your lips together and shake your head

your bottom lip trembles and your vision starts to blur with tears almost instantly

oh god

you can’t do this

you feel your face burning up as you try your hardest to hold it back

a beat of silence goes by and you hear some shuffling on the other end of the phone

the first tear rolls down your cheek

“…honey, what’s wrong?”

and that’s all it takes

the rest of the tears follow in an unbroken stream

you immediately let out a pained sob before leaning forward and pressing your hands against the cold floor beneath you

you begin to cry with such force that your chest starts to hurt and your heart starts to clench and you feel like you could pass out at any moment

your mom can barely make out what you’re saying through your blubbering but she manages to pick out ‘pregnant’ and that’s all she needs to know

she waits for you to sob your heart out before deciding to speak up

she asks if you have the resources to raise a child

no, you don’t

she asks if you even want to have this child

yes, you do

she asks you if shownu wants to have this child

no, he doesn’t, but that doesn’t matter to you

she tells you how much she loves you and absolutely nothing is going to change that fact

after all, you’re her baby no matter what

you find comfort in knowing that you have some form of a support system and you’re not completely on your own

you turn and twist in the mirror as you keep your eyes glued on your bare stomach

you were about to take a quick shower but once you stripped off all your clothes you were suddenly moRe aware of your tummy

you don’t look pregnant

you don’t even feel pregnant

it’s just,.,. odd

knowing that there’s a living human growing inside of you

“it’s just you and me against the world, sweet pea.” you smooth a hand over your bare stomach and give it a gentle pat

just you and sweet pea

nine months seem to go by in a blur

shownu never reaches out to you and you never reach out to him

as far as you’re concerned you don’t want anything to do with him

as far as you’re concerned this is your baby and your baby alone

your ankles become swollen and your breasts become sore and weighty

your skin gets blotchy at some point and there’s not enough concealer in the world to hide the angry pimples dotted all over your face

ur mom says u were supposed to be glowing during pregnancy..,,. the only kind of glowing ur doing is from the gREASE

you find yourself casually throwing anchovies into your vanilla ice cream and topping it off with balsamic vinegar

you had to start taking online classes because it was becoming too hard having to transport to campus every day

every time you see a dog on the street you burst into tears because hOUHG my GOD it’S so cuTE *snorts*

you’re in the middle of a midterm when you feel sweet pea kick for the first time and it takes everything within you to not start crying in the middle of the examination hall

jin comes over to your apartment for study sessions but most of the time it ends up with him taping his earbuds to the swell of your tummy and letting sweet pea listen to some classical music

he goes through this phase where he’s obsessed with healing crystals and your apartment becomes scattered with rose quartzes and jaspers because he’s doing it for the baby

occasionally he makes you lie down so he can place small crystals in a circle around your belly button so that the healing energy will be absorbed into your body and into the baby

you’re thankful that you have a friend like him even though he’s literally a lunatic

your mom comes into town once a month and stays for about a week just to take care of you and make sure that both you and the baby are happy and healthy

as time goes on, your little sweet pea grows into a fuLL on watermelon

and eventually-

“jesus chRIST-“ your chest heaves with exhaustion as you lie back against the hospital bed

oh my god

that was the woRST eight hours of your life

your lower body is completely numb and you don’t even want to think about how buSted your vagina looks right now

you put her through a loT today!!!!

“here she is, mama!” the nurse gently places your screAMing bundle of joy in your arms and suddenly all the blood sweat and tears is completely worth it

“hi, sweet pea…” you laugh lightly as her tiny, mucousy hand wraps around your finger

she’s so beautiful

“i’m your mommy…” your eyes are glistening with tears of joy (aND pain) and you lean in to press a tiny kiss to the top of her head “just u nd me against the world”

well

that was four years ago

it’s pretty strange how quickly time can go by

four years ago you were nineteen years old

four years ago you were in a committed, loving relationship with someone you thought you were going to spend the rest of your life with

four years ago you were in your second year of university; first year was a hellish nightmare and you were just starting to figure things out

four years ago you found out you were pregnant and your world was turned upside down

and now you’re twenty-three years old

a lot has changed in the past four years

you are no longer in a committed, loving relationship with someone you thought you were going to spend the rest of your life with; in fact, you haven’t been in another relationship since shownu,., you haven’t even been on any dates

you are in your fifth year of university because you couldn’t graduate last year due to the fact that you were missing some credits; luckily you have moSt of university life figured out at this point even though you occasionally stiLL get lost on campus sometimes

you found a pretty stable job at a drug store a couple blocks away from the apartment

it’s not much but it pays the bills (your parents will occasionally chip in and help out if u need it) ((you’re very grateful to have the parents that you have))

jin is still a big fat doofus (he’s not aS obsessed with crystals but u keep them in the apartment because they’re pretty)

emma’s in pre-k now!!!! it seems like it was only yesterday that she started walking and talking

and now she won’t stop walking,.,. or talking

no tea no shade

emma is the absolute light of your life!!

and you would straight up SLAUGHTER anyone who would try to hurt her

:~)

she’s your little ball of sunshine who smothers you with kisses every morning to wake you up and writes ‘i lov3 mommy’ on literally any surface she can find (you’re flattered but u need to have a word with her about using lipstick to write on the walls) and always wants to help you make breakfast and dinner or fold the laundry or sweep the floors

emma is a peculiar little girl and you are so, so proud to be able to call yourself her mother

she’s compassionate and kindhearted and thoughtful and polite

she never forgets to say please and thank you

she likes to wait for you to get to the dinner table as well before digging into her spaghetti (she can’t pronounce spaghetti yet so she jumbles it together and it becomes spapeggi)

she likes watching nature documentaries (docummeneries) with you and would genuinely choose to watch that over the powerpuff girls or even spongebob and you were like ???? because yOU low-key want to watch spongebob and u don’t want to have to confess to your four year old daughter that you want to watch cartoons instead of a documentary

on mother’s day she woke you up with kisses and breakfast in bed!! she made you a peanut butter and strawberry jelly sandwich and you have to admit that it was *mwah* very scrumptious

emma is very curious as to who her dad is or if she even hAs a dad

she thought jin was her dad and jin was only slightly offended at how hard you laughed at that when she brought it up

because all the kids at school seem to have dads and she only has a mom

which isn’t a problem at all it’s just,.,. she wants to know

like her friend hwayoung has a dad!!!

and his name is hwayoung’s dad

that’s all she knows about him

one time all the kids in class were talking about their dads and emma didn’t have anything to say but lucKily she was able to steer the attention away from herself

(“my dad’s a dentist” “mine is a doctor!” “mine is a cee-hee-ho! emma, what does your dad-“ “cee-hee-ho of what?” “…i dunno” “yeah, cee-hee-ho of what?!”)

talking to emma about shownu is a tricky situation

“your dad is a very, very busy... soccer player...?”

you don’t actually know what shownu’s been up to besides the fact that he’s on the national soccer team which is gReat for him but every time you think about that stupid boy you can’t help but revisit the night when he basically told you that you would ruin his entire life if you kept the child-

“how come he never visits?” emma furrows her brows as she tries to twirl spaghetti around her fork

the noodles are too slippery and emma yelps in surprise when some sauce splatters onto her face

“he… the important thing here is that you have mommy, okay?” you smile and reach over to wipe the tomato chunk off her chubby cheek “don’t worry about your dad.”

emma doesn’t know a lot

but she knows enough to not bring it up again

anyways

even though you’re a mother now

that doesn’t necessarily mean that you automatically have your shit together becAUSe-

“shit shit shit shIt shit” you curse to yourself as you vEEr right into the first parking spot you see

you immediately crank the brake and unbuckle your seatbelt

“i was going to park there, asshole!” you hop out of the car to see an angry looking mother glaring at you from her minivan and you give her a sheepish smile

“i’m sorry!!!! my kid just got off from class and i can’t be late because i need to drive her to ballet and-“ you’re definitely oversharing with this stranger and she obviously doesn’t care because she rolls her eyes and flips you off before zoOming off to find another parking spot

soccer moms are so aggressive

you double check that you have everything with you and you fish your parent lanyard out of your backpack and sling it around your neck quickly as you approach the front doors

you thought that once you became a mother you would instantly become more responsible more organised more matuRe

obviously you were mistAken because you’re still late to almost everything you go to

some things never change!!!!

you hurry your way down the hallway and pick up the pace when you see the swarm of parents standing outside the classroom

as you approach the crowd you get up on your tip-toes to see if emma’s been excused yet

you accidentally bump into a couple and a bit of your coffee splashes onto their shoulders and they turn around and give you a dirty look

“oh, sorry!!!! ….fridays, am i right?” you joke and they both scowl before shuffling to stand somewhere else

oof

tough crowd

none of the parents here like u that much

which is a real shame because you think you make greAt company

you’re just,.,, there’s a big age gap between u and most of the parents here

you’re one of the younger parents in the class

actually you might be the youngest

min yoongi and his wife (you forgot her name whoOps) are pretty young but they’re still a couple years older than you

and side note their daughter is adoraBle

emma is actually friends with hwayoung so you talk to yoongi sometimes

it’s nice to talk to someone who’s around your age

he’s just veRy businessman-y so it’s difficult to joke around with him

but he’s still a nice guy!!

speaking of yoongi and hwayoung

a bright smile makes its way onto your face when you see yoongi nudging hwayoung through the crowd of people before grabbing onto her small hand

“yoongi!” yoongi looks up and he smiles politely

he’s still dressed all spic and span in his suit from work

“ah! good afternoon, y/n. hwayoung, say good afternoon to emma’s mom.” he hums before bending down to zip up her backpack that’s just wiDe open

relatable

“good afternoon, emma’s mom!!” she looks up at you with bright eyes

she’s sO CuTE

“hi, hwayoung-ie!” you bend down and pinch her cheek before reaching into the pocket of your coat and fishing out a little caramel “don’t tell your dad,” you joke and yoongi snorts in response

“thank u!!!!!” she snaTches it immediately and you coo before pinching her cheek again

you get back up onto your feet “you guys on your way home now?”

“mhm. is emma still available for a playdate this sunday?” yoongi swoops hwayoung off her feet and props her up onto his hip and she immediately rests her head against his shoulder

“affirmative, sir.” you salute and yoongi rolls his eyes playfully “i-“

“emma y/l/n?” you perk up when you hear emma’s name being called

“yeah, we’ll see you sunday! have a nice night!” you turn to squeeze your way into the crowd and once you make your way to the front your heart immediately starts going boom-boom because

it’s taehyung

emma’s teacher

kim taehyung is uh

whOo

putting it simply he is a very attractive man and he’s only a couple months older than you so like you’re preTTY sure this is god’s way of telling you it’s meant to be

the only time you’ve really talk to him is during the parent-teacher conference and even theN you can barely get a word in because emma’s a little chatterbox (one time she almost let it slip that ‘mommy dressed extra pretty for you!’ and you were literally about to pounce on your child in the middle of a classroom)

he’s really sweet n nice and when he smiles that boxY grin you can’t help but smile aNd he’s endearingly dorky and super charming aND funny and he’s so good with the kids and OH my god his voice is like..,., silky smooth dark chocolate.,,.,. rich caramel.,, that u want to driZZLE all over your BODY

okay no R-rated thoughts when there are children present

don’t be weird

since he’s your kid’s teacher you’re not sure if that’s even allowed

the whole parents dating teachers thing

anyways

he looks so soft today

he’s wearing a crisp button up with a pair of jeans

he obviously let the kids mess with his hair because he has a little sproUT in his hair

and you’re pretty sure you have a glasses kink because you’ve never felt this way when seeing someone with their glasses sitting on the top of their head

“hi, yeah, that’s me- i mean, that’s not me, but that’s my child- you know what i mean” you blow a strand of hair away from your face before adjusting your backpack with a sheepish grin

woW what the hell was that lol

taehyung presses his lips together to keep himself from bursting into chuckles

you’re so awkward sometimes but he supposes that’s just part of your charm

he wants to tell you you look real cute in your periwinkle sweater

and it’s endearing how the laces on your converse shoes are undone

no doubt from your frantic running down the hallway (he notices everything)

but of course he has to keep it professional because you are the parent of one of his students it doesn’t matTer that you’re the same age as him and that he’s very very very veRY attracted to you

“hi miss y/l/n.” taehyung smiles kindly before ticking next to your name on the clipboard “emma’ll be ready in a minute! we did finger-painting today so the kids are taking a little longer to wash up. how was your day?” he suddenly remembers the little ponYTAIL in his hair and he yanks the hair tie off quickly

“oh, y’know, the usual. it’s not super exciting having to keep studying after four whole years of studying.” you snort before pulling your own hair tie from your ponytail and letting your hair down

“i admire that! education is important.” taehyung hums

your hair looks so soft

it probably smells good too

o god he’s being creepy stop being creepy

“i suppose you’re right. what else happened…uh… had a really good caramel macchiato and a mediocre turkey sandwich for lunch-“

“mommy!” you snap out of your little trance when emma suddenly ziPs out of the classroom

her little backpack bounces against her back

“hi baby!” you grin and swoOp down to scoop her up into your arms

you smoosh kisses against her chubby cheek while she giggles away before you plop her back down onto the ground

it takes everything within taehyung not to mELT into the ground because even tho he sees you do that basically every day it never fails to turn him into a pile of mush IT’S SO CUTE

“we finger-painted today!” she cheers and holds her paper up for you to look at

“yeah, mr kim was just telling me-“

“that’s me, n that’s you, n that’s mr. kim!” she grins and points to the third figure in the painting and almost immediately bOTH yours and tae’s faces go bright red

you think you might actually be on fire right now (even tho this isn’t the first time this has hAPPENeD) ((ur referring to the time the class made play-doh people and emma made one of you and one of tae and the play-doh versions of you two are holding hands))

“oh! that’s, heh, uh, that’s nice! that’s so good, you did a good job, baby” you clear your throat and your eyes flicker over to taehyung

he tilts his head and offers you a meek smile

“will you put it up on the fridge when we go home?” she asks as you tuck it into her backpack for her before ziPping her bag up

“mhm…” you get back up onto your feet and dust your knees off “say g’bye to mr. kim”

“bye mr. kim!” emma turns around and hugs his legs

her face is like on the same level as his knees so he’s basically kneeing her and are u an awful mother if you kinda laughed at that

“goodbye, sweetheart!” he replies with the same level of enthusiasm as he gets down onto his knees so that he can give her a proper hug and she gives him a sweet lil kiss on the cheek “have a nice weekend, hm?” his eyes flicker up to you and you feel your heart skip a beat

emma pulls away from him and skips over to you “oh, and don’t forget to tie your laces, emma.” taehyung hums as he gets back up onto his feet

you look down because you remember putting emma in slip-on converse this morning not-

“he means you, mama.” emma not-so-subtly whispers and you look down at your undone laces before looking back up at taehyung who’s looking very amused at the moment

there it is again

that fuzzy feeling in your stuPid heart

u know what

you have to get over it because it’s never going to happen

you’re an adult

you can get over it fine you’ll be finE

this is just a silly little crush

“how do you feel about spaghetti and garlic bread for dinner?” you clutch emma’s little hand in yours as you guys make your way down the empty hallway

look

spaghetti is the only thing you’re actually reaLLy good at making okAY

obviously you feed your child other things,,,.., she likes kimchi fried rice with chunks of spam,,.,. a refreshing greek salad,,.. peanut butter (beanut putter) and jelly sandwiches,.,., sometimes a little fruit salad,,.,.

“yummy! with extra cheese?”

“it wouldn’t be as yummy without the extra cheese… but we obviously have to go to our usual place to get a hot chocolate first…” you’re rambling on and on about hot chocolate but emma isn’t really paying attention

because she has concocted a sneaky plan in that tiny brain of hers

she knows you like mr. kim

and she’s positive mr. kim likes you back

you always get so red around him

and he always gets so red around you

and red is the colour of love

which means that you must love mr. kim and mr. kim must love you

and she’s been trying her hardest to try and get you guys to hold hands or touch butts or whatever it is grown-ups do to prove they love each other

but each time she does something she’s never successful!!!

she tried to tell mr. kim about you dressing extra pretty for him but you smacked a hand over her mouth before she could get it out

she made a play-doh mommy and a play-doh mr. kim and presented them proudly to you and mr. kim and the both of you just laUGHED in hER FACE

do you people think she’s just a SIMPLE F O O L

and she has to admit the painting of you and her and mr. kim is probably one of her weaker moves but it’s better than nothing

and u know what

she just wants you to be happy

because she loves you a lot

and you’re a good mommy

and good mommies deserve to be happy

and from what she knows

mommies need daddies (sometimes mommies can be with other mommies!!!)

but yOU, specifically

you need a daddy

and mr. kim is the perfect fit!!! she likes mr. kim a lot

he’s always really nice to her and he lets her braid his hair and he gives her candies and kisses her cheeks

this next part is all part of her evil plan and she’s positive that this time something will happen

all of her peers (including herself) have their own cubbies in the classroom

emma purposely left her snack box in there so that you’d have a reason to go back

AND she left a little note in there for you and (hopefully) mr. kim to read

emma is your child after all

meaning she’s a very verY clever girl

she just has to wait for the right time.,.,.

and the right time is noW

“mommy, my snack box is still in the classroom!!” emma stops in her tracks and you nod before pointing to the direction of the classroom

“go ahead, go get it”

“but i need to pee.” she squeezes her legs together and makes a face of discomfort “you need to get the snack box, mommy”

“i-“ you look back at the closed door of the classroom “mommy can wait for you to finish peeing and then you can go-“

“no, no, you need to go get it i need to pEE” the next thing you know she’s spRInting towards the washroom and you’re left standing in the middle of the hallway with question marks floating around your head

what in the hickory ham is going on

“gO GET MY SNACK BOX MOMMY” you hear her voice echo from the washroom

“alRIght alright” you snort before turning and heading back to the classroom

you don’t know why you’re suddenly so nervous

you’re retrieving your daughter’s snack box from her super attractive teacher that you definitely have a crush on there’s nothing to be nervous about

hi tae! emma left the ol’ snack box up in here!

whaddup mr. kim! mind if i just pOP right in??

yo Yo yOOoo have u seen a purple box anywhere?? because it belongs to emma and i need it

o god

all of these options are terrible

you need more time to rehearse your lines-

you’re about to reach up to knock on the door when suddenly it swiNgs right open and you stumble back in surprise

“oh shit!” taehyung reaches out and grabs onto your waist before you can fall flat on your aSS and you let out a squeak

in the midst of your almost-fall you’d grabbed onto his bicep and now.,.., he has an arm…, wrapped around your waist.,., while you have one hand on his bicep and one hand curled around the nape of his neck.,,,..,.,

the two of you snap out of your respective trances when you hear a door open down the hallway and you immediately leT GO of each other

also tae was right ur hair does smell really nice

“hi. sorry about that! i was on my way to the washroom and i didn’t know you were outside…” he clears his throat and prays to god he’s not as red as a tomato right now

“no, no! it was my bad, i’m sorry.” you reach up and scratch the back of your neck “i, uh, emma said she left her snack box in here.” you breathe out

“oh, uh, come in! i’ll help you search for it. it’s probably in her cubby. she’s always leaving things in there.” taehyung falls back into his ‘mr. kim’ persona as he leads you towards the cubbies in the back “let’s see… emma… here~” he bends down and you follow suit

oh my go d he even smells good is this aLLOWed

you perk up when you spot emma’s box

“hey, you’re right! here it is-“ you reach in and grab the box but you’re surprise when you notice the piece of paper stuck to the back of it

it’s an A4 piece of paper with a little card stuck to it and a note written in crayon on it

you recognise the card

it’s the business card of that little cafe you take emma to every friday after school

the one that you’re supposed to take her to right noW

‘mommy’s faveriate drink is karomal makkiatoe and mr. kim’s faverieote drink is hot chalklate’

“huh.” both you and tae are kinda just staring at the note

the gears are click-click-clicking away in both your guys’ heads

and then it hits the both of you at the same time

oh.

taehyung isn’t typically a ballsy guy but like

he’s feeling vEry brave all of a sudden

“can i take you out sometime?” he blurts out and your eyes widen in surprise

well

you certainly weren’t expecting that

the both of you get back up onto your feet and you tuck emma’s box into your backpack

your cheeks flare up and you let out a little chuckle before scratching the back of your neck “i… uh…”

“i mean, don’t feel pressured to say yes just because i’m emma’s teacher!” taehyung stammers “i just, y’know, i don’t want to overstep here but i think you’re a very beautiful woman and-“

“i would love to.” you clear your throat and take your bottom lip in between your teeth “yeah, i would love to. actually, uh- emma and i, we usually go to this cafe every friday - if you’re free right now, maybe you can come and join us?” you rub your slighTLy damp hands on the back of your jeans and taehyung immediately lightS up and nods quickly

“i would love that. yeah, just… just gimme a second to clean up real quick! i’ll meet you and emma outside?”

“great! yeah, totally. she’s just.. she’s peeing right now so i should probably go check and see that she hasn’t flushed herself down the toilet or anything” you joke as you make your way towards the door and tae splits off to head to his desk “i’ll see you outside!”

you shut the door behind you and you have to quickly press yourself against the wall and you nearly bite your bottom lip off to keep yourself from screaming

your heart is going a million miles an hour and there are butterflies just having a raVE in your stomach

as soon as you leave the room taehyung pumps a fiST into the air in victory because Y E S HE DID IT

“did you find my box?” emma’s sitting outside the washroom as you approach her and you raise a brow before nodding

“mhm.” she gets up and grabs onto your hand before looking back at the classroom door

huh

did her plan not work

she knows she’s not supposed to say bad words but what the h*ck

she really thought her plan would work!!!!

“mr. kim’s joining us for hot chocolate today, by the way. hope you don’t mind.” you add casually and a cheshire-cat grin takes over emma’s face

the whole time you and emma and tae are at the cafe emma can’t help but feel proud of herself

you and mr. kim are sitting very vEry close to each other in your booth chatting away while she sits opposite of you two quietly nibbling at a scone and taking small sips of her hot chocolate

S U C C E S S has never tasted so good

luckily enough emma’s ballet class was cancelled today and you secretly thank the gods above because you’re having a really nice time with taehyung and it would have been a big ol bummer to have to leave early

he’s so sweet and considerate and he’s a really good listener

and he’s sO funny and super dorky in the best way possible

“oh my gosh, don’t even get me started on nap time. i love watching the kids sleep!” he pauses and his eyes widen “i promise i wasn’t trying to make that as creepy as it came out… they’re just so cute when they sleep!!! …okay, yeah, that still sounded creepy.”

you’re having so much fun with tae you’ve barely paid any attention to emma which is totally fine to her because she wanTs you and mr. kim to talk more

it’s just

emma gets pretty sleepy after a good snack or meal

sometimes she falls asleep halfway through eating (she used to do that a lot when she was a baby) ((one time she fell face flat into a bowl of mushy peas))

and the blueberry scone paired with the hot chocolate.,., that was a good snack,,..,

“oh my gosh, look at the time-“ your eyes widen when you realise it’s literally almost seven o’clock

you turn to look at emma and immediately stifle a laugh when you realize what’s happened

she fell asleep

her mouth is agape and there are a couple crumbs dusting her bottom lip

she only finished half her scone and she’s griPPing the other half in her tiny hand

you scrunch your nose and turn back to face tae “em and i should probably head home…”

it sucks because it’s still pretty early and u really really wanna keep hanging out with tae but,,.,.

“yeah, don’t worry about it!” tae nods understandingly and dusts his hands off before sliding out of the booth “i’ll help carry her to the car.”

“thank you for treating us to the hot chocolates and scones, by the way.” you hold the door open for tae as he steps outside with emma in his arms

she has her arms wrapped around his neck and her chin propped up on his shoulder

she still has a death grip on that scone

“of course! don’t worry about it.” taehyung hums and follows you to your car parked all the way at the end of the parking lot “by the way - did emma get you to sign the parental form for the trip to the aquarium?”

“she woke me up this morning by shaking it in my face.” you laugh lightly and open the door for tae “i’ll sign it tonight so she can hand it in tomorrow. oh, the car seat’s a little tricky so you can just plop emma in it and i’ll take care of the-“

click

clack

zip

snap

taehyung buckles emma in eaSILy and you’re genuinely taken aback by how quickly he did that

usually it takes you like five minutes to attach the one on her chest

and uh,,.., you’re pretty sure watching him being able to smoothly operate a child’s car seat isn’t supposed to be hot,.,. but dat shit was kinda hot

“sorry about that. what were you saying?” taehyung pulls away and closes the car door shut gently

“uh,.., i was just talking about that aquarium field trip form.” you clear your throat and resist the urge to fan your face

“ah, right! i’ve been meaning to ask - would you maybe be interested in being a chaperone for that field trip? we already have a couple parents who have signed up, but,.., i don’t know, i thought maybe it’d be fun to,.,”

okay taehyung has no idea how to word this

he just wants u to be a chaperone as a sneaky excuse to spend more time with you lol

“emma actually tricked me into signing up to become a chaperone, so unfortunately, you will be stuck with me for like six hours straight.” you smile and punch tae’s arm lightly

“sounds like a rough time but i’m sure i’ll be able to soldier through it.” he teases and raises a perfectly arched brow

a moment of silence goes by and all that can be heard is the slight buzzing from the cafe’s neon OPEN sign along with the faint chirping of crickets

“so, miss y/l/n.” tae clears his throat “can i put you down in charge of sandwiches and juice boxes?”

“sounds good, mr. kim.” you playfully resort back to your proFesSional names and you both stand up a little straighter before bursting into giggles

you don’t know what it is

maybe it’s because tae’s the first guy in a while you actually genuinely romantically like

maybe it’s because it makes you happy knowing that emma adores him and he adores emma

maybe it’s because within a couple of hours he’s successfully wormed his way into your heart because he’s so warm and kind and caring

but you have an overwhelming urge to just-

ᵖᵉᵏ

you surprise yourself when you lean in to plant a tiny kiss on taehyung’s cheek

his eyes widen and his cheeks flush in surprise

he reaches up to adjust his square-framed glasses before letting out a small chuckle “i look forward to seeing you tomorrow morning, miss y/l/n.”

taehyung drives home that night with a megawatt smile on his face

anyone who passed by probably thought he was a maniac but he doesn’t care!!!!!!!

you kissed him on the cheek!!!!!!

he’s a maniac in love!!!!!!!!

you’re not any better

once you park the car in the driveway you let out a breath and then a little squeal and punch the horn compLetely forgetting that emma was still snoozing away in the back

emma peels one eye open to look at you and you lock gazes in the mirror

she immediately squeezes her eyes shut

you turn around and gawk at her “how long have you been awake for?”

“long enough 2 know dat u kissed mr kim on the cheek” she replies with her eyes still shut

goD

she really is a sneaky little bugger

“come on, mama - let’s go see your boyfriend!!!!” emma drags you down the hallway and you nearly stumble over your feet

“he’s not- mr kim is noT mommy’s boyfriend-“

“okay.,,.” emma pauses for a split second before her face lights up again “let’s go see your daddy!!!”

you choke

“that’s nOT ANY BETTER-“

surprisingly enough you made it a liTTle bit before eight o’clock when usually you always buSt in through the doors at like 8:05

the other parents are dropping their kids off for the day and it’s safe to say that this is the first time you’ve seen yoongi in the morning

he has a little bit of bedhead but

his tie is nice and neat as per usual

“good morning, yoongi! morning, hwayoung!!” you chirp and offer him a smile before reaching down to pat hwayoung’s head

“morning, y/n. morning, emma.” he smiles back at you before turning his head and letting out a small yawn

“good morning, hwayoung n hwayoung’s dad!!!” emma grins and bounces up and down on her feet

“morning, emma n emma’s mama.” hwayoung hums sleepily and reaches up to rub at her eyes whilst leaning against yoongi

huh

like father like daughter

“min hwayoung?”

you turn your head when you hear tae’s rich baritone voice

somehow it’s even 𝓁𝑜𝓌𝑒𝓇 in the morning

“alright, in you go. i’ll see you after school, chunky monkey.” yoongi bends down and gives hwayoung a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek before she’s scurrying off to the classroom. “goodbye, y/n. i’ll see you after school as well.” he pats your arm and you laugh lightly before saying goodbye and moving aside to let him through

“emma y/l/n?”

you’re about to sWEep emma up and smoosh kisses all over her face then say goodbye but she grabs your hand and vEry aggressively drags you through the crowd of parents and her peers “emma, what are you-“

“good morning, mr. kim!” emma greets brightly and taehyung looks surprised to see you here because usually he just sees the kid in the morning and not the kid’s parent

“ah, good morning, emma! morning, miss y/l/n.” he smiles shyly before ticking next to emma’s name

“good morning, mr. kim…” you trail off and reach up to scratch the back of your neck

it’s probably because u don’t have any coffee in your system yet but you can’t think of anything else to say

and for a second taehyung forgets that he’s literally in the middle of his job and he has like ten other kids to take care of

“mama, don’t you have something for mr. kim?” emma tugs on your hand and you look down at her before furrowing your brows and shaking your head

“no, i do-“

“yes, you do!” she moves behind you and unZips the front pocket of your backpack and you let out a sQuawk when she yanks you down slightly “here!” emma pulls a shiny red apple out of your bag and hands it to you

you take it from her and raise a brow “i didn’t-“

“you packed this this morning, remember? to give to mr. kim?” she blinks and squeezes her eyes shut before opening them as wide as possible

.,,.is she trying to wink at you?

you’re going to have to teach her how to wink proper- oHHHHHh

“right! i… did! i did pack- here you go, tae- mr. kim.” you smile sheepishly and hand him the red apple

goD

now you feel like a tiny little teacher’s pet because none of the other parents ever bring tae apples and apparently you bring him apples now!!!

“thank you!” taehyung laughs lightly “that’s very sweet of you, miss y/l/n.”

you feel like your entire face is redder than the damn apple “uh, anyWays! em, i will see you later.” you pat the top of her head before nudging her into the room

“bye, mama!”

you glance back at tae “and i will also.,., see u later.,.”

woWie

what an interesting start to the day

“i don’t know how she managed to sneak an apple into my backpack without me noticing.” you slam the car door shut and jin laughs a little and shuts his door

you fling your backpack over your shoulder and jin hands you the takeaway cup of hot chocolate

sometimes you pick jin up from his place after you drop emma off at school just because it’s on the way and jin says he would rather dunk himself in boiling water than go on public transport at 8:30 in the morning

he makes it up to you by paying for the starbucks drivethru drinks

“she’s probably picking it up from me. i am super smooth, after all”

you snort immediately “oh, right, like that one time you- shit!”

“okay firSt of all i would NEVER defecate in public-“

“no, i’m not talking about you, you weirdo!” you scowl before unlocking your car and opening up the passenger seat door “emma left her lunch bag in here…”

jin checks the time on his watch “if you go back and drop it off you’ll only be… twenty-ish minutes late to class? don’t worry, i’ll catch you up on anything that’s important.”

“thAnk you so much you beautiful man-“

seokin gasps and purses his lips “so you ADMIT it you think i’m-“

“oh my god not noW-“ you hop into the driver’s seat and fling your backpack to the front seat before shoving the key into the ignition

you bought one of those fancy sandwich cutters and emma’s peanut butter and jelly sandwich is shaped like a butterfly today and you’ll be daMNed if she doesn’t get a chance to show it off to her classmates

you parked the car hastily so it’s kind of crooked but it’s fiNE

your sneakers squeak against the linoleum as you make your way down the familiar hallway

and you heaR the chorus of kids singing coming from tae’s classroom

you even hear tae singing along

“five little ducks went out one day, over the hill and far away, mother duck said quack quack quack quack, but only four little ducks came back-“

you peek into the room a little and giggle lightly when you see tae wiggling his arms and shaking his butt like a little duckling

how precious!!!!!!!

:’-)

u hate to interrupt the fun morning song but you really gotta get the heCk out of here and go back to class

you already hate that you might be missing 20 minutes of class so you’re trying to minimiZe those minutes as much as possible

you give the bright red door a couple knocks and shoot everyone a sheepish smile when the entire class and tae turn to look at who’s at the door

taehyung tells the kids to busy themselves with the duck song before he excuses himself

“hey!” he steps out of the room and shuts the door behind him “what’s up?”

“hey… emma left her lunch bag in the car so i figured i’d drive back and drop it off so it doesn’t look like i’m a negligent mother.” you joke before holding it out for him to take

“the girl loves her beanut putter sandwiches, doesn’t she?” taehyung takes the bag from you and shakes it gently

he only knows that because she has it for lunch like every day and she’s always showing it off to her friends because ‘my mommy cuts mY sandwiches into hearts because she loves me!!!!!!!!!’

“i keep telling her it’s peanut butter and not beanut putter… i think she knows the difference but she’s just doing it because she’s a little joker.” you snort and look down at the takeaway cup in your hand

you feel bad for interrupting the class so- “oh, before i forget! i brought a hot chocolate for you. it’s from starbucks so you know it haS to be good-“

“first an apple, then a starbucks hot chocolate?” taehyung beams and takes it from you “if i didn’t know any better, it’d seem like you were buttering me up or something…”

“ah, was it really that obvious?” you tease back

a beat of silence goes by

the both of you are now fully aware that there is a mutual attraction here

the unfortunate thing is that you’re both still big ol wuSSIes

taehyung wants to ask you out on a proper date.,.,. which he did yesterday!! but then you kinD of asked him if he wanted to join you and em for hot cocoa and scones??

and he kinda wants to take you out on a date that perhaps doEsn’t include emma.,,. no offence to her, of course!

he just wants some alone time with u

“so… yesterday was nice!”

almost instantly your cheeks flush and you let out a light laugh “yeah, it really was…”

well

he has you alone

so he might as well go for it agaIN

taehyung clears his throat “hey, so… i don’t know if it wasn’t clear yesterday, but i… would you want to go out on a date with me? like, a proper one?”

“you mean yesterday wasn’t a proper date?” your brows knit together and taehyung automatically enters pANIC mode

“n-no, not at all! i kinda meant l-like, ah, i don’t know, maybe this isn’t a good-“

“tae-“ you reach over and pinch his arm gently “i’m kidding. i would… love to go out on a proper date with you.”

taehyung lights up immediately and nods quickly “how does tonight sound? i overheard emma and hwayoung talking about their sleepover tonight, but if you’re busy we can totally find another time to-“

“tonight’s fine! tonight’s good.” you nod and smile at him

taehyung’s heart skips a beat

he doesn’t know why he’s so nervous and stuttery around you

“i can come pick you up at your place since i know where you live-“ oH gOd okay reel it back “-bECAUSE it’s on the registry-“

“sounds good! you can text me what the plans are after class today so that i’ll know what to wear-“

ᵖᵉᵏ

your lashes flutter when taehyung leans forward and kisses your cheek just like you did to him last night

you unintentionally let out a little gasp and reach up to brush your fingers over your reddening cheek “mr. kim! keep it professional…” there’s a playful glint behind your eyes and taehyung can’t help but snort and roll his eyes playfully “besides - it looks like we have an audience.”

he glances over his shoulder and sure enough all the kids are squiShed up against the window in the door to sneak a peek at mr. kim and emma’s mom

“…scATTER-!“ you hear emma and you can’t help but laugh at the sight of the kids panicking and heading back to their spots

you open your mouth to speak

and then it happens

“mr. kim and emma’s mom, sitting in a tree! K-I-S-s,,,,..,,e?,,.i…a!!! i..?” the song trails off into unsure mumbles because none of the kids know how to spell kissing yet and you let out a groan and reach up to cover your face

taehyung stifles a laugh and shakes his head

“i think that’s my cue to leave” you kiss your teeth and point towards the hallway

“you’re going to leave me here to face the merciless teasing of all those kids by myself?!” taehyung gawks at you before turning to look into the classroom where all the kids are huddled by the whiteboard trying to figure out how to spell kissing as if it was some biG ol conspiracy theory

so far they have ‘khisign’ and ‘keccing’ and.,., one kid wrote down ‘kitten’

huh

maybe he should replace morning singing with morning spelling from now on

“i’ll make it up to you, mr. kim!” you’re already hALfway down the hall and taehyung’s heart goes bAbumP when you blow him a kiss

“i’m holding you to that promise, miss y/l/n!”

ah, yes.

to be young and in love.

2K notes · View notes

starkerforlife6969 · 5 years

Text

Con Artist Tony x Art Forger Peter

Summary: Tony’s only got one more heist. He does this, he can be retired on an island in the Mediterranean in a month. All he needs is a world-class art forger. (White Collar inspired)

Word count: 10k, complete.

Read here, or on ao3.

The final heist.

That’s what it’s called.

That mystical thing, that last risk, the only thing left to do before you retire. It hangs, almost out of reach, just beyond the cusp of the horizon. It waves your happy ending in front of your face, luring you across stormy seas on a water-logged boat, beckoning you towards bliss while leading you to destruction.

Lesser men have failed, but Tony Stark is not a lesser man.

He’s going to pull off that final heist. He’s going to retire at the ripe old age of twenty-four. He’s going to buy an island, maybe two, and spend the rest of his days basking under the sun, reading Descartes and enjoying fine wine. Mostly Chateau Latour, but he’s partial to Grand cru from time to time.

This’ll be it. He’ll disappear. The FBI will give up after realising he’s not committing any more crimes, like they always do when a case goes stale. There’s no joy in capturing old bread, after all. A plucky young junior in a few years time may look into him, but they won’t be able to find him.

Besides, he doesn’t mind stepping out of the spotlight. He’s been basking in it for a decade now, after all. When he was fifteen years old and on their radar, he considers it quite the conversation starter.

With the right audience, of course.

(That’s key, you know. Knowing your audience. The only way to con someone is to read them first).

From three card monty on the LA boardwalks to diamond heists, Tony Stark has done it all.

Allegedly, of course.

Never been caught. Well, once, partially, if you count Rogers rolling over on him to the police, which Tony does not count.

He was twenty-one years old, and they’d had to try him with attempted burglarly, since they had no proof he actually had the Wittelsbach Diamond, nor any proof that he’d actually even been in the country at the time of the theft.

He’d been found innocent, acting as his own lawyer.

What can he say? He’s charming.

It comes with the territory. Conman is a word too small for everything he is. Fluent in fifteen languages, a connoisseur of wine, an expert appraiser, a diamond forger, an investment banker for a while (numbers are easy, which is why he’s banned from a lot of casinos) an art thief, a fixer, a trickster and, if he does say so himself: incredibly handsome.

It’s the lean muscle and the dark hair and the dark eyes.

Makes him irresistible to some, charming to others, and respectable to the ones left.

There’s something honest in his smile, his mother always use to say.

A conman smiles for a living so, Tony supposes, it all worked out.

A smile and a wink, a little sophistication, a little flirting, a little money in all the right hands, and he’d walked out the door of the courtroom, grinned at the FBI agent and basked in the sunshine.

Sure, it had felt like a win. But for $22 million dollars worth of diamond, he only got to keep around half. That’s what happens when someone you trust betrays you. Rogers telling the feds that the diamond he’d put in its place was a forgery had tipped them off to the crime, and now the damn thing is too hot to move.

It’s safe, somewhere. He has a lot of secret locations. He has a lot of different names.

He’ll sell it one day, farther down the line. Just for fun, maybe.

But for now, the final heist.

* “You know, it’s not as stupid as I thought it would be.” Natasha says thoughtfully, perusing over his plans with an impressed look on her face. Tony grins at her across the table, but as she’s always been, she’s impervious to charm of his smile. “But I can’t help you with this.”

He pours her some more wine. (Everyone’s more amiable with wine). Nat’s an old friend, they’ve known each other since they were eighteen and new to New York. She was in illegal acquisitions then, but she’s found her speciality. She’s the best damn fence Tony’s ever met. “I’ll give you fifteen percent.” He offers, placing hand over his heart. “Very generous, I’m sure you’ll agree.”

She half-smiles at that, and sips the wine. Her hair’s red now. He likes it this way. She’s been white-blonde for a long time. He knows Interpol’s on her back, but he doesn’t offer his help. Nat can handle herself. Now, if the Russian’s were after her, it would be a different story… “Tony,” she says softly, setting down his papers. The candle-light flickers warmly over her face, casting shadows across her cheekbones. “Even if I want to be your fence on this-“ (that means she does. She doesn’t just think the plan is not stupid, she thinks it’s good. Good enough to work) “-you’d need a world-class art forger.”

He nods, half-shrugging. “I assumed you’d have the contacts.”

She frowns thoughtfully, and takes another sip of wine. Dinner is steak and braised potatoes in an private little restaurant uptown. The nightlife of New York bustles and honks in the streets below, and Tony had preened on the way up. He likes exclusive, and he loves showing off, so his Tom Ford suit has been accessorised with only the finest cufflinks and satin tie.

He’s wearing more than what the people who work here earn in a year.

Nat doesn’t have his penchant for the spotlight. Her dress is beautiful, but cheap. Only cheap, however, to the trained eye (and to be a conman, you must have a trained eye) but she classes it up. A beautiful body always will.

“Maybe we should keep the plan the same,” she muses, “but swap the painting for a diamond. That way you could do the forgery yourself.”

He carefully doesn’t wince. “Diamonds are a little hot for me right now,” he confesses, “had a little…mix-up. Got a little close for comfort. The Feds are watching me and diamonds, so the painting is the way to go.”

She meets his eyes and looks a little smug. “A little close for comfort?” She repeats, “you’re not telling me the great Tony Stark almost got-“

“A jury of my peers found me innocent.” He corrects, taking a large bite of steak.

She laughs at that. “What I would have paid to be in that courtroom.”

He taps the paper to refocus her. “An art forger, you know anyone? I won’t go higher than twenty percent.”

Natasha tips her head consideringly. “There is…someone.” She says carefully. “He’s the best.”

Say it. Tony thinks. There’s one name she has to say. It’s the reason she’s here after all. Wanda is a good fence too, but she isn’t rumoured to have known-

“The Spider.”

Yes. Tony tries not to smile too hard, he hides it into his wine glass. “You know him?” He acts surprised, “I thought no one knew him.”

“Know is a grandiose term for a muffled voice on a phone.” She corrects, but Tony isn’t disappointed. It’s a lead.

“He’s the best.” Tony breathes; excited. He’s familiar with The Spider’s work- and the police are not. And that’s how you know someone’s the best.

Excluding Tony of course, the police know about his stuff- because Tony lets them. He likes to sign his own forged bonds, or leave a Queen of Hearts at crime scenes, but that’s because he’s a performer.

The Spider is the best damn art forger in the world. His forgeries are almost impossible to detect- they’ve been circling around the black market for about two years. He’s new to the game, but not lacking in talent. The only people who even know the paintings he makes are forgeries are a handful of sellers and Tony.

And that’s only because Strange- Tony’s NY Mafia connection- had confided in him that he suspected perhaps, that his Van Gogh wasn’t real. Stephen’s suspicions are enough to warrant truth, so Tony had looked himself.

He’d been impressed.

And a little aroused.

Of course, the owners- if they ever do suspect- or the seller, if they ever do guess- won’t report it. Why would they? It ruins their own credibility, their own intelligence, knowing they were duped.

Art can be a pretentious field, and no one likes looking a fool.

“Can you put me into contact with him?” Tony asks eagerly, and Natasha nods slowly.  

“It’ll be hard. I’ll try, though, Tony. For you. For our final heist. This is it. Then we’re out of the game.”

“Exactly.” Tony agrees, “you take your money, I’ll take mine. Any ideas on where you’ll go?”

“Australia, maybe,” Natasha muses, “or a cabin in New Zealand by a lake.”

“To your new life,” Tony grins, holding up his wine glass.

As all people do when they’re tipsy, she falls victim to his smile.

* If Natasha were a smarter person, she’d have used Tony’s plan herself. Got into contact with the Spider, commissioned the forgery, swapped the painting, collected a huge percentage all for herself and cut Tony out completely.

The problem with Natasha is sentiment. It’s a common problem. Just because they’ve known each other for so long, she has a soft spot for Tony.

It’s a soft spot Wanda doesn’t have for him, which is another reason Tony isn’t using her.

Nat needs about two weeks to shake through the web of her contacts, but Tony isn’t in a rush.

The Final heist should never be rushed.

Besides, he has a few things to do. He goes to the New York Museum of Art, and donates $15 dollars to their support programme.

It’s nice to give back, every now and then.

The Degas is exactly where the floor plans said it would be, hanging neatly in the seventh room. The overhead light makes the Dancers in Blue even more beautiful than Tony remembers. 1895, 500 million dollars.

That’ll do, he thinks, looking up at the painting with a grin, that’ll do nicely.

He thinks sometimes, about retiring with someone.

He’s met a lot of people in his life. People he could read and see through. Beautiful, talented people.

Clint was good, an assassin, which Tony finds a little unsavoury, but the two of them had gotten on pretty well.

Harley the pickpocket, Pepper the weapons dealer, Maria the scam artist.

But in the end, all the flames had fizzled out. Friendships faded, relationships drifting away.

He’ll retire alone on an island, but he’ll be okay. He’s Tony Stark, (or at least, he’s Tony Stark today. Sometimes he’s Howard Potts, other times he’s Don Jarvis, or a thousand and one other aliases that he can keep perfect track of). He’ll have an island, and he’ll find a friend there. A native, beautiful and-

Someone who will most likely never know the real him.

But that’s fine.

He’s fine.

He spends the two weeks planning how he’ll get in, how he’ll disable the alarms, how he’ll transport the painting without it being recognised or damaged. He comes up with fifteen different escape routes and failsafes for just in case scenarios, and he practises hot wiring a few cars for a speedy getaway just in case the alarms are set off.

Knowledge of electrics and engineering go a very long way in the world of conning.

He thinks about what Natasha said, about how much easier this might all be if he could replicate his chosen object himself.

But he can forge bank notes, currency, one time a search warrant, diamonds and a hundred other things, but a painting.

It’s just always escaped him. Making fake bottles of wine- sculpting with glass, he can do that. Using heavy machinery to make fine diamonds and crystal, or laser printers for the holographic seals on money- he can do that.

But painting? That art escapes him.

He’s overheard police detectives calling him the Master of All Trades, and he supposes in some respects it’s true. It’s unheard of to be able to con as well as him, but also appraise diamonds, read lips, swan dive off of forty-story high buildings-

But painting is a different sort of art.

Softer and more beautiful, and so delicate a process that Tony’s never quite been able to get the hang of it.

Don’t get him wrong, he can paint. Enough to get by- enough to do a lazy enough imitation if he had to- he’d get a degree in it (according to his resumé, he actually has four degrees, two phDs and a couple of Masters courses he threw on there) but not enough raw talent to eyeball a forgery anywhere near getting past detection.

Besides, he’s curious about The Spider.

He’s always been curious; thirsting for knowledge, knowing things he shouldn’t know (boy the things he knows) and he’s not gonna pass up the chance.

So, when Nat gets back to him in two weeks with a place and a date, Tony salutes her and memorises it, before tearing it up and tossing it into a bin.

“Don’t get too excited,” she warns, not making eye contact as she sits across the busy mall from him on an opposing bench. She’s holding the burner phone to her cheek, and he has his own in his hand, listening intently. “You’re meeting his hacker.”

“Hacker?” Tony repeats with surprise, “I thought he was a painter-“

“The Spider’s security is air-tight, Tony. You’ll meet with his hacker, and they’ll look into you completely. They’ll know everything. And then The Spider decides if he wants to meet you.”

Tony half scoffs, “no one could know everything-“

“They’ll know enough.” She promises. “If this is part of a bigger con, Tony, I’d watch your back. Deal honestly with him.”

“I’m planning on it,” he mutters, a little offended by the notion that he takes everyone for a ride. “I am capable of being honest.”

“Then you should be fine.”

“How should I dress? What’s the hacker like?”

“How should I know?”

“I need something, Nat, come on! Are they geek-chic, or more ‘I live in my parent’s basement’ and-“

She hangs up, and amidst a crowd of people, she disappears.

Tony goes for geek-chic, just because he doesn’t want to pass up the chance to wear his new navy blue blazer.

* The girl standing in Central Park on Tuesday the 17th reminds him of the Statue of Liberty. She holds herself beautifully, slightly intimidating, and despite the fact he’s taller than her, she towers over him with a dignity he wasn’t expecting.

He was right about Geek Chic though, sort of.

The girl has dark skin and bright eyes, and she’s wearing Nikes and denim shorts and a long-sleeved crop-top that says Lakers on it.

She looks like a millennial, and the clearly jail-broken iphone in her hand and the silver memory-stick necklace hanging down her front, is a clear sign that says hacker.

He’s a little grateful for it. On first glance, he might have thought she was a regular teenager.

Might. He can read people. And her smile is more of a smirk, and it’s very knowledgable. He saunters up anyway, and flashes her his best smile.

She has perfectly shaped eyebrows, and she takes his hand firmly. “I’m Shuri,” she greets, and she waits a beat. He doesn’t speak, waiting for more, and she laughs. “And that’s your cue to give me whichever name you’d like to use. You have many. Or should I just pick my favourite? Mr Potts?”

“Tony is fine.” He bites out, reluctantly impressed, she must have an FBI-level hacking system. She turns on her trainer-clad heel and heads towards an ice-cream truck parked just beside the park.

He has no choice but to follow and wait in the sunshine as she pays for a 99c with two flakes, and munches on them happily. She’s in no rush, and she’s remarkably unstressed, and Tony tries to learn everything he can about her.

She’s not too spoilt for cash, that much is evident. She’s got good tech on her hands, and she’s been eating well- her skin and her hair have a healthy sort of glow- and her breath had smelt of the expensive coffee you can only get from the cafe down on fifth.

Plus, the shoes and shirt are brand names and very new.

And if she’s this age, then The Spider must be young too. (People don’t like contacts too much younger than they are). That just makes Tony even more curious.

“How old are you?” He asks, when she reaches the cone and still hasn’t spoken.

She grins at him, enjoying her power. “Why does that matter?”

“Because I’m being interviewed by a child.”

She flips the bird at him and it’s so out of the blue that he can’t help but laugh. “A child? You’re only twenty-five. I’m twenty. Five years makes you better than me?”

Fair point. “Well, how does this work? You know about me, now what?”

“I just wanted to see you,” she says mysteriously, devouring the cone in three bites. She smacks her lips together happily. “Get the vibe, you know? Put a remote tracker into your bloodstream.”

Tony jerks his hand to his face and examines his wrist.

Her firm hand shape has left a little syringe-mark.

“It’s only nanotech.” She remarks, unperturbed, as Tony tries his best not to pout and rub his arm. “It’ll stay in your blood for about a week. I’ll be monitoring where you go.”

“This is a lot of security.” Tony murmurs, feeling excited again. It’s not often he’s allowed to operate on this high a level with people so clearly able. “The Spider must not want anything to happen. Why’s he so paranoid?”

“You can ask him yourself.” Shuri nods, and Tony grins widely. “I’m gonna text you a link to an app. Download it onto your phone. When you’ve got the piece, write P on the app. I’ll respond with an address. You’ll have five seconds to memorise it before it deletes. Go there, meet the Spider, give him the painting, and in three days, send a friend with a clean record to come back and collect.”

The words roll off her tongue quickly, fluently, but not rehearsed, More like she’s said this before, quite a few times to other conmen.

Tony tries to wrap his head around all the information. One, she already has his number, which is…well, fine. Two, that apparently the Spider can reproduce a Degas in three days, Three, Tony has to leave the painting alone with him for three days, and four, the issue of payment.

“I want security on the piece.” He says, and Shuri half-shrugs.

“He’s not going to steal it.”

“I’m sure you can understand why I don’t take your word for it.”

She casts her steely gaze over him. “We have 100% customer satisfaction.”

“Security.”

“Trust me, after you meet him, you won’t worry about security. But, if you must, you can put a tracker on the piece, or you can have a person of your choice standing by the piece for the whole three days. If this person interferers in the Spider’s process in anyway, we reserve the right to seek compensation. And when I say seek, we mean take.”

He wants to ask if she’s ever studied law, because she could make a brilliant lawyer. And they need a few more lawyers on their side. Instead, he nods. He has a few favours he could call in, but he doesn’t want to trust anyone. He’ll stand by the painting himself. “And payment?”

“We trust that you’ll pay.” She hums lightly, wiping her hands on her thighs. “I know everything about you, Tony, it won’t be hard to make your life difficult if you decide to con us.”

He’s escaped the mafia, the FBI, MI5, Interpol and some of the most dangerous criminals and highest ranking investigators in the world, but this twenty year old in Nike trainers makes him feel like he probably couldn’t pull the wool over her eyes.

If this is the new face of crime, Tony’s a little glad he’s about to retire.

Tony tries not to expect or predict things from people he doesn’t know.

He makes educated guesses, informed and calculated risks sometimes, when he has to, but of all the things and of all the places he would have guessed the Spider lived, this is not where.

He stands at the foot of The Ansonia building on the Upper West Side of New York, and hovers there slightly in awe. 74th street is embedded with quaint shops and luxury department stores, antique cars and designer bred-dogs and even the trash cans look like they’re made of crystal.

The Spider lives here- in this building, in this luxury building, on the top floor- the 18th floor, and Tony just shakes his head and doesn’t know what to expect.

The doorman is wearing a green coat with gold buttons and nods at him with an old face that does not look surprised. “Good evening, Sir,” he says politely into the night air, as he opens the door for Tony to get in.

Tony smiles as charmingly as he can. “Nice night, isn’t it?”

“Very mild, Sir.”

“Exactly.” Tony nods, pressing the button on the elevator and slipping right in.

Everything in this building is finished with gold trim and bronze accents. He admires his own reflection on the ride up- the tuxedo makes him look very dapper indeed, complete with bow tie, he looks well-groomed and exceptionally attractive.

He’s robbed a state of the art museum tonight, and no one would ever know.

You never suspect the guy in a tuxedo, the one who’s having slightly too good a time, a little tipsy as he staggers over to his car.

Of course, Tony wasn’t drunk. And it wasn’t his car. But it was a very nice car, and it had done the job, and now here he is, with the painting, on the way up to meet The Spider.

He hasn’t been this excited in a while.

The robbery had gone off without a hitch, and now he has a week before the museum re-opens. But The Spider only needs three days, so Tony should be able to get back in, put the forgery in place, and leave the country with his happy ending.

Bliss is in sight, and the seas look calm.

He holds the canvas bag tightly, even as he fixes his collar. It’s a fairly big canvas, and it can be difficult to distract from it, but the porter had barely looked at him, and he’d made sure to smile and wink at people on the street.

A little bit of flattery and a handsome jawline can make people a little fuzzy on the details.

He steps off the elevator onto marble tiles, and he has to resist the urge to wolf-whistle.

He’d wolf-whistled a lot, back when he was eighteen and fresh to the city. He’d been trained out of it quickly, but there’s some of that boy still left inside him. Mischievous and looking for a good time.

He reaches the heavy oak door with gold lettering 2001 above it and knocks, taking a deep breath, and preparing himself for absolutely anything.

He gets the wind punched right out of him when the door swings open.

Framed by the doorway, and the soft gold light from inside the apartment spilling out all around him, is quite easily the most beautiful boy Tony has ever seen in his entire life.

And he lives in New York. He’s been here during fashion week- Tony has seen his fair share of gorgeous people-

“It’s been a while,” the boy beams- Jesus- his eyes are like honey- like the sunlight as it spills onto warm brown roots in the middle of an enchanted forest- “I’ve missed you,”

Tony has to be lurched into gear, when he notices another resident entering their apartment across the hall. He nods, finding his throat clogged, and lets out a strangled: “I’ve missed you too.”

The boy smiles, and gestures him in.

Tony can’t look away. He can’t pull his eyes away enough to scan the apartment like he knows he should. He can’t look anywhere but the boy. He’s got fluffy chestnut curls toppling into his forehead, each lock absolutely perfect, and he’s wearing silk black sleep shorts that hug his thighs just- just brilliantly, and an over-sized lavender sweater that hangs over one shoulder.

He’s got freckles and dimples and a twinkle in his eye and-

“Can I offer you anything?” The boy asks, and Tony shakes his head and tries to get himself together. “Tea? Shuri told me you enjoyed wine, I think I have a few bottles, but you should probably browse them yourself,” he giggles, and it’s a beautiful sound Tony wants to wrap himself up in. “They’re mostly gifts, but I’m sure there are a few good bottles.” He stage whispers: “I don’t know anything about wine.”

Tony’s in love.

That snaps him out of it. The thought wrenches him right out of his daydream and sends him careening back into reality. “Tea would be much appreciated,” he manages, (wine does not clear your head) and follows the boy into the kitchen.

This is the Spider. He’s- he’s- well, he looks about Shuri’s age, like Tony thought, but…nothing else.

He’s absolutely sublime. And the apartment- it’s huge, a huge penthouse surely over 5000 square feet. It has a balcony that looks out over New York, it’s decorated with accents of rose gold and pastels, and it’s luxury if Tony’s ever seen it. There are designer throw cushions and rare fur rugs and from what he spies of the living room- a bookcase absolutely teeming with first editions.

In the kitchen, the wine rack is nothing to sniff at. A good, niche collection. Though there aren’t many bottles, each one is worth at least $10,000. And they were gifts. Tony wonders who the hell this boy has as friends. He must be forging paintings at a hell of a rate, to be twenty years old and already here.

“I’m Peter, by the way, Tony.” the boy says warmly, and Tony takes a seat at the kitchen counter, watching as Peter moves a teapot onto the stove. Warm is a good word for him. He seems very warm. He looks comforting and homey and his eyes are inviting and his hair looks impossibly soft to the touch. “I didn’t realise you’d get the painting tonight, so my apologies for…” he gestures to the way he’s dressed, and smiles bashfully. “I was taking a nap.”

“Please don’t apologise,” Tony whispers, eyes dragging without his consent over Peter’s delicate frame. “You look beautiful.” So beautiful and he’s only just woken up. Tony thinks he might faint if he saw the boy when he was making an effort.

Peter’s skin, cream as a canvas, starts to blossom pink.

“That’s very- thank you,” he blushes, busying himself with two mugs. “You look- very handsome too, I like the tux-“ he breaks out into more blushing when Tony winks and hurriedly looks away.

Tony looks around again (though he does take a moment to appreciate that gorgeous, gorgeous ass fuck, two perfect handfuls) to glean as much as he can. He still has the painting in it’s canvas bag sitting by his feet, but he sees a shopping list on the fridge with cosy looking fridge magnets, and-

His eye is drawn back to Peter, at the bare skin of his shoulder, where he can see stained pink; a tattoo, of a rose, he thinks.

Goddamn, this is unreal.

“I didn’t expect you to have…” he shakes his head, smiling when Peter sets the tea down in front fo him and joins him. “This apartment is just very…”

Peter ducks his head bashfully. “Art restoration does pay almost obscenely well when you work privately. Plus, I come from old money, so don’t be impressed,” he insists softly, and Tony can’t look away from those eyes.

He can’t help but laugh, though. “Art restoration?” He lets out, “that’s what you call your line of work?”

Peter looks confused. “I’m an art restorer,” he says, and Tony can tell that every inch of the boy is telling the truth.

“You’re an art restorer- and you can afford this place,” Tony gapes, “then why are you even-“

“Oh,” Peter laughs, taking a sip of his tea. It smells of honey and lemon. “I just do that for fun, really. I think art should be shared, so I don’t mind making copies. It’s fun, it’s really good training.”

“And the money…”

“I give that all the charity.” Peter cocks his head a little, “Shuri was supposed to tell you all of this. Didn’t she explain?”

Tony shakes his head in amazement. “I think she’s a lot more protective of you than you think, Peter. So, you’re telling me you copy the paintings for fun?”

Peter stands from the table and rolls his eyes. “Not just fun. Also training. More importantly though, art should be worshipped. I want everyone to have a Van Gogh to hang in their dining room, to see every day! I want people to talk about paintings again, it shouldn’t have to be something you go and see once on a school trip, it should be a part of your everyday life,” he beckons for Tony to follow. “I’ll show you my gallery, bring your painting, you’ll see.”

Tony does, gulping his tea down in one go. It burns his throat on the way down, and it just reminds him that no, he’s not dreaming.

Peter’s apartment is huge and beautiful, and when they walk through to his workshop, Tony’s breath is taken away.

There are easels everywhere, all with paintings at different forms of life. Finished ones are on the wall, and there are pots of paintbrushes everywhere, chalk and charcoal and an entire wall with an intricate shelf system of paints. There have to be over a thousand bottles.

Peter motions to a fresh easel, and Tony hurries over, unzipping the bag and setting the Degas on the stand.

Peter makes a sound that’s pure sex. “It’s beautiful,” he murmurs, reaching out a finger like he wants to touch before quickly pulling back. “Blue Dancers. You see these pastels? It looks like a traditional sketch, like a character study as she moves- every figure is her, you know? At different stages, just…” he shakes his head helplessly, “it’s beautiful.”

Tony can only see Peter. The painting pales in comparison. “Yeah,” he agrees hoarsely, “it really is.”

He can’t believe this is happening. Of all the things, of all the ways he’s expected his night to go, this isn’t how he talks to people. Not people in his line of work. They speak in code, they vaguely threaten and intimidate, but they don’t share their passion of art, or donate all the money to charity, or have a heart so pure that all they want to do is to make sure everyone has art in their life.

“You know what I do, right?” He croaks, and Peter pulls his eyes away from the painting reluctantly, to nod.

“Shuri told me, Tony, don’t worry. I have no interest in turning you in. I thought what you did with the diamond was really very clever. Shuri tells me that it’s almost impossible to make a synthetic pink of that size.”

“I had to use a radiation machine,” he murmurs, puffing out his chest a little, and Peter grins.

“See? That’s a kind of art there. Same with the forged bank notes, it’s all just art and finesse.”

Tony looks at the other paintings. He can see a few other forgeries in the making- can see one or two that are probably being restored for legitimate, private owners.

“I have to admit,” Tony whispers, wandering around the studio, “this is a perfect set up. A legitimate job, a legitimate salary- having Shuri check everyone out- not using the money for yourself- you’ve got it figured out.”

“I’m quite the criminal,” Peter teases, rolling his eyes.

“I’m serious,” Tony insists, “the crimes that are the hardest to solve are the ones that don’t have a motive. No FBI agent would ever think your motive was sharing art.” He’s a little jealous, if he’s honest. But then again, he’s never had a legitimate job. Or at least one he acquired legitimately.

“Why do you commit your crimes?” The bambi-eyed boy asks, as he studies the painting. He pulls a mobile light from overhead and shines it at the canvas at different angles.

Tony sits on one of the stools, watching him, and lets out a breath. “I don’t know.” He begins, raking his fingers through his hair, “To prove I can. Money. This is my final heist.”

“The perfect score,” Peter nods, “I get it. I hope I don’t let you down.”

Tony looks at the calibre of the other paintings that surrounds him and shakes his head. “I doubt that’s possible.”

Peter blushes again, the light making his lashes look even longer as they cast shadows against his cheek. “The problem with Degas is that he was losing his eye-sight towards this period, so he only painted during certain hours- that’ll affect the way the paint sits. And of course, prussian blue didn’t exist as a shade, so I’ll have to make my own. I have an oven at the studio at work I can use to crack the paint- make it consistent with the period,” he stops to explain, and even though Tony already knows, he doesn’t want Peter to stop talking. “Paint starts to crack as it ages, and this is over a century old, we’ll need to induce it. If I use pure pigment and follow the light schedule, I…” he shakes his head, looking awed, “it’s amazing to copy from the original like this. I don’t always have the chance, a lot of the time, I have to work from a photo, but that loses texture so…” he gives Tony a grateful look and Tony thinks he’d do anything to keep that gaze on him just like that. “I should be able to get you one that fooled even Degas himself.”

“You are a saint,” Tony whispers, and he knows now, what Shuri meant. He doesn’t think the painting could be safer with anyone else.

And unless Peter’s the best liar he’s ever seen before, he trusts him. There’s an earnest transparency, a warmth, that Tony’s never seen. Not on someone so talented. So wealthy.

After another cup of tea, and watching Peter outline a few drafts, Tony finds himself talking. Once he starts, he can’t seem to stop. (Tip for conmen, get them to talk about themselves. Deflect. Always deflect) But Peter’s sweet and non-judgemental and Tony feels something inside him unfurl as he confesses over darjeeling that he’s worried about being lonely on an island in the Mediterranean.

Peter’s fingers get stained with pencil, and he rubs his chin and accidentally leaves marks all over his face that Tony wants to kiss. Peter never looks shocked or frowns at any of Tony’s stories- at how the friends he’s made have drifted, at the crimes he’s committed- Peter just nods and sketches and then, after a long while, when it’s nearing three am, and Tony’s eyelids are starting to droop, Peter gets up and puts his pencils away.

“You know why you’re lonely, don’t you, Tony?” Peter asks, washing his hands.

“Why’s that, sweetheart?” Tony drawls, fingers curled around the mug. It says follow your dreams in swirly pink script on a cloud on the side.

“Because you’ve been putting on a front for so long, you’re all front. You can’t just be charm and charisma, you need some substance. A little bit of human. Messy and wrong, sometimes, but human.” Peter looks thoughtful, and he comes to stand before Tony, and takes the mug from his hands gently. This close, Tony can smell the floral scent of Peter’s laundry detergent. Peter looks up at him through his lovely eyelashes and says barely above a whisper: “I think I’d find your human side kinda lovely.”

Tony wants to lean down and kiss, and he does move, just a little, before Peter’s lets out a little surprised hitch and Tony thinks no.

Because he can read people, and he can read situations. And he knows a kiss now will just ruin things for the long run.

And Tony wants a long run.

So he clears his throat, and Peter pulls away with dazed-eyes, “I’ll um- leave you to it.” Tony murmurs, and Peter nods- curls bouncing.

New York is never silent, not even in the dead of night, but as Tony hot wires a different car and thinks of Peter, he doesn’t hear a thing.

He does smile though, a lot. Not to win anyone over, but just because he’s happy.

He goes back the next day with flowers.

It’s the most expensive bouquet he could find, but that’s not why he picked it. It’s because it’s filled with pink roses, like the one on Peter’s shoulder, and wildflowers and lavender just like his sweater. Because there are dandelions and foxgloves spilling over the white paper and even when Tony sniffs it, it doesn’t smell as good as Peter.

The doorman nods at him when he opens the door. “Good choice, Sir.” He says quietly, and Tony grins and pats him on the back.

When Peter opens the door, he looks surprised- then delighted- and Tony holds out the bouquet for him.

“As a thank you,” he explains, and watches as Peter buries his face in the flowers and inhales.

“It’s lovely,” Peter beams, gesturing him in.

It’s clear Peter’s been painting. He’s a vision of beauty again, in floral shorts that cut off tantalisingly high on his thigh, and an over-sized dress shirt. It’s undone at the collar and rolled up at the sleeves and completely covered in paint. Everything he owns is such quality- 100% cotton and silk and no doubt expensive. There are hues of blue all across his forearms.

“I was working on your piece, go through and have a look! I’ll just go put these in a vase.”

Tony nods, even though there’s a little smudge of yellow paint on Peter’s cheek and all he wants to do is brush his thumb across it.

He goes through to the studio, and there on the easel, is his canvas.

Or rather, Peter’s copy. The canvas is 3/4s of the way filled, and he shakes his head in amazement as he comes closer and looks between Peter’s and the original. The boy’s a genius. The three ballerinas are exactly the same- and Peter’s palette is laid on the table- a dozen shades of periwinkle, and paintbrushes galore all handpicked and to the ready.

Sunlight is streaming in through the window and Tony inhales the sharp smell of paint and knows he’ll always associate the two things with Peter.

“It’s rare to find dandelions in a bouquet,” Peter beams, coming in with a gorgeous vase and the flowers bursting within it. He sets it on a table in the sunshine, and turns his warm gaze on Tony. “You really didn’t have to buy me anything, but it’s so sweet you did.”

“Let me take you out to dinner,” Tony blurts, because he’s all torn up inside. He wants to reform for Peter, but he also wants to rob the highest security bank in the world to impress him. He wants to spend time picking him dandelions, but also wants to put a necklace worth more than this apartment around his dainty neck.

Peter blushes and his eyes slide away. “Tony,” he begins apologetically, and Tony’s heart sinks, “you seem…too good to be true, and Shuri told me that’s how you always seem. You lie for a living, and- I’m not sure what you want from me. If I’m part of a con. I don’t know you, Tony. I’m not sure anyone does.”

“You can trust me,” Tony insists, a touch desperately, “i would never hurt you.”

Peter gives him sad half-smile, “Tony, it’s your job to be convincing.”

Peter’s right, of course. Lying is second nature, but Tony hasn’t lied with him. Not once. He’s been more open than he’s been with anyone, but Peter doesn’t know that. They feel like opposites here, in this moment, Peter in his white, paint-stained cotton shirt, honesty in every earnest word and gentle touch, and Tony in his black t-shirt and dark tailored pants, his front bolted into place, his mask on his face even as he tries to remove it.

“Please don’t look so sad,” Peter whimpers, coming over and kissing Tony’s cheek. “I’m not saying no, I’m saying not now.”

If not now, when? Tony thinks, but he nods. “Tell me about yourself, Peter.” He says, as Peter settles back in front of the canvas. “I did all the talking last night.”

“Yes, but you have a very nice voice.” Peter teases, “you could do audiobooks.”

“An honest profession indeed,” Tony chuckles.

Peter was raised in France, in Toulouse, and is self-trained in art. His parents died when he was young, but he loves his Aunt more than anything. He’s bought her a villa in Paris where she makes her own wine (that explains the eclectic mix in Peter’s wine rack). He’d moved to New York four years ago, when he was sixteen, and life has treated him kindly. “I think it’s more luck than anything else,” Peter confesses, using his fan brush to shape the tutus in a burgundy-blue. “Things just fell into place.”

“Yeah they do that,” Tony grins, “especially around people who are hard-working, talented and kind.”

Peter laughs, shaking his head. “It’s not all great. This building doesn’t allow cats, so…”

“A complete travesty.”

“Exactly. I knew you’d understand.”

They have brunch out on the deck. Peter, as it turns out, can’t cook to save his life, but Tony’s been a chef in a few Michelin star restaurants over his life, so he whips them up a Spanish omelette and they drink it with coffee while looking out over New York.

“How’d you even get into this business?” He asks, staring at the enigma that is Peter Parker.

“Accidentally, really.” He admits. “I was so silly. I was painting a Hoefnagels for class, it’s a lovely 1598 piece- and I was doing some finishing touches in the park before it was due, and a guy offered me money for it.” Peter shakes his head in amazement, like he still can’t believe someone was willing to pay for his work.

Tony wants to wrap him up and shower him with praise.

“And I was so flattered, that i jut gave it to him. Little did I know, of course, that he was planning on selling it on as the original. It was a spider painting, and then I was just known as The Spider. It got so out of hand, people started approaching me out of the blue with a terrible amount of money, and I couldn’t refuse it, because Shuri runs this amazing charity to help fund educational services in countries without the proper school-structure, so I started giving it to her. Of course, she asked where I was getting it and then she insisted I be more protected, and she’s always been good with computers so-“

“Amazing,” Tony breathes, staring at Peter as the New York skyline frames him. “Wherever you go, Peter Parker, amazement follows.”

“Well,” Peter teases, “I’m certainly not as suave as you. Put me in a three piece suit, and I become a stammering mess, that’s for sure. I like it much better here, with my books and my paints and Netflix. Have you ever seen the Good Witch?”

Tony shakes his head, and listens to Peter talk about it. It sounds ludicrously wholesome, just like him.

It’s weird, a creeping sort of feeling, knowing that here over omelettes and black coffee, on an old New York terrace on a bright and sunny morning, with this boy here, feels like more of a happy ending than any island in the Mediterranean could ever feel.

The final heist, the last con, the only crime left- it pales in comparison to Peter’s warm eyes and the way he talks with his hands and looks at Tony like there’s something there.

Something to be loved.

* Tony’s admiring himself in a mirror of a department store when Agent Peggy Carter taps him on the shoulder. He turns, winks at her, and shows off the shirt. “What do you think?” He asks smoothly, “too garish? I’m trying to impress a sweet young thing.”

She doesn’t smile, but her lips do twitch a little. “Stark.” She warns, before pulling a notepad out of her grey blazer. She pulls off the pantsuit very well. “Where were you last night?”

“Why?” He winks, “did you miss me? You know you can always call.” He gestures to one of the attendants and pats his shirt affectionately. “I’ll take it. I want to wear it out of the store.”

“Not a problem!” The attendant chirps, flitting away, and Tony turns to Peggy with a smile.

“I was at a restaurant. Dining alone, I’m afraid. But I’m sure the restaurant staff will vouch for me,” he shrugs, flashing her a winning smile, “I’m pretty hard to forget. It’s this gorgeous face. A curse and a blessing.”

Peggy rolls her eyes. “You were there the whole night? What restaurant?”

“Oh, I can’t remember. One down near that lovely bakery on fourth.” (When you’re telling the truth, make it sounds like a lie.) He was at a restaurant last night- he was alone, and there are people who will vouch for him. The Restaurant was the Dorsia, and he’d gone for some time to think- and show off his newest suit- but she doesn’t need to know that it definitely wasn’t him. Feds like investigating and moving on by their own accord. Besides, Tony doesn’t know what the crime was yet. If it was something tasty, it might do well for a few other street criminals to think he’s the one that’s done it.

It’s very good for business.

Or- it was. It doesn’t need to be anymore. Since there’s only one more heist. One more crime.

“I’ll check it out.” She promises, though it sounds like a threat, flipping her notebook closed and tucking it away. “And while I do that- I don’t suppose you’ve come across the Wittelsbach Diamond in your travels?”

He gives her a blank look.

She snorts. “C’mon, Stark, cut the crap. It’s a diamond about yea-big,” she holds open her hand, “-vibrant pink. You were accused of stealing it just a few-“

“I think you’ll find that I was innocent, Peggy darling,”

She shakes her head. “I know you took it. Just like the Handberg Manuscripts.”

“Hm,” Tony nods, “that’s fine. I have a hard time admitting when I’m wrong too. We have that in common.”

She sighs. “Stay on the straight and narrow, Stark. At least for a while.”

He gives her a two-fingered salute and a wave. “Will do, Peggy-sue.”

Her laugh feels like success.

(Is it because he pulled one over on her? Or because he likes making people happy? Does he care too much? More than he thought?)

* Peter’s forgery is the best Tony’s ever seen. Which, of course, is exactly why he wanted him.

It passes the microscopic analysis, the craquelure is perfection. The frame and the wood light show up brilliantly, the infra-red shows the underlying grid and the IR spectroscopic analysis shows the pigments as pure, and coming from the right time. The cracks are consistent with the time period- the fading towards the bottom consistent with Degas’ decreasing eyesight, and Tony can only pull away, setting down his microscopic lens, and whistle in amazement.

“Jesus, Peter,” he breathes, “this is…” he doesn’t have the words. “It’s the best damn forgery I’ve ever seen. An imitation from the gods.”

Peter’s eyes are smiling, but he bristles a little. “Not an imitation, Tony, a pastiche. To copy is to flatter. That’s all I want to do to these paintings.”

He nods, feeling giddy with triumph. “You are a treasure, Peter Parker. The seedy underworld does not deserve you.”

The boy laughs at that. He’s come from work today, and it’s the first time Tony’s seen him in non-casual. The button up shirt is dark purple- silk- and is tucked neatly into tight black jeans. Designer. Tony wants to ravish him.

But it’s over. Their business is complete.

He reaches for his canvas bag and Peter’s painting, before a lily-white hand clutches his wrist.

“Tony,” Peter says, eyes wide, “if mine and the original are so indistinguishable- even to experts and scientists- then why not just sell the forgery? Return the original, and sell mine. That way- if by some miracle critics manage to catch the forgery- it’s less of a crime than stealing a Degas.”

The two paintings are identical. Practically identical.

But science is always improving, Peter’s right. New equipment is always being made and methods always being tested.

But with replacing the painting- it’ll avoid a genuine test for years. And Tony will have successfully stolen and sold a genuine Degas. And who knows how long it would be before anyone even caught Peter’s forgery?

He shakes his head. “I’m sticking with my plan.”

Peter releases him, and nods. “I was only suggesting. Either way, art is being appreciated so…” he smiles with his dimples, “whatever makes you happy.”

Happy is the bliss beyond the horizon, after he makes the switch and Nat sells the painting.

Happy is-

“Come with me,” he pleads, swallowing hard, “to wherever I go. I know- you met me three days ago- but- I’ll buy us an island, Peter, you could paint and read and we could…”

“Retire at twenty,” Peter muses around a teary laugh, “oh Tony. That’s not what I want. I want a wedding, and friends, and to skirt the line of the law, but mostly be on it’s good side. Not running from something forever. I like my job, I like New York, I don’t have anything to run away from.”

“No, no,” Tony frowns, shaking his head insistently, “I’m not running away from anything, this is just my final heist.”

“You’re running away from something, Tony,” Peter murmurs, going onto his tiptoes to kiss the corner fo Tony’s mouth. He smells of dandelions. “One day maybe you’ll stop. If you do, I’ll be here. Probably still trying to convince the building to let me have a cat.”

Tony leaves the Ansonia, but leaves an important part of himself behind.

* He’s sitting in his storage unit at the edge of the city, drinking a stolen bottle of wine, surrounded by all his treasure.

He feels like a very lonely dragon. Eons old.

He’s surrounded by paintings, and goblets and treasures from museums. Diamonds and bonds and counterfeit money and deeds. Stolen u-boat treasure and Nazi-claimed portraits, and historical artefacts that he had to do some pretty shady things to get.

There’s a clatter on the roof, but Tony doesn’t flinch, he just sips at the wine and watches as Natasha makes her way in.

She gasps at all the treasure. She looks around, eyes wide, practically vibrating with excitement as much as she tries to hide it. “You have the Handburg manuscripts?” She whispers, reaching out to touch a scroll, “I thought that was a rumour…”

He shrugs, hoping the tears on his cheeks have dried. “Yeah, i got them a few years back.”

“How..?”

“Carrier pigeons.”

“Jesus, Tony, you’re…you’re the best. There’s gotta be millions of dollars worth of stuff here.” She stops when her eyes land on the two Degas. “Wow. The Spider is…wow.” She looks at both of them, squinting hard, “which one is…?”

“The one on the left is real,” he lies, just to see if she can catch it.

“Wow.” She murmurs, “it’s-“ she turns to him sharply, as if she’s taking in him and not the treasure for the first time since she got here. “Oh god.” She whispers, and he lifts the glass to her in a mock toast. “You’re going to turn yourself in.”

He knows, but hearing her say it is pretty awful.

“Tony, why?”

“There are two endings for someone who’s running, Nat, do you know what they are?”

She says nothing.

“Either they get caught, or they keep running. Running forever.” He downs the rest of the wine. It’s disgusting. “But I can give myself a third option. Turn myself in.”

“They won’t catch you,” she pleads, “they’d never be able to catch you, Tony.”

“You’ve been a good friend to me, Nat,” he murmurs, mind made up. He gestures to the two paintings. “Pick whichever one you want. it’s yours. Free of charge.”

Her jaw drops, but she’s smarter than to try and change his mind when it’s so in her favour.

Like he thought, she picks the “real” one. She tucks Peter’s copy into her bag and heads for the door- pausing only once to look at him.

“You were the best.” She says; pityingly. “But I’ll have your back, Tony.”

In the morning, he takes the Degas into the FBI headquarters, and confesses to stealing it.

* Tony Stark, the FBI’s newest criminal consultant. Exchanging prison time for expert help on White Collar crimes.

Peggy’s the one who makes it all happen. She’s also his handler. She’s the one who puts the un-tamperable tracking anklet on his leg, and looks at him like she’s proud. “Working for the FBI is gonna change you,” she says; pleased, and Tony laughs and fixes his suit. “Remember, this thing’ll go off if you step outside your two mile radius.”

“Fine by me,” Tony assures, because there’s only one place he cares about going.

* It’s weird to think about the fact that retirement is a 9 to 5 job working for the FBI.

But it’s bliss if Tony ever dreamed of it.

Breakfast and lazy morning sex with Peter on the balcony, giving their neighbours a bit of a show, then into work with Peggy to catch jewel thieves and forgers (his criminal alliases come in very, very handy). He comes home to see Peter painting, and he sweeps him off his feet and makes him dinner.

He and Peter work on some of the cases after hours, and if Tony ever comes across a forged painting and Peter blushes-

He always assures Peggy that it’s an original.

And he still gets to dress up. Whenever he goes undercover, or whenever an art gallery opens. He feels much more dapper, with Peter at his side. Everyone comments on what a beautiful couple they are, and Peter goes all pink, but Tony just smirks and slides an arm around his waist and agrees.

He buys Peter a bouquet every week, and Peter reacts just the same every time.

Shuri helps Tony whenever a case needs a tech-whiz, and whenever Peggy asks how he managed to get it done, Tony just wiggles his fingers and says: “I’m a man with many talents.”

He still has his storage unit of treasure, moved of course, because Natasha can’t be fully trusted-

And sometimes Peggy looks at him, like she’s still not totally convinced he won’t disappear off the face of the earth, but then other times- more often lately, she looks at him like he’s her friend.

He likes that look more.

Over cheap take out on a stake out, she asks him point blank: “Do you have the Handberg manuscripts? I could never figure than one out.”

“Hypothetically,” he grins, because he’s still the kid from LA with a pack of cards, “if I did have it, I might have used carrier pigeons.”

She exhales and smiles wryly. “I’ll never be able prove you have them, will I? Or the Wittelsbach Diamond, or the dozens of other things I’m sure you’ve stolen.”

“The only thing I’ve ever stolen,” he recites, “is a Degas, which I promptly returned after being consumed with guilt. A judge can only be forgiving in a situation like that.”

“Whatever,” she rolls her eyes and steals a spring roll, “we still caught you.”

“Actually, I turned myself in.” He says, the beginning line of a familiar argument.

* On a sunny afternoon in June, at an art museum that he and Peter have broken into in the dead of night (though New York is never really dead) Tony gets down on one knee.

Peter starts crying, and Tony just kisses his fingers and slides the ring onto it.

And that’s when Peter sees the diamond.

It’s pink and-

“Tony no,” Peter gasps, staring at it, “you haven’t. You haven’t cut off a piece of the Wittelsba-“

“I finally found something to do with it,” he grins, kissing his fiancé on the nose.

Peter shakes his head, still crying tears of joy, but looking aghast all the same. “But that- damaging it lowers the price, Tony! That was worth millions and-“

“And now,” he rubs his thumb over the ring on Peter’s finger, “it’s absolutely priceless.”

Peter has sex with him right then and there, rides him under a Van Gogh and an Afremov.

Shuri has to go in and delete the footage, and Tony treats her to dinner to say thank you.

* The storage unit of treasure- treasure too hot to sell, that Tony stole to prove he could steal, hoarding in the promise that one day he’d use it all for his happy ending-

He has his happy ending, and the treasure has a purpose now.

He gives it away.

He gives Peter’s Aunt May a bottle of wine for Christmas. She’ll never know how much it’s really worth, but she’ll enjoy it, and that’s what matters. He and Peter donate a few pieces to museums and charity shops.

He sends Clint a diamond necklace, Harley a chest full of antique gold coins, Pepper an original set of Mongolian daggers and Maria some newly minted holographic strips for the Canadian hundred dollar bill.

He also leaves the Handberg Manuscripts on Peggy’s desk one morning, and she stares at them, and starts to cry.

“That’s weird,” Tony comments, offering her some tissue, “maybe whoever took them decided that you should finally get to close the case.”

“You’re an idiot, Tony,” she hiccups, hugging him tight.

He doesn’t miss any of it.

The treasure that matters most, after all, is the one he comes home to every night. Speckled with paint and cat hair (Tony is an excellent persuasive speaker) and always ready with a kiss.

“Want to know the best thing I ever stole?” Tony asks, over waffles in bed as they watch The Good Witch on Netflix.

“Ooh, what’s that?” Peter says excitedly, chocolate all around his mouth.

“Your heart,” Tony grins, reaching over to kiss his husband on the lips.

473 notes · View notes

stephissalty · 4 years

Text

the chances are getting lower

Pairing: Iwaoi

Rating: T

Warnings: Language

Words: 1700

Summary: "And although there’s the 80% - wait, maybe 70% - chance that Oikawa probably doesn’t like him back, Iwaizumi can’t stop himself from thinking how pretty he looks like this. He briefly wonders if you could consider this a date. He also thinks that the chance Oikawa doesn’t like him back might be closer to 60%."

AO3

the chances are getting lower

It’s summer when Iwaizumi has a life-shattering realization. Honestly, it really shouldn’t shock him that much. Maybe he’s just dense - that’s probably it.

He likes Oikawa.

He really likes Oikawa.

This realization doesn’t scare Iwaizumi as much as it had ought to, but he files it away as something to deal with later. Iwaizumi is about 80% sure his best friend doesn’t feel the same way, but when he’s being dragged through crowded festival grounds by said best friend isn’t the time to be debating the state of his world.

Oikawa has a tight grip on the sleeve of Iwaizumi’s hoodie and is in the process of tugging him along. He hasn’t said anything about their destination, but Iwaizumi knows better than to ask. So, without questioning, he follows his friend through crowds of people. They pass a row of games they’d played an hour or so ago (Iwaizumi had won a small alien plush for Oikawa and Oikawa won a cat plush for him), and then go through the line of food trucks, where the population density is highest.

Finally, they break out of the crowd. Oikawa turns around, his eyes shining as they reflect neon lights from all around them. “The fireworks are going to start in a few minutes, Iwa-chan!” And then he pulls Iwaizumi past further from the festival, to an open field. Several couples and friend groups had already settled in the grass.

They find a spot away from other people and sit in the grass. Iwaizumi stretches out his legs and leans his weight back on his palms. He briefly considers that, if his theory is correct, it’s like an invitation. It’s an invitation that Oikawa gladly takes. He rests his head on Iwaizumi’s thighs, laying perpendicular to him. Their eyes meet, and Oikawa’s eyes are bright as the expression on his face seems to ask is this okay?

It’s very okay.

And although there’s the 80% - wait, maybe 70% - chance that Oikawa probably doesn’t like him back, Iwaizumi can’t stop himself from thinking how pretty he looks like this. Pink and green lights from the festival behind them cast over his face, showing his light sprinkling of freckles on his cheeks. His hair, although beautiful, is subject to gravity, and thus has fallen away from his face and is spread across one of Iwaizumi’s thighs. God, he’s beautiful.

Not wanting to think about any consequences, Iwaizumi smiles and gently cards one of his hands through Oikawa’s hair. The other relaxes against him and closes his eyes, content.

They both startle when the first firework explodes in the sky.

Oikawa watches the show in amazement, but Iwaizumi watches Oikawa the whole time, just to see the joy on his face.

He briefly wonders if you could consider this a date.

He also thinks that the chance Oikawa doesn’t like him back might be closer to 60%.

Iwaizumi isn’t one to deny himself pleasures, as a general statement.

If he wants to eat, he’s going to eat. If he wants to watch a movie, he’s going to watch a movie. If he wants to look at a pretty boy, he’s going to look at a pretty boy.

The pretty boy looks back at him.

During practice, they’re playing a practice match, and somehow Iwaizumi ended up on a different team than Oikawa. Oikawa’s team is winning - but just by a little. They’ve been making eye contact the whole time, like you’d expect best friends to. But Iwaizumi rakes his eyes up and down his friend’s body, subtlety be damned, and he looks the same way he always looks when he’s playing volleyball - fucking incredible. Iwaizumi vaguely registers that Oikawa’s up to serve, but his head is far from the game as he watches Oikawa’s hands twirl the ball. Those hands. Iwaizumi’s knees feel weak when he realizes how long he’s been staring, but he’s too far gone now, it’s too late for him, he’s already passed the point of no return -

And then there’s a hard impact to his jaw, and he’s staggering backward, and suddenly he’s on the ground. There’s some dull pain - in his face, on the back of his head, on his ass - but he’s definitely felt worse.

“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa shouts as he ducks under the net and slides to a stop on his knees next to Iwaizumi. His eyes are filled with concern as he leans over Iwaizumi and cradles his jaw gently. “Are you okay? I’m so sorry, I -”

“Tooru, I’m fine,” he responds, voice hoarse. For a second he forgets their teammates are surrounding them, so he covers Oikawa’s hand with his own and smiles weakly. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

Damn, that serve hurt.

“Oikawa, take him to the nurse to make sure he doesn’t have a concussion,” the coach yells.

Cliche? Trivago.

Oikawa’s arm around his waist and supporting a good portion of his weight, they make their way to the nurse’s office. “Iwa-chan, what happened? You’ve never just taken a serve to the face like that before.”

Iwaizumi stiffens. “I was distracted.” It’s not a lie.

“Be careful, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa orders, but his voice is soft with genuine concern.

“If I get knocked out, no one else will keep you in line. I’m not going anywhere.”

He misses the look that Oikawa gives him, full of adoration.

The percentage might be closer to 50%.

Oikawa is laying on Iwaizumi’s bed, calculus homework spread around him, and Iwaizumi’s eyes are glazing over from where he’s been staring at an essay at his desk for the last hour.

Iwaizumi picks up the stapled stack of papers - twelve pages long, double sided!!! - and pitches them across the room and groans in frustration. “I’m tired of this bullshit!”

“Aww, is Iwa-chan tired of literature analysis?” Oikawa teases, resting his head on his arms.

“Yes,” he growls and goes to pick up the now-wrinkled papers. “I understand math, but this literature bullshit is driving me up the fucking wall.”

Oikawa pouts. “You want to do my calculus homework for me? If I see another integral, my brain may melt, and the team can’t stand to lose me.”

Iwaizumi regards one of Oikawa’s worksheets. “This really isn’t that bad. My class covered this last month. It’s just u-substitution to make your life easier. U-sub is your friend.”

“Look, you can say that all you want, but that doesn’t make the words make any more sense,” Oikawa complains. “This squiggle shit -”

“Integral.”

“- squiggle shit is bad enough, but now they’re throwing in inverse trig? My brain wasn’t built for math, Iwa-chan! It was built for volleyball!”

“I’ll do your calculus if you’ll do my literature.”

“Fucking deal.”

After trading homework, they finished their respective assignments in about twenty minutes, after which, they both laid down on Iwaizumi’s bed, Oikawa’s head on Iwaizumi’s stomach.

“Thanks, Iwa-chan.”

“Thanks, Tooru.” He lightly runs his fingers through Oikawa’s soft hair as the other relaxes and purrs quietly under the touch. “Are you spending the night tonight?” It’s a Thursday night, but that’s never mattered to them.

“Sure, but I’m not moving,” Oikawa announces and grips onto Iwaizumi’s hand that’s laying by his side.

“...Alright.” Iwaizumi pauses his ministrations. “Do you want to watch a show before bed, though?”

“Ooh, can we watch that American cooking show?”

“Yeah, we can,” he laughs.

After a few minutes of shifting, they end up shoulder to shoulder with Iwaizumi’s laptop balancing on both of their legs. Oikawa drops his head onto Iwaizumi’s shoulder and grips his bicep. Then, he carefully entwines their fingers and squeezes gently.

Iwaizumi, heart pounding, looks down at his friend in surprise. He doesn’t know what to do from here, so he just goes along with it and sinks into Oikawa as he watches the terrible American show that Oikawa has taken a liking to.

He’s thinking that the percentage might not be 50%, but maybe closer to 30% when Oikawa pulls their conjoined hands up to his own mouth and kisses them.

Iwaizumi’s fairly certain that, in that moment, his heart stopped. “Tooru?” he whispers, not wanting to break the magical moment, but too scared to let it go unrecognized.

“Iwa-chan?”

20%.

“What are you doing?” The contestant on screen is crying over ruining his potatoes.

“Do you not know?”

10%.

“Know what?”

Oikawa lifts his head and focuses all of his attention on Iwaizumi. “I like you a lot. I think you probably feel the same, don’t you, Hajime?” Inhale. Exhale. “I really hope you do, anyways, or else this is going to get weird,” he laughs nervously.”

Iwaizumi smiles softly. “Of course I like you too. How could I not?”

“That’s exactly what I was figuring,” Oikawa says cheekily. “Can I kiss you?”

In lieu of a proper response, Iwaizumi brushes their lips together, gently at first and then more firmly. Oikawa responds immediately, kissing back with fervor and dragging a hand into Iwaizumi’s hair.

Iwaizumi pulls back suddenly. “I’ve been waiting to do that for a while.”

Oikawa reclaims his lips in a searing open-mouthed kiss that has his entire body writhing and wanting more, more, more. Iwaizumi moans quietly into his mouth and nips gently at Oikawa’s lower lip, drawing a beautiful, breathy moan out of the other.

The laptop on Iwaizumi’s lap is long forgotten as Oikawa climbs into his lap and presses their bodies closer together. Everything is so hot as they pant into each others’ mouths. Oikawa works his way down Iwaizumi’s neck, kissing firmly but careful not to leave any marks. Iwaizumi inhales sharply and presses his hips upward, seeking some friction.

“Fuck,” he swears as their hips collide. The indirect contact alone feels so, so good. He tugs on Oikawa’s hair mostly out of desperation, bringing him back up to his mouth. He connects them in another hot kiss as Oikawa grinds down.

And then, suddenly Oikawa disconnects their lips. “We should slow down just a bit, alright? I… I don’t want to be too hasty with you. You’re too important.”

“Of course,” Iwaizumi responds and kisses him chastely. “Anything for you.”

Oikawa grins and snuggles into Iwaizumi’s chest. “I like you a lot, Iwa-chan.”

“I’m pretty damn fond of you, too, Tooru.” He kisses his hair.

“Good. Don’t let me go.”

“Not a chance.”

0%.

#iwaoi #my writing #iwaizumi hajime #oikawa tooru #hq #hq fanfic #iwaoi fanfic #fluff #canon compliant #mutual pining #friends to lovers

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razorblade180 · 5 years

Text

Twin Snowflakes part0: Prologue

[Atlas, ???]

In the colder part of Remnant there are many mysterious places that remain hidden in the snow. Old castles and mansions lost to time because of grimm, bandits, or even family.... A pair of twins, age 15 find themselves in one of those so cold places; both of them calm and armed to the teeth. The air is just as cold inside as it outside. Everything inside ruined and battered by time. The in front takes the lead. He’s a boy with shaggy white hair that goes to his shoulders in the back. Beautiful blue eyes and smile as white as snow itself. The twin in the back is a young lady a few inches shorter than her brother. Despite being twins her hair is a really faded blonde with blue eyes darker than his. A ponytail similar to a former heiress is the style she chooses. Both of them are in snow gear.

Nick:So this is the old Schnee estate? Looks a bit like home.

Summer:Only with more snow. Apparently this was our great grandfather’s first attempt to settle down but he abandoned it. Maybe there was a lot of grimm.

Nick:Or he wanted to be closer to the people. This place is a bit out of the way from everywhere else in Atlas. Just perfect for a final test.

Summer:More like a final resting site. You sure we’re up for this? Mom said we’re not ready for this yet. She didn’t do anything this crazy until she was 18!

Nick:Yeah but even she tells us that we are extremely talented and have the benefits of having more aura thanks to dad.

Summer:I’m pretty sure am Arma Gigas will cut through it just as easily, and there’s supposed to be two in here!

Nick:Yep! *puts hands on his hips* one for you and one for me! We’ll show up at home afterwards a little sweaty and cool summoning under our belt. You know.....whenever we actually manage to do a summoning that is. *nods* I say that’s worth a few scratches.

Summer:*pouting* I already have more than enough of those....

His body flinches at those words. He should’ve picked a better choice of words knowing just had many scars the poor younger twin had. Scars he blames himself for.

Nick:*grabs her shoulder* Hey, if you really want to turn back then we can turn back. Last thing I want to happen is go home alone, or not go home at all. I’ll follow your lead on this one.

Just like Nicholas Schnee to put his sister’s feelings before him. It was a trait he shared not only with the man he was named after, but their father as well. She also knew he wouldn’t have dragged her here if he thought she wasn’t ready for this. What’s the harm of going?

Summer:Sigh, If anything goes bad then please bail out. I’ll give you a holler if anything goes bad.

Nick:Sweet! *starts running off* Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!

Summer:Wait! Do you even know where you’re- and he’s gone..... *gets a text message* huh?

Nick: “The ballroom, I pay attention when you talk you know.😜 Stay warm okay?”

The moment she read that she was already messing with a fresh pack of hand warmers in her snow jacket. Getting cold is the last thing she wants to happen. An incident here would be rather unfortunate. If all goes well Nick will find is grimm in the ball room while hers would be somewhere upstairs. Abandoned or not, Schnee architecture doesn’t change; it was like home for the most part. Without delay she ran upstairs; no way she’d let Nick have the chance to witness her match.

Nick:*Sprinting* (Kitchen, bedroom, spare office, cellar, garden exit...this really is home huh? Just a few rooms out of place but a ballroom should always be....) *stops in front of grand door* In the center for all to enjoy. Glad to know somethings are timeless; better make sure I’m prepared.

Soon enough he dressed down to black pants, white long sleeve button up, and a icy blue vest. A long sword is placed on his left side with the trademark arc symbol on the guard and chamber to hold a vile of dust in the hilt. A nice blend of old weapon style and modern day technology.

Nick:All right Mort Froide, it’s time to really test your metal... *walks through the door*

•

Summer: *approaching a giant door* The piano room, maybe I should’ve brought my own sheet music. Would’ve been nice if I could sing this grimm to sleep and kill it.

All the heavy snow gear comes of except for the wind breaker/ heat insulated jacket. Underneath is a pale blue turtle neck and wears compression white jeans. Fluffy calf high snow boots help keep her feet warm as she walks into the spacious room. The only thing in there is a smashed piano and an Arma gigas staring at her from behind it as she grips her specialized version of Myertanaster.

Summer:Not a fan of music I take it? What a shame, guess the sound of our blades will have to be your swan song.

Gigas:*picks up its sword and bellows. The eerie sound of wind through its armor fills the room*

Summer:.....Why did I agree to stay? *dashes toward him*

Gigas:*continues screaming as it charges*

In most cases anything learned about a foe in a book will only get you so far. Against an Arma Gigas though, knowing was 80% of the battle. The giant swung his sword to sweep feet but she was already airborne and launching off a glyph into its helmet. Instinctively it reached for her only to stumble to the ground as slammed her foot against it with a gravity glyph. Hit hard and hit fast was the name of the game. Carvings in her blade began to glow white as her finger trailed it. Her training was paying off; a simple bounce of the gravity glyph onto its sword hand and freezing it with a stab.

Summer:(So far so good. It’s huge but it’s fast...Just like mom said. Slow it down and keep moving before it-) *jumps off*

Gigas:*slams his free hand on top of the other one. Freeing it immediately.

Summer:(Ugh that didn’t last long. Maybe I should’ve mastered time dilation before we attempted this.) *spins revolver to fire* You’re not gonna let me get that close again easily are you?

Enraged the Gigas slams his sword creating a wave of slush; another move already predicted. Summer spears her way through with her sword now burning hot. Both her and Weiss’s weapon is basically identical in every way but one. Summer’s has the benefit of holding onto a bit of the last elemental dust used to create unique combinations. With fire know on her blade and ice still lingering in it, she creates a new glyph to form a thick steam and hides. Forcing the grimm to swing blindly.

Summer:*circling around* (Good, it has no idea where I am. Still got a bit of fire dust left so...) *switches to wind*(I got this I got this I got this) *begins to twirl with each step like a dancer*

Rapid swings and the ice cold room quickly elementals the steam but not her attack is set. A circle of glyphs surround the Gigas glowing a mix of green and red. As it tries to move a vortex of flames erupts from the ground, causing it to once again make its ghostly scream.

Summer:*sweating* Phew....that should keep you still for a mo-

80% still leaves 20% of chaos to creep through. That percentage was a giant sword flying out the flames and right at her. Quickly dodging saved her but not the new hole outside that let a rush of cold hair disrupt her hard work. There was no time to get up before a giant hand grabbed her and slammed into the floor. It proceeds to drag her across the floor by her arm fast; hitting anything and everything.

Summer:Agh! (I got to confident...he’s gonna grind my into powder at this rate! I gotta think of something! I-) Ahhhh!

Unexpectedly her arm slid out her jacket and sent her crashing into a wall. At least she’s free but now the cold is quickly seeping in...

Awww someone looks cold....

Summer:*stumbling* (I do not have time to deal with this...)

You always have time for me. What’s wrong, out of breath and option? Why are you always so weak?

Summer:(Shut up and let me concentrate!)

Stakes were quickly rising pass the point of no control. Desperately she sprinted for her jacket but was met with sword blocking her way. Her own blade was hastily brought to guard her body as the Gigas sent her into another wall with a punch. Aura might save her one more time but after that there’s no guarantee.

Summer:I’m going nowhere fast. *reaching for her scroll* I’ll keep my distance and wait for Nicholas to-

As usual you need his help. Can you really do nothing on your own? Useless.....

Summer:......(Am...am not....) *shivering*

Denial doesn’t suite you. Accept your place and fade into the background already. The only good thing about you is me...

Summer:......*picked up by the Arma Gigas*

It’s okay sweetie, I won’t let you die though. That doesn’t help me in the slightest. So do us both a favor and just.....

The room begins to freeze over with ice. Summer’s hair goes white and her eyes a faded blue. A chill breath escapes her and freezes the hand trapping her, then it shatters. Ice comes up from the floor to meet her. What once was a room filled with screams is now drowned out by sadistic laughter.

???:FREEZE....

•

Nicholas moves across the ballroom on glyphs like a figure skater. His fight being challenging but not overwhelming. The ballroom is now in shambles as the Arma Gigas runs at him like a deranged man.

Nick:That’s not becoming of a knight now is it? Maybe it’s about time to finally end this; can’t keep Sum- *sees ice creep along the ceiling* Summer? No....that’s too much ice.

Gigas:*swings downward*

Nick:*Blocking* Sorry....can’t spend anymore time on you. Possible family emergency.

The young man slicks his hair back with his free hand before going all out. It would be a bother to mess up because of something like hair. A glyph glows over Mort Froide and onto his hand. Nick jumps back as a solid version of his blade forms out of ice. Regular and ice glyphs form around the room; each ice glyph creating a sword.

Nick:*takes a breath* Iet me show you what happens when an Arc is born with Schnee talents....

He dashes straight for its leg and slashes it, breaking the ice blade. Continuing to slide, he grabs another one and ricochetes back at his target by kicking off another glyph. This assault only gets faster as he keeps speeding towards the calculated glyphs he placed. Each ice sword shattering and quickly replaced by another until all off them are used and the Gigas brought to its knees.

Nick:*winded* twenty eight ice blades...*huff* and one real blade. Personally, I hate odd numbers.

All the ice glyphs merge underneath the Arma Gigas to form one giant to form one big one. The shattered ice swords form a giant one that stabs up right into it; immediately killing the grimm.

Nick:Piece....of......cake. *takes a knee* (I should really come up with a name for that move. Now is not the time for that though. Need to find Summer)

After a minute rest he heads out out the room with his snow gear back on. The only thing keeping him going is concern and the resilient aura he was blessed with. Not as crazy as his dad but it’s given him the second wind he’s needed many times in training. Finding his sister didn’t take as long as he thought; following the cold helped a lot. It led him to a door frozen shut.

Nick:Summer? You in here?*gripping his sword*

???:Don’t ask questions you already know the answers too little knight. Haven’t seen you in awhile. Let’s change that.*shatters the door*

The chill of death surrounds him fast as hand pulls him into the room and pins him to the ground. He takes notices of the Arma gigas slowly dying as it lays on ice spikes. Poor thing never stood a chance. Not against his sister the way she was now. Confident and dangerous to everything around her; including herself. All because of accident years ago by a stupid five year old version of himself that couldn’t keep his cool.

Nick:Summer you-

???:Don’t talk to her, talk to me. Make that mistake again and I might just have to give you a scar that matches dear old mommy as a reminder.

Nick:Shiva.....don’t do this.

Shiva:Do what? Be perfect in every way possible? Not my fault Summer is pathetic. If she doesn’t want me here then maybe she should’ve been strong enough to keep me contain.

Nick:Talk bad about my sister again and I’ll beat you until you’re too weak to keep control.

Shiva:Tough talk for a worm that’s on the ground. Maybe you should learn who you’re dealing with again. *grabs his sword* I’ll make sure not to blind yo- *hands begin to shake*

Nick:Is someone losing control already? Maybe you’re not as in control as you think, or maybe it’s the body heat and hand warmers I stuffed my jacket with.

Shiva:You what!?

His sword falls out of her hands and she tries getting up quickly. Nicholas doesn’t give her the chance and tackles her with his jacket open. Essentially preventing a long fight before it even began as he already feels her getting weak. Summer’s hair and eyes slowly becoming normal again.

Shiva:Damnit, I’ll be more careful next time.... better count your lucky stars.

Nick:There is no next time.

Shiva:Ha....you’ve.....said that.....before....... *exhales*

Nick:Summer? You here or do I have to keep aggressively hugging you?

Summer:*crying and hugging him* I’m here but don’t stop anyways....

Nick:Phew....Hey stop with the water works. I’m fine, we’re fine.

Summer:I....couldn’t keep control.

Nick:Maybe one day, just not today. *gives her his jacket* let’s go home okay? Final exam completed.

Summer:I’m a step behind you as usual it seems. Once again you rescued me.

Nick:That’s what siblings do. Also, there’s no way you’re behind me. *puts her on his back* because I don’t move forward without you. Shiva or not, you’ve gotten your target killed. We’ll just leave how exactly out of the story when we get back. *starts walking*

Summer:......

Nick:......A pair stuck together that on closer inspection is slightly different. Yet also extremely similar. Such a beautiful phenomenon is......

Summer:A twin snowflake. Next time....I’ll be stronger. *hold on tight*

Nick:*smiles* Yeah.....we both will.

#rwby #summer schnee #nicholas schnee #rwby whiteknight #rwby twin snowflakes

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emeraldtawny · 5 years

Text

Ikerev Drug Dealer AU

Strap in folks, there’s a lot of explaining to do ^w^

Welcome to the city of Cradle, a bustling city with everything you could possibly need and want. With the majority of the city’s population being young adults, Cradle has earned a reputation as a “party city” and is a hotspot for clubs, concerts and crazy weekend getaways to get completely smashed and return home with a ruined liver and a shorter lifespan. However, the dark underbelly of the city stretches up to encroach on its lively surface...in the form of illegal dealings of performance-enhancers.

In this universe, Magic Crystals are an outlawed supplement. They aren’t fatally dangerous, but they’ve been outlawed for their uncanny ability to heighten senses and basically make you superhuman. The catch is that you only need to take it once and then the effects are permanent.

These things are hard to get and even more costly, but still, dealings are abundant in the city whilst authorities try their best to find the last major dealer at large yet anonymous: Harr Silver.

Magic Crystals affect everyone differently, so depending on your metabolism and the chemical balance in your body, you could absorb all of the Crystal’s effects into you or none at all. They’re put into classes based on how much Magic Crystal is absorbed into them and those who ingest Crystals are basically wanted criminals, both by police and other jealous non-absorbers. However, the one consistency is that when you first ingest Magic Crystals, your body essentially goes into stasis and you are incredibly malleable and practically useless while your brain tries to adjust to the new chemical balances.

The categorisation of Magic Crystal absorption:

0% - Incompatible, physically cannot absorb the Crystal’s effects no matter how potent the Crystal.

1-30% - around 50% of the population is estimated to be able to absorb this percentage of a Crystal’s substances. Slightly heightened hearing and sight and less fatigued muscles after exercise.

31-60% - Moderately heightened senses and increased spatial awareness. Reinforced muscles and strengthened bones making the person stronger and more flexible. Less susceptible to burnout unless completely stretching their limits.

61-85% - High increases in senses, spatial awareness and cognitive memory. Near superhuman strength and agility as well as near immune to sickness, but with a high cost of extreme fatigue and nausea when overworked.

86-100% - Pure Absorbers. Superhuman levels of spatial awareness, inhuman sense of hearing, sight and smell, photographic memory and the slightest chance of manipulating the potential energy of others around them (pushing them back without touching them, or nullifying their abilities). Huge recoil from overuse of powers with symptoms like severe nausea, hallucinations and coma.

Main Dealers

Harr Silver

“This was never my intention, but it seems this whole situation is now mine to regulate.”

Originally a humble self-taught biochemist and wildlife enthusiast. Stumbled upon potent Magic Crystals in the forest and decided to experiment on them to appease his curiosity. After many testings of creating a natural enhancer that would reduce muscle tension and fatigue - finally testing on himself when he was confident and absorbing 100% of the chemicals into his system - he started selling them as supplements through back-door sales. Initially tried to sell it legally through mainstream markets, but they all wrote it off as a cheap organic scam product. Stumped for ideas, he confided in his two friends, Lancelot and Sirius, on what to do. Little did he know how big things would get from there.

Sirius Oswald

“I hate that I’m a part of this, but there’s no way in hell I’m leaving you two to your own devices.”

Owner of the city’s largest flower shop and a long-time friend of Harr and Lancelot. Was approached by Harr about his new discovery for advice on how to bring it into the mainstream market, which he obliged. When the situation literally turned into a drug cartel, Sirius was the one to tell Harr to turn back, but it was too late. In order to help his friend, Sirius (begrudgingly) agrees to help him using his various connections throughout the city (to cover up/stop any trails police catch wind of) and his green thumb (his ability to identify and find the highest quality crystals to synthesise). Is repulsed by the thought of ever absorbing a Magic Crystal’s energy, but supports Harr’s and Lancelot’s decisions in doing it themselves.

Lancelot Kingsley

“You’re not thinking big enough. We could do so many things with what you’ve discovered.”

A dignified noble in the city and a polarising public figure because of it. The other friend Harr confided in about his discovery and, unlike Sirius, was almost excited about it. He was the reason these supplement Magic Crystals became the sought after product it is; after taking it himself (him absorbing around 90% into his body), he used his widespread connections to create other dealers throughout the city. The most notable places were the city’s largest nightclub and the organic medicine clinic. Despite both Harr’s and Sirius’ disapproval, Lancelot takes the responsibility for the seeds he planted and helps them both manage the Magic Crystals, himself quite intent on pushing for higher production and more exports. What does he have in mind?

Associates

Fenrir Godspeed

“Sure, I’ll help ya out. Welcome to the hell of illegal dealings, pleasure doin’ business with ya.”

Son to one of the major rich families in the city and the owner of the lucrative Cat’s Cradle nightclub, an establishment known for catchy tunes and shady dealings. Cocky yet grounded, his dealings of Magic Crystals are the best-kept secret in the city, the only source more reliable being Harr himself. Was approached by Lancelot - another rich kid he knew through their family’s connection - and agreed to help in exchange for his own high-quality crystals. Another who has taken Magic Crystals (around 60% absorption) and uses the abilities it gives him to conceal his illegal dealings. Never without his personal bodyguard Seth and loves the exposure the Crystal dealings give his nightclub, so is surprisingly cooperative with the whole operation.

Seth Hyde

“Me? I wouldn’t tell anyone about this. I’m more reliable than that, y’know~”

Fenrir’s bodyguard and co-host to the Cat’s Cradle nightclub. Mainly the entertainment organiser (a real singing and dancing star) and loves to confuse patrons by wearing his hair down to mislead them about his gender (also incredibly helpful for disguises). Knows of the dealings but is prohibited from knowing any top-secret details of the nightclub’s dealings...which is something he needs to know, especially considering he’s an undercover police agent searching for concrete evidence to out the entire Crystal operation. His communications with police are limited to reduce the risk of him being discovered, but relays information to another officer, Edgar, when he can.

Kyle Ash

“Look, I don’t really care about how you’re going about this. Just lemme test them for myself and I won’t tell a soul.”

Head researcher of the town’s organic medicine clinic. Was approached by Lancelot about being an additional dealer but was hesitant at first. Only agreed after talking with Harr directly and getting expressed permission to study the Crystals as long as he sold them as well. Not one for ethics so he saw no downside to this deal and happily sells Magic Crystals to customers whilst researching their effects in his own time. Is currently attempting to find an “antidote” to reverse-engineer the Crystal’s effects, at Harr’s request, so people who regretted their decisions could rectify themselves. Drinks the weekends away with his friend Oliver, though it’s more accurate to say that he’s being babysitted by him.

Edgar Bright

“No one here is truly innocent, myself included. But I can hold my tongue as long as you hold yours.”

A special agent in the Cradle police force. Despite being on the side that works to outlaw and contain Magic Crystals, he isn’t too bothered by them (especially considering he has taken one himself, absorbing approximately 30% into his system). He actually linked the mass exportation of Magic Crystals to Lancelot’s sudden increase in publicity. He confronts him about it but agrees to keep his silence in exchange for Lancelot using his ties to prevent the police force finding out Edgar has taken Crystals. Feeds intel to an investigator, Zero, “for fun”, but makes sure it’s just short of being enough. Receives information from Seth irregularly about the possible nightclub dealings, but doesn’t really bat an eye to it.

Innocents

Ray Blackwell

“Why me? I didn’t ask for this…”

A young man unwillingly dragged into the drug ring through unfortunate circumstances. A frequent visitor to the Cat’s Cradle nightclub, since he’s good friends with the young owner. Because of this, he gets swept up in rumours about him having power in the dealings the nightclub does. He gets dragged out into the alley and forced to ingest a Magic Crystal to make him weak and easy to deal with. However, he absorbs a lot of the Crystal (around 85%) and accidentally severely injures his attackers from an outburst of power. Currently wanted by police for his arrest. Luckily, Fenrir is keeping him safe whilst he tries to come to terms with these powers he doesn’t even want.

Loki Genetta

“I can help you - no, let me help you!”

A young college student before the whole ordeal happened. His friends got hold of Magic Crystals and they all decided to try them for fun. Whilst his friends absorbed close to nothing of the Crystal, his eyes started burning and he passed out from the pain in the alley. Doctors confirmed he absorbed approximately 90% of the Crystal. His parents, while telling him they wouldn't hold his young dumb mistake against him, made plans to turn him in to the police for their own safety as well as his own. Hearing this, Loki fled and lucked out by running into Harr by chance. Sympathising and feeling sorry for the boy, Harr promises to protect him himself, much to Lancelot’s dismay at being a babysitter. Loki learns Harr was the original procurer of the supplement and asks to help him for saving him from homelessness and jail. Harr refuses yet Loki still remains at his side, ready to help whenever he needs it.

Jonah Clemence

“How dare you sully my family name with such useless bile! You’ll pay for what you’ve done.”

The elder brother of the esteemed and powerful Clemence family. Completely uninvolved with any drug trading “nonsense” in order to keep his family’s image pristine. This changes, however, when rumours started by the Godspeed family start spreading about the Clemences doing Crystal dealings to elites behind closed doors. His parents are jailed for suspected drug dealing and he is now determined to clear their name and expose the true culprit who started these rumours about his family. By any means necessary.

Luka Clemence

“Just leave me out of this. It doesn’t concern me, anyway…”

The younger brother of the Clemence family. Knew of the rumours about his family before they did but kept his silence knowing they wouldn’t believe him. Annoyed by his brother’s two-facedness about the situation (only caring about the drug trading after it becomes a family matter). Distances himself from Jonah to hang out with Edgar and tries to pretend nothing is wrong. Carries a couple of Crystals on him in secret, in case of an emergency.

Anti-Crystal

Zero

“Think what you like, but I know who I am and I’m not a criminal!”

An independent investigator assigned with the Cradle police force who works alone in exposing the small branch dealers under Harr’s control (he suspects Kyle’s clinic but needs evidence). Gets leads and tip-offs from a certain esteemed police agent, Edgar, and is incredibly close to getting the intel he needs to break open the case, but every time he gets close he gets cut off. The reason he works alone is because no one wants to work with him. It’s forbidden to take Crystals in the police force and they assume he has taken it because of his physical prowess. Even if it’s his name, they call him Zero as a slur (in a mocking way that is obvious in them not believing his innocence) and they shun him despite him doing nothing wrong. This doesn’t deter him, however.

Blanc Lapin

“I must admit, I am in quite a difficult spot with this whole ordeal. Oh, dear..”

The only surviving heir of the Lapins, the most esteemed family in the city of Cradle and, therefore, has a lot of political power. Harbours a lot of media attention for allowing a drug cartel to break out in the city, but dismisses it politely. Behind closed doors, he works with Oliver to uncover the truth themselves, without police intervention or the possibility of fake information or double agents. Aware of Harr’s history with wildlife knowledge but refuses to make any moves publicly until he has concrete evidence (to limit the risk of his credibility falling).

Oliver Knight

“Can’t trust a single soul in this godforsaken city...drug addicts, the lot of them.”

A local activist against Magic Crystals who believes the whole thing is rigged and even the police can’t stop it with the “no doubt countless rats in every crevice”, to quote him directly. Works with his long-time friend Blanc to find out everything they can without alerting authorities or dealers alike. Drinks his stresses away with his drinking buddy Kyle (but has no idea of his connections to the dealings) but trusts him to chat with about the whole situation. He despises Magic Crystals with a passion...but, why?

Accompanying story posted here because this post is already long enough gkrjdfgbkrjdmfn

#ikerev #drug dealer AU #I've been sitting on this for a hot minute but I'm so glad I can finally share it with you guys #hope you guys like it uwu

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leavingkindfootprints · 5 years

Text

My story - How losing a sibling changed my life forever.

I wish I knew back then what I knew now. I guess being sixteen you don’t prepare for life changing events to happen and you have no choice but to live with the trauma. At sixteen, I was only really concerned about having mates, sneaking out to parties that my parents would have NEVER let me go to (totally understand you now mum and dad!) what outfit I was wearing that weekend, if I was able to secretly pinch a cigarette out of mums packet without her noticing. I was prepared to start year 11 VCE. I was prepared that I would change a lot over the next year. I was prepared for the friends and friendships I had, probably wouldn’t be around forever. What I didn’t prepare for was losing my “sibling” - Bonnie. No, she didn’t pass away, she wasn’t murdered and she didn’t die from a horrible sickness. although at times I wish she did because that baggage would be much easier to live with. She committed an unspeakable and unforgivable crime that changed the lives of so many people.

So a little back story -

Bonnie was placed into to a psychiatric ward months before the attempted murder. Prior to her admission she would frequently have psychotic episodes which my parents tried so hard to shield me from witnessing. But I saw a lot of them. Actually, I saw nearly all of them. When psychosis sets in, one loses the capacity to understand what’s real and what isn’t. (That is the most simple way I’m able to explain it.)

I would hear her during these episodes screaming at my parents that the T.V was talking to her. She was adamant that she could clearly hear voices in her head. I remember her always being paranoid and on edge, which was scary to be around. I don’t think she actually even remembers some of the frightening things she would say to me. I would always try to brush most of the things she said to me off and tell myself she was just going through some sort of break down. I wasn’t old enough to understand the depth of her addiction. Bonnie was diagnosed with schizophrenia, bipolar and a personality disorder. Bonnie came from a good family and had parents they did everything in their power to help her and get her better. Bonnie had a good upbringing.

Don’t get me wrong, I do believe she went through bad experiences. She would always fall into the wrong group. She would be in the wrong place at the wrong time. She made certain choices that were clearly wrong for her.. But, you couldn’t stop her. She was uncontrollable. She was selfish and she was dark. She was on a path of self destruction, and now I realise that sometimes there’s certain people you can’t save.

On the third of April 2011 Bonnie was arrested for trying to murder our Father. Now, before you read ahead please know this is my story and as hard as it is to write this I feel like I’m finally ready to speak about it with the world. Because maybe.. Just maybe it might help someone who finds themselves in the same position one day. (I hope you never do because I wouldn’t wish my experience upon my worst enemy.)

Usually stories like this don’t get spoken about. I wish I had someone come to me at the time and say “This happened to my family!” or “You’re not alone, I experienced a similar loss!” because if I’m brutally honest I needed someone to tell me that I wasn’t the only fucking human being to feel the way I did at the time. She shattered our family. She hurt our family. And.. She changed our family.

So at sixteen I found myself in uncharted territory, not only experiencing profound loss but being at a loss as to how to cope. I mean how do you cope with the fact that your sister tried to murder the one person who was the rock and provider for your family? The one person who protected you from the scary world we live in. I found myself constantly swimming in a pool of grieving family members. Actually no I’ll reword that it felt more like drowning. And here I was drowning in my own grief without a life jacket, screaming for someone to save me. Maybe my mum or my eldest sister heard but I was too focused on trying to make some sort of sense of the awful event that changed us. I was angry at myself that I didn’t see it coming. I was angry at the fact that she let drugs and alcohol ruin her life. I was angry that while she was in prison, she was still trying to hurt us. It wasn’t just the evil crime she committed. It was the letters from prison. It was the repulsive lies she made up. It was the people she chose over her own blood. I held onto so much guilt for years because of the fact I wasn’t there to protect my Dad. Maybe if I was home that night, my Dad wouldn’t be wearing the scars he has today.

The night of April third my Dad was dowsed in methylated spirits by my sister and was set alight. As his skin started melting off his body the only chance of survival he had was to crawl inside, grab a phone and call triple zero. He somehow made it to the bathroom, while still on fire and in a moment of sheer panic turned on the hot water instead of cold. I will never know the pain he endured that night. The day that followed was a total blur. I remember walking into our home that was taped off and being confronted by the most overpowering smell. The smell never left any of us that day. The skin and blood that was smeared across the white porcelain tiles. You just had to slightly open the back door and you were ingesting the fumes of the methylated spirits that were ingrained into the wood of the decking.

In the early hours of Sunday, April third I came home a lot later than I planned. I actually wasn’t planning on going out but after being persuaded by friends I went a long. I remember getting out of a friends car around 3.00 AM to find the street lit up with 7 police cars, detectives and an ambulance. I was dropped off at the end of my street seeing as we all had been drinking and we didn’t want to bring any unnecessary attention to the car we were in.

Now, I grew up in a suburb called Dandenong. On a chaotic street, you grew up thinking that most of the events that went on there were normal. So here I was thinking “It had to be one of the neighbours that got caught up in some kind of trouble.” Wrong - I was so terribly wrong. I got out of the car and started walking home. Slowly, I felt an uneasy, sick and hollow feeling in my stomach (by this time I was still a fair few houses away.) Every step I took this empty feeling got stronger. And then instantly as I got about a house away my heart felt like it had stopped. Like it had left my body. This eery feeling I will NEVER forget. I froze in shock and disbelief, this is MY home. Surely, it was the alcohol I had been illegally drinking for the last few hours? Five police officers and detectives rushed over to me all at once. Straight away I was questioned. Confused, while still trying to piece together who was hurt and what the fuck was even going on. There’s one statement that stood out the most to me that night. I can remember a detective grabbing my shoulder and saying “If you are who you say you are, I’m sorry to inform you but your sister Bonnie has allegedly set your father on fire and he is currently being worked on in the back of that ambulance. He is in a critical condition and we are unsure if he is going to make it.”

I remember the shock hitting me like a tonne of bricks. I don’t quite remember what I said, or what I was screaming in those moments shortly after hearing the news but I remember being metres and metres away from the ambulance still and what felt like only a single second later grabbing onto the sliding door of the van trying to get in and be by my Dad’s side. My only priority was to get in that ambulance and no one was going to stop me. Shaking and screaming uncontrollably I wasn’t letting go of that fucking door.

Mind you, I weighed a tiny forty five kilograms at the time and it took two full grown male officers and one detective to pry me off that door. The officers that witnessed the scene that night said to me hours later that it was a night that would not only stay with me for the rest of my life, but it would stay with them.

I remember telling my Dad I loved him and I was there. That he had survive this because I couldn’t and wouldn’t live in the same world without him. Just repeating the story and going back to that unknown place I was in mentally makes my hands tremble heart sink all the way down to my stomach again.

One thing that has stuck with me and something I can’t forget as much as I’ve tried in the last nine years was the first glimpse I caught of my Dad. You will only know this visual if you’ve witnessed severe burns before. I refused to write about how horrific it was at first because just reading the words is extremely confronting. He had third and fourth degree burns from his head down to his belly button and covering his back. His face, chest and arms were in a terrible way. The weeping of the epidermis. The trauma to the tissue and muscle which resulted in nerve damage. The parts of flesh and skin on his chest which turned black The purple, raw skin grafts that covered his legs. Then there was the swelling and the blisters.

The list goes on..

Overall his TBSA percentage was 45% If I remember correctly, it only takes 30% TBSA to be fatal.

These images will never leave me. I was so damaged by what she did, I don’t remember the girl I was before my father was burnt.

I remember praying everyday. I remember praying with my Mum at night. I remember us not being able to walk back into the home we had. I remember the family and friends that were there. And I certainly remember the ones that weren’t. I will always wonder about the life we would’ve had if Bonnie didn’t go to the house that night.. And I wonder about which one of us it could have been. I think about the nine years that she missed out on.. And I think about the nine years I will never get back. But I know, because he survived.. I will too. I cherish every second I have with him. I cherish the way he embraces my children and what they share. I cherish the determination and drive he has. I cherish the fact he is able to forgive and not let it define his way of living.

I worship the ground this man walks on. For him to survive something like this is beyond anything one can imagine. Not just what happened that night, everything he lived with after. People don’t survive this type of pain. He was meant to be here. His time wasn’t up. God knew this great man had another purpose and forced him to stay. I can’t put into words how much this man means to me. They say the love you have for your children is something else. I believe the love I have for my children is the same love I have for my Dad. This is a love that will never be taken away. This man made sacrifices his whole life for our family. This man gave when he had nothing. This man protected: This man taught so many wonderful lessons. I would not be the woman I am today if it wasn’t for my father. I’ve permanently blocked things out to protect myself from constant flashbacks of that night.

While my Dad was in a coma life stopped. Everyday was spent in the hospital making sure he would come out of this situation and be okay. We just needed him to be okay and we could get through it. We could get through the unspeakable. The only way I can explain it was like having death standing behind you while holding a loved ones hand.

He was placed in a medically induced coma. Weeks later he awoke and that was the unfolding of everything. The confusion, the questions and the rebuilding. It was traumatising to say the least. A few months went past and I found myself having to be everyone’s rock. People were depending on me. I made the choice to not finish school and put my life on hold for my family. I have no regrets. I did what I had to do and I would do it all over again for my family. My only advice would be to you today reading this -

Don’t leave any words unspoken. Say what you feel and speak your truth. Hold your parents close, for it is a scary and confusing world without them. Love through the fear of loss. Love the things and people who wander into your life and love them while you HAVE them. Scream it, whisper it, write it or paint it on your skin. Just say it. With a shaking voice and trembling hands say it. Pull them close, find their eyes and say it. All. Because you never think that the last time is the last time. Say it before it’s too late. Say what you’re feeling. You think that there will be more. You think you have forever but you don’t. Waiting is a mistake.

“What matters most is how well you walk through the fire.” - Charles Bukowksi

I know now that although what I experienced was horrific, I can turn it into something good. I want my story can help others. I’m not here for sympathy, I’m here to be heard. This is how drugs tear families apart. These are the families that are left shattered. If you need help don’t be afraid to ask, go to the source that loves you. Find the safe place that calms you. Ask for it, beg for it if you have to..

But get the help before it’s too late. Protect those who have sheltered you. And I mean that, protect them with everything you have. Remember pain will change you more profoundly than any success or good fortune. Learn from it

“Give it to God and go to sleep.”

While I have finally closed the book on a life I shared so deeply with my sister it has made me come to terms with what happened. This is my form of healing. Know that it’s okay to not forgive bad people for hurting you. They say forgiving is part of the healing process but it happens to be the complete opposite for me. While it’s different for other members of my family (which I totally support) Holding my sister accountable for what she did and the lives she changed that night is something I never thought would be the answer. I wasn’t brought up this way, this isn’t something that is taught. This is something you find within yourself. I lost a lot of time during this process. Time I can never get back nor be replaced. But I’d like to make a difference and leave something good behind. It is so important that we share our experiences with other people. Your story will heal you and your story will heal somebody else. And.. When you tell your story, you free yourself and give other people permission to acknowledge their own story.

Lastly, My story wouldn’t have been told if it wasn’t for my parents. I owe everything to them. To my father, who told me the stories that matter. To my mother, who taught me to remember them.

Joel 2:25 “God will give you back the years you lost.”

- g.t

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