#A fruitless 2 hours goes crazy | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

capsized-heart · 5 years ago

Text

Lady Liberty and The Captain / Part One

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader (1940′s Brooklyn AU)

Summary: You are a rising young star and the newest breakout actress in Hollywood’s Golden Age! When war finally descends on the west, your reputation as America’s Sweetheart finds you cast in a promotional picture alongside Captain America himself.

Yet, he looks eerily familiar, like your Stevie from childhood…

Word count: 4.7k+

Warnings: fluff!!

A/N: hello, everyone!!!! I hope you’re staying home, warm, and safe during these crazy times. I’ve been snuggling with my doggie and continuing with my university’s online classes in my final semester..absolutely crazy how things are rn. I hope this new story can help brighten up your day just a little bit.

First of all, I just want to say thank you💖💛for all the love that old and new readers alike have shown this blog recently. I’ve been writing on this platform for a little less than a year and I never thought l’incendie would blow up as much as it has. You guys are amazing. I’m really excited and eager to share new pieces and hope you enjoy the content I have coming! Please don’t hesitate to pop in and say hi, or shoot me a message. I’ve really enjoyed connecting with readers and would love to know your thoughts on my fics, or just to talk about fandom stuff! Timmy included! PAHAHA

So, this chapter is gonna be a part of a mini-series for a 1940′s writing challenge and I’m using the prompt of wartime romance! This will probably be split into two or three parts and I will tag the host as soon as the last chapter goes up, I’ll most likely make a masterlist in the end as well. Reader has a name in this fic, but hopefully the choice of name will make sense later on :D

As always, feel free to drop a ask/message if you’d like a tag in the next update.

ENJOY!

THE NEW YORK TIMES

Film: ‘Apple of Discord’, Lola Swanson’s Dazzling Debut!

By NICHOLAS WATTS September 1, 1943

----------

The film drama from the original screenplay written and directed by Andrew Campbell opened to a roar of applause and acclaim at the Radio City Music Hall yesterday evening. Apple of Discord is a reimagining of the myth and Plato’s allegory, focusing on the tumultuous, profoundly elegant life of a young noblewoman during the Trojan wars.

The film’s frontrunner and leading lady is Hollywood newcomer, young and fresh-faced Lola Swanson. Swanson’s performance is so thoughtful, so unfaltering, so intelligent and controlled that it is hard to believe this is little Lola’s long awaited motion picture debut. And what a debut this is!

Starring opposite Hollywood veterans Sean Schultz, Kash Dennis, and Gracie Smith, this star-studded cast packs punches and sizzling chemistry and yet, Swanson does not fizzle out but confidently holds her own, demanding your attention in every scene, and rightfully so. Watching Swanson in this picture is watching a major actress in the making.

Born and raised in the heart of Hell’s Kitchen before moving to Brooklyn to pursue acting, some may recognize Lola from her daytime television roles in Insanity and Passion, It’s a Date! and as Jessica in Jessica Davis Returns.

Now we know these roles were preparing Swanson for the debut of the decade.

“APPLE OF DISCORD” is now showing at the Radio City Music Hall and Cinema 2. Tickets at 25 cents. Running time: 139 minutes.

★★★★☆

——

APPLE OF DISCORD, written and directed by Andrew Campbell; director of photography, Laszlo Kovacs; edited by John Wright; music by John Barry; released by Universal Pictures.

----------

The newspaper trembles hard between your fingers, threatening to tear its edges. Pulse pounding, ears ringing. You can’t stop smiling. You feel like crying.

You reread the words again and again, the words written by legendary film critic Nicholas Watts, the man you’ve only dreamed of making an impression on, that he’d someday see you in a picture. And here he’s written a glowing review of your major motion picture debut.

You erupt in a fit of giggles and screams, twirling around the small space of your apartment in a swirl of nightgown, pinned curls. A neighbor, Mr. Krisinski, you think, pounds on your wall to shut you up.

It’s still early morning and you had gone downstairs at first light to buy a paper from a newsboy. Outside your window, the streets of New York already yawn and bustle with morning commute. The movement of people, gleaming automobiles against the red brick buildings and muted gray of Manhattan. Warm sun washes over it all, your heart brimming and full, mirroring the glow of golden dawn.

You feel on top of the world. Maybe you’ll finally make it here.

Your phone rings. You rush over to the mint blue rotary telephone on your bedside table, snatch up the receiver before Mr. Krisinski can break down your door with all the racket you’re making.

“Hello?” You say into the mouthpiece, cradling it between your hands. You feel breathless, high strung and buzzing, like you’d just downed a whole case of Coca-Cola, whirring with the taste of sugar and success, bubbling with starpower. Maybe it’s Kash or Gracie calling to congratulate you. Hell, maybe even President Roosevelt.

“Lola! It’s me. Have you read the paper?” The cool voice of Peggy asks you through the receiver. You quietly laugh at your own fantastical expectations. Of course it’s Peggy. Punctual, collected Peggy.

Peggy Carter is your talent agent and manager at MGM. Peggy had snatched you up while you had been working as a background actress on Michael Curtiz’s Casablanca, so hopeful and beholden just to be in the presence of such respected artists, willing to stay the extra hours even after the other girls had gone home when realizing they wouldn’t be seen in the shot. It hadn’t been your first time on a hot set, you were used to the itchy costumes, long hours of endless waiting, and the empty stomachs, but no way you were going to miss a chance to see Ingrid Bergman and Madeleine LeBeau up close.

Back then, only a few years ago yet a lifetime away it seems, Peggy had been a casting assistant, seeing your dedication and marching right up to you between takes to hand you her card. On the back, written in smooth blue ink, a time the next morning for an audition at MGM Studios in downtown New York. Eight o'clock sharp.

You didn’t sleep at all that night after you wrapped.

She’s worked at getting you into audition rooms and meetings for years, pushing you onto writers, production assistants, riggers, directors. She had secured you an audition with Andrew Campbell after “accidentally” leaving your headshot in his mailroom and later calling his assistant with threats of stolen property. MGM’s new fresh face had been penciled in for a side read the following week.

Fierce, ingenious, and your own bright star, you’ve risen through the ranks and fought your way up with Peggy at your side.

“Yeah, Peg. I have it here in front of me. This is...absolutely nuts.”

“Not really, you were brilliant in the picture, darling. But it’s a comfort to know Watts has finally replaced that cotton in his brain with some sense.”

Another laugh from you, twirling the telephone cord around your finger.

“Let me have this one, Peg.”

“If you insist.”

You hear the rustling of newspaper from the other end. You can practically see Peggy sitting at her desk, perusing the paper over a morning cup of coffee, her hair curled, makeup and nails all scarlet red and perfect. The golden placard glittering on the frosted glass of the door.

Margaret Carter, Casting Director.

“I’m calling to tell you about an offer we received this morning from Paramount. I think you should take it.”

That rush of giddiness burns bright again in your veins, pulse skyrocketing.

“Paramount? Geez, what did they say?”

“They want you for a promotional picture that’s being produced by Senator Brandt. Brandt is hoping to boost the homefront’s war bond sales with a little starpower from you and from Captain America. You’ve seen his posters, haven’t you? That costumed bloke?”

You have. Plastered everywhere and looking like an absolute buffoon. Nice physique, though.

The disappointment that settles in your stomach is ugly and cold, like a fruitless pit, hard, rough, a sour taste in your mouth. It’s stupidly childish, yet your own expectations for your first movie, first box office hit, for that very first taste of the promised fame and fortune of success, begin to blink out. Expectations you’ve held on to since you were a little girl, since you realized this is the type of work you want to do for the rest of your life.

You’ve managed to impress Nicholas Watts, the most cynical film critic in all of Hollywood, and this is your big break? A Paramount picture featuring you and a tights-wearing mascot?

Peggy is practically asking you to star alongside Mickey Mouse.

“Is that all they offered?” You respond. You wince at the demanding, ungrateful tone. Afterall, showbiz has hardened you to go after what you want, to take and take because this lifestyle does not guarantee anything. You’re told no more than you are yes, the constant rejection having molded you into a diamond tough girl, glitzy and solid, unbreakable, beautiful.

But how many girls would kill to be in your place?

“The only sensible deal. They also offered you the role of Violet for It’s a Wonderful Life, and Ruthie in The Grapes of Wrath.”

“What?! Peggy, contract me for those instead!”

“Well, I’m not going to. And you listen well as to why.”

You twist your lips together. Peggy’s voice filters clipped and disapproving through the phone line, the way she always gets before she offers you damned good advice.

“Not just Watts is impressed with your work, Lola. You’re finally turning heads and for all good reasons. Anyone can get in front of a camera if they have the right look. But you’ve shown them that you have the look and the raw talent. Critics are saying you’re rivaling Judy Garland, darling. And you’re telling me you want the part of a lousy love interest? A secondary daughter? All because the pictures have big names behind them and people may go see it?

“No,” you mumble.

“No is right. You know better than anyone that people expect young stars to burn out fast so they can take their place. It’s all business. If I put you in for those roles, we’d be playing right into their hand. We’d use up all your potential in one summer. The public would get sick of seeing your face in every big picture. We have to earn their affection, darling. It’s slow and tame and not always glamorous, but this deal is smart.”

You listen, silently.

“Morale is low. War is when people turn to familiar pastimes and simple pleasures. To treat themselves, to take their minds off all the grizzly headlines. Captain America embodies all of that and more. If we take this, I promise you, Lola, that people will remember you as the girl who got them through the darkest times. This will do wonders for your career years down the line. And then, if you still want to play Violet, I’ll phone Frank Capra myself.”

You close your eyes and draw in a breath, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

“Well, it looks like I don’t have much of a choice, do I?”

“Wonderful. I’ll phone Paramount now. We’ll be in touch.”

Growing up with poor Irish immigrants for parents, the rare moments you could afford to splurge on luxuries, you spent them at local cinemas and theaters with your brother. Any day was a good one when you and Samuel bought tickets for a noon screening, the cheapest showing of the day, scraping together pocket change to split a popcorn if you were feeling extra special.

And reclining in a nearly empty theater with refreshments and goodies between the two of you, you’d watch the silver screen with hope in your mouth and stars in your eyes. In here, it no longer mattered how little money you had, or the discrimination your family faced, or the war in Europe, or the meager apartment you’d go home to, lucky if the electricity and heating had been paid for. In here, nothing else mattered but the visual stories.

And you realized that you wanted to help tell them. You wanted to be in front of the cameras, to embody characters and personas and let audiences worldwide empathize and identify with your performances.

You’ve loved playing make-believe since you were a little girl, having never really grown out of it. You could do it, you think. Dangerous dreams, perhaps, but what child doesn’t hold this wish within them? To see their name in lights and to be admired and commended, but most of all, to provide for their family?

How hard could it be?

At sixteen, you land your first speaking role. It’s pathetic. You’re working on set as background, per usual, only this time, the director picks you out from the crowd and gives you the line of, “Good morning, sir.” You’re to look off camera as the actor playing Kent entered the scene and you would then say your line.

You’re stupidly excited. Three simple words. You’ll be uncredited, of course, but your face would finally be seen! With butterflies fluttering in your stomach, the scene resets, Kent takes his mark, the cameras roll, and you deliver.

The scene is cut from the final reel.

You pound the pavement. You scour newspapers and flyers for casting calls, you phone agencies and playhouses, you save up to get your picture taken on glossy photo paper. You keep looking. You keep working in background until you can land a steady role.

Then, you finally get one. A miniscule part of a friendly neighborhood girl on a TV drama for CBS. You only have mere minutes of screen time, but the checks that arrive in the mail from Columbia Broadcasting System after your first few episodes air say otherwise.

You open a savings account. You plant your paychecks and watch them grow into a comfortable sum of money. You land another guest starring role for a daytime soap, the secretary of the title character. Combined with your parents’ salaries from your mother’s sewing and your father’s work on the railroads, you become the main breadwinner.

You move your family out of Hell’s Kitchen, out of your cramped, dark apartment. You sign a new lease under your new stage name and move to Brooklyn together.

Brooklyn is slightly cleaner, but the familiar hustle and bustle, the noise of shopkeepers and dialects and children and cars is comforting, grounds you in your roots. When your CBS drama wraps months later with your last check in the mail and you’re looking for your next gig, your brother works odd jobs to help shoulder the burden. Brick laying, chimney sweeping, milk and mail delivering, Samuel becomes no stranger to any and all work, so long as it pays. You become a typist on the side as you wait for auditions and callbacks.

Samuel tells you his aspirations to be a poet, a writer. He hasn’t said a word to your parents, but he shows you the small bound notebook he carries with him, leafing through pages of prose and verse. You encourage him to submit his work to newspapers, publishers. He gives you a shy smile, says he’ll consider it as soon as you get your motion picture debut. You shake on it. Together, your already close bond of brother and sister grows stronger as you each work to support your art.

You’re waiting for Samuel to finish his shift so you can catch a late showing of His Girl Friday, a warm September day when you first meet Bucky Barnes down at the wharfs. He’s tall, lean, and glistening with sweat when he rounds out of the warehouse with an armful of crates and nearly knocks you off the pier.

“Hey, watch it!” he snaps. His eyes flash like the water around you, blue and cold and dangerous. Brown locks curl with perspiration against his forehead, the sleeves of his workshirt rolled up over his shoulders, the exposed skin of his throat and arms flushed and tan.

Embarrassed, you try to steady him, to which he growls in annoyance and spins out of your reach. He makes a great show of bearing the weight himself, grumbling as he sets down his load. You don’t miss the way the muscles in his back flex and dip. It isn’t until he slowly stands back up, wiping his palms on his khakis, that you get a good look at each other.

The hostility in his eyes softens ever so slightly, simmering into a look that cinches your chest tight when his gaze travels shamelessly up from your kitten heels to the curves of your lips and cheek. His breathing is still labored as he surveys you and you can feel heat and color blooming against your skin. When his eyes finally settle on your face, you can’t decide whether you want to slap or kiss him.

“You lost or something, honey?” He asks with a whisper of a smile. He strolls in a lazy half-circle in front of you and moves to go back up the ramp to the warehouse. Then, he pauses and turns back to you.

“Have we met before? I swear I recognize you from somewhere.”

This delights you deliciously, that a handsome young man you’ve met by chance has seen your work. Not glamorous, acclaimed roles by any means, but recognition nonetheless. You bite the inside of your lip to suppress your smile and give him a coy, bashful flutter of your eyelashes.

“If that were the case, I’m sure I’d remember you.”

He grins wolfishly, pleased, and takes a step closer. “Yeah? Think you’ll let me take you out for dinner tonight?”

“She’s got plans with me, Buck.” Samuel’s voice carries across the water. Your brother emerges with wooden boxes and sets them between you and Bucky in a huff, as if he’s implementing a physical barrier, both childish and endearing. Bucky glances at you and Samuel.

“Are you two..?”

“Steady? No. She’s my sister.”

Bucky snorts and his eyes find you again, glittering in the evening light. “You never told me you had a sister, Sammy. And such a looker too..”

“Makes you wonder why I never brought her up,” retorts Samuel and gives him a playful shove, traps him briefly in a headlock. “At least Steve wouldn’t ogle.”

“Stevie would get a nose bleed and pass out.” You hear Bucky grunt back. Samuel moves as if to dump him into the drink and Bucky pinwheels, scrambling. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it!”

Satisfied, Samuel releases him and socks him in the shoulder for good measure. Bucky stumbles, looking boyish and smooth despite his shirt and hair all disheveled.

You’ve seen his type in casting offices all across New York; bold, alluring, and charismatic. It’s a look and type you’ve longed to act opposite of someday, as all young starlets dream of, but a look that simultaneously sparks the feminine temptation that shivers between your breasts. You wonder if Bucky would look the same in a dark bedroom, with him on top of you and your fingers running over his back…

Bucky grins toothily when he catches you staring and shoots you a wink. None of those movie star hopefuls hold a candle now to his rugged, spirited charm.

Samuel guides you back up the pier so he can punch out his time card and the two of you can be on your way. And as you’re about to set foot on solid ground, you hear Bucky call out to you.

“What’s your name, honey?”

Samuel sighs and shakes his head. “Cripes.” He mutters to himself. Before Samuel can stop you, you laugh and turn back to the water with a fresh and girlish aire, warmth and excitement whispering through your veins, young and naive and sixteen.

“Dolores!” You give him your full name, your real name. For once, you don’t want to be Lola Sparks. You want to be your natural, honest self, the girl who deserves young love and joy and an untroubled adolescence. The sound of your voice rings clear and strong, the diva that you are, and Bucky’s mouth curves upwards.

“See you ‘round, Dot.”

Much to Samuel’s displeasure, you tail your big brother around the docks like a lost pup whenever you have time. And being a C-list actress and a part-time typist, you have plenty of it. You loiter with the excuse of bringing sack lunches, waiting on Samuel and Bucky at the edge of the warehouses. It’s lonesome and bores you to no end being all by yourself, until one afternoon when someone is already waiting at your spot by the pier.

Small, skinny as his own shadow with a fringe of blonde hair, he leans hunkered and folded within himself, timid and seemingly conscious of how he occupies space. His jacket droops over his shoulders, eyes downcast even as you approach. He has a sketchbook in his hands, concentrated as the pencil moves across the page in fast, gentle strokes. You see an impressive likeness of the piers and Bucky’s distant figure in charcoaled lines.

“That’s really something.” You say.

He jolts so hard the paper tears and he crumples it into his fist in a single motion. “Huh?” he answers. When he looks to you, you realize his eyes are a pretty shade of teal. He flushes, petrified, the tips of his ears coloring pink. You feel horrible when he goes to pocket the ball of paper.

“I’m so sorry for scaring you,” you breathe. Gently, you offer your palm to him. “If you’re not keeping it, do you mind if I have it?” You ask softly. A few seconds pass and he shakes his head before placing it in your hand. You unfurl the paper, carefully smooth it out as he watches you from the corner of his eye.

Shyness is a barrier of art you’ve known all too well, from your own experiences in audition rooms to your brother’s reluctance to find a publisher, you understand that sting of insecurity better than anyone. So, you let him watch you as you admire his work, let him know of his talent and let your actions speak for you. You smile and slip the drawing into your purse.

Then, his stomach grumbles audibly, almost comically loud. He folds his arms around his stomach, so tight you’re afraid he’ll snap in half. You quickly reach into one of your paper bags and hand him a sandwich wrapped in cellophane and a can of lemonade.

“Here, let’s trade.”

“That’s awfully kind of you, but I can’t accept..” he starts. The timbre of his voice is surprisingly gallant and sure, pleasant, sweet. You have a gut feeling that the world has been taking advantage of that kindness his whole life, scaring him away from genuine compassion, that everything must have a catch. It makes you press harder.

“I insist. Please. It’s the least I can do for sneaking up on you.” He eyes you warily and again that feeling of regret washes over you. “Consider it payment.” You smile.

Finally, he takes Samuel’s lunch from you and unwraps the sandwich. He eats quickly and quietly, draining the lemonade only minutes later. Perhaps it’s his bony statue, but you feel happy to see this stranger eat.

When he’s finished, he wipes his mouth and turns to you. His lips, pretty, pink, part as if about to speak, yet no words leave him. Instead, he stands frozen with that transfixing blue-green gaze keeping you still, lingering.

That is until a stream of brilliant scarlet red dribbles down his chin and splatters onto his dress shirt. He pinches his nose, doubling forward and his flustered complexion matching the blood spilling from his nostrils.

“You must be Steve,” You laugh lightly and quickly hand him your handkerchief of cream yellow lace and embroidered flowers. You help steady him as he keeps his head tilted down. “Bucky’s told me all about you.”

Steve groans and presses the handkerchief to his face, blushing all the way down to his neck.

Steve returns your handkerchief days later with an embarrassed hush, carefully cleaned and laundered. It smells of lavender and clean linen and the image of him working the fabric between his thin fingers with soap and suds warms your heart.

You tell him it’s his. He blooms and keeps it neatly folded in his breast pocket.

You and Steve quickly grow close in the hours you spend together waiting on Bucky and Samuel. You pack extra lunches for him and sit by the piers chatting, skipping stones as Steve sketches the Brooklyn skyline day in and day out.

“Draw me!” you tease. “Isn’t that the request that all artists want to hear?”

But surprisingly, he does. He always draws you and Bucky and Samuel with striking, intimate familiarity. His sketchbook gradually fills with portraits and pictures of you, sketches that could put your very headshot to shame.

After their usual shifts, the four of you head to the drugstore for your ritual of sodas and sundaes. Two pairs, brother and sister and brothers by blood enjoying a rare wartime treat. With the rations on sugar, it’s a special and memorable circumstance just to be together and sharing something sweet.

It’s there, at your corner booth in Wolfe’s Pharmacy over ice cream, that Bucky opens up a paper for that night’s television network schedule and sees your name.

His eyebrows shoot up. “Dot,” he says. “What do others call you?”

Defeated, you twist your lips, hesitant to break the short spell of normalcy you’ve had with your new friends. Samuel sips at his Coke with a silent grin.

Time for the truth to come out.

“Well, ‘doll’, by Stevie,” you giggle and toe Steve’s foot under the table. Steve shyly shrinks back into his seat. “But CBS calls me Lola.”

Bucky’s jaw drops.

“Get out of here. You’re pulling my leg..”

“I absolutely am not.”

“Sammy, tell me she’s pulling my leg.”

“She’s not.”

Two pairs of brilliant blue eyes dart between you and your brother. Bucky’s face breaks into an open smile, laughing. Steve lurches forward.

“Have you ever met anyone famous?” Steve prods with a hint of that honest, innocent charm.

You wrinkle your nose sheepishly. “Mason Cook?”

“Who?” Bucky asks around a mouthful of sundae.

“Exactly.” Samuel snorts.

“Well, I’m sure he’s very talented.” Says Steve.

You swipe his maraschino cherry and let the stem dangle between your lips. “At least Stevie believes in me.”

“Dot, honey. I saw your pilot episode. If anyone’s a fan, it’s me.” Bucky feigns hurt, hand to his chest.

You stick out your bottom lip before sucking in the stem, working it into a tight knot in your mouth. “Are you still gonna be when your girl is signing autographs with John Wayne?”

You place the knotted stem on your napkin. Bucky nearly chokes.

“I better be.”

Samuel coughs. Steve giggles.

You thank your stars that your secret doesn’t change anything between Steve and Bucky. They treat you just the same; as Samuel’s baby sister who tags along with the boys. The teasing, the fleeting looks all unchanging.

Girls, you’ve unfortunately realized, are catty and mean. You’re competing for roles, after all. But with Bucky and Steve, your first taste of homecoming since moving to Brooklyn, you don’t have to worry about silly competition, or fame, or being the best in the room. They keep you level-headed, reminding you of your girlhood and life’s simple pleasures.

Bucky drives you and Steve around town in the company truck on weekends. Hopscotch and jacks on brick roads and warm nights, watching sunsets until the sky blushes peach and mango yellow at Coney Island.

A Saturday afternoon on Rockaway Beach, a vacation for you all after a draining week of work and auditions when Bucky promises to win you a stuffed bear when he sees you eyeing the one on careful display.

“Buck..Bucky, give it a rest, we can try the next one.” Steve chides.

Another plastic ring pings off the neck of a glass bottle. Bucky curses, rings his hands together and slaps another dollar onto the counter.

You and Steve trade looks. Bucky’s been at it for ten minutes. At this rate, you know you’ll be walking on the train tracks home tonight.

So, you and Steve huddle close and cheer him on. Do it for our doll! says Steve. Finish it so you’ll stop wasting money, you dolt! you cry. Hell, even the vendor finds it humorous and joins in.

And when Bucky wins that grand prize and you’re handed a teddy bear as big as Stevie, you hoist it on your back, careful to not let it touch gravel or dust as the three of you walk in line with the train tracks later that evening.

Paradise, a sheltered haven from the broken landscapes and realities that the European newsreels broadcast home in grim black and white.

True to Bucky’s word, they become your biggest supporters, helping you run lines and monologues and accompanying you to auditions. Bucky’s not bad for a scene partner, and Steve’s awareness of emotion and character motivation is impressive.

The attention you receive from casting directors and auditionees doesn’t hurt your chances either, lanky Steve and smoldering Bucky wishing you luck before stepping into the green room.

You book a drama. Then, a short film. Then another. You call them your lucky charms.

And when your humble little short film “premiers” at the corner cinema, squeezed in between an empty noon showing of a cartoon rerun, Steve and Bucky whoop and holler when your character is shown on screen. They throw popcorn and gumdrops, jostle you by the shoulders. Bucky even runs down the aisle and mimes kissing the projector screen.

“That’s our girl! That’s our Dot!”

The usher threatens to throw you out. Steve tells him you’ve paid good money for your tickets and you’ll stay and watch as long as you please.

The following week, you’re scouted by Peggy Carter.

Your world, your career will never be the same.

#steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x you #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x you #captain america x reader #captain america x female reader #captain america x you #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier x female reader #winter soldier x you #steve rogers fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfiction #steve rogers imagine #bucky barnes imagine

85 notes · View notes

nie7027 · 6 years ago

Text

Super5 headcanons pt 2

Edit: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Minegishi can only stare

"Where the fuck have you been?"

"What do you care?"

"Why are you here?"

"I was bored"

Shimazaki could be here to kill him for betraying him but Minegishi is too tired for this and there are dishes to wash.

In the time it takes him to do the dishes and calm down his plants, shimazaki falls asleep so he goes to the living to room to get a better look at the man

Shimazaki looks almost the same except maybe a bit thinner and with possible hollower eyes. The crooked nose is definitely new. A crooked nose?? Did he broke his nose at some point?? He is even wearing the same clothes as last time. His precious jacket ripped at the edges. Scorching marks and bullet holes here and there.

With a long sigh he takes out his phone, turns off the volume and opens the super3 chat(the too spicy for Seris innocent eyes). The messages start to come in rapidly

Minegishi: Shimazaki is back

Hatori: what

Hatori: what do you mean Shimazaki is back???

Shibata: how did he find us? Did he try to fight you?

Minegishi: i mean he is asleep on my couch. No, he just ate all of my cereal.

Shibata: what the fuck?

Hatori: what the fuck?

Minegishi what the fuck indeed

Shibata: did he say what he wants? Do you know why is he here?

Minegishi: He didnt talk and I dont know

Hatori: what do we do?

Minegishi:

Minegishi: i dont know.

Minesishi: i cant make any calls or else he could wake up and seri isnt logged in so can someone call him and tell him whats going so they can take the necessary precautions

Shibata: im on it

Shibata: hatori is freaking out in his room anyway. I think he is begginin to build a security system.

Minegishi: ...

Shibata: yeah yeah ill go calm him after i talk with Seri.

Minegishi stares at his phones and then at the man on his couch, he cant blame them. Shimazaki is a really dangerous person and they dont know what he is doing here. Minegishi just wanted to do the dishes, water his plants and go to sleep.

The super5 will never know but Shimazaki wasnt lying per se. He WAS bored.

After he ran away from the fight against seasoning city espers he hid here and there taking his sweet time at recovering and once he did(his nose still felt strange but he ignored it) he started to look at what to do.

He joined many criminal organizations, afterall a teletransporter was very valued in the underworld. But not matter how petty or big the crime was, he got bored. So he ended leaving all of them. he even left some in the middle of a important job, not caring whether his employers got caught or not( it was their fault for being stupid and not having a backup plan anyway)

After some months of this he realized he was bored of normal criminals. He was bored of normal persons with narrowed mindsets who conformed with just comitting stupid crimes. HE HAD BEEN PART OF A PLAN TO TAKE THE WORLD and now he was trafficking some drug?? Lame.

Most of all he missed the thrilling sensation of being surrounded with persons that could actually put a fight against him. So he searched for something alike to claw, an organization of espers.

His search turned out fruitless and he decided then he should return to where all started. Claw. It was time to pay a visit to his expartners.

It took him just a week to locate them. It would have took him just a day but he was finally having some fun and god he was gonna drag it all he could.

So here he was in a tiny empty apartment, the crazy amount of plants with a certain aura being the only indication that it belonged to Minegishi...WHERE THE HELL WAS HE? Oh well. He had been waiting for a year. He could wait a little more. In any case in his hurry to get here he forgot to eat and he could hear a fridge running.

Shimazaki, still on the sofa, wakes up the next day at the sound of a blender. He is being held in place, bounded by lots and lots of thick green vines and sturdy roots from which he easily frees himself. The moment he does so the noise at the kitchen stops and an annoyed minegishi steps out. Shimazaki can feel him tensing, preparing for an attack and that makes him smirk .

Until an alarm clock goes off that makes Minegishi mutter a curse

"If you are gonna do something do it now. I have better things to do and i have to go now"

"Better things to do?? What can possibly be better than this??"

"I have work so if you are gonna just stand there and smirk be my guest"

"Work?"

"Yeah, work. you know? That thing you do for a living and that contributes to society? Fuck it.You probably dont. Anyway i gotta go" Turning his back on shimazaki is probably the worst idea but he couldnt sleep at all, he is late and he hasnt had breakfast so if shimazaki wants to kill him he will gladly accept it.

He miraculously manages to exit his apartment and make it to his work. He only hopes theres an apartment to come back later.

Shimazaki can only stare increduously to where minegishis used to stand. 'Work'? 'Contribute to society'? THE FUCK WAS HE BABBLING ABOUT this was completely unexpected and he doesnt know what to do until he notices theres a smell coming from the kitchen where Minegishi left his untouched breakfast. Well he supposes he can muse how to proceed over breakfast.

Hatori isnt allowed to use his phone at work but he is too anxious to care and he has powers to do it without anybody noticing

Spicy3 chat

Hatori: how did it went?

Minegishi: ...well...i guess?? I am alive and my flat was still in one piece last time i saw it

Hatori: he didnt try anything?

Minegishi: he woke up when it was time for me to go...so i just kinda left

Shibata: you just left? He didnt try to stop you???

Minegishi: no

Minegishi:but i think...

Hatori: WHAT

Shibata:what

Minegishi: i think he is...tired.

Minegishi: I bound him while he was sleeping and he never woke up nlr stirred. He didnt notice.

Hatori: weird

Minegishi: i know. Worst of all i couldnt eat and i have 2 hours more left until my break.

Shibata: i can pass on my way to gym and sneak you something

Minegishi: thanks

Hatori: if you want you can hang in our apartment for the time being. We still need to know what he wants

Shibata: yeah, and if he shows up we can fight him together💪

Minegishi: if Seri asks, everything is under control

It takes a week for Shimazaki to finally show up. Meanwhile Minegishi has to use Hatoris and Shibatas washing machine to wash his work uniform daily(it can get very dirty when you work in a flower shop) because his other sets of uniform are back at his place trapped with Shimazaki. So is his money and he has to lend some from Hatoris and shibatas and ask his boss for an advencement in his payment. He hates Shimazaki more now.

They cant do anything but stare blankly when he suddenly shows up in the middle of the living room where they were eating pizza holding an empty box of cereal and says "Theres no more food back there and i want more of these but i cant see how they are called" while pointing at the box.

Sometimes its very easy to forget he is actually blind. Hatori weakly says the name of the branch of cereal he is holding and Shimazaki dissapears again before anybody can say anything.

"Did everybody saw what i just saw right??what the fuck? What the fuck?" shibata exclaims

"...my food"minegishi laments

Its not until an hour of wondering what was that and wracking their brain for an asnwer after that shimazaki returns, a brand new box of the cereal in his hands. He picks up a slice of the forgotten pizza and sits besides Shitaba.

"You didnt pay for that did you?" asks Shitaba

Shimazaki just turns around and stares st him with his hauntingly empty eyes "you too?"

"PAY? WORK? CONTRIBUTE TO SOCIETY? THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH ALL OF YOU"

"Weve changed"

"Yeah we have jobs and stuff, we help peopl"

"YOU HAVE SUPERPOWERS! WHY ARE YOU EVEN WORKING?"

"TO NOT PARASITE ON OTHERS HARD WORK LIKE SOME PEOPLE IN HERE" finally explodes Minegishi

The man frowns and rapidly done with the conversation teleports away.

Minegishi finally returns to his place, his web of plants telling him Shimazaki isnt there anymore. Re stashing his fridge and cabinet is a pain in the ass.

Shimazakis plan had been to either find his expartners and form something alike to Claw with them or just antagonize them until he gets the fight he so much craves. None of that has happened because all of them had turned to a bunch of weakling pussies and he cant even find Serizawa.

He could still try to fight them but he bitterly realizes he wont get any satisfaction of beating them if they keep acting like that, restraining themselves and trying to be civil as if they werent the same persons that destroyed this very city a year ago. It would be like punching flowers!

The point was to get rid of his boredness and now he is just angry!

He needs them to drop the act.

Thats when a plan starts to form in his head and he smirks. He is going to show them what they are missing on.

Thats how he finds himself back in minegishis apartment.

"Im just saying you could probably grow tons of weed, good quality of course. And i take care of the transport i know a bunch of people-"

"Weed? Are you serious? Is this why you came back? To start a drug trafficking bussines?"

"Im just saying with my teletransporting abilities and yourplant thing we could save lots of money in transport and become richer than-"

"No"

"AREN YOU TIRED OF THIS? OF SHITTY CUSTOMERS GETTING YOU IN TROUBLE JUST BECAUSE THEY DONT KNOW RAINBOW ROSES DONT NATURALLY EXIST?"

"WHERE YOU SPYING ME AT WORK?"

"MAYBE SO"

"DONT DO IT AND STOP EATING ALL MY FOOD"

He then tries with shibata, approaching him during one of his morning running routines. Teletransporting every 2 meters at his side while he keeps running clearly ignoring him

"With your force, not that i need it, we could terrorize all the bussines of a whole prefecture and force them to pay for protection. We win, they win"

"Not interested"

"Why not?! It would be so easy"

"I dont want to"

"Could you stop running? This is important"

"No thanks"

"You arent even listening!"

"Good"

He finally tries with Hatori thinking he would be the easiest of them

"You hack the system and we force all those politicians to pay us to not release all their dirty secrets"

"I am busy"

"No you are not. You are playing mario kart. I can hear Yoshi"

"Ive changed"

"Have you? Really???" at this point Shimazaki raises an eyebrow, he is so done and he wont keeo with this bullshit "because everywhere i have been, and i have been everywhere, the interpol, cia, you name it HAS BEEN AFTER ME whereas you three can waltz into a store like nobodys bussiness. WE COMMITED THE SAME CRIME. WE DESTROYED THIS CITY so how come im the only one being persecuted? Huh? You think I DONT KNOW WHAT YOU DID"

Hatori pauses the game and glares at him. Good, he is finally getting a reaction.

" i did what had to be done and i wont let YOU of all people tell me-"

"Me? Of all people? You believe yourself so grand and high when you are nothing but THE SAME AS ME" immediately shimazaki feels hatoris aura flare. what must have been his console shifting and changing into something new. Whatever it is, he is sure he can block it.

"Really? You are gonna fight me? I want to see you-" a horrible sound like nothing he had ever heard before pierces his ears making him howl in pain and he teleports away.

After that accident shimazaki never mentions Hatoris dirty secret again but that doesnt stop him from keep trying to get them to commit felonies again.

He thinks he once "saw" Serizawa on the street but his aura was quickly eaten by the aura of the person by his side. He didnt stayed to find out and quickly teleported away.

And this goes like this for 3 months, his proposals becoming more and more desesperate until one day he just... gives up.

Shimazaki should have left or killed them months ago but for some reason he prefers to stay here. He wont admit it but hes having more fun living on their couches annoying them than what he would have had they accepted his proposals.

He takes special delight in annoying them when they had hard days. (Minegishi comes home covered in something stinky and almost strangles shimazaki with his own hands after he comments this wouldnt have happened if he had accepted to traffick weed in a yacht with him)

...besides he has noticed that now in both apartments there is always a box of his favourite cereal (hatori sweared it was the cereal what placated Shimazaki given how docile he was whenever he was seen eating it, shibata and minegishi just liked it)

The super3 cant believe it themselves but they have now gotten used to the constant presence of Shimazaki in their lives (which isnt surprising given they spent at least 3 years together).

Well constant is a way to put it because the man still has the habit of dissapearing 3-5 days every once in a while and reappearing like nothing happened

But they know this cant keep going like this and thats how minegishi finds himself texting the super3 chat one day he comes to an empty apartment

Minegishi: is shimazaki there?

Hatori: yeah, hes playing smash with shitaba

Minegishi: playing smash??

Hatori: its seems he learned the patron of my movements by observing me and now hes kicking Shitabas ass as princess peach

Minegishi: ?

Hatori: we told him he was playing bowser

Minegishi: whatever, tell him to bring his ass back. I need to go grocery shopping and i need his help

"Why would i help you grocery shopping?" says shimazaki suddenly to his right

At the same his phone sounds 2 times

Shibata: hatori said something to him and he just teleported

Shibata: is safe to assume he is with you?

Minegishi: yea, im taking charge from here

"Im teaching you to do grocery shopping"

"I dont need you to teach me shit"

" yes, you do if you want to keep eating that cereal you like and that you finished this morning"

Shimazaki raises his eyebrow, teleports and after 5 min returns with 5 boxes of the damn cereal in his arms

"There. Its done"

"DID YOU JUST ROBBED THEM? YOU CANT KEEP DOING THIS"

"WHY NOT? ITS EASIER"

"THATS NOT THE POINT"Minegishi stops, breathes amd tries again "Shimazaki you cant keep doing this and i dont mean just the whole robbing, i mean i dotn know what you do when you dissapear for days but when you are here you just eat our food, wait for us to come home from work and then annoy us?"

"So? I can do whatever i want"

"Do you realize how pathethic it sounds?Is this really all you want to do? Do you even know what you want to do?"

Shimazaki doesnt wanna hear anymore of that and teleports

He ends teleporting to a random alley where he passes the night

The next days his mood isnt any better and he spends them sleeping, terrorizing random deliquents he finds in his way and kicking bags of trash until one day of the "bags" lets out a yelp.

Its shibata who finds him some days later during one of his running routines when he follows the sound of a hurt dog

Expecting to see a bunch of nasty kids terrorizing a poor animal he steps up to confront them only to find his missing "friend" glaring at poor dog and screaming "STOP COMPLAINING ITS YOUR FAULT FOR NOT MOVING I DIDNT EVEN KICK YOU THAT HARD"

He texts a quickl "Found him" to the group chat and marches up to him

"You shouldnt be kicking random things in the first place"

"Get lost"

" are you sure you didnt kick him hard? He is limping and we both know your kicks arent exactly soft"

"If i had wanted, a limp would be the least of its problems" still he makes a face as if he isnt sure

With a sigh Shibata carefully picks up the dog and motions to shimazaki "theres a vet nearby. You kicked him so you own him that at least. Dont worry ill pay" he doesnt wait for Shimazakis response and walks, relief overflowing him once he hears footsteps behind him

The consult is quick and the vet gleefully hands shimazaki "his" dog while she explains to shibata the treatment they should follow the next three months

Shimazaki...had never in his life pet a dog, much less carried one. His fur feels dirty and is tangled everywhere but the vet said it just needs a bath. It is warm and he can feel and hear his steady breaths. His mental eye allows him to perceive the flowing of his blood, the currents in his brain, the beating of his heart...all what makes a living being held in his arms. Things he has always perceived but never payed attention. The fact that the dog starts to lick his hands doesnt go unnoticed and he feels strangely calm. His grip tightening.

They are about to exit the clinic, shibata saying his last thanks when a woman and a girl enter. That very moment the dog starts to squirm in his embrace. And he doesnt know what to do

"Hey are you alright? I can hold it if you want" asks shibata noticing his turmoil

" yeah, its just the stupid dog WHO HAS FORGOTTEN HE CANT WALK"

The girls who shibata notices has red puffy narrows her eyes and yells "DONT CALL HIM STUPID YOU ARE THE STUPID" before turning to look at shimazaki, whatever she was going to say next is forgotten as she stares with wide eyes.

Both the moms and shimazakis replies are drowned by the girl scream of "UESAMA! MOM ITS HIM ITS MY DOG"

For some reason shimazaki feels his blood run cold and lifts up the dog even more when the girl comes clashing at his legs desesperately trying to grab her dog

Shibata who noticed shimazakis earlier expression cant believe what hes seeing (please god, please tell me he isnt gonna fight a girl over a dog) when the vet decides to come out to see what is happening

"Im sorry, my little girl believes those boys over there have Uesama"

"ITS HIM"

"Uesama?..." the vet stares some seconds in confusion before her eyes grow wider "Oh how didnt i notice it before! Im sorry sirs but it seems you have found this little girls dogs" the vets looks expectantly at shimazaki

Shimazaki who has been holding a very squirming dog and listening to the screams of a girls is starting to get very annoyed. The tempation to teleport away with the dog too big to ignore. Hes about to do it when he hears the dog crying again.

With a huff he hands it to the very thankful mother and exits the clinic as quickly as he can.

Shibata follows suit "I saw your face before they arrived. I can tell what you did"

"Shut up"

The walk home is strangely quiet but at least he is back.

The joke on the spicy chat is that the super 3 are dumb and believe they are protecting oh so pure Seri when in reality they just share dumb penis jokes while Seri is actually riding Reigens dick.

And yes as his last crime Hatori threatened with realeasing all the state secrets of all the goverments and provoking a worldwide crisis if they didnt allow them to try to live normal lives

I just noticed this is more of a fanfic than a list of headcanons now but meh. What i wanted to actually be part 2 is gonna be part 3? 4? I didnt even get to write the prank the super5 were gonna pull on shimazaki but now you have something to look up next time.

Im not that happy with how the second half turned out but maybe im just tired.

#mob psycho 100 #mp100 #minegishi toshiki #hatori nazomu #shibata hiroshi #shimazaki ryou #should i tag animal violence?#manga spoilers #mp100 spoilers #super5 headcanons #nie's writing

108 notes · View notes

velvetfxexo · 7 years ago

Text

The Star & His First Love (pt 2)

Characters: EXO D.O./Kyungsoo + OC

Type: Fluff

Length: 2.5K

Whenever EXO goes on interviews and is asked about love, Doh Kyungsoo always gives the same, short, and vague answer. He only fell in love once, and he got rejected. Nothing more, nothing less.

Years later, he meets his first love, again.

Part 1 {Part 2} Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

Part 2 - Black, Red, and White

“So you’re telling me, you had the headache again after you saw him?”

“Yeah, yeah. It was exactly that moment,” I said while pacing around the room. “I’m not sure what that means, but also, every time anyone asks about Kyungsoo in high school, I get dizzy, and then I get nervous because I know the headache will start again.”

“Then you do your chant?”

“Yes, yes, I say to myself that if I keep thinking about it, it only gets worse.” I said while waving my hands frantically. I know I’m blabbing but it helps me relieve the anxiety I’m feeling.

“I see. Since Kyungsoo was a part of your high school life, he also somehow triggers memories. Thus, the headaches.” Dr. Stiles said while watching me walk around the room.

“But when I’m with my other high school classmates, I don’t get that dizziness. They also talk about some high school moments, and even though I try hard to remember what they’re saying, I don’t get that headache,” I said, finally sitting down in front of Dr. Stiles. “Maybe it happens when I try to remember too hard? Or something?”

“I see. Then the second spike happened again the next day?”

“Yes, God, it was.. embarrassing! I don’t even know what happened.”

“Hmm, two spikes in less than 24 hours. Tell me more about the second one.”

***

It was finally dusk and we decided to have a cookout by the pool. Some were swimming, others were eating and chatting. We were catching up on our lives - everyone was telling updates on their jobs, relationships, and the like.

I was sitting with Clara on a lounge chair, and Kyungsoo was sitting on the chair next to ours. He was holding a plate of barbecue and he kept handing me some from time to time. I was hungry, so I kept taking everything he was giving. He looked more than happy to get more barbecue every time I finished off the plate. Surprisingly, he didn’t have any schedules that day so he stayed with us. Although he kept looking at his phone and kept putting it back in his pocket.

When it was Kyungsoo’s turn to update us on his life, everyone was listening eagerly. He told the story of how he became a member of EXO. I don’t know why but some of the stories he told seem familiar. Maybe I read them in a magazine or heard them in an interview or something.

“I went in that entertainment agency because I couldn’t afford Performing Arts school at first,” he looked at me as he said this. It was like he was expecting a reaction from me but I was just looking at him, waiting for what he’s about to say next. He looked away and continued his story. “I joined a singing contest with some friends, then someone from the agency invited me to audition, then I became a trainee after that.”

Suddenly a memory of Kyungsoo singing during high school entered my mind. He was singing, while holding something.. something red. I closed my eyes and tried hard to remember, but the image just keeps fading.

“I didn’t expect that the group would become.. like this,” Kyungsoo continued. “It was all so overwhelming. I didn’t have high expectations.”

Something red. He was holding something red. I tried hard to visualize it, then I started feeling dizzy again.

“I never wanted to go out and meet people, you know me guys,” Kyungsoo said. I heard others agreeing, saying that Kyungsoo always kept to himself during high school. “But you know, I learned little by little. They also trained us to improve.. socializing.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, are Taeyeon and Baekhyun really dating?” I heard someone said. I opened my eyes because I was surprised. I didn’t know that.

“Sorry, but that’s their business.” Kyungsoo replied nicely.

“So is it really hard to be in a relationship when you’re an idol?” someone else asked. These guys are nosy.

“Yeah, people bash you and your partner,” Kyungsoo slowly said, then he turned to me. “Even when a person is linked to you, they badmouth that person. So we try to minimize interactions with other female idols. Some of them I am friends with, but I don’t even talk to them because it might stir up something.”

“So we really don’t know the sides of the idols.” someone said.

“So I guess I can’t ask about Krystal and Kai.” Clara suddenly said.

“Krystal and who?” I asked, trying to distract myself from the dizziness.

“Kai. Kai is part of our group,” Kyungsoo told me. He looked at me for a while before talking again. “Did I hear you right Clara? Kai and Krystal? Krystal from f(x)?”

"Yes, the group in the same agency as you.” Clara replied.

For a while, Kyungsoo looked really curious about this. “Really? Well, I don’t know anything about that.. what makes you think there’s something between them?”

“Oh, just a fan theory. There are fancams in concerts and awards shows where the two have moments, but I don’t know,” Clara shrugged. “Since you seem to know nothing about it, I guess it is just a theory.”

“Fancams, really..” he wondered, “I don’t see the two interacting a lot when we’re together though.”

The topic was suddenly forgotten when someone called me out. “Dana, you’re looking a bit pale, you alright?” I was startled but I told them I’m alright, I didn’t want the attention to be on me. Kyungsoo looked at me in a concerned way.

“So how are you? Your headaches, and all..” another one asked.

“What? What headaches?” I heard Kyungsoo say softly beside me, but not loud enough for other people to hear.

“It’s going well, I think it’s just because of my job, going to different places and all, you know how the stress is.” I quickly said.

“Going overseas back and forth really does make you sick sometimes.” Kyungsoo agreed. He must’ve felt the same at some point since their group goes overseas all the time.

“Ooh, I remember you two did love cooking and baking back then.” someone chimed in. I was feeling out of it so I couldn’t remember who asked.

“We did?” I asked. Kyungsoo loved to cook and bake too?

“Wow, look at Dana, already forgetting.” someone said.

I chuckled, but I was feeling nervous again. I didn’t want them to know. I looked to Clara for help, and because she was quick on her feet she changed the topic; but it was fruitless because all the topics seemed to point back to me and Kyungsoo.

“I guess all the topics are about you two since it was the first time both of you attended,” Clara whispered to me, while everyone was busy talking about something. “I’m running out of excuses.” I grimaced and turned to see Kyungsoo still looking at me worriedly. I must look really pale right now. I was about to tell him that I’m okay, when somebody blurted out another unnecessary thing.

“Didn’t he confess to you back then?” gesturing to Kyungsoo, then at me.

“Yeah, you did, right D.O.?” another one said. Kyungsoo looked taken aback for a split second but he managed a small laugh. “Come on guys, that was in high school,” he said calmly.

"Dana must be regretting that decision right now.” they laughed. Clara squeezed my hand and when I looked at her she slowly shook her head. Telling me not to think about it. But I can’t. I keep seeing the color red in the back of my mind.

I closed my eyes again, the dizziness was suddenly getting worse.

“No, I’m sure she isn’t. Please don’t be like this.” Kyungsoo suddenly said, with a tone like he’s defending me. But the others were really too nosy for their own good.

“Why did you reject him, Dana? I thought you two were pretty close.”

“Yeah Dana, why? Did you two have closure afterwards? What happened?”

I opened my eyes slowly and saw everyone was looking at me. My mouth half-opened as I was thinking of what to say. My eyes darted quickly to Clara, who was raising her eyebrows, telling me to go on and say my default answer, and to Kyungsoo who.. surprisingly, looked like he was also curious about the answer.

“I uh– I don’t even remember,” I shrugged, then I laughed awkwardly. “Ha ha, come on guys, it was in high school. We were immature kids, you can’t possibly love someone at that young age.”

I could’ve sworn I saw a quick flash of surprise and hurt in Kyungsoo’s eyes, but those went away quickly, and he returned to being expressionless. When the others laughed, he laughed along like it was nothing.

I couldn’t really tell them why I rejected Kyungsoo, because I honestly don’t remember. I don’t remember at all.

***

“Then you fainted?” Dr. Stiles asked.

“Yup, I closed my eyes and the next thing I knew I was falling off the lounge chair, and I even heard Kyungsoo say my name out loud,” I shook my head. “Everything went black.”

“Then the dreams came, that.. something red again.”

“Yeah, it was so frustrating thinking of what the red thing was..” I faltered. I remembered images of Kyungsoo singing, then something red, Kyungsoo’s voice calling my name, something red again.. then a bright white light. But the images are all blurry, and don’t make sense.

“When I woke up I was in the hospital Clara works at. She told me Kyungsoo drove us there. She said he drove like crazy,” I blinked, remembering how Clara was describing Kyungsoo and his driving. She said he looked so serious and deadly, driving like his life depended on it. “Clara even told him to leave quickly because it’ll cause an issue if they see him at the hospital again. I didn’t get what she meant by that, but I’m assuming it’s because the paparazzi might see him or he might get mobbed.”

Dr. Stiles nodded at what I was saying. “Interesting Dana. I think we’re on to a pattern here. Last time we thought it was generally high school memories triggering your headaches. Now we’ve narrowed it down to something more specific.” He stood up and went to get some folders from a nearby cabinet.

“I’m going to check our previous sessions,” he said while placing folders on his table. “But the memories are related to Kyungsoo, more or less.”

I was expecting that conclusion, but I was still surprised when it came out of his mouth. “God, you don’t think it has anything to do with.. that, you know?”

“With what?” Dr. Stiles said while flipping through some papers.

“With, you know, that.” I didn’t want to say it out loud. Stiles just raised an eyebrow, urging me to go on.

“Nothing, forget it,” I sighed. I didn’t want to think about it anyway. “Besides, I’m feeling a bit tired, I have to go to the breakfast bar early tomorrow.”

“Sure Dana, whatever you say,” Dr. Stiles said. I just narrowed my eyes at him. “Yeah, don’t use that tone doc, just because we’re the same age.”

“What tone?” he replied, giving me an amused smile. I rolled my eyes and waved at him before leaving his office. “See you next week.”

A few minutes after Dana left, a knock was heard on Dr. Stiles’ door. Without looking up, he told the person to come in.

“So, what did she say?” Clara said, her head poking from the doorway. Jonathan Stiles just sighed. “Well, she said it happened when she saw Kyungsoo, and every time she thinks about that.”

Clara laughed at his tone. “Come on Stiles, you know Dana, she’s in denial. We both know that her headaches happen when she’s thinking hard about anything related to Kyungsoo and how she rejected him.”

“It’s just funny how she avoids the topic. Makes me think that she did have feelings for him. Are you sure you don’t know anything about it?”

“I don’t know anything, only the two of them know about it. Dana can’t freaking remember, and I can’t even talk to Kyungsoo about it, it’s embarrassing, what if it’s a sensitive topic for him?” Clara sat down on one of the couches.

“Why do you girls like to overthink? Just ask him about it. If he wonders why, tell him about Dana’s condition. It’s not like he wasn’t involved.”

“No, you don’t get it, would he still care after what just happened?”

Before Stiles could even answer, another knock was heard on the door. Clara froze, thinking it was Dana coming back. Before they could even move, the door slowly opened.

Doh Kyungsoo suddenly went in.

“Oh, perfect. You’re here.” Kyungsoo said when he spotted Clara by the couch. “What the hell are you doing here D.O.?” Clara exclaimed. He passed by her and went to Dr. Stiles to shake hands.

“Sorry I went here without an appointment. It’s nice to meet you Dr. Stiles.” The doctor looked surprised for a moment, looking from Kyungsoo to Clara. “It’s nothing, I’m free for the rest of the afternoon. What brings you here?”

“Wait, wait, D.O., I still don’t get why you’re here? How did you get here?!”

“I heard you talking to the phone before I left the hospital. You said you’re scheduling an appointment for Dana with a Dr. Stiles.”

“And you found this office with that information alone?”

“There’s only one Dr. Stiles in town when I looked it up,” Kyungsoo explained. “Turns out he’s a well-known psychiatrist.”

“Okay then,” Clara said, hands up in defeat. “So you’re here because? You’re concerned about?”

“About Dana, of course. Who else?” Kyungsoo answered almost too quickly.

“Wow, at least this one’s straightforward.” Stiles commented, and stopped after getting a look from Clara.

“Well, Dana’s fine, the fainting was something that happens every now and then because of her headaches.” Clara waved off.

“Well, I didn’t know what was happening, that’s why I rushed her to the hospital.” Kyungsoo’s voice suddenly rising.

“Oh yeah, which reminds me, the hell were you thinking driving like that?!” Clara suddenly snapped at Kyungsoo. He was startled but he just scrunched up his eyebrows after.

“She fainted, for pete’s sake. I panicked, and everyone else wasn’t doing anything. What did you want me to do? Keep calm about it? Like I damn would.” Kyungsoo said.

“It was like you were ready to raise hell or something,” Clara exclaimed. “The last time I saw you like that was–” then her voice suddenly faded, like she was coming to a realization. What Kyungsoo said and did suddenly sinked in.

Clara turned to look at him, who was already looking at her expectantly. “Oh my god, last time you were like that was–”

“Three years ago.” Kyungsoo finished for her. Clara nodded slowly, finally grasping the situation.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I didn’t know you still--”

“It’s okay, I understand. That’s why I’m here.” Kyungsoo interrupted, and turned to look at Dr. Stiles, who was already sitting at his desk with his arms crossed, and a small smile on his face. He too, understood the situation.

“I need to know,” Kyungsoo said slowly. “What else happened the past three years?”

Stiles sighed and motioned for Kyungsoo to sit at one of the chairs.

“Well, you may need to sit down for this. It might take a while.”

✨ The Star & His First Love

🌟 Story Masterlist

#exo #exo fluff #exo kyungsoo #exo d.o.#exo imagine #d.o. imagine #kyungsoo imagine #do kyungsoo #doh kyungsoo #kyungsoo #kyungsoo fluff #kyungsoo scenarios #d.o. scenario #exo scenarios #d.o. scenarios

23 notes · View notes

kenbunshokus · 7 years ago

Text

come on, come on (turn a little faster)

zoro/sanji | 4.5k words

Step One: confession. Step Two: get together. Step Three: act like a couple in public.

Zoro and Sanji are never good with following instructions. Or, the one where everyone thinks they’re dating, Sanji is oblivious, and Zoro takes everything in stride. Sometimes a love story can go in reverse.

(ao3)

this work is commissioned by anonymous; if you’re interested in that, i still have a slot open.

Like most troublesome, headache-inducing things that happen to Sanji, it starts with a bored Luffy.

They’re in the galley, and Luffy is sprawled face-first on the dining table, head swollen from a recent kick from Sanji. Sanji is still riding on high from having thwarted Luffy’s attempt for Snack Before the Snack Before Lunch, so he doesn’t expect Luffy’s innocent, “why do you and Zoro don’t kiss like most couples do?

It’s a blessing for the crew that Sanji is such a professional, because otherwise he would have dropped the rice balls he is making.

He whips his head towards Luffy. “What?”

“Just wondering, is all,” Luffy says to the table, oblivious to Sanji’s shocked confusion. “Ace told me about it before, how couples should kiss and hold hands and stuff.”

Sanji doesn’t even know where to start with that, and his brain is not exactly equipped for this kind of conversation with Luffy—out of all people—so he decides to return to the rice balls on the pantry. Salmon for Usopp, Sea King meat for Zoro…

He sighs. “Zoro and I,” he begins, just as the door opens.

Zoro strides into the galley like he owns the place, arching his eyebrow. “You and I?”

He feels Zoro stand behind him, and soon enough, Zoro’s left hand shoots over Sanji’s shoulder, snatching one of the rice balls. His other hand is on the pantry, right beside Sanji’s hip.

Sanji lets him take the food, feeling generous for once. He’s almost done, anyways. “Go ask Luffy, he’s the one with the stupid questions.”

Zoro turns to face Luffy, but doesn’t step away from Sanji. Their shoulders brush against each other.

Luffy sits up and looks at them with a rare, serious expression. Before either of them can ask if anything’s wrong, though, Luffy picks his nose, goes, “never mind,” and strolls out of the galley.

Zoro watches their captain go as he reaches for another ball of rice. “What’s with him?”

That was one more rice ball than Sanji is feeling generous for, so he swings his leg. Zoro blocks the kick with practiced ease, as expected, but he seems to have gotten the message loud and clear, because he drops the rice back onto the plate. He still doesn’t step away.

“No idea,” Sanji says, and doesn’t step away, either. If Zoro doesn’t back down, neither will he.

Sanji immediately forgets all about it because it’s Luffy and he has long learned that trying to understand how Luffy’s mind works is a futile endeavor, so it throws him completely off guard when a beautiful girl from a flower stand waves at him and says, “We have just the right flowers for your boyfriend.”

“Excuse me?” Sanji asks, tone surprised but polite, because he wasn’t raised wrong like a certain green-haired oaf he’s currently doing a supply run with.

“Your boyfriend, you know,” the lady winks, and in a terrible, horrifying turn of events, gestures at the very oaf-slash-pack mule standing a few meters away from him. “The swordsman,” she clarifies.

What the fuck makes you think we’re dating, are you fucking blind is Sanji’s initial gut reaction, but—he feels like reiterating—he wasn’t raised wrong like a certain green-haired oaf who thinks it’s okay to argue with women and their eternally wise insights, so instead he says, “No, thank you, miss.”

He walks away before the girl can say more… misguided things, and grabs Zoro by the arm. “We’re leaving.”

“Don’t tell me what to do, cook,” Zoro says, but he lets Sanji lead him through the crowd. Sanji keeps a secure grip on Zoro’s arm throughout the way. Zoro might get lost, you see, and then Sanji has to spend hours looking for him throughout the island. Wouldn’t be the first time that happens.

Sanji’s hand tightens around Zoro’s arm, and he ignores the way it almost mimics the sudden tightness that runs through his chest from the touch.

It’s been a week and they have long sailed away from that island, but the conversation still bothers the fuck out of Sanji, so he goes to Usopp’s workshop. It pains him to admit, but this is something he can’t talk about with the girls (regardless of how wonderful and smart they are), and Usopp might be full of shit but he’s a good friend, and sometimes he says the exact things Sanji wants to hear, so.

“When the fuck did I start dating Zoro?” He asks as he steps into the room.

Usopp doesn’t even bother to look up from his new invention. “Did you forget your anniversary or something?”

Definitely not the things Sanji wanted to hear. “Did I forget my—no, that was a rhetorical question, I didn’t forget my anniversary because we were never dating!”

“Very funny, Sanji,” Usopp says. When Sanji doesn’t reply in favor of having a heart attack and an aneurysm at the same time, Usopp finally tears his eyes away from his workbench and frowns. “…wait, really?”

Sanji takes every good thing he has said about Usopp back. Usopp is full of shit, period . “Really! Why would I lie about this?”

“I don’t know! I mean, you and Zoro,” Usopp says, and visibly inches away when he sees how quickly Sanji’s face sours. “You two have this, this thing going on, so we’ve always thought—”

“‘We’?!” Sanji zeroes in, because there are so many things wrong in that sentence that the only way to maintain his feeble grasp on sanity is to tackle it word by word.

“Royal ‘we’!” Usopp squeaks. “Just, the general we, no-one-specific we, actually, I’ve caught the ‘I-Can-Only-Use-the-Pronoun-We’ sickness in the last island—”

“Cook!” A voice from the deck interrupts Usopp’s rambling. Sanji would recognize that annoying voice even with both ears plugged. In his sleep.

“Shut up! I’m in the middle of something important, Marimo!” He shouts back. There’s a loud thump from the deck in place of a civilized reply because Zoro is a brute, and Sanji groans and adds, “fine, I’m coming!”

“I want five!” Zoro shouts.

“Three!” Sanji fires back, and then grumbles under his breath, “ungrateful bastard, who the fuck even eats five spring rolls during snack time? Still had the gall to ask for drinks on top of that! One day I’ll put saltwater inside his stupid mug and he’ll finally beg me for mercy…”

When he turns back to Usopp, the we’re not done yet dies in his lips as Usopp gives him a funny look.

Sanji squirms under the scrutiny. “What?”

“You got all that just from ‘I want five’ and a thump?”

Sanji huffs. “It’s Zoro. That idiot can only speak in caveman language. I’m just smart enough to interpret his stupid grunts.”

The funny look doesn’t disappear from Usopp’s face, and it’s sort of pissing Sanji off. “Yeah. Sure.”

Sanji opens his mouth to disagree with whatever the hell Usopp is implying, but Zoro’s thump evolves into a bang, and he shouts, “If you smash the deck again I hope Franky kills you this time!”

He stomps out of the workshop, Usopp forgotten.

There’s a group of marines sitting a few tables away, and Sanji has a feeling that they’re beginning to recognize him.

They aren’t exactly subtle about it; they are all looking down at the same paper, presumably Sanji’s bounty poster, and a couple of them start pointing and gesturing at his table. Amateurs, Sanji thinks.

Sanji takes another gulp of his drink and listens in on their conversation, just in case. He can take them all down in his sleep, of course, but he would rather not do it in the middle of a crowded bar when others can get unnecessarily drawn into the fight and injured. He’d leave when it looks like they’re about to take action.

“It’s Black Leg, I’m sure,” he overhears one of them say.

“One hundred and seventy-seven million berries,” another chimes in, obviously excited. “Even split five ways, we could each get thirty-five. We should go for it; I think we can all handle a below two-hundred.”

Sanji feels a vein popped up on his forehead. He is ready to stand up and show them what it’s truly like to face someone with his grossly undervalued bounty, when one of the marines suddenly says, “no, are you crazy, haven’t you heard of the rumors?”

Sanji pauses. Interesting. Is there some cool rumor surrounding him? Is it about how terrifying his kicks are? Or maybe it’s about how his observation haki is so amazing nobody can even touch him—

“If you go after Black Leg,” the marine elaborates, “his boyfriend is going to come and get you.”

Sanji’s brain short-circuits.

“His boyfriend?” another pipes in, oblivious to Sanji’s breakdown. “Are you talking about Pirate Hunter Zoro?”

What the fuck?

“Yeah!” The first marine searches his pocket, and pulls out another poster, most probably Zoro’s. “Look at how terrifying he is! Three hundred and twenty million berries! We won’t win against him.”

Oh, that was it. They’re fucking dead.

Sanji haphazardly throws throws payment for his drinks at the bar, takes large strides towards the marine and slams his foot against their table. The wooden table cracks and crumbles into pieces at the impact with a loud bang, and the whole room goes quiet.

“Heard some familiar names being thrown around,” he says, lips stretched into a humorless, feral grin. He cracks his neck as the marines scramble to their feet in panic, a fruitless attempt to run away from him. Sanji takes several steps towards them as his legs start to catch on fire. “Only beautiful ladies are allowed to say my name.”

Sanji is no longer welcome to that bar.

“So, Cook-Bro, when did you two get together?”

Sanji’s hand slips, swinging his hammer down a little too hard, and the wooden block he’s helping Franky nail snaps into two. “Who?”

“You and Zoro-san, obviously,” Brook chimes in when it’s clear Franky won’t answer, grumbling about ‘monster strength’ and ‘too many broken blocks.’ Brook, who’s also been helping on the restoration of the crow’s nest after a particularly nasty storm yesterday, starts laughing. “I would imagine the two of you have spent so much time consummating your relationship on this very spot, and we simply got curious.”

There are...so many factual inaccuracies in that statement that Sanji is actually impressed by his crewmates’ imagination.

“What the shit?” He says, trying to laugh it off. “You’re joking, right?”

Franky and Brook visibly freeze. Pausing from their respective work, they turn, slowly, giving Sanji twin bewildered stares before looking at each other.

“Forgive me if I was wrong, Sanji-san,” Brook begins, twirling his bony fingers together as he carefully says, “but I’ve always thought I simply missed the beginning of your and Zoro-san’s love story, seeing that I joined the crew a little bit later than everyone else.”

“Yeah, same with me, actually,” Franky says, and he’s staring at Sanji like he’s looking at the man for the first time in his life. “I mean, when I joined, you and Zoro-bro were already,” he flips up his sunglasses and frowns at Sanji. “You know ,” he says conspiratorially.

“I don’t know,” Sanji says, because what the hell, he doesn’t . When did this even begin? He always thought that the whole incident with the marines was just one of those ridiculous marine rumors, in the same vein of people thinking Robin can kill people with a wink and Shanks secretly has twenty different wives hidden in East Blue. Tall tales of people with high bounties aren’t exactly a new concept.

But then he remembers his exchange with Usopp, and that one conversation he had with Luffy in the galley, and the beautiful flower lady a few islands ago, and fuck, holy fuck, this is a thing , isn’t it? Is this what everyone has been thinking the whole time? Is this what the ladies have been thinking the whole time ?

That he’s been, what, banging the marimo?

He tries to school his expression into something resembling a smile, his jaws clenching a little. “Me and that Marimo aren’t a thing,” he explains.

“Really?” Brook asks, and he sounds so genuinely disappointed that it almost makes Sanji feel bad. Almost. “Not at all?”

Sanji grits his teeth. “I think I would know.”

“So you and Zoro-bro aren’t,” Franky says, and his hands make a horrifyingly obscene gesture, made worse by the fact that Franky’s hands are the size of Sanji’s head each. “Doing this?”

“No,” Sanji says flatly. He gets the vague impression that he’s just figured out the existence of a new level of hell, and his crewmates are the gatekeepers.

Zoro steps out of the dressing room wearing the most mismatched outfits Sanji has ever laid his eyes upon—a green tie on a purple suit and, with an orange dress suit underneath. Zoro’s pants are bright yellow. Sanji thinks he just got a minor headache from the sight alone.

“Happy?” Zoro grumbles, clearly irritated by the whole proceeding.

“Are you colorblind?” Sanji says in place of an answer, and starts shoving him back towards the dressing room. “Never mind, don’t answer that, I don’t want to know. Just let me pick the clothes for you already.”

“You always pick the expensive ones,” Zoro protests.

“No I don’t, you’re just poor,” Sanji argues back. “Listen, I want this to end just as quickly as you do, so stay inside, be nice, and wear whatever I tell you to wear. Don’t worry, Nami-san is always generous enough to lend you some berries for the clothes.

“That’s because she’s trying to rip me off,” Zoro shouts back from inside the room, but Sanji refuses to acknowledge such preposterous accusation towards a queen like Nami. He opts to start picking clothes instead, making sure they’re of the right size for Zoro’s stupidly overtrained muscles, and throws the whole thing into the room.

When Zoro walks out of it this time, he is decidedly more...presentable. In white dress shirt, black tie and dark green vest, the mosshead doesn’t seem like he’s trying to blind every person who has had the misfortune of seeing him anymore. Sanji could even say he’s...handsome.

In, like, a friend-way.

Super platonic.

This whole thing is a mess .

He decides to distract himself from that dangerous train of thoughts by dramatically pointing at Zoro’s tie, groaning, “eugh, do you even know how to tie a tie?”

Zoro crosses his arms indignantly. “Of course I do,” he says. And then, when Sanji simply stares at him skeptically, amends, “not really, but I made some guesses. It wasn’t that hard.”

Disgusting. Downright barbaric . Sanji doesn’t know what he expected from such an uncultured brute.

He walks right into Zoro’s personal space and starts fixing his tie, grumbling, “why do I have to do everything,” and Zoro lets him, body leaning slightly into Sanji to give him better access, contrasting the way his arms are still crossed in a stubborn pose.

Just as Zoro goes off to pay (with Nami’s money that Sanji will make sure he’ll pay back), one of the shop attendants walks up to Sanji and starts giggling. “It’s so cute to see your boyfriend let you pick his clothes for him,” she says without preamble, “oh, what I’d give to have my girlfriend let me pick her clothes for her. Her fashion sense is so terrible too.”

It takes a couple of seconds for him to realize what the girl means. “No, no,” he immediately says when what she’s implying finally dawns on him, “you’re getting this wrong, my dear.”

She continues to giggle. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell him,” she says, and winks at him. “If he asks, he totally picked those clothes by himself.”

Sanji feels like he’s going to cry, and he mutters to himself, “I should’ve let that stupid Marimo wear those ugly clothes.”

The girl clasps her hands together excitedly. “Oh, I feel that too!” she says cheerfully, completely missing the point, “we all have a soft spot for our significant other, including their bad fashion decisions.”

When Zoro finally returns from the cashier, Sanji kicks him in the shin just because he can.

The clothing store incident was the last straw, because, well. Sanji can handle people thinking that he and Zoro are banging—physical attractions between crew members aren’t exactly unheard of for pirates, and Zoro isn’t exactly bad-looking. Not that Sanji is actually having sex with Zoro on the regular, of course. Never even crossed his mind, really. Except that one time, at that one summer island, but it must have been the heat.

The point is, Sanji can handle raunchy, sex rumors. But it’s a whole different ball game when people think he and Zoro are—he shudders at the thought—in love.

So before Sanji could second guess his own decisions, he forces himself to confront the ladies. He finds them lounging under the mikan trees, and he half-hops towards them, a tray of drinks balanced carefully on his left hand.

There isn’t a good way to lead up to the question, so he blurts, “do you think Zoro and I are dating?”

There’s a pause.

And then, Robin turns to Nami and says, with a little smile, “it seems our bet has come to an end in my favor.”

“Damn it!” Nami exclaims, pulling out some bills from her pocket. “I was so sure he wouldn’t catch on for a couple more months.”

This isn’t happening, Sanji thinks despairingly as he, in horror, watches Nami reluctantly handing the money over to a smiling Robin. I am dreaming and this is a nightmare . “Nami-san. Robin-chan,” he says, because he thinks he’s going to burst into tears if he tries to say something else.

“Oh, yeah, you and Zoro,” Nami turns to him, almost like she’s forgotten about him in favor of mourning the loss of her money, which is probably true. “You two are dating, no question about that.”

“Nami- san ,” he says, voice raising a few notches higher. “Zoro and I aren’t sleeping together.”

“We didn’t exactly say anything about sexual intercourse,” Robin points out, and Sanji never imagined this is how he’d get Robin to finally talk about sex; his imagination usually involved much less clothing and even fewer mentions of Zoro. Somewhere around the value of zero mentions, in a perfect world.

Sanji does not live in a perfect world.

“You take care of him, he has your back in a fight,” Nami adds. “Whenever you two are in the same room it’s like everyone else stops existing.”

“That’s not true,” Sanji argues, but the argument sounds weak, even to himself.

Nami gives him a flat look. “You guys were playing footsies under the table when we went to that food stall in the last island.”

“It was a manly feet competition ,” Sanji sputters. “That I was winning .” He also can’t help adding, just because.

Both Robin and Nami give him sad, identical looks that makes Sanji feel like he’s one of those pitiful dishes he made when he was eleven that adults pretended to like, and Sanji resists the urge to throw himself overboard.

The girls then turn to each other and have one of those silent conversations they usually have when any of their male crewmembers starts doing something particularly stupid, which involves a lot of eyebrow raising and pitying looks. Sanji prides himself of rarely being at the ends of that look, but as always, Zoro is making that feat increasingly difficult to maintain.

It’s Nami who finally turns back towards Sanji and suggests, “if you’re so unsure about it, why dont u just ask Zoro?”

And that’s...well.

Before Sanji’s brain can fully process Nami’s question and the incoming headache it seems to cause, Robin smiles and says, “I’m sure Zoro will be happy to explain.”

Sanji possess a healthy amount of respect for women that is far from fear, but in that moment, there may have a been some chills running down his spine.

“Thank you for the drink, Sanji-kun,” Nami says with a sip from her cup, signalling the end of their conversation.

Sanji is a smart, calm, and rational decision-maker, so clearly the first thing he does is file the whole thing into a neat little box in his head, pack it all up, and pretend nothing ever happened.

He admits he isn’t very good with the last part; it’s only been a week since the disaster of a conversation with the ladies, and he’s already caught himself avoiding Zoro multiple times. The swordsman clearly notices, and it’s almost impressive how the man can wear a flat expression and still exude the aura of kicked puppy every time Sanji looks away whenever their eyes accidentally meet across the room.

Not that Sanji would ever equate Zoro to a puppy. That would be an insult to the entire canine species.

“Is that our afternoon snack today, Sanji?” Chopper asks, his tiny head peering over the counter, eyes wide and practically sparkling at the macaroons on the counter.

Sanji looks up from a neatly stacked tower, arranged in order of color wheel and size because he strives for nothing short of perfection. There are only eight towers, though, and Chopper, ever observant, quickly notices.

Chopper tilts his head. “Did you not make any for yourself?”

Sanji shakes his head and shrugs at the baking tray left at the kitchen counter. “The ones for the Marimo isn’t done; I made his a little bit different from everyone else because he doesn’t like sweets.”

Chopper breaks into a smile at that. “That’s really thoughtful of you, Sanji! Zoro would definitely appreciate it!”

Zoro’s taste buds have not advanced past the level of a starfish’s so Sanji doubts the brute would even notice, but you don’t exactly disagree with the bundle of joy that is Chopper. “Sure.”

He takes a little bite from another batch, testing its taste. It dawns on him that his earlier agreement might come across as a special gesture for Zoro, so he rushes to add, “not that it’s anything special, really. I do this all the time for everyone, including you, Chopper.”

Chopper nods, once again distracted by the colorful treats, but Sanji still feels the need to continue, “and anyways, I guess I just want to make things even, you know? He bought me this really ugly tie, and I…”

He trails off, and absentmindedly touches the tie he’s wearing. It’s a gift, which Zoro bought him for no reason when they went on a walk together in the last island. They do it more often than he’s willing to admit, sometimes under the guise of Zoro being a pack mule for Sanji’s supply run. And Zoro always pays for the food they get afterwards, because there’s no way Sanji is paying when Zoro’s the one picking the shitty restaurant, and they have dinner together and bicker over the candlelit table, their knees almost touching underneath—

“Oh, shit,” Sanji curses, hand still hovering around the tie from Zoro, resting above his heart. The neat little box in his head is spilling all over. “That was a date.”

He finds Zoro at the crow’s nest.

The swordsman is lifting a weight the size of Little Merry, which is totally an overcompensation for something , but thinking about Zoro’s dick in this situation isn’t exactly helpful so Sanji tries his best to ignore it.

He slumps down at one of the benches, and Zoro ignores him for the most part.

“Are we dating?” He asks after a long pause.

Zoro doesn’t even miss a beat, that asshole. “Huh. those girls are right. Never thought you’d ever catch on, cook.”

Sanji scowls. “What do you take me for?” He says, as if he didn’t just figure this out a few hours ago. “An idiot?”

Zoro doesn’t answer and opts to pause with his training and give him a look, which is an answer in and of itself, really.

It's not the time for a fight, though, so Sanji makes a vague gesture at the empty space beside him, and his… boyfriend, apparently, what the fuck—takes a seat beside him.

He takes a long drag from his cigarette because he feels like swallowing his arm whole. “What were you going to do?” He asks. “If i never...you know.”

Zoro shrugs. His expression is unreadable. “Probably nothing,” the swordsman says. “I like what we have, cook. I wasn’t going to ruin it.”

The word bothers Sanji more than he expected it would. “Ruin it?” He echoes.

Zoro sighs. “I knew you were going to freak out.”

“What? No.” Sanji scoffs. Or tries to. It somehow comes out more like the sound a drowning chicken makes. “What? No .”

Zoro narrows his eye at him. “You’re literally freaking out right now.”

“I’m not freaking out, ” Sanji half-yells, which is probably a clear sign that he’s freaking the fuck out, so, okay, maybe a little bit. Just a teensy tiny bit.

Zoro smirks at his reaction, and oh, fuck, now that Sanji knows where to look, Zoro’s smile actually looks fond . “It’s not like you’re going anywhere, you know?” Zoro explains. “And when this whole thing ends, I can just follow you, stay at whatever stupid restaurant you’re going to build in All Blue.”

Zoro smiles, at that, soft and barely-there but touches his eyes nonetheless. It sends a weird warmth, spreading through Sanji’s chest. “I know I can,” he says, and, “I know you’ll let me.”

The words knock a breath out of Sanji. The trust, pressed in between every syllable, is loud and clear—for Zoro, to believe wholeheartedly in Sanji’s dream like it was his own, in the existence of the All Blue. And for Zoro, who was ready to die for his own dream, to actually think of what is coming after. To have Sanji be a part of it.

Zoro must have taken Sanji’s dumbstruck silence the wrong way, though, because for the first time since the conversation started, there’s a flash of uncertainty across his expression.

“Listen, cook, you don’t have to—” Zoro looks away, and rubs the back of his neck in an uncharacteristically nervous gesture. “I don’t need you to love me back. What we have, it’s good enough for me. We don’t have to call it anything if you don’t want me to.”

And that finally got Sanji to speak up, because the mosshead cannot be more wrong, and Sanji never passes up the opportunity to point out Zoro’s mistakes. So he puts out his cigarette and says, “shut up. Shut up.”

Zoro goes quiet and stares at him. Okay, so he can look like a cute puppy. Sometimes. The cute part is still arguable.

“Stop assuming everything shithead,” Sanji jabs his finger at Zoro’s chest. “I just found out that not only I’m dating a shitty swordsman, I’m also apparently in love with him, and that’s all you have to say?”

Sanji waits for the words to sink in, and he watches Zoro’s face break into a slow-starting smile. It erases the hard edges of his expression, makes him look younger, and Sanji thinks he’s a little in love with it.

He’s kind of a little in love with everything about Zoro, really. That’s part of this whole dating thing, he’s been told.

“Cook,” Zoro says, and he looks like he’s stumbling with his words, because he pauses, and corrects himself, “Sanji. I’m going to kiss you now.”

Sanji doesn’t need to be told twice and closes the distance between them.

10.

“Oi,” Zoro says after they pull away, blunt and straightforward and so very Zoro . “Can we do that again?”

Sanji laughs, and pulls Zoro into another kiss. “We’re dating, dumbass. Of course.”

#zosan #roronoa zoro #sanji #one piece #my writing #//#zoro #op

373 notes · View notes

artificialqueens · 8 years ago

Text

New Man Pt. 6 // Latch (Biadore) - Fucking Awful.

A/N: Just leaving the songs for you up here – real A/N will be at the end.

Latch (Acoustic): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pUK6HlzNWEg

Latch (Original): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=93ASUImTedo

Without further ado, the end of New Man…

“You know, you could just go out there early. You’re making me nervous stomping around like that.”

Shane – who had now fully transformed into Courtney – drew Roy’s attention to the fact that he was pacing back and forth across the dressing room, checking his phone every few seconds to see if the clock had changed. It was 5:58.

“Sorry, I’ll stop.” Roy lied and checked again, still 5:58. “I just don’t want to go sit out there on the stage by myself.” Again, still 5:58. Fucking time, go faster.

“Besides, it’s not like Danny has ever been early. Anywhere. Ever.” He checked again – it finally turned to 5:59.

Roy was waiting for the clock to strike 6:00pm, the proverbial midnight for his and Danny’s relationship. Through some messages from Shane, who had harassed them both to somehow be a part of this, it was communicated to both Roy and Danny that they would meet at the club at 6:00pm. Well, they would if they both still wanted to be together.

And this was why Roy was pacing. He knew from the moment he proposed this that he’d be waiting in that theater for Danny, ready to dive right into what he knew in his heart would be the great love story of his life. But he wasn’t sure – couldn’t be sure – if that was also true for Danny.

He thought he saw it in his eyes, that he was committed and in love and ready to tackle whatever numerous hurdles that they’d inevitably come up against…but Roy didn’t want to get his hopes too high. He wasn’t sure his broken heart would ever recover if he was wrong.

And so he spent 17 hours and 59 minutes in the throws of the deepest anxiety of his life. This was nothing compared to waiting for the call from Logo or even the night the Season 6 winner was crowned. He was certain his blood pressure had shot up to dangerous levels and he was burning all kinds of calories from sheer stress.

What if he doesn’t come? Do I lose him as my best friend, too? Will I ever see him again? Will we be able to work together? Can we still talk? Will I ever stop feeling like I’m out of breath and my heart is pounding out of my chest and I –

“Christ, Roy. You have to stop pacing and take a deep breath.” Shane stood up and grabbed Roy by the biceps, Beauty Blender still in hand, just to stop him from moving. He then engulfed him in a Temple Grandin-style hug. In that moment Roy realized how crazy he must look, chest heaving and checking his wrist like it was an OCD tick.

Roy whined into his friend’s shoulder, appreciative of the fruitless attempt to calm him. “Shane, what if he doesn’t come? I might actually die, just fucking dead on the stage. I swear to God, on Joan Rivers, on Chita Rivera, I think I’ll just crumple over like when that bitch Tyra won Season 2. I will be passed out and you’ll have to drag me off before you –“

“Sweet cheeks, stop.” Shane stepped out from the hug, still gripping Roy. “What is it Latrice always says? Good God…”

Roy interjected in his favorite Latrice Royale impression. “Good God, Get a Grip Girl. The 5 G’s.”

“Well do that, because I’m pretty sure it’s after 6 now and you have a boy to meet before you turn into a pumpkin.” Shane whipped Roy around and pushed him toward the door.

“FUCK! You made me late!” 6:03, SHIT.

After a moment of panic, Roy turned to the mirror and made eye contact with Shane in the reflection. “Do I look ok?”

Truth was, he looked damn good. He knew a beard suited him, and he was wearing his favorite all black blazer-t-shirt-jeans combo. Hot was an understatement, but Roy was always one to be insecure.

“I’ll tell you again – your face is your face. It’s been that way for a very long time.” Shane saw the callback didn’t go over well. “And it’s the face Danny loves. Now go get ‘em, tiger.”

With that, Shane slapped Roy on the ass and pushed him out the door, slamming the door behind him.

Here goes nothing…

—

“I guess you were right. A drag queen who’s early, that never fucking happens. Jesus Roy, it’s 6:04!”

Immediately as he walked out onto the stage, Roy could hear Danny yelling at him from the balcony where they were supposed to meet. His heart swelled so big in his chest that he couldn’t even clock the kid for a terrible impersonation of his entrance line. He ran to the middle of the stage, in front of a piano, and looked through the bright lights to see Danny standing at the center of the balcony and leaning over the railing.

“You came. You’re really here.” Roy couldn’t hide the joy and sincerity in his voice, despite the decades he’d spent mastering the ability to do so.

“Baby, I would’ve stayed here all night to wait for you if I could’ve.” Danny smiled in the way that only Danny could, melting Roy from chest to knees in a split second. “But I had to shoot today so” – Danny gestured to his made-up face and long black wig, which Roy had just noticed – “I just got here as soon as I could, half-drag and all. I would change but – ”

Roy cut him off. “You look handsome. Beautiful. You always look handsome and beautiful.”

He could hear how fucking cheesy and gross he sounded, but he couldn’t stop it. Not even his own strong internal bitch censor could stop the outpouring of love for this human.

“You sound fucking ridiculous, but I’ll take it. Why are you all the way down there?” Danny finally asked the obvious question. “We said we’d meet up here.”

Deep breath, Haylock. You did this for years, you can do it now. Time to get your man.

“Well, I really loved what you did last night. The song…music…I know how much it means to you.” Roy took a pause. Never in his life had he been this tongue-tied before.

Good God, get a grip girl. Even in his own head he sounded like Latrice.

He started in again, sticking to his planned speech. “Music is a big part of our relationship, what it has been before and what I believe it can be. I think the first time I heard you sing was when I fell in love with you, even if I didn’t know it then. Music is something we both love, it brings you so much joy, it’s been a thread in what we’ve been together so far – I think it’s fitting that a music can kick off our future.”

He saw Danny was confused and amused. “Ok, I’m with you so far…but actually I’m fucking lost. What are you talking about?”

Another long inhale. “I know I’ve always joked that I’m the one drag queen who never sings – and I swear on Jinkx’s dead fucking career that I will never release a goddamn album – but I know how much you like when I play –“

“Oh my God!” Roy could hear the excitement in Danny’s voice as he realized what was going to happen. He made his way over the piano bench and took a seat. “Oh my God, Roy are you going to –“

“This is my gift to you. I love you so much, Danny.” He lowered the mic next to the piano and switched it on, finally able to stop shouting. Roy opened the sheet music he’d bought that morning and did a quick pass to check the piano’s tune – and then he started playing.

Music was the one talent that Roy insisted on keeping to himself. His parents had put him in piano lessons when he was little, learning the basics on a little Casio keyboard before becoming a real musical talent in high school – it gave him an easy way to be involved with theater without raising too many eyebrows in a conservative town. Roy continued playing in college with classes here and there, playing for his friends when they’d wander into a bar or end up in a fancy house with a Baby Grand. It became a great conversation point as he started working in musical theater, making him a sought-out party guest to bang out tunes during a drunken cast party or a night out in NYC.

But no one knew he could sing. Well, no one but Danny, really. Roy was a musical theater nerd after all, and while he certainly wasn’t coming for any Broadway leading man roles he could do much more than carry a tune. He’d faked near tone deafness during the Rusical challenge, seeing no reason to break his persona or story line when he knew the moment belonged to Adore and Courtney.

Once, during BOTS, Danny had heard him singing in the shower when he thought everyone else was asleep. The kid had pulled open the shower door, yelled “Holy Shit!” and spent 20 minutes trying to convince Roy to sing in public. He refused repeatedly, and after a year of bugging him Danny finally gave up. Roy’s argument was that if it wasn’t perfect and polished, *the* Bianca del Rio would never do it – which Danny understood was a non-negotiable fact. But he would still bring it up every now and then, telling Roy how beautiful he thought his voice was and begging him to sing.

Knowing how much Danny loved it (and hoping he hadn’t been lying when he said so), Roy decided that singing for him would itself say a lot. It would show he’d gotten over fears, that he was ready to try something new, that he wanted to dive into this head first…

Roy made it through the complex piano opening seamlessly, never taking his eyes off the sheet music. He launched into the melodic version of the Sam Smith and Disclosure hit “Latch”:

You lift my heart up when the rest of me is down

You, you enchant me even when you’re not around

Roy felt the lyrics in the marrow of his bones. He had known Danny for something like a thousand days, and he’d thought about him and smiled for each one of them. To him Danny was magic, the person that reminded him life can still have surprises and fairy dust and goddamn mermaids.

If there are boundaries, I will try to knock them down

I’m latching on babe, now I know what I have found

Truer words were never spoken – or sung, he supposed. Fuck everything that’s kept us apart, fuck the things I’ve been afraid of. Roy was ready to grab Danny, catch them both as they fell and never let go.

I feel we’re close enough, could I lock on your love

As he hit the bridge, Roy got a little nervous. Danny hadn’t said anything, hadn’t made any audible reactions since he started playing or singing. Maybe Danny had been lying, maybe he hated his voice. This was too cheesy, so not Roy. Maybe this was a terrible mistake….

“Don’t you dare stop.” As Roy paused a bit too long before the chorus began, he heard a choked up Danny squeak out the words from behind him. He whipped around to see the love of his life with tears rolling softly down his face and his favorite giant Danny smile brimming wide. Guess it’s working after all…he played on.

Now I’ve got you in my space, I won’t let go of you

Got you shackled in my embrace, I’m latching on to you

Roy barely got through the chorus before he felt Danny sit beside him and rest his hands atop his own. He stopped him from playing, gently grabbing Roy’s hands and lifting them up to kiss each knuckle.

“How did you even get down here?” Roy was bewildered by that, among other things.

In between each peck, Danny spoke barely above a whisper: “Side stairs in the theater, I’m not actually a bruja.” He continued he soft pecks, moving from the knuckles up to Roy’s neck and cheeks. “I’ve never actually been speechless, but you might have done it. God, I just love you so much.”

And with that, Danny swung a leg over Roy and pulled himself into his lap. He grabbed Roy by the face, looking him so deeply in the eyes that Roy felt his heart stop beating and his synapses fire all at once. Then Danny kissed him deeply, hungrily, passionately – everything Roy had ever wanted.

After a solid 2 minutes of making out – and Danny grinding needily into Roy’s stiffening lap – Roy gently pushed him off for air. “So, does this mean you’re my boyfriend now?” He smiled, laughing a little bit at how silly that sounded in this moment. What would Bianca think of me now?

“I’m not just your boyfriend, I’m the love of your goddamn life. You’re mine. And don’t you forget it.”

Roy was so intensely turned on by the fire and honesty with which Danny said those words – the love of your goddamn life – that he nearly slammed Danny into the piano as he rejoined their lips to go another round. He had just begun slipping his hands under Danny’s pink sweatshirt, fully ready to flip him onto the piano bench when –

We Found Love started playing over the theater speakers, and suddenly Shane came through like the voice of God. “Guys, I’m so happy for you!”

Roy and Danny both looked up, confused. After a pause: “But as much as I adore you lovebirds, you need to get off my stage. I need to clear out this piano and sound check, and I’m not hiring a crew to clean up the bodily fluids your about to spill.”

Danny looked at Roy, confusion turned back into a concentrated combination of love and lust. “He’s not wrong.” Roy felt Danny grind against him and move back in for a kiss, but he had another idea.

“I cannot believe I am actually saying this – really, I know this is insane –“ Roy punctuated each pause with a kiss on Danny’s cheeks, jaw, neck – “but I think – I would really like – to first – take you out – on a real date.”

Danny laughed – scoffed, really. “Wait, what?”

“I would like to woo you, Daniel. Would you please have dinner with me?”

Once again, Roy couldn’t believe the words that were coming out of his own mouth. But he wanted to do this right. He wanted to make sure Danny knew this was the real deal – not just about sex or a momentary whim. He was in for permanence, for slow burn, for life.

Danny smiled back at him – he knew in that moment that he would never get tired of Danny smiling at him like that – and dismounted. They both hissed a bit at the loss of contact, but Roy knew he would make up for it later.

“I would love that.” Danny held out a hand for Roy and bowed to him ever so slightly, indulging the cheesiness of the moment. “Shall we?”

Roy popped up and kissed him once again, deeply and tenderly this time. There was no rush, he knew they really had forever.

—

With a couple hours to kill before Shane’s show, Roy and Danny left the theater to grab dinner nearby.

Roy pulled up Yelp, looking for a spot. “I would suggest pizza, since I know how much you love it –“

“You think you’re getting into my pants with pizza, Haylock? I thought you wanted to woo me.” Danny feigned offense.

Roy stopped himself from launching into a Bianca rant– Bitch you’ve put out for Totino’s Pizza Rolls, you’d suck a dick for a Hot Pocket. Again, that wasn’t for this. He knew Danny had shown up and committed, but he still felt he needed to prove that he was ready to take this seriously and be a ‘good’ boyfriend.

“What, no jokes? I practically teed that up for you!” Danny slapped him on the arm, snapping Roy out of this thoughts.

“Well I was trying to –“

“Don’t try to do or be anything. You should know by now I love you just the way you are, and if you don’t tell me right now that I’d probably fuck someone for a Hot Pocket then I’m taking you to a hospital because you’ve been body snatched.”

Roy couldn’t help laughing, but he felt a little relieved. He relaxed, unclenched all the things he didn’t realize he was clenching. “I was gonna say Pizza Rolls, you cunt.” And he sealed the quip with a kiss.

—

Danny ended up picking the restaurant, a little bistro-type café a few blocks from the venue.

They spent the next two hours desperately seeking some kind of physical contact – hands intertwined, playing footsie – while they caught up on all the things they’d meant to discuss in the days before: Roy talked about his tour; Danny talked about the move and his new life in Seattle; Roy talked about doing some freelance costume design; Danny talked about how the new album was going; Roy talked about the dogs; Danny talked about experimenting with makeup videos. They drifted into family shenanigans at the holidays, vacations they had been mentally planning, TEDTalks they had watched, how much they loved Get Out and Beauty and the Beast…

Roy could’ve talked with Danny and never stopped. He genuinely didn’t understand how he could be so physically entranced – addicted, even – to Danny, but still be content to just talk with him about everything and nothing for hours. It was reassuring to know their relationship was built on genuine interest and affection for each other, in addition to wanting to fuck each other’s brains out at any given moment.

But as the time ran closer to Shane’s show, Roy knew they needed to get something off his chest before rejoining the real world.

“Before we leave, I just want to say one thing: All the things we talked about yesterday –“

“Roy, I know. Really, we both know what we’re up against – from ourselves and from other people – but I don’t care. I am so in love with you and –“

Roy smiled. “I’ll never get tired of hearing you say that. I just need to say that everything we talked about before, it doesn’t matter to me. I’m ready to tell the world exactly what you said to me at the piano – you’re the goddamn love of my life, I’m yours. Fuck anyone who has anything to say about it.”

Danny leaned across the table to kiss him. “I know baby, I do. And we can say it as loud as we want, but whenever you want. I know I may’ve made it sound like I’m in a rush to tell everyone, but I’m not going to push you to do anything you’re not ready for. I know this is a big deal and we should probably be measured about how we do this publicly. You probably want to be…strategic.”

Roy could see Danny looked a little sad as he said it, but he wasn’t wrong. Both their personal lives had been a source of great scrutiny, and he’d just finished a decently public relationship. Even if they were both ready to shout it from the rooftops, they probably needed to think through the announcement. Talk to managers, talk to Michelle…there was a lot to do.

“Well, that’s not going to stop me from kissing my boyfriend on our first date.” Roy leaned over this time, kissing Danny. “We can talk about the rest of that – the big announcement or whatever – later. For now, let’s go see our sister?”

—

Back at the club, Roy insisted they watch Shane perform as Courtney from backstage. He wanted to be able to dance, hug, kiss – everything obnoxious couples do – at the show without turning it into a circus of drag fans who were coming to see the last-minute show.

As the night wound down, Danny stood behind Roy with his chin resting on his shoulder. Roy turned to kiss him – already feeling his lips getting chapped – when Shane announced the final song of Courtney’s show.

“Thanks for turning up tonight gang, I had an incredible time with you all. No wonder Adore loves it so much here!” Shane glanced into the wings. “Speaking of Adore, she requested I do this song for you guys tonight. I used to sing it all the time when we went on our first tour together, it was a massive hit at the time, and it was always her favorite.”

Roy looked back at Danny. “What’s he singing?”

Danny smiled mischievously. “You’ll see.”

In that moment, Shane shouted the opening “Na Na” and the synth line of the original Latch track dropped.

Roy’s eyes went wide, and he whipped around to face Danny as the track played on. He sang it for Danny because this was their song, what they used to huddle up and listen to in his giant fucking Beats while they were in the Werkroom or for the months they were on tour.

“When did you ask him to do this? We’ve been together this whole time – did you call him for the bathroom or something?” Roy was baffled by how sneaky Danny must’ve been do ask Shane for this after their moment, how quickly he must’ve prepared the song…

“Actually – you’re gonna love this, I can’t believe I’ve kept this a secret for this long without actually exploding – I asked him to do this last night. When you sang for me earlier I thought he had told you?”

“No! I had no idea. That wombat is learning tricks from Willam.” Roy was impressed by Shane, and touched by Danny’s gesture. “You had him play our song.”

“Oh, this is our song now? Have we decided?”

“Babe, I think the universe just decided for us. And in that case, may I have this dance?” Roy held his hand out for Danny as Shane launched into the first verse. He took Danny’s hand and whipped him into his chest, full on ballroom dancing his boyfriend around the tight backstage area.

“What the hell, when did you learn to dance like this? This is fucking hot, like Dirty Dancing or some shit.”

“You’re so eloquent.” Roy had to laugh. “Like any good Southern boy, I did Cotillion growing up. Taught us all about manners, dancing, dinner parties – world’s greatest drag training ground.”

“You never cease to surprise me, baby.” Danny purred into his ear as Roy pulled him closer.

“And I promise I never will.” To Roy, this was the perfect moment. They were perfect.

It can’t get better than this.

—

But Danny was about to prove Roy wrong. He pulled away from the dance as Shane built towards the first chorus. The breakaway surprised Roy, who was only vaguely paying attention to what Shane was droning on about during the music’s instrumental bridge.

“Well, I hope you don’t mind I have a few surprises of my own.” Danny kissed him gently on the cheek and started walking towards the stage, grabbing a handheld mic from the stage manager as he went.

In that moment, Roy caught the tail end of what Shane was saying.

“…and she’s here to join me herself, your new hometown favorite, Miss Adore Delano!” The crowed roared as Danny strutted on stage in time to catch the chorus, singing in harmony with Shane.

Of all the things Roy loved to watch Danny do, performing was easily what he loved the most. When he was onstage, no matter who he “was” at that time, Danny was in his true form. It was rare for someone to clearly be so comfortable and confident in front of a crowd, but Danny was rare. Every single time he went out there he lit up in a way that few people ever do once in their whole lives, energized and impassioned by the music flowing through his veins and the way he made people feel with his performance. Danny was magic, but he was most magic in moments like this.

Roy watched as Danny moved into the second verse. His sultry, soulful voice stirred Roy from romance mode to fuck mode with the flip of a switch.

I’m so in-captured, got me wrapped up in your touch

Feel so enamored, hold me tight within your clutch

How do you do it, you’ve got me losing every breath

What did you give me to make my heart beat out my chest

Roy had been so distracted watching and listening to Danny, thinking about everything he planned to do as soon as Danny got off the stage, that he didn’t notice Shane barreling towards him. It wasn’t until Shane grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him out onstage that he realized anything was happening.

“What the hell are you doing?” He whisper-shouted at Shane. Danny, lost in the trance of his last note and the instrumental bridge, turned to see him standing there – and looked equally confused.

Shane give them both a coy smile and said into the mic, “Look who else is here tonight, gang. The lovely Bianca del Rio!”

Roy turned to the audience, who cheered for him with the same vigor as Danny. He smiled and waved before turning back to Shane, who just handed him a mic and winked.

Taking the mic, and still not sure what the fuck was happening, Roy began to vamp. This he had done a million times before, and damned if he was going to let the next 10 seconds of instrumental (he had memorized the song down to the key signatures) pass awkwardly as hell. I am a fucking professional.

In full Bianca voice, over the music: “If y’all think I’m gonna sing. You must be crazy. I ain’t Sharon Needles.” He paused to purse his lips and roll his eyes at the crowd, knowing he’d get the usual laugh.

“But how about a round of applause for these two idiots, clap for these hookers.” The audience cheered on cue.

The vocal part of the song picked back up, and Danny and Shane (who had somehow gotten another mic) began singing the “I feel we’re close enough” bridge.

In that moment, Roy had a brilliant idea. Well – brilliant or dumb as shit, but he was inclined to believe the former.

Talking over the two singing, he began: “Alright, alright. Who here has Reddit? Facebook? Twitter? Some other shit you lazy ass gays and hags are using these days? Whatever it is, pull out your phone and make sure you get this.”

Danny and Shane were coming up on the last line of “Could I lock on your love.” The song was about to hit it’s peak, so Roy took his risk

“What is it that bitch said? Oh ya’ll wanted a twist, eh?”

And in the moment that Danny would’ve hit the song’s crescendo, Roy ripped the mic out of his hand and dipped Danny into a big, showy, dramatic kiss.

He could hear Shane screaming in the background, and felt a hundred smartphone camera flashes go off as he wound his fingers into Danny’s hair.

Roy came up for air for a moment – just long enough for Danny to smile and bite his lip – before plunging back into an upright make-out session for the remained of the song.

Danny whispered in between kisses: “What are you doing?”

Roy replied: “Fuck being measured. I love you. You’re the goddamn love of my life. I’m yours. I shouldn’t be the only one who knows that.”

Danny smiled.

—

The End

[A/N: I hope you guys enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it! Thank you for being so welcoming on my first foray into AQ or fan fic at all, I appreciate this community of ship trash weirdos like myself. All feedback is welcome, even at the close. XOXO Fucking Awful]

#bianca del rio #adore delano #biadore #new man #angst #fluff #rpdr fanfiction #submission #fucking awful #canon compliant

50 notes · View notes

thehausbylaws · 8 years ago

Text

I have a confession to make: I’ve been slacking on the omgcp train because… I got a Nintendo Switch… and the new Zelda is just too good

It did get me thinking about how the Haus (really the frogs) would react if someone brought home a Nintendo Switch though. Probably Bitty (who’s in his senior year at this point)? As a gift from Jack, who bought it deciding he wanted to give it a try after a life of non-video gaming? The two probably had some fun playing Zelda and 1, 2 Switch in Providence but decided it was too much of a time-suck for the two of them (senior year, Bitty’s Samwell captaincy, NHL captaincy), so Bitty drags it along with him back to Samwell.

Of course, Chowder’s been keeping track of Nintendo stuff, and his family/friends back home have been posting on social media about it, taunting him, when he knows they’re sold out within a twenty-mile radius of campus, so the boy is DYING to play it. When he sees the Switch in front of the television downstairs, he lets out a squeal an opera singer would applaud at. Nursey and Dex are very confused.

Nursey and Dex have probably all played at least a few staple video game franchises in their childhood, but Nursey abandoned them kind of quickly in his attempts to “chill”, and Dex couldn’t really afford consoles as a kid, so he’s only really played them at someone else’s house or something. Chowder plays a bit of Zelda with them as witnesses, and they pass it off as “cool” and go on with their day. (Very reminiscent of a certain confession about someone dating a certain professional hockey player tbh)

Except they’re secretly fascinated by it. For different reasons. They sneak downstairs and swipe it to play for a few hours when they know everyone else is in class. Sure, they both know fuck-all about the plot, but they get the basic premise – walk around, explore, complete quests, kill monsters, stop Ganon – and that’s more than enough for them.

Dex loves it like he loves any good puzzle. An encampment of monsters hoarding a treasure chest to themselves? Obviously, it’s time to start a fire and ride the updraft it produces to get the drop on them. Enemy that’s way too big to take out one on one in a thunderstorm? Bait it with food and turn that sucker into a lightning rod by chucking something metal. Dex is all about this. (He does, however, wish you could repair equipment instead of passively watching it slowly get worn down.)

Nursey’s more into the exploration and the sights. He’s a hazard to himself, really. Chowder leaves off after the introductory tutorials and dungeons, and Nursey decides it’s a good idea to make a beeline for the castle swirling with black and purple clouds and a ravenous demon circling it. He dies. A lot. Until something pretty and glowing red calls his attention to the east, at which he point he turns his focus on it. And dies. Again. A lot. Even death in this game - in the form of crisp, deep red laser beams and soft blue, plush as hell explosions - is a thing to behold. There’s just too many beautiful sights and only four measly hearts to spare, but Nursey’s a trooper. Or a troubadour. Whatever. He perseveres.

And the game is great! What’s not great is the fact that, at least twice a week, the two of them have a similar gap between classes, and they are itching to play. They’ve only played individually though, and they’re probably not looking to share, until one day, Dex cracks and asks, “If I get the game for the first hour, you get it for the next, and we just trade off, okay?” Nursey’s indignant and puts on a front to make things difficult, even though it’s a pretty reasonable offer, but ultimately gives in. Dex returns with the Switch in his hands like a kid stealing a cookie from a cookie jar.

But playing/watching each other play is an exercise in restraint.

Dex wants to work through whatever obstacles and monsters are in his way and complete the main story, but Nursey keeps pointing out randomly glowing things off in the distance no less than twice a minute, and it drives Dex crazy. He blows himself up on his own explosives no less than twice the first time they do this. It’s hard to play while swatting Nursey’s grabby hands away from the screen. (He also gets his hands on some pretty swanky treasure and weaponry thanks to Nursey’s observational skills, but he doesn’t say anything about that.)

Nursey just wants to go climb those icy peaks with the three oddly conspicuous conifers all in a row at the top, or go wander deep into that forest with the monstrously large skeleton in the center as dusk falls, but Dex is just screaming at him and playing backseat Zelda player the whole time. “You can’t go up there. You don’t even have a jacket for the cold! You’re gonna die!” or “Exactly what part of traipsing over the corpse of a dead monster, in a forest where there’s nothing else but undead monsters, is a good idea, Nurse?” Nursey starts to listen after the (reanimated!) skeleton sits on him to death a few times. Dex gives him the idea to maybe wait until the sun comes up before approaching the thing again, and if Nursey waits until Dex isn’t in the room before he tries it, well, that’s just a coincidence. (A coincidence with some kick ass swords as a prize, but hey.)

The third week they do this, Nursey grabs the Switch first and tries to suggest something new. “Yo, instead of us just messing with each other and pissing each other off, maybe we can just, you know…” He waves a hand in between them, half-sure Dex is going to do that squinty thing with his eyes to tell Nursey he’s making no sense and say no.

“Yeah, I actually did some research on that skeleton that dropped its ass on you last time. It turns out it-”

“Wait, bro, are you saying yes to this?” A pause. “And did you seriously just call googling Zelda tips and tricks ‘research’?”

Dex goes red in the face, and Nursey’s almost sure he’s about to take back his tentative agreement until Dex, the dick that he is, makes a solid case for why they should be working together. “Look, the game rewards exploration, and you’ve clearly got some affinity for the type of shiny things game designers set up as bait, but none of the survival skills. We’ve got what the other lacks.” Nursey’s mouth splits into a shit-eating grin. “Just work with me, Nurse.”

Nursey turns his head up in mock reconsideration for a second before remembering he’s one who asked in the first place; he knows it’s fruitless to keep it up any longer. So, he just does what comes naturally and opens his mouth again. “Aw, Dexy, that’s probably the sweetest thing you’ve said to me this year.”

And so begin their new Zelda escapades, whereby Dex picks an objective related to the main quest, and Nursey points out things that might be worth checking out on the way to their destination. They still trade off every hour, but there’s a lot less dying, and a lot more sweet, sweet treasure.

Chowder gets back from class early one day, and considers giving himself some Switch time before he notices it’s not in the dock. He decides he’ll live and is about to turn down the hall to his room when he hears some very distinctive piano notes echoing weakly from the attic.

‘Those fakers,’ he thinks to himself. He creeps up the stairs and swings open the door at the top, a chirp on his lips when he sees them. The chirp dies on the spot.

They’re both conked out, and Dex is lying next to Nursey on the bottom bunk, his head most definitely resting on his shoulder. Nursey’s is resting on top of his, the Switch still in his hand by the floor of his bed.

Chowder just giggles and snaps a picture of them before turning back around and leaving.

(Blackmail, he decides, is an even better way to get Switch time.)

#my thoughts got away from me here but HERE YA GO #i am still a video game dude at heart #fluffy fic and stuff aside #maybe i'll rewrite this in a more traditionally narrative format sometime #oh oh also ask me about how the rest of the team would react to the Switch!!#my posts #nurseydex #(sorta)#derek nurse #william poindexter #chris chow #fic #misc #long post

71 notes · View notes

captainofthefallen · 8 years ago

Text

Berath’s Gate (1/2)

Again, blame @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels for all of this

More liberties taken with the lovers’ rings, me being overdramatic for funsies, and wild speculation about the vague premise of deadfire

He keeps the ring.

Neither of them says anything about it, of course. They hardly say anything. They just... part ways.

He goes south to Dyrford, remembering the village that had known so much hardship during the Legacy and wanting to help. And if he's more than a little hurt when her presence seems to fade from the back of his mind, he doesn't say anything. It's her right, after all. And he's the one who left.

He puts it from his mind, focusing all his energy on helping. Dyrford needs it. And he starts by hiring a couple guys from the tavern to head underground, make sure the cult of Skaen is really gone.

It's not. There's a small pocket of survivors, trying to rebuild, talking to the crazy pool of talking blood or whatever it was. He was never really clear on that one. They draw their weapons and a fight breaks out. Nothing special--a battle like any other, except for one thing.

He takes hits, more so than either of the others, he thinks. He even takes the brunt of a draining spell--he knows it, it was a last resort of Aloth's, somebody-or-other's corrosive siphon. But he hardly feels any of it. And through it all, it's almost like she's there, her presence stronger than it has been since he left her side, and he realizes something.

Since they put on the rings, they haven't been apart. In fact, he's hardly left her side since he met her in Gilded Vale all those months ago.

When the battle's over and her presence has faded, he sends his mercenaries to search for survivors. When they're gone, he sits against the wall, closes his eyes, and focuses on her. He lets her fill his mind in a way he's been blocking since he left, almost like he's reaching out to grasp her hand, and--

There she is.

She didn't leave, he realizes. It was him. It was always him.

It's different, at a distance. He has to consciously reach out in order to feel her. But it's a comfort. He reaches out when he's exhausted from a fight to defend the village, or from a day of dealing with grievances and trying to restore the village to what it could be. She's always there, ready to lend him some of her strength. And whether she's physically tired from fighting off bandits or mentally exhausted from dealing with the Dyrwood nobility, he's always ready to lend her some of his.

That's how he knows, even before the messenger comes, that something's wrong. He reaches out, like he always does in a quiet moment, just to know she's there, and a moment later he's jumping to his feet and preparing for a journey because she's not there. He can't find her. And what that might mean...

He doesn't want to think about it.

The messenger meets him at his front door, breathless, gasping about how the statue beneath Caed Nua came to life and destroyed everything, and then he's running. He's summoning two of his best men--a scout and a healer--and they're taking horses, and they're riding for Caed Nua as though Berath himself is at their heels.

He keeps reaching for her, in the vain hope that something will change, that she'll suddenly be there and everything will be fine, and when hours pass with no change he begins to hope that she lost the ring in the chaos somehow, and that's why he can't feel her.

Part of him knows it's fruitless. Part of him thinks he's foolish for even hoping. But he can't think she's dead. If she is...

He can't.

They're still about two hours' ride from the keep when something shifts. He reaches out again, like bashing himself against a locked door in the hopes that it will open, and there's a flicker. It's gone in an instant, and moments later he's almost sure he imagined it, but then there it is again.

This time, he reaches for it with all his concentration, grasping it like a lifeline (but hers, not his, though at this point they may well be the same thing) and pouring everything he has into it. He almost feels her protest ("I can't ask that of you," she said so long ago, when she learned what the rings did, but he insisted and now he's grateful he did). But he doesn't matter. He pushes himself to the edge of unconsciousness, fighting to keep that flicker, to strengthen it, because if it dies, so does she.

When they reach the keep, his men begin to search for survivors. They find one or two--servants, mercenaries--but he, staggering from his self-induced exhaustion, gripping that connection like some kind of tether, heads directly for what's left of the keep.

He doesn't know how he knows she's there. Whether their distance strengthened the bond, whether he's always been able to follow it like this but never needed to. It doesn't matter.

All that matters is when he sees her. All that matters is that she's unconscious. All that matters is that she's half covered in a pile of rubble that used to be the stone home of the Steward. She's silent now, like the rest of the keep.

All that matters is that her life is flickering and weak and slipping away, and he might be on the brink of death himself but he doesn't know or care. He yells for the healer, mustering the remains of his strength to shove the largest of the stones off of her, enough that he can pull her out.

"Keep her alive," he tells the healer, and he looks at her, touches her face for the first time in far too long, and gives her the last of his strength.

His last thought is a prayer--an old habit, really--that it will be enough.

#claire says things #claire writes things #pillars of eternity fic #watcher x eder #pillars of eternity #i'm seriously just a hopeless romantic #so yeah i latched onto those rings and i ran with em #madison this is all your fault

5 notes · View notes

media-musings · 7 years ago

Text

Metagaming: Will the Novelty Ever Wear Off?

I’ve played some amazing games this past year, the best of these being an indie game called “OneShot”. I wanted to explore the idea of metagaming and how this game does it so well.

WARNING: I will be going into explicit detail about “OneShot” and a bit into “Metal Gear Solid.” I put up *SPOILER WARNING*s where I will go into more detail, if you’d like to avoid those, and an *END SPOILERS* when it’s all over (although this will be a very short read if you skip the good stuff). I will include a link to download the game if you are interested in playing it for yourself.

OneShot

“The world knows you exist.”

I played this game at the end of 2017 and it left me absolutely speechless, with goosebumps and a lot of feelings for the pancake-loving cat child Niko. The charming pixel art style, the characters, the puzzle mechanics, and the story all had me caring so much.

(Look at them. I would die for Niko.)

In this top-down style puzzler, Niko wakes up in an unfamiliar dilapidated house with no idea how they got there. After wandering around and solving a few tutorial puzzles, Nika manages to turn on a computer in the bedroom. The computer tells us that it is our job to guide Niko through this perilous world safely, which should give you pause right away. This computer is talking to you, the player, not Niko, the character. From here, we will be talking major spoilers so if you want to play the game for yourself (and I HIGHLY recommend that you do and I’m not getting paid to say that) it’s available here on Steam.

*SPOILER WARNING*

From the get go, this game has you wondering just how much the game knows about you. The entity in the computer knows your name and can communicate to you through Windows popups. Which scared the living crap out of me when I first started playing. After the initial shock, I started laughing. I knew I was in for a ride.

(Screenshot from this review)

You are never asked for your name when you click “Start,” yet the entity knows who you are. I’m still trying to figure out from where exactly they pulled my name. Codes are hidden in your document files. Niko talks to you directly, every character in this crazy world is calling you “God,” and is aware of you leaving when you close the game. It doesn’t take long to realize that this world that Niko is lost in isn’t real. All Niko wants is to go home, but this world (real or not) needs help.

By the end you learn that the game developer, the “Author,” is trying to communicate with you and get you to help save the world they thought was lost. If you choose to smash the “sun” (a giant lightbulb to replace the one that burned out) and save Niko, they walk right out of the game window and back to where they belong. There are very few games that go to these “meta” extremes.

I stumbled across an article while searching for the screenshots used in this post. PC Gamer interviewed developers Eliza Velasquez and Casey Gu about the inspiration for “OneShot.” To my surprise, they cited the Psycho Mantis boss battle from “Metal Gear Solid.” Okay after thinking about it, it’s not really surprising. Hideo Kojima was the first (as far as I am aware) that tried to pull that level of fourth wall breaking all the way back in 1998.

If you’ve never played any of the Metal Gear Solid games (or the original 1987 Metal Gear arcade game), all you really need to know is creator Hideo Kojima is the Tom Clancy of video games. How does he know so much about espionage and military gear? In any case, Metal Gear Solid is a classic series that most avid video gamers are at least aware of. If you are not aware or want to refresh your memory, the entire situation with Psycho Mantis in “Metal Gear Solid” goes like this:

So, you’re about two-thirds of the way through the game, when you finally come across the elusive Psycho Mantis. He’s taken Meryl mentally hostage and is using her against Snake. After you safely knock Meryl out, Psycho Mantis tries more direct methods. The master of psychokinetic and telepathic abilities claims he can read your mind. Yeah, right! You’re not real how could you poss- wait...HOW DID YOU KNOW I’VE BEEN PLAYING CASTLEVANIA AND NOW YOU CAN MOVE MY CONTROLLER WHAT?!? The screen goes black, as if your PS1 has been turned off, only to suddenly come back on. The battle begins and you realize that you can’t get a single hit on this guy. After what feels like hours of fruitless attempts to land a shot, a punch, a kick, ANYTHING on Psycho Mantis, Col. Campbell calls you on the comms and tells you that the solution lies within your PS1 controller ports (back when controllers weren’t wireless); switch your controller from port 1 to port 2 and it will break the mental connection. Well, this is definitely the craziest thing to happen in the game so far, but you’re just going to go for it. And what do you know? It works!

In addition to that, there are several references to the characters Snake and Mei Ling being aware of the save function. I have to talk about this, because it’s one of my favorite exchanges in the game.

“Snake. That's a ladies bathroom.”

“I know that. I saw Meryl come in here.”

"So you went in after her? Are you some kind of pervert? I won't let you save your mission now.”

"Listen Mei Ling, this is the only place on this base that I can talk to Meryl alone.”

"Whatever, weirdo. Don't call me again.”

*END SPOILERS*

There are many more meta aspects of “OneShot” that I could talk about (George the Librarian, the “Solstice” ending, etc.), but I think I’ll leave it here. Video games have clearly come a long way since 1998. Thankfully, because have you seen these graphics? They could program the AI of enemy soldiers to hear a pin drop and be on you in an instant, but they couldn’t program faces?

(If you’re supposed to be the “superior” one, then why don’t you have any eyes?!)

Anyway, I’m torn between wanting more games like “OneShot” and not wanting to lose the novelty of games like it. With the recent success of games like “Doki Doki Literature Club” (a game I could write a thesis on but I won’t since it has been talked about to death on Reddit and Tumblr), I think we will see more developers getting into the idea of metagaming. I’m not sure that any of them could create a game that even comes close to making me fall in love with the characters, the story, the puzzle mechanics, and the setting, while leaving me chilled and thinking about it days later. If it is, indeed, possible, then I look forward to the day that game lands on Steam’s New Release page.

#oneshot #metal gear solid #metagaming #meta

0 notes