#fought for my life to get a passable quality | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

blackswaneuroparedux · 4 years

Text

Anonymous asked: I really enjoy your cultured posts and especially about wine. I never knew that Roger Scruton wrote about wine! You tantalisingly talked in bits and pieces in past posts about your chateau vineyard in France. I understand why you protect your privacy but can you say a bit more. I was also hoping as a wine connoisseur you can explain to me what wine sommeliers in restaurants mean about wine having ‘terroir’? Are they just making stuff up to look down on us poor saps or is there something to it?

Your experience with the sommelier reminded me of the classic British television comedy, ‘Fawlty Towers’, where John Cleese’s perpetually hard pressed hotel owner, Basil Fawlty, says with his usual sarcasm, “I can certainly see that you know your wine. Most of the guests who stay here wouldn’t know the difference between Bordeaux and Claret.”

I’m sorry that you had from what I can surmise bad experiences with sniffy sommeliers when it came to appreciating wine. I have had one or two depressing experiences myself but it’s important to call out such rudeness so that others don’t have their dining experience spoiled. In Paris at least I can honestly say the spectre of the rude sommelier is dying out - and I have eaten in many great restaurants where I’ve had very lovely experience chatting with sommeliers versed in their wines.

These days sommeliers are positively jumping for joy if you show any kind of wine literacy. Don’t forget these men (and women) have worked extremely hard to hone a refined sense of their craft and they just want to share that knowledge and wisdom with you - otherwise it goes to waste.

Everyone likes to be appreciated and so I go out of my way to listen and appreciate their recommendations based on what I like or if I am looking to pair something interesting with the food I have ordered. If I don’t know I just ask. Indeed often I do know but I still ask because I’m curious to know if there is a better choice of wine and also because I want to learn. There is no shame in asking. Remember they are there to guide you to have the best dining experience in their restaurant. So engage with them with kind civility and your palate will thank you. And tip generously (if applicable).

I do indeed have a chateau vineyard in southern France - south of Paris anyway. But it’s not just mine. I invested in a dream that belonged to my two cousins who are the real wine connoisseurs. Out of their request for discretion I don’t talk too much about it here on this blog (they follow my blog). I can say that I admire both my cousins hugely (I get brownie points for saying that) for their hard work, risk taking, passion, and their artisanal flair.

Both my cousins gave up lucrative corporate careers to follow their dream to owning and managing a small vineyard. In this case it was bought from the family of my cousin’s French wife; her very old traditional family had the vineyard for generations. They had fought off French revolutionaries who wanted to burn down their chateau because of their old roots but they managed to prevail and survive. They barely survived the Great French Wine Blight (the Phylloxera infestations) that was a severe blight of the mid-19th century that decimated many of the vineyards across France. But times change. It’s not a romantic business but an unforgiving one. So rather than sell up to rapacious Chinese investors and other outsiders they instead sold it to us.

I have my day job and that keeps me extremely busy. My two cousins (and their French wives) manage the whole vineyard with other hired staff. They make all the decisions and I do the drinking (for quality control purposes, naturally). I help out when I can. This could be from business marketing advice or attending a few wine merchant trade shows. I often go to Shanghai and Hong Kong for my corporate work and my Chinese is passable; and so I help out my cousins who might be out there when I am there too. In fact one of my cousins was out in Shanghai just before the Wuham Covid 19 outbreak in China; thankfully he got out fine and didn’t suffer any symptoms after his trip.

More fun for me is actually spending time on the vineyard. Call me weird but I really do look forward to rolling up my sleeves and getting down in the dirt. It’s incredibly back breaking work - pruning or harvesting - but very rewarding because we’re all in it together. The camaraderie is immense.

I love escaping into the countryside and I just enjoy the easy bonhomie and companionship of my cousins and their French partners for whom wine is a passion and a way of life. Besides learning a lot more about wine, I also get to run, cycle, and hike in the surrounding hills, a world away from crazy city life.

Like many vineyards in France (and indeed vineyards around the world) the Coronavirus has made it an even more challenging environment to produce and sell wine. We did a lot of business in China and now, like many others, we’ve taken a hit. But we’re not down for the count. We’re fortunate that we are more robust with what we have in place. But like everyone else uncertainty of the future with an expected recession means we need to dig in deep and weather the oncoming storms. But we’ll be fine.

So what is this odd French word, ‘terroir’?

The French have this expression they use when it is clear they are tasting a true terroir wine - "un goût de terroir" - a taste of the place.

Terroir is a largely misused term, though the general understanding of the term of terroir is correct that it refers to the place of where the wine is made. Terroir is not something you pick up after tasting a few wines from one vineyard. It's more complicated than that, which of course makes it harder to use. Which is no fun, because people really like saying fancy French words when talking about wine.

A classical definition of terroir would be something along the lines of this: terroir is the aggregate factors that affect the physical vineyard site: geography, geology, weather, and any other relatively unique environmental conditions that might affect the process or final quality of the fruit.

Put simply terroir is the combination of micro-climate, soil, sun exposure, weather conditions and other environmental influences on wine. To Europeans in general and to the French and Italians in particular, terroir is a key indicator of quality in wine.

The best way to understand what what terroir means is to think of terroir as a different accent - an English accent sounds different from a Scottish accent which sounds different from a Welsh accent. Although the English language is the same, these accents have their own sense of place. Once you are fluent in the language of wine these different accents start to become a lot more pronounced. These ‘wine accents’ echo the terroir where the grapes were grown and the wines were made.

So what does this mean in practice? Take the Pinot Noir grape. Pinot Noir is a notoriously difficult grape to grow because it is very fussy with climate. With the grape being so fussy it is remarkable that the grape can be grown in many parts of the world. Its home is in Bourgogne (Burgundy), France, and yet the grape is grown successfully in Germany (where it's called Spatburgunder), Italy, United States, New Zealand and Australia, among others. So while Pinot Noir is a very fussy grape, it can grow in different climates. It's just the the way it expresses itself can be vastly different. This starts with fruit, whereby it will express a wide range from red fruits like cranberry (cooler climates) right through to black fruits like plum (warmer climates).

The key is the soil - and the sweat and blood that goes into cultivating it.

Soils contain a huge array of types of rock, decomposed rock, and organic materials, in a seemingly infinite array of mixes of topsoil, subsoil, and bedrock. Grape vines tend to grow vigorously and this causes a tendency toward better wines emerging from counterintuitive places - places with relatively poor soils. Too many nutrients and too much water near the surface and the vines will not push down deeply into the ground, seeking out what it needs to live. The belief is, if it does so it will find a more complex variety of nutrients that lead to better, more nuanced wines.

Soil, however, is not the only facet that gives us a full sense of what terroir means.

It is not enough to have a great mix of soils. Vines grown for grapes have a range on Earth in which they will ripen. Champagne, for example, is near the northern ripening limit for growing grapes — around the 49th parallel. They usually do not achieve anywhere near full ripeness nor do they want it - they need lots of acidity - so a northern location works well for their purposes. Too far south, however, and relentless sun and warmth will yield over ripened, jammy, sometimes stewed tasting fruit, lacking acidity and possessing searing levels of alcohol, at times. So the parallel on which the vines are planted is important.

Next, prevailing weather patterns in the region, such as adequate, but not typically heavy rain is necessary. The further north the vineyard site, the more that frosts and hail will likely be factors in varietal planting decisions, as well as harvesting. Achieving full ripeness before vinification is generally the goal for winemakers, but in certain climates the likelihood of sudden rain and weather changes which would dilute or damage the fruit, all go into the perception of the terroir.

Where the vines are planted, even within a commune in Burgundy, can prove very important for several of the reasons listed above: a southeast facing slope in the Côtes de Nuits, for example, provides a poor soil (meaning a good soil for wine grapes,) making the roots grow down deep into limestone, searching for nutrients. The top of the slope to the vineyard's back creates a microclimate and gives a small rain shadow effect, potentially dropping a major portion of rain on the western slope away from the quickly-harvesting vignerons on the other side, before their crop becomes diluted or destroyed. Not to say it always works out this way, because it does not. The point here is that the position within the mesoclimate and even microclimate is important.

Further, the angle or aspect toward the sun in our example is tremendously important. In our example, facing southeast gives the grapes a higher average number of hours per day to ripen in the sun, without getting the stronger, sometimes-harsher evening sun directly. When there is rain, rot can be a problem which leads to yet another factor - slope. A well-drained soil is very important, and altitude is a factor, which will lead to variation throughout a vineyard on such a slope.

Finally, a very important factor in terroir that is not always mentioned is the hand of man.

In the local customs for wine growing, winemaking, cuisine around those wines, and traditions sometimes dating back thousands of years, there emerges a tendency to understand what works well in the local soil and climate. Based on those ideas, certain decisions are made in the cellars that nudge the wine in the direction of one style or another. Decisions can be made that completely mask - destroy - the sense of terroir. Yet decisions are made, nonetheless. They do influence the final product.

Two producers owning parts of the same few hectares of land produce products of two wildly different qualities. There are decisions to be made of using wild yeasts or cultivated yeasts, steel tanks or oak barrels, the type(s) of oak, where it is from, the amount of toasting.

A poor vineyard manager can plant vines in impeccable terroir, but fail miserably in their ability to farm the grapes appropriately, even assuming they planted the right grapes for that terroir. Equally, you can give an inexperienced winemaker the best grapes from the best terroir and he is still very likely to make a mediocre wine at best.

Now, this isn't to say that a great winemaker can take substandard grapes from a poor region and turn them into great wine. But it takes a knowledgable and experienced winemaker to make the best of the spectacular grapes that world-class terroir and impeccable farming technique provides.

So all in all, I would say that terroir, vineyard manager and winemaker are equally as important and there can be no weak links in that equation if quality wine is to be produced.

The point is that all of these factors affect the wine. The best winemakers are artisans who work hard to let the land and vines speak. Over time, some places on Earth have been identified as having very high potential to produce outstanding, unique wines that sing with a voice like no other. That is terroir.

Music is like wine. We appreciate different composers and their pieces more as we understand more of the context of each piece.

Most wine drinkers, no matter their level of knowledge and sophistication, are on a similar path of evolving understanding. Each mouthful whose flavours and aromas we drink, each bottle label we unconsciously imprint in our memory, each line-item on a wine list that we select for the evening’s meal is another volume in our own library of experience, and determines how we will experience the next. The more wine we drink and the more we learn, the better context we have to evaluate (or enjoy) every future glass. So wine drinking is not a race nor is there a prize. You go at your own pace. It’s your own journey of self-discovery. Ignore the pretentious twattery that so often hinders the enjoyment of good wine.

May I add wine enjoys companionship. It makes love to fine food and good conversation. Yes, wine can be drunk on its own but it is more than just a balm to the soul. It is best appreciated when shared or paired - as one might with a cigar and a whisky - with good food. In the words of the late Paul Bocuse, who was a celebrated Michelin starred chef and father of French Haute Cuisine, “La véritable cuisine sera toujours celle du terroir. En France le beurre, la crème et le vin en constitueront toujours les bases.”

Thanks for your question

#question #ask #wine #personal #vineyard #drinking #sommelier #wine making #terroir #french #france #grape #culture #food #life #family

28 notes · View notes

everydisneymovie · 4 years

Text

Review #27: Davy Crockett, King of the Wild Frontier

Post #30

6/25/2020

Next up is 1955′s Davy Crockett, King of the Wild Frontier

Enjoyment : [4]

With the exception of a few key scenes, this movie is rather boring. Some of the imagery in the movie is charming, and a few battles scenes had a significant level of tension. Those were probably the best parts of the movie, however it was hard to get invested because of one key issue. The lead actor playing Davy Crockett played him very mellow and calm. This was probably done to make Davy Crockett seem cool and in control even in stressful situations, but the result is a very boring performance. He looks and sounds uninvested in the events happening around him, so it’s hard to get invested in his character. A lot of this seems to stem from the Davy Crockett mythology and how a ‘real man’ remains unaffected by the hardships of life. A lot of scenes dragged because of this misconception, I would really prefer a little fire behind my protagonists. I mean he barely reacts when his wife dies (off camera after having like two lines.)

Quality : [4]

This is a passable movie. Some battle scenes are well choreographed and every so often there is an interesting shot. However this movie is very dull and colorless, mostly focusing on dry mountainsides and grey swamps. For a movie about the ‘Beauty of the American Frontier’ it doesn’t do a great job showcasing said beauty. A higher color contrast and some more establishing shots could have really sold the setting. A major structure issue with this movie is the fact that it was originally aired as a three episode miniseries recut to be released as a movie. This means it feels like three short stories with little connective tissue. Also the middle section where he goes into politics feels boring when compared to the other action packed segments.

Hold up : [2]

This movie is tinged with the racism and sexism of the time they were portraying, but it also contains a very toxic element that really drags the movie into questionable territory. It’s bad enough that the characters mock and murder Native Americans, but when Davy Crockett ‘gives them his word’ that they won’t lose their land it feels like malicious historical revisionism. Looking up the historical Davy Crockett, it seems he genuinely did try to fight for Native rights but the movie frames his actions as facts, and not the tragedy they turned out to be. This movie is just not interested in the struggles of Native Americans, it is interested in a comfy version of White American Mythology. The fact that Davy is sympathetic to the suffering of Natives is kinda muddled when he also shoots the ‘bad ones’ without much hesitation and we never really get to see their perspective beyond one character who isn’t given nearly enough screen time or depth.

Risk : [3]

Like I said in the previous category, this movie feels way too cozy to be trusted. The way this movie clings to safe depictions of the American ideal reminds me of Disney reaching for their security blanket. You can tell what Disney is comfortable writing when you look at a movie like this. The Americana this movie is drenched is noticeably false even for the time when it was made. On a more pointed note, despite the grim and violent tone of this movie, it just sorta... cuts away right before Davy Crockett dies and just abruptly starts playing the end credits. I think this is because the film makers either were forced to remove the scene were the protagonist dies, or they genuinely didn’t want to kill him off so they could make sequels. (spoilers they made a sequel to this movie.)

Extra Credit : [2]

This movie gets credit for portraying the White American generals as misguided fools and it at least TRIED to frame violence as a bad thing. Plus some of the music is catchy.

Final thoughts:

Wow this is a movie for cowards. Historically Davy Crockett fought against the trail of tears and was vocally outspoken against Andrew Jackson, and the version they portray in this movie comes off as kinda psychopathic if I had to be honest. He talks big about how violence isn’t the answer and he valiantly protects downtrodden minorities, but then also kills said minorities because it’s “the American way.” He literally just like... decides to go die at the Alamo just because he wants to be patriotic. This is one of those movies were you can feel Walts regressive joy behind and I think that drags down all the good aspects this movie tries to hold onto.

Total Score: 15/50

<- First <- Previous 27 out of 431 Next ->

the list

9 notes · View notes

ominousunflower · 4 years

Text

Recipe for Disaster: Chapter 1

Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug Pairing: Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug / Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir Rating: T Chapter: 1 / 4 Word count: 5620

Fic summary: Alya bets Adrien that he can’t cook, and Marinette gets roped in as his cooking partner. Meanwhile, out of the blue, Chat Noir begs Marinette for cooking lessons. But of course, those two things are entirely unrelated.

1 | 2 | 3 | 4

Read on AO3

———————————–

One Monday afternoon, sitting with her three friends in the cafeteria, Marinette witnesses the beginning of the end for Adrien Agreste.

The conversation had started out innocently enough: they’d been thanking Alya for the dinner they had at her apartment the other night, where she’d cooked up a phenomenal curry for the four of them.

“We should all repay the favor sometime,” Nino suggests. “Don’t you think?”

“Oh!” Alya says. “Like, we have dinner at each of our places? And each of us cooks for the other three?”

“Yeah,” Nino says. “Wouldn’t that be cool?”

“It would be,” Alya says. “But rich-and-famous here has probably never turned on a stove in his life.”

“I know how cooking works!” Adrien protests loudly. “I’m not stupid.”

“Oh?” Alya says. She steeples her fingers in front of her face. “So if I asked you to cook dinner for the four of us this Friday, you could?”

“I—I mean. I’m not a professional chef, so it would be hard for me to juggle too many dishes. I might…uh…” His eyes slide over to Marinette, who’s sitting next to him. “Need help?”

Oh, that’s for certain. Adrien definitely needs help right now.

“Alright, model behavior,” Alya says. “So if, say, Marinette helped you out—”

“Alya!” Marinette says. “Don’t drag me into this!”

“Then you could put together a meal?” Alya finishes.

“Absolutely,” Adrien says.

Marinette glares at Alya. “Why me?”

“Because you’re clumsy enough that you won’t give him an advantage,” Alya says. Before Marinette can properly feel insulted, Alya leans close and whispers, “And because it means you get to spend quality time with lover boy over there.”

“Alya!” Marinette says.

“I don’t think you’re a disadvantage, Marinette,” Adrien says, smiling. “Why don’t we both take this opportunity to prove Alya wrong?”

Knowing that she’ll regret it, Marinette nods. “Okay.”

She’s almost positive that this won’t end well for Adrien. She’s also pretty sure that her quality time with him will consist of setting pans on fire and dropping ingredients on the ground. But if there’s even a slight chance that she can save him from embarrassment, or make a bit of progress in the romance department, she’ll take it.

“Great!” Adrien says. “I’m looking forward to it.”

Judging by his slightly wide-eyed look, he is not looking forward to it.

“Ah!” Alya says, holding up a finger. “One more thing.”

Marinette watches Adrien’s entire body go rigid. “Ah—what would that be?”

“Stakes,” Alya says. “Every bet needs stakes.”

Adrien smiles uneasily. “Is that so?”

“If you win…” Alya considers. “You get to pick the next three shows we binge watch together.”

“But it was going to be my turn next!” Nino says.

“Sorry, babe,” Alya says. “I have to offer him something valuable.”

Nino groans. “You know he’s going to pick one of those anime shows that has, like, one hundred episodes, right?”

“Three,” Adrien says gleefully. “She said I could pick three.”

Of course, Marinette realizes what Alya must be thinking: that even with Marinette’s assistance—if it can be called that—Adrien still probably won’t be able to pull this off. Otherwise Alya wouldn’t have offered something so sacred to the devoted weeaboo in their midst.

“That’s right,” Alya says. “Any three shows—but three hundred episodes, max. We can only take so much.”

“And if you win?” Adrien asks.

“Make him buy us pizza that night so that we don’t starve,” Nino says.

Adrien snorts. “I can do that.”

“Yeah, that’s kind of implied,” Alya says. “But for the actual bet…”

The entire table holds its breath as she deliberates. What could Adrien possibly offer in return, that’s equal to three hundred episodes of anime?

“I’ve got it!” Alya says, grinning. “If I win, you and Marinette have to take my sisters to a Salade de Fruits concert.”

“Oh, man,” Nino says. “Alya, that’s harsh.”

Adrien’s face is that of a man who has just been handed a wasp nest on a stick. “You—you mean the kid’s band with the—the—”

“That’s right,” Alya says. “And they really like Monsieur Banane. They’ll probably want to get an autograph from him. Maybe a picture with all five of you.”

“A…picture…” Adrien’s skin looks vaguely green. Like an unripe banana, Marinette’s traitorous mind says.

“Is there something I’m missing?” Marinette asks.

Alya shrugs. “Apparently Adrien has some sort of strange hatred toward Monsieur Banane and the rest of the band. Don’t ask me why.”

At that, Adrien seems to snap out of his panicked daze. “Wait. I never told you that.”

“No,” Alya says. “Nino mentioned it to me.”

“Nino!” Adrien says.

“I’m sorry!” Nino says. “I thought it was common knowledge!”

“Why would I tell Alya about my aversion to Monsieur Banane?”

“To be fair, you never really told me about it, either,” Nino says. “I still have no idea why you hate him so much.”

“It’s the suit,” Adrien says, crossing his arms. “I don’t like it. It’s too yellow. And banana-y.”

Marinette nods. “It is both of those things.”

Of course, she has her own strange relationship with the banana suit, since she’s fought alongside it twice when Chat was forced to wear it to battle. Marinette makes a mental note to design him a backup suit that is neither yellow nor banana-y.

“S’il te plaît, Alya,” Adrien says. “Anything but that. You can even change your terms! I don’t need three hundred episodes of anime. I’ll accept thirty. Or fifteen. Or a commemorative keychain.” He glances at Marinette with wide, pleading eyes that say, Please talk your best friend out of this sadistic idea.

“What are you worried about?” Alya says. “As long as your cooking is passable, there shouldn’t be any problem.” She raises an eyebrow. “Unless you don’t know how to use an oven after all…?”

“No, you’re right,” Adrien says firmly. “I have nothing to worry about.” His feigned confidence is really quite impressive. Marinette almost believes him. “You’re on, Césaire.”

As Marinette watches Adrien and Alya shake hands across the table, though, she knows there’s no way on earth that Adrien Agreste is going to pull this off.

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

Later that day, the terms of the bet are clarified over text. Friday morning, Alya will present Adrien with five recipes to choose from, and he’ll make his selection; then she and Nino will buy the ingredients and bring them to Marinette’s house after school. Marinette can tell Adrien where different kitchen utensils are kept, and she can prep or mix some ingredients for him—but the bulk of the cooking has to be done by Adrien.

Despite her nerves when it comes to talking with Adrien, Marinette works up the courage to send him a text after school. Are you sure about this bet with Alya?

Almost instantly, Adrien responds. Marinette wonders if he was about to text her. Sure! As long as she doesn’t ask me to make a soufflé or something, I’ll be fine.

Marinette frowns at her phone. She doesn’t want to push, but she’s almost positive that Adrien has no idea what he’s doing in a kitchen. Do you want me to text you some cooking guides or something?

Marinette! I told you, I know how cooking works!

It’s so adorably petulant that Marinette can’t help but laugh. So you don’t need any guides?

I guess you can send them if it will make you feel better =^.^=

“If it will make me feel better,” Marinette mutters. “Tikki, can you believe him? Who is he trying to fool?”

“He’s probably just embarrassed!” Tikki says, perching on Marinette’s shoulder. “He grew up in a different environment. Maybe he didn’t have anyone to teach him how to cook when he was younger.”

Marinette sighs. “You’re right.” Often, she forgets that Adrien missed out on a lot of common life experiences when he was younger: sleepovers, birthday parties, going to concerts. It makes sense that he doesn’t know how to cook. It’s also kind of sad, when she thinks about it. “Okay, I’ll play along.”

I’ll send you a few links, Marinette texts him. That way you can brush up on anything you’ve forgotten. Also, you should be prepared in case Alya decides to throw you a curveball. You know she probably will.

Ugh. That’s a good point, Adrien responds. Merci, Marinette! You’re the best :)

Marinette can’t stop herself from squealing. She’s glad he can’t hear her over text. “Tikki!” she says. “He said I was the best!” She clutches her phone to her chest. “The best! But—the best at what?” She glances at Tikki frantically. “What does he mean? Am I the best in general? The best at texting? The best at sending cooking guides?” Groaning, she falls onto her chaise lounge. “What does he mean, Tikki?”

Tikki giggles. “I don’t know! But make sure you text him back.”

Marinette sits up. “Right! Cooking guides.”

After searching for fifteen minutes, she manages to find three guides that are easy to understand without being patronizing. Hoping she doesn’t offend Adrien, she sends him the links.

A minute later, he replies. These look good! Thanks again, Marinette :)

Not one, but two smiley faces? Is Adrien Agreste trying to kill her? Marinette feels like she just stuck her face in front of an open oven.

No problem! she texts back. Then she throws her phone on the ground, grabs the nearest pillow-like object (her purse), and screams into it.

“Marinette?” Tikki says. “Is that a happy scream, or a bad one?”

“It’s a je-ne-sais-pas one,” Marinette grumbles. “On one hand, I get to spend hours in the kitchen with the love of my life. On the other hand, I have to spend hours in the kitchen with the love of my life.”

“Um.” Tikki blinks. “You just said the same thing twice.”

“Because I don’t know!” Marinette says. “It’s a great excuse to spend time with Adrien, but there’s no way he’s going to learn how to cook by Friday. I don’t want to watch him embarrass himself.” She sighs. “And I know I’m going to embarrass myself, too. I’m always more of a klutz around him. I’ll probably just make things worse.”

“Don’t say that, Marinette!” Tikki says. “Maybe things will work out. Adrien’s smart! I’m sure he can teach himself.” She nudges Marinette’s cheek. “And you’ll be fine, too! You’re Ladybug. You can handle a few hours in the kitchen with Adrien.”

“Right,” Marinette says. “I can…handle…”

But her brain is stuck on the phrase hours in the kitchen with Adrien. Adrien, standing in her kitchen! Adrien, using her favorite spatula! Adrien, throwing vegetable peels in her compost bin!

What if his hips brush hers as he walks to the trash can? What if they both reach for the hand grater at the same time, and their fingers touch? Marinette can see it in her mind: Adrien glances up, cheeks faintly pink, and says, “You can have it. I’ll use the box grater.”

“Adrien,” she sighs, lying back down on the chaise lounge with a dreamy smile.

By Friday, of course, she’ll be panicking, and her kitchen will be a disaster area. But it doesn’t hurt to fantasize in the meantime.

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

That night, just as Marinette is drifting off to sleep, an idea pops into her mind like spitting oil.

“Lessons!” she says, sitting up.

Tikki hums sleepily from the pillow. “Lessons?”

“Adrien,” Marinette says, feeling around for her phone. “I completely forgot he has a personal chef! I bet she can help him.” Squinting at her screen in the darkness, she pulls up her last conversation with him. “I just have to make him think it’s his idea, not mine.”

She quickly sends Adrien a text. You have a personal chef, right? If you need any refreshers before Alya’s challenge on Friday, maybe you could check with her.

“Marinette,” Tikki says, “why didn’t you wait until the morning? It’s almost midnight.”

Marinette stares at her phone in horror as the text delivers. “Oh, mon dieu. It’s midnight. I’m going to wake Adrien up, and he’s not going to get enough sleep—and sleep deprivation can affect you for days, so he’s going to be tired on Friday, and it’s going to be my fault if he—”

“Oh, look!” Tikki says. “He responded.”

“Ack!” Marinette tosses her phone at the foot of the bed. “I can’t look. He’s probably mad at me.”

Why is Adrien awake this late at night? Suddenly, Marinette has a terrible vision of Adrien staring at his phone for hours, frantically reading cooking guides until he can’t keep his eyes open.

Tikki floats to the edge of the bed and peers at Marinette’s discarded phone. “Don’t worry! He’s not.”

Hesitantly, Marinette crawls over to the phone and glances down at the text.

Probably not an option. I asked her a question about chicken earlier and she chased me out of the kitchen snapping her tongs at me.

Marinette snorts. She didn’t.

She did. I’m just glad she was holding tongs instead of a knife.

As Marinette types a response, her stomach growls loudly. “Ugh,” she says. “I shouldn’t have gotten up. Now I’m hungry.”

“Does that mean we can get a midnight snack?” Tikki asks excitedly. She’s always eager for an excuse to eat more sweets.

“I think so,” Marinette says.

Sighing, she climbs down from her bed and slips downstairs. In the kitchen, she fumbles along the wall for the light switch, until Tikki manages to find it instead. A moment later, the kitchen is flooded with soft yellow light.

As Marinette creeps toward the counter, her phone buzzes with another text from Adrien.

So is there a reason you were lying awake at midnight thinking about my personal chef?

Marinette knows she can’t tell Adrien the truth—that she’s worried he has no idea how to cook—so she settles for a half-truth instead. My stomach was growling. It made me wish I had a personal chef so I wouldn’t have to make myself a midnight snack.

A midnight snack? So what’s on the menu, Chef Dupain-Cheng?

Marinette glances at Tikki. There’s really only one answer. Cookies.

A true delicacy, Adrien responds.

Marinette smiles at Adrien’s response as she drags the cookie jar across the counter. Do those even exist in your house?

In my secret stash :3

I’ll bring cookies to school tomorrow, Marinette types. They’ll be better than your stash.

Really?

She can imagine his expression as he reads her text: wide-eyed, mouth open slightly. It’s the same adorable look he wears every time Marinette brings pastries to class.

Of course! Marinette says. It’s no trouble. I live in a bakery, after all.

Are you sure? You don’t have to bring me cookies, you know.

Tikki nudges Marinette’s arm and gestures to the cookie jar. Laughing quietly, Marinette lifts the lid for her, then types a response to Adrien. Think of them as fuel! You’ll need extra energy this week if you’re going to win Alya’s bet.

She winces as she hits send. Why did she have to bring up that sore spot again? The conversation had been going surprisingly well until she did that! Now Adrien’s probably never going to text her again.

I don’t need energy, Adrien replies. Just a little luck, maybe. Good thing I have this!

Marinette’s heart melts when a photo pops up on her phone screen. It’s a picture of Adrien’s hand, holding the Lucky Charm that she gave him.

“Tikki!” Marinette says. “He still has it!”

“Of course he does,” Tikki says, nibbling on a cookie.

“Oh, no!” Marinette says. “I left mine upstairs! I—I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll get it!” Tikki says.

For a long moment, she glances at the cookie in her paws. Then, with the kwami equivalent of a shrug, she opens her mouth wider than Marinette’s ever seen and shoves the entire cookie down her throat.

Marinette stares at her, aghast. “Tikki. Where did it go?”

As if nothing’s happened, Tikki darts back through the open trapdoor to Marinette’s room. She returns a moment later with the lucky charm that Adrien gave Marinette for her birthday.

Hastily, Marinette holds up the charm and takes a photo. She sends it to Adrien with the message, I have mine too!

Double the luck :)

Marinette finally grabs a cookie and takes a bite, texting with one hand. So if all you need is luck…you don’t want me to bring you cookies tomorrow?

Adrien’s reply comes almost immediately, and in three parts:

I DIDN’T SAY THAT PLEASE STILL BRING COOKIES marinette i swear you and your family are the only people around here who actually know how to make cookies

A smile spreads across Marinette’s face. She takes another bite of her cookie, scattering crumbs on her hand as she does. That’s because other bakers in this arrondissement are mystified by American recipes.

Well, I’m mystified by your incredible baking skills.

Blushing, Marinette pops the rest of the cookie in her mouth. Flattery accepted. I’ll bring you cookies tomorrow.

Adrien’s response consists of confetti emojis.

Also, Marinette types. I’m no professional chef, but you can text me if you have any questions before Friday. I’m not sure if I’m a good teacher, but I did teach Nino how to bake a pie for his parents’ anniversary once, so…

As soon as she hits send, she realizes that she’s implied Adrien needs cooking lessons. Hastily, she sends a second message.

Not that you need lessons! I just meant that if you have any last-minute questions, you can ask me.

Adrien responds, Yeah, Nino told me about that! He said you’re a good teacher :) And honestly, my baking skills are pretty bad. Would you teach me how to bake a pie, if I asked?

Marinette barely smothers a squeal. She doesn’t want to wake her parents up by screaming in the kitchen—but how can she not, when Adrien just asked her for baking lessons? Forget Alya’s bet. This is Marinette’s opportunity to spend more time with Adrien.

Her mind drifts back to her fantasies from earlier about being in the kitchen with Adrien. She hugs her arms around herself, imagining how he’d wrap his arms around her from behind as she mixes ingredients. His chin on her shoulder, maybe a kiss behind her ear…

Her phone buzzes with another text, startling her. Obviously you don’t have to, if it would be too much trouble.

No, no! Marinette responds. I’d love to! But let’s get through this week, first ;)

She gasps as the text delivers. “Oh, no!”

“What’s wrong?” Tikki asks. She’s clutching another cookie. Marinette has no idea how many she’s eaten so far.

“I—I sent a winky face!” Marinette says. “Oh, this is a disaster!”

Seconds later, she nearly faints at Adrien’s response: Okay! But after that, you’re teaching me how to bake. It can be my reward for winning Alya’s bet ;)

“Tikki!” Marinette says. “He sent a winky face!”

Tikki giggles quietly. “You two are flirting!”

“We aren’t flirting,” Marinette hisses. “We’re just—just—urgh!”

She decides to reply with something safe. I’m looking forward to it :)

Me too! But I should probably go to bed now. I’ll see you tomorrow! Enjoy your midnight snack.

You too, Marinette responds. I mean, I’ll see you tomorrow. I wasn’t saying to enjoy your midnight snack, because you don’t have a midnight snack. Face burning, she adds, Bonne nuit!

Bonne nuit, Marinette :)

She sets her phone on the counter, trying to take measured breaths. “Tikki! How—how many emoticons was that?”

Tikki floats over to Marinette’s phone and scrolls back through the conversation. “Five!”

Marinette gasps. “Five! He sent five?” She grabs the phone and looks through the conversation. “Oh, mon dieu. You’re right. Five! Combined with our conversation earlier…” She scrolls back further and counts three more—including a cat emoticon, which she’d somehow failed to notice earlier. Odd. “Eight! He sent me eight emoticons today!”

“You’re making progress, Marinette!” Tikki says, smiling. “Now you just need to work on talking to him in person!”

Marinette groans. “That’s harder. I can only text him because I’m not looking at his face! And because I can’t stutter over text.”

With a sigh, she peers inside the cookie jar to pick the nicest ones for Adrien. Then she freezes. “Tikki.”

“I’m sorry!” Tikki says, eyes wide. “I wasn’t paying attention!”

Marinette stares at the empty cookie jar for a few more seconds. “I can check downstairs,” she says. “There might be some extra cookies lying around.”

As she crosses to the apartment door, she thinks back over her conversation with Adrien. She’d been hoping his chef could help him, but if not…

“Maybe Adrien does know how to cook!” Marinette says. “He could just be self-conscious or embarrassed. After all, he’s smart and talented! He must know how to make something.”

“Maybe!” Tikki agrees. “But there’s nothing wrong with him if he doesn’t!”

“Right,” Marinette says. “Of course! I just meant—”

With a tiny gasp, Tikki suddenly darts into the bookshelf and hides.

“Tikki?” Marinette says. “What…”

Before she can finish her question, she hears something tapping against the window glass behind her. As Marinette slowly turns around, she can’t believe her eyes. Shaded by moonlight, Chat Noir is clinging to the window of her living room, one hand raised in greeting.

Marinette stumbles over to the window and unlatches it, then cracks it open a few centimeters. “Chat Noir!” she whispers. “What are you doing here?”

He grins. “Looking for a midnight snack?”

Crossing her arms, Marinette says, “I hope you’re talking about food, and not me.”

Still smiling, he asks, “Can I come in?”

With a sigh, Marinette pushes the window open the rest of the way. “Just keep your voice down. My parents are asleep.”

“Of course,” Chat says. He climbs inside and carefully closes the window behind him, then smiles at Marinette. “Cute pajamas, by the way.”

Marinette’s face burns. She hugs her arms closer to her chest. “I didn’t expect to have company.”

“Apologies,” Chat says. “I decided to come here rather spontaneously.”

“Of course you did,” Marinette mutters.

Chat’s ears flatten slightly, and Marinette winces. She’d forgotten about his enhanced hearing. “Do you want me to leave?” he asks.

“No! No. Um, you can follow me,” Marinette says, walking back to the front door of the apartment. “I was just about to look for cookies downstairs. If you behave yourself, I might give you one.”

With an excited chirp—how does he make such convincing cat sounds?—Chat follows her out the door and down the stairs.

As they walk, Marinette tries not to let her confusion show on her face. Of course, she’s not uncomfortable spending time with Chat, since they’re partners. But he rarely comes by the bakery. In fact, she can count on one hand the number of times he’s visited when there wasn’t an akuma attack. What could possibly have inspired him to stop by now?

Marinette knows that he probably won’t tell her his real reason. For all of his extroversion and cheer, Chat is surprisingly guarded about some things.

“So,” Marinette says, as she lets them into the bakery. “Did you run into traffic on the way here?”

Chat laughs. “No. Surprisingly, there aren’t too many cars on the rooftops at this time of night.”

Marinette flicks on the lights, illuminating the room. Although she’s lived in the bakery her entire life, she still finds it eerie sometimes to see the space downstairs empty and quiet, without the scent of fresh-baked goods or the sound of her parents’ voices.

“It’s bizarre, seeing the place so quiet,” Chat says, voicing her thoughts. His nose twitches. “Usually there are smells, and sounds, and…well, people.”

“Well, we’re people,” Marinette says, smiling. She opens one of the gigantic fridges and peers inside. “Let’s see…”

“Ouah,” Chat says. “Marinette, that fridge is huge.”

“Paws to yourself, minou,” she says.

“I’ll try.”

Rolling her eyes, Marinette begins searching the fridge for leftover cookies. When that fails, she checks around the rest of the bakery, peering into various containers and shelves.

“Merde,” she mutters.

“No luck?” Chat asks. “You know, we don’t have to eat cookies. Some of those other leftovers looked pretty good.”

“But I need cookies for Adrien!” Marinette exclaims. When Chat raises his eyebrows, she finds herself blushing and adding, “I—I promised my friend that I would bring him cookies tomorrow.”

“Hm.” Chat shrugs. “If you tell him you ran out, I’m sure he’ll understand. You can just bring him a croissant or some—”

“No!” Marinette says. “No, I promised cookies.”

Chat glances around the bakery, then back at her. “Princesse, you’re not going to bake a batch now, are you?”

“Oh, I certainly am.” Marinette scampers around the kitchen, turning on the oven and pulling out various utensils and ingredients. “My parents won’t mind. It’s not the first time I’ve done some late-night baking.” She slams two mixing bowls onto the counter and grabs a measuring cup, then hastily measures out the flour into one of the bowls. “You can wait here. It won’t take too long.”

Chat strolls around to the other side of the counter and leans against it, watching her work. “I’ve never tried making cookies before,” he says. “Is it hard?”

“American cookie recipes can be a little tricky if you don’t have the right ingredients,” Marinette says, as she adds salt and baking powder into the bowl. “You have to make a few adjustments. Sometimes there are differences in flour, brown sugar, things like that.”

Resting his chin on his hands, Chat says, “Seems like you’re pretty good at this.”

“Obviously,” Marinette says. She turns to the other bowl and dumps in the sugar. “My parents are bakers, Chat.”

“Right. And, uh…how’s your cooking?”

“I mean, I know what I’m doing in the kitchen,” she says, dropping sticks of butter into the bowl of sugar. “Sometimes I overcook things or make mistakes, but that’s mostly because I’m clumsy.”

Chat nods and hums to himself, as if Marinette has said something particularly intriguing. “Interesting.”

Pausing, Marinette glances up. “What?”

“Oh, nothing.” Chat smiles mischievously. “Just thinking.”

Rolling her eyes, Marinette retrieves the hand mixer and plugs it into the nearest outlet. She doesn’t have time to worry about Chat’s cryptic remarks. She needs to focus on making cookies for Adrien.

The next few minutes pass in silence, aside from the whirring of the mixer and the scraping of Marinette’s spatula against the sides of the bowl. As she works, she feels Chat’s eyes on her, tracking her every movement.

“Am I really that interesting to watch?” she asks, as she finishes creaming the butter and sugar. Cheeks burning, she adds the eggs to the mixture and stirs after each addition. “You’re staring.”

Chat blinks. “Oh. Sorry. I didn’t realize.”

Cheeks burning, Marinette pours the dry ingredients into the mixing bowl. “You know,” she says, as she mixes the dough, “you could make yourself useful, instead of just sitting there.”

“I’m not just sitting here,” Chat says, with a lopsided smile. “I’m giving moral support.”

“Well, why don’t you take that ‘moral support’ and use it to pour those chocolate disks into this bowl?”

“Uh.” Chat tentatively picks up the bowl of chocolate. “Like…how, exactly?”

Marinette raises an eyebrow. “Just dump them in?”

“Sure.” Chat frowns, then pours the chocolate pieces into the bowl of dough. “Like that?”

“Yes.” Marinette gently stirs until the chocolate is incorporated into the dough. “Now, if it’s not too much trouble, you could also put some cookies on that baking sheet for me.”

Distantly, she knows she shouldn’t be so commanding with Chat. But it’s so easy to fall into their usual camaraderie, especially when he acts so casually around her. She keeps forgetting she’s not Ladybug right now.

Chat grimaces. “I could, but…I’ve never made cookies before. I have no idea what to do.”

Marinette tries not to act shocked. After all, plenty of people have never made cookies. “It’s simple,” she says. She grabs a scoop and uses it to plop a ball of cookie dough onto the baking sheet. Then she hands the scoop to Chat. “Think you can handle that?”

As if he’s handling a dangerous weapon, Chat accepts the scoop from Marinette. “Uh, sure.”

Marinette presses her lips together, watching as Chat mirrors her movements and deposits a ball of cookie dough next to the first. She’s not sure she’s ever seen him this nervous before. “Like that?” he asks.

“Just like that,” Marinette says. “Now do the rest.”

Tongue pinned between his teeth, Chat makes several more cookie balls. “You know, princesse,” he says, as he makes his seventh, “I came by for food, not labor.”

“If you want to eat cookies, then you should help make them,” Marinette says.

“But aren’t they for Adrien?” Chat asks, a smile playing at his lips. “Doesn’t that mean he should help make them?”

“I—uh!” Marinette laughs nervously and wills her mind not to conjure any more fantasies of baking with Adrien. Not while Chat is there to make fun of her. “He’s asleep right now. Even if he was allowed to leave his house, I wouldn’t drag him out of bed to make cookies this late at night.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Chat says. He drops the last ball of dough onto the cookie sheet. “This is kind of fun. I bet he wouldn’t mind being woken up for this.”

“Maybe,” Marinette says, even though she doubts that Adrien would enjoy doing manual labor in her kitchen when he could be sleeping. “I’ll stick these in the oven, and then we just have to wait a few minutes.”

As the cookies bake, she and Chat talk about random things: video games, her school’s high akumatization rate, the best cafés in the area. At one point, Chat admits that he’s been to the Dupain-Cheng bakery as a civilian before.

Marinette’s eyes widen, and before she can stop herself, she says, “Have I seen you there?”

“Maybe,” Chat says, with a wink.

Marinette tries not to think too much about that.

When the cookies are done, Marinette pulls the baking sheet out and sets it down to cool. She’s pretty sure Chat starts drooling a little.

He reaches across the counter for one, and Marinette slaps his wrist. “Not yet!” she says. “They’re too hot.”

Chat wiggles his fingers. “Superhero suit, princesse. It’s heat-resistant.”

“Oh?” Marinette says, folding her arms. “And I suppose your tongue is heat-resistant, too?”

Chat looks unreasonably distressed about that. “So you’re telling me I have to sit here and look at those delicious cookies and smell those delicious cookies, but I can’t eat those delicious cookies?”

Marinette bites back a laugh. “Just wait a few minutes.”

“This is torture,” Chat grumbles.

A few minutes later, when he’s finally allowed to take a bite of a cookie, he groans.

“Oh, Marinette,” he says, chewing. “These are heavenly.”

Marinette smiles proudly. “I know.” As Chat finishes his first cookie and reaches for another, she grabs his arm. “Two more, Chat. Then I’m saving the rest.”

Chat pouts. “Fine.” He takes another cookie and breaks off a piece, contemplating it. “And, uh, well…I also have a request.”

“More cookies?”

Laughing, Chat says, “No. But, ah—I’ve recently decided to brush up on my cooking skills.”

“Okay,” Marinette says. “So what’s the request?”

“Well.” Chat pops the piece of cookie into his mouth. “Cooking is more fun when you do it with someone else, isn’t it?”

“I suppose.” Marinette smiles and watches as Chat devours the rest of his cookie. “Except when your baking buddy tries to eat all of the food you just made.”

Chat sticks out a chocolate-stained tongue. “I can control myself, princesse.” Suddenly subdued, he presses his lips together, fidgeting with the ring on his finger. “Anyway…could I maybe help you cook this week? Pick up a few tips from expert chef Marinette Dupain-Cheng?”

Marinette squints at him. “You want to help me make dinner?”

“Yes?” Chat says, his green eyes imploring. “My family’s not really big on cooking together. And as hard as it is to believe, my skills in the kitchen are…somewhat lacking. I thought this would be a fun way to get better.”

Marinette considers that. It’s an odd request, for sure. But teaching is one of the best ways to learn—and she could stand to brush up her cooking skills if she’s going to help Adrien with the bet in four days.

Plus…although it’s selfish, she wouldn’t mind spending some time with Chat outside of akuma battles. As much as Marinette pretends to be annoyed by him, she really does think he’s fun to be around.

“Okay,” she says. “You can come by after school lets out. My parents will still be working in the bakery then, so we’ll have the kitchen to ourselves.” She shrugs. “I mean, I’ll tell them what we’re doing. They already know we’re friends, so they won’t think it’s too weird.”

Chat smiles. It’s soft and shy—nothing like the mischievous grins he always flashes her in battle. “Thanks, Marinette. That sounds great.” Yawning, he stretches his arms above his head. “Mm. I think this cat needs some sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Marinette nods. “See you soon, Chat.”

On his way to the door, Chat scoops up two cookies from the sheet. “For the road,” he says, with a wink.

It’s not until he’s gone that Marinette realizes the damn cat broke her three-cookie rule.

———————————–

Translations: Salade de Fruits – Fruit Salad Monsieur Banane – Mr. Banana s’il te plaît – please je ne sais pas – I don’t know oh, mon dieu – oh, my god arrondissement – city district Bonne nuit – Good night minou – kitty merde – shit, dang it

1 | 2 | 3 | 4

#ml fic #ml fanfiction #marichat #adrienette #recipe for disaster #my fic

15 notes · View notes

raendown · 5 years

Link

Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word count: 3466 Chapter: 2/? Summary: Not all wars are fought on the battlefield. Some are fought at the conference table, with whispers in the shadows, or even in the bedroom.

In a world where the Senju and Uchiha traditional lands were too far apart to have ever made them enemies, Butsuma and Tajima are the ones who come together and sign a treaty of peace. Madara isn't happy to have his life signed away for him in a political marriage to strengthen the bond between their clans. He is even less happy to have Tobirama make assumptions of him from their very first night together. What follows from there is a journey of healing, of learning, and finding the places to belong in the places least expected.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI and commission info in the header!

Chapter 2

The festivities after the wedding were, in a word, unique. As with the rest of this event they were a strange mish-mash of Uchiha and Senju traditions, emphasizing the alliance between their two clans. What kept most of Madara’s attention through all of it, however, was his new husband.

It was fascinating to watch him in comparison to others, a pillar of cool indifference sitting completely still in the face of the whirlwind that was Hashirama. The older man bounced around his brother like an excited puppy, appearing and disappearing as the evening wore on, popping up at random with a bright smile and new gossip to spout before wandering off again. Tobirama, in complete contrast, was a perfect example of poise where he sat on his cushion beside Madara. He greeted their guests with a rumbling baritone and carefully chosen words that walked a very fine line between polite and brusque.

From what Madara had overheard between the two Senju siblings Tobirama wasn’t as young as he originally thought. He was nineteen to Madara’s twenty-two, not nearly as large of a difference as the peace treaty talks had led him to believe. First impressions seemed to suggest that he was also more mature than his older brother and shared very few personality traits with him, a boon he was most grateful for.

As the revelries droned on Madara was introduced to the few other people who were ostensibly the most important in his new husband’s life. He met a vicious woman named Touka whom for a moment he felt should have been born in the Uchiha clan. A gaze as sharp and cold as hers would have been incredible with a Sharingan to bolster her power. Then her eyes fell on her cousin and she softened just the slightest bit, leaning down to coo mockingly over Tobirama and whisper teasing things in his ear like any sibling might. He also met Hashirama’s wife and understood immediately that they might never be close friends. Uzumaki Mito was a proud and fearsome woman who entered each room as if she were a queen, expecting all others to bow before her. She earned his grudging respect over the course of one conversation – as well as made him question what in the seven hells had inspired her to wed Hashirama, of all people.

It took almost three full hours before the two grooms saw fit to finally speak with one another in direct conversation for the very first time. Dinner had been cleared away long ago and Tobirama’s fingers lingered on the stem of his champagne glass like a lover’s touch. The alcohol was imported from a distant land, something Madara had never tasted, and he found that every sip he took made him feel strangely as though he were sipping bubbles. He was scrunching his nose at the sensation when he noticed the man beside him going still, red eyes flicking down to stare with intense interest at Madara’s sleeve.

“Is that silk from the Land of Water?” he asked. Madara raised an eyebrow, looking down at his arm.

“Yes, an old family heirloom,” he replied. It was an incredibly rare material and very expensive. This kimono had been in his clan’s treasury for generations, worn only by those of the head family, and it should have been an honor to carry on that tradition. It wasn’t something he thought would catch the eye of this man, although he couldn’t have said what made him think like that.

“The pattern is fascinating, especially the seal work in the stitching.” When Madara stared at blankly Tobirama tilted his head ever so slightly in question. “Did you not know it was there?”

“No, I knew it was there but how did you?”

Tobirama’s lips quirked ever so slightly. “I am a sensor. I’d thought the buzz on my senses was just from having this many chakra signatures so close together all at once. Then I realized it was coming from you; I can feel the latent power in your kimono. It’s fascinating.”

The look in his eyes said he would very much like to take the silk apart and study it to unravel all the many hidden secrets. Madara was torn between the urge to lean away in protection of his precious heirloom and the desire to let him do as he pleased. Few in his own clan were even aware of the protective seals built in to his garments, commissioned that way so many years ago the memory had been lost to time. To his knowledge Tobirama was the only person who had ever sensed that the seals were there, so subtle was their work. He was impressed to say the least.

“My brother tells me you’re not entirely a bumbling idiot.”

Being impressed gave way immediately to being flabbergasted as Madara’s jaw gaped open.

“I – what?”

“Hashirama tells me you are passably intelligent.”

“Uhh…” He realized the irony, of course, that he currently looked nothing more than a fool. He wasn’t really sure what he was supposed to say to that. “I am regarded as a rather skilled tactician I suppose.” It was the best response he could come up with yet he still wanted to slap a palm to his own face. That certainly hadn’t helped him sound intelligent.

Tobirama looked at him with a face entirely devoid of expression for so long he started to wonder if the man was suddenly regretting every life choice that had ever brought him to this moment, married to a complete idiot. Just as he was about to open his mouth and attempt to redeem himself Tobirama let out a contemplative hum, the corners of his mouth twitching again, and turned back to watching their guests. Madara blinked, unsure what that reaction was supposed to mean and unwilling to embarrass himself further by asking. He still wasn’t sure if that observation was meant as an insult or not.

The rest of the night passed with very little conversation between them. Hashirama flitted back and forth, chattering at the both of them with every pass he made by their table. Izuna showed up after a while and helped Madara feel a bit more comfortable by bringing up their last spar, mentioning that he thought he had finally figured out how to block that one strike of Madara’s he never seemed to be able to get away from. He noticed Tobirama watching them with interest out of the corner of his eye and realized he had no idea what the younger man’s skill level was like. Hashirama he had encountered on the battlefield once or twice. Tobirama was a mystery. He wondered if his husband would like to spar sometime. If nothing else if would be an excellent way to get to know each other, a traditional shinobi introduction.

Finally, after a few more hours which felt like days, it was time to leave. In yet another tradition that felt strange to him, the Senju guests insisted the newlyweds be escorted to their new home in a raucous procession that twisted through the streets behind them as they went. They were dropped off at their front door amid jeering whistles that he wasn’t sure if he should be offended by. Tobirama appeared to take it all in stride, barely even seeming to notice as they were waved in to their freshly built house by a pair of adolescents wiggling their eyebrows at them.

And then they were alone.

Madara looked closely at his surroundings in an attempt to distract himself from the man standing beside him. He’d given his opinions and requests for how their house should be built but this was the first he’d seen of it since, instead of helping the construction crews, he had spent the last year deliberately avoiding anything that reminded him of his impending nuptials. He supposed the full inspection should wait for the next day when he wasn’t quite as exhausted so for now he settled for an impression of good quality wood – probably built using Hashirama’s fabled Mokuton – and glimpses of tasteful furniture in the next room. He allowed those things to hold his interest and distract him until the two of them were standing side by side in a bedchamber on the second floor lit only by a single candle. Obviously someone had prepared for their arrival.

Both of them being clad in formal clothing meant that neither could undress themselves without assistance. Madara fought with his cheeks, trying not to blush and failing when Tobirama casually asked if Madara could help remove his clothing. He averted his eyes once the other was down to the last thin layer of his hadajuban and requested help in return. Tobirama looked amused by his bashfulness but said nothing.

His touch was gentle as he untied Madara’s obi and helped him shrug out of his many layers but it was also strangely invasive. Pale hands lingered more than necessary and with each layer he seemed to find an excuse for his fingers to brush against Madara’s skin. It was unnerving, keeping Madara on edge until finally he too was clad only in one thin layer of soft cotton gifted to him brand new for the occasion. He felt exposed even though he was technically still fully covered. When Tobirama reached for his last piece of clothing he leapt away as if he were being attacked, eyes widened and pulse racing.

“What are you doing?” he demanded. One side of Tobirama’s mouth lifted.

“Helping you undress?” he replied. Madara huffed.

“I think I’ve undressed enough, thank you! This is fine!”

“Still a bit too much clothing, don’t you think?” The pale man took slow steps toward him, an oddly predatory look on his face that made Madara feel almost as if he were being hunted. “I suppose I could work around them but why bother?”

Madara refused to back away because that showed weakness and he was not weak. He did lean away from the other man, though, unaware of the very harried look on his face.

“Work around them?” he repeated. “What on earth are you talking about? What do think we’re going to be doing, sparring?” He snorted almost in time with Tobirama.

“Sparring. If that’s the euphemism you’d like to use, then sure.” The younger man had stepped right up in to his personal space and seemed to loom over him with the strangest light in his eye. He was very good at looming, really making that height difference work for him. Madara frowned at his new husband.

“Euphemism? What would you call it then?” He was getting more and more off-balance by the second.

“Sex.”

Tobirama jerked as Madara’s suddenly flailing hand caught him under the jaw by accident. Madara stumbled backwards, no longer caring if it looked like a retreat or not as utter mortification flooded his system. The blush he had been working so hard at holding back broke free of his control to color his entire face a screaming shade of red.

“What!? Are you out of your mind? We’ve only just met!” He tried not to clutch his own bosom like some civilian milkmaid but it was harder than it should have been. His companion gave him an odd look.

“Yes and now we are married; this is what married couple do.” Tobirama spoke in such a matter-of-fact tone that Madara was left gaping. This man was insane!

“You expect me to have sex with a perfect stranger?” he demanded. “Just-just like that?” Tobirama looked genuinely confused at his reaction, narrowing his eyes and tilting his head in a considering manner. Something appeared to occur to him because both of his eyebrows slowly raised up towards his hairline.

“You’re a virgin!”

Madara scowled, the blush on his cheeks spreading down the back of his neck.

“Well you don’t have to sound so incredulous! Of course I’ve never- I was unmarried! Are you saying you’re not a virgin?” The very idea seemed-

“Not for years,” Tobirama stated in a casual manner, as if it should have been expected that he wouldn’t be. Madara gaped. He found himself almost personally offended that the one he was marrying was not a virgin, especially when the other was still a couple of years younger than him and never so much as betrothed before. At his incredulous look Tobirama appeared confused again. “It’s not such a big deal. There’s probably very few people my age who are virgins. Did you really hold out for marriage? What if your partner had no idea what they were doing?”

“I don’t know! We’d learn together or something! Seek advice!” Flustered, he was aware, was not a good look on him. He felt like an awkward bumbling idiot and he hated the feeling. Hated the man before him for bringing out those feelings.

“If you’re willing to learn I’m willing to teach,” Tobirama told him and it was as though a flip had been switched once again. Everything from his expression to his posture to the angle of his hips suddenly exuded sensuality. Madara’s mouth went dry even as he took another step back, not even realizing that he was clutching the edges of his clothing and holding them tightly closed as though he expected the other to force him.

Tobirama flipped back to scowling again at the motion, visibly offended. Madara did not care.

“You are a stranger to me!” he cried. “Intimacy should be between lovers, not just two people who happen to be in the same room together! So just you keep your hands to yourself! I am not some harlot willing to fall in to bed with a perfect stranger just because we signed some stupid piece of paper!” He only barely resisted the urge to stomp his foot.

“You signed that stupid piece of paper. I did not. You have only yourself to blame if you cannot hold up your end of any agreements that you chose to put your name on. Are you always this uptight, oh husband of mine? Should I expect a lifetime of this?”

“Expect whatever you want but expect to keep your hand off of me!”

“What I expect is for both of us to make an equal effort. Whether you like it or not – and it’s becoming rather obvious that you do not – we are married. You and I are the knot to tie our clans together and if that knot unravels then so does peace. So quit looking at me like I’ve come to steal your virtue and get your head out of your ass. You’re not some innocent maiden; you are a clan heir. And before you let that go to your head I will remind you that so am I!”

Madara looked at Tobirama and saw every dream of true love he’d ever had disappearing in to mist, ash scattering in the wind faster than he could grasp after the fading remnants. He couldn’t help thinking that he’d never met someone so different from himself in all the wrong ways. It wasn’t truly a fair thought since he didn’t actually know very much about this man yet but Madara had always been quick to judge people. He judged Tobirama now and found him lacking.

In the fading mist of his dreams he could almost see the shadow of his doomed future, married to a man he didn’t love, sniping and clawing at each other over every word. Grief settled quietly at the base of his spine, a knot of piteous hurt he refused to show. Instead he focused on the anger. How dare this perfect stranger try to speak down to him! How dare this man suggest that Madara was anything but dutiful! He’d gone through with it, hadn’t he? He had put his name on the paper and come to Konoha to allow a noose to be tied around his neck. To say he was not making an effort was incredibly insulting.

“Do not speak to me of peace!” Madara snarled. “I’ve lost three brothers to these stupid conflicts between the clans, I know what it is to want peace! ‘Making an effort’ as you call it has nothing to do with allowing a perfect stranger to touch me in ways he has not earned!”

“Earned? You make it sound like I’ve asked you to grace me with some favor that you find repugnant!” He looked bewildered and angry, insulted, and Madara could feel his own spiky personality bristling, throwing barbs before he had a chance to think them through.

“Maybe I find you repugnant!” he cried. “You’re a man! I’ve been married off to another man! No one took my wishes in to account in this. No one stopped to ask me if I was at all interested in such aberrant acts!”

He watched in confusion as Tobirama’s scowl melted away to return his face to the empty canvas much like the way it had been all night. In an instant that pale face was blank, his three red tattoos the only expression to be found. It was unnerving. Deep down a feeling in Madara’s gut told him that he had just said something in very poor taste, something he should apologize for.

He didn’t.

“I did not know you found such things so distasteful,” the younger man said, ice cracking in every word. “I will endeavor not to insult you further. Husband.”

With that he turned away and Madara watched in silence as his new spouse slid in between the sheets of their futon, facing away towards the far wall. The candle by the doorway flickered and danced, sending one weak flame of light spilling across the back of a white neck. His hair nearly blended in to the pillow he lay on and, despite the lax position he had arranged himself in, tension was still visible between his shoulders. In an obvious effort to put as much distance between them as possible he lay almost hugging the side of the futon and the petty parts of Madara noted that it wasn’t necessary in such a large bed but much appreciated. Clearly as the wronged party here he deserved to have the most space to be comfortable in.

He took one step towards the bed before remembering his hair. Between them they had taken off his clothing but he was still going to have to free his thick mane from the topknot that had miraculously survived the night without unravelling.

If he’d had help it would have been much easier. He deliberately did not think about the help that lay only a few feet away pretending to be asleep already. Instead he wrestled with the stubborn locks by himself until he had pulled the constraints apart and rescued his heirloom kanzashi from the carnage. It took some time to brush it all out; having it all twisted together for so long had given him some interesting kinks to work through.

By the time he sorted out his own head and was ready at last for sleep he had cooled down from their argument quite a bit. He was therefore calm enough to admit that most of his upset had come from sheer panic, from the feeling that he was not in charge of the situation and needing to regain that control. He had, perhaps, spoken a little too harshly and said some things he didn’t mean. Not that there was anything new about that. Izuna told him constantly that he needed to just breathe when he was angry. Madara never listened, despite the fact that he really should.

It was a right fine mess he’d made now. The very same day that he got married and already he had managed to anger his new life partner, possibly alienated him entirely. He would have to find a way to fix this or at least patch the damage done because Tobirama was disgustingly right about one thing at least. The two of them were a symbol of peace and if being a clan heir had taught him anything it was that symbols were important. A symbol gave the lower ranks something to look at, something to look up to. Should their partnership dissolve so easily it would be simple for others to assume that peace as a whole would do the same. It was imperative that they at least make this marriage appear to work.

When he finally laid his head on the pillow Madara wondered if he was up to this task. He was a man made for war, trained for little more since birth. What did he know of peace or how to make it? What did he know of marriage?

#rae writes #madatobi #madara #tobirama #fanfiction

14 notes · View notes

constantviewings · 3 years

Text

The TV Show Trials: The Twilight Zone (Encore)

The Twilight Zone is an American anthology series created and presented by Rod Serling. Each episode presents a stand-alone story in which characters find themselves dealing with disturbing or unusual events inside The Twilight Zone.

To Serve Man

An alien race comes to earth, promising peace and sharing technology. A linguist and his team set out to translate the aliens’ language.

As I was watching, I didn’t like that it started at the end, but by the end of the episode I ended up thinking it was a really good setup. I also like that it portrays how I would expect governments to react to aliens arriving on earth. The final twist really pulls it together well.

Rating: 4

A Game of Pool

A frustrated pool champ has beaten everyone. Everyone except one man; the legend, Fats Brown. Brown is dead, and the champ can only curse his name. But guess who just walked in.

Now don’t get me wrong, I love stories with a limited cast in a single room that are used for character and scenario studies, but this version of it is not executed well. The most impressive part of it are the perfect pool shots.

Rating: 2

Will the Real Martian Please Stand Up?

Following a frantic phone call about a crashed spaceship, two policemen try and determine who among the passengers of a bus at a snowed-in roadside diner is from another world.

Now this is how you do a single room character study. Granted, I did predict who the alien(s) were but it was still immensely satisfying to have those predictions be correct. This is just an all-round great episode.

Rating: 5

Nick of Time

A pair of newlyweds stopping in a small town are trapped by their own superstition when playing a fortune telling machine in a local diner.

I’ll be honest, I barely remember watching this episode, which means it must just be average. I think the idea of an accurate fortune telling machine is really cool.

Rating: 3

The Masks

Wealthy Jason Foster is dying and he invites his greedy heirs to a Mardi Gras party where they must wear the masks he specifically had made for them or else be cut off from their inheritance.

Another character study (are we seeing a trend here?) I quite liked this one, not as much as some others. The ending is very satisfying though.

Rating: 4

The Obsolete Man

In a future totalitarian society, a librarian is declared obsolete and sentenced to death.

This episode is…passable. It’s a twenty-five minute story that culminates in “dictators are bad” which isn’t a unique take, especially after the release of 1984. Overall, I didn’t mind watching it but I’ve forgotten everything apart from the last five minutes in the week since I watched it.

Rating: 3

The Midnight Sun

When the Earth falls out of orbit, two women try to cope with increasingly oppressive heat in a nearly abandoned city.

Now this is a good episode! Once again it’s a limited cast in a limited setting but now they are living out their final days before they burn alive; fun right? The twist at the end that it was just a dream and that she is in fact freezing to death ties it up nicely.

Rating: 4

Mirror Image

While waiting in a bus station, Millicent Barnes has a strange feeling that her doppelganger is trying to take over her life.

Ignoring the 1960s quality green screen effects, this is a decent episode. I watched this episode early on in the piece, so I don’t remember much of the story but I do like when these stories have an unhappy ending.

Rating: 3

Nothing in the Dark

An old woman has fought with death a thousand times and has always won. But now she finds herself afraid to let a wounded policeman in her door for fear he is Mr Death. Is he?

This episode, along with the majority of those I watched this month, didn’t quite hit the mark for me. It’s quite boring and nothing much happens, I would have rather watched the 2019 reboot over a lot of these episodes.

Rating: 2

The Howling Man

Seeking refuge from a storm, a traveller comes upon a bizarre abbey of monks, who have imprisoned a man who begs for his help. When he confronts the head monk, he is told that the man is the Devil, and he must decide who to believe.

I not going to say much other than this episode is boring and I didn’t like it at all.

Rating: 1

Long Distance Call

A toy telephone becomes the link between a young boy and his dead grandmother.

The overall story of this episode isn’t anything remarkable, but boy is it morbid. There’s something so haunted about a child so young being driven to suicide, and not to sound even more horrible, I almost think I would have preferred if he died at the end…

Rating: 4

The New Exhibit

A wax-museum employee fights to preserve five figures of famous murderers.

This was the only episode that I watched that was almost an hour, and I understand why they changed the format back to twenty-five minutes for the final season; it’s just too long. Apart from it being drawn-out, this episode was really good; I just wish it was about ten to twenty minutes shorter.

Rating: 4

The Lonely

A convict, living alone on an asteroid, receives from the police a realistic woman-robot.

Only now am I realising my (potential) obsession with limited character, single setting stories… Anyway, this is a great episode with an interesting idea of sending inmates to foreign planets or asteroids.

Rating: 4

Deaths Head Revisited

A former German SS captain returns to Dachau concentration camp and begins reminiscing on the power he enjoyed there, until he finds himself on trial by those who died at his hands.

This feels like an episode that I shouldn’t have watched… It also doesn’t have much of a purpose or story besides condemning Nazis, like we don’t all agree that Nazi’s were/are horrible people.

Rating: 2

Shadow Play

Adam Grant is trapped in a recurring nightmare, in which he is sentenced to death by electrocution. He tries to convince the people around him that they are imaginary and that they will cease to exist if the execution is carried out.

This episode has an interesting premise, but it falls flat in the execution…pun intended.

Rating: 3

As you can probably tell, I didn’t like the majority of these episodes. They were all passable in quality, but only a handful of them hold a candle to any of the episodes I watched in my first review. Overall, I think it’s time I retire reviewing the original episodes of The Twilight Zone and keep my focus on the reboot; when more episode some out, that is.

Did I like this show? I do like The Twilight Zone, but only a select few of these episode were actually enjoyable to me.

Will I continue watching? I’m undecided, I may continue watching the show, but I won’t be reviewing it anymore.

Posters by Sandrade Illustration and Luke Vickers. All other images are stills from their respective episode.

#The TV Show Trials #The Twilight Zone #tw suicide

0 notes

bevioletskies · 7 years

Text

20 questions [20/20]

characters: peter/gamora, guardians-centric

fandom: avengers academy/marvel cinematic universe

summary: wasp has a new competition in store for the students of avengers academy, and there’s money involved. so obviously, peter and gamora have to pretend to be a couple in order to win. wait, what?

chapter preview: the guardians attend prom, gamora makes up her mind, and peter tells her what he’s been hiding.

word count: 9842 | total word count: 118k

a/n: i don’t wanna spoil how this chapter ends, so let’s just say warning for things going down.

ao3 | previously | next | masterpost

There was something almost too intimate about waking up on Friday morning when Gamora realized Peter’s face was half-buried into her neck, the fading smell of his cologne and shampoo wafting into her face. They hadn’t shared a bed in two weeks, and given their recent...understandings, it felt incredibly close to something they both wanted, but couldn’t have.

It was like her entire life, Gamora had been denied the pleasure of company, of companionship and connections, raised to see other beings as targets and obstacles, only to find true friends, honest and real love of the familial and romantic sense, in the strangest of places. She had found it wasn’t always about having something to fight for, but someone - several someones, in fact. After all, who would have known that she would find kinship with this odd, ridiculous, impulsive boy with quick feet and a quicker mouth, with stars in his eyes and a song in his heart? How irritating he had been at the beginning, how irritating he could be even now, and yet...

The moment was ruined when Peter sneezed into her hair. Oh well, she couldn’t have it all.

Wincing in slight disgust, Gamora rolled Peter over towards the wall and got up, stretching. She didn’t have to check her phone to know what her schedule was like today - in the morning, a quick sparring session with Nebula, in the early afternoon, preparation at Van Dyne’s, and then by nightfall, prom.

“You heading to meet Nebula now?” She turned around to see a sleepy, bed-headed Peter giving her a drowsy grin. He looked adorably rumpled, though Gamora was still half-annoyed that he had sneezed on her.

She hummed in response. “I’ll see you tonight.” He crooked a finger at her, indicating he wanted her to come closer. When she did, he cupped her jaw so he could kiss her on the cheek, apparently the one gesture they allowed themselves to share in private, passably platonic despite its other implications. “Go brush your teeth, your breath smells awful.”

Gamora arrived at the gym to find Nebula already there, having cleared some mat space quite easily, what with everyone being somewhat terrified of her. “Please tell me you’ve decided,” Nebula said in lieu of an actual greeting.

“Saturday,” she replied, beginning to work on wrapping her wrists.

“So you’re allowing Quill to make your decision for you. Figures,” Nebula muttered, turning away from her.

Gamora frowned. “No, it’s not...this isn’t about Peter, though I’ll admit he plays a part in my decision. It’s him and everyone else. What saves the most people, us leaving or us staying behind?”

“We wait any longer, and there will be no room for decision-making whatsoever.” Nebula paced around her, looking at her sister the way a predator observed its prey. “We stay here, and then what happens? We wait ‘til he comes for us?”

“And then we help everyone prepare,” Gamora answered, glancing over at the others in the gym. It was still relatively early, so most students were probably just getting breakfast if not still sleeping, but there were a handful of people around, working diligently on the various exercise machines, unaware of their plight.

“An army of Terrans will be no more than mere fleas to our father,” Nebula hissed.

“STOP - stop calling him our father,” Gamora snapped, her fingernails digging into her palms. “He is no father to either of us. He hurt us, Nebula. Over, and over, and over again, you said it yourself. He deserves nothing but our derision, and our rage. Do him no favours by acting as if he were any sort of parental figure to anyone.” She straightened up, her eyes hard. “Besides, it won’t just be Terrans. There are people of other kinds here, like us, and those who can reach out beyond the stars to form armies of another kind. My only deciding factor at this point is whether we need to involve anyone else at all.”

Nebula’s hands came to rest on her hips, tapping out a rhythm in consideration. “It appears that we’ve become somewhat altruistic since we distanced ourselves from him. You more than me, obviously. I suppose in the case of killing our - in the case of killing Thanos, it’s not such a bad thing after all, if it will allow us to get the job done at last.”

Gamora relaxed, stepping closer to Nebula. “That’s the spirit,” she said, smirking. “Now, let us fight like old times.”

______

While the other Guardians were spending their morning outside, soaking in the last bits of sunshine before the summer was over, Peter and Mantis were curled up on the couch together, watching Knight Rider. Like Gamora, Mantis didn’t really understand the talking car, either, but she was pleased to finally spend some quality time with Peter.

“You have been so busy,” she commented. “I hope whatever it was you were doing, it was not...bad.”

“It really isn’t,” Peter protested. “Why does everyone seem to think I’m up to something terrible?”

“We mean no offense, Peter, you just make some poor decisions sometimes,” Mantis said sympathetically, squeezing his arm. “It’s okay. I know you mean well.”

He groaned in mock offense before changing the subject, turning to look at her. “You excited for prom?”

“Yes. I am determined to make Drax dance with me at least once,” she replied. “It is nice, being here on Terra with other people.”

“You must’ve been so lonely, living with...him,” Peter said quietly. “Did he ever do anything fun with you? Play catch, or something?”

Mantis picked at her fingernails, refusing to meet Peter’s gaze. Her antennae drooped slightly, and Peter felt guilty at prying. She never did like talking about her life before becoming a Guardian. “He might have raised me, but I was never his daughter.”

“I’m sorry.” He took her hands in his and squeezed reassuringly. “I shouldn’t keep asking you about him. But you have a family with us now, Mantis. Not just me, but everyone.”

“I know,” she said, sniffling slightly. “He never hurt me, Peter. Not physically, at least, he was not that kind of man. But I suppose that your brief time with him made it clear what kind of man he really was. I am so much happier here. I cannot imagine ever leaving a life as good as ours.”

Peter internally winced at Mantis’s words, his mind going back to Gamora once again. He couldn’t break Mantis’s heart by telling her about what Gamora and Nebula were planning on doing, not when she was clearly so happy, so at peace with her new life with them. Besides, it wasn’t his truth to tell. “If there’s anything I can do to make it even better, you let me know.”

She smiled down at their joined hands. “Remember when we first met?” she said softly. “I demonstrated my powers by using them on you. At the time, I knew vaguely of what had happened to you before - being chased by the Sovereign, and crashing your ship. I also knew that you must have been quite confused and perhaps angry at meeting your father. And yet, all I could feel was the love you felt for your friends. How you had fought with them, especially with Rocket and Gamora, but you still wanted to make sure they were safe and happy.” She grinned up at him, her antennae lifting with a soft glow. “I do not need things to make me happy, I never did. All I want from you, Peter, is for you to love and care for all of us, as you always have.”

Peter could feel himself tearing up a little bit at Mantis’s kindness. He wrapped her in a bear hug, pulling her in as tight as he could. “That, I can do,” he murmured. “But seriously, if you want your own credit card or something, I could probably get Pepper to set something up, and do you want me to teach you how to drive? Or, like, fly the Milano? Because I could do that, too.” Mantis dissolved into giggles, burying her face into his shoulder, and for a moment, Peter felt the weight lifting off his shoulders, like his head had been cleared of a stormy fog. Mantis had that effect on people, with or without her empathic powers, and he hoped she would never lose it.

______

By the time early afternoon had rolled around, the Academy was the most frenzied it had ever been, including the time that the Ultron bots had tried to take over the school. Pepper had shuttles running on and off campus so students could get their hair and makeup done in the city. Janet had cleared out Van Dyne’s and turned it into a free salon for students who couldn’t afford to pay for appointments, enlisting the help of Mary Jane, Greer, and Peggy (who was coveted by all the girls on campus for both her badassness and her red lipstick game).

The Guardians girls had decided to get ready in Van Dyne’s, not really wanting to bother with the tedium of traveling into the city. Mantis was chatting a mile per minute with Janet, who was equally as excitable. Nebula, who didn’t want her makeup done, and, you know, had no hair, sat in the corner with a magazine, secretly glad that for once, she wasn’t saddled with Yondu for company.

“I’m so glad you’re going, Gamora,” Janet said cheerfully. “I gotta say, I was a little worried it might not be your thing. Same goes for your sister, I’m honestly super surprised she’s going, too.”

“We kind of always travel as a team,” Gamora replied. “You’d be hard-pressed to find any of us alone on purpose, although…”

“Although what?”

“I saw Quill skulking around in the library a lot recently,” Natasha said from her chair, where Peggy was helping her sculpt a glamorous, old-school hairdo. “What’s he up to, Gamora?”

“He has a bit of a side project going on at the moment,” Gamora said as nonchalantly as she could. Internally, she found herself somewhat annoyed - she was trying her best to ignore whatever it was Peter was doing, not let it bother her nearly as much as it had been.

Janet’s eyes narrowed. “When you say side project…”

“He was alone, Jan, don’t make Gamora doubt his faithfulness,” Natasha interjected. “Besides, I can’t imagine him having eyes for anyone but her. He seems absolutely smitten.”

“It is even worse when we are on the ship and they think they are alone,” Mantis added, winking at Gamora when the others weren’t looking. “Peter is very affectionate.”

“And why wouldn’t he be? He’s got an amazing girl, and he should remember that,” Janet said proudly, squeezing Gamora’s arm. Her stomach tensed a little in response. It was hard, pretending to already have something that she wanted so much, knowing that she could if they just took that last step. She thought back to last night, wondering what Peter had meant by telling her that his last question, his twentieth question, was specifically for today.

“He’s, uh, thoughtful, alright,” Gamora nodded, turning to look at herself in the mirror. “Janet, is this much glitter really necessary?”

Janet frowned, offended. “Glitter is always a necessity, thank you very much.”

Meanwhile, the boys were getting ready at the dorms, starting much later than the girls, since they needed to do little else but get changed. Peter stood in front of the mirror, nervously adjusting his cufflinks for what felt like the millionth time. He had considered doing something different with his hair, but he remembered how Gamora had once told him that pretending to be someone he wasn’t was unattractive. He wasn’t that guy, that clean-cut, all-American look he had been sporting, more akin to, well, Captain America than him. And she was right - Peter liked himself better just like this.

“Nice cufflinks.” Peter jumped at the sound of Rocket’s voice, turning to see the others standing in his doorway. To his surprise and the other’s discomfort, Drax was wearing a button-up shirt with his nicely pressed slacks. Yondu was in his ridiculous powder-blue suit, Rocket had on a vest and shorts in some expensive tweed material that was the closest to a suit he was ever going to get, and Groot was in a tiny tuxedo. Peter’s heart melted at the sight of his itsy-bitsy bowtie. “Custom-made?”

Peter turned back to the mirror, staring at his reflection. He had asked Gamora about the colours of her dress so he would be able to match her, though she didn’t seem too concerned if they didn’t. Still, he had taken it to heart, excited at the thought of what she would look like tonight. He was dressed in what was likely the most expensive clothes he would ever own - a plum dress shirt with a suit jacket in the same red as his plethora of leather jackets, dark slacks, and leather oxfords. He also had a few finishing touches - a black tie with tiny white stars, red star-shaped cufflinks, and of course, his mask. At first, he wanted something grey and sleek to mimic the look of his collapsible helmet, but then he found a black mask with silver markings, reminiscent of the one on Gamora’s face. Perfect, he’d thought as he bought it. He hoped she would think so, too.

Also, he remembered to brush his hair. Small victories.

“Online shopping, actually. I did some digging,” Peter shrugged. “How’d you find a suit for Groot? And you?”

“Called in a favour with the Ravager tailor,” Yondu said, looking slightly melancholy. The suits must have been delivered mere days before his men had been attacked. “Twig looks real good, don’t he?”

“I am Groot,” Groot said proudly, puffing his little chest outwards.

“You’re gonna be the best-dressed guy at prom, Groot,” Peter told him.

______

The students audibly gasped as they entered the gym, completely and utterly transformed. Gone were the sweat-stained mats, the sleek weight machines, even the creaky wooden floors. With Pepper’s organization skills and Janet’s eye for style and interior decorating, the entire room had been overhauled to look just as magical as any fairytale illustration.

The floors had been concealed with temporary black-and-white checkerboard linoleum tile, while the walls and mirrors were covered with thick black curtains. White string lights hung from the ceiling banisters, creating the illusion of a perfectly clear night sky as they twinkled off every reflective surface. There was a large dance area cleared out at the very front, where Vision was setting up his DJ booth. The back area consisted of round tables with black velvet tablecloths, gold-framed chairs with black cushions, all faintly lit by its centerpieces of black, white, and red flowers, with small fake scented candles in the middle. To finish it all off were sets of white and gold cutlery, black cloth napkins, and gold table settings, harkening of old-school decadence. It was simply stunning, and probably blew the budget Director Fury had been hoping for.

As breathtakingly beautiful as everything was, it wasn’t the view Peter had been looking for. He glanced around in wonderment until his eyes landed on the girls he had been seeking out. Nebula was scowling as always, though she admittedly looked quite nice in her fitted jumpsuit and combat boots, not too far a stretch from her usual leather uniform. Mantis was bouncing up and down excitedly in her bright green tulle dress, her alien-shaped earrings swinging from her head with every move she made. Her hair was up in two perfectly shaped buns on the very top of her head, with a healthy dose of silvery-green glitter on her roots, her eyelids, and in her lipstick. Gamora, though, was...wow.

Peter approached her with what he felt was probably the biggest, dumbest grin he had ever sported, wondering for a moment how he had lucked out, until his brain kicked in and reminded him that despite everything, she still wasn’t actually his girlfriend. With any luck, he was hoping to find a way to change that tonight.

As he got closer, he drank in the mesmerizing sight before him. Gamora wasn’t as tomboyish as her sister, but she definitely didn’t wear dresses or skirts very often. Regardless, Peter found her to be utterly gorgeous no matter what she wore, whether she was wearing a dress or in full combat gear, brandishing a sword (and now he was picturing her in a dress with her sword. Damn). Tonight, she was in a floor-length gown with a leather corset belt, the dress itself starting off jet black at the bustline, and melting into a soft red and purple ombre from the hips down, somewhat echoing the ombre of her hair. She wore a thin black choker with a golden star charm, elbow-length lace-up gloves reminiscent of those she wore in combat, glittery earrings, and a deep purple mask with dark red swirls. Her hair was up in a complicated braided twist, further showcasing the reds of her hair. There was a serene confidence in the way she held herself, her chin slightly tipped upwards as always, her hands resting on her waist, though there was a gentleness in her stance as well that Peter had come to admire so much.

He held out the corsage in complete silence, a collection of black and white blossoms that Groot had spent quite some time working on. She took the cue to lift her hand, allowing him to slide the satin ribbon over her gloved wrist, smiling warmly at him the entire time, despite him being rendered speechless.

Once he finished, however, he was still gaping at her rather oddly. “Peter?” Gamora looked slightly concerned. “You haven’t said anything.”

“Sorry,” Peter said a little louder than he’d meant to. “It’s just...you look incredible. And, uh, I like the star on your necklace. We had the same idea it seems.” He patted on his tie with one hand, feeling rather idiotic as he did so, while lifting his other arm to show her his cufflinks.

“That’s not all.” Gamora took a step back and lifted the hem of her dress to reveal strappy black heels, complete with golden star-shaped buckles. She moved back towards him, her hands coming to rest over his. “What do you think, Star-Lord?”

He bent to kiss her, his arms sliding around her waist and pulling her flush against him, hands cradling the small of her back. As Gamora’s arms came up to rest over the back of his neck, he heard the shutter noise of a camera, but he was barely paying attention to their surroundings in favour of holding her just a little bit closer. It was weird, kissing her and knowing what it meant to both of them, what it could mean.

Eventually, though, Gamora pulled away, turning towards the camera. Janet was standing there in a giant poofy black-and-yellow dress and a beehive-like updo, utterly appropriate for her superhero moniker, clutching a DSLR camera instead of her usual Starkphone. “Aren’t you two the cutest?” she gushed, causing Gamora to flush slightly. “We’re doing portraits over by the drinks table, if you’d like. I’m trying to squeeze in some last-minute photos for the yearbook, they’re being sent in for print on Sunday. And, not to give it away, but there’s a pret-ty good chance you two are the Academy’s Cutest Couple!”

“I look forward to finding out,” Peter winked, turning to look at Gamora, his arms still around her middle. “What do you think, honey? Wanna get our pictures taken?”

Gamora glanced over at Janet’s hopeful face before looking back up at Peter. “Sure, why not.”

______

After everyone, students and teachers that were stuck as chaperones alike, had filed in and settled down at their tables, dinner was served by some suspiciously compliant Ultron bots, while jazzy lounge music serenaded them from the speakers set up around the gym, creating a rather pleasant atmosphere. While it was commonplace for some of the other students to get such treatment, the Guardians found themselves somewhat overwhelmed with the classiness of the whole affair. The fanciest place they had ever been to was when the Nova Corps had given them some pity units after defeating Ego, and they had splurged on a group dinner at Olive Garden. They weren’t allowed back after the breadstick incident, though Rocket still claimed to this day that the waitress had marinara sauce in her hair before he got involved.

“Ain’t this pleasant.” Yondu brandished his fork at their surroundings. “Sittin’ down in our best clothes, having a nice meal like rich folk.”

“Food’s good,” Rocket admitted. He had practically inhaled everything on his plate in the first ten minutes of the meal.

Drax, however, hadn’t started eating yet, as he had spent a good five minutes cutting up Groot’s portion into smaller pieces, and was now lost in thought, looking around at the other tables, taking it all in. “What an interesting life we lead. Your Terra is much more exciting than I initially thought it would be, Quill,” he mused.

“Yeah, but it’s less ‘planet of outlaws’ and more ‘planet of heroes’, apparently,” Peter shrugged. Gamora squirmed a little in discomfort at Drax’s words. Was he also somehow aware of her plans to leave? It seemed like everyone was getting weirdly nostalgic about a past currently taking place in the present, as if they were missing something that was still there. Then again, she felt that way about Peter - he was sitting right next to her, his elbow occasionally brushing her arm as they ate, and yet part of her felt like she had already left him behind.

“Nothing wrong with that,” Rocket said enthusiastically, holding up his glass of punch. “Let’s drink to bein’ a bunch of a-holes and heroes!”

“Cheers to that!” Peter grinned. They all raised their glasses in a rare moment of perfect solidarity - even Nebula joined in, a genuinely relaxed expression on her face that suggested she was actually enjoying herself. Janet swung by to take a photo of their toast, and other students were watching from a distance, looking jealous. Peter certainly couldn’t blame them - his odd, dysfunctional family probably looked like they had found their peace with each other. And for the most part, they had. He still couldn’t help but glance over at Gamora, though she seemed to be doing a pretty good job at masking what he was sure to be dominating her every thought.

Eventually, the sounds of cutlery and glasses clinking about slowly died down, and the lounge music faded away. Vision took his place at the DJ booth and announced that Janet had put together a special playlist with the help of some students, an appropriately old-school mix of songs to suit the masquerade theme.

“You have something to do with this?” Gamora asked Peter, curious. She wasn’t sure if she would be able to handle one of the songs they had danced to in private suddenly blasting through the gym speakers. The song from their six-month anniversary, the one from the hotel room, hell, even the one they had danced to back on Knowhere. She had caught Peter listening to Fooled Around and Fell In Love more than once, and admittedly it was still one of her favourites, considering it was one of the first Terran songs she ever listened to. Still, she had no desire to hear it again in this very moment, or else everything she was thinking about would be written all over her face.

“I made a couple suggestions, but they wanted something even further back. Think Cap, Carter, and Barnes,” Peter chuckled. He stood and undid the button of his suit jacket, then held out his hand for her to take. “Shall we?” Nodding, Gamora accepted his hand and let him lead her towards the dance floor.

Most people had remained in their seats, still finishing up dinner (or waiting for dessert). Janet, of course, was already out on the dance floor, surrounded by several of her girls, while Steve and Peggy were swaying together in perfect rhythm, dancing in the way they had promised to do so many decades ago. The first song on the playlist was Frank Sinatra’s version of Cheek to Cheek, appropriately upbeat and a perfect start for the night. Some students looked baffled at the thought of dancing to something that wasn’t currently in the Top 100, but joined in regardless, eager to have some fun and forget about their troubles.

“You must be living your dream right now,” Gamora remarked dryly a few songs later. Peter was trying his hardest to sing along to Puttin’ on the Ritz and failing, though he was endearingly eager in his efforts. “The entire room is dancing.” It was hard to get a read on his expression when there was so much frantic movement around them, and the mask concealing the upper half of his face certainly didn’t help, but there was such unbridled joy in every shift of his muscle, every bounce in his step, that it was utterly infectious. Gamora felt herself fully relax for the first time in weeks, shoulders loosening as she tried to keep up with him and the energy of the rest of the student body.

“It’s the best,” he beamed, smiling so hard that his cheeks hurt. “I’ve got music, I’ve got my team, I’ve got you - what else could I ask for?”

Peter and Drax swapped dance partners a few songs later at the beginnings of a Benny Goodman medley. Mantis’s enthusiasm matched Peter’s step for step, hysterical giggles escaping her body like they had bubbled up from inside and couldn’t wait to get out. It was endearing to watch them together, both somewhat childlike in similar ways, not that it was a bad thing. Gamora admired their upbeat, can-do attitude in the face of adversity - it was refreshing to be around them when she had spent so much of her life with the sullen Nebula.

Peter had taken Mantis under his wing the moment he came to the conclusion she was basically his sister, taught her the ways of the Guardians and the ways of Earth. She had adapted quickly, having had no other measure of quality of life than her bland existence on Ego, and was reasonably well-liked by the others on campus. Gamora felt a little guilty, thinking back on how aggressive she had been towards Mantis at first, and how wary she had been about Mantis’s powers. Now, Mantis was also something of a sister to her as well, someone she had grown to love and care for like they had known each other their whole lives.

“You seem lost in thought,” Drax commented. The two of them were standing on the sidelines, keeping an eye on their respective dates. “Did you want to go back out and dance? If you must, I could accompany you.”

“That’s kind of you, Drax, but I’m alright,” Gamora said, squeezing his shoulder. “Are you having a good time?”

“I must admit, the music is quite catchy. It almost makes me want to tap my foot,” Drax replied. “And you? You and Quill look very good together, contrary to my previous beliefs. He is getting you to dance more and more. Somehow.”

She laughed sheepishly, reaching to push her mask up her forehead so she could look at him properly. “I have to say, Peter might be onto something. It’s nice to have fun when there’s so much going on.”

He looked at her quizzically. “I was not aware there was something ‘going on’. What’s wrong, Gamora?”

Gamora bit her lip. Shoot, she’d slipped. Aside from Groot, Drax was the one she was most worried about. After all, he had been the one to hunt her down from the start so he could get to Thanos. He may have relaxed immensely since becoming a Guardian and starting a new life on Earth, but he was still just as fight-starved and bloodthirsty as ever when he came down to it. If he knew she was going after Thanos, he would want to join in, no matter what. As much as she wanted to keep it a secret from him, she was more worried about how he would react if he found out the truth from someone else. “Just...Nebula and I have been thinking about leaving the school for a little while to look for Thanos. We can no longer just sit by and watch him hurt others who do not deserve it.”

“Leaving?” Drax was looking at her as if he had never heard of such a concept. “You would leave all of this behind?”

“It’s not forever,” she protested.

“You and I both know the chances of your return after confronting Thanos are abysmal,” Drax snorted. “I mean no offense, Gamora, but he is unmatched in strength. I certainly do not need to tell you that.” She nodded, sighing. “Well, if you wish to take him on with no reinforcement, then I wish you luck. But this planet will suffer a great loss without you here to protect it. And our team will have lost our greatest warrior, leader, and friend.”

Gamora found herself completely thrown for a loop, unsure of how to answer what was likely the highest praise she had ever heard Drax offer, and it was to her, no less. “I - you - you’re...not asking to join us?”

“Of course not,” Drax chuckled. “I have learned well from the evaluations you and Quill have made of me. My rash behaviour, my lack of practiced discipline, it will do you no favours out there. I have no desire to hinder you and Nebula. Besides, I have found peace within myself, and need no revenge to satisfy the unceasing pain Thanos has caused me. My new purpose in life is here, on Terra. A new family, to honour my old one.” He turned to look at her, a sad smile on his face. “We would all greatly prefer for you to stay, of course.”

“As everyone’s been telling me,” she sighed. “I don’t want to think about how Nebula would react if I changed my mind, again.”

“Well, it is clear to me that Nebula genuinely loves you, despite her harsh words and actions that suggest otherwise,” he said thoughtfully. Nebula was standing several feet away, eyes narrowed as she watched her classmates dancing with abandon. Yondu had tried to drag her out with him, but predictably, she had refused and threatened to gouge his eyeballs out, so now Yondu was somewhere in the middle of a circle of girls, trying his best to make them laugh. “She would be angry, as she always is, but she would forgive you. She knows how much we mean to you, and you to us. Don’t let Nebula make your decision for you. You deserve to make your choice for yourself.”

Gamora felt tears welling up in her eyes at Drax’s words, and she quickly moved to wipe them away. “Thank you, Drax. That’s very kind of you to say.”

He nodded before moving to wrap her in a giant hug, enveloping her in his incredibly large arms. He squeezed a little too tight, as if he were unaware of his own strength, but it was a comfort to know that her relationship with Drax had come so far. “You are my friend, Gamora. I trust you will know, in your heart, what is right for you.”

Drax released her as she inhaled sharply, trying her best to recover before Peter could see and immediately try to fix the problem, as often tried to do. It was then that she noticed Drax also looked melancholy, though differently than before. “Something on your mind?” she asked.

He was quiet for so long she wondered if he had heard her at all, his arms folded over his chest, closing himself off. “I miss Hovat.”

Gamora’s heart broke a little for Drax. His usual moods were often either rambunctious violence or infectious laughter, so it was sometimes too easy to forget he had lost people as well. Drax had told the Guardians the story of his childhood sweetheart, whom he had met at a school dance much like this one. She had not moved a single muscle despite the catchy music, and right then and there, he knew she was the one. They had been together for an unusually long time for a school-aged relationship, and had started talking about marriage and children after finishing their studies, until she and Drax’s relatives were killed by Thanos. Gamora knew little else about Hovat, but she knew that they had wanted a daughter.

Before she could say something, anything, that could possibly make up for what Thanos had done to Drax, Mantis and Peter practically bounced over to them, grinning from ear to ear in guileless joy. When they saw Drax’s face, Peter looked over to Gamora in confusion, but Mantis simply stepped forward and gently laid a hand on Drax’s forearm. Gamora moved as if to stop her, concerned that Mantis was about to use her powers, but the other girl’s antennae never moved as she said, “Should we go get some air?” Drax nodded wordlessly, allowing Mantis to lead him outside while she began an excitable monologue about all the fun songs she and Peter had danced to.

“What happened?” Peter asked.

“Nothing,” Gamora said, fixing him with a stare, silently pleading for him not to pry. “You’re a mess, Peter.” She pulled out his pocket square so she could wipe at the beads of sweat forming along his hairline. He only laughed in response.

As if on cue, the music switched to something slower, more sensual. Peter took it as a sign, and offered his arm to her again. “Ready to head back out there?”

______

At this point in the evening, large groups of friends and teams had started heading back to the tables to take a break, while couples who had been sitting out the fast-paced songs were now making their way onto the dance floor. Elektra, who was guiding Matt with a gentler touch than she had ever had in her entire life, winked at Gamora as she and Peter made their way back.

Long ago and far away...I dreamed a dream one day...and now...that dream is here beside me...

“Is there such a thing as slow songs that aren’t about love?” Gamora half-grumbled. Her nerves were alight wherever Peter was touching her - one hand clasped in hers, the other splayed across the small of her back. Their thighs brushed with every step, his face hovering mere inches from hers. I could kiss him right now if I wanted to, she thought.

“I’m sure there are, but personally, love songs are kind of my favourite,” Peter replied. As if he had read her mind, he ducked his head to press a kiss at the crook of her jaw. His eyes flickered upwards briefly to meet Yondu’s, who was back at their table, watching them. He nodded in approval, raising a glass as if to toast to them. Feeling brave, Peter nuzzled a little further into her neck, catching a whiff of her perfume as he did, before drawing back so he could observe her.

Just one look and then I knew...that all I longed for...long ago was you...

Warm from Peter’s gaze, Gamora leaned forward to rest her chin on his shoulder, watching other couples as a means of distracting herself. She could see the respect and trust in Steve and Peggy’s faces, their eyes never leaving each other once. Jessica was uncharacteristically soft, her usual tense, hard-edged posture completely lax in Luke’s giant, but gentle embrace. Misty and Danny, Billy and Teddy, and oh, Natasha and Clint. Gamora lifted her hand from Peter’s arm to wave at Natasha, who seemed happy to be back with him, if not in the romantic sense quite yet.

As the music continued on, Gamora could feel her feet start to ache a little - she wasn’t used to wearing stilettos - but she had no desire to walk away just yet, though the lyrics of each song were increasingly hitting home, to the point of her feeling a little more than paranoid.

Just hold me tight and tell me you'll miss me...while I'm alone and blue as can be...dream a little dream of me...

Is your heart filled with pain...shall I come back again...tell me dear, are you lonesome tonight...

You've gone away...this aching heart of mine is singing...lover, come back to me...

After you've gone...and left me crying...after you've gone...there's no denying...

We'll meet again...don't know where…don't know when...but I know we'll meet again some sunny day...

Personally, Gamora was starting to think someone was out to get her, though as far as she could tell, Peter wasn’t the one who had chosen these songs. He did, however, notice she was becoming uncomfortable, her shoulders more rigid than before, her eyes darting around the room like she was expecting something to jump out at her.

“You feeling okay? It’s almost 11, and I’m fine, but if you wanna leave…”

“One more song, and I might want to call it a night,” she replied, grateful that he had noticed. She wasn’t sure if she was ever going to speak up, trapped between wanting to stay forever, and wanting to go before the songs left her devastated. “I’ve been so tired lately.”

“Understandable.” He squeezed her hand in sympathy. “Hey, I’m glad we got to do this together, you know? Have something normal in our lives for once. And it’s been the perfect night. Too bad they haven’t played anything I suggested, that would really seal the deal.” Then, as if the entire universe were out to get Gamora, a familiar piano strain began to play, causing Peter’s eyebrows to shoot up in surprise.

“Peter…”

He didn’t respond, instead electing to rotate them slightly, guiding her with the hand on her back, so Gamora was turned away from the crowd, focusing solely on him. He tipped his head downwards so his nose was pressed into her hair, his mouth ghosting over her ear, as he began to sing along.

“If you ever...change your mind...about leaving, leaving me behind…”

Her fingers dug deep into his shoulders, leaving indents in his jacket. He didn’t seem to notice, though, rubbing slow circles into her back as if to reassure her that he was right there.

“Bring it to me, bring your sweet lovin’...bring it on home to me…” He fell silent as the song continued. They were barely taking any steps at this point, basically swaying on the spot as other couples moved slowly but steadily around them. “Have you thought about your last question yet?”

I know I laughed when you left...but now I know I only hurt myself…

“Not yet,” Gamora said weakly, loosening her grip. “You seem quite confident in yours.”

“I’ve been denying myself of asking for a while now,” Peter replied. “Didn’t think there would be a good time for it.”

I'll give you jewelry and money too...that ain't all, that ain't all I'll do for you...

“Did you want to ask now?”

He smiled. “Maybe it’s a little cowardly of me, but I only want to ask when I’m sure of the answer.”

“Then what’s the point of asking?” She was beginning to grow frustrated. Peter wasn’t usually this evasive, had never been one to talk so mysteriously. He talked in circles at times, yes, but never did he purposely try to confuse her the way he was now.

“You’ll see.”

You know I'll always be your slave…till I'm buried, buried in my grave…

“You’re doing it again,” she said, narrowing her eyes at him. “Peter, what did I say about being honest?”

“You gotta let me have this,” he said, a sudden desperate pleading in his eyes. “Gamora, please.”

The hazy, intimate, almost dream-like bubble of their surroundings had “popped” for Gamora, and she couldn’t help but feel soured by Peter’s odd behaviour. She pulled away from his grasp. “I can’t finish this song,” she said quietly. “I think I’m done for tonight.”

Peter looked understandably disappointed. “I guess we have done this one before,” he sighed. “Can I walk you back, at least? Milano, or the dorms?”

“Milano,” she said firmly. She didn’t want to spend another night staring at blank walls again. At least the stickers in her bunk would provide some comfort, though she was hesitant about whether she wanted to share a bed with Peter, or if he was even going to offer, considering how tense they had both become so quickly.

The other Guardians sent them curious looks as they made their way to the doors, but Peter only patted Yondu on the shoulder and gave Mantis a quick hug before they left, otherwise choosing not to stop and talk. They walked in terse silence, a good three feet apart instead of with their hands laced together as they usually did. Peter was inexplicably on his phone the whole way, tapping away on his screen at a speed that suggested he was attempting to write a novel before they returned. Increasingly irritated, Gamora picked up her pace until she was a solid ten feet ahead, and was practically marching the rest of the way until they got to the loading bay.

“Gamora,” Peter called to her. “Can we sit? And talk? Please?”

Part of her wanted to roll her eyes and walk away, but hell, Gamora wasn’t sure how many more chances she would get to do this, so she would take what she could get. Besides, she had already made up her mind about what to do. It was blindingly obvious, in retrospect, but frankly, Peter’s behaviour had her wanting to make him sweat a little, savouring her decision for tomorrow as initially planned.

She sat next to him on the floor by the side flank of the Milano, and began to peel off her gloves. She removed her necklace and shoes as well, letting out a soft sigh as she wiggled her toes, freeing her feet of their increasing stiffness. “Can you help with the hair? I’ve got pins in places I can’t reach.” The tension in her body began to dissipate as his fingers worked their way through her hair.

“You have a good time tonight?”

“I did. It kept me from thinking about everything that’s been happening, at least for a little while.”

“Yeah, we’ve had some pretty crazy stuff go down these past few months.” Peter gently eased out the last of the bobby pins. His fingers slid back into her hair, feeling around for others, easing out the tangles in the process. Gamora felt the warmth stir in her belly again, remembering the way she’d imagined Peter’s hands to feel like. “Y’know...if you do end up staying, I think we should take a couple months off of galaxy-wide missions. Stay here on Earth, prioritize a little. We keep diving back in - or rather, out there - and it’s been screwing us over, a lot. We’ll pull in a pretty substantial amount of units from the yearbook contest, do some small missions here and there for a bit to keep us afloat. Hell, maybe I’ll get a part-time job.”

“You’re that worried about money?” Gamora turned around to face him. “We’ve been running the budgets together since the beginning, Peter. Is there something you’re not telling me? Aside from, you know, everything else?”

He ignored the jab. “No, it’s just.” He stopped himself, exhaling harshly. “Look, even if you don’t leave now, you’re gonna want to eventually. And you need money to get around, get food and supplies, whatever. I want to make sure we have enough set aside for that to happen, especially if it’s happening right now.”

Gamora found herself unable to respond. Time and time again, Peter was always surprising her, and for once, he had done it in a good way. Whenever she wanted to go over their money, he had waved her off, saying he would just spend less on take-out next month. Yet, here he was with a contingency in place for something that should never have even happened. It seemed like he had matured a great deal in the short time she had known him, become a true leader. Secretly, Peter thought the same of her, the way that her newfound understanding of people had brought her to equal ground as well.

While Gamora thought things over, Peter had pulled up a movie on his phone and was projecting it on the side of the ship. It was The Princess Bride again, one of the only romantic movies he had known her to favour, likely because of the sword fighting and not the love story. They watched in silence, and unlike all the other times, sat a distance away from each other, as if they were scared that physical contact was going to lead them elsewhere.

“Since the invention of the kiss, there have been five kisses that were rated the most passionate, the most pure. This one left them all behind.”

At those words, Gamora could take it no longer. Her last question had suddenly become incredibly clear. Really, she had been denying it so long, dragging everything out when it could be so simple. She leaned over to pause the movie despite having only a minute left, and said, “Last question. Why haven’t you asked me to stay?”

Peter’s face went utterly blank, an expression she couldn’t place in any range of emotions known to man. It scared her a little - Peter, who was usually like an open book, lacking the tells she had come to love about him. He picked up his phone, stood, and held out his hand for her to take. He led her into the Milano, set his phone down on the table, and moved to one of the cabinets near the weapons storage. She watched in astonishment as he pulled out a plastic tub and upended all of its contents onto the table.

Documents, photographs, bits and pieces of things she couldn’t even identify upon first glance, spilled across the surface. Gamora took a cautious step forward, picking up the first thing that caught her eye. A stained receipt for a bar on Knowhere, the one where Rocket and Drax had fought, where she and Peter had first danced. There was a phone number on the back that she recognized to be the Collector’s private line.

Another item - one of the anulax batteries that Rocket had stolen, which was now burnt out after his initial attempts to make a bomb for Ego.

Ticket stubs for their day at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. The log they had used as Groot’s temporary arm. The receipt for the pizza he had bought for their six-month anniversary date. Multiple copies of the photos they had taken together over the past three months, documenting their “relationship”.

Of course, Gamora thought. Peter has always been a sentimental person. It’s what keeps his head held high, and what can crush him in an instant if good memories are sullied by another. She hadn’t heard him listen to Brandy (You’re A Fine Girl) since encountering Ego, and suspected that she never would again.

Beyond the sentimental items, she spotted stacks of fake IDs, lists of names and phone numbers, brochures and pamphlets neatly clipped together with vouchers and profiles, tucked away in manila folders or crisp, unmarked white envelopes. The fake IDs sported photos of her and Nebula, with various fake names and birthdates, along with false racial identities (Nebula would hate for anyone to think she was Kree, and yet it was the most recurring one Gamora could spot, likely because Kree were much more common than Luphomoids. Gamora, of course, being the only Zehoberei alive, needed to be given new identities entirely).

She couldn’t make sense of anything until she picked up one small package labeled “Berhert”. Inside were notes about their first time on Berhert where Ego had come to “rescue” them, the second, in which Gamora successfully retrieved Nebula, and then the third, also known as the “Brionne incident”. There were maps, print-outs, and articles detailing the life on the planet, ranging from the flora to the fauna, all the known bases of operations that existed.

Another labeled “Xandar” - a long contact sheet of all the Nova Corps officers they had become acquainted with, articles about the Guardians’ activity on the planet, reports of Thanos’s sightings, including his most recent attack. There were also lists of weapons depots, pawn shops, and safehouses.

As Gamora made her way through every package, Peter watching her silently, she could see, quite clearly, how detailed everything was, how much time and effort it must have taken to gather every last resource they had. She glanced at Peter’s phone off-handedly, only to notice that instead of displaying the movie, he had pulled up what looked to be a transferable databank, easy to transmit to any other phone, consisting of the hundreds of contacts he had across all the packages, along with GPS coordinates for every location he had listed.

Peter didn’t have just twelve percent of a plan. He had nearly everything she and Nebula would need to take on Thanos.

“Peter,” she breathed, unsure of what else to say. He walked towards her almost shyly, his expression soft, warm, loving.

He cupped her face in his large hands, running a thumb across her cheek. Her arms automatically went around his waist, pulling him closer. They were quiet for a moment, the only notable sounds being the music from prom, and the persistent hum of the Milano’s systems hard at work. She was reminded of the hotel room, the noises of city life roaring around them as they had danced.

“I know you hate it when I don’t have a plan,” he began, causing her to chuckle into his shoulder. “I also know you hate big gestures, so really, this might be the worst thing I’ve done so far. But hear me out. I’m not asking you to stay, simply because I know you want to go. And if that’s what you want, then it’s what I want, too. I also wanna help, and I’ve become a pretty good tactician, so I wanted to do this for you, get you guys off the ground, because I know you’ve been distracted about whether you even wanted to do it in the first place. I’m not gonna pretend like I know better than you about this stuff, because I don’t. I talk a lot of shit about being this amazing leader, but half of the reason why I do good work out there is because I’ve got you with me, taking on anything and everything far beyond what I can handle, being the most incredible partner in...everything that I could ask for, beyond anything I could ask for. You’ve always been more confident, more capable, and I’m not saying that so you’ll talk me back up, I’m saying it because I believe it’s true. What I’ve done here...it’s not complete, it’s not perfect, I probably messed up somewhere, I dunno, but I wanted to be able to do this for you, because…”

He stopped himself, taking a shaky breath. He leaned forwards, resting his forehead against hers, clutching her hands in his between their chests. Gamora could feel her own heart beating wildly in her chest, like it was trying to escape.

“Last question for you.” His voice had dropped to a whisper. “After everything we’ve been through together - how we’ve suffered, how we’ve prevailed, every single time we fought with each other and against each other, whether we lost or won - I know you know, but do you believe me...when I tell you that I’m in love with you?”

Oh.

Gamora tipped her chin upwards, her lips just barely brushing against his. “You’re right,” she whispered. “I don’t like big gestures. But this isn’t one of them. In fact, I’d consider it, as I’ve said, a sign of love. As is this.” With that, she closed the gap, moving her hands away from his chest to his shoulders as she kissed him with everything she had - every song they had listened to, every danced they had shared. The movies they had watched, the training sessions they had fought, the missions they had endured. The laughter, the arguments, the silences in between, all for this very moment.

It took her a second to realize Peter had wrapped his arms around her waist and had lifted her off the ground, her entire weight resting against him. She could feel wetness on both their faces, though she wasn’t sure which one of them had started crying - it was probably Peter. He set her back down and pulled away, eyes glossy, before leaning back in to capture her mouth again, this time more hungrily, as if to affirm it was truly happening, that she was really here. It was unlike the other kisses they had shared, even the ones during prom, when they had been pretending it was still pretend.

After what felt like both hours and seconds at the same time, Gamora moved backward, though she gripped at the lapels of his suit jacket as if he were going to suddenly vanish in thin air, should she let go. “I believe you, Peter Quill,” she replied, almost giddy. “And I’m in love with you, too.”

He beamed so widely and unselfconsciously, that she could feel her own cheeks burn with the intensity of her returning grin. “I wasn’t planning on telling you at first, because it seemed like a selfish thing to do,” he said, shaking his head with a self-deprecating chuckle. “But I’m not telling you so you’ll stay, I’m telling you so you’ll know why I’m helping you leave. Did that...did that make any sense at all?”

“It’s the kind of odd logic I’ve come to expect of you,” Gamora laughed, leaning in to kiss him again.

It started off gentle, as sweet and innocent as any first kiss could be, though it was perhaps one of two or even three dozen kisses they had already shared before tonight. Surprisingly (or perhaps unsurprisingly), Gamora was the one who deepened it, her mouth falling slightly open so she could push her tongue into Peter’s mouth. Heat emanated from her body again, a desperation beginning to build in between her legs, and she could take it no longer, now that she was so close. Her hands moved to his tie, fumbling slightly as she attempted to undo it without pulling her mouth away from his. Peter eventually had to let go, albeit reluctantly, so he could help her loosen it, though his eyebrows shot up when her hands then reached for his belt. “Gamora…?”

“I told you...I’ve been thinking about you,” she said, her breath coming out heavier than she intended. She looked up at him through her lashes, biting her lip in the way she knew left him dazed. “This isn’t me being rash, or desperate, or whatever it is you think is happening. This is me having thought about it, about what I want to do with you and to you. Extensively. I want this if you want this.”

Peter’s pupils darkened near instantly, his head tilting once more, a half-cocky smirk taking place. “Okay,” he said, his voice low. “Yeah, I definitely want this.” Without another word, his hands slid downwards to cup her backside, lifting her up so her legs went around his waist, her hands gripping tightly onto his shoulders. She buried her face into his neck, inhaling the intoxicating scent of cologne and post-dance sweat that was just so Peter, before beginning to mouth at his jawline, sucking bruising kisses along his throat. She only pulled away once to moan into his shoulder as he gave her a generous squeeze.

He carried her into his room, slowly lowering her onto the mattress, reluctant to let go. He paused to stare down at her, admiring the sight of her in his bed in an entirely new context, before kneeling over her, capturing her mouth again. Impatient, Gamora tugged at his pants again, causing Peter to laugh before moving to undress her. His lips continued to wander over her face and neck as he slowly slid her dress off her body, letting out a soft sigh at seeing her exposed skin for the first time, the curve of her hips and the swell of her chest. She barely let him go long enough so he could carefully set her dress aside before yanking him back, fingernails digging into him as he began unbuttoning his shirt, mouth moving to his neck again. “G’mora - you gotta give me a second - oh - ” He interrupted himself with a desperate whine as her head dipped further downwards, biting at the base of his throat, possessive. Mine.

Finally, Peter managed to reduce them both to their underwear, laying them back down again so he could kiss her, though Gamora was clearly desperate for him to get on with it, her grip becoming vice-like, leaving almost painful pinpricks in his back. He grinned against her mouth before moving down her front, leaving open-mouthed kisses on her chest and her stomach, savouring the taste of her skin. Peter lifted his head to look at her as she sat up slightly, gaze fixated on him, her eyes even darker than usual.

“If you need me to slow down or stop, just say so,” he said, his tone both gentle and lustful. Gamora nodded, slightly confused at what Peter was intending on doing, until she realized he was pulling her underwear off and tossing it aside, shuffling himself further down until he was practically kneeling on the floor. Giving her one last wicked smirk, a purely Peter expression of both confidence and pride, he slowly pushed her knees apart, lowering his head between her legs. With a gasp, she squeezed her eyes shut and threw her head back, her fingernails now gripping at the sheets, desperate to find something to anchor herself to, as Peter’s hands slid up her thighs so he could brace her hips, pinning her to the bed.

It wasn’t exactly how Gamora had intended to end her night, her best case scenario being that Peter would want to stay up with her, talking, finally trying to convince her to stay. However, it seemed as if he had found another (frankly, much better) use for his mouth after all.

a/n: we made it, y'all! i did say things were going down this chapter, correct? i know, i'm mad at myself for the stupid joke, too. of course, gamora may have made up her mind at this point, but you don't know what she's decided on just yet ;)

Some links - peter and gamora's outfits, and yondu, nebula, and mantis's outfits. complete prom song list, if you're curious: cheek to cheek, puttin' on the ritz, long ago and far away, dream a little dream of me, are you lonesome tonight, lover come back to me, after you've gone, we'll meet again, and of course, bring it on home to me.

#starmora #peter quill #gamora #guardians of the galaxy #avengers academy #myfic #myfic: 20q #marvel #epilogue is coming next friday!#also not to be like 'validate me pls'#but likes and reblogs would be lovely thank you!!

12 notes · View notes

sweetandunholy · 7 years

Text

“Remember this feeling. This is the moment you stop being the rabbit.”

A marvelous character exploration on a team composed of broken, angry people. Misfits in their society coming together to become one great, holy mess— with nothing in common with great passion for a sport and terrible pasts of crime coming to haunt them.

3.5/5 Stars Recommendation: This book is great but it is once more, not for everyone.

—First and foremost, I apologize for doing two reviews of this type of “good but for a niche crowd” books back to back, but I find out and binge read this book yesterday—

A book recommended for those who loved the Raven Cycle! Strongly character driven books with an assortment of original and complex characters taking the narrative along each character arc. This first book does not include a romantic subplot so those who are expecting that, at least in the first book, will find themselves disappointed. This is also for those who don’t mind a book that’s average in its writting style at best, and instead is fully worth it because of its plot. Unlike Stiefvater’s The Raven Cycle, the prose is poor and non-existing, but it is what the book has to say that matter.

Let’s get something super straight: I only read this book because of the name. To the point that fact is, I only found out about this book when googling J. Maas’es A Court of Thorns and Roses and getting in return: Frequently asked questions “What is the Foxhole Court?”. My immediate thoughts went over to our lovable fox Lucien from the aforementioned series and the fact it had “Court” written on it. I did not look up the cover, I did not look up reviews or the summary, and I instead I got myself a digital version and began reading.

Boy was I wrong.

In fact, the Foxhole Court is one of those books that I simply have no idea why I kept reading or why it had me so enthralled and glued to it page after page, but the matter of fact is it did. Being honest, it might’ve had something to do with the fact that when I was halfway through the introductions, I realized two things: 1) This book was going to be about a sport 2) All of the main characters were men. Which may or may have not lead me to the conclusion this was going to be gay, and that pleased me very much (Again, I was wrong, though the book does include LGBT+ characters AND I keep my hopes up for the next two books). But the truth is, the book did keep me reading, and the book did keep me hooked from beginning to end. So let’s get to it now, shall we?

The Foxhole Court is the story of 18 year old Neil Josten who for years has now lived as a runaway. Changing his appearance, name, aliases, cities, schools, there is nothing left from the person Neil was before he began a life on the run from the criminal mastermind known as “The Butcher” that his father is. Nothing left but one thing, his passion for the fictional sport known as Exy. An Exy star in the rise as a child, Neil left behind an friend old friend and is haunted when he comes back eight years later, ready to recruit him into Palmetto State Universtiy’s Exy foxes. Despite having no idea who he is, Kevin insists Neil come play with them and for the first time in his life takes a decision for him and decided he won’t leave him behind a second time.

The entire situation is bad, the team is high profile and the sports broadcasts are slamming his face all over the news as a new rising star in the world of Exy. Things are turning bad for him in every angle… But Neil isn’t the only fox with secrets. The magic of the Foxhole Court is in its members, a team filled with misfits, broken people who come from pasts or homes equally as broken as them who are given a second, third, fourth or even fifth opportunity through the sport. A place right where Neil belongs… If only his past and Kevin’s wasn’t beginning to come running after them.

The Foxhole Court to some extent is an easy read, in the sense that it is only 260 pages long and reads like fanfiction. And no, it doesn’t mean the main character is a self insert, a Gary Stu or loved by everyone (in fact, almost all the opposite), fought for or wanted by all men/women all around the glove. I haven’t done too much research as to confirm, but the writting certainly felt amateurish. Most of the book reads like this:

He said. He asked. She said. She asked. Without much character interaction or emotion portrayed in the dialogue, for example. It isn’t exactly something terrible, but my point is there isn’t anything creative about the writing, or anything innovative and lyrical. However, Sakavic perfectly manages to write fully immersive characters and a great story that trails right behind them. If anything, the book only receives such a low rating from my part because of its quality as a book. It’s a great story, just not a greatly written one. Not to mention the book included more than a few incongruences that were nowhere near making sense, but that is a spoiler heavy rant I will go in detail below.

So without futher ado, spoilers below and my fanart sweet kids! (Click read more) and see you on the other side 😉

The Foxhole Court rants:

—The Amount of things that are just not doable, possible, or simply lack sense. This probably just adds to my earlier point of this reading like fan fiction. ➜ Bodies can not burn out with gasoline that fast, no matter how much you douse it in gasoline. Funerary homes need very, very powerful ovens to be able to reduce a body to ashes in a matter of hours. ➜ Niel would’ve never been able to burn that car and wait long enough for the body to become bones no less without any sort of authority finding him first. ➜ It’s extremely difficult wearing contacts for bed, or regular aesthetic contacts since they’re heavier and very uncomfortable. ➜ It is most likely impossible to make up a sport and have it played at university level, professionally and with that much media coverage and rabid fans in simply 30 years. It’s chill that Exy is a big deal but, there’s no way it could be that huge in not even two generations.

➜ Andrew doing drugs and still playing professionally, is barely passable and very much anti regulation, but even if I were to let it slide, there’d be no way drugs could be done so recreationally because of a little something called antidoping. ➜ May be because I’m not a fan of sports, but how Exy worked was very difficult for me to follow. I’m glad they didn’t sit down and gave us an info dumpy explanation on how it worked (since some parts of the book, specifically the beginning was very info dumpy indeed) but that doesn’t mean trying to get it throughout the story made it any easier. I was really thinking hockey the entire time, and even that, it was probably wrong. Sin on me. ➜ Professional players don’t actually train without their trainers but you know, pass because its YA and it isn’t really actually trying to take itself too seriously. But like, there’s no way a coach would allow players to not get sleep to train instead but. Whatever at this point you know. ➜ Strapping knives to yourself in a contact sport…? Why, just why. ➜ Letting your players get on fist fights would get any coach fired. Straight up, even while I very much liked that one paragraph about letting them do it and then punishing them with laps. Loved it in fact, but still gonna point out how unrealistic it is. — All the characters were thrown into my face way too fast in very little time. I’m talking about Andrew’s crew. The characters merged one into the other in the beginning, I had no idea who was who and I was very confused regarding their dynamics and why Neil seemed to know or not know some and I was just very confused throughout Neil’s entire arrival to the state. — The rest of the team was introduced correctly and I had no further problems with them though. — Despite the previous points though, the book rather felt like… A huge build up? To the rest of the series? Instead of like an actual book with a plot that you can say has an introduction, a knot and then a climax before ending. It’s sort of stuck in the entire introduction portion and laying basis. — No, I’m not counting the entire Riko drama or Yakuza fallout the plot of this group as that also simply counts as introduction and establishing pasts and dynamics. It was well done and I enjoyed it a lot, but that still doesn’t count for even little semblance of a formal plot. — The lack of research. Just- The overall, noticeable, and practically tangible lack of research. That’s like author’s homework number one.

Now let it be known, I absolutely love this book. I really do, and I’m certainly extremely excited to read the rest of the series. It doesn’t mean I am not entitled to be critical of it. I like it, a lot, it has flaws, many. It’s that simple. The admirable thing about it is that its mistakes are not making my like it any less and the author deserves kudos on that basis alone. Thank you.

The Foxhole Court PRAISE:

Now onto the less coherent and smart part of this review, I’m just gonna fangirl it out. Excuse me.

— I’m a sucker for psychopaths, abusers, bullies and specially when taken to a super edgy extent. I recognize he was unnecessarily edgy but that made me love him all the better. Andrew is my new book husband holy fuck. I can’t explain just how much I hate him and that makes me love him so much. — This book went from 0 to straight up 100 in no time and holy fuck was that was amazing. Specially considering I didn’t read the back part or any summaries and I had no idea what the book was about in the least. God fucking bless me. — I came in sure this was gonna be gays, give me my gays — I came in for the Kevin x Neil considering the set up, but I’m pretty fucking sure we’re currently leaning towards Neil x Andrew. I will hold this as my ot3 no matter how many people I offend 😎 — Halfway through the book I was mentally whining about how every character felt so faraway from Niel. I’m used to very pure and unbreakable bonds forming between characters, specially male characters, that I enjoy a lot and look forwards too, and it almost made me feel… Jealous. About how most other character received that but not Neil. It was then when I realized that was exactly Niel’s mindset and I just really want to praise the author for conveying his feelings in such a way. I was able to feel all of his pain in practically first person. — Neil’s meticulous point of view felt very real and raw, I found myself rooting for him the entire novel, and I usually have a terrible time doing that for such morally headstrong characters. — Andrew is literally a combination of Ronan Lynch and Joseph Kavinsky. My favorite Raven cycle character and my most hated Raven cycle character respectively. That drew me in like a moth drawn to a flame. Considering how needy I feel of said three book husbands. — What the fuck, Andrew is my new husband.

And last but not least, some fanart of my ot3 because no one will ever be able to convince me otherwise. Foot straight to the crotch for you, Neil. I headcanon the interactions between these three and my heart simply flutters. Don’t judge me, thank u

[Review] The Foxhole Court + Fanart “Remember this feeling. This is the moment you stop being the rabbit.” A marvelous character exploration on a team composed of broken, angry people.

#2013 YA Books #Book #Book Analysis #Book Review #Book Reviews #LGBT #Review #The Foxhole Court #YA #YA novel #Young Adult

0 notes