#Wow I really butchered english right here | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

willalove75 · 2 years ago

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Hii, can I request Rebecca X reader. Something similar to the plot where she met the Dutch man and had an amazing day . She met reader is Paris (the most beautiful woman line is so 🥺). they met in a bar or coffee shop and spent a wonderful weekend together ? Rebecca is surprised that reader still wants to see her considering she's younger . She actually felt free and happy ,no stress and not judged . Flirting, fluff , anything. You write her character so well and accurately 😁

I LOVE THIS🥺🥺 And thank you so much!! I'm glad I'm able to do her justice!😄💕

Thank you so much for the request!!💕💕

Walking through the streets of Paris, you're trying your best to not get lost. You left your hostel almost an hour ago trying to find the café you went to the day before but since you know virtually no French, your search hasn't been going well.

You stumble across a different café, it wasn't the one you were looking for but you're in desperate need of food and caffeine so you cut your losses and walk in.

You walk up to the counter and butcher your order of a tea and croissant, the barista manages to understand you, but you still receive a ton of dirty looks from the staff and other patrons of the café.

You're handed your order and turn to find a place to sit down. In the corner of the shop you see a beautiful blond woman gazing out the window, sipping on her drink. The café isn't super crowded, but you decide to shoot your shot and ask her if you can join her. She's absolutely stunning so it takes you a few seconds to gain up the courage to put one foot in front of the other.

As you're walking over she looks away from the window and your eyes meet, her gorgeous green eyes take your breath away for a moment. It's in that second you realize that there's a good chance she's French and doesn't speak any English and you start to panic, but you can't back out now. You take the last few steps up to her table and she smiles at you.

"Hi, um, is this seat taken?" You shyly ask.

The woman smiles, her eyes sparkling, it would be a miracle if she understands you right now.

"No, not at all."

You exhale a sigh of relief and sit down.

"Oh thank god you speak English. It didn't dawn on me that there was a really good chance you only spoke French until it was too late for me to abandon ship." You say with a laugh as you sit.

The woman softly laughs. "Well today must be your lucky day."

"It certainly seems that way. I'm y/n, sorry for interrupting your breakfast, this might sound super cheesy but I saw you and I was like 'wow she's absolutely beautiful' and I had to at least try and talk to you." You look away as you feel your cheeks getting red.

"You're so sweet, thank you so much. I'm Rebecca." She reaches out her hand and you shake it. "So what brings you to Paris y/n?"

"My friend and I were supposed to come here together but she got covid before we left so she couldn't come."

"Oh no, so you're here all by yourself?" She asks.

"Yup, it's even more unfortunate because she was the one who spoke French and I don't speak an ounce of it, so it's safe to say that most of the people I interact with are not my biggest fans." You say as you look over at the barista who catches your eye and gives you a dirty look. You turn back to Rebecca and you both laugh. "So why are you in Paris?"

"I had some time off from work so I decided to go on a little trip by myself."

"Oh that's cool, I'm guessing you speak French?"

"Oui, je parle couramment le français."

(Yes, I am fluent in French)

"I have no idea what any of that meant but I'm going to take a wild guess and say that's a yes?"

"Yes," she says with a laugh. "It means 'yes, I'm fluent in French.'"

"Oh that's really cool! Where did you learn French?"

"I learned it in school, we started learning young and I picked it up really easily. Do you know any languages?"

"Not really, I took Spanish in middle school and high school but I didn't like it and forgot just about all of it by the time I graduated. I do know sign language though. Well, American sign language that is."

"That's really interesting, how much sign language do you know?"

"I'm pretty much fluent." You begin to sign as you speak. "I can practically have this whole conversation in asl. I took a few classes in high school because my friend convinced me to sign up for it and I fell in love with it. They offered asl classes at my college so I just kept with it. I don't get to use it often, but it's a fun party trick." You say with a laugh.

You watch Rebecca follow your hands as you sign, she looks mesmerized by it, like she's watching a ballet dancer.

"That's really, really fascinating." She says with a smile.

"Yeah, but I do have to be careful when I'm not in the US because signs in asl could mean something completely different in another languages sign language. With my luck I'll sign a song I'm listening to or something and end up accidentally cursing out an old man." You say with a laugh.

Rebecca laughs and you take a sip of your tea as you giggle.

"Where are you from in America?" Rebecca asks.

"I'm from New York." You say with a smile.

"Oh you're from New York City?"

You laugh "No, although it's always really funny to me that everyone assumes you're from NYC when you tell someone who's not from New York that you're from New York. I'm from the suburbs, but the city is only like an hour or so away. Where are you from?"

"I can understand that, I'm from London."

"Oh cool! I'm actually going there on Monday! Where in London? Like near Buckingham Palace?"

Rebecca laughs "No, New York and London are similar in that it seems that people assume when you say you're from there, they automatically think of the city. I live in Richmond, about 45 minutes from Buckingham Palace."

"Ah, I guess New York and London are much more similar than I would have expected."

"Will you be travelling to London by yourself as well?" She asks.

"Yup, we were going to spend five days in Paris and five in London and then head home, although I may extend my stay if I'm really enjoying myself in London, but we'll see."

"Ten days is a long time to be alone." She says.

"Oh it sure is, I was starting to go a little stir crazy which is also one of the reasons I decided to come talk to you. But mostly because you're really beautiful and I knew I was going to kick myself if I didn't at least try to strike up a conversation with you."

You swear you see Rebecca blush a little as she brings her cup to her lips. She looks out the window and back at you.

"This may ridiculous, and please don't feel obligated to say yes, but I was going to take a walk along the Seine, would you like to join me?"

You begin to feel butterflies in your stomach and you immediately try and squash them.

"Yes, absolutely. I would love to."

You finish your drink and your croissant and you both leave the café and head towards the Seine. You make small talk as you walk, Rebecca points out different buildings and structures, talking about their history. You watch her as she talks about what you two walk past, the passion she has in her eyes and the excitement that radiates off of her is precious, even though you barely know each other, you feel a bond already.

"So what have you done so far since you've been here?" She asks.

"Well, I got in really early Wednesday morning so I checked in and just wandered around for most of the day, truthfully I got lost for about three hours and managed to find my way back by some miracle." You both laugh. "And Thursday I went to Versailles and spent the day there and yesterday I walked around the Louvre for the entire day on accident, that place is massive. But I've just been doing touristy things for the most part."

"You haven't been to the Eiffel Tower yet?" She asks.

"Not yet, I mean I've seen it, but I was planning on doing that sometime today, I want to see it sparkle at night. I heard it was beautiful."

"It is very pretty, although I did tell a friend of mine once that the Eiffel Tower was just a lamppost with a publicist."

You laugh out loud "Stop, that's really fucking funny."

The two of you walk around some more, making small talk, laughing, just genuinely enjoying each others company.

After a few hours of walking around you both decide you need a rest. Rebecca says she knows of a good restaurant that's more of a "locals" place where you can get lunch and you two head there.

Rebecca asks for a table for two in what sounds like perfect French, although you genuinely would have no idea if it was perfect or completely butchered, but whatever she said, it sounded great. The waiter brings you to your table and hands you menu's. You both look over the menu's and she translates everything for you. You both decide on what you want to order and the waiter comes back to take your orders. Rebecca orders in perfect French, once again, and you completely butcher the name of the dish you want. The waiter gives you a dirty look and takes the menu's and walks away.

As soon as he's out of ear shot you and Rebecca bust out laughing.

"Holy shit that guy hates me."

"I can't believe he gave you that look!"

"Oh I can, I've been getting that look from everyone since I got here." You say as you laugh.

"Oh no!" Rebecca says as she laughs.

The waiter comes back over with your drinks and you both try your hardest to hold back your laughter, the waiter gives you both that look this time and as soon as he turns his back you both burst out laughing again.

You food comes out and you enjoy your lunch, Rebecca leaves to go to the bathroom when she's finished eating and when she gets back she grabs her bag.

"Ready to go?" She asks you.

"Wait, what about the check?"

"I took care of it."

"Oh my god no you did not!"

The waiter hands Rebecca the receipt and she thanks him in French.

"Dude! You did not have to-"

"I know, but I wanted to treat my new friend to lunch for her first time here in Paris."

"Thank you, but then I'm buying dinner!" You pause for a second and try to save yourself, you don't want her to think she has to be stuck with you all day because you're alone, or make her think you assume she'll go out to dinner with you. "Or something." You quickly add.

Rebecca puts her hand to her chin and thinks for a second.

"Um, nope. I'm buying you dinner also." She says with a smile. "If you would like to have dinner with me as well, that is." She says a little shyly.

"I would love to, but I don't want you to feel like you have to pay for me!" You say as the two of you leave the restaurant.

"I don't, I want to."

"Are you sure? Dinners here can get expensive and I would hate to-"

"Don't worry about that, trust me, it's not a problem." She says with a smile. "So what else were you planning on doing today?"

"I wanted to see the Notre Dame, the Sainte-Chapelle, I'd like to see the arch, your usual first-time in Paris touristy things."

"Well then allow me to be your tour guide."

"Are you sure? I mean don't get me wrong I'd love to keep hanging out with you, but I'd feel so bad if you wasted your whole day chaperoning me around and not get to do whatever you planned on doing today."

"Well actually my plan was to find a pretty girl that was in Paris all alone and give her a tour of the city." She says with a wink and you laugh. "No but truthfully, my plan was to walk around and shop, that's it. I'd much rather do this with you."

"Okay, if you insist. Where to next my lovely tour guide?"

Rebecca spends the rest of the afternoon showing you the city, you see the Norte Dame, the Sainte-Chapelle, and make your way across the city to the arch. You feel like you're spending the day with one of your best friends, not a stranger you just met that morning at a random café you decided to wander in to.

"Do you want to come get a drink with me before dinner?" Rebecca asks.

"Yeah, absolutely." You say with a smile.

"Okay, the bar in the hotel I'm staying at is gorgeous, and I can make reservations at one of my favorite restaurants."

"That sounds perfect. Is there a dress code for the restaurant?"

"Oh good point,"

"I have fancy restaurant clothes in my hostel I can change into."

"You're staying in a hostel?" She asks, surprised.

"Hell yeah, it's actually pretty nice, and it was like dirt cheap."

"Where is it?"

"Close by the Notre Dame!"

"The Notre Dame?! How the hell did you end up all the way by the café this morning?"

"I was looking for a café I went to yesterday but I couldn't find it and got lost, so I just walked into the the first café I found, and it was that one. It's quite serendipitous if you ask me."

Rebecca shakes her head at you and hails a cab and you both get dropped off at your hostel.

"This is it?" She asks.

"Yeah!"

"Okay, it's actually nicer than I thought it was going to be."

"See? I told you!" You tease her. She rolls her eyes at you and you walk inside.

You bring her to your room and she looks horrified when she sees that you're sharing the room with two other people.

"It's not bad, they're a nice German couple."

"You can't stay here."

"What are you talking about?"

"Grab your stuff, stay with me in my hotel, I have a suite with an extra bedroom you're more than welcome to stay in."

"Oh god Rebecca I can't do that I don't want to impose-"

"You aren't and you can, I can't let you stay in this hostel, alone, with two random German people. Come on." She says with a smile as she grabs your bag.

"Are you sure?" You ask as she walks out.

"Yes!" She says, walking down the hall with your luggage.

You check out of the hostel and take a cab to Rebecca's hotel. Your jaw hits the floor when you realize she's staying at the Hôtel Plaza Athénée.

"Rebecca, are you fucking joking?"

"What?"

"The fucking Hôtel Plaza Athénée? This is your hotel? Where you have a suite with two rooms?!"

"Yeah, I stay here in the presidential every time I come to Paris."

You look at her like she's insane. "What the fuck do you do for a living?" You ask as she pulls you into the hotel.

"I run a football club."

"Football? I didn't even think football was popular over here."

"Soccer."

"Oh, right." You laugh. "Ah, gotta love the American ignorance." You joke and the two of you laugh.

You get into her suite and your jaw is on the floor, it's absolutely stunning, it has a full living room, fireplace, two big, gorgeous bedrooms, each with their own master bathroom. Rebecca pulls the curtains open and you see the Eiffel Tower perfectly from the view.

"Holy shit." You say quietly, completely captivated by the view. "This is amazing." You turn and look at her and see her with a smile on her face.

"Isn't it?" She says, gazing out the window.

You both admire the view for a moment and eventually you bring your stuff into your room and get changed. You walk out in a cute cocktail dress, your most comfortable pair of heels, your hair pulled back on one side and a little bit of makeup. You see Rebecca sitting at the little desk on the phone, you assume she's making dinner reservations. She hangs up and looks at you.

"Wow, you look beautiful y/n." She says with a smile.

"Thank you," you say. She stands up and your jaw practically hits the floor. "Jesus Christ," you quietly say. Rebecca is wearing a dark blue dress that hugs every curve on her body perfectly. You figured she had a good shape when you were with her all day, but the jeans, t-shirt and jacket she was wearing hid a lot of it. You never expected her to look like a fucking model.

"What?" She asks a little worried, looking down. "Does this not look good?"

"No, holy shit no, you just look amazing. Like I new you were beautiful, but I didn't know you literally had a perfect hour glass figure, wow." You shake your head to try and snap out of it. "I'm sorry, I'm no better than a man sometimes." You laugh as your cheeks turn pink.

You're worried you offended her, but you look at her and it actually looks like she found it endearing.

"Well thank you, I appreciate the compliment. Ready to go?"

"Yes! Absolutely."

You two head down to the bar and grab a few drinks before dinner. You chat and laugh as you enjoy your drinks. Once you finish, Rebecca pays the bill, against your wishes, and you head to the restaurant.

The restaurant is absolutely stunning, you can tell just by looking at it that it's a 5-star restaurant. You're brought to your seats and given menu's. Just like she did at lunch, Rebecca translates the menu for you and this time you let her order for the both of you in French, you've had enough nasty looks from waiters for one day. Your drinks arrive and you both cheers to new friends.

You're talking about your lives, where you grew up, what your friends are like, just generally getting to know each other.

"How old are you anyway?" She asks.

"I'm 28-"

"Oh my god. I could be your mother." She puts her face in her hands.

"Oh stop it no you can not! How old are you?"

"48." She says quietly.

"Oh shut up there's no way, I don't believe that for a second!"

"I am!"

"You look damn good for your age then, I thought you were like 40, 45 at the very oldest, and like in a 'wow she looks young for 45' way."

"Well thank you." She says as she laughs.

Your food arrives and smells delicious, you both dig in and laugh and chat over dinner. You order more drinks and dessert and when you're finished Rebecca pays the bill and you two head out.

"Okay, now for our last stop of the night." She says, looking at you. "The Eiffel Tower."

She grabs your hand and leads you to it. She buys two tickets and you take the elevator up to the very top. The sun is just setting and you stand by the railing, stunned by the beauty in front of you.

"Woah." You say with wonder in your eyes.

Rebecca stands next to you, both of you taking in the gorgeous view. You both stand there for a few minutes in silence, just enjoying each others company and the gorgeous sunset.

Once the sun sets Rebecca turns to you.

"Come down to one of the lower decks with me."

She grabs your hand and you follow her down a few flights of stairs to a lower level. You stand by the railing and look across the city, a cold breeze passes through causing you to shiver.

"Here," Rebecca says, taking off her scarf and wrapping it around you. "Better?"

"Yes, thank you." Her scarf smells like her, you close your eyes as you inhale the scent, you never though a scent would match a view so well, but for some reason, it just pulls the entire experience all together.

The lights on the tower shut off and you quickly turn around, unsure of what's happening.

"Woah, why did the lights go out?" You ask, looking around to see if anyone else is reacting.

After a few moments they come back on and you realize they're flickering. You look up to the top of the tower where you were earlier and you realize that the tower is sparkling.

Your eyes light up like a child on Christmas day, you stand there in awe as you watch the tower sparkle above you. You look over at Rebecca and see that she's looking at you, looking at the lights. The lights flashing across her face make her eyes glitter, you don't think you've ever seen someone look so beautiful as she does right now. You both look into each others eyes for a moment.

You're not sure how it happened or who made the first move, but in an instant your lips are together. You bring your hands to her face and she holds onto your waist. Her lips are the softest lips you've ever felt in your life, her tongue slides into your mouth and dances around yours. This moment is absolutely perfect and you don't ever want it to end.

What felt like hours later, but in reality was probably only a minute or two, your lips finally part. She gently brushes her lips against yours, you can feel her heart beating quickly as she holds you against her; she can probably feel that yours is racing too.

"Do you want to go back-" she asks quietly.

"Mhm." You mutter as you shake your head yes. Your lips meet once more and after they part you make your way back to the hotel.

You were worried that the moment would pass by the time you got back to the hotel, but the closer you got, the more eager the two of you became.

You get into her suite and you put your bags down, take your jackets off, you remove Rebecca's scarf and she pulls you into her again for another kiss. She kisses you passionately for a minute before leading you into her bedroom.

You both kick off your shoes and Rebecca comes up behind you and places her hands on your hips and kisses your neck. You sigh and lean back into her, tilting your head so she has more access to your neck. Her hands travel up your sides and you feel her move your hair aside and pull down the zipper of your dress. You let it fall to the ground and turn to face her and gesture for her to turn around. You grab the zipper and slide it down, you kiss down her back as the zipper exposes her skin. Her dress falls to the ground and you unclip her bra and you reach behind your back and unclip yours.

She leads you to the bed and pulls you into her, your bodies pressing against each other, your lips interlocked, your fingers tangled in her hair and her hands exploring your body. This might be the most passion you've ever felt in your life.

The night goes by in a blur. You have flashes of memories of you kissing her down her body, the way her skin felt on your lips, you remember the sounds you both made as you panted, the moans that escaped from her lips when you went down on her. How sweet she tasted, what her fingers felt like in your hair as she grabbed hold of you, the way her back arched when you hit that sweet spot deep inside her, how warm and wet she was, the way her skin felt under your fingers as you held onto her hips. The cries she made were the most beautiful sounds you had ever heard as you brought her to her climax and took her over the edge. You remember how her legs gently shook as she came down from her high, that she took a minute just to be able to catch her breath.

You remember the dominance she showed when she flipped you onto your back, how she definitely left marks as her lips traveled down your body. The ticklish sensations when she kissed and nibbled the inside of your thighs, what her tongue felt like when she finally made contact with your dripping center, the way her hair felt between your fingers as you grabbed hold of her. The sounds that you made when her fingers curled deep inside you, the way she felt inside of you, how your hips bucked wildly when she brought you to the edge. You remember seeing stars when you felt her lips wrap around your clit when she pushed you over the edge, the way you cried out her name when she had you ride out your orgasm as long as possible.

You remember her wrapping you in her arms when you were done, how she slowly and passionately kissed you, how your legs felt tangled with hers under the sheets. You remember looking into her gorgeous green eyes, how they reflected the sparkles from the glittering Eiffel Tower out the window. You realized in that moment you've never felt so connected, so bonded, so in love with anyone else in your life. Sure you had just met that morning, but over the course of the day you became closer to her faster than you have with anyone else. You let out a relaxed sigh and closed your eyes when she nuzzled her nose against yours, you felt her chest rise and fall against yours as she drifted off to sleep, you drifting off to sleep with her.

You wake up the next morning convinced that yesterday was just a beautiful dream. As your senses wake up you recognize her scent, you realize that you're still wrapped in each others arms, you try and savor the moment before you open your eyes, anxious that once you do, everything that you both had last night would be gone. You feel her shift in your arms and you open you eyes to meet hers, she has a worry in her eyes that makes your heart hurt a little. You can tell that she's worried about the same thing that you are, you smile and tuck a piece of her golden locks behind her ear, your hand coming to a rest on her cheek, caressing it with your thumb. A smile crosses her face and she brings her lips to yours, you hold onto her as you kiss her with a soft passion. Your lips part and you look into each others eyes for a moment.

"I was so worried I was going to wake up and this was all going to be a dream." You quietly say as you study the details of her face.

"So was I, or that I would wake up to an empty bed, or that I would wake up and you would tell me it was a mistake." She quietly responds as she strokes your hair.

"It certainly was not." You say with a smile as you gently kiss her.

You see a sadness in her eyes when your lips part.

"What's wrong?" You ask, concerned.

"When are you going to London?"

"My flight leaves tomorrow afternoon. Why? When do you go back?"

"Tonight." She says with a sadness in her voice that makes your heart hurt.

"Well, then I'll see you when I get in tomorrow."

"You don't have-"

"No, I want to. I don't want to not ever see you again after you leave tonight."

She looks a little surprised. "Really?"

"Really. I know it's crazy because we've known each other for literally 24 hours, but, I really like you. I haven't felt this close to someone in a long time, I don't want to lose this."

"Even though I'm 20 years your senior?"

"I don't care about that, not even a little bit. It wasn't even something that crossed my mind once."

She pulls you into her and kisses you, a smile left on both of your faces when you part.

"Where were you planning on staying in London?"

"Another hostel." You say with a smile.

"Well, that's not happening. Stay with me." She says as she looks deep into your eyes.

"I would love to."

"I'll have my driver pick you up from the airport and bring you to my house."

"You driver? How much fucking money do you have?!" You say as you laugh.

"A lot." She says with a laugh as she kisses you again.

"Hm, lucky me." You joke between kisses.

Rebecca laughs into the kiss.

You spend the rest of your last day together in Paris in her suite, most of it was spent in bed. You had breakfast and lunch delivered to the room and you both sat in the living room in fluffy robes laughing and cuddling while you ate. You laid in bed together for as long as possible, trying to stretch out every minute before she had to leave to catch her flight. Rebecca extended the room reservation for another night so you could stay. When it finally came time, you helped her pack her things and you got dressed and walked her down to the lobby.

You felt ridiculous for having a lump in your throat as you make your way downstairs, not only will you see her literally tomorrow, you've known her for less than two days. But in those two days you fell completely head over heels in love with her, even though neither of you have said it out loud, you're pretty sure she did too.

The driver puts her bags in the car and she stands in front of you and wraps her arms around you, you wrap your arms around her and you two hold each other for a minute. You look up at her and she meets your gaze, you look into her gorgeous eyes and she leans down and kisses you. When you part you realize her eyes are glassy, yours are too.

"I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?" She asks.

"Yes, absolutely."

"Good." She says as she lets go of you. "I l- I'll see you tomorrow." She catches herself from blurting out the three words you can't wait to be able to say to her.

"I'll see you tomorrow." She turns to get into the car. "Oh shit wait!" You say and she turns back to you.

"What?"

You start laughing and pull out your phone. "I need your number."

Rebecca starts laughing, a few of her tears escape and trickle down her cheeks. "Oh my god." She says grabbing your phone. "I can't believe we didn't do this yet."

She puts her number in your phone and hands it back to you. She kisses you once more and heads to the car.

"I'll see you tomorrow y/n."

"I'll see you tomorrow Rebecca."

She waves as the car pulls away and you watch it until it's out of sight. You look down at your phone and see her phone number and the contact name she put in for herself.

"Rebecca Welton💕"

You send her a text

I can't wait for tomorrow❤

You immediately get a response

Me either💕

You smile down at your phone and hold it close to your chest. You head back into the hotel and your phone starts ringing as you get into the suite. You look down and see that your friend is calling you.

"Hey!"

"YOU'RE ALIVE THANK GOD!"

"Yea, very much alive." You say with a laugh.

"Well I didn't hear from you for over 24 hours and I got worried that you died!"

You open your texts and realize you have 5 missed calls and 20+ text messages from her and a few other people.

"Where the hell were you?!" She asks.

"In heaven."

"Okay, you're gonna have to elaborate."

You tell her about your adventures with Rebecca and give her most of the details, there are definitely some you keep to yourself. You tell her that you're meeting Rebecca in London tomorrow and how excited you were.

"So honestly, it's a good thing you weren't able to come, because if you did, I probably would have never met her." You said.

"Is this the plot of some French rom-com you watched or did you actually just live in a Paris fairytale for the last two days?"

"Fairytale, for sure."

You talk to her for a while and your friend looks her up and freaks out when she reads about who she is.

"No, don't tell me anything, I want her to tell me when she's ready, I don't want to google her to learn about her."

"You're such a sap, but fine. But I will tell you, she's hot, and rich as fuck."

"Oh, I know, she spoiled the shit out of me. Honestly, even if she didn't have all of that money, I'd still be going to see her in London tomorrow."

"Are you in love with her already?"

"I know how fucking crazy this is going to sound, but yeah, I think I am."

You two continue to talk and catch up for the next hour, after you get off of the phone with her you text Rebecca your flight info and you go out to a little restaurant for dinner and walk around for a bit. You get back to the hotel and get ready for bed, impatiently waiting for tomorrow to come.

You phone dings and you roll over in bed and see that you have a text from Rebecca.

12 hours left, I miss you.

You smile and your heart does summersaults, you reply to her.

12 hours too long, I miss you too. I can't wait to see you. Goodnight Rebecca.

You put your phone down and try to fall asleep, excited for tomorrow to come so you can hold Rebecca in your arms again.

#rebecca welton x reader #hannah waddingham #rebecca welton #willalove75 #rebecca welton fanfic #ted lasso #ted lasso fic #wlw fanfic

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biolizardboils · 2 years ago

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heres a semi-liveblog i did while playing The Murder of Sonic the Hedgehog! spoilers under the cut (both for this game and Frontiers!)

“We designed the difficulty of the THINK levels for experienced Sonic fans [...]” finally...a worthy opponent

look at this cute little new employee!! im naming them Barry like in the trailer. them and the Forces Avatar just need one more member and they can form Team Self-Insert!

the Conductor is a big doggy!! oh hes retiring aww,

The Mirage Express, huh? i thought i saw a place that looked like Mirage Saloon in the traileSPAGONIA MENTION!!

okay im not gonna say the menu’s instant ramen is absolutely a reference to the 06 fandub, but i struggle to imagine what else it could be

so they eat Pickies, but eating Cluckies is apparently too far? filing this under Important Lore Implications /j

everyone’s outfits aaaaa;;;;

IT’S AMY’S BIRTHDAY!!! CONGRATS GIRL I LOVE YOUR CAKE HEADBAND AND FUR BOA

“(Why can’t I be normal for one second...)” Barry calm down, your unorthodox yet charming response got you a wink and thumbs up from Sonic the fucking Hedgehog! id be over the moon if i was you

someone already left their ticket in a napkin holder, can’t have shit on my first day

Important notes on Barry: is intimidated by Knuckles, Espio, and Shadow, is Sparkle Gelatin Buddies with Tails, somehow cannot recognize Sonic in the flesh, and bows for royalty like Blaze

Wait... the train's robot arms look like something Eggman would make... Mr. Conductor sir...?

Why is Butcher!Vector stationed in the library and not like, the kitchen lol. And also why’d he and Espio leave Charmy at home

Amy proceeds to explain the rules of Among Us

Tails is disqualified from being the murderer, for he is both Detective and Babey

At long last... the token evil Flicky

uhh why’s the train shaking

DID WE CRASH??

Amy refusing a chance to use her hammer...?

the stick behind her was def her hammer’s handle, wonder how it broke

how on earth can a Crack on A Shelf fit in someone’s inventory

how did that minigame help Barry think of an argument dfghj

oh the hammer she broke was a Great Value backup, thank god

the dead Sonic illustration still sends me hwoling sdfghj

i muted the game to play this real quick and now im laughing even harder

wait sonic can talk but he’s numb and can’t move. no longer laughing

he’s got wounds?? and NO PULSE??? oh my god theyre actually fucking doing it

TITLE DROP?? YOURE TELLING ME THE GAME DIDNT START UNTIL JUST NOW??

what did Omochao do to warrant a wanted poster

Not Knuckles using Ye Olde English for his Sherriff rolefghjk

Omochao is wanted for medical malpractice??? sure why not

okay im gonna stop logging everything and just play for a bit. will type again if something REALLY funny or shocking happens

ooh the bg changed in the Think minigame! reminds me of Earthbound

everybody’s leaving they gotdam post, can’t have shit with this group

id let Barry tell me all about caves

all the options to get rid of the bomb gdsffhgjhkj thank god it wasn’t ACTUALLY a bomb

got caught up in the game but aaaa i hope Amy and Shadow have fun at the Hot Honey concerttt

the blowdart in the conductor’s car... what is it filled with, i wonder... a paralyzing agent... or poison

HE’S STILL PARALYZED/DEAD OH NO... the game didnt give me the option to tell anyone about him but i still feel like an asshole aaaa

aaand now im laughing again SFDGHJ Amy what do you MEAN by that????

wow, im actually not sure who did it! the robot arm was specifically sliced through, so i imagine it was someone who could do that without a weapon. Vector could’ve bitten it, and Shadow could’ve used Chaos Spear... neither of those culprits seem right to me, but it’s all i got

ESPIO. idk how he did the slicing cus his shurikens wouldve been confiscated but he can camouflage why didnt i think of that

okay the camouflage didnt even come up in the accusation but still

SONIC’S ALIVE YAY

can you imagine if he’d said this when Mephiles killed him bhkvads

I FUCKING KNEW IT. TRAIN’S HAUNTED

wait the token evil Flicky is real AND relevant to the narrative??

oh thats legitimately creepy

oh thats even worse (even tho i still think hes eggman in disguise)

okay ngl id have followed these instructions to the letter too. its an autism thing, your honor

TRAIN’S GONNA KILL US OKAY

I’M BACK IN THE DINING CAR WITH SONIC, HI SONIC!!! WE’RE GONNA DIE BUT ILU

holy cow i can’t believe there’s STILL more to do?? the production values....

SONIC NEVER GOT TO SEE THE PRETTY VIEWS NOOOO;;

E G G

eggman has no tolerance for self-insert oc’s :pensive:

it’s canon now that Badniks have competitive wages sdfghj

oh no Barry... your self-deprecating dialogue options are worrying me buddy...

!!!PEP TALK??? SET TO IT DOESN’T MATTER V2???

Sonic my best friend Sonic.....you’re right. we can do this

so between this and Frontiers i think this decade’s gimmick is gonna be “silly minigame actually prepares you for the final challenge”

“Don’t teleport us to the future!” Barry how did you correctly guess an event that happened in a destroyed timeline

Ohhh the Train’s mad that the Conductor’s retiring isn’t it?? lemme just plug a video real quick kjhgfdsa

IM FIGHTING THE ACTUAL TRAIN NOW OH MY GOD

this is fucking TOUGH HELP

THAT LAST PART TOOK ME LIKE 20 TRIES AAAAACK

“Your happiness comes at the expense of others. Last I checked, that’s called being selfish.” Tell ‘em, Sonic

100 rings??? have mercy

FINALLY HOLY SHIT

ESPIO SAVES THE FLICKY TO ATONE FOR HIS CRIMES

WAIT DID AMY BLOW THE TRAIN UP WITH EVERYONE INSIDE??

awww;;

oh no Train......

AAAWWW;;

god Barry’s been flabbergasted by this group the whole game dfghjk. is that how civilians tend to think of them? cus its hilarious

nobody even ate?? Barry didnt even get to do his ONE job mndbhksa

SONIC FINALLY BOUGHT THE CAKE YAYYY

“To the confident, unshakable, and radiant Amy Rose!” WAAAAAUGHG;;

WAIT WHAT ,BVJKSFHL??

“...And that’s the story of how I met Sonic and his friends. Entangled in their lives for a fleeting moment, and then back to things as they were.” Living the dream, huh, Barry? I mean, besides being jobless again

oh wait we can choose their epilogue!! i made them stick with the job, practice their singing, and manage to fly to space. as a treat

holy shit that was WAY longer than i was expecting!! every aspect of this was exquisite--scenario, art, characterization, jokes, gameplay challenge?? holy shit

oh hey i guess some people got that Sonic Lore job after all!! congrats to them too!!

I think the moral of this is that sometimes the best April Fools’ jokes are the ones played completely straight, with much more than a simple lie behind them. and also don’t trust trains

#sonic the hedgehog #the murder of sonic the hedgehog #sth #the murder of #tmosth #april fools #me talking #boils plays #the murder of sonic the hedgehog spoilers #tmosth spoilers #barry #the conductor #sonic frontiers spoilers #frontiers spoilers #caps tw

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hearts4cara · 1 year ago

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okay in order to not be too obnoxious (or break post limit) i am putting all my thoughts about unreal unearth here. so album spoilers if u care about that go listen to it its incredible!!!! n e ways here are my thoughts on each song :)

de selby (part 1) - okay im so excited to have lyrics for this album because What is he saying...still such a beautiful song. i missed softer/acoustic hozier so i adored that but the like part where it gets louder at the end?? AMAZING!! i also think some lyrics weren't in English so i'm very intrigued to see the translations.

also THE TRANSITION BETWEEN THIS AND PART 2??? CHEF'S KISS PERFECTION

de selby (part 2) - of course i've already heard this as it was a single but hearing it paired with part 1 actually made me love it more, like the instrumentals are the ones in part 1 but its more upbeat and it's great!! i have no clue what he's talking about but that's what genius.com and smarter tumblrinas are for <3

first time - OH. MY. GOSH. easily a new favorite of hozier's that was fucking incredible. he sounds BEAUTIFUL and the lyrics??? oh my gosh??? so amazing. and like it's so danceable but i got teary at the end. oh my gosh. cannot say that enough. actually breathtaking.

francesca - already listened to it but it just cannot be overstated how amazing this song is. i truly think its one of hozier's best. his voice sounds insanely good and the instrumentals KILL but the lyrics are really what do it for me. they're so fucking beautiful.

i, carrion (icarian) - that was so beautiful. such a pretty song, i adore the guitar and violins (?? i'm not musically talented i'm guessing that's what they are dsjdsfk) and i'm actually in love with the lyrics. like. oh my gosh top tier love song (if i interpreted right lol). also the title is like a 3-way plan on words (i, carrion, icarian, and i carry on im guessing?) and i am very excited to figure out what they mean fjdsdk. so good.

eat your young - another one we've already heard! tbh i'm enjoying this pattern of non-single to single bc i need a break after how good the nonsingles are LMAO. this song is so fucking good! like as the first single it needed to prove how good this album is and MAN it did. the lyrics are so great, he sounds amazing and the instrumentals are so good. not much to say but i love this song so much.

damage gets done (feat. brandi carlile) - okay i had incredibly high hopes for this and i still like it, but not as much as the others so far sskjd brandi & andrew's voices blend beautifully though there's no denying that. i just wasn't vibing as much. but it's still a great song!! not bad at all just not as good as the others!

who we are - WOW. not as like life-changing as some of the others but that was beautiful. like. WOW. those lyrics are so incredible. like the opening lyric already had me in a puddle of my own tears. so good.

son of nyx - okay i wasn't expecting a (mostly) instrumental track but maybe i should've been! i liked it a lot!! the like ambience had me hooked from the beginning and i really like it. it belongs in a fantasy movie soundtrack i think.

all things end - back to a single! i totally expected this to be the last song on the album but i got no problems with it being here. this is such a beautiful song with such potent (big words!) lyrics, and all of the voices harmonizing is so gorgeous. i adore this song so much, it's so underrated and that better change!!

to someone from a warm climate (uiscefhuaraithe) - WOW. that was so insanely beautiful. while i love the more produced songs of his i am a firm believer that hozier sounds better acoustically because his voice is just flawless. i need lyrics & a meaning for this song STAT because i kind of gathered it but i need more!! so in love with this one.

butchered tongue - i expected this one to be my favorite and i don't think it is but MAN it's so good. you can hear his voice and his accent so well which makes me feel so many things. also another softer song which are my favs. i just adore this, the lyrics are beautiful and just <33 i'm in love with it!!

(okay in between here i took a big break bc i felt sick and came back much more sleepy so if that impacts the writing i apologize lmfao

anything but - the lyrics are probably gutwrenching but i didn't hear them so i'm taking this from what i heard which is WHIMSICAL!!! not my favorite but i liked it a lot, was smiling and bopping my head. great time. loved the backing vocals.

abstract (psychopomp) - OH MY GOSHHHH HELLO!!!!! this is an absolute banger. displays hozier's vocals so so well but it has a BEAT! so in love with it. and those lyrics...i need to lay down

unknown / nth - another single!! i could write essays about this song. everyone and their grandma needs to listen to this song. it's fucking perfection. best song on the album. i cried the first time i heard the bridge just because of the emotion in his voice and the build of the instrumentals. it's seriously so good. the lyrics are incredible and it just makes me feel so much. 10000/10 perfect song

first light - I THINK I JUST ASCENDED. God that was SUCH a beautiful song and such a great closer. all of the backing vocals were so (i can't think of another word sorry) beautiful, but tbh my favorite part oddly enough were the last like 10 seconds where it just ended with guitar. it's such a like ethereal song and then it does that to end the album. and i adored it.

okay overall that was a fucking EXPERIENCE. literally everything i could hope for and more. thanks for reading all my musings if u did i love u forever. hozier the man that you are. i will rank it eventually but for now i need to sleep and think about how these songs are so aziracrow coded (look at me only mentioning them once! it was very hard lmfaoo) i love this album 0 skips i love hozier okay GOODNIGHT

#WOW that was a lot #loved every second #cara says stuff #hozier #unreal unearth

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wirewitchviolet · 1 year ago

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Absolute Shameless Lying Edutainment Commercials from the ‘80s

I don’t know why it suddenly got into my head to talk about this, but I just randomly remembered these two commercials I saw when I was very young and what serious BS both of them are. First we’ve got The Sweet Pickles Bus.

youtube

So the actual product here is what I’m pretty sure was an honestly shamelessly overpriced plastic box containing like, half a dozen flash cards with letters of the alphabet. Pretty sure you didn’t even get the whole alphabet. Which is such a huge waste of money. No child wants a plastic box of flash cards, no parent wants to buy that. Wasn’t really a reasonable price either. But that is absolutely NOT what this commercial was selling. What we CLEARLY SEE here is a promise that your box of crappy flash cards is going to be HAND DELIVERED BY SOME KIND OF MUPPET DUCK DRIVING A GIANT PICKLE BUS WHO WILL PERSONALLY PLACE IT IN THE HANDS OF YOU, A SMALL CHILD, AND YOU WILL HAVE A LITTLE INTERACTION. That is something I could, and in fact did, beg my mother to pay for like the snot-nosed little toddler I was until she caved.

And guess what? There was no bus. There was no duck. They just shipped this box of garbage through the regular mail. I think my mother made the really bad call of trying to keep up kayfabe and insisted that the duck was in a hurry and I missed him because I was asleep which gave me a haunting regret for years. And the thing is, it honestly wasn’t that plausible that this was legit. It’s not like, a cartoon duck here. You can customize a van, you can get a mascot costume. This might have been a weird local thing because local ads were a thing back then. Kind of a birthday clown business model, you know? This is why a few years later commercials for toys and board games started really covering their asses with stuff like “game cards do not actually talk.”

youtube

Like yeah, free floating living cartoons are not going to burst out of this cheap game, even a small child should get that, but they absolutely could have had a guy in a duck suit drive a delivery van around. That’s straight up misleading.

The other one popping into my mind today though is freaking Muzzy. Does anyone remember Muzzy? This is Muzzy.

youtube

So like... that really is not, in fact, French those AMERICANS are speaking. That’s not even proper French Muzzy is speaking. This is butchered French gibberish I have to assume was the result of people looking up one word at a time in an English to French dictionary. Transcribing it, we’ve got:

“Je suis, le grand Muzzy.”

“Je suis la jeune fille!”

Literally, one word at a time, that’s:

“I am, the big Muzzy.”

“I am the young girl!”

Even in English that’s super weird and awkward but like... this is not at all how French is structured. This isn’t even something you need to be a native speaker to know, this is like, literal day one high school French knowledge.

First off, I would never, ever say, in French, “Je suis Violet.” I would say “Je m’appelle Violette.” Literally that’s “I call myself Violet,” with the explicitly femme version of the name. “I am” is reserved for like, a type of thing/person you are. Also, adjectives always come after the nouns they describe, and even in the right order, “la fille jeune” kinda suggests that she’s the ONLY young girl. In English you’d say “a young girl” here and that does translate across, so that should be “une fille jeune.” Which is also still just a weird thing to exclaim but at least it’s proper French and not gibberish. I’m not even totally sure what they were trying to have Muzzy convey. Was it a nickname? Was there some sort of small Muzzy he needed to distinguish himself from? Is this some kind of Bigger Luke thing? Regardless it seems pretty clear these tapes were thrown together by someone with just no actual qualifications at all, and they drilled it into a whole generation.

I don’t have any sort of larger point here, just, wow screw these hucksters who plastered ads all over like, Nickelodeon 40 years ago. This is awful.

#muzzy #sweet pickles bus #fraud #80s nostalgia

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zepskies · 1 month ago

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Oh my Godddd, I LOVE soulmate AUs, and I never thought of one with Soldier Boy/Ben!!! What a delicious idea and premise. You hooked me right from the summary, friend! 😍

Okay, I actually am a part-time English lit. professor, so this felt extra like it was written for me lol. And I love that her cat is named Heathcliff. 😂 What a great name.

In all honesty the only reason why you'd started studying the Modern Period of literature was because it was supposedly the time period in which your soulmate grew up and you thought that it would give you some insight into what his life was like.

This is SO effing adorable, and it's for sure something I would've done if I was her, loving history and being a hopeless romantic myself. You really feel her longing and wanting that love in her life, poor thing. 🥺 (She might be in for a rude awakening when she finds out who her soulmate is loll.)

And despite your being an expert on that time period, the head of the English Department did not share your enthusiasm for it. The only thing the head of the English Department had any enthusiasm for was his self-published book of erotic poetry and staring at your legs for too long while making subtle attempts for you to sleep with him even though he was married.

Oh Jeezus, there's always That Guy, isn't there? 🙄🤮 (Not erotic poetry lmfao.)

But that moment seems to last a lifetime. He was tall with wild dark brown hair so long it touched his shoulders and a scraggly beard that fell over his chest almost to his collarbones.

Ooooh my God!! What a moment you chose for her to meet him! I can't wait to see where you take it from here...

The time jump really surprised me! I like that she's Hughie's sister. It keeps her within the circle of the Boys somewhat, but still off to the side as she does her own thing, teaching.

You'd asked your neighbor, Mrs. Charleson if she had dreams of her soulmate's memories, she'd said no, but then she said that she'd heard about it, thought that it was only a myth, but it meant that the souls were fated to spend more than one lifetime together.

Ooh wow, what a lovely little tidbit of worldbuilding for the soulmate trope. So interesting. But it also gives her a firsthand window into who Ben is/was before she even meets him, which is good. He can't lie or make her believe he's someone he's not when she's literally seen it.

"It's a long story." Annie waves her hand as if to dissipate the thought, but it doesn’t make you any less curious. "Now he works at the bureau with Hughie trying to keep supes in check. Usually he and Butcher bump heads."

Ahhhh yes, you know I love this career change for Ben lol. What an interesting change that Homelander is "in hiding" somewhere, and Stormfront has risen to the top...

You'd always thought it was ridiculous to commit yourself to someone else and fall in love with them, only to have your heart broken when they met who they were meant to be with.

Hahaa yep, that's the same attitude I took with the reader in my SPN soulmate AU (Dean Winchester x reader).

Side note: I listened to "IDK You Yet" and you're right -- it's so melancholy and fits really well with this chapter. It's like watching a little movie in your mind when you have the song on in the background, which is why I love song recs and series playlists. 💖💖

"I've been looking everywhere for you sweetheart." The man rumbles, the words vibrating against your fingertips where they rest against his muscular chest. He smiles down at you and somewhere deep down you feel something break open that you thought was locked away long ago.

Oh GODDDDD. I literally cannot wait for the next chapter now lol. God, I love soulmate AUs. (It makes me want to write another one. 🫠🫠🫠) And this is already shaping up to be awesome. I would love to be tagged in this series if there's room on the list! 💕

Chapter 1: I Need You Now But I Don't Know You Yet

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!Reader, Reader POV

Summary: With a birthday printed on your wrist that happened over a hundred years ago, you always thought that you were cursed to never meet your soulmate. But when you finally meet the man that's supposed to be the other half of your soul, you wonder if the stars were wrong, and wonder how this man was meant for you. Reader is Hughie's sister, is not a supe, and is a Literature Professor that gets dragged into the middle of things. This fic takes place in an AU set loosely after Season 3 and does deviate from the plot of The Boys

Tropes: Soulmate AU, Little bit of Grumpy and Sunshine, Age Difference (Reader is in her 20s), Protective Ben/ Soldier Boy, Jealous Ben/Soldier Boy

Warnings: Self deprecating thoughts, Little bit sad, Cursing, Mentions of drinking, Mentions of Sex, Mentions of Death, Loneliness, Longing, Basically the reader just wants to be loved, Reader wears glasses?, Soldier Boy might be a little OOC.

Word Count: 6.3K

Song Inspiration For Chapter: IDK You Yet (Title of chapter based on song) Y'all should listen to this song because it fits so well!

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal Monologue Is in First Person And Is In Italics

A/N: Guys you have no idea how excited I am about this story! It's already shaking up to have a TON of my usual angst, but I'm not surprised.😅 I'm also a little disappointed. I read a soulmate AU fic forever ago for Joel Miller where the birthday was printed on the reader's arm and I cannot for the life of me remember what it was called or find it. If y'all know what it is, please let me know. I'd love to read it again and give the writer a little bit of credit for inspiration. ❤️

Main Masterlist

Series Masterlist

January 24, 1919

The date on your right wrist haunted you, the bold black numbers mocking from the moment you learned what they meant. It had to be a celestial mistake, a misprint, something wrong in the stars that shone so brightly over others, but dulled above your head.

Sometimes you thought you were cursed, that some mystical being before your birth marked you, scarred you, and made you carry the weight of the whole world on your shoulders.

That whoever it was made you different on purpose and you hoped one day you understood what that purpose was.

You'd never met someone born with the same dilemma, to be saddled with a soulmate that was born over 100 years ago, and yet here you were.

You'd heard it all growing up, the hushed whispered "freak" from your schoolmates, the odd looks from your neighbors, the pitying frowns of your parents who had known each other since pre-k, and the hug from your older brother as he whispered the familiar phrase “it‘ll be okay" to soothe you.

But you always wondered…

When would it be okay?

You watched all your friends find their happy endings with their soulmates, the birth years printed on their wrists at least within the same few decades, but not you.

You were alone, different, cursed.

The date printed on your wrist made you different, because no one else had a soulmate that was born so far in the past.

Your soulmate's birthday brushed on your skin only brought a wave of disappointment every time you saw it, because what the hell did it mean? 1919? That meant that your soulmate would be over 100 years old when you met him, whoever it was.

If you even met him.

No one lives that long. My soulmate should be long dead. He can't still be alive. Can he?

Each year that passed was like another nail in the coffin, but you celebrated the birthday of your supposed soulmate with a cupcake and a beer, locked away in your apartment to shut out the jeers of those who knew your particular dilemma. And each year when you blew out the candle you wished that it would be the year you met him, but now you weren't sure it would ever happen.

Because it was impossible.

You didn't understand why you were different, why you were chosen to have a soulmate that was long dead. Maybe it was true, maybe you were born late, born under the wrong sign, or maybe you really were cursed.

You'd heard the stories of people who never found their soulmates, urban legends really, but it didn't make you feel any better. The stories of people who wasted away to nothing, driven to the point of insanity because they never found the other half of their soul, alone for as long as they could stand it before they finally crumbled to dust.

You refused to be like them, turning to books for solace and hoping to escape. Slipping into the pages and into other worlds where people found their other half to leave the loneliness that haunted you behind.

And in that solace your found your true love, literature. It wove around you and brought you peace in a world where you felt lost and different.

When you moved away from the small town you grew up in, you got a job as a Literature professor, reading the great works of others, while trying to forget about the date on your wrist and the soulmate you longed for each day.

It was incredibly lonely to think that you'd live your whole life with only one half of your soul.

Every time you opened a book from the era your soulmate was supposed to be born in you wondered if he had read it, wondered what it was like to live in that time, and imagined what it would have been like to be there with him.

Each day you covered up the date on your wrist with a splash of foundation and playfully laughed it off whenever someone asked you if you'd found your soulmate yet. All the while spending year after year fading just a little bit more as you lost the last pieces of hope that you'd ever meet him.

One Year Ago

You were running late. Frankly you were always running late, but in the city that never sleeps it was to be expected.

It was supposed to be a big day. You had about a hundred papers to grade, a test to proctor, and three lectures to give, but you couldn't complain about your job, you loved it. Loved the groans of your students whenever you announced a test or an essay, loved the soft evenings where you read papers with a cup of tea and learned what in the assigned text was special to your students, and loved to teach from the books that had become home to you, the books that tried to heal your wounded heart.

But today something was different.

Something nagged at the back of your mind, as if you had forgotten that something else was supposed to happen today.

Haircut? No that's not it.

You think as you walk to the large wooden desk in your living room/bedroom. It was technically a dining room table, breakfast table, and your desk, but you'd loved it since the moment you found it tucked into a corner of an antique store in Brooklyn.

Your small studio apartment was quaint, the bedroom and living room divided by a large mid-century wooden screen that you had bought for twenty bucks at a thrift store the weekend you moved into your apartment five years ago. The living room only housed a plump cream colored couch that faced out the window towards the living room window that gave you a spectacular view of the alley between your apartment building and the next. Sometimes you got to watch the couple in the apartment across from you having a terrific fight and then got a front row seat to the loud make-up sex they had almost immediately after.

Large stacks of books dominated every wall stretching up as high up to the ceiling as they could reach, some were pressed against the exposed brick walls, others serving as the base for the coffee table you’d made with a vintage window, and of course there was one stack that towered high above your bed on top of your bedside table. You didn't own a tv, not when you spent most of your time reading.

Being a English professor meant that you could never have too many books not when they were like old friends that pulled you in whenever you opened their yellowing pages.

Meeting with the head of the English department? You bite the inside of your cheek as you shove your notebook, planner, pencil case, and laptop into your leather messenger bag. No, that's on Thursday.

You'd been working on a research paper that you hoped to publish about the Modern Period of Literature in America, but the head of the English Department wanted to see how much you'd done. In all honesty the only reason why you'd started studying the Modern Period of literature was because it was supposedly the time period in which your soulmate grew up and you thought that it would give you some insight into what his life was like.

You fight the wave of revulsion with the memory of the last time you had a meeting with him and give yourself a once over in the mirror hanging on the bathroom door that faces in to your living room. You looked the way that you always did, maybe a little more frantic than usual, but that was expected given the fact that you were running late.

Today you had decided to wear your favorite dark green chunky sweater that you'd knitted yourself, a dark gray argyle midi-skirt, chestnut brown ankle high-heeled leather boots, and your traditional pair of circular black-rimmed glasses.

It's going to be a good day. You smile at your reflection. Yeah, if I could remember whatever the hell it is I've forgotten.

You roll your eyes and grab a bagel from the bag on the counter.

No time to toast it.

You think mournfully before shoving it between your teeth as you run out the door, slamming it behind you so hard that it rattles the watercolor botanical framed prints on the inside wall of the apartment.

"Late again?" Your neighbor, Mrs. Charleson, asks opening the cheerful yellow door of her apartment.

She was wearing her traditional pink cat eye glasses and had her wavy gray hair pushed back by a floral headband. When you'd moved in five years ago, she had brought over some cinnamon swirl muffins and a pot of blueberry tea. She'd just lost her own soulmate and husband of sixty-five years and was looking for a friend about as much as you were.

And although she had about eighty cats, all of which who were named after literary figures (your own cat was named Heathcliff), and often smelled like mothballs, you enjoyed spending time with her. She knew about your dilemma and didn't judge you for it. She didn't throw you a pitying look or make outrageous comments about why you'd been chosen to never meet your soulmate. If anything she acted like the way you thought your mother always should but never did. Not with judgement as your mother did, but with concern and love.

"Always." You shout back, muffled around the sesame seed bagel, stamping your foot to get your boot in the right position.

"Tea later?"

"Mhmm."

"Get some earl gray macaroons!"

You make it down the stairs successfully without falling, before throwing yourself against the door that leads into the black and white tiled lobby. Your high heeled boots clack loudly against the floor and you step out onto the crowded sidewalks of the early morning.

Fall was just beginning in the city, your favorite season. The leaves in Central Park were turning reddish brown and yellow and there was a wonderful chill that swept through the crowded streets.

You wove through the people, walking in the direction of NYU and looking down at the antique wristwatch perched on your left wrist to confirm what you already knew- that you were going to be late for your 8:00 am lecture on 20th Century American Romantics.

Shit.

The city is lively for a Monday morning. The chatter of people on phones, the buzz of traffic, the high pitched screech of horns, and the smells of the city wafted over you. It was so different from the small town you grew up in, but you loved being here. Here no one knew you, no one judged you, no one muttered something under their breath about you, and no one grabbed their children and crossed the street as if you were contagious.

You felt free.

You round the corner still looking down at your watch, weaving in and out of the foot traffic the best you can, when someone bumps into your shoulder. Whoever hit you was solid, broad, and much taller than you. The bagel drops from your mouth as you jostle from the bump, and you let out a low groan.

There goes my breakfast.

You look up prepared to curse out the offender when you stop. Whoever it was hadn't stopped moving, but you catch a flash of his bright green eyes as he passes, meeting yours for only a moment.

But that moment seems to last a lifetime.

He was tall with wild dark brown hair so long it touched his shoulders and a scraggly beard that fell over his chest almost to his collarbones. He looked dirty, almost worn, and was wearing a faded maroon track suit that had some writing on the sleeve in another language that you couldn't place. But his eyes were a brilliant green, so beautiful that they took your breath away.

As soon as his eyes meet yours, your skin hums, body lightening, warmth unfurling like the petals of a flower in the center of your chest curling outward reaching for the sun above. All sounds of the city vanish, leaving you only with the manic thud of your heart. Everything in your body turns towards the man, cells vibrating, reaching out, wanting more, begging you to grab him and hold him close. Electricity pulses and dances along your skin making your hair stand on end and goosebumps erupt along your flesh.

The birthday inscribed by the stars on your wrist sears against your skin like a brand beneath the foundation you smeared over it this morning. You look at him as if seeing for the first time, as if the past years of your life have been colorless, as if you'd been living in a cave for centuries and he's your first glimpse of sunlight, and as if you'd never seen the stars and he's the midnight sky.

You'd never felt any of this before.

The man's eyes widen as he looks at you, people passing between the two of you in a faceless blur, and you wonder if he feels it too.

He has to…

But the man shakes his head and turns his back on you continuing on his path down the sidewalk in the opposite direction, adjusting the strap of the bag on his shoulder as he goes.

"Wait-" You start to say, but your phone rings loudly in your pocket breaking the spell, and as you look down to retrieve it, you lose the man in the crowd.

What the hell just happened?

The rest of your day is chaotic, almost a blur, your body still humming from seeing that man on the street, wrist aching where the birthdate on your wrist burned against your flesh so hot that it seared through the foundation you brushed meticulously over the skin this morning to cover it up. It was no longer black, but flashed a brilliant gold with every shift of your wrist in the light as you moved your arm when teaching, peeking out beneath the sleeve of your sweater. Every flash distracted you from your lecture. Even your TA, Tate, who sat in the front row of your class began to notice how often you lost your train of thought.

You barely got through your 8:00 am lecture, stumbled through you 9:00 and 10:15, and canceled your 2:00 class much to the chagrin of your students who were expecting a test.

When Tate finally asked you if you're feeling alright, you wave a hand and tell him to take the rest of the day off, while you barricaded yourself in your office and stared at your wrist for hours, running your hands over the golden date confused. The birthdays always shone gold after two people found one another, and when your soulmate died, it went back to black, as if a reminder that the world had faded.

It was weird to see it shine so brightly when you'd lived your whole life staring at the mark and wishing for it to go away.

But he's not here, he's gone. I don't know where he went or how to find him…

Your friends back home described finding their soulmates before, tried to explain to you what it was like when they locked eyes with them for the first time, but everyone was different. No one could describe exactly how they felt when it happened.

Deep down you thought that it should feel like what happened when you locked eyes with the man on the street, like nothing else existed, just him and you but-

He acted like it was nothing like I was just another person and not the other half of his soul.

You swallow the lump in your throat, emotion from a lifetime of disappointment building, and finally the tears begin to crest and fall over your cheeks. You'd never heard of a one sided soulmate before, of only one person feeling drawn to the other one.

Then again, I've never heard of someone printed with the date of a soulmate who was born so far in the past.

Seeing him for the first time was like taking a bullet to the chest, the sharp spike, followed by the force of gravity jolting you into reality.

But why him?

You think again about how weathered he looked, like he'd been living under a rock for the past hundred years. And then you see the flash of his brilliant green eyes again in your mind, just for a fleeting moment, but it's enough to make the warmth trail along your skin, like the soft caress of a lover.

Was he really born in 1919? Or was this just another joke? Another way for the universe to laugh at me?

Frustrated tears blur your eyes as you stroke the birthdate on your wrist, heart breaking all over again, because it seemed that even if you had found the man the universe designated for you, he didn't care.

One Year Later: Present Day

You sigh loudly and hold up another dress in front of your body looking at yourself in the mirror. You had no idea what you were going to wear to Annie and your brother Hughie's housewarming party and you only had about another thirty minutes before you had to leave.

Your brother had been living in New York longer than you had, but he still made time for you. The two of you got lunch every week and it was your fault that he met Annie.

Meeting her yourself had been a complete fluke. You'd been sitting at your favorite bench in Central Park by the pond, reading your favorite book, allowing the gentle prose of the author to whisk you away for a few minutes, when someone sat down beside you and promptly began to cry.

And when you asked her what was wrong she'd told you everything about her problems at work and although you'd never been the best at comforting other people, you'd taken her to the closest coffee shop and the two of you had bonded over Chai Tea lattes.

You'd invited her over to watch a movie with your brother one Saturday night and then had a front row seat when the two of them realized that they were meant to be together. You'd tried to be happy for them, but the whole time Annie gushed about Hughie and Hughie stared at her like she was the last glimpse of the sun before it dropped below the horizon all you could think about was that it would never happen to you.

And now one year later, the two of them were finally moving in together in a fancy apartment uptown and you didn't want to imagine what the rent was. Your own studio was enough for you and you were lucky enough to have one that was rent controlled.

But you figured due to Annie being one of the Seven, she was probably making more than your measly teaching salary could ever amount to.

Learning that she was Starlight had been surprising, you weren't a supe, not even close and you didn't want to be. You had your hands full with teaching college kids, and didn't want to think about what it would be like to have superpowers or really what you would do with them. You certainly didn't need them to be a teacher and you didn't want to have them.

Plus, you always worried that you'd get some weird power like shooting webs out of your butt or making it rain blood. You didn't want to take that chance and shooting up Compound V felt like Russian Roulette.

You also worried about your brother working so closely with supes. The two of you hadn’t met any growing up and you worried that he was putting himself in danger every day when he went out to deal with them. But you were happy that Annie went with him, because you knew that she wouldn't let anything happen to him, she loved him too much.

As you hold up a black dress in the mirror you see a flash of the golden birthdate on your arm, and you're unable to fight the emotion that builds in your chest when you do.

It had been a year since it happened, since you locked eyes with a complete stranger on the street and felt your soul intertwine with his and he turned his back on you.

You'd understood that.

Understood that for some reason he decided to turn away like you meant nothing to him, like you weren't the other piece of his soul, and like a part of him didn't call out to you, a lighthouse over a stormy sea to a sinking ship.

It had broken you more than the first time you realized what the date on your arm meant. It always seemed ridiculous that something that brought happiness to millions of others made you feel broken, like there was something wrong with you.

And in that moment on the street something felt right for a few seconds, you felt whole for the first time in your life, only to have everything dashed against the rocks all over again.

But you hadn't forgotten him, couldn't forget him. His green eyes haunted you and each night you dreamed of him.

You saw pieces of his life, his memories, felt his pain, his anger, his frustration, and deep down his fear whenever you fell asleep. You'd never heard of that before, of a soulmate dreaming the memories of another.

As if you knew what that meant.

It had broken your heart even more when she said that, because if that were true why did he turn away?

How could he turn away? Why did he leave me standing in the street and acted like I wasn't his other half?

It made you think that maybe he wasn't impressed with you and that he was disappointed that you of all people were his soulmate.

You'd had a mental breakdown at Mrs. Charleson's apartment when you went home early the day you met your soulmate or whatever the hell he was.

She'd made blueberry tea and rubbed you back. And when the tea hadn't worked she had cracked a bottle of red wine and ordered greasy takeout food that the two of you ate on her floral couch while her cats circled like sharks looking for a piece of your chicken and broccoli.

You would have called Annie, but she and Hughie were out of town on a long weekend getaway.

And when you went back to your apartment and crashed into your bed, you'd dreamt of him for the first time.

The memories you'd seen when you closed your eyes that night were not happy at all. You'd seen the early years of his life being berated by his father, years of him drinking and fucking his sorrows away, and then the worst, him being tortured in what looked like a lab. He was a supe, that much you could gather from the memories. But they were filled with pain, suffering, frustration- you'd never met someone who'd been through so much before. Endured so much torture.

You still didn't know his name, didn't see enough of his life to figure out who he was, only that he was different than you in almost every single way. The memories were terrible, filled with blood, death, and pain. It scared you to see your soulmate that way, see him so angry and see him hurt and kill people. You couldn't imagine the kind of man he was, the kind of man who could burn someone beyond recognition and feel absolutely nothing.

It was confusing. You didn't understand how someone who was supposed to be the other half of your soul, was the complete opposite of you. Someone that was filled with so much rage and pain was the man the stars declared was for you.

It doesn't matter anyway. He saw you and didn't want you.

You ignore the lump of emotion in the back of your throat and hold up a navy blue dress, but you hang it back in your closet with a sigh. Nothing seemed to be appropriate for you to wear to the party and you hadn’t been shopping for a new outfit in ages. Not to mention you knew that no matter what you wore Annie would look flawless.

You loved your brother's soulmate, but sometimes you were intimidated by how pretty she was and how together she was. It made you a little self-conscious about the long skirts, sweaters, and blazers you wore when you were at work and you were not together at all.

You seemed to always be running around like a chicken with it's head cut off, frantically running from place to place and trying not to lose the last bit of sanity you had left. While Annie was confident, poised, and glided into each room.

Finally, you reach for a pair of your favorite blue jeans and the same green chunky knit sweater you were wearing the day that you saw him for the first time. The sleeves were long enough to cover the mark on the wrist. You hadn't told your brother or Annie about that day and you didn't want them to see the golden date on your wrist and ask you where your soulmate was.

Guess I'm going a little more casual today.

On your way out you give your cat, Heathcliff, an affectionate scratch behind the ears and grab your purse. You were running a little early this time, early enough to pick up a Snake Plant around the corner at your favorite plant shop, 'Please Don't Die,' as a housewarming gift and then stopped at the liquor store next door to grab a bottle of Annie's favorite wine.

You figured that you'd end up staying late and drinking wine with her long after the party was over.

Hughie opens the door of the apartment when you knock. "Thank God you're here! Annie is freaking out and driving me up the wall-"

"No I'm not! I'm just expressing all the things that have to be done within the next five minutes or I really am going to go crazy!" You hear his soulmate shout back when Hughie lets you in.

The apartment is fancier than yours, all white walls and glass windows that display a view you would kill for. Your brother is wearing a nice light blue button down shirt and navy tie, and his hair is it's usual fluffed and curly self. He looks happy and it warms a piece of your heart because you knew how much that he deserved it. And that's all you wanted for your older brother.

Annie appears, wearing a white dress that wraps over one shoulder and falls to her ankles, effortlessly elegant as usual. It made you feel self-conscious that you'd worn jeans, when Annie was wearing something that made her look like a Greek goddess.

"I am so underdressed." You mutter to yourself

"No! You look great babe. I love those jeans on you." She smiles pulling you in for a hug.

"Well-"

"But please let me do something with your hair." Annie touches the messy bun at the back of your head making a face.

"What's wrong with my hair?"

"Nothing, I'm just going to spruce it up a little bit for you."

"But-"

Annie pulls the bottle of wine and the plant from your arms and shoves them at Hughie. "We'll be right back." And with that she drags you to their shared bedroom.

20 minutes later your hair has been perfectly curled and styled by Annie's skillful hands. She'd even adjusted your make up so that now you're wearing a bold red lipstick and a dark eyeshadow that matches your ensemble. And even you have to admit that you look better than you did moments ago. You usually didn't wear that much makeup, sometimes it made you feel like you weren't you, but what Annie had applied seemed stylish.

"Thanks Annie."

"Of course." She smiles brightly and leads you back out into the large kitchen filled with stainless steel appliances and real marble countertops. "How have you been? Did you finish that paper you were writing?"

By now several people have already begun to gather at different parts of the apartment, talking quietly with one another, while sipping drinks and eating finger food. The sound of their chatter is masked by the Billy Joel song playing from the speaker in the corner.

"Yeah. I submitted it, now I'm just waiting for the department head to read it." You frown at the thought.

"You don't think he'll like it?" She moves to the freezer to grab a bag of ice.

"Dale doesn't like the modern period of literature as much as I do so I'm expecting him to have a lot of critiques and reasons why he doesn't like it." You take the bag from her and set it on the counter.

"Sorry."

"It's okay. I'm used to it. He's never ecstatic about my research work." The thought makes you frown. "Even though he knows it's my specialty and the reason why he hired me."

"Isn’t he the creepy married guy that keeps trying to take you to dinner and wrote all those sensual poems about women who sound nothing like his wife?"

"Yep."

"Ew." Annie's face scrunches up in disgust.

"My thoughts exactly." You sigh looking around the kitchen for an ice bucket. "Do y'all have an ice bucket somewhere or-"

"It should be in that cabinet." She points behind you just as you hear someone knock loudly on the front door.

"Perfect."

The ice bucket is acrylic, see-through, and light pink, but you find it easily. The ice clanks against the sides as you pour, not bothering to watch Hughie open the door for whoever it was that hit the front door of the apartment with so much force you thought it would cave in.

Annie leans against the counter pouring herself a glass of wine and groans to herself when she sees who Hughie was greeting.

"What's wrong?" You ask her, your tongue between your teeth as you try not to spill any of the ice over the perfect countertops.

"I didn't think he would come." She grumbles.

"Who?"

"Ben." Annie all but sighs the name.

"And why didn't you want him to come?" You ask, pouring more ice into the bucket.

"He's just kind of rough-"

"Rough?"

"He works with Hughie. He's a supe. Thinks he's the best thing since sliced bread or whatever.” She sighs again and takes a sip of her white wine to calm down. "Actually he used to be Soldier Boy."

"Soldier Boy? You mean the supe from the 80's that died?"

Hughie didn't tell me he had a dead man working with him.

"Oh."

Hughie didn't talk much about what he did with Butcher, or really who he met, but after Homelander disappeared and Stormfront took over as leader as the Seven more supes began to come out of the woodwork, supes that had been afraid before, but now had no one to keep them in check. And although The Seven were feared in the city, no one was feared as much as Homelander.

"I'm sure that he won't try anything Annie. And if he does I'll keep him in check." You smile at your friend.

It's her housewarming party and supe or no if he's a prick I'm going to kick his ass out. Annie doesn't deserve to feel stressed today of all days.

"Thanks babe."

"What are friends for?"

She squeezes your arm and walks away to talk with MM who stands with a little girl who must be his daughter. You'd only spoken to him a handful of times, but he was always eager to talk about her achievements in school. He was so proud of her that it made your heart warm. Her mother wasn't his soulmate, but there hadn't been any hard feelings between MM and his daughter's mother.

That wasn't unusual. You'd known several people who decided to date other people before meeting their soulmate as a way of passing the time. You'd always thought it was ridiculous to commit yourself to someone else and fall in love with them, only to have your heart broken when they met who they were meant to be with.

It was why you hadn't tried to date anyone, because you might have never met your soulmate, but the other person you'd be in a relationship with would. And you didn’t want to give your heart to someone only to have them leave you when they met their other half. Which meant that you were probably going to die alone, especially because your soulmate doesn't want you. It hadn't helped that you'd seen a few memories from your own soulmate with other women over the years, women that didn't look anything like you, women that seemed more confident, more beautiful, and more stylish than you.

Maybe that's why he didn't want me.

Your feel the familiar twinge in your chest when you thought that and fought the tears that burned when you thought of how happy Annie and Hughie were. You didn't want to cry at their party.

The familiar question rises in your head again:

When will it be okay?

Probably never.

You turn toward the freezer holding the now half-full bag of ice intent on putting it back when someone bumps into you. The bag slips from your hands and ice goes skittering across the perfect hardwood floors in every direction, but just when you start to drop to pick it up, you feel a large hand grip your shoulder.

A gasp escapes from your mouth as it makes contact.

As soon as the palm touches you, you feel nothing else, not the shift of the sweater against your skin, not the slight chill from the air conditioner, not the brush of your hair against your cheeks, all you feel is the warmth radiating through your clothes and soaking into your skin from the person's hand.

The hand moves to cup your chin gently, the shock of the person's skin touching yours makes the feeling increase ten-fold as the hand tilts your face up to meet the eyes of the person who bumped into you.

You know it's him before your eyes meet his, know that it's the man from the street who you saw for only a few seconds a year ago, but this time when his beautiful green eyes meet yours everything you felt that day comes roaring back.

He's taller than you remember, shoulders proud and broad stretching a dark gray button down shirt over his chest that have the sleeves rolled up revealing tanned arms. His hair is shorter, still dark brown, but now only long enough to cover the tops of his ears and his beard is shaved so that only a thick dusting covers his cheeks, but it's still him. And he's more handsome than any version you could come up with in your mind.

All sound in the room vanishes, the drone of chatter fades, the clinking of glasses disappears, the only sound that remains is your own heart thudding in your chest and you swear you can hear his beating at the same frequency, both of your hearts calling out to one another.

Your entire body feels like it's vibrating, as if every cell is moving so fast that they're heating you from the inside, leaving behind a molten puddle of what you used to be. A golden cord weaves around the two of you securing your heart to his in your mind, making you gasp as it hooks to his heart binding his soul to yours. Time stops as he gazes at you, something brightening in his green eyes as they absorb your own gaze.

The man doesn't move. It almost looks like he's stopped breathing, and you realize that you haven't taken a breath since he touched your shoulder. His eyes drop down to your right wrist where your hand rests over his heart, where he knows his birthday will be.

You don't remember reaching out to touch him, but now that you realize it, you can feel his heart beating beneath the palm of your hand like a fluttering bird, gentle and judging by the memories you had witnessed from him, nothing about this man was gentle.

And as you stand there looking up at the man you thought you'd never see again, the autumn sun warm against your back, you feel a flicker of something that could grow into a blaze spark to life in your chest.

A/N: I hope y'all loved the first chapter as much as I loved writing it! I've never written a soulmate AU, so I am a little nervous about it, but I think that it's going to be a lot of fun! And yes, I did give Ben the same birthday as Dean Winchester (not the same year). In my head Ben is Dean from a different universe, and it just made sense to me. 😂

Thank you so much for reading! Reblogs, likes, and comments are not required, but are always appreciated! I love hearing what y'all think 😊 If you'd like to be added to the taglist for this series please let me know! :)

Taglist:

@pamwritessometimes @roger-that-cap @my-obsession-spn @deangirl96 @kr804573

@roseblue373 @52ndstreeet @mrsjenniferwinchester @impala67stellawinchester

#i love this so much already!!#soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x you #jensen ackles #soldier boy #soldier boy x female reader #jensen ackles soldier boy #soldier boy/ben #the boys amazon #the boys fanfic #soldier boy fanfiction #soldier boy fic #lovely mutuals #soulmate au #zepskies reads

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bruciemilf · 2 years ago

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,,,, russian bruce wayne

Russian Bruce Wayne

RUSSIAN BRUCE WAYNE -

Listen. Listen. Not fully compacted into something coherent, but I'll do my best, because this idea has been haunting me, -

SO he's russian on his mother's side!! Martha Wayne immigrated in America when she was a teenager, nothing to her name but hope in her chest and her mother's pearl necklace in her pocket

She always got ugly looks for speaking in her native language and her accent. Slowly, it melted into something perfectly English, but she still spoke Russian at home and especially to Bruce

Little Bruce loved Baba Yaga as a kid and dressed like her for Halloween every single year; Nobody really understood it, but a glare from Alfred was enough to fill a bag full of candy

Martha and Bruce would talk shit in front of Thomas' faux philanthropist friends, but they were on wildly different spectrums

Martha, whispering: You see that man, Brucie? He sold his soul to greed. He's a worm of a human and his morals are rotten. That's why his eyes are dead

Bruce: haha, he's balding at 25

Martha, Alfred, and Bruce cooking beef stroganoff, syriniki, borscht, and Bruce's absolute favorite- pirozhki.

Martha also played the piano and LOVED Swan Lake so, so much. It was the one song that calmed Bruce during night terrors.

When he reaches eight, it all stops.

He eventually reconnects with his Russian roots in his 20s, when he's in college and his literature teacher shares a DISRESPECTFULLY incorrect opinion about one of Dostoevsky's works.

His teacher scoffed, " Well. Didn't know we had a Russian citizen here. "

" Not a citizen, but I AM a Russian descendent. My mother was an immigrant. That's kind of how America was formed. It's a pretty significant thing that happened."

Imagine you're a Gotham criminal and Batman starts muttering things about you in Russian. Somehow that's even more intimidating than anything he does.

" I can't believe they're more afraid of someone who doesn't speak English than a guy who beats up people dressed as a bat."

Alfred hums, sloooowly pulling away the vodka cereal Bruce made. " I can't imagine why. You're the poster child for mental health, sir."

" Not funny, papachka"

" For you."

When Dick is brought into the nest, Bruce struggles a bit with showing his affections; He only has money to offer, but Dick is happily uninterested in that, and seeks Bruce out instead.

BRUCE ABSOLUTELY SPENDS AN ENTIRE NIGHT TRYING TO PERFECT HIS MOTHER'S BAKLAVA FOR DICK!!

yes he's supposed to be on patrol. No, he doesn't care, Jim. It's all worth it when Dick takes a single bite and he has stars in his eyes and vines his little but strong arms around him, " this is PERFECT! Thank you so much, dad"

Air freezes in his blood, " ... Of course, ptichka."

He absolutely uses russian proverbs all the time (mostly when his children need to be reprimanded and reminded that making jokes is illegal when they're on duty)

JASON AND BRUCE FIGHTING OVER TRANSLATIONS AND CONTEXT IN ENGLISH ADAPTATIONS OF SLAVIC LITERATURE!

" PAPI, THAT'S NOT WHAT THEY MEANT TO SAY!"

" MISKHA I'M SO GRATEFUL YOUR GRANDMA ISN'T HERE, BECAUSE SHE'D DIE AGAIN IF SHE HEARD YOU SAY THAT!"

Damian 100000% prides himself on knowing russian and communicating with Bruce the smoothest.

It becomes a competition soon enough. Bruce is SO tired but the way they butcher words is funny, so he just pretends they're right.

The League finds out when Bruce snaps and calls Hal Cyka in a low, angry mutter while stomping away from his stupidity. " ... Bless you? What did he call me?"

Diana, struggling so hard not to laugh. " He said you were a genius."

" Huh. Had no idea he was French."

Meanwhile Clark is losing HIS shit because wow, Bruce's russian might be the hottest thing he ever heard. Please, this dork would absolutely try to learn Russian and talk to Bruce more.

He's absolutely horrible with it but Bruce is just very excited. He definetly chuckles (which. Wow. Clark couldn't even make him GRIN 3 weeks ago) " You just asked me if I sleep with my dentist."

" ...Oh. I...Was trying to ask you for drinks. You can kill me right now. Please?"

" Maybe another time, solnyshko. Take me for a drink first."

Clark inhales. " oKaY thank yoU."

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ladyofrosefire · 3 years ago

Text

I got asked about my feelings on “burn, butcher, burn” and... quite a bit came out!

[dusts off English degree]

1. This song does an incredible job showing us exactly how Jaskier feels 2. Do Not Piss Off A Bard.

There's a general movement over the source of the song from *extremely petty* and not genuine to... significantly more serious. I mean, it's not like we really think Jaskier thinks Geralt's hair is stupid, or that he *actually* believes Geralt wants to be the center of attention (“how disappointing,” “mr oh-look-at-me”). So as we come into the second verse, we haven't *abandoned* the pettiness, but its placement is interesting; Jaskier follows a few lines about Geralt being alone and lonely— an image he puts a fair amount of emphasis on— with “did you ever even care”, which is the most honest thing we've heard from him so far. And then throws up the “stupid hair” line in a move that feels very defensive, as though it got too raw too fast. Thus: my dude, please do some processing NOT at the bottom of a bottle. But it’s pretty clear he feels rejected, unimportant, abandoned

BUT THEN WE HIT THE BIT THEY ACTUALLY PLAY IN THE EPISODE. And the audience (or at least... I did) has the following: What for d'you yearn?— okay this is a breakup song. good to know. also hi Jaskier. It's the point of no return— oh ok big mad After everything we did, we saw— setting up the value of the previous relationship You turned your back on me— HEY REMEMBER ALL THAT LONELINESS TALK EARLIER? HERE'S THE SOURCE. Here’s what he’s angry about! What for d'you yearn?— i still can't place if this is asking himself or Geralt and I am very interested Watch that butcher burn— oh. oh BIG mad. Okay. And we could go off about the alliteration here (I said Shakespeare nerd. You see this B repetition in “wherefore bastard, bastardy, base...” in Edmund's speech and it's very hard to get through that line without spitting...) BUT i think we can leave it at “wow okay Jaskier really did just pick the cruelest thing he could possibly say, didn't he.”

And then we get: “At the end of my days when I'm through/ No word that I've written will ring quite as true as ‘burn!’” and this is the OTHER reason I mentioned Shakespeare. The classic image of the artist and the beloved comes up with “so long as men can breathe, or eyes can see/ so long lives this, and this gives life to thee” from Sonnet 13. The ol’ “I will make you immortal with my love for you (because my work is that good).”

But Jaskier flips this. The song is still going to last— there’s no awkward jamming of ‘will have rung’ to imply it ends when he does— but Jaskier is going to burn Geralt out of his story, and very particularly going to burn him out in the worst way he knows how. Jaskier made people love him and think of him as human, and he goes right back to the source when he decides to undo it.

#text #Jaskier #Jaskier x Geralt #Netflix Witcher

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doberbutts · 3 years ago

Note

So, hey! I recently came across your posts about AAVE and I wanted to maybe offer a bit of a different perspective on the topic than the other asks you got.

For some context I'm a non-black non-native English speaker from a "second world" country, wherein knowing good English is considered almost a prerequisite to getting a well-paying job. Despite this, English education here is barely adequate at best. So, I personally learn(ed) English mostly from family and media (translated Ghibli movies in particular, both dubs and subs) at first, and then later the internet.

The number of times I've come across a new word, phrase, etc. and then been given a usually meme-y meaning for it that I took at face value (because why wouldn't I? They're a native speaker and I'm not and surely they know what they're talking about!), only to find out weeks, months, sometimes years later that it was 1) AAVE and 2) *butchered* AAVE... is genuinely ridiculous. Who knows, maybe I'm still ignorantly using incorrect language that I learned off the internet and haven't had the chance to educate myself on yet.

All of this to say, if I feel frustrated by the rampant, unabashed bastardisation of AAVE as an actual outsider I cannot imagine how speakers of it must feel. As hollow as the words might ring, I'm sorry the world is like this.

I realise my ask strays a bit from the original discussion, but I've wanted to share my thoughts on this subject with someone knowledgeable for awhile, and hopefully I've managed to convey them respectfully and comprehensively. Thank you for all previous posts you wrote also, they were very well-written and thought-provoking!

P.S. Congratulations on your new job, as well! Best of luck to you! <3

I have a couple friends like you- Syria, India, Sri Lanka, Slovenia as well as a few from Japan, and I really don't understand the difference between first/second/third-world and never really have so idk where those fall in that ranking system- and they've all said pretty similar. They learned English partially through their countries' schooling but largely through interacting with Brits/Americans online or through British/American media.

Almost all of them have reported the same- they had no idea certain phrases or words were AAVE and usually extremely butchered, out of context, or totally misrepresented AAVE until well after the meme has passed and now everyone thinks those words/phrases are stupid or "critically online". Nevermind that black people have been speaking like that for longer than white people have bothered acknowledging its existence.

It's especially bad right now on TikTok and was getting to that point on Vine. The difference with Vine was that a lot of black creatives were going viral and so it was seen as the natural course that AAVE usage would be more widespread as people emulated what they heard on these viral videos. However- and to my understanding this problem has only worsened with the death of Vine and the popularity of TikTok- what started happening was that white creatives were in some cases literally stealing content from black creatives and becoming more popular based on things black people invented. We have this discussion with black fashion and black dances, but I've been watching it play out with AAVE too. Now we have entire subcultures using a bastardization of a language that was never supposed to be coming from their mouths, getting praised for it online but chided for it offline, and in a few weeks or months or years when they move on to the next new fad they'll say "wow remember when we all said [butchered AAVE] hahahaha only stupid people talk like that".

I already have seen it happen with "bae", where any time I bring up that it's just AAVE and means "baby" and is a term of endearment some white person always has to go "but it means this in a different language" or "but it sounds stupid" or "um actually it stands for this acronym" or "yeah but only stupid tween girls say it". Now people are starting to do the same thing with "simp", "sheesh", "thicc", "on fleek", "bet"... these are all AAVE words. They are not Gen Z Slang and they're not TikTok slang and they're not just what Kids These Days like to say. They are words that have meaning in a dialect far older than current meme culture and yet like clockwork people who once had nothing but these words in their mouths are now saying the "trend" is stupid and that anyone who talks like that is stupid.

Big sigh.

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finleycannotdraw · 4 years ago

Text

Guess what? I’m re-binge-reading Good Omens. And here are some Obervations that I forgot about and some things I might put in fics. Also things I found funny. Basically my dumb commentary on the book.

Crowley actually flees Sister Mary. He doesn’t saunter vaguely away. He flees.

Ligur is rather more thoughtful than he’s portrayed in the show

Anathema likes to read about herself, and her teachers are confused because she spells words like Agnes Nutter

Crowley apologizes

By page 41, it is mentioned at least twice that Aziraphale and Crowley Do Not choose each other’s company for any reason other than that they are constants, that they have an Arrangement, and that they are Friends because being Enemies got boring.

Aziraphale blushes!!!!!!

The Drunk Scene is fuckin hilarious and it’s actually a lot longer than it is in the show, and really you ought to read it. (Book pages 47-50)

My mom (who has a PhD in human development) would probably like to talk to Crowley about upbringing because they seem to agree on how important it is

War has always looked 25, and had a vulture that died of fatty degeneration

Pollution is very cleverly compared to actual pollution

Warlock has Kermit the frog overalls, and Nanny Ashtoreth is described as someone who “advertises unspecified but strangely explicit services in certain magazines”. The tutors are present for about four paragraphs. Warlock is good at math and likes banana flavored bubblegum.

Crowley has a slice of angel cake. Aziraphale eats it. Aziraphale also eats deviled eggs. Hm.

Crowley calls Aziraphale angel casually enough to suggest he’s been doing it for a long time

Some girl at Warlock’s party calls Aziraphale a f*ggot

Crowley glares suspiciously at a gerbil. It is suggested that Hell has, in the past, sent hell-gerbils in place of hellhounds.

“Oh dear,” muttered Aziraphale, not swearing with the practiced ease of one who has spent six thousand years not swearing, and who wasn’t going to start now.

Adam and his friends play in a place called The Pit, where shopping carts go to die, apparently

Crowley is the first one to mention sides in the book!??!? Also Crowley goes on about how humans are more evil than Hell (but he calls himself evil—is he calling himself human already?)

Aziraphale yells “get off the road, you clown!”

“What’s a velvet underground?” *love confession???* “you wouldn’t like it”

Aziraphale is a bit rude to Crowley in the “flashes of love” scene and Crowley is less panicked about it

Crowley glares at the Bentley and it fixes itself

Anathema’s bike is called Phaeton

COULD THEY ACT ANY MORE MARRIED OH MY GOD

Aziraphale speaks like. Like ugh. “FlOUndeR on tHe rOcKS of inEquiTY”

“Thirty seconds later someone shot both of them. With incredible accuracy.” *cuts to a random pleasant story about Mary Hodges* *cuts back to where Aziraphale has fallen into a rhododendron and Crowley licks the paint before he knows it’s paint* dumbasses

Crowley does not slam Aziraphale into the wall

Crowley is actually pretty impatient and doesn’t argue with Aziraphale when he’s worried

“Nothing but dust and fundamentalists” “that was nasty” “sorry, couldn’t help it”

When the radio sings “Beelzebub has a devil put aside for me,” Crowley sings “for me” and then screams

Crowley asks Aziraphale if he’ll keep in touch, and Aziraphale doesn’t say tickety-boo, and then Crowley says “right” and feels very alone

the international express man is small and has glasses, and wears green woolen socks

The sword, which turns out to be Aziraphale’s, is described as having an aura of hatred and menace, which makes me think of how it could’ve gotten that aura from Heaven or from humanity or from War...

In the book Pepper has red hair and freckles, which makes it a cool comparison to War’s appearance and the defeat of War

Adam is excellent at slouching, apparently

Occasionally, as Aziraphale reads the book, he would very nearly swear

“He wouldn’t have said ‘that’s weird’ if a flock of sheep had cycled past playing violins.”

“If you had told him there were children starving in Africa he would’ve been flattered that you’d noticed.”

“...that he was English, that he was intelligent, and that he was gayer than a tree full of monkeys on nitrous oxide.” (151)

Wensleydale watches David Attenborough programs

Shadwell’s voice is described as “the color of an old raincoat” and seems to fake smoking cigarettes

Aziraphales cocoa is moldy and solidified by the time he calls Arthur Young, and has a thin layer of dust on himself too

Newt says that the walls look like nicotine and the floor looks like cigarette ash, and he suspects both are, actually, coated with these substances

Newt looks a bit like Clark Kent, and people seem to like Shadwell for some reason, much to his annoyance.

Aziraphale calls Shadwell “dear boy” on the phone

Agnes Nutter called God a daft old fool #goals

Adam is wayyyy too good at video games

Smelling Anathema’s perfume makes Newt uncomfortable

Adam suggests that Pepper ought to have Russia cause of her red hair (huh)

Anathema and Newt actually have decent conversations?? Like?? Show??? C’mon, man. The show kinda butchered their relationship.

Trees, apparently, make a ‘vvrooooommm’ sound when they grow very fast

“He suspected that Crowley was from the Mafia, or the underworld, although he would have been surprised how right he nearly was.” Shadwell also thought Aziraphale was a Russian spy. Wow, Shadwell.

Aziraphale calls Crowley and actually says “shut up” to him, and then when the answering machine beeps, he tells Crowley to “stop making noises” and then he swears for the first time ever.

The fuckin’ footnote on page 227

“A sleek computer was the sort of thing Crowley felt that the sort of human he tried to be would have.” I like the word choice here. He’s not pretending to be a human, he’s trying to be one. That’s a really important distinction.

It never actually says what Crowley does to his plants.

Crowley’s flat is very white. Wow, Crowley. It just looks dark because of the lighting. Heaven imagery and symbolism out my ears, goddammit.

Why does Hell say Crowley’s name so much when talking to him?? Honestly, I think that’s an intentional dig at his chosen name, using it in their speech to scare him. Wow, Hell. (And wow, Finn, excellent sentence)

Whenever the book says something is shaped like something, it definitely isn’t that thing. “man-shaped” “dog-shaped” “car-shaped”... makes it pretty obvious they aren’t men, dogs, or cars, huh.

The code to Crowley’s safe is 4004. The year he “slithered onto this stupid, marvelous planet”... and the year he met Aziraphale, of course. Denial ain’t just a river in Egypt, Crowley, my dude.

Crowley consideres sticking Hastur into his car until he turns into Freddie Mercury but then decides even he isn’t that cruel

Actual text that I feel like nobody really agrees with: “Madame Tracy was by many yardsticks quite stupid”

“Do I look like I run a bookshop?” “...imagine me out of uniform, sir, and what kind of man would you see before you? Honestly?” “A prat.”

I’m crying. The fucking bookshop fire scene made me fucking cry. I’m literally crying.

“...on all fours in the blazing bookshop, Crowley cursed Aziraphale, and the ineffable plan, and Above, and Below.” “The police and firemen looked at him, saw the expression on his face, and stayed exactly where they were.” “...a crack of thunder so loud it hurt....” *the sound of Finley sobbing into their cat*

The shortest biker in the cafe thing is 6′2, what the fuck

War, Famine, Pollution, and Pop Trivia 1962-1979

“Pollution removed his helmet and shook out his long white hair. He had taken over when Pestilence, muttering about penicillin, had retired in 1936. If only the old boy had known what opportunities the future had held.” HMMMMMMMMMMM

“There were no bitches in Hell either.” I know it’s talking about female dogs, but I rather thought Hell was full of bitches.

“Why are you talking like a poofter?” “Ah. Australia.”

“gOsh, aM i on teLEviSiON?” (Basically Aziraphale gets passionate about stuff and likes to talk).

Crowley is actually an optimist and doesn’t dwell too much on how sucky the world is. He doesn’t go get smashed in a bar. He just finds Aziraphale’s notes in the book and heads to Tadfield. And also, his new pair of sunglasses just... materializes out of his eyes. And he likes to whistle.

“Death and Famine and War and Pollution continued biking to Tadfield. And Grievous Bodily Harm, Cruelty to Animals, Things Not Working Properly Even After You’ve Given Them A Good Thumping But Secretly No Alcohol Lager, and Really Cool People traveled with them.”

“on top of the pile a rather large octopus waved a languid tentacle at them. The sergeant resisted the temptation to wave back.” Honestly dude, if an octopus waved at me I’d wave back.

Wait Agnes was apparently talking to Shadwell and not God when she said yowe daft old foole. I dunno

Madame Tracy: You old silly. Shadwell:

Aziraphale does not know how to get rid of demons. Canonically. “Had never done other to get rid of demons than to hint to them very strongly that he, Aziraphale, had some work to be getting on with, and wasn’t it getting late? And Crowley always got the hint.”

The road to Hell is paved with frozen door to door salesmen, apparently. The question is where it is, because the demons always seem to just stem out of the ground.

“Heigh ho,” said Anthony Crowley, and just drove anyway. I love this sentence during that scene.

I bet Hastur gets really mad whenever he hears Aziraphale’s voice from now on

Crowley isn’t breathing the entire burning Bentley scene

ADAM. SAID. “But I reckon you can make your own side” AND WE FUCKIN IGNORED IT?

The temperature above the M25 was simultaneously 700ºC and -140ºC which makes me think of something I read about magenta not being real. The M25 is magenta.

I feel like “Agnes” is just going to become an inside joke between Anathema and Newt at this point, and it will drive Crowley insane because he knows who she is but somehow still doesn’t get the joke.

I’m six inches taller than R.P. Tyler, and apparently according to the back sleeve of the book jacket, I’m very similar in height to Neil Gaiman

R.P. Tyler thought Shadwell was a ventriloquist’s dummy, and then sees cows doing somersaults

“That’s terrific. Much obliged,” said Crowley. — “Funny weather we’re having, isn’t it?” “Is it? I hadn’t noticed.” “Probably because your car is on fire.” .... Also the fact that Crowley looks like a young man which I find interesting.

“The Four Button-Pressers of the Apocalypse”

“Where is Armageddon, anyway?” “I’ve always meant to look that up.” “There’s an Armageddon, Pennsylvania”

Famine is the one that says “that’s one big avocado”, and also, I find it interesting that War, more than once, talks about love. (All is fair in love and war much?)

Anathema threatens the guard with a stick, pretending it’s a gun

Aziraphale, of course, asks Crowley to sort it out because he, Aziraphale, is “the nice one” and then proceeds to sort it out himself. Because of course he does. Because what else could he possibly do.

I just ADORE THIS BOOK OKAY

I’M PROBABLY GOING TO READ IT AGAIN IN A MONTH

Aziraphale and Crowley are so fuckin married I can’t

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newsies-and-the-nutcracker · 4 years ago

Text

Newsies but it’s French (Canadian) pt.2

(aka me just getting increasingly frustrated the longer it goes on until I’ve completely lost whatever bits of sanity I had left lol)

~ king of new york scene ~

“We’re in the papes??” “You’re in the papes.” why do I find this so funny help-

“For the good of Jack, we can stop complaining...” not the whole thing but that sounds so out of character for Race I can’t-

After a quick google search, I can confirm that Race says “The world is at our boots.”

The newsies are very confused

Apparently he was meant to say feet.

“I’m talking about our feet!”

…

hOW IN THE WORLD IS THAT EVEN CLOSE TO ‘THE WOILD IS YA ERSTER’-

Okay I’m done

“My own face on a piece of wood!” good for you ig

“I’m respectful. I’m looking at you.” please-

“I am pretty, am I not?” yes race you’re very pretty

“My own bed and an indoor toilet!” wait… does that mean you literally have a toilet outside?? In the open???

“Nothing more normal for a famous journalist!” Irdk how I’m supposed to process this-

“Leave, idiot! It’s her, the king of New York!” guys is this actually what he says in English?? Race why are you so m e a n

“Some…” *checks notes* “depressive defeatists” ?? I just want to know how you got that from “Buncha wet noodles”-

“We were on the verge of drowning ourselves in alcohol.” WHY AM I ONLY NOW FIGURING OUT WHAT SOME OF THESE LINES MEAN AS I’M WATCHING IT IN F R E N C H ???

They cut out a lot of the background comments during the dance break and now I’m sad

After Katherine’s little dance: “It’s a joke, I hope.” wow

“You’ll see what the Delancey’s do in their pants!” that sounds so wrong I-

“Friends can leave, let them be!” I don’t think that’s what they were trying to say but okay

~ letter from the refuge scene ~

“There’s guards here, they’re mean.” WOW JUST TEAR MY HEART OUT WHY DONTCHA-

“If they tell us to jump, we obey, if not we’re screwed.” ow

“The rooftop misses me.” I give up.

“It’ll go. I’m in shape.”

“End.” the only time they decide not the put ‘the’ unnecessarily in front of something-

“Good, that’s enough.” how rude

yeah that’s all for that song. I hope you guys weren’t actually expecting me to find much humour in that one

~ watch what happens reprise scene ~

“You are a love.” ??

Guys where I live if you say “tant mieux pour vous.” it means ��Too bad for you” and that’s literally what Jack just told Davey-

“Stop. I understand. It’s useless.” eh close enough

“Good blood, where do you have to go to avoid you guys?”

“It’s impossible. We are inevitable.” since when did Davey actually become Thanos?

“And this here girl, Sally, she’s great.” :(

“We say that you wrote a good article.” “You seem horrible.” they’re much more salty in this version-

“Yes, it’s true. And, he is dead.” uhh guess who’s not going to Santa Fe-

“We can forget that and go back to work?” the person who wrote this had a real passion for butchering Les’ lines lol

“Be positive. No one is dead.” mmmmmmmmmmm-

“Is that what you’re hoping for??” MMMMMMMMMMMMMM-

“There’s no question of cents, Jack!” yk what? sure. i don’t even care at this point-

“We’ll do what?” he sounds like he doesn’t even want to win.

“We’re already winning.” “Agreed.” ABORT ABORT THIS ISN’T WHAT YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO S A Y JACK-

“And ‘voila’ why I think that Joe is an idiot. It’s a rattlesnake.” “... Yes.” you heard it right here, guys. if it’s a rattlesnek, it’s an idiot

“And you know why a snake whistles?” WHAT

“He is scared.”

“Go see, the poor of the head that’s spinning.” This is shredding whatever bits of sanity I had left-

“Why send the brutes?” idk why Davey

“You have maybe reason!” “Thank you!”

“And I have an appointment!”

no but when you say you have a ‘rendez-vous’ here where I live, it means you have like a doctors appointment or something lol

~ the bottom line reprise scene ~

“After his release, I surprised him myself!”

“If that’s the case, we’re going to bring him in... in softness.” nice of them

“... or the little thief?” I’m really starting to think that they lack like 99% of words in the French language-

“I was fighting in a war.” “And that turned out well for you?” get wrecked joe

“Rally as much as you want, no journal in town will talk about it.” guys I don’t have enough serotonin for this-

“Everyone here knows you’re horrible!” they made Jack sound like a little kid in the translation, and honestly I’m not even disappointed lol

“We’re missing time, little.” I don’t even know what to say-

“Your abject surrender was always the bottom of the problem.” sure why not

“Gentlemen, escort our guest to the cave-” well isn’t he nice?

“Be happy you’re alive, little. That’s the essential.”

“Yeah, so go!” ?? how is that even remotely close to “Yeah, so behave!” ??????

“I exercised my favourite American punch!” uhhhh good for you?

“You can sleep here, on this old press! It’s very firm.” help I’ve fallen and I can’t get up-

~ brooklyn’s here scene ~

“The sellers need our help! The sellers need our help! Tell them that Brooklyn’s arriving! Tell them that Brooklyn’s arriving!”

“We’re from Brooklyn, we’re the sellers from Brooklyn!” UHHHHH EXCUSE ME???

“We just learned that our friends are going wrong!” please you heard they were ‘going wrong’ like five days ago-

“You know we’re there for you, since always.” oH rEaLlY???

“Brooklyn is there!”

“Strikes aren’t nice, but they’re passionate!” well I’m glad you think so

“Let’s shout it, Brooklyn is there!”

“Aaaaand sooooooo!!” “Sooooooooo!!” “Soooooooooo!!!” “We will send you half road, just to Queens!”

“The pigeons are going to get soaked!” aaaaaand we’re back to the pigeons-

“What sad way to finish your career!” they sound so sarcastic I can’t-

“They’re not serious, but if they think we’re laughing…” i feel low-key threatened-

“Let’s shout it!” well if you try hard enough, you can make it sound like “loud and clear!”?

“Manhattan is theeere, Flushing is theeere, “Richmond is theeere, Woodside is theeere, and the Bronx too!!”

“Sorry, little. No news of him.” I just… why does it translate to “little”?

“You are alone, we could say.” “No.” “Yes.”

Medda really isn’t taking no for an answer-

“The sellers of journals of New York!” I’m crying why is it such a mouthful-

“You want to be treated like an adult? Act like an adult!”

~ something to believe in scene ~

“It’s Specs!” wow kath throw specs under the bus like that-

“And if I was a boy you’d be looking at me with a butter black eye!” I’ve officially given up on the French language I’m sorry-

“You win a fight when the other guy bites the dust.” and another one gone and another one gone-

“If there’s a way I could grab hold of something,” has literally been shortened to ‘if I could.’ IF I COULD-

“If I could stop time.” I’m so mad

“Really?” “Really.” ahhHHHHHHHHHHH

“But it’s going. It’s going.”

“... who didn’t even know she gave me a hope.” WHAT EVEN IS THE POINT IF THE TITLE ANYMORE??

“But it’s going. It’s going.” The thrilling sequel

“No. I’m scared of you.” “No!” yeesh-

“I believe in something.” good for you

~ once and for all scene -

“He is with us.” but like… how much?? only 99 percent????

“We could hold a hoedown here.” I feel like the person translating this just gave up by the end of the show-

“Happy to have found you again.” what did you like lose him or something

“The close.” ok yes that’s funny, but it gets even funnier when you realize it could also be translated to “the farm.”

“A little grease, and she’ll be like new.”

“This is for the guys who kill themselves at the factories.” w h a t

‘THE BANNER OF SELLERS OF JOURNALS’ I’m still not over this

~ everything that comes after that ~

“Anyone who doesn’t act in their own self interest is an idiot!” ey watch it-

also what the heck is ‘quiconque’ I swear I’ve never seen that word in my life

“We will find a way, but let’s seize the moment.” first it was “the chance” and now it’s “the moment” google translate are u okay-

They really went and changed ‘bully’ to ‘monster’ didn’t they

“You can make it.” he really makes it sound like Jack is about to die or something-

“It’s disgusting!” you’re disgusting sir

“And the world will know, we’ve been taking notes.”

“It’s a joke!” nope lol

“Goodbye, fool!” I’M LAUGHING WAY TOO HARD ABOUT THIS-

“Well you already work for my father.” “Yes.”

“Super, Jack Kelly!” I CAN’T-

“So, Jack, you’re staying?” yeah sure close enough-

“Sellers of journals on a mission!”

Das it ‘my friends’ lol. Hope you enjoyed.

#newsies #guys this took forever-#okay don’t get me wrong I love the French language but it’s just so much fun to make fun of #I go to a French school where you’re not allowed to speak English unless it’s English class so maybe I’m just bitter #anyway #tw: caps #justiceforspecs

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tuanyiems · 4 years ago

Text

First Everything

First Everything Bambam x Fem Reader Genre: fluff, a little angst Words: 9.2k [Masterlist in blog description] Plot: Sequel to Muse (Arranged Marriage AU) Part of the Marriage Life AU series. A series of dates in which Bambam tries his hardest (poor boy) to convince you that he really, really wants to be with you. a/n – lol idunno how I feel about this but here you go~

When the door of the restaurant opens, Bambam’s eyes dart over to the bodies entering for the umpteenth time. When it’s not you, he sighs, rubbing sweaty palms over the deep purple suede of his pants. The designer material darkens under his touch, but he’s too nervous to fret over his outfit at the moment.

He’s beginning to regret not picking you up at your place. He should have been more insistent. But the choice was made and now he is here, leg shaking in his chair of the Michelin star restaurant that he’s not quite sure you’re even going to meet him at.

He gulps down his second glass of water, throat parched at just the thought of getting stood up. He eats at this place at least three times a month. How embarrassing would it be for everyone to witness this rejection?

The door opens again and Bambam jerks his head up like a meerkat. An elderly woman walks in, much to his disappointment.

He sinks into the plush seat, tipping the glass to his lips again only to find it empty. A waitress promptly comes over to refill his glass, relieving him of the menacing view of the restaurant door for a fleeting moment.

What’s wrong with him? Bambam hasn’t been this nervous since…well, high school.

“Kun…pi…mook uh Bu—”

Bambam rolls his eyes at the freshmen English teacher, Mr. Kim, butchering his name. “I just go by Bambam,” comes his automatic response.

Mr. Kim breaks into a sigh of relief, taking pen to clipboard, “Great, Bambam it is.”

But Bambam has already zoned out.

Because right across from him is you—an unassuming girl in the back seat, smiling to yourself. Your lips move as you tilt your head down, but Bambam knows exactly what you’ve mouthed and his heart catches in his throat. Bambam.

His name makes your cheeks dimple.

He doesn’t know why, but this little bit of knowledge makes his chest squeeze.

The next day and every day after, Bambam makes sure to sit next to you. Thus, began the beginning of your beautiful love story…

…is what he had hoped.

But after the first day of high school, you don’t even spare him a glance. So instead, Bambam spends every hour of English period watching you from his peripheral.

You are a quiet student and most days you spend the hour doodling in the margins of your notebook. Often, your doodles are centered around cute cartoons yelling at you to pay attention in class. Every once in a while, he’ll catch a funny caricature of one of your classmates.

Maybe you’ll draw him one day, he hopes to himself.

(You don’t.)

“Bambam and Y/N, please read the next passage,” Mr. Kim interrupts his daydreams one day, about a month into the new school year.

His eyes widen, fingers flipping through the pages of Romeo and Juliet.

“Page 46,” you whisper as you get up from your seat.

Bambam lets out a breath, thumbing to the right page as he stands from his seat beside yours. He squares his shoulders, attempting to stand tall though his shoulders only manage about an inch higher than yours, but every inch counts!

“If I profane,” you whisper when he doesn’t begin reading.

Mr. Kim looks at Bambam pointedly.

“If I proFANE!” he starts loudly, cringing when his voice cracks. His classmates snicker, making his cheeks go red, but you don’t even flinch. Your eyes remain steady on the page of your own book, waiting for him to continue. He clears his throat, “If I p-profane with my unworthiest hand, this holy shrine, the gentle fine is this: my…lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand, to smooth that rough touch…with a tender k-kiss.”

Bambam swallows, wiping a sweaty palm on his khaki pants. He prays no one notices his stutter. If you do, you don’t let on, lowering the book as you speak.

“Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, which mannerly devotion shows in this; for saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch, and palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss.”

“Ha-”

“You guys,” Mr. Kim sighs, interrupting Bambam. He looks around the room with a scowl. “Can we not read this out like robots, please? This is young love! They’re talking about kissing! Be more excited!”

“Is that what they’re talking about?” you mutter under your breath, eyebrows arching as you scanned the page.

Bambam snorts before covering his mouth with his hand quickly. You catch the sound though, looking up at him with a smile.

His heart catches in his throat.

The playful glint in your eyes keeps him afloat for months after.

When the restaurant doors open again, Bambam chokes on his water. He coughs into the red linen napkin, his grey contact eyes watering. He can’t help chuckling despite it all though.

You’re here. And fortunately for Bambam, your gaze is focused on the hostess. You’re asking her something, probably for directions to his table. You lean towards the hostess’ podium, the heels of your blush-colored flats rising to your tiptoes out of habit even though you are at least a foot clear of the podium. You have on your signature cream oversized knit cardigan which you pull tighter to your chest, covering the simple white dress beneath.

It is so very you—even the stroke of blue paint at the bottom of your dress (which you probably aren’t aware of). On any other girl, Bambam would have scrutinized the stain, especially at a restaurant of this class. Yet, on you, the mark is somehow endearing.

He wonders if the paint stain is fresh. Were you so absorbed in a painting that you came rushing straight here with no time to change? Or was this an old stain on a dress you loved so much you couldn’t bear to part ways with it?

“Hey,” your hesitant voice breaks him out of his thoughts as you take a seat across from him.

“Hi,” he breathes. Underneath the table, he pinches his thigh. Nope, not a dream.

“Sorry I kept you waiting, I had a hard time finding the entrance,” you chuckle to yourself. There’s a story behind that smile, there always seems to be a story behind every expression and gesture you make. He wonders if he’ll ever be part of that story. When he doesn’t respond, you tilt your head nervously. “Were…you waiting long?”

“Oh! Ha, no, not at all!” Bambam straightens in his seat.

You smile politely before turning away to admire the place. It’s a beautiful French restaurant that sits at the top of one of Seoul’s tallest hotels. The entire restaurant is surrounded by floor to ceiling windows, offering a spectacular view of the city. Your eyes linger on the glittering lights of Seoul’s Friday night skyline.

Bambam doesn’t bother to glance out the window. His eyes remain on you, the glow of the candle at the center of the table flickers like stardust on your skin.

When you finally look back, Bambam leans on the table, lifting a proud brow. “Like the view?”

“This place is breathtaking,” you admit, fingers rubbing absentmindedly at the ends of your sleeves.

“Right? It’s one of my favorite places in the city,” he smiles triumphantly. “Wait ‘til you try the food.”

“Do you come here often?”

“Yeah, Lisa introduced me to this place a year ago and I’ve been coming ever since.”

“L-Lisa? Like…from Blackpink?” you look at him with wide eyes.

“Yeah, that Lisa, she’s a homie.”

You blink at him. “Wow, okay…cool.”

He pauses, not quite sure how to read your tone. Before he can ask though, the waitress interrupts with the usual spiel on menus and dishes of the night. When you read through the menu, your eyes grow big.

“My card is still on file, right?” Bambam asks, quick to assuage your worries. His card has been on file for months now.

“Yes, it should be, but I can check again for you,” the waitress smiles at him politely, knowing just as well that Bambam already knows this. He winks at her as she leaves before turning back to you.

Unlike his expectations though, the crease between your brow only deepens. He clears his throat, rubbing his palms against his thighs again.

“Anything catch your eye?”

You force out a smile, putting down your menu. “I can eat anything. Why don’t you decide?”

Bambam lifts a brow but nods in agreement. He wonders if French cuisine just isn’t your thing. He should have listened to Yugyeom and gone Japanese, huh? You can’t go wrong with omakase!

“Do you like wine?” he blurts, trying to get his best friend’s voice out of his head.

“Oh,” your eyes dart to the clear glass cases at the center of the restaurant showcasing their selection. You sink into your seat a little. “Well, I’m not really an expert, but I can drink it. Do you like wine?”

“I’ll let you try my favorite bottle! It’ll go great with the usual course I order,” he smiles, quite pleased with his decision.

“Sounds good,” you nod curtly.

After Bambam puts in the order, an uncomfortable silence follows. Your eyes keep traveling around the room like you don’t want to look at him. And Bambam, who could easily entertain an entire party of people at any given moment, finds himself at a loss for words. There’s probably a stain on his thighs now from how often he keeps wiping his palms. He’s too afraid to check.

“So,” he starts, extending the single word uneasily. He doesn’t manage to figure out the rest of his sentence though.

But it’s then that you finally break into a smile. A real one.

“Bambam,” you let out, and his eyes dart to your cheek where the ghost of a familiar dimple lays. “Are you feeling as awkward as I am?”

“More like nervous,” he confesses, leaning back into his seat.

Your brows raise, “You? Nervous?”

“It happens when I’m with beautiful people.”

You roll your eyes, “Says the same guy who’s ‘homies’ with Blackpink’s Lisa.”

Bambam grins, “When you meet her, you’ll see, she’s a bro.”

You arch your brows, clearly not believing him. “If she’s a bro, I can’t imagine what I am.”

You’re frowning and his heart sinks. He hates that you actually mean it. He hates that he can’t even tell you honestly what you mean to him. It’s way too soon for that kind of confession. He’s sure you wouldn’t take him seriously anyways. After all, he barely managed to even get this date.

Yn_ig: The animes lied to me. High school sucks.

Bambam snorts loudly, muffling himself beneath his blue checkered duvet before his mom can hear and yell at him to go to sleep.

It’s midnight and tomorrow will be the first day of sophomore year. He really should be sleeping, but instead he’s smiling stupidly at his phone. Your scowling face lights up his screen. Your best friend smiles brightly beside you, poking your cheek with the end of a paintbrush. You had spent your break taking an art class.

Bambam knows this because he’s been stalking your Instagram, although he’s been too afraid to like any of your posts.

You’ve gotten a lot better in the span of a few weeks though. Or at least, that’s what it seems like from having spent all of freshmen year watching you doodle in the margins. He wonders if he’ll get to sit beside you this year too. His stomach flips at the thought.

When morning comes, Bambam yawns loudly, his eyes barely open as he rushes to the bus stop. He hadn’t meant to stay up so late, but one thing led to another and suddenly he was on Soundcloud, listening to an indie artist by the name of Defsoul, who you had commented about on your friend’s Instagram post fifteen weeks ago.

He pulls out his phone, plugging in his earphones to continue listening. He steps into the bus, in the middle of bopping his head to a song when the sound escapes him and all he can hear is the thumping of his heart.

You’re sitting near the back, looking out the window. You have on headphones and a scowl that looks just like the picture you posted last night.

Steadying his breath, he walks past you and slides into the row of seats right behind yours. He wonders if you’re listening to the same song.

Maybe you’ll share the same homeroom this year. The entire bus ride to school, Bambam daydreams about all the conversations you’d share every morning if that were the case. He’d talk to you about Defsoul and then you’d share your stories about break. He’d tell you his was alright, but it would’ve been better if you two hung out. You’d give him that look, the same one you gave when you read out loud together, and then he’d poke your cheek like he’s always wanted to, right where your cheeks dimpled.

His bubble bursts as soon as a guy takes a seat beside you. Bambam can’t remember his name, but his face is familiar. He’s a senior, and by the way you move your headphones to the nape of your neck and smile, it seems like you know him. Holding his breath, Bambam pauses his song.

“2A? That used to be my homeroom!”

Bambam clenches his fist. His homeroom is at the other end of the hall from yours. Frowning, he eyes the back of the guy’s head as he leans into you.

“So, have you thought about what I asked over break?”

You fold your arms across your chest and Bambam can’t help but wonder what he’s asked of you. Is it a date? The way he whispers seems like it would be that kind of thing, and Bambam doesn’t doubt a girl like you must have a lot of admirers. Is it making you uncomfortable? Should he interrupt you two? But then, you’d clearly know he had been eavesdropping. But if this guy was making you uncomfortable, that shouldn’t matter, right?

Thighs straining, Bambam almost stands from his seat when you laugh. It’s the loudest he’s ever heard you, at least in person anyways.

“I thought you’d forget by now,” you chuckle.

The guy feigns offense, holding a hand to his chest. “Me? Forget about you? I see you think very highly of me, Y/N.”

Bambam rolls his eyes.

“Sure you aren’t just trying to dump all your responsibilities on me?” you pout. Bambam melts inside.

“Ha, you caught me!” the senior laughs, making you laugh too. It’s such a pretty ring to his ears, Bambam already knows he’ll be thinking about it for the next couple of weeks. “But you know I wouldn’t give it up to just anyone. It’s practically my baby.”

“That’s true,” you admit, chuckling, and then quieter, “You think I can do it?”

He put an arm around your shoulder, pulling you close. Bambam squeezes his fist.

“Not just doing it. I know you’ll be a great president,” he tells you confidently. Your ears go red, and if Bambam weren’t so focused on the hand on your shoulder, he would’ve found it very endearing.

“I don’t know, I just…” you pause nervously.

“Yo,” Mingyu breaks Bambam’s concentration. “2D?”

Bambam breaks into a smile, highfiving his friend as he takes the seat next to him. “2D!”

“Sweet!” Mingyu cheers, shoulders bumping against his playfully. “Kook’s with us too. It’s gonna be a wild year!”

Bambam laughs, shaking his head. “You guys are gonna get us kicked back a year.”

His friend whistles. “Girls are into older guys, Bam, it’ll be like one of those harem animes Kook loves so much!”

Bambam laughs, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes as he glances back at the hand still on your shoulder. He hopes that’s not the case for you.

“It got cold,” Bambam musters as the two of you leave the restaurant.

You nod, looking up at the night sky. “Seems like winter doesn’t want to leave us yet.”

The two of you pause by the curb, in front of the valet.

“Are you sure you had a good time, Y/N? You barely touched your food.”

You look up in surprise. “Oh, I really did have a nice time, Bambam.”

He looks at you skeptically.

“The uh, the…gourdine?”

“Bouchée à la périgourdine?”

“Yeah, that!” you chuckle awkwardly. “That was delicious.”

Bambam still doesn’t believe you but you look uncomfortable, so he lets it go. Actually, you’ve been looking uncomfortable ever since you laid eyes on the menu. Most of his dates took advantage of his generosity, especially at a place like this—ordering the most expensive dishes and trying out all the wine. You though? You insisted on being full after the first course. When he asked you what your thoughts were on his favorite bottle of wine, you mumbled something incoherent as you tipped the entire glass down your throat. You only had water after that.

It was like you couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

Maybe he had read things wrong. He thought you were at least interested in him too. The night of Mark’s fashion launch, the two of you had shared so many things—secrets, confessions, old memories and what he thought had been chemistry.

He glances over your way. You’re turned away from him, eyes watching the valet workers instead. You had admitted to hating him in the past. His stomach sinks at the thought that maybe you still do.

You shiver, pulling your cardigan closer to your chest. Bambam unwraps his scarf, holding out his hand for you to take it.

“Oh, I’m alright,”

He lets out a soft sigh before stepping in front of you.

“Do you maybe,” Bambam asks softly, placing his scarf gently around the nape of your neck. “I don’t know, it’s Friday, we could walk around or something or…”

He doesn’t finish his sentence, instead biting on the tip of his tongue as he wraps the cashmere cloth securely around you.

Your fingers brush against his, just barely, but he feels it tenfold. “It’s getting late…”

Bambam tries not to look too hurt when he smiles back at you. “I’ll drive you home then.”

A week later, Bambam finds himself outside of your studio apartment. When you open the door, you’re wide-eyed and frozen like you’ve seen a ghost. In your defense though, Bambam doesn’t look like himself. He hasn’t ever since the night you left him at this exact spot last week.

Dark circles line his eyes and his newly dyed black hair only makes his complexion paler.

“Is everything okay, Bambam?” you ask finally.

He sighs, squeezing at the bridge of his nose. His gold frames lift at the gesture.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, “I probably should have called first.”

“Hey,” you place your palm gently on his arm. “Why don’t you come in first.”

Bambam lets you tug him inside like a lost puppy. His eyes travel around the room. Of course, he’s seen your place before in videos, but it’s different being here now. He doesn’t expect the smell of ginger and lemongrass to greet him. The longer he lingers, the more aware he becomes of the subtle scent of jasmine rice wafting in from the open kitchen. It’s comforting.

Your bedroom door is open, and he can see you’re working on a series of paintings. The canvases line your wooden floors in a haphazard row across the room.

You sit him down on your couch, a worn out burgundy but the geometric pattern is intricate despite its faded color. He lets his finger trail over a line while you poor him a cup of water.

“Your hair is black,” you break the silence.

“Oh,” he runs a hand through his hair like he is discovering this for the first time too. A faint pink colors his cheeks.

“I like it,” you smile softly. “It suits you.”

“Thanks,” he utters. His eyes trail down your hands. Your thumb smooths down your own cup of water repeatedly. Your fingers are speckled with green paint.

When he doesn’t say anything more, you chuckle softly to yourself. He looks at you in surprise.

“I like this new look,” you explain, eyes gesturing to his outfit. Today, Bambam is in a simple white t-shirt and black ripped jeans. Granted, the t-shirt is still Tom Ford, but you don’t know that. More noticeably though, is what he is not wearing, no sparkling diamonds around his neck, no Rolex on his wrist. Only a plain, silver ring adorns his right pinky. “So, why are you here, Bambam?”

He winces inwardly, reality setting in on him. Why is he here? Because the hair dye didn’t work? Because he agreed to too many projects in an attempt to keep busy but now he’s just tired and confused? Because Yugyeom pushed him out of the office and told him to figure things out?

Because no matter what he does, he keeps thinking about last week’s date and how you looked at him right before going inside—the mixture of disappointment and sadness in your eyes that felt like he had lost it all.

“Bambam?”

“Did I do something wrong?”

His question catches you off guard. “What? No, of course not.”

“You didn’t like the food,”

“The food was delicious.”

“Then it was me. I was boring.”

“Are you really Bambam? Where did all your confidence go?” you joke, lifting a brow.

His shoulders slouch. You make his confidence deplete like he is fourteen again. When he doesn’t say anything, you put your cup down onto the coffee table and look him in the eye.

“Hey, really, it had nothing to do with you Bambam, and everything to do with me.”

He chuckles dryly. “I don’t need a ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ to soften the blow. You can give it to me straight.”

You look at him with a frown, lips threatening to jut into a pout and if Bambam weren’t about to get his heart crushed, he would’ve found your expression to be very adorable. Well, okay, that’s a lie, he still finds you very adorable right now.

“It’s really not you,” you purse your lips together, looking away. “I just…I was very out of place there, Bambam.”

“Wha-”

“I couldn’t pronounce half the menu,” you continue, cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “Or the wine.”

“But it tasted good?”

“Yeah,” you chuckle, looking at him. “It was amazing, Bambam. But that one meal cost about half the month’s rent of this place!”

Bambam doesn’t mean to, but he laughs at your outburst. He is reminded of himself a few years ago when he first became friends with Jackson Wang, who gifted him a set of Cartier jewelry on his birthday.

When he sees your face, he immediately stops laughing. “Wait, I’m not laughing at you!”

“Yeah, sure,” you roll your eyes, but it’s a harmless gesture. Rising from your seat, you look at him, “Is that all you came here for?”

“Well, no.”

Your brows lift.

“There’s this event,” Bambam rushes, digging into the pocket of his jeans. “Actually, I was working on this mini documentary with this artist and he’s opening up a new exhibit this weekend.”

He raises the tickets tentatively towards you but freezes when your eyes bug out.

“Yoshitomo Nara?” You practically scream, falling back onto the couch right beside Bambam. You smell warm and sweet and the memory of the night you shared a few weeks ago flickers in the back of his mind.

“Yoshitomo Nara,” he confirms softly.

You frown his way, though it quickly turns into a smile, “Well, that’s just not fair. You know how much he means to me.”

“I do,” he smiles quietly.

“So you came here to bribe me?”

He laughs, “More or less. Is that a yes?”

You smile, thumbs smoothing over the tickets repeatedly.

“Jokes on you, Bambam. I would’ve said yes even without these tickets.”

Somehow, he doesn’t quite believe you, but you are giggling, and he has a date.

And that is all that matters.

Bambam sits nervously on a stool of the art studio, his fingers twisting the lens of an old DSLR he’s still not confident about using. From the elevated windows above, the pink evening sky illuminates. Everything about this moment seems picturesque. If Bambam could use his camera properly, he would’ve known.

But instead, the camera remains abandoned in his grasp as he stares in front of him where you stand in front of your easel mere meters away. It’s just the two of you. Everyone from both the photography and the painting club had gone home already. After seeing you continue to paint, Bambam had insisted on staying behind to practice with his camera more.

To be honest, he is hungry and could care less about photography, but he can’t find himself to go home.

“Hey,” you twist around and Bambam’s mind spins.

“H-hey,” he musters up, still unconvinced you’re talking to him.

He blinks owlishly at you, and then, his stomach growls. Loudly. His ears turn so red and he feels like he’s been set on fire, but you don’t even react.

“Mind if I play music?”

“Uh, yeah…that’s fine,” he answers you meekly, eyes diverting in embarrassment.

“Cool,” you reply nonchalantly, walking up to his side of the room where the speakers are. Plugging in your phone, the familiar tune of Defsoul’s music fills the studio. It takes Bambam a minute to get over his own mortification before the music reaches his ears and he perks up. But when he looks around the room, you are gone.

Alone now, Bambam finds the courage to get up from his seat and approaches your easel. The chair beside your easel is stacked with art books of Yoshitomo Nara. It seems you are doing a study. Just like the angry little girls on the cover of the art books, your easel holds a portrait of a little girl too. It is different though.

When he looks at the girl in your painting, he sees you. The little girl holds the ghost of a smirk beneath her scowl and her eyes glint with secrets of mischief, just like you. Without thinking, Bambam takes a step back and raises his camera.

“Like it?”

Bambam jumps in surprise, the flash of the camera going off before it slips from his hands entirely. Flustered, he rushes to bring the camera back into his grasp, thanking god he had kept the old leather strap around his neck.

You giggle softly, standing beside him. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to surprise you.”

“It’s alright, I was just spacing out,” he mumbles sheepishly, eyes averting to the screen of his camera. You lean in, filling his senses with faint notes of your strawberry vanilla shampoo. “I’m still learning how to use the camera.”

“I like it,” you smile, looking up at him. “Can you send it to me?”

“I-really?” he looks at you surprised. Your painting isn’t in focus and off centered. The photo is not good, even Bambam knows it.

“Yeah, gives me album cover vibes,” you chuckle.

He snorts. “When is your mixtape dropping?”

You grin, raising a brow. “You never know what could happen in the future, Bambam.”

He shrugs, pretending not to melt at the sound of his name on your tongue. He didn’t think you’d remember him.

“Here,” you hand him a bag of cheese puffs before opening your own bag. “The vending machine popped out two.”

“Oh, thanks.”

Bambam walks back to his seat, gaze on your back again as you return to painting. He glances at the blurry photo on the screen of his camera and then slowly, he raises his camera once more, one eye squinting into the viewfinder.

Maybe photography isn’t so bad after all.

He snaps another photo. Click!

“Wait, this is a formal thing? Should I change?”

Bambam watches with amusement as you bounce nervously in front of his car. You are dressed in a plain pink tank top and matching satin wrap skirt. Of course, your classic cream cardigan drapes over you, and to his pleasure, so does his scarf from your last date.

“You look beautiful,” he reassures you.

You bite at your lip, unconvinced. “But you’re in a suit.”

“Okay, but when am I not?”

Your pout reluctantly turns into a smile and you huff, walking through the door he’s holding open for you, into the passenger’s seat. When he gets into the driver’s seat, you turn to him.

“When you’re wearing your designer gym clothes,” you smirk.

“Stop, you aren’t allowed to make jokes while I’m driving,” he laughs, pulling the car out of the driveway. “Also, tracksuits are still suits.”

Your giggles ring throughout the car.

When the two of you get to the venue, the place is already busy. The exhibition is part of the new contemporary art wing in the museum, which has been closed for the night for an intimate opening with select guests. Many of these guests are artist friends of Yoshitomo Nara, but even more are the wealthy collectors who are more than eager to call first dibs on the latest works. The only reason Bambam has been invited is because his mini documentary of the artist is playing on loop in one of the screening rooms.

While he loves art, these type of art scenes are not his thing. They’re a bit too stuffy for his taste and exactly why he dropped out of art school in the first place. But when he sees the way you seem to shrink into your cardigan as soon as you step into the gallery, he squares his shoulders and grabs hold of your hand.

You look surprised by his touch, but thankfully, you don’t pull away.

“You have to get used to these kinds of events, Y/N. You’ll be hosting them soon.”

You chuckle, glancing away. “Well, if I’m lucky, you’ll be hosting them.”

It’s his turn to blush now, but he pretends to be cool, pointing to the first painting to the right. “Shall we start here?”

You only grin, gripping his hand tighter. You seemed to get a little too much joy out of making him feel shy. Bambam can only sigh, quietly relishing in the warmth of your palm against his.

When you finally turn your attention to the paintings, the two of you look on in silence. Naturally, Bambam’s gaze falls onto you. There is a glimmer in your eyes, emotions passing through your features like its own movie. There is a lift of revelation in your brow, a scrunch of displeasure in your nose, the twitch of amusement on your lips.

Bambam fights the urge to take out his phone and record you. Instead, he follows after you, committing your profile to memory.

“Why do you like this guy so much?” he blurts out after passing a few paintings. You peel your eyes away to look at him in surprise, cheeks rosy.

“I-I don’t know, I’ve just loved his works since high school.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean for the question to come out harsh. I was just curious, I mean, his art is really nice.”

You squeeze his hand, calming him. “I know. I guess I was just drawn to his characters. They’re cute, but rebellious and real. It’s charming.”

Bambam smiles. That’s how he feels about you.

“And it blurs the lines of what is fine art,” you go on, turning back to the painting in front of you. “Like right now, it is hanging in this museum, so it’s considered high end art, right? But this girl can easily be inside a children’s book, and his previous works have.”

You glance back at him, looking embarrassed after your spiel. “I don’t know.”

He doesn’t let you skirt over the topic though as he follows you to the next painting. “Is that why you dropped out of school?”

You sigh. “There were a lot of reasons. Maybe my skin wasn’t thick enough.”

“No, I get it,” he rubs his thumb across your skin. “I don’t like museums much, to be honest. I like the idea of them, but in reality, places like these only cater to the gatekeepers and the gatekeepers are just boring ass, tax-evading millionaires.”

You laugh, leaning into his chest as if that’ll rid you of the attention you’ve already gained around your corner of the room. Bambam ignores their stares, laughing along with you.

“Your art shouldn’t be jailed up in this stale room,” he adds, after your giggling subsides.

“But yours is,” you chuckle, making your way into the dark screening room.

Projected onto the wall is Yoshitomo Nara talking midsentence about his latest artworks. You take a seat on the bench before gesturing for Bambam to take a seat next to you.

“This is filmed beautifully,” you lean into him to whisper. The action makes him smile since you are the only two in this room, but if it’ll bring you closer, he doesn’t mind. “You’re really talented, Bambam.”

“I have a good team with me.”

“I always knew you’d make it big.”

He smiles quietly, watching as the glow of the video illuminated your face. You really did.

Yn_ig: This is amazing!

Bambam1a: Thx!

Bambam chucks his phone between his thighs before shoving a spoonful of rice into his mouth to hide the smile spreading across his face. He pretends to laugh at something his brother said, though really, he’s twisting with glee because you just liked his latest post on Instagram. And you commented!

“Remember Bammie, this weekend you’re coming with me to…”

His phone dings and his mom’s voice fades into the background. Grabbing his phone, his stomach flips when he sees your handle name sending you a direct message. Ever since the beginning of junior year, he’s been talking to you over Instagram under the alias Muse_ig. It hadn’t been his intentions to deceive you. He was just nervous about talking to you online, but still wanted a way to support you. One comment on your art led to another and suddenly you were messaging him a thank you. Very quickly, that thank you turned into memes and inside jokes. Now, the two of you were talking to each other almost every night.

He clicks on the notification, nodding blankly to whatever his mom is saying.

Yn_ig: Hey! You said you liked photography, right? You should check him out. He’s my classmate. Really talented guy.

Bambam clutches his phone, trying to keep from jumping out of his seat when he sees you’ve sent his Instagram profile.

“Bammie, are you listening to me?” his mom looks at him pointedly.

He tries to school his expression, but joy floods his face anyways. And despite her tone, his mom smiles too.

“Whoever it is, she can wait. Put your phone away,” she teases, inciting laughter from all his siblings.

Bambam laughs it off goodheartedly, tucking his phone away. You think he’s really talented and nothing can diminish the high that this newfound knowledge brings him.

Well, nothing except, of course, you.

You see, when Bambam agreed to tagging along with his mom to her new friend’s house so she could introduce their daughter to him, he was expecting to spend a few awkward hours with some strangers. Maybe bond with said daughter over the awkwardness, but then he would go home and play video games and that would be that.

What he doesn’t expect is to greet you first thing at your doorway. He doesn’t expect to sit across from you during dinner. And he definitely doesn’t expect the glare you send him between each bite.

“You really are the prettiest thing!” His mother coos from across the table. “She definitely takes after you.”

“Oh, stop it,” your mom blushes, waving her spoon. “To think our kids already knew each other. This must be fate!”

“Hardly,” you mumble under your breath, but Bambam hears it. His heart breaks.

He can’t even blame you for it though. This dinner hasn’t exactly been easy for you. He remembers your late-night texts a few months ago and now all those self-deprecating comments make sense. Those words you were repeating? The I’m not good enough and I should just give up—They were never yours. It was your parents’.

“Bambam told me she’s one of the smartest in her grade!” his mom continues to compliment. He nods eagerly. Your frown only deepens as you poke at the asparagus on your plate.

“What good are all those As when all she does is doodle?” her mom laments, chuckling weakly. “We put all this money into her education but all she wants to do is draw.”

“Paintings,” Bambam musters. Both his and your mom look at him, surprised. He wipes his palms against his pants. In his peripheral, he knows you’re looking at him too, but he’s too afraid to look at you. “She paints, and she’s really good.”

There’s a pause and Bambam’s entire face heats up.

And then your mom breaks into a laugh. “And I heard you’re doing photography!”

His chest deflates and he nods meekly.

His mom laughs, hitting him on the back. “Unlike Y/N, Bammie here is terrible at studying. I really hope this hobby takes off.”

“Your mom showed me some of your photos, boy,” your father speaks up gruffly, pointing the steak knife his way. “Keep it up and you’ll earn yourself a free ticket to college.”

Bambam rubs at the nape of his neck, “I don’t know about that.”

“No really, there’s a scholarship, isn’t there, Y/N?” your father insists, looking at you.

You nod, putting down your fork. You look at your dad but it’s clear in your tone that you’re talking to him.

“It’s called the Artisan Award—a full scholarship to your art school of choice. It’s given to one graduating senior for their excellence in art across multiple disciplines—including photography. I’ll be applying to it next year.” You don’t even offer him a glance, focusing instead, on your glass of water.

“Well, you’ll be applying to a lot of scholarships,” your mom chuckles uneasily. “There’s still a year to think things through.”

“You should apply too,” your father adds, looking at him.

“Oh, I don’t know if I’d be any good. Sounds competitive,” Bambam mumbles, glancing at you. You’re scowling down at your plate.

“Wouldn’t hurt to try though,” his mom cuts in, smiling at him. “What are the kids saying nowadays? Have to shoot your shot into the hoop?”

He smiles, pretending to grimace at his mom, making her laugh.

“While we’re at it, let’s apply to the athletic scholarships too,” she jokes.

He laughs, rolling his eyes. “First I have to make a shot into an actual hoop.”

His mom snorts, “It’s okay, if anything you can dropout and become a comedian! We’ve got options.”

The table breaks into laughter but when he glances your way, you are glaring at him.

“I still can’t believe you were Muse_ig this whole time. I dropped out because of you,” you giggle, a crumpled brown napkin in one hand while the other cradles a half-eaten slice of pizza. The two of you had stopped for a bite to eat next door to the museum.

“Hey, don’t blame me, I was just sending you encouraging messages. You made the decision,” Bambam whines, one cheek still stuffed full of pizza.

“Only because I had you feeding into my delusions!”

“You mean showing you your true worth?” he corrects.

You smile, leaning onto the table towards him. “Which ultimately pushed me to drop out.”

He sighs, “Okay, fine, you win. Please don’t tell your mom, though. She’ll hate me.”

“Impossible, she loves you.”

“And I’d like to keep it that way.”

You roll your eyes as Bambam finishes his last bite. Sitting in the pizzeria on a Saturday night amongst a crowd of college students from the local university, the two of you stand out like a sore thumb—Bambam, because of his tailored suit that’s probably the same price as some of these students’ tuition, and you, because, well, you’re you.

In his eyes at least, you always stand out. However, tonight, this is especially so. Unlike your first date, you are laughing and joking together. Maybe he should get pizza with you more often.

“This was nice,” you breathe out as you both step out of the pizzeria. When the restaurant doors close, the loud chatter muffles and is replaced by the quiet night breeze.

“So,” Bambam lets the word drawl sluggishly, not wanting the night to end, but he is reminded of the last date when you turned him down and hesitates to extend another offer.

“So,” you copy, voice soft as you start walking back towards the museum parking garage. “You never explained why you dropped out. Such a waste of a scholarship,” you tease.

“Ah, that…” Bambam stuffs his hands into the pockets of his pants.

You place a hesitant hand around the crook of his arm and his shoulders relax.

“If it’s a touchy subject, you don’t have to answer.”

He shakes his head, looking down at you. “No, it’s not.”

He opens the passenger door for you, helping you in before heading to his side.

“I guess I didn’t have tough skin either,” he chuckles softly, starting the car. “Some days it really did feel like being jailed inside an art museum. Photography didn’t feel the same without…”

His voice trails and his cheeks heat up. You look at him curiously but he’s too embarrassed to continue. Again, he is reminded by the fact that while you grew up together, the memories you share are quite different.

He glances at you and the way you smile at him is sweet. As if to say, it’s okay to not say anything more. But instead of being comforted, Bambam remembers the way you glared at him from across the dinner table as if it happened yesterday.

“I liked taking photos of the people I care about. I liked capturing moments that mattered…Feelings that…Art school just made me feel empty. I didn’t know why I was doing it anymore,” he finishes off quickly, looking away from you.

“I get that,” you smile weakly.

“But look at us now,” Bambam chuckles, lightening the mood. “We’re doing just fine on our own, aren’t we?”

You smile, glancing out the window. “Well, you are.”

“So are you! Aren’t you publishing a children’s book soon?” Bambam keeps his eyes on the road but her can see in his peripheral that you are looking at him in surprise.

“Did Mark…”

At the red light, he glances at you gently. “Your mom told mines. She brags about you when you aren’t around, you know.”

You frown, playing with the strap of the seatbelt.

“I know that’s her way of caring for me.” You finally say. “Sometimes, though, I wish she was more like your mom.”

“Well,” Bambam sends you a quick grin before turning back to the road. “If you marry me, my mom comes with the package too.”

You laugh. It rings throughout the car and sets his own heart at ease.

“You don’t have to bribe me with your mother, Bambam! If anything, I should be bribing you.”

“I’ll take it!”

“What?”

He chuckles. “Whatever the bribe is, I’ll take it. Think City Hall is still open?”

You shake your head, giggling softly. “I still don’t get you.”

“What’s there to get?”

You hum thoughtfully. “A young bachelor like you so eager to marry and me of all people? Who’s holding you against your will?”

At the next red light, Bambam steels himself and turns to you, eyes steady on yours.

“I like you. A lot. For a while now.”

Despite the dimly lit night, he can see you flush. Your fingers clutch the ends of your cardigan sleeves, a nervous habit.

When you don’t say anything, he continues. “I know your parents kind of forced you into this, but that’s not the case for me. Maybe I’m coming on too strong, This marriage arrangement thing…I get that it’s unnatural. I wish I could’ve gone about this differently, but we’re here now and I’m ready. I know you’re probably not and that’s okay, I get it. But I’m interested, I want to date, I want to go through the whole process with you. Slowly, at our own pace, and if I’m not a good fit…then that’s okay too. But I want to at least try.”

The light turns green and reluctantly, he looks away. The rest of the drive to your place is quiet. When he parks outside your apartment, he smiles as if your silence isn’t eating him alive.

“I had a really nice time, Y/N. I’m glad you came with me tonight.”

“Me too,” you reply, almost a whisper.

When you don’t say anything more, he gets out of the car and walks to your side, helping you with the door. But you don’t get up from your seat.

Instead, you turn to him, eyes staring up at him nervously.

“I like you too.”

It is soft, but his whole chest shakes. Bambam breaks into a smile of joy and relief.

He takes hold of your hand, helping you out of the car. His fingers linger, brushing softly against the tips of yours, and you smile.

“Then, I’ll see you next week at your family dinner?” he asks quietly.

You nod tentatively. You purse your lips, cheeks dimpling shyly. His heart skips as you linger, eyes shimmering under the streetlamp.

And then you lean into him, fingers clutching his and you tiptoe.

It is a fleeting touch—light and feathery on his lips—and then he blinks and you’re stepping away again.

“Night, Bambam.”

“N-night!”

He stays for ten minutes longer, waiting for the light of your apartment to flicker on, his lips still buzzing from your kiss.

Bambam’s lips sting from how much he’s been nervously biting them, the high from last week’s date now a fleeting memory. He sits at your parents’ dinner table across from you and it feels like déjà vu.

His mom laughs loudly next to him. Someone made a joke or something.

He doesn’t hear it. All he can see is the growing scowl on your face. Whatever feelings you had for him last week seem to be long gone if your expression is anything to go by.

Your mom swirls her glass of wine, leaning into his mom warmly. “When you told me you wanted my daughter to be your daughter-in-law—my daughter, for your Bambam!—I almost fainted!”

“What are you talking about? The minute I saw Y/N, I fell in love at first sight! I’m pretty sure it was the same for Bammie too.”

Bambam flushes, stuffing his cheeks with salad.

“It’s true, isn’t it?” his mom nudges him teasingly and he almost chokes but he nods adamantly towards you.

“You two are so humble,” your dad chuckles.

Your mom seems to nod in agreement. “I’m sure Bambam can find better options out there.”

“Y/N has one good trait though,” your dad adds, laughing. “She won’t cause any trouble as far as the love department goes.”

“Oh, don’t get me started, this girl is so stubborn!” your mom starts up again, waving her spoon accusingly at you. “Always work, work, work with my daughter. It’s all she cares about.”

“Oh, Bammie’s the same,” his mom cuts in, smiling amiably at you. “It’s the younger generation these days. Married to their work so to speak.”

“Bambam’s got a good head on him,” you father nods to him gruffly. “There’s a difference between working hard and working smart.”

“Unfortunately, she’s only good at working hard,” your mother sighs.

Bambam swallows thickly, gaze fixed on your expression. You’ve been chewing on the inside of your cheek since dinner started. He can see the tick in your jaw every time your parents say something mean your way.

At first, you managed to fake a few polite smiles, but now your head was fully down as you played with the rice on your plate.

“I like Y/N’s work ethic,” he finally speaks up. You finally look at him, eyes unreadable. “It’s hard work that brings talent to fruition and Y/N has both.”

Your gaze lingers on him.

“If we’re talking about talent though, we have to talk about your business!” Your mom breaks the air and the ghost of your smile completely vanishes from your face. You don’t look at him for the rest of dinner.

“Ready for dessert?” your mom asks after everyone was done eating.

You scoot your chair, rising from your seat. “Actually, I’m not feeling so well.”

“Oh, are you okay sweetheart?” his mother asks.

You smile apologetically, “So sorry to have to leave first.”

“Of course, honey! Bammie, why don’t you bring her home?”

“Oh no, that’s alright.”

“No, no, let me.” Bambam rises from his seat and takes hold of your hand. He gives you an encouraging squeeze. “Thank you for the meal! I’ll get her home safely.”

When you exit the house, you slip your hand from his. He pretends not to notice, leading you to his car quietly.

“Congratulations to our one and only Bambam for winning the Artisan Award, one of the most prestigious art scholarships in the nation.”

The morning announcement rings in his ears and his homeroom bursts in a parade of cheers and congratulations, but his heart lurches and he thinks of you.

He is reminded of the hours you spent afterschool every day in the art studio, working on pieces for your portfolio. He thinks of all the different art programs you attended during school holidays. He remembers your mother’s voice and the way you’d repeat those words during your late-night Instagram messages.

When he sees you at the bus stop immediately after school instead of in the studio, he almost turns the other way, but your eyes meet his and goes to stand next to you instead. You only give him a slight nod before returning to your phone.

It feels like a long time before the bus arrives.

You sit where you always do, near the back, beside the window. He takes the row of seats across from you.

His stomach twists with guilt when he watches your profile. You can probably feel his stare, but you continue to look straight ahead anyways. You’re probably trying hard to look unbothered, but he can see your disappointment clearly. There’s a slouch in your shoulders, a faint frown tilting the edges of your lips.

You are disappointed and probably dislike him right now.

He wonders if you’ll tell him about this over Instagram. He doesn’t know if Muse_ig will be able to console you this time around. He wishes he had the right words to say, but his throat constricts instead.

When your stop arrives, his eyes follow your back as you stand at the door and he beats himself up for having stayed quiet. And when the bus creeps to stop, you hesitate, before turning back to him.

“Congrats, by the way,” you offer him a small smile. “You deserved it.”

You step off the bus before he can say anything back.

You take a different route home for the rest of the school year.

At the red light, Bambam looks over at you. You continue looking straight ahead. There’s a sadness beneath your schooled expression, he can feel this in his gut, but he doesn’t know what to say.

“Y/N,” he starts hesitantly.

“The light’s green,” you interrupt.

He turns his attention back to the room. His gut clenches.

“Cupcake!” he blurts, gripping the wheel.

Your head turns abruptly. “What?”

“C-Cupcake, my cat,” he continues, not quite sure where he’s going with this. “You met her last time.”

After a pause, you reply back, “Yeah, I did.”

“I gave her a haircut. A really bad one. She had a bald spot, so I had to bring her to the groomers to get it fixed,” he rambles. “They tried their best, but she looks really awful right now. It’s pretty funny actually.”

You let out a soft chuckle. “Poor Cupcake.”

He glances at you briefly, his chest fluttering at the sight of your smile again. “You wanna go see my cats? I heard petting cats is therapeutic, although, not much to pet right now.”

Finally, you laugh.

“Sure, why not.”

When you finally get to his place, he knows he said the right thing. You sit on his couch, surrounded by his cats and a soft smile on your face.

“Awful, isn’t it?” he asks, taking a seat next to you. King jumps into his lap and he scoots closer to you.

“Absolutely terrible,” you chuckle, petting Cupcake gently.

“But you’re feeling better, aren’t you?”

You let out a quiet sigh.

“Bambam,” you look at him and his heart drops. “Maybe we should just stop this.”

“Fourteen!”

Your brows arch. “You really need to stop saying things without context.”

He puts King aside and grabs hold of your hand like a lifeline.

“I was fourteen. You mouthed my name on the first day of school. That’s when I started liking you.”

You blink up at him in surprise.

“The painting and photography club had to share the same classroom and I knew you just became the president. I did my brother’s chores for three weeks just so I could borrow his old camera,” he looks at you nervously. “I wasn’t planning on falling for photography. You’re the reason I’m where I’m at today.”

“Y-you’re giving me too much credit.”

He holds your hands tighter, shaking his head.

“Your parents have a screwed-up way of measuring your worth, but I don’t care about your job or how famous you are. I care about the girl who mouthed my name and made me feel special. You’ve always been kind to me, taking me seriously when no one else in our grade did. You were the first person to like my photos and you’ve always encouraged me, even though it came at the cost of your own feelings.” He looks at you seriously, “But it shouldn’t. I don’t want to compete against you, Y/N. I want to be on your side.”

“On my side?” you repeat, looking at your intertwined fingers.

“On your side, by your side,” he whispers. “You’re my muse, my first love, first heartbreak. I’d like you to be my last everything too.”

There’s a pause and his chest aches from the silence.

But then he sees it.

Your dimpled cheek.

“So, you had a crush on me since high school?”

He huffs. “That’s what you got from all that?”

You answer with a giggle, dimpled cheeks and very soft lips on his.

#got7 scenarios #got7 imagines #got7 reactions #bambam #fluff #fanfic #marriage life au

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icelily17 · 4 years ago

Text

Date Night (A KimxRon fic)

Alrighty, here’s a little writing exercise for myself! This prompt was from @gothicthundra and I’m very grateful to everyone else for suggested prompts! I’ll get to them hopefully soon. Put under a read more for space purposes haha, this is set during Season 4 just so I can start on familiar ground. I really, really hope I didn’t butcher the characters....

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“You think you’re all that, Kim Possible!! But you’re nooooooot!!!!” Dr. Drakken yelled out angrily as he flew away with Shego in his hovercar, once again defeated. Kim Possible, teen superhero, stood up and dusted herself off after a job well done. “Okay, Drakken, whatever you say,” she said sarcastically.

“Y’know, how many times is he going to say that line?” Ron Stoppable came up behind her, picking a piece of dirt off her shoulder that she missed. Her best friend-turned-boyfriend crossed his arms, “You’d think that after the first couple of hundred times his butt was kicked, he’d come up with something else”.

“Well, at least Drakken didn’t get his hands on that chromium gem to power whatever his newest hairbrained scheme, AND we got it done before dinnertime!” Kim looked at her watch, “Perfect!”

“Yeah! We can stop at Bueno Nacho on the way home!” Ron exclaimed. Rufus came out of his pocket and ran up Ron’s shoulder and squeaked “Mmm, dinner! Hungry!”

Kim smiled and took out the Kimmunicator, “Sorry, I have some AP English homework I have to do tonight. Wade?” She called, and within seconds their friend blipped on the screen, “Can you get us a ride back to Middleton?”

“Hey guys, didja get Drakken before he got the goods?” Wade asked, already typing away looking for a contact. “Yeah, the chromium gem is safe and sound in the lab,” she assured. “Cool, you’re ride’s on it’s way!” Wade gave a thumbs up, to which Kim gave her thanks and put the Kimmunicator away.

“English homework? On a Friday night? But I thought Friday night was our night!” Ron said, continuing their conversation.

“Not officially!”

“Aw man, that rips,” Ron moaned, “I was hoping we’d be able to spend some time together.” Kim raised her eyebrow, “Ron, all we ever do is spend time together.”

“Yeah, I know, but I meant something along the lines of a date. Maybe a movie, maybe we could have watched the newest episode of Agony County, grab a pizza....you know,” Ron rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. It was something he felt he could never get used to, talking about going on dates with Kim; it was like a never-ending dream, being her boyfriend. Kim smiled affectionately and grabbed his hand, “Sorry, but I really want to get a headstart on this homework. You know you can still come over?”

“Nah, I dont want to distract you if you’re working. I’ll just head home and play some Zombie Mayhem 2. What about tomorrow? I can take you out to dinner, we could go to a movie or take a stroll around town?” They began walking downhill to their rendezvous point. Kim put her finger to her chin as she thought, “Hmm....tomorrow’s looking pretty free, dinner and a walk sound great.”

“Coolness! Pick you up at 7?”

“It’s a date,” Kim giggled.

--THE NEXT DAY--

“Monique, I don’t have a clue what I should wear!” Kim wailed into her phone, shoving her clothes aside in her closet. She picked up a blue flowy long-sleeve shirt and held it up to herself in front of her mirror.

“Girl, it’s a date. You said he’s taking you out to dinner?” Her other best friend asked. “Yeah, but I dont know where, I dont want to be too over-dressed,” Kim said.

“If it’s Bueno Nacho, then it’s most likely over-dressed,” Monique deadpanned. “No, I don’t think it’s Bueno Nacho this time, he sounded like he really wanted to make this a real date,” the redhead mused, holding up a forest green long-sleeved shirt that had cut-outs on the shoulders to herself. She smiled and put it on the bed, returning to her closet for a pair of pants.

“Well, good on him! Look Kim, it’s Ron, you have nothing to worry about! It’s not like you haven’t known each other your whole lives,” Monique pointed out. Kim took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She had to admit Monique had a point. She had nothing to worry about, she knew that as long as she was with Ron she was going to have a good time. She glanced up on her dresser mirror and saw the pictures she and Ron had taken in a photobooth a few years ago, and smiled at the familiar flutters in her gut she felt when she looked at him.

“You’re right, Monique...not to sound too dramatic, but it’s just that it’s a little weird to think about going on a date with Ron. I mean, a real date as boyfriend and girlfriend, not the stuff we usually do. But in a good way! It’s just...”

“New?” Monique offered. Kim smiled, “Yea, new. But I like it.” She pulled out a pair of dark jeans, a pair of black boots with a small heel and a necklace, “Alright, outfit picked, not too casual, but not too dressy. So not the drama, thanks Monique!��

“No problem Kim. TTYL, spill the deets on Monday!” her friend said her goodbyes and hung up. Kim got ready, put on the slightest bit of makeup, hoping her father wouldn’t notice but felt it was necessary. This was a date, she wasn’t an animal, and she wanted to look nice for Ron. She sprayed a little perfume, then went downstairs and sat on the sofa where her little brothers were watching some cartoon she didn’t care about, and her mother was reading a book.

“All ready for your date Kimmie? When’s Ron coming over?” Dr. Ann Possible glanced up, looking at her daughter. Kim took the fact she didn’t say anything about her makeup meant she looked fine by her parents’ standards and opened her mouth to answer--

“Kim’s going on a daaaaaaate!” Jim taunted. “Ew, cootie alert!” Tim followed, and both boys laughed. “Shut it, Tweebs!” Kim hissed. “Boys,” their mother warned, and the twins just grinned and turned back to their show. “Ron said he’d pick me up at 7. It’s just to dinner and a walk, nothing too fancy,” Kim told her mom. Mrs. Possible smiled and turned a page, “Well that’s nice, I hope you two have a good time.”

“Where’s Dad? Working late again?”

“Ah, you know your father when there’s a new project at work, he’ll probably be gone later than you will. Which by the way, not too late okay?” Mrs. Possible looked up sternly. “I know Mom, 10 o’ clock,” Kim rolled her eyes good-naturedly. Her mother smiled, “Let’s make it 10;30. It’s Saturday, and it’s Ron, it’s not like he’s a stranger.”

Kim gasped, “Really? Oh thank you Mom!”

Mrs. Possible chuckled and pat her daughter on the hand, “Of course Kimmie, and if your father has anything to say he can talk to me about it.” She returned to her book again, and at that moment the doorbell rang.

Kim answered the door to Ron in a nice button-down short-sleeved red plaid shirt with a darker red t-shirt underneath, a pair of light blue jeans and sneakers. Kim was grateful that he had decided not to wear his usual jersey and so didn’t say anything except “Wow, look at you!” To which Ron giggled nervously and produced a bouquet of lilies. Kim smiled and took them happily.

“Good evening mademoiselle, and may I say you look very enchanting this evening,” He lifted an eyebrow in a flirty way. Kim laughed into her hand, then went inside to put the bouquet in a vase. He followed her inside and waved, “Hey Dr. P!”

“Hello Ron! Have Kim home by 10:30, okay?”

“You got it!” He called back as Kim dragged him out of the house. They walked down the walkway to where his scooter was parked and Ron handed her a helmet. “So where are we headed, Mr. Romantic?” Kim asked as she put it on and climbed on the back of the scooter.

“There’s this Italian place downtown I thought we could check out, DiPaolo’s,” He revved up the scooter, Kim grabbed his waist and they left. “Is that okay?”

“I could go for pasta,” Kim said, resting her head on his back. “At least it’s not Bueno Nacho.” Ron smiled as his tummy turned slightly and they rode in silence.

At the restaurant they initially sat in uncomfortable silence as they realized this was their first real, fancy-ish not-naco-and-a-movie date since becoming a couple and didn’t know what to do. Ron glanced at the menu and was glad his father lent him some money--not too expensive but not quite cheap either. He glanced up at Kim and could swear he was looking at an angel. She looked beautiful (well I mean not that she isn’t all the time but WOW) and he was once again wondering how he was so lucky to have been the one Kim chose to be with. He smiled affectionately, and when Kim caught his eye she smiled back shyly.

“Hey KP, this is so...well, I mean...I just...” he began, but sputtered nervously. Great, not how he wanted to start, real smooth Stoppable. But Kim put her hand on his, to which he looked up and saw her still smiling and shaking her head.

“Oh Ron, look...if it makes you feel better, I’m nervous too.”

“You? But you’re never nervous!”

“I am when it comes to cute boys,” she said slyly. Ron giggled and rubbed the back of his neck, “Haha, yeah...but I didn’t want to be nervous. I mean, we shouldn’t be, right? I mean, it’s us.”

Kim leaned back in her seat, “You’re right...it is us, but this is something I guess we never really expected. Still, I’m glad it happened, and I’m glad you’re here with me.” Ron smiled and took her hand again, “Yeah?”

“Of course. Here’s an idea: let’s just pretend this is just another hangout at Bueno Nacho, and we’ll go from there one step at a time, okay?” She squeezed his hand.

“Yeah!” Just then the waiter came up and asked “What can I get you to drink?” with his notepad and pen poised. Kim ordered a water with lemon, and when the waiter turned to Ron, he studied the menu for a minute before looking at the waiter. “I’ll have a coco-moo....I mean, ah.....iced tea! Yeah, iced tea please, heh heh,” he chuckled nervously. The waiter and Kim raised an eyebrow, exchanged a glance, and the waiter walked away to get their drinks.

“Coco-moo?” Kim inquired. Ron shrugged a shoulder, “I heard it somewhere once, can’t remember. Anyway,” he said, clearly trying to move on, “did you finish your English paper?”

The rest of dinner went easily, and neither of the teens could believe they were even nervous to begin with. When they got past the initial awkwardness, it was like everything was as it had always been, just with more handholding and kisses and neither of them were complaining about that.

Afterwards, they rode Ron’s scooter to the park and just walked hand in hand. They stopped at a familiar, graffiti covered wall and sat on the bench nearby. “Hey, remember when you were hit with Drakken’s weird plant and were going to disappear every time you got embarrassed?” Ron asked.

Kim rolled her eyes, “How could I forget? They followed me on my date with Josh Mankey and tried to embarrass me themselves! Not to mention the embarrassment ninjas and the Tweebs...did you know they set up a projector and showed embarrassing pictures of me here on this wall?”

Ron winced, “Oof, that’s harsh. Embarrassment ninjas?” Kim nodded, “Yeah, but then you came through and got me out of it just in time.” Ron shrugged, “Well I wasn’t going to just let you disappear. Although, I was surprised you weren’t in your room, Wade and I had to track you down.”

Kim looked away sheepishly, “Yea...I’m sorry about that...” Ron waved his hand and gave his goofy smile, “Hey no big, KP. Everything turned out fine and the Ron-Man saved the day!” Ron tried not to think about how he had felt when he saw Kim out with Mankey, risking her life just for a date. He remembered giving her a thumbs up when she looked at him in gratitude, because like Mankey or not (which he absolutely did not) he was going to support his best friend.

But that didn’t stop the pang he had felt in his chest that night.

“You know, I think that might have been the first time I noticed I liked you,” Ron said thoughtfully. “What?” Kim asked, looking at him. He winced, “Did I say that out loud?”

“Yea, but what do you mean? When I was on my date with Josh?” She asked. She was surprised he had liked her for that long, and a little pleased.

“Yea. I know I didn’t like him but I wasn’t going to let that get in the way of you dating him if you had wanted that. But seeing you there, all happy on your date, I was....”

“Jellin’?”

“What?”

“Sorry, I mean jealous?”

“Yeah, I guess so. I had never really thought about it, about you, that way up until then. But I still didn’t think about it up until the end of last year. And I didn’t know what you thought of me, you know?” The blonde put his hands together and twiddled his thumbs.

Kim faced him, “Ron, why didn’t you say anything?” Ron shrugged, “I didn’t want to risk our friendship.” Kim understood, she had wrestled with the thought for years on her end. She smiled and put a hand on his cheek, “Well let me be the first to say that I like you, Ron Stoppable, and I am very glad that you are my boyfriend. I wouldn’t trade you for anything in the world.”

They smiled at each other and leaned in for a tender kiss. They remained that way, in a sweet embrace for some time before they had to come up for some air. Ron leaned back and looked at her through half-lidded eyes. Her cheeks were red and there was a sparkle in her eye; he felt his heart swell and once again thanked the universe for making him the luckiest man in the world.

“I love you, KP.”

Kim’s eyes turned bright as she felt herself warm up from head to toe; she felt an almost weightless-ness as her chest swelled tight. She could burst out of happiness, and nothing could ruin this moment for her--not even Shego.

She threw her arms around his neck and captured his lips once again, and they could feel each other smiling into it. As they pulled away, Kim let out a sigh, “Best date ever.”

Ron laughed, “Boo-yah! I still got the way with the ladies!” Kim just smiled at her goofball. She looked at her watch: 10:15. “Well, we better head back home. Let’s go, Romeo.”

The drove back to the Possible house; Kim was slightly relieved to see that her mother had been right and Mr. Possible was still working. No pesky questions, no matter how well-meaning her dad was. They both got off, since Ron was going to walk her to the door--he knew the basic boyfriend rules.

“So you wanna come over and watch the latest Agony County episode tomorrow? I taped it,” Kim asked, her hand on the door. “You got it! Order a pizza?” Ron asked.

“Psshh-yeah! Isn’t that the tradition?”

“Bon diggity, I’ll bring the popcorn and soda,” Ron said excitedly. “Well, ‘night KP!”

Kim leaned in and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Goodnight Ron. Tonight was perfect. See you tomorrow!”

Ron waited until she went inside before he walked back to his scooter and walked it into the garage of his house next door. He went up to his room, smiling so hard he thought his face was going to break in half. When he walked in, Rufus looked up from the video game he was playing and squeaked at him as if to ask how it went.

“Rufus, buddy, your main man Ron’s still got the moves,” Ron said, then sighed happily as he flopped on his bed. Rufus squealed happily and ran next to him.

“I was wrong Rufus. Love isn’t complicated...it’s great!”

#Ooof welp that's it lmaoooooo #I really hope yall like it this took me 4 hours to write *hides in shame*#kim x ron #kim possible #ron stoppable #I have NO idea how to write an ending ugh

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