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tossawary · 3 years

Note

I need to know more about “SVSSS - Baby Brother Liu Qingge” bc I love tiny and very deadly baby LQG

I have a 3k-ish Shang Qinghua POV that was supposed to be the introduction to this fic concept! So... ah... baby Liu Qingge does not appear in this, but you can see the setup for how an 8yo-ish Liu Qingge was supposed to be introduced. My hope is that this will someday become a "Shang Qinghua and Shen Jiu go on a mission with Baby Brother Liu Qingge" one shot.

-cut-

Shang Qinghua didn't really have the words to describe what it was like having Proud Immortal Demon Way's characters finally come into his second life.

He didn't have the words to describe a lot of his transmigration experience, honestly! His words had described a lot of this world already, haha, hadn't they? Sometimes a person just had to put up with it and keep going.

And then excuse himself later to go scream into a pillow! Many times!

At first, life was just him in a body that didn't fit and strange memories that slipped between his fingers like sand. His memories of a past life had settled eventually, the System finally came fully online, and his relationship with his second family was fully fucked forever. That was fine, though! That was fine! With some unsolicited prodding from his System, he left to go seek his fortune soon enough and he never had to talk to his character's birth parents or siblings again.

But Airplane Shooting Towards The Sky had never said much of anything about Shang Qinghua’s family or home village, besides saying that the man had dreamed of more than his mediocre origins, so everything had been unfamiliar and original and real. Getting to Cang Qiong Mountain Sect, which he had described in great detail, was a real headfuck. There were no words for the experience of recognizing things that he’d written in another life.

He saw the glistening rainbow bridge and the intimidating sect entrance and the majestic meeting hall on Qiong Ding, and he nearly screamed. He definitely squawked. His vision got really fuzzy for a minute there and he had to sit down on the ground before he fell over. What the fuck?! What the fuck?! He’d made a world! The System had really made a world out of his web-novel! He was really stuck in Proud Immortal Demon Way!

There were upsides and downsides to joining Cang Qiong Mountain Sect. Downsides included: the hard training, the harder workload, the dangerous missions, the disrespect towards An Ding Peak, and being surrounded by arrogant and foolish teenagers looking to look down on someone. It was really something else to look some of them in the eye and think, "Bro, I don’t know your name, but you kind of owe your existence to me. Could you stop being such a fucking asshole about leaving your chores for me to do?! Respect your father!"

Upsides included: actually becoming a cultivator (pretty cool, even though the work of cultivation sucked more often than not), better living accommodations and food, and actually getting to see some of the cooler places, plants, monsters, and magic that were a part of his world. Sure, carting a monster corpse brought in by Bai Zhan Peak to Xi Jiao Peak for butchering was smelly and heavy and altogether miserable, but seeing an impossible animal was still kind of incredible. If this unwilling Shang Qinghua could stop being pushed around and stepped on long enough to appreciate the upsides, he’d really appreciate it!

It was interesting and infuriating to log the differences between what he’d imagined, what he’d written, and what the System had created. What sort of author described every single object in every single room? Who had time for that? Who wanted to read that? The System had filled in all the living details of An Ding Peak - the Leisure Houses, the training grounds, the storehouses, the warehouses, the kitchens, the lesson halls, the leisure gardens, the farming fields, the livestock fields, the stables, the cart lot, the water supply, the sewage systems, and so on - so that people could actually live here. Airplane Shooting Towards The Sky as an author had done many things worthy of complaint and criticism, but wasting his readers’ time with sewage systems was not one of them!

The System had also filled in all the little details and decorations - the paintings on the walls of sect history, the detailing on the rooftops supposedly offering protections from dream demons, the chipped and faded paint of old storehouses that disciples would be tasked with replacing, the statues in the fields to scare off scavengers, the carvings on the doors meant to reduce resentful energy, the childish etchings of bored students the surface of the lesson hall desks, the old bench where the An Ding Peak Lord liked to sit and eat flatcakes - so that it really seemed like people had built this place and maintained it and added to it for generations.

Shang Qinghua had his quibbles here and there. Sometimes the System had made choices that he objected to! He would have done it differently if it had asked him, the author, to contribute. He really felt as though the System should have asked him to clarify the plot holes and the gaps in detail, instead of choosing precedence randomly or building off random implications taken way too literally.

Sometimes he found out that the System had built things out of throwaway lines that Shang Qinghua himself had completely forgotten about. It turned out that Ku Xing Peak made a lot of purification tools and containment vessels because Airplane had offhandedly mentioned that this was their specialty, and now Shang Qinghua had to cart around delicate ceramics to be sold to city merchants or other cultivation sects. He never would have dared to write that if he’d known that it would one day in another life be his job to do things like take inventory and chase down signatures for successful deliveries.

Places, items, and creatures were one thing, but logging the differences between the people he met and the characters he’d created was something else. At first it was okay, because he was surrounded by nameless An Ding Peak nobodies - his fellow disciples, their teachers, the hardworking managers and merchants, even the peak lord - none of them had ever mattered in Proud Immortal Demon Way. If Airplane had been the one to name any of them, he didn’t recognize the names or remember them.

Then he met Yue Qingyuan.

Wow, it was a worse headfuck than first arriving at Cang Qiong Mountain Sect, when Shang Qinghua finally realized that this was the young version of one of his actual characters. It took him a minute. As a lowly outer disciple, Shang Qinghua hadn’t received “Qinghua” as a name yet (his name was Houhua, not that anyone ever used it) and the future Yue Qingyuan was still called Yue Qi.

Shang Qinghua was fourteen at the time. Yue Qingyuan must have been around the same age, so he didn’t strike the tall and handsome figure of the sect leader Airplane had described. The boy was broad, but actually a little short. He had freckles. He had acne.

But he also had a warm smile that seemed to go all the way to his eyes when he offered to give Shang Qinghua directions to the right office on Qiong Ding. He had a steady hand when he helped Shang Qinghua up, after the An Ding disciple had suddenly tripped over nothing upon being introduced. Yue Qingyuan - Yue Qi - walked him to the right office and did his best to make small talk, friendly and kind even though Shang Qinghua was having difficulty stringing more than a few words together in his shock.

Even then, it was obvious that the boy was developing the calm surety and the social charm that would make him a greatly admired sect leader someday! It was all Shang Qinghua could do not to blurt out: “Holy shit, you’re REAL?!” Which would be closely followed by: “Hey, is Shen Qingqiu really real too?!” And then maybe closely followed by: “FUCK!!!”

As the years went by, Shang Qinghua met more of Proud Immortal Demon Way’s characters, and it was weird every time. None of them were exactly like he was expecting. He kept expecting… well… he kept expecting them to look like the fanart, like flawless character models, more or less. Instead, he kept getting… people.

Wei Qingwei, head disciple of the sword-focused Wan Jian Peak, was also shorter than he was expecting, kind of stout, with a wide face and a wider smile. Airplane Shooting Towards The Sky had apparently had the man crack a few jokes upon his rare appearances in the web-novel, usually during tense situations, as he was reminded by the System upon thinking to himself: “Why is this guy LIKE THIS?!” So, because of just a few lines, the real Wei Qingwei had a relentless sense of humor and loved telling jokes.

Upon their first meeting, when Shang Qinghua was fifteen and had been sent over to help renovate some Wan Jian dormitories, fifteen-year-old Wei Qingwei had pretended to fumble a sword and, using a packet of dye and a sleight of hand, made it look like he’d accidentally cut off his own hand at the wrist. Of course Shang Qinghua had screamed and panicked! Anyone would panic! But Wei Qingwei had laughed at him and said, “Got you! Shang-Shidi, the sword wasn’t even unsheathed!” Asshole!

Qi Qingqi, the head disciple of Xian Shu Peak, was much taller than he was expecting. Apparently Airplane had once described a group of some of the peak lords by saying something like: “Each one of them was like a giant to young Luo Binghe.” That group had included Qi Qingqi. The System apparently had taken that to mean that Qi Qingqi was of a height with the likes of Yue Qingyuan and Shen Qingqiu. Shang Qinghua discovered this adaptational choice when he was almost sixteen, when this giraffe-like girl came to An Ding Peak to complain about an order someone along the pipeline had dropped completely, and he accidentally found himself (still waiting on a really good growth spurt) eye-level with Qi Qingqi’s chest.

Airplane had apparently once said in Proud Immortal Demon Way that Qian Cao Peak Lord Mu Qingfang appeared a little older than his colleagues, by which he’d probably meant that the man was just tired or something, but this head disciple Mu Qingfang appeared to have ten years on all the other head disciples. Which was good! Shang Qinghua approved of their future head healer not being a teenager and having more training!

On the bad side of things, Airplane had also once said in Proud Immortal Demon Way that the Zui Xian Peak Lord Zhang Qingyan liked his drink too much. This was the peak specializing in alcohol, so it had seemed to make sense! It was supposed to be funny, if anything! Well, at sixteen, Shang Qinghua found out that the System had focused too much on the “too much” part of that statement and now the head disciple of Zui Xian Peak was pretty clearly a budding alcoholic. (Sometimes a cultivator’s constitution and ability to “cure” themselves just… made a person drink more. A lot more.) Which was… not good.

At seventeen, Shang Qinghua met Mobei-Jun.

He didn’t know where to get started with Mobei-Jun.

Somehow he’d… forgotten that Mobei-Jun had been originally based on Airplane’s idea of “the perfect man” and not the super pretty, muscular but slim-waisted protagonist type? The real Mobei-Jun was… tall… and big… and thick. Mobei-Jun’s intimidating features were… more striking than pretty. The first time Shang Qinghua had come back to his Leisure House and found this spoiled brat of an ice demon napping shirtless on his bed, and gotten an eyeful of all that heavy muscle and chest hair, he’d nearly knocked himself out on the doorframe trying to turn away before he had a heart attack.

Mobei-Jun really was going to be the death of him, holy shit.

Especially because this ice demon really was a spoiled brat! Airplane had described this character as being arrogant and apathetic, so now Shang Qinghua had to deal with a Mobei-Jun who took long baths and then carelessly dripped water all over the floor and all over fresh sheets! Who ate all of Shang Qinghua’s cooking and ungratefully only demanded more food, sprawled over furniture not really fit for someone of his size, and then watched Shang Qinghua like a fat tiger! Ahhh, this demon really was lucky he was handsome!

Mobei-Jun was also kind of violent, and mean, which was… well, it sucked.

Back to the sect that Shang Qinghua was now actively betraying, however, as far as he could see, there was still one future peak lord missing.

It wasn’t Shen Qingqiu, who Shang Qinghua had thought would be the last one to show up. Shen Qingqiu had shown up and had been advancing through the ranks of Qing Jing Peak before Shang Qinghua had even met Mobei-Jun, which meant that Yue Qingyuan had finally stopped looking like someone had torn out his soul. (Shang Qinghua had been forced to grit his teeth every time that someone mentioned how privileged that Yue Qingyuan was to have been granted that year of secluded cultivation in the Lingxi Caves at such a young age.)

No, of all the peak lords, it was Liu Qingge who Shang Qinghua had yet to meet.

After meeting Mobei-Jun and becoming an inner disciple, the System had given Shang Qinghua three years to make it to head disciple, probably because the deadline for a new generation of peak lords to ascend was fast approaching. He was working hard to achieve that! Not only did he have to sabotage the current favorite, but he had to make sure all his own training, missions, work, and research were as close to flawless as he could get it! All while keeping an intruding ice demon happy! He wasn’t totally sure that he was going to make it at this rate, even though he’d been here for years.

So it was a little concerning that Liu Qingge hadn't shown up yet. There was so much left to do. A world-state that had yet to be established. Liu Qingge had work to do here!

Liu Qingge and Shen Qingqiu still had to develop a hatred for each other as disciples that would extend to everyone believing that Shen Qingqiu had murdered Liu Qingge as peak lords, after all. Granted, all Liu Qingge really had to do was beat everyone else on Bai Zhan Peak up to obtain the position, and it wasn’t exactly hard to get Shen Qingqiu to develop a lifelong grudge, but the guy was still cutting it pretty close.

It was possible that Liu Qingge was already on Bai Zhan Peak and making good progress, but that he was just so solitary and focused on searching out the next big battle that Shang Qinghua had just never had the opportunity to meet him. Shang Qinghua did his best to avoid Bai Zhan Peak most of the time, honestly! He was curious about where Liu Qingge was, about what the man looked like, but he didn’t let himself sweat at not seeing the future war god, when he already had so many things to sweat about. The System had taken care of bringing in everyone else, so Shang Qinghua was sure that Liu Qingge would follow sooner or later.

Shang Qinghua’s first sign that something was wrong was that, on the day that Liu Qingge finally announced his existence by beating up everyone on Bai Zhan Peak, everyone was saying things like, “I can’t believe some kid managed to topple all of Bai Zhan like that!”

He… may or may not have ignored this sign.

To be fair to this poor writer-turned-disciple, though, he’d been up all night finishing some paperwork catastrophe the An Ding Peak Lord had thrown at him to fix, as some kind of “test” of his logistics skills. Upon hearing the latest gossip, Shang Qinghua thought, “Oh, finally?” And then his overtired brain collapsed from the effort of thinking two words together in a sentence, and all he could manage from there was to feel the intense need to go to bed at a maximum, static-y volume. No words. No more thinky thoughts. Just the need for speedy sleep.

He stumbled through the rest of his day and then passed out for 18 hours straight. In hindsight, this would have been the time when the gossip was at its hottest. He missed all of it.

When he woke up, everyone was still dealing with the aftermath of what had happened on Bai Zhan Peak, but the conversation had shifted more towards replacing Qian Cao Peak’s depleted supplies and the repairs to Bai Zhan’s training grounds. Liu Qingge was the name on everyone’s lips, still, but everyone knew the basic information now. Now, everyone was just exclaiming over and over again how unbelievably young (and pretty) he was to have bested every other disciple on the sect battle-focused peak. This didn't seem too strange.

The System probably would have based the War God's appearance on his sister, Liu Mingyan, a strong contender for the most beautiful woman in all of Proud Immortal Demon Way. Liu Qingge apparently being a very pretty boy fell neatly into line with all the other character design surprises that Shang Qinghua had gotten smacked with so far.

If Airplane had known that he'd be transmigrating into his novel, maybe there would have been even more handsome men! And everyone would have lived happily ever after and nothing bad would have happened ever, probably, but also there might be more sexy guys too.

TBC

#timetomakeanewwish #tossawary updates #tossawary svsss #shang qinghua #unrealistically young prodigy liu qingge au #ask tossawary

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aceofspadegrass · 3 years

Text

Pancake Day, but Better

Characters: Niragi Suguru, Dori Sakurada, Last Boss, Cabot, Aguni Morizono, Chishiya Shuntaro, Hatter

Genre: Crack Part 2, now with pancakes.

1.9k words

Prompt: Can you do like a sequel for that dori and niragi crack,cause i want to see dori in pancake day and introducing himself to chishiya,last boss(and catbot)aguni,and hatter. And i have an urge that maybe hatter would like him because how he dresses himself how hatter likes it to be,also chishiya would just go up to niragi and say" Wow, he's actually even more better then you niragi. Maybe he's smarter then you too" As he walks away leaving a a angry niragi - @a-simp-20

(Counts as a Part 2 to this)

*Rubs hands together* Heck yeah, more gentle chaos. Time to gently bully this giraffe lizard man again.

Now with the added addition of pancakes! Fun times for all!

Despite the laws of the Borderlands and the highly likely chance that nobody knows the actual date that passes by, people still managed to produce what someone offhandedly referred to as the 'Borderlands Holy Day'.

Now, what pray tell was the Borderlands Holy Day? Was it a religion?

Despite the fact that it had 'Holy' in its name, no. It wasn't a religion. Although if someone tried hard enough it could become almost like a cult. Wouldn't be the first time.

So what was it?

Well, obviously.....

It was Pancake Friday. The greatest day of the century. The premise was simple enough: Every Friday everyone gets a pancake. A single pancake. Want more? Well, you better bet and compete for other people's pancakes. The only thing more exhilarating to the members of the Beach than winning games and living another day to party and do fuck-all was Pancake Day.

So, of course, when Friday rolled around, people weren't thinking of anything except the spoils of little bets and competitions over the week, thick fluffy pancakes topped with whatever they pleased and whatever the Beach had in stock at the time. Even Niragi was thinking about pancakes, because what's better than bragging about how many pancakes you got that week?

Nothing, that's what.

Pancake Day was great.

Niragi walks down the corridor with the strut of a man that knew he was feared, and he heads to the dining area where the pancakes would inevitably be given out. People were already there, a few making last minute bets in an attempt to win just a little extra amount for the day. Niragi found it almost amusing. Such a pitiful sight. Niragi himself had already gained a total of four whole pancakes, two of which he won off of some idiot who just thought he was really pretty.

" There's a lot of people here. It must be really important, right?" A smooth voice pipes up from just a little behind him, and Niragi is reminded quite forcefully that he didn't come here alone.

" Of course it's important, it's Pancake Day! Haven't you ever heard of it?" Niragi spat, Sakurada merely shrugging and walking away to talk to other members of the Beach. Niragi scoffs and storms away. At least he didn't have to think about the other him anymore, no matter how neat he looked.

He ends up finding Last Boss standing in the corner by himself, watching everyone else with a self made distance, leaning against his katana. His cat was chilling right besides his foot, apparently having her snack before the pancakes came out and making quiet eating noises. Niragi made sure not to accidentally step on her, which wasn't that hard to do. Niragi stares at Last Boss almost expectantly, waiting for even the slightest hint of a greeting, but all the other man does is stare ahead, lost in his own thought.

So, like a completely normal person would do to a guy ignoring the other, Niragi starts poking Last Boss in the side with his sniper rifle.

" Hey. Hey. Hey. You awake?"

Last Boss just continues to ignore him, and Niragi's pokes get a little harder the more he gets ignored. " Hey! Why are you ignoring me! Come on!"

Last Boss finally looks in his direction, and Niragi grins in victory, Last Boss just staring at him blankly. " Fucking finally, you were ignoring me."

Last Boss just continues to remain silent, but Niragi didn't care, instead putting his rifle back to balance on his shoulder as he looks out among the people still puttering about. Niragi could barely make out that Sakurada guy, who was talking to some random nobodies, Niragi scoffing to himself. He points him out to Last Boss, whose gaze follows the direction of Niragi's slender finger.

" See that one? Yeah, that one busted into my room and kept spraying me with water, the nerve of that guy."

Last Boss mutters something under his breath, Niragi not picking it up properly. He glances at Last Boss suspiciously, Last Boss just continuing to stare off at Sakurada without any sign of emotion on his tattooed face. Niragi groans, and he looks back in the direction of Sakurada, only to see that somehow the bastard has disappeared. Niragi frowns and looks around from where he stood to see whether he could see him again, but no dice.

The area was getting more and more full the longer Niragi tried looking, to the point that he gave up even trying. At some point Last Boss' cat had finished her snack, and he could feel Cabot rubbing her body across his legs as well just for the hell of it. He looks down at the feline, Cabot just doing her own thing like she usually did.

" Hey you little fuck. What's up." Niragi mutters down at the cat, Cabot just continuing on her little rub spree before going over to Last Boss and meowing loudly until Last Boss bent down and picked her up, Cabot resting happily with her butt in the crook of Last Boss' arm and her head and front paws draped over his shoulder.

Niragi rolls his eyes at the sight, and finally the time had come, Hatter walking in with the utmost grace, people cheering him like they do every time they see the man, with Aguni not that far behind. Niragi and Last Boss head towards the little stage Hatter insisted needed to be built for Pancake Day, standing in position as Aguni joins them, Hatter going up to the Pancake Podium.

" Greetings everyone! Today is the glorious and absolutely magnificent Pancake Day! I hope all of you have worked hard to acquire your pancakes!" Hatter shouts with arms outstretched like a bird's, people cheering and whooping excitedly. " I, for one, have a total of five whole pancakes, as throughout the week I have worked hard to get them from my loyal and beautiful members, and that one person who sadly perished in a game and bequeathed their pancakes to me for many months to come! May their soul be at rest, the courage of them~" Hatter announces, the crowd going wild.

" Now, may the pancakes commence!"

People scattered to tables near immediately, and the kitchen doors open as the designated chefs come out with the freshly made pancakes on carts. Niragi and Last Boss end up following Aguni and the rest of the executives plus Hatter to what was apparently the special table, used only by them.

Niragi grins as he leans back in his chair. At least Sakurada would stay away for now-

" Oh, there you are!"

Speak of the devil. Niragi shuts his eyes in annoyance as his clone comes over. Several pairs of eyes shoot to him, and despite his eyes being closed, Niragi could still feel the smug and interested smile Chishiya was giving off.

" Oh? And who are you, you splendid looking being?" Hatter's voice rings out. " Your outfit is immaculate, but I have never seen you before. No, wait...... I have seen you! Except less fancier. And usually with a hat. Who is sitting right there."

Niragi wanted to shoot this man so bad.

"My name is Sakurada Dori, it is very nice to meet you." Sakurada greets them.

Niragi finally bothers to open his eyes as Hatter stands up, and apparently does a quick check over of Sakurada, nodding to himself. " Yes, you are absolutely stunning. I love what you've done!"

" Are you the one that made Niragi take off his hat?" Aguni asks, low and stoic as always. Niragi rolls his eyes at that. He didn't intend to get rid of his hat, Sakurada just kind of yeeted it outside his window without even asking. The nerve of this guy.

Sakurada quickly nods. " I will get him another hat eventually, as I promised, but only as long as he shoots his gun responsibly!"

" Is that so...." Aguni mutters, and just kind of nods like a sort of proud dad.

Hatter grins even wider, and claps Sakurada across the back. " Now that's some courage! Hey, what say you, would you like one of Niragi's pancakes? As a sign of strength!"

" What?!" Niragi shouts, and he stands up, slamming the table. Aguni watches him quietly, as does Last Boss, the latter just staring more than a tired gaze like Aguni was sporting at the moment. " You can't do that!"

" But I can! I'm the leader after all, I can say what I want, and what I want is practically law here, Niragi. Remember who your boss is." Hatter smiles at Niragi in that sort of way that Niragi hated, but a firm tap on his arm by Aguni made him relent, Niragi angrily muttering to himself as he sat back down.

" Ah, thank you very much, but I don't need to take his-"

" Nonsense, you deserve it! Besides, Niragi already gets... how many?"

" Well I had four, but apparently not anymore."

" Three is plenty for you! Anyways, so that means you get two pancakes, you funky little ball of glory!" Hatter states.

" Are you sure? Is that alright with you Niragi?" Sakurada looks to the man, Niragi just grumbling some more.

" Don't worry about him, he'll get over it." Chishiya mentions, and Niragi quickly glares at him, Chishiya casually looking back with that damn smug ass smile on his lips.

" Fucking undercooked egg white." Niragi mutters under his breath, Chishiya just continuing to smirk.

Still, the pancakes arrive to their table, Hatter inviting Sakurada to sit with them for the day so he could talk about fashion, mainly about what kinds of hats the other liked, Sakurada easily falling into conversation with him. Niragi just drowns his now three pancakes in maple sauce, grumbling under his breath.

Last Boss was watching Niragi just nearby, eating his single pancake as Cabot got to treat herself to two whole cat-specified pancakes like she deserved, and goes to whisper to his cat, Cabot flicking her tail a little at whatever Last Boss muttered.

" You have a very nice cat there! It must be enjoying everything since it appears to be very well cared for and happy." Sakurada mentions at one point, Last Boss staring at Sakurada silently. Sakurada just politely smiles back, and Last Boss just slowly blinks, then nods.

" Thank.... you." Last Boss says, and Cabot looks up finally, and bumps her body against Last Boss, the man quietly petting her as Sakurada watches with a happy expression at how sweet the sight was. Sakurada makes small clicking nosies in an attempt to beckon the cat over to him, Cabot meowing and wandering over curiously, sniffing at Sakurada's fingers before letting herself get pet by the man softly. " She seems to like me already!" Sakurada says happily, Last Boss slowly nodding.

" That's good. She likes being pet gently." Last Boss mutters, and even Hatter tried to get in on the cat patting session.

" Hey Niragi." Chishiya's voice catches Niragi's attention, and he looks up at him, already despising of what he was about to spew out from his lips. The limestone fox man just smiles at him, pancakes already gone from his plate.

" The fuck do you want now."

" Your clone is actually way better than you. Perhaps even smarter than whatever half brain you have up there." Chishiya remarks, and with that he stands up and walks away from the table, immediately sliding himself into a group of people leaving and disappearing from his sight.

" YOU LITTLE FUC-" He whips out his gun, ready to chase Chishiya down and kill him like he always wanted to.

Water gets immediately sprayed on his face the second he stands up again, Niragi sputtering. " No. Bad Niragi."

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nomazee · 4 years

Text

Splendor

kenma kozume x reader

word count: 2400+

content: completely self-indulgent fluff, reader doing kenma’s makeup, sort of friends-to-lovers

cross-posted on my ao3

(i’m not going to lie, this was a bit rushed and wasn’t my strongest work. but i wanted to write somethign ebcause i felt like if i stopped writing, i’d kind of lose momentum with this whole writing streak i have going on and i really wanna keep writing!! so here’s a cute little self-indulgent fic with kenma :)

happy reading!)

☾.:°∗★.:☆:.★∗°:.☽

“A... what?”

“A date, Kenma.”

Kenma blinked, gaze becoming distant as he put a strange amount of effort into processing what had just come out of your mouth.

This was certainly not what he was expecting to see when he showed up to your house.

Just fifteen minutes ago he’d taken the initiative to make his way to your place, unannounced, with a bag containing leftover snacks from his cabinets and his switch. He figured you’d welcome him in despite the short (or rather, nonexistent) notice--it wasn’t strange for the two of you to just show up at each other’s houses with an overdue invitation to hang out.

He wasn’t anticipating for you to answer the door dressed in an unfamiliarly formal getup with your hair done up in an equally unfamiliar way.

Kenma was snapped back to the present as you let out a short laugh. “Are you gonna come in? Or are you gonna turn around just ‘cause I told you I’ve got a date?”

Yeah. That part. You were dressed up for a date. He couldn’t help but feel a little bitter at the fact that the date was not with him, but shoved those feelings down his throat before he could make some stupid, less-than-discreet comment about his jealousy for whoever it was you even decided to go out with.

“I’d feel bad if I just kicked you out,” you told him as you both treaded up the stairs to your bedroom. “So you can stay while I do my makeup. And you can stay after I leave, too, but… I really don’t know what you’d even do without me here, haha.”

The boy gave a short hum in response, following you into your bedroom and laying down on your bed where he mindlessly scrolled through different apps on his phone. Out of the corner of his eye he caught you gathering small makeup bags and shoving them onto your desk along with a small mirror, making a makeshift vanity to do your makeup on.

Kenma slowly and subconsciously found himself entranced by the way you smoothly glided products along your skin and brushed powder over your eyelids. Part of this curiosity was due to his general curiosity when it came to makeup. Though it certainly wasn’t something he’d discuss with other people (even with you or Kuroo), the ways people could manage to slap pigment on their faces and make it look good was just… cool, to say the least.

And, of course, part of it was due to his utter infatuation with you as a whole. But he wasn’t planning on addressing that any time soon.

You spritzed some sort of mist over your face and fanned yourself with your hands for a minute before turning back to your friend on the bed, a wide smile adorning your features. “So? How do I look?”

Kenma paused. Then blinked. His stomach fluttered gently and his ears shone red beneath the mop of his hair. “Okay.”

A playful huff forced its way from your lips. ”’Okay?’ I did not go out of my way to use my expensive highlighter to just look ‘okay,’”

Why would you be going out of your way to do that in the first place? For some random guy you decided to go on a date with on a whim? Kenma forced the bitter thoughts far back into his head and tore his eyes away from your ethereal form.

“‘S… good.”

A smile appeared on your face. “Thanks, Ken.” A beat of silence passed through the room before you spoke up again.

“Hey, I’ve got some time before I have to leave. Can I do your makeup?”

Kenma froze. The day just kept coming with unpredictable things, huh? He looked up at you with widened eyes tinted with confusion.

“My… makeup…?”

“Yeah! Just for fun. I have makeup wipes, and you can take it off right away, I promise. I’ve just always wondered what you look like with it one. I think you’d look really pretty.”

Pretty. The word bounced of the now-emptied walls of Kenma’s mind and he found himself staying silent for a time too long to be comfortable.

You cleared your throat. “You don’t actually have to. I was just--”

“No…” he cut you off meekly. “It’s fine. You can… do it, if you want.”

Your expression brightened even more than it already was, and a small shout of victory fell out of your lips as you moved to grab products from your desk and group them together. Searching for a specific item, Kenma watched as your hand hovered above the mess of tubes and brushes and compacts on your desk before darting down to grab a small bottle filled with some weird translucent liquid he couldn’t immediately identify.

Rolling your chair over to his place on your bed, you paused before you could even take any further action. Kenma furrowed his eyebrows at your frozen form before you explained.

“Your hair is kind of long,” you rolled back over to your desk and opened a drawer, rummaging through it fervently. “I’m just going to pin it back for now.”

Pulling your hand out to reveal two sparkly bobby pins, you quickly went to work with the small accessories, pulling back the strands of hair near his face and sliding the bobby pins in, grazing his scalp in a less-than-pleasant manner in order to properly secure the clips.

You leaned back and admired the full sight of Kenma’s soft features. His ears went pink once more at your gaze of admiration and he turned his head away from you, earning a yell of complaint from you.

“Hey! Don’t turn away! You look cute! I have to put stuff on your face, c’mon, turn back.” A gentle grip took hold of his chin as you maneuvered his head to face you. Kenma suppressed a flinch at the intimate contact and the lack of distance between the two of you. He could feel the gentle breeze of your breathe fan over his skin as your scrutinizing gaze flit all over his face.

Kenma must’ve zoned out, because he didn’t notice the discreet working of your hands until he felt a gel product touch his skin and your fingers gently rub it in.

“This is primer,” you began to explain offhandedly. “It smooths out your skin and makes it a nice base for all the other stuff.”

Your voice had softened from your sudden tone before, and slowly lulled Kenma into a pleasant haze as you moved about. You talked about each and every product you applied on his face but he was more focused on physical sensation and the calming drone of your voice rather than the actual content of it.

After you’d put the primer on, you put a thin layer of liquid tinted to match his skin and patted it in with a soft sponge. (“This actually isn’t mine,” you had told him after explaining what the product was. “It was my other friend’s. She left it here, thank God she did, ‘cause mine might’ve not matched your skin.”)

With a soft, large brush, you’d applied some soft of loose powder all over your face. Kenma found the gentle swirls on his skin soothing and he was further entranced into an ethereal state of mind. Other smaller, fluffy brushes followed, with a soft pink hue being liberally patted along his cheeks and warm red and pink tones being patted onto his eyelid, followed by a glittery shade near the corners of his eyes that he protested to at first, but finally obliged to your “vision,” as you called it.

The ink-saturated tip of a felt brush was swiped along the edges of his eyelids with calculated, practiced movements and a rough brush was swiped through of his eyelashes (with difficulty, as Kenma couldn’t help but flinch at the weird sensation of it).

With the pad of your ring finger, you swiped a shimmery powder over the highest part of his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose. “Highlighter,” you explained. “Makes you look like an angel child. It’s the best part of this whole thing, in my opinion.” You leaned backwards so that the sunlight peeking through your window angled right onto your skin. “See?”

Kenma certainly did see the effect that the product had on your features. You’d always been naturally stunning, something he’d barely admit to himself in embarrassment, but something about the glittery powder made you look even more ethereal than before. The sunlight fanned over your features in a warm ray. The use of the highlighter was evident along your cheeks. where it moved and sparkled with the warm hues of light. You tilted your head around as if to showcase the fluorescent effect veiled over your features.

Kenma was dazed. He felt embarrassed for being so swayed just by the sight of you in the drifting sunlight but at the same time, he couldn’t find it in himself to complain. You were pretty, he thought, not just now--you had always been appealing to look at (a weird way of phrasing it, but the stiff way of saying it gave him a bit of comfort in denying his feelings). But something about the way you presented yourself, a gossamer of liquid gold laid dewey on your skin--it left Kenma in a swirl of fluttering butterfly wings and distantly recognized nausea.

Before he knew it, you were rolling back towards him and resuming the soft tapping motions on his face. In another moment, he was commanded to close his eyes so you could spritz a light, cool mist over his face, which you explained was to lock in all your hard work.

A block of time passed in which you sat and stared at him with something he refused to label as adoration but couldn't find another accurate word for. Your lips bordered on a soft smile and your eyes softened from your previously focused gaze.

Kenma’s breath hitched. Your noses were close to touching and he felt deja vu from the way your gentle breaths blew softly over his freshly-painted face.

You chuckled, eyes closing for a second before opening back up to admire him once more. “You’re so pretty.”

The layers of blush packed onto his cheeks were enough to represent the flush that spread across his face at your blunt statement. Before he could request it himself, you took the small mirror from your desk and pushed it towards him, letting him see the sum of your hard work.

Kenma’s hair was still pinned back, but a few thin strands had escaped from the grasp of the bobby pins, framing his face delicately. His skin seemed mattified, and any of his scattered blemishes were covered up in a sheer layer of foundation and powder. His cheeks were rosy pink--saturated far too much to be natural but in a way that still worked with his face and the rest of the makeup. His eyelids were coated in a satisfying blend of red, orange and pink, smoothly extending up to his brow-bone, with golden glitter patted into the center and corner of his eyelids. The highlighter (which he begrudgingly admitted he was most excited to see the result of) shone on his cheeks and nose, dusting him in a silvery sheen of fluorescence that he couldn’t help but find himself entranced by, just as he had been with you. His lips were soft, covered in a thin layer of lip balm--you’d claimed his lips were pigmented enough to settle for a simple chapstick.

He blinked, snapping him out of his trance in the mirror. His eyes flitted up to your expression of anticipation and flitted away before he could become distracted again.

“I… I like it.”

If possible, your smile grew brighter, out-performing the shimmer on your cheeks.

“Great!” A pause, and you continued, blinking and averting your eyes to where your phone sat on the desk. “I have to go now. If you want to wash it off, the wipes are in the left drawer in the bathroom. But… you look so pretty. Maybe leave it on for now.”

Kenma furrowed his eyebrows. What, was he supposed to walk back home with a full face of makeup? How would that work out for him?

“I’ll be back in three…” You checked the texts on your phone, likely from whoever your date for the night was (Kenma found his expression dampening at the resurfaced thought). You contemplated something for a few seconds, brow furrowing momentarily before you looked back up at your friend. “Two hours. I promise. And then we can… hang out. You can sleep over, too. I have some of your clothes from last time.”

Kenma’s expression subtly lightened at the prospect. Spending time with you would certainly be nice. And after seeing how much you seemed to like the makeup… he’d keep it on, too.

“Actually. One hour. I’ll be back in one hour.” You just kept cutting the time shorter and shorter--but Kenma knew what you meant.

An unexpectedly soft smile appeared on the boy’s face, sending you into yet another dazed haze of admiration. He knew that you meant you’d end the date earlier than you initially intended, that you’d head home as soon as you could (without letting the guy walk you home), slip off your heels and join Kenma on the couch, where he would’ve already hooked up his Switch and anticipated your return. You’d both sit close together and share a controller and play whatever multiplayer games were in Kenma’s game library until inevitably falling asleep together on the couch in a tangle of limbs.

It was times like these where he was glad you knew him so well.

You leaned down, close to his face--Kenma felt soft lips, slightly sticky from quickly-drying lip gloss press against the middle of his forehead, lingering in a way he read as more-than-platonic, before straightening yourself out and dusting off your outfit of nonexistent dust.

“Pretty.” You mumbled one more time for good measure before slipping out of your bedroom door and heading off to your (inevitably short-lived) date.

The prospect of you going on a date with anyone other than him seemed grim. But Kenma knew that the night was still young and you both could certainly make the most of it.

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morningfears · 4 years

Text

Marry Me

Rating: PG

Summary: “10, 12, and 13 with calum, maybe? like. maybe he proposes to you on the way to your parents house for christmas?” “I’ve been practicing this for weeks but now that I’m looking at you, I can barely remember my own name.” | “Marry me.” | “What did you say?”

Word Count: 1.7k

“Okay, I think that’s everything. Duke is with Mali, all the lights in the house are off, the gifts are in the trunk, the trash has been taken out - oh! Did we grab the cards off the counter?”

Calum stifles a laugh as he watches you rifle through your bag to find the set of holiday cards you’d had printed earlier. They’re cheesy, complete with the pair of you and Duke all in matching tacky sweaters, but they make Calum grin every time he spots them. They’re silly, something you’ll look back on and laugh about later, but he loves them and he knows your family will love them, too. He knows that they’re something you’d always secretly wanted and that they make you incredibly happy so he’d been sure to pack those first.

“Right here, love,” he informs you with a smile as he reaches into his backpack and tugs the little white envelope stuffed with cards out of the front pocket.

You smile, relieved and grateful for his foresight, before you lean over and press a chaste kiss to his lips. “Thank you, babe,” you hum as you zip your own bag back up and toss it into the backseat with your suitcase. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

It’s uttered offhandedly, a simple phrase meant to convey your gratitude as you settle into the passenger seat of his car, but your words weigh heavily on his chest as he rounds the vehicle and settles into the driver’s seat. He’s been thinking a lot lately, about what his life would have been like if you hadn’t entered it and what his future will be with you by his side, and he finds himself feeling more and more grateful to have you in his life.

Before you, he’d suffered a terrible heartbreak that left him bitter and afraid. He stopped imagining futures in which he would live happily, growing old with a partner and children and a life full of laughter and joy. He stopped imagining love in the cards for himself. He didn’t believe it was possible, not after what had happened, but then he met you.

Your relationship started off slow, moving glacially as he worked through his own issues, and he’d been worried that you would leave him. It hadn’t worried him much at first, you wouldn’t have been the first person to leave, but the longer he spent with you, the harder he fell. As he glances over at you, settled into your seat with four years under your belt and a smile on your face as you scroll through the playlist he’d made for the drive, he can’t imagine a future without you in it and knows that he’s making the right decision as he thinks about the diamond ring sitting in the glove box.

He’d started thinking about it after Michael got engaged (in fact, talking about their engagement was the first time you mentioned marriage seriously and Calum was mildly surprised to learn that you really wanted to get married). He went ring shopping two months later and even borrowed one of your rings (one he knew you wouldn’t miss) to get it sized. He’d been worried that he wouldn’t be able to find the perfect one, you were always a tough person to buy jewelry for, but it only took two jewelry shops for him to find the ring that he knew you would love. Ashton had been with him and he’d helped him pluck up the courage to buy the ring and begin the mental preparation for when he’d actually propose.

Calum’s been waiting for the perfect moment. He’s practiced his speech a million times, memorized the words he wanted to share so desperately, but nothing ever feels right. There are too many people around or the mood isn’t right or one of you is busy. Nothing ever seems to go the way he wants it to but he grabbed the ring in hopes of proposing at some point during your holiday getaway.

He’s been worrying about the logistics of proposing at home. Your family goes all out for the holidays with extended family visiting from all around to spend the day together. Your mother has taken on hosting duties for dinner so he knows that the pair of you won’t get any time alone until everyone goes to bed so he’s considering stopping somewhere along your three hour drive and popping the question in solitude.

And when he sees a sign advertising a waterfall, he decides that that’s the best option.

“Do you mind if we take a quick detour?” Calum asks as he watches for the exit.

“No, that’s fine,” you shrug as you glance at the exit signs, “what’re we detouring for?”

“There’s a waterfall. Thought it might be nice to see, get some calm before we see your entire family,” he teases gently as he makes his way to the exit.

“God, yeah,” you laugh as you watch the scenery change the closer you get to the waterfall, “it’s gonna be chaos. My brother and his wife are coming with all their kids. I love children but there are going to be so many of them in the house at one time.”

“Duke would love the attention,” Calum hums absentmindedly as he pulls into a corner of the little gravel parking lot. “He loves kids.”

“You’d think he wouldn’t, with him being so used to adults, but he’s just such a good boy,” you gush as you glance around the empty parking lot, “is this the part where you kill me instead of taking me to my parents’ for Christmas?”

“Shut up,” he laughs as he nudges your shoulder, “come on. If I wanted to kill you, I would’ve done it by now. And I wouldn’t have done it when I knew your mom was expecting you.” Calum grins at the look your face, playful exasperation as you roll your eyes, and gestures for you to climb out of the car. “I’m going to grab my camera,” he tells you as he shifts toward the backseat. “I’m right behind you if you want to walk ahead.”

“Okay,” you nod as you fix your gaze on a sign, full of information about the fall, “I’m gonna go read that thing. I think your camera’s in the blue bag. Or maybe the green one.”

“I’ll find it. Learn about this place so you can bug me with random facts on the walk,” he laughs as he begins shifting through the bags. He laughs a little louder when you flip him off, a sarcastic smile on your lips, before you giggle and head over to the sign. The second you turn your back, he reaches for the ring box and shoves it into his coat pocket before he climbs out of the car and jogs over to you.

“Where’s your camera?” you question as you reach for his hand and tug him along toward the trail. “Did we forget it?”

“I think it’s in the trunk with the gifts,” he shrugs as he squeezes your hand. “Doesn’t matter. We have phones. Seeing the actual view is what’s important, making memories and shit.”

“What a romantic,” you tease as you glance at him from beneath your lashes, “no wonder you’re a lyricist.”

The rest of your walk to the falls continues in silence. You’re taking in the beauty of the world around you and Calum is attempting to control the rapid beating of his heart. He’s desperately trying to keep his palms from sweating and his breathing steady but walking the trail feels like running a marathon as he thinks about what awaits him at the end. He doesn’t think you’ll deny him, he’s fairly certain you’ll say yes, but he’s still more nervous than he’s ever been.

When the fall is in view, beautiful and magical and neither of you are sure why this place isn’t more populated, Calum lets you drop his hand and rush forward. As you gaze at the water, an audible murmur of wonder falling from your lips, Calum settles onto one knee behind you and waits for you to turn.

It takes a second, Calum almost calls out your name, but before he can, you notice his lack of presence and turn to find him. When you do, he can see the surprise on your face. You’re frozen for a moment, sheer surprise evident as you had given up hope of getting married (he never seemed as into the idea as you), before you take a few shaky steps closer to him.

“Calum,” you breathe as you reach out to take the hand he offered you, “what are you doing?”

“I love you,” he tells you as he clasps your hand in his, “I love you so much. I’ve been working on what I should say and I’ve been practicing this for weeks but now that I’m looking at you, I can barely remember my own name. I never thought I would want to get married, I wasn’t sure I would ever find a love like ours, but I did and I’m so grateful. Having you in my life has meant so much and every day, you make me want to be a better man just so I can deserve you. So, will you marry me?”

Calum watches as you blink back tears, your voice inaudible as you nod your head. Calum knows that you’ve agreed, knows that you’re saying yes, but he can’t help ask, “What did you say?” with a smile on his lips.

“Yes,” you breathe, voice shaking, “of course I’ll marry you! I love you.”

“I love you,” Calum returns as he stands from his position and pulls you into a kiss. The ring fits perfectly, like it was made for you, and Calum laughs when gasp at it. “Do you like it?”

“It’s beautiful, thank you. I love it and I love you. Fuck, my mom is going to freak,” you laugh as you reach up to wipe your tears away.

“She’s going to freak if we don’t get there pretty soon. I’m so glad that you said yes,” he sighs before he pulls away and reaches for your hand. He brings your hand to his lips and presses a kiss to your knuckles before he repeats, “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” you return as the pair of you head back toward the car.

You knew that Calum was it for you and he was just as sure. The pair of you would remember this Christmas for the rest of your lives and he can’t wait for every other Christmas to follow.

_______________________________________________________________________

Author’s Note: I know I’ve been writing for PRETTYMUCH lately but, like. I’m super into them at the moment. They’re super talented and Zion’s just so fucking cute. He reminds me of Cal a little, tbh. Also, Nick. Very cute. Anyway. Enjoy this soft Cal. I’m gonna write some more. This is weird. I’ve written more in three days than I have in six months, wow.

#calum hood imagine #calum hood imagines #5sos imagines #5sos imagine #5 seconds of summer imagines #5 seconds of summer imagine #5sos fanfiction #5sos fanfic #5sos stories #calum hood fanfiction #calum hood preference #calum hood fanfic #5sos preferences #5sos preference #calum hood x you #calum hood x reader #calum hood fluff #mine

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itzagothamcitysiren · 4 years

Text

Welcome to the Family

So yesterday was Tim’s birthday and I had planned out a fic for it BUT I’ve been working a lot and just hadn’t had the time to sit down and write it out. I had kinda forgotten about it and when yesterday came around I was annoyed BUT I was given this idea after going out for the day with my niece.

We had drove by a Red Robin after eating somewhere else and I was mad salty, cause yesterday would’ve been the perfect time to go. Then for dinner we ordered take out and I kind you not, our delivery driver was named Timothy. Like what the hell? lol, I was dude I need to write something now.

So today after work I sat down and wrote this. It’ll be three parts, taking place after my mother’s day story. I’ll post up part one and two tonight, and once I finish three I’ll post it tomorrow hopefully :)

Tell ‘Em That It’s My Birthday pt. 1

“What day is it?!”

Halley’s voice seemed to shriek through the room, causing her now startled teammate, Kori Anders, to jerk her head up from her laptop. The girl’s off guard silence caused Halley to go bug eyed, repeating herself but more frantically. “The day! What day is it?”

The alien princess stared up at the wide eyed brunette unsure as to why the younger girl was so frantic suddenly. The coffee mug she held paused as it touched her lips and now was being held still. Cocking an eyebrow up, Kori gave her a soft and hesitant response,

“Monday?”

“Yes, I know its Monday. The date, I mean the date!” Halley shouted back, using one hand to run it through her hair as the other reached for her phone that she had tossed across the couch only seconds ago.

It was only minutes ago that the device was being held in her hands. She had been ordering herself and her team dinner from their favorite Thai place via Door Dash, it being her turn as Kori treated them to an array of Sushi the a few nights ago. She had found herself chuckling at the realization of the name of their Dasher. His name was Timothy and she couldn’t help but think back to yesterday when she and Kori were out on one of their many shopping trips. They had drove past a Red Robin and she had joked about how if they hadn’t already eaten lunch that they should’ve gone there and taken a picture outside the sign and send it to her Tim.

Why hadn’t it clicked then, she cursed to herself once her phone was in her hands. She let out the loudest groan she felt like she ever had when the date haunted her vision. It was July 20th; fucking July fucking 20th, she cursed to herself again, furiously rubbing her face with her hands as the phone dropped back down onto the couch. She was literally the worst sister in the entire universe.

She had been so consumed with her own life that she had completely spaced that Tim’s birthday was yesterday. She’d never done so before. She had never forgotten a birthday or any day of importance; she’d always made sure to leave herself reminders and be on top of stuff like that. Of course there were times where she would let certain things sneak up on her but she usually had a pretty solid excuse for days like those. But now that she was officially graduated from college she had no other big obligations to keep her truly and utterly distracted.

Sure, she was offered a job at the Gazette, but she didn’t have to start until the fall when they had a spot for her open. One of their tenor reporters was moving to Metropolis around then and Halley was more than okay with being able to take the summer off until then. Kori had asked for her help with getting the new Tower back up and running so it was ready for their new team of recruits.

The team of Titans she knew were mostly disbanded, having gone off to do their own things or another, a new team, a team Tim was a part of, taking over their Tower. Now Dick was in Bludhaven, Hank and Dawn giving up the hero life, Victor now joining the Justice League and Wally and Roy off somewhere no one really knew. Kori had reached out to Halley, asking her to help train her new recruits; Halley agreed and had been here for the last two and a half months.

But this was Tim. How could she just up and forget his birthday?

“Fuck, fuck, I need to call Tim,” She let her hands drop and grabbed her phone once more.

Going to her favorites, she clicked on the second name, dialing his number within seconds. She tapped her fingers against her thigh nervously waiting for the other line to be picked up. Her heart dropped when it had only been brought to voicemail. She didn’t wait to leave a message, hanging up and calling again. The phone brought her straight to voicemail.

He was ignoring her, she gulped.

She held the bridge of her nose, pinching it as she listened through his voicemail, waiting for the beep before opening her mouth to speak. When the beep rang she found herself unsure of what to say. She couldn’t just wish him happy birthday a day late through a voicemail. Biting the inside of her cheek she quickly composed herself, saying, “Hee-hey Tim. Uh it’s me, Halley er-. Look, can you call me? Please? Okay, love you, bye-,” Stupid, she hissed to herself as she hung up.

“Well that was almost as hard to listen to as Garfield when he flirts.” Kori chuckled, watching the girl hang up the phone and let her head drop into her hands.

“Shut up.” Halley spat but was muffled by her hands. She took her head out of her hands, leaning back into the couch and looking up at the ceiling.

Maybe he wasn’t actually in Gotham. Maybe he was with his own team of Titans. Yeah, maybe he was. And maybe he was on a mission and that’s why he couldn’t answer the phone. No, she frowned. She knew that he was in Gotham. Steph had sent her a snap a few days ago of the two of them out at Bat Burger. Wait, she though, bringing the phone back up to her ear. She dialed the blonde’s number but was met the same fate as with Tim’s.

“Ugh they hate me!” She cried out, finally meeting Kori’s eye. “I forgot about Tim’s birthday, Kori. He’s hates me now.”

“Tim would never hate you.” Kori rolled her eyes, waving the girl off and turning back to her laptop and work. “He looks up to you. He’ll understand that it just slipped your mind.”

“Yea but it shouldn’t have slipped my mind. And he’s clearly mad since he’s ignoring me!” Halley yelled, standing up. “Let Gar or Jaime have my plate; I need to catch a flight to Gotham.”

“Halley, wait a bit for him to call you back, don’t just jump on a plane.” Kori squinted at her, noting how similar to Dick she had gotten over the years. He had done the exact thing to her once, way back when she hadn’t answered her phone.

“No, you don’t get it, Kor, we always remember and I can’t believe I forgot.” She frowned, grabbing her phone and heading out of the common room as quickly as she could.

She was so mad at herself. She knew that Tim wasn’t one to just ignore people and send them right to voicemail. She knew he was mad and she was worried that if she waited for him to call her back it would take a couple of days. Halley wouldn’t wait that long, already trying to think of an apology as she looked up flights on her phone as she power walked to her room.

As her head was buried in her phone she found herself walking into a hard chest, instantly looking up with narrowed eyes. In front of her stood one of the last members to join the Titans before the newest kids and Halley showed up. The firm chest of the Atlantean sidekick stared her straight in the face as she slowly craned her head up to make eye contact with his purple eyes.

“Hey Garth, sorry” she said offhandedly, side stepping and moving to walk around him. She frowned when she felt his hand reach out and grip her upper arm, making her stop. “Come on, I gotta go. I have to go to Gotham; it’s an emergency.”

The Atlantean frowned his playful smirk now showing concern as he let go of his grip. He began to follow her to her room, walking a few steps behind. “Is everything okay? Do you need me to go with you?”

“I don’t think the Batclan will want an Atlantean in Gotham. No offense,” She smirked at him, looking him up and down. She pressed down the hall further, “But no, it’s not that kind of emergency. I’m an asshole and forgot Tim’s birthday.”

“You are an asshole.” He teased, stopping behind her when they reached her door. He laughed, raising his hands up in surrender and protection when she turned around to smack him. “Hey, I’m not the one who eats their boyfriend’s kind.”

“I said I was sorry about that!” Halley snapped, giving him a playful push before opening her door. She didn’t bother to close it, knowing he’d just follow her in anyway. “I told you I would be more mindful; I ordered Thai food tonight, no fish.” She pointed out, laughing at the incident that happened when Kori bought them all home sushi a few nights ago. The Aqualad was less than thrilled about her choice and even less than thrilled when Halley openly dug into roll after roll in front of him. “Also, you aren’t my boyfriend last time I checked.”

He watched her as she moved to her closet, pulling out a Superman backpack and throwing random articles of clothing into it. His face flashed from frisky to almost jealous, her words throwing him off as he had already assumed they were a thing. They’d met years ago when they were teenagers and Garth would be lying if he said he hadn’t gotten a crush on her back then. But he had only been with the Titans for one mission back then and quickly went back to Atlantis. When he was offered a full time spot on their roster he was excited when he found out Halley would be joining them for a few months.

It took some time but the pair hit it off, Halley at first reluctantly agreeing to go on a date with him but eventually growing to like the Atlantean. She had only just started dating a few months prior and it was all so new to her but it was somewhat comfortable with Garth. She wouldn’t say that she was falling in love, she was far from it. But she did feel something towards him unlike other’s she dated; she wasn’t bored. It wasn’t as awkward as it was with civilians who knew nothing about her nightlife and it was nice to talk to someone outside of the family who had shared life experiences. She also found herself not constantly comparing everything about him to Jason or holding him to the unreasonably high standards she had to match him.

“Well I haven’t gotten around to asking you yet.” He shrugged but kept a firm face, wanting to show that he was seriously thinking about asking her.

“Oh,” Halley said, placing the last thing she needed in her bag. She zipped it up, trying to shove away her sudden nervousness. She hadn’t thought about getting that committed to someone yet. But as she bit her lip, she looked up at him unable to stop herself from speaking. Giving him a sly look, she spoke “Well, when I get back maybe you can get around to it if you want.”

“I’ll have to make a note of it,” Garth smirked at her, crossing his arms against his chest. “For now let me at least bring you to the airport,” He offered, his eyes followed her as she walked around him and grabbed her phone charger of the plug in the wall and a book from her nightstand.

“Do mermaids know how to drive?” She teased him before heading out the door.

“Wow, you really are an asshole.” He teased right back as he followed her back into the hallway, leading the way down to the garage.

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deadlybeautydbz · 4 years

Text

Little Moments

So, the anon asking me the other day about 17 and 18 fic recs got me thinking. I wanted to write something for you, anon, but for a little while I was stumped as to what. So I took inspiration from my own life for this one. I myself have a twin brother and we’re both parents, so I asked myself, what does hanging out with my brother look like, and I give you this.

17 and 18 washing dishes.

You wanted random sibling hangs, here you go, with the most random hang of all. Really though, this is what hanging out as adults, siblings, parents looks like for us and I’m pretty happy with this for something I whipped up in a day. I hope ya’ll enjoy!

Little Moments:

“That’s the last of them gone,” 17 said, his voice thick with relief as he walked into the kitchen, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Who would have known twenty 7 year olds would be such a handful.”

He had just closed the door on last straggling guest of his oldest son, Onyx, 7th birthday party. He’d cheerfully waved goodbye as he watched the boy and his mother wander off down the driveway, party bag and balloon clutched firmly in hand. He felt kind of guilty, sending that child home hopped up to his eyeballs on sugar, but the guilt was short lived, birthday parties we meant to be fun-filled sugar trips.

“Literally everyone, 17” 18, who was seated at the table in the centre of the kitchen, nursing a mug of rapidly cooling tea, replied. “Literally everyone knows that. Why do you think I only have one?”

“You should give Marron a brother or sister.” 17 said offhandedly, as he began the arduous task of putting his house back together post child-birthday-party-chaos. “It’d be good for her.”

“Hmmm,” 18 stood up from the table and reached for an empty garbage bag. She moved about the kitchen, filling it with plastic plates and cups, deflated balloons and discarded wrapping paper. “Maybe,” she mused. “I’d be lying if I said we hadn’t thought about it. The timing never seems quite right though, and Marron was such a fussy baby, I don’t know if I have it in me to go back to the baby stage and do all that again. It’s so nice that she’s older and more independent now.”

“Of course you could do it again!” 17 said as he pushed furniture around the room, putting things back as they were meant to be. “You’re a great mum. Mare-bear is lucky to have you. Does she miss that old lump of sand you used to call home?”

“Hey,” 18’s brow crinkled as she only half-feigned hurt. “We all liked that lump of sand. A lot of good things happened to us there.”

“I know, I know, I’m kidding,” 17 teased “It was a fine sandbank.”

“Shut up,” 18 laughed. “You can hardly talk, all the way out here in the middle of nowhere.” She knew 17 was just trying to rile her up, that was just what brothers, especially hers, did. It didn’t matter how many years passed, or that he was now a husband, a father and a well-respected conservationist, he was an eternal man-child at heart. It was no wonder he got along with Goku so well. “She doesn’t seem to miss it too much these days,” 18 said, bringing their conversation back on track. “It’s been what,” she paused to quickly do the math, “three years now since Krillin joined the force, three and a half almost. She’ll always be an ocean girl at heart, but she’s happy in the city. It was the best thing we could’ve done for her really.”

Having filled the rubbish bag as much as she could, 18 tied a knot at the top, and placed it beside the side door, ready for disposal outside later, before turning her attention to the pile of dishes stacked up precariously beside the sink.

“You don’t have to do those,” 17 stepped in, but his sister was having none of it. “Don’t be silly,” she replied whilst squirting a generous amount of dish soap into the sink and silently patting herself on the back for buying a house with a dishwasher. “You and Amya hosted us all day, the least I can do is help tidy up. Tell you what, I’ll wash, you dry.”

“Deal,” 17 smiled. It was so rare to get to spend any sort of quality time with his sister these days, they were both so busy and their schedules always seemed to clash, so he would happily take whatever he could get, even if it was as mundane as standing together at his kitchen sink, washing dishes.

They stood quietly together for a moment, silently passing wet plates and glasses between themselves. From where they stood, they could look out into 17’s lush, tree filled yard, where Krillin was running around like an absolute mad-man, laughing and shouting with Marron and her three cousins. His love and exuberance never ceased to amaze 18. He was going to be forty soon, and yet there he was, after spending an entire afternoon entertaining a gaggle of under-10’s, still going, giving even more of himself to those kids out there, each of whom he loved more than anything else in this world – except maybe for her.

“He’s a good guy, Krillin,” 17 broke the quiet with an observation, “You chose well with him.”

“I know,” 18 smiled smugly. She liked hearing that she was right. “But you’ve certainly changed your tune over the years.

It was far from a secret that 17 hadn’t exactly been a fan of Krillin in the beginning. As a suitor for his sister, it just didn’t seem to fit. Why would he, of all people, be interested in her when he knew what he did about how, and why, she had come to be in this world? 17 was convinced that he must have had some nefarious ulterior motive.

“What can I say” he shrugged, “I’m a big enough man to admit when I’m wrong. He’s a good guy.”

“He’s the best” 18 smiled as her eyes followed her husband across the yard. “Ugh,” 17 groaned “You’re still in puppy-love with him after all this time. Get a room, my god, yuck.” “As if you can talk!” 18 shot back, trying desperately to hide her embarrassment. “I see the way you look at Amya. You’re completely smitten with her!” “Of course I am!” 17 boasted proudly. “I mean, have you seen her?! She’s a solid ten outta ten. And she’s smart as hell, and she puts up with my shit on the daily. Every day I wonder how the hell I ever convinced her to marry me!” “She’s certainly way out of your league, that’s for sure.” “Ouch, that hurts sis” “Oh, don’t be such a baby,” 18 grinned and flicked soapy water in her brother’s direction.

A high pitched squeal from the garden caught the twins’ attention, ending their mild bullying of each other. They both snapped their heads up to inspect the situation and their respective children, looking for any obvious signs of hurt of injury, and to see which kid it was exactly, that was getting out of hand. It could have been any one of them really, given the unfettered access to sugar they had had this afternoon. “They’ll be right,” 18 said, confident no bones were broken out there, as she resumed washing the dishes in the sink. “Krillin is more than capable of keeping the four of them under control.”

17 shook his head and laughed, “I think you’re seriously under-estimating how rowdy my lot can be. They just seem to leech energy off each other. They never stop!” “He deals with criminals every day, I think he can handle a couple of kids.” “Whatever you say, sis,” 17 mumbled and shrugged his shoulders. “Personally, I’d take the crooks over those terrors any day of the week.”

As she handed her brother another clean dish, 18 asked. “No more for you guys either then, I’m guessing? It seems like you have your hands full.” “I wouldn’t say that,” 17 replied. “They’re a lot of fun, and Am would definitely be down for more, but it’s hard enough with the three of them with my schedule, and her research. I don’t know how she manages with them by herself while I’m away.” “It’s probably easier without you here riling them up all day” 18 joked “You kid, but let’s be real, you’re probably right!” 17 had to agree. “I’m basically her fourth child. I’m sure her life is much less chaotic when I’m not around.” “She loves the chaos, I’m sure.”

Handing 17 the last clean dish, 18 pulled the plug from the sink and watched the water gurgle down the drain. She wiped down the sink and dried her hands before flicking the kettle on to make herself another cup of tea. She pulled down two clean mugs and poured one for 17 too. He smiled and gladly took it from her and they sat down together at the table.

“If we did have more, we’d definitely adopt again,” 17 picked up his train of thought as he sipped his tea. “It was so rewarding giving River and Storm a second chance. I’d like to that again if I could.”

The story of how the now 4 year old twins River and Storm had found their way into 17 and Amya’s life was nothing short of remarkable. 17 had found them, abandoned as infants, less than six months old, in the nature park where he worked. He had taken them in, and taken them home. Much to his wife’s surprise, he had walked through the door one day, carrying an infant in each arm, and just like that, 17 and Amya had become parents to three kids under the age of three.

“And you know, getting as many kids out of the system as possible can only be a good thing. Stop them ending up, like, y’know…” he faulted for a moment “like us.” He stopped, waiting for his sister to respond, but she didn’t, she just sat, staring at her hands, not even able to look him in the eye. “Do you ever wonder if there is anyone out there missing us?”

“Don’t” 18 quickly interjected, her voice soft and wistful. “I can’t. I have to think that we weren’t wanted.” She stopped to sip her tea and think about what she wanted to say next. ��The alternative, as a mother, is so much worse. Having your child ripped away from you, I can’t even comprehend it.”

That was, deep down, the real reason why Marron was an only child. 18 was so protective of her daughter, and the thought of having to split that devotion between two children, was terrifying. She knew that she wouldn’t be able to constantly have eyes on two children. Tying herself up with the demands of a newborn would surely mean having to accept the fact that there would be times that Marron would need to be left alone and that scared 18 to her core. She would never, ever forgive herself if anything happened to her precious child.

“How do you do it?” 18 asked, “How do you leave them without being terrified of all the things that could happen to them? That happened to us?” “You’ve just gotta back yourself in, sis” 17 leaned back in his chair and stretched his arms over his head. “Your job as a parent is to slowly back yourself out of your kid’s life and let them work it out on their own.”

At that moment, the side door swung open and a barrage of kid sized arms and legs tumbled though, followed by an exhausted looking Krillin. “It’s starting to get cold out there,” he exclaimed, shutting the door behind him. The kids quickly disappeared into the living room, to undoubtedly rip into, and probably break, all of Onyx’s gifts from the party. Much to their dismay though, they had already been safely packed away by Amya, who was just walking into the kitchen as the kids rushed out. “They are going to be completely feral when that sugar wears off. Hey, you guys didn’t have to tidy up in here.” She smiled as she noticed that her kitchen was once again sparkling clean.

“It was no bother,” 18 said with a smile. She truly loved Amya, she was such a kind and compassionate person, she was reasonable and level headed and truly balanced out 17’s more impulsive tendencies. She was so glad they had found each other.

She watched Krillin as he moved through the kitchen, towards her. He planted a kiss on top of her head before taking a seat beside her at the table. She smiled at him in return and rested her hand on his thigh. The afternoon had been hectic, with all four adults being pulled in different directions, supervising kids, cooking food, running party games, taking pictures, making sure no one ate anything they were allergic to, or tried to drink water from the dog bowls. 18 had hardly seen her husband all afternoon and she quickly realised she’d missed him.

Once upon a time, a moment like this would be seemed all but impossible to 18. She looked across at 17 and saw her thoughts mirrored back in his eyes. He was content and happy and soaking in every detail. He caught 18 looking at him and shared a smile back, he knew they were thinking the same thing.

While the big, grand gestures of life were amazing, it was the inconspicuous little moments that meant the most to them. Cosy afternoons in with family. Quiet conversations about nothing. A passing smile or I love you. This was one of those moments, unassuming and meek, but something they had both fought so hard to obtain. A swell of emotion rose up into 18’s throat and for a moment she almost felt overwhelmed with warmth and happiness. She was truly grateful to be alive to experience this moment, this completely normal, utterly mundane, human moment.

---

Should I upload this to the prompt collection or nah? Does it fit the feel of it? I’d love to know what you think, cause I’m human and a sucker for reviews!

Hope you liked this one guys, likes, comments, shares as always, are greatly appreciated.

What should I write next?? Lemme know!!

#Android 18 #android 17 #Android Eighteen #android seventeen #juuhachigou #Juunanagou #dragonball z #dbz #dragonball super #dragon ball super #dbs #krillin #marron #kuririn #fanfiction #fanfic #dbz fanfic #writing #deadlybeautyfanfiction

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twobit-the-frustrated · 5 years

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The "Cat" that Defied Belief | CATS ficlet

Gen: Mistoffelees centric, mild tuggoffelees if you squint

Summery: In which Mistoffelees is probably an eldritch monstrosity and it’s fine. No really, it’s no big deal. For @loveisstoredinthemisto thank you for letting me play in your awesome sandbox!

Warnings: minor horror elements, mild body horror (because Mistoffelees' form inexplicably changes. There are no transformation scenes but if mild horror isn't your thing, you may want to turn back.)

Here on AO3

While none of the Jellicles are sure just exactly what Mistoffelees is, most were in agreement that he was at the very least, vaguely cat shaped. That is, as long as you didn’t look at him for too long, because things got a little fuzzy after that.

That was just the way things were ever since he’d wandered into the junkyard out of the blue one day, lost and hungry, with no explanation of where he’d come from. Old Deuteronomy had welcomed the little lost kit with open arms and that was where things would have usually ended.

At first he’d acted much the same as the other young toms in the yard; chasing and tumbling around, showing off, and occasionally making a fool of himself. And if he had a bit of a tendency to stare at the night sky like it was revealing untold wonders to him, or offhandedly mention things he probably shouldn’t know about in conversation, well, it wasn’t too unusual. Cats that were a little more sensitive to the world around them weren’t uncommon, after all the twins and little Jemima fit in just fine. Mistoffelees, despite his occasional vagueness was a sweet, friendly kit.

It started innocently enough, with things that could be chalked up to kithood imagination.

At first, the kittens said that their new playmate’s fur kept changing. The white markings on his paws disappeared, they’d say, swallowed up completely by blackness! But the elders had a simple explanation; little Mistoffelees must have gotten his paws dirty playing in some soot. And when his marks returned (in different places than before, the kittens claimed) it was brushed off; little Misto had just stepped into a puddle, or simply washed the soot off.

It was just as easy for the elders to dismiss the claims that Mistoffelees’ tail changed from as long and proud as any other kit’s tail to short, as if it had been cut, and then back again as kittens misremembering. And when the kittens said that sometimes Mistoffelees had more than one tail, well, they must have been confusing the black tail and its shadow for two tails instead.

But then toys and shiny baubles disappeared from the clearing only to be spotted high up on top of garbage piles too tall and precarious for any to climb. And then just as inexplicably, they’d find Mistoffelees playing with them.

And one day, his playmates saw Misto jump into a dresser drawer, but when they caught up with him the drawer was empty! The elders that had been supervising knocked their paws against the wood, but it was solid, there was only one way out, and no one had seen Mistoffelees climb up. All around the junkyard, mischievous laughter could be heard from deep inside hidden crevices.

After that even the elders started to whisper that when Mistoffelees was resting, stretched out on the tire, his eyes turned down to watch the others play, that they had caught a glimpse of something ancient lurking at the bottom of those deep yellow pools (Yellow? But weren’t his eyes green?). It would disappear the next time he remembered to blink, but then they were never certain that he’d blinked with only two eyes. A creeping aura of unease seemed to follow the little kit wherever he went. Even though he was nothing but friendly and his manners were meticulously proper (much better than those of most kittens his age), even the elders disliked staying in his presence for too long.

Poor little Mistoffelees was just confused by the whole thing. Why didn’t his new friends want to play with him anymore? Had he done something wrong? His ever-shifting markings, once a source of surprised pleasure for him, were now a source of horrified hatred. Alone and afraid, he tried to blend in to the shadows of the junkyard.

Unfortunately for the poor kit, his efforts to hide only made things worse. The shadows surrounding him made his form even harder to pick out in the dark, and to the eyes of all, it became less and less cat-like. Some said that in the darkness they saw wings, other said many long, lashing tails, and still others said there were many large, shining eyes, but none could describe exactly what it was that they had seen. They only knew for certain that it was Mistoffelees, and that it wasn’t a cat anymore and might not have ever been one to begin with.

Quiet sobs were heard from dark corners. The kittens were getting scared and the elders worried. And while the psychic twins claimed they had never sensed anything actively malevolent about him, even they seemed to be growing more and more unnerved by Mistoffelees’ presence in the junkyard.

So of course Tugger loved him.

Ever the contrarian, where others were frightened, Tugger was charmed. He didn’t seem to notice the way the strange kit’s features seemed to shift at random or the way his form seemed to blur and distort. The uncomfortable air surrounding him couldn’t touch Tugger’s bubble of easy confidence.

Where the others saw unknown horror, Tugger saw wonder. He marveled at little Misto’s uncanny ability to get anywhere he wanted to go, regardless of how impossible it was. Every bauble Mistoffelees could conjure from far off places was met with cheers of amazement. Every disappearing trick was met with applause. Tugger laughed at Mistoffelees’ echoing, multiplied voice when it bounced around the junkyard and giggled from places unknown, and batted at his shoulders good naturedly when the sneaky kit managed to surprise him.

Tugger didn’t care for the distrust of the kittens or the distain of the elders. Mistoffelees was his friend, and he didn’t mean any harm. He was the most interesting cat he’d ever met, and the others could take their suspicion and shove it.

And where Tugger went, eventually the rest of the tribe would follow. After all, the inexplicable Mistoffelees, a cat who defied belief, was a member of their tribe at the end of the day, so who cared if he had a few little quirks.

So when Victoria looks up from her lounging storytelling to find that her conversational partner had wandered off and left his voice behind to hum at the appropriate points, she merely scoffed at the rudeness and swore to pay him back.

And when Mungojerrie and Rumpleteaser startle him out of a trance to be met with a dazed comment of “Oh right, you two are real!” they just sling their arms around him and rib him good naturedly, shouting, “Of course we are, how could you forget!”

And when his fur gleams with light, no one mentions that the edges of his outline blur, or that it seems less like starlight has settled on his shoulders, and more like the rays of something shining from deep inside trying to get out.

And while Munkustrap never quite got over his wariness of him (he had once made the mistake of looking at him while he was yawning), the Jellicle protector still loved his tribe, and had a duty to protect them all (even if the thought of what kind of creature could possibly leave Mistoffelees in need of protection had kept him away from his naps more than once).

None of the Jellicles are sure just exactly what Mistoffelees is, but he is first and foremost a Jellicle, and there’s nothing at all to be done about that.

Author’s notes: @loveisstoredinthemisto’s Eldritch Misto gave me life, so I had to write this. Check them out, they’ve got some awesome headcannons!

Also had to sneak in my favorite personal headcannon: I like to think that Mistoffelees vaguely remembers the early version of the show where Mungojerrie and Rumpleteaser were trash puppets controlled by his own magic to entertain Bustopher Jones, so he gets confused on whether they are actually real or not.

#CATS the musical #cats musical #mr mistoffelees #eldritch misto #CATS fanfiction #twobit scribbles #my fanfic tag

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softambrollins · 4 years

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used to this (dean/seth) - christmas fic - fluff, reunions, presents, getting together, love confessions, mutual pining, domestic fluff (ao3 link)

MERRY CHRISTMAS, GUYS!! 🎄🎁 ❤️

After Seth texts him on his birthday, they stay in touch. Seth's been kind of careful about it before, he thought maybe Dean needed his space, to do his own thing, and he needed to focus on his own career, his own goals. Maybe they both needed to move on, put the past behind them for now. Or maybe they just needed some time apart to realise that that's not really what they want at all. At least now Seth thinks it's not what he wants. Or maybe he knew that all along and he's only now willing to admit it to himself.

After RAW on Christmas week, he finally calls his number for the first time since he left.

"Hey, how's it going, man?" he asks, tone deliberately light and casual, when he picks up.

"Oh, hey." Dean sounds a bit surprised, and he can't exactly blame him. Seth's been keeping his distance intentionally for months, but maybe just reestablishing the slightest bit of contact, their random, sporadic messages over the last couple weeks, was enough to open the floodgates again.

"I'm good, man," he says after a moment. "What about you? You alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Everything's fine," he says, probably too quickly. "I just —" He cuts himself off now to take a breath, bites his lip, trying to steel himself before he can actually voice the question he called him to ask.

"I know this probably sounds crazy, but I was thinking, and — Would you mind if I maybe come spend a couple days with you?" he says all in a rush before he just chickens out and hangs up again and forgets this ever happened at all.

Seth squeezes his eyes shut for a second after the words come out, in almost a wince, waiting for Dean to tell him he's completely nuts and he definitely does not want to see him. The last time Seth stayed at Dean's house was for New Year's two years ago while he was out with his injury, but that feels like a long time ago now and a lot has happened between them since. It's almost like they're totally different people than they were back then.

"Oh," is all Dean says, and Seth can't really discern what his feelings are about it yet. Maybe he's not entirely sure how to feel about it himself.

"I mean, it's fine if you have plans or something — of course you probably do — Or if you just don't want to —" he says, instantly starting to backtrack, sure he just made the dumbest mistake ever.

"No," Dean interrupts, his voice clear and firm now. "It's okay. I was just gonna use the holidays to chill, rest up, recuperate — be by myself, you know? It's been a busy year, you know, and the next one's probably gonna be just as rough. Could use all the time I can get."

Seth definitely understands that, probably too well.

"So…you're sure I'm not gonna be imposing or anything?" he asks hesitantly.

"No, it's all good, man," Dean reassures him, sounding like he really means it, sounding the same way he did before they parted in April. Like nothing's changed at all. "I'm just gonna be lying on the couch, drinking and watching bad movies. Maybe I could use the company."

Seth lets out a fond, almost relieved laugh.

"Okay," he says. "I'll see you soon then."

Seth shows up at Dean's place a day later with pretty much every unhealthy indulgence on the planet that they're definitely not supposed to consume in tow. But fuck it, it's Christmas, and he hasn't seen Dean in months and maybe they both need a break from reality and all its restrictions.

Dean opens the door to find him struggling with his luggage plus his abundance of purchases.

He looks like he's about to burst out laughing at him for half a moment before Seth just pouts at him and lets out a desperate, "Help."

Dean grabs the bags from his arms to relieve him and he lets out a heavy sigh before following him inside and setting down his suitcase just inside the door.

He turns his gaze back to Dean and he's dropped all the bags on the floor of the entranceway, which in hindsight he should've expected, and then before he realises it, he's right in his space, crowding his body against Seth's, and slowly putting his arms around him in a tight but gentle embrace.

He's hit with a sudden onslaught of sensations and emotions. Dean still feels and smells the same way he always has, and it's like being surrounded by a haze of nostalgia, he's taken back to so many other moments from months and years ago. Dean's arms around him, Dean's hands in his hair, his fingertips grazing against his own, his mouth pressed to the crown of his head.

His hoodie's soft against his cheek, his hands are warm and solid where they're resting on the small of his back. Seth tucks his face closer into his neck, taking in his earthy scent, the way he always smells like the outdoors, like something wild and free that can't be tamed, feeling the brush of his thick beard against his bare skin. Dean's body is soft and firm and comforting against his own and he knows Seth as well as Seth knows him, fitting together seamlessly and naturally like they always do. It's easy to get lost in this moment, like a million other moments before. It's hard to even tell where those ended and this one begins.

Somehow it feels like he's been holding his breath since April and now he can finally breathe again. Seth's been dancing on the edge for a long time with nothing to tether him and now he has Dean's sure, familiar grip to pull him back to safety.

He lets out a long exhale and then wraps his arms around Dean tighter, pillowing his cheek on his shoulder, fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie, eyes falling shut. And they just stay there for a while, not moving or saying anything at all. Like maybe this is what they've both been needing this whole time.

They haul about a dozen shopping bags into the kitchen and set them down on the counters.

"I brought wine. And eggnog. And cookies. And lots of chocolate. Like, so much chocolate. And more wine."

"God, Rollins, is that what you came here to do? Fatten me up so I can't wrestle anymore and I'm not competition?" Dean teases.

"Shut up," Seth says, rolling his eyes, but he's smiling at him too. "If anything, I'm also sabotaging myself. But whatever, man, I think we deserve it."

"Thanks," Dean says offhandedly.

"It's nothing. I'm probably gonna suck down most of it anyway, fair warning —"

"No, I don't mean that," Dean says, voice low, shaking his head. "I meant, for coming here. I think maybe this is just what I need."

Dean just meets his eyes, his gaze steady and intent, and Seth feels something unexpectedly bright and warm flood through his entire body, from his core to the tips of his fingers and toes. It feels like all the air has suddenly left his lungs.

He has to physically tear his gaze away from Dean, blinking a few times to shake the feeling off, before turning to open a bottle.

"Want a drink?" he asks, knowing his voice still sounds weak.

"Yeah, sure," Dean says, and he's totally imagining the tinge of disappointment, almost, in Dean's voice. He has to be.

Dean insists that he makes them dinner, all by himself, and outrightly refuses Seth's help when he offers it. He can be a stubborn bastard when he wants to be.

Seth just sits there amused, with a drink in his hand, trying to keep his commentary to himself as much as possible. He watches him as he works, fascinated by the movements of his fingers, the way the muscles in his hands tense and release, the calluses on his palms; his idiosyncrasies coming out as he concentrates and seems to forget he's being watched, forehead creased, the tip of his tongue caught between his teeth, all the microexpressions flitting across his face when he's trying to figure something out. Seth likes seeing him like this. Dean's usually completely laid back and relaxed, but when he gets intense and focused on something, it's like he becomes another creature altogether. Someone it's impossible to look away from. Seth's been the subject of that intensity before and it was almost too overwhelming to handle. He thinks maybe he won't mind it so much anymore now.

Dean finally gets dinner on the table — some complicated chicken thing, stuffed with bacon and cheese and fries on the side because it's Dean — and it's actually edible and honestly pretty good, even if he'd never actually admit that until his dying day.

Seth doesn't stop making fun of him though.

"Shut up," Dean says dismissively. "I'm a master chef extraordinaire and you know it."

"More like a master show-off extraordinaire," Seth says, deadpan.

"Please," Dean says scornfully. "Admit it. You love it."

Seth just makes a vague, noncommittal sound in response.

Dean just gently nudges his foot under the table with his own and smiles a stupidly endearing smile at him and Seth can't help smiling back until his plate is clean.

When they're done, Dean gets up and goes to grab his plate, but he reaches up to stop him, his fingers encircling his wrist. Seth slowly gets to his feet without releasing his hand, and looks at him, eye-to-eye, close enough to hear his breathing. He can feel his heartbeat speed up a little from where his thumb's resting on his pulse point.

"You okay?" Dean asks quietly, eyes narrowed at him.

Seth nods at him, the barest hint of a smile on his lips as he seems to suddenly, all at once, realise something. "Yeah, I'm good," he tells him honestly. "It's all good now."

And then he kisses him. It's soft and chaste and only for a second but it feels like everything he's needed for a long time. A moment of perfect stillness and clarity. Contentment. Belonging. It's just an acknowledgment. It's like a Thank you or I missed you or This is all I've ever wanted.

Dean blinks at him a few times when he pulls away but doesn't let him get too far, wrapping one arm firmly around his waist, the other tangling in his hair to pull him back into another deep, breathless kiss.

"We're so stupid," Dean says when they're curled up together in front of the TV but not really watching it, Seth's body pressed up against his side, his head resting on his shoulder, Dean's arm loosely slung around him.

Seth frowns up at him. "I mean, I'm not denying that, but —"

"We could've had this a long time ago. Why did it take us so long?" he asks, almost sounding frustrated now. At himself more than anything.

"Because we're dumb," Seth says bluntly. "And stubborn. And we don't know what we want."

It feels like they've both walked away from each other a million times but it never lasts. They always end up right back here. Maybe they should've figured out where this was headed a long time ago.

"Why'd you text me?" Dean asks a few seconds later, voice small and unsure now.

"Because it was your birthday. And I actually remembered this year. Needed to make up for that last time," he says, only half-joking. They both know that's not the only reason.

"No, really," Dean prompts him.

Seth lets out a heavy exhale. "I don't know. I think I was just tired of it feeling like there was this...strain or whatever between us. Even if there wasn't. It just felt like you were so far away. And I hated that."

"Yeah," Dean says soberly. "Me too."

"I thought I'd be okay without you, you know. I tried for a long time. But it just felt wrong. Like, I was wrong. Like I didn't know how to be me without you." He didn't know how to explain it before, this feeling that something just wasn't right for the last eight months, but it's only now with Dean here that he can put it into words.

Seth swallows hard, takes in a deep breath. He reaches out and laces his fingers together with Dean's in his lap like he needs his touch to find the courage to go on.

"I didn't think I deserved this for so long. And then you were right there and I'd look at you and I'd think...Maybe. Maybe I could have this. Maybe I could be that person that was worthy of your trust. And now these last few months, I've been feeling like maybe I'm turning back into that person from before again. With no one to pull me back from the fire."

Dean just gently squeezes Seth's hand in his own in response.

"I thought everything would be good now, that I'd be happy, finally," Dean confesses, like he's been holding this in for a long time too. "And maybe I am, but there's — something missing too. I got so used to being alone that I thought I forgot what it was like to be lonely, you know. But I feel it now sometimes. Like an ache that doesn't go away. Like there's a hole somewhere deep down inside of me that I can't fill on my own. No matter what I do. No matter how many fights or drinks or how far away I go. It's still there."

Seth tucks his face against Dean's collarbone, presses a kiss to the side of his neck. "I'm right here," he tells him, hushed. "You're not alone anymore. Neither of us are."

"I missed you so fucking much," Dean tells him, like the words are being wrenched out of him, pulling Seth's body closer to him. "It's like I couldn't fucking breathe when I thought about you. So I tried not to for so long. But it never worked."

"I know," Seth says soothingly, giving him a rueful smile. "Guess we're both just hopeless, pathetic suckers."

Dean laughs softly at that. He wraps both arms around Seth's shoulders, strokes his fingers over his hair, then leans down and brushes a kiss over his forehead.

Seth looks up at him, right into his eyes, before he says the next words. "I love you," he tells him, finally, completely sure and content that this is exactly where he should be for the first time in years. Maybe in his entire life.

Dean kisses him then, slow and easy, and Seth sighs against his mouth, his chest feeling so light and full that he thinks he could float away on this feeling.

"I think I could get used to this," Seth tells him when they pull apart, but just barely, foreheads still grazing against each other. He feels like a heady, dreamlike trance has suddenly fallen over him, like there's nothing else but this, him and Dean, this moment.

"Yeah?" Dean asks, voice raspy.

"Yeah," Seth says before Dean kisses him again, his fingers splayed warm and tender on his cheek.

Dean eventually takes him upstairs and they slowly take each other's clothes off in the dark and learn each other's bodies even better, every crease and nook and scar and pleasure point. Seth tasting every inch of his skin, Dean's hands all over him, taking him apart bit by bit, finding places he didn't know existed and making him feel things he once thought impossible.

There's no forgetting any of this and he never wants to, he's going to remember this until the day he dies.

Seth wakes up to Dean sleeping next to him, and he just lies there for a while, feeling his body solid and warm inches away from him, eyes slowly tracing over his soft features, listening to his steady breathing, and it's the most at peace he can remember ever being.

They go for a walk on Christmas morning. Dean knows all the best trails and it's quiet and deserted and it feels like they're all alone, everyone in their houses still fast asleep or opening presents or starting their baking early. Seth would almost miss the cold and the snow back home if Dean wasn't right here with him. A white Christmas isn't really worth much if you don't have someone to spend it with.

Seth reaches out and takes his hand as they start walking back to the house.

"Remember the last Christmas I was here?" Seth says, interrupting the comfortable silence.

It was the Christmas before Seth broke The Shield, and they've never really talked about it before.

Dean nods now, slightly stiffly. "Yeah, we spent all night bar-hopping and got fucking hammered and I can't really remember anything else about it."

"I don't know why I came," he admits. "I think I was just lonely and fucked-up and looking for something. An excuse. A reason to stay."

"And I didn't give you one?" Dean asks, his voice sounding taut and tense.

"No, no, that wasn't it," Seth tells him, squeezing his hand for a second, looking across at him reassuringly. "I wanted to. I wanted to so bad. But I wouldn't let myself have it."

He wonders if Dean remembers the exact moment. In a dark, empty parking lot. Dean's body pressed up heavy and boneless against him, whispering incoherent nothings in his ear. His breath hot and smelling of whiskey right on his skin. His hand curling around his own, their fingertips barely touching. All that longing and desperation and heat that had built up between them for years finally reaching its boiling point — and Seth pulling away at the very last second before they did something they couldn't go back from. Not being able to look at Dean's face after that, so afraid of the hurt and betrayal he might find there. Then getting on a plane the next morning like it never happened at all. Seth has a lifetime of regrets, of almosts and maybes, but that one still stings when he lets himself think about it. Like an open wound. Maybe that was the moment, the moment that could've changed everything. He didn't think he'd ever have another chance. But here he is now, Dean's hand real and warm in his own, his tender gaze lingering on the side of his face, and he's never letting go of this again. Not for anything.

Seth makes breakfast to make up for the night before. Dean doesn't protest this time, just sits down and sneaks a few cookies when he thinks Seth isn't watching which just makes him shake his head in amusement.

When they're almost finished, he suddenly remembers something.

"Oh, I got you something. For your birthday. But now it can be a Christmas gift, I guess."

Dean's too busy mopping up leftover syrup off his plate with his last forkful of pancakes to react to that.

Seth goes upstairs and retrieves it from the pocket of his carry-on.

He comes back down and brandishes the gift bag at him. "Here."

Dean carefully opens the bag and pulls out what's inside, before holding it up by the edges in front of him so it can come unfurled.

It's a sweater, light blue to match his eyes, with a smiling pitbull on it.

"It reminded me of you," Seth explains, a small smile on his face. "Rough around the edges but a total softie underneath."

"You're such a sentimental sap, Rollins," Dean tells him, but the fond look in his eyes says something else.

He folds the sweater back up, rests it on the table.

"I got you something too," Dean tells him out of nowhere, and that genuinely surprises him.

"Really?" he says, eyes narrowed skeptically.

Dean disappears for a minute and comes back into the kitchen with both hands holding something behind his back.

Seth just stares at him, expectant and a little scared, as he reveals the gift and shoves it into Seth's hands.

"What the hell is this?" he says, eyes wide, as he looks down at the stuffed toy — it's a strange, brown, ugly, hairy creature with huge feet.

"A baby Sasquatch," Dean says like that makes all the sense in the world. "Keep it with you. It'll be like I'm still there. Even though I had to return to the wild." He looks off dramatically into the distance with a long sigh.

Seth just shakes his head in disbelief over somehow ending up here. And not wanting to change any part of it for anything in the world. "You're such an idiot," he tells him seriously.

"You love me," Dean says with a smirk and he can't exactly deny that.

Dean has dinner delivered so they won't have to do any work, it's from a fancy hotel or something because apparently that's a Vegas thing or maybe it's one of those incomprehensible Dean Ambrose things. Seth's not gonna complain either way though. And when they're too stuffed to move, they settle down in front of the TV.

"I can't believe the year's almost over," Seth muses, already feeling like he wants to pass out. Maybe he's just getting old or maybe it's the exhaustion from this entire year, physical and emotional, finally taking a toll on him.

"Yeah, it's been a wild fucking ride, huh?" Dean says, almost appreciatively.

"No thanks to you," Seth points out.

Dean just laughs and shrugs. He's always been the purveyor of chaos and unpredictability. No one can tie him down or tell him what to do. It honestly shouldn't even be a surprise that he keeps shaking up the entire wrestling world with whatever he does. It's just what he does. He's been turning Seth's world upside down constantly since the day they met. He hopes that never changes.

"I'm glad you're happy, though," Seth tells him earnestly. "I hope you keep being happy. Whatever you do."

Dean nods. "And I hope you learn to let yourself be happy," he tells him significantly. "You deserve it. Even when you don't think you do."

Seth sighs. It's been hard, especially without Dean, to find the good things in life and keep them. To just let himself be satisfied and fulfilled. It was never enough, there was always something else to do, he could always be better. But he knows where that road leads. To misery and loneliness and desolation. And he doesn't want anything to do with it again. He just wants this — this feeling, having Dean near, knowing that he can have this now, that this belongs to him. It's enough for him. He's enough.

"I'll try," Seth promises. "Even when it's hard. I'll just think about you. That's all I need."

"I'm happy you came," Dean tells him, sounding almost wistful now. "I wish it could always be like this."

"It's been a crazy year. For both of us," Seth acknowledges. "But I'm glad I could spend the end of it with you."

"And if the next one's just as crazy?" Dean asks, looking across at him.

"Then we'll deal with it. Like we always do. Together," Seth says simply.

Seth nods off on the couch in the middle of Die Hard and Dean gently wakes him up when the movie's over and leads him by the hand upstairs.

They get into bed and Dean pulls the blankets into a cocoon around them. Seth keeps his arms tightly locked around Dean's waist, face buried in his chest, clinging to him like if he lets go he might break the gravitational pull and fall into nothingness again. Absorbing the feel and smell and warmth of him like he's filling up his reserves for when he's not there next to him anymore. Like he already knows they're going to be separated again soon and Dean's the only thing he has to hold on to. For as long as he can.

Dean cradles his body against him, presses his lips to his hair.

"Merry Christmas, babe," he tells him before Seth falls asleep in his arms.

They have breakfast together the next morning before Seth has to leave to catch his flight. Dean's wearing the sweater he got for him but even that's not enough to fix his gloomy mood.

"I wish you didn't have to leave," Dean says, finally breaking the long stretch of silence, voicing both of their thoughts.

"Me too," Seth says, looking down at his scarcely-touched bacon and eggs, trying not to sound as wretched as he feels inside. "But I have to get back to the school, the coffee shop. Real life."

"Sucks that I can't be a part of your real life anymore," Dean says, almost bitterly.

Seth's gaze snaps back up to Dean's face. "Hey, come on. You know you are. You're the most important part of my life. I'm sorry it took so long to realise that."

Dean just reaches across the table and takes his hand.

"I'm sorry too," Dean says quietly, regretfully. "I should've called you a long time ago. I kept wanting to and then wimping out."

"Really?" Seth asks, mouth parted slightly in surprise, in wonder, almost.

"Yeah, I almost called you before my surgery but I thought maybe you wouldn't want to hear from me." He sounds so sad and helpless that it makes Seth's heart twist in his chest. God, they've both been such tragically stubborn idiots.

"What did you want to say?" he asks gently, before he actually starts crying like the completely sentimental sap Dean already knows he is.

Dean looks him straight in the eyes as he tells him the words he's somehow always been dying to hear but never, ever imagined he would. Not like this. Not in any of his wildest fantasies. "That I miss you. That I love you. That no matter what, you're always gonna be it for me."

Seth just stares at him for a moment, absorbing that, struggling to find the right words to respond. Wondering, for the millionth time, if maybe all of this has just been some elaborate dream.

"So, you didn't just forget about me?" is what eventually comes out, one corner of his lips quirking into a faint smile despite himself. It's probably stupid after everything that's happened, but thinking about Dean leaving him behind and moving on for good was the most devastating part of the last year. And now all that lingering anguish and fear that has been tearing him up inside has just been lifted all at once, finally.

"Shut up. I could never forget about you. Ever," Dean tells him firmly.

"That a promise?" Seth says, because as sure as all of this has felt these past few days being here with Dean, after everything they've been through, all the unnecessary heartache they've inflicted on themselves and each other, he needs to hear the words. Needs something to keep with him, close to his heart, when Dean's not there to hold him and tell him that he loves him. And not just the silly Sasquatch toy that he'd tucked into a pocket of his carry-on with all his other valuables and has to admit now is actually kind of cute.

"I promise. It doesn't matter where we are, what we're doing. We're always going to come back to each other. Because this — you— this is my home. It's always been. And it always will be." He says it like it's just a fact. Like it's always been true. Even when they didn't know it. Even when they tried so hard to find a way to live without each other.

"So, it's official then?" Seth says with a raised eyebrow.

"Oh, totally fucking official," Dean says with a huge grin. "The most official shit you've ever seen in your life."

Seth laughs brightly. "I'm happy," he says, and he can't remember the last time he said that and meant it so completely.

"Yeah?" Dean says, holding his gaze.

"So happy," Seth reaffirms. "More happy than I've ever been, probably."

"Good," Dean tells him, squeezing his hand for a second then leaning across the table to kiss him, sweet and familiar and oddly domestic, like they've been doing this for years. "Me too."

Dean hugs him goodbye at the airport and he's as soft and warm as ever. Seth closes his eyes and breathes him in deeply, hands clutching at his sweater, their cheeks pressed together, Dean's fingers resting gently at the nape of his neck.

"Come back to me soon," he says right against his ear before he pulls away.

"I will," Seth says, taking one more long look at him, before turning and walking away. Feeling like he can finally be himself again. He can face anything that comes his way, in the coming year or the next or the next. As long as he has this waiting right here for him.

#ambrollins #ambrollins fic #dean ambrose #seth rollins #wwe #my fic

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kemetic-dreams · 5 years

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Ibrahima & Abdoulaye Barry Written by Deborah BachAudio by Sara Lerner

How a new alphabet is helping an ancient people write its own future

When they were 10 and 14, brothers Abdoulaye and Ibrahima Barry set out to invent an alphabet for their native language, Fulfulde, which had been spoken by millions of people for centuries but never had its own writing system. While their friends were out playing in the neighborhood, Ibrahima, the older brother, and Abdoulaye would shut themselves in their room in the family’s house in Nzérékoré, Guinea, close their eyes and draw shapes on paper.

When one of them called stop they’d open their eyes, choose the shapes they liked and decide what sound of the language they matched best. Before long, they’d created a writing system that eventually became known as ADLaM.

The brothers couldn’t have known the challenges that lay ahead. They couldn’t have imagined the decades-long journey to bring their writing system into widespread use, one that would eventually lead them to Microsoft. They wouldn’t have dreamed that the script they invented would change lives and open the door to literacy for millions of people around the world.

They didn’t know any of that back in 1989. They were just two kids with a naïve sense of purpose.

“We just wanted people to be able to write correctly in their own language, but we didn’t know what that meant. We didn’t know how much work it would be,” said Abdoulaye Barry, now 39 and living in Portland, Oregon.

“If we knew everything we would have to go through, I don’t think we would have done it.”

ADLaM is an acronym that translates to 'the alphabet that will prevent a people from being lost.'

A new writing system takes shape

The Fulbhe, or Fulani, people were originally nomadic pastoralists who dispersed across West Africa, settling in countries stretching from Sudan to Senegal and along the coast of the Red Sea. More than 40 million people speak Fulfulde — some estimates put the number at between 50 and 60 million — in around 20 African countries. But the Fulbhe people never developed a script for their language, instead using Arabic and sometimes Latin characters to write in their native tongue, also known as Fulani, Pular and Fula. Many sounds in Fulfulde can’t be represented by either alphabet, so Fulfulde speakers improvised as they wrote, with varying results that often led to muddled communications.

The Barry brothers’ father, Isshaga Barry, who knew Arabic, would decipher letters for friends and family who brought them to the house. When he was busy or tired, young Abdoulaye and Ibrahima would help out.

“They were very hard to read, those letters,” Abdoulaye recalled. “People would use the most approximate Arabic sound to represent a sound that doesn’t exist in Arabic. You had to be somebody who knows how to read Arabic letters well and also knows the Fulfulde language to be able to decipher those letters.”

Abdoulaye asked his father why their people didn’t have their own writing system. Isshaga replied that the only alphabet they had was Arabic, and Abdoulaye promised to create one for Fulfulde.

“At a basic level, that’s how the whole idea of ADLaM started,” Abdoulaye said. “We saw that there was a need for something and we thought maybe we could fix it.”

The brothers developed an alphabet with 28 letters and 10 numerals written right to left, later adding six more letters for other African languages and borrowed words. They first taught it to their younger sister, then began teaching people at local markets, asking each student to teach at least three more people. They transcribed books and produced their own handwritten books and pamphlets in ADLaM, focusing on practical topics such as infant care and water filtration.

While attending university in Conakry, Guinea’s capital city, the brothers started a group called Winden Jangen — Fulfulde for “writing and reading” — and continued developing ADLaM. Abdoulaye left Guinea in 2003, moving to Portland with his wife and studying finance. Ibrahima stayed behind, completing a civil engineering degree, and continued working on ADLaM. He wrote more books and started a newspaper, translating news stories from the radio and television from French to Fulfulde. Isshaga, a shopkeeper, photocopied the newspapers and Ibrahima handed them out to Fulbhe people, who were so grateful they sometimes wept.

But not everyone was pleased by the brothers’ work. Some objected to their efforts to spread ADLaM, saying Fulbhe people should learn French, English or Arabic instead. In 2002, military officers raided a Winden Jangen meeting, arrested Ibrahima and imprisoned him for three months. He was not charged with anything or ever told why he was arrested, Abdoulaye said. Undeterred, Ibrahima moved to Portland in 2007 and continued writing books while studying civil engineering and mathematics.

ADLaM, meanwhile, was spreading beyond Guinea. A palm oil dealer, a woman the brothers’ mother knew, was teaching ADLaM to people in Senegal, Gambia and Sierra Leone. A man from Senegal told Ibrahima that after learning ADLaM, he felt so strongly about the need to share what he’d learned that he left his auto repair business behind and went to Nigeria and Ghana to teach others.

“He said, ‘This is changing people’s lives,’” said Ibrahima, now 43. “We realized this is something people want.”

ADLaM comes online

The brothers also understood that to fully tap ADLaM’s potential, they needed to get it onto computers. They made inquiries about getting ADLaM encoded in Unicode, the global computing industry standard for text, but got no response. After working and saving for close to a year, the brothers had enough money to hire a Seattle company to create a keyboard and font for ADLaM. Since their script wasn’t supported by Unicode, they layered it on top of the Arabic alphabet. But without the encoding, any text they typed just came through as random groupings of Arabic letters unless the recipients had the font installed on their computers.

Following that setback, Ibrahima made a fateful decision. Wanting to refine the letters the Seattle font designer developed, which he wasn’t happy with, he enrolled in a calligraphy class at Portland Community College. The instructor, Rebecca Wild, asked students at the start of each course why they were taking her class. Some needed an art credit; others wanted to decorate cakes or become tattoo artists. The explanation from the quiet African man with the French accent stunned Wild.

“It was mind-blowing when I heard the story of why he was doing this,” said Wild, who lives in Port Townsend, Washington. “It’s so remarkable. I think they deserve a Nobel Peace Prize for what they’re doing. What a difference they’ve made on this planet, and they’re these two humble brothers.”

Wild was struck by Ibrahima’s focus and assiduousness in class. “He was always a star student,” she said. “He had this skill set and unending patience. He worked and worked and worked in class on the assignments, but at the same time, he was taking all this stuff he was learning in class back to ADLaM.”

Wild helped Ibrahima get a scholarship to a calligraphy conference at Reed College in Portland, where he met Randall Hasson, a calligraphy artist and painter. Hasson was seated at a table one afternoon, giving a lettering demonstration with another instructor, and Ibrahima came over. A book about African alphabets rested on the table. Ibrahima picked it up, commented that the scripts in the book weren’t the only African alphabets and offhandedly mentioned that he and his brother had invented an alphabet.

Hasson, who has extensively researched ancient alphabets, assumed Ibrahima meant that he and his brother had somehow modified an alphabet.

“I said, ‘You mean you adapted an alphabet?’” Hasson recalled. “I had to ask him three times to be sure he had actually invented one.”

After hearing Ibrahima’s story, Hasson suggested teaming up for a talk on ADLaM at a calligraphy conference in Colorado the following year. The audience sat rapt as Hasson told Ibrahima’s story, giving him a standing ovation as he walked to the stage. During a break earlier in the day, Ibrahima asked Hasson to come and meet a few people. They were four Fulbhe men who had driven almost 1,800 miles from New York just to hear Ibrahima’s talk, hoping it would finally help get ADLaM the connections they sought.

Hasson was so moved after speaking with them that he walked away, sat down in an empty stairwell and cried.

“At that moment,” he said, “I began to understand how important this talk was to these people.”

Ibrahima made connections at the conference that got him introduced to Michael Everson, one of the editors of the Unicode Standard. It was the break the brothers needed. With help from Everson, Ibrahima and Abdoulaye put together a proposal for ADLaM to be added to Unicode.

Andrew Glass is a senior program manager at Microsoft who works on font and keyboard technology and provides expertise to the Unicode Technical Committee. The ADLaM proposal and the Barry brothers’ pending visit to the Unicode Consortium generated much interest and excitement among Glass and other committee members, most of whom have linguistics backgrounds. Glass’s graduate studies focused on writing systems that are around 2,000 years old, and like other linguists he uses a methodological, technical approach to analyze and understand writing systems.

But here were two brothers with no training in linguistics, who developed an alphabet through a natural, organic approach — and when they were children, no less. New writing systems aren’t created very often, and the chance to actually talk with the inventors of one was rare.

“You come across things in these old writing systems and you wonder why it’s the way it is, and there’s nobody to ask,” Glass said. “This was a unique opportunity to say, ‘Why is it like this? Did they think about doing things differently? Why are the letters ordered this way?’ and things like that.”

Microsoft worked with designers to develop a font for Windows and Office called Ebrima that supports ADLaM and several other African writing systems.

It was during the Unicode process that ADLaM got its new name. The brothers originally called their alphabet Bindi Pular, meaning “Pular script,” but had always wanted a more meaningful name. Some people in Guinea who’d been teaching the script suggested ADLaM, an acronym using the first four letters of the script for a phrase that translates to “the alphabet that will prevent a people from being lost.” The Unicode Technical Committee approved ADLaM in 2014 and the alphabet was included in Unicode 9.0, released in June 2016. The brothers were elated.

“It was very exciting for us,” Abdoulaye said. “Once we got encoded, we thought, ‘This is it.’”

But they soon realized there were other, possibly even more challenging hurdles ahead. For ADLaM to be usable on computers, it had to be supported on desktop and mobile operating systems, and with fonts and keyboards. To make it broadly accessible, it also needed to be integrated on social networking sites.

The brothers’ script found a champion in Glass, who had developed Windows keyboards for several languages and worked on supporting various writing systems in Microsoft technology. Glass told others at Microsoft about ADLaM and helped connect the Barry brothers to the right people at the company. He developed keyboard layouts for ADLaM, initially as a project during Microsoft’s annual companywide employee hackathon.

Judy Safran-Aasen, a program manager for Microsoft’s Windows design group, also saw the importance of incorporating ADLaM into Microsoft products. Safran-Aasen wrote a business plan for adding ADLaM to Windows and pushed the work forward with various Microsoft teams.

“It was a shoestring collaboration of a few people who were really interested in seeing this happen,” she said. “It’s a powerful human interest story, and if you tell the story you can get people onboard.

“This is going to have an impact on literacy throughout that community and enable people to be part of the Windows ecosystem, where before that just wasn’t available to them,” Safran-Aasen said. “I’m really excited that we can make this happen.”

ADLaM creators Ibrahima and Abdoulaye Barry in Portland, Oregon.

Microsoft worked with two type designers in Maine, Mark Jamra and Neil Patel, to develop an ADLaM component for Windows and Office within Microsoft’s existing Ebrima font, which also supports other African writing systems. ADLaM support is included in the Windows 10 May 2019 update, allowing users to type and see ADLaM in Windows, including in Word and other Office apps.

Microsoft’s support for ADLaM, Abdoulaye said, “is going to be a huge jump for us.”

ADLaM is also supported by the Kigelia typeface system developed by Jamra and Patel, which includes eight African scripts and is being added to Office later this year. The designers wanted to create a type system for a region of the world lacking in typeface development, where they say existing fonts tend to be oversimplified and poorly researched. They consulted extensively with Ibrahima and Abdoulaye to refine ADLaM’s forms, painstakingly working to execute on the brothers’ vision within the boundaries of font technology.

“This was their life’s work that they started when they were kids,” Patel said. “To get it right is a big deal.”

And to many Africans, Jamra said, a script is more than just an alphabet. ”These writing systems are cultural icons,” he said. “It’s not like the Latin script. They really are symbols of ethnic identity for many of these communities.”

They’re also a means of preserving and advancing a culture. Without a writing system it’s difficult for people to record their history, to share perspective and knowledge across generations, even to engage in the basic communications that facilitate commerce and daily activities. There is greater interest in recent years in establishing writing systems for languages that didn’t have them, Glass said, to help ensure those languages remain relevant and don’t disappear. He pointed to the Osage script, created by an elder in 2006 to preserve and revitalize the language, as an example.

“There is a big push among language communities to develop writing systems,” Glass said. “And when they get them, they are such a powerful tool to put identity around that community, and also empower that community to learn and become educated.

“I think ADLaM has tremendous potential to change circumstances and improve people’s lives. That’s one of the things that’s really exciting about this.”

Keeping a culture alive

Ibrahima and Abdoulaye don’t know how many people around the world have learned ADLaM. It could be hundreds of thousands, maybe more. As many as 24 countries have been represented at ADLaM’s annual conference in Guinea, and there are ADLaM learning centers in Africa, Europe and the U.S. On a recent trip to Brussels, Ibrahima discovered that four learning centers had opened there and others have started in the Netherlands.

“I was really surprised. I couldn’t imagine that ADLaM has reached so many people outside of Africa,” he said.

Abdoulaye “Bobody” Barry (no relation to ADLaM’s creator) lives in Harlem, New York and is part of Winden Jangen, now a nonprofit organization based in New York City. He learned ADLaM a decade ago and has taught it to hundreds of people, first at mosques and then through messaging applications using an Android app. The script has enabled Fulbhe people, many of whom never learned to read and write in English or French, to connect around the world and has fostered a sense of sense of cultural pride, Barry said.

“This is part of our blood. It came from our culture,” he said. “This is not from the French people or the Arabic people. This is ours. This is our culture. That’s why people get so excited.”

Suwadu Jallow emigrated to the U.S. from Gambia in 2012 and took an ADLaM class the Barry brothers taught at Portland Community College. ADLaM is easy for Fulfulde speakers to learn, she said, and will help sustain the language, particularly among the African diaspora.

“Now I can teach this language to someone and have the sense of my tribe being here for years and years to come without the language dying off,” said Jallow, who lives in Seattle. “Having this writing system, you can teach kids how to speak (Fulfulde) just like you teach them to speak English. It will help preserve the language and let people be creative and innovative.”

Jallow is pursuing a master’s in accounting at the University of Washington and hopes to develop an inventory-tracking system in ADLaM after she graduates. She got the idea after helping out in her mother’s baby clothing shop in Gambia as a child and seeing that her mother, who understood little English and Arabic, could not properly record and track expenses. ADLaM, she said, can empower people like her mother who are fluent in Fulfulde and just need a way to write it.

“It’s going to increase literacy,” she said. “I believe knowledge is power, and if you’re able to read and write, that’s a very powerful tool to have. You can do a lot of things that you weren’t able to do.”

The Fulbhe people in Guinea historically produced a considerable volume of books and manuscripts, Abdoulaye Barry said, using Arabic to write in their language. Most households traditionally had a handwritten personal book detailing the family’s ancestry and the history of the Fulbhe people. But the books weren’t shared outside the home, and Fulbhe people largely stopped writing during French colonization, when the government mandated teaching in French and the use of Arabic was limited primarily to learning the Koran.

“Everything else was basically discounted and no longer had the value that it had before the French came,” Abdoulaye said.

Having ADLaM on phones and computers creates infinite possibilities — Fulbhe people around the world will be able to text each other, surf the internet, produce written materials in their own language. But even before ADLaM’s entry into the digital world, Fulfulde speakers in numerous countries have been using the script to write books. Ibrahima mentions a man in Guinea who never went to school and has written more than 30 books in ADLaM, and a high school girl, also in Guinea, who wrote a book about geography and another about how to succeed on exams. The president of Winden Jangen, Abdoulaye Barry (also no relation to Ibrahima’s brother), said many older Fulbhe people who weren’t formally educated are now writing about Fulbhe history and traditions.

“Now, everybody can read that and understand the culture,” he said. “The only way to keep a culture alive is if you read and write in your own language.”

‘The kids are the future’

Though ADLaM has spread over several continents, Ibrahima and Abdoulaye aren’t slowing down their work. Both spend much of their spare time promoting the script, traveling to conferences and continuing to write. Ibrahima, who sleeps a maximum of four hours a night, recently finished the first book of ADLaM grammar and hopes to build a learning academy in Guinea.

On a chilly recent day in Abdoulaye’s home in Portland, the brothers offer tea and patiently answer questions about ADLaM. They are unfailingly gracious, gamely agreeing to drive to a scenic spot on the Willamette River for photos after a long day of talking. They’re also quick to deflect praise for what they have accomplished. Ibrahima, who sometimes wakes up to hundreds of email and text messages from grateful ADLaM learners, said simply that he’s “very happy” with how the script has progressed. For his brother, the response to ADLaM can be overwhelming.

Having this writing system, you can teach kids how to speak Fulani just like you teach them to speak English. It will help preserve the language and let people be creative and innovative.

“It’s very emotional sometimes,” Abdoulaye said. “I feel like people are grateful beyond what we deserve.”

The brothers want ADLaM to be a tool for combating illiteracy, one as lasting and important to their people as the world’s most well-known alphabets are to cultures that use them. They have a particular goal of ADLaM being used to educate African women, who they said are more impacted by illiteracy than men and are typically the parent who teaches children to read.

“If we educate women we can help a lot of people in the community, because they are the foundation of our community,” Abdoulaye said. “I think ADLaM is the best way to educate people because they don’t need to learn a whole new language that’s only used at school. If we switched to this, it would make education a lot easier.”

That hasn’t happened yet, but ADLaM has fostered a grassroots learning movement fueled largely through social media. There are several ADLaM pages on Facebook, and groups with hundreds of members are learning together on messaging apps. Abdoulaye said he and Ibrahima used to hear mostly about adults learning ADLaM, but increasingly it’s now children. Those children will grow up with ADLaM, using the script Abdoulaye and Ibrahima invented all those years ago in their bedroom.

“That makes us believe ADLaM is going to live,” Abdoulaye said. “It’s now settled into the community because it’s in the kids, and the kids are the future.”

Originally published on 7/29/2019 / Photos by Brian Smale / © Microsoft

#fulani #african writing #african writing systems #abdoulaye #adlam #kemetic dreams

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mister-honeynuts · 6 years

Text

Prompt: Spring / Autumn / Winter Pairing(s): Gwen/David Word Count: 2,440 Summary: Day Four for @gwenvidweek in which they get married the same way they do everything which is to say, untraditionally and without an ounce of grandeur.

David is not ashamed to say that their entire relationship is untraditional to its core.

He’s not clear whether that’s a product of both of them being very much not straight or if it’s just the way their personalities meld but the truth is, David’s happiest with Gwen as they are and he wouldn’t trade it for all the cliche Hollywood romances in the world.

Max had joked, back in the beginning when he’d discovered the shift in their relationship and been around enough to witness how they worked together, that Gwen was his boyfriend. Needless to say, David had taken it as an opportunity to discuss the effects of toxic gender roles which had left Max grumpy but overall noticeably more comfortable in the apartment.

The way he and Gwen operate works for them. For the family they’re making out of an equally untraditional little boy. In all things, they’re equal and so it really comes to no surprise to him or Gwen that neither of them actually proposes.

For as much as Gwen fantasizes about over the top romance, their path to marriage is a simple one. They discuss it. Plans for the future until one day becomes one day soon and casually tossed out suggestions become cemented decisions.

Then suddenly, they have a date and that’s that.

David’s out of school now and it’s letting them live more comfortably but the reality is that they don’t have fantasy dream wedding money. That’s fine. They’ve always been crafty.

There’s no question of where. It’s obvious. The only place truly befitting of their special day is Camp Campbell. And well, it doesn’t hurt that they now technically own the camp. Saves a whole lot of money for other things like feeding the growing number of people in their lives worth sharing this with.

Gwen is immediately insistent that she doesn’t want a wedding dress. Thousands of dollars on some massive, easily stained dress she’ll never have a reason to wear again extends beyond luxury and into stupidity. According to Gwen herself, of course.

David thinks she’ll look beautiful in anything.

Instead, she finds a cocktail dress with a skirt that spills layers of a translucent fabric. It’s a horrible khaki color that reminds David of the jumpers girls in his elementary school were forced into wearing but they’re nothing if not a family of problem solvers.

Gwen spends an afternoon teaching Max how to mix fabric dye in a plastic rope tub they bought to hold drinks for the Summer Social out on the balcony. They take turns prodding at the fabric with a yardstick miraculously fished from the kitchen island until the dress is a beautiful dark forest green.

Involving Max in the process has been important to both of them since the beginning. The wedding is a celebration of their relationship but it’s a celebration of their family too and that extends to Max’s presence in it.

Which is why when Max snidely congratulates Gwen on her now being the owner of a random green dress, Gwen shoves him into the couch and then agrees that it’s missing something that makes it special.

David digs around the sterilite tower he keeps their arts and craft supplies in until he comes across some gold thread Gwen had bought this past summer when Preston decided the costumes for his play were not sufficiently gaudy. He hand sews little golden pine trees around the hem of the skirt in what Gwen claims is overkill but she smiles soft and pretty as she traces the shapes afterwards.

There will never come a day that Gwen’s smile doesn’t fill him with butterflies.

Neither Max nor David own a proper suit. It’s never been a need and clearly the very idea of it offends Max to his core because the thought of having to spend an afternoon in one sends Max into a full-blown meltdown.

“Calm the fuck down. We don’t have the money for suits,” Gwen huffs, placing corn in front of their ridiculous child to husk as this delightful exchange took place in the middle of making dinner. “And you’d look stupid in one anyways.”

She’s teasing and so he doesn’t call her out on it. They’re both aware how cute Max would be in a full suit. But it’s true that they don’t have the money and regardless, it’s entirely not their style.

The comfort of everyone involved is far more important than what tradition dictates.

Gwen finds them nice button ups in an almost exact match to her dress while hiding from her mother’s insane quest to find her shoes that match her dress but don’t make her taller than David. Like either of them have ever cared about that.

David’s got some cheap, generic black ties from back when he was interviewing with schools. He cuts and hems one down so Max won’t look like he’s playing dress up in his dad’s business attire and then, for the heck of it, he sews matching golden pines into the ties.

Max makes a face when he’s shown their matching accessory but accepts the tie without a snide comment which he takes as the ultimate admission of love.

The day before the big day, Gwen’s mom comes by to steal Max and neither one will tell them what they’re up to. Gwen’s mom just winks when he asks and leads Max away with a hand on the shoulder that the boy seems unbothered by.

David watches them go with unease, sighing when Gwen presses a kiss to his shoulder and smacks him on the hip.

“It’s fine,” she says, moving to the kitchen to grab a cup of coffee for this too early weekend morning. “Max is fine with Mom. And she seems to not even realize that he’s the devil so.”

David knows this but it’s not often that Max is away for the day outside of school when David is gone too. Now that he’s not working odd hours, it just doesn’t feel right to not have Max somewhere underfoot in the apartment.

“Mom probably thinks we’re going to have sex,” Gwen mentions offhandedly later in the afternoon when David’s managed to get nothing done but worry.

“Why would she think that?” he asks, blinking when Gwen responds with a small laugh and a cocked eyebrow. “Oh.”

“So dumb. Don’t know why I’m marrying you,” she says full of fondness and pushes him back onto the bed.

Gwen’s mom brings their kid back not a second past five and Max still won’t say what they did, burying his face into David’s leg when David pulls him in for a hug. Gwen asks if they at least had fun and Max shrugs off the question, running off to the bathroom to wash up for dinner.

Max is quiet through dinner and doesn’t complain when David enforces a bedtime even though it’s the weekend.

The next morning, they wake up early and David muses that it doesn’t feel any different than any other day which is to say, he feels lucky and loved.

It takes longer than they plan to get Max out of bed despite how early they all turned in the night before. He seems more withdrawn than usual and David worries that Max has convinced himself of something completely untrue.

The concept isn’t foreign for their family.

Moreover, he’s still half asleep when he comes stumbling out of his room, Mr. Honeynuts tucked under his arm. A less than promising sign. Mr. Honeynuts only leaves Max’s room for camp and when he’s upset about something.

David draws him a bath, worrying his lip with his teeth as Max does not voice his usual pre-bath complaints that he’s not a baby. Crumbling one of Gwen’s less flowery bath bombs into the water, he leaves Max to sleepily soak until breakfast.

“You’re worrying too much,” Gwen tells him, plating up the pancakes she’d been making while David was handling Max. “Max doesn’t handle change well. You know that.”

“But this is a good change,” David argues, looking back at the bathroom door. He loves Gwen. He’s excited that they’re going to be married and he’ll be able to tell people about his wife but…

“Him coming here was a good change too and that still sucked ass for two months. He’s gonna be twelve, David. All major changes are scary, even for Lord Satan himself,” she dismisses.

Max appears a minute later, wrapped tight in a towel and dripping water onto the floor.

“Morning, bud. You with us finally?” David asks.

“David, you asshole. I smell like cinnamon and pine cones,” Max grumbles.

“Then you’ll fit right in at the wedding.” Gwen says, lightly pushing him towards his bedroom. “Go get dressed and you can have this fucked up pancake that’s suppose to look like a bear.” Max scowls and stares up at her with purpose.

“David does it so much better,” he whispers spitefully.

“I’m gonna tell him you think so,” he hears her whisper back, laughing when Max makes a mad dash to escape to his room.

It’s a long drive to Camp Campbell and they’re not even close to the first people there despite living closer than anyone else. Max wastes no time popping out of the car and running to join Nikki and Neil where they’re climbing a tree outside the counselor cabin.

“You look beautiful, honey,” Gwen’s father compliments, helping her out of the car. David beams.

She really, really does. He hadn’t seen the dress on Gwen, their own version of not seeing the bride until the wedding or, well, wedding day at least. She looks maybe not so much like a bride but definitely something out of David’s dreams.

Gwen’s mother tuts at her choice of shoes. Both of them had chosen to go the way of cleaning up their boots for camp, for money and for ease of walking around camp. It was, they decided, much easier to find Max a nice pair of boots than to look for suitable dress shoes for the three of them.

David thinks they both actually look quite nice, their button ups contrasting against new dark denim disappearing into sturdy boots. Maybe not the fanciest but they certainly look like they belong among the dirt paths and towering woods.

Gwen shoots David an easily read look as her mom repositions herself for the hundredth time, heels sinking into the dirt.

Max comes back with Nikki and Neil trailing behind him. He tugs on the sleeve of Gwen’s mom’s blouse and she smiles, patting Max on the head like he swears he hates but he doesn’t voice that fact now.

“Okay,” she agrees though to what, David doesn’t know because no one has said a word. “Max wants to show you what we did yesterday.”

She leads them over to the tents set up for food later in the evening and a table in the middle which sits the prettiest cake David has ever seen. The bottom tier is a vibrant sky blue with a lush icing pine forest circling the bottom. The tiers gradate up into pinks, and oranges, and finally a dark blue with glimmering speckled stars.

David feels emotion well up in his chest, more so when Gwen tugs Max back against her and he allows it, wrapping a hand around one of her arms.

“Max came up with the design,” Gwen’s mom explains. “I never would have considered something like this for a wedding cake but, well, he insisted this is what you’d want.”

“It’s perfect,” David agrees, voice wavering with emotion.

“Gross,” Max grumbles, averting his eyes. “It’s just a cake, David.” The adults all laugh, much to his obvious displeasure and Gwen releases him to make his escape as the rest of their return campers all arrive at the same time.

The ceremony arrives before they know it and it’s perfect in the way that it’s not.

David had ideally wanted a summer wedding but Gwen had vetoed the idea immediately. They were, she pointed out, obviously going to be working and the last thing she wanted was to be married one day and cleaning paint off the Mess Hall walls the next while Nurf tried to glue Space Kid to the ceiling by his helmet.

Now, he’s thrilled they waited. Beyond the reality that planning a wedding during camp just wasn’t feasible, their backdrop is a plethora of beautiful trees in shades of red and orange and golden brown scattered between the pines.

Leaves fall as they say their vows and David sputters when one manages to fall into his mouth. Their guests all burst into laughter, draining him of his nerves. This, like everything else, is a moment uniquely them shared with their closest friends and family.

Max is practically clinging to him instead of standing in his spot right next to David and he rests a reassuring hand on the boys back as he and Gwen are instructed to kiss. He hears Max make a soft noise of disgust and laughs, tugging the boy between them while he makes a show of fighting and clawing his way out of the hug.

“Mom offered to take Max while we’re on our honeymoon,” Gwen mentions when everyone disperses to eat. David offers her a confused glance.

“We’re taking him with us?” he reminds her. They’d planned that from the very beginning. Family vacations were still a little out of their reach. It seemed infinitely unfair for the first one to be without Max, honeymoon or not.

“I know. I told her as much. Wouldn’t be much of a vacation without our little monster. She told me that wasn’t the point of a honeymoon. But it’s the point of our honeymoon, right?” she continues, soothing his worry that Gwen had had a change of heart about the whole thing.

He’s not sure what he would do if he was made to choose between Gwen and Max. Not sure why the rest of the world seems hellbent on making him do so when they were all happy in the compromise that made up their makeshift family.

“I sure do love you, Gwen,” he tells her like it’s brand new information. It feels that way sometimes. Like every day, he discovers love for her like it’s the first time. Bright and overwhelming and good.

She shoots him an amused smile, linking their fingers together.

“Yeah, you’re pretty alright yourself, David,” she teases and she doesn’t echo the words back but David still hears them loud and clear.

That’s their tradition.

#camp camp #gwenvid #dadvid #momgwen #gwenvidweek #writing

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afriendlyphobia · 6 years

Text

Not What I Expected

Genre: fluff

Pairing: Jeongin x reader

Word Count: 2.5k

Summary: Jeongin always had admired the famed superhero Shade. And meeting her was all he ever dreamed of. So when he does, how does he react?

A/N Soooo I’m not really sure if this even fits Jeongin’s personality, but I feel like out of all of the 9 idiots, he would be a superhero fanboy. It’s definitely not just because he’s just an adorable cinnamon roll. He’s so OOC help me. Semi unedited I got lazy :”)

This day couldn’t possibly get any worse.

At least that’s what he thought. Or, rather, what he hoped for. He tensed as the chilly, lung-burning air of fall swept down the small alley way. Jeongin’s teeth grinder together as his fingers clasped tightly together around his umbrella to keep it from flying away.

Rain continued to beat down upon the worn umbrella in relentless buckets while Jeongin continued to whine and complain about the unfortunate weather.

“I just want to go home...” he grunted, glaring at the rain dripping from the sides of the umbrella. “Get my stupid homework done, then maybe watch some movies with y/n. But no, Mother Nature hates me. That’s fine, I hate her t—“

“Hey kid, got any money on ya?”

Jeongin’s head snapped to his right, focusing in on a man sitting on a mat on the side of the alley.

“Um...” He looked around, paranoid. “I’m sorry, sir. No.”

The man chuckled, his deep almost demonic voice sending shivers down Jeongin’s back. He laughed nervously and started walking away swiftly. However, he was blocked by to me who seemingly had just vaporized.

“Wrong answer, boy.” Jeongin whipped around to look at the man from before, three men now standing behind him. Although, what caught Jeongin’s attention more was the silver shine of a blade in the leader’s hand.

Of course it could get worse.

“Listen, I-I don’t want any trouble. All I have is five dollars. You can take it.” He cringed at the crack in his voice. “Just let me go.”

The man shook his head, grabbing Jeongin’s arm firmly and pressing the knife to his throat. “I’m afraid that won’t do. However...” he cocked his head to the side and grinned maliciously. “I’m sure such a young...pretty boy could be used in...other places for a nice sum. Wha’dya say boys?”

The thug group laughed loudly, closing in around him.

Jeongin swallowed hard, attempting to keep a cool complexion so as to not fuel the fire for the gang of goons. His chest rose and fell with panicked breaths.

This can’t be the way I go. Over five dollars.

What about my family...what about her.

I—

“ARGHH!!!” CRASH

“What the he—AHH!!”

The pressure was lifted from his arm in a noticeably forceful way. Instinctively, he stumbled backwards, tripping and falling into a puddle out of complete shock.

“You know, if I were you I wouldn’t laugh so loudly about your stupid jokes. Really give off your location.” A soft, melodic voice wafted through the air. He looked up to see none other than the nation-wide famous Shade standing in front of him defensively.

Oh. My. God.

He’d totally be lying if he said that he was geeking out immediately after recognizing her. But that was a secret he would take to the grave.

Holy freak. That’s Shade the most popular female superhero in all of South Korea...! She’s seen all over the country all the time, yet people still don’t know the extension of her shadow manipulation, super strength, and flight! This is so cool!

She raised her fists, a deep, ominous aura surrounding it. From the depths of shadows, groaning completely black monsters rose. “Now, I would love to do this personally, but you guys are just so pathetic. I have other things to do.” She snapped her fingers and pointed at the thugs. “Sick ‘em, boy’s!” The monsters groaned excitedly and charged after the cowering men.

The famed-girl turned to look down at the now drenched boy. “Ah..” She reached out, a black tendril-like shadow extending to grab the dropped umbrella. “Here. I’m sorry about this.” The tendril handed him the umbrella.

“Again, really sorry. Do you live far from here? I’d hate for you to have to walk alone in the rain again after something like that...”

Jeongin shook himself from his fanboy stupor. “Um, ah...it’s about a fifteen minute walk. Wa...What about those thugs?”

“I’ve notified the police of them. They should be taken into custody pretty soon.”

Shade smiled warmly down at him, making his insides flop before extending a hand out to him. “Here, let’s get you home before you catch cold. Students need to be at their best around this time.”

He took her gloves hand, using it to pull himself up. Wordlessly, she swooped down to pick him up bridal style. A small gasp of surprise escaped his lips. His cheeks heated up to about one million times hotter than the sun himself.

Before he could even process what was happening, Shade had already taken off into the air.

“AIIIIIIYAAAAAAA!!” He screamed, wrapping his arms around her neck and pressing his face into her shoulder.

Vibrations of laughter ran across his hot cheek. “Don’t be afraid, I’d never let you go.” He peaked up to look at her, still blushing madly.

I can’t believe she’s right there. Ohmygoshhh.

Yet another secret that he would take to the grave: his huge crush on Shade. Only one person knew about his mad crush. His best friend y/n who was constantly subjected to his rants and geek out sessions about Shade and other heroes of Asia.

“You’re gonna choke me if you don’t loosen up a bit.” She laughed, smiling at him as if he were an old friend. He immediately loosened his arms, moving to rest in her lean yet subtlety-muscular shoulders for support. He muttered a quick sorry and looked down.

Silence filled the atmosphere for the remaining flight back to Jeongin’s house. Besides the random bursts of honking or sirens coming from the bustling city below. The city never at been so beautiful to him before.

Words left his brain as he stared down in awe. He was so engrossed in his admiration of the sight, he failed to notice the decent of Shade’s altitude. He snapped from his thoughts as she opened a window and set him down easily.

“There you go.” She smiled again.

“Ah...” He sighed, somewhat missing the warmth of her body. The blush immediately returned at the thought of it. “Thank you so much!” He yelled suddenly and bowed.

She laughed and patted his shoulder. “See you around, Je—-Kid.” After a rushed salute, she immediately took of into the air, her dark suit making her vanish instantly into the black sky.

Jeongin stood by the window for several minutes on end, staring off into the sky. He blinked, looking away and around his room. An uncontrollable smile stretched across his face as his body danced around. The backs of his knees hit the bed making his crash down into a pile of fanboy mess.

“I can’t believe I actually met her...” he sighed, placing his hand against his cheeks, rolling around on his sheets. “She’s soooo much prettier in real life.”

He giggled sweetly, not able to shake the smile from his face.

“Wait-!” He sat up. “I never told her where I lived! She just knew?!”

He sat in silence for a few moments. “I guess she has telepathy too.” Shrugging, he returned to being a mess.

“I’m telling you, y/n. Shes like...amazing! Like I just...ah~” Jeongin placed his head into his hand and stared off dreamily. “And she sounded so cool.”

He straightened his body and snapped. “‘Sick ‘em boys!’” He imitated before returning to his dreamy state.

“She sure seems like a cool person on the news.” Y/n offhandedly commented, stabbing her school cafeteria food repeatedly. A faint smirk rested upon her lips as she listened to her dorky friend.

“No, you don’t understand. She cooler than cool...I don’t even know how to explain it to you.” He sighed. “And pretty too.”

S N A P

He flinched in surprise and looked up at y/n who smiled awkwardly back and held up her broken fork as explanation.

“These plastic forks really don’t cut things very well, do they?” She chuckled, rubbing the back of her neck.

“You’re eating mashed potatoes.”

“Ah...you’re right...”

He stared at her before shrugging.

“Do you ever wonder who Shade is? Like who she really is.”

“Wow..talking about Shade again, Jeongin? What a dork.” A teasing, masculine voice caught the pairs attention. “You haven’t even met her before.”

“That’s not true, Sang-Chul! She saved me last night from some thugs...” Jeongin stiffened his posture to stare at the looming blonde peer in the eyes. “I actually did meet her and I did talk to her.”

Sang-Chul laughed, smirking. “What are you friends now? Is she coming over tonight to hang out after a hard day of crime fighting and being as awesome as you proclaim her to be?”

A heavy silence floated in the air before Jeongin nodded. “Yeah, she is. Don’t be so jealous.” He muttered firmly.

“Hah, how interesting.” The blonde waved his hand at the dark haired boy, laughing in a sickeningly mocking tone. “Tell me about how your little super date goes, then.” He sang the last part before walking off to find his table.

Jeongin turned to face y/n with a droopy look on his face. “If only what I said was real, right?”

She hesitated before speaking in her usual cheerful voice. “You never know, maybe she has super-hearing too.”

He smiled slightly. “Wouldn’t that be something...”

“What the heck was I thinking....?!” Jeongin pouted as he twirled around in his swivel chair. “I mean seriously...’yeah she is’. Wow, I’m an idiot.” He pushed against his desk to swirl faster. “And I totally forgot about y/n and I’s annual Star Wars marathon night all because I’m such a dense fanboy.”

He groaned and placed his head into the palms of his hands. His twirling chair came to a slow stop, facing the window above his desk. After a heavy, guilt filled sigh, he slowly lowered his hands.

“I mean, what was I thinking. Shade is just gonna randomly show up and be like. ‘Hey there, hot stuff. I saved you last night and now I’m madly in love with you.’” He cringed at his own sentence.

“Way to be an optimist.”

Jeongin screamed and fell backwards out of the swivel chair, sending it rolling away to crash against his bed. With his mouth agape, eyes widened, and cheeks a furious red, he starred up at Shade who sat nonchalantly on his desk.

“We need to stop meeting like this.” She extended her hand forward to him, an amused smirk hung on her lips.

He grabbed her hand, random bouts of almost incoherent words spouting from his mouth. “Wha—how did yo—I can’t—do you have super-hearing?!”

“Okay. Okay slow down.” She pulled him upwards, as a shadow-tendril grabbed the swivel chair and placed him in it. Shade sat down on his bed, as if she knew the place well and it was her own.

He starred at her, analyzing every little detail and subtly pinching himself to make sure this wasn’t a dream.

“...you didn’t hear what I said earlier...did you?” He asked, pulling his knees towards his chest like a shield. His blood pressure suddenly shot through the roof as Shade nodded and laughed lightly. Flustered, he dropped his head, hiding his face from her.

“Oh don’t worry about it, Jeongin...” She waved her hand in dismissal, smirking, even though he couldn’t see. “It was cute anyway.”

Silence fell over Jeongin suddenly as he continued to mull over her words. “...wait how do you know my name? I never told you that.”

The teasing giggles stopped abruptly, the smirk faded.

That smile...

That laugh...

That voice...

Her.

Something overcame Jeongin in that moment, something he didn’t quite understand. It was like a random burst of confidence, or maybe it was the will of curiosity, but whatever it was completely broke his meek appearance.

He stood taking a few steps forward to stand before the famed super. Leaning down, he cocked his head to the side while looking her dead in the eye. “Who are you really?” He muttered suspiciously. “There just this nagging feeling in the back of my brain...that....” Shade raised an eyebrow, awaited his next words. “...I know who you are...”

Shade nodded slightly, placing a finger on his forehead and pushed him backwards. “Fair enough,” She crossed her arms. “You may think you know, but do you really? I’ll give you one guess, since you seem so certain.” Holding up a gloved hand, she visualized her words. “Get it wrong, you lose, I erase your memory of this. Get it right, I’m impressed.”

He nodded, sitting back down on the swivel chair. He crossed his arms, biting his lip.

If I lose, I embarrass myself in front of my idol. But I forget about it anyway. I...guess there’s no downside to either.

...but if she does turn out to be who I think she is...what does that mean for us?

How am I supposed to even react to that with the fact that I secretly like y/n too?

But then technically they’re the same person?

My brain hurts.

He sighed and looked up. “You are y/l/n y/n...my best friend.”

Shade looked at his for a few seconds, unresponsive. Jeongin smiled sadly.

“Figures.”

She raised her hand to hover above her face. Tracing down the front of her figure, the mask and suit faded into swirls or black mist that floated away and eventually dissipated.

Her.

“Hey, Jeongin.” There sat y/n. His best friend in his entire life. Where Shade sat just seconds ago.

“Oh— oh my god!” Jeongin shook his head, running his hand through his hair in disbelief. “This...this is not what I expected...Like...oh my god...” He jerked forward, tackling y/n down onto the bed in a giant bear hug. “My best friend is a freaking superhero.”

Y/n laughed, fighting back a light pink tint from reaching her cheeks, and went to wrap her arms around his to return the hug, however her friend suddenly bolted upwards. Still straddling her, his cherry red face scrunched.

“Wait...so you’ve heard all of my fanboy rants. Read all of my texts. And yet...you never said anything?” He blushed harder and cupped his hands go his face. A long embarrassed groan filled the slight silence. “You gotta be kidding me...”

“I guess I just waited for the right time to tell you. Plus it was funny to listen to you.” Y/n smiled.

He lowered his hands. Making with eye contact with her, he smiled back at her with a smile that could out shine the sun.

“Shade may be cool, but I think y/n is so much cooler...you were always my hero when we were younger.”

Y/n placed a hand to her chest in a mock offended manner. “Shade is hurt. You don’t have a massive crush on her anymore?” She teased.

“No.” He leaned down, cupped her face, and pulled her in for a light, innocent kiss. “I think I’m madly in love with the girl behind the mask. And always have been.” Murmuring as he placed his forehead against hers, he smiled, even wider this time.

Without hesitation, y/n wrapped her arms around the boy and pulled him down into a longer, more meaningful kiss. Hesitant hands grabbed at her waist while she ran her fingers into his hair, intertwining the digits into his dark mop. If it were not for the human need for air, they would have stayed like that for an eternity.

Gasping and as red as a fire truck, they broke apart, just barely. Panting, they stared at each other with attraction burning in their eyes.

“So, my best friend and now girlfriend is a superhero?” He whispered breathily, his lips brushing hers again as he talked.

“Who said I was your girlfriend?”

“I think that kiss did.”

#jeongin #jeongin x reader #stray kids #stray kids imagine #reader insert #yang jeongin #kpop #kpop x reader #kpop imagine #this was a mistake #i hate this what am i doing

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countingback-wards · 6 years

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Mrs Billard requested that I bring my microscope and the little box of slides back to her classroom. While I’m not particularly excited by the idea, I suppose that it is necessary to do so, even though it was taking up time I could have been spending listening to Cas gossip about Ethan. I tap the number into the little keypad on the door and let myself into the room.

I make it about one metre into the room before I realise I’ve interrupted something. An older boy is sat up on a lab table, another student standing between his legs, and they’re kissing in a rushed and frantic manner. For a second, all I do is stare, still clutching my microscope and processing the situation. Then, I realise what about the scene is so shocking to me: I know them. They probably didn’t intend for me to find out in this way, but it’s an interesting way for them to go about ‘secrecy’. The blinds are open, for goodness sake.

“Arty? Will? What are you guys doing?” I asked incredulously, as if it isn’t plain to see already. William jerks back as if shot, and Arthur looks like he wants to melt into the lab table.

There’s a beat of awkward silence, and I can tell my brother’s getting anxious. He fidgets with his fingers and crosses and uncrosses his ankles, and looks away and bites his lips nervously. William reaches out and takes his hand to comfort him, and it’s then I realise I am staring. I set down my microscope on the edge of a lab table and close the door behind me, then turn to face them. “You two are kissing?” I ask. I don’t say ‘together’ because I know that sometimes people kiss when they aren’t together. Like how Dad kissed his intern when he should have been kissing Mummy

But I can’t think about that right now. I can’t think about anything right now. “It’s not bad or anything!” I add in a rush, fiddling with the sleeves of my lab coat. I’m suddenly miles out of my depth, like I’ve tried learning advanced calculus without knowing my two times table. “But... I suppose you didn’t want me to know?”

For all his articulate debating abilities, my brother is absolutely speechless. I sigh and turn to leave the room, but William raises a hand and I stop. “Marie, it’s okay. You haven’t done anything wrong. I think you broke Arty, though.”

That’s new. Only Jane and I call him Arty.

William goes about trying to snap Arthur out of his shell-shocked stupor. Arthur tends to completely shut down if something happens that he has no control over. It’s as if his brain is trying to remove him from the situation. When Arthur snaps out of his catatonic state, he turns and buries his face in the crook of William’s neck.

I roll my eyes and tilt my head in confusion. “How long have you two been kissing?” I ask.

Arthur finally makes eye contact with me. “About three seconds.”

I roll my eyes. “You know what I mean, Arty!”

William asks, “Why say kissing? Why not just say together?”

“Because sometimes people kiss when they’re not together. Like Dad and his intern.”

William and Arthur share The Look and then turn back to me. “We’ve been together for little over a month, Maz,” William explains.

“You won’t hurt him, right?”

William looks offended for a second. “Of course not, Maz! Why would I hurt somebody I lo- like?”

Arthur yelps in mild surprise and I giggle. “And Arty? I may not be related to Will but I like him. And if you’re mean to him I will hit you on the head with my encyclopaedia.”

I know I sound silly but I can’t help it. And I have to make sure. Even though it’s obvious they like each other.

Arthur laughs. “Of course I won’t, Maz.”

I finish tidying away my things, and then look back at them. “You can carry on kissing but I wouldn’t recommend it. Try behind the bike shed, nobody ever goes there.”

Figuring I’ve stunned my brother enough for one day, I only add one more thing before leaving the lab. “Oh, and Will? You were going to say you love him.”

When I get to the form room, Cas is waiting for me, helping some Year Eight girls hook their butterfly projects to the ceiling. He hops down when he sees me, asking me how my studying was. “It was good,” I reply vaguely, and he looks surprised. I usually talk his ear off about my projects, after all.

“You looks like you’ve seen a ghost,” he says.

“Ghosts don’t exist,” I reply, and Cas drags a hand down his face.

“It’s a figure of speech,” he replies and helps me fold up my lab coat. “What happened?”

“Swear not to tell anyone?” I say.

He looks a me as if I’m crazy. “Of course.”

“Arty and Will are kissing!” I exclaim.

Cas doesn’t look too surprised. In fact, he seems more shocked that I found out. “Really? Oh my gosh, how did you catch them? Tell me everything!”

I’ve always disapproved of gossiping, and I hate it when people gossip about who is and isn’t a couple, but when I’m talking to Cas… well, I can make a few exceptions.

Random Bonus:

“I want to die,” Arthur announces, throwing down his script on the kitchen counter and falling back onto the sofa.

Will, seemingly equally as bummed out about their rehearsal, sits down heavily on the sofa beside Arthur. “Same.”

Arthur rests his head on Will’s shoulder and will runs a hand through his hair. I’m tempted to make a throwing-up noise but I stop myself because they’ve only just sorted themselves out, I should cut them some slack.

“There’s a rope in the garage,” Jane says offhandedly, going back to her homework (I say homework, she’s just gossiping with Sara over a plate of biscuits with their folders open).

“Or bleach under the sink if you want options,” Cas said, and I muffled my laughter by taking a bite of my biscuit.

Swallowing my mouthful, I add, “Don’t be a coward, just jump out the window.”

“Do a flip,” Sara adds.

As we all sit there, trying not to laugh, Mum looks horrified at us. “Do I need to call someone?”

“The meme police, maybe?” Cas asks rhetorically.

Arthur gives him a hi-five.

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janiedean · 7 years

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Sorry if you already saw it, but a short highschool au for ironwing?

aaand here you go. spoilers: it’s not short. XD

Danny Rand is not, in the natural order of things, the kind of person Colleen even talks to, never mind hangs out with.

In fact, until now, none of that has happened. And why would it even? They’re not even in the same damned school.

Fact is: Colleen has no idea who thought placing a public school next to one of those extra pricey private places for rich kids who will go to college regardless of their GPA was a good idea. She has a clue it’s because of the whole part where this previously rich-as-hell neighborhood was forced to accept people coming in from the suburbs because the city forced them to accept popular houses being built on the premises, and of course no one could afford to send their kid to the only other school in the area, as in, the extra pricey private one.

Colleen would know – for that matter, she’s living with her grandmother only and if she hadn’t been alive she’d most probably be in a group home by now.

Anyway, it’s not that she knows anyone at the fancy private school, but their garden has a fence in common with her school’s, which means that she sees enough of them during recess.

Now, the first thing about Danny Rand is, he hadn’t been previously attending the fancy school when Colleen and her grandmother moved in a year ago.

The first thing about Danny Rand is that until six months ago, everyone thought he had died with his parents in a plane crash, and then it turned out that he was in fact alive but had been stranded in a Chinese small village without communication with the real world, and then somehow he found his way back to New York, and he’s now living with the other CEO of his parent’s filthy rich company and his family.

Who, of course, sent him to the nearest fancy private school.

The second thing about Danny Rand is that, given what Colleen sees from the other side of the fence, he’s nowhere near the asshole everyone else in his school seems to be.

She’s seen him sharing his lunch with random people from the first day he showed up. He – strangely – doesn’t use the school’s uniform (it’s optional, from what she sees, but most kids use it because it makes them look even more stuck-up), nor the designer clothes anyone else wears, even if he could afford them. He broke up at least four or five fights during the six months he’s been attending, from what she sees. She’s also sure she’s never seen him angry or pissed at anyone – heck, he’s horribly nice to anyone who even talks to him.

In short, he seems like a nice kid. Colleen never was the person to judge someone’s character based on their bank account, anyway, and she can figure that if you spend five years in another country after seeing your parents die you might want to make friends.

Which is why she gets very, very irked when one day she’s sitting down in the yard, going through her math homework, and hears some of the two rich kids from the other side talking near the fence.

“Can you believe it,” Kid Number One says, “he actually didn’t even blink before lending me some money when I asked? I didn’t even need it.”

“Why did you ask then?” Kid Number Two replies.

“Are you kidding? I just wanted to see if he was really that dumb. I mean, half of his class has done it and he actually hasn’t realized they don’t like him.”

“Is he really that weird?” Kid Number Two says. Colleen has decided to rename the first Asshole Number One. “I mean, I don’t have any of his classes, so I wouldn’t know.”

“He’s pathetic, honest. I mean, I get he probably has issues, but anyone who talks to him, seems like they’re best friends or something. Never mind that he wouldn’t even know how to turn on a smartphone, can you believe that? And sometimes he starts speaking Chinese or some shit like that without even realizing. The fun thing was when he asked why there was a fence here.”

“He didn’t know?”

“Someone explained it to him and he was looking at them like they grew two heads, then he said he didn’t think it was nice to speak ill of the public schoolers and he didn’t get it. Imagine that.”

“What, he wants to buy everyone over there lunch?”

“I have a feeling he might if anyone suggested it to him,” Asshole Number One concludes.

Colleen kind of wants to tell them a few choice words because honest, she doesn’t know the kid but she can’t believe they’d be so – so judgmental just because he most probably wants friends. Hell, in a year she only made friends with Claire and then got others through her, but she can relate to being really bad at it. And of course you don’t know about smartphones if you spend five years in a Chinese village in the middle of nowhere.

She sighs. Whatever. It’s not as if she’ll ever have a chance to warn the kid that he’s surrounded by vipers.

Or so she thinks until a week later.

It goes like this.

The principal of her school has apparently talked to the principal of their school for some kind of program that might get both schools’ kids to interact, which then turns out to be sponsored by social service and a committee of previous and new residents to make the atmosphere somewhat less tense.

Which includes having common sports teams for the entire second semester.

Colleen needs the credits and so she signs up for the martial arts section of it – she’s already in the school’s team, but she figures this will give her some extra points.

Imagine her surprise when she goes for the first meeting and it turns out that Danny Rand is the only student in his entire school who’s willingly signed up for the martial arts team, and since she’s the best in the entire school they pick her out of all the applicants, and they get paired together for the school’s kung fu team. Or better, they’re the only two people in the team itself since it’s just the two of them wanting to do this thing in the first place.

She doesn’t know what to expect.

It’s certainly not him holding out her hand and shaking it and introducing himself absolutely normally as if they’re at exactly the same level.

She shakes it back. At least it’ll be a nice semester.

In the next two weeks, Colleen finds out the following:

a) Danny Rand is actually that damned nice;

a1) No, he’s not acting, he’s physically incapable;

b) He does have a tendency to pay for everything if you want to grab a bite after karate practice, but he doesn’t even think about it and you really can’t be angry at him for that;

c) He does have a tendency to slip into Chinese at times but it’s okay because she also understands it even if she doesn’t practice as much as she’d like, and fine, he seems incapable of doing more than the basics with his phone, but it’s normal, given where he comes from;

d) He absolutely does not brag about his money and when she offhandedly tells him about her friends he’s actually interested in hearing about them, and he doesn’t even bat an eyelid when she says that their group is made of all orphans, one of which is also blind and one has anger issues that land them at the school’s counselor every other day, which is way more than most people would say, and sure as hell more than any of his classmates;

e) He’s also damn fucking good at kung fu;

And, most important of all, he doesn’t deserve any of the shit she hears from his classmates during recess. Fine, he can be weird at times and he tends to talk a lot and he has his quirks, but he’s so fucking nice you can’t do anything other than taking it in stride.

Which is why she has a clue or ten of why, a month after they start training together, she finds him outside the dojo not in tears but obviously having cried before.

“Let me guess,” she says, “you heard some of your classmates talking about you behind your back.”

“How would you know?” He almost sobs.

“I spend recess on the other side of the fence. I hear things.”

He shrugs. “Point taken. I just – they didn’t know I was hearing. I guess. And – I had no idea? That they thought I was – weird. I mean. No one ever – guess it’s because of the money, isn’t it?” He says it with disdain.

Good.

“I guess,” she replies, “and they’re all idiots.”

“Wait, what?”

She might as well fess up, at least for the part where she doesn’t think he’s an idiot or weird, and not for the part where she thinks that his lovely blonde curls and blue eyes and smooth face are actually cute.

“Danny, everything weird you do is normal if you’ve spent five years in China after surviving a plane crash. You’re so not stuck up that you don’t even make me feel like a leech when you pay for coffee, and just seeing you look overjoyed that you did it is enough to kill that instinct. You’re – you’re the nicest person I ever ran into and it’s not a bad thing. I’m just sorry they don’t get it. Never mind that given how much money their parents have, it’s kind of hypocritical.”

So, she had figured that her admittedly sad attempt at pep talking might cheer him up, some, but she hadn’t expected his face to light up completely in answer, and how the hell is someone that terrible at hiding their emotions?

“It’d be stupid to ask you if you mean it, wouldn’t it?”

She laughs. “I don’t dole out compliments just like that, if you hadn’t noticed before.”

“No,” he says, “no, you don’t,” and then his hand tentatively touches hers and for a moment her head spins because wait, this is really what doesn’t happen in the natural order of things, not really, but then she swallows and thinks, does he really mean it, and she chances threading their fingers together, and –

“Can I –?” He asks, and it’s obvious what he’s asking permission for, and –

There have been a few people who tried to kiss her without asking first. They all ended up with a bruise and with their back on the ground, and they never tried again.

“Yes,” she says, and it turns out that while Danny Rand has definitely never kissed anyone else in his life he’s quite good at it, and he does it with intent, and then he tells her he had been wanting to for a couple of months at this point, and Colleen doesn’t even know what the hell she should say other than and I’ve been thinking you’re cute for the last six months or so, so she doesn’t and kisses him again instead.

She doesn’t tell anyone outside of her friends that they’re together – it’s not quite a good idea because people would assume that she’s bragging and honestly, she doesn’t want to use him as a trophy or something. Her friends, admittedly, take it in stride and say that she should introduce them at some point, just to see if he’s really that nice, because he sounds too good to be real.

He has no such quibbles, or not as many.

Actually, the day before the martial arts competitions start, he tells her that by now he’s choosing who to talk to based on their reaction when they learn who is he dating.

“Seriously?” Colleen asks.

“No one who asks me if I’m lowering myself is worth my time,” Danny shrugs in reply.

That’s when Colleen decides that maybe it’s time she introduces him to her grandmother.

The day after they arrive first in their league, which pretty much turns them into their social worker’s pride and joy since no one else in their program managed to accomplish anything, she does invite him over.

He shows up with a small bouquet of discreet but nicely arranged flowers, dressed in a goddamned tux and when her grandmother realizes he’s actually fluent in Chinese they don’t speak a word of English for the entire dinner.

“Invite him more often,” her grandmother says after he leaves.

Colleen goes to bed thinking that she definitely will.

“Can you believe some girls from senior year asked me to prom?” Danny sounds fairly outraged, bless him.

“Are you that angry because they obviously asked you out for your money or because they ignored you’re otherwise occupied?”

“… Both, actually,” he says. “You’d think I haven’t made a mystery out of it.”

While she has, and maybe in the beginning it made sense, but –

But now maybe it doesn’t, and even if everyone else will think that she’s with him for the money, who cares?

“At my school, prom is open to all years,” she says, and what the hell, since when she sounds so insecure? “Maybe I should ask you to prom.”

“Wait, really?”

“Just don’t dress up too much,” she says, and then they don’t talk anymore because he’s kissed her on the street corner where anyone from both schools can see them.

Too bad. She doesn’t really care.

He does come to prom with regular clothes, thankfully because Colleen’s only halfway decent dress was paid fifteen dollars at a thrift shop, but his green t-shirt and dark jeans match the light green of her outfit, and they didn’t even agree on it.

They do get stares when they show up in the gym, which is a lot less fancy than the one at his school, but he doesn’t seem to give two fucks. Colleen introduces him to Matt, Jess, Claire and Luke, and half an hour later Jess is grumbling that it’s unfair, he’s really that nice and she feels bad teasing him.

Colleen thinks that it’s because when Jess said if you break her heart I’ll kick your ass the moment after they were introduced, he replied, of course, I wouldn’t expect otherwise, and what the hell do you even reply to that?

What she doesn’t expect, is finding him in her advanced math class when she walks into it at the beginning of the next school year.

What?

“The hell are you doing here?” She asks.

“I might have forgotten to tell you I switched schools,” he grins, and –

“You had all summer to do it!”

“But I wanted it to be a surprise,” he keeps on, still grinning, and –

“But why?”

“Well, I don’t need a fancy school on my CV if I want to go to college and honest, it’s not even worth the price. And why would I stay there when here the company is so much better?”

Right. Because of course now her friends are his, too, and they all hung out together most of the summer, while he hasn’t hung out with anyone from his school in forever.

“Besides,” he goes on, “we should be on the same team for the next competition, and this year we can’t if we aren’t in the same school.”

Colleen can’t argue with that logic either.

It’s probably not dignified that they start the school year with half an hour in detention because the teacher walks in on them locking lips in her classroom, but Colleen can’t care less and, she’s sure, neither can Danny.

So maybe nothing is in the natural order of things, as far as the two of them are concerned.

But not just maybe, the natural order of things is overrated.

#ironwing #colleen wing #danny rand #safedannyrand #iron fist #my fic #no spoilers really it's a total au #ch: danny rand #ch: colleen wing #ironwingedhawk #ask post

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artificialqueens · 7 years

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My loneliness is killing you (Vatya) /Part 7/ - Polly

Authors note: This is actually 2k but it feels short not gonna lie. this was meant to be a lot longer cause this continues after that but i decided to split the chapter into 2 so expect the next chapter soon. Also there’s special guest appearances by Raja, Manila and Alaska here because Raja is important to Violet’s back story and I felt like having Rajila and Alaska. I hope you enjoy xx

All Chapters on AO3 and AQ

Summary: ‘How to Get Away with Murder’ trophy wife style. (LESBIAN AU)

Before

It was raining. It was always raining around Christmas time now. She stared out at the marvellous garden that looked sad in the pouring rain.

The first time she had been here had been just before Christmas too but then there had been snow and she had still been blinded by the glitz and the glamour.

She turned around and looked at the room, a ballroom because apparently some people inherited giant mansions with ballrooms and a guest house bigger than most hotels. Not that she was complaining though, attending the engagement party meant a night away from Christian and she really needed the break. Especially since his parents were coming to town for Christmas. And where Christian was bad, his mother was worse.

It was shocking that he had even let her go but then again, this was Raja’s engagement party. And no matter how much Christian hated it, Raja had more money and more power than he would ever have.

Raja had invited Violet offhandedly last week when they had run into each other at an art gallery opening in Paris. They weren’t even in contact anymore, not since Violet had gotten married and alienated herself from all her old contacts.

Sure, there was the monthly facebook message from Kurtis she would reply to and the random wave from across the room to Raja but the bottom line was, she couldn’t talk to them.

She had not been able to escape from Raja last week though and while she was glad that she was in Princeton instead of New York, she had felt weird after having met Raja. Because the thing was, Raja had known Violet since she was 19 and Violet was way different back then and Raja was, behind the bad bitch attitude, fiercely loyal and hurtfully direct and had given Violet a reality check she hadn’t necessarily asked for. (“You’ve lost weight.” “You look tired.” “Are you okay?” “Come to my engagement party next week. You look like you need a distraction.”)

So this was where she was. In Princeton, New Jersey, wearing an overpriced but stunningly beautiful black jumpsuit with a cape her shoes kept getting stuck in and a glass of champagne, looking at Raja and Manila enjoying their engagement party. Money marries money, she thought bitterly even though she knew from looking across the room at Raja tenderly smiling while Manila was talking, that this had nothing to do with money. Violet took another sip of her champagne.

Raja caught Violet’s eye from across the room and Violet braced herself. Maybe she could’ve gotten away with telling Christian she would attend Raja’s engagement party and instead gotten herself a nice hotel room somewhere and done what she did best these days: think about Katya. Because the truth was Violet was sad and memories of Katya’s blonde hair and white teeth and loud laugh were hunting her. And sure it had only been two weeks and sure they never had the chance to exchange phone numbers or the such but if Violet was completely honest, the skiing trip had been the happiest she had been in a long time and frankly she was also head over heels in love with Katya which wasn’t helping at all.

“Violet!” Raja’s voice came from a few feet away before she hugged her. “Meet Manila.”

Violet had met Manila before, kind of. Because Raja had taken Violet to art galleries back in the day and because Manila and Raja, well that had been a long time coming.

“We met before, Raj,” Manila said softly while looking at Raja. “Hey Violet. Good to see you again.” And then she looked at Raja again and Violet felt as if she could actually see the bubble of happiness surrounding them. And she was thrilled for them because she loved Raja after all and Manila was lovely. It was just that she was just the tiniest bit miserable but tonight was not about her.

“Hey,” Violet echoed and even a simple ‘hey’ sounded weird. She never said ‘hey’ when she was at events with Christian but this was different because Raja and Manila were so rich that rich people customs didn’t even faze them anymore and Violet was a bit lost.

“Ehm, congratulations on your engagement! When’s the wedding?”

Raja smiled at Manila again and Violet made a mental note to never associate with people that were in love while she herself was pining.

“In June. Are you going to be there, darling?” Manila asked with a gentle smile to Violet and Violet decided that she liked Manila a lot.

“Ehm, I don’t know,” Violet said with a small smile to Manila before looking at Raja.

“You know you’re always welco- Oh my god!” Raja stared at something over Violet’s shoulder with a big smile on her face.

“I didn’t think you would come!” she exclaimed while walking past Violet. Violet and Manila followed her movements and Violet almost dropped her glass.

Katya. Katya actually here right now, being tightly embraced by Raja. Katya in a red dress that showed her boobs and her leg off because there was a dangerously high slit on one side. Not that Violet would complain.

Raja blocked Violet from Katya’s view and Violet tried to find the box with the social rules of interaction for‘how to act around your kind of affair that you’re inconveniently in love with and that also even more inconveniently is the wife of your husbands business partner’ in it. There was none. Surprisingly.

Raja was still kind of blocking Violet from Katya’s view and Katya was hugging Manila now because apparently she also knew both of them. What the fuck.

Katya turned to greet Violet, finally, and froze.

“Hey,” Violet said weakly and tried her best polite smile because she wasn’t sure what else to do.

Katya stared at Violet and while Violet was painfully aware of Raja’s and Manila’s confused stares, she took in Katya instead. Her hair was in a loose updo, the dress was sleeveless, her skin had a, no doubt artificial, tan, she looked like she had some kind of shimmer on her collarbones and her boobs. Not that Violet was staring. She looked at Katya’s face again instead. Red lips, of course, and smiled a little.

That smile, it seemed to wake Katya from her surprise for some reason.

“Vi,” she breathed out before closing the distance between them and hugging Violet closely. Katya must trust Manila and Raja a lot because this was definitely not how she would’ve acted in any other setting but Violet trusted Raja and Katya and even Manila who she barely knew so she just wrapped her arms tightly around Katya for a moment.

“Hey,” she said again, softly, before reluctantly moving out of the hug. Katya moved to stand closely next to Violet.

“I didn’t know that you two… knew each other,” Raja said with raised eyebrows and a sly smile and Violet knew that Raja could tell that Katya and Violet were… something.

“Uh, yeah,” Violet said dumbly and Katya let out tiny laugh and Violet really wanted to kiss her.

“Right,” Manila smiled awkwardly. “So how did you-”

“Raja! Manila! There you are, I thought I lost you,” came from a beautiful blonde woman that Violet identified as Alaska whom she knew simply because everyone knew Alaska. If you didn’t know her from movies, you knew her music or saw one of her paintings. Alaska was basically the epitome of talent and was looking at Katya in a way Violet didn’t like one bit.

“That’s a beautiful dress.” Alaska said to Katya with a pretty smile. She wasn’t looking at Violet and Violet wasn’t used to people not acknowledging her presence and the woman was still looking at Katya and it was bothering Violet.

“Hi. Nice to meet you. I’m Violet,” she said and now Alaska was looking at her, confused but friendly.

“Alaska,” she introduced herself before looking back to Katya. Katya had a small smile on her face as she shook Alaska’s hand.

“Katya,” she stated her name before glancing at Violet and raising her eyebrows.

Alaska nodded lightly at her with a smile. “Is that dress Versace spring 2018?”

Violet rolled her eyes exaggeratedly. “It is. Obviously.” She heard Raja snort next to her and Katya let out a light chuckle.

“Right,” Alaska said before looking at Katya again. “You have amazing facial structure.”

“Thanks?” Katya said and glanced at Violet again.

“Would you model for me? I would love to paint you,” Alaska asked.

“She’s married?” Violet interjected and mentally wanted to slap herself. She sounded absolutely ridiculous and not to mention, transparent.

“To you?” Alaska asked.

“What? No, that’s… no.”

Alaska looked back at Violet with raised and an awkward smile. “Sorry for assuming.”

“It’s okay,” Violet said helplessly and Katya let out a laugh while Raja and Manila looked at her confused but still smiling.

“Who wants drinks?” Manila asked after a slight pause.

“Me,” Alaska and Raja said at the same time, obviously desperate to get away from Violet’s crazy. Not that Violet could blame them. She really needed to tone the jealousy down.

They said their see you laters and Violet watched the three of them leave, Alaska talking about something, Raja and Manila listening while holding hands.

Katya’s arm wrapped itself around Violet’s waist and she let her chin drop onto Violet’s shoulder. “What the actual fuck was that?“

Violet groaned, Katya laughed.

“How are you?” Katya asked, her voice so soft, so gentle now and Violet was hit with just how much she had missed her.

“I’m fine,” Violet said while moving her hand on top of Katya’s interlacing their fingers and bathed in the beautiful surreality of it all. Katya, here, with her. “What about you? Are you okay?”

“Would it be very cheesy if I would say ‘I am now.’?”

Violet smiled and squeezed Katya’s hand. “Yes. Very.”

Katya laughed a little and her face was right next to Violet’s and she was actually here and their husbands were far away and there was nobody from their usual scene here, no reporters and this did feel like they were testing their luck.

Violet reluctantly removed herself from Katya and looked at her. “Do you have to leave tonight?”

She wanted Katya to stay the night, she hoped that Katya didn’t have to drive back to the city. She could, it was a less than two hour drive and Violet wouldn’t be surprised if David would have demanded that Katya would come back for the night. Christian had suggested that Violet would stay in Princeton. No doubt to meet with one of his mistresses.

“No. David is out of town.”

“Can you… Can you come to my room?” Violet asked and she didn’t know why her heart was beating so fast.

“Yes,” Katya smiled. “Yes, fuck yes.”

And then they were in Violet’s room, having left the party straight after dinner and speeches had happened.

Violet closed the door behind herself and then Katya was on her, fingers digging into Violet’s hips, her lips hungrily on Violet’s and Violet melted into the touch.

Katya leaned back and stroked some hair out of Violet’s face.

“I missed you.” She smiled at Violet, hesitantly, almost. “A lot.”

“I missed you too.”

They looked at each other for a moment and Violet let out a small giggle, Katya joining in a moment later. Violet pressed her lips back onto Katya’s and kissed her again, softly this time. She leaned back once more, body tightly pressed against Katya, her hands on Katya’s hip and at the back of her neck, and looked at her. Katya had a smile on her face that Violet never wanted to go away.

“Can you sleep here?” she asked because this was it, really, getting to fall asleep and wake up with Katya right there because apparently Violet wished for those mundane things now.

Katya nodded at her, big smile on her face and Violet felt giddy with it all. She pulled Katya’s face closer to her own again and wondered if she could ever get over the euphoria of it all.

#vatya #lesbian au #my loneliness is killing you #au #polly #fluff #katya zamolodchikova #violet chachki #rpdr fanfiction

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dragon-temeraire · 7 years

Text

The Reunion

Summary: Stiles needs someone hot to take to his reunion, so he can show everyone up. Cue Jordan Parrish, who eventually agrees to be his (fake) date.

Notes: Written for @inell, who wanted Stiles/Parrish and “It’s my high school reunion, and I need a hot date so I can rub in in the faces of the people who hated me.” Note: Lydia and Jackson are pretty mean in this fic, but I don’t think I made them any worse than they were in season 1. (On AO3)

“Come on, Jordan. Please?”

“You’ve been asking me for a favor for a week,” Jordan says, leaning his arms heavily on his desk. “What do you want?”

“I want you to be my date for my high school reunion,” Stiles says, as neutrally as possible, like this is nothing unusual.

“We’re not actually dating, so why would you need me to do that?”

“You may not have been aware, but some people treated me pretty shitty in high school,” Stiles says. “So I want to show up with a hot date, and rub in their faces how well I’m doing.”

“Well, I’m flattered,” Jordan says leaning back in his chair, his expression calm. “But how do you know those people will even be there?”

“I checked the RSVP list,” Stiles says easily. “They’ll definitely be there.”

Jordan’s eyes narrow. “Was that list actually available to the public?”

“I wouldn’t know anything about that,” Stiles says quickly, trying to look innocent. “But if you want to investigate, you can definitely do it in a nice suit. On the night of the reunion.”

Jordan sighs, shakes his head a little. “And why couldn’t you get an actual, real date to go with you?” he asks, a little smirk on his face.

Stiles can’t help noticing how good it makes him look. “Because I’m the same loser I’ve always been?” he says, nonchalant.

“That’s not what I meant,” Jordan says, straightening up. “I was going to say that you spend too much time here, and not enough time meeting other people.”

“Fair enough,” Stiles says, because he can’t admit he’s been hanging around all this time because he wants to ask Jordan out. For real. “But the reunion is only two days away, so it’s too late to find an actual date anyway.”

“Why don’t you go with Scott, then?”

“First of all, he’s in veterinary school four hours away. Also, everybody already thought we were dating in high school, so showing up with him wouldn’t really impress anyone.”

“All right,” Jordan says, looking amused. “Why not just go by yourself?”

“Show up to my five-year reunion alone?” Stiles says, scandalized. “I’d never live it down.” He’s mostly joking, but he sees Jordan’s expression softening.

“If it’s really that important to you,” he says, “then I’ll go.”

“It is, and I really appreciate it,” he says, and thumps the top of Jordan’s desk with excitement, ignoring the look he gets in response. “Hey, do you want to meet up for dinner tonight? Something casual?”

Jordan looks a little taken aback. “Why? You said the reunion’s not for another two days.”

“Yeah, but this has to be convincing,” Stiles says, pointing between himself and Jordan. “I need to get to know you better.”

“Stiles, you’re here all the time,” Jordan says. “I think you know me pretty well.”

“That’s work-Jordan. I need to know regular-Jordan. Find out your favorite food, your hobbies, and the level of PDA you’re comfortable with.”

Jordan sputters, but Stiles just keeps going.

“I mean, we gotta set boundaries. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“Stiles, I used to defuse bombs for a living. I don’t think you can make me uncomfortable,” Jordan says, his voice as close to lighthearted teasing as Stiles has ever heard.

“Please don’t equate my company to bomb disarming,” Stiles says with a grin. “I’m hoping it’ll be far more pleasant.”

Stiles will fully admit, his initial interest in Jordan had been purely physical. Jordan had been a hot new guy in town, and Stiles’ teenage hormones had been all over that.

But after he’d graduated from high school and gotten to know Jordan better, spending his summers away from college at the Sheriff’s station, he’d actually started liking Jordan more. His lust had gradually developed into a strong crush, and it just…hadn’t gone away.

Sure, he’d dated people in college, even had random hookups, but he just never quite let go of his interest. It didn’t help that Jordan never seemed to be dating anyone, either.

And Stiles hadn’t ever managed the nerve to ask Jordan out, not even when he showed up to Stiles’ college graduation with his dad, smiling and congratulating him. He was just afraid that, even though they weren’t that far apart in age, Jordan would still see him as a kid.

Or maybe he just wouldn’t want to date his boss’s son.

This reunion is giving him the perfect opportunity, though. That night will be one long fake date with Jordan, and he’ll get this crush out of his system. Hopefully.

But in the meantime, he’s getting to know a lot more about Jordan’s personal life, and that’s pretty great too.

“Come on, you’ve gotta have a hobby,” Stiles says, grinning. “Is it knitting? Yoga? Flower arranging?”

That makes Jordan laugh, and Stiles leans back in his seat, feeling content. He pops a French fry into his mouth while he waits for an answer.

“No, I actually discovered that I really like putting things together. Solving puzzles, stuff like that. I worked at the EOD training camp for a while, and they had me assembling the—fake, of course—explosives for the trainees to disarm. It was actually…pretty fun, considering. So after I got out, I started putting together models, building replicas, stuff like that.”

“What of?” Stiles asks curiously. “Cars? Planes?”

“The most recent one I did was of an AT-AT walker,” Jordan says offhandedly.

“What? No way,” Stiles says excitedly. “You built something from Star Wars?”

“I’ve done quite a few, actually,” Jordan says, looking amused. “The Death Star, an X-wing fighter, and R2-D2 as well.”

“Wow, I gotta see that,” Stiles says, delighted.

“If you want to come by when this whole reunion thing is over, you can,” Jordan says easily.

“Awesome,” Stiles says, pleased. “I didn’t know you were a fan.”

“I wasn’t, really,” Jordan shrugs. “But when you’re deployed you’re willing to watch just about anything. And I ended up liking the original trilogy a lot.”

Their conversation ends up devolving from there, into a drawn-out debate on the merits and shortcomings of the prequel trilogy, but Stiles doesn’t mind a bit.

“So, I forgot to ask yesterday,” Stiles says, sliding into the chair beside Jordan’s desk. It’s probably intended for people giving statements or filing reports, but Stiles puts it to good use. “What level of public displays are you cool with?”

Jordan chokes on his coffee, but Stiles continues, undeterred.

“Can we hold hands? Are you willing to slow dance with me? Gaze romantically into my eyes? Can I tell people you’re a great kisser?”

Jordan coughs, shakes his head, and takes another, smaller, sip of coffee. “All of that would be fine,” he says.

“Sweet,” Stiles says, trying to be casual despite the way his heart is racing. “Another important question: how long have we been dating?”

Jordan, with the mug halfway to his mouth, glares at him.

“Do you want me to pick you up tomorrow?” Stiles asks, fingers tapping nervously on his kitchen counter.

“Stiles, I just got home,” Jordan sighs down the line.

“And you know you always look forward to your boyfriend’s phone calls,” Stiles says cheerfully. “So?”

“Do you really think it’s going to impress anyone if you show up in the same jeep you’ve been driving since high school?” Jordan asks.

“Once they catch a glimpse of you, they won’t even notice the jeep,” Stiles says confidently.

“Thanks,” Jordan says wryly. “But I can drive us over, if you want. My vehicle reliably starts, at least.”

“Hey, now!” Stiles huffs, but he’s grinning. “Well, if you really want to, I guess you could pick me up in your SUV-thing.”

“Stiles, you know it’s a—actually, it doesn’t matter. I will see you tomorrow, in the SUV-thing,” Jordan says firmly.

“Awesome,” Stiles says. “I will be looking as handsome as possible.”

“Okay. Are you getting the boutonnieres, or am I?” Jordan asks teasingly.

“Those are for proms, not reunions,” Stiles says. “But we could try matching ties, if you want,” he adds grandly, and Jordan’s laugh sends a rush of happiness through him.

He might not be able to get this out of his system, after all.

Stiles checks his hair in the mirror for the third time, and resists the urge run his hands through it and rumple it up. Even though this evening he’ll only be pretending to date Jordan, he’s still weirdly nervous. He tugs his tie tighter, lets out a slow breath. This is why he wanted to pick Jordan up. Waiting is hard.

He looks down at his dress socks and wiggles his toes, smiling at the tiny R2-D2s all over them. He wants to show off to Lydia and Jackson tonight, but he wants to be himself, too.

A tap at the door draws his attention away, and he hurries out of his bedroom and over to the entryway. “Hey, Jordan!” he says brightly as he pulls the front door open. Whatever he was going to say next flees, though, when he gets a good look. Stiles has never seen Jordan in anything but the deputy uniform or casual clothes, so he’s completely unprepared for how handsome he looks in a fitted suit. “You look great,” he breathes.

“Thanks,” Jordan says, actually looking a little bashful. “Are you ready to go?”

“Almost,” Stiles says, gesturing Jordan inside. “I just need to put on my shoes, I’ll be right back.”

“Are you wearing droid socks?” Jordan calls after him.

“Of course,” Stiles says with a grin, returning with his dress shoes in hand. “I was actually gonna wear my chucks instead of these, but I wasn’t sure I’d be able to pull it off.”

“I think only the tenth doctor can,” Jordan says, and Stiles freezes in the middle of shoving his foot into his shoe.

“Are you, like, a secret nerd or something?”

“I didn’t think it was much of a secret,” Jordan says with a fond smile, and Stiles feels his heart flip in his chest.

“Not anymore,” he says lightly, trying to play off his reaction as he crams his other foot into his shoe. “Let’s go.”

Stiles is quiet on the way over, listening to Jordan talk about the various minor crimes that have been happening around town. It’s a relief, these days, that nothing too serious crops up.

It’s not long before they’re pulling into the parking lot, and Stiles smirks at the Welcome Back sign hanging over the main entrance. He climbs out of Jordan’s SUV-thing, and watches as people, mostly couples, make their way inside.

“Shall we?” Jordan asks, stepping up next to him and extending his elbow.

“Yeah,” Stiles says, slipping his arm into Jordan’s. “Let’s show them what’s up.” He suddenly feels his nerves settle with Jordan’s comforting presence beside him.

They check in with a disinterested girl at the front, and are provided with name tags. Stiles stuffs one of the pamphlets, detailing tonight’s “events,” into his pocket. He heard there was going to be karaoke in one of the side rooms, and he wonders who’ll be drunk enough to actually do it.

They’d separated at the table, but as they walk into the somewhat-tastefully decorated cafeteria, Stiles slides his hand into Jordan’s, squeezing softly. It’s ostensibly to show everyone that they’re a couple, but it’s actually just because Stiles really wants to.

Jordan sends him a small smile and squeezes back, and Stiles is pretty sure he knows.

He spots a distinctive head of red hair near one of the tables, and he takes a deep breath. Might as well get this over with.

He guides Jordan over, holding his hand tighter for support, and says, “Hello, Lydia,” as calmly as he can manage.

She turns, smirking at Stiles, then does a comic double-take at Jordan, her eyes flitting down to where their hands are joined. “Stiles,” she says, drawing it out, making it sound just a little condescending. “I see you found a date.”

“I did,” Stiles says, with false brightness. “Turns out, after getting away from the malicious and backstabbing environment of high school, it wasn’t that difficult to do.” He gives a sharp smile at her shocked expression. “Come on, Jordan. Let’s check out the refreshment table,” he says, walking away before she can say anything.

Stiles still feels tense, but now he’s also a little bit victorious. It had felt so good to finally stand up to her.

“What was that about?” Jordan asks quietly, picking up a little cup of fruit punch.

“Sophomore year, Lydia found out that I had a crush on her—which wasn’t difficult, I was not subtle—and told all of her friends. They harassed me and mocked me the rest of high school, and she never did anything to stop them.”

“You handled that rather well, then,” Jordan says, passing Stiles a plate of cookies.

“Yeah. I think it was worse because all the mean stuff they were saying say killed my crush pretty quick. So they were heckling me for something that wasn’t even true.” Then he takes a deep breath and gives Jordan a small smile, because thankfully all of that is in the past.

Jordan gently touches his shoulder, returning his smile, and looks like he’s about to say something else. But of course, someone has to interject.

“Stilinski,” a voice says in a smooth, fake-pleasant tone.

“Jackson,” Stiles says snidely. He turns toward the interruption, but not enough to dislodge Jordan’s hand.

“I see you figured out the whole bisexuality thing,” he says, eyes resting covetously on Jordan.

“I always knew,” Stiles says sharply. “There was nothing to figure out.” But Jackson’s not paying any attention to him.

Instead, he’s stepping closer to Jordan, a smirk firmly in place. He’s just as confident and cocky as ever, Stiles can’t help noticing.

“You’re with him, but for how much longer?” Jackson asks Jordan with mock concern. “He was a loser in high school, and he’s a loser now. Surely you’d want to step up to someone…better?” he adds conspiratorially, and Stiles feels a sharp, stabbing pain in his chest.

Though he’d jokingly called himself a loser, it’s so much worse to hear it from someone like Jackson.

Jordan’s expression hardens. “Stiles and I have been dating for more than a year, and I can say with certainty that he’s amazing, and far better than you.” He leans in toward Jackson, his mouth turned down. “And I think it’s about time for me to dance with my boyfriend. Goodbye.”

Stiles feels himself smiling at the way Jordan emphasizes the word ‘my,’ and lets himself be guided out to the dancefloor. He’s tempted to look back and get one more glimpse of Jackson’s shocked face, but he resists the urge.

To his surprise, Jordan pulls him close, one hand settling on the back of Stiles’ neck, letting him press his face against Jordan’s neck.

“Are you okay?” he asks quietly.

Stiles leans into Jordan’s warmth, his hands curling around Jordan’s hips. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he says against Jordan’s skin. “I’m glad you’re here, though.”

Jordan sways them slowly to the music, and when Stiles finally lifts his head, he sees that Jordan looks a little sad. “I had no idea they’d be like that. I mean, high school was years ago, and I don’t think it was ever like that for me.” His brow creases. “And what was Jackson’s problem, anyway?”

“I started dating his best friend senior year,” Stiles sighs. “He was convinced that I was just experimenting with Danny, that I didn’t really know what I wanted.”

“Ouch,” Jordan says. “That couldn’t have been great for your relationship.”

“It wasn’t. But Danny and I had a lot of fun while it lasted,” he says with a smirk, and Jordan laughs.

Stiles waits for him to settle down, then says, “So we’ve been dating more than a year, huh? Must be getting serious.”

But instead of joking along with him, Jordan just looks embarrassed. “We’ve spent a lot of time together, and I feel like we’ve been good friends for at least a year,” he says, shrugging. “Though I’ll admit the dating part was purely wishful thinking.”

Stiles just stares for a second. “You…wish we were dating?” he asks hesitantly.

“I was originally going to turn you down for this,” Jordan sighs. “Because if we were going to dance, if we were going to kiss, I didn’t want you to think it wasn’t real.” He shakes his head. “But then I decided something was better than nothing, so.”

“Wait, you seriously want to date me? The person who annoys you at work all the time? For real?”

“You don’t actually annoy me,” Jordan laughs. “But yes, I really do.”

“Wow, I kinda regret not saying anything, then. I’ve wanted to ask you out for ages, but I never thought you’d go for it.”

Jordan’s eyebrows go up. “You didn’t think I’d be interested?” he asks curiously.

“Well, I am your boss’s son,” Stiles says, shrugging.

To his surprise, Jordan starts laughing. “The Sheriff told me that I either needed to either ask you out or move on, but that he couldn’t take my, uh, pining for much longer.”

“He knew?” Stiles says, disbelieving. “No wonder he looked so smug when I said I was going to ask you to the reunion!”

“Yeah,” Jordan says, still grinning. “He definitely knew. So does this mean I can move from fake reunion date to real reunion date?”

“If you do, does that mean I finally get to kiss you?” Stiles asks, smirking a little.

“It only seems right,” Jordan says, and then he’s leaning in, his lips pressing softly against Stiles’.

Stiles’ eyes flutter shut, his hands gripping tightly against Jordan’s hips as he tilts his head, deepening the kiss. After a moment he slowly pulls away, noting the slight flush to Jordan’s cheeks, and feels happiness surge through him.

“Good work, Stiles,” he hears as someone claps him on the back. He turns to see Danny walking past, a smile on his face.

It makes him laugh, and Jordan just grins and pulls him into another kiss.

(Stiles goes to see Jordan’s models the next afternoon. He admires every detail, then makes out with Jordan on the couch while A New Hope plays in the background. It’s wonderful.)

#starrish #fluff #pining #getting together #my fic

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