#i own a copy of the book in spanish maybe i should do my own translation. for funsies /JOKE | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ptergwen · 3 years

Text

only you and me

w/c: 6.7k

warnings: angst, mentions of weed, and some swearing

summary: whenever peter tries to tell you how he feels, harry gets in the way

a/n: ahhhh hi my loves! my mini writing break is over :,) life has been just a mess for me and i’ve been way more critical than usual about my work but i’m doing a little better and ready to get back into everything! this helped me a lot so i’m excited to share it with y’all <3 it’s also my first time writing harry osborn so lmk how i did lmaooofwfjj but yeah pls enjoy

“dude, she’s right there! just tell her!” ned whisper yells to peter, elbowing him for emphasis. they’re hidden behind a wall to watch you at your locker. you’re grabbing books while betty rants to you and mj rolls her eyes. “not now. she looks... busy,” peter gulps, gaze trailing down your body. he always finds excuses to put off telling you how he feels.

or rather, excuses find him. something comes up every time he gets the courage to do it. he has no idea why he’s so scared because he’s pretty sure you like him back. pretty sure. there are a few reasons why you might not. also, plenty why you might. you stay up late texting most nights, and you’ve even flirted a couple of times. it never fails to make peter blush. he trips over his words whenever he tries to flirt back.

he’s had feelings for you since the first time you two hung out alone. none of your other friends could make it, but you happily took him up on his offer to come over. you grinned through his whole apartment tour, asked about may and what she does. when peter showed you his room, you even complimented his movie posters, much to his surprise.

“really? you don’t think they’re, like, dorky?”

“no, peter. your interests aren’t dorky. everyone likes what they like.”

and, he liked you. he knew it from that point on. you’d know it too if the universe wouldn’t keep stopping him from saying that.

“she’s so...” peter pauses for a second. him and ned watch you pull betty in by her shoulders as if you’re going to kiss her. she dodges you, mj pushing her back, all three of you giggling about it before you grab betty’s hands and give her words of encouragement. “cool,” peter finishes, turning back to ned. “i mean, how she puts herself out there like that.”

“what’s stopping you from doing the same thing?” ned points out with a knowing smile that peter returns. you make it look so easy. whenever you’re comfortable around people, you can let go of any doubts you have. you stop worrying about what they might think and instead do what you want. it’s inspiring to peter, and heart warming getting to be one of the people you’re fully you with.

he wishes he could apply your wisdom himself.

peter shakes his head, staring down at the floor. “oh, you know. anxiety, fear of rejection. that fun stuff.” “so, yourself,” ned concludes, clapping peter’s backpack so hard it makes him stumble forward. betty and mj wave goodbye to you before heading to their first class. you’re still getting your things together at your locker. this is peter’s moment.

“come on, dude! y/n’s not busy anymore. you got this.” ned keeps his hand on peter’s back, adding on, “it’s been a year already.” “half a year,” peter corrects him in a mumble. he’s liked you for a really long time. “ok, i’m going. wish me luck.” he takes a deep breath and focuses in on you. “aw, dude. you don’t need it.” ned gives him one last pat on the back. “good luck, though.” “thanks, man. see you in trig.”

right as peter starts heading over, harry comes up behind you and covers your eyes. you squeal, jumping up and turning to him, laughing as you playfully hit at his chest. he brings you into a hug where your face is buried in his sweater and probably inhaling his super strong, super expensive cologne.

that’s what’s stopping peter, harry freaking osborn. his own friend.

peter quickly loses the tiny bit of confidence ned gave him. he figures it might be better to hold off on his confession and get an early start to class. unfortunately, it doesn’t seem like that’s going to happen. harry has already spotted him and calls him over.

“hey, pete! come give us some love, eh?” harry beams, an arm slung around your shoulders and you smiling up at him. you direct your smile to peter when he slumps his way to your locker. his lips pull into a barely noticeable frown. you notice. “there’s my guy. why so down, sunshine?” harry offers his fist for a fist bump. peter gives it to him, eyes staying on you.

harry osborn. where to begin with such a specimen? he’s the perfect combination of everything you’d want in a guy. he gets good grades, he’s a star player on on the basketball team, nice to everyone and makes you laugh, popular yet fits right into your small group.

he was friends with you before the popular thing. what kicked it off was him making varsity basketball while only being a sophomore. yep, he’s unreal. since then, he’s been balancing his cool life and also hanging with “the nerds,” as he likes to call you. he got his own feelings for you along the way. peter can tell.

he’ll give you rides home, compliment how you look, basically act like your boyfriend without really being it. it absolutely infuriates peter because he doesn’t compare to harry in the slightest. if he were you and had the choice between himself or harry, he would pick harry.

it’s been a factor in why he hasn’t come clean about how he feels yet. he’s not trying to create a love triangle that he doesn’t stand a chance surviving in.

“for real, peter. you good?” you ask him, eyebrows knitted together in concern. “fine,” peter lies and musters up a smile. “i’m just tired. didn’t sleep too good last night.” you’re only more concerned now. this has been happening to him a lot lately. you search for his eyes. “again?”

“aw, man. you need something for it?” harry punches peter’s shoulder and lowers his voice. “i know this kid who-“ “harry, stop.” your words are serious, tone lighthearted. you throw your head back on his arm. “do you really know a kid?” “i’m not telling you,” he says in an overly happy voice, you humming the same way. peter feels like he’s third wheeling.

“i was telling pete.” harry looks at him expectantly, peter’s mouth dropping open while he thinks of what to say. harry likes to mess around. this is a different level, though. “no thanks. i- i shouldn’t. i’m-“ “relax, i don’t know a kid,” harry chuckles and points at peter. “your face right now.” it’s completely flushed. you knock into harry’s side.

“ok, well literally no one laughed. you’re scaring him,” you tell harry sternly. peter tugs tight on one of his backpack straps. he doesn’t feel like he’s third wheeling you two now. he feels like your kid. he’ll never let ned mettle in his love life ever again if this is where it gets him. “he knows i’m kidding, y/n/n. right?” harry checks with peter. you make a face at him that says you aren’t convinced.

he switches his arm from you to peter, drawing him into his side. “look, pete. i’m sorry. the only kid i know who’s selling is chocolates for his band trip.” you’re satisfied with that, grinning at both of them. peter forces a laugh and nods. “no worries, man. i gotta get to class.” “good boy,” harry lets him go. “bye, pete. we’ll see you at lunch,” you remind him. he gives you a tight lipped smile. “see you, y/n/n.”

you and harry continue practically spooning each other as soon as peter is out of sight.

what the hell is going on?

peter is back to being grumpy, plopping down in his seat next to ned. their teacher has the lesson plan pulled up on the smart board. ned looks from it to peter, almost jumping in his seat. “oh, you’re back already? how’d it go?” “it didn’t go,” peter huffs, copying down the aim. he’s only doing it so he doesn’t have to look ned in the eyes while telling him he bailed. again.

“you didn’t do it?” ned repeats, peter writing something about pi and a unit circle in his notebook. he bites the inside of his cheek. “you have to do it at some point,” ned sighs out and picks up his pencil. even he’s getting tired of this, and ned never gets tired of a good friends to lovers moment. “i think she likes harry,” peter says under his breath. “huh?” ned gasps.

peter doesn’t feel like explaining the extremely awkward moment he just finished living. although, it wouldn’t hurt to get a second opinion. “y/n. he came over, and they kept hugging and whatever.” “they always do that,” ned almost scoffs, their trigonometry teacher moving to stand in front of the class. “yeah, but he had his arm around her the whole time we-“

the bell rings and cuts their conversation short. peter struggles to label the unit circle they learn about when his mind is filled to its capacity with images of you and harry all over each other. it’s not daydreaming. this is a nightmare. maybe, he actually will be having sleep problems.

peter’s morning is relatively decent after that. he gets to do an experiment with mj in chemistry, and she lets him take the lead for once. spanish is easy, health is okay, then he has a free period, then it’s lunch. things can only go downhill from here.

he thinks about hiding in the library until it’s over, but it’s the thought of harry eating your face that gets him to drag himself to the cafeteria.

flash is at the head of your table talking to harry when peter gets there. great, now he can’t eat his soggy chicken fingers in peace. “sounds dope. let’s go on the-“ flash stops saying what he was saying and nods at peter. “penis parker, you’re late.” peter takes his seat on your left, harry on your right. you glance over at him to make sure he’s okay. he acts like he doesn’t care, peeling open his milk carton.

“just text me later, man. get outta here,” harry dismisses flash, the two of them doing a bro handshake before he leaves. he’s well aware of his and peter’s history. he keeps them separate for the obvious reasons. peter appreciates it because saying no to flash is nearly impossible. he shouldn’t be so mad at harry, should he? he’s a good friend.

harry’s arm snakes around your waist and brings you closer to him. never mind.

“who’s up for sushi later?” he asks the table, everyone agreeing and saying how awesome that sounds. everyone except peter. you tap his shoulder with a small smile. “what about you, peter? you coming?” he realizes you’re all waiting for him to respond and puts down his milk. “uh, i can’t. homework,” he lamely answers.

“dude, we have homework, too. just do it a little later,” ned suggests, betty laying her head on his shoulder. you share a look with her, your eyes wide and a grin on your lips. that must have been what you were talking about this morning. she asked for boy advice. ned advice. why can’t this crap work out for peter?

“i really can’t. sorry, guys,” peter half heartedly apologizes.

he misses the disappointment that crosses your features because he’s pouting at his lunch again.

“homework, huh?” mj tests him, squinting as she takes a sip of apple juice. harry nudges peter’s side with two fingers. “you still mad about the sleeping thing?” “sleeping thing? what sleeping thing?” betty wonders while ned rests his head against hers. a quiet laugh slips out of you as you lean in to tell her.

“peter said he couldn’t sleep last night, so harry offered him...” you mime rolling a joint. “i said no,” peter clarifies, rolling his eyes at the inevitable teasing he’s about to get. none of you have even smoked besides harry. you’re being annoying about it. “of course you did,” mj sighs and kicks her feet up on the table. “unrelated to what y/n just said... harry, i have insomnia.”

everyone bursts into laughter at that, betty shoving her side and you pulling harry by his torso as he pretends to go into his backpack. peter wants nothing to do with any of this. he usually enjoys joking around with the group, even if it’s at his expense because it’s from a place of love.

today feels like you’re straight up making fun of him. harry might as well invite flash to join in.

“alright, alright, alright. enough of the weed talk,” harry decides, you removing your arms from him and grabbing your coffee. “you’re such a bad influence.” your voice drips with sarcasm. you bend the straw and take a sip while scooting closer to peter. “you really can’t come later? i feel like i’ve barely seen you today.” that’s on harry. “i wish i could, y/n/n,” peter exhales. “i’ll text you later, okay?”

you don’t get to answer because mj tugs on your arm, distracting you from peter. she explains how she has to do an art project on what it means to be a woman and needs help brainstorming ideas. you’re full of them, offering up an interesting perspective for her to use. peter smiles to himself as he listens in. you find a new way to impress him every day.

he should tell you that.

“hey, y/n?” “listen to her! you’re seriously my idol,” betty gushes, so loudly you don’t hear peter. not a single thing has gone in his favor at this table. he gives up.

peter locks himself in his room when he gets home from his overall terrible day. he does homework like he said he would, only taking a break for dinner, giving one word replies to may’s questions about school. he’d much rather be having sushi with you. he would’ve gone if the others didn’t.

after dinner, it’s back to grumbling and scribbling down answers. there’s a knock at peter’s door around ten o’clock, which he assumes is may saying goodnight. “i’ll be done in a few minutes, may! love you.” “it’s y/n,” you reply, the smile clear in your voice. his eyes go comically wide. that’s the last thing he expected to hear. “oh. uh, come in.”

you’re holding a small takeout bag, shutting the door behind you and walking over to his desk. you meet his twinkling eyes in the dim light that hits off his walls. from his open window, you faintly hear cars as they rush by and honk their horns in the distance, accompanied by a fresh breeze. it’s cozy, safe. it’s peter.

“hey. what’re you doing here?” peter questions, leaving his pencil in his binder and shutting it. you shake around the plastic bag. “i saved you a roll.” he bites back a smile, getting up from his chair. “may let me in. she was really chill about it,” you continue and hold out the sushi for him. “it’s a california roll. i wasn’t sure what you wanted, and everyone likes those.”

peter lets his smile spread out and takes the bag from you. “thanks, y/n/n. i was honestly hoping one of you would have leftovers.” you laugh softly, peter setting the bag down on his desk. he scratches the back of his neck. “did you guys have fun?” “yeah. i missed you, though.” you clasp your hands behind your back. “everyone did.”

“i feel bad i didn’t go. just... things felt off today,” peter admits the real reason he stayed home, you letting out a breath. “it was harry, wasn’t it? god, he was being so weird.” your arms drop back to your sides. “there’s a difference between playing around and actually upsetting people.” by people, you mean peter. no one else seemed too bothered by him. “i’m sorry, peter. i tried to make him stop.”

“no, you don’t have to apologize,” peter assures you sweetly, grabbing one of your hands. “it’s not your fault, okay? he probably didn’t realize what he was doing. the jokes landed.” he’s referring to ned, mj, and betty finding harry’s comments hilarious. you lace your fingers with peter’s and frown. “this isn’t like him. maybe he’s stressed about a game.” your gaze drifts off to the side, what you see getting you to perk up.

“is that new?” you ask peter, leading him by his hand over to a poster he put up recently. it’s for 13 going on 30. you showed it to him a couple of weeks ago, and he clearly liked it a lot. any movie that makes it to peter’s wall is a special one. “mhm. i got it literally right after you went home the night we watched,” he chuckles and looks over at you while you study the poster.

you turn to face peter again, keeping your hand tight in his. “were you gonna tell me something earlier? at lunch?” he’s confused for a second, then he remembers your ideas for mj’s art project. the fact that you cared enough to bring it up after all these hours makes his stomach do summersaults in the best way. he shrugs and gives you a smile.

“the stuff you were saying about femininity and how there are so many ways to define it,” peter starts, you grinning back at him, at how he took an interest in what you were saying. “you’re so smart, y/n. you make me wanna be better.” a light pink dusts his cheeks. “peter, you’re a feminist?” you coo, joking but genuinely wondering at the same time. he squeezes your hand. “duh.”

“i thought so,” you nod, taking in the rest of what he said. “you think i’m smart? i trust you because you’re way smarter.” peter pffts in response. “i’m only good at, like, physics. you’re good at things that really matter. smart in that way.” you’re feeling your own face get hot. you swing yours and peter’s hands back and forth. “why are you the nicest person ever?”

the answer to that, may, peeks her head into the room. “hey, kids. it’s getting late.” she notices your intertwined hands and shoots peter a smirk. “i thought you were a cool aunt,” he teases, you sadly letting go of him. “she is. thanks for having me over so late,” you tell may on your way to the door. “oh, stop it. you can come over any time.” she puts a hand on your arm. “thank you so much,” you murmur back.

you walk backwards to the doorway, may leaving you two to say your goodbyes. “wanna hang out only you and me? on friday maybe?” that should make up for everything earlier. “yeah, of course. friday is perfect,” peter agrees and bounces on his feet as excitement takes over him. “thanks again for the sushi.”

“no problem. goodnight.” it’s taking every last bit of power in you to not freak out. “night. text me when you get home.” he presses his tongue into his cheek. you slowly pull the door shut. “ok, i will. bye!” it closes, leaving peter skipping across his room to his bed on one side and you doing a little happy dance on the other.

the next day at school, everything is back to normal. honestly, better than normal. your hangout with peter is tomorrow, and he’s planning on telling he likes you then. he already talked it over with ned. he’s relieved it’s finally happening, especially since him and betty have their own thing. she’ll be taking up most of his free time from here.

your group is spending lunch outside today, lounging across a picnic table, surrounded by trees and the shining sun in a bright blue sky. mj sits on the table and has her feet on the bench, which would usually bug peter to no end. he doesn’t mind this time because it takes up enough room that harry has to sit with ned and betty instead of you. you lean into peter’s side and stab a piece of lettuce from your salad.

“it’s so nice out,” betty sighs, ripping off half her cookie and giving it to ned. “we should ditch.” “oh my god, you sound like harry,” you groan between bites of salad. peter lets out a breathy laugh, you looping your arm through his. he grins down at where you’re linked. harry crosses his own arms over his chest. “she wishes.” betty only nods because her mouth is full of m&m’s.

“nah, seriously. i’d take us out somewhere, but i have practice after school.” he speaks quieter than he normally does, less confident. your theory about him having basketball drama was right. “what did we tell you? talk about the sports shit with your sports friends,” mj complains, sitting back on her hands. she glances at harry over her shoulder and catches ned mouthing you can’t say that.

sitting criss cross, she spins around to face harry, unenthusiastically saying, “what i meant was, you sound upset. what’s wrong?” harry gets into it right away, like he’s been waiting for someone to ask. “coach says there might be a scout at the next game. it’s a really good opportunity even though i don’t have to worry about... college yet.” the word makes him cringe.

“oh, damn. that’s a big deal. scary,” mj snorts, turning back to you and peter. her behavior makes ned internally face palm. “that’s awesome, dude. you’re gonna play amazing like always.” he gives harry a high five, who smiles nervously in response. he’s never nervous. “thanks, bro. you guys wanna come and watch?” he’s never invited you to one of his games before either.

this isn’t a group of friends that likes to spend their weekends in bleachers while angry teens shout around them.

“definitely. we’ll be there to support you, harry,” betty answers for everyone, ned pecking her cheek in satisfaction. mj cusses to herself before replying. “if i absolutely must, sure.” only you and peter haven’t said anything yet. he’s been chewing his lower lip, and you your salad. harry looks between you two hopefully. it’s more so at you, which peter doesn’t like.

“y/n? pete? it would help a lot, i’m serious.” he taps his fingers on the table until one of you speaks up. you’re the one who does. “i’ll go. this is pretty huge, right? congrats.” you reach across the table and squeeze his shoulder while simultaneously tightening your arm around peter’s. he takes that as a cue. “i’ll go, too. happy for you, man.”

though peter isn’t currently in the best place with harry, he should show his support by showing up. it can’t be too bad since the rest of you will be there.

a loud, long chuckle leaves harry as he hops up from his bench and comes to yours and peter’s. he bends over and wraps both of you in a hug from behind at the same time. his arms are around each of your shoulders, holding you so close his cheeks are squished against either of your heads. you giggle at that, peter finding himself laughing along and reaching back to ruffle harry’s hair.

staying mad at him is one of the world’s greatest challenges.

“you’re saints, both of you. my angels.” he kisses the back of your head, then lays one right on peter’s cheek, leaving him blushing red and grinning. “what about the rest of us? i never go to shit like this,” mj huffs and seems genuinely offended. harry wiggles his eyebrows. “you want a kiss?” his offer gets her flustered, which she can’t manage to hide. that’s a first.

“shut up. i’m just saying... never mind.” mj glares at you and peter, ned and betty making kissing noises behind her. “someone change the subject.” peter steps in. “when’s the game, harry?” he asks, harry snapping and waving his finger. “tomorrow! cancel your plans, kiddos.” “like we had any,” betty retorts.

some of you did. that was going to be peter’s hangout with you.

ned smiles sympathetically at peter before betty is getting his attention. you‘re unfazed and rambling to harry how proud you are of him.

did last night mean nothing? was it an empty gesture? were you only doing it out of guilt? peter must have read your visit wrong. he’s been wrong the whole time he’s liked you. you don’t like him back, you pity him. harry is who you’re really interested in.

may always says he should trust his instincts.

peter pulls his arm from yours suddenly, swinging his backpack onto his shoulders. you’re taken back because it’s so out of no where. you stop talking to harry so you can figure out his deal. “where are you going?” “bell’s gonna ring,” peter mumbles and picks up his lunch tray. he heads to the garbage can without another word or goodbye to anyone.

“i’m gonna go check on him,” you tell harry, already getting up from the bench. “you do that,” he acknowledges and calls mj’s name again.

peter tosses his mostly untouched food in the trash, seeing you make your way over from the corner of his eye. he tries to speed walk inside so he doesn’t have to talk to you. you’re too quick, cornering him between the door and brick wall.

“we still have ten minutes,” you state, worry flashing across your face. he’s avoiding you. well, attempting to. “what’s wrong?” peter gulps before saying anything. “my next class is on the other side of the-“ “no,” you cut him off. “what’s really wrong?”

he doesn’t feel like having this discussion. it’s bad enough he came to the realization his feelings are one sided. must he break that down for you so soon?

you toy with your sleeve while you speak because peter doesn’t. “i thought you and harry were fine again. i mean, he kissed you.” peter clenches his jaw so hard he can imagine the sound of it cracking. “it’s not about harry.” “what, then? what the fuck happened?” your sleeves are now balled in your fists. you hate it when peter does this angsty routine.

he keeps his voice low and calm so he doesn’t come off as jealous or hurt. he’s both of those things. “the game is tomorrow. friday. when we were supposed to hang out.” you meet peter’s eyes with nothing but remorse in yours. “i... i forgot,” is all you have to say.

you feel awful. he’s had a tough couple of days, and you fell through on your promise to cheer him up.

“clearly,” peter remarks, voice sharp. the way you’re looking at him makes him think he won’t like what’s coming. “peter, we have to go,” you almost whine. “i’m really sorry, i am, but this is a big night for harry. he needs us there.” peter stays silent. you’re twisting the knife deeper into him with every word. “i wouldn’t be cancelling if this wasn’t important.”

now you’re cancelling?

you reach for peter’s hand, but he shoves it into his pocket. that stings for you and him. “please, peter. we’ll hang out at the game, i swear.” this is the last chance you’ve got, so you pile it on. “harry won’t even be there, technically. he’ll... he’ll be on the court.” peter hadn’t thought about that. he lets himself unclench, starting to see the appeal. you add one more thing to lighten the mood and persuade him.

“i’ll buy you popcorn, all you can eat.” it’s that easy. cracking a smile, peter accepts. he’ll deal with his unresolved, unreciprocated feelings after he stuffs his face, courtesy of you. “you better. i’m gonna need it for this long ass game.” your face lights up, grabbing his wrist in both hands.

“so, you’ll come?” “i’ll be there,” he confirms. you throw your arms around his neck. he laughs into the hug and holds you by your middle. “i promise this’ll be the first and last game we ever go to,” you say and mean it. harry is lucky you’re even suffering through this a first time. “thank god,” peter exhales, resting his chin on your head.

that interaction leaves peter confused as hell. you’re crushing his mind and soul one minute, then hugging him the next. you were making him feel so special lasts night, and treating harry the same way today. it’s so jumbled that he isn’t sure if he’s in the friend zone or something more zone.

there are a ton of mixed signals coming his way, and he sucks at reading people as is.

he can’t take another second of this. he’d rather you come out and say you like harry already because it’s torture. knowing you don’t want him in that way would at least eliminate the possibility of anything happening between you two, and allow him to stop driving himself insane.

he’d be able to stop taking it out on harry, too.

the hold you have on peter, that you’re oblivious to, rules his every thought and decision. he’s constantly analyzing what you say to him, debating whether or not your affection is simply platonic. it’s been half a year of this madness, the night of harry’s game blurring every line so much more.

your group arrives a bit early to find seats and hype harry up before he plays. peter gets there after all of you because he’s not exactly in a rush to watch sweaty guys be aggressive. there’s only one upside, which is spending the night with you... and everyone else.

he steps into the gym that’s filling up fast with family members, friends, and the college scout harry was talking about. midtown has a different feeling to it at night. the smell of pencils is oddly stronger, and it’s a lot less intimidating.

cheerleaders are huddled in a circle while the team supervisor has them run their chants. the “leading official,” who peter thought was called a referee, takes his place off to the side. coaches give their players last minute instructions, players fool around with each other, a lot is going on.

peter scans the room for you, and grins a toothy grin when you catch his eyes. you’re sitting by yourself in one of the middle bleachers, only a bag of skinny pop in your lap. you return the smile once you spot him and wave him over.

“i don’t know why, but i thought they’d have an actual concession stand,” you explain the lack of fresh, buttery popcorn as peter takes a seat next to you. he catches the prepackaged bag you toss him. “it’s just a snack table.” “works either way,” peter hums and pokes the bag. “i’m not sure skinny pop is all i can eat, though.” “it’s good!” you defend the snack you chose for him.

“i’m kidding! you’re right, it’s kind of addicting.” he puts it by his feet for now and gives you a half smile. “you’re welcome,” you deadpan in a playful tone. “thanks.” he narrows his eyes. “where’s everyone else?” “right,” you twist around and gesture to the bleacher above you. mj is gloomily seated near the back. ned and betty are a few behind you.

“i told them to find their own seats so we can sit together, alone.” you look over at peter and move ever so slightly closer. “welcome to our friday hangout. just the two of us.” “aw, you didn’t have to do that,” peter laughs out, his knee bumping yours. “but, i’m happy you did.” he goes to put an arm around you, then harry comes racing up the stairs.

just the two of you didn’t last so long.

“y/n, i’m freaking out,” harry announces, zooming through your row to get over to you. he stops once he’s standing in front of peter and shakes him by his shoulder. “hey, pete. you made it.” “yup,” peter replies, pressing his lips together. you wince at his reaction, then quirk an eyebrow at harry. “you’re freaking out? why?”

harry sits down between you and peter, blissfully unaware of the moment he interrupted.

“i found the scout. he’s fucking terrifying as fuck. this super ripped guy, looks like he’d rather be anywhere else,” he talks quietly, like the man will hear him. “he’s not the only one,” peter says to himself, kicking around his bag of popcorn to pass time. you ignore him and grimace.

“shit. wait, how do you know it’s him? did they tell you?” you’re not sure how these things go. harry casually shrugs a shoulder. “dude has a clipboard. seems legit to me.” he gives you a cocky smile. “he’s also in the row before mj. that’s how i noticed. um...” his back now facing peter, he whispers something in your ear that makes you giggle.

peter’s face scrunches up as the spark of anger the past few days have lit reignites itself.

when harry pulls away, you motion for him to come closer with your index finger, cupping your hand around his ear and speaking into it.

nope, no more. peter is entirely about to explode. you cancelled your plans so you can force him to watch basketball, you sweet talk him so he’ll let it go, and you’re running right back to harry after all of that? what the hell does that mean?

peter stands up from his seat. “y/n, we need to talk,” he demands, you moving away from harry to respond. “ok, gimme a minute. we’re-“ “no, we need to talk now.” you don’t have time to refute because he’s taking your arm and dragging you away. harry squints at you in utter confusion.

“um, have a good game! we’ll talk later,” you call back to him, walking with peter even though you have no idea what his issue is and aren’t a fan of how he’s acting.

he releases you once you’re in the hallway. you make a point of harshly yanking your arm back, a scowl painting your lips. “jesus, peter. i was having a conversation.” “do you like harry?” peter blurts out. you’re so shocked at his abruptness that you don’t give him much to work with, only, “what?” “do you like harry?” he asks you again, this time less accusing and more curious.

“do i like...” you’re too aware of the seemingly hundreds of people surrounding you to answer comfortably. “can we talk about this somewhere else?” “sure,” peter nods, letting you lead the way since he did to get out here. you two go down the hall and choose the first room you see, which happens to be the custodian’s closet. it’s thankfully unlocked.

things were tense between you and peter on the way over, and it’s physically mirrored when you step into the room, air thick and smelling of lemon cleaning supplies. you tug on the string hanging down to turn on the light. it casts a faded glow, leaving you in mostly darkness. you sort of like it. this feels more intimate, which is fitting for what you’re both about to say.

neither one of you knows where to begin. peter’s question is ringing in the back of your mind, and you could touch on that, but there’s more to it than a simple yes or no. you don’t have to worry about it because peter gets his words out first.

“i think harry likes you, and i think you like him back,” peter restarts, already sounding deflated by what he came up with. “he doesn’t, and i don’t.” you take a step towards him. “he likes mj.” it’s peter’s turn to be shocked. the hint of a smile sets on your lips. “that’s what we were talking about. harry asked if he should take her to dinner after the game, and i said yes.”

this is going better than he expected.

“mj is the one who likes him, not me,” you reiterate and watch some life enter peter again, a tiny bit. he’s coming around, and he wants to believe you. his trust issues don’t. “but, you’re so... touchy with each other. the hugging the other day?” he mentions. you tilt your head to the side in amusement. “friends can’t hug?”

to be fair, you hugged peter yesterday. that’s a point rightfully shut down.

“he calls you pretty,” peter tries, raising both eyebrows. you have to laugh at this one. “you call may pretty.”

obviously, peter’s analysis skills could use some serious improvements. it sounds like he had the right idea, wrong person. your relationship with harry is platonic. hell, he’s crushing on a whole different person. this actually opens up the possibility of you liking peter in the romantic way, of him being in the something more zone. he had it backwards.

in case peter isn’t convinced yet, and because you really want to, you use one more trick to prove to him you don’t like harry.

“do me and harry do this?” your lips speak for you, colliding with peter’s unexpectedly yet easily. he feels like he’s floating, like he’s in some sort of magical wonderland until it hits him that this is real, and he should probably kiss you back. he does so softly and tangles his fingers in your locks. his hand supports the back of your head as the kiss goes on.

you push forward so your bodies are almost fused together, the closest you can be while you hold his jaw. peter breaks the kiss for a short breather, going back in without more than a moment passing. this one is feverish, his free arm looping around your lower back, hand resting on the small of it. you let out a giggle against his swollen lips and stroke your thumb over his jawline.

he’s been waiting to do this for the longest time, but he doesn’t have to tell you that. it shows in how eager he was to reciprocate, his shyness blossoming into passion. you feel yourself melting under his touch, the kiss eventually becoming a series of short pecks. peter gives you the final one. his pink lips form a grin when you pull apart. your hands stay on each other, not in a rush to go anywhere.

“woah, i like you so much,” peter laughs out. the words roll off his tongue naturally. “you know i like you,” you drawl, smiling at him, a full body smile while you caress his skin. he winds both arms around you and dips his head down to steal another kiss. you’re loving what’s happening. however, you don’t feel like making out while dirty brooms stare at you. you should take this back home.

“wanna get out of here? i do,” you suggest, voice muffled from his lips. they detach from yours and brush your cheek gently. peter makes a funny face. “hm, i thought we had to come. harry needs us,” he says what you did yesterday, earning a groan back. “you’re joking.” “i’m not. what kind of friends would we be, ditching him like that?”

he’s going to end you one day.

“yeah, no. i have no idea how basketball works, and i’d like to keep it that way,” peter drops the act, pressing his fingers into your sides. “i’ve been so mean to harry. i was...” “a dick?” you finish for him. it’s more of a statement than a question. to soften the blow, you rub his cheek with the tips of your fingers. “yup. he’s gonna think i hate him or something if we don’t stay.” his formerly smiley face is frowning.

“harry of all people will understand after we tell him our reasons,” you reassure him, nudging under his chin with your nose. “besides, he has other things to worry about. mj, the scout. it’s fine.” peter considers it, ultimately giving in to you like he always does, resting his forehead on yours. “i guess so. less distractions for him, yeah.” “exactly. that’s what i wanna hear.”

having his approval, you unwind yourself from him and head to the door. his fingers wrap around your wrist gently. “what about my popcorn?” a giggle escapes your lips. “you’re still on that?” “you said all i can eat!” his voice comes out high pitched, adorably high pitched.

“fine. i might have those bags you put in the microwave.” you smile when his fingers lock with yours, peter kissing the side of your head.

“even better. let’s go home.”

#peter parker #peter parker fluff #peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker smut #peter parker fic #peter parker fanfiction #tom holland #tom holland fluff #tom holland smut #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland fic #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland imagine

606 notes · View notes

thomaslightwood · 3 years

Text

Blackthorn Detective Agency - Part 2

Part 1 || Ao3 || Masterlist

This is the KitTy Sherlock AU! (Just changed its name with something more like a fic's title)

It’s set in 1930s, slow burn & will have a few parts!

Words: 3 024

Ty rubbed his fingertips on the frame. It was old, its angels were soft.

“Peru, 1890,” he read at the bottom of the photo. “This photograph is from more than 40 years ago.”

Which wasn’t unusual for a warlock - they lived for centuries. To keep photos from 40 years ago was logical. But why was this the only thing in this flat that was actually… personal?

“It's the only personal piece here,” Kit said. Ty almost smiled - they had the exact same thought. “Probably in the whole flat, except the Spanish books.”

“You have a point,” Ty agreed. Between the pages of that book were papers with conjugated verbs in Spanish. Someone had written them there and Ragnor had copied them. That’s why Ty knew this wasn’t Ragnor’s handwriting on the photo. “But this is not his-”

A sharp sound interrupted him. It was the front door. Someone was trying to break it. Not as good at it as Kit, Ty noticed.

They had no time to worry too much. Ty grabbed Kit by the hand, opened the wood door with the other that was still holding the frame and dragged them both inside.

Ty was conscious he overstepped in Kit's personal space but a moment later they heard how the stranger broke the lock and their steps as they came inside.

The room was small and extremely dark. Ty couldn't see anything and he didn't have the space to draw a rune on himself about it. And he actually didn't have his stele in him. The bigger problem - the room was unknown to them. He was worried if they moved too much they'd make noise and would be exposed.

He heard or rather felt how Kit's breath fastened. Was he claustrophobic? Was it a bad idea to bring them in this small room?

Ty heard the slow steps as they were wandering around the room. They were coming dangerously close to the bedroom.

This was probably inappropriate and Ty didn't know if it would help at all but he must try. He carefully raised a hand and hurried it in Kit's hair. He dragged him closer to Ty until Kit's head was in Ty's neck.

He squeezed a little and Kit pressed against Ty. They both hold into each other in the sea of darkness, trying not to lose balance.

Ty was hearing the stranger's step in the room. They murmured something angrily. Ty was barely breathing. If they heard him and Kit in the closet…

A loud shatter interrupted his thoughts. Ty recognized it was a man's voice by the angry murmur.

For a few more minutes he walked around the apartment, like he… he was searching for something. And he couldn't find it. Eventually the man breathed out heavily and opened the door, not bothering to shut it quietly after himself.

They waited a few more minutes, just to be safe. Then Ty carefully let go of Kit and opened the door. The sudden light hurt his eyes so he squinted for a while to get used to it.

The bed was untouched but Ty couldn't say the same about the living room. There were books on the floor, the table was inverted.

“He was searching for something,” Kit quietly said as he carefully grabbed a book from the floor. Was Ty imagining it or his face was a little flushed?

“Yes,” Ty agreed. He was still holding the frame with the photo. “But what? Could it possibly be this?” He handed the frame to Kit.

Kit took it and shrugged. “Maybe. But why is one old photo important?”

More questions. Even though they were in the very beginning and everything was unclear, Ty felt the thrill every new case evoked in him. The burning curiosity that tickled his insides, the thirst to know everything about the subject.

“I think we should go,” Kit said. He took the photo off the frame and put it in the pocket of his coat. “They may return or a neighbor heard the noise.”

Kit had a point, Ty thought but there was something that made him feel uneasy.

Kit was heading for the door but Ty slowed down before leaving the flat. He looked around once more. The books on the floor, the almost empty shelves and the open door to the bedroom. Ty grabbed one list with Spanish verbs and closed the door after himself.

After this they went to the train station. It was surprisingly hard to find the schedule for the trains from a few days ago.

The guy they talked with wasn't happy about it. Kit could see he just wanted to enjoy his lunch. And probably was tempted to call the security to throw them out.

But then Ty pulled out cash and the man was suddenly more friendly.

Ty didn't talk much nor did he look man in the eyes. Kit was feeling like he just wanted to get the information as fast as possible.

After the man was gone for a few minutes he returned with paper with what they asked for.

“Thank you very much,” Kit said as Ty put the list in the inside of his coat. “We appreciate your help.”

The man murmured something and sat heavily on his chair, finally able to eat.

“That was smart,” Ty said as they came out on the street, waiting to catch a taxi.

“What?” Kit asked.

“To ask for the people who worked on the train that day. I didn't think about it.”

“It's nothing, really. I was just thinking about what I can do to help yesterday.”

The truth was Kit just wanted to be useful. Part of him was afraid if Ty noticed Kit wasn't doing anything he would fire him. He probably wasn't as good as Sherlock but he could understand how a criminal thinks. What they may have missed.

“I assume you already know because you're good at what you do, but,” Kit said. “People are important. They witness, tell, see and do crimes. They... they are the driving machine. Evidence is important but a person is the key. So I just thought about what people we can talk with.”

There was something thoughtful in Ty's expression as he watched Kit's cheek. “I'm not quite sure I agree.”

Before Kit could answer, a taxi stopped in front of them.

As soon as Ty told the driver the direction, Kit said “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why don't you agree with me?”

“Well,” Ty said and the thoughtful look returned on his face. “It's true a person is the subject that commits the crime. But people… they are not what they appear to be. They're often hard to understand and you can't be sure who they are. They lie. And have inaccurate memories and sometimes are too afraid to tell the truth and to help. What I'm trying to say is that they're too often an unreliable source. While evidence… it's unchangeable on its own. Oneself is true to the very end. It's up to you to interpret how it fits in the whole picture. If it's wrong, it's your mistake. You're the only one to blame. While a person's words… you can't control that. Or trust it enough to interpret it rightfully.“

Ty stopped for a second, looking outside the taxi's window.

“What I'm trying to say is that a person can mislead you. Evidence never does.”

Kit was silent. The taxi pulled over in front of a small cafe, nestled between two clothing shops. Taki's Diner .

Kit remembered this was the name of the place Katarina and Ragnor met.

“We are going to question the employees?”

“Not quite,” Ty said simply and headed towards the restaurant. Kit followed, curiously looking at the surroundings.

There weren't many people. It was still early and most of them seemed sleepy. There were Downworlders as well as mundanes. Kit spotted a warlock with fully orange eyes flirting with a pale girl, probably a vampire.

There was also a mundane man who was reading a newspaper and murmured something to himself.

Ty headed at one table on the back, a bit hidden from the rest. The tables around it were empty. From the radio quietly came a Louis Armstrong's song. Kit smiled at that. He loved jazz.

Ty and Kit sat on the table. Kit took off his coat and cap.

A faerie waitress appeared in front of them and smiled. She was a short blonde who had two many bracelets on her arms.

“Hello gentlemen,” she smiled at them. “Here are your menus - look at it, choose a meal and I'll come to take your order.”

“Thank you,” Kit smiled at her. She winked in return and headed towards another table.

He returned his eyes on Ty. He had taken off his coat. It was carefully placed on the third chair on the table. He was looking around the cafe, touching the corners of his menu.

“If we're not here to interview the staff,” Kit said. “What are we here for?”

“To watch,” Ty said simply. “Observe. Talk with the regular clients.”

Kit looked around again, looking for something else this time. A woman who Kit immediately recognized as faerie sat on a table, crossed her legs and took out a book from her bag.

The waitress returned after a few minutes.

“Are you ready?” She had a notebook and pencil in her hands.

Kit hesitated. He didn't want to spend too much money but nothing here was too expensive.

“Onion omelet for me.”

“Chipped potatoes please.”

She hurriedly wrote their orders down and smiled again. “Is that all?”

“Yes, thank you,” Ty said.

“Actually,” Kit said suddenly. Ty quickly looked at him but didn't say anything. He looked at the waitress pin with her name. “Nancy, right? My friend and I were wondering about something and it would be amazing if you can help us.”

“Of course,” she said and curiosity burned in her eyes. They were very blue.

“We thought a friend of ours arrived in the city a few days ago. He tends to like this place and we were wondering if he was here a few days ago perhaps?”

“What is he like?” she asked.

Kit took out the photo from Peru of Ragnor and his friends.

She took and Kit could see on her face she recognized someone in the photo. She nodded enthusiastically.

“I have seen two of these people! The man with the white hair. He was here around three days ago with the woman.”

“Can you tell us something… unusual you noticed about them?”

The waitress - Nancy - shrugged.

“The usual warlocks. They stayed for an hour or two and then left. At the end of my shift he returned though.”

“Really?” Kit said casually, like he was merely curious for a friend. “Was he alone?” Then he leaned forward a little and said more quietly with a playful smile. “We suspect he may hide a lover from us.”

The faerie chuckled. “I don't know sweetheart. When I was leaving he just sat on a table. I left before seeing anything. You can ask my friend Lizzy. She was the one who took his order.”

“Oh. When can we find her?” Kit asked.

“She starts at 11 p.m. Earlier if it's cloudy.”

She must be a vampire , Kit thought.

“Thank you so much,” Kit smiled at her one more time. “We deeply appreciate it.”

“You're welcome,” she chuckled again and left them alone.

Kit turned to Ty and caught him watching him.

“You see?”

Ty looked confused. “See what?”

“People are useful. You need witnesses.”

Unexpectedly, Ty smiled. It warmed up something in Kit's chest.

“I have never said I don't.”

“But you hinted at it.”

“I did not,” Ty said. Without taking his eyes off Kit he reached to his coat and pulled off his notebook. “I stated that people are often misleading.”

“But when I said people are important for a case, you said you're not sure you agree.”

“You also said a person is the key. With which I'm not sure I agree. I didn't say a person can't or isn't important.”

Kit exhaled. Damn , he thought. He is good.

“Good. You win. This time.”

Ty shook his head with a smile. He started to write something on the open notebook in front of him. Probably the information the faerie told them.

After a few minutes their meals arrived. Onion omelet and chipped potatoes. Ty barely looked at his food. At some point he finished writing and took the fork for the potatoes.

“So,” Kit said after swallowing a bite from the omelet. “If you're Sherlock Holmes then who am I?”

“What do you mean?” Ty glanced at him.

“Well,” Kit slowly cut out another bite from his food. “You and Livvy are a team. And you're Sherlock. I can't be a Sherlock with you. I'm not her. So I probably need another name.”

“Good point,” Ty said. He looked thoughtful while he chewed. “How do you wanna be called then?”

Kit was caught off guard a little. He expected Ty to dismiss it or leave it for later.

“I haven't thought about it,” Kit admitted and slowly moved an omelet piece from one side of the plate to the other.

“We can think about it later,” Ty said. “My sister can help us with that.”

“You mean Livvy?”

“No,” Ty said, looking around the restaurant. “My other sister, Dru.”

Kit blinked at him. “How many siblings do you have?”

“Three sisters and three brothers,” Ty said and took a potato piece in his mouth.

“Whoa,” Kit said, forgetting the food in front of him. “Big family.”

“Indeed.”

Kit wondered what it would be like to have so many relatives. So many brothers and sisters. People close to you, to thrust, to be sure they would have your back.

His father's voice rang in his head. And more people to run away with. Harder to get away. Harder to live with.

The food's taste in Kit's mouth turned into ash. He lost his appetite. Carefully left on the fork and the knife in the plate.

Ty didn't seem to notice Kit's inner thought for which he was glad.

“The woman,” Ty said quietly. “The one faerie that sat after we came. She's a regular.”

“How would you know?” unconsciously, Kit leaned forward to hear what Ty had to say.

“Nancy, the waitress, didn’t ask her for her order. She even didn’t give her a menu. She directly put a coffee and a muffin in front of her. And the woman called Nancy by name - they know each other.”

“Impressive,” Kit murmured inattentively. “So, you want to talk with her?”

“Well,” Ty shrugged. “A few minutes ago - yes. Now, when we know Ragnor was here at nighttime, at the end of Nancy’s shift, I’m not sure she’d be useful.”

Kit rose up. “Let's find out.”

After a few minutes in which Kit started a conversation with her about borrowing the salt, he returned to their table with a salt shaker. He signed, disappointed.

“Nothing,” Kit said. “She had no idea what I'm talking about. And thought I'm just flirting with her.”

“Were you?”

“What?” Kit blinked.

“Flirting with her,” Ty said, not taking his eyes off the notebook in front of him.

“Well,” Kit felt a little uncomfortable. “Yes, I kind of did. But it was just for the sake of the case. I'm not… interested in her that way.”

Ty glanced at Kit's face for a few seconds then returned to writing in his notebook. Kit didn't notice. He was suddenly anxious that Ty would think of him as a flirting careless man.

“Sometimes,” Kit started, carefully picking his words. “I flirt with people to get what I want. When I was in my early teens - to get away with something.”

Ty curiously gave him a glance.

“Did you have to do it often?”

“Well,” Kit said thoughtfully. “No, no that often. But I did it anyway. I… I think I liked to give strangers pieces of me that are… safe to give. And gender doesn't matter to me anyway.” Nothing too personal. Nothing long. Only a flirt, a few minutes of other people's time. The only kind of relationship Kit could afford.

“I can see why people like you,” Ty said, rolling the pen in his hands. “You're a rather charming man.”

Kit couldn't help but laugh.

Ty frowned.

“Did I say something out of place?”

Kit shook his head. “No, no. It's just that I don't think I'm charming. Or that people like me . ”

"Charm" was an abstract idea for him. He may pass for good looking but he didn't think of himself as "charming". Charm meant power. It attracted people to you. It made them like you.

Kit didn't make people like him. He let them make an idea for him in their heads and allowed them to believe it. This wasn't a charm. It was lying.

Ty arched an eyebrow.

“Well. I would say I like you,” then he returned his gaze back at his notebook, adding something to the already written text.

His words caught Kit completely off-guard. He was holding his fork and it just levitated in space.

Kit didn't know how to react. No one before had said something like that to him. He knew Ty probably said it to make him feel better. But something made him think Ty Blackthorn didn't say things he doesn't mean.

“Anyway,” Ty said and closed his notebook. “We're done here.”

“Really? What about questioning the waitress Lizzy?”

“We will return here after sunset for this,” Ty said. “But now we can do something more useful with our time.”

Kit felt dread in his stomach. He couldn't stay after dark. Or could he? Would his father notice? He always did.

Should he tell Ty? No, no, he was going to figure something out.

“What are we going to do now?” he asked, hoping Ty didn't notice anything strange.

He looked at the watch on his hand.

“We will meet my sister. Dru.”

To be continued...

#kit herondale #ty blackthorn #kitty #tda #tsc #twp #the dark artifices #the shadowhunter chronicles #the wicked powers #kit rook #dru blackthorn #tsc fanfiction #tsc fanfic #sherlock holmes #sherlock au #sav's writing #my post #tsccreatenet

49 notes · View notes

ink-fireplace-coffee · 3 years

Text

Short Story: Kiss me, for I am dying.

A/N: this story was crafted yesterday at midnight so I can't assure the quality of it at all. It is inspired in a theatre/legend we have here in Spain called Los Amantes de Teruel, or The Teruel Lovers in english. It's like the Spanish less known version of Romeo and Juliet.

Word count: 1901.

TW: mentions of death.

I don't have a general taglist or anything on the sort, but @nathandoesntknow asked me to tag them, so here you go! enjoy my midnight weird af inspiration I guess.

------

Five months ago, Jaime would've just left if he saw that on the rooftop of the campus was already someone.

Five months ago, if he had seen that stranger sitting there- feet dangling in the air and looking at the sunset- was Isa, he would’ve turned on his heels and left before she could even so much but noticed him.

Or maybe he would’ve “asked” (more like demanded) her to go somewhere else.

Jaime and Isa hated each other. Pure and simple.

Ever since the first day of university, when Isa had given him a “you are annoying” look after Jaime had accidentally hitted her backpack, launching all her stuff through the hall.

No matter how many times he had tried to convince her that it hadn’t been on purpose, she had said that it was his fault over and over again.

If that wasn’t enough, they had not only been forced to sit next to each other for their whole third year (since it was extremely rude to tame someone else’s seat after the first week of classes) but they also were constantly competing on the top of the class.

If Isa had a 95% on the midterm, Jaime had a 98%.

If Jaime had scored a 9,9 out of ten in that essay, Isa had gotten the full mark.

Everyone saw it as a nice academic competition, the kind that made you better every day and it was healthy. Sometimes it could also be mistaken for a nice banter, or even a bit of university drama.

Isa and Jaime saw it as a live or die battle where only one of them could succeed.

Spanish had been the only subject Jaime had ever been really good at, for as long as he could remember. His zeroes in maths had always mattered less next to his tens in Spanish.

When he had told his father that his dream was to become a spanish teacher, the old man had simply nodded and said “I was not expecting less”. And so, one entrance exam to Salamanca’s university later, Jaime knew he was starting to walk the path of his future.

But while his passions were words formation, syntax and how the language had developed into today’s form; Isa had decided to study the career for a whole different reason.

It was clear that she felt completely herself when discussing novels and authors. Her essays on every single topic were excellent quality (even Jaime had to admit it) and they always provided a new, fresh way of thinking.

And maybe that's why some months ago, whatever they had agreed on had taken place.

Now, when the morning classes had already finished, Isa was already on the rooftop, a book in hand and a notebook resting on her legs.

“You are late. Again.” She remarked when she saw Jaime’s blond hair.

“Some of us have life, Isabel.” he answered in the same cold tone and took a seat in front of her.

“Being the teacher’s pet is not having a life.” They both held each other's gazes for a while, until instead of intimidating, they were staring.

The wind whooshed, making the students snap back.

Jaime cleared his throat and Isa focused on her book .“What are we revising today?” asked him.

She tapped the pages of her notebook with a pen. “Los Amantes de Teruel. Spanish version of Romeo and Juliet, I believe. Since you haven't finished it, even though it was due yesterday.” Isa added, a sassy remark included in her voice.

Jaime rolled his eyes.

Lovers of Teruel.

It is true that he had been stuck for three months in a 170 pages novel. But there were far more interesting things to do than read how two fools felt in love only to die at the end.

“I would've finished it if I hand’t been busy correcting someone’s homework.'' He remarked, as he searched for his own copy of the book inside his backpack.

Isa just scoffed, and gave him another “you are annoying” look. Jaime had to make an effort not to smile.

“You know? I wonder if those death stares are unically for me, like a personalized stare.”

“Oh, right, because you are so important in my life that I decided to give you an specific look whenever you say or do something stupid.”

“I mean… You asked me for help that day, so I guess I must be somewhat important, dear Isa.”

“I asked you for help?” she repeated, astonished “You were roaming this rooftop for weeks until I got fed up with how creepy it looked and told you to help me with that assignment, which, for the record, was perfect.”

That was true. Her assignment had been flawless, but Jaime would rather die than to admit that out loud.

“Are you planning on finishing this book with me or do you want to keep talking?” He grinned then “I’m sure there are a ton of other things you could use your mouth for, but I’d like to be prepared for my exam next week.”

Her slight blush felt like a personal win. Until she stroke back, of course.

“One: that is extremely gross, and I don’t want to know about the weird fantasies you have with my mouth. And two: it’s your turn ‘Diego’, so read.”

Since there was no point in reading plays in silence and to themselves, at the beginning of the book (three months ago), Jaime and Isa had divided the roles, taking the two main characters with them: he as Diego and her as Isabel.

“You were practically born for this role” had joked Jaime and Isa wondered how far from the ground they were… and how hard she would have to shove him.

They read some scenes out loud, stopping to make some points on the narrative, paraphrase or make a summary of what they got so far. If it was true that individually they worked really well, as a team it was almost magical.

“Kiss me, for I am dying” said Jaime/Diego for the second time. Isabel had just rejected his lover, since she had already married and didn’t wish to deceive her now husband.

“And then Diego dies because he can’t bear the pain that causes him not being able to love Isabel.” the girl closed her book, and got up, stretching “It’s late, we should go before the campus closes.”

Jaime nodded and tagged alone, but stayed quiet the whole time until they were about to leave the university.

Then, just before partying ways, the question escaped his lips “Would you kiss me if my life depended on it.?”

Both of them looked equally surprised. When he didn’t add anything else, Isa understood he was waiting for an answer.

Well, what do you answer when someone asks that without a warning?

If there’s one thing Isa had clear was that Jaime and her weren’t friends. They weren’t even study buddies! They were just two students of the same class who happened to help each other out every now and then…

And for what?

“Let’s be glad that it doesn't.” she finally said, and turned away, wanting to run as quickly as her legs could carry her.

Would you kiss me if my life depended on it?. Two college students were replaying the same question over and over in their heads. Tossing and turning, unable to sleep.

Isa didn’t have the guts to go back to the rooftop in the next few weeks. Since Jaime had handed in his essay on the novel, she had assumed he had finished it on his own.

That was good, right?

Now, both of them averted their eyes, and tried really hard not to cross paths.

What had been Jaime thinking when he asked that?! Oh right, he had been not thinking at all!

Still, not knowing the answer to the damn question was getting on his nerves. Not that he desperately wanted Isa to kiss him, that could never happen but…

Hypothetically he wanted to know.

Two weeks before finals, they both bumped into each other at the rooftop. Seeing Jaime’s figure -his back to her and his face to the orange sun-, made Isa stop on her tracks.

The door slammed closed and the guy turned around.

Awkwardness was all over the place.

“The library is super crowded and-” started to explain her. He nodded.

“I know, that’s why I’m here.”

A few minutes of silence and then:

“You finished the play.” commented Isa.

“Yeah, I did” Jaime rubbed his neck, nervous “Thanks for sharing your notes, by the way. They were really helpful.”

“Oh, um, no problem.”

“And, about that question…”

“It 's okay! You don’t have to explain anything.”

“No, really, I don’t know how it happened.”

“It’s fine, there’s no need to apologize, really.”

More silence in between them.

“I can go if you want me to.” offered then Jaime. She lifted up her gaze at him.

“The rooftop is big enough for the two of us, and I know you don't like studying at the library.”

Isa had been thinking about how much she noticed about Jaime without actually wanting to: his likes and dislikes, how he frowned slightly when there was a concept he was not following, his happy smiles whenever there was something he was pleased about…

He was grinning like that now.

“Earth calling Isa, are you there?” She blinked a few times.

“Yeah, totally. Here. Present.”

Jaime decided it was now or never.

He lifted up his hand, the one holding the book and showed it to her. "We never finished reading."

"You handed in your essay already. Why would we finish reading it?"

Clearly none of this was working. The guy slided his backpack on his shoulder. "I should go, Alejandro needs me for this book analysis-" he rambled.

"Go" Isa nodded and then smiled. "Teacher 's pet."

He just laughed awkwardly and headed out.

Isa had hated every single second of that conversation. Even if it's true they never had a friendly relationship, they had somewhat grown closer along the few months they had tutored each other.

What did Jaime really mean to her? He was insufferable sometimes, that's true. Arrogant in class and a stupid know-it-all…

But he was also brilliant. And he was kinder than he wanted to show: he had given her his jacket to go home when it was raining once; and even shared his notes with her when she had been sick.

The girl ran downstairs.

Jaime was about to go inside the teacher's office when she finally got to him. In a final effort after her sprint, she tried grabbing his arm.

The guy turned around, really surprised.

"Isa, what-"

"Ask me again." she demanded.

"What?"

"Ask. Me. Again" Isa pleaded out of breath. Her courage would flee anytime soon and then-

"Bésame, que me muero." he whispered.

Kiss me, for I'm dying.

Their lips touched.

"Do you like this ending better?" she asked after the kiss, a sly smile already forming.

He tipped his head back and laughed "Much better."

In Spain whenever someone mentions Lovers of Teruel, we have a saying that sort of finishes the sentence: stupid her and stupid him. Since they both die foolishly.

Luckily, we can assure that the sentence does not apply to Jaime nor Isa.

#short story: kiss me for i am dying #my writing #short story

19 notes · View notes

littlesystems · 5 years

Text

For the people who are out there “fighting the good fight” and “trying to make fandom a better place,” I have two important questions for you:

1. Is the author dead? x

2. Is your baby in the bathwater? x

What do I mean by those things? Let’s start with #1. The Death of the Author is a type of literary criticism, the extreme cliff notes version of which is that art exists outside of the creator’s life, personal background, and even intentions. I’m using it slightly differently than Barthes intended, but that’s okay, because the author is dead and I’m interpreting his work through my own lens.

In fandom, the author is dead. In fact, the author was never alive in the first place, not really. The author has only ever been the idea of a person, because unlike published fiction, the only thing we know about a fanfic author is that which they choose to tell us about themselves.

Why is that important?

Because it might not be true. Hell, that happens in real life with published authors, who have SSN’s on file with their publishers, who pay taxes on the works they create and have researchable pasts. If the author of A Million Little Pieces could fake everything, why can’t I? Why can’t you? Why can’t the writer of your favorite fic in the whole wide world?

Stop me if you’ve heard this before: “you can only write about [sensitive subject] if [sensitive subject] has happened to you personally, otherwise you’re a disgusting monster that deserves to die!!” Or maybe “you can only write [x racial or ethnic group] characters if you’re [x racial or ethnic group] otherwise you’re racist/fetishizing/colonizing!”

You can play this game with any sensitive subject you can come up with. I’ve seen them all before, on a sliding scale of slightly chastising to literal death threats.

Now, I could tell you that I’m a white-passing Latina whose grandmother was an anchor baby. I could tell you that I speak only English because my family never taught me to speak Spanish, something which I’ve been told is common in the Cuban community, though I only know my own lived experience. I could tell you that I’m mostly neurotypical. I could tell you that I’m covered in surgical scars. I could tell you lots of things.

Are any of these true? Maybe! I could tell you that my brother has severe mental development problems, so uncommon that they’ve never been properly diagnosed, and that he will live the rest of his life in a group home with 24-hour care. Is that true? Am I allowed to write about families struggling with America’s piss-poor services for the handicapped now?

Am I allowed to write about being Cuban? After all, I did just say that I’m Cuban. But is it true? Can I instead write a character that’s Panamanian? Maybe I really am Panamanian, not Cuban. Maybe I’m both. Maybe I’m neither. Maybe I’m really French Canadian. Should we require people to post regular selfies? I can’t count the number of times I’ve had someone come up to me speaking Arabic, and I’ve been told that I look Syrian. What’s stopping me from making a blog that claims that I am Syrian? Can you even really tell someone’s race and ethnicity from a photo?

Am I allowed to write about being a teenager? Am I allowed to write about being a college student? Am I allowed to write about being an “adulty” adult? Can I write a character who’s 40? 50? 60? How old am I?

All of this is to say: you can’t base what someone is or is not “allowed” to write about on a background that may or may not be real. No matter how good your intentions. And I get it - this usually comes from a place of well-meaning. You’re trying to protect marginalized groups by stopping privileged people from trampling all over experiences that they haven’t suffered. I get that. It’s a very noble thought. But you can’t require a background check for every fic that you don’t like.

If you say “you can only write about rape if you’re a rape victim,” then one of three things will happen:

Real survivors will have to supply intimate details of their own violations to prevent harassment

Real survivors will refuse to engage and will then have to deal with death threats and people telling them to kill themselves for daring to write about their own experiences

People who aren’t survivors will say “yeah sure this happened to me” just to get people to shut up

Has that helped anyone? I mean really - anyone??

So now let’s get to point #2: is your baby in the bathwater?

If your intention is to protect marginalized people from being trampled upon, stop and assess if your boot is the one that’s now stamping on their face. Find your baby! Is your baby in the bathwater? Which is to say: find the goal that you’re advocating for. Now assess. Are you making the problem worse for the people you’re trying to protect? Does that rape victim really feel better, now that you’ve harassed and stalked them in the name of making rape victims feel safe?

Let’s say you read a fic that contains explicit sex between a 16 year old and a 17 year old. Is this okay? Would it be okay if the writer was 15? 16? 17? Should teenagers be barred from writing about their own lives, and should teenagers be banned from exploring sexuality in a fictional bubble, instead of hookup culture? Is it okay for a 20 year old to write about their experiences as a teenager? Is it okay for a 20 year old to write about being raped at a party as a teenager? Is it okay for a 30 year old? How about a 40 year old? Is it okay so long as it isn’t titillating? Is it okay if taking control of the narrative allows the writer to re-conceptualize their trauma as something they have control over? Is it okay if their therapist told them that writing is a safe creative outlet?

Is your author dead?

Is your baby in the bathwater?

Now let’s take a hardline approach: no fanfiction with characters who are under 18 years old. None. Is the 16 year old who really loves Harry Potter and wants to read/write about characters their own age better off? Should they be banned from writing? Should they be forced to exclusively read and write (adult) experiences that they haven’t lived? Will they write about teens anyway? Should they have to share it in secret? Should 16 year olds be ashamed of themselves? Should we just throw in with the evangelicals and say that the only answer is abstinence, both real and fictional?

Let’s say that no rape is allowed in fiction, at all. None. What happens to all the hurt/comfort fics where a character is raped and then receives the support and love that they deserve, slowly heal, and by the end have found themselves again? Are you helping rape victims by banning these stories? Are you helping rape victims by stripping their agency away, by telling them that their wants and their consent doesn’t matter?

Is your baby in the bathwater?

Fandom is currently being split in two: on one side, the people who want to make fandom a “safer” place by any means necessary, even if that means throwing out all of the marginalized groups they say they want to protect - and on the other, people who are saying “if you throw out that bathwater, you’re throwing the baby out too.”

The whole point of fandom is to be able to explore all kinds of ideas from the safety and comfort of a computer screen. You can read/write things that fascinate you, disgust you, titillate you, or make your heart feel warm. This is true of all fiction. People who want to read about rape and incest and extreme violence and torture can go pick up a copy of Game of Thrones from the bookstore whenever they want. Sanitizing fandom just means holding a community of people who are primarily not male, not straight, not cis, or some combination of those three, to higher and stricter standards than straight white cis male authors and creators all over the world.

There is nothing you can find on AO3 that you can’t find in a bookstore. Any teenager can go check out Lolita, or ASOIAF, or Flowers in the Attic, or Stephen King's It, or Speak, or hundreds of other books that have adult themes or gratuitous violence or graphic sex. The difference is that AO3 has warnings and tags and allows people to interact only with the types of work that they want to, and allows people to curate their experiences.

Are these themes eligible to be explored, but only in the setting of something produced/published? Books, movies, television, studio art, music - all of these fields have huge barriers to entry, and they’re largely controlled by wealthy cishet white men. Is it better to say that only those who have the right connections to “make it” in these industries should be allowed to explore violence or sexuality or any other so-called “adult” theme?

Does banning women from writing MLM erotica make fan culture a better place?

Does banning queer people from writing about queer experiences make fan culture a better place?

Is M/M fic okay, but only if the author is male? What if he’s a trans man? What if they’re NB? Who should get to draw those lines? Should TERFs get a vote? What if the author is a woman who feels more comfortable writing from a male character’s perspective because she’s grown up with male stories her whole life, or because she identifies more with male characters? What about all the trans men who discovered themselves, in part, by writing fanfiction, and realized that their desires to write male characters stemmed from something they hadn’t yet realized about themselves?

How can we ever be sure that the author is who they say they are?

Who is allowed to write these stories? How do we enforce it?

Is it better for none of these stories to ever exist at all?

Have you killed your author?

Have you thrown out your baby with the bathwater?

#the discourse

49K notes · View notes

theboywiththecuckooclockheart · 3 years

Text

My Top 10 Favorite Songs From Jack and the Cuckoo-Clock Heart: Concept Album and Movie

Here I will rank my top 10 favorite songs between the movie and concept album versions of Jack and the Cuckoo-Clock Heart. I personally believe that the French concept album songs are quite different from the translations in the English movie, so I will rank them independently. That means that one song may end up on this list twice for the reasons I will explain as we go down the list. Let’s start from number 10:

10. “Mademoiselle Clé”

As simple and intimate as this scene in the movie is, I’m going to have to put the French version on this list. Mainly because it stays a bit more true to the scene in the novel which is much less PG than the movie. The French song shares the line “...she works her Blue Fairy magic on me, like in Pinocchio, but more real. Except it’s not my nose that’s growing longer.” The implications of that quote in the novel and the French song are obvious, but are much more loosely intimated in the film. Also, I simply prefer the composition of the French album song over the movie version.

You can find the French song from the concept album here on Dioysos’ official Youtube channel and the scene from the movie here on a fan’s Youtube channel.

9. “Tais-Toi Mon Coeur”

This song can only be found in the concept album and corresponds more directly to the plot of the book than the movie. The title means “Be Quiet my Heart” (or, more aggressively, “shut up, my heart”). It is such a catchy song and the old music video associated with it has a really cool animation style which some hoped would have been the style of the entire movie, but alas.

You can find the official song here on Dionysos’ official Youtube channel and the music video here on a fan’s Youtube channel.

8. “Flamme A Lunettes”

There are actually three versions of the song “Flame with Glasses” because it also shows up in the book. The book version is quite short, and is actually the most similar to the movie for that reason. However, the song in the concept album encapsulates more of the action in the novel itself, not just the song that Miss Acacia sings. Additionally, the imagery in the song from the album is much richer and Jack and Miss Acacia’s banter goes on for a little longer. Even though the scene in the movie is visually intriguing and captures some of the imagery with its setting, I’m going to have to put the album version on this list.

You can find the French song from the concept album here on Dionysos’ official Youtube channel and the scene from the English movie here on a fan’s Youtube channel.

7. “L'école De Joe”

“The School of Joe” can only be found in the movie in its instrumental form, so I don’t want to make a direct comparison to the lyric version in the album. However, I don’t think I have to. Both incarnations capture the same menacing energy and climactic build, and what the movie may lack in lyrics it sure makes up for in the scene. And while I hate to put Joe nearly halfway up my list, the song is just too powerful to put any lower.

You can find the French song from the concept album here on Dionysos’ official Youtube channel.

6. “Malagueña”

Doing the research on the Spanish songs in the album and the movie sure gave me a run for my money because I had no idea about the multilingual talents of Olivia Ruiz. She both voices and sings Miss Acacia in the French movie, the concept album (which is in French, of course), as well as the Spanish songs in both (if not all) of the translations of the movie. Her version of “La Malagueña”, a traditional Mexican Huapango song, was originally covered on two of her albums [1], and is of course identical in the concept album and the movie because there is no need to translate it. It was tough for me to choose between “Malagueña” and “Quijote”, but for the wonderful and fantastical elements surrounding it in the movie and for the great references to quotes from the novel during the scene, “Malagueña” makes it on this list.

You can find the song from the concept album here on Dionysos’ official Youtube channel and an amazing live performance of it by Olivia Ruiz here.

5. “Le Jour Le Plus Froid du Monde”

Thanks to this Youtube video and the fanart included in it, “The Coldest Day on Earth” was the first song I ever heard from the “La Mécanique Du Cœur” concept album and was how I discovered the movie in the first place. I have always been an enthusiast for anything vaguely steampunk, and a rhythm set by cuckoo-clocks is exactly the kind of song I’m looking for. Once I figured out what the French lyrics actually mean, I knew I needed to find out more about this weird world. It took me exactly two years to get my hands on a copy of the book after watching the movie, and I discovered the entire concept album around that time as well. Perhaps this song should be number one on this list because it is literally the reason I have this blog to begin with, but I just can’t deny how much I love the other songs at the top of this list.

I also can’t fail to mention the sort of reprised version of the song, called “Le Réveil Des Coucous Vivants”, or “The Awakening of the Living Cuckoos” which makes an appearance very early in the movie, but is actually the last song on the concept album. If you want to experience an amazing example of how cuckoos can be used as incredibly haunting musical instruments, I recommend you check it out.

You can find the French song from the concept album here on Dionysos’ official Youtube channel here is the link to “Le Réveil Des Coucous Vivants” on their channel as well.

4. “La Panique Mécanique”

I absolutely love how much this song builds and how it captures the experience of traveling on a train alone for the first time. This song does make a shortened appearance in the movie during Jack’s train ride, but I’m not a huge fan of how they altered the lyrics. Another thing that makes the French album version so much more striking than the English movie version is Alain Bashung’s [2] performance of Jack the Ripper’s lines. His voice is so mysterious and menacing and creates the perfect bridge into the chaotic latter portion of the song. Perhaps it is my relative lack of exposure to a variety of French voices, but his rendition just hits different than the English one in my opinion.

You can find the French version from the concept album here on Dionysos’ official Youtube channel. Unfortunately I can’t find a good link to the scene in the movie, so you will have to do some digging yourself if you are interested.

3. “Jack Et La Mécanique Du Cœur”

In third place is the French concept album version of the titular song “Jack Et La Mécanique Du Cœur”. It is the very first song on the concept album and serves as a sort of summary for the plot and kind of resembles a Greek chorus [3] that speculates what our protagonist Jack is going to do. It includes some interjection from Georges Méliès and ends with him saying “Et maintenant, bon film” (”And now, enjoy the film”), which I find very cute since it’s sort of like we are watching Méliès’ own film adaption of the story, which he tells Jack during the movie that he could very well make.

You can find the French concept album version here on Dionysos’ official Youtube channel.

2. “Jack and the Cuckoo-Clock Heart” (English version from the end credits of the movie)

Maybe this is a cop-out, but I just couldn’t decide which version of this song to put on this list, so I included both. After much deliberation, I decided to put the English version at number two instead of three. It seems sacrilegious somehow, but I just had to put it a little higher for a couple of reasons. One, I discovered it first so it lodged itself in my consciousness before the French version did, and two, I just can’t get over Orlando Seale’s voice in this song. Of course Mathias Malzieu is completely unparalleled, but there is something about Seale’s optimistic and gallant tone that is completely enrapturing.

It’s sort of a bummer that this amazing song only shows up at the very end of the credits, but I must admit it is a difficult song to place anywhere else in the film considering the inexplicable presence of Méliès (which makes it hard to put at the beginning for the sake of the plot). But, it also doesn’t make sense at the end since it’s a summary of what we just watched and the final line tells us to “enjoy the film” as the last few credits roll up on the screen. Regardless, I should be happy that the song was ever translated into English because I can thank it for keeping my interest and passion for the story alive.

You can find the English version here on a fan’s Youtube channel.

1. “L’Homme Sans Trucage”

And finally, number one. You’d think “Jack and the Cuckoo-Clock Heart” would have taken this spot considering how much I went on about it, but “L’Homme Sans Trucage” (”The Man Without Special Effects”) from the concept album has an absolutely tangible feeling of adventure and boundlessness with instrumentals that are out of this world. Who else but Dionysos can mix record-scratching, keyboard, banjo, drums, and more simultaneously and make it sound that amazing? The song perfectly captures the “coming of age” theme of the story, and the imagery in the song is beyond inspiring.

I also need to mention the reference in the title and in the chorus to Méliès’ diary in the story which he titled “The Man without Special Effects” (or “The Man Who Was No Hoax” per the English translation of the novel). That diary in both the movie and the novel is Méliès’ retelling of his time spent with Jack (which is why I think putting the song “Jack and the Cuckoo-Clock Heart” in the beginning of the movie would be so cool) and is emphasized a bit more in the novel than in the movie. That diary makes a sort of legend out of Jack, and its title implies entirely different layers of meaning between the movie and the novel.

To give the movie some credit, though, the scene is a lot of fun, and I love how they styled it à la Méliès with paper cutouts and the reference to “The Impossible Voyage” [4] by the real Georges Méliès. The scene stays true to the surrealism of the story, and is definitely quite enjoyable. But, in the end, I have to give “L’Homme Sans Trucage” the number one spot on my list.

You can find the French version from the concept album here on Dionysos official Youtube channel and the scene from the movie here on Shout! Factory’s Youtube channel.

There are 31 tracks (including interludes) on the complete “La Mécanique Du Cœur” concept album, so of course I couldn’t include them all here. The styles and tones of each song are so unique, and I think the entire album is worth a listen. I first listened to the entire album roughly concurrently with the plot of the novel, and that was a pretty great way to experience it, in my opinion. But, if you’re like me and you aren’t exactly fluent in French, it’s not like you’ll get many spoilers from the songs.

_____________

All quotes are from the film and/or novel “Jack and Cuckoo-Clock Heart” by Mathias Malzieu unless otherwise specified.

Sources and additional information:

[1] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Malague%C3%B1a_Salerosa

[2] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alain_Bashung

[3] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Greek_chorus#:~:text=A%20Greek%20chorus%2C%20or%20simply,voice%20on%20the%20dramatic%20action.

[4] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Impossible_Voyage

#jack and the cuckoo-clock heart #jack et la mécanique du coeur #mathias malzieu #olivia ruiz #malaguena salerosa #georges melies #orlando seale #the impossible voyage

25 notes · View notes

chainofclovers · 3 years

Text

@little-brisk tagged the entire internet a la livejournal, and I will do the same! Answer these if you wanna answer them.

1. Name/Nicknames: off to a great start by refusing to put my real name here! however, my fandom nickname is CoC or just “coc” which makes me laugh

2. Gender: (cis) woman, lazy femme, lesbian

3. Star Sign: scorpio! i’m not scary but i am very much a scorpio

4. Height: 5′3″ (i’m actually a bit taller than 5′3″ but it sounds like I’m saying “I’m six and three-quarters years old!” to say I’m 5′3.5″. But I am between 5′3″ and 5′4″.

5. Time: 9:28 a.m. eastern time

6. Birthday: November 4. My birthday is pretty much always me being filled with election anxiety, recovering from election anxiety, or experiencing the day of a massive election. I do not recommend being born at the start of the month in which an unstable democracy re-ups itself!

7. Favourite Band: right now it’s The Weather Station!!!!!!

8. Favourite Solo Artist: Dusty Springfield

9. Song Stuck in My Head: hahahah “Black Rainbows” by Cut Copy because I used a line from the song to title a fic I wrote yesterday

10. Last Movie: watched I Care a Lot last weekend

11. Last Show: my wife and i are about to start watching season four of Dix Pour Cent (Call My Agent) on Netflix. it’s so good!

12. When I Created This Blog: summer 2014!

13. What I Post: feelings about fictional women and real women

14. Last Thing I Googled: “torrey peters” (I’m reading Detransition, Baby right now and it’s so good and I wanted to know a bit more about her!)

15. Other Blogs: I have a website and a tumblr under my real name. That tumblr gets no use anymore and hasn’t for years.

16. Do I get asks?: Not super often, but sometimes! I get asks when I request prompts or ask questions, and sometimes I get really lovely anon (or not anon!) asks out of the blue. I rarely get anything nasty.

17. Why I Chose My URL: because it’s the same as my (nearly) meaningless fic pseudonym

18. Following: 306

19. Followers: 1020

20. Average Hours of Sleep: probably about 7?

21. Lucky Number: 22

22. Instruments: lol, I used to play the clarinet and you should feel glad I don’t anymore. Haven’t since middle school!

23. What I Am Wearing: I am still wearing my pajamas, which are some olive green sweatpants and a brewery t-shirt and a grey sweatshirt

24. Dream Job: I don’t entirely know my answer to this question. My dream life is a writing life, and I have as close to that as I can without literally quitting my job in order to write only the things that I, specifically, want to write. And I don’t want to do that because my feelings about my day job exist on the spectrum of like to love pretty much daily. Even if I’m usually stressed out I am very, very privileged and blessed in my work.

25. Dream Trip: Mexico City but probably not until I’ve learned more Spanish. I’d love to go back to the UK at some point. And I want to explore more of Canada! Oooh and the plains here in the U.S.

26. Favourite Food: homemade bread, by itself or with salted butter or with spicy peanut butter or with butter and radishes. i also love spicy food, especially thai curries, and vegetables (esp broccoli and broccoli rabe) roasted until they’re a little crisp, and lots of different potato-related foods, and the best thing I’ve cooked recently is salmon in a miso-maple glaze and the best thing my wife has cooked recently was this chickpea dish with greens and lots of cheese, omg

27. Nationality: american. womp womp

28. Favourite Song: "time (the revelator)” by Gillian Welch

29. Last Book I Read: the last book I finished was the care and feeding of waspish widows by Olivia Waite (fun book with a terrible cover, MAYBE IT’S JUST ME but if I’d written a book in which a fat forty-something woman is rightfully and happily an object of great sexual desire I’d be miffed if my book came out with a stock photo-style portrait of two thin women in their early thirties at most)

30. Top 3 fictional universes I would love to live in:

Girl, Woman, Other by Bernardine Evaristo because reading that book was like meeting new friend after new friend and I really missed them after the book was over! I gave the book to one of my aunts for Christmas and she told me she felt like she’d just met a bunch of new people, and it made me so happy that she had that reaction too.

I am not cut out for a life on the run but all the outdoor settings on the show Wanted are so beautiful so I would be willing to live there and aid and abet Chelsea and Lola if they needed help. I’d return to my own reality the second I met one of those massive Australian bugs, though.

I know I’d be so miserable but Battlestar Galactica was really, really immersive TV for me and I think I’m decent in a crisis and I guess if I lived in the world of BSG I’d find out for real.

#about me #meme #a good old fashioned internet survey #personal

13 notes · View notes

amarantine-amirite · 3 years

Text

Built This Way

It's no secret that my executive functions are terrible. At school, I would answer questions during class in vague, off-topic ways. Sometimes, what I said would creep everybody out. I also repeatedly got assignments mixed up. For example, I once handed in my English essay to my math teacher and my crappy Sonic The Hedgehog fan fiction to my English teacher. She was not amused. I remember her throwing it down on the desk and saying to me, “Not only is this not the assignment, but it’s also downright demented”.

It's gotten me into trouble. A few months ago, I had an assignment for science class. We had to apply what we learned about mirrors and lenses and “discover” total internal reflection. I really had to fight to get myself within the problem, as everything we learned had concerns curved mirrors and lenses. At no point in class did we talk about anything like the critical angle and the index of refraction. That forced me to do extra reading on my own so as to orient myself within the unfamiliar problem. After doing a bit of reading on my own, I could get started on my assignment and get it finished faster than had I not done the extra reading. I was the only one to hand in the assignment a few days early. Everyone else had theirs done a day or two after the deadline.

About a week or so after I handed it in, I got called to the principal’s office. My science teacher said I had cheated on the assignment. He explained to me that the way I had answered the questions made him think that I copied something off the Internet. I explained to them that I did some extra reading on the subject to orient myself within the problem. I did my best to put everything into my own words and really demonstrated that I understood the underlying concept.

Long story short, they didn’t buy it. The school threatened to suspend me unless I had a psychologist assess me and tell them that I did the work honestly and had explained it the way I did because I was less bound by social signaling than the rest of the class. Stuff like this makes me think that everyone else has the “communication issues", not me. I mean, why else would they play four-dimensional chess about asking you to do something simple, like wash the dishes. I don’t believe that reacting to “please use plain and simple language with me" by sputtering about their mind games and passive-aggressive social hoops that I’m expected to jump through is my problem.

I thought that unfortunate experience was in the past. However, one day when my mom and I were in the car, she asked me, "By the way, whatever became of that optics assignment?"

I froze in my tracks. I started blinking rapidly. “That...optics assignment?”

“Yes,” my mom replied, “Did the psychologist tell the school that you were in the clear, or did the school throw the book at you?”

I didn’t know what to tell her. All I managed to get out was, “That...that was too long ago, I don't remember it."

That was a lie. A very awkward lie, too. But no one would believe the truth.

I remember exactly what happened. The day after I got pulled aside for cheating, I actually did contact a psychologist: Rita Dunne.

Trying to get an appointment with Rita Dunne was a disaster. Rita kept changing or canceling the date of our first appointment without telling me ahead of time. If she didn’t cancel it, she postponed it. She postponed it three times in a row once. What she would do if she would postpone it to a later date, then a few days before the date, should postpone it again. After the third time, she outright canceled it and made me reschedule.

She never bothered to offer an excuse. Worse, she got evasive when I asked her why she kept postponing everything. I had to fight with her to plan our first meeting and stick with it. Even then, she provided me with no indication that the meeting date was firm.

The day came for my appointment. Rita's office was located and one of those large office parks with 20 other professionals. The building had a huge lobby with modern art and a front desk with two receptionists.

I found the office without any issues. Make three lefts after the painting that looks like a wonky crocus, and you're there.

I knocked on the door. Rita let me into the office. Before we could get started, her phone rang. The call took up the first 20 minutes of the appointment. Just after she hung up the phone, the fire bell went off and we had to leave the building.

When they let everybody back in, I went back to the office. But instead of her office, I found a janitor's closet.

I had my appointment card. The card had Rita's name and phone number on it, so I figured I could call her. I called the number on the card. "The number you have reached is no longer in service. Please hang up and try your call again". My first thought was that the number printed on the card was out of date. Maybe I could go to the receptionist and ask them where her office was.

That would have been a better idea, if the receptionist was actually helpful. They were was no help at all. First, they ignored me. When they finally acknowledged me, they said “Did your parents not tell you that interrupting other people is rude”.

I stood there, confused. “I wasn’t being rude,” I said.

“Yeah, sure you weren’t” they muttered.

“Anyway,” I asked, “I feel like an idiot, but would you happen to know where Rita Dunne’s office is?” I tried to speak as obsequiously as I could

The receptionist scoffed. “What are you talking about?”

“Rita Dunne. D-U-N-N-E, Dunne. She’s a psychologist.”

The receptionist typed something on their computer. “Look, I don’t know who that is, but they sure as shit don’t have an office here.”

I leaned in, furrowing my brow, and squinted. “So, Rita Dunne doesn’t have an office here, and you have no idea what I’m talking about?”

The receptionist walked away. They began talking to their coworker in Spanish. They didn't know this, but I also speak Spanish. I overheard every word. When they came back, I told them “I heard everything you said, and I don’t really care for the label puta.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” they replied.

After that, I just got frustrated and left. I never told anybody about what happened. Why should I, if nobody would believe me.

I never followed up with the psychologist. Thankfully, it didn't matter. The school lost interest in pushing the cheating thing any further. As far as the rest of the world was concerned, it's like it never even happened.

@dailytextprompt

#writing #writers #writers on tumblr #writtenconsiderations #FindTheWriters #dark academia #writerscreed

9 notes · View notes

sarcasmisakindofmagic · 4 years

Text

And I, seeking safe harbour, found it between the pages of a book

Pairing: Santiago Garcia x fem!reader

Word count: 2,200

Warnings: Tom prefers the movie to the book. one (1) swear word. This is a yearning sort of fluff.

A/N: This is unbeta’d so please forgive any typos

It started, as so many things did for Santiago Garcia, in a bookshop.

The bookshop of his childhood had been haphazard and dusty, second hand books piled high above his head; unending towers of adventures waiting for him to read. They had been browning at the edges, marginalia scrawled in a rainbow of colours in thousands of different hands - previous readers accompanying him on his journey and adding wry remarks to the story.

His abuela had taken him there every Wednesday after school. It had just been the two of them, the cousins relegated to helping abuelo on the farm, but Santi as the baby could help abuela with the town errands. She always got him one book to add to his collection.

Le Morte d’Arthur was a favourite, the binding long since giving up the ghost. Pages held together by string and Santi turning each page with a gentle caress, weighting down each pile with carefully selected rocks - flat, nothing to tear the paper.

Santi had gone back to the bookshop once after Abuela died. The day before he was due to leave town to hit bootcamp. He handed a fresh copy of Le Morte d’Arthur to the volunteer behind the desk, complete with scrawled annotations and inscription.

There hadn’t been many bookshops on the tours he’d taken, occasional lingering moments of perusing the shelves. Frankie knew to leave him alone with the potential stories, a quiet nod and he’d be off to stake out a quiet spot. The whole team would find him later, passively guarding enough space for them to guard each other’s backs. Tom never got the message always hovering, making comments about how he always preferred the movies anyway, Santiago stopped looking for bookshops with him around. Will and Benny usually came as a pair. Benny burning off energy, as Will followed more placidly. Ironically it had been Benny who understood the most, Will losing himself to music more easily than the written word.

“Books, man, I could do that anywhere. It’s active, y’know? Music just happens to you, but i can lose myself in a book.” Benny had told him once, dropping a Du Maurier novel in his lap with a sly grin and only offering a shrug when anybody asked where he’s got an english copy in the middle of bumfuck nowhere redacted.

On the long flights where Benny literally couldn’t sleep, and Santi had too many possibilities running through his head, they’d swap books, making little notes and hiding dicks in the centre folds so they’d get bigger as the book opened.

Half their friendship had been little doodles of dicks, drawn at the most heartfelt and profound moments of classics. Oddly it completely summed Benny up.

The local bookshop was a hidden gem. After Colombia he hadn’t sought out the written word for so long the impulse to go in surprised him enough that he was inside before he’d really thought about it. The shelves inside were crammed full, small hand-painted signs letting him know the genre in which he found himself. There was no military precision to be found here, plenty of space to get lost and find a gem no one had wanted to read in years. The ghost abuela murmured approvingly in his ear, old advice echoing ‘Books need readers, nieto, always find a story that has taken someone on the journey before.’

Occasionally, there would be little stacks of books as new orders came in, the shelves too full to make room for the new arrivals. Regulars moved round them, or paused to run the pad of one finger down the spines, a momentary introduction to a potential new companion.

Hidden around a corner was a tiny café area, only enough to seat maybe ten people, it wasn’t advertised outside - Santiago had never seen every seat taken, though he certainly recognised the regulars by now.

There was the local Rabbi who would tuck himself in the corner with a hot tea and write, occasionally muttering under his breath in Hebrew as he wrestled his sermon into existence. Two students, who were not dating but should be, occupied the table with book wedged under the leg to make it stop wobbling. They were always in contact with one another, limbs seeking the other’s warmth. They didn’t have a schedule but were never in before noon and had only once been spotted on a Thursday.

A young mum who sat by herself on Saturday mornings and absorbed the quiet, she’d once fallen asleep, resting her head on the shelves. Santiago had woken her at her usual departure time, to flustered thank yous, ‘her twins were at ballet classes and her husband was away-’. She’d been out the store and earshot before she’d finished speaking but a little plate with a huge slab of shortcake had been waiting for him the Saturday after, with ‘Thank you’ iced across the top. There had also been a card with a little boy and girl dancing ballet together impressively drawn in crayon, with capitalised signatures.

Santiago had it in a frame at his house and refused to explain it to anyone that asked beyond a bland, “It’s a thank you card.”

Only Will had taken more than a beat to move on, absorbing the bright colours and wobbly letters. The clap on Santi’s shoulder and soft look had been enough. Will had never needed words to get a point across, but a gesture like the card? Will understood that well enough.

The boys all knew about you, heard stories about the book shop owner who could make Pope blush with a well timed smile and look in her eye.

Abuela would have liked her, was the way he explained it to Frankie, blaming the hushed tones on the baby cradled in his arms, rather than the strength of his crush. Little Nina was as placid as her daddy and slept like a rock from day one, Santiago could have yelled his love to heavens and she would only have huffed a little and snuggled closer.

Frankie had only cuffed him on the back of the head and asked if he would pick up some Spanish children’s books for Nina. Santiago didn’t need the excuse to go in there, but he grabbed it with both hands anyway.

You’d been delighted to help, piling his arms high with options before whittling it back down again, selecting tough to rip cardboard and silly rhymes over the school year novellas.

“I’ll pick those up once she’s grown a bit.” He promised, eyeing the reject pile guiltily. “If she takes after her godfather she’ll have her own library soon enough.”

“I was the same,” you laughed, stacking the books neatly by age group and sub-genre, “I used to drive my mother spare reading the book the same day we’d bought it.” “Would you like to go to dinner?” Santiago asked impulsively, talking over the end of your sentence, flushing a little at how abruptly he’d blurted it out. “I’d like to hear about your favourite books.” Your smile made his stomach flip, as you nodded fumbling with the book in your hands.

“I’d like that.” You agreed warmly. “I have quite a few favourites though, it might take more than one.”

Will met you first; in the bookshop without Santi’s supervision. There had been a break in at the shop and Will only lived five minutes away, rushing to calm you down as Santi drove like a madman to get to you.

The shop was in shambles, shelves torn down and books strewn everywhere. Loose leaves littered the floor, glass shards gleaming cruelly in the glaring streetlights. Will had wrapped you up in his jacket, careful of the bruises and nasty gash on your leg, lifting you off the floor and out onto the sidewalk.

He didn’t leave your side until Santiago arrived, waiting until Santi had you in his arms before heading back into the shop to check out what needed fixing.

Frankie met the shop before he met you. His house had the biggest yard, opening out into the woods without anything fencing him in. Will commandeered the space, Frankie happily helping out with the book repairs. His hands had never shaken under pressure, always sure on the controls of the choppers. He learnt the art of bookbinding quickly enough, humming along to Will’s playlists, the two quietest members of the team content to let the music fill the quiet for them.

The first time Frankie met you was when he and Will showed you the shop. The shelves Will had built, now firmly fixed to the wall and floor - they’d prop up the walls before anybody toppled them again. The undamaged books were separated from Frankie’s repairs, in case they weren’t up to your standards. He was pulled into a hug before he could summon up an apology for the amateur job. A stream of thank yous echoing in his ear as you hugged Will just as tightly.

Santiago was smiling, bringing him into hug with a quiet cabron. He always knew when Frankie was overthinking something. You pulled Santi away, demanding Will give a tour of the new, improved shop. Happily calling for Frankie to keep up, you needed to know everything he’d done too.

Benny volunteered to stay at the shop during the day, doing the heavy lifting while your bruises faded. Santiago worked from home but couldn’t help hovering in the shop, too concerned for you and too distracted by all the books he hadn’t got a chance to read.

Somehow this had turned into Benny painting little murals on any spare wall space and the edges of the shelves.

“Have you always painted?” You asked curiously,

Benny shrugged, scratching his chin and leaving tracks of paint over the stubble.

“Pops always had Will out back helping with the farm, he learned the woodworking with him. I helped momma round the house until I was old enough to help paint the stuff they built together.” He broke off to gently shoo Hades away from the paints, the shop cat meowing plaintively at his curiosity being denied.

“Come here puss, you don’t need a paint job.” You coaxed, clicking your fingers to entice him up onto the counter. There was no way your bruises were going to let you bend down to pick him up.

“Anyway, momma was an art teacher she taught me the basics, after that,” he flushed, “a friend helped me practice.”

You had to bite down on your cheek to keep from smiling or asking anymore questions. Benny’s friend sounded interesting but his expression screamed please-don’t-ask-questions.

“My mum could knit anything.” You said instead, finally convincing Hades to have a cuddle and scritching under his chin. “I tried to copy her one summer, ended up having to be cut free from all the wool.”

Benny laughed, all the tension leaving his shoulders at the image of you all snared up like a kitten.

“Me and Will used to track footprints through the house all the time, ‘til we did it with whitewash after painting the barn. Momma had us camped outside for a month before she let us back in.” Benny said sheepishly, a smudged green handprint marking the back of his neck as he confessed. “Pops snuck us in for showers, said he felt bad we’d got punished for chores.”

Hades leapt out of your arms, startled by your laughter.

“God, I dropped a whole bowl of tomato soup on a cream carpet? Does that count?” You wheezed, leaning back against the shelves to try and stretch out the bruising seeing if the new position would help. Benny winced in sympathy

“Sorry. I’ll try to be less hilarious.” He quipped dryly. “And no, not unless you camped out for a month.”

The decision to marry you was the easiest one Santiago ever made. How on earth to actually ask you to marry him, turned out to be a harder thing to pin down. The ring went on half the trips you made for a year: down to Hawai’i on a group holiday, camping up in the mountains and even the near weekly hikes you took on Mondays, shutting shop up and leaving the town far behind.

It was an old copy of The Princess Bride that eventually spurred him into action. Santi was helping with organising the basement which was full of donations and books to be shipped out across the county.

Golding’s novel hit him square in the chest, the achingly familiar cover making Santiago’s throat tighten. Abuela had loved this book, taking great pleasure in dramatically clearing her throat to read it to him when he was sick. The grandpa in the story was replaced with Abuela as she told him the tale of true love: Inigo Montoya switching between Spanish and English and easily as he switched his sword hand.

He’d long been enamoured with pirates and fighting evil kings, but The Princess Bride had been the book to remind him to find something to fight for. Perhaps he’d been clinging to the doomed romance of Le Morte d’Arthur for too long.

“The Princess Bride? Santiago, this is true love - you think this happens every day?” You quoted easily, pressing a kiss to his cheek as you passed.

Santiago sent up a garbled prayer of thanks to Abuela, she always knew what he needed before he did anyway.

And so, Santiago Garcia asked the love of his life to marry him on a rainy Thursday in a bookshop. And it was perfect.

‘But I also have to say, for the umpty-umpth time, that life isn't fair. It's just fairer than death, that's all.’ -William Golding, The Princess Bride.

#santiago garcia #santiago pope garcia #triple frontier #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales #santiago garcia x reader #santiago garcia x you #oddly introspective drabble #i love books #so Pope loves books #the princess bride #william golding #le morte d'arthur #Ella wrote a thing #not quite fluff

42 notes · View notes

sternvonafrika · 3 years

Note

7, 10, 20, 23, and 30 for the book ask, if you don't mind. have a lovely day x

7. If you’re not a native English speaker, how much do you read in your native language versus how much you read in English? How do you feel about that? // If you’re a native English speaker, go find a book in your second/third/etc language, or in translation, to add to your to-read list

i am not a native english speaker, as you may know, and i have to admit i mostly read books in italian, especially when it comes to non-fiction. however, i try to give a lot of space to books written in the other languages i speak (english, german, spanish) and when i was in high school i promised myself that i would always read a book in its original language when its writing was not completely above my level, not only because i wanted to read in order to learn and develop my understanding of the language but also because i wanted (and still want) to see the writing style of the author first-hand. although i value immensely the work of translators i generally tend to read books written by english speaking authors in english without any problems (although sometimes i still have to stop and look up a couple of words); i stopped studying spanish but sometimes i still read books or comics in order to keep my grammar/vocabulary alive and not to lose 5 years of effort, this is a bit trickier however: i still need to look up words and sometimes false friends ambush me; i left german as the last because it's the language whose literature i am involved with (and i am speaking of literature as in: big classics) because of university. it's still difficult, i need to concentrate, i need to look up words and write them down, but the joy i feel when i am able to feel and follow the prose of an author is unmatched !!

the idea of reading in another language always thrilled me (and it would be scary if it didn't since i studied languages in high school and i am still doing it now, at university) and now i feel pretty comfortable in doing it; the only downside is that if i read a lot of books in one language (eg. 5/6 books in english) then when i have to pick up a book in another language my brain basically has to re-set to it and the first 20 pages a nightmare of lack of concentration and reading-the-paragraph-20-times-because-i-didn't-understand-it.

10. The book(s) you bought because the cover was pretty, and whether it was worth it

these specific editions of these books, they were all absolutely worth it and i cherish them with all my heart (notturno, by gabriele d'annunzio, is also one of my favourite books !!) + honorable mention to one of the three editions of der tod in venedig by mann i own, the italian one by einaudi with björn andrésen as tadzio on the cover

20. The coolest bookshop you’ve ever been to

the "flying library" in the centre of the city next to were i live, it's an amazing independent bookshop owned by three lovely people who are always very happy to help and give amazing recs. why is it called the flying library? because it has a little red plane + hundreds of old books tied to the ceiling with transparent strings and when you enter there you are greeting by book flying all over your head

23. The book you expected to hate, didn’t, and then got angry about not hating

sorry about this but: the portrait of the artist as a young man by james joyce. let's start from this: me and james joyce aren't really in good terms (yet good enough for me to visit the joyce museum in trieste, apparently), i don't like his prose, i find him very difficult to read - especially without a translation - , i am not amazed by his plots or the sensation he should evoke in me ... and i say this with a bleeding heart because i generally love modernism. however portrait was different; i believe the protagonist is written & developed brilliantly. in the end he tries to claim his soul as he becomes the artist he was born to be and abandons all he was anchored to pursue his personal illumination. anger about not hating it: i guess now i can't really say "oh, joyce, i can't stand him" with this shitty smug face of mine anymore, that's just it

30. The book you read the blurb of, constructed a version of in your mind, and were promptly disappointed by once you finally got around to actually reading it

another controversial (maybe since i saw all my friend completely adore it) one: the road by cormac mccarthy. i had to read it in high school and all i knew was that he was an extremely praised and acclaimed author, my english literature teacher described mccarthy as a deep and brilliant writer and when i got my copy of the book i was thrilled by the blurb and ready for an adventure in this post-modern wasteland. oh boy, how disappointed i was when i started it. the book just seemed a redundant series of unnecessary descriptions, the reader is probably supposed to find this simplicity in his prose profound (you get the gist, postmodernism: defamiliarization, the old becomes new, the little becomes big, everyday life has its importance, and so on ..) but i didn't feel any personality in it, no relationship to the plot, no revealing of the characters. for my taste it was too bare to be considered beautiful and it was just a book completely painted black where the author added layers of dark colours that cannot contrast nor, in the end, stand out.

#a lovely day to you too anon; and thanks for the ask! xx #i am sorry i talk a lot & i have strong opinions #and i am sorry if i butchered mccarthy; if someone actually liked the book and wants to write me to tell me their opinion they are -#more than welcome to do so !! i actually love discussing books and i want to hear about what other people could find in that novel #replies #anon

5 notes · View notes

thewakeless · 3 years

Text

thank you @throwing-roses-into-the-abyss for tagging me! I was actually on a really good reading streak this year... until it all inevitably fell apart

1- how many books are too many books in a series?

I don’t really read series but in fantasy / scifi I think a lot of it depends on the richness of the world. The better the world building the larger the series can be without getting trite.

2- what do you think about cliffhangers?

Fun! They push you to keep reading! However if you’re going to end your book on a cliffhanger you absolutely have owe it to your readers to publish it in a timeline manner. For example A dance of Dragons ends with Jon Snow getting stabbed presumably to death and GGRM has now made readers wait more than 10 years to find out what happens. Frankly that’s just disrespectful.

3- hardback or paperback?

Both! Paperbacks are good to carry with you, read in parks, go to coffee houses, but there’s nothing like having a beautiful hard cover copy of your faves for longevity.

4- least favourite book?

This is a long list. I am real moody and picky. But brave new world, as I lay dying and a portrait of an artist as a young man are all up there.

5- Love Triangle, yes or no?

Nah mate.

6- the most recent book you just couldn’t finish

The House of the Spirits. It was the first book I try reading in Spanish in like... 10 years... more maybe... and I was advancing so slowly it was frustrating. I was enjoying the book tho!

7- book you are currently reading

Meridian by Alice Walker. Really well written, not pleasant.

8- last book you recommended to someone

I talked to my cousin yesterday and recommended she read, A house at the end of the world and the beautiful things that heaven bares. Both of which I was very emotionally involved in, and are very well written.

9- oldest book you read

That would have to be the Iliad and the Odyssey.

10- the most recent book you read ?

Six of Crows

11- favourite author?

Ah! This is a hard category. There are some authors where I want to read everything they have written, but I’m in no rush.

Okay so favorite dead authors

Tolstoy. I’ve read Anna Karenina 4 times and every time I find more beauty and truth in it. I don’t think anyone describes circumstances or ambiance with the same combination of richness and ease that Tolstoy was. I always say that reading him makes me feel like a time traveler. And War and Peace is the greatest story I have ever heard, tbh nothing else comes close to it. It is a masterpiece and juggernaut. I have a lot of beef with Tolstoy but he writes the story my heart craves.

Steinbeck. This was a bit of a surprise. I didn’t expect to like him at all. He has a very simplistic, clean type of writing that appeals to me, and he chooses to politicize his stories in a way that is still very relevant (even though some of them are almost 100 years old now). I loved of Mice and Men, and Grapes of Wrath, and East of Eden but my number 1 recommendation is Tortilla Flat. It’s a tiny book (I think about 150 pages) and probably one of the most unique and funny things I have ever read. It’s the story of a group of bums in a poor Valley in California but it’s parallel with King Arthur’s court, just a 10/10 for me.

Okay now living authors:

Anne Marie McDonald. Fucking underrated Queer Canadian writer. She meticulously examines the construction of gender, sexuality, and family in a way that gives insight not only to society at large, but to your own life, or my life anyway. She always nails it. I think my favorite of her books is still the first I read: The Way the Crow flies. It’s magnificent.

Mohsin Hamid. I found him completely by chance in a used book store back home, and I think his books should be mandatory reading. Each of them is a ruthless critic of a giant subject: immigration, US imperialism, capitalism, told in a way that is romantic, charming, funny, sad and in less than 250 pages. This man is wicked smart, absolute magician.

12- buying books or borrowing books?

I used to want to own every book I read. There’s something comforting about them, but I live in a tiny apartment and they keep gathering dust so I’ve been using the library a lot lately.

12- a book you dislike that everyone else seems to love

Again this list could go on for a long time but Six of Crows comes to mind.

14 - bookmarks or dogears?

Bookmarks! And I am of the belief anything can be a bookmark. A leaf, an old receipt, a granola bar wrapper, a rubber band, whatever is closest at hand.

15- The book you can always reread?

I don’t re-read that much anymore, except in audiobooks. My most listened is definitely my Jane Austen collection. They’re light and fun and zap me into a world were concerns are minimal, so I always go back to them.

16- can you read while listening to music?

If it’s instrumental yes. If it’s anything else no.

17- one POV or multi POV?

Either, it really depends on the story.

18- do you read book in one sitting or in multiple days?

Oh yes. I am really lucky to have a lot of time on my hands to read and there’s something lovely about being that involved in someone else’s life / thoughts / world.

19- who to tag: @princedxn @ahhhnorealnamesallowed

1 note · View note

furrycowboypeach · 3 years

Text

car insurance : 10 questions with answers

Dear reader, we are honored to visit

our site

and hope to find everything you need in this article.

1.How does classic car insurance differ from conventional car insurance ?Classic car insurance will give you what the car is actually worth and or what you feel the car is worth. Conventional insurance will not. Let’s say you have a beautiful 1965 split window corvette. Maybe it’s worth a $100,000. Collection insurance will want photos of the car and maybe an inspection of the vehicle. Once they agree on the value your good to go. However there are rules, like limited miles you can drive, garage kept, they can be very picky. Regular insurance last I heard will give you blue book value. Do the research. There are some very good collection companies around.

Insurance companies and having fun with this.

The UK MOT test now has public information data about current and historical mileage.

Thus now we can see/prove/audit that there are many tens of thousands of old cherished cars - that literally do not move for years on end. (Less than 500 miles every 5 years).

Big data analysis will show clearly to insurance companies which classic cars are massively profitable to insure.

A mainstream loved semi-classic car has a market value of £4,000 or less. (eg. 18 year old Mercedes convertible) driven by a busy,, employed, 50 year old with 2+ cars

On fully comprehensive insurance - the risk held by the insurance company is £3.5K for total write off of the car and any 3rd party claims (on a vehicle that hardly moves). The risk to the policy owner is loss of 4 years no claims bonus and a 10+ year claim free profile.

Big data will show to the insurance companies that these are very profitable policies

2.Does the wrong address invalidate car insurance ?

That depends on why it is wrong. If you move, while you should notify your insurance company, but don’t you are more likely to get cancelled because you didn’t pay your mailed bill (assuming that is the option that you selected).

But if say that you live in Miami, Florida (the most expensive place in the state to get auto insurance, and you claim that you live just outside of DeFuniak Springs, Florida and then have an accident in Miami, Florida, the insurance company could say FRAUD and VOID your policy as if it never existed. Because you had an uninsured accident, you would probably lose your driver’s license until you made the other driver whole again! Short of that, it usually wouldn’t be considered Material, and they would back bill you for premium OR give you a refund.

3.Is rental car insurance a rip-off ?

yes and no.

if you are using your insurance and crash the rental car, you can be liable for the complete cost of repairs AND lost revenue while it is being repaired. this can be full price of the rental all the time it is being repaired. this can be a ton of cash. also if you chip the windshield the rental co can charge you for a complete new windshield or repair the that one. your insurance may or may not cover any or all of this. needless to say you will have to deal with it one way or another.

if you buy the EXPENSIVE rental car insurance you are covered for all damages including all the “little scratches”

i was 21 and rented a car to go to a job interview 2 day rental. well i put almost 1600 miles on the car. when i returned the rental agent was mad i had put that many miles on an unlimited rental. so she went out and nitpicked everything …. i just watched as she pointed bugs out as dents and everything else. when we went in she disappeared a returned with a 2400.00 repair dollar bill. and demanded how i was going to pay. i just said i paid the 15.00 for the full insurance and that would cover it , she grabbed the rental agreement and read it, her face turned red. and i left….

4.Is it okay to not have car insurance for a few months ?

Probably expecting a bit of heat for this one but here goes.. lol.

I live in Spain and about 14 years ago or so I was forced under pressure to get rid of the Suzuki jeep… which looked a fair bit like this I suppose. No power steering and the uncanny ability to just spin right around on itself in slightly greasy roads….

which had the widest back tyres I think I have ever seen on a car.., anyway, it had to go, saw an ad for a Mitsubishi Shogun , a lot like this

UK plates and only came with an export certificate from UK. Seems the guy who brought it over was intending to change it over to Spanish plates but never got round to it. Swapped the Suzuki plus 3 grand and off we went. First time I had driven an automatic, was a joy and no mistake…proper built like a tank too.. awesome car.

Drove that car for almost 8 years on that export certificate, no MOT and insurance papers I made my self on the computer by copying a mates documents and changing the pertinent details. Spanish cops had at that time.. and possibly still now, no way of actually checking the veracity of insurance papers, if they looked legit, they were accepted.

I understand that in the last few years DVLA having softened a little and offer a yes or no answer to Spanish enquiries as to whether a UK registered car has a valid MOT or not… no other info is given. I assume thats data protection at work or some such. Its that yes or no that has gotten rid of a load of UK plated cars from Spanish roads, now you actually have to have one, so either you know someone who has an MOT garage and can produce one for you or you drive back to get it done, which isnt usually viable.

So ye, its ok to not have insurance for a few months or even a few years, as long as you can get away with it.

5.Can realtors write off car insurance ?

It depends on the method they choose to use to write off their car expenses. If their car is used less than 50% for business, they must use the mileage method which includes all operating expenses including insurance. If they use it more than 50% they may choose to use the actual expense method or the mileage method. If they use the actual expense method they can deduct the business % of gas, repairs, interest, insurance, depreciation, etc. Either method requires them to keep a mileage log.

6.Does my car insurance cover my friend when they borrow my car for a day?

In the UK read your certifcate of motor insurance.

If it says

“Any person driving on the policyholder’s behalf or with their permission” or WTTE then they will be covered. (There may be age limits in the schedule of insurance but these cannot appear on the certificate). (Also cover will be for pleasure use only unless the wording on the certificate specifically includes business use by your friend).

If it does not say that then, unless your friend is named on the certificate of insurance, they are not covered under your policy.

This does not necessarily mean that they are uninsured when they drive your car, since they may have an insurance policy covereing their own car with the “driving other cars” extension. “The policyholder may drive, with the owner’s permission a car not belonging to the policyholder nor hired to him under a hire-purchase agreement”. If this clause is in effect it only covers their Road Traffic Act Liability and does not cover loss or damage to the car whilst in their control. Note that it is your duty to check this. If your friend doesn’t have such cover then you are ‘aiding and abetting’ a motor offence of driving without insurance - offence code IN12 - which will substantially increase your car insurance premium - despite the FCA announcements today.

7.Can a 19-year-old afford car insurance ?

Driving a car is a privilige, not a right.

Unless you are in gainful employment and living at home, I suspect you will have to rely on the bank of mum and dad. But if you think getting insurance at 19 is hard - imagine trying to get it at 17 and 18.

Many teenagers go with a company that assesses the premium based on information sent to them by a ‘black box’ added to the car. People who drive sensibly and only durting the day pay a lot less than those who drive recklessley and at night - even if the latter have no accidents.

The first year is by far the worst. If you go claim free for a year then no only will you be 20 rather than 19 - but you will have one years no claims discount - which will knock about a third off your premium.

(Oh and don’t try and pretend the car you drive is owned and registered with your parents and that your mother is the main user. Insurance companies are not stupid. People who own a vehicle one or two years old don’t normally decide to buy a second vehcile that is 10 years old for their own use.)

8.What are the worst car insurance companies in America ?

As others have alluded to, the whole insurance cabal and racket is on par with a level or two less integrity than the drug cartels run in Mexico and South America.

Still, some insurance companies make an effort to comply with law and regulation, while others just have a standard operating procedure to act like bad-faith criminals.

One company stands out as the worst of the worst:

Bristol West

If you bought insurance from these scoundrel's, do yourself a favor, and immediately change. But don’t change early, or you’ll pay outrageous cancellation.

If you get hit by someone with this insurance, put in your claim with your own insurance, or you’ll just be wasting your own time.

9.How much do I need to pay for car insurance ?

Without knowing where in the world that you live, nor your age, sex marital status, other drivers in your household, driving records, and car or cars you trying to insure.

You can't save time or money by asking an ambiguous non informational question here. You will have to do it the old fashioned way, calling around to agents or companies. You can also go online to the companies and agents but NOT TO THOSE SITES THAT PROMISE TO TELL YOU THAT THEY'LL TELL YOU EVERY COMPANY'S RATES. That is a LIE plus you are putting yourself at risk for identity theft, and here are the reasons:

None of these sites has ALL of the companies. They only show those companies paying them to be there.

Even if they show an Allstate, a Progressive and/or Geico, these companies all have multiple rating levels for different types of drivers from preferred for the very best risks down to theworst risks out there. Those kinds companies might only have one or two of their rating levels on each of these sites, so if you don't qualify for those that rating tiers you won't be given a rate from those companies. Likewise if the company that truly is cheapest for you didn't pay for that website to show their rates, you won't see them.

They will sell your personal information to multiple agents and/or companies. This means that you will be bombarded by people trying to sell you auto insurance.

And since they don't check that the person indeed buying the leads are insurance agents all of your personal information could end up in the hands of identity thieves.

NOTE: IDENTITY THEFT DOES NOT HAPPEN FROM INSURANCE COMPANY OR AGENT'S WEBSITES!

10.What do

sports

car

lovers need to know about car insurance ?

Find out how buying a sports car impacts on your car insurance, from cost to cover. There’s nothing specific you need to look for in an insurance policy on a sports car, per se, but it’s always a good idea to read the policy wording in advance if you have anything specific you want covered.

Some of us love football. Some of us love cricket. And some of us love motorsport. The sports we like are part of our identity, and if you’re a motorsport fan you might want to express that through your choice of car.

We’ve put together this short guide to help you better understand the implications of owning a sports car from an insurance point of view.

Find out how buying a sports car impacts on your car insurance, from cost to cover.

What to look for in an insurance policy on a sports car

There’s nothing specific you need to look for in an insurance policy on a sports car, per se, but it’s always a good idea to read the policy wording in advance if you have anything specific you want covered.

For instance, you might want to be sure you’re covered against vandalism or other such malicious damage to the tyres, paintwork or (on a cabriolet) the fabric roof.

Even if you’ve found a policy that covers every scenario you can imagine, you must fully disclose all details of the car to avoid having an insurance claim refused. This includes any optional extras or other modifications that have been made by you or a previous owner.

What qualifies as a sports car ?

For the purposes of insurance underwriting, Admiral defines sports cars as cars designed as performance vehicles ‘from the get-go’: things like coupes, roadsters and GTs.

Having said that, your car may be considered a sports car even if it doesn’t fall into one of these categories.

Car manufacturers recognised years ago the demand for high-performance cars which were practical and spacious enough for the real world – cars for people with children and hobbies, essentially.

Traditional sports cars are designed to be lightweight, compact and aerodynamic, but this usually means a cramped interior and little or no luggage space.

So, over the years, and with changing attitudes towards what ‘sporty’ means, we’ve seen the arrival of the hot hatchback (as defined by the iconic VW Golf GTI), the sports saloon (think BMW M5) and, more recently, the performance SUV (such as the Porsche Cayenne).

Why is insurance on sports cars more expensive ?

Every new car is placed into an insurance group based on the risk associated with it, and risk is calculated using statistics about past claims on similar cars. Risk takes into account both how likely you are to make a claim, and how much it could cost to put right if you do.

When it comes to sports cars, the first (and perhaps most obvious) thing insurers look at is their performance. Many sports cars are fitted with engines that provide rapid acceleration and high top speeds.

And they’re engineered to mimic the driving characteristics of racing cars, with responsive handling and potent brakes – all designed to help you carry as much speed into, through, and out of corners as possible. All of which increases your likelihood of being involved in an accident.

They are also, often, more expensive to repair or replace, because of their high sale prices or because parts are more specialised. And they may present a more irresistible temptation to thieves, making a theft claim more likely.

What are the cheapest sports cars to insure ?

We've compiled a list of the 10 sports cars with the cheapest average premium between January and March 2021.

Of course, the car itself is only one of the factors used in calculating premiums, so the characteristics of the average owner of these cars (including age, driving history and No Claims Bonus) could explain why the premiums are so affordable.

The models listed combine cars of all ages and values, including both hard-top and roadster equivalents sharing the same name.

Porsche Boxster - £404.04

BMW Z4 - £437.52

Polestar 2 - £446.07

Mazda MX-5 - £451.80

Porsche Cayman - £488.42

Porsche 911 - £509.19

Porsche Macan - £518.03

Nissan GT-R - £582.02

Toyota MR2 - £586.39

Ford Mustang - £586.77

After you've finished reading, we hope you've benefited. And we invite you to comment in your opinion. And we're happy with that, and we love reading it.

#home #car #book blog #insurance

1 note · View note

twistednuns · 3 years

Text

February 2021

Irises and purple, lavender and white hyacinths. For merely three bucks. What a gorgeous bouquet.

My own thai curry recipe. It's THAT delicious.

A pep talk from Manu. Realising I really need to take more chances. And get rid of that dude I've been hanging out with. I've been feeling so stuck lately. I'm toying with the idea of giving it all up. Quitting my job. Leaving the country. Just to see what happens. Because I'm pretty sure I'll love what happens next. / Whatever worlds you live in, there are other worlds out there. If you are uninspired living life a certain way, it’s your duty to change. Nothing, not a relationship or job or housing situation, is worth sacrificing your ravenous hunger for life for. X

I feel my obsession with artificial cherry flavour creeping back up on me. Cherry-flavoured diet coke is one of my guiltiest pleasures.

I keep seeing those multicolour graffiti tags everywhere and I finally found out what kind of pen they use for this effect! I ordered one, I just had to, and it's fantastic. So beautiful and vibrant! I've already asked around how illegal it is to walk around the neighbourhood signing my tag on random surfaces...

Fresh pineapple.

The ocean. Talking about diving. Watching documentaries about marine life like My Octopus Teacher and Blue Planet. Drawing nautical objects, sea dragons and mollusks.

Learning more about apophenia.

It actually smells like spring in the forest and the days are already so much longer. I even saw a deer jumping over the path last night. I even got Frank to join my on my walk for the first time.

A little glimpse of summer. The south of France is my happy place I keep going back to. But there are more little reminders of the world out there, of travel and summer, that I thoroughly enjoy. Like watching Salt, Fat, Acid, Heat with Samin Nosrat. Not only do I really want to try making my own Tahdig now but I also kept smiling throughout the whole show because they filmed episodes in Italy, Japan and Mexico. Just imagine walking across a citrus market in the Yucatan right now. Or making Pesto Genovese with an Italian nonna in a Ligurian castle. Maybe even learning how to make your own miso in a remote corner of Japan. There is so much longing within me at the moment. What made my virtual culinary travels even better was Netflix's Street Food series. I especially enjoyed the episodes from Bolivia and Mexico.

I May Destroy You. Different, and very relevant.

This year's Valentine's Day happened to be pretty rad. So I've exchanged the boring nerd I had been dating with an exciting artist from Colombia. John is a painter, a poet, photographer and filmmaker who gave me a Spanish copy of an Oscar Wilde book with a poem he had written for me. My cold and cynical German heart is not used to wooing on this level but I love it. On Sunday we walked through the English Garden and Schwabing in the sunshine, took photos, looked at some art and antiquarian bookshop windows. We saw two cats inside the cat café, bought fancy macarons at Maelu and just kept talking. I even found a few interesting books about dream interpretation on my way home. John has a reference to Kleist's tragedy Penthesilea tattooed on his collarbone - Küsse/Bisse ("das reimt sich, und wer recht von Herzen liebt, kann schon das eine für das andre greifen"). He is a Scorpio with impeccable taste and sends me songs he plays for me on the guitar / Cocteau Twins tunes upon waking up. I really needed this.

Having my students create English comics with Pixton. I love how much their avatars actually look like them! I hope they had fun, too.

The smell of cherry-flavoured candy wafting through the air.

Semolina pudding with banana. The subtle heat does something to the bananas; the combination is simply delicious.

I watched the first season of Chef's Table and was really impressed by Francis Mallmann. I admire his courage and lifestyle. The constant change he craves. The way he speaks foreign languages and just bravely does his very own, unique thing. I want to live like that, too.

A crystal clear view of the Orion constellation.

Very fine snow powder against the sunlight. As if it was raining glitter.

Feeling cool and confident. A fleeting feeling but it makes such a big difference.

When we practice forgiveness, we let go of shame. Embedded in our shame is always a sense of being unworthy. It separates. Compassion and forgiveness reconnect us. / reading bell hooks' all about love.

Mustering up enough motivation to go through all my stuff in the basement and put a few items on eBay. I'd been putting this off for years now.

I'm amazed how good my phone camera is. I took some pictures in the pitch-black forest and you can make out the moonlight on the path and even see star constellations on the photo.

Spending quality time with a cuddly kitty boi.

Blue corn quesadillas prepared for me by a bloody gorgeous Mexican metalhead.

Writing that message I should have written weeks ago (letting Simon know that I wasn't particularly interested in dating him anymore).

Trolli burgers. The best gummy candy out there. Arguably the most fun. I love being able to disassemble my food and eat it layer by layer.

John's story about that acid trip on a boat somewhere in the ocean off the Colombian coast. They lay under the bright moonlight and were suddenly surrounded by Gray whales communicating with each other through song.

The spicy smell of a fresh, moist loaf of rye bread. Eating it with soured butter and salt.

The first snowdrops of the year.

Another one about the moon: walking home late one evening there was a lunar corona in the fog. I loved how the light illuminated my arms in that cool, white light.

The morning after the worst weekend in months or maybe even years (with both a mental breakdown and a medical emergency because misery loves company, eh?) Waking up early, pain-free. With a little spark of excitement and motivation. Just lying around for an hour in the darkness. Meditating. Falling back asleep for a little while. Getting up eventually, brushing my teeth and hair, painting my nails.

Painting more. Just experimenting with colour, intuitively. Without putting pressure on myself. The other night I painted with oil pastels and chalky pastel crayons while watching Dawson's Creek (I successfully avoided this series for 20 years and now, in my thirties, I start watching it?).

Bananas with nut butter, dark chocolate and sea salt.

Meditating with the blanket covering my nose. Breathing in fresh laundry smell.

Riding home from school with Anastasia, talking about diving adventures.

Reading Jill Heinerth's book Into the Planet. Her career as an explorer and cave diver is breathtakingly exciting. I couldn't put that memoir down. And it made me even more antsy. I'm really unhappy and bored right now - I wanna go out and learn something new, explore, live a little more.

Going to work without make-up. In the last ten or even fifteen years I put on make-up every single day I went to school. I'm done. Lockdown made me come to terms with the look of my bare face.

Learning about Antarctica cruises. It only takes about 24hours to reach the area from Argentina! I'd really love to go but the cruises are crazy expensive.

My house plants sprouting new leaves.

The moment the pain suddenly stops and you can breathe again.

Tropical breakfast. Banana, kiwi, mango, pineapple. And plain yoghurt. Decidedly non-tropical.

#personal #present perfect #things i love #february 2021 #2021 #february

3 notes · View notes

web-of-fics · 4 years

Text

Not Your Romeo

Request by @peterparkerbabyyy (“Hey! So my concept is basically the reader is in a relationship with a really manipulative guy. but she doesn't realize because she's too far in his trap. Maybe peter snaps her out of it and it's super fluffy but angsty?”)

Writer’s note: Yes to all the above! I tried to include a little of everything for you--I hope you like it!!

Words: 1496

READ PART TWO HERE

✎_____________________________________________________________________

In that moment you wished more than anything flip phones hadn’t gone out of style. Ending this conversation with your boyfriend would have been much more satisfying with the clat sound your Motorola used to make when you disconnected a call. Angrily tapping a tiny red circle on your touchscreen just didn’t have the same effect.

So you tapped the disconnect button with as much anger as you could and stomped around the library in search of a copy of Romeo and Juliet for your boyfriend of two months. The Baz Luhrmann DVD. At first, you thought Jack was suggesting a fun movie date night with this request. You quickly learned he was under the impression that watching the movie was a much more “time effective” method of prepping for the in-class English essay on Friday. Fine. Whatever. You didn’t always do class readings either, but it bothered you a little bit that he had no interest in reading your favorite Shakespeare play. It bothered you a lot that it never occurred to him that you could watch the movie together. Mostly because he immediately shot down the idea even when you suggested it. Yet somehow you’d ended up agreeing to bring the movie by tonight since you were already at the library. How convenient. Never mind that you had been waiting over an hour for him at the library so you could work on your Spanish oral presentation together.

But you were able to do his part of the presentation anyway, right? Just like last time, he’d reminded you. Just like all the other partner projects you did together. In fact, you’d only started dating because you were assigned as partners for an English assignment last semester. He’d ended up flirting with you the entire “study session”--which you were more than okay with--but you ended up having to finish the presentation on your own when he had to run to hockey practice.

An announcement came over the intercom then, kindly reminding patrons of the library to check out their materials because the library would be closing in five minutes. Crap. It was later than you thought. Had you really been waiting for him to show up for two hours? You’d finished your math and Spanish homework before he’d even had the decency to call you to say he wasn’t coming.

Finally, you spotted a worn copy of the movie that was older than you and made your way back to the lobby. You were so focused on your irritation that you almost ran into one of your school friends, another frequent patron of the library.

“Hey Peter,” you said with irritation melting from your voice at his presence. It was impossible to be mad at anyone or anything when within a ten-foot radius of Peter Parker. How did he have that effect on people?

“Hi y/n,” Peter replied. Something was off about him. Instead of his usual brightness, he had an edge about him. Like he had definitely overheard your phone call and wanted to say something about it.

“What’s up? Are you getting some books?” You babbled, eyeing the stack of books with scientific titles you couldn’t even attempt to pronounce held in his arms.

“Um yeah. Are you watching that for class?” He responded with interest, nodding to the DVD.

“Um... sort of. I read the play and I really want to see the movie.”

Peter nodded mutely. You walked side by side to the checkout line. Peter shifted his weight nervously between his feet. You wanted to say something but you weren’t sure what it should be. Peter appeared to be biting his tongue as well. You met eyes accidentally and he sucked in a breath.

“Y/n, I overheard you on the phone with Jack,” he said. It came out like a confession, but he hadn’t done anything wrong. If anything, you’d been the one to lose karma points for taking a phone call in the library.

“Oh... sorry about that,” you blushed. “I hope I wasn’t too loud.”

“No, no no!” Peter said quickly. He breathed slowly again. “It’s just that... he, I--” Peter glanced around, but no one else was in earshot. “He doesn’t care about you!” Peter blurted finally. The unspoken end of the sentence being “...like I do.”

Your mouth snapped open automatically, ready to defend your flakey boyfriend out of habit.

“Of course my boyfriend cares about me,” you seethed, emphasizing every other word so Peter could hear how wrong he was. How foolish to think you’d committed to this guy for two months only for him not to care about you whatsoever.

Peter’s face scrunched like a crushed Coke can. “That didn’t come out right.”

“You think?” You pulled out your phone to look busy and walked away. You got as far as the entrance before you stopped.

“Crap,” you said at the same moment a disinterested 20-something employee said: “Sorry, the library’s closed now. You’ll have to come back for that tomorrow,” he nodded pointedly at the DVD still clutched in your left hand.

You passed it to him and slinked past the employee, Peter trailing behind you. You heard the key twisting in the lock the moment you set foot outside. Surely the employee was as eager to get home as you at this point.

Your mind jumped to other methods of finding a copy of the movie. Then the remnants of your latest conversation with Jack ricocheted around in your mind and you decided it would be good for him to do a bit of class reading for once. Let him read a little Shakespeare. Maybe he could learn a few things about how to act more gentlemanly. The moment the thought crossed your mind you became aware Peter was still nearby. He caught your eye and closed the little distance remaining between the two of you until you were within speaking range again. You were about to tell him to get lost, but faltered at the look on Peter’s face, swallowing your retort and letting him speak first.

“Um...” he started. “About in there... I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s not any of my business.” He looked up with big apologetic eyes that reminded you of a beagle that just got in trouble with its owner. Somehow, you felt like apologizing to him.

“It’s okay,” you sighed. “I’m not mad at you, I’m just mad at him really. Lately he... he hasn’t really been like he was when we first started going out. He’s been kind of a jerk, really,” you quit talking when you felt tears well up. Tears? Really?? You were not about to cry over this dude who couldn’t be bothered to come meet you. You sniffed loudly. At the sound, Peter was alerted to the lone tear that spilled over your cheek. His hand twitched like he wanted to wipe it away.

“Um...” Peter frowned like he wasn’t sure how the next thing he planned to say was going to be received. “I have a copy of the movie if you want to borrow it or... something.” He had been about to invite you over to watch it, but backtracked at the last second, uncertain if that would be too much.

“Um,” you nodded and brushed your hand over your face. “You don’t have to do that, really, it wasn’t really for me anyway. It won’t kill him to do the readings once in a while anyway.”

“Have you ever seen it? I know you like the play but that movie is so crazy I wouldn’t want anyone to miss it,” he laughed. He really wanted to say, ‘I wouldn’t want you to miss it,’ but Peter continued to bite his tongue.

“Yeah, I’ve heard,” you agreed.

“Um,” it was in that moment he saw the expression on your face change that Peter decided to quit biting back his words.

“In that case, I think you should come over sometime and we can watch it together.”

You looked up in surprise, seeing Peter with new eyes now that you’d begun fantasizing ways to break things off with Jack.

“Okay,” you smiled. “Um, I don’t want to pressure you but is now a good time? It would be nice to get my mind off other things.”

“Yeah, totally,” Peter nodded like he’d turned into a bobblehead.

You lit up. “Great! Hold on one second, I have to do one thing first.”

You dialed Jack’s number, your heart becoming lighter with every word as you proceeded to break up with him. Jack had not been your Romeo. There were no guarantees that it would be Peter instead, but you were taking a step in the right direction to find out. You hung up with your ex first, pleased with the satisfaction that came with hitting disconnect. You followed Peter home like a lost puppy with a new companion, eager for the adventures to come.

_______________________________________________________________________

Just one more before bed? Click here for a masterlist of my fics!

90 notes · View notes