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hyunjilicious · 3 years

Text

fwb [s. stan/c. evans/h.cavill]

A/n: DO NOT ask me why I wrote this. I have no idea why I did this to myself, but I thought I’d share anyway!

Summary: no matter how you put it, a catching feelings while you’re in a fwb relationship isn’t good! (SMUT, FLUFF, angst?) 9.2k

Warnings: threesome, dirty talk, unprotected sex, spanking, slapping, daddy kink, size kink, degradation, humiliation, oral, pain kink (+/- some dubcon), submission, cum play... issa lot ok? don’t read if any of these make you uncomfortable!! 18+

This is a standalone fic, and not part of any series. However, come talk to me about it, please!! Tell me what you thought!! And don’t forget to reblog in case you enjoyed it!!

"Last question-" the interviewer announced. She turned around the papers in her lap and placed them to the side, before she intertwined her fingers and looked up at you with a devious grin on her lips. "I have to ask this, Y/n. We all need to know, who's your favorite? Superman or Captain America?"

Of course you couldn't help but chuckle, shaking your head at the question she came up with. It was fair to assume you hadn't been asked this before for the sole purpose of avoiding a scene, but the lady standing in front of you seemed overly pleased with herself. Unlike Henry and Chris, who were seated on either side of you. Even if you didn't actually turn to look at them, you could feel their glares throw daggers. Anticipation floated in the room, and judging by the way they just softly chuckled or refrained from making any kind of comment, you knew how anxiously they were awaiting your answer.

"I-" you said, before bursting into laughter.

"Even I would choose Superman," Chris joined in, placing a hand on his chest for emphasis. "Dude's got X-ray vision. He's faster than light, he can fly. He's the real deal" he raised his palms, ready to accept his defeat.

"See-?" Henry butted in, and you giggled, more to yourself, at the game they started playing. You knew very well it was nothing but a big, fat, obvious trap. "Superman's got all of those, but Captain America still manages to save the world time and time again, without superpowers. I think that makes him greater"

Oh, how screwed you were.

"So, Y/n?" the interviewer pushed, ever so obviously satisfied with the tension she created, "Who will it be? Steve or Clark?"

In turn, you looked at both of them. Henry was smiling his ass off, waiting for you to say the wrong name, while Chris seemed to be lost in thought.

"Ugh, ok" you took a deep breath, and glanced into the camera, "I'm sorry, but I'm Team Cap. I gotta be."

Whereas Henry accepted the defeat with stride and sweetly mentioned he couldn't ever blame you for choosing Captain America, Chris was ecstatic. He didn't even try to hide his excitement, the chair nearly breaking under his energetic jolts of pride.

After a few more unimportant comments were made, the interview ended and the lights were turned off. You all hopped off your seats and walked over to the buffet table, your conversation still going strong.

"Really, Y/n? Cap?" Henry taunted, his voice low and mocking, right against your ear lobe as you popped a cheese stick into your mouth. "This guy? Why did you have to do me like that, hm?"

Henry placed the tip of his finger under your chin and elegantly prompted you to look up at him.

"I don't know, man" Chris laughed from somewhere behind you, "I think I own fair and square, Cap is just the better superhero"

Henry scowled, glancing at the blonde, over your shoulder. His ice cold eyes made the salty treat get lodged in your throat, and you had to pull away from him in order not to actually choke. "Relax-" you said, raising your hands in defeat as you started walking towards the door, "It's not like I chose between the two of you. That would've been a whole other deal"

"Wait what-?" Chris deadpanned, "What does that mean?" He added, hurrying to follow you and ask for further details.

Needless to say, the subject wasn't dropped until quite a while later. People swarmed you, papers had to be signed and pictures were taken as the employers from all levels of the building gathered outside your dressing room hoping to meet some of their favorite superheroes. It was all a buzz and about 2 hours later, the three of you were finally able to leave, making a beeline from the back door of the building, all the way over to the car that was waiting for you.

You ended up on the backseat, again between them, but this time the atmosphere was relaxed. Your blood only started to boil when Henry asked for the partition to be rolled up. As soon as the space inside the car was divided and you were given your privacy, Henry grabbed your chin and forced you to face him.

"Think I forgot about earlier?" he questioned, his devious grin wide enough so that his perfect teeth became visible.

You giggled and forced yourself out of his hold. Shuffling around the seat, you threw one leg over his thighs and sat down in his lap. Henry looked you up and down, remotely displeased with your attitude but he didn't complain.

You grabbed his cheeks into your palms and pushed yourself up against him, his face now inches away from your chest. "And what are you gonna go?"

He wasn't about to let his guard down, "You're acting all bratty now, but you'll regret that later, baby"

"I doubt that" you teased, bending down to tenderly kiss his sweet lips, "What could you possibly do that I won't like?"

"Wish you hadn't asked that" Henry laughed, his whole frame shaking against yours. He grabbed your ass and squeezed harshly, pressing you closer to him.

"I'm scared" you joked, trailing your lips along his cheeks, knowing just how crazy you could make him.

"Y/n" Chris warned, "Today I'm on your side, but even I can tell you're pushing your luck"

Even if he didn't necessarily manage to deflate your attitude, you plopped down from Henry's lap and resumed your spot between them. The atmosphere didn't get any denser and the topic of conversation swiftly shifted to rudimentary randomness like what food should you order once you got home or whatever plans either of you had for that night. You subtly avoided the word 'date' when you told them you'd be meeting with a friend, and breathed out relieved when they didn't pressure you for details. That was a conversation to be had between 4 walls and with no prying ears.

Once home, your home - they came over, you casually opened the door and meant to make your way inside as if nothing was wrong, but Henry, just as previously stated, had other plans.

Securing a strong hold around your way smaller frame, he lovingly leaned down over your shoulder, "How are you doing, love?" he nonchalantly asked.

His scent overwhelmed your senses, and despite knowing where this was going, you tried to play it off. "Good, you?" you smiled, sinking into his arms.

"We need to talk"

"Do we?" you laughed, but managed to do absolutely nothing in terms of impressing him.

You knew just how much he loved it when you asked for it, and this was not something he'd ever let slide. "Come with me, darling," Henry cooed, gently guiding you into the bedroom.

You followed him without showing any kind of resistance, turning around in his hold and wrapping your arms around his neck. You stumbled backwards down the hallway, sloppily kissing his lips.

Much to your surprise, he was more than eager to reciprocate, his palms burning through the soft material of clothing that covered your sides. He kissed you deeply, his tongue exploring your mouth with so much fervor, as if he had been deprived for too long.

Henry clumsily opened the bedroom door, stumbling forward with you against him, until he reached the bed. Considering how weak you were for him and how you always allowed yourself to get molded by his will, when he pushed you back against the bed, you fell with a small huff and remained there, only your eyes following him.

"What are you doing?" you asked, seeing him open your closet and actually step inside to look behind the corner.

Before he even started to answer your question, Chris walked into the room. He was casually undoing the buttons of his shirt as he strolled past the bed.

"Hi-" you giggled, extending your hands towards him. All you wanted was some attention.

"Hi, baby" Chris laughed, bending down to kiss your forehead. "You're gonna be good for us, ok? I don't wanna have to go to hard on you"

"Then don't" you pouted.

"That's only up to you" he added, straightening his back and finishing up on undoing his buttons. His tattooed chest became visible and your mouth watered in an instant.

Burning from the inside with anticipation and pure lust, you fell back against the cushions, your thighs uselessly trying to alleviate some of the pain between your legs. But no amount of rubbing and friction would ever match up to the tension in the room, and you loved it.

A couple of moments later, Henry walked out of his closet, dressed exactly the same, clutching tight into his hands the famous superman costume. None of you has ever been too shy when it came to exploring new kinks and desires, but this, you did not see coming.

Your mouth fell open, "Really!?" you almost drooled, but he has probably never been any quicker to burst your bubble.

Staring you down, Henry clutched his fingers into the material of his suit, bringing his hands together in front of his chest, before tearing the material apart with a loud screech. He lightly huffed with the effort, but soon enough, the actual costume fell to the floor by his feet, while the red cape remained neatly wrapped around his fists.

Your eyes widened with enthusiasm and you wanted to shuffle closer to him, but once you pushed yourself up on your knees, you felt a tight grip around your forearms.

Chris pulled you back with force, "Arms up, darling" he chuckled. He didn't even give you a chance to follow his directions, as he yanked your top over your head in an instant and unclasped your bra before leaving your top half completely naked and exposed.

As he plopped down on the bed, Henry came up to you and forced your hands up, using his cape to tie your wrists to the bedpost. His face was hovering inches above yours, and you licked your lips before pushing yourself up to kiss his jawline.

"The hell's gotten into you, hm?" he groaned, tightening the knot. When he looked down, he seemed amused, kind of at the edge between disbelief and satisfaction, as if he actually wished you'd push his buttons. As if he was waiting for you to dig your own grave. "You aren't usually like this"

"Had a great day, that's all" you grinned as you literally met with the two of them approximately half an hour after you woke up. "Ready for it to get better"

"Is it, though-?" Chris laughed, fumbling with the button of your jeans before pulling them down your legs. Off with them also went your underwear, and then there you were, completely naked in front of them, hands tied above your head. "-going to get better, I mean" Chris added, rubbing his hands up and down your thighs.

"I think-" you began answering but Henry stopped you as he gripped your chin.

"Stop talking back, love" he threatened, "Don't you think you said enough today? Look where it's gotten you"

You studied his expression with big, curious eyes, your bottom lip consciously trembling as you muttered a soft excuse. You knew not taking him seriously would get you into even more trouble, but that's what you were all about.

Henry chuckled. Keeping his glare trained on yours he pushed himself up. His big hands found your thighs and forced your legs apart.

With this new, sudden change in position, your eyes landed on Chris who looked down at you as if you were his prey. He had a bottle of beer in his hand, taking small sips as he stood back, allowing Henry to do his part. Even if he wasn't yet taking part first hand in this whole charade, he was ever so obviously still enjoying the show.

You squirmed under their dominating stares, feeling every inch of your body burn with excitement and traces of actual embarrassment that did absolutely nothing other than turn you on even further.

"You know you fucked up, right?" Chris taunted before taking another sip of his beer. His hand reached to cup your thigh, moving it further up until his fingers got dangerously close to your bare pussy. "I mean you're all good in my book, but that's not how things work"

"It could be" you whined.

By now, it should have been clear that talking back was never an option. Chris just smiled sympathetically while Henry clearly showed he wasn't going to have you keep this attitude much longer. He shuffled to the side, responding to your comment with a sharp slap against your bare cunt. "What did you just say?"

The impact made you instinctively gather your legs together but he was quick to stop you. Henry forced your thighs apart again, his thick fingers pushing past your folds just enough to get you to get on alert.

Your eyes snapped to Chris. You never thought of things like this, but just about now, having him on your side seemed like the best idea. Your stomach was tightening from the nerves building up inside your core and you needed his reassurance.

"I'm sorry, doll-" he cocked his head to the side as you watched him, your eyes begging him to stand with you, "You know I'm always here for you, but breaking you is just too much fun, I'm sorry"

"Asshole" you rolled your eyes and regretted it even before Henry delivered another slap against your clit. You cried out and your muscles clenched against your will, your knees bending in a pathetic attempt to curl yourself into a ball.

"Come on, darling" Henry scoffed, easily handling your tantrum and forcing your legs back down, wide open for them. "You're only making this harder. Calm down, take your punishment and then maybe you'll get something in return"

"Ok-" you muttered, shame taking over your senses.

"Ok, what?" Henry pushed and Chris shook his head in disbelief at how unwilling you were to follow your usual instructions.

"Ok, daddy-" you muttered, avoiding their eyes, "I'm sorry I-"

"Little girl-" Henry sighed, sinking two fingers into your dripping pussy, "Already apologising? Where did that attitude go? Your punishment didn't even start yet"

"Fuck" you cried.

Despite knowing it wasn't a good idea, you rocked your hips along his fingers. Deciding to let you play along, Henry pressed his thumb against your clit, applying that minimal amount of pleasure he knew would have you hollering.

And when you moaned for the first time, he stopped. He stopped completely and retracted his hand, leaving you craving his touch. Again, you felt exposed and it only translated into a painful sensation deep inside your belly.

Arching your back as a whine escaped your lips, you squeezed your eyes shut, "Come on!! Please-"

"Not yet, angel" Henry countered, spreading your legs again.

As he held one of your thighs, Chris grabbed the other one, both their hands gripping your flesh hard enough to bruise. You already whimpered in pain, but when the real round of slapping began you felt like your throat would eventually cave.

"Cry if you have to, angel. Just be a good girl" Henry taunted.

You struggled against their hold with each blow delivered to your sensitive pussy, crying out and begging for them to stop. You never did try to count, so you had no idea how long it took, as when he stopped, you fell down into the mattress, the pain dissipating into a burning sensation across your legs.

"Easy there-" Henry cooed, his big hand cupping your cunt, gently rubbing the sensitive skin he had just abused.

Tears rolled down your temples as you failed to calm down your breathing. "Fuck, ok, I get it-" you sniffled, turning your head around to hide your face into your shoulder, "I'm sorry, please. I'm sorry"

"Look at me, pet" Henry commanded, softly guiding your chin in order to uncover your face, "Don't hide from us. You're so beautiful crying like that, you have no idea"

A new fresh wave of tears streamed from your eyes, "Th-thank you..."

Ever so softly, Chris moved your thighs, separating them again. He kneeled between your legs, lowering himself until you could feel his breath against your folds. "Breathe, pet-" he cooed, pressing a lingering kiss to your clit.

Involuntarily, you flinched, your hips bucking. "Easy, baby-" Chris said barely above a whisper, placing a hand on your tummy to push you back down, "Relax for me, ok?"

He swiped his tongue along your folds, forcing you to suck a deep breath, "You good?" Henry asked, his hand exploring your naked chest.

You nodded up at him.

"We barely started, ok?" Chris said, pushing himself up, "You'll be a good girl for us?"

"Yes" you nodded with eagerness.

"Full sentences-" Henry nudged, lovingly caressing your abdomen, "I know it can be a lot for you, take your time"

You swallowed deeply, "Yes.. yes, I will be a good girl for you"

"Good" he cooed, leaning down. You pushed yourself up to meet his lips, but he stopped midway, tapping your chin, "Open up, baby"

Slowly, your jaw lowered, as you stared up at him, big awaiting eyes and mouth wide open.

And he made you wait, finally sending you a lewd grin before spitting on your tongue. You felt it dribble down towards the back of your throat before you swallowed proudly. You wanted to open your mouth again, but he hurried to distance himself from you.

With a harsh slap against your tits, he pushed himself up. Henry grabbed your thighs, gathering your knees together. He pulled your legs up until your hips lifted from the bed and your upper back supported most of your weight, your knees close to your chest.

"Such a beautiful pussy" Chris chimed in, his face inches away from your opening.

Never in your life had you felt this exposed and humiliated, but you swallowed your pride and remained motionless, not wanting to get on their bad side again.

"Are you ready?" Henry asked.

"For- for what?" you panicked.

"Wrong answer" he scoffed, slapping your ass. You yelped in pain and wiggled in his hold, but he didn't stop. He spanked your ass again, and again, and again, his palm hitting the bare skin off your cheeks, pussy and asshole. "Try again, little girl."

"I- I'm… I'm ready"

"See?" Chris beamed, spitting on your pussy. You felt it run down your folds until it reached your ass. "That's the kind of slut we want. One that says yes without even knowing what we're talking about"

"Come on" Henry huffed, slapping your cunt one more time before letting your body back down on the mattress again. He moved up along your frame and undid your hands.

You were eager to relax your shoulders and to feel the blood flow through your arms again, but as soon as he released you from the bedpost, he brought your wrists together, tying them up again. "I wish I didn't have to keep you restrained like this, but how can I know what goes through that dumb little head of yours?"

You shook your head no, trying to tell him you were actually planning on doing anything stupid, but Chris understood something else completely.

"Nothing goes through that pretty head?" he laughed, and Henry couldn't help but chuckle along.

Embarrassed, you hid your face and looked down.

"Don't be like that, baby-" Chris added, bending down over your body to caress your cheek, "You know we're right. You don't need to be ashamed, we like you like this"

His thumb rubbed along your bottom lip before he leaned down all the way and kissed you. His tongue barged into your mouth, dominating you completely as you barely managed to keep up with him. "A dumb little slut, crying for cock. That's what you are, aren't you?"

"Yes, daddy"

"Then why did you hide your face?"

"I- I don't know…" you mumbled.

"You know we keep you around just to fuck you, so I don't see why you'd get shy all of a sudden"

"I'm sorry-" you nodded, licking your lips, uselessly trying to moisten them. "I didn't get shy, I-"

"So you like being our fuck slut?"

"Yes"

"Just a set of holes for me and Cavill over here to cum in, right?" he questioned, before kissing your forehead. "Our beautiful, little girl" You smiled at the pet name and looked up expectantly. His gaze lowered and his expression became stern again. "Get on all fours, darling. Time to make yourself useful"

With every movement of your legs, your cunt ached more and more, but you followed his command and pushed yourself up. Once on your hands and knees, you saw them get into position too. Chris crawled behind you as Henry settled before you, his crotch inches away from your face.

Your mouth watered as you heard their zippers being undone, and looked at them in turn, unable to hide your enthusiasm.

At this point, you were eager for whatever they'd throw at you. Being in that mind state always made everything better. You existed in a haze, a world of blur where it was just you and your daddys. You wiggled your ass expectantly and licked your lips with absolutely no worry. In your head it was perfect.

Your bubble was burst by a harsh tug at the roots of your hair as Henry turned your head so you'd look up at him. He fumbled with his cock, giving himself a few pumps.

Just watching him with big, excited eyes, you opened your mouth for him. He chuckled at your state of pure submission and placed his leaking tip on your tongue, your lips instantly closing around him.

At this point, he still allowed you to control your own movements as you did a satisfying enough job at bobbing your head on his cock. You sucked with determination, hollowing your cheeks and taking him as deep as you could without gagging.

Your exquisite performance was interrupted when you felt something big and round trail along your folds, your eyes snapping wide open when you felt it enter you. Chris pushed his cock in with a satisfying grunt, slapping your ass in the process.

"Fuck, yes!" he exclaimed, his massive member spreading your walls apart.

A lump formed in the back of your throat, the feeling of being filled to the prim, overwhelming you. You were aware your rigorous sucking turned into a pathetic excuse as soon as Chris started rocking your body back and forth along his dick, as now, no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't get your mind to focus.

Seemingly not at all bothered by your suddenly sloppy blow job performance, Henry tightened his hold around your roots, keeping your head in place as he started fucking your mouth.

The simple fact that at this point, all you had to do was stay there and take it, made it close to impossible to not lose yourself. As Chris picked up his pace, using your hips and maneuvering your body to fit his needs the right way, your pleasure started building up in the pit of your stomach.

"Come on, baby-" Henry called, "Ready to take good care of daddy?"

And he asked this just to mock you, as your mouth was full of cock and he wasn't about to let you take a break. You only blinked, hoping to send the message along, despite knowing he wasn't waiting for an answer.

He steadied his hold on your roots and then forced you down his cock, his tip barging in through your neck, completely blocking your air supply. You remained there, not fighting against his hold, as Chris continued slamming his cock balls deep into your pussy.

The momentum of his thrusts pushed you forward, the ever so soft movement of your neck making Henry grunt with pleasure every time your body rocked into him. And they kept going, using you from both angles to fit their desires.

When it got too much, you felt tears prickle at the corner of your eyes as you saw no way out. You whined against his cock, your throat violently constricting in hopes of getting some air.

"A bit more" Henry cooed, maintaining his hold as you squirmed against it.

"Holy fuck-" Chris belted, both his palms relasing your hips only to be able to slap your ass harshly. "That's right, clench that pussy. Should fucking choke you more often when you're on my dick"

All you could do was whimper, forcing yourself to hold back cough after cough until you could no more. Tears streamed down your face as you started panicking, only then having Henry release you from his grip.

If he hadn't actually maintained his hold, you'd have crumbled into the mattress, a choking mess between their massive bodies. But Henry held on to you, pulling you up as Chris lowered his pace.

"Do you know how good you are, angel?" he asked, his thick British accent rolling off his tongue as exhaustion built up in his veins.

You nodded weakly, and smiled with awe when he wiped your tears away with his thumb.

"I'd keep this mouth on my cock all the damn time if I could-" Henry added, his tone deep and loving despite the condescending note of his words. "Are you ready to go again?"

You whimpered a soft, "Yes-" voice so whiny that if you weren't so deep into sub space, you'd have cringed hearing yourself. "Please..."

Chris bent down over you, his sweaty chest pressing against your back as he wrapped his arms around your frame, his greedy hands coming to cup either of your breasts. He buried his face into your neck and then kissed along your shoulders. "Are you close, baby girl?" he asked, burying his cock deeper inside your belly, "You wanna cum on my cock?"

As you breathed out, you nodded a weak yes. A smile instantly reached the corners of your mouth as Chris found your clit. He rubbed slow, intricate circles around it, your pleasure translating into sobbing moans. "Now take Henry's cock inside that little mouth of yours, and when you're getting close, you give me a sign, yeah?"

"Ok" you panted, curious about what he must have had planned.

The curiosity swiftly left your mind as your eyes landed on Henry's dick again. He was close too, the amount of precum leaking out of his tip, giving away that fact. He allowed some of it to dribble onto your chin, lightly slapping your face before popping your mouth open.

Pressing your tongue flush against the underside of his cock, you fervently sucked away as Chris started picking up his pace again. As if you weren't already close to losing any kind of self control, the painful slaps he inflicted upon your ass drove you over the edge.

You maniacally wiggled your feet against the messy blankets, giving Chris the promised signal.

Or at least you thought you gave it to him, as the next thing you felt was being pushed down along Henry's cock again. You took him deep down along your throat, moaning loudly against his member as an orgasm overwhelmed you. Tears of pleasure rolled down your cheeks as your body convulsed between them.

The sensation made your chest tighten and the lack of air started getting you dizzy. The electrifying feeling pulsed along your limbs, engulfing your middle in a sea of liquid fire. You didn't even feel the need to breathe as your mind rolled down a spiral of bliss. A whole white blur covered you as your brain stopped processing the information, too keen on sucking every last drop of pleasure from the orgasm you just received.

You were only pulled out of this trance when Henry pushed you off his cock, reality hitting you like ice cold water. You gasped for air, falling face first into the mattress, struggling to even breathe.

Not that you cared at that point, but neither of them asked you to resume your position. Instead, they shuffled off the bed, and with a soft slap against your raised ass, called for your attention.

"Come here, little girl" Chris demanded.

That was not the kind of information you were able to process, so again, they had to do all the work. With a harsh grip on your upper arms, they effortlessly grabbed you and forced you to your knees between them.

You looked up with what was probably the most obedient stare you had ever given them. You had two massive cocks hanging inches away from your face, and of course, your first instinct was to grab them as you popped your tongue out.

"No, kitten-" Henry laughed, petting your head and softly pushing you back. "Stay still"

And you did. Took a deep breath, finally feeling the engines inside your brain resuming their work. All your senses came back to you and it was as if you had been in a dream. Still, the excitement of seeing both Henry and Chris pump their cocks inches away from your face was difficult to contain.

"You swallow all, yeah?" Henry groaned, looking down at you with hooded, hungry eyes. "Don't use your hands. Use that slutty tongue"

Soon, hot cum started erupting from his tip, most of it landing directly into your mouth. Each time you swallowed you bobbed your head, proudly smiling up at them at the great job you were doing.

"Good girl" he muttered, his voice hoarse and out of tone.

All that changed when Chris grabbed your shoulder. He growled out loud as his orgasm reached him, and he threw his head back, still furiously pumping his cock into his fist.

"Holy mother of - fuck - !"

You did your best to get as much as you could inside your mouth, but your cheeks were a mess, your tongue only managing to spread their cum more than actually lick it off.

When they were both done, Chris helped you up as Henry kissed your forehead before walking out of the room without another word. The blonde cradled you to his chest, heaving as he held you.

"Such a good, little angel" he whispered into your ear. He was still panting, his hands clammy against your back, but he pushed through, focusing his energy on reassuring and soothing you.

"How are you, baby? Talk to me a bit" Chris pleaded, rubbing your cheek, "I wanna see those eyes"

As if every muscle contraction took up too much energy, you barely managed to look up at him, the most innocent of looks in your eyes. "I'm feeling really good" you sighed, leaning back against his chest.

"Good-" he laughed, his whole frame shaking as he hugged you closer, "Does anything hurt?"

"Everything" you giggled.

"Ok-" he sighed, accepting his defeat, "I'll ask again after we shower. You're all fucked out now"

"I like that" you mumbled as you all but drooled on him, sleep starting to envelop you.

"Would have been worried if you didn't"

Again, despite your direct state, you couldn't help but laugh with him. You softly pushed yourself up to plant a kiss against his naked chest.

Chris rubbed the back of your head as you did so.

"Hey-" Henry called as he walked into the room, but neither you nor Chris bothered to do anything else other than look in his direction. None of you moved. "Just a ran a bath-" Henry added, pointing to the bathroom, "Please don't fall asleep"

Chris helped you up and you wobbled your way across the room. "I'll go downstairs and shower" he said.

"You never wanna join us" you pouted.

"Just not really big on baths, that's all" Chris reassured you and then made his way out of the room.

After that, another wave of bliss followed. Another kind however. Henry washed every inch of your body, his careful hands caressing every dip and curve your frame. His lips were mostly on yours as he did so, never missing a chance to bring you even closer.

"Thank you" you mumbled, leaning against the marble wall as you watched him soap his broad chest.

Henry cluelessly raised his eyebrows, the movement of his hands slowing down as he waited for you to continue.

"For helping me wash up" you smiled, "You always do, but still. Thanks"

"No problem, darling" Henry nodded, gathering you closer again, and kissing your forehead. He got soap all over you again, and didn't even try to hide the fact that he loved having to help you rinse again.

A short while later, probably about 20 minutes or so, it was again the three of you, back in bed. You were laying between them. Judging by the light snores that danced off his lips and the peaceful way his chest rose and fell, Chris must have fallen asleep long before you and Henry finished showering. The sun started descending from the sky and the orange light in the room painted the perfect picture.

You cuddled into Henry's side, feeling your heart tickle the inside of your chest when he reciprocated the gesture. His warm breath graced the skin of your forehead as he gave you a longing kiss, barely even bothering to pull back before settling for a deep sleep.

You drifted off, content and with a smile on your lips, elated with what the day brought so far, and bubbling with anticipation for whatever surprises it might still have hidden.

By the time you woke up, fully rested, the sun was already sinking low behind the horizon, a red, tainted sky following in its footsteps. Extracting yourself from Henry's bear hold turned out to be much more than you expected, his reluctance to let you go, even in his sleep, making you giggle.

"How are you, sweetheart?" Chris asked, his voice a fresh tingle to your ears.

"Good-" you sighed, settling to lay down just a bit more. You kissed Henry's bicep as it spawned all across your chest, action which made him pull you even closer. "What time is it?"

"A bit past 6" Chris answered, rolling onto his side to face you. His shoulders slumped together making his chest stand out, but before you got a chance to take in the view, he cluelessly pulled up the covers all the way up to his nose. "Got any plans?"

"Yeah" you nodded, trying Henry's arm again, but he refused to budge once again. "I told you guys"

For a few seconds, Chris looked at you amused, and with a shake of his head, he grabbed Henry's hand, shaking him awake. "Wake up, buddy. Y/n's gotta get ready"

"No" Henry croaked, his light scruff tickling the back of your neck.

To be fair, you were excited for your plans, but in a way, your heart broke thinking about leaving that bed. Eventually you did, the cold of the room clinging to your body in an instant.

You shivered your way to the bathroom, quickly washing up before returning to the bedroom. The scenery hadn't changed at all, the two men still lingering at the edge between dream and reality, their phone screens perfectly accentuating their lazy expressions.

Swiftly making your way past the bed, you slapped the light switch on, the warm light of your candelabra flooding room, much to their simultaneous dismay. "Why- just no, turn it off-"

"Yeah, sure-" you sarcastically responded, stepping past the ruined superman costume on the floor, and opening the closet doors. You grabbed a pair of underwear and stepped inside it, before rummaging for your favorite bra. "I'll just get ready in a pitch black room. Of course"

None of them was impressed.

"Who are you seeing anyway?" Chris questioned.

You smiled innocently despite doing your best not to, and then turned to face them. "Sebastian"

"What" Henry gawked, sitting up in an instant, his frown taking over the previous sweetness of his features.

"What do you mean what?"

"Yeah, haven't you two-" Chris began speaking but Henry cut him off with absolutely no remorse.

"You haven't seen each other in two weeks. I thought that was done for"

As you finally found your bra, you slipped your arms under its straps and pulled them up your shoulders. "We haven't seen each other because he's been visiting his family. We kept talking"

"Talking?" Henry raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah we-" you sighed and then stopped. "Why are you acting like this? This is nothing new"

"I just-" Henry tripped over his words, shaking his head at the awkwardness he brought to the table. "I don't know, I'm sorry. I just didn't know it was that serious yet, that's all"

"It's not" you said, walking over to your makeup table and sitting down on the small, velvet chair. "We wouldn't be here if it was, would we?"

"I don't know, hun" Chris huffed, lazily slipping out of the bed. The way he walked made it look as if every muscle contraction pained him, leaning from side to side as he close to crawled his way to the bathroom.

In the process, you caught sight of his naked body in the reflection in your mirror, catching everything from his tattooed chest, to his massive thighs and still impressive cock.

"He's a great guy. I hope things work out if you decide he's the one for you"

"Is he?" Henry chirped, making you turn to him, a thick layer of concealer that still had to be blended, smudged under your eyes.

"We said we're taking things slow, you know this" you sighed, waving your brush around, "We're not exclusive. We're not a couple. We're just- I don't know, dipping our toes. We don't wanna fuck this up."

"Then why are you here with us?"

Perhaps the words slipped past Henry's lips a bit too harshly. You did not expect that. Not from him.

"Uh-" you muttered, feeling cornered, "Listen, he's just one of my best friends. And I really like him, I never lied to him. He knows about you two. We're just-" and then you stopped again, dropping your sentence as your brows furrowed above a pointed look. "Since we started this thing, you both have slept with other people and I never said anything about it. But now that I actually find someone I like, you act like I've committed a crime. Why are you allowed to-"

"Ok, I'm sorry" Henry jumped to stop you, clumsily leaving the bed and padding over to you. "That was incredibly rude of me, I'm sorry"

"What's up?" you asked sweetly, dearly wanting to help ease the pain that upclose was so clearly visible behind his sad, blue eyes.

And he hesitated, his eyes snapping to the window behind you before he licked his lips. "I just got comfortable, that's all. I care about you a lot, and I'll miss your sweet little body but if he makes you happy, I'll happily trade our encounters for... coffee dates?"

"Thank you, Henry-" you giggled, warming up at his sudden and sincere confession.

He kissed your forehead, the epitome of love gestures. His lips quivered, and brushed against your skin a few times before allowing you to finish getting ready.

Time had flown unreasonably fast, and in a matter of seconds, you found yourself running around the room, blazing through the last steps of your process, despite it not being neither tedious nor elaborated. To be fair, Sebastian was the only man in your life who you never tried to impress with your looks.

You felt appreciated and understood in his presence. He smiled when you talked and pecked your lips every chance he got. He was your friend before anything else, and regardless of the harsh reality you lived in, the status of your relationship changing was what you craved the most. He made you open up without even trying, his sense of stability and unconditional acceptance making you end up on his doorstep, dressed in just a hoodie and jeans, a bottle of wine in tow, ready to just kick back and feel your ultimate best.

For whatever reason, your heart started banging uncontrollably against your ribcage as soon as you knocked. When you heard the lock turn, your knees weakened.

He sprung the door open, welcoming you with open arms. You just took a step in and threw yourself against his chest, your cheek pressing against his shoulder as he brought you closer.

The fresh smell of his aftershave reached your senses, and you rubbed your nose against his perfectly soft jaw line. "You shaved," you smiled, knowing just how much he hated to do so when it wasn't absolutely necessary.

"Thought it was about time" Sebastian laughed, his right arm still tight around your back as he leaned to the side to close the door.

You only then realised you didn't even bother to put your bag down, take your shoes off or even say hello before going in for a hug. You felt your cheeks burn at the realisation, but he did not seem to mind at all.

"Come on, make yourself comfortable," Sebastian said, starting to advance further into his apartment. You took off your shoes, and just when you were about to enter the living room, the delicious smell of basil stopped you and made you turn around.

You headed into the kitchen, your eyes landing on his tall frame, his back facing you as he stirred something on the stove.

"You're cooking?" you asked, whiny with admiration and awe.

"Yes" he beamed, turning around. Only then did you notice what he was wearing. His usual black jeans and socks, but he had ditched his trademark sweaters, opting for an elegant button up instead. The sleeves were rolled up around his elbows, and he rocked a pair of fluffy house slippers, red with blue stripes, not fitting his attire in any way, shape or form.

You placed the wine bottle on the counter, and approached him cautiously. "What- um, what are you making?"

You felt bad, ungrateful and undressed. Where were his pajamas and the take out he always ordered? Did you miss something?

"There's this amazing spaghetti recipe I learned from my mum" he grinned proudly, eyeing the multitude of ingredients laid out all across the table. "It's not traditional or anything. She perfected the recipe over the years and you just have to try it"

"Smells delicious already" you giggled, looking around the kitchen.

The atmosphere was soft and warm, the lights were dimmed and slow blues tunes were playing in the background. It was nothing like you were used to.

You offered to help, but he insisted on finishing up alone. You always washed his dishes because he absolutely hated doing it, and you were also the one who always put his leftovers in the fridge, as he always forgot them on the table, cluelessly letting them spoil. It felt only natural to do so right now, so you made your way to the sink, and waited for the water to heat up.

"Stop" Sebastian laughed, coming up beside you to turn the faucet off. "Just relax for once, please" he begged, his hands on your waist effortlessly turning you around.

Your lower back pressed against the edge of the sink as he caged you in, his eyes warm and ambitious, boring into yours.

"I just want to help" you smiled.

"Not now" he shook his head, "We'll clean up later. Or tomorrow"

His words caused a lump to grow inside your throat, your lips involuntarily parting in surprise. You never spent the night at his apartment, and fervid anticipation started to surge through you.

"What’s going on?" you asked, cupping his cheek.

Sebastian leaned into your touch, his eyes all but fluttering closed. "Nothing. Why?"

As he spoke, he grabbed your wrist into his hand and brought your palm to his lips, kissing your soft skin as his eyes awaited your answer.

"I don't know…" you mumbled, feeling yourself melt. He was too close, too attentive and too focused on you, it felt so difficult to breathe. "Don't get me wrong, please. I absolutely love everything you did. But this is new. We never did anything like this before, what changed?"

"Is it bad?" he cautiously asked, planting his hands on the counter on either side of your hips. "That I want things to change between us?"

Your heart swelled. All the signs pointed in the right direction, but his words still managed to get your adrenaline going. "Change… how?"

As soon as you spoke, you felt like throwing up. You couldn't help but wonder how dumb could you have been, to ask something like this. As if it wasn't obvious, but your brain was too busy drowning in excitement to actually allow you form any coherent thoughts.

"I mean-" he hesitated, his confidence shaking a bit. He looked to the side, licked his lips and then playfully rolled his eyes as the corners of his lips turned upwards, showing you that perfect smile you loved so much. "While I was visiting my family, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. My mom just couldn’t understand why I didn’t bring you along. I don't just want you for a date a week and a kiss after we drank enough wine. I needed that time apart to gather the courage to make the first step" he confessed. "I really fucking like you. I want all of you"

"Oh-" you froze.

"Please-" Sebastian whispered, gently tilting your chin up. "Tell me now if you want me to back off, because I'm really struggling to not kiss you right now"

As much as you wanted to tell him to do it, you refrained from doing so. Instead, you just grinned up at him, your eyes sparking with lustful temptation. He watched you closely, and when he figured out your play, he shook his head in disbelief for the briefest second.

Following that, there was no awkwardness left. He engulfed your lips into the most passionate kiss. His tongue pathetically begged for permission, which you didn't hesitate to give. He explored your mouth as if it was the sweetest thing he ever tasted, kissed you deeply, moaning against your lips as his hands hazardously roamed your body. No matter what you did, you felt like you couldn't get close enough. You clung onto him, fisting the delicate material of his shirt into your hands, desperately trying to gather him against you.

Sebastian was the one to break the moment, grabbing your cheeks as he pulled back. His lips were wet and slightly swollen, as he ruggedly breathed out against your skin. "So?"

"So, what?" you teased.

"Come on" he whined, kissing you again, this time more aggravated and determined. "Can we do this? Do you want it?"

"Are we going all out? Real couple? Exclusive, all strings attached kind of thing?" you beamed with excitement and so did he, hearing you.

"If you want to," Sebastian nodded. "I don't want to pressure you, but I'm crazy about you"

"You're not pressuring me. I adore you, Seb. I'm all yours"

"What did you just say?" he smirked, kissing your lips and moving down along your jawline, "That you're all mine? Pretty sure I've never heard anything more beautiful in my whole life"

"Well, you'd better get used to it" you giggled.

And the goodness kept coming. You ate and god, how grateful were for his mum's recipe, it was simple, delicious and it tasted like home. Sebastian refused to tell you how to make it just so he could be your personal chef and cook it for you any time you wanted.

You cleaned the kitchen together, ate cake until the button of your jeans threatened to burst, and then settled on the couch, drinking red wine while scrolling through Netflix.

As ethereal as everything was, there was still a weight pressing down on your shoulders. You didn't want your relationship to start with you already hiding things from him, so you decided there was a conversation that really needed to be had.

"Sebastian?" you asked softly, grabbing his upper arm and squeezing lightly in order to get his attention.

"Yes, doll?" he hummed, a little bit distraught, before returning to search through the channels.

"Can you look at me a bit?" you muttered, "I wanna talk to you about something"

It was then he realised you were serious. Without question, he turned the TV off and leaned back on the couch, his slightly concerned eyes studying your features. "Are you ok?"

"Yes" you giggled and he visibly relaxed.

"Did I-"

"You didn't do anything!" you stopped him again, leaning down to kiss his lips. He was happy to reciprocate, but you didn't allow things to escalate. "I want to talk about something, and -" you cringed, your palms watering, "And I totally understand if it'll chance the way you see things"

"What are you talking about?"

He was rubbing your thigh, visibly growing impatient. But he allowed you to speak at your own pace.

"Um… you remember a while ago, I told you I was in that kind of a friends with benefits relationship?"

"Yeah" he nodded, "What about-"

"It is obviously over now that we took things to the next step, but these are my best friends we're talking about here. I just... couldn't help but wonder... I don't know… I feel like it wasn't fair to you.. considering how that went on until very very recently and-"

"Babe?" Sebastian stopped you, his voice soft and eyes even more so, "What are you trying to say? Did you think I'd be mad because you had sex before being in a relationship with me?"

"Huh" you gawked, "When you put it like that, it sounds really fucking stupid"

"I'm sorry, Y/n, but it kind of is" he laughed, shaking his head, "You're a free woman, you can do whatever you want. You don't have to explain yourself to me, especially when it comes to things like this"

"So you.. don't mind me seeing them again? Like friends, of course!"

He frowned a bit, scratching the back of his head. "I trust you, ok? I like to think that you wouldn't have been here with me if you had any feelings for any of them."

"Thank you"

"Come here-" Sebastian urged you, eager to bring you close against his chest again. He rubbed your back and rested his head on top of yours, "I really appreciate you telling me this. It was bugging you, and I'm glad you trusted me enough to tell me"

"I was worried it would be sitting in the back of your mind and you would feel uncomfortable bringing it up. I felt like I had to, like I owed you that much since you were so understanding with this thing from the beginning-"

"You don't owe me anything ok? I don't care what you did in the past, that's your business. I care what you do now, here, with me. And I might be blindly in love, but I doubt I have any reasons to worry"

"You really don't" you mumbled, settling into his lap and wrapping your arms around his neck, "I'm so happy to be here with you, I don't want anything else"

"Me neither, doll, me neither" he sighed, kissing your temple and bringing you closer.

The night ended relatively early. If you were in love with him at the beginning of the evening, now you were head over heels. You fell asleep cuddling, and you had never felt so loved before. Deep down inside, you regretted not allowing things to escalate, but sleeping with him so soon after your last encounter with Henry and Chris just didn't feel right. And of course he understood. The awe and respect for you was visible in his eyes when you explained what was holding you back. That night you slept better than you had in weeks.

The next morning, you left quite early, both of you having your schedules quite full. When you entered your apartment it was quiet and dark, and you couldn't help but smile bitterly at the memories from the day before.

You made your way to the kitchen, and stopped dead in your tracks when you saw a pink bag and a piece of paper right by its side. It didn't take long until you eyed the donuts inside the bag, but you didn't pay too much attention to them as you picked up the letter beside it and read it over.

"Hey, Y/n,

The reason I wrote you this is because I didn't want to interrupt your date, but this has to be said, you deserve that much. I can't lie and say that last night I didn't stay here until 3am hoping you'd come back. It's awful of me, I know, but I really hoped your date would go horribly wrong and that you'd come home early. It's not that I don't want you to be happy… I just wish it wasn't with him. And again, I can't lie and say that I didn't drop by in the morning. I brought you those donuts you love so much, but you weren't here. It was absolutely unfair of me, I know, but during these last few months, I fell in love with you. I know I should've told you before, and I hope you don't think I'm saying this now to burst your bubble. The reason I'm doing this is because you deserve an explanation. I'm sorry, but I can't be around you right now. I need to get you out of my head, and seeing you now, would only make it more difficult. Please don't reach out, you'll only pull me back in. I love you too much, I need some time away to screw my head back on. I'd be lying if I said I won't be waiting for you. Even if I won't actively/purposely do it, I can't imagine a day when I won't jump if you told me to. Please, don't think I'm doing this to hurt you, you're my favorite person in the whole wide world. I will always love you. I wish you and Sebastian the absolute best. This is difficult for me to say, but I hope he is everything you ever wanted. I hope he'll make you happy and treat you like the angel you are. This isn't goodbye or the end of our friendship, it's just me needing to step back. I wish you the best, god knows you deserve it!

PS: I replaced your superman costume, I know you begged me for weeks to give you one, and I ruined it yesterday. I had a spare one at home, it's on your bed now. I hope you don't mind I took the old one with me… you know? Memories...

All my love,

Your Henry"

#henry cavill x reader #chris evans x reader #sebastian stan x reader #henry cavill imagine #chris evans imagine #sebastian stan imagine #chris evans #chris evans smut #chris evans one shot #sebastian stan smut #sebastian stan #sebastian stan fluff #henry cavill #henry cavill smut #henry cavill one shot #sebastian stan oneshot

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pixelwisp-archive · 3 years

Text

Itadakimasu!! | Part 3: Fly, Little Bird (Written Chapter)

word count: 1.2k

Tendou never thought himself to be a selfless person. He didn't really consider himself a selfish person either, necessarily, but he promised himself a long time ago that he wasn't going to set aside his own dreams for the comfort of someone else. His ambition always came first, and the endgame had always been Paris. He supposed, in a way, that had never changed - so why was there a familiar pool of guilt settling at the pit of his stomach?

The corner of his lips tugged downward at the slight, involuntary tremor that rippled through his hands - the ivory envelope with gold trim, 'La Maison du Chocolat' written in a delicate golden font across its center clutched in between them. You knew about Paris - about his dreams, his ambitions - and not once have you given him any reason to doubt that you would regard this news in any way other than with a painfully large grin and arms spread impossibly wide, pride radiating off you like a sunbeam. So why...guilty. Thoughts wandered to the pickle jar. The drunken nights on the balcony of your tiny apartment; stupid, cheesy French music playing on one of your phones as the two of you laughed and talked about what Paris would mean for the both of you. Tendou knew exactly what to say every time, but when the conversation trailed back to you, you would grin, sometimes laugh, but your answer was always the same - 'I'll figure it out when I get there. I don't really care as long as I'm with you'.

Ah. There it was.

Paris was his dream. Not yours.

'I'll follow you anywhere, Ten.’

Even if it wasn't what you wanted.

He was neither a selfless nor selfish person, but he knew you, and you were as selfless as they came. You would give up everything you’ve worked so hard for to follow him if he asked, completely setting aside your own whims to entertain his. Tendou shoved the envelope into his bag and hurried up the stairs to your apartment, trying desperately to will away the unwanted feeling that gnawed at him as he flashed you his usual Cheshire grin.

In 12 months, he would be leaving for Paris to begin a paid apprenticeship with one of the most famous Parisian Chocolate Boutiques, working directly under the famous Sculptor and Chocolatier Patrick Roger himself - and you would not be going with him.

There wasn’t any way to break that news to you now, not when you were still so unwilling to stand on your own. He knew he needed to nudge you out of the nest the two of you built, reminding you of your independence, and hopefully, the will to chase your own dreams. He grabbed the pickle jar from under the sink, took a little extra from his own savings, and began the search to find you a new nest, one with more room for you to finally learn to fly.

“I’m sorry, you what?” Your body twisted toward him at the news, eyes bulging out of your skull.

“I bought a new location. In Osaka! Trendy neighborhood, good lighting, pretty cheap actually-”

“When?! How?! With what-” your voice died in your throat as you picked yourself off the floor and scrambled to the kitchen. You ripped open the cabinet underneath the sink and fished around, a grunt of victory leaving you as you felt your fingers clasp around the familiar lid. Successfully retrieving the pickle jar from the depths of the cabinet, the faint glow of the kitchen light brought the full makeshift bank into view, and you couldn’t help but gawk when you saw its emptiness.

“Tendou, why...” Your voice trailed off as your brain began to flood with worry. What made him decide to just buy a new location without talking to you first? It’s not like you would have said no. You couldn’t help but feel a pang of betrayal at the notion that he didn’t value your opinion as a business partner. Feet pattered against the linoleum as he rushed to stand in front of you, and your lifted your eyes to lock onto his own. The usual mirth that accompanied his features was ever present, but you knew him well enough to see the tiny sheen of something else that rippled over his features. Guilt?

“Paradis, it’s nothing against you, I promise. I just...I wanted it to be a surprise,” he explained, crouching down so he could maintain an even eye level with you. “I forgot you’re not a huge fan of them.” Your lack of response was probably beginning to gnaw at him, you thought, but whenever you tried to come up with something to say, it fizzled before it could reach your tongue.

“I saw your notebook, Y/n,” he mumbled. “You have so many plans for Paradis, and they’re all amazing! This new place has all the room to make your ideas on the page come to life. You could have a dining area, expand the menu, try new crazy things - this location can be your passion project; your baby.”

Spontaneity wasn’t a new trait for Tendou. There were days where he would come home, tell you to collect your things, and wisk you away on a road trip for two days with no destination in mind, no other notice except a quick text to the team to take care of the shop while you two were away. Generally, you didn’t mind his antics, but this seemed next level, and you couldn’t ignore the feeling that it came with ulterior motives.

Something else nagged at the back of your mind too - if you were going to Osaka, was Tendou coming with you? Was he staying here? What about the apartment? There’s no way he can keep it up himself. How did he get the money for a location in Osaka of all places-

Your brain shut down the moment Tendou’s finger poked in between your eyebrows.

“Paradis, you’re gonna get wrinkles. I already took care of everything, so ask me whatever you wanna know.” You sat on his words for a moment, rifling through the growing number of questions to deem which one most important.

“Are you coming with me?” His silence was loud enough to answer for him, and you looked down. You haven’t done any of this on your own before. You’ve always had someone’s arm held out to you to hang onto whenever life tried to rear its ugly head and swallow you.

“I won’t be able to do it all myself, Ten.” Tendou frowned. “You don’t give yourself enough credit, Y/n. You can always call me if you end up stuck. Also,” he pulled out his phone as if to confirm his next words. “Kuguri has been wanting to move out of Tokyo for a fat minute now. He said he’s totally down to go with you.”

The news of Kuguri accompanying you lifted a huge amount of pressure off you. At least you weren’t going up there alone. Your thoughts drifted to the potential Osaka had just granted you; A new opportunity, a blank slate for your ideas to come to life. You could finally try things you’ve always wanted to with this new location. The worry that plagued you began to dissipate, excitement taking over as you brought your eyes to meet Tendou’s once more.

“When are we supposed to leave?” Tendou grins, and places his hand over the one you had resting on top of the pickle jar.

“Three weeks.”

Prev | Masterlist | Next

Fun facts -

I promise this is an Osamu x reader lmao just give it time

For Tendou’s apprenticeship, I combined two popular Parisian Chocolate companies: Patrick Roger, who’s style just seems so Avant Garde and very Tendou energy, and decided to make him the head of the popular chocolate boutique La Maison du Chocolat, solely because I thought the name was very ~French~ and ~Fancy~ lol.

I know nothing of Chocolate or France tbh - I got my info from this Vogue Article that you can read here.

A/N: So sorry for the wait with Chapter three!! I was kind of struggling with which route would best keep the plot rolling the way I want it to. I hope you guys don’t mind that this chapter is entirely written, next chapter will def have more social media caps! As always, thank you so much for reading, feel free to shoot me an ask and engage or ask to be added to the Taglist!!

ps: This wasn’t beta read so pls ignore the bad bits lmaofnjkasndfaksj

Taglist -

@larkspyrr @oikawaandkuroostan @fucktheworlddude @doctorspencereid @keiarma @cherriechurros @halesandy

I heard you guys aren’t getting tagged with updates and I’m p sure its because I’m st00pid so if this doesn’t work I’ll reblog and tag again! Sorry if you guys get notified multiple times lmao

#Itadakimasu!!#osamu smau #haikyuu smau #osamu x reader #osamu miya x reader #osamu miya smau #hq!! smau

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plaidbooks · 4 years

Text

Nyquil

A/N: This is just a short, mostly fluff piece, in which Rafael Barba takes care of a sick reader. Based on true events (note: please take medications as prescribed)

Tags: briefest mention of rape, cold medication (and taking too much of it, though not an overdose)

You groaned as you woke up, rolling over and slowly opening your eyes. You felt a soreness in your throat that wasn’t there the night before, and one nostril was clogged. No, you thought, refusing to even acknowledge how your body may or may not be feeling. You rolled over to look at the empty spot beside you; Rafael, your boyfriend, had already left for the day. You groaned again as you got out of bed, dragging your feet to the bathroom. You looked in the mirror, but your eyes caught the bright orange sticky note stuck to the glass.

Hope you have a wonderful day. See you for dinner - Love Raf

You smiled, butterflies in your stomach. You’d been dating for months now, and he left these notes often, but they still made you fall a little more in love with him every time.

Eyes now focusing on your reflection, you winced; you looked exactly how you had felt when you woke up. Maybe a shower would help. You showered quickly, enjoying the warm water on your skin, letting the warmth awaken you. The steam was even able to help unclog your nose, though your throat was still hurting, your head still not feeling right. But you knew that you were already running a little late, and you needed to get going. Before you left the apartment, though, you grabbed the little package of DayQuil, cursing yourself, seeing it as an admission of weakness; if you didn’t let yourself acknowledge your illness, then you wouldn’t be sick!

You made it to precinct 16, coffee in hand, apology to your boss, Lieutenant Olivia Benson, on your lips. She waved you off; you were very rarely late, and you always had a legit reason. Thankfully, she didn’t ask for one today, because the only excuse you had was maybe coming down with something.

The day seemed to drag on and on, and you felt no better as the hours stretched. Eventually, it came up that there was to be a stake out that night.

“[Y/L/N], Carisi, you two take tonight. Rollins, Fin, you two will take the second shift in the morning,” Olivia ordered. Your heart sank; a whole night? Feeling like this?

“Sure thing, Lieu,” Sonny replied, shooting you a goofy smile and thumbs up. He wasn’t quite the new guy anymore, but sometimes, he still acted like it. If you were feeling normal, you would’ve smiled and rolled your eyes playfully at him. But now you just sat there, silently thankful you grabbed the DayQuil earlier. You took out your phone and sent a text to Rafael, telling him not to wait up for you. At least it was a Friday, and you’d be off all weekend, after this one night.

*****************

“So, what did this guy do again?” you asked, huddled in the passenger seat, sipping at your coffee for warmth.

Sonny was watching the apartment that housed the man you were tasked in staking out, watching for any signs of life. “He raped his wife, and is now trying to threaten her to keep her from testifying.”

You nodded, sighing. You glanced at the clock. It read 3:40am. Got another hour and 20 minutes until Fin and Rollins switched with you two. You had taken another round of DayQuil at midnight, and it was already wearing off. There was no more denying it; you were definitely coming down with a cold. You only hoped that you wouldn’t be getting Sonny sick. Your plan for the weekend was to try and sleep it off; you had some severe NyQuil at home, something you’d never tried before. You weren’t much on medication, especially liquids, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

You were nodding off in your seat when there was a knock on your window. You were so out of it, you didn’t even jump. Turning, you could see Rollins outside the car door. You shuffled out, letting Rollins take your seat, Sonny switching with Fin on the other side.

“Need a ride?” Sonny asked once you were out of sight of the apartment.

“Blease,” you replied, your nose now completely clogged, making the word come out weird. Sonny cocked his brow at you, but didn’t bring it up as he drove you home.

***************

You put your key in the door, unlocking it, and pushing your way in. You felt yourself descend into sickness with every step you took as you shuffled into the living room, unwilling to shed your jacket--you were suddenly freezing and you wrapped the garment around yourself tighter. You walked over to the couch and fell face-first onto the cushions

“Cariño?” you heard Rafael call from the kitchen. You didn’t even notice he was awake; your senses were completely clouded at this point. You grunted, the cushions muffling your voice. You heard his hurried footsteps as he came over to you.

“Are you okay, mi amor?” he asked, crouching down by your head. You turned to face him. His bright green eyes were full of concern, and he placed a comforting hand on your back, rubbing soft circles there.

“I think I’m sick,” you muttered. “I feel like shit.”

He gave your face one more look before he stood, heading for the kitchen. “Let me get you some ginger ale, and then I’ll make you some of my Mami’s famous soup; you’ll feel better instantly.”

You smiled despite yourself; god you loved this man. “I’ll take the ginger ale. But right now, I think I’m just going to have some NyQuil and try and sleep. I’ve been up for almost 24 hours. Can you make me soup when I wake up?”

Rafael was back instantly, ginger ale in his hand. “Of course. Let’s get you to bed.” He helped you stand, then led you to your shared bedroom.

“I don’t want to get you sick,” you protested as he started to help you undress.

He smirked at that. “Don’t worry, Cariño. I don’t get sick.” Now that you thought about it, you had never seen the man sick before. It was true that you, too, rarely got sick, but to never be sick?

“Lucky,” you huffed. He chuckled before helping you climb into bed, tucking you in. He went to the medicine cabinet in the bathroom, grabbed the NyQuil, then poured a cap-full for you. You drank it, trying not to gag on the gross taste, drinking the ginger ale after words.

“Sleep, baby. I’m off today; call me if you need me, okay?” he said, leaning in to kiss your forehead. You smiled, resting your head on the soft pillows, while he went back out of the room.

You laid there, comfortable except for the illness in your head, congesting your nose, making your throat sore. But sleep never came for you. After an hour, you decided to try and take another cap-full of the disgusting cold medicine. Nothing. After yet another hour, you took a third cap-full, praying for some sort of sleep. Finally, darkness overtook you.

You woke up, groggy, unaware of your surroundings, with a terrible pain in your stomach. It felt like you hadn’t eaten in days. Suddenly remembering the cold medicine, you whipped to look at the clock, wondering how long you could’ve slept to be this hungry. You were stunned to see that only 2 hours had passed.

Maybe I’ve slept a whole day? you thought. But Rafael would’ve woken you...right? After waiting for another painful cramp to subside, you climbed out of bed. You shuffled out of the room, somewhere between sick, hungry, and floating through space. You could hear running water; Rafael was taking a shower in the guest bathroom, probably trying to not wake you. Same day, then.

You made your way to the kitchen, hoping to find something easy to eat, but all you could think of was soup--probably because Rafael had mentioned it. Though, he hadn’t started it, yet, since he didn’t know when to expect you. No worries, you thought, I’ll just make some shitty ramen. You grabbed a pot, filled it with water, and started the stove. Once the water was boiling, you put the noodles in, stirring it. Suddenly, your vision went black. You blinked a few times, but your vision didn’t return. In your drug-induced state, this didn’t seem particularly alarming; you simply sat on the ground, knees pulled up to your chest, arms wrapped around them as you waited for your vision to return.

Slowly, your eyesight returned to you. You blinked, making sure it wasn’t going away again, before you stood and continued cooking your noodles.

“[Y/N]! What the hell are you doing up?” Rafael was in the entrance to the kitchen, wearing only sweatpants, his hair still damp from his shower.

“Hungry,” you murmured back, stirring in the flavor packet. There must’ve been something weird in your voice, because he came over, turned off the stove, and led you away, out of the kitchen, and to the couch.

“Sit,” he commanded. “Stay.” He disappeared and you sat there, staring at the carpeted floor, not quite remembering how you got there or what you were waiting for.

Rafael came back, a bowl in his hands. He handed it to you, and you looked inside at the noodles you had been cooking. Remembering your hunger, you went to take a bite before he stopped you.

“It’s probably hot,” he cautioned, that concern never leaving his expression. He took the bowl from you, and you let out a sad whimper at the loss of food. Instead, he twirled the fork in the noodles, collecting a small amount, and blew on them before holding the fork out to you. He fed you like this until the bowl was empty, blowing on every fork-full.

“Feel better?” he asked, a small smile tugging on his lips, but that concern still deep within his green eyes.

You nodded. “I think I’m going to try and sleep again.” You stood up and he was instantly beside you, leading you back to bed. This time, however, he climbed in bed with you, pulling your body close to his.

“I’m going to make sure you stay here longer than 2 hours this time,” he explained, wrapping his arms around you protectively. You didn’t mind, melting into his touch, his warmth. He kissed your shoulder, his lips warm even through the fabric of your nightshirt. You were asleep before you could even reply.

#rafael barba x reader #law and order svu #law and order svu fanfic #fluff #My writing #honestly though #don't take too much nyquil #cause then you'll sleep for two hours #lose your vision making ramen #then pass out for 14 hours

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whipped-for-kpop-fics · 4 years

Text

Together

My first Halloween request! yay! find the request post; here

Thank you for the request @suhdays, you’re the best, I hope you like it 🥺Request; “ twinning Halloween costumes with yoongi (but it’s like something dorky, like a stapler idk alsjs) and they go to a party where everyone is like “it’s that couple again” and it’s cute and fluffy !! ”

Min Yoongi x reader Genre; Fluff, guess lil humour too because I like the funnies Warnings; Adult language and topics otherwise none Word count; 2.3k

Summary; For the first time in five years, you leave the important task of buying your couple costume to your boyfriend. This is how he turns his mistake into something you’ll always remember

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It's that time of year again; Halloween and for the first time in your life, you were not ready. You had recently started your own business so your whole life was pretty much full of meetings and interviews and paperwork and spoopy season was at the bottom of your list of priorities. Which is why you left the Halloween prep entirely to Yoongi. Admittedly, you were pretty worried at first and reluctant to allow your boyfriend to take the responsibility of the holiday into his own hands, not because you don't trust him as that's not true at all, you've always trusted Yoongi with everything in you but the fact is; Min Yoongi has always been the type to cheat his way through things that don't have his full attention and Halloween definitely fell under that category. But, the man pulled through and had the house, both interior and exterior decorated a week into October (a week later than you yourself would've had it done but that's beside the point) and had stocked up on sweets for both yourselves and the trick or treaters. So, Yoongi did well in that respect but clearly, one of the most important aspects of celebrating Halloween went straight over his head until the very last moment.

"Yoongi, what...what is this?" You questioned prodding at the plastic packaging in your hands.

"Our costumes." Was his answer from where he stood in your bedroom doorway, shuffling his weight from foot to foot knowing that you were not impressed with him.

"This isn't what we agreed on,"

"Yeah well..." He trailed off not quite knowing what to say to defend his lack of foresight in the costume buying department.

"You forgot and got these on the way home, didn't you?" Just like that, his body slumped and his lips pursed into the pout you knew meant he was going to try and cutely whine his way out of his own problem. And you hated that pout because it was so hard to say no to.

"I meant to order the other ones but kept forgetting and when I remembered I couldn't find them anywhere so I was going to make them but didn't have the time; I have the supplies under the bed so you can't say I wasn't going to! Then next thing I knew Jin caught me on the way out of work to do his yearly speech of him and Joon are going to beat us at the couple costume competition tonight and yeah...it was between those or sexy plug and socket and honestly I would rather just go in normal clothes and give hyung the prize myself than make either of us wear that sorry excuse for a costume." He was off on a rant by that point, eyebrows scrunched together and lips even poutier and so adorable you couldn't resist. Yoongi was too busy in his speech on sexy electrical costumes to even notice that you were closer until your lips were on his ceasing his spiel.

"Why are you so cute, huh?" You cooed upon pulling back far enough to look into his surprised gaze.

"Uh, not the response I expected." Was his response, earning a giggle from you. "So uhm yeah, it's still a couple costume." He murmured a little distractedly as he placed his hand over the two packaged outfits in your hand. "I'll be this one and you that."

"Okay fine, we can still win with this, right?"

"Yeah, Jin-hyung always chooses either some obscure anime characters or a pun that no-one understands, for him and Joonie."

"We got this."

When you arrived at the party hand in hand with Yoongi you saw Seokjin and Namjoon across the garden dressed as...something...honestly you couldn't even make a vaguely intelligent guess at what exactly the couple were supposed to me; something with beads and an obnoxious amount of purple feathers. Even though you had expected pretty much exactly that from Seokjin you still felt yourself relax the tiny amount of tension in your shoulders from the thought of not taking home the prize as you and Yoongi had for the past four years since Hoseok started hosting the annual party.

"Are you a stapler and stack of paper?" Jimin questioned as the pair of you approached the drink table where the pink-haired fairy was hanging around to talk to people; Jimin was always seen at the drinks table even if he wasn't drinking purely because he knew people would always be coming and going so he had plenty of chances to make new friends and charm the fishnet stockings off of someone for the night.

"Yes," You confirmed, not really wanting to elaborate and instead focused on pouring drinks out for you and your stack of paper partner.

"Not that you're not cute or anything because you two are the cutest couple and always will be, I voted for you before you even arrived; but like, why? Your costumes are usually really...not this."

"Because she holds me together," Yoongi replied easily as if it had always been the genuine reason for you to be the stapler to his paper that evening, not his incredible ability to forget the one thing you planned literally months ahead of time.

"That was cute, now I want to vote for you." You looked over your shoulder to find Namjoon waiting with the two men behind you, two empty plastic cups in his hands so you held your hands out in a silent offer that he accepted wit a smile. "Don't tell Jin I said that though, he'll do something petty to get back at me and I love him and all but I do not want to not get my dick sucked just because I assisted the enemy."

"Hyung is so dramatic," Jimin giggled. "I love it."

"Mm, try getting vaguely threatening messages from him for the past month in an attempt at getting us to throw the competition." Yoongi snorted.

"Ah, that's why he stopped messaging me, he found out you had to buy them!" You realised with a laugh and capped the bottle in your hand so that you could return Namjoon's then full cups to him then gather your own while Yoongi picked up his with a gentle kiss to your jaw in passing.

"He takes this way too seriously."

"What exactly are you two even supposed to be?" Jimin enquired, tilting his head curiously as he eyed the feathered male from head to toe then back again.

"I have no fucking idea." Namjoon deadpanned before nodding to the three of you and turning to return to his partner's side.

"Poor Joonie," Jimin hummed before giggling which you and Yoongi quickly joined in with. Namjoon dealt with a lot from his boyfriend and his eccentric and shameless ways but they were such a perfect match that you knew Namjoon would never even attempt to change a single thing about Seokjin. They were cute- you could admit that-, even if their Halloween costumes always sucked.

"We should go get our picture taken for the vote table," Yoongi pointed out.

"Most people here already know who you two are," Jimin laughed but you and Yoongi were already heading across the garden to the table beside the temporary stage at the bottom of the garden.

"Just in time!" Jeongguk beamed from where he was perched on his comfortable lawn chair beside the table, camera hanging around his neck ready to take portraits against the spooky backdrop just to the side for whoever wanted the service, for a fee of course. "It's almost time to close the sign up for the competitions," He got to his feet and got into position while you and Yoongi stood ready for your photo to be taken by the cape clad male; vampire again and the only reason Jeongguk had that costume in the first place was that Hoseok said he couldn't work at his party if he didn't dress up. Though the way the seams across his biceps stretched in protest you guessed Jeongguk would have to finally buy a new costume for the following year or quit the gym.

"Many people this year?" You asked once your photos were taken and the best one was being sent to the portable printer on the table to pin on the board showcasing the contestants.

"Not really for the couple one, everyone knows you two win so the only person that really tries to beat you is Jin-hyung. But the individual comp has a lot of entries. Mostly girls hoping to win a date with Hoseokie-hyung." Jeongguk informed with a giggle while pinning your photo on the couples competition board.

"Wait, what?" Yoongi replied. "Hobi is putting himself up as grand prize?"

"Didn't you see the poll he made on Twitter last week? He added a date with him as a joke but it won so he stuck with it. There's also the usual gift hamper prize too so the winner can pick what they'd prefer."

"I hope someone nice wins and Hoseokie gets a kind girlfriend out of it." You commented and they both hummed in agreement.

"Gukkie! Picture please!" Someone you couldn't recall the name of but were certain had been at Jeongguk's birthday party called so you and Yoongi left the photographer to his work and went off to mingle and talk to friends and strangers alike.

At midnight Hoseok got up on stage to announce the competition winners. To his own surprise, Taehyung won the individual competition; he hadn't even applied but from the way Jeongguk was hollering from the side you deduced the vampire had pinned his best friend's picture up all the same. It was a good costume; Taehyung was Van Gogh's ghost and had spent the night flitting around with body paints in his hands painting tributes to his favourite artist on the skin of whoever would let him. You yourself had the most famous starry night on your neck and Yoongi was too ticklish to allow the brushes near his sensitive skin.

"Congrats Tae!" Hoseok cooed, pushing back the crown that was slipping down his head yet again so that he could beam at Taehyung as the younger stepped up to collect his prize. "Come get the hamper before you leave tomorrow, yeah?"

"What if I want the date?" He challenged. The crowd "ooh"ed. Hoseok flailed.

"Did not take that into consideration," Yoongi admitted lowly by your side.

"Me either. Has Seok ever been into guys?"

"No, well, not that he's told me,"

"Do you think he could be?"

"I mean, it's Tae, I think everyone's at least a little gay for Tae."

"We know you are." You sniggered and he whined. "What? It's cute."

"Will you ever let me live that down? It was before we even met, babe."

"I can never forget that, babe."

Your teasing bickering distracted from the spectacle on stage long enough for Taehyung to leave with a promise from the host to talk later. Hoseok had even moved onto the couple's competition. That man sure worked fast when he wanted to remove the focus from his flushed features.

"Oh, no surprise here, Y/N and Yoongi!" He called into the microphone causing you both to look forward to the stage with wide eyes having been caught off guard. "Come on you two!" So you both waddled up onto the stage and accepted the winner badges Hoseok pinned to your costumes. "You know what to do about your prize," He joked waving you both off.

"What if we want a date with you too, huh?" You cooed. Hoseok yelled while you skittered off stage after Yoongi who could only smile fondly at your antics.

"Hey! Don't try and steal my date!" Taehyung exclaimed from beside the stage making you laugh before you fell into conversation with him and gained another masterpiece on your skin; this time on the back of your hand.

3 am the next morning you flopped into bed beside Yoongi, both freshly clean of the night's sweat and body paints. "I swear we get home later every year," Yoongi grumbled, already closing his eyes ready to greet sleep with open arms.

"That's because every year he comes up with new games to play and neither of us can so no to that shithead and he knows it." You yawned, head resting on his shoulder and leg laying over his own. He hummed in agreement. "What you said earlier to Jimin about our costumes, was that some of your spur of the moment bullshit or did you think of it when you picked them?"

"Hm? What did I say?"

"That I was the stapler and you paper because I hold you together."

"Oh, yeah, that. It's the truth, you do hold me together, always have. I don't want to even think about the mess I'd be right now if I never met you."

"Huh, maybe next year I should be superglue," You joked tilting your head to grin up at him. He felt your movement so opened his eyes to meet your gaze with a soft smile.

"And I'll be the broken toy that only you have the strength to fix."

"You're not broken."

"Not anymore, you fixed me." You lifted up just enough to press a soft, loving kiss to his lips.

"We did it together; like we do everything else. And we'll keep working like this for a long time, okay?"

"You and me together forever. Cliche but I can live with that."

"Let's get some sleep, I have a feeling we'll have Seok around tomorrow panicking that he agreed to go on a date tonight with Taehyung."

"Ugh, can't I not be here for that?" He groaned rolling over to wrap his limbs around you and bury his face into your neck making you giggle at the cute actions.

"No, we literally just talked about this, Yoonie."

"Mm," He inhaled your clean soft scent deeply before exhaling and leaning back to look at you. "Together?"

"Forever."

#bts halloween au #btswritingcafe #bts halloween fic #bts yoongi au #bts yoongi fluff #bts suga au #bts suga fluff #bts yoongi fic #bts suga fic #bts yoongi halloween au #bts yoongi halloween fic #bts suga halloween au #bts suga halloween fic #request #bts request #whipped-for-kpop-fics #cheewrites #admin chee

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kellbellsparkles · 3 years

Text

Chapter 11 of my Ratchet and Clank fanfic "Family"

Ratchet learns more about his father from his mother. Meanwhile, Talwyn undertakes a task to procure the means to find out why Aphelion is signaling for help.

Click clink.

Ratchet wound the handle of a custom made green cubicle action figure he fashioned. He let go and off it went across the floor. Edith watched with eyes of a child wandering into a toy store for the first time and clapped her hands.

"That was the very first invention I ever made," Ratchet said. "I think I was three."

"You remembered and you were able to make that all by yourself," Edith said with wonder and aw in her eyes.

Ratchet's creation soon stopped in place. Ratchet picked it up and traced his fingers along the design.

"Was it normal for Lombaxes to build things so young?" he asked.

"The most common age for children to start playing with actual machinery was five to six years old," Edith replied. "You were an early bloomer."

"Was Dad, too?"

"He was, but--" Edith cut herself off with a bout of giggles. "Oh dear. He figured out how to make his own pipe bomb after memorizing the code for his family's garage."

"Wha--huh??" Ratchet shouted, exasperated. "Explosives??"

"Kaden was building his reputation for "really" thinking outside the box. He wanted his central command and warring factions to feel "authentic". His older brother, your Uncle Mace, took notice first and raced to take away the bomb, but it went off in his hand before he could throw it away. He lost all of his fingers."

Ratchet's jaw hung open. His head reeled from the new information about his father and their species as a whole. His chest rose as his heart eagerly pounded away.

"Were kids always that dangerous?" he asked in disbelief.

"They were always supervised and mandatory inventing safety was taught in schools," Edith said. "The government poured much of its resources into playgrounds and logic based toys to keep them stimulated. That didn't stop your father from getting into trouble though. He built his very first space ship when he was eight."

Ratchet removed his cap once more and fanned himself to remain grounded from the surge of overwhelming joy and giddiness.

"Holy crap," he uttered.

"He was headstrong, confident, and unwavering," Edith said warmly. "He inspired me to want to leave my comfort zone."

"So how did you two meet?"

"Well, I had already known of him, but he was going places and just starting out as a Pint Magistrate of the Praetorian Guard. I thought it'd be impossible to get his attention, but I knew if I didn't do something, then I would never have another chance. I decided to enter the annual Sterling Heralding Inspiring Talent Showcase as a singer. There was just one problem: how would I know if Kaden actually watched the program? So, I did what I thought was the most reasonable thing; I asked his best friend."

Ratchet's ears perked at the last two words. He gritted his teeth as Edith continued her story, knowing exactly who she was referring to.

"Would you believe my luck that he was right there as I was realizing my predicament?" Edith went on. "Now, this was Alister Azimuth. His family was famous for being the overseers of the planetary defenses and scientific research, and that very same man was the key to your father. I asked him to tell Kaden to please tune in to the talent showcase that night."

"And he did."

"I didn't make it past the first round, but Kaden found where I lived and said that I deserved better, that no one put as much heart and soul into their act as I did. He brought me the biggest bouquet of flowers I had ever seen gifted to anyone."

"Talk about making a first impression."

"We just took off from there."

Edith swayed back and forth with a lovestruck smile. Her heart tickled and fluttered while remembering Kaden's heroic charisma and the admiration he had when they held hands and stared into each other's eyes. She couldn't wait to share those feelings with their son. In the background sat Ratchet's chest strap that served as a portable link between him and Aphelion. It laid on the muffling surface of the bed, thus its vibrating fell on deaf ears.

A fair distance away, Talwyn had reached the bustling vullard settlement. The citizens carried supplies and scraps in the carry-on compartment on their backs and traded with one another. She caught glimpse of a seemingly working space craft in the nearest shop. She hurriedly trotted over.

"Excuse me," she called out to the shopkeep. "Is it possible that I can borrow your ship for a reasonable price? It's an emergency."

The shopkeep stood and pondered for a moment, scratching his chin.

"I don't see why not," he said. "As for payment, I'd like for you to collect something for me."

Talwyn rolled her eyes; there was always a classic catch for needing something.

"What do you need?" she asked.

"I am in need of Torrencian Crystals to craft my night light products, see? My good friend, Brom, normally helps me, but he's taking time for a personal family project, whatever that means, unless he considers every single one of us his family."

"Where can I find them?"

"They're in the deepest reaches of the cavern they call Hulsk's Mouth. You can't miss it. It's the one with teethy rock formations."

"How far is it from here?"

"Just head north for twelve miles then make a thirty-seven degree turn east and keep going until you see the trademark landmark."

Talwyn looked over the rocky horizon with looming dread. Aphelion's distress signal made her feel pressed for time. She checked the gauge of her hover boots by clicking her heels together. To her dismay, they let out a weak puff of smoke, signaling they won't be of any use much longer.

"Is there any down-payment for a mode of transportation?" she inquired.

"I have the most effective means of transport on the house," the shopkeep replied. He reached under his stand and pulled out a coily, dusty pogo stick.

"Tadaa!" he chimed.

Talwyn stared at the device, dumbfounded and in disbelief.

"A pogo stick?" she said. "How is that supposed to help me?"

"It's not JUST a pogo stick," the shopkeep stated. "It's the Bouncer Extraordinare Exclamation Point, thus giving it the singing abbreviation of BEEP. It's got more spring in its hop than a first-timer like yourself makes a judgment on. Its balance will make navigating the ruggedy terrain safe and its bounce will provide the fun."

"This sounds like something Ratchet would come up with," Talwyn remarked. She took a hold of the BEEP. "Alright. I'm game."

Suddenly, a flap of fabric slapped the wind. A tall, goofy looking robot dawned a crimson cape, standing heroically with his hands on his sides.

"I have traveled far and wide on a daunting, daring quest to save my dear friend!" he proclaimed.

"Oh boy!" the shopkeep squealed, running to take hold of the cape. "I was looking for that!"

He yanked it off the robot, making him twist and twirl in a rapid fashion. He straightened out the fabric and hung it to reveal his shop shine: Chisel's Night Lights.

The visitor was revealed to be Sigmund. The Zoni watched as Sigmund held his head in place to collect himself, his eyes circling from being dizzy.

"Wait," Talwyn said as she furrowed her brows, registering his appearance. "I think I heard about you from Ratchet and Clank."

"Ratchet and Clank!" Sigmund blurted out. "Yes, that's me! I mean-- no, I'm not! I'm Sigmund!" He let out a frustrated wail. He bowed his head and hobbled towards Talwyn.

"I'd formally introduce myself as senior caretaker of the Great Clock," he said. "But if you're friends with Ratchet and Clank, we have no time to lose. Clank is in unspeakable fathoms of danger."

"That's what I feared," Talwyn fretted. "We need to get Torrencian Crystals so this guy here can give us his ship for us to get to Aphelion."

The shopkeep, Chisel, tossed Sigmund a spare BEEP.

"What's this now?" Sigmund said, stunned and flabbergasted.

"Just follow my lead," Talwyn said bluntly as she fastened herself onto her BEEP.

"I feel this a tedious chore quest that takes away from the dire and urgent main quest!" Sigmund bellowed in great annoyance. "Plus I don't have feet! How am I supposed to work this BEEP thing?"

"That one's an automatic bouncer for the feetless or otherwise crippled," Chisel explained.

"That is so weirdly convenient and I don't have time to ask how you're oddly prepared for our situati-OOOOOOON!"

His hand slipped onto the button that turns on the BEEP. It launched him at least ten feet off the ground then forward double the amount. Talwyn followed suit after him, holding her breath at the sudden ascension and flight of the bounce. The Zoni looked on as they hopped away.

"Go on without me, dear Zoni!" Sigmund's cries echoed from a distance. "Carry on my legacy!!"

The Zoni looked to each other. They held hands and continued through the settlement towards their destination.

#ratchetandclankriftapart #ratchetandclank

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path-of-my-childhood · 5 years

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Taylor Swift: ‘I was literally about to break’

By: Laura Snapes for The Guardian Date: August 24th 2019

Taylor Swift’s Nashville apartment is an Etsy fever dream, a 365-days-a-year Christmas shop, pure teenage girl id. You enter through a vestibule clad in blue velvet and covered in gilt frames bursting with fake flowers. The ceiling is painted like the night sky. Above a koi pond in the living area, a narrow staircase spirals six feet up towards a giant, pillow-lagged birdcage that probably has the best view in the city. Later, Swift will tell me she needs metaphors “to understand anything that happens to me”, and the birdcage defies you not to interpret it as a pointed comment on the contradictions of stardom.

Swift, wearing pale jeans and dip-dyed shirt, her sandy hair tied in a blue scrunchie, leads the way up the staircase to show me the view. The decor hasn’t changed since she bought this place in 2009, when she was 19. “All of these high rises are new since then,” she says, gesturing at the squat glass structures and cranes. Meanwhile her oven is still covered in stickers, more teenage diary than adult appliance.

Now 29, she has spent much of the past three years living quietly in London with her boyfriend, actor Joe Alwyn, making the penthouse a kind of time capsule, a monument to youthful naivety given an unlimited budget – the years when she sang about Romeo and Juliet and wore ballgowns to awards shows; before she moved to New York and honed her slick, self-mythologising pop.

It is mid-August. This is Swift’s first UK interview in more than three years, and she seems nervous: neither presidential nor goofy (her usual defaults), but quick with a tongue-out “ugh” of regret or frustration as she picks at her glittery purple nails. We climb down from the birdcage to sit by the pond, and when the conversation turns to 2016, the year the wheels came off for her, Swift stiffens as if driving over a mile of speed bumps. After a series of bruising public spats (with Katy Perry, Nicki Minaj) in 2015, there was a high-profile standoff with Kanye West. The news that she was in a relationship with actor Tom Hiddleston, which leaked soon after, was widely dismissed as a diversionary tactic. Meanwhile, Swift went to court to prosecute a sexual assault claim, and faced a furious backlash when she failed to endorse a candidate in the 2016 presidential election, allowing the alt-right to adopt her as their “Aryan princess”.

Her critics assumed she cared only about the bottom line. The reality, Swift says, is that she was totally broken. “Every domino fell,” she says bitterly. “It became really terrifying for anyone to even know where I was. And I felt completely incapable of doing or saying anything publicly, at all. Even about my music. I always said I wouldn’t talk about what was happening personally, because that was a personal time.” She won’t get into specifics. “I just need some things that are mine,” she despairs. “Just some things.”

A year later, in 2017, Swift released her album Reputation, half high-camp heel turn, drawing on hip-hop and vaudeville (the brilliantly hammy Look What You Made Me Do), half stunned appreciation that her nascent relationship with Alwyn had weathered the storm (the soft, sensual pop of songs Delicate and Dress).

Her new album, Lover, her seventh, was released yesterday. It’s much lighter than Reputation: Swift likens writing it to feeling like “I could take a full deep breath again”. Much of it is about Alwyn: the Galway Girl-ish track London Boy lists their favourite city haunts and her newfound appreciation of watching rugby in the pub with his uni mates; on the ruminative Afterglow, she asks him to forgive her anxious tendency to assume the worst.

While she has always written about relationships, they were either teenage fantasy or a postmortem on a high-profile breakup, with exes such as Jake Gyllenhaal and Harry Styles. But she and Alwyn have seldom been pictured together, and their relationship is the only other thing she won’t talk about. “I’ve learned that if I do, people think it’s up for discussion, and our relationship isn’t up for discussion,” she says, laughing after I attempt a stealthy angle. “If you and I were having a glass of wine right now, we’d be talking about it – but it’s just that it goes out into the world. That’s where the boundary is, and that’s where my life has become manageable. I really want to keep it feeling manageable.”

Instead, she has swapped personal disclosure for activism. Last August, Swift broke her political silence to endorse Democratic Tennessee candidate Phil Bredesen in the November 2018 senate race. Vote.org reported an unprecedented spike in voting registration after Swift’s Instagram post, while Donald Trump responded that he liked her music “about 25% less now”.

Meanwhile, her recent single You Need To Calm Down admonished homophobes and namechecked US LGBTQ rights organisation Glaad (which then saw increased donations). Swift filled her video with cameos from queer stars such as Ellen DeGeneres and Queen singer Adam Lambert, and capped it with a call to sign her petition in support of the Equality Act, which if passed would prohibit gender- and sexuality-based discrimination in the US. A video of Polish LGBTQ fans miming the track in defiance of their government’s homophobic agenda went viral. But Swift was accused of “queerbaiting” and bandwagon-jumping. You can see how she might find it hard to work out what, exactly, people want from her.

***

It was girlhood that made Swift a multimillionaire. When country music’s gatekeepers swore that housewives were the only women interested in the genre, she proved them wrong. Her self-titled debut marked the longest stay on the Billboard 200 by any album released in the decade. A potentially cloying image – corkscrew curls, lyrics thick on “daddy” and down-home values – were undercut by the fact she was evidently, endearingly, a bit of a freak, an unusual combination of intensity and artlessness. Also, she was really, really good at what she did, and not just for a teenager: her entirely self-written third album, 2010’s Speak Now, is unmatched in its devastatingly withering dismissals of awful men.

As a teenager, Swift was obsessed with VH1’s Behind The Music, the series devoted to the rise and fall of great musicians. She would forensically rewatch episodes, trying to pinpoint the moment a career went wrong. I ask her to imagine she’s watching the episode about herself and do the same thing: where was her misstep? “Oh my God,” she says, drawing a deep breath and letting her lips vibrate as she exhales. “I mean, that’s so depressing!” She thinks back and tries to deflect. “What I remember is that [the show] was always like, ‘Then we started fighting in the tour bus and then the drummer quit and the guitarist was like, “You’re not paying me enough.”’’’

But that’s not what she used to say. In interviews into her early 20s, Swift often observed that an artist fails when they lose their self-awareness, as if repeating the fact would work like an insurance against succumbing to the same fate. But did she make that mistake herself? She squeezes her nose and blows to clear a ringing in her ears before answering. “I definitely think that sometimes you don’t realise how you’re being perceived,” she says. “Pop music can feel like it’s The Hunger Games, and like we’re gladiators. And you can really lose focus of the fact that that’s how it feels because that’s how a lot of stan [fan] Twitter and tabloids and blogs make it seem – the overanalysing of everything makes it feel really intense.”

She describes the way she burned bridges in 2016 as a kind of obliviousness. “I didn’t realise it was like a classic overthrow of someone in power – where you didn’t realise the whispers behind your back, you didn’t realise the chain reaction of events that was going to make everything fall apart at the exact, perfect time for it to fall apart.”

Here’s that chain reaction in full. With her 2014 album 1989 (the year she was born), Swift transcended country stardom, becoming as ubiquitous as Beyoncé. For the first time she vocally embraced feminism, something she had rejected in her teens; but, after a while, it seemed to amount to not much more than a lot of pictures of her hanging out with her “squad”, a bevy of supermodels, musicians and Lena Dunham. The squad very much did not include her former friend Katy Perry, whom Swift targeted in her song Bad Blood, as part of what seemed like a painfully overblown dispute about some backing dancers. Then, when Nicki Minaj tweeted that MTV’s 2015 Video Music awards had rewarded white women at the expense of women of colour, multiple-nominee Swift took it personally, responding: “Maybe one of the men took your slot.” For someone prone to talking about the haters, she quickly became her own worst enemy.

Her old adversary Kanye West resurfaced in February 2016. In 2009, West had invaded Swift’s stage at the MTV VMAs to protest against her victory over Beyoncé in the female video of the year category. It remains the peak of interest in Swift on Google Trends, and the conflict between them has become such a cornerstone of celebrity journalism that it’s hard to remember it lay dormant for nearly seven years – until West released his song Famous. “I feel like me and Taylor might still have sex,” he rapped. “Why? I made that bitch famous.” The video depicted a Swift mannequin naked in bed with men including Trump.

Swift loudly condemned both; although she had discussed the track with West, she said she had never agreed to the “bitch” lyric or the video. West’s wife, Kim Kardashian, released a heavily edited clip that showed Swift at least agreeing to the “sex” line on the phone with West, if not the “bitch” part. Swift pleaded the technicality, but it made no difference: when Kardashian went on Twitter to describe her as a snake, the comparison stuck and the singer found herself very publicly “cancelled” – the incident taken as “proof” of Swift’s insincerity. So she went away.

Swift says she stopped trying to explain herself, even though she “definitely” could have. As she worked on Reputation, she was also writing “a think-piece a day that I knew I would never publish: the stuff I would say, and the different facets of the situation that nobody knew”. If she could exonerate herself, why didn’t she? She leans forward. “Here’s why,” she says conspiratorially. “Because when people are in a hate frenzy and they find something to mutually hate together, it bonds them. And anything you say is in an echo chamber of mockery.”

She compares that year to being hit by a tidal wave. “You can either stand there and let the wave crash into you, and you can try as hard as you can to fight something that’s more powerful and bigger than you,” she says. “Or you can dive under the water, hold your breath, wait for it to pass and while you’re down there, try to learn something. Why was I in that part of the ocean? There were clearly signs that said: Rip tide! Undertow! Don’t swim! There are no lifeguards!” She’s on a roll. “Why was I there? Why was I trusting people I trusted? Why was I letting people into my life the way I was letting them in? What was I doing that caused this?”

After the incident with Minaj, her critics started pointing out a narrative of “white victimhood” in Swift’s career. Speaking slowly and carefully, she says she came to understand “a lot about how my privilege allowed me to not have to learn about white privilege. I didn’t know about it as a kid, and that is privilege itself, you know? And that’s something that I’m still trying to educate myself on every day. How can I see where people are coming from, and understand the pain that comes with the history of our world?”

She also accepts some responsibility for her overexposure, and for some of the tabloid drama. If she didn’t wish a friend happy birthday on Instagram, there would be reports about severed friendships, even if they had celebrated together. “Because we didn’t post about it, it didn’t happen – and I realised I had done that,” she says. “I created an expectation that everything in my life that happened, people would see.”

But she also says she couldn’t win. “I’m kinda used to being gaslit by now,” she drawls wearily. “And I think it happens to women so often that, as we get older and see how the world works, we’re able to see through what is gaslighting. So I’m able to look at 1989 and go – KITTIES!” She breaks off as an assistant walks in with Swift’s three beloved cats, stars of her Instagram feed, back from the vet before they fly to England this week. Benjamin, Olivia and Meredith haughtily circle our feet (they are scared of the koi) as Swift resumes her train of thought, back to the release of 1989 and the subsequent fallout. “Oh my God, they were mad at me for smiling a lot and quote-unquote acting fake. And then they were mad at me that I was upset and bitter and kicking back.” The rules kept changing.

***

Swift’s new album comes with printed excerpts from her diaries. On 29 August 2016, she wrote in her girlish, bubble writing: “This summer is the apocalypse.” As the incident with West and Kardashian unfolded, she was preparing for her court case against radio DJ David Mueller, who was fired in 2013 after Swift reported him for putting his hand up her dress at a meet-and–greet event. He sued her for defamation; she countersued for sexual assault.

“Having dealt with a few of them, narcissists basically subscribe to a belief system that they should be able to do and say whatever the hell they want, whenever the hell they want to,” Swift says now, talking at full pelt. “And if we – as anyone else in the world, but specifically women – react to that, well, we’re not allowed to. We’re not allowed to have a reaction to their actions.”

In summer 2016 she was in legal depositions, practising her testimony. “You’re supposed to be really polite to everyone,” she says. But by the time she got to court in August 2017, “something snapped, I think”. She laughs. Her testimony was sharp and uncompromising. She refused to allow Mueller’s lawyers to blame her or her security guards; when asked if she could see the incident, Swift said no, because “my ass is in the back of my body”. It was a brilliant, rude defence.

“You’re supposed to behave yourself in court and say ‘rear end’,” she says with mock politesse. “The other lawyer was saying, ‘When did he touch your backside?’ And I was like, ‘ASS! Call it what it is!’” She claps between each word. But despite the acclaim for her testimony and eventual victory (she asked for one symbolic dollar), she still felt belittled. It was two months prior to the beginning of the #MeToo movement. “Even this case was literally twisted so hard that people were calling it the ‘butt-grab case’. They were saying I sued him because there’s this narrative that I want to sue everyone. That was one of the reasons why the summer was the apocalypse.”

She never wanted the assault to be made public. Have there been other instances she has dealt with privately? “Actually, no,” she says soberly. “I’m really lucky that it hadn’t happened to me before. But that was one of the reasons it was so traumatising. I just didn’t know that could happen. It was really brazen, in front of seven people.” She has since had security cameras installed at every meet-and-greet she does, deliberately pointed at her lower half. “If something happens again, we can prove it with video footage from every angle,” she says.

The allegations about Harvey Weinstein came out soon after she won her case. The film producer had asked her to write a song for the romantic comedy One Chance, which earned her second Golden Globe nomination. Weinstein also got her a supporting role in the 2014 sci-fi movie The Giver, and attended the launch party for 1989. But she says they were never alone together.

“He’d call my management and be like, ‘Does she have a song for this film?’ And I’d be like, ‘Here it is,’” she says dispassionately. “And then I’d be at the Golden Globes. I absolutely never hung out. And I would get a vibe – I would never vouch for him. I believe women who come forward, I believe victims who come forward, I believe men who come forward.” Swift inhales, flustered. She says Weinstein never propositioned her. “If you listen to the stories, he picked people who were vulnerable, in his opinion. It seemed like it was a power thing. So, to me, that doesn’t say anything – that I wasn’t in that situation.”

Meanwhile, Donald Trump was more than nine months into his presidency, and still Swift had not taken a position. But the idea that a pop star could ever have impeded his path to the White House seemed increasingly naive. In hindsight, the demand that Swift speak up looks less about politics and more about her identity (white, rich, powerful) and a moralistic need for her to redeem herself – as if nobody else had ever acted on a vindictive instinct, or blundered publicly.

But she resisted what might have been an easy return to public favour. Although Reputation contained softer love songs, it was better known for its brittle, vengeful side (see This Is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things). She describes that side of the album now as a “bit of a persona”, and its hip-hop-influenced production as “a complete defence mechanism”. Personally, I thought she had never been more relatable, trashing the contract of pious relatability that traps young women in the public eye.

***

It was the assault trial, and watching the rights of LGBTQ friends be eroded, that finally politicised her, Swift says. “The things that happen to you in your life are what develop your political opinions. I was living in this Obama eight-year paradise of, you go, you cast your vote, the person you vote for wins, everyone’s happy!” she says. “This whole thing, the last three, four years, it completely blindsided a lot of us, me included.”

She recently said she was “dismayed” when a friend pointed out that her position on gay rights wasn’t obvious (what if she had a gay son, he asked), hence this summer’s course correction with the single You Need To Calm Down (“You’re comin’ at my friends like a missile/Why are you mad?/When you could be GLAAD?”). Didn’t she feel equally dismayed that her politics weren’t clear? “I did,” she insists, “and I hate to admit this, but I felt that I wasn’t educated enough on it. Because I hadn’t actively tried to learn about politics in a way that I felt was necessary for me, making statements that go out to hundreds of millions of people.”

She explains her inner conflict. “I come from country music. The number one thing they absolutely drill into you as a country artist, and you can ask any other country artist this, is ‘Don’t be like the Dixie Chicks!’” In 2003, the Texan country trio denounced the Iraq war, saying they were “ashamed” to share a home state with George W Bush. There was a boycott, and an event where a bulldozer crushed their CDs. “I watched country music snuff that candle out. The most amazing group we had, just because they talked about politics. And they were getting death threats. They were made such an example that basically every country artist that came after that, every label tells you, ‘Just do not get involved, no matter what.’

“And then, you know, if there was a time for me to get involved…” Swift pauses. “The worst part of the timing of what happened in 2016 was I felt completely voiceless. I just felt like, oh God, who would want me? Honestly.” She would otherwise have endorsed Hillary Clinton? “Of course,” she says sincerely. “I just felt completely, ugh, just useless. And maybe even like a hindrance.”

I suggest that, thinking selfishly, her coming out for Clinton might have made people like her. “I wasn’t thinking like that,” she stresses. “I was just trying to protect my mental health – not read the news very much, go cast my vote, tell people to vote. I just knew what I could handle and I knew what I couldn’t. I was literally about to break. For a while.” Did she seek therapy? “That stuff I just really wanna keep personal, if that’s OK,” she says.

She resists blaming anyone else for her political silence. Her emergence as a Democrat came after she left Big Machine, the label she signed to at 15. (They are now at loggerheads after label head Scott Borchetta sold the company, and the rights to Swift’s first six albums, to Kanye West’s manager, Scooter Braun.) Had Borchetta ever advised her against speaking out? She exhales. “It was just me and my life, and also doing a lot of self-reflection about how I did feel really remorseful for not saying anything. I wanted to try and help in any way that I could, the next time I got a chance. I didn’t help, I didn’t feel capable of it – and as soon as I can, I’m going to.”

Swift was once known for throwing extravagant 4 July parties at her Rhode Island mansion. The Instagram posts from these star-studded events – at which guests wore matching stars-and-stripes bikinis and onesies – probably supported a significant chunk of the celebrity news industry GDP. But in 2017, they stopped. “The horror!” wrote Cosmopolitan, citing “reasons that remain a mystery” for their disappearance. It wasn’t “squad” strife or the unavailability of matching cozzies that brought the parties to an end, but Swift’s disillusionment with her country, she says.

There is a smart song about this on the new album – the track that should have been the first single, instead of the cartoonish ME!. Miss Americana And The Heartbreak Prince is a forlorn, gothic ballad in the vein of Lana Del Rey that uses high-school imagery to dismantle American nationalism: “The whole school is rolling fake dice/You play stupid games/You win stupid prizes,” she sings with disdain. “Boys will be boys then/Where are the wise men?”

As an ambitious 11-year-old, she worked out that singing the national anthem at sports games was the quickest way to get in front of a large audience. When did she start feeling conflicted about what America stands for? She gives another emphatic ugh. “It was the fact that all the dirtiest tricks in the book were used and it worked,” she says. “The thing I can’t get over right now is gaslighting the American public into being like” – she adopts a sanctimonious tone – “‘If you hate the president, you hate America.’ We’re a democracy – at least, we’re supposed to be – where you’re allowed to disagree, dissent, debate.” She doesn’t use Trump’s name. “I really think that he thinks this is an autocracy.”

As we speak, Tennessee lawmakers are trying to impose a near-total ban on abortion. Swift has staunchly defended her “Tennessee values” in recent months. What’s her position? “I mean, obviously, I’m pro-choice, and I just can’t believe this is happening,” she says. She looks close to tears. “I can’t believe we’re here. It’s really shocking and awful. And I just wanna do everything I can for 2020. I wanna figure out exactly how I can help, what are the most effective ways to help. ’Cause this is just…” She sighs again. “This is not it.”

***

It is easy to forget that the point of all this is that a teenage Taylor Swiftwanted to write love songs. Nemeses and negativity are now so entrenched in her public persona that it’s hard to know how she can get back to that, though she seems to want to. At the end of Daylight, the new album’s dreamy final song, there’s a spoken-word section: “I want to be defined by the things that I love,” she says as the music fades. “Not the things that I hate, not the things I’m afraid of, the things that haunt me in the middle of the night.” As well as the songs written for Alwyn, there is one for her mother, who recently experienced a cancer relapse: “You make the best of a bad deal/I just pretend it isn’t real,” Swift sings, backed by the Dixie Chicks.

How does writing about her personal life work if she’s setting clearer boundaries? “It actually made me feel more free,” she says. “I’ve always had this habit of never really going into detail about exactly what situation inspired what thing, but even more so now.” This is only half true: in the past, Swift wasn’t shy of a level of detail that invited fans to figure out specific truths about her relationships. And when I tell her that Lover feels a more emotionally guarded album, she bristles. “I know the difference between making art and living your life like a reality star,” she says. “And then even if it’s hard for other people to grasp, my definition is really clear.”

Even so, Swift begins Lover by addressing an adversary, opening with a song called I Forgot That You Existed (“it isn’t love, it isn’t hate, it’s just indifference”), presumably aimed at Kanye West, a track that slightly defeats its premise by existing. But it sweeps aside old dramas to confront Swift’s real nemesis, herself. “I never grew up/It’s getting so old,” she laments on The Archer.

She has had to learn not to pre-empt disaster, nor to run from it. Her life has been defined by relationships, friendships and business relationships that started and ended very publicly (though she and Perry are friends again). At the same time, the rules around celebrity engagement have evolved beyond recognition in her 15 years of fame. Rather than trying to adapt to them, she’s now asking herself: “How do you learn to maintain? How do you learn not to have these phantom disasters in your head that you play out, and how do you stop yourself from sabotage – because the panic mechanism in your brain is telling you that something must go wrong.” For her, this is what growing up is. “You can’t just make cut-and-dry decisions in life. A lot of things are a negotiation and a grey area and a dance of how to figure it out.”

And so this time, Swift is sticking around. In December she will turn 30, marking the point after which more than half her life will have been lived in public. She’ll start her new decade with a stronger self-preservationist streak, and a looser grip (as well as a cameo in Cats). “You can’t micromanage life, it turns out,” she says, drily.

When Swift finally answered my question about the moment she would choose in the VH1 Behind The Music episode about herself, the one where her career turned, she said she hoped it wouldn’t focus on her “apocalypse” summer of 2016. “Maybe this is wishful thinking,” she said, “but I’d like to think it would be in a couple of years.” It’s funny to hear her hope that the worst is still to come while sitting in her fairytale living room, the cats pacing: a pragmatist at odds with her romantic monument to teenage dreams. But it sounds something like perspective.

#taylor swift #interview #by taylor #the guardian #lover era #lover album #not sure how I feel about the interviewer's approach...there's a lot of irony in it #but a fun read for us nonetheless

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maki0725 · 4 years

Text

I’ve finished the 10th part! Though it’s only one-third...?

I’m planning to rewrite and post on AO3 the parts I’ve posted here.

***************************************

This morning Simon wakes up at a time that is barely morning. He can also see where he is. There are only two days left for the New Year holidays, including today. He feels relieved and a little lonely that he can safely return to his daily life from the day and night reversal. He drank a decent amount last night, and he noticed that both the 720ml bottle and the 1.8l bottle were empty. He isn’t sure how much he drank, but if Gavin stopped drinking, he would have done so, so maybe half and half? There is a myth that good sake does not cause a hangover, but for the amount he drank, he did not have a hangover and is fine. He even remember taking a bath again before going to bed and looking at the night view from the jacuzzi.

"Good morning"

Upon entering the living room, Gavin is sitting at the same kitchen counter as yesterday. Perhaps he is still wearing sleepwear today, he wears a black fluffy hoodie that looks like a sheep on a white T-shirt and wears long pants made of the same material as the hoodie. Music is playing from somewhere.

"……Good morning"

"Eh⁉︎"

Gavin makes his eyes round.

"What"

"Blackquill, do you say “good morning” in the morning?"

"What do you think of me?"

Indeed, it is true that he hesitated for a moment to return the greeting. However, there is no other way to reply.

"I didn’t think you are a normal person."

"I’m sorry to be normal"

"It's not bad .... Yeah, you used to look nice"

"You have always been flashy."

Simon and Gavin became prosecutors at the same time. However, they had barely talked. Gavin became a star as soon as he became a prosecutor, and he spent very little time at the prosecutor's office. On the other hand, Simon studied psychology in addition to work and visited the Space Center frequently, and had no time to interact with the fellow prosecutors, and did not want to do so particularly.

The impressions of each other are nothing more than a distant view. Gavin’s first court was a legend in a sense, but Simon abandoned everything in this world before hearing his impressions in person.

The music that is playing seems to be part of a radio show, with a disc jockey talking about what's called the "ideal New Year."

"Do you want to have something? I don’t have anything special ......"

The New Year's dishes prepared by Gavin were almost eaten yesterday. he offers Simon some bread and side dishes that Gavin bought for himself while new year shopping.

"Can I get them?"

"Yeah, it's better to eat them together. Is it okay for you to have bread from New Year?"

"I'll eat anything"

Even if he was at home, he doesn’t think he had something special. He thinks that at best he puts grilled meat on rice bowl. If he wanted to, he might have prepared Zoni.

"What's this lever?"

"It's a pork rillette. It's delicious when applied to baguettes. I want to have a glass of wine, but I think I should stop it."

There is also a big table, but breakfast is served at the bar counter, which could be used for light meals. Water is prepared on the counter, and Gavin says that Simon can have whichever he likes, carbonated water and ordinary ones, but both are in unfamiliar glass bottles that seem to be imported. He pours it into a glass and drinks it and it certainly tastes good.

French and Italian dishes that he doesn’t usually eat——according to Gavin’s explanation——-are the main ones, but they are all good.

The room is air-conditioned, and Gavin is wearing a T-shirt with his hoodie off.

The hair is lightly tied up and has gold lagging hair on the nape.

"What's wrong?"

"No .... what do you do your hair?"

It is more like an excuse to look at his hair than a serious question, but he used to have short hair in Simon’s memory.

"Are you talking about having it cut? ... Well, sometimes I think I'll cut it, but somehow it's just as it is. It would be hard if yours was so long?"

"I'm used to it"

Certainly there is annoyance. Sometimes his sister and Athena tell him to cut it, but he let them pass. He originally doesn’t care about the appearance, but somehow he doesn’t feel like cutting it until the phantom case is over. However, he doesn’t know what can be said to have been solved and whether he can know that. Perhaps he can never square it forever.

He can't say the story up to that point right now, and from the perspective of Gavin,Simon would remain silent. But he doesn’t seem to care.

"I think it's about time that your laundry is ready, so I'm going to see it."

With that said, he stood up after cleaning up the empty dishes.

"I feel bad. I'll clean it up."

"Thank you, you just need to put everything in the dishwasher .... can you see that there?"

It is his first time to use a dishwasher. There is plenty of room to put tableware for two people at appropriate intervals. His sister's house also had a dishwasher, but the one installed here is much larger. A situation like a home party may also be envisioned. Of course, there is no such thing at his own home. He never even wanted it.

He doesn’t think that the amount of tableware they used now is enough to require a machine. However, neither sponge nor detergent is found in the sink. Perhaps the landlord has no time to wash the dishes. Together with laundry service, it seems like a really reasonable choice.

"Thank you for cleaning up, your clothes has been ready"

Fang Ryu is back with a bag of cleaned clothes.

"Thank you"

He receives a bag from Gavin. Once he changes your clothes, it's a good time to leave here.

After returning to the guest room, he takes out the cleaned clothes and changes. He has been wearing the same since he ordered it when he became a prosecutor, but he doesn’t care about it. When he went to the store that his grandfather used to go to make this outfit, this surcoat was added according to his sister's advice, "Because you're young, don't be fooled." After he bought it, he remember being frustrated when he was told that she didn’t think he really bought it.

He puts on all his clothes and returns to the living room with his luggage. Gavin also changed into a black hoodie and casual cargo pants.

"Shall I drive you home? Where is your house?"

Simon’s home is the official residence of the prosecutor's office. It is very old, the facilities are outdated and there are few residents. However, it is large enough and the location is good. In addition to those, the rent is also cheap. Isn't it less than a tenth of this house? If it were for rent.

He just walked home from here just a week ago, and he doesn’t feel the necessity of a ride. However, he is also reluctant to refuse Gavin’s kindness.

As he crawls around, he can hear the radio talking that was left unattended.

"Then I'll introduce you to an email,'My unforgettable New Year is a hot spring trip. Soak in the hot springs slowly, forget about your daily fatigue, and eat delicious food ... Oh, I want to go there again!" Hey hot spring, ... "

"I haven't been to a hot spring at all ... You seem to like it."

Asked by Gavin. Of course he likes hot springs, but he hasn’t been to soaking relaxed after his release. At best, it's a public bath, and bathing here is the most luxurious.

When he tells him that, Gavin makes his eyes round. Then he laughs as if he came up with something.

"If you like, we’re going to go now? I think we can go in 2 hours one way."

"Is it okay?"

"of course!"

The blue eyes smiles like a child.

They take the highway from the city center and head south. Maybe it's because of Simon’s feelings, but he feels that all the cars that come and go are looking at their car. More than being an eye-catching luxury car, it seems that the reason is driving like a moving road traffic law that never exceeds the speed limit. It's not be tailgated, but he feels like they are overtaken by almost every car.

"You are so square......"

"I'm not slow, everyone is too fast."

Gavin shrugs. They are riding a two-seater sports car, not the day before yesterday's large car. The manufacturer is different, but this is also a German car.

"If you drive at the speed limit with this car, it will stand out."

"I'm used to it"

It is said that this car has been a favorite car for many years. Perhaps because the height of the car was relatively low, it seemed that the feel of the road surface was more vivid than the large car the day before yesterday, but all of them were comfortable to sit in, unlike police cars and convoy cars.

The car goes through a winding road in the city center like a racing game course and enters a wide road. Simon finds that he crosses the river on the prefectural border. After running for a while from there, the proportion of green in the field of vision gradually increases. In spite of the difference of the direction, he remembers when he was attending the Space Center. He remembers picking his sister up several times in her car.

Simon is not very familiar with high-speed nets, so the road is left to Gavin. He doesn’t use car navigation, but he doesn’t get lost. The main roads seem to be in his head.

It seems that this car also has a high-quality stereo, and various music is played, from songs that also Simon is familiar with to songs that he doesn’t know at all. The conversation is choppy, but the music and engine sounds complements it nicely.

The car goes down the freeway well before the destination, passes through a short toll road, and then enters the general road. There is still a distance to the famous hot spring area where he said he would go here, but it seems that Gavin intentionally chose that route. Shortly after getting off the highway, the car comes to the road by the sea. On the road that runs right next to the coast, he can see the sea unobstructed from the left side where he is sitting.

"Is this road good? You can see Mt. Fuji too."

Exactly, the silhouette of a snow-capped mountain is floating in front of him. Simon is told that they can open the roof of the car, but he refuses because he wants to avoid making it stand out any more. Gavin seems to be more cautious, but today he wears a black baseball cap and sunglasses, so at first glance almost anyone may not be able to tell who he is.

He asks a reflexive question to a pop song that came from a car stereo.

"Is this your song?"

The voices seem to be very similar. It is an English song, and he doesn’t think it is Japanese singer at all, but that was the case at that time. Only about 10 days ago, when he sang just for Simon.

"Yeah, it's a popular duo in the 80's. This is a pretty hit song."

Gavin smiles when Simon tells him that he thought it was his voice.

"Is his voice similar to mine? It was often said. I've covered this song, but it's still not as good as the real thing."

"Don’t you play your " real "song?"

He casually asks the question that comes to his mind. He isn’t confident that he could hear all the songs played today, but it didn't seem like they were.

"Um ... you mean the Gavinners’ song, right?"

There seems to be a slight tension in his voice.

"I can’t hear it yet .... Daryan’s guitar. I'm sorry."

Thinking about it, it is a matter of course. The gentle tone rather reveals the hidden sadness.

"I’m sorry"

"... Don't worry. I have too many things like this. If you can't talk about my family, my band, or my friends, it’s natural to be estranged. I don’t feel like meeting my friends, so it's okay. "

Oh, I'm not saying you're not a friend, Gavin laughs. Simon, who has never had a close friend, can answer nothing.

Simon wonders how much Daryan Crescend was to him. He can’t imagine.

Looking out the window, the winter sea just below the road is shining in the sunlight.

"Isn't this beautiful? It's a lot of inspiration."

"Is that so"

Simon, who had never thought of creating something, doesn’t quite understand it, but that's what artists are.

Even though it's midwinter, he can see some people who seem to be surfing.

When he says that there are some whimsical people Gavin laughs and says that he used to come.

"There used to be a villa owned by my family, near here."

This is close to the historically famous summer resort. There’s no wonder that the Gavins have one of the villas.

The car breaks from the road by the sea and heads north, gradually entering the deep green mountains. There is a target hot spring area a little further away. The sports car, which probably doesn’t perform at half its performance because it is owned by Gavin is still heading for its destination with a solid run. After getting off the highway and climbing up and down the winding mountain road, Gavin’s car arrived at the hot spring facility in the mountains.

"I came here for shooting a long time ago, and I liked it so I came by myself a few times, but it's the first time I've come with someone."

It may be unconscious, but Gavin seems to be really good at catching the hearts of others. There are few people who don't feel good because they think they are treated specially by Klavier Gavin. However, it may be that only the minority are around him right now.

"The view from the large communal bath is nice, but the melting hot water is nice."

"That's good"

Each person has a different taste of hot springs, but the quality of the hot spring cannot be surrendered for Simon. That point seems to get along with Gavin.

"And it’s always empty"

"That’s good, but you don't know how long you can come here."

"Let's contribute a little"

They pass through the gate while cracking jokes. After completing the one-day bathing procedure at the reception, they head to the dressing room immediately. In addition to the large communal bath, there’s the private family bath for free if it is vacant, so there is an entrance to the family bath in the middle of the corridor leading to the large communal bath, but there seem to be other guests so the bill in use is hung.

In the spacious dressing room, there is only one young man in addition to Simon and Gavin. Perhaps he’s already up, he is wearing clothes at a distance.

Simon himself didn't mind taking off his clothes in front of others because of his unfortunate experience in prison, but what about Gavin? When Simon glances at him, Gavin had taken off his clothes at an amazing speed. He may be accustomed to changing clothes in public.

"Then, I’m ahead!"

He quickly has become naked and heads for the entrance to the bathhouse with his towel in his hand. Simon took a long time to unbutton and has only taken off his upper body clothes.

Suddenly, Simon feels a strange look. He is sensitive to disturbing signs, though it doesn't seem to be aimed at him. He immediately confirms another customer. He holds his smartphone in a strange way and points it at Gavin. A thick index finger touches the edge of the screen, and a faint shutter sound is heard between the fingers holding the speaker so that it is difficult to hold.

His body moves before he thinks. He grabs the wrist of a young man looking shy and twists it up.

"Ah ..."

A smartphone falls on a floor lined with bamboo and makes a dull noise.

"……What's wrong?"

Gavin, who noticed the uneasy air, asks.

"Get dressed"

"......!”

Gavin takes a breath.

"Fully"

"Got it"

Simon turns to the voyeur and looks down at his horrified face. The eyes behind the glasses with a white round face are almost crying.

"Oh, oh ..."

He picks up the smartphone while feeling the soft touch of the man's wrist with one hand. Looking at it, the camera is still running, and he can see the image just taken at the bottom left of the screen.

"Which do you like a broken phone or the police? I let you choose”

".......”

"Wait, "

Gavin, who has worn all his clothes, approaches and touches Simon’s back. A quiet voice echoes.

"I can't make you a criminal."

"Well, then the police are the only ones."

"Wait a minute. Can you show me that smartphone?"

Gavin picks up a smartphone that has fallen to the floor.

"I'll check it. Okay?"

Gavin glances at the man who nods and quickly checks the photo folder from the camera app that is still running. Simon can’t see the contents from where he is, but Gavin has a rugged expression from beginning to end.

"You seem not to have done camera voyeurism except me."

"I haven't done it! That devil has just inserted ... y-you are so beautiful ..."

The man is desperate. He may have felt the possibility of being overlooked.

"Sure, it's not in the image folder on this smartphone. But ... I can't confirm this alone. There may be other smartphones and cameras. I'll contact the front desk and the police. ProsecutorBlackquill, can you bring him for me?"

The man's pale face gets dyed in despair.

When Simon, the current criminal arrester, has finished preparing the record and leaves the office at the back of the reception, Gavin, who had already been interviewed, is sitting on the bench in the corridor. He’s wearing a cap over his eyes. Considering that it is a customer business, there are no police officials in the public eye. On-site verification was also processed quickly and neatly. The time is already close to the evening.

"Sorry, the day has been ruined ..."

"It's not your fault."

What is bad at all is the voyeur demon.

"There was nothing in the image folder that seemed to be a voyeur other than me. It may be true that the devil was inserted. You see, I'm beautiful."

Gavin jokingly says, but Simon doesn’t laugh. Gavin smiles bitterly.

"So it wouldn't have been a hassle if I pretended not to see it."

"You can't do it, right?"

"... I don't know. I might have missed it in the past. But in Diane's case ... I helped the smuggling because of my abuse of authority, so I haven't been able to do it flexibly since then."

Gavin laughs powerlessly, saying that the detectives may hate him because I can only do stiff things according to the rules.

"Isn't it just more victims if you missed him now?"

The bitter memory of missing the phantom revives in the Simon’s heart. Had he had a little more courage, the future could have been completely different.

"You haven't done anything wrong. Be proud."

"Yeah ... you helped me repeatedly. I'm sorry, it's no longer a hot spring."

Suddenly, Simon notices a guide to a family bath. Luckily it's free. He grabbed Gavin’s arm and lets him stand, and pushes him in half forcibly.

"Is it safe here?"

Gavin rolls his eyes. Usually, it's not a place where friends would enter. However, this is probably the best in terms of security.

"I'll wash your back”

Winking seemingly annoying, Gavin puts his luggage down and puts a "in use" tag on the door.

By the time they leave the hot spring facility, the sun has completely set. Police vehicles have also left.

"By the way, I feel hungry."

It's been a while since they ate breakfast in the morning. Simon couldn't afford to feel hungry because of his unscheduled work, but he feels that his appetite suddenly grows, probably because of the sense of security that he has settled down. It may be time to eat.

"I have a restaurant I wanted to go to, can you go out with me? Of course I’ll treat."

"No, I’ll pay"

Simon was served such a gorgeous New Year dishes, and if he didn’t pay for only one meal there would be a mark against him. He can't imagine what kind of restaurant it is, but it seems that even if the cash he has isn’t enough, it wouldn't exceed the limit of the credit card he rarely use.

Gavin searches for something on his smartphone, says, "I think this is good," and then enters something in the car navigation system. He probably hasn’t been there because he says"I want to go".

They return from the hot springs in the mountains to the suburbs. There aren't many cars on New Year's night. Gavin seems not to have made a reservation, but is there a store in such a place that they can go to suddenly in the New Year?

"Oh, there is"

At the end of Gavin’s line of sight is conveyor belt sushi.

After parking the car in the parking lot, they sit at the table. This kind of restaurant is often crowded, but fortunately they were able to sit down immediately.

Gavin looks curiously looking at the sushi that comes around and the seasonal menu that is posted. He is s also surprised to be able to order his favorite sushi on the touch panel. He gets also excited about the system where the bullet train runs on the upper part of the lane and delivers the ordered items, which would be a production for children.

Simon has been taken to the conveyor belt sushi by Athena several times, so he has a rough idea of how it works. It's usually the same in different stores (He has never seen the bullet train.).

Gavin takes some of the standard items that have come around, challenges individual orders, and then checks the limited items on the touch panel. Suddenly, he seems to have an idea.

"This looks delicious. Can we share one for each?"

“…………!”

"Oh, was it a violation of manners? Excuse me”

"No, I don't think so, it's a good idea."

He has just felt a little too intimate. It's possible between family members, but he has never shared one pair of sushi even with Athena, but rather she took a plate or emptied it, and as soon as she ate it, she took the next plate or received her order. When her best friend was present, she said she didn't know if she could eat a plate, and Athena cheerfully declared, "I'll eat half!", and as a result, they shared a pair of sushi one for each.

"I was wondering if we could share in such a casual place, but I don't know much about this, so it would be helpful if you could tell me if something was wrong"

What kind of position do you think you are in the line that you should not do that other than me?

"It's not strange, if you don't mind it one another, there’s no problem”

"Then, can I order the monkfish livers?"

Gavin squints happily when he sees Simon nodding. It’s not bad to share a small happiness of about 100 yen per plate.

*********************************************

Washing one’s back is not sexual at all, it’s a kind of communication like grandpa and grandson(or seniors and juniors, there is a clear distinction between the seniors and the juniors even if the age difference is a little.).

#klavier gavin #klavquill #simon blackquill

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junkyardlynx · 4 years

Text

As the wind stroked his boyish face, Gran found himself smiling softly. Not one of previously unrealized joy, nor the fragile countenance of someone on the edge of sorrow. No, it was a smile of resignation. Not over anything huge, really, but more a persistent fact of his strange life.

He would always be underestimated.

The breeze’s affection turned fickle and slipped away, leaving only stillness and birdsong to fill the tree he was perched in. The light armor he wore fit him well - a black ensemble, decorated with geometrical splashes of red and trimmed in gold. The plates were near-weightless, but they were tough enough to take all manner of punishment; the master artisan six islands back claimed the whole set was forged from adamantite. The matching gauntlets fit him like a second skin, responsive and pliable and even as he leaned forward on the spindly branch, the greaves gave not a creak or a groan.

By all accounts, the armor was fit for a majestic king, or perhaps a revered general. Not a boy who barely looked sixteen summers. So, who then? One would be forgiven if they mistook him for a prince, or perhaps an up-and-coming knight-commander. His features were handsome, if boyish, and people always told him that he had a “very dashing” air to him. As if that actually meant anything.

No, Gran was none of those things. By birth, he was a nobody from the edge of the known sky, left with his friend that was definitely not a lizard. By trade, he was a skyfarer captain. By destiny, one who shared his life with the Girl in Blue. And by effort? Well, that was the one he was most happy to share. Not that anyone ever believed him at first.

By effort, he could be summed up in four words.

Conqueror of the Eternals.

A boy of sixteen, now going on twenty-two, was the one who bested all ten Eternals in single combat? Even to himself, it sounded like a nice story and nothing more. Even though he lived every moment of it. The more spectacular details, like the defeat of the Erste Empire and his rejection of the True King’s offer were public knowledge. Though, well, it was true that they tended to draw his likeness a bit taller, and his face a bit more rugged. Artists paint what they feel, even if they don’t know it, even if they try and hide it. The bias creeps in. Surely whoever performed these fantastic deeds couldn’t be a sixteen year old kid. It was probably a part of the tale added later to spice it up and make it marketable for local papers.

Well, they were sort of right. When he rejected the “True King” and his poisoned wish, Gran was just about to turn twenty-two. Four months later, he now found himself intervening in a messy war between two kingdoms with his friend and crewmate Altair.

Six years. Six years had passed. Six years that showed nowhere on his face, his countenance. Nowhere save his eyes.

It started six years ago. He’d died protecting a terrified girl. A girl he didn’t even know. Even now, if Gran was left to his own devices, he could taste that choking pain -- not the way his lungs seared from the hydra’s flame, nor the gash in his side from the hydra’s claws. No, it was the pain of being powerless. The pain of not being able to reach his hand up to the sky and ask his father in hated grief if he was proud. Proud that unlike his old man, Gran didn’t abandon a child in their time of need.

So when that girl in blue did something impossible, he made two little promises inside of his weak heart.

One, never let anyone hurt her again.

Two, never feel that way again.

Six years and four months showed only in the tone of his muscles and the strength of his gait. The softness of his steps, the way he would round a corner like a prowling lion due to the endless combat he found himself engaged in. How long was it until he figured out the peculiarities of his resurrected body? His hair and nails grew, he still had to eat and sleep and still smelled awful when covered in silverslime after a successful hunt. Open wounds bled and illness forced him to bed.

But he didn’t age.

He probably realized it after teasing Rackam about his patchwork scruff one day. Rackam had lost his razor and was pilfering through the kitchen for a spare, muttering about the “damn gremlins” who “sneak aboard even though people are on watch duty.”

The exchange wasn’t noteworthy, really. Rackam had laughed and jabbed his index finger into the captain’s cheek, wondering when his peach fuzz would finally pack its bags and leave for more hairy locales.

Rackam’s voice echoed in his head.

“C’mon cap, aren’t you eighteen now? You gotta have more than this in ya!”

---

Weird how such a statement could open a can of worms. Last he checked, he wasn’t in the worm business, either. Well, unless Altair’s little solo mission for me involves worms somehow.

Gran hadn’t honestly asked for details since Altair didn’t seem to think they were important. The gist of his part in the greater plan amounted to “stop the western advance.” Simple and concise, really. The field he was scouting below the tree was still and peaceful, seemingly unaware of both the passage of time and the rumblings of war. The breeze kicked up again, carving gentle waves through the grass, and memory pulled him back under.

---

After that, it was impossible for Gran not to notice everything strange thing going on with his body. Despite nearing the age of nineteen, not a single hair managed to grace his face. Meanwhile, he could still tan (and burn) under the blazing sun and if he chose, he could grow the hair on his head as long as he liked. As an experiment, he’d left one toenail to grow as long as it could, just to see what happened. Other than a supremely stubbed toe one early morning followed by a string of swears angry enough to make Eugen blush, nothing came of his experiment.

If was as if nobody has given his body the blueprints for life after sixteen, as if the existence of “Gran as a person” was tied to his current general appearance, as if something altogether removed from natural biology had decided that “this” was Gran. Whatever was supposed to come after simply...didn’t. Naturally, Gran lost his mind a bit. Only a bit, though. He had the good sense to seek out the famous alchemist and self-proclaimed cutest girl in the world, Cagliostro. She’d joined the crew a while ago and had a keen intellect when it came to matters of the body and it’s intricate workings. After all, she’d made one for herself, probably countless times. Her verdict?

She was stumped.

Apparently, senescence - the process of cells deteriorating after copying themselves over long amounts of time, leading to aging - had stopped in Gran. Sort of. The truth was much stranger. She’d been having him report to her little workshop on the Grancypher twice a week, taking blood and tissue samples much to his immediate and mildly painful dismay. This process continued on for three months before her exasperation and wonder lead her to discuss her findings with “cute, baffling little Gran.”

“Basically, captain! You’re aging just right for the first eight samples. The only way to tell is to be able to “find” the itty bitty little bit of info that goes missing from the blueprint of “you” every time your cells divide. I imagine the Astrals put it in as a sort of safety fe-errrrr, moving on! So! Being the inimitable genius I am, I noticed something about the ninth set of samples. They’re alllllmost the same as the first. Way too close. You don’t just get that bit back for no reason, and you really don’t get THAT much back for any reason.”

Gran nodded slowly, already onto what she was talking about. However, knowing that Cagilostro loved a.) having a captive audience and b.) herself, he let her continue.

“I didn’t say anything because I wasn’t sure, and positing a hypothesis that early on when I might have just mixed up the samples would be irresponsible. So I waited until that Saturday when I got to stab and slice you again, triple-checking that alllll the samples were out of my workshop. Same result! They looked just like the second sample, even fresh farm-to-table.”

She turned an adorably calculated and seemingly malicious smile to Gran as her explanation ended. Though it wasn’t exactly news, her words were still unnerving. After all, his cells were basically rolling back the clock of aging every four weeks. You know, normal things.

“You know how much I’d give to figure out your secret? Even ignoring the fact that it certainly has to do with whatever Lyria did to you three years ago, this is a discovery so amazing you’d think I’d invented it. Your body is pretty much just removed from time! It’s almost envious enough to make me cry. I can’t believe you, making a genius cry. It’s honestly ridiculous. You can obviously still put on muscle mass and your brain isn’t fried like one of those Golden Friday SHRIMP.”

For a bit there after that, Gran lost a...well, a bit more of his mind. If he had to be honest. Three days locked up in his room, not letting anyone in, not even Vyrn. He poured over alchemical texts, medical documents, arcane and state secrets, anything the Grandcypher had that might be pertinent. After three days of intense study, stopping only for the necessities of life, Gran came to an answer. Well, his answer.

Did it matter?

Had his sword arm stayed the same over those three years? No. Was his cut not deadlier, his stab not sharper, his fist not faster? Had his body not taken on the tone and muscle of someone who fought primals -- and prevailed? The difference between the weak Gran of three years ago and the Gran of today was immeasurable. The young man who had once fallen to a single tortured hydra now found himself battling ancient primal beasts of war and guile on a monthly basis.

He may not ever have a thick Draph-sized mustache and his cheeks might permanently retain their tender charm no matter his age, but his body was fit to fight. To protect. To chase his absent father until the end of the sky. That’s what mattered. Though he was quite sure Cagilostro would tease him endlessly for his answer.

With newfound determination, Gran threw himself into what the rest of the crew considered hellish training simply because he knew he could endure it. It was a way to prove himself - even after death, even after abandonment, he was worth something. He had value and merit and talent, but also the drive and yearning to turn it into something. In the wake of this new regiment for himself and his little visit to a certain alchemist on board, rumors crept up. Slow and steady at first, they soon burned like wildfire through the decks of the Grandcypher, spreading out of context and control. He finally became privy to a good chunk of the downright goofy rumors via his afternoon footwork training on the vast open deck.

His footwork training was simple. He would empty his mind and fill it with visions of attackers, then repel those attackers as they came at him from all sides and angles. Though it didn’t hold up to real battles, it offered a sort of vision training and group combat scenario that duels never quite could and best of all, it could be performed anywhere with ample space as the only thing required was himself.

Being simple in those relative terms, it provides opportunities for a capable multitasker to easvesdrop things they shouldn’t, like the hottest Grandcypher gossip. On one such afternoon, in the early days of summer, things came to a head as crewmates found themselves unable to contain the rumor mill around their captain any longer.

“I heard the captain’s immortal!”

Not entirely inaccurate. His nonexistent blade swung a tight arc, lopping off the head of something never there. With his arm extended, he challenged the thin atmosphere between the islands. Nothing came.

“Yeah, I heard he was like a six thousand year old primal beast?”

Missed the mark a bit there, he quipped internally. It seemed both directed at the conversation and himself as he danced between the attacks of no ones and nothings. His sweeping kick, though near-flawless in form, barely grazed the torso of his last imagined attacker in that scenario. With a click of his tongue, he noted to himself that an actual attacker couldn’t simply stop on a dime like the one he imagined did. Even in his mind, he was tough on himself, as no one else seemed to want the responsibility. With a little consternation, he ended up giving himself the point for his made up little game. The points didn’t matter, but they made him feel better.

“We have a few of those in the crew, so it makes sense.”

It would, but that’s not the case. Gran’s feet shuffled to and fro, dancing softly across the wooden deck of the Grancypher. To the casual observer, it almost appeared as if he was simply rehearsing one of the dances Anthuria had choreographed with him. He ducked under an imaginary bullet, fist rising from below to smash the jaw of the illusory gunman.

The nothings and nobodies fell to his invisible sword strikes, his matchless kicks and punches, to the spells he snap-conjured between the thrust of a lance and the flight of an arrow. Finally, panting hard with exhilaration and the flow of combat, Gran slew the final “attacker” with a quick reversal and stab to the gut, ending the dream with its own weapon. Nothing and no one fell, other than comfortable silence, but he still felt a measure of success as he picked up the warmed vacuum flask that had his lunch in it.

“No, no, he’s only thirty-six and he’s the son of that one legendary adventurer. It’s his hero’s blood. I hear his dad bathed in the entrails of the primal beast he slew, though, so maybe that’s what caused it in the end?” Why would a hero be forced to stop aging before he could legally drink? The snort of his barely contained laughter sent soup up his nose, straight from his vacuum flask. Hot soup. Hot, spicy soup.

“That makes a lot of sense.”

More than the six thousand year old primal beast bit, yes.

“He’s still our captain, so who cares? That’s good enough for me.” Oh. Ah. I...

That last overheard comment had humbled him, but the clear ring of all the affirmations that followed from crewmates in it’s wake shook him to his core. Somehow, he’d gained the loyalty and friendship of some of the most accepting people under the great blue sky. His training, already considered to be a form of self-punishment by the rest of the crew, grew in scope and desire. If there was a mountain in his way, he would cut it. If there was a river in his way, he would part it. If even the great ocean of stars spanned the distance, it would be crossed.

For all the things he could still protect.

For the dreams he had thought beyond him.

For the sake of surpassing the absent father that had abandoned him long ago, leaving only a note.

When still a boy in a backwater nothing, Gran wielded a simple short sword and fancied himself a sort of knight as he grew up. Wearing a slightly ragged blue tunic with a hood, a few pieces of spare platemail strapped to his right arm, and holding a sword containing more rust than blade. Training with Vyrn in the forest every day, the boy dreamed of something bigger. A fighter, a protector, a guardian of what he loved and treasured, not a bandit that cut and run from his family. That’s what he wanted to be... That dream was, for lack of a better term, driven from his chest. By a hydra. Just so we’re clear.

He abandoned defensive posture after that, seeking to end fights as quickly as possible. An axe found it’s way into his hands and for a time, he was satisfied by the devastation it wrought. Teenage postmortem angst seemed to be quelled by a felling cleave to an enemy’s collarbone, and chunky plate scraps held together with red leather and white fur served him well enough as protection from the elements and the enemies he faced.

Nothing so simple satisfied for long, though. Gran took to himself in a sort of hermitage for a while, studying magic under the occasional tutelage of his talented crewmates. There was a certain ripple of insecurity in his scouting party’s mood when he’d shown up late one day, his usual armor stripped down to basic protection and his axe nowhere to be found. They tossed light jeers at his green cloak and the staff he carried, even as they set off for their destination - a bandit camp they had been hired to uproot. Peace talks were attempted by the bandit’s leader and an Erune comrade of Gran’s, one better suited for diplomacy than the boy-faced captain.

Things deteriorated quickly. Gran had quietly stepped forward once the leader made it clear he had no intention of retreating peacefully. With the green hood still covering half his disappointed face, Gran slashed the tip of the staff in a dismissive motion to the right, as if telling them their time here was over. Before they could protest or retaliate, wild magic burst into life around them, sealing off all escape and action. Concentric rings of frost and fire cradled in the stony embrace of the earth, carved into being with the fierce wind tore at everything inside the bandit’s camp. With the oxygen burnt out, the earth lashed and the encampment in shambles, the dazed and injured bandits were easy prisoners.

No one jeered after that.

As his prowess grew and the crew took on more work, that cloak had weathered with time. It faded to an almost dull grey, and with this Gran had added a black half-mask to the ensemble. Admittedly, it was mostly to hide his youthful features and force enemies to take him somewhat seriously for once, as the sting of his blessed curse grew more apparent as he approached his twentieth year.

For combat, a middle ground was found. He embraced not pure swordsmanship, nor did he place his trust only in magic. Instead, he channeled his power into debilitating his opponent’s often unworldly vigor and vitality, then coaxed those weaknesses open with his unmatched swordplay. Victory after victory piled up at the crew’s feet, and the legend of the “boy captain” grew.

It also provided the fodder for what Gran considered a highly embarrassing piece of “art.” Somebody had caught him resting his right hand on his jaw, leg crossed over the other almost lazily as he read a scrap of paper in his left. It was a failed betting ticket, so close to winning millions of rupees, save for the upset victory in the sixth match. An enterprising somebody, who’s name begins with L and ends with -unalu, had committed this terrible and dreadful sight to memory. She then committed that memory to paper with her talent.

Only, well.

She’d used her license of artistic interpretation to replace the slip of paper held in contempt with a comically oversized sword. Stabbed unceremoniously in the ground. The barstool? That was now a throne carved of stone. The title of the piece, an unknowing and fortunate soul might ask?

“Chaos Ruler.”

The print she made was reproduced and sold to more than a handful of people on and off the Grandcypher. Copies of it hung from stray support beams and walls on the ship, as if to lovingly taunt him and people switched their mode of address from “captain” to things like “my liege” or “ruler” or “chaos kid” for the better part of a month. Gran said nothing, choosing to keep what little of his dignity he felt he had left.

Nobody saw Gran wear that outfit again.

In hindsight, he had to agree that the metal half-mask was a little much. But, ah, Ejaeli and Predator had convinced him it was cool. They made masks look cool, after all. The palpable disappointment from them almost made him walk back on that decision. Almost.

From then on, he’d taken to wearing a simple outfit when on duty, reminiscent of his teenage years. Having turned twenty some time ago, he decided to make a simple blue hooded tunic the mainstay of his combat attire. On top went a basic but functional steel breastplate, covering his heart and ribs. His arms were covered in gauntlets of the same make, and steel greaves offered his feet and shins ample protection as they went on over a pair of loose beige pants. What it lacked in flair it made up for in comfort and capability. A sensible choice. It gave nothing about his combat style away either, other than the obvious caveat that he might engage in it at some point.

---

Funny to say teenage years, he supposed, looking down at the peaceful field. Fires were beginning to rise and march in the distance, headed this way. An army. For now, though, he had time, and the world seemed to move so perilously slow. Memory reeled him in once more, as if the grass and the trees of this island made him long for another time and another place.

---

Thinking seriously on it, the reason his legend had spread as that of the “boy captain” probably had to do with two things. One, the Grandcypher traveled an awful lot between three different skydoms, and two? The crew of the Grandcypher loved events.

It probably had to do with a third thing, too.

His crew really, really loved to tease him about his age.

Every birthday, it’d be “Happy sixteenth, Cap!” They reused the same banner six times now, adding a tally mark just above “sixteenth” every single time. It was as endearing as it was maddening. Eugen and Rackam pulled the same thing at every new bar, ordering three beers and then pretending to flip out at Gran when he took his. It caused its fair share of problems for Gran, so sometimes Gran would flip the script before they got the chance and get angry at his “dad” and “brother” for getting drunk while “mom” was at home alone.

Some of the Grandcypher ladies would tease him with lines about “when he was older” and what an “earnest young man he was” if they saw him during the more romantic holidays, much to his chagrin. He learned to reverse that too, going on the offensive by playing the straight man to their act. He paid them straightforward compliments with toothy grins and presented them with chocolates during White Day as a form of playful revenge.

A few times every year, the crew would be called to an ancient island where a sort of...war game took place between skyfaring crews. An Astral experiment run amok meant that otherworldly and ferocious beasts overwhelmed the singular island now and then, and their presence courted the attention of primal beasts. As the people of the skydoms always sought to turn misery into growth, they established a way to turn it into a competition. Extremely rare treasure was brought in from all across the skyrealms and the monster problem on the island was handily taken care of in what they called Guild Wars.

Ten times, the Grancypher emerged victorious. Each time, for his troubles, the Captain would receive an ancient weapon of unparalleled power, power that courted disaster - and inevitably the attention of those that would protect the sky from unparalleled threats.

The Eternals.

Ten times over the years, Gran wore his convictions on his sleeve and fought the strongest people in the sky, all to prove that he would remain himself in the face of that dread power. In truth, Gran didn’t plan to use those relics of war. He simply reveled in the chance to face those brilliant, blazing souls in single combat.

It was a way to prove himself. Both to those who he had grown to admire after hearing their legends, and to his eternally absent father. Surely, even his father would have to notice if he conquered the ten strongest people in the sky--

He didn’t, but it didn’t matter.

In the end, the people he met and bonded with mattered.

After an incident involving the mafia bearing down on Stardust Town, the Eternals got together and presented Gran with a suit of armor and his own cloak, signifying his status as the eleventh Eternal, an irreplaceable part of their group. While Siete was still the de-facto leader and Uno was the first of the Eternals, Gran - given the new title of Jedenáct - was the end-all-be-all when it came to pure combat strength. As they had joined the Grancypher’s crew, they wanted him to join the crew of the Eternals and share in that camaraderie.

He might have felt sixteen behind those misty eyes when they draped the white jacket over his shoulders and popped the celebratory drinks open, but he’d never admit it. Openly. Nio knew, because of course she did. His heart’s plaintive melody was clear to her ear from the moment they’d met. He’d been seeking a place to belong, a place that respected him since the day he understood that his father had abandoned him. Between the Grancypher and the Eternals, he’d finally felt like part of a family.

A family more real than the blood that spawned and abandoned him, all the while burdening him with purpose.

This is where I belong.

---

Of course, it was just after this heartfelt moment that Altair had been roped into this awful and brutal war. As a member of the Grancypher family, Altair’s problems were Gran’s problems. And now, that advancing army was coming into ambush distance. Concentrating his mana for a second, Gran summoned forth an ethereal bow, shaped like the one Song used but made of pure, blue light. Standing up on the branch of the tree, he took aim at the ground some twenty metres in front of the enemy general’s advance. Luhua was said to be a fearsome combatant, and Gran secretly hoped for a chance to resolve things with a non-fatal, honorable, one-on-one duel. The best kind of fight.

Of course, he would always be underestimated. There was a chance that no such duel would be found, and it might turn into a bloody melee.

Either way?

Time to keep the sky’s sweet peace.

#granblue fantasy #gbf #gran #fanfiction #writing #my writing #self-indulgent bullshit

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sparkandwolf · 4 years

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Caught Looking

Pairing: Stiles Stilinski/Derek Hale Rating: Teen Summary: Caught Looking; A term that is used to describe when a batter doesn’t swing the bat and watches the third strike cross the plate.

Alternatively; a term that is used to describe famous singer, Stiles, when he sees catcher, Derek, in his baseball uniform.

Disclaimer: This is, as always, @skylar102‘s fault. Because she linked me to her Hobrien tag and I came across THIS VIDEO and my life was changed forever.

___________________________

Stiles tossed the glove back and forth between his hands, staring at it like it had offended him. He was a singer, dammit, a nerd who grew up performing theater and attending chorus concerts. He didn’t even know which hand to put the glove on. Well, okay, he did know which hand, but he was panicking.

Throw the first pitch out at the Mets game, his manager, Lydia, had said. It’ll be really good for promoting your new single, she said. Stiles didn’t give a crap about promoting his new song, not if it meant utter embarrassment in front of the hottest team in the MLB. He glanced out to the field from the corner of the dugout he was hiding out in and watched closely as Isaac Lahey stepped onto the mound and shook out his shoulders. His eyes were hidden by the brim of his cap, his face covered by the glove as he nodded to the catcher.

God, the catcher, Derek Hale, up and comer in all of the best ways. Stiles tried not to think about the fact that he wasn’t just going to embarrass himself in front of the entirety of Citi Field, but in front of Derek. He had the world��s biggest crush on Derek ever since he was moved up from the minor leagues two years prior. He was six feet and two hundred pounds of pure muscle and he was walking straight for Stiles.

Wait.

He was walking straight for Stiles.

read on ao3 or under the cut

Stiles shoved the glove on his left hand and briefly wondered if he would disappear if he held it over his face. There was a very large part of him that had wanted Derek to notice him, but another much smaller part of him that wanted the concrete floor to swallow him whole because his thoughts of Derek were getting out of hand. Derek walked up to him, a wide smile on his face, one that he wasn’t really known for. He was known to be a bit grumpy and rough around the edges, taking the game more seriously than most of the other players. Stiles understood that as it was the same for him and his music. It was why he was out there in the first place, anyways.

“Uh, Stiles, right? Stiles, no last name?” Stiles was briefly flustered at the fact Derek knew his name and deeply ashamed of his choice to be one of those one-named singers. He wondered if what he was feeling was something that Cher or Prince felt when meeting people. Stiles realized that he was staring and Derek looked increasingly annoyed and concerned at that.

“Stiles, yes. Stilinski. That’s my last name,” he volunteered, pointing his thumb behind his back. He wanted to smack himself when he realized Lydia had chosen to just put just ‘Stiles’ on the back of his jersey.

“Stiles Stilinski,” Derek said and Stiles thought his name had never sounded better. Derek looked like he was trying to figure out who would choose a name like that, but nodded in acceptance either way. Stiles felt his face heat and Derek gave him a very deliberate once over that had Stiles’ mouth going dry. “You’ve never thrown a baseball in your life, have you, kid?” Stiles scoffed at the term, though Derek was absolutely right in his statement, and crossed his arms over his chest. His glove hand hung limply, making it a little more obvious that Stiles was new at the whole baseball thing.

“Not per se, but I’m a quick study. I was always the first person in my musical theater class to memorize all of my lines,” Stiles said the words proudly and then shook his head in regret. Sure Stiles, he thought, tell the incredibly hot sports god about your musical theater days, that’ll really get him hot and bothered. When Stiles looked at Derek, he noticed the small twitch of his life and felt truly proud of making him smile again.

“Isaac has to heat his shoulder before he starts. Wanna toss around with me?”

Stiles figured the only acceptable answer was, “you can toss me around anywhere.” Derek raised an eyebrow at him and they stood in silence for a few long moments before Derek lobbed a baseball in Stiles’ direction.

“Let’s toss the ball first and see how that goes,” Derek said. He looked Stiles up and down again before walking up the steps of the dugout and headed toward home plate. Stiles wasn’t sure what just happened, but any nerves he felt a few moments prior seemed to wash right out of his system.

Stiles stepped up to the mound and looked toward Derek who was… a lot farther away than Stiles had anticipated. The distance from pitcher to catcher did not look nearly as long on TV and Stiles gulped and sent a panicked look in Derek’s direction. Derek stood up from where he was crouching and jogged toward Stiles. Stiles wasn’t sure how possible it was that Derek was moving in slow motion, but it very well seemed it.

“We’ll start here,” Derek commented as he stood about ten feet away. It was a much less intimidating distance and Stiles felt like he could breathe again. He looked down at the ball in his glove before picking it up and holding it in a delicate grip. He wasn’t sure if there was a science behind it, if his fingers were supposed to line up with the seams or if they were supposed to avoid them altogether. He had long fingers, so he didn’t think the latter was even possible.

He must have spent a bit too much time staring down at the ball because all of a sudden, Derek was beside him. Stiles jumped and dropped the offending object to the ground causing it to roll a few feet in front of him. Derek sighed heavily before walking to retrieve it. If Stiles let his eyes plaster on Derek’s ass in his baseball pants when he bent to pick it up, well, who could really blame him? Derek stood back in front of him, reaching out to grab Stiles’ ungloved hand at the wrist.

“Have you ever held a ball before?” Stiles raised his eyebrows at Derek with a look that clearly said ‘what do you think’ and Derek closed his eyes like he had to compose himself. Stiles really liked this banter they had going for them. “Have you ever held a baseball before?” Derek clarified as he opened his eyes and stared at Stiles.

Stiles shook his head. “I mean, I already told you about musical theater class. I feel like that should tell you a lot about me,” Stiles said with a thoughtful look on his face.

“It tells me that we should probably start at the basics.” Suddenly Derek was behind him, his breath hitting the back of Stiles’ neck and it was unfairly intimate. “Grab the ball,” Derek commanded and Stiles had to do exactly as he told him because of course he did. “Take your index and middle fingers and rest them on the seams, yeah, perfect,” Derek assured as his fingers rested over Stiles’. They were just as long, but a little bit thicker, and fuck, Stiles scolded, stop thinking about Derek’s fingers.

“Alright, got that part, what next?” Stiles asked hurriedly, hoping the next step was for Derek to step away from him so he could breathe again. Instead, Derek wrapped his entire hand around Stiles’ and pulled it back behind Stiles’ head. In that position, Stiles’ back was pressed flush against Derek’s chest and he knew Derek was wearing a cup, but that didn’t make the hard pressure on his ass any less arousing.

“Make sure your hips are facing our third basemen, over there,” Derek instructed, his hand moving from Stiles’. He was grateful for only a moment because Derek’s hands were only moving to his hips, making sure they were in the right direction. And too suddenly Derek’s leg was in between his, forcing his feet further apart. “Widen your stance. It’ll put more force behind the throw.” Stiles could only nod and blink a few too many times. He let out a shaky breath, trying not to focus on the sheer amount of blood rushing into his shorts.

“I, uh, can I throw now?” Stiles asked in between a weak exhale and a gulp. Derek chuckled, his chest vibrating against Stiles’ back and his warm breath a whisper next to his ear.

“You’re gonna pull your arm back a little further,” Derek said, pulling at Stiles’ elbow with one hand, the other still ghosting across his waist. “And you’re gonna wanna twist your hips on release.” Stiles nodded, ignoring the completely unintended innuendo in Derek’s words. Or, he thought it was unintended until Derek’s lips brushed across the shell of his ear and he said, “I have no doubt you know how to use your hips.”

Derek’s words caused a grunt to leave his lips as he turned his hips like instructed and tossed the ball in the direction of the plate. The batboy shouted in surprise as the ball whizzed past his face with merely a few inches to spare and Stiles covered his face with his glove, joyous laughter bubbling out of him. He turned to Derek who was smirking knowingly at him, his arms crossed over his chest.

“What are you smiling at? That was pure talent, buddy,” Stiles said as he patted his glove to Derek’s chest. Derek rolled his eyes, but Stiles saw the hint of a smile on his lips. He turned back toward home plate and the distance didn’t seem that far anymore. He yelped with Derek’s bare hand smacked at his ass, gripping the cheek a little longer than decent before he jogged back to the plate. He turned about halfway down the field and walked backward, winking at Stiles.

“Now do that again for the cameras and you’ll have the number one song by morning,” Derek shouted as he lined up with the rest of his team. Stiles shuffled back to the dugout and rolled his eyes when he saw Lydia standing at the gate, hands on her hips, and a knowing smile on her lips.

“Forgive me yet?” Lydia asked smugly. Stiles leaned his shoulder to hers and stared over in Derek’s direction. He had his back to them, his hands laced together in front of him so Stiles had an unobstructed view of his ass. The National Anthem began to play, but Stiles couldn’t bring himself to look at the flag, only Derek and how delicious he looked in his uniform. Stiles licked his lips in barely contained hunger just as Derek turned and shot a wink in his direction. He heard his own name called over the speakers and he thought he should have felt nervous, but instead he felt ready. Derek met him at the first base line as he walked out, baseball in hand and that beautiful smirk on his face.

“You throw a strike and I’ll show you what other kind of tossing around I can do,” Derek promised as he placed the ball firmly in Stiles’ hand. Stiles grinned at Derek as they jogged to their respective spots, Stiles’ confidence growing with every step. Stiles placed his glove over his face, lining his fingers on the seam of the ball, and his heart beating steadily in his chest. Thinking about Derek’s hands on his hips and his breath on his ear, he reared back and threw. He realized that the pitch was possibly the straightest thing about him.

#sterek #sterek fic #stiles x derek #derek x stiles #stiles stilinski #derek hale #my writing #sports au #i wrote this in one night yall #because i was inspired #there will be more #stay tuned ;)

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blackjack-15 · 4 years

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Not Horsin’ Around — Thoughts on: The Secret of Shadow Ranch (SHA)

Previous Metas: SCK/SCK2, STFD, MHM, TRT, FIN, SSH, DOG, CAR, DDI

Hello and welcome to a Nancy Drew meta series! 30 metas, 30 Nancy Drew Games that I’m comfortable with doing meta about. Hot takes, cold takes, and just Takes will abound, but one thing’s for sure: they’ll all be longer than I mean them to be.

Each meta will have different distinct sections: an Introduction, an exploration of the Title, an explanation of the Mystery, a run-through of the Suspects. Then, I’ll tackle some of my favorite and least favorite things about the game, and finish it off with ideas on how to improve it. Unique to this game is a section in between The Mystery and The Suspects titled The Historical Background, as the background in SHA is so important and takes up nearly a third of the whole game that it deserves its own section.

If any game requires an extra section or two, they’ll be listed in the paragraph above, along with links to previous metas.

These metas are not spoiler free, though I’ll list any games/media that they might spoil here: SHA, non-spoilery mention of TRT, non-spoilery mention of CAP, non-spoilery mention of DED, non-spoilery mention of SPY.

The Intro:

Secret of Shadow Ranch is one of those games that invariably ends up in every “Best Of” list of Nancy Drew games. Unlike another mainstay of those lists (watch this space for the next meta, where I will Make Enemies), SHA actually deserves to be on it without reservations.

Unlike a few other “Best Of” games, SHA doesn’t actually do anything new with its story — there’s no beat, no bare-bones plotline, no mystery that hasn’t been done in the previous 9 games – but it just does it more completely. There’s more effort, more time, more thought, and more care obviously put into SHA (which itself is one of the most popular Nancy Drew books) than a lot of the other games. This isn’t to say that the other games are bad, just that SHA has a uniquely huge amount of care and detail put into it.

I should take the time to note here that I don’t believe that SHA is the best Nancy Drew game of all time, nor is it my favorite game of all time. The first designation shifts according to time, and the second is wholly dependent upon my personal style of play, so elevating a game based on that is less than pointless. When I say SHA deserves to be on “Best Of” game lists, it’s because it genuinely ticks all the boxes to make a fun, challenging but not hard, atmospheric, and honestly engaging experience.

Any introduction to Shadow Ranch would be incomplete without addressing the largest visual change it brings: the full-screen visuals. The bulky 2/3-of-the-screen interface is retired here and instead a (relatively) sleek task bar is added at the bottom, allowing SHA to look, as well as feel, bigger than any other game that came before it. Not only does this result in a smoother visual (especially as Nancy turns around) style, but it allows for more visual puzzles (significantly, the puzzle at the end with the stones marking the correct (and incorrect) path for Nancy to take).

While I won’t go too much into the Historical Background (as it’s significant enough in this game to get its own section in this meta), it’s impossible to talk about SHA without mentioning its wonderful historical setting and story. There are few other games so entrenched in the past (SPY, GTH, and TMB are a few others that fall into the same category), and it’s a joy to play through.

All in all, SHA is an honestly just wonderful, solid game that owes much of its well-deserved praise to a fantastically executed historical background, solid (if not showy) characters, and enough simplicity on top of its moving parts to encourage the player to go steadily and happily through the game.

The Title:

As far as the title for this game goes, they stuck exactly to the book to ensure that readers would know that one of the best-loved mysteries was being adapted to video game format, which was a pretty good idea.

The Secret of Shadow Ranch is also just a pretty great title; it indicates a mystery, a location, and sort of tells you the type of mystery you might get based on the location (historical; revolving around the Wild West). It’s not fussy, and not overly evocative, but it’s also not a “haunting” game (despite the ghost horse on the cover), so the simpler title is acceptable.

The Mystery:

Nancy’s just off to visit Bess and George’s Aunt Bet and Uncle Ed in their ranch (Shadow Ranch, to be exact) when the two cousins get delayed (why they didn’t all fly together…well, the plot demanded it) and Nancy arrives alone and immediately gets sucked into the strange happenings at the ranch.

It wouldn’t be a Nancy Drew game if something wasn’t hinky right off, naturally.

Uncle Ed and Aunt Bet are currently in the hospital after Ed was bitten by a snake that showed up in their bedroom, so Nancy’s left to deal with the ranch hands as she tries to help the ranch to run smoothly and investigates exactly how Ed might have gotten hurt.

The game ditches the plot of the original book and takes two-thirds of the plot of the revised yellow hardcover version, focusing around a strange phantom horse that seems to leave accidents and misfortune in its wake and around the historical plotline of the famous outlaw Dirk Valentine’s hidden treasure.

While it would have been cool to deal with the original mystery of Shadow Ranch — involving a missing father found with amnesia and an NPC in the form of another of Bess and George’s cousins — HER didn’t really have the resources nor the writing to deal with such a personal plot yet, and they instead (wisely, in my estimation) chose the plots that could be dealt with in what had become typical Nancy Drew PC Game fashion. This decision made Shadow Ranch one of the most tightly plotted of the early games and allows the player the time (and space, with the new layout) to explore the beautiful Southwest visuals as a trade-off.

As is commonplace with Nancy’s “vacations”, she soon finds herself embroiled in two mysteries where everyone has motive and opportunity, where the “means” belongs to everyone, and where no one will tell her the truth until she exposes them. Because Nancy can’t really contact the only victims of the accidents (Bet and Ed), there’s overall less to do on the phone in this game and Nancy has to make do with four suspects.

As far as mysteries go, Shadow Ranch isn’t the most involved that HER has ever attempted, but it is fairly complex for the Classic and Expanded games, and it takes pride in being easy to follow and engaging. The Dirk Valentine plotline specifically is tightly plotted, well-delivered, and…well, as perfect as you could get, really.

The Historical Background:

Normally, the Historical Background of a game is covered in the Mystery section, but SHA’s historical background is so far at the forefront of the game (not to mention so well done and memorable) that it would be a travesty to try to include it in another section.

The history behind the game centers on an outlaw, Dirk Valentine, and his forbidden romance with the sheriff’s daughter, Frances Humber, who lived at Shadow Ranch. Frances’ father Meryl disapproved of the match and relied (unbeknownst to her) on his daughter’s knowledge to find and arrest Dirk.

Dirk is then hanged for his general outlaw-ery, but not before mentioning a treasure that he wanted to give to Frances in a letter to her before he died. After his death, Frances left her father and headed east, leaving Meryl regretful of hanging Dirk and wishing to have his daughter back with him again.

The only remaining bit of Dirk left behind is his treasure, which Frances has no interest in and tells her relative about and which the Wild, Wild West finds an intense desire in. Since then, many have tried to find his last legacy to Frances, but all have failed…

Dramatic ellipses aside, the best part of this background isn’t that it involves outlaws and treasure and family drama and all that — it’s that it is all told via narrated letters and diary entries that Nancy finds hidden around the ranch. While this story would be effective on its own, the fact that it’s told to Nancy (and via Nancy, the player) makes it even more gripping than it would be on its own.

The biggest reason why the historical background gets its own section, however, is that it’s one of the best historical backgrounds in the entire series, and certainly the best of the series so far (even though I prefer TRT’s, SHA’s is told more effectively). SPY is up there, but it cheats a bit by having its backstory tied directly to Nancy, so I won’t count it as high on the scale. The only other game (once again ignoring SPY) that gets quite as somber and effective without being melodramatic is CAP, which presents the backstory through another character and thus works just as well.

(As a side note, I’m not including DED here, since it’s less “historical background” and more “incredibly recent background”.)

The only thing that this background sours for me slightly is the present-day plot, as it’s not quite as tight, but that’s to be expected since that plot has to last the whole game. That, and the fact that it makes me bitter that we don’t get all of our historical background narrated for the rest of the series.

The Suspects:

Tex Britten is the surly ranch hand that assumes authority while Ed and Bet are at the hospital. He dislikes “city folk” (though after ASH, one can hardly call Nancy anything but “upper-middle-class suburban folk”) and trusts Nancy so little around the ranch that she’s not allowed to do anything without him hovering — except for be responsible for the horses’ nutrition and survival.

Not really circumspect, but I wouldn’t trust this 18-year-old who claims to be a friend of the family’s with anything fun either.

Gruff, rough, and difficult to deal with, Tex is set up as the “mean” suspect from almost the first moments of the game (though after Dave shows up at the airport in assless chaps), and he plays the part par excellence. Never is Tex any warmer than barely civil, and he doesn’t need to be “reformed” by the end of the game because, well, he’s just grumpy.

As a suspect, Tex is a pretty good one, and honestly my preferred suspect. Not because he’s mean or gruff or anything like that, but because it would have been a great analogue between him and Mary and Frances and Dirk (more on that below). While it would be boring to have the “mean suspect” be the culprit every time, at this point in the series (with only MHM boasting a “mean guy” culprit) it would honestly count as a subversion, and would add a bit of depth to his character beyond “mean guy with a soft spot for the women in his life”.

Shorty Thurmond is the cook at the Rawley’s ranch and is voiced by HER’s resident pinch-hitter and man of a thousand voices Jonah Von Spreecken. He’s a money-grubbing lazy cook with more interest in yelling at those helping him than in doing actual work.

Shorty, to no one’s surprise, is the culprit (what?? the get-rich-quick guy wanted to get rich quick????), and does make for a decent suspect in that you could say he’s “lazy” because he’s actually working hard to find the treasure. He’s creepy enough to set the player’s teeth on edge, but ultimately not sinister enough to really convince the player that he’s up to no good.

Dave Gregory, snatcher of panties and quickener of libidos, is not only the Figure of Sexual Awakening for fans who came in after FIN, but is also one of the canonical “love interests” for Nancy — aka, boys who show an interest in her while she alternately doesn’t or feels-like-she-shouldn’t reciprocate. Nancy can even not really tell him about Ned, for bonus “good girlfriend” points (points that really start appearing from TRN on). His aunt is the relative that Frances told about Dirk’s treasure, and so he’s been looking during his downtime on the ranch.

He’s also fairly smitten with Nancy to the point that he helps her the entire game, asking nothing else in return. But, since I’m not really commenting on realism right now (in any of its forms), I’ll let that one slide.

As a suspect, Dave doesn’t ever qualify. The game never sets him up to be suspected, his “gotcha” moment with Nancy is so piddling as to be inconsequential, and he aids and abets Nancy the entire time. It’s probably a good thing, honestly, as Tex and Shorty are set up from the start to be the most suspicious, but I do think it would have been better to at least play along with him being suspicious until the one-third mark, especially since Mary is such a non-player as well.

Rounding out our cast is Mary Yazzie, who sells art and stones near Shadow Ranch and is banging Tex like a drum in Secret. Her area of interest is in the Pueblo people, and has tried repeatedly to purchase some of the land of Shadow Ranch in order to, according to her, look for more petrified wood artifacts. Ed and Bet refuse to sell, however, which sets them at odds with Mary.

As a suspect, Mary isn’t fabulous. Other than her offers to buy part of Shadow Ranch (and her taste in men), there’s nothing sitting against her. The game doesn’t bother to really implicate her in anything, and she more serves a helping role (if not The Helping Role). Her presence does open up the game to include Native American themes and stories, but other that that Mary’s really only there to make the numbers fit.

While Mary is the only female suspect, she’s not the only woman in the cast, which includes Charleena, Frances, Aunt Bet, Bess, and George (of important/speaking roles, 6 females to 8 males, by my count, making this an average-sized cast).

The Favorite:

Charleena Purcell is a delight and a treasure here and one of a small number of reoccurring characters. I’m a sucker for author characters since they’re usually slightly unpleasant (and I value that in a character who gives information to a detective), and everything from being a great phone character to her voice acting is A+. Jonah Von Spreecken’s additional role as Charleena’s assistant should also get a mention here. Honestly, what can’t that man do?

A big — possibly the biggest — thing that HER gets so, so right in this game is the voice acting. While Lani is her usual early-game self (quasi-invested and missing some native inflection, but not yet the incredibly old-sounding voice that happens a bit further down the line), Rob Jones’ Joe Hardy, Jonah Von Spreecken (as mentioned above), Max Holechek’s Meryl Humber, and above all Gary Hoffman’s superlative Dirk Valentine elevate this game far above the sum of its parts.

It’s a very lucky thing that this game was released before the (misguided, in my estimation) feature that lets you skip dialogue, because if you could, I truly believe that SHA wouldn’t be half as memorable or well-beloved as it is. Hearing Dirk’s assurances and Meryl’s increasing sadness is far, far beyond anything that reading them could give you, and I honestly believe that HER knew this and planned accordingly.

Sure, it was more expensive to record that dialogue rather than simply read it, and additional voice actors had to be hired, and more time had to be spent — but the end result is the main takeaway from SHA, and that is to the game’s incredible benefit.

My favorite moment in the game, to no one’s surprise, then, is the reading of Dirk’s letters. It only takes a few sentences to get wholly invested in him Frances, and their love story. It’s the height of Americana to root for the outlaw of the Wild, Wild West, but it’s taken one step further with Dirk who has been given some of the best lines in any HER game.

It’s a simple moment, but effective, and it stays with me not only every time I play but even when it’s been a few years since I’ve cracked open the game.

My favorite puzzle is the horse-trivia-on-a-horse one, as it tests the player’s thoroughness in exploring and reading, and also is incredibly hilarious to see Nancy riding around a pen while an angry ranch hand spits questions at her like he’s investigating her for murder. It’s fun and side-splitting in its absurdity, and I do love good-natured absurdity.

The Un-Favorite:

For a book famous for introducing Bess and George, I can’t help but feel that it really was a missed opportunity not to include them more in this game. Sure, it helps Nancy to be on her own so that she can investigate without being hamstrung by anyone else, but this was a perfect opportunity to be able to play as another character for a while and to see more of Bess and George than witty puns and suspiciously prescient clues, so I will count this missed opportunity as a least favorite thing in the game.

*metal piece picked up* *metal piece put down* *metal piece picked up* need I say more??

My least favorite moment in the game is the “Heeeeere’s Shorty!” bad ending. It’s breathtakingly unnecessary, creepy as all get-out, and makes you stare at a Shorty face that looks like it was rendered with Windows 1 running on oatmeal for processing power.

My least favorite puzzle in the game isn’t actually the metal maze I mentioned above (though that would get an honorable mention, definitely) — it’s the arrowhead hunting. If you’re looking all along (and know to be looking all along), it’s not too tedious, but if you have the bad luck to miss one or two along the way, what follows is a half hour of pouring over every spot in every location to find them. Generally, my least favorite things in games tend to be those that are essential yet easily missable, and the arrowheads fit that bill exactly.

The Fix:

So how would I fix The Secret of Shadow Ranch?

First, I would honestly remove the Hardy Boys from the game. They don’t get the time they need to shine, and the game is busy enough to not need them. Move them to CUR and you get at least two characters I care about in that game.

As mentioned above, I would make the connection between Mary/Tex and Frances/Dirk clearer (rather than sub-sub-subtext) and switch him and Shorty’s position as the villain.

Make Shorty guilty of being exactly what is he is — a man obsessed with get quick rich schemes — and have some of the incidents be his fault (the snake is a good one to hand to him, as any cook in the desert on a ranch knows how to catch and cook snake) so that he has room to look for the treasure, but maybe stop him from finding a few key things (like the secrets in Dry Gulch) and take out his bank robber connections (which is easily the silliest part of the game). Maybe Tex uses him and slowly siphons off information that Shorty leaves lying around until he knows All.

Meanwhile, Tex is a gruff man who cares about his sister and his girlfriend and is thankful to the Rawley’s about his job…but he’s also a man who needs money to pay for his upcoming engagement/wedding to Mary Yazzie, who’s helping support his sister, who’s a bit angry that the Rawleys fired his sister, and who figures that if anyone can find a cowboy’s treasure, it’s another cowboy who knows the land like the back of his hand.

His expertise with horses makes it easy to coat one in phosphorus and safely release and get it back, his omnipresence around the ranch makes it easy to sabotage, and his natural reticence gives him a reason never to have an alibi — he just doesn’t like to be around people. Tex is, in fact, so perfectly set up to be the villain that it doesn’t feel like a twist that he’s not, it feels like a mistake.

For the finale, while Shorty chasing Nancy down is scary enough, the image of Tex doing so is even worse. This fix strengthens motive, adds multiple narratives, and spreads out the guilt enough to make most characters interesting. It would also give Mary more of a presence and add in the possibility of her being an accomplice (which I would love), and firmly sets Nancy at odds with three-fourths of the cast.

I’d also include Bess and George more heavily in the game. Since they handle the beginning of the Charleena Purcell line already, I’d have that whole storyline shifted over to them. You play as either Bess or George finding the novel, calling Nancy, and taking the lead to wheedle their way in past Charleena’s assistant (definitely a Bess-type job, but George attempting it would be hilarious with Bess whispering instructions) and get the information Nancy needs. The airport itself would be easy enough to limit to a small explorable area, and HER could even pass the contacting Ed and Bet to their actual nieces.

These changes would expand the game slightly and add to the runtime, but it would also help SHA to be even more of a landmark game and to be an appropriate end to the era of Expanded Games.

#nancy drew #nancy drew games #clue crew #secret of shadow ranch #nancy drew meta #SHA #my meta #long post

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bangtan-dreamland · 4 years

Text

Winter Coffeeshops

Prompt: “Stay?”

Pairing: ksj x reader

Word count: 6.2K

Warnings: none really lol

Summary: You never expected your daily trips to the coffee shop to be anything more than ordinary, yet here you were- sharing a table with Worldwide Handsome, Kim Seokjin.

Genre: slowburn, strangers to friends (I’d say lovers but this is the first chapter so...)

A/N: Hi hello I love Kim Seokjin and hIS BIRTHDAY IS COMING UP I AM G I D D Y man am I excited to celebrate the birthday of one of the lights in my life.

Next //

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Seokjin rarely ever went to coffee shops.

Coffee shops were more Namjoon’s style, whenever he wanted to catch a break from the chaos that came with living with six men, as well as read his newest book in silence. Sometimes Taehyung or Jimin too, would go get coffee. Never him, though. He was more inclined to brew himself a cup in the privacy of their own apartment.

Yet here he was, practically shivering underneath the huge, padded coat he wore as he stepped inside Little Coffee and felt the warmth of the establishment start to alleviate the coldness from outside.

The coffee shop was decorated rather comfortably, fitting right in with the winter season. Warm tones of red and brown enveloped the room, small tables and huge chairs dominating the floor. The subtle tones of jazz filled the room, and though the noise from conversations were loud, somehow they were drowned out enough by the music.

Looking around though, he was glad to have worn the cap with the face mask- with the sheer amount of people loitering inside the shop (most of them clearly having the same idea as him), it would have been impossible to keep his identity hidden. Still, he was cautious as he looked around, searching for an empty table, preferably in a corner not easily seen.

Luck wasn’t on his side though, and he bit back a sigh as he moved to the counter, having decided to at least order something. It would have been rude to do so otherwise, anyway, considering he was already inside. The line wasn’t too long, thankfully. Soon enough he was waiting for his order- muffins, as well as coffee.

“You could go to the second floor, if you want,” the barista manning the counter suddenly said as he handed him his food. “Since all the seats here are taken,” he added, gesturing to the crowd of people.

“You have a second floor?” Seokjin asked in surprise. He hadn’t seen any stairs leading up- although, now that he thought about it, there was a balcony and a set of windows visible from outside. The man nodded, pointing to a hallway partially hidden by a set of potted plants, at the very back of the shop near the staffroom.

“Just go through those, and you’ll see the stairs at the end of the hallway. Usually we only let favorite patrons have access, but you seem like you need it.”

“Uh- thank you, then,” he replied, a bit wary considering the place. Still, when he looked around, he had to admit, even if only to himself, that an empty seat was nowhere in sight. And even if it were, being surrounded by people would immediately kill his appetite and just stress him out. It wasn’t that he was scared that people would know Kim Seokjin was currently at a coffeeshop, but rather what they would do. He valued his current privacy, and as much as he loved ARMY he didn’t fancy being mobbed or being followed. Heaving a sigh to himself, he started making his way to the alleged ‘favorite patrons’ area. His only hope was that it wouldn’t be as crowded as the main room of the shop.

Upon reaching the second floor, though, he was surprised. The room was small, and rather cozy. A few tables and chairs were spread out, the floor cushioned by a thick rug. Bookshelves and paintings decorated the walls, as well impeccable artwork. But the best thing yet about the room had to be the heater that was installed near the ceiling, sending warm drafts of air everywhere and fully melting away the cold chills that lingered from the snow.

That said, though, the room was also somewhat full of people, which was a disappointment. He lingered near the doorway, looking around, when he saw the perfect spot to sit down- he could make out a chair in an area sectioned off by the bookshelves. He instantly made his way over, cheering inwardly.

It was only when he was a few steps away to the chair that he saw her.

≪ °❈° ≫≪ °❈° ≫≪ °❈° ≫≪ °❈° ≫

Coffeeshops were never really your style.

Actually, coffee was never your style. You rarely drank coffee- unless the ratio of creamer to coffee was 1:1, with added sugar and milk (and then your friends and family would argue that wasn’t coffee anymore).

But the heavy snowfalls that happened in this town you were staying with for your internship gave you a sudden craving for warmth, one that the apartment you lived in couldn’t provide. See, the heater you would use had a problem- it could only run for a few hours before it threatened to overheat and break down. Which meant that you could only use it when you went to sleep, and never before or after that. But the apartment grew cold even when you closed the windows to keep the winter air out, and work ended in the afternoon, which always left you with a few solid hours of nowhere to keep you safe and warm from the elements outside.

Which was how you first ended up in Little Coffee, seeking refuge and warmth. The shop had been nice enough, the walls thick and the air inside enough to keep you satiated. You ordered coffee (even if you didn’t want to, but hey, you were at a coffeeshop so…) and a slice of raspberry cheese cake, and one bite into the food had sent you to heaven.

The next day, you found yourself at the same place, in the same chair, except this time, you ordered the triple chocolate deluxe, since they kept changing the cakes they sold every day, and found yourself falling in love. The third day, you were back again. And as time passed you became a patron of the coffeeshop, despite never actually drinking their coffee much- somehow the pastries they served were absolutely amazing, and you never got tired of eating them.

It had been a month or so since then, and you’d apparently become a valued patron of the shop, because as of a week or so ago you’d been let known about the hidden gem that was the second floor of the shop. It was perfect- cozy, not too many people, warm, with chairs that were huge enough to swallow you and soft enough you could sink into them without a second thought.

It was perfect timing too, considering that only a few days after the weather forecast for the town had been nothing but snow, snow and more snow, with the rare moments of sunlight. It had been colder than ever since the winter months started, and you appreciated the warmer, yet quieter and more comfortable room you were given access to instead of the first floor.

There rarely were people the owners allowed upstairs though, which was reflected in the amount of chairs they put in the room- a part of the reason why, you were confused when you saw a stranger head over to your spot.

How does his shoulders fit inside that coat, when they’re so wide? That was your first thought, followed by, who wears a cap inside? Is he someone famous or something?

Still, you didn’t say your thoughts out loud, registering the surprise that melted into resignation on the man’s face. You didn’t need to ask him to know what his problem was- he probably wanted to sit alone. Before he could turn away, you found yourself speaking to him.

“You can- the seat’s free, if you want to sit down. Only if you want to, I mean. I promise I won’t be a nosy… table mate?” You scrunched up your nose at the weird way you ended your sentence, internally cursing yourself for the blunder. You fiddled with the scones on your plate, a few left. Half of you wanted him to stay, even if you didn’t know exactly why- the other wanted him to go, embarrassed after having witnessed you stumble over your words.

“Are you sure?” He asks, instead, and with the decision thrown over to you you nod your head, instantly agreeing because damn it you already did ask him, so. A beat or two passes, and even from the plate to which you had your gaze firmly fixed to, you could hear him sigh in relief as he sat down.

A plate of muffins finds its way onto the table, followed by a cup of coffee, still steaming and hot. You start nibbling on one of the scones, feeling an air of awkwardness settle around the two of you.

“Do you- uh, do you come here often?” Instantly you wince again. You spoke up because the awkwardness made it hard to eat and relax, but then you had to go ahead and stutter…

To your surprise, you hear him reply instantly, as if he too was bothered by the forced silence. “Not really. I’m more the type to make their own coffee at home than go to a coffee shop,” he says.

“Oh- me too,” you say in surprise. “Well- before I came here, of course. I’m not really a fan of coffee, but the way they make the coffee in here somehow makes the perfect accompaniment to their desserts, you know? At least, for most.”

“Ah, it’s really that good, huh?” He says thoughtfully, pulling down his mask and starting to drink his cup of coffee. You beam at him, making him smile widely back at you. Encouraged, you continue talking, for some reason unwilling to let the conversation die down.

“Y-Yeah, you should try one of their cakes- all of them are delicious, but the vanilla sponge cake is one of my favorites,” you fiddle again with the food on your plate, unsure what to say, before you get one. “Oh, speaking of which, it must be really crowded down there, huh.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well- you just said you don’t go to coffee shops, and, you didn’t seem to know about their desserts here, despite having obviously bought some. Which, I mean, is okay! But, uh, I don’t know if they didn’t tell you but they only let people who frequent the shop a lot have access to the second floor.” You feel yourself blush as you ramble, as opposed to the growing smile on your table mate’s face. “An honest surprise for me when they let me up when I’ve only been coming here for a month or so.”

“A month?” He raises an eyebrow at you, surprised. “You look so at home here, I thought you would’ve been a longtime patron.”

“Mm… uh, I told you that I’m not the type for coffee shops, right? But I recently had to move here for an internship, and I guess it’s just luck but my heater started acting up as soon as winter arrived and I eventually found myself in here to stave off the cold,” while you speak you find your gaze drifting back to your lap again, unsure what to say next. What else did you have to talk about? You wanted to keep talking with him, for some reason, but truth was, you’d explored all the topics you had in common. Was it weird to ask someone you just met what their favorite drink, food, color, etc. was?

“Like me then, I guess. The snowfall was so heavy outside, I was forced to take shelter,” he replies after a while. “But I guess it isn’t so bad, since I get to talk with cute girls.”

Your head snaps back up in surprise, red blooming across your cheeks like a furnace, speechless. Although you didn’t see it earlier, your tablemate is gorgeous, eyes a warm shade of brown, with smooth skin, a sharp nose and plump lips. He’s also somewhat familiar, but the fact that you have your mind on his compliment- teasing?- makes it hard to place his name. The realization that he’s breathtaking only makes the color on your cheeks grow brighter. Your reaction must be quite something at this point, because he lets a giggle slip out of him, and you frown in response.

“Not funny,” you grumble.

His eyes crinkle at the corners, amusement visible from him. “Sorry, sorry. I only wanted to help you loosen up.”

“It’s not every day I let strangers sit with me, of course I’m a bit tense,” you snipe back, a pout on your lips. Still, you can’t help but admit to yourself that you feel more comfortable now, and your tablemate must see it as well because they continue instead of giving more apologies.

“Alright, so that didn’t quite work as I wanted it to,” he says with a grin, and you raise an eyebrow at him as if to say ‘no shit, sherlock’. “Hmmm… so let me try this instead- what do you get, when you cross a snowman and a vampire?”

“Frostbite,” you reply instantly, feeling the urge to giggle strike you when his face falls and he pouts. “Sorry, but I’ve already heard that before, so…”

“It was a good one though, right?” He cajoles, a grin back on his face again, before he taps a finger to his cheek. “Wait, let me think of another.”

“If all you have are bad puns, then I don’t think you’ll ever accomplish your mission.” You huff quietly, amused, but also touched that he apparently wants to continue talking to you, at his efforts to make you smile.

“Hey, I’ll have you know, making puns are snow joke,” he replies instantly, smile still fixed to his face as he delivers his line.

“That was terrible.” So you say, but you feel yourself smiling, in spite of how you don’t want to. Your tablemate seems to catch your smile, because he barrels on, mock offense visible on his face as he huffs dramatically.

“Water you saying? My puns are pure cold! I’ll have you know, my audience are usually in stitches at this point, but icy now, you’re a special challenge. So this is my warm-ing to you, you better prepare yourself!”

“Stop- stop, oh my god.” You burst into laughter at the onslaught of puns, unable to contain yourself. Across from you, he himself falls over laughing, and you find yourself too delighted at the moment to consider being embarrassed that you two are being loud as can be in a coffee shop. Still, when your laughter softens to giggles, you find the last of the tension falling away.

Whoever he is, he must feel the same too, because the smile that remains on his face is just as bright as yours. After that, the conversation between the two of you flows freely, jokes and puns and funny anecdotes about the weather outside being passed to each other.

It’s only when you finish you finish the mountain of desserts on your plate with your coffee half-drunk that he sends an amused grin your way, sliding his own plate of muffins to your side of the table.

“You’re really not a fan of coffee, huh?”

“I’m pretty sure I already told you that,” you snipe back with a roll of your eyes and a smile on your face, before you reach for the muffins offered. “But no, not unless it’s sweet rather than bitter. I don’t really get people who drink it straight black.”

“You wouldn’t want to meet one of my friends then, I’ve never seen him take coffee any other way than that,” he remarks, the corners of his eyes crinkling a little in fondness at whoever this ‘friend’ of his may be, and you find yourself curious about his friend.

“Sounds like a terrifying guy. What does he need pure caffeine for?”

It’s as if someone splashed cold water on him, because he suddenly straightens up, surprise in his eyes before he chuckles awkwardly.

“Uh- just- he’s a workaholic, so…”

“I see…” You bite your lip nervously as the atmosphere between the two of you becomes a little colder, a little distant. Suddenly, you’re left unsure just what to say. You really want to go back to how it was previously, but…

“Oh… I have to go now,” your eyes widen in surprise when you catch a glimpse of the time from the clock behind him. “I set up my schedule around my heater these days,” you awkwardly explain, mentally hyping yourself. You can do it, you will yourself to think. “Um! Will you be back tomorrow?”

“Maybe,” he replies, looking unsure, before he adds, “Probably downstairs, though, I’m pretty sure me coming up was only a one time thing.”

“O-Oh…” You look down at your feet, disappointed, before you decide to push through again. “If you do get to come back up here, I’d love to talk with you again,” you mumble, your cheeks pink as you quickly brush off the crumbs on your body and walk away. You really don’t want to look at his reaction- you feel like you’d melt into a puddle, whatever it was.

Still, you find yourself halting when you’ve taken only a few steps away from him, whirling back to see a light flush on his cheeks as well. “Wait! Uh- what’s your name? Or, well, what do I call you?” You give him your name, and you watch as he repeats it, as if to make sure he gets it right (and oh, the way your name rolls off his tongue makes your heart beat fast), before he sends you a confident smile.

“Just call me Jin.”

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From that day onward, you find yourself coming back to the coffeeshop at exactly the same time you did when you met Jin, sometimes (actually, most of the time) even earlier than that. It was, admittedly, pretty embarrassing to realize you craved his companionship so much you would arrive an hour or two earlier than when you unanimously decided to meet, but if anything, Jin obviously felt the same, so you let yourself be excited. It helped that it turned out that your worries about him not being let onto the second floor was nothing, because the owners didn’t mind it if you were with him.

“Have you ever tried reading any of the books here?” You found yourself asking him one day, gesturing to the tall stacks of books laid on the shelves. “Most of them are novels, though a few are, uh, those on philosophy and life, I think?”

“No, not really? I don’t read books much,” Jin looks at the bookshelves thoughtfully, before the meaning of his words hits him and he flails, ears rapidly reddening. “I mean, I read a lot, but I don’t usually-“

You laugh, placing a hand on his arm to calm him down. If he sees your cheeks redden, you hope he doesn’t think it’s from anything more than the heater. “It’s okay. Though, um, since we’re here anyway, do you want to read one together? Not that we have to if you don’t want to!”

“Okay,” he agrees, ears as red as your cheeks and you feel your smile grow even wider. You stand up to get a book, before pausing.

“Do you have any preference?” You ask him, and he shakes his head.

“I’ll depend on you to get a good one, so you have to make it worth it,” he says, grinning at you, before he waggles his eyebrows and you know he’s going to- “try not to take too many though, my weekends are booked already, so if you do I’m going to have to ask you to exercise some shelf control.”

You find yourself giggling, hands reaching up at a book already. “Now you’ve made me nervous! I’ll just choose a random one, then, that way it’s up to luck. Maybe we’ll get a good one.”

When you tug the book free though, bringing it over to your table, you find yourself laughing again with Jin as the cover reveals the book to be ‘The Best Book of Puns’. He moves his chair closer to yours so the two of you can read together, and the two of you spend the day laughing at each, trying to outdo the other by slipping the jokes in between conversation. When you step out of the store, you find that even the snow falling can’t make you feel cold. It’s a funny, sweet kind of feeling, one that you find you’ve only ever felt around Jin so far. You want to mind it, really, but... you crave it too much to worry.

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A week passes before you remember an important topic, one that makes you abruptly change the conversation.

“You know, I never really asked, but what made you come here to the town? I told you I’m here for an internship, right?”

“My job takes me to a lot of places,” Jin reveals, confusion from the change in topic visible on his face. “I often travel from and to other other countries. It’s fun, most of the time. We get to eat the authentic version of foods famous in their home countries, even if we don’t get to tour the places ourselves.”

Oh. You feel a part of yourself wilt in response to his words, momentarily tuning him out after the first sentence. How long will you be staying then? Is what you want to ask, but you refrain yourself from speaking the words out loud. When Jin looks at you weirdly, you belatedly realize that he’s been waiting for a reply, and you force yourself to smile. “Really? What’s it like? Sounds like you get to experience a lot of different cultures…”

Jin shoots you a concerned look, the furrow in his eyebrows not gone yet, but you insist on smiling and he soon drops it for the meantime. “Well, the last place we went to was in Italy…”

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“Do you like your job?”

“I guess,” you reply slowly, mulling your response over. “It’s not exactly my dream job, not yet at least, but I’m working hard now to apply for the position I really want.”

“Huh,” he says. There’s a contemplative look on his face after you answer him, and you wait for him to formulate his thoughts.

“I hope you get to achieve what you’ve been striving for,” he says after a while, and you feel a smile form back on your face.

“Mm, I hope I succeed too. Oh- and, what about you? Do you like your job?”

“I do, I love it,” his reply is instantaneous, as if it’s a question he’s been asked many times, but also as if he’s sincere enough with his answer that he doesn’t have to think about it. “Even if there are moments when it tires me out,” he lets out a small smile at that, and you hum thoughtfully, thinking over your answer, before you intertwine your arm with his and squeeze his hand in support.

“That’s okay. You can love your job and what you do and still feel tired or sad or angry over it. We can’t be positive all the time, can we?”

Jin’s smile grows wider, just as sincere, and you spend the rest of the afternoon with your arms linked together.

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“Namjoon-hyung, have you seen Jin-hyung?”

The living room is directly connected to the doorway, which is how Seokjin hears Jungkook asking after him when he gets in. He dusts the remaining snow off him, cautious not to leave any on the inside floor and instead leave it outside. When he puts away his shoes and coat, stepping out with his slippers on, he can hear Namjoon reply.

“No… I haven’t seen him all day. Actually, now that I think about it, he’s been spending a lot of time outside, huh?” Have I really? He wonders, surprised to realize that yes, most of the past week and then some has been mostly spent with you, the girl he’s thrilled to be meeting everyday, in between the shelves and the scent of sugar and coffee. Your name tastes like chocolate on his lips, your smile beautiful, and it should alarm him that he’s started connecting the scent of coffee to you now, thinking of you almost every time he sees a cup of hot coffee. But it doesn’t and he can’t deny the joy that builds in him when he thinks of you.

“If you wanted to eat something, there’s still leftovers in the fridge you know,” he eventually cuts in, an amused smile on his face. He breaks out into laughter when Jungkook and Namjoon start in surprise, looking at him with wide eyes.

“Hyung!”

“Although if you really miss my handsome face, I can give you a new selca everyday,” he continues, chuckling.

“Yah, that’s not it, hyung. Just- you’ve been going out a lot these days. I thought you preferred staying home when it’s snowing.” Jungkook’s reply is immediate, and Namjoon casts a pensive look at him. Jin shrugs, suddenly wanting to tell them about this girl, who he’s come to associate with things he never paid much attention to and how she’s made them feel important and become a happy reminder. It’s amazing, really, how she manages to make his days brighter. The moment he started talking with her, although he was initially wary about talking to a random stranger, he found himself relaxing and truly enjoying himself with her. It’s easy, to trust her, it feels as though they’ve been friends for a long time and the smiles he coaxes from her with his jokes never fails to put a smile on his face too. He wants to tell them all about her, but he catches himself before he says them.

A part of him wants to keep her secret. If he tells the other members about her, they’ll probably ask about her and he’ll have to face the music- being an idol and befriending people, especially people not from the entertainment industry were two concepts far from each other.

“I do,” he eventually says. “I’ve just been walking around the town. It’s a little too noisy when we’re holed in this hotel when we’re already together 24 hours.“

Namjoon gives him a long look, as if to say that he knows that Jin isn’t exactly telling them the truth, but then he speaks again and Jin feels as if someone’s doused him in cold water, reality shoving him back to the present.

“Well, we’ll be flying back to Seoul as soon as the snow stops falling, so at least we only need to put up with it for a little while more.”

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You loiter in the shop, waiting for Jin, even as your plate becomes devoid of sweets and your cup empty. Where are you? You want to ask him, but as it is, you don’t even have a method of contact. It’s the first time you two haven’t met up since the day he first came in, and you’re worried, but still…

Maybe he got held up with something, you reason with yourself.

≪ °❈° ≫≪ °❈° ≫≪ °❈° ≫≪ °❈° ≫

Half a week passes with you sitting alone, waiting for company that you miss. Each time you hope against hope that he’ll come back, and you sit alone until you risk having to run home just to keep your apartment from fully freezing, but Jin doesn’t come back and that makes you feel cold all over anyway.

≪ °❈° ≫≪ °❈° ≫≪ °❈° ≫≪ °❈° ≫

We are glad to offer you a position in the company. Should you accept, we hope to work with you in the main company in Gang-nam, Seoul. Your shift would start in a week…

The email you received earlier this morning had sent you in a spiral of moods. At first you had been excited- this was a step up, after all!- before the realization that you would have to leave soon, if not today crashed your mood.

You wanted to accept their offer, of course. It was the whole reason why you joined the internship, why you stuck with the cold even when you could have easily moved back home. Still…

Jin’s face flashes in your mind and you find yourself unable to feel happy about the offer, especially when it meant leaving him. The fact that your mood was so downcast, shoulders slumped and vision stuck to the ground, even as you walked towards Little Coffeeshop, was probably why you bumped into someone. You yelp when you feel something solid smack into you, and when your feet slips you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to prepare yourself for a world of pain. But then seconds pass and you hesitantly open your eyes to look into familiar brown ones.

“Jin,” his name falls from your lips in a breathless daze, and you see him smile a little, cheeks pink from what seems to be the cold. Arms that must have kept you from falling sets you back gently onto the ground, and you look up at him in wonder and a not so small amount of anger and worry.

“Hi,” he replies, his smile a little dim, and you feel worry overtake anger.

“Is there- I mean, is something wrong? You haven’t come by these past few days, so…”

“I might be leaving soon,” the words tumble out from him, and you feel yourself freeze. Despondence washes over you, and you find yourself at a loss for words.

“You- You’re leaving? I mean- you do have your work, so,” you stammer, unable to focus on anything other than the two of you were parting ways already. You would be leaving, and so would he, and would you ever meet again? You doubted it- what with the stories of his work that he told you about, you really doubted he would have time to meet up with you.

You’re surprised to suddenly feel cold hands wipe away tears on your face, ones you didn’t even know had been falling. When it registers in your mind that it’s Jin, your funny and adorkable friend who’s wiping away your tears that you try to hold yourself back from fully crying.

Jin’s hands are gentle on your face, and you feel yourself hiccup from the force of the sobs you’re holding back. Jin, realizing what the hiccups mean, panic.

“Wha- hey, hey, don’t look so sad! I did say soon, it doesn’t mean I have to go now,” he blurts out, concern visible in his face as he tries to calm you down. “Ya, although I already know it, my company really is that good, huh?”

His joke makes you smile weakly, hiccups dying down to sniffles, and you decide to just go for it, like you did the first time you met him, the decision that somehow gave you this wonderful person who you know you like even if you’ve only been seeing each other for little more than two weeks.

“Of course it was,” you say through your sniffles. You feel him chuckle, relief evident in his tone before you speak again. “Jin? I’m going to hug you.”

Not waiting for him to reply, you tackle him into a hug, holding on tightly and feeling a sense of giddiness come over you when you feel strong arms envelop you back. You press yourself into his chest, uncaring of the snow, before you look up at him and—

You gape in shock. Somehow, in the brief moment you were hugging him, Jin’s cap had fallen off, as well as his mask. Once or twice, you’d seen him without one or the other, but it’s only now that you see him without both that you finally connect the dots on why he seems so familiar.

“You’re Kim Seokjin!?” You say, stupefied, before the fact that Seokjin, Kim Seokjin is standing out here in the open without his mask or his cap and anyone can see him and easily recognize him hugging some stranger that you snap back to action. “Wait, put your mask back on! What if someone recognizes you? God, sorry- I kind of just hugged you- is that okay-?”

“Calm down,” Jin- holy shit, you were talking to worldwide famous and handsome Kim Seokjin, what the hell, you’re still in shock- chuckles, though a wary look is still present on his face. “I guess you were bound to find out sooner or later… Yeah, my full name is Kim Seokjin. I hope you’re not mad I hid it from you.“

“Why would I be mad over something like that?” You blurt out in surprise, before another thought fills your head. “Wait, so when you said your job took you to many places…”

“Mostly for our tours, but other times we have shootings for shows too,” he explains. You fall silent, trying to wrap your tiny mind around all of what you just learned. Jin, it seems, understands what you’re going through, so he falls silent as well, though his eyes may as well communicate to you how nervous he really is, with how fast he’s blinking.

“Is the fact that you’re Kim Seokjin what kept you away?” You finally ask, after a few moments of deliberation. “I mean… was this your way of letting me drift away, cutting this- this friendship?” Even now, you flush, whether out of disappointment, anger, or embarrassment. You’re not quite sure which you feel stronger when Jin, Seokjin nods his head hesitantly, ears red.

“I won’t be able to see you as much as I can… as much as I want to. I like spending time with you,” he hastily explains. “But I’m not really sure if you’d still want to be friends with me when you find out who I am.”

“Most people would be ecstatic to meet up with Kim Seokjin on the daily,” you point out quietly. Jin lets out a wry smile.

“Yeah, well, you’re not most people.”

You take a few more moments to think over his words, and when you come to a decision, you firmly grasp his hands. Jin starts in surprise, but he doesn’t pull away, and you pull him towards you instead, in a kind of hug. When you speak, it’s almost muffled into his coat, but he manages to hear it anyway.

“I understand what you did, you know- keeping your identity hidden. You can’t just know someone from a few meetings after all. I could have been someone who’d sell you out or something,” and here he shakes his head, about to speak in defense of you, but you resolutely speak onward. “I still want to be friends with you- I mean, if you still want to. I’m certainly not opposed. Besides, who said you wouldn’t be able to see me much when you fly to wherever your job takes you next?”

“Huh?” He looks at you with surprise.

“I mean- we have phones for a reason, right? That and-“ grinning at him, you let your hand part from his to pull out your phone and show him the email you received earlier today, the pieces falling into place,“-remember the internship I was telling you about? I get to start work officially at the company’s main building in Seoul. So… when you come back to Korea, we can still meet up… even if it’s not as often as it’s been this past week.”

“I- really?” Jin looks astonished, mouth open in surprise, and really, you’d feel the same. The problems that held you two back- suddenly have been solved, and you don’t have to lose whatever it is you two have now.

“Really,” you say warmly, feeling a bubbly, giddy feeling come over and drive away the gloominess you felt before. “So- you don’t have to go and stay away our last days together here. Stay, okay? I promise we’ll make the most out of it while we’re here. And… when you have to go to your next appointment, we can talk over the internet and we’ll continue our trips when you’re back in Seoul.”

Jin’s smile is a beautiful, glorious view, as is his whoop of excitement, and you return it with one of your own. The two of you must look silly, you belatedly realize, standing under the snowfall, talking and yelling while hugging each other. Yet, you can’t seem to care. Not even the wind or the snow can dampen your mood, and when your cheeks darken, you know it isn’t just from the cold.

“Come on, Jin, we have to go defend our spot!” You grin at him, beckoning him over. Jin giggles, hands reaching out to clasp over your own.

“Okay,” he acquiesces, before a familiar mischievous look settles on his face. “Chill we go in?”

“Jin!”

≪ °❈° ≫≪ °❈° ≫≪ °❈° ≫≪ °❈° ≫

Coffeeshops weren’t your thing, for either of you. Seokjin valued his privacy- you preferred hot chocolate to coffee. But somehow, as the two of you sat down in your favorite spots, the familiar scent of coffee and sweets filling the air, the two of you agreed that this was one that you could make exception for.

#mine #my writing #kim seokjin x reader #seokjin x reader

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adorkabletodd · 5 years

Text

Red as Ruby (Jason Todd x Reader)

This is part 2 of my first fanfic called Green as Emerald if you’d like to, go ahead and read the first part

I was feeling a little inspired so I decided to sketch my man

Soulmate AU! Whenever you lose something it’ll end up in your soulmate’s hands/possession. You’ll never find it again until you find your soulmate. Things you forgot existed also goes to your soulmate and vice versa.

Warnings: more curse words than before Word count: 1680

---

It’s been 3 days since my encounter with the famous Red Hood, and so far I’ve tried my best to avoid alleyways that reek of mob gangs.

Lately, I’ve been occupying myself with twice the amount of work. I kept telling my brain that it’s for the good of my job but I know deep down it’s just an excuse to make me forget about that stone Red Hood was wearing.

Honestly, I shouldn’t believe that he really is wearing my stone, right? Lots of people probably own the same green emerald that I used to have! Though I couldn’t help but wonder.

Besides my parents, only a few of my friends would confirm that they do believe in the miracles of finding a soulmate but some hadn’t had the opportunity to ever experience them.

...What are the odds of Red Hood being mine?

“You seem to be deep in thought, (Y/N).” I turn my head to the source of that voice and saw Garrick, my co-worker. A good guy, though I wouldn’t say we’re anything more than friends.

“Hey. Sorry, been doing a lot of thinking lately. What’s up?”

“Package just arrived for you in the mail. Sent all the way from Star City by someone named Connor Hawke” Garrick handed me a small packaged.

“Thanks, Garrick,” I gave him a smile as I take the package from his hands. I didn’t think Connor would reach out to me so soon. Connor was one of my closest friends back home, we went to the same high school together and I always find myself comforting him whenever he had trouble with his dad. He in return helped me throughout the loss of my parents. There’s a lot of mystery to that guy after he dropped out of school I rarely get to see him but there are times where he would always find me in the most unexpected times.

Grabbing a scissor from my desk, I rip the package open and was astonished to the remaining things inside. There were a bunch of old pictures of us together back in our high school days, and a note from Connor.

‘ Found these old photos of us when I cleaned your old apartment, I thought you might want it back. Good luck in Gotham (L/N), seriously, you’re gonna need it. Don’t be a stranger.

PS. I also found this little treasure of yours.

- Connor H.‘

One item that stood out was what looked like a tip of a familiar pocket knife buried beneath the photographs. I held my breath once I cleared away the photos.

The pocket knife was a beautiful ruby red with a single black streak printed on the back. The handle still has those rough scratches and a couple of marks that resembles the letter ‘J’ at the bottom. God, I can’t believe I accidentally left this behind. I used to bring this everywhere I go. It became a handy tool though I don’t recall how I gain the possession of it in the first place.

By the time I didn’t realize it was already half past 5 pm. I’ve completed all of my assignments, would love to get an early leave before it gets dark.

---

On my way home I remembered that I haven’t restocked my fridge yet, right on queue: my stomach grumbled. Guess I accidentally skipped lunch again. Just across the street, I saw a fast food restaurant called the Bat Burger.

“…”

Ah hell, why not? I mean it’s not like Red Hood would mindlessly hang out in a food joint named after him and his vigilante group.

When I entered, the place seemed so flashy and colorful. Like straight out of a comic book kind of atmosphere. A lot of pop art style no doubt. Once I finally ordered I made my way near a windowed booth. A sigh of exhaustion escaped my lips, I was ready to dig into my dinner when suddenly a man sat across from me.

Startled, he seemed to be in alert. This man wore a black shirt underneath his dark gray jacket and a red cap. Even though he seems to be hiding his face with that cap, I can see the clear blue of his eyes.

“Um... Can I help you?”

When he noticed my presence, he hunches over his shoulder attempting to hide his face even further. “Sorry, didn’t mean to invade your space but could you pretend like we’re a couple of friends having dinner for just 2 minutes? Then I’ll go and you can just pretend I was never here.” Before I could even question what he meant two other men barge in from the entrance. The man in front of me held his breath waiting for an impasse. I tried my best to avert my gaze away from their peering eyes. Sliding my fries over to him slowly.

The two goons didn’t seem to notice the man in front of me before heading back outside. Once they’re gone the man made a cautious check over his shoulder before exhaling a sigh of relief. “Thanks for playing along.” He was about to reach over my fries and quickly I slap his hands away.

“Just because I helped you doesn’t mean you can actually take my food.”

He raised both of his hands in defense before letting out a soft chuckle. “Well, sliding your fries over to me, I thought you sincerely meant to share me some food.”

“What exactly was all that about?” I found myself saying the question out loud.

“Let’s just say I had a job that I needed to take care of, wasn’t as sneaky as I turned out to be.”

His hand started to fidget on the knot of his jacket string. “This your first time eating here?”

“Oh let me guess, you’re a regular here.”

“My brothers and I always come here to mock our dad, a lot of our... inside jokes came from this place.” The man took off his cap and rake his fingers through his messy hair. I notice the white streak on his jet black hair and the look just made him stood out.

“I’m Jason, by the way. Jason Todd.”

“(Y/N) (L/N).”

Normally I wouldn’t get too comfortable with sketchy guys who came to me for cover. But I gotta admit, this man is ridiculously handsome. “Not that it’s any of my business but, it’s not really safe to be alone at night in Gotham.”

“When isn’t it good time to be safe in Gotham, honestly? And I can take care of myself if that’s what you mean.”

“Oh, I have no doubt about that,” Jason smirked, his eyes gleamed with mischief.

I didn’t know how but the conversation between us continued naturally. It’s rare to find a guy like him to connect with. He’s not like anyone I’ve ever met before and from a glance, you can tell what a sly asshole of guy he can be, weirdly I don’t mind getting to know that part of him. If he’ll let me.

When I finished my burger, I wiped my lips with the napkin and slide the remainings of my french fries left to him. “Here, I’m too full to finish this, you can have the rest.” Jason looked at me doubtingly. “Seriously. Here, you’ve been a good company.”

“Well, it’s nice to know you don’t hate me yet.”

“Keep that annoying face of yours and we’ll see.”

I grab hold of my bag and place my phone inside. “Nice knowing you, Jason.” I gave him a small smile before sliding out of the booth. To my satisfaction, Jason smiled back.

Walking towards the exit, I was about to reach my hand to the door when I heard Jason’s voice.

“(Y/N), wait. You dropped – ...This.”

Turning back I saw Jason lean down grabbing something, in his hand was the red pocket knife Connor sent me.

“Oh! good lord, not again!” I really need to keep an eye on this thing. I don’t want to lose it for the second time. “Thanks. I don’t know what I would’ve done if I lost this.”

“Does it mean that much to you?”

“Well... Not really, this thing helped me out when I needed a little tinkering. It’s one of those stuff where you can’t really let go when you have it, you know?”

“Yeah... I do.” Jason looked at me, surprised.

He looked at me as if I made him realize something, the way his eyes softens as my fingers traced the small scratches of this red pocket knife.

“You should head back. It’s getting late.” Jason said quietly.

A part of me didn’t want to leave him behind, but another part told me that I should be on my way. “Yeah... Thanks again for this, see you around Jay.”

With that, I made my way out. Urging myself not to look back. Though my eyes couldn’t help but glance back to the restaurant window, I noticed. The time I spent talking with Jason felt like we were the only ones in the room. And we were.

---

The sound of jingling key echoed the empty hallway as I unlock my door. Once I entered I turned the lights on and place my bag on the kitchen island. I made my way to the fridge to grab myself a bottle of water when I suddenly heard a single tap sound from my window.

I became anxious with the thought of someone breaking in. Cautiously I close the fridge and try to reach into my bag to grab the pepper spray. Every second I feel my heart race faster and my eyes scanned on the darker parts of my living room waiting for something to strike.

I came closer, and closer to my bag when suddenly a figure emerges from the shadow.

My mind became blank and the bottle dropped from the numb feeling in my hand.

I was face to face with Red Hood.

“Hello, angel. I believe you have something of mine.”

---

Oof I had to cut that cuz it’s getting way too long.

Hope you enjoyed it and I have a feeling I’ll be writing part 3 to conclude this Soulmate AU.

#jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #dc #jason todd #batfam #x reader #red hood imagine #soulmate au #red hood x you #red hood x y/n

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jawnjendes · 5 years

Text

you never listen and i hate you lately | tom holland

AN: i wrote this in 2017 when hoco came out AND when i was goin thru a breakup. i kept putting off posting it here but now that the uuuuuhhhhhh news dropped, have some more depressing shit!

there will not be a part 2

(i would link my masterlist but its literally just shawn mendes fics lulz)

It took me a moment to realize what I had gotten down to the night before. When I woke up in a hotel room that was similar to mine, but not exactly the same, a bout of nerves pulsed through my veins. I rolled over onto my back, only to discover a sleeping guy next to me.

As always, my drunk self could not be trusted.

This wasn't new for me. Every time I went out, I always told myself that I wouldn't hook up with anyone. I would just have a few drinks and then go home and be drunk by myself. More often than not, though, I would wake up naked with a random person in a random place.

I mean, this time only happened because I was invited to the Spider-Man: Homecoming premiere. I wasn't sure why, but who was I to turn down something like that? There was an after party, and needless to say, I attended. That's where things got fuzzy. I had a few drinks and talked to a few people, some of them from the movie. I didn't expect to wake up in bed with the main fucking actor.

Again, not exactly uncharacteristic for me. But it was probably the least expected to discover that I had slept with Tom Holland. I was wracking my brain, trying to dig up the part from last night where I actually met him. You would think I would remember something like that, even with the amount of alcohol in my system. For once, I even tried to remember some of the events that happened in this room, but to no avail. Shame, this one was actually hot.

He turned in the sheets, facing me. I froze, not daring to look at him for a second. He remained still and silent, probably forgetting that he brought some random girl into bed last night. This was my sign to quietly get my shit together and leave. I sat up and scanned the room for my dress.There was no way I was going to steal clothes from a fucking famous actor, I’d definitely get sued for that at some point. I found my bra hung on the back of a chair, then my underwear caught on the foot of the bed. My dress? Nowhere to be seen.

I managed to reach over and grab my lace panties. Putting them on was a bit of a challenge because I didn't want to expose myself in case Tom woke up, and I didn't want to move around too much and cause him to wake up. However, lying on my back, curling my legs, and sliding the fabric back on gave me a small flashback to when he was doing quite the opposite. He definitely knew what to do with his hands… and his mouth… My chest fluttered, but I quickly shook it off. I was in the process of leaving.

But I was sidetracked either way.

“Hey,” Tom sleepily mumbled, much to my disdain.

My hands immediately went to the blanket covering my chest and I looked at him. I was unnecessarily starstruck at the way he looked. His hair was ruffled and messy, and his neck was speckled with hickies I barely remembered leaving. His arms and shoulders looked so delicious, I found myself loathing that I was so hammered that I couldn't remember what it was like to touch him.

I pushed all of this aside. “Don't worry, I'm about to leave.”

Tom sat up on his elbow, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes with his other hand. “What for?”

In my experience of hook ups, the person I slept with normally just rolled over and ignored me when I was making my exit. Needless to say, I was thrown off by his words. He didn't want me to stay, did he?

“Um, I'm just… there's nothing else for us to do here, right?” I asked in response.

“There could be some things to do.” He smiled. “Come on, it doesn't have to end now. I had a good time with you.”

Another guy who just wants my body. No thanks. One night is enough, even if it was Tom.

I shook my head. “I should just go.”

“Okay,” he said after a pause.

It was so much easier when I was blackout drunk. Not that he wasn't attractive now, but Tom seemed a lot more seductive and alluring when I was grinding up on him at the after party. Or maybe I was just hungover and in shock that it was him I scored.

“Could you, um, not look at me?” I sheepishly asked.

Tom chuckled and dove under the covers.

Quickly, I hopped out of bed and grabbed my bra. Once I had it on, I looked around for my dress. I kept glancing at the bed, making sure Tom wasn't making eyes at me.

I groaned. “Do you have any idea where my dress went? You can look, I guess.”

He sat up, looking around at the room. It seemed like he was actively trying not to stare at me. “Have you checked the bathroom?”

Why would it be in the bathroom? I looked in there anyway and low and behold…

My pale pink dress had a mysterious red stain on the front. Great, my walk of shame was going to be even more shameful. I came out of the bathroom, looking down at the gross stain. I barely even looked at Tom, even though he was looking right at me, as I walked over to grab my shoes, phone and clutch bag.

“Okay, well,” I said dismissively, “this is where we part ways. It was good to meet you and whatnot.”

“Actually,” he spoke up as he got out from under the covers. Thankfully, he had his boxers on. “Is there any chance I could see you again? You just… you seem really cool, and I want to get to know you.”

I hesitated, but I also refrained from rolling my eyes. “I've heard it all before. You say you want to get to know me, but you really just wanna see if you can hit it again, and you'll give up when you don't. Then you'll go back to England and we'll forget about each other.” And when I watch his movie on DVD with my friends, I'll throw in a joke about sleeping with Tom Holland and my friends will laugh because that doesn't happen in real life.

He let out a soft laugh, amused by my cynicism. “Or, we could go to dinner, maybe - i-if you want - and we can have a good time that doesn't involve getting naked. What do you think?”

Another thing I've heard before. Sure, he was a celebrity and I would probably never get a moment like this again, but he was also a guy. He was a young guy, and I probably wasn't the first one night stand he's had. Why would he get attached this quickly?

Thankfully, my phone rang in my hand, giving me the chance to indirectly reject him. “I have to take this. I have to go.”

ii.

Do you believe in signs of fate? Do you believe that if someone comes back into your life that they're meant to stay in it? I sure as hell fucking don't, but I did come pretty close.

It wasn't that long after I had left Tom in his hotel room did I see him again. Obviously, I didn't expect us to still be in the same fucking city, much less the same country. I expected him to be completely taken over by premieres and interviews and plenty of other busy things, that was the realistic thought. That's what happens in real life, not… seeing him with his friend at the Starbucks by my apartment.

This wasn't the first time I saw an old flame (if that's what we're calling him), but every time was just as nerve-wracking as the last. Again, I didn't think he would still be in the country, so I was pretty thrown off when I saw him sat at one of the high tables wearing a baseball cap for a “disguise.”

My plan was to just act like I didn't see him and carry on with my day. But, with my luck, he saw me first.

Next thing I knew, it was Friday night, and I was getting ready for a date. With Tom. How did I end up here? Sure, I was sober this time around, but I couldn’t really pinpoint the moment where he reeled me in and convinced me into going to dinner with him. He told me to “look smart,” but I didn’t really want to pull out my nicest clothing for him. Wasn’t sure if he was worth it just yet. Heels, mediocre perfume, and a black dress from my dirty clothes pile worked for now.

Of course, he had to come pick me up and wait outside the car. He looked pretty decent in a black button up and dress pants. Oh yeah, he’s hot as hell. That’s why I was doing this.

“You look really good,” he told me, already sounding flustered.

I smiled. “Thanks. You too.”

He opened the passenger door for me, and I had to resist rolling my eyes. I had a cheesy night ahead if things worked out. While I was still on the fence about this whole thing, there was a part of me that hoped this would work out. So far, Tom was proving to be a decent guy.

The restaurant he took me to was quite flashy and expensive looking, but it was also dark and private. I felt way too poor and filthy to even be near this place. I couldn't even believe I was here, how would I be able to recount this whole thing to my friends? How could I tell this to anybody?

We were seated and served some fancy ass red wine, which I would absolutely need if I wanted to get somewhere with this guy. I drained my first glass quickly before the conversation could start.

“So, what have you been up to?” he prompted.

Slept with more people, but that’s boring, I thought.

“Not much,” I replied. “Work, class… a mundane life.” Way to sound interesting.

“University? What are you studying?”

Telling people information about me wasn't exactly my cup of tea, especially if it was people that weren't going to stick around. Not that Tom would do that… or would he? It was hard to tell.

“Business,” I said, giving in. “I'm close to getting my degree, but I'm not sure what else to do once I graduate.”

“And where do you work?”

How do I explain my job without giving too much away?

“It's just some graphic design thing at this one company,” I explained, then changing the subject. “That's how I got invited to the premiere.”

Tom nodded. We could both tell how boring I sounded.

“What about you? What do you, besides the acting thing?” I asked.

He thought about it. When the pause got to be too long, he chuckled. “This has, uh, been my whole life for a couple of years now. I haven't really done anything else.”

“How old are you again?”

“Twenty one.”

Great. Younger than me, and far more successful. I needed more wine.

“Can I be honest with you?” he asked.

I nodded as I poured myself another glass.

“I really don’t like fancy restaurants.”

If I had been drinking the wine, I probably would have choked on it. “So why are we here, then?”

He shrugged timidly. “Wanted to impress you.”

Shit, that was endearing… and cheesy as fuck. I couldn’t help but grin as I placed my hand on the table and reached for his.

“It doesn’t take a lot to impress me, honey.”

“Would you rather go for a pizza, then?”

“Hell yeah.”

The more time I spent with Tom, which wasn’t really a lot, the more attached I got. Yes, even when you spend little time with someone, you can really develop a lot of feelings. I didn’t even know I was still capable of wanting someone for something other than sex.

After our first date, I invited him back up to my apartment for that very reason, except we ended up having “that talk.” We spoke of everything and nothing. From childhood, to trauma, to which bar of Twix we eat first. I hadn’t connected with someone so well in a long time, so when he had to leave the next day, I figured it was too good to be true.

“I’ll go back there after I finish filming,” he told me over the phone. Little did he know, he was on speaker, and I had my best friend sat next to me, overhearing us. “I really do want to see you again.”

“Okay,” I replied, unable to keep down my goofy grin. “I’ll be waiting.”

When we hung up, I turned to my friend, who was utterly surprised. As I had guessed, she didn’t believe me when I first told her who I slept with at the Spider-Man premiere. This was the only way I could get her to believe me.

“But you’re never gonna talk to him again, are you?” she assumed after her stunned silence.

I was about to retaliate, but then I hesitated. “If he does come back, then I’ll probably meet up with him.”

“He said he will come back, though.”

“Yeah, but he’s also always busy in that life of his. I’m surprised I saw him twice in the same week.”

“Well… if you don’t date him, I fucking will.”

I giggled and sat back on the couch. “I don’t remember the last time I actually dated someone. Then, he comes along. Of all people.”

It was actually daunting. Tying myself down to one person, that is, if this thing with Tom works out. A week ago, I had my mind set on forgetting about him, and keeping our late night rendezvous a secret. This thing of going on a date with him and seeing him again in a couple of weeks wasn’t apart of the plan. But strangely, I was okay with it.

The weeks went on, and Tom was spending more and more time with me. He would fly to another city or country for some important famous person thing, but as soon as he was free, he would come back to my place. I no longer could count the hours we spent together on one hand. We made sure to stay within the safe, quiet walls of my apartment, because he was constantly tailed by paparazzi. Every moment we had was private and as sappy as you could imagine. Late nights between the sheets, lazy afternoons on the couch… it was perfect.

I shouldn’t feel suffocated, right? I spent enough time away from Tom that I still felt like my own person, and I wasn’t completely dependent on him. I liked that aspect. But every time he came back I was just as… put off. Why wasn’t he tired of me yet? Why did he keep coming back? Why did I keep putting up with it?

“But are you happy?” asked my friend when I expressed this to her.

“Yeah,” I said a little too casually. “I wanna keep him around. Maybe he’s just a little needy and I’m not used to that.”

That night when he landed in the city (probably the third or fourth time since we started dating), I couldn’t find it in me to be excited. I was setting myself up for disappointment. One downside of dating him was that I was not allowed to be seen with him in public. Tom’s publicist/marketing team made it clear that he was supposed to look either single or involved with one of his co-stars to the public. I wasn’t really that bothered by it; I didn’t exactly want people in my life to know who I was involved with. My coworkers and some members of my family knew I wasn’t the type to keep someone around for longer than one night, so imagine their response to me being in a steady relationship. And not only that, being in a steady relationship with a wildly famous heartthrob. Nope, this was better left under wraps.

But, there were times where Tom had to avoid coming to my apartment at all because he couldn’t lose the paparazzi van following him. I guess if he was seen with me, he had a lot to lose. Again, I wasn’t as bothered as I should have been. Like tonight. I watched Netflix by myself and called it a night.

He sent an apology text, and I replied with a peace sign emoji.

The next time we saw each other, I was a mess. Things had sort of spiraled in the time Tom and I had been apart, and now he was here to pick up the pieces. My pieces.

“I’m sure you can find another job,” he told me.

“But I don’t want another job!” I snapped, trying not to burst into tears. I hunched over, burying my face in my hands. “I spent so much time there, I gave them everything and they had the fucking nerve to let me go like that… Why does this happen?”

Tom just rubbed my back, speechless. How lucky of him, not having to deal with things like this. He never had to worry about living ever again. He never had to worry about things like losing his house or possessions. None of this was his fault, but I couldn’t help but hate him and his soothing touch.

I got up from the couch and paced around the living room. How long more did I have in this place? How was I going to make it?

“I think I have like, one month left here,” I said, trying to catch my breath. The panic was starting to kick in. “I have enough for rent while I find another place to live… m-maybe my cousin in Idaho will let me stay with her… but planes cost money too… fuck, okay. Maybe if I move out this week and if I get my deposit back… if I quit school - oh god, I have to quit school - then maybe I can go live with her…”

“You’re not doing any of that,” Tom quickly interjected. He stood up and stopped my pacing by putting his hands on my shoulders. “I’ll cover your rent until you find another job. Okay?”

And that’s what I get for opening my mouth.

“No,” I told him. “You can’t-”

“Yes, I can,” he said firmly. “I can, and I will. I’ll do it right now.”

“Oh my god, stop. You don’t have to-”

“I want to.” His hands went to the sides of my face. “You obviously have a lot you don’t want to let go of here. Let me help you. I don’t want you to suffer like this.”

Be independent. Yes, you just lost your job and that could mean that everything will go down the drain, but you have to be independent. Don’t rely on a man.

“I’ll find another job as fast as I can,” I told him. “Just this month, okay? I have to start applying right now, though.”

He stopped me before I could get panicky again. “It’s fine, love. Really, I don’t mind doing this.” He smiled and kissed my forehead before pulling me into a hug. “You’ll be okay.”

Another month and a half went by before I saw him in person again. It was deep in the summer now, which meant that nobody wanted to hire anybody. It was taking a deeper toll on me than I liked to admit. That was kind of why I didn’t want Tom to cover any of my expenses; I was getting complacent.

But it was just rent for now. I was stubborn when it came to our rare dates. I couldn’t let him pay for anything else, so we had to stick with staying confined in my apartment. Thankfully, we had plenty to do between the sheets. But that was it, though.

“I have an idea,” he prompted in the middle of the night.

I hummed, mildly disturbed by his clear voice. Really wanted things to be quiet right now. Lately, it seemed like he talked a lot.

“I’m going back to Atlanta really soon to film the next movie,” he went on, sitting up on his elbow. “What if you come with me?”

I didn’t say anything at first. I could barely process what he was saying. Sure, he made me feel like I was on cloud nine just a few minutes ago, but I wasn’t that high off the feeling. In fact, I felt like I just crash landed back to earth.

“Why?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Why not? Hey, maybe one of the producers could get you a job on set.”

Any sane person would probably jump at the chance. I, on the other hand, was just fighting the urge to get away from Tom right this second.

“Won’t that be risky, though? There would be a lot of people seeing us together, and I’m looking for a job that doesn’t require travel,” I said.

“It doesn’t have to be a permanent job. And… we can act like we don’t know each other or something. We can figure something out,” he insisted. “Come on, what do you think?”

I shrugged.

“What does that mean? What are you thinking?”

“It’s a big decision. Let’s say I do go with you, am I supposed to just wait around for you the whole time?” I wasn’t sure why I was getting defensive. “I mean, I preferred us being apart. I liked having my own life.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing.”

“Have you found a job yet?”

“Still looking.”

“I miss you.”

“Same.”

iii.

It felt like we had been trapped in my apartment for days, just silently arguing. I didn’t know what to tell him. I didn’t know how to make anything better. All I could think was that I should have just left it as a one night stand.

“Answer me,” he said in an almost helpless tone. “You’ve gotta give me something.”

Tom took a step towards me, to which I only stepped back in response. He sighed and began pacing around the living room. My body language was one of the many things about me that irritated him these days.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” I finally told him.

“Anything. I just need to know what you’re thinking. You don’t want to come with me to Atlanta, is that it?”

God, not this again. We already had that fight, and I still wasn’t sure how I felt about it. We were already distant, why make it any worse by letting him go on his own to film his next big movie? At the same time, the idea of sharing a space with him and leaving my current location for months on end didn’t sound ideal, either. It could spark an idea in his head to permanently live together, which I was not ready for. I was surprised we still had this thing going on. I just didn’t know how to say any of that out loud without getting emotional about it. Emotions weren’t apart of the plan.

“Say something!” Tom raised his voice.

“I don’t know!” I replied in a similar tone. “I don’t know, okay? I just… I have never seen myself living with a, or my…”

“Boyfriend? You can’t even call me your boyfriend…” he said in disbelief. “Okay, fine. I'm not saying we have to live together after. I can go back to Atlanta, and you’ll stay here, far away from me. Then I’ll come back, and we’ll build everything from the ground up again. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

These questions were suffocating. I just wanted to curl up or run away. My mind was just foggy and full of static. This was overwhelming.

“No,” I told him. “I don’t want us to be apart.”

“Well, you have a shit way of showing it.”

There was a tense pause as those words sank in. My stomach was slowly dropping to my feet. I could feel myself turning into a shell.

“It’s almost like you want to break up with me,” Tom went on. “You don’t like it when I do… anything, really. You don’t want me to hold your hand, you don’t want me to kiss you. You don’t even wanna look at me. Did I do something wrong?”

No. Far from it, actually. That’s why this is so foreign to me.

I shook my head.

“Then what is it? You can’t keep leaving me in the dark like this. I, I’ve done so much for you. I extended my stay here for you. I paid your rent when you were out of a job. I got you a new one that you turned down, I’ve left my friends for you-”

“I never asked you to do any of that,” I snapped. “I’m not the one who wanted to continue seeing each other after that first night, remember? It’s not my fault your friends hate you now because you ditched them for some random girl, that’s all on you. And I never asked you for any financial help and I never asked you to get me another job. I don’t want to be ‘taken care of’ by you or your money or your connections. I don’t want to be dependent on you like that.”

“You don’t get it, do you? I want to support you, I don’t want you to worry about things like rent and university tuition. If you go with me to Atlanta, then you can get a job or something so you can be more independent and so you're not just waiting around for me. If that’s what you want, I mean. And you can go with me to whatever premiere or interview or shoot I’ve got going on. I want you there, I want these things for us.”

That meant he saw a future with me. I was so baffled and almost repulsed. It only made me want to run even more. Why did he want a future with me? What about me made that seem appealing to him? I didn’t understand.

“I’ve scared you even more, haven’t I?” he guessed when I didn’t say anything. And he claimed he didn’t know a single thing about me. “Well, darling, it’s been, how many months now? Don’t you ever wonder where we’re going? Don’t you think about the future?”

“I don’t like to,” I admitted.

Now Tom was rendered speechless. I didn’t necessarily mean it in the way he probably thought, but there was no turning back now. We were already in pain, and he was already angry at me.

“How are you so sure that I’m in your future?” I asked him. “How do you know we’ll stay together?”

“I just had a feeling,” he replied softly. “I know it’s scary, but you can’t think negatively about it.”

Well, there go our chances.

“You’ll be so far away,” I said, wanting to be realistic. “And we did all of this long distance crap already, and it was a mess… for you. And no good thing ever lasts, anyway. We could try it, sure, but who’s to say it’s gonna be better or easier this time around?”

“No one ever said it was going to be easy!” Tom said, clearly hurt. “And no good thing ever lasts? How… how do you live, thinking like that? I knew you weren’t a fucking ray of sunshine, but I didn’t think you would see us that way. If that’s what you’re thinking, then what the fuck are we doing here?”

I didn’t have anything to say to that. It was obvious that there was only one thing left to do, yet I still found myself hesitating, just in case he wanted to do the honors.

I woke up in a stranger’s bed a few days after he left. I wanted everything to be as if those months had never happened. He never came into my life, he never changed my life, he never made me feel anything. It just never happened. Tom was just a myth, and him being so far away only validated that in my head.

Standard daily procedure. Got out of bed, got dressed, and snuck out before my one night stand could even remember what they got down to last night. The dull ache that had been persisting in my chest mixed with the hangover. I just pretended that I was having some sort of diffused heart attack.

When I got home, I threw up in the bathroom. I blamed it on the hangover. Afterwards, I grabbed a bottle of whatever was in the fridge and let myself slip away.

It was hard to avoid seeing his face online. That, and knowing that he would probably be lurking, was my reason to delete all my social media. It’s not like I was a savvy Internet person, anyway. I was nothing important. I was just a random girl he hooked up with, I could only hope he would see me like that.

I didn’t want to think about him moping around once he got back to filming. I’d much rather think about him doing what I would do: sink himself into whatever he’s got going on to ease the pain and fill the emptiness. Then again, I could barely stand the thought of him hurting because of me. I was stuck.

There were still traces of him in my apartment. The couch I now lied on to drink away the sorrows was the same couch we spent a lot of our time on. My bed sheets still smelled like him, and as much as I hated it, I couldn’t bring myself to wash them. I wanted to get rid of all of it, but I also found myself clinging to every trace of him I found here.

One of my friends had to talk me out of selling my apartment and moving states. Another friend had to talk me out of getting a dramatic haircut. No one was there to talk me out of partying the pain away. Why would I do all of this because of one guy? Everything we had in the last few months was my fault. Why was I going to do stupid stuff if I was the one who said yes in the first place?

At least I got what I originally wanted: we were far away from each other, and he was going to forget about me in due time.

iv.

It took a lot of time for the pair to figure it out. It's important to know that there is no way they will get back together. Maybe they'll cross paths again, but there's no way to tell for sure. Maybe you only get that lucky once.

When Tom figured things out for himself, he was angry. He could say that he hated her for a while after things ended. But before that, he was wondering where he went wrong. Weren't you supposed to love and support your partner in their time of need? She did lose her job at the time, and it really hurt her. Tom supposed he couldn't blame her for the attitude she took on after. But he was trying to help her, cover some expenses, fly down and see her as often as he could. He just wanted things in their little world to be the least stressful as possible, for both of them.

He just wanted her to be happy, but according to her, that wasn't enough. Or, that's what it looked like at least. It's not like she ever talked about what was on her mind. She was just so closed off, and Tom didn't know why. Maybe someone hurt her in the past, maybe something made her this way. Maybe she was just an asshole with no feelings.

Despite that, Tom still cared for her. He still wanted to be there for her. The rare times she broke down a piece of her wall made everything worth it. Tom thought maybe he would be the one to break her walls entirely. It would take a lot of time, but he was willing to take it.

She wasn't having any of it. At times she would plainly turn him down just because she didn't want to get out of bed that day, making Tom fly to Los Angeles for nothing. Well, he could have gone to see his other friends, but she was the priority, and by that point, his friends weren't speaking to him.

Yeah, Tom sacrificed a lot for her, and she didn't seem to care. He was a fucking idiot for not seeing the break up coming. Things weren't ideal, but they had plenty of time to work on things. She didn't think of it like that, so she left.

Throughout time, he's tried to forgive her, he really has. She probably had some underlying problems that were too painful to talk about. You don't always know what's going on in someone's life, even if you're dating them.

Then, Tom learned that forgiveness is bullshit. Why shouldn't he be angry at her and at himself? Why shouldn't he be hurt by the way she treated him? He knew he deserved better than that! He knew he could find someone who would give what he gave back!

Nowadays, Tom is glad to be free of her, and he wondered why he didn't leave it at the night they met.

As for her, she would agree. Should have left things after the first night. Then she wouldn't have caused him so much pain.

She wasn't sure why she lashed out at nice people, it was a work in progress. There's a voice in her head telling her that these nice people are actually liars and that there's always a catch. That voice was easier to listen to.

Sometimes you just think so lowly of yourself that you can't accept that someone can love or care about you. So you just make them hate you.

Tom made that difficult, which later made her realize how kind and genuine he actually was. He always told her that he could wait, and he was way too understanding and accepting of her stupid self destructive ways. He even paid her rent, something she would never ask of him.

She knew she didn't deserve his kindness. She hardly did a thing for him, and part of that was because she couldn't. She wasn't as privileged as he was, and that was probably something that she didn't like about him.

Sometimes, you're just afraid of commitment, so you try not to get too attached to the other person, and as a result you end up being cold and distant.

Why not break up if you don't want to commit? Well, it's one foot in and one foot out with this girl. She didn't hate Tom, she didn't want to not be with him. She just couldn't join in with what Tom wanted for them. She couldn't think about the plans she had the next day, let alone where she would be a year from now. It was just a tad overwhelming and suffocating.

Therapy is hard. She's had to face her own flaws and try to do something about them. She's starting to realize that maybe hurting other people to keep them away isn't the healthiest thing. She's trying to figure out why she does those things.

The only thing is, even when she's resolved all this bullshit, it's not gonna change what happened with Tom.

#tom holland #tom holland imagine #tom holland fanfic #tom holland x reader #oofs in the chat pls laid ease #i feel weird writing abt tom #bc i started obsessing over him after that breakup #yknow to cushion the blow #so now i associate him with this gross depression n the person i first saw hoco with :(#i adore tom but writing abt him feels weird to me :(#which sucks bc hes such a muse

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racingtoaredlight · 4 years

Text

Marshall Amps

This is Slayer’s backdrop for some recent tour of theirs.

If you’ve followed rock music at all, the “wall of Marshalls” is so iconic, it’s hard to separate the subject of the imagery from the backdrop of Marshall speakers. Jimmy Page, Slash, Zakk Wylde, Eric Clapton...to name a few...but the man who made Marshalls the “greatest amps of all time” is none other than you know who...

So what is it with Marshalls? Why did they become the “greatest amps of all time” yet seemingly don’t have a place in today’s guitar world?

***

What defines Marshall amps?

They have “Marshall” written on them.

Kidding aside, you will never hear about Marshall amps being called “versatile.” “Clean” is something they do out of necessity, not design. They are stupidly heavy. They are a pain in the ass to maintain. They only sound good at volumes that would peel the enamel off your teeth...and that’s just the 50w models, let alone the big boys.

Marshall amps really do one thing well...overdrive. If you’re in a band that plays loud, plays dirty and plays aggressive, then Marshalls are likely right in your wheelhouse. Bonus points if someone else is carrying your gear.

Any level of dirt...from bluesy hair on the note to full out metal grind...a Marshall is right at home. When you overdrive the tubes in a Marshall and they start to produce those beautiful overtones and harmonics, it’s truly a sound of beauty that prickles the hair on the back of your neck.

***

Historical Context Part 1

To define Marshall amps, we need to start with their history.

Remember how when I used to actually write, I’d talk about putting things in historical context? Lets go back to the early 60′s. There is ONE amp company doing business on both sides of the Atlantic, Fender. And, despite being primitive and archaic, those early Tweed Fender amps are still today some of the best sounding amps money can buy, which is even more impressive considering that a 10 year old who can use a soldering iron could build one.

But in America, it’s easy to source parts for an American company’s amp like Fender. It’s right there in the country, stupid. But for a company...shit, that’s not even accurate given they weren’t a company yet...for a Brit like Jim Marshall, you had to get creative.

Marshalls, at their very, foundational core, are almost a direct plagiarism of the Fender Bassman amp. I mean, it’s exactly the same amplifier except for one key difference...the tubes. The Atlantic Ocean thing mentioned earlier is a big deal...the 6v6 and 6L6 power tubes that Leo Fender used, nothing more than run of the mill military-spec electrical tubes, weren’t available. Tubes might not be the lifeblood of an amp (the circuit is), but different tubes have a hugely variable presence in practical settings.

Given that most tube amps are powered by tubes that came from either the US, UK or Russian military industrial complexes...and there not being the internet or a secondary market for any of this shit...Marshall used, first, KT66 Russian tubes, and later British EL34 (big bottles) and EL84 (little bottles), depending on use.

As Marshall’s blew up (and it happened quickly), and musicians started playing bigger and bigger halls, Marshall took that Bassman ripoff and housed it in larger cabinets allowing him to add more tubes, and therefore, more power. It was the perfect storm...

***

Historical Context Part II...the important stuff

So I linked to a bunch of pics above...famous dudes standing in front of walls of Marshalls. The one I really want to hit on is the Eric Clapton one...

I just mentioned this a couple paragraphs above, but it bears repeating...there was no secondary market for things like tubes, caps, speakers, etc. That pic of Clapton? In each of those cabinets housing four speakers, maybe one was fully operational with half of another adding a bunch of fizz. During Cream’s final show at Royal Albert Hall, he had only one speaker installed in the entire cabinet...the rest were just empty.

Now, that’s not to say there wasn’t any sonic benefit from having cabinets project sound waves with four speakers. Rather, if one went down, at least you could still play.

Which leads us to the important stuff...

Primitive PA systems were not only garbage to begin with, but they were typically operated by burnouts who didn’t have the first clue of how to properly EQ a room. This was true as late as the mid 80′s. As shitty as those PA systems were though, guess what? That’s still how Cream’s sound got shot through Royal Albert Hall.

Given the choice though, guitarists would rather have a slew of speakers doing the work rather than mic’ing up smaller amps. Even with this option though, there’s a long history of...behind those walls of Marshall speaker cabs...there being a single half stack with just one speaker being mic’d.

Here’s a dirty little secret...Eddie Van Halen has not just endorsed multiple amps from multiple companies, but been heavily involved in the design of a lot of those as well. BUT, when you hear him in the studio or live, you’re not hearing any of those amps...you’re hearing this.

Despite all the noise and propaganda regarding Van Halen’s wizardry with guitar and amp parts, the sound he’s most famous for and has relied on his entire career is produced by a relatively stock Marshall 1959SLP, known as the Super Lead. The “Brown Tone” he’s famous for isn’t due to anything special in the amp itself, rather using something called the Variax to run the 100w amp at 90w, thereby making it warmer and more efficient (Marshall’s imported to the US still made to run at 110 volts despite most American outlets being 120 volts...the Variax reduced the electrical load to the amp, while also being an accidental signal buffer, allowing him to use time-based effects like flangers and delays, where running them into the front of a Marshall would cancel out those signals).

Jesus Christ that was a long aside...there was a point here though.

***

What was that point?

When PA systems and quality mic’s and sound guys became the norm, the necessity for stacks of Marshalls really started to go to shit. Even before the internet boom, the jokes about wannabes hauling Marshall half stacks to tiny bars with no audience were already essentially canon.

I said this above...unless you are a touring artist in a hard rock band with logistical support and no front of house...Marshalls are completely impractical. We’re not even going to touch on declines in quality (new Marshalls built on PCB have more in common with your phone than a 1987x, even if you buy a “reissue” of a 1987x), questionable marketing and oversaturating their own market...the fact of the matter is extremely simple. Big iron is obsolete, no matter who makes it.

Marshall themselves know this, and released the “studio” line...which might as well be called the “shit we better make smaller stuff because our sales are getting FUCKED” line. If you’ve ever had to pack a car full of gear yourself, it takes one gig before you’re looking for smaller, lighter amps. Those 100w Marshalls? They sound AMAZING cranked.

But unless you play them cranked, they sound like shit. Think about it like driving a Ferrari at 25mph all the time...

For regular working musicians like myself, a great sounding tube combo can be found under 50 lbs. Or I could ditch all that and go with a modeler, go straight into the PA and never need an amp again (PREDICTION...you will not see amplifiers on stage outside of Nashville and niche acts in 10 years). That’s for a working musician.

For a touring musician, you can save tens of thousands of dollars per year by not having to hire logistical staff. You might have scoffed at my prediction above...but these days, the majority of guitar sounds you hear are made digitally by a session guitarist sitting either at home or in the control room of a studio. That 1987x is a digital patch rather than two trips to the car and ringing ears.

Point being...amps are already obsolete. And if your amp weighs more than 50 lbs. and has more power than say 40w, it’s remarkably obsolete, no matter how cool it is.

***

Competition

I don’t have to tell you that Marshalls’ legacy was formed in the harder forms of rock. Take one look at those monsters and you can tell they roar. “Roar” is an interesting concept though...

youtube

Marshalls were made before hard rock really existed. Guitarists almost ubiquitously came from a “clean” learning point, and even what we consider small amounts of dirt like this (and during the instrumental part of Ramblin’ Man) back then were FULL-THROATED.

Personally, that’s my ideal of the Marshall sound. That Tweedy breakup that puts a shaggy head of hair on each note. But to just about 90% of the music-enjoying public, this is the sound that immediately comes to mind when you think of Marshalls.

youtube

Definitely more dirty than Duane Allman’s version no doubt, but if you really listen to the guitar, the edge is more due to phrasing and Slash’s ballsy attitude than the guitar tone itself. It’s still something I’d describe as more crunchy than full on distorted.

Which brings us to the clones. Now, what better product to copy than a style that’s been obsolete for like two decades now!

We talked about Van Halen’s supposedly modded (but really quite stock) Marshall above...well, here comes one of his amp tech buddies Michael Soldano bringing a hot-rodded Marshall to the masses. Then Bogner follows right behind.

Slash’s tone might not be that distorted, but plenty of metal guys absolutely were, and Marshall JCM’s were their weapon of choice. But the time the calendar turned to 1990 though, Mesa Boogie’s rectifiers were already kings of the metal scene. Almost as much as the Telecaster dominates country music, the Mesa Boogie Rectifiers own metal.

What was the common denominator in the competition? MORE, sure. More dirt, more quality, blah blah blah. The biggest reason was Marshall, the company. Unlike Fender, Marshall never got bought by bigger companies. While that might keep them more “genuine” you have to realize that this guy was making amps in a tiny drum shop still when he was making stuff for Hendrix and Pete Townshend.

***

While Fender’s soul got twisted in a series of corporate takeovers, what it also eventually received was outside guidance from people with business AND music knowledge. Fender was always forward thinking, from the day Leo Fender started the company. Jim Marshall didn’t have that same type of vision. The idea of a Fender amp being built on PCB is something Leo Fender would have embraced. But to Marshall, it’s killing the amp’s soul. Fenders never were BIG IRON...i.e. huge transformers fed by big bottle tubes...they never got into the size game.

To begin with, Marshalls were a stolen design. That might sound harsh, but it’s not being unfair either. They were never known for quality, rather known for quirks and unreliability. They weren’t even that unique of a sound...you can get a very similar sound from a Fender Tweed cranked...you just cant take a Tweed to a huge hall and project the sound.

We can do that today. Easily. Like an $80 mic and a mic cable easy. And now you have a true, pretty much genuine Marshall roar in a 30 lb. package.

Back in the day you couldn’t demand flawless point-to-point wiring, proper voltage and ohm specs, and wide-sweeping EQ bands. Soldano and Mesa Boogie offered these as stock parts of their offerings at the same price points. If you were a lead guy, Soldano was your choice...if you were a metal guy, it was Mesa...and in the two niches of the guitar world Marshall absolutely dominated, they were now second class citizens.

Or maybe even worse...new poor.

***

“Marshall” is a descriptor these days. It’s describing the sound of a tube amp with a good-sized transformer being fed by British tubes, typically EL34′s.

If you want a “Marshall,” Marshall is probably the fourth or fifth company I’d recommend. There’s a lot of debate about this, but I do not believe amps built on PCB are worth more than $1k...shit, that’s generous because I would not personally buy an amplifier using PCB.

This is the power amp section for a new Marshall JCM.

For all you IT guys out there, you probably know that PCB ain’t exactly the most receptive thing to changes in temperature. Hey! I got a great idea! Lets put power and preamp tubes, that heat the fuck up, straight on some cheap ass PCB with janky copper wiring and automated solders!

Literally the only people who will tell you PCB is fine are people who build amps for a living. Now, I don’t know about you, but I don’t give a shit about making your job easier when you’re still charging me full price and plus some. The only people saying that there’s no reason to do a point-to-point amp are those who are too lazy to, because there’s a big boutique market for this very thing.

Lets do a real apples to apples comparison here...

The top pic is a restored 1972 Marshall 1987x. You can buy these used for under $2k...but let’s use $2k...plus $200 restoration (just the guts, who cares about how an amp looks). We’re at $2,200. And this electric shit is so simple a vacuum repair shop could do it.

The bottom pic is a brand spakin’ new Marshall 1987x reissue, modeled after...you guessed it...the 1972 Marshall 1987x. That’s some clean wiring on that particle board! But...wait...why am I paying MORE for a less desirable model, that took exponentially less work on Marshall’s end? Why would I subsidize their profit margins for an inferior product with less resale value?

Furthermore...the 1987x is a one-channel, stupid simple amp. Why do you need PCB to begin with? I get it for a Soldano or Rectifier that’s multi-channel, with huge sweeping EQ sections, reverb, etc...but this is a plug-n-play.

Marshall...the company...has been doing that to their customer base for decades. Back in the day, you knew what you were getting...a thunderous machine that likely would fail at some point, necessitating multiple amp purchases. Literally the instant better, higher quality alternatives hit the market, it ripped into Marshall’s market share.

Today, if I were recommending a Marshall, the first place I’d recommend is George Metropoluos. Second would be Friedman. I’m currently deeply in love with a Friedman amp that’s a single-channel, point-to-point 40w amp that’s essentially a Tweed Bassman with EL84′s and a switchable gain stage...adorably named the Dirty Shirley.

***

Conclusion

Despite all that, I have a romantic love of Marshalls that overrides anything to do with quality or practicality. It’s kind of like my love for the Gibson Les Paul grotesquely compounded...

You might think that I have a negative opinion of Marshalls based on everything I’ve just written. Not true. All of that stuff, it’s nothing in comparison to just how fucking incredible these things sound in person. Again, neither of these instruments are in my wheelhouse, but if you asked me what the platonic ideal sound an electric guitar makes, it’d be a Les Paul through a cranked Marshall 1987x.

And even if you’re not into this kinda shit, trust me you’ve heard more than your fair share of Marshalls in the past. They’re that great. So great, it doesn’t matter how shitty they may or may not be.

PS...I wrote this in 3 different sessions, didn’t edit or re-read, and just posted away because something is better than nothing.

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starkertrash03 · 5 years

Text

two pink lines; part two

part two(i rly like how this turned out)

okay, so like, tumblr deleted links? so now i wont be using links. i’m so sorry :)

It had been two weeks now. He was starting to show, but only if he wore tight clothes, and even then, it just looked like he had ate a really big breakfast. He and Tony has been fine, because, Tony had no reason to think anything different, but Peter would be lying if he said he hadn’t been trying to distance himself from Tony.

He was so afraid of him leaving when he told him about the pregnancy, that he started straying away so it would hurt a little less, but in reality, it kind of only hurt him more. Mainly because he could see how Tony knew something was wrong when Peter had shrugged him off.

He was a monster for doing this to Tony, but he didn’t know what else to do. He just couldn’t do it. He was too weak.

“You’ll be home tonight?” Tony asked Peter as he was walking out the door to go to school.

Peter nodded his head. “Yeah, just a little late, I need to grab something from the store,”

“I can get it for you,” Tony offered standing up off the couch and walking towards Peter. Peter smiled as he saw Tony come closer and rest his hands on his hips. “I wouldn’t mind, and then it’d be here for you when you got back,” Peter tiptoed and kissed his boyfriend, followed by a small amount of pain, but it was still sweet.

“I’m fine, Tone, thank you, talk to you later,” Peter said quickly, rushing out the door, leaving Tony behind, the older man wondering what was wrong.

Ned and MJ both knew he was pregnant and tried to help him with options. Peter told them, no matter what, Peter was going to keep the baby. He did sometimes think about if he just - did get an abortion, but it was immediately filled with pain. He wouldn’t do that.

He walked over to his friends who were in the parking lot, waving them down. He smiled as they greeted him. He liked how they didn’t make it much different.

“Parker,” MJ said, handing him the pastry she had bought. “You’re failing PE, and you might want to work on that,”

Peter laughed, happily accepting the food. “How do you know that?”

“I have my ways,” MJ laughed, Ned joining her. Everyone kind of grew silent, then Ned spoke up.

“...Have you told him?”

Peter shook his head. “no,” he said quietly, “I don’t know how, I tried the other night, but I just couldn’t,” He looked at his friends faces. “Guys, I seriously did, I promise, but at the last second I told him that the thing I had to tell him was that my teacher said they liked cap better than him, he just laughed and said that most teachers do, but I swear, I tried,”

Ned nodded. “I believe you, Peter, and I know you’ll do what’s right,” He smiled and Peter smiled back. MJ scoffed.

“Just fucking tell him already,”

“MJ!” Ned gasped, gently slapping her, but then MJ just laughed.

“What? I am a brutally honest person, fuck you,”

Everyone just laughed and Peter finished swallowing a bight of his food. “I seriously don’t know how we became friends,”

“Me either,” Ned chimed in.

“Yeah, me third, but you love me,”

“That we do,” Peter laughed, and Ned nodded along in agreement.

School sucked, but it was school, and even teen genius’ don’t exactly like it everyday.

Ned and Peter had math and Peter just took notes down, making sure they were readable and neat because he knew he’d have to help MJ with them.

Peter saw Flash in the bathroom, but the prick only splashed water on him and left. Peter was thankful for that too. For the past week, Flash had been almost worse, luckily this time it was an easy little splash in the face.

Once school was over, Ned and Peter walked to the store to grab a few things. MJ was going to come, but she said she had something to do. They’d been friends with her for awhile now, and she still was so fucking secretive. It was probably nothing, it never was, she just wasn’t good with details.

“So, when do you really plan on telling Stark? I mean, I know it has to be hard, but it’s almost a month now? Isn’t he finding the morning sickness weird? Or the fact you won’t drink coffee anymore? Like he’s not suspicious,”

Peter shrugged as he put his hands in the pocket of Tony’s hoodie. “I hide the morning sickness, I just told him I like taking a quick shower in the morning, so he really doesn’t notice anything else, and I tell him you guys bring me coffee or we drink it together in the morning, he really doesn’t know, and if he does know, he sure isn’t reacting,”

Ned nodded. “Okay, but tell him soon, it’ll only get more obvious, and I know you know it’s better to tell him before he finds out,”

Peter didn’t reply but just kept walking. He thought everything through for awhile before nodding. “I know,”

When the two omega’s got to the store, Peter put his hood over his head to hide his face so no one knew it was him. Ned just continued walking as normal, straight to the section that had things such as pregnancy tests.

“These?” Ned asked, pointing to a red bottle thing. Peter shook his head.

“Look,” He said grabbing the container of prenatal vitamins. “Five-Nine months,”

Ned grabbed the container from Peter. “Oh,” He said as he read it, he placed it back and grabbed a blue one, “This one?” He said, the pregnant omega grabbed the bottle from Ned and read over it. Everything seemed to be correct, so Peter nodded.

He handed it back to Ned. “Take this,” He said, handing him a crisp twenty dollar bill. “I can’t buy them, there could be camera’s,”

“Yeah, I know,” Ned smiled, “I don’t need your money, you know?”

“It’s not really mine, it’s Tony’s, and I can’t ask you to do that,”

Ned laughed. “How much money do you take from him?”

Peter just giggled a bit. “Not that much, only when I need something, plus, if I ask, he’ll give me way too much,”

Ned nodded with a laugh and walked over to the counter. “He loves you a lot, you know that right?”

“Of course I know,” Peter said.

“So why are you so scared of him -” Ned looked over at the check-out clerk and back at Peter “You know after you tell him, you know,”

“Because, ‘you know’ is more than just saying ‘Hey, I want to move out to the country’ it’s saying ‘hey let’s change our future forever,’ and he’s always been scared of big steps in relationships, I’m surprised I haven’t pushed him over the edge,” Peter said, as to which Ned only laughed at.

“Are you kidding me? He loves you too much for that, he’s called ME before to try and figure out how to work things out with you, whenever you’re sad he calls me to ask why, once he even called MJ because my phone was dead, he loves the hell out of you, and you need to understand that,”

Peter decided not to reply because he didn’t know what to say and he just needed to think things through. Ned finished the transaction and carried the bag so no one knew who they were really for.

“Does he really call you?”

“Way more than he should,” Ned laughed, and Peter blushed lightly.

Peter hid the prenatal care gummies in his backpack so Tony didn’t see them. He walked in to see Tony testing out a suit in the living room.

“Tony? What the he -”

“What? It was getting crowded in there so I just had to test everything out, out here,” Tony said, smiling.

Peter just laughed, his hands holding onto his backpack straps. “It’s a mess in here, now,”

Tony shrugged as he was being lifted up with only the gloves of his suit. “I’ll get someone to clean it up later,”

Peter, still smiling at how dumb Tony was, but smart all at the same time. He walked over to the older man after setting his bag on the ground by the door.

Tony smiled and turned off the gloves, leaning down to kiss Peter. “How was your day?” He asked, smiling. Peter just shrugged.

“It was a day, yours?”

“Well, I cluttered my workshop,”

“Hm,” Peter laughed, “maybe you’ll get a full eight hours of sleep then,”

“Ha. Ha.” Tony laughed sarcastically, setting down the parts of his suit. He walked off and sat on the couch. “Have you been okay?”

Peter tilted his head, hiding his worry that Tony may have figured everything out. “What do you mean?”

Tony made a face as ‘stop fucking around’ Peter just sighed. “Yes, I’m fine,” He smiled, despite hating the fact he lied.

Was Tony going to get eight hours of sleep? Peter didn’t know, but, he did go into bed around the time Peter usually did before getting Tony. They were just laying together, Pete was resting his head on Tony’s shoulder, watching Tony’s screen as he scrolled through apps and the web.

Occasionally, Peter would tell him to go back up so he could read something and Tony had no problem doing so. Though, Peter eventually got tired, so he closed his eyes and began drifting off, the sound of Tony’s heartbeat in his ears.

Though, Tony woke him up gently with his voice. “Pete?”

“hm?” Peter asked, not opening his eyes.

“Is Leeds pregnant?”

That got Peter to open his eyes. He shot up, Tony quickly removing his arm before it broke from Peter’s quick movements. “Wha- What - Wh - Why? What? Why - Why would you think that?”

“Look,” Tony said, Showing Peter what he saw, and there it was, headline and all, Peter and Ned, walking out of the store, prenatal gummies in a bag, talking and all. The headline read something simple as ‘Peter Parker and Ned Leeds caught in public and a Convenience Store buying what?’ Peter grabbed Tony’s phone and began reading.

It wasn’t really accusing anyone of anything, more of speculations, one guy hit the nail on the head, saying Ned was buying them for Peter, the rest were saying how Peter Parker’s best friend could be expecting. Which apparently was exciting.

It was a dumb headline that was unnecessary, but I guess if a baby may be involved in the famous Tony Stark’s life, people want to know. Plus, the company needed money.

“Um,” Peter swallowed the lump in his throat. “Actually,”

Tony didn’t really have a lot of emotion on his face so Peter just bit the bullet. “Tony, Ned isn’t pregnant, but um, I - I - I,” He sighed. “I’m the one that’s pregnant,”

Silence.

It was probably only for like, three seconds, but it felt like years to Peter. Tony’s emotionless expression turned happy as he dropped the StarkPhone and leaped to wrap Peter in a hug.

“Pete? Are you serious?” He smiled, kissing Peter’s head. “This is great,”

Peter was shocked. “Wait? Seriously? This is good for you?”

“Are you kidding? Why wouldn’t it be, they’ll be so perfect, just like you, and they’ll grow and they’ll be so little and, and - you want this right?” Tony asked, pulling away from the hug, his hands still on Peter’s shoulders.

Peter was beginning to cry. “Yes,” He smiled even though he was still crying. “I want this,”

Tony hugged him again. “Oh, this is so amazing, when did you find out?”

“A few weeks ago,”

Tony brought his head back. “What! Why didn’t you tell me?”

Peter wiped his face, even though more tears came down. “I was just scared,”

“Awe, Baby, no,” Tony cooed, pulling him into another hug. “Why were you scared?”

Peter kept wiping his tears away, and luckily, they were slowly stopping. “I don’t know, I thought maybe that you wouldn’t want it and then -”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Tony asked being as gentle as possible. “Why would I ever not want this? Want you? Want anything and everything with you?”

“I was just worried that like, with everything that went on, and is going on, I wouldn’t want to trouble you and then I was afraid we’d split up and I just didn’t want to lose you yet,” Peter said, his hands wrapped around himself and Tony just shook his head.

“Nothing you could do would ever make me want to leave you,”

part three is posted :)

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