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wri0thesley · 4 years ago

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A Well Rounded Education (1): Suspension (Fem!Reader x Toji Fushiguro, 5k)

series synopsis: You are a teacher’s aid to teacher Gojo Satoru, training to be able to take over your own class next year by shadowing and helping him out. Gojo does not make things easy for anybody.

chapter synopsis: One of your favourite students has been suspended for fighting, and Gojo has palmed off the meeting with his guardian to go through all of the paperwork and facts and conditions on you. “Don’t worry,” Gojo says. “It’ll be Megumi’s sister, she always takes care of this kind of stuff!”. Gojo is wrong.

NSFW. AFAB reader, fem pronouns. dom/sub dynamics, light fearplay and predator/prey elements. piv sex.

(a well rounded education m.list and navigation)

“I’ve got all these other parents to deal with,” Gojo whines at you, pushing the papers into your hands. “And I hate paperwork, and I don’t have time to meet with Megumi’s family today – hell, if it were up to me, the kid wouldn’t even be suspended! Those guys had it coming!”

Gojo is not a very good teacher. Both of you know that – no matter how justified – violence never solves violence. Gojo, you think, would let these kids fight it out in an arena instead of solving things like an adult. You heave a large sigh as you look down at the papers detailing Megumi Fushiguro’s three-day suspension for fighting during school hours.

You’d seen Megumi before he’d gone home. He hadn’t had so much as a scratch on him; his face set in a frown, his arms crossed, his eyes downcast. You’d sighed at him and asked him if he was alright, and he’d shrugged.

He’s not a very talkative boy at the best of times, and you suppose that the suspension and the fight and the mini uproar it had caused in the school aren’t helping be any more verbose. You’d said goodbye to him and said that you hoped he thought about what had transpired today, your heart aching a little bit that you couldn’t be any more help to him.

You’d seen the three boys Megumi had got into a fight with, too. They had not gotten off so scot-free – they were bleeding noses, scraped cheeks, bruised eyes. At the very least, you don’t think any of them will get on Megumi’s wrong side again.

Gojo has to meet with all three of their parents tonight to give them the full story of why their children are so roughed up and what’s being done about it; a position that’s been doled out to him, you’re sure, because Principal Masamichi blames him for the incident and is punishing him. You can’t deny that seeing Gojo actually get punished for something is nice, but--

“Won’t they be mad to see me instead of you?” You ask him, biting your lip. “I mean . . . you’re his teacher. I’m just your aid.”

“Oh,” Gojo’s eyebrows rise behind his glasses. “No, it’ll be Megumi’s sister who’ll come, she’s a sweetheart! She’ll nod at you and say mournfully that she’ll talk to him and you’ll give her the paperwork, and that’s all – job done! Honestly, if I could palm this off on you and talk to Tsumiki instead, I’d do it in a heartbeat--”

“This is your job,” you tell him, exasperated, and he laughs wide and open. You’re not really supposed to get like this with him – if he were any other teacher, you’re sure that the exasperation and sighing and half-snapping you do would have had you thrown out of their class – but Gojo treats your irritation with him as if it’s the funniest thing that has ever happened. “You’re supposed to be good at dealing with this kind of thing!”

He shrugs.

“You’ll be fine!” He tells you, again. “Honestly, this isn’t the first time this has happened with Megumi and it won’t be the last. That kid’s got a right hook that could knock out an elephant!”

You do not ask him how he knows this. Asking too many questions of Gojo is always flirting with danger; you never know when his mouth will flash into a grin and you’ll suddenly be barraged with a flood of words and stories that don’t quite make sense and never seem to have a concrete end. But you can’t resist one last question – just in case it comes up. After all, it seems that Gojo has spoken to Tsumiki enough times for him to at least kind of know her--

“His sister?”

Gojo looks at you, and for a moment the shroud of capricious energy lifts from him, and he seems entirely serious. You’ve noticed this particular change in him only a few times – and often, those times have been about the more difficult backstories of students.

“His father isn’t around very often,” he says, eventually. “He’s some kind of something or other, Megumi never really says, but whatever he does, there’s a lot of travelling involved. Tsumiki’s his older sister – she’s twenty one, and she’s been more of a parent to him than it seems like his dad has.”

No wonder Megumi always seems suspicious and tired of Gojo. Something about his flighty nature probably strokes the back of Megumi’s psyche, where annoyances about an absent father are kept. You sigh, turning away and shaking your head to rid yourself of the idea of psychoanalysing the students.

“Alright,” you say wearily. “I’ll talk to Tsumiki.”

You’re nervous as you set up for the meeting. You know Gojo had said that this would be easy, that Tsumiki was very sweet and would probably apologise to you for Megumi being a problem – but still! This is the first time you’ve ever met any of your students’ guardian figures in any capacity. You feel kind of bad that it had to be for this kind of news, actually – ordinarily, you like Megumi a lot. He’s very intense and serious and clever, and you think that he has a bright future ahead of him when the trials of being a twelve year old boy finally are over – but this meeting isn’t for saying things like that. This meeting is for giving details of the three day suspension that Megumi has gotten for – you check the paperwork again – fighting three boys by himself on one of the sports courts, making them bleed and . . . breaking one of their arms? No wonder Gojo had seemed so miserable at the thought of meeting with the victims’ parents.

You sigh, running a hand through your hair, making sure that it still sits as neatly as you’d arranged it that morning. You check the clock to see you still have two minutes before anyone is due – you discreetly check your lipstick in a compact mirror (yesterday you’d had it on your teeth and you hadn’t realised until Mai had pointed it out with a laugh in her voice), smooth out your pencil skirt, tug at your stockings to make sure they’re pulled up and not wrinkling about your ankles . . .

And then, you wait.

The clock is straight across from you, so you’re able to see as Tsumiki is five minutes late, and then ten minutes late, and then fifteen. The tick-tock echoes in the room as your leg bounces against the floor, anxiety making you want to gnaw all of the carefully applied lipstick off of your mouth. From what Gojo had said, this doesn’t sound like Tsumiki at all – you’re just about to give up and pack all of your things away, figuring maybe she’d called into the office to say she couldn’t make it and telling you had been neglected, when the door slams open.

You rush to your feet, your sensible heels clacking on the ground.

“Miss Fushi--”

Your voice peters away.

The person stood in the doorway is, you’re certain, absolutely not Tsumiki Fushiguro.

For one thing, it’s a man. For another thing . . . well. You’re not entirely sure that a man with that expression on his face would ever be described to anyone as a ‘sweetheart’. Your frightened eyes linger on him for another moment, really taking in the broad shoulders and the muscles and the hair falling over his face, the dark, green eyes that are glaring at you like you’ve interrupted something very important. There’s a scar by his mouth that you also do your best not to stare at, just in the same way you avoid staring at how the form-fitting t-shirt he’s wearing clings to a muscled abdomen.

“It’s Mr, actually,” he says, which seems absurd in the face of him, standing there. He raises one eyebrow at you. “You were expecting my daughter, right?”

(You don’t know it, but Toji Fushiguro has gotten a read on you in less than a moment. He’s seen the wide eyes and the pretty mouth and the neatly appointed outfit, the pencil tucked behind your ear, the slightest tremble faced with his imposing presence – the fear as you’d seen the scar and the smoulder and the body. You’re adorable.)

“I . . . uuh--” Your cheeks are hot. You nod, weakly, and he walks into the room proper, the door swinging shut behind him with a deafening click. There’s danger in every one of this man’s movements, like a wolf who has finally cornered a little rabbit. You are feeling inexorably like prey, at this moment in time.

“I was expecting a man,” he says, shrugging. He sits at the chair in front of Gojo’s desk, pulled up just for him. He looks huge in the classroom; his shoulders too wide, his biceps bulging from the sleeve of the shirt. You don’t think this man was intending to be in a school classroom right now. “I guess you’re not Mr Gojo, huh? Gotta say,” he shoots you a grin that’s dangerous, everything about him is threatening. “I much prefer this development.”

“Oh,” you’re blustering, and it’s so cute. You sit back down in the chair with a quiet displacement of air, agitation in your fingers as you rake through the papers on the desk. Said desk is incredibly messy; Toji doesn’t think it’s yours. He ought to feel mad that they’ve palmed him off on some little assistant who’s probably not even fully qualified yet – instead, he’s watching your hands trembling and your teeth nibbling on your pretty mouth. “Y-yes, G-Gojo’s dealing with the parents of the other party--”

“My kid got into a fight, yeah?” He asks. “Decked ‘em pretty good, from what I heard.” You wince at his words, and that’s cute too.

“Megumi’s a good boy,” you say. “He’s just . . . got his own sense of justice, I think.” You look down at the papers, and your eyes seem to focus, back in a more comforting zone. “He’s been suspended for three days, and when he comes back, he’s on probation.”

“What’s that mean for him?” Toji asks, promptly, though something about the way he says it suggests to you he doesn’t really care. There’s a lightness, an airiness in his tone that sets you all off-kilter.

“It just means we’ll probably keep an especial eye on him. He’ll get a report that’ll need signing off on at the end of every period, someone will check up on it--” You see one of Gojo’s scrawled notes in the margin of the paperwork. You wince. “I’ll be in charge of it, actually. Making sure everyone’s happy with his behaviour for a few weeks--”

“How old are you, sweetheart?”

The question makes you jump. You’re like a doe in headlights, looking up at him. You blink slowly.

“I—I don’t think that’s an appropriate question, Mr Fushiguro,” you say, prim. That’s cute, too. He likes breaking prim and proper things like you. “I’m—I’m doing my training. I’m working as an aid here for a year, and then I’ll be qualified to be in charge of my own class.” There’s a hint of pride in your words, there.

“Toji,” he says. “That’s my name. You haven’t gotta call me ‘Mr Fushiguro’. I’m not tryna’ be pushy,” but he’s inched forward. His elbows are resting on Gojo’s desk, in front of you – he rests his chin on his folded hands, sharp eyes regarding you as if you’re something he wants to devour. “Y’just look tense.”

“This is the first time I’ve met a student’s parent,” you admit, though the minute it’s left your mouth you’re regretting it. Like you’re admitting to some kind of weakness. This close to him, you can see there’s a dark red stain on one of his wrists, like dried blood. Your stomach is tying itself in knots. It’s not helping that his forearms are so big, ridged with muscle.

“That so?” His eyes gleam. “What d’ya think of me?”

You don’t actually need to answer him. He can see it in the way your eyes keep nervously skimming over him. The way your lips are shining in the light. The bob of your throat as you swallow.

“Mr Fushiguro--”

“I told you to call me Toji,” his voice is almost mocking. You watch him lean over the table like you’re somewhere far away from the action – watch his hand reach out and cup your face, calloused thumb brushing your cheek, like you’re a ghost in the corner of the room. His palms feel like they’re burning hot. “You’re tremblin’, little lamb.”

You had thought you’d felt like a rabbit – shy, ready to run at any moment. But the moment his hand is on you, you’re docile – too scared to scamper away. You suppose you are like a lamb, staring a wolf straight on in the face, too stupid or too pliant to use your common sense and run.

“I . . . I shouldn’t,” you say, voice trembling just as much as the rest of you. Toji’s smirk hasn’t left his face. You’re saying you shouldn’t, but he just bets if he reached further down and unbuttoned your blouse, your nipples would pebble for him – he just bets there’s a wet stain on your underwear, right now. He can always tell when someone’s turned on by the idea of playing with fire.

“I wouldn’t mind spendin’ a few weeks with you in charge of me,” he muses, and then chuckles humourlessly, correcting himself. “Sorry. Lemme rephrase that. I’d rather be in charge of you, but--”

Oh, he sees that. The little flash in your eyes, an imperceptible contract of your shoulders. If you weren’t behind the desk, he bets he’d have seen your thighs press together too. Girls like you are just so fucking predictable, and he loves it every single time. There’s just something that’s so much fun about breaking them – making them submit, admit that him being so close with the scent of something-that-might-be-death clinging to him turns them on like nothing else. Your attempts at being haughty and polite and proud have just made the stirring between his thighs harder to ignore. You’re such a cute, neat, demure little thing – by the end of this meeting, he’s going to have his way with you, you bet.

“M-Mr Fushiguro,” you say, trying to wrest back control of yourself – honestly, he’s pissed you aren’t listening to him, but the title’s kind of endearing. You’re trying so hard! Pity you’re going to lose all of your manners when you’re bent over this desk with his cock inside you. You haven’t even moved your face away from his hand. “I-I have to give you these papers.”

He stands up, pulling his own touch away from your cheek. Stretches. Your eyes are drawn to the brief expanse of his stomach, just above his trousers – the dark line of hair leading down to . . . Oh, God. You shouldn’t have thought about that. The grin on his face is cocky, and you know that he knows you were looking.

“I’m just gonna throw ‘em in the trash, sweetheart,” he says to you. “Now. Let’s talk about the elephant in the room, yeah?” He steps closer to you. You totter to your feet, half-unsure, half driven by the low ache between your legs and the thrum of desire that’s been reverberating through you since the moment he’d carelessly thrown out how much happier he was to see you than Gojo. You have to tilt your head up a little when he comes closer. You’d thought you realised how massive he was when he’d walked through the door, but that’s nothing compared to how his size seems to dwarf you. Every unkind thought you’ve ever had about your body or your face seems to have gone out of the window as his heated green gaze hungrily drinks you in. You know it’s the stare of some predator who’s going to devour you, and you still feel transformed. Your breath catches in your throat as his hand idly comes to the top of your blouse buttons, a finger brushing the place in your throat where your pulse is beating its unsteady rhythm.

“Whaddya say, little lamb?” He grins down at you. “Gonna let yourself be caught by the big bad wolf?”

You’re supposed to be telling this man about his son’s misbehaviour, giving him all of the paperwork that Gojo had thrust at you, getting him to say he’ll talk to his kid and try and make sure that it won’t happen again. You shouldn’t be tipping your head back further, letting his fingertips lodge dangerously in the hollow of your throat, flirting with the place where your windpipe is. You shouldn’t be breathing out, all of your pretty prissiness and good morals and pride disappearing where you stand in the face of one of your students’ really hot dad.

“Yes,” you breathe.

And Toji wastes no time.

He doesn’t even bother unbuttoning your blouse; just drags his hand down, and the buttons pop off, scattering on the floor. You gasp at the show of strength, and Toji is still grinning, clearly enjoying that you’re admiring him. His hand pulls at the fabric, until your breasts are fair falling out of it, the blouse wrestles off your skin.

“You’re wearin’ something like this at work?” He asks you, giving a tug to the gore of your bra. You hadn’t done enough washing this week, and the one you’re wearing is all filmy white lace. “Almost like you knew I was comin’ huh?” His grin is crooked. You tremble as you reach behind you, undoing the clasp – and for that, you get a murmur of ‘good girl’ that has your knees turning to jelly.

He whistles as the bra drops from you, his gaze admiring. He takes in the spill of your breasts, the little peaks of your nipples. He takes handfuls of them, squeezing them in his big hands, his fingertips digging in so painfully you can imagine that you’ll have bruises in the shape of his fingers tomorrow. The idea doesn’t disgust you.

He lowers his head to kiss you. He’s not gentle with you for a moment – his teeth immediately nip at your bottom lip, kissing you hungrily like you’re the first taste of sugar for a man who’s lived on nothing but bread for months. His tongue licks at your lips, begging entrance – dancing against your own when you helplessly open those same lips, demanding in the exact same way Toji is.

He pinches your nipple between thumb and forefinger, delighting in how quickly the bud hardens. He rolls it between them, toying with it, enjoying the soft noises you make that get caught in his mouth. If he wasn’t kissing you, he thinks, you’d be bleating like a lamb right now. Huffing and whimpering. When he finally gets his cock in you, he’ll have to remember to clap a hand over your mouth so you don’t attract too much attention.

Your other nipple is given the same treatment, hot lightning bolts of pleasure ricocheting from the touch of Toji’s calloused fingers to the spot between your legs. You’re grateful for how solid Toji is – if he were any less so, you’re sure you’d be buckling over where you stand.

He pulls back with a final, marking nip to your lower lip, almost hard enough to make you bleed. You whine, and a dark chuckle spills out of his lips in response.

“Toji,” you whimper as he pulls away. You miss the feel of his body pressed against yours like a physical ache. His hands encircle your thighs, pushing you up onto the edge of Gojo’s desk, clever fingers already pushing your tight pencil skirt up so it’s bunched around your waist.

He kind of misses ‘Mr Fushiguro’ now it’s gone, but the sight of your stockings digging into your thighs soon chases the thought from his mind. He guesses your skirt is more than long and tight enough to make sure nobody gets a glimpse, but oh . . . that you’d be walking around all day, like that, with nobody to fuck you silly--

He can’t help but let his hands knead the soft skin, the flesh, his thumbs imprinting so hard in the plush that you squirm. He’s pressing your thighs apart, now – revealing the modest underwear, the soaking wet patch where he can see the outline of your plump labia lips.

With your legs spread, he can smell how turned on you are. Oh, yeah – he knows your type, alright.

“Ain’t you cute?” He says, chuckling. “You really want me to do you over this desk?”

“You can’t leave me like this--” Your voice is reedy, breathy, almost petulant – at another time, he’d make you beg for it. He’d take his time over you. But although the idea of being caught fucking the cute little teacher’s aid is briefly appealing, he doesn’t really want to make a whole load of trouble for himself when his cock is practically begging to be sheathed inside your wet holes. “Please--”

It’s the please that does it. It’s always the ‘please’ that does it for Toji. He chuckles, smirks, crooked grin – all of it feels like it’s mixing together in your mind, your throat very dry as nothing seems to matter right now except the fact that your sex is practically pulsing with how empty it is, and you think that the hot hard stiffness pressing against your thighs would really help alleviate some of that.

“Aww,” he says, fiddling with his zip and underwear, grabbing his cock and giving it a cursory pump just so you can admire the sheer size of him. “Don’t worry, little lamb. I’ll give ya what you need.”

He gets what he wants. Your eyes, as big and dark as the eyes of a doe – the soft choke of breath as you get to see the size of it, so big his own fingertips don’t quite meet. It’s the kind of cock that could ruin you for somebody else – and you’ve had sex before, of course, but you’ve never taken anything quite like that--

“That’s cute,” Toji murmurs, pressing forward, nestling his slick cock-head between your soaking wet thighs. “Wish you could have seen what a picture your face made just then. Afraid I’m gonna tear you in two?”

He might – he might, you think. But you pout at him and Toji’s cock throbs, as he glides the slick glans through the mess of your arousal, wetting himself even further. Your breath hitches, your hips doing a cute little jerk as it brushes your swollen clit. He can’t help himself but swirl the head over it some more, making your breath catch and whine, bleating like a little lamb--

He sinks his hips forward, and your fingers flex on the edge of the desk, knuckles white, at the relentless sear of his cock driving you open. You feel so stretched out, and he’s barely a third of the way in – he can’t help but watch your expression. He always likes to see someone the first time they’re impaled on his cock – the glassy eyes, slack jaw, the pleasure-cum-pain in their faces. He wants to take a picture of you and keep it in his wallet so he can pump one out to the sight of you when he’s on business trips and too busy to go out and find himself a hole to fuck.

“How’s that feel?” He asks you, so soft and low that you barely catch it. Another slow inch. He lets you feel every ridge, every vein, every bump of his shaft. You can hear your heartbeat in your ears.

“F-full—” you gasp.

“I bet,” Toji replies – and then, he bottoms out inside you. His eyes look down to where the two of you are joined; the slick fluid leaking out of you, all heat and needy. “You fit me like a glove.”

Your cheeks heat at the compliment, at the lewd way he’s looking at your spread open cunt – the way your hole is fluttering around him, the peeking pearl of your clit. He’s studying you like he wants to learn you by heart.

“Head’s up,” he says. “I’m gonna fuck you now.”

You’re about to open your mouth, and ask him what he’s doing right at that moment if he hasn’t started fucking you yet – but then, he’s dragged almost the entire length of his cock out of you in one savage thrust and is immediately spearing it back into you, his pace brutal. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, your back hitting the solid, flat surface of Gojo’s desk so that you’re flat out with your thighs wrapped around Toji’s hips.

If he weren’t so entranced by the feel of your walls fluttering around him, trying to suck him in further and deeper, so tight that you’re basically a vice, he’d grab you by your hair and force you to stay seated whilst he fucked you. But right now, you feel so good that all he can think about is his own release. The wet sounds of his cock gliding in and out of you, the squelch of your arousal and slick making every pump easier and easier. You feel so good. You’re tighter than he even imagined you could be, so good that he kind of wants to take you home and have you take up permanent residence in his bed.

You’re moaning, your back arching with every one of his thrusts – taking it admirably. There’s pain in your moans, yes – he supposes he could have prepared you better, had you come on his fingers a couple of times, if time were not of the essence – but they’re the pained moans of someone who likes to be hurt a little bit.

With every rock of his cock inside of you, he hits some new spot that you’ve never had stoked before, makes the heat and need inside of you swim just a little bit closer to the forefront. You don’t even notice you’re moaning and whining until a big hand slaps over your mouth, rough, hot palm against your lips, smearing your lipstick.

“You’re gonna be a good girl and stay quiet,” Toji says to you, through those savage thrusts of his cock inside of you. “You don’t want your . . . your fuckin’ . . . anyone walkin’ in on you being railed by your student’s dad, do you?” You shake your head, but he feels the throb of your cunt around his cock, the way your walls contract, and he adds it to the store of things he’s learning about you. Always the quiet ones, right? Always the proper ones who look as though they’ve never even seen a cock--

The feel of him inside you is absolutely dizzying, so much and so full that you can no longer think. His cock batters against a certain place in your channel, a textured wall – and before you know it, everything is going dizzy and black and white like exploding fireworks, your chest bursting into heat, your inner walls getting so tight around Toji as you come that he thinks you’ll be the one to fucking break him.

Oh, you’re adorable, creaming on his cock – the slick gush of your arousal around him, the dreamy cast in your eye, the fact he can feel you drooling against his palm. He increases the speed of his own thrusts, chasing his release through the weak aftershocks and smaller pulses of you around him, through the over-sensitive squirming of your cute little cunt, the fact that tears are pooling in your eyes at how much everything is suddenly feeling--

He groans and the hand still clinging to your thigh is suddenly pressing so hard you think he’ll snap your bone, ragged breath;

“Fu—fuuuck, sweetheart, you’re gonna take it all, that’s right, good girl--” in between belaboured, ragged pumps, his cock twitching as he manages to pull out at the last moment and his release spills all over your thighs, luridly glistening wet in the overhead fluorescent lights.

That’s another moment he’d take a picture of, if he could.

He’s not the kind of man who waits around. He gives himself ten seconds, to catch his breath, to admire your plush thighs painted with his come, before he’s tucking himself back into his trousers and zipping zippers and doing buttons. He shoves his hands into his pockets, bouncing on the balls of his feet for a second – double checking he’s left nothing of his in the classroom.

Yep. All clear.

He turns to leave, air of cocky confidence back – you only just see the shifting muscles in his back as he turns to go, leaving you where you are. You’re lucky he’s so tall, or you’d probably barely have seen him in front of the door frame (you didn’t even lock the door, anyone could have walked in at any time! You don’t even want to know what Gojo would say if he’d walked in to his aid being fucked like a slut across his desk).

“W-wait,” you say, weakly, still sprawled over the desk with his come cooling on your thighs. You manage to prop yourself up on your elbows, but your entire body feels like it’s just taken a battering. He takes a look back at you from the door, dragging a big hand through his hair, his crooked grin still on his face. You look so pretty like that – all fucked out and messy, the shine taken off of you. “T-the paperwork--”

You’re not sure where said paperwork is. Underneath you, maybe? You hope it didn’t get soaked.

“Told ya’,” he says, dismissively. “I’m just gonna throw it in the trash. Thanks for the fun, sweetheart. See y’around, huh? I should do stuff for the kid’s academic career more often.”

The door slams shut behind him.

#toji x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #toji x you #not sfw #writing #jjk teacher aid au #jjk posting #afab reader #fem pronouns #jjk writing tag

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t-lostinworlds · 4 years ago

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Wish You Didn’t (Peter Parker)

a/n: hello, hello. here’s another angst fic as ‘tradition’ since this is my first ever full peter parker fic so yeah, please be kind alska. this is very fluffy from the start but then it’s all downhill from there lol, hope you enjoy this one <3

pairing: peter parker x female reader trope/genre: song fic - Wish You Didn’t Love Me by Jake Miller; best friends to...well; fluff and angst summary: You love Peter Parker with all that you have, but somehow, he doesn't find that as a good thing. Despite feeling the same way, to protect you, Peter wish you didn't love him at all. warnings: wholesome cuteness at the start to set you up for heartbreak, brief dark thought from peter, and swearing. word count: 13.9k+ (i mean, what’s new)

masterlist on bio & pinned post

-:-:-:-:-

"Ugh."

Peter looked up from his textbook just in time to see you drop your bag on the table and then plop yourself down on the seat across him in the library. There was a look of pure frustration on your face, his brows furrowing at the sight of the deep frown written on your lips.

"What's up?" Peter asked, twirling his pen in his fingers as he tilted his head at you in concern.

You let out a big sigh, meeting your best friend's gaze with your frown still intact. "I've got a debate coming up tomorrow," you grumbled dejectedly.

The crease between Peter's brows could only deepen at your words.

You were the best on the debate team, always at the ready to take whatever topic it was thrown at you, headstrong. You're always excited to gush to him about what could be your winning argument, what would put the opposing team at a standstill. So, to see you be somewhat upset about an upcoming debate, it was so unlike you.

Maybe because it seemed last minute but by the looks of it, Peter can't help but feel like it was more than that.

"What's it about?" he asked.

You blew out your cheeks, hand coming up to play with the notebook he had on the table before you blurted out,

"Spider-Man: Friend or Foe."

Peter cleared out his throat just as he turned the page of his book to hide it, sitting straighter in his seat, pretending to get back to reading to avoid your gaze.

He didn't tell you.

Years and years of being best friends yet you didn't have an ounce of clue that you were sitting right across the person who was going to be the topic of your debate.

Peter trusts you of course, he trusts you with his life. His reason was simple really: he just didn't want to drag you into it.

Plus, knowing how worried you can get, he just didn't want to put you through all of that, especially on top of all things college and with what's going on in your personal life. He already feels so guilty with the stress he's put May through, he can't bear to see you have that burden too.

And most importantly, Peter just wanted to protect you.

"Still don't see why you're bummed about it," he said with a shrug, gaze running over the text printed on the paper but none of it was going inside his mind.

"I got picked to defend him."

Peter's head shot up at that, eyes narrowing on your seated form as he asked, "Oh, so you think he's a foe?"

"No..." you trailed off, eyes wandering around his slightly messy table littered with notes, textbooks and books, highlighters and everything in between. "Not really."

Closing his book, Peter leaned forward, arms rested on the surface with his full attention now on you. "Care to elaborate?"

You pursed your lips, shifting in your seat as you crossed your arms over your chest. "I mean, he's probably got good intentions but I've read about the Sokovia accords you know," you started, Peter nodding to show you that he was following. "And it's a debate. The other party would do their best to make him out to be a reckless vigilante. I can already think of so many arguments that they'd throw."

"Such as?"

"That he could be doing this for fame and attention, or that he is doing good things but his drive to do them isn't exactly the best. Is it for revenge? Bragging rights or maybe something darker? Another one could be that he's young, careless and naïve. We don't know what he's really capable of superpower wise which means he can probably hurt innocent people in the future.

"Not to mention if he's on the right or wrong side of the law. Who has to pay for the collateral damages that he has caused? Is it right to let him go scot free? I could go on and on and I just," you paused, resting one arm on the table and then placing your head on it as you looked up at your best friend. "I can't really counter those things with full force because I don't really know the dude nor do I have any real, solid facts about him to back up my claim that he's completely on the good side."

"Research hasn't done you good has it?" Peter hummed, a soft smile playing on his lips as his hand came up to poke your cheek, a sweet attempt to try and rid of your frown.

You shook your head no with a deepened pout, taking his hand away from your face with your own free hand as your nimble fingers then played with his absentmindedly.

Peter's heart grew warm at the gesture.

"There's literally nothing on this spider dude aside from blog posts written by fanboys and girls gushing about how amazing he is. Which is never a great source since it's already so biased," you explained.

"What would truly help you aside from research?" he queried, eyes trained on the way you interlock your fingers together and then letting it go only for a second before interlacing them again, letting it go and repeat. It was such an adorable habit of yours, one that Peter has grown so fond of, your touch always delicate and sweet whenever you fidget with his hand.

"An interview I guess? It'd be nice to get to ask him a few questions. Like, it would help to know why I'm on his side. Get a perspective on why he does what he does, you know?" you sighed, eyes fluttering close with your frown still intact. "At least that way, I know I'm defending someone who I know is worth defending."

Peter hummed as he tore his eyes away from your intertwined hands and back on your sprawled out upper-half on the table. He pursed his lips, gaze on the dip and valleys of your beautiful but stressed face. His brain grew at odds the more he took in your deep frown—one he always hates seeing no matter the reason—as he raked his thoughts on what he could possibly do to help without having the trouble of revealing his secret to you.

"But it's genuinely impossible to talk to him—"

"You could send him an email," Peter blurted before he gave himself time to properly process his words. Hell, he didn't even get to weigh the odds and dangers of his proposition. But now that it already slipped out his mouth—

Shit. I don't think this is a good idea...

Your eyes snapped open as you gaped up at him, brows deeply furrowed as you wondered, "Spider-Man...has an email?"

Too late to back out now, Parker.

"Well, all the Avengers do, under Stark Industries to be specific," Peter said in the most nonchalant way he can muster. "Since, you know, Stark tech in their suits, modifications, upgrades, what color they want it as, etcetera, it's how they talk about those stuff."

You abruptly sat up, dropping his hand as you laid both of your palms flat on the table, eyes now twinkling with hope and excitement. "You think he'd actually see it?"

"Yeah, not many people know about it so," he trailed off with a shrug, opening his book again and flicking through the pages.

You leaned forward, trying to catch his gaze as you narrowed your eyes at him suspiciously. "How'd you know?"

Peter scoffed with a shake of his head, never looking away from his book given that you'd notice his lie right off the bat if he does so. "I don't know Y/N, probably because I work there," he pointed out. Well, technically it wasn't a lie, but it wasn't exactly the truth either.

"And you're giving me it?"

He shrugged, finally meeting your gaze. "I don't see why not? As long as you don't share it around or sell it," Peter warned, shooting you playful glare.

"Yes! Oh my—you are the best," you exclaimed excitedly, jumping out of your seat and rounding the table to give him a back hug. "You're a lifesaver Pete, thank you." With one last squeeze, you pulled away and swiftly snatched your bag, feet in a rush as you treaded towards the door.

"Where are you going?" Peter asked bemusedly.

"Sending the email! Hopefully I can talk to him tonight!" you called back to him.

Peter can't help but shake his head at you with a laugh, "I haven't even given you the email!"

"Just send—"

Sssh!

"Oops, sorry," you whispered, finger over your lips as you rushed back to his side with a bright smile. "Just text me it please? Love you," you hummed, hand landing on his shoulder as you leaned down to place a swift but sweet kiss on his cheek.

The skin where your lips once were quickly turned pink, Peter's heart skipping countless beats at that four-letter word, unable to conjure any response the more he thinks about the actual weight of the warmth that's grown in his chest. He's heard you say it to him many times before of course, but despite holding a different meaning—one with friendship laced around it—it never fails to make Peter's heart soar.

Albeit wanting it to mean something else, something more, Peter knows he shouldn't. Always quick to silence his heart on screaming for more given that it wasn't ideal, for your sake. He always reminds himself that he already feels utmost content with what he has with you now, content with the love you make him feel even if it's only to an extent.

It was enough, for your sake.

Nothing but adoration coated his features as his eyes followed your every movement. His heart grew even more when you beamed at him once you pulled away, ruffling his hair playfully before hurrying out of the library, shooting him one last smile and a wave before disappearing from sight.

Peter can't wipe his own grin off his face, just the sight of your beautiful smile and your joyful eyes, easily contagious on his part. But then realization dawned on him and the curve slipped away, replaced by a frown laced with panic as he pulled out his phone to check the time.

"Shit."

He quickly gathered up his things and rushed out of the library, taking the back door out of the building to the nearest alley. Peter had his eyes glued to his screen the whole time as he quickly made a fake but believable enough email before sending it to you.

***

"Heard you were looking for me?"

You let out a yelp, jumping a few inches back as you spun around towards the direction of the voice. A hand flew over your chest the moment your eyes landed on a figure, shock befalling you as you froze. He was squatted down on the ledge of the rooftop of your apartment building, red and blue faint under the night sky. "Oh my—uh, hi," you squeaked, eyes blinking rapidly to see if what you're seeing was actually real.

The wind was blowing cold, your black pants, plain t-shirt and jean jacket doing just enough to minimize it. The sound of the streets of Manhattan was echoing below, very busy but faint due to your distance from the ground, enabling you to still hear his voice loud and clear when he spoke again.

"Hi, I'm Spider-Man," he introduced as he offered you his hand, masked eyes trained on you as you cautiously walked towards him.

"I know. I'm Y/N," you said, hesitantly reaching out to take his hand, the material of his suit rough against your palm as you shook it. You were in absolute awestruck, eyes glowing with wonder as you did nothing but gape at him.

"I know," he said and you can practically hear his smile behind the mask. He gave your hand a squeeze, the odd feeling that coursed through your bones made you tilt your head at him in mere curiosity, brows furrowed in utter confusion. Mr. Spider-Man swiftly cleared out his throat, eyes casted down as he quickly let go of your hand. "It's on your email," he added hastily.

"Oh, yeah," you muttered. A few seconds passed and you just stood there, staring at him like some star struck fan as you rubbed your hands together in both the cold and slight nerves. After a few seconds more, you finally spoke, "Wow, okay, I didn't expect for you to actually show up."

You don't know where to actually begin.

The first thought you had after sending the email was that he'd never actually see it, or if he does, he'll simply ignore it. You had been ready to wait out in the cold for a couple hours, anticipated the letdown to be frank. Yet here he was, the Spider-Man, right in front of you who, amazingly, even arrived right on time.

Spider-Man was making you nervous.

Normally, you have no problem with doing interviews. It is a form of research after all, and being on the debate team, you've done countless of it. But right now feels different.

Maybe it was the fact that he was a fucking superhero. He's someone who has actually done quite a lot and has probably seen and experienced other worldly things just as much if not more. Or maybe it's the fact that you simply don't know where this will go from here.

Will it do well that you'd get to ask proper questions and get answers that would truly help or will he get cocky and rude that this interaction would only end up being a waste of time?

Despite being famous, he was a complete mystery to everyone. The person behind the mask was wholly unknown and that itself makes you very nervous.

With a shrug, he said, "Well, wouldn't pass helping a friend."

"Are you making your voice deep?" you asked, the sound of his voice a little too...computerized for it to be normal.

He nodded. "Voice modulator, it helps keep my secret identity, well, a secret."

"Oh, yeah, figured."

You stayed quiet again after that, arms crossing over your chest as you kept your gaze steady on him, features coated with a mixture of emotions from confusion, amazement, curiosity and everything in between.

He chuckled softly, probably noticing your painfully obvious shyness. "Got questions for me?" he prodded.

You blinked a few times before frantically nodding, recalling how you specifically said in the email that you just wanted to ask a few questions. You then took out your phone, showing him the voice recording app and asked, "Is this okay?"

Spider-Man tilted his head at you with a soft hum.

"Yeah, I trust you with it."

You smiled.

The pressure and nerves turned lighter on your shoulders as you somewhat felt more comfortable...safe around him. And there's just something about the fact that he trusts you that warms your bones. It's like he's certain you only have his best intentions in mind, as if he knows you weren't in this for a selfish gain. It's really comforting in a sense, makes you feel confident that you're on the right track.

It makes you feel good about yourself.

With a soft nod, you hit record, words of curiosity slipping out of your lips soon after. "Those webs, do they come out from you?"

"No, they don't," he chuckled, taking out a vile from his wrist and then handing it to you. "That is what you call web fluid and I make them."

You gingerly took it in your hands, eyes scanning it briefly before you gave it back. "Impressive."

"Thanks. So, the fluid is like the bullets and these right here"—he showed you the black bands on his wrists with his hands open—"Are the web shooters that make me well, shoot webs. Like so," he explained as he pressed the button on his palm, the webs streaming out soon after and snatching an empty can on the far corner before it landed back in his hand.

You pursed your lips with a nod. "So, you can make weapons," you said with a certain tone in your voice that caused him to shift in his place.

"I—uh, no?" he stuttered, placing the can back on the ground loudly and in a not-so-subtle way. "I will never build a nuclear bomb if that's what you're wondering," he rushed when you narrowed your eyes at him in suspicion.

"Didn't say anything about a nuclear bomb," you pointed out with a tilt of your head.

"I-I'm, uh, I didn't—"

"I'm just messing with you," you cut him off with a soft laugh, your nerves diminishing swiftly at how he seemed to be a little shy and awkward but in an endearing way. It makes him appear more human, normal. "You're so tense, just relax."

"Yeah…okay," he breathed out. He turned around to face the city, going from crouching to fully sitting down on the ledge, hands folding on his thighs as he looked at you over his shoulder. He jerked his head, gesturing for you to come closer to which you gladly did.

You leaned on the concrete with soft hum, placing your phone beside his thigh so it was now between you both. You scanned the beautiful city with a content smile, the view never ceasing to amaze you despite seeing it too many times before. The rooftop is your best escape after all. It was nice to be far away from everything, even if it's only for a moment. Nothing but peace coats you whenever you're up here, may it be from the gentle gush of the wind or the bright shine of the moon that spreads throughout the blanket of black sky.

With a sigh, you looked up at the mask man beside you. Flustered was what you came to be when you noticed that he was already staring at your face, the white and black of his eyes looking somewhat soft, and you swear he looked almost as if he's smiling behind the mask. Warmth was quick to coat your body, a stark contrast to the cold breeze as you cleared your throat, causing him to swiftly look away.

"Sorry, I'm just a little nervous," he chuckled shyly, hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. "Really want to impress you."

You felt your cheeks heat up, a timid smile growing on your lips as you shrugged. "No need to impress anyone, let alone me," you said. "Just be yourself Spider-Man."

Oh, I truly wish I could just be myself right now Y/N—

"Okay," Peter hummed with a smile.

"Are you sure this is fine?" you asked, gesturing towards your phone in the middle of you two. "I don't want to intrude or make you feel uncomfortable by recording our conversation."

Peter's heart grew warm as his smile widened. Always considerate you are, too kind for your own good. If it was someone else, he probably would've had loads of pictures taken by now. Or maybe even a hidden camera somewhere to catch him at the wrong moment. Many of which would then be posted on the internet to spread like wildfire. Not that he minded the photos and videos but it's off putting sometimes, especially when they churn out not-so-good headlines to match.

"Promise me you won't share or sell it?" he joked, mentally cursing himself soon after once he realized it's the same words he said to you earlier in the library. Although he felt a wash of relief right away when you didn't seem to notice as you only flashed him a sweet smile in return.

"I promise," you hummed, turning to face him as you leaned sideways on the ledge. "What other superpowers do you have?"

"Enhanced abilities such as super strength, I can run fast and heal fast. Dialed up senses meaning I can see, hear, smell and feel things on another level. I'm...sticky, meaning I can climb up walls and stick to stuff like how a spider would. And oh, spider sense," Peter elaborated, watching with amusement as he saw your eyes change from awe, confusion, to impressed and back to confusion.

"Spider sense?"

"I can sense danger and threats when it's coming, like I feel a tingle."

"That's really cool," you hummed, hand rapidly lifting up as you took a fast and big swing towards his shoulder. He caught your fist in his hand way before you could even have the chance to land a punch.

Peter shook his head at you in pure amusement, giving your fist a squeeze before he let it go. "That wasn't so successful now was it?" he chuckled.

"It was worth a try. Just testing the waters to see if it would trigger your 'spidey sense' as you call it," you laughed, quoting the two words with your fingers teasingly.

"It didn't because one, anyone could see that punch from a mile away, and two, I said dangers and threats," he paused, tilting his head at you adoringly. "And you're not really a threat."

"Hey, I can be threatening," you scoffed, chin up with your chest puffed out.

Peter couldn't stop the laugh that escaped his lips. "I'm sure you can. I bet you can handle yourself well, especially with proper training." He took in a deep breath before saying, "But that's not really what I meant."

"What did you mean?

"That I feel safe around you."

"Oh." You blinked at him a few times before you fully broke his gaze, suddenly turning bashful as your eyes watched the busy street below where the cars and people were scurrying about in the cold New York night. Squaring your shoulders, you added, "Well, for what it's worth, I feel safer around you now too."

Peter felt his heart leap out of his chest, a proud smile erupting on his face, gaze dropping on the ground—or lack thereof—shyly as red started to dust his cheeks. "That's worth a lot," he hummed, lifting his head at the same time you did, your eyes locking immediately.

You beamed at him sweetly, shifting on your feet before letting out a breath. "Right, onto a more serious question," you paused, gesturing at the whole of him with your hand. "Why exactly are you doing this?"

"What do you think is the reason why I'm doing what I do?" he asked back, eyes trained on your face for a moment before he looked straight ahead. He can feel your orbs burning a hole on the side of his face, your brows furrowed in a way that Peter could do nothing but grin widely. He always found your thinking face endearing.

"I don't know, could be a lot of things. Could be money, glory, revenge, bragging rights, most likely fame?" you suggested.

Peter shook his head, keeping his gaze on the building across. "If I was doing this for fame, you'd think I would've shown my face by now?"

"Touché."

"But no," he breathed out, eyes now trained on his feet as he swung them aimlessly on the edge of the building. "I just want to help to the best of my abilities. I feel like I was given these powers, me, for a reason. If I'm not going to use it for a good cause then what's the point of having them?" Peter turned to face you, holding your gaze securely, even behind the mask as he continued, "If I'm not going to help out the little guy, even if I can easily do that then, who will? I can't simply watch the world fall apart when I could've done something to prevent it or provided a little bit of help, you know?"

You nodded. "With great power comes great responsibility."

Peter cracked a smile. "Yeah, exactly," he hummed, gaze dropping to stare at his gloved hands, turning it over before clasping it together with a sigh.

"How do you feel about the people who think you're not on the good side? That you have some hidden agenda?"

"I pity them if I'm being honest."

"How so?"

"I mean, if you're at a point in life where you can't accept that someone is helping simply for the sake of helping, then you've must've gone through a lot to not trust easily," Peter started, fingers fidgeting with his web shooters before he met your gaze. "We've been taught to always think that there's an incentive in all that we do. If you give, you have to receive and vice versa. But why can't we simply give and not expect something in return? People are so accustomed to the whole give and take thing that when someone just gives, it feels unfamiliar. That's why they get suspicious. They overthink that surely I'm doing this for something else when there's really no other reason than simply wanting to help.

"I also get it. It's a cruel world we're living in unfortunately where we have to keep one eye open. But I wish people would begin to accept that someone is helping to make the world a better place by simply wanting to have a safe and better place. No hidden agenda whatsoever," he finished, brown orbs catching sight of how your smile grew wider, brighter.

"You're a wise man," you said with an appreciative nod. "With a really good heart too."

"Thanks. I try my best."

"I'd say you've probably lived a life, traveled the world, seen so many new things, been to space," you trailed off, raising a brow at him in question.

"Yeah, you could say that," he chuckled.

"Are you a billionaire? Are you a prince in disguise or maybe a king? Are you a lawyer? Or maybe some kind of mythical being like Thor?" you poked.

Peter laughed, shaking his head as he shrugged. "Nah, I'm just a kid from Queens."

Shit.

Peter you fucking idiot. You absolute dumbass—

"Huh, I've got a best friend who's from Queens," you muttered, voice barely above a whisper but thanks to his enhanced hearing abilities, of course he heard it loud and clear.

Peter bit the insides of his cheek to stop his smile, even though you weren't going to see it anyway since he has a mask on. I know you do. "Come on, I want to show you something," he said aloud instead, standing up to his full height with his hand out for you to take.

You narrowed your eyes at his outstretched palm before you looked up at his masked face. "Are you going to kidnap me now and sell my organs?"

Peter threw his head back with a hearty laugh, the sound ringing in the air as he shook his head at you. "No, I'm going to show you New York from a different angle," he said, smiling widely as he leaned over closer, hand open wide. "Do you trust me?"

"You did not just quote Aladdin," you laughed, taking your phone off the ledge to stop recording before shoving it in your pocket.

Peter shrugged with a sheepish grin. "What if I did?"

You smiled widely at that, placing your hand securely in his and giving it squeeze. "Then yes, I trust you."

Peter hoisted you up on the ledge with ease, both of you now standing side by side on the edge of the building. A small squeak came out of you when you curiously looked down and saw that the ground was actually very far away, your grip on his hand tightening when all you could think of was splat. He chuckled, moving closer to you as he lifted your arm and placed it over his shoulders, your eyes snapping back up to look at his masked face.

"Is this okay?" he hummed, his arm wrapping around your waist strongly once you gave him a nod approval. "Hold tight," Peter said.

"Please don't let me go," you whispered, worry-filled eyes boring into his own while a mixture of both nervousness and excitement coated your features.

"Never."

Peter jumped.

You screamed.

The strong gush of the wind swiftly hit your face, hair whipping around as your grip around him tightened starkly. You felt your stomach churn while you swung in the air, passing one building to another, going high up and then dropping back down in a swooping motion. Your legs wrapped itself around his waist almost instinctively, all in fear of falling to your death.

"This was a bad idea!" you screeched, head buried on the crook of his neck, eyes shut tight ever since your feet left the ledge.

"Open those eyes Y/N! You're missing all the fun!" Peter laughed, giving your waist a reassuring squeeze. He felt you slowly pull your head away from his neck, lids inching open one by one until you finally gawked at the wonderful lights and blaring colors of the city in awe.

Your mouth fell agape the more you took the sight in, the city a blur but somewhat beautiful in its own unique way. You loosened your grip around his shoulder just so you could lift a hand up in the air, a satisfied hum vibrating in your chest as you felt the cold wind brush through your fingertips in the most comforting way.

That's when you let out a gleeful laugh.

Peter felt his heart melt ten times over at the beautiful sound. His cheeks were hurting from grinning ear to ear the more he took in how you're having the best time.

You looked absolutely breathtaking, the city lights casting a glow over your features, eyes holding nothing but pure bliss and wonder with that lovely, bright smile of yours to match.

The city was pretty sure, Peter loves seeing it at night whenever he does his patrol. But you, you were gorgeous, a stunning sight that he could never ever have enough of. You never do fail to make his heart stop, never fail to take his breath away, never fail to make his limbs all weak and Peter found himself falling deeper despite trying his hardest not to.

"This is so cool—no!" you shrieked, eyes wide with fear as you shot high up midair and went free falling for a few horrifying seconds before you landed back into his embrace, slotting right into his chest. Peter laughed as you quickly went to latch onto him, your grip viselike with both arms around his shoulders and your legs around his waist. He wrapped an arm around you securely as his other hand held tightly on the web, both of you now face to face as you continued to swing in the air.

You lifted your head up to look at him fully, faces now inches apart as you stared right into each other's eyes. Peter felt his heartbeat quicken when your orbs held a certain spark, as if you could see the actual him right behind the mask. His eyes fell on your lips, slightly parted as you gawked at him. They look really soft, very pretty, inviting.

He gulped.

At that point Peter wasn't sure if he was thankful or annoyed that he was wearing a mask. Because if he wasn't, then he would've already done something he might regret—or not—later on, especially with the consequences that would come with it.

But when you opened your mouth to start to speak, that's when Peter grew even more nervous on what could possibly be running in your thoughts.

Did you figure it out?

You didn't get a chance to say whatever it was you wanted to say when all movements stopped, Peter releasing you from his hold right as you felt your feet touch the ground.

"That was mean," you said once you gently pulled away from him. "You said you wouldn't let me go," you added, adjusting your hair and clothes before you shot him a pout.

"I'm sorry, I got a little distracted," he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck with a shy chuckle. It was a full on accident, mind preoccupied by all things you that he unconsciously loosened his grip around your waist which in turn, made you slip out of his grasp. "I'll always catch you though."

You pursed your lips at him with a tilt of your head. "If I hadn't known better I'd say you're flirting with me, Spider-Man."

Peter felt the heat rush up to his face in a split second. "I-I'm, uh—"

"Whoa," you cut him off once your eyes landed on the gorgeous city of Manhattan but much farther away and wider as you stood on a much higher building. The tall structures that surrounded the scene seemed like toys with their size, the lights that gleamed looking like little specks of stars floating in the air with the Empire State Building right at the middle of it all. "I haven't seen it this high up before," you said, giving him a swift glance before your eyes were back on the scenery. "It's really beautiful."

"Yeah, very beautiful," Peter sighed, brown orbs never leaving your features, his heart thumping in his chest, loud and fast, each beat all for you.

He walked over to where you were stood until your arms were brushing against each other. You spared him a glance, your smile wide and soft in a way that made his heart grow warm. But then you leaned your head on his shoulder and Peter swore he might as well die from a heart attack. If it were you with the enhanced senses, then you would probably catch him out quickly with how frantic and loud each beat his heart was making.

It wasn't new to him of course. You've always been the affectionate kind. And being your best friend, he's always at the receiving end of those affections.

But tonight feels a little different.

The fact that you feel safe around him without having to see his face, when all you see is Spider-Man, it makes his heart melt. The simple fact that you're comfortable when you're near him, that you can feel that you can trust him is really reassuring in a sense. It's like your heart is already familiar with who he is despite your brain—or your eyes—telling you that the person you're standing with right now is a complete stranger.

It feels really special when looking at it in that perspective, it makes Peter feel special.

Sudden boldness coursing through his bones, Peter snaked an arm around your shoulder with a gentle squeeze in the process. It took every ounce of his superhuman strength to keep his legs upright when you inched closer to his side, a soft breath coming out of you, a satisfied one. His eyes glowed with utmost adoration as it traced your features, from the soft smile playing on your lips to the twinkle in those irises as you kept your gaze on the stunning city in front. It baffles him how his heart quickened it's pace even more, just the sight of you in pure bliss. God he was so in love with you and you don't even have an ounce of clue.

Just say it out loud, tell her.

No, I can't. For her, I can't.

"It's getting late. I should probably head back home," you hummed, lifting your head off his shoulder to look at him. Peter nodded, arm dropping to your waist as he crouched down a little, just so you could sling an arm around his shoulder. "No dropping me this time," you warned, narrowing your eyes at him teasingly.

Peter laughed with a nod. "Yes ma'am."

The swing back to your apartment building took no time.

Despite wanting to drag the night out a little longer, Peter knew he can't do that to you when your debate was tomorrow, especially among countless papers and homework he knows you need to get to. Plus, he has his own errands he needs to tend to as well. Both of you landed on the ledge smoothly with you laughing at some bad joke he made. Peter helped you down like the gentle man that he is and giving your hand one last squeeze before he lets it go.

"Thank you for tonight," you said as you turned to his figure that remained standing on the ledge. Nothing but a wide, genuine smile played on your lips as you added, "Everything of tonight."

"Don't mention it," Peter said sweetly. "I had a really great time with you—shit. I hope that doesn't sound creepy or anything but I really did enjoy tonight, you know, our conversation, getting close with you and feeling you close to me while we were swinging...okay, I'll stop talking."

You let out the sweetest giggle that Peter could do nothing but swoon, his eyes softening as he tilted his head at you with the most adoring smile he could ever have the pleasure of wearing.

"I had a great time being close with you, too," you hummed, holding his gaze for a moment before you casted your eyes at the ground shyly. Shifting from your heels and toes, you pointed towards the rooftop door, before timidly meeting his eyes again. "I should probably—"

"Yeah, yeah, of course," Peter chuckled, shooting you a curt nod. "Goodnight, Y/N."

"Goodnight, Spider-Man," you said, swiftly turning around as you went towards the door, giving him one last glance over your shoulder when you pulled it open. He gave you a wave in response, your smile widening before you slipped inside and closed the door right behind you.

Peter had the stupidest, most shit-eating grin on his face that he don't think he could ever wipe off, eyes fluttering close as he spread his arms wide. With a satisfied breath, he slowly leaned backwards, letting gravity take its course as pure euphoria coated every fiber of his being.

Never has he ever felt such joy, freedom and utmost content as Peter lets himself fall.

***

"Hello there."

Peter looked up from his notes only to be met by a set of green eyes, completely taking him by surprise since it wasn't the pair of orbs he was expecting—and really excited—to see. It confused him to the core as to why one of the most popular girls on campus was sitting down right in front of him in the library.

"Hi?" he said, word coming out more as a question than a statement as he furrowed his brows.

"Peter right? Marjorie," she introduced, hand coming across the table to which he shook gingerly.

"Yeah, that's me." Peter smiled shyly, the crease on his forehead deepening the more he raked his brain as to why she's talking to him in the first place. Of course he knows who she is, the whole school does. Hell, he can already hear the whispers of gossip echoing about all because she's sitting right at his table, or as a matter of fact, simply because she's in the room. That's how big of a deal she is.

Marjorie moved forward, both her arms resting on the table with her bust right on top of it, the low cut top she wore doing so little to hide it, cleavage right up his face. Peter was quick to look away with a clear of his throat, eyes trained on his notes as a blush coated his cheeks.

She suddenly brought two fingers under his chin, prompting him to look back up. "Look me in the eyes when I'm talking to you pretty boy," she purred, a sly smirk growing on her lips when his blush deepened. She inched closer until she was fully leaning over the table and into his space, her thumb running across his chin teasingly. Peter's eyes grew wide in downright surprise and confusion, keeping his gaze locked with hers and never looking anywhere else—mostly not looking down—as he swallowed the lump in his throat. "Anyway, I heard you're really smart and I happen to find you really cute too. Not just a pretty face, aren't you Peter. So, I was wondering—"

Peter could feel you coming, hear you even, that all too familiar sound of your giddy and specifically patterned footsteps ringing in his ears. And dare he say it, he could smell your shampoo, the scent gradually growing stronger which was a clear indication that you were getting closer to the library.

He was left downright confused when you only stopped at the door, your heartbeat quickening by a mile as you stilled. Peter grew worried at the uneven sound of your breathing, all shallow and labored, the first thing that happens whenever you're in slight panic. He removed his eyes briefly from the girl across him only to see you turn on your heel in one swift motion and then completely disappearing from sight.

What was wrong? Where were you going?

"I, uh, I'm really sorry but I need to go." Peter quickly pulled his face away from Marjorie's hand, standing up from his seat all while shoving his things in his backpack. "I-It was nice meeting you," he said with a small smile before he sprinted towards the door.

He didn't see you anywhere near the building, didn't see you anywhere on campus at all.

It worried him even more when you ignored his texts and calls for the rest of the day. He knew your schedule but somehow, the moment he reached your class, you were already gone. Or maybe you hadn't even attended class in the first place. There was no other way of him knowing your whereabouts and he was growing really concerned by the second as to what had happened. So, he went with the last option he could think of on finding you quicker.

Peter slipped his mask on with a sigh, the sun already going down when he decided to try and pay you a visit in a very different set of clothes.

***

"Hi."

"What the fu—" You jumped with a yelp as you swiftly turned to face him, hand over your chest to try and calm your heart as you gaped at his masked face. "What are you doing here?"

Three times he's passed your apartment building and you weren't home. But by the fourth try, Peter's worry could only grow some more when he saw you out on the rooftop. You never stay out on the rooftop unless something was deeply bothering you.

"Wanted to know how the debate went," Peter reasoned, not the main agenda but it wasn't entirely a lie either.

"Well, my team won so that's great," you sighed dejectedly, leaning down to rest your elbow on the ledge while your chin landed on your palm.

"You don't seem enthusiastic? You still don't think I'm a friend?"

"No, no, I do now. It's just things in here." You tapped your temple, letting out another sigh when you brought your finger down to your chest, right where your heart is supposed to be and added, "Or in here rather."

Peter frowned. "What's up?"

"Who knew Spider-Man was into gossip," you teased, turning to flash him a small smile.

"Just curios," he hummed with a casual shrugged, settling himself down on the ledge, facing you this time around. "Besides, it's always better to let it out."

"It's just boy problems," you breathed out, eyes back on the orange tinted sky.

Peter felt a lump grow in his throat, heart sinking to his stomach at the thought of you thinking about another guy. He was quick to scold himself, telling his mind not to be selfish as he cleared his throat.

"Hit me."

"Well, there's this boy I like—" you stopped yourself, lips pursed as you started to fidget with your fingers, thinking face that Peter knows so well now in full play. "Actually no, I've been in love with him for as long as I can remember," you admitted.

The ache in Peter's heart grew sharper, painful and overwhelming that he felt his body run cold. His throat grew dry that he could do nothing but nod his head with a hum to tell you he's still following.

"He's amazing, greatest guy I've ever had the pleasure of knowing and he has never failed to show that he cares about me. He's always there for me, whenever he can anyway with his hectic life. And he makes me really happy." A love-struck smile grew on your lips, eyes glowing with adoration, face holding that look of love as you bask in the sunset. The golden glow made you look even more stunning, but Peter wasn't able to fully appreciate your beauty when his mind was too preoccupied with jealous thoughts. But a second later, the joy that's coated your features slowly faded off, now replaced by one with worry.

Peter tried his best to keep his tone steady. Despite having the voice modulator on, he knows it will pick up even the slightest shake and uncertainty. "But?"

"I truly can't figure out if he's acting the way he is because he feels the same way or all of it is just an act of friendship," you paused, taking in a deep breath as you shifted on your feet. "There are moments where I do think it's more but then there are moments where I see him with another girl and I start questioning it again. Like, am I reading things wrong? Am I getting too ahead of myself by thinking he could possibly feel the same way?" You pinched the bridge of your nose in frustration. "I don't even know how to convey my own feelings—"

"You could just tell him," Peter blurted to cut you off, not wanting to hear any more as the piercing pain in his chest could only deepen the more you talk about it. He's already got the drift anyway, no need for you to explain any further.

You turned to look at him fully with furrowed brows. "Just like that?"

Peter nodded. "You are an amazing girl Y/N," he said, nothing but utmost sincerity coating his voice. He just wants you to find someone who's going to make you happy and treat you the way you deserve to be treated. It seems like you've found exactly that, who was he to take that away from you by being bitter? Besides, Peter has long accepted that that someone is never going to be him. "Whoever this guy you're in love with, he's pretty lucky. If he doesn't see that then it's his loss. And if he doesn't feel the same way, then he's not the right guy for you because you deserve someone who'll love you unconditionally."

"You giving out relationship advice now too? A sideline if you're not saving the world?" you joked, only earning a shrug and a soft laugh from him. "But thank you." You flashed him a small but grateful smile.

"Always happy to help," he said. "I better get going, got a city to look after." Peter forced a smile, a useless tactic given that there was no way for you to see it anyway. He stood up to his full height before adding, "Congrats on the debate." He didn't even wait for a response when he swiftly jumped and swung as far away from your building as possible.

The second he landed on top of an abandoned warehouse, Peter immediately pulled his mask off. He couldn’t bear to leave it on a second longer or else he was going to suffocate. Sharp breaths escaped him as his back hit the brick wall, eyes screwed shut to stop any tear from slipping out of his burning eyes. He tried his hardest to calm his frantic heart, to minimize the pain by shoving his selfish thoughts away. He forced himself to think about you and your well-being instead, tried to convince himself that this was a good thing.

He doesn't doubt that this guy you're smitten with is a great one. The way you speak about him just screams it. Add that to you being great at judging character, then he knows you're in good hands. Despite it hurting like a ton of punches in the chest, Peter still hoped that whoever this guy is, he'll catch you in his arms openly and shower you with the truest love because you deserve nothing but. The pain would be worth it if he gets to see you be happy.

Peter knows that whoever this guy is, he would treat you rightly, give you everything you want and need in a way that Peter never could.

Slowly opening his eyes, he lets out a calming breath, mind slowly slipping at ease the more he thinks about how happy, content and safe you'll be with this guy if ever it will work out.

It hurts, unbearably, but his sliver of pain in exchange for your utmost happiness? Then Peter will gladly endure it.

***

The next day, Saturday noon, was when you finally decided to answer Peter's texts from the day before. You apologized for ghosting him, said you got preoccupied and left it at that. And then you asked if he wanted to go for a little stroll in the park, too make it up to him. Peter could never say no to you so here you were, side by side under the afternoon sun, aimlessly walking around a nearly deserted park outskirts of the main city.

"Why'd you disappear yesterday?" he asked, both his hands in his pockets while yours were looped in his. "I saw you stop by at the library but you didn't come and say hi."

You shrugged, eyes trained on the pavement as you kicked at the few rocks that were lying around. "Something came up," you simply said.

Peter can't help but feel a little sting when you didn't elaborate further. Well, he already knew what had happened but that was as Spider-Man. He was hoping you'd tell him too, as Peter Parker, your long time best friend.

"Thank you for the email by the way," you spoke again when he stayed quiet, lifting your head up to spare him a bright smile. "We wouldn't have won the debate if it wasn't for you."

"Winning the debate was all on you and that incredible brain of yours. I'm not going to take credit for that," he chuckled as he shot you a knowing look. Eyes back in front, Peter added, "But I'm always here to help. That's what best friends are for."

You hummed, letting go of his arm as you skipped ahead and treaded towards the nearest tree. "What's up with you and Marjorie?" you asked, settling down on the grass, legs straight with your right ankle over you left as you leaned back against the trunk comfortably.

"What's up with what?" Peter followed you with a deep crease between his brows, sitting right beside you soon after, mirroring your position under the shade.

"You tell me, you were almost kissing when I saw you in the library so," you trailed off, picking at the shreds of greenery, throwing it purposelessly as you still avoided his gaze. "Are you two a thing now?"

Peter shook his head with a roll of his eyes. "First off, we were not almost kissing and second, no, we're not a thing," he clarified, head turned for him to see you clearly. "I didn't even get to hear what she wanted because I immediately left," he chuckled.

Your eyes snapped up to meet his. "You bailed on her in the library?"

"Sort of?" Peter scrunched his nose.

"That's a very bold move, Parker," you giggled, bumping your shoulder with his teasingly. "Most guys would've died to just be in the same room as her."

Peter let out a hearty laugh, shrugging his shoulders and said, "Well, I guess I'm not like most guys."

Marjorie was pretty, Peter won't deny that, but she could never amount to you. Even right now, when you're just sitting beside him in casual jeans and sweater, a simple but very charming smile on your lips as you looked up at the clouds, Peter was already swooning ten times over. Then comes the memory of you looking so breathtaking while he took you around the city. The stunning glow on your face as you stared at the scene in awe was still deeply engraved in Peter's mind, and he knows for a fact that that image will never leave him. Not that he was complaining anyway.

"So, how did your meeting with Spider-Man go?" he asked after a few moments of silence. A shy smile slowly grew on your lips, one that made Peter lift a brow at you in suspicion.

"He's really cool," you breathed out, your grin growing wider as you kept your gaze steadily trained at the blue sky. "He's a gentleman too, a little shy and awkward but in a cute way. Plus, very wise and smart, like lived-a-life wise and genius smart. He then took me to swing around the city which was awesome," you gushed, a dreamy glow coating your face as you met Peter's eyes. "That night is going to be a night I'll remember for the rest of my life for sure."

Peter couldn't help the smug grin that grew on his face. "If I hadn't known better I'd say you have a crush on Spider-Man," he teased, wriggling his brows at you.

"Shut up," you scoffed with a roll of your eyes.

"It's obvious. You have that dreamy look on your face when you talk about him," he poked even more, nudging you with his elbow playfully.

"No, I don't," you laughed as you pushed him away. "Besides, I've got my eyes on someone else already."

Peter's heart sunk.

He found himself playing with the sleeves of his hoodie as he avoided your gaze, trying his hardest to keep his feelings at bay before you'd notice the change in his demeanor. "Care to share with your best friend?" he offered, wondering if you're finally willing to tell him about this mystery guy.

You stayed quiet, eyes fluttering close as you rested your head on his shoulder. Peter kept his gaze steady on you, everything else silent aside from the sound of the rustling leaves of the tree. But then you let out a nervous breath, heartbeat picking up the pace in a way that made Peter grow curious as to what's on your mind.

"I love you," you blurted out of the blue, a slight shake in your voice as you kept your eyes shut.

Although confused, Peter responded, "I love you too—"

"No, Peter," you paused, shifting in your place, pulling away from him as you sat up straighter. You finally met his brown orbs, all while countless of emotions swam in yours. "I love you," you whispered but with your voice firm and laced with pure sincerity, eyes holding his with such intensity that he quickly understood.

Peter stared at you in shock.

Slowly, but surely, everything started to click inside his head. The confession you shared with Spider-Man. When you said you'd seen this guy with another girl...the library. Was that why you quickly ran out? When you saw...almost kissing. Was that the reason why your heart suddenly grew at panic?

The guy you were gushing about so fondly, the same one you said you were in love with for a long time now, the one Peter was growing jealous of...it was him.

You were talking about him, Peter Parker.

He grew at a loss for words as he gawked at you, a smile growing on his lips as he felt his heart stop its course and then beat again but with twice the pace. Peter was so happy, over the universe as pure warmth filled him up from head to toe. The mere thought that you felt the same, it was too good to be true. But it was, he can see it clear in your eyes, it was real.

You love him.

But then his mood was quick to shift, smile slipping off his face, the warmth and joy that coated his bones replaced by fear and worry in a snap of a finger.

Peter's heart stopped at the sight in front of him.

You were getting held at knifepoint by the throat, tears brimming in your eyes, more of it coating your cheeks as you clawed at the arm that trapped you in their vise hold.

"P-Peter, I love you," you whimpered, gaze locking with his, hope slipping out of your orbs, the glow they once held getting dimmer by the second in a way that made a shiver run down his spine. Then Peter heard it, that piercing cackle he knew too well, his brown eyes meeting the yellow ones that glowed right behind you.

"You won't be able to save the love of your life, Spider-Man...or should I say, Peter Parker!"

Peter shook his head frantically as he yelled out your name, running at full speed to get to you only to be met by sudden darkness, your heart wrenching scream ringing in his ears followed by an agonizing sound of a body hitting the floor. Peter's blood ran cold as he frantically called out your name, over and over and over yet nothing but eerie silence echoed back at him.

And then he looked down, eyes landing on his trembling hands, each finger, both palms coated with blood, your blood.

You were gone.

"No, no, no," Peter rushed, voice quivering, hastily getting up on his feet as he looked at you worryingly. "You can't, Y/N. You can't love me."

It's not safe for you to love me.

The look of pure pain that ghosted over you features squeezed at Peter's heart, the pit in his stomach ever growing the more he thought of what he was about to do.

You stood up shakily to be level with him, deep frown on your lips, confusion and hurt swimming in your eyes as you asked, "Why'd you seem disgusted? You could just say you don't feel the same way."

"N-No, it's not that, neither of that because—" he sucked in a sharp breath, a hand running through his hair as he stared into your eyes longingly. "I do feel the same way about you."

You screwed your eyes shut as you shook your head. "Please don't lie to make me feel better, Peter," you pleaded, the break in your voice a sharp stab at his chest.

"When have I ever lied to you?" Peter internally winced at his bold and very false claim. Nothing but guilt filled his stomach given that he lies to you almost every day. He lies to you about his whereabouts, lies to you about his reasons. Peter lies to you every goddamn day by not telling you he's Spider-Man.

"Then why are your actions speaking something else then?" You gestured towards him as a whole, at the obvious distance that he's put between you two. Your eyes were slowly glossing up as you tried to simply understand what was going on.

Peter sighed, "I just don't want to hurt you okay? I—I don't want you to lose faith on the things you love because of me."

I don't want you to lose your life because of me.

"You're not making any sense," you said frustratedly.

"I'm not qualified to be a good boyfriend, Y/N. I won't be there with you all the time. I'd probably cancel on you on so many dates," Peter paused, meeting your eyes so you could see where he was coming from. "Hell, how many times have I bailed on you right now as your best friend huh? The amount of times I've left you on the street to go home alone?"

Your frown deepened as you held his eyes with nothing but sadness. "You had things going on Peter. You're being really unfair on yourself," you said.

"But you still don't deserve to be treated like that. Not now, not ever, no matter the reason," he pushed. "You deserve all those romantic clichés you're always dreaming of, you deserve to be treated like the queen that you are. You deserve the whole world Y/N, but I won't be able to give you that." Peter's voice broke, eyes holding too many emotions as he kept his gaze steady with yours. A painful task with all the pain and betrayal that's coated your eyes, utmost hurt glaring right at him. "Being with me won't be a fairytale."

Peter wasn't ignorant to the fact that you were a hopeless romantic. The countless rom-coms you've watched together have long ago proved that. The specific look in your eyes, that certain glimmer that washes over your face whenever the couple would kiss under the snow or even in the rain, or whenever they'd go on romantic walks on the beach or simply be in each other's arm whenever it's needed, Peter has memorized it. The little changes in your face whenever you see those clichés, he knows it like the back of his hand, knows how you're craving that kind of simple but true love.

But Peter can't give you any of that. Not right now.

"But I don't want a fairytale. I want to be with you. I don't care if we don't get to do any romantic clichés, being with you would surpass all of that, being with you would be more than enough. And I'm willing to try and make it work with whatever you've got going on, even if I have to make sacrifices in the process. Why can't you see that Peter?" you argued, hands clenched into fists on your sides in mere frustration.

Peter winced, the word sacrifice too heavy for him to hear. It was too painful to even fathom what you would possibly sacrifice for him, that you would probably even sacrifice all of it for him, including your life.

"No, no, please don't," he begged. "I don't want you to sacrifice anything for me. I would never want you to sacrifice those little things that make you smile. I don't want you to sacrifice your happiness for me." Peter shook his head in utter distress, palm rubbing at his face harshly that had the tip of his nose turn red. "And what happens then if it doesn't work? You'll only get disappointed. You'll only end up hating me. By then, I would have already put you through so much hurt all for nothing. I don't want that for you, Y/N."

"How'd you know that when you haven't even tried?" you whispered, bottom lip trembling. "It's like you're not even willing to try," you whimpered.

The second Peter saw the single tear that ran down your cheek he instinctively moved closer, hands reaching out, desperate to hold you, to get to tell you it's going to be alright, to apologize over and over for all the pain he has caused. But you stopped him with the palm of your hand. He felt his heart drop the moment you took a step back, shaking your head, bottom lip desperately caught between your teeth to silence your sobs.

Peter nodded gravely, his arms falling limp by his sides, fully understanding that you don't want him near. He doesn't blame you by one bit. "It's not that I'm not willing to, I just," he paused as he let out a shaky breath. "I don't trust myself to be with you. I don't trust myself with your heart because I know I will only end up breaking it. I'll only let you down." I don't trust myself to keep you safe from harm. I'll only fail you just like how I failed them. Peter confessed, brown orbs turning glossy, all from a mixture of pain and anger. He was so angry at himself for putting you through all this hurt, you don't deserve it, not even a single ounce of it.

Yes, he can try, see where this will go and do his best to be there for you at all times. But that's not set on stone, never a clear promise because he doesn't know what his tomorrow is going to bring. He doesn't know if he's staying in the neighborhood one minute and then entering another dimension the next. Being Spider-Man, he doesn't have a schedule where Peter can organize things as a matter of priority, being Spider-Man requires its own sets of sacrifices. Peter doesn't want you to feel the burden of those sacrifices, too.

He doesn't doubt that you would be understanding enough with whatever it is he has going on but that's exactly the problem. He knows you'll take the bare minimum, you'll put him first above your wants and needs. You're just too kind that way, too big of a heart. But Peter can't have that because it's just not right; it's not what you should settle for. You deserve all the dates, all the romantic walks, all the cuddles and kisses whenever you're down, all the stress free nights where you don't have to worry about him or wait for him to come back to you safe and unharmed, all the time and effort, you deserve all of it and more.

And right now, Peter can't give you what you deserve.

"Or maybe you just don't love me in the way you say you do," you accused, voice soft but the sting in it sharp.

"That's not fucking true because I love you with every ounce of my being," he protested in low growl, desperately tugging at his hair, frustrated that he can't tell you his full reasons as to why exactly he can't be with you. "I love you too much and I want to be with you so badly—"

"Then why is that not enough?" you stressed.

"You don't understand—"

"Then make me understand!" you snapped, tears running freely down your face as you looked at him with utmost despair.

"It's not that fucking simple Y/N!" Peter saw you flinch at the sudden boom of his voice, his heart cracking at the sight. He felt everything in him gradually break the more you stared at him with nothing but anguish. He took in a deep breath to calm himself before he slips out any words that he'll only regret later on. Blowing out his cheeks, he croaked, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I just—"

Peter tried again and walked closer to you, trembling hands slowly reaching in mere need to feel your skin on his to ground him back, relief washing over him when you let him. He felt his heart warm up a little when you didn't pull away from his touch. But the broken sob you let out when he cupped your face, it was too excruciating for him to hear. The agonizing grip on Peter's heart tightened as he stared right into your eyes, the same ones that once held so much joy but was now flooded with tears and grief, their gorgeous glow snuffed out, all because of him.

"I'm just trying to protect you, please, trust me on that," he whispered, not even trying to hide the brokenness in his voice anymore, not even trying to hold back his tears as Peter pressed his forehead against yours.

The little droplets fell down on your face, his tears joining yours on your already damp skin. His thumb oh so tenderly tried to wipe them all away, wishing that it was as easy as that to ease up your pain, to take away your hurt so simply, but he knows it wasn't. It wasn't an easy choice and Peter knows it never will be.

"I love you so much, don't you ever, ever doubt that. B-But we can't. I'm really sorry Y/N, but we can't be together. I-I know this hurts right now, trust me, I know, but I will only make it much worse," he choked, shaking his head when you leaned into his palm with a broken breath. But you kept your eyes open, held his gaze with utter strength and Peter saw it, saw how you still looked at him with love in your eyes. Despite it being mixed with pain, it was there, clear and honest. God he did not fucking deserve you at all.

"You deserve someone who'd treat you the way you deserve to be treated, someone who'd truly show you how it feels to be loved completely and not just the bare minimum. You deserve someone who'd be so much better than me." Peter's voice broke at the end of his sentence, eyes still holding yours just so you could see the other things he can't put into words, the things he couldn't say aloud. He was desperately, silently pleading that you would see right through him, so you could understand why he has to do this. "Maybe in another life, we could make this work. But right now I'm asking, begging you not to love me, because I don't deserve that love, I don't deserve you at all."

Peter practically saw your heart shatter into pieces even more with the simple look in your eyes. It's an absolute torture to look into them right now, to see you be so broken that he found himself wishing that it was only him in pain instead. Even though the thought hurts, he wished you didn't love him. Even though it would be painful to endure, to live in a world where his feelings aren't reciprocated, Peter wished you didn't love him at all if it meant it was going to save you from heartbreak.

Better him in pain than you, always.

Breath unsteady, you closed your eyes with a small nod. "I guess this is it," you sniffled, placing your hands over his, your touch tender as you gave it a squeeze. But then you pulled it away from your face, Peter's hands slipping off your skin as you put some much needed distance between you two.

"Y/N—"

"I don't think we can go back to the way things were after this Peter. I'm sorry I just—I don't think I can handle it." You shook your head with a soft cry, forcing yourself to look back into those brown orbs as you whispered, "I can’t take it."

Peter pressed his lips into a thin line, eyes casted on the grass with a solemn nod as he croaked out, "Then I guess this is it."

"Goodbye, Peter."

He screwed his eyes shut at the sound of your broken voice, the heartbreaking sob that followed soon after made him let out a shaky breath. The sound of your footsteps felt like gunshots, each step taken like a bullet wounding him deep but Peter didn't dare to respond, didn't even dare to look up as you briskly walked away.

Peter had to keep his head down because he didn't have enough strength, didn't have the sense of control to stay still in his place. He knows that if he does as much as look up and catch your figure, he'll run after you, full speed. He'll pull you back into his arms; he'll pour all his love into one kiss as he holds you tightly. He'll keep you in his embrace for eternity the moment he gives in into his selfish needs. But he shouldn't. He needs to let you go, he has to let you walk away, for your sake.

The farther the sound of your footsteps got, the tighter his fists grew, fingernails digging into his palms as his breathing became labored, harsh. Peter swiftly turned around and took a hard swing at the tree once you were gone, glad that no one was around to see the whole thing shake from his strength. The bark cracked under his knuckle, leaves falling around him just as his knees gave out. A sharp, broken, frustrated scream escaped his lips as he buried his face in his hands, body shaking with all the anger and pain, trembling from his heart wrenching sobs.

Peter felt like his lungs were about to give out, emotions overflowing and scorching all while feeling numb just the same. But he kept reminding himself why he's doing this for him to get by, kept telling himself that being far apart was for the best.

For your sake.

***

The wind was cold on your face as you stood out on the rooftop to escape. The night breeze was slowly drying up your tears, much to no use since it's replaced by fresh ones the second after anyway. You don't know how long you've been crying for, but it wouldn't really matter. Your tears could run out but the pain in your heart could only deepen with each ticking second.

You were worried, angry, hurt, frustrated and confused all the same, unable to tie everything together as it all just seemed like a whole jumbled mess in your head, an incomplete puzzle.

You're not naïve to think that there wasn't more to this than he's letting on. You know he was hiding bits and pieces, his words completely restrained. You saw it in his eyes how he was battling his mind. You saw how he was struggling to not slip out whatever it was he was holding back. It was painful, all of it, from seeing him so distressed to him breaking your heart with his care-filled yet hurtful words.

You get where he's coming from, about wanting you to experience it all and more and not just the bare minimum. If it was a different circumstance, the things he said would've been sweet, how he wants you to have the world, how he wants you to live all those clichés just so he could see you smile, see you be happy. But right now, his words just felt bittersweet since you lost him in the process.

All those days of imagining all the different scenarios on what it would look like, how it would feel when he admits he feels the same way, not once did you ever expect that Peter Parker saying he loves you would feel like a knife to the heart.

What hurts even more is the fact that he is so keen on shutting any chance, and sliver of hope down. He won't even try, like you're not worth any risks at all. It makes you question how important you actually are to him, makes you question if he really does love you in the way he claims he does.

"Ahem."

"Shit!" you squeaked, head snapping towards the squatted figure, eyes landing on the familiar masked man who seemed to like the element of surprise. "You need to stop doing that!"

"Sorry, should've given you a heads up," he apologized, voice sounding a little hoarse, a little...different.

"No shit," you grumbled, hastily wiping away your tears with the sleeves of your sweater before you turned back to face him. "What's brought you here?"

"Was just in the neighborhood, saw you out here and I thought I'd swing by," he said with a casual shrug, gaze steady on the building across. You did just the same as you turned back in front, fingers drumming on the concrete ledge as you stood in silence for a couple minutes, his company soothing in some odd way. But you welcome it, makes you feel more present, stopping you from slipping neck deep into the chaos that's in your head.

"You okay? You seem a bit down," he said, voice still a little gruff, eyes everywhere else but at you.

"Well, I guess you can say that," you breathed out.

"Want to talk about it?"

You bit your bottom lip when it started to tremble, a fresh batch of tears brimming in your eyes. "I told him," you whispered. "You know that friend I talked to you about? I told him I'm in love with him and he wasn't too happy with it. He pushed me away, I—" You shook your head with a shaky breath, eyes now trained on the busy street below. You swallowed the lump in your throat before adding, "He said he loved me but he pushed me away."

The superhero beside you cleared out his throat, shifting in his place until he was fully seated down, his legs hanging off the side of the building. "Did he tell you why?"

"He said he wouldn't be a good boyfriend and that he won't be there for me when I need him. He said I deserved better, which doesn't make any sense because he's already been doing that, being there for me. And I have no doubt he'd treat me rightly but he doesn't seem to believe that himself," you whimpered, harshly wiping away the tears that rushed out your eyes, not wanting to seem pathetic for a boy, not to seem weak in front of the masked hero.

"Hey, you don't have to act all tough for me," he reassured, hand coming up to give your shoulder a comforting squeeze for a short but sweet moment. "It's okay to cry, it doesn't mean you're weak."

You nodded, grateful for his understanding, flashing him a sad smile for a second before you stared back at the city. "And I get he's got a lot going on, I do too but what's painful is that he's not even willing to try and see if it would work or not. It hurts to think that I'm willing to try and make ends meet, that I would do anything to be with him, but he won't do the same for me. It makes me feel like I'm not worth fighting for, that I'm not enough."

"That's not true, Y/N," he whispered, almost as if didn't want you to hear it, your brows furrowing a little as you spared him a glance. He was already looking at you but the second your eyes landed on his face, he swiftly looked away. "What else did he say?" he asked swiftly, voice louder with a clear of his throat.

"He said he can't be with me because he didn't want to hurt me which sounds so fucking stupid since he's hurting me now. Really badly," you whimpered, bottom lip quivering as you screwed your eyes shut, taking in deep calming breaths, steadying yourself before you opened them again.

"Maybe he is just trying to look out for you," he started, head tilted to the side as he looked at you with a shaky breath. "Sometimes the best way to protect someone is to keep them at a safe distance, to not get too close to them, both physically but mostly emotionally."

You frowned, gaze landing back on the white fabric that's covered his eyes. "You do that too? Push people away?"

"I don't want to but I have to," he sighed, looking down at his hands like they were too heavy, like they hold so much weight over his life, caused him so much trouble and pain. He stared at them for a few seconds more before his fingers started to pick at his web shooters. "It's the best way to keep the people I care about safe."

"Because of all the bad guys chasing after you?"

He let out a soft chuckle as he nodded. "Yeah, you could say that."

You turned to face him fully, deep frown still etched on your lips as you crossed your arms over your chest. "Does that not get lonely?"

"It does." He nodded dejectedly, his eyes still looking elsewhere. "But it's better than seeing the ones I love get hurt because of the sole reason that they love me and that I love them just as much, if not more. Once they find out who I am, they're going to use that against me. They will always use that against me." The pain and hurt that coated his voice in his last sentence, you heard it loud and clear, makes you wonder what hardships he could've gone through to feel this way. "I think it's best to keep them away from this side of my world. I admit, it's really hard for me to stay away but I just keep reminding myself that all I'm doing is trying to keep them safe as much as I can," he paused, turning his head to finally look at you and you felt your heart stop at his next set of words.

"I'm just trying to protect them."

You felt as though that the clouds cleared up above your head, the puzzle pieces falling into place, completing itself as you slowly and finally tied everything together.

All those times he's suddenly in a rush to leave with a half-assed reason, the times where you'd catch a glimpse of the random cuts and bruises he had on his body, it all became so clear. And the night you first met Spider-Man, that odd feeling you had when he squeezed your hand the first time, it finally made sense. That same night, you felt as though you were crazy when you found yourself gravitating towards a complete stranger, a masked superhero at that. You found it ridiculous how you felt like you could trust him right off the bat. When you felt a vast feeling of being safe around him in so little time, initially you told yourself that it wasn't a good thing, that it was dangerous and you should tread carefully, but now the feeling just felt awfully familiar.

That's when you fully understood everything. The knots in your head gradually untangled itself as you gawked at him, mouth slightly agape in pure shock, tears welling up in your eyes for a different reason this time. All the things he's been through, all the pain and grief from the people he's lost, the weight that the world has put on his shoulders, it made your heartbreak. It made you feel so guilty that you weren't there for him through all that.

A new found weight settled itself in your chest because as you stared right at the mask, you saw him.

"Well, I need to go. You know, got a city to look after," he chuckled shyly as he looked away, his voice sounding starkly different from the previous encounters as it now held a sense of familiarity. "See you later."

With that, he jumped off, your eyes following the red in blue under the night sky, gradually getting smaller until disappearing from sight.

You smiled, a small one, didn't quite reach your ears but it was genuine. Your heart was still aching, mostly for him than for you, but it was also now filled with the greatest pride as you whispered, just under your breath,

"See you later, Peter Parker."

-:-:-:-:-

like, reblog & leave a comment if you enjoyed! tell me your thoughts! <3

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writingsbychlo · 3 years ago

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💭 I wonder if you can write one with Stiles. Something like angst to fluff. They're not friends but she's in the pack. Something happens and they got scared and stuck together somewhere. “Are we going to die?” “If we die just know I love you.” “I don’t think I can do this without you.”

Something like that 😝🤭

i started writing this as a blurb before realising you wanted headcanons lmao my bad

no more requests, the sleepover is over! I am just filling out all the ones left in my inbox!

not getting along with stiles at all

he's anxious and doesn't trust too easily, you get that

but when he was still giving you the cold shoulder after months, you got tired of trying to win him over

so you stopped

it became easier to snark back than it was to just bite your tongue

it brought you a little satisfaction every time he got that look on his face when he had nothing left to say, and you got the final word in

but, deep down, there was always something nagging

something that cut a little deeper, because you didn't get why he didn't like you

there was a lot about him to dislike. he was kinda rude, and sarcastic at all the wrong times, and very opinionated

but there was a lot to like too

he was caring to the others, you'd seen it, and he was funny, as well as incredibly smart. he was thoughtful and loyal and handsome, and-

and you just didn't get it. so, you tried not to think about it too much.

maybe it was because you weren't lydia martin, or malia tate, because they never got this kind of treatment

but, you were damn good at research, and so was stiles, and that usually meant a lot of begrudging team-ups.

"look, I can't do this without you, alright? so just get dressed, I'm already on my way."

and then he hung up, and just like that, stiles stilinski expected you to be at his beck and call.

that was how you'd find yourself sitting in his car that night, staring out of the windows and sipping on a now cold coffee from the mcdonalds drive through, barely able to see anything

"what exactly are we doing, stiles? it's been hours. a lot of your stakeouts lately haven't lead to anything. I think you're losing your touch."

and his cheeks are a little red, the music playing quietly in the background, and he shrugs.

"better safe than sorry, right? just chasing leads, and stuff."

"lotta' dead leads. but, I suppose so."

"wanna' play a game while we wait?"

"sure."

stiles forcing you to get your phone out to download an app he swore would be fun.

shifting to face one another a little more, his arm brushing against yours as you both lean on the armrest in the of your seats.

"look, while we're here, there's something I kinda need to tell you."

and then there's a finger brushing very lightly over the back of your hand, and you can't help but twitch, and you're looking up at him

he's so fucking close, you can practically taste the sugar on his lips of the donut he ate hours ago

that look you've been seeing a lot lately is back, and you've no idea what it means, but he's close

like he's practically glowing

in fact, it kinda looks like he's being haloed

and he's licking at his lips but something behind him is glowing, and your eyes go wider

"stiles.."

"no, wait, i know you think i hate you, but-"

"no, stiles, what the hell is that?"

and he fucking curses under his breath as you both get out of the car

"should I call scott?"

"probably!"

and there's the stressed and snippy stiles you're used to

as you call, he's wandering off into the woods, and what are you supposed to do? let him wander off alone and die?

so, you call scott, and send a text to malia, and then you follow him

which, turns out to be a monumentally bad decision

because one moment you can see by the moonlight, just about

but then your phone dies, which is odd, because it was almost fully charged

and so does stiles'

and the deeper into the woods you get the darker it gets, and no matter what directions you walk in, it doesn't seem to get lighter

like you're walking in a maze instead of going back the way you came

and you were fucking terrified because there were noises, and you couldn't see the glowing anyone that you'd seen in the sky

you can barely even see stiles in front of you

and those noises are back, a little clearer around you, like voices chanting

it feels like there are hands on your body, but there's no one there, like something pulling you back into the darkness

but he seems totally unaffected

his hand is on your cheek and he's making you look at him but his words are silent as his mouth moves, all you can hear is the whispering getting louder into chants of words you still don't understand

so you try to read his lips

and it's something about mind games, something about the nogitsune, and something about focus

but how the hell are you supposed to focus, because it's too much

it's too much, it's shouting now, like having headphones turned on too loud, like lydia screaming right beside your ear, and being unable to turn it off

it hurts

and then, it's a little bit clearer

stiles's hands sliding down your arms, fingertips smoothing over your palms before his hands are linking to your own, and his forehead is pressed to your own

and it gets a little quieter

he pulls you closer, and you can hear the rasp of his breathing now, his mouth near your ear, arms wrapping little tighter around you as he holds you against him

"focus on my voice, okay? just stay with me."

"stiles, what the hell is happening?"

"nothing, to me. but, I think that's because after the nogitsune, nothing has been able to get into my head like that. I don't know what's happening to you, but I got you, okay? just hang on."

"are we gonna' die?"

"not before I get to tell you I love you when you're not crying."

and you didn't even know that you were crying, but now that you thought about it, you could feel the aching pain in your throat and the burn of your eyes

"you hear me? you stick with me, because even if you reject me, I need that closure. don't you dare die on me, okay?"

and then there was a weak laugh from you, and the beat of your heart thudding against your chest, terrifying you at the strength of it

"I won't reject you. promise."

"good to know." he'd mumble, right next to your ear, before dipping down to press a kiss to your cheek, nose bumping yours

but then it's getting louder again, and stronger, and you can't take it

the last thing you hear is your name, before it's fading away, and your knees are buckling, everything fading to black

when you wake up, it's in your own bed

and it's light outside again

the ache from your head is gone, and the smell of herbal tea is drifting through the house, the teabags you'd recently ordered

you're a little weak as you go down the stairs, and before you even reach the bottom, you can feel the eyes of every wolf in the house

"who's using my new teabags before I even tried them?"

and it's lydia, the clanging of a spoon against the ceramic mug sides, and she smirks a little at you when you reach the bottom of the stairs.

your throat is sore and your whole body aches, and everyone is staring at you with varying levels of relief, love and curioisty

and as your eyes moved over them all, stiles is standing at the back of your living room, red-rimmed eyes and a watery smile as his shoulders sag

it takes him only a second to cross the room, and there's different degrees of shock as his body collides with your own, arms wrapping around you tightly, pulling you into him

liam is lost, scot is chuckling, and that smirk is still on lydia's face

"are you okay?" he's whispered, your arms coming up to hold him just as tightly as you nod "i was so fucking scared."

"that thing you told me last night. tell me again."

and he pulls back, splotches of deep red on his cheeks and his lips part, your finger covering them a second before he spoke. "later, when we're alone."

but then your finger is under his chin, pulling him a little closer, and he all but squeaks when your lips brush his.

"you'll like the response you get. promise."

#9ksleepover

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koutone-moved · 4 years ago

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Saeran/Ray After Ending: My Thoughts

Hey everyone! I’m not one to really go in-depth about stuff in here, but I really felt the urge to talk about this since Saeran is a character that is really dear to me and this After Ending was something that I and many, many other people had been looking forward to for a long time.

I’ll be talking spoilers about the entire AE below the cut, so please beware!

I wanted to start off with the things I really did enjoy.

Cheritz trying new things with the AEs for both V and Saeran was really great, in my opinion. They could have stuck with the previous format of just giving us sneak peeks into the respective couple’s life after getting together but instead decided to turn them into complete story expansions that felt more like Secret Endings. The effort and care everyone at Cheritz has put into these storylines is incredible and they deserve all the kudos and praise.

The chatroom format was a really cool idea and having the player influence the outcome was something I greatly enjoyed. Having the story be a romance/thriller combination was super fun and immersive, too. The prologue was a great hook in my opinion--it had my heart beating fast with anxiety from the very start lolol.

ALL THE SAERAN FLUFF AND CALLS, LORD ALMIGHTY. I ADORED EVERY SECOND OF IT! I totally picture Saeran being a really cheesy and adoring boyfriend, especially since MC is so precious to him. I think they hit the nail right in the head with this.

The CGs were BEAUTIFUL. I was shocked at how many we got for a 4-day story, and they all really brought the story to life. Huge props to Cheritz for the immense effort they put into them.

The first two days of the AE (though extremely anxiety-inducing and emotionally painful for most of their duration, lol) were super entertaining and how I had always envisioned the story going down. I think having the PM and the agency unite forces as the main antagonistic force was awesome, and I really wish the story had solely focused on them.

Now, the things I didn’t like.

The Rika drama. I totally understand why addressing and breaking down Rika’s terrible actions is important for Saeran’s story. But... why, why did we need to revisit the “actually Rika has always been a good person that did some bad things” plot point when it was already done to death in V’s AE and route? I’m sorry, but this makes my blood boil.

Rika abused Saeran so badly to the point that he had to split his personality into two different people to survive, drugged him into hating his own brother, constantly told him and made him believe he was worthless if he didn’t work his ass off 24/7, killed his fucking mother, etc. The list goes on. Not to mention: she broke and drugged the minds of many other people! Not just Saeran!

I understand that the story gives us options to call Rika and V out on this bs and it encourages us to do it, but... just the fact that we have to entertain the possibility of forgiving her and letting her get off scot-free truly, truly fucking floors me.

What really bothered me about this is that this subplot took an entire day out of the 4-day story. A whole ass day that could have been spent developing the PM-agency storyline (which, again, I truly wish they had focused on). It really sucked that we had to spend a day exclusively talking to Rika and V about the same thing over, over, and over again.

V. What in the hell did Cheritz do to his character, lmao? I don’t like V at all and the actions he’s chosen to take in regards to Rika and Saeran have always truly infuriated and baffled me. But, I’ve never thought of him as someone who would willingly hurt the RFA.

I was SHOCKED to see how selfish and twisted he was in this story, especially in Day 3. He said he would never try to change Rika again and hoped she would flourish as a result and become a better person. But. My good man, how in the hell did he ever think that kidnapping two grown ass adults and forcing them to be their children was a sane decision?

I was truly convinced until the very last moment that V returning to Rika was a red herring and that he had a plan all along to keep her in check and protect the RFA. But nope.

I may not be a V stan, but even I know that V would never act so selfishly.

The GE/NE resolution. It felt so rushed and is the main reason why I think Day 3 should have been handled differently. The truly bullshit thing that stood out to me about it was how a short confrontation with the illegitimate son he gives no shits about is enough for the PM to have a change of heart. LOL. The corrupt, greedy prime minister that has his entire life and career hanging on a line is suddenly enlightened on his evil ways and turns himself in. Am I too cynical for thinking this resolution is stupid and makes no sense? I know at this point it was basically impossible for him to not get arrested, but I really didn’t buy this and it felt like cop-out from Cheritz’s part, writing-wise.

How Saeran’s trauma was handled. I know I already expressed loving how Saeran was towards MC in this AE, but that does not include this part specifically, lol.

I understand a big part of Saeran’s story is learning to forgive and understand to find true happiness and freedom. And I love that, it truly is a beautiful direction for his character.

I know Cheritz is not great at writing realistic trauma recovery for his characters--that was already apparent in Saeran’s route. But, I never found it so unrealistic to the point of breaking immersion for me until this AE. It just felt so silly at some points that I couldn’t even convince myself that maybe it was possible.

It’s been two weeks since he escaped Mint Eye, and... he is completely fine with talking casually to Rika, trying to understand her, and being in the same room as her? He is fine with confronting the PM and telling him he forgives him because ‘he must have a tragic past’? Really?

Maybe he is just a better person than I am lol, but this was too much. I completely understand how someone could reach this level of inner peace and choose to forgive their abusers in order to heal. But. Two weeks. Although the circumstances were different, I think the Secret Ending handled Saeran’s recovery a lot better in this sense.

In Summary: LOVED Day 1 and 2, hated Day 3 and 4

I’m sorry if I got a bit too rant-y on the reasons why I disliked the AE LOL. I just had many feelings about it and couldn’t stop myself. If anyone wants to send me or comment their own thoughts, please feel free to do so!! I would love to read some different perspectives.

I don’t hate the AE as whole, but it really let me down in some big ways. I’ll probably try to replay it in the future and see if I change my mind about some aspects about it, though. It’s sad to say this, but V’s AE left me feeling more fulfilled in some regards than this lol. I really wish Saeyoung would have had more involvement in the story, too.

I did love the very final epilogue for both the GE and NE, which was the main thing I was hoping for--so there’s that, I guess.

Anyways, thank you so much for reading!

#mystic messenger #saeran choi #saeran after ending #ray after ending

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let-the-dream-begin · 4 years ago

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A Place to Belong Chapter 45: A Father’s Love

Chapter 44

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Claire swore she had never been happier in all her life.

Jamie had been antsy all through breakfast, despite Claire’s endless assuring squeezes of his hand under the table. She thought he was going to explode when Brianna set her spoon down and said:

“Ready, Da?”

It had amazed Jamie to see how confident she was, how unabashed, unafraid.

“Ready, lass.”

Now, Claire stood outside the corral, arms crossed atop the fence, leaning limply on the worn wood.

“D’ye ken how to brush a horse, Brianna?”

“ ’Course I do.” Brianna stuck her nose up at him quite adorably.

“Aye, forgive me fer asking such a foolish thing.” This at first made Claire nervous, but the way Jamie smiled after he said it, the way Brianna giggled, convinced her that they were only teasing one another.

So natural together.

“Can ye show me, then?”

Brianna nodded curtly, almost smugly, and brushed Alastair precisely the way she always did.

“See?” she said pointedly, her little nose in the air again.

Claire shook her head at her cheekiness. Perhaps her daughter took after her just a bit too much.

“Aye, that’s braw, a chiusle,” Jamie said gently. “Short wee flicks; who taught ye that?”

“Fergus. Said he learned from you.”

That took his breath away; a long lost memory of showing his son how to properly care for a horse long before he ever even learned to ride. “Aye. I suppose he did.”

Jamie took his own bit of hay and began brushing Alastair’s other side.

“Fergus,” Jamie continued. “He isna cross wi’ me fer taking his place wi’ ye in the corral?”

She shook her head, her eyes still fixed on Alastair’s coat.

“That’s good. I wouldna want to upset him, or you.” Brianna didn’t respond. “I ken ye’re…used to things being a certain way. I’m very grateful that ye allowed me to spend this time wi’ ye.”

Brianna smiled and looked up at him. “He likes you.”

“Does he, now?” Jamie moved in front of the beast, narrowing his eyes slightly, pretending to size him up.

“Aye,” Brianna confirmed with a little giggle. “He likes when ye do this. I’ll show you.”

She nestled herself right beside Jamie and reached a hand up to cup right beneath Alastair’s snout, then ran three fingers gently up and down between his eyes.

“Ye have to use three,” she said very seriously. “Two doesna feel as good, and four would make your fingers get too close to his eyes, and he doesn’t like that.” Brianna glanced down at his hands. “Except your fingers are giant…so maybe you should use two fingers.”

Jamie laughed out loud. “D’ye no’ ken well enough now that I’m no’ a giant?”

She giggled. “ ’Course. But ye still are giant.” She gently removed her hands from Alastair’s snout, but not before rising up onto her toes and pressing a wee kiss right on his nose. The sight of it warmed Jamie’s heart to its very core.

She’s fiery, aye, bold, brash…but so, very tender as well.

Like her mother.

“Your turn,” Brianna said, cocking her head to Alastair.

Jamie nodded and carefully placed his hands exactly where she had, taking care to use two of his giant fingers.

“Like this?”

“Aye.” Brianna beamed in approval.

“Ye’re a very clever lass, Brianna,” Jamie said tenderly, stroking Alastair. “Very caring and considerate. Ye took special care to learn exactly what yer horse likes and doesna like.”

Brianna’s grin grew ever wider, and Claire’s heart was fit to burst.

“He trusts me,” Brianna said proudly, rocking on her heels.

“Aye, I can see that. He’s a lucky horse.”

“He trusts you, too, now.”

“Then I am a lucky man.” Jamie removed his hands from Alastair’s snout.

“Kiss his nose!” Brianna said urgently, as if the matter were serious as death.

“Oh, aye,” Jamie said sheepishly. “Canna forget that.”

Claire had to bite her lip to keep from laughing at the sight of Jamie bending slightly and kissing a horse’s nose. He was putty in their daughter’s hands.

“Alright then, lass. Let’s see how ye ride.”

Brianna bit her lip with excitement.

“D’ye need help mounting?”

“Only a little,” she insisted. “Just can’t reach her neck yet. So I need a hand.” She put her foot in the stirrup and looked up at him. “But you don't need to hold me. Fergus hasn’t done that since I was seven.”

Jamie chuckled softly; to hear her talk you’d think it had been quite a while since she was seven, and not a mere few months ago.

“Alright then, lass.” He reached his hand out to her. “Up ye get.”

Jamie was quite impressed to see the way she heaved herself over, despite how she gave several little bounces before fully committing to it. How many times, he wondered, had she attempted this with Fergus, only for her to fall short and collapse into the lad?

“See?”

“Braw, Brianna. Very braw, Indeed.”

She smiled smugly again. She took hold of the reins.

“You should take hold of the rope before Mummy starts shouting,” Brianna said.

Jamie threw his head back for a loud laugh at Claire’s expense, and Claire rolled her eyes, though she could not help her own laughter.

“Mummy shouts, does she?”

“Oh, aye,” Brianna said gravely, nodding, looking very much like her auntie. “If Fergus isna holding on for just a little tiny bit she has a conniption.”

Jamie laughed even harder at that, never imagining an eight-year-old to come up with such a word.

“Am I hearing things, Brianna, or did you just accuse me of having conniptions?” Claire called indignantly from behind the fence.

“But it’s true, Mummy! ‘Fergus!’” Brianna’s speech immediately melted into Claire’s posh English. “‘Take hold of the rope this instant! Fergus! Don’t you dare let her go!’”

Jamie’s eyes were leaking with tears of laughter.

“You are both in for it when you get out here!” Claire called, though, again, she was powerless to stop her own fit of laughter. Brianna’s impersonation really was quite spot on.

“Then we’ll stay in forever!” Brianna declared, sticking that nose up again. “We’ll eat grass and hay like the horses! Won’t we, Da?”

Jamie had to wait a few more moments before his laughter subsided enough to answer. “Aye, lass. We’ll be just fine out here. But I’ll only stay if ye brush my hair wi’ the hay the way ye do Alastair.”

Brianna laughed out loud.

“You are insufferable! Both of you!” Claire called.

“Why thank you.” Jamie gave a low bow, causing Brianna to laugh all the harder. “Alright then, a nighean.” Jamie finally took hold of the rope. “Off we go?”

Brianna clicked her tongue and gave the beast a light squeeze with her legs, like an expert wee jockey. Jamie didn’t know what he expected exactly, but he hadn’t expected her to be so natural. Claire had told him the lass loved her horse, but he had no idea how deeply this love ran for her. As he held the rope and led her around the corral, watched her steer the reins, listened to her gentle praise of the creature, he could not help the tears in his eyes, nor the hard lump in his throat.

It’s almost as if I taught her myself.

Claire, too, was nearly beside herself with emotion. This image, her daughter’s father smiling up at her, glowing with pride, doing something together that they both loved so deeply, it was more than anything she ever dared hope for. It was indescribable, overwhelming; the fierceness with which she loved them both.

“Yer Ma said ye were a fine rider, Brianna. But she didna tell me ye were a natural,” Jamie said, the pride in his voice uncontainable. “Reminds me of myself as a wee lad.”

“Mummy says I get it from you,” she said lightly, grin wide as ever.

“Does she now?”

“Aye.” Brianna nodded, curls bobbing. “She says I get a lot from you.”

“Aye, my thick skull being one,” Jamie said, recalling their first encounter.

She giggled. “Aye.”

“What else does she say ye get from me?” His voice was suddenly light, lilting, entranced at the idea of his child taking after him.

“My eyes and hair, o’ course,” she said, then her nose wrinkled slightly. “My temper.”

Jamie laughed. “Aye, s’pose that’s so. Though I’d wager yer mam had something to do wi’ that as well.”

“That’s what Auntie Jenny says.” Brianna nodded in serious agreement, causing Jamie’s head to toss back with laughter again. “Once, I heard Mummy say to Auntie Jenny: ‘She’s far too good at lying.’” Her posh English came back, much to Jamie’s delight. “And then Auntie Jenny said, ‘Oh, aye, that she gets from her father.’” She thickened the Scot in her voice, then, imitating Jenny’s cadence quite impressively.

Jamie laughed again. “That’s true, indeed. Yer mam canna lie to save her own hide. I always say she’s got a glass face. Ken what I mean?”

“Aye.” Brianna nodded, smirking.

“Yer a sneaky wee thing as well, then? Listening to yer Auntie and Mam talking?” She blushed a bit at that, but her mischievous wee smirk didn’t go anywhere. “Ye get that from me as well,” he whispered, leaning in.

She giggled. “I’m always scaring Auntie wi’out meaning to. ‘Ye scairt the bowels out of me!’”

“Aye! I used to get that a lot when we were bairns.” Jamie’s cheeks were sore from smiling. “Yer also quite braw at switching between tongues. Dinna get that from me or yer mam, I should think. That’s a trait that’s special fer Brianna.”

She beamed at that, sticking her chin up proudly. “Aye. Mummy says I sound more Scot when I’m excited or angry. But I can sound whatever way I want to,” she said smugly. “When the Redcoats come I talk full Scot so they dinna find out I’m half-English. Works every time.”

Brianna’s tone was light and playful, but Jamie couldn’t help it when his face darkened with that knowledge. How often, he wondered, did Brianna have to hide who she was? Did they stuff Claire in the priest hole? Or did she manage to get away without speaking every time they came by?

Jamie cleared his throat, afraid of putting her off with his silence. “That’s very clever, lass.”

“It was Mummy and Auntie’s idea. When they come, we pretend that Auntie is my Mummy and that Mummy is my Auntie. Though I canna say ‘Mummy,’ have to say ‘Ma’. Too English, ye ken.”

Jamie nodded hesitantly. “Does it happen often?”

“Not as much as it used to.”

“Ye’re a brave wee thing, Brianna.”

“Och, it isn’t scary,” she assured him. “It’s fun pretending that Kitty’s my real sister and no’ just my cousin.” She smiled warmly.

Jamie’s heart felt heavy. To Brianna, it was a game, a fun source of entertainment: outsmarting the British. She got to do her playacting and pretend that her very best friend was her sister. She had no idea what the dire consequences would be if the charade was discovered. He hadn’t even asked Claire, or Jenny and Ian for that matter, how they’d fared in terms of Redcoat harassment while he was gone. He hadn’t at all considered the implication of Claire, clearly English as soon as she opened her mouth, raising a child so thoroughly resembling Red Jamie. Jenny’s idea to pretend she was hers was a braw one indeed.

“Ye get along well wi’ Kitty, then?” Jamie said lightly, eager to change the subject.

“Oh, aye. She’s my very best friend since the day I was born. We fight sometimes, but Mummy and Auntie say it’s because we’re both stubborn as mules.”

He chuckled. “Aye, the two of ye seem to share the thick-skull trait.”

She nodded. “Maggie is my best friend, too. But it’s different than wi’ Kitty. Maggie doesn’t like horses like we do, and she doesn’t like to run around or shout. She’s very quiet.”

“Nothing wrong wi’ that.”

“I know,” Brianna assured him. “Playing with Maggie is just different than playing with Kitty, that’s all. We paint instead of running and shouting.”

“Aye, that makes sense to me.”

“Maggie helps Mummy in the garden,” she went on. “ ’Course I do, too, but Maggie really loves it. Says she wants to be a healer like Mummy when she grows up.”

Jamie’s heart warmed at the knowledge that Claire was passing her gift down to his own kin, her bonny wee niece. “And what about you, Brianna? What do you wanna be when ye grow up?”

Her face screwed up, her nose wrinkling again. “I dinna want to grow up, Da.”

He laughed out loud again. “Aye, that’s fine, lass. I dinna want ye to grow up just yet either.”

——

The day continued as such, and eventually Claire ended up sitting on the wooden fence, leaning on her hands, knocking herself off balance every time either Brianna or Jamie had her tossing her head back. At one point, Fergus appeared behind her and deliberately spooked her, almost causing herself to jerk forward and fall on her face. Brianna insisted that Fergus join them in the corral, so he did, walking alongside Jamie, holding onto Alastair’s bit to keep pace as Jamie led with the rope. Claire could not hear what Jamie and Fergus were saying, but there was a great deal of laughter, from them and Brianna as well, and it warmed her from head to toe.

They haven’t skipped a beat.

My boys.

“Mummy!” Brianna called, jolting her out of her blissful reverie. “I want to go fast! All around! May I?”

Claire shielded her face from the sun with her hand. “Alright,” she called back. “Would you like to ride with Fergus? Or me?”

“Neither!” she cried. “I want tae ride wi’ Da!”

Claire could literally see the wind being knocked out of Jamie. She blinked in shock for a moment; not shock that Brianna would want to ride with him, but purely because Claire was not at all used to Jamie being included in the mix. Even as he stood right there in front of her, it hadn’t even been a thought in Claire’s mind that Jamie would participate in something that had become somewhat ritualistic for this family.

Our family. Mine and his.

Tears welled up in her eyes.

“Alright, darling. Let Da get you down, and then we’ll put Alastair away and get everyone else saddled up.”

Claire could hear Brianna from where she sat, insisting that she did not need help dismounting, and she chuckled to herself. Jamie stood back and let her dismount, instinctually putting his hands out to catch her when she wavered on the ground. She didn’t miss a beat, however, standing up tall and brushing his hands away. Claire shook her head, laughing, and she heard Jamie and Fergus laugh as well.

Brianna led Alastair back to his stall herself and, with a bit of help, she removed his saddle and bridle herself as well. Jamie ruffled her hair proudly, beaming down at her. It was such a simple gesture, so natural for a father to do to his child. And yet it meant more than the world to Claire, and to Jamie as well. She could tell.

“Aye, she’s spirited,” Jamie said as he and Claire were saddling their horses, and Brianna helped Fergus with his. “Like ye said. I kent it well from this past week, but tae see her out here…” He shook his head, his grin wider than ever. “She reminds me of myself as a wee lad.”

Claire chuckled. “That’s a terrifying thought.”

“Och.” Jamie rolled his eyes, but his grin did not fade. He finished saddling his horse, and he leaned on the leather with his elbows. “She wants to ride wi’ me, Claire.”

Claire looked up, gazing at him over her horse with eyes aglow with adoration. “Of course she does.”

Jamie’s eyes glistened, and Claire was overcome with the desire to kiss him, unfortunately unable to reach him over two horses.

“You’re slow!” Brianna cried. “Fergus and I are done already.”

Claire and Jamie snapped out of their longing gazes and whipped around. “Aye, slow indeed. If ye’re sae clever, get o’er here and help us, aye?”

Brianna bounded over, helping with the finishing touches of the bridles and saddles.

“Do you have the rope, Fergus?” Claire asked.

“Aye, it was with my other things,” he confirmed, holding it up.

“What’s that for?” Jamie asked, leading his horse out of his stall.

“For you. And Brianna,” Claire said. “It goes around both of you so she doesn’t fall off the horse if a seizure comes unexpectedly.”

“Which it never has,” Brianna said with slightly more attitude than Claire appreciated.

“I know that, Brianna Ellen,” Claire said with the smallest hint of a threat. “It’s just in case. You know that.”

With one final look, Brianna shrank, nodding. “Yes, Mummy.”

“And don’t try to pull a fast one on Da,” Claire went on as the four of them emerged outside from the stables. “He knows all the rules and all the precautions.”

“Yes, Mummy.”

Claire exhaled lightly with a smile. “Alright. Here we go, love.” She crouched down to kiss Brianna’s head. “Have fun with Da.”

Brianna smiled, squinting in the sun. “I will.”

Claire mounted her horse, as did Fergus. Brianna looked up at Jamie, shielding her eyes with her hand.

“I do need your help mounting this time,” she said. “Your horse is giant. Like you.”

Jamie laughed out loud, then crouched down to poke her nose. “I’d look rather foolish on a wee beast like Alastair, would I no’?”

“More than rather,” she said, giggling.

“Alright. Up we go.” Jamie scooped her up under her arms, and Claire did not miss how he lingered with her there. She knew the feeling, the overwhelming knowledge that you alone were holding your child, you alone were their safety. He deposited Brianna on the saddle, then swung himself on.

Jamie felt the air blown out of his lungs as Brianna inched back, pressing her entire back against Jamie’s chest.

“Make sure you tie it tight,” Claire said as Jamie began winding the rope around them both. “Stop the horse immediately if she slumps over. You know what to do.”

“Aye,” Jamie said, finishing off the knot. “I’ve...I’ve got her.” He placed a protective, loving hand on the top of her head, pulling her tighter against him with the other. Claire smiled sweetly at him.

I’ve got ye, lass. Now and forever.

“I get to hold the reins, you know,” Brianna said.

Jamie chuckled. “Aye, lass. I know.”

She nodded curtly, taking the reins in her hands, and Jamie willed his fingers to stop trembling as they closed around her tiny wrists.

“Ready, lass?” he whispered into her ear, and her enthusiastic nod had her curls tickling his face.

“One...two...three…” Brianna said, anticipation building in her voice. “Go!”

In perfect tandem, Jamie and Brianna snapped the reins, and Jamie squeezed the horse’s torso with his legs, and they were off.

Jamie was in awe. If Brianna was happy on Alastair in the corral, she was alive now.

She hunched over as much as the restraint of the rope would allow, and Jamie followed, crouching as much as he could without crushing her. She really was excellent with the reins, even at this speed, and Jamie hardly had to intervene. Her hair was free and wild, obstructing his vision more than was probably safe, and he made a note to plait her hair next time. After a while, she was whooping with joy, positively laughing her head off, and Jamie could not help but join her.

“It’s like flying!” she cried over the pounding of hooves and rushing of wind. “Aye, Da?”

“Aye, lass!” he called back, his stomach flipping with joy. “Indeed i’tis!”

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Fergus and Claire occasionally blur into his field of view, but he could hardly see anything but the fiery tendrils dancing in front of his eyes, could hardly process anything over the whooping laughter of his daughter.

His heart physically ached with how deeply he loved her.

Her joy was putting a light inside of him that he did not think existed, was bringing to life something that he had thought long gone. He’d expressed to Claire that he did not think he could connect with children anymore, that his spirit had been too broken beyond repair.

But Brianna was putting his spirit back together, and she wasn’t even trying. All she had to do was squint up at him with that gap-toothed smile, or shake her head so that her curls bounced, or cry out with joy on her horse.

She was making him whole again.

My beautiful, sweet, cheeky, perfect lass. My flesh and blood. My daughter.

----

And that's a wrap on this one! Merry Christmas to all who celebrate, and Happy New Year as well! All my love! Stay tuned for a sequel to this story sometime in the new year!<3

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therainroguefanfiction · 4 years ago

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༄ How To Save A Life… » original

Genre: Slice of Life, Angst

Word Count: 2,003

Pairing: None

World: Original

WARNING: This fic mentions anxiety, social anxiety, loneliness, self-harm and depression.

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It’s amazing, how such a simple gesture can mean so much to a person. They may not even realize the impact that they made, despite how big it may be. Human beings have the power to connect in a way that goes beyond any other species, but they don’t always choose to do so. With a simple act, a person can change another’s life, whether for good or bad. That kind of power is dangerous, so I suppose it’s a good thing that most human beings don’t realize they actually possess such a thing.

The more I think about it, the more it scares me. But I guess that doesn’t mean much, seeing how afraid I am of other humans in general. I really didn’t like other people, and I absolutely hate the way they make me feel when I’m around them. I go out of my way to avoid other people, and I make sure that I don’t get into any type of fights or altercations with others. I seem to have a skill, though, that makes people hate me with every fiber of their being. It’s been that way since I was a child.

Back then, I strived to get close to other people; all I wanted was a single person I could call a friend. It didn’t work out like I had hoped or like it always does on television. I didn’t fit in with any of the groups around me, even though I went out of my way to change myself to fit them. I did many things I shouldn’t have, that I still regret to this day, just to get them to like me, but they wouldn’t, they refused to accept me. They used me for what they could get, got a good laugh, and then dumped me to the side like roadkill.

It was frustrating, sure, but more than anything else, it just plain hurt. It wasn’t physical, so there was no amount of medicine that I could take that would cure the pain. I refused to do drugs and I refused to go out and get drunk just to forget. I suppose what I did choose to do was just as bad, though. Instead of drugs or alcohol, I turned to cutting. It terrified me every time I placed the smooth blade to my pale skin. Even though I was in so much pain, I didn’t want to die.

I was afraid to die.

I loved the world, I just hated the people in it.

Still, I slid the blade across my skin despite my fear. It was never deep enough to put me in harm’s way, which proves how much of a coward I really am – it’s pretty sad. It was no deeper than a cat scratch, but it still stung and throbbed, and little diamonds of blood covered it like a blanket. It was enough to make me feel better, for a few minutes, before I started to feel stupid for what I was doing to myself. That just made the situation worse.

I already hated myself for various reasons – fat, ugly, and above all else, unable to do anything right, just to name the main ones – and now I had cutting to add to my list. I was a despicable human being, I still am, but at least I can handle it a bit better now. I don’t cut anymore, though it does cross my mind occasionally.

Perhaps that’s a side effect of the crazy pills that I’m on now.

Though the pills do ease the fear of human beings, it can’t take it away. It’s still there, lingering just beneath the surface, waiting for me to feel safe and secure before it winds its black arms around me like death coming from the shadows. It grips my throat until I can’t breathe, and chains my heart so tight that it hurts every time it beats.

Sometimes I would envision myself in a barren wasteland, filled with nothing but rock formations that towered over me like skyscrapers. I could see chains binding my wrists to a metal plate in the ground, one that refused to budge so much as half an inch. The ground would crack beneath me, and lava would begin to seep through, but I couldn’t run away.

I could never run away.

I often wondered if someone could come to my rescue, to take me away, but I hated how that sounded. One thing I didn’t like – besides people -, was being a damsel in distress that needed a knight in shining armor to come to rescue her. Really, I’d be fine with just having someone that was a true friend, but after a while, I started to doubt the meaning of that word. I actually looked it up, and the definition only filled me with misery, knowing that I’d never have such a relationship.

Sure, there were people that tolerated me and my smart ass quips, like my co-workers, but something deep down told me they didn’t actually like me. I’m positive they only act nice because we have to see each other every week, and often are put together on projects. The day goes by in a painfully slow manner when you’re working with someone and there’s nothing but lightning between you – sadly, I know this because I just recently learned the true nature of my friend, who believes she’s done nothing wrong.

But I’m probably mostly to blame, anyway.

I guess I got a little off point, here, and for that, I apologize. I’m sure my ramblings mean nothing to you. So, let me spare you further hell, and begin telling you my boring, bang-your-head-against-a-brick-wall story.

Everything began when I was twenty-years-old, working at the local J.C. Penneys in the mall. It was my second job, and although my bosses were lenient and pleasant to be around – most of the time -, I still hated it. Not only because I was lazy, but because I hated having to deal with customers. Dealing with the people I worked with was one thing, but having the thought of being thrown onto the register with a customer was like staring my own death in the face.

Wait, I take that back. I’d rather stare death in the face than be on the register with customers.

Thankfully, this rat has learned to hide and run from customers – which would probably get me fired if anyone knew I did that since the company was one of those customer first types. That’s also why I do my very best to keep these thoughts tucked away from prying eyes. I mean, I hated being out there with people, but I needed the money. And in what other job would you be able to cower in an air-conditioned stock room by yourself, with no one to deal with but the massive racks of clothes that needed to be priced? It was heaven, really, but it didn’t happen very often.

I guess in a way I rely on my co-workers more than I should. With them around, I can roll the customer off onto them and get away scot-free. They don’t mind since they can actually handle having a simple conversation with other people.

It was the beginning of Spring, the beginning of April, and although it had been slightly chilly as of late, Florida was beginning to warm up. I didn’t mind the rare thirty-degree weather, it was the eighty-degree humidity covered weather that sent me to the floor panting and begging my family to move to Antarctica. I was very sensitive to heat, of any kind, which is another thing I can add to my pathetic list.

Nothing really special was happening in my life at the time, not like it ever did at any other time. I woke up last minute, rushed off to work, grit my teeth and tried not to harm myself just to be sent home, and when I finally would make it home, I’d flop in front of the computer where I stayed until it was time to go to bed.

See, rather than being one of those kids that goes out and parties the night away, having sex with every guy that smiles at her, I’ve always been the nerdy kid that sat at home, with no friends, playing video games and screwing around online. If anything, that’s the only thing I can say I like about myself. Of course, I probably would have done those things if I had actually had friends to coax me into them – I cave easily, remember?

That Monday, I expected the same routine.

I was only working six hours, so I just bit the inside of my cheek and decided to bare it, just like I did every other day that I worked at this godforsaken clothing store – I didn’t even like fashion, for fuck’s sake. That should be pretty obvious since I only ever come to work in t-shirts, jeans, and dirty sneakers that were falling apart – thank you, Walmart, for your wonderful quality in shoes.

I said goodbye to my mother, and promised to call her which I had no intention of doing – I mean, come on, I only get fifteen minutes, and I fully intend on spending those minutes trying to stay alive!

Since it was seven in the morning, and the store did not open until ten, I was forced to stand there looking like an idiot, pushing the little white button until my supervisor came power walking to the door with the keys. The older woman would smile and greet me with the typical good morning routine before telling me what I would be doing that day.

After her explanation, I’d take the elevator to the second floor – and god was it slow – before heading to the pricing office. Just like always, my team was already back there, scrambling around getting pricing books and sheets, picking out the cart they wanted, and trying to find a scanner that actually worked – those were few and far between, believe me.

The women would greet me, but it was nothing beyond a simple ‘good morning‘. Though I wanted to say something else, I never did, because I never knew what to say, and I knew I could never hold a conversation without doing something I’d regret. It was easier just to keep it short and simple. Seeing these women did make me feel a bit happy, even though we weren’t friends. I liked their presence, and they could be rather funny when they worked together.

Today we were looking for clearance in the Men’s department. Apparently, we had about fifty sheets of stuff to find, though I was sure we’d only be successful in about half the list, if that.

When nine-forty rolled around, I attended the meeting just so I could sit down for a few minutes, though nothing they discussed had anything to do with my team and, to be completely honest, I could care less about who got the most ICAPS, and who got the best reviews on the survey.

Good for them.

Give ’em a damn cookie and move on.

I took my time after the meeting ended because I decided to take my break now, so I could have fifteen more minutes without the threat of customers. I always did this when I worked six-hour days; it was starting to become a routine.

With those fifteen minutes, I spent them in the air-conditioned break room, in the back corner – or emo corner, as I’ve officially dubbed it -, trying to collect my thoughts and prepare myself for the horrible experience I was going to be throwing myself into it. It took a lot to calm myself down, but I managed it, just like always.

If only I had known how different that day was going to be.

If only I had known what was really going to happen to me that day.

I really should have stayed home.

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daily-capaldi · 5 years ago

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The Big Read – Lewis Capaldi: “I make jokes because I’m comfortable with who I am”

The breakout star of 2019, Lewis Capaldi has the midas touch and the world at his feet – but he still likes talking about his pubes and dreams of meeting a girl who'll break his heart for real. NME Deputy Editor Dan Stubbs meets the cocksure 23-year-old in Dublin for a Buckfast sesh and quickly discovers a legitimately hilarious talent who's far from the “big fucking annoying cunt” he thinks he is.

Lewis Capaldi is miming a range of sporting activities. He bounces an invisible basketball around the stage. He boots an imaginary football into the crowd. And after some minutes of this, he poses with an imaginary dart in his hand. Every time he mimes pulling back to throw it, he changes his mind and walks over to take a sip of Guinness instead – to the delight of the crowd. When he finally throws the thing, they roar with approval, before goading him into downing the rest of his pint. And of course: he does.

It’s November 21 at the Olympia Theatre, Dublin. So far Capaldi has spent 10 minutes playing three songs and 15 minutes doing what, in the most affectionate terms, can only be described as dicking about. It shouldn’t be this funny to watch, but it really is. And the price of witnessing this spectacle? Depends when you got your tickets. A tout offered to take NME’s off our hands for €500 outside the venue.

A year ago this may have sounded like madness, a sign that the world was heading to hell in a handcart and we’d be closing out the decade in a post-apocalyptic new reality, eating boot leather and watching jesters for entertainment. But in 2019, Lewis Capaldi has proved, conclusively, that what the world was waiting for was a pasty-faced, pasty-loving, 23-year-old Scot with an act that’s 50 percent heartbroken balladry and 50 percent improv comedy. And it is a worldwide thing – Capaldi is a global hit, a bona fide phenomenon. A superstar whose first encounter with NME is backstage, hurtling along the corridor clutching a handful of items. “Got my passport, my acid reflux tablets and my water – and that’s all I need!” he says, whizzing past. “And now, I’m off for a small pish.”

When listing Capaldi’s many 2019 achievements, they start to lose meaning, like contemplating distances in space, or making sense of the costings in the Labour manifesto. But here are a few: The Brits’ Critics Choice award. A Number One album with ‘Divinely Uninspired To A Hellish Extent’. A Number One single with ‘Someone You Loved’ in much of Europe, the US and the UK, where it spent seven weeks at the top. The hardest touring artist of the year, playing over 250 shows. A scene-stealing Glastonbury appearance.

If you’re to believe the stories in the Scottish tabloid press, Capaldi’s music can practically cure leprosy. He’s even had a beef with Noel Gallagher, once a mark of honour, but now a tussle with adversary so easily shot down it’s a bit like watching the moment someone first beats their dad in an arm wrestle.

Yesterday brought news that Capaldi been nominated for Best Song at The Grammys, which in early career terms is the equivalent of being up for the Best Actor Oscar for your school production of Macbeth. “I’m up against Billie Eilish, Lady Gaga, Lizzo, H.E.R., Lana Del Rey, Taylor Swift…” he says. So he’s in there representing the men? “Yes, at long last!” he jokes. “At long last, straight white men finally have representation.”

“If I’m being honest, I did think ‘Old Town Road’ would be nominated,” he says, being serious now. “Maybe if I win I’ll Kanye myself. ‘This should have gone to ‘Old Town Road’! (But I am going to keep it)…’”

Capaldi is an expert at shrugging off his achievements. His unfaltering humility is a huge part of his appeal but even he concedes it’s starting to seem a bit forced. “When I read my interviews back, I always think if I wasn’t me I’d think: ‘you’re full of shite’,” he says. “Like, stop saying you can’t believe it. You can believe it! But it is so surreal and it seems like almost quarterly it kicks up a notch. Like, yesterday with the Grammys, yet again all this shit’s getting more and more mental, more beyond belief.”

Capaldi watched the Grammy nominations on his laptop, which was resting on his chest with the screen close to his face – a set-up he describes as his “home cinema” – and he admits he did get properly excited at the news. Mostly, though, he tends to find himself reacting to things how he thinks he should.

“I’ve got a very bad way of being like, So you’re supposed to feel this way in this moment,” he says. Like when someone passes away? “Exactly, yeah. Like, four months after my grandma passed away, I’m like, ‘Fuck, my grandma’s died,’ and I’m in Somerfield or something. I mean, not in Somerfield, because it’s not been open for fucking years.”

Capaldi even plays down the success of ‘Someone You Loved’, the song that scored him the Grammy nod. In his eyes, it’s just “one of my songs that’s doing a little bit better than the rest”, but it’s already become a popular standard to sit alongside Robbie Williams’s ‘Angels’ or Adele’s ‘Someone Like You’, one of those tracks that will be soundtracking marriages and burials for years to come. Which of those would he prefer it be used for? “Burials,” he says, with no hesitation. “Don’t start falling in love to my fucking music, right? See if I see people kissing at my shows, fucking stop that! These are sad songs, you bastards.”

Like Lewis himself, a large part of the charm of ‘Someone You Loved’ is its absolute universality, which is not to say it’s banal, more that everyone who has lost someone at some point in their lives – which is most of us – can identify with it. For Lewis, it was the aforementioned loss of his grandmother that proved the catalyst for the song, but he made it more open to romantic interpretation because it felt “too morbid” to write explicitly about.

And it didn’t come easily. Where other songwriters boast about dashing off huge hits in barely the time it takes to play them, Capaldi admits to labouring over his compositions. Writing songs, he says, is “a massive pain in the fucking arse sometimes”.

“Growing up I read interviews with people like Paul Weller, Paul McCartney – all the Pauls – and they’d say the best songs just sort of fall in your lap,” he says. “After six months at the piano writing ‘Someone You Loved’ I’m like, ‘You fucking lying bastards, that’s taken me fucking ages.’”

Many of Capaldi’s songs, which he endearingly describes as ranging from “big piano ballads to bigger piano ballads” draw on his first major relationship which – you may have guessed – is no longer a going concern. But it wasn’t a dramatic event. “Adele wrote her album about a relationship breaking up in a bad way, being jilted I think,” he says. “I wrote mine about a relationship that just ended, just fizzled out. I’d love to be jilted by someone, then I could be as successful as Adele.”

I ask if he worries that – at 23 – he doesn’t have a great deal of life experience to draw on. “I spent my entire life writing this first album,” he says, “but the stuff I’ve experienced in the last year has been much more of a growing experience than living in my mum and dad’s house in fucking West Lothian.”

How about the fact that his next girlfriend, whoever she may be, will be on different terms, it being impossible for her not to know she’s dating Lewis Capaldi the world famous pop star? “Well, I don’t know. It’s not like I’m Justin Bieber,” he says. “Today was the first time I’ve ever got out of the car at a venue and someone screamed. Normally people just shout something at me that I’ve said on Instagram about my pubes. I guess, at worst, my next partner would think I’m one way because they’ll hear the songs and think I seem very nice and level headed, but then find out I’m not.”

What’s the reality?

“Big fucking annoying cunt.”

It’s slightly unfair to question the depth of Capaldi’s life experience, because at the age most of us were familiarising ourselves with yo-yos, pogs or fidget spinners (delete as appropriate), Lewis was embarking on his music career. He began performing at 11, largely in pubs and clubs in the conurbation between Glasgow and Edinburgh where he grew up. The experience of having to hold his own in intimidating spaces at such a young age probably explains much about his easiness around people.

“I found that at 11 it was, ‘Oh he’s quite cute, he came and stood up here and he’s doing very well.’ When I got to 14, 15 and my voice changed and I lost any remnants of cuteness – which as you can tell have not returned to me – that’s when I started to pick up a bit of the patter. You get to know your way about how to speak to people.”

Around that time, Capaldi actively worked on changing his vocal style to something more like the wolfy howl we hear today. What was once a ”high and smooth” voice had broken. Inspired by Paolo Nutini and Joe Cocker, Capaldi added some gravel. “I thought it would be a good idea to put a bit of rasp in, to make it sound even more terrible,” he says.

For years we’ve been force-fed sensitive young men-next-door with beanie hats, beards or lumberjack shirts singing to us about their problems. In a quest for authenticity, they’ve presented themselves as troubled, serious souls. Capaldi, meanwhile, has given us the sensitive songs with a side order of toilet humour and the kind of prolific, creative swearing worthy of The Thick Of It‘s Malcolm Tucker, as played by his distant cousin Peter Capaldi.

Stand-up comedians often make a point of referring to the most funny-looking thing about themselves as an icebreaker with the audience, a way of getting them on side. Capaldi has the same trick – there’s not a single thing about his looks or his music you could say that he hasn’t beaten you to. Try and come up something better than saying he looks like “a melting hippo”, we dare you.

He has zero pretence – he’s a guy who can literally piss himself on stage and laugh it off. “That only happened once,” he says. “And I’ve always been like that, even back in school. If I was meeting someone for the first time I’d be like, ‘Hello, how are you? I’ve got diarrhoea and I could spew or I could blow at any moment. It puts me at ease, being honest.’”

“People think I make jokes because I’m uncomfortable,” he adds. “Actually, it’s the opposite – I make jokes because I’m comfortable with who I am. I say that I’m a chubby bastard because I am a chubby bastard.”

I put it to him that, possibly, he may be the first body-positive male icon – an important thing given Capaldi is part of a generation of young men who feel under enormous pressure to have an Insta-chiselled body. “I don’t know if I can accept that, because I probably don’t use the correct vernacular,” he says. “It’s probably not good to call yourself a chubby cunt, but it’s never been something that’s bothered me. I’ve been a very slim man, I’ve been a man who’s gone to the gym, but even when I’ve done that someone calls you fat anyway, whether it’s your ma, your da, your best pal.”

Capaldi hasn’t, as of yet, had any sort of pop star makeover. He still looks like a kid who’s moved out of home for the first time and is stacking up the washing to take to mum’s. He does, however, have a personal trainer on tour and has been exercising every day. “It’s more of a mental health thing,” he says. “It gives me energy and keeps me happy. I mean, when I’m actually doing it I fucking hate it so much, but it feels better after.”

I ask how his mental health is bearing up to his new everyday reality, an extraordinary experience for anyone to process. “That’s what I think about taking the piss out of things,” he says. “I take the piss out of doing things on stage and how mental it is because you have to, because it stops you getting caught up in it. Summer last year I started having massive panic attacks. I was supposed to do Austin City Limits but I had to cancel because I was just having panic attack after panic attack, and I thought I had something seriously wrong with me, because I’m a bit of a hypochondriac. And I went and got a fucking MRI scan. But they said I was just anxious, just recalibrating to this new fucking lifestyle. So I said, right, cancel everything for three weeks, and no one gave me any shit for it.”

At showtime, the atmosphere at tonight’s gig offers a glimpse of the bubble Capaldi is living in these days. The Olympia is a grand old theatre and Capaldi could probably have sold it out 50 times over; the reaction from the crowd is something like Lewmania.

Afterwards, we head backstage again, where I’m ushered into a room containing about a dozen members of Capaldi’s family. I’m plonked on a chair right in the middle, handed a massive wine glass full of Buckfast by his cousin and grilled by his dad, a fishmonger and the very driest of wits, about my intentions for this article. He’s seriously proud of his boy, having supported him since the very beginning, even playing the supportive parent role when Lewis auditioned for Britain’s Got Talent aged 12.

The afterparty moves to a private room at a nearby pub. Lewis’s hulking great cousin – the one who brought the Buckfast – is getting the shots in. His auntie is looking on, concerned, as two girls chat him up at the same time. “He’s only a wee one,” she mutters. While his friends and family enjoy the party and a certain NME journalist accidentally smashes the first of a series of glasses, feeling the effects of downing that Buckfast in an ill-advised attempt to curry favour with the family, Lewis makes his final rounds then politely excuses himself, looking a bit hangdog about it. He has another big show tomorrow. Sad to leave your own party, you imagine.

At points in the interview, Capaldi had been making a short, forced coughing noise, which he shrugged off as nothing. But the next week, he cancels a number of shows on health grounds, having been warned by his doctor that he risks losing his voice altogether if he doesn’t take action. In the end, he plays just four more gigs of the UK leg of the tour – in London, Edinburgh and twice in Glasgow for the homecoming finale. All further activities are cancelled by management, including a follow-up NME interview, but he is sent to complete the year’s touring commitments in the States before heading home for a well-earned few days celebrating Christmas with his family, which he says typically involves plenty of booze and lots of piss-taking. If you think you’re feeling ready for the break today, spare a thought for Lewis.

Next year looks to be just as busy as this one. He is, right now, just about the most in-demand young man in the world. At some point, he’ll have to start thinking about his next album too. “I don’t know what the fuck it’s going to sound like, I don’t know what the fuck it’s going to be,” he says. “Ballads, havin’-it tunes, I don’t know. I’ve got voice notes, melodies, stuff like that, but that’s just me and an acoustic guitar.”

Considering what he said about his hypochondria, it’s likely the idea of losing his voice is weighing heavily on Capaldi’s mind. But he’s already decided there’s a backlash coming anyway. “You do get warned, as you’re coming up: ‘By the way, everyone’s gonna turn on you pretty soon’,” he says. “I guess I’m always just kind of waiting for it. I’m very doomsday. Like, if it’s not happened yet, it’s gonna come. And I can’t wait for the downfall!”

He might be surprised. People have plenty of different reactions to Capaldi’s music, but it’s pretty much impossible to find someone who doesn’t think he seems like a bloody great bloke.

And besides – if he ever finds he can’t sing, he’d make a killing at The Fringe as a physical comic.

The extended edition of ‘Divinely Uninspired To A Hellish Extent’ is out now

#nme #long post #interview #lewis capaldi

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bee-kathony · 6 years ago

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The Oath | Ch. 2 “Strange Whisky Man”

a/n: thank you SO much to everyone who read and left comments on the first chapter! It means everything to me when I read that you liked this story. I hope you enjoy this chapter <3

Ch. 1

January 21, 2019

When Claire opened her eyes to the sun streaming through the window over the white linen sheets, her mind was blank. For a few brief, quiet moments, she forgot the events of the past twelve hours. But then as she turned to her side and realized she wasn’t in her own bed, she remembered why and fear crept in.

What the bloody hell was she going to do?

She moved in with Frank three years ago when they came to Edinburgh after she graduated from university. Their home was her home. A place where they had both created memories, shared Christmases and even talked about getting married.

As she sat up, her hands moved to her forehead, pressing against the temples to ease the throbbing ache. She was going to take things one day at a time. And after all… Geillis had said she could stay as long as she needed to, thank God she had a spare room.

Feeling a bit lost without her phone, Claire sighed as she put one foot after the other on the carpeted floor and stood. Her joints popped as she stretched her hands high above her head.

“You can do this, Beauchamp.” Claire took a deep breath and steeled herself for the day, ready to face whatever new challenges came at her.

When she walked out into Geillis’ living room, she was surprised to see boxes of her stuff sitting on the floor.

“Geillis?” She called out, walking through the house to find her friend.

“In the kitchen!”

The red headed woman was standing in front of the stove, spatula in hand, flipping bloody pancakes. Claire felt overwhelmed by so many different emotions and walked over to Geillis and wrapped her arms around her.

“Oh, Claire.” Geillis smiled and wrapped one arm around her waist. “Ye alright, lass?”

“I will be,” Claire smiled as best she could. “I just… love you a lot. You’ve picked up my stuff from my shitty ex and now you’re making pancakes.”

“Aye,” Geillis grinned and then turned back to the stove. “I’m just doin’ all these nice things for ye so someday when I need a favor, ye have no choice but to help.”

Claire scoffed, “I don’t think I have a choice whether I help you or not. Geillis Duncan does not simply ask, she demands.” They both laughed at the truth of the statement. When Claire had first moved to Edinburgh, she had been quite reserved and was slow to make friends. Geillis had spoken to her on her first day of work and Claire knew they would hit it off.

Her friend was also usually right about everything. Last night, Geillis had mentioned how she never felt right around Frank and now there was a reason why. He was a cheater, a liar and a manipulative bastard.

Biting the inside of her cheek to keep the tears at bay, Claire walked over to the cabinet, grabbing a glass for water.

“Did you get my phone by chance? I hope I don’t have too many missed messages.”

“Och, aye I did. I plugged it in on my charger in my room, ye can go and get it.”

“Thank you again,” Claire smiled and went to fetch her phone. When she unlocked it, she had only one message from a colleague updating her about a patient who was in critical care. Thankfully all was well, but Claire felt a little depressed that she only had one missed message. She really needed to get out more.

Claire joined Geillis back in the kitchen and hopped up on the counter.

“So, what’s this distillery thing again?” She swung her crossed ankles back and forth in the air, trying for any conversation that would distract her from thinking about Frank.

“Tis a company called ‘Fraser & Co.’, a family business I think. Anyways, my friends Rupert and Angus ken the owners and asked if I wanted to tag along,” she smiled, waving the spatula in the air as she talked. “There’ll be free whisky all night long, a good reason to get sloshed eh?”

“Right. Sloshed,” Claire sighed. She hoped with time that she would regain some feeling, some sense of humanness but currently all emotion had simply been drained out of her.

“It is okay for ye to try and have fun tonight, Claire.” Geillis flipped the last pancake and then turned to face her. “I ken it’s been no even twenty-four hours and ye’ve every right to be heartbroken, but sometimes a girl just needs a few stiff drinks and one night to pretend she hasna been hurt.”

Geillis was right. Again. What Claire didn’t need to do was wallow in self pity, that would only get her nowhere. And besides, she didn’t exactly want to keep crying over Frank fucking Randall — he didn’t deserve her tears.

“I’ll try my best,” she offered a warm smile and satisfied with her answer, Geillis turned back to the pancakes.

“Good. I’ll be by yer side the entire night and if ye ever want to ditch, just let me know,” the red haired woman drizzled warm syrup over the fluffy pancakes and just as she passed the plate into Claire’s hands, her stomach growled.

“Christ, I’m starving!” She laughed, took the fork offered to her and dove in. “Haven’t eaten since lunch yesterday, I’ve no idea what got in the way of dinner last night,” she said sarcastically.

Kicking her in the shin lightly, Geillis laughed. “Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp isna lost to the world after all.”

++++++

It took Claire a bit longer than she expected to find something to wear tonight and no surprise there since all of her stuff had been quickly packed into boxes. In reality, she didn’t own a lot of clothes or personal items.

Perhaps it was because when her parents died, she had moved around a lot with Lamb. He was an archaeologist and so every few months, they traveled to a different country which meant hoarding things like band t-shirts, books and any other normal teenage girl items were out of the question.

Once on her way home from work, Claire had passed by a store with a lovely display of vases and almost purchased one. She wasn’t exactly sure why she didn’t buy it — after all, she had a home with Frank and a table or mantle to place it on. She had stability.

Had.

Muttering things to herself like, “foolish woman, should have noticed,” Claire took her time getting ready. Opting for simple black fitted jeans and a cozy sweater, her next task was to tame her curls.

Growing up, she hated having curly hair and had always wished for straight hair like her mother. But Julia Beauchamp had insisted that Claire learn to love her curls and also how to properly take care of them.

Proper care was thrown out the window when she traveled around with Lamb and since then, she hadn’t taken up putting in the effort again. It wasn’t that her hair was unkempt, but it often resembled a bird’s nest… an inviting one nonetheless.

Forcing herself to wear a little bit of foundation and mascara, Claire put the brush down and looked at herself in the mirror.

“Not bad, Beauchamp.”

When she walked out to where Geillis was waiting, she stopped and stared at her friend. She was wearing a short black dress with a deep v-cut and thigh high boots. It was January… in Scotland.

“What? Too slutty ye think?” Geillis followed Claire’s gaze and looked down at herself.

“No, no not at all,” Claire whistled, her eyes wide and then laughed. “You look great actually, but now I feel rather frumpy.”

Giving her a once over, Geillis screwed up her face, “Aye, ye do, but ye have an excuse. It’s no like yer goin’ to be keen on talkin’ to any men. So this way they’ll be sure to stay away!”

“Geillis!” Claire gasped, feigning shock and hit her playfully on the arm. “Okay, now you look like a slut.”

“Grandma,” Geillis retorted and then grabbed her car keys.

++++++

The grand opening party for Fraser & Co. was being held at the owner’s estate according to Geillis’ friend Rupert. The two women had picked up their two companions, also Scots of course and made the short journey to Lallybroch. From the little Claire knew of Gaelic, the word ‘Lallybroch’ meant something like ‘lazy tower’ and she very was interested to see if such a tower existed.

“So, Claire,” Angus leaned forward from the backseat, his face a bit too close to Claire’s to be completely comfortable, “How long have ye known our lass, Geillis?”

Avoiding unnecessary contact, Claire leaned forward so that her back was at an awkward angle and turned her head towards Angus. “Almost three years, feels like ages though.”

“How come we’ve ne’vr met ye then?”

“Claire doesna get out much, ye ken,” Geillis chimed in. “She’s a big boss lady and doesna have time to hang out wi’ the lower class.”

Claire nudged her friend in the side, rolling her eyes. “You know that’s not true. It was Frank who insisted on spending all of my free time with him.”

“Who’s Frank?” Rupert, the burlier of the two men asked.

“No one important anymore,” Claire said and put an end quickly to that rabbit hole.

A short time later, they arrived at their destination. It wasn’t very late in the day, 7pm to be exact, but the sun had set a long time ago and so the only lights on the estate were hundreds of twinkling fairy lights hung all around. The home looked absolutely magical and Claire decided that this is what all typical Scottish fairytale homes looked like.

They had arrived a bit later than expected due to getting lost in the dark and therefore had missed the opening speech from the owners welcoming them to the launch. The four of them quickly found the open bar, however, and Claire was now onto her second whisky of the night.

Rupert had just told a joke that had made the entire crowd around them laugh in hysterics, but not Claire. While she enjoyed the company, her heart wasn’t in it to be surrounded by so many people.

“I’m just going to take a walk around, I’ll be fine,” She said to Geillis, giving her a cheerful smile as she slowly wormed her way out of the crowd.

As she stepped out of the house to get some fresh air and enjoy the pretty lights, Claire was thankful she had worn a comfy sweater instead of trying to give off the impression that she wasn’t absolutely freezing. Even with her hands tucked under the material of her sleeves, however, she still shivered.

“Yer shaking so hard, yer makin’ my teeth rattle just at the sight of ye.”

Jumping a little at the unexpected company, Claire looked over to her right and saw a very tall, broad, red haired man leaning against the wall.

“Do ye want a plaid or maybe a coat?” He asked her kindly and then approached her. She knew the man was waiting for an answer to his question, but when he came closer and she looked into his blue eyes, she forgot any language that made sense.

The man gave her an odd look and then reached out, waving his hand in front of her face and finally she shook her head, and her speech was restored.

“No, thank you. I’ll be just fine,” she smiled and then turned to head back inside the house. Claire had come outside to get away from people, and this man who made her incapable of coherent thought was getting in the way of that.

“Ye dinna seem like ye want to be around people,” He said just as her foot hit the first step.

“Your point is?” She gazed over at him, noticing the subtle quirk of his mouth, and the deep auburn shine to his curly hair.

“I ken of a place wi’ a few less people is all,” he smiled and before she could tell herself no and to go find Geillis and ask to go home, Claire retraced her steps and came to stand in front of the man once again.

“Show me, then.”

Observing that she had come outside for to find quiet, the man didn’t speak as he lead them around the estate and to a large stable. Only when he disappeared inside an office looking room and returned with a plaid, did Claire speak.

“Thank you,” she smiled, accepting his kind gesture to keep her warm.

“Dinna fash. Canna have ye freezin’ to death!” He laughed — a deep laugh that made Claire want to tell a joke just so she could hear it again.

“So why did you bring me to the stables?” She asked and took a few steps in, looking around at the horses that were in their stalls.

“Och, I always find the company of a horse to be more favorable than people,” the man said and walked up next to her, his hands down at his sides.

“I’ve never ridden a horse before,” Claire mused out loud and came to stand in front of a stall with a beautiful black horse. “Don’t know anything about them really.”

For whatever reason, Claire felt comfortable in this stranger’s presence. Perhaps it was being around the horses, but as he stood next to her, she suddenly longed to know everything about him.

“Ye are a Sassenach,” the man chortled, “That doesna exactly surprise me.”

Claire looked up at him and was once again struck by the blueness of his eyes. “A Sassenach?” She pronounced the word slowly, trying to mimic his accent.

His eyebrows shot up and an amused look crossed his face, “I only mean English, tis another term for ye… an outlander.”

“Hmmm, I hope it’s used affectionately,” she snorted a bit and then covered her mouth with her hand. Only did she snort when she felt totally relaxed and right now she blamed the alcohol.

The man only laughed and then suddenly disappeared back into the office. Claire mentally shrugged and wrapped the plaid tighter around her body, returning her attention back to the horse in front of her.

“Would ye like a dram?” The man said from behind her and she turned to see him holding two glasses of whisky.

“What do you own the place or something?” She laughed, remarking at his ability to produce items from seemingly out of nowhere but took the glass he offered her.

The scot stiffened beside her, his left hand tapping twitchy fingers along his thigh. “Och, I ken the owner a wee bit.”

“I see. And he has no problem with you showing random strangers his stable and drinking his hidden whisky?”

The man grinned over his glass, “None at all.”

Claire wondered exactly who he was, but decided not to push further. She took a sip, letting it burn her throat and then took a seat on the bench near the entrance. The man awkwardly stood frozen in place, unsure of what to do but ultimately took a seat beside her.

“What do ye think of the whisky?”

He was sitting very close to her and she could smell his aftershave — minty with a hint of spice that lingered in her nostrils. The man also radiated heat and she no longer felt the need of the plaid, letting it fall off one shoulder.

“It’s very good,” she smiled and remembering the glass in her hand took another sip.

“I’ll be sure to let the owner know that a beautiful Sassenach who’s never ridden a horse in her life enjoys his whisky,” the man said with a cheeky grin and Claire had the sudden urge to poke him in the stomach. So she did.

“Och! What was that for?” He laughed, rubbing at the spot she had poked him.

“Sorry,” she bit her bottom lip to keep from laughing but ultimately burst into a fit of giggles, one so strong that tears filled her eyes.

“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ,” she sighed as her laugh began to wind down. The man stared at her, clearly amused, but also maybe a bit frightened at this hysterical woman he had engaged in polite conversation with.

“Are ye alright, Sassenach?” He asked and she thought that he genuinely cared to know the answer.

The simple answer was yes, she was just a bit tipsy, but the real answer was far more complicated.

“I’m not really sure,” she said truthfully, earning her a distinctly Scottish noise from beside her.

“I didna expect such an honest answer,” the man grinned, his eyes full of sympathy.

“I’m not usually one to pour my heart out to a complete stranger,” Claire took another sip of whisky. “But you make me comfortable strange whisky man.”

“Strange whisky man? Yeesh,” the man chuckled and then offered his hand out to her. “Jamie, madam. Pleasure to meet ye.”

It took her a moment to move her own hand into his, but when her skin made contact with his, a bolt of electricity shot up her arm and she dropped the nearly empty glass onto the ground, making them both jump. Glass shattered at their feet, and Claire cursed herself for being so clumsy.

“Dinna move, Sassenach. I dinna want yer wee feet getting hurt,” Jamie stood and carefully avoided the glass. He went into the small office and came back with a small broom and dustpan. That room really did have a bit of everything.

“I’m so sorry,” Claire said. “I’ll buy the owner another glass. Christ, Beauchamp!”

“Dinna fash, Sassenach. Tis alright, I ken he willna mind, besides ’twas an accident,” he brushed up the remaining bits of glass and dumped it in a waste bin. With a final check to the area, Jamie offered both his hands to Claire and she took them, once again feeling that same buzz on her skin.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

“For what?” Jamie hadn’t let go of her hands and she was fine if he never did.

“For cleaning up my mess.”

“I think I’d do anythin’ for ye, Sassenach.”

The air between them was so charged, so electric that Claire was sure if a match was struck, they’d both burst into flames on the spot.

Jamie’s hand moved from hers and slipped around her waist, holding her close to his body and she felt the heat of him against her skin. There was nothing else that mattered in this moment other than the thought of what his lips would taste like on hers.

She didn’t have to wait long to find out.

“Sassenach,” Jamie whispered and she stood on her toes and paused, her lips a breath away from his.

“Kiss me.” And he did.

Chapter 3: “Nooks & Books”

#the oath #chapter 2 #outlander fanfic #jamie x claire #jamie fraser #claire beauchamp #strange whisky man #lfkdjsflkdjs #i love this chapter ngl

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queenarticlearchive · 6 years ago

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September 11, 1976

Phil McNeill

New Musical Express

If punters queue when they’ve already got tickets…

…You’re witnessing A Phenomen. And such was the situation when Queen played the Edinburgh Festival - with supporters of The Young Pretender paying their man and his men the ultimate tribute… But what of the music? What of the future? Is our combination-clad Hero prancing up a blind alley?

It’s a freezing Edinburgh wind that whips up the bare slope by the Playhouse Theatre to torment the massed masochists who queue, strung out a full quarter of a mile, for Queen’s first British gig of 1976.

Masochists? Am I revealing my prejudice against the four wonderboys already? Actually, no: masochists because they’ve all got tickets already, and, while the pub the other side of the theatre stands almost empty, these kids are catching pneumonia for nothing in their impatience to reach their already allotted seats.

Baffled, photographer Chalkie Davies and I forsake the Scotch queue for the one inside the pub…

Later, in the Playhouse, Supercharge do their obscene thing to the delight of the packed audience. They’ve lost keyboardist Iain Bradshow, at least for tonight, and the consequent weakening in the band’s already clanky rhythmic mesh is disturbing. But that famed Scots audience does its nut.

Whether it’s the Bay City Rollers spot, the new punk rock leapabout or a completely serious, lopsided semi-funk song, the response is probably as strong as Superchange have ever had anywhere - and this is distinctly an off night!

The Liverpool layabouts troop off and the “We want Queen” chants strike up as scurrying roadies prepare a spartan stage: no clever backdrops and stuff, just Roger Taylor’s mounds of cymbals in front of that ever-present gong and Brian May’s mountain of AC30s.

Darkness...gaspo… a clashing gong… squeals of delight from the youth next to me...yer usual symphonic electronic atmospheric fanfare sort of thing… fading up into the Gilbert and Sullivan middle section of “Bohemian Rhapsody”...a welling up of dry ice...clamorous welcome from the audience..the youth next to me digs his elbows in my ribs and bounces on his seat in delirium…

And they’re on, racing straight out of the recorded “Bohemian Rhapsody” into a live rendition of the heavy riff section that follows. Lights flash madly, there’s smoke all over the place, the youth next to me is screaming with joy, as are 3,000 other lunatic Scotspeople. If explosions aren’t going off it feels like it, and I jot down what Freddie Mercury is wearing in an attempt to keep a grip on my reeling brain.

A white boiler suit, it says here. What professionalism. That’s like a war correspondent noting the time as the wall he’s leaning on gets demolished by a tank.

The relentless sensory bombardment continues as Queen bomb out of “BoRhap” - “just gotta get right outta here”, and how can I disagree? - into a harsh melange of heavy metal riffs plastered with flash harmonies, which in turn gives way to a fast intrumental.

Basically it’s rubbish, a theatrical synthesis of the grossest lumps of regimented noise the sometime power trio can contrive. As they thunder away Mercury emerges from the wings once more, looking like a frog in a balletic white skintight catsuit, and magisterially conjures up giant flashes that erupt deafeningly out of the stage.

The audience do likewise from their serried seats.

Queen have arrived, in more ways than one. Britain’s most successful group of the decade poutingly confront their loyal subjects.

The drift of the piece is obvious, maybe. The crowd loves ‘em and the critic hates them. Well, as it happens I quite like them, but generally that’s a fair picture of rock press attitudes to Queen: at the end of the gig, when the only possible view of the band involved standing on the shoulders of the person jumping up and down on the seat in front of you, I picked out two isolated, sour faces. Critics.

It wasn’t always like that: briefly, at the beginning of ‘75, Queen had a mass audience and critical respect. Dave Downing, whose newly published book, Future Rock, ranges incisively across the whole spectrum of heavyweight rock - Dylan, Reed, Bowie, Floyd, et al - reviewed “Sheer Heart Attack” alongside Sparks’ “Propaganda” in Let It Rock, January 1975:

“I find Ron Mael’s lyrics offensively lacking any conviction but pride in their own cleverness…. The arrangements conquer all in their streamlined assurance…. I have visions of a Gilbert O’Sullivan gone progressive….”

Change that to Gilbert and Sullivan and it could easily be directed at “A Night At The Opera”. However, Downing had this to say of “Sheer Heart Attack”:

“In stark contrast we have Queen’s third album….this is the best new band I’ve heard for a long, long time….Queen have convinced me that the division of rock into heavy soft has been largely a way of covering up the lack of energy in either. Whether rocking, ballading, whatever….they’ve got energy to spare. They have the old Beatles-style oomph.

“....Brian May’s guitar stalks Freddie Mercury’s vocals with as much power, and probably more ingenuity, than Ronno achieved in the heady days of ‘Panic In Detroit’....

“....Freddie Mercury’s voice is equally amazing, hampered only by the lack of lyrics to do it and the music justice. Some rock bands get hampered by depth-lyrics; I think Queen would just grow.

“But that’s a hope rather than a criticism. The superb gloss on this record covers the real gold, rather than, as I fear in Sparks’ case, just substitutes for it….”

Right, Queen at the time of “Sheer Heart Attack” were poised, ready to choose pretty much whichever direction and status they fancied. They had fought through the original drawbacks of being camp followers churning out rather grotesque Led Zeppelin rip-offs, to become a tough, stylish unit coasting on the back of a devastating single, “Killer Queen”.

Although they lacked Bowie’s way with words, the initial implications of the name still clung to them, and it seemed, listening to “Sheer Heart Attack”, that all they needed were some hot lyrics and a little discipline to instate them as not only the most popular Britrockers since Bowie, but also the best.

The first thing that hits you on that album, after a snatch of fairground FX is vibrant power as May leads the ensemble through the whirlwind of “Brighton Rock”. It explodes with a kind of seaside energy to match his mundane holiday romance lyrics, and stakes out May’s own preferred patch on the words map: storytelling.

That type of power is almost entirely absent from “Opera”, and even in “Brighton Rock” it gets horribly dissipated by a ridiculous guitar solo, May following himself up and down the scale in a meaningless exercise quite divorced from the rest of the number.

Another type of power also missing from “Opera”, is found in “Now I’m Here”, a Who-ish (“I Can See for Miles”) feel leading into brilliant beefy harmonies - very much in the mould of Roy Thomas Baker, Queen producer throughout their career, and now used to good use on Sunfighter’s “Drag Race Queen” - which wouldn’t get a look-in among all the breathy harmonies of “Opera”.

It’s great rock, strong and goodtime, apparently about Queen’s US tour with Mott the Hoople.

Elsewhere on “Sheer Heart Attack”, however, lay the seeds of Queen’s decline.

“Bring Back That Leroy Brown” was the first indication of their capabilities completely outside rock. As such it was immaculately performed, a camp minstrel pastiche, but unwelcome.

“Lap Of The Gods (Part One)” featured and unnecessarily ostentatious intro; “Flick Of The Wrist”, a murkily heavy song with a uplifting Baker buzz of a chorus, May’s guitar splattered all over the place in another facet of aggression that would soon disappear, was unfortunately a prototype for the appalling “Death On Two Legs”.

“Death”, the opening track of “ANATO”, is seemingly aimed at their previous manager to John Reid. Astounding dense musically, its lyrics are horribly strident and self-righteous, a blinkered, vindictive tirade that says more about the writer than his subject.

This sort of unflinching immaturity epitomises the Queen scene to some extent: infants on the loose with the weapon of technology, everything sublimated to technique.

“Flick Of The Wrist”, its predecessor, was similarly nasty - and apparently dealt with the same topic - but it succeeds where “Death” does not because the singing is sublimated to the music and, particularly, because the words are secondary to the melody.

In Edinburgh “Flick Of The Wrist” comes fourth, and it’s not as good as the record, possibly because they’re struggling somewhat on the faster songs.

They’ve already done “Sweet Lady” from ANATO”, Mercury singing well and the band thundering confidently. But suddenly Brian May’s guitar goes out of tune from all the crashing it’s received, and he drags the tempo. The final crescendo almost catches fire, but could do better.

Freddie toasts Edinburgh with champagne before he and May, moodily posed under blue spots, venture timorously into the medievally romantic “White Queen” from “Queen II”. Freddie goes to the piano for May’s curling, echoed solo, and we catch up with ourselves on “Flick”.

Here May’s problem is highlighted, he can’t get a decent uptempo solo together. The song is pounding along, but it’s like a cover-up, charging through seemingly pointless changes with throwaway solos, as if they’re attempting to dazzle you with workrate, a treasure trove of superficialities.

John Deacon plays a strong bass, holding up the song if necessary, and Roger Taylor, while seeming rather detached from proceedings up on his high riser, plays solid, varied drums. Mercury’s singing is superb, and on this might it’s mainly May whose playing isn’t quite up to scratch.

The medley comes next, and it brings a little warmth to the garish, posturing event. John Deacon’s “You’re My Best Friend” comprises the first part. Like “Misfire”, his semi-Caribbean pop-rocker on “Sheer Heart Attack”, it’s the friendliest track on “Opera”, and, while May and Mercury mess with every musical genre known to man, the only straight rock song apart from Taylor’s exhilarating “I’m In Love With My Car”.

Onstage, Mercury’s lead vocal floats beautifully on the band’s okay harmonies, and the audience clap along with the lazy rhythm. May’s guitar solo isn’t loud enough, and he hits a horrible chord at the end of it, but it’s a good break.

The two-note chime at the end of “You’re My Best Friend”, a similar device to the end of “Killer Queen”, leads into “Bohemian Rhapsody”.

On record, “Bo Rhap” epitomises the heavy-handed idiocy that bugs their last album. There are actually a few great touches in the rambling epic, notably the guitar break that follows the operatic bit, with its sudden halved phrases towards the end and the subtle way May’s fade out figure is continued by Mercury’s solo piano. But the rest is cumbersome and, where not plainly stupid, pompous and unimaginative.

For some reason Brian May seemed to have lost all feeling for rock on “Opera”, and the first guitar break on “Rhapsody” was the album’s sole unscrambled solo bar the period piece, “Lazing On A Sunday Afternoon”. And as for Beelzebub…

But the words of “Bohemian Rhapsody” are even worse than the music. The basic scenario would seem to be the romanticised alienation of a “poor boy” who indulges Mercury’s gun fetish by killing a man, leading to some kind of tug-of-war between, er, two forces. Life and death? Heaven and hell? Does Freddie know?

There’s that brief stab of “just gotta get out of here” defiance, but we finish on the fatalism of “anyway the wind blows…” A vague tale of idealised emotions that quite possibly means nothing at all.

Mercury’s songs do have a tendency to be vague to the point of meaninglessness - where they’re not utterly trivial anyway. Triviality I can take- “Lazing On A Sunday Afternoon”, for instance, where Queen’s technical skill turns a brief, twee ditty into a tour-de-force, with a great guitar break in what I think of as Brian May’s Mrs. Dale’s Diary style and one particularly wonderful harmony line on “there he goes again” - but the depths of pretension are plumbed on Mercury’s more “serious” songs.

These are actually fairly rare, but Mercury’s deepest opus outside of “Rhapsody” is probably “In The Lap Of The Gods” on “Sheer Heart Attack”, a portentous, monolithic singalong which I like a lot musically, but whose only discernible meaning is, like the conclusion of “Rhapsody”, that old vague predestination schtick.

The rest of Mercury’s oeuvre consists of live ballads (the melodically poignant, lyrically incomprehensible “Lily Of The Valley” from “Attack” and the more narcissistic, less focussed, meandering “Love Of My Life”, least memorable on “Opera”); bitchiness (that horrible duo, “Flick Of The Wrist” and “Death On Two Legs”); and weird period pieces (“Leroy Brown”, “Lazing”, and “Seaside Rendezvous” from “Opera”).

“Seaside Rendezvous” is pretty interesting stuff, illustrating the bizarre purism that prompts Queen to boast “No Synthesisers” on their album sleeves. A long, ‘20s-style piece, it’s fully orchestrated with instrumental passages by both brass and woodwind sections - performed entirely on vocals!

It’s astounding. Queen are perfectionists, as we all know; perfect confectionists. Even Mercury’s lead vocal is done, as on a lot of the album, line by line to get that bursting out of the speaker effect.

And therein lies their undoing, for they seem to have spent so long working on “A Night At The Opera” that they completely lost sight of the record they were making, coming out with shallow perfection without the least hint of the fire of “Sheer Heart Attack”.

However, returning to Freddie’s oeuvre: the next song in the Edinburgh medley, following on from “Bohemian Rhapsody” - and missing the operatics, thank god - is “Killer Queen”.

What a song. Although they take it slower than on record it still sounds slightly rushed, the ideas fall so thick and fast.

It has so many virtues that “Opera” lacks: interesting music (that got neglected on “ANATO” in favour of performance); brevity; flash (“Opera” is positively pedestrian compared to the swagger of this mid-tempo marvel); and it’s unpretentious in its triviality, something that none of the work - at - it - for - six - months - to - get - the - vocals - sounding - like - George - Formby’s ukelele trivia on “Opera” could claim.

Back live, it transforms into the noisy “March Of The Black Queen” from “Queen II” and thence to the end of “Rhapsody”. Kimono Taylor’s gong jerks us into a snazzy rendition of “Leroy Brown”, purely instrumental, and end medley.

“Brighton Rock” follows, red hot and awful tight, Taylor’s falsetto screaming over the top, until…

Oh no, it’s this guitar virtuoso bit, where the others go off and leave May to fiddle about with his patented delayed action devices. The man has little idea of stage craft standing awkwardly on Freddie’s promontory and dashing back to his amp every now and then to twiddle another knob. The performance is clever, but he’s hardly playing great music - enough’s quite enough.

At points during this intermediate solo May hits something good - a glassy, Japanesey section, a mellow, symphonic bit - but his individual slot is plagued by the fault that haunts Queen and devalues what good stuff they do play: they’ve got no taste. Don’t know good from bad.

They can perform, and they’re very bright boys (according to Larry Pryce’s unwonderfully written and uninformative Official Biography Of Queen, Brian may or may not have a PhD in Astronomy, Mercury a degree in graphics and illustration, Deacon an honours degree in electronics, and Taylor a degree in biology) but as for taste…

As if to emphasise that point, Taylor returns to do his dumb trick with lager on his tomtoms and they lumber into a bunch of monotonous, archetypal heavy metal riffs.

Next song, “‘39”, has the four down front - May on acoustic and Taylor on tambourine and bass drum.

My, they look well-coifed. Mercury demonstrates his fine voice again.

A newie, “You Take My Breath Away”, from the album currently known as “A Day At The Races” - half-finished - shows Freddie still pludding the fragile ballad vein, a hesitant, precious ditty accompanied by lone piano, old fashioned and unexceptional.

But then it’s Brian’s big moment, composition-wise: “The Prophet’s Song.” In Pryce’s book May explains that the plot came to him in a dream: “...a dream concerning revenge, only in the dream I wasn’t able to work out what it was revenge for.”

So out of the astronomer’s subconscious comes this Noah’s Ark parable seemingly set in the present, with a ship full of humans apparently heading off into space.

Musically it’s “Old English”, according to Roger Taylor, the rock equivalent of a Prussian military division marching to the Crusades, marred by the most fatuously self-indulgent acapella nonsense imaginable in the middle.

If Queen were chameleons to begin with (Zep meets Bowie), they’re even more that way inclined now, changing personality completely from one song to the next (George Formby meets Cecil B. DeMille meets…) It’s a treatment to which May’s songs lend themselves.

“Good Company” is a very English tale, another vague moral story, done Formby style, with an extraordinary guitar ensemble imitating a complete trad jazz band, another labour of months for a trivial piece of flash.

“‘39”, the acoustic song, seems to be another slice of science fiction, an obscure folk tale which disguises its meaning frustratingly well. Nice feel, though.

Onstage “The Prophet’s Song” is launched amid billows of dry ice and taped wind. As they muscle their way through the heavy chorus I keep expecting them to bump into one another in the confusion, but they manage not to. Anyway, the others clear off when Mercury goes into his ridiculous echoed vocals workout, a one-man Swingle Singers, appalling narcissism.

The audience, to their shame, seem entranced by the spectacle of the great poseur and his myriad voices. Nauseating.

At the end of the song to revolving globes descend and a tape of jangling piano speeds dizzyingly. The globes rise - UFOs taking off?

Anyway, it gives Fred a chance to change into a grotesque black outfit, and suddenly we’re back into the flashing lights/strobes.racing adrenalin scene again with “Stone Cold Crazy”, very fast and heavy, May playing a good scientific solo.

Freddie goes pianoing again for “Doing All Right” from “Queen”, slow and laconic with waterfalling guitar and lovely harmonies, but that gives way to a lousy solo over an unexpectedly Brazilian riff and more unnecessary changes. What are they trying to hide?

“Lazing On A Sunday Afternoon” is neat, and then the crowd get “Keep Yourself Alive”, which they’ve been baying for. It’s an okay song, but they do it terribly heavy and insult the listener with their soulless, declamatory attempts at communication.

Queen almost boogie on “Tie Your Momma Down”, also from the new LP, the most straightforward song so far with a slide break that veers towards a 12-bar. Freddie postures crassly under the rather inept lighting.

“Liar” from “Queen” comes in on a Bo Diddley beat, and as it gets into typical Queen HM jaggedness May slings out a real nasty phrase that sneers at the ineffectual stuff he’s played all evening.

As it dissolves into aimlessness it becomes obvious that Queen live are some great songs, an image and a lot of noise. Their heavy metal is no better than the likes of Nazareth, unfocussed, with no real dynamics outside of structural party tricks. A cover-up job for essentially lumpen music… yet they are capable of so much more.

“Lap Of The Gods” picks things up, its relentless chorus rising and falling on good chords - a rare commodity for Queen, as is its stable rhythm - and as the stage vanishes beneath dry ice they kiss goodbye.

Now this I don’t believe. Never in my life, outside of the likes of the Rollers, have I encountered such a hysterical response to a band. It’s like a riot, kids charging about in the smoky darkness, and if Queen don’t get back there soon this lot are going to knock the place down.

The encore is the great “Now I’m Here”, followed by their “Rock’n’roll” medley of “Big Spender” and “Jailhouse Rock.” They really shouldn’t do that. Mercury’s got no idea about getting down and having a good time, and his attempts to get audience participation are laughable. It’s scrappy stuff, and even their rock’n’roll is spoilt by too many changes!

As for where Queen go from here, the two songs they played from the next album were undistinguished, and can give no hint of what it will contain.

Nowever, it’s pretty obvious they’ve driven so far up their particular blind alley that there’s virtually no hope of them ever fulfilling the potential that was there in “Sheer Heart Attack.” They could have been giants of real music, but it seems they are destined to remain the most perfect indulgence in rock. Masters of style, void of content.

#1976 #a night at the opera #review #new musical express #queen

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mariocki · 5 years ago

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I was recently at an Oxfam bookshop, which is always a dangerous thing. I don't get to them often, but whenever I do I leave with far too much stuff. This time was no different, and I walked away with a bag full of books and records. Most exciting among my purchases, though, was a collected edition of the poems of William McGonagall.

I have long been after such a tome. For the uninitiated, McGonagall was a 19th century Scots poet and (by his own description) tragedian. This is him:

He is also often described as perhaps the worst poet who ever lived.

I've been a fan of McGonagall's work ever since I first came across The Famous Tay Whale, perhaps the best known of his poems. Like all of his work, it displays a total disregard for scansion; a rigid adherence to end-rhyme, no matter how strained; and a tendency toward utter literalism, forsaking metaphor or imagery in favour of simply describing what is in front of his eyes. An excerpt:

So the monster whale did sport and play

Among the innocent little fishes in the beautiful Tay,

Until he was seen by some men one day,

And they resolved to catch them without delay.

Taken by itself this might not seem so bad - it certainly isn't good - but McGonagall's poems all have a habit of going on slightly too long as well, so that he ultimately begins to repeat himself, and the more painful of the lines only get worse. I will say, though, that The Famous Tay Whale does contain perhaps my favourite of all McGonagall's stanzas:

Then the water did descend on the men in their boats,

Which wet their trousers and also their coats;

But it only made them the more determined to catch the whale,

But the whale shook at them his tail.

I mean, that's a triple whammy. You've got the horrible, awful lack of scanning between the third and fourth lines, the crazed reliance on rhyme, and the utterly extraneous detail of the wet coats. In a twisted way, this is art.

It feels sort of cruel to celebrate someone for being bad at something. But McGonagall really was very, very bad. Actually, there is some debate about whether or not he was 'in' on the joke - that he may have been a skilled music hall entertainer, who had created the character of The Great McGonagall in order to draw a crowd - and at the height of his fame, he was certainly very successful. There is enough oddness, however, and general eccentricity in his private life to convince me that McGonagall was entirely sincere in his belief of his artistic talents.

A greater reading of his work reveals some particular obsessions held by the poet. There are numerous poems dedicated to new buildings or elements of industry. The best known of these, I suppose, is the triptych of poems about the Tay Railway Bridge (the Tay itself figures in an alarming number of the poems). Some brief excerpts:

The Railway Bridge Of The Silvery Tay

Beautiful Railway Bridge of the Silvery Tay!

And prosperity to Messrs Bouche and Grothe,

The famous engineers of the present day,

Who have succeeded in erecting the Railway

Bridge of the Silvery Tay,

Which stands unequalled to be seen

Near by Dundee and the Magdalen Green.

The singling out of individuals for praise towards the end of the poem is another recurring motif in McGonagall's work. A little over a year after writing the above poem, the Tay Rail Bridge collapsed during a storm, whilst a train was crossing. The disaster moved the poet to write again:

The Tay Bridge Disaster

Beautiful Railway Bridge of the Silv'ry Tay!

Alas! I am very sorry to say

That ninety lives have been taken away

On the last Sabbath day of 1879,

Which will be remember'd for a very long time.

Remember'd is a particularly frustrating word because the removal of that e does nothing to shorten the word or number of syllables when read aloud. Honestly, I can only assume McGonagall was doing it for the aesthetic. Regardless, when a replacement bridge was unveiled the poet once more put pen to paper:

An Address To The New Tay Bridge

Beautiful new railway bridge of the Silvery Tay,

With your strong brick piers and buttresses in so grand array,

And your thirteen central girders, which seem to my eye

Strong enough all windy storms to defy.

And as I gaze upon thee my heart feels gay,

Because thou are the greatest railway bridge of the present day,

And can be seen for miles away

As well as the Tay Rail Bridge, McGonagall captured numerous towns and cities with his pen; there are poems dedicated to Edinburgh, Glasgow, New York, Balmoral, Torquay, Perth, and several about his home town of Dundee. The poet also wrote on topical events, particularly disasters and battles (presumably where his title of Tragedian came from). Then there are addresses to particular people - to Queen Victoria, to Shakespeare, Tennyson, an unknown poet who poked fun at him, and to someone called J. Graham Henderson, presumably a tailor:

Lines In Praise Of Mr. J. Graham Henderson, Hawick

Success to Mr. J. Graham Henderson, who is a good man,

And to gainsay it there's few people can,

I say so from my own experience,

And experience is a great defence.

He is a good man, I venture to say,

Which I declare to the world without dismay,

Because he's given me a suit of Tweeds, magnificent to see,

So good that it cannot be surpassed in Dundee.

An excerpt from one of McGonagall's tragic tales:

The Disastrous Fire At Scarborough

Oh! It was horrible to see the flames leaping up all around,

While among the spectators the silence was profound,

As they saw a man climb out to the parapet high,

Resolved to save his life, or in the attempt to die!

And he gave one half frantic leap, with his heart full of woe,

And came down upon the roof of a public-house 20 feet below;

But, alas! He slipped and fell through the skylight,

And received cuts and bruises: oh, what a horrible sight!

It is lines such as the above that have undoubtedly caused people to question whether the writer was some kind of elaborate hoaxer; those are also the sort of lines that have won him diehard fans (J. K. Rowling and Terry Pratchett among them - both have made references to McGonagall in their work). Some have speculated that the poet may have been on the autism spectrum, and it's entirely possible. After writing to Queen Victoria to try and secure her patronage, and receiving an official rejection written by a royal functionary, McGonagall seems to have mistaken it for some form of validation from the Queen and would often describe her as an admirer of his work for the rest of her life.

It might seem cruel to draw attention to the work of an artist so clearly lacking in technical ability, but I am, like many others, genuinely fond of McGonagall and his work. A large part of the study of poetry is an attempt to get inside the mind, to understand the very soul of the poet. William McGonagall had a fascinating mind, and a unique soul.

I'll finish with a fragment, all that remains of an otherwise lost McGonagall poem, written to celebrate the unveiling of a statue of Robert Burns in Dundee in 1880:

The Burns Statue

This Statue, I must confess, is magnificent to see,

And I hope will long be appreciated by the people of Dundee;

It has been beautifully made by Sir John Steell,

And I hope the pangs of hunger he will never feel.

This statue is most elegant in its design,

And I hope will defy all weathers for a very long time;

And I hope strangers from afar with admiration will stare

On this beautiful statue of thee, Immortal Bard of Ayr.

Fellow-citizens, this Statue seems most beautiful to the eye,

Which would cause Kings and Queens for such a one to sigh,

And make them feel envious while passing by

In fear of not getting such a beautiful Statue after they die.

See where he sits on the stump of that tree

His eyes tuned to heaven his Mary to see,

A scroll at his feet, a pen in his hand

Writing to his Mary in the Better Land

#long post #William McGonagall #William Topaz McGonagall #poetry #Poets #Poems #Literature #Tay rail bridge disaster #queen victoria #Robert burns #Sorry about the long post #I don't know how to do read mores

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gffa · 6 years ago

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do you have any ObiWan recs? Because I l've read ReEntry and all of akathecentimetre's but I'm at a loss for other good prequel based ones

Oh, dear anon, you don’t know what kind of paralysis this gave me for a good solid minute, because I HAVE SO VERY MANY, HOW CAN I POSSIBLY NOT GIVE YOU LITERALLY 200 RECS? There are so so many good prequels writers out there LET ME YELL AT YOU ABOUT SOME QUALITY FIC.✦Fire and Ice by Yesac is the fic that really got me into prequels fic and is an incredible story about the duel on Mustafar going differently, where Anakin wins and basically takes Obi-Wan and Padme hostage, while he’s this unstable font of power, who actually has to learn some really hard lessons before he can really start to earn his way back to the side of good. It has some of the best Obi-Wan characterization in any fic I’ve read, the balance of his care for Anakin versus staying true to his morals and the sheer solidity of who he is is *kisses fingers* perfection.✦ starbird by imaginarykat is one of the best characterizations for Obi-Wan I’ve ever read. wicked thing tends to be more popular (and is also wonderful) but for my money, starbird is the one that really helped me get Obi-Wan as a character, in addition to having some of the most sharply hilarious moments ever. You really feel the weight of Obi-Wan’s presence and character in this one.✦ Equinox by lilyconrad is gorgeous all the way around! Even if Sith!Obi-Wan isn’t usually your thing, I would gently encourage giving this one a shot anyway, because it’s not really about Obi-Wan falling into darkness, it’s about Obi-Wan, but it’s not actually Obi-Wan himself, and it’s complicated, but it gets at the heart of the character, while still showing how much of the light he is. It’s a deliciously lush gothic horror story + his relationship with Anakin that explores who they both are and has some truly stellar smut. I love all of Lily’s stuff, she writes a lot of Obi-Wan’s character, so you can pick up anything by her!✦ Cataclasm by dendral is amazing as well, it’s a story where Obi-Wan is whammied with some extra Force visions and so he has to walk away from everything he knows to go do some Force-related shit, but he remains so very much himself (and such a Jedi, in such a beautifully told way) and there’s worldbuilding and plot and it’s just gorgeous. someday when i’m gone away we’ll be all okay is also stellar and made me cry the kind of tears where my throat hurt from the lump in it and yet it’s perfect for the characters. (It’s deathfic, but worth it, imo!)✦ I really love panharmonium’s fics as well, who hasn’t written much, but always has such clear affection for the world and the characters! The Mathematics of Repair is probably my favorite, it’s sparkling and wonderful just-post-TPM early days of Obi-Wan & Anakin’s relationship!✦ The Living Force; Parables for Padawans by gloriousclio is this really stunning fairy tale-like exploration of Obi-Wan and the Jedi, not just feelings but beautiful wordcraft, too.✦ Smitty has written three STELLAR fics about Obi-Wan and Anakin’s early days and what’s amazing to me is that they were written in NINETEEN-NINETY-NINE and yet utterly NAILED their dynamic! The House That Obi-Wan Built + Sofa, So Good + House of Cards. The hilariously written snark + underlying care is spot on to their dynamic.✦ In all the World by Ammar is an amazing combination of the early days of Obi-Wan and Anakin’s relationship, worldbuilding, AND case fic! I remember thinking that this could have been a novel published by Star Wars itself and I would have still been impressed at all the things it absolutely nailed right and built up!✦ Supreme Chancellor Kenobi by stonefreeak is another amazing series where it’s not just about Obi-Wan, but he’s a central figure in it! And even when she writes other characters she does an incredible job with them, like, the Quinlan piece is one of the best I’ve ever read for him! Basically it’s exactly what it sounds like–Obi-Wan finds himself suddenly elected to the position of Supreme Chancellor, which means everyone now has breathing room to actually FIX THINGS since Palpatine can’t make them worse, but also it’s HILARIOUS because he kind of really hates it, no matter how good he is at it!✦ The Dark Path Lit by Sun and Stars by A_Delicate_Fury is a gorgeous time travel fic that does an amazing job with his character. There are small moments with Luke that just floored me with how many feelings they gave me, but also the fic just nails everything it wants to do. Plot! Characterization! Keeping me on the edge of my seat! Action scenes!✦ Soldier, Poet, King by Glare is a fave because I’m weak for Soft Sith stuff in fandom, especially when there’s such a charm to the writing of his and Anakin’s relationship. I still remember these great scenes of Anakin’s mental landscape form and how Obi-Wan interacted with him, that sense of all that power and Obi-Wan’s hand metaphorically on the back of his neck, their dynamic is so good. Plus plot! \:D/✦ I love everything by Ripki, but you can start with The Atlas of Our Ruin, which is a time-travel fic that forces Obi-Wan and Anakin to really tear into all the difficult stuff from their pasts and spill everything out everywhere, in an attempt to lance the wounds. It’s a gorgeous look at both their characters and the relationship between them, it’s SO TASTY to read and ouchy-but-cathartic in the best way.✦ The Journey of the Lights by Pandora151 is more time travel fic (this fandom is really good at them) that just consumed me while I was reading it, where Qui-Gon is dumped forward into the future and it winds up forcing some things to come to a head early, and there’s a lot of Obi-Wan having to juggle a lot of different relationships and difficulties, and it’s SO GOOD.✦ Remedial Jedi Theology by MarbleGlove is the kind of Legends-based (instead of Canon-based) fic that I love to see, because it’s so THOUGHTFUL about the Jedi and their philosophy/theology, as well as some really stellar Obi-Wan characterization. He’s going through A Lot in this fic, but he faces all of it and himself and his growing understanding of everything (because we never stop growing and understanding) with such cleverness and skill. There’s some quality Mace moments in the fic as well and some great Anakin stuff, but it’s at its heart an Obi-Wan fic and it was a joy to read.✦ Seed by belldreams is one of my favorites for how much heavy lifting it does with Obi-Wan and balancing his feelings with being a Jedi. There’s such good, thoughtful characterization here, where he really has to look at himself and he really thinks things through, there’s such a solidity to his character here that is SPOT ON. Also, FUCK OR DIE FIC, we were blessed by this one. (Upfall also has some really quality Obi-Wan thoughts, too!)✦ In All But Name by Mirror and Image is one I read early on in fandom, so I can’t speak to how well it would hold up for me re: the relationship with the Jedi (I suspect not as well as my fond memories would suggest) but that’s a personal quibble and the point is that it’s really good Obi-Wan focus and it’s all about him beginning to train Anakin on Naboo instead of going to the Jedi Temple, there’s a whole lot of focus on children’s education, because that’s what the authors teach as well, so this one totally engrossed me. I remember Coalesced Matter was a good Dooku & Obi-Wan & Anakin fic, too!✦ In fairness, I haven’t read Reprise by Elfpen yet (I’m hoarding it) but I’ve enjoyed the other fic I’ve read from this author, so I feel confidence giving this a rec. Plus, it’s all my favorite things, like TIME TRAVELING OBI-WAN. :D✦ The Exchange by MissLearn is another one I loved, where it’s centered on the Obi-Wan & Anakin relationship, as they exchange places in time and that forces a lot of things to come out, but it gives me SUCH FEELINGS and the characters around them were written wonderfully and UGH SO GOOD.✦ Shadows of the Future bystormqueen873 is one I haven’t read since the very early days of my reading, so I can’t say how it would hold up, but I remember being utterly IN LOVE with this story and how much it fixed. One of the things that it really did well was building up to the big reveal of Obi-Wan’s time traveling, that the fic really knew how to ratchet up to that moment so that, when it finally happened, I had SO MANY FEELINGS about it. Plus, lots and lots of warm-hearted, fluffy slice-of-life moments as everything gets fixed!✦ I like all of anecdotalist’s fics, but starting with Clarity is probably best, it’s a nice long fic that fixes a lot of what goes wrong during ROTS and just utterly engrossed me. Plot! Action scenes! Anakin being a disaster, but listening to people who actually want to help him! Though, The Fallout of Anakin Skywalker’s Knighting will always have a special place in my heart for making me cry over feelings about Obi-Wan.✦ Tano and Kenobi by Fireflyfish is time traveling Ahsoka this time, who becomes Obi-Wan’s Master and everything starts slowly shifting towards the right (or sometimes just straight up blowing over to the right) and it’s a DELIGHT to see their dynamic, to see Ahsoka really growing into the role of being a Master, to see Obi-Wan’s relationship with her grow.✦ The Hand Dealt by not paranoid enough is one I read awhile back, but it’s a Canon Divergent fic, where things go a little differently on Tatooine and it’s sort of a mix between a slow burn and just being about the early days of his relationship with Anakin, and I remember it being REALLY GOOD.✦ I like everything of Valairy Scot’s that I’ve read, she’s another Legends writer that really is a lot of fun, and I’d say start with A Good Place To Die. It’s pretty much an entire novel of Obi-Wan whump + recovery, which it REALLY embraces and is super satisfying if you’re into that sort of thing! Plus, man, Anakin is SPOT ON in this fic, for how deeply he cares, how brilliant he is, but also what a disaster he is when he can’t get out of his own head. I also remember really liking Our Honored Dead.✦ I also like wreckageofstars’ stuff as well! Echoes of Mortis is an ensemble piece, but it’s satisfying for his character and has great plot and action and things diverging from canon in a fascinating way! Also a HILARIOUSLY GREAT read is Obi-Wan and the Terrible Horrible No Good Very Bad (Life) Day which is just as funny as promised.I AM MISSING SO MANY GOOD OBI-WAN FICS, BUT THIS WILL GET YOU STARTED. I LOVE OBI-WAN KENOBI AND I LOVE THIS FANDOM FOR PROVIDING ME WITH GOOD STUFF.

#Anonymous #obi wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #ahsoka tano #fic recs

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callieshipman · 6 years ago

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the 100 tag game!

i was (sort of) tagged by @easilydistractedbyfanfic! thanks <3

1. What Station on the Ark would you be from?

I like to think Farm, I love plants! But also maybe Polaris, because getting caught up in someone else’s drama and then dying offscreen is probably about how my TV life would go.

2. What would you get arrested for on the Ark?

...making an inappropriate joke about treason? this is based off the fact that I once made a joke about overthrowing the government whilst touring Parliament and did NOT notice the policeman behind me.

3. Would you take off your wristband when you landed on the ground?

my mum thinks I’m dead if she sees I don’t reply to her texts within five minutes so i’m gonna say no because i hate worrying people lmao

4 What would the necklace Finn would make for you look like? (Clarke: deer/Raven: a raven duh..)

i have so much dragonfly stuff, so probably that! i don’t even know where that came from, but it seems fitting.

5. If you could resurrect any MINOR character who would it be?

100% maya vie, the revolution queen always and forever! though she is not minor in my Heart

6. Create a squad of 5 characters to go on missions with. Who are they?

Bellamy, Monty, Raven, Abby, Indra! Between them they cover our bases of leadership, plants, machines, medicine, and general badassery

7. What Grounder Clan would you belong to you?

Shallow Valley looked like exactly the kind of place I’d like :)

8. What would your name be in Trigedasleng? (example: Octavia=Okteivia…just make it up!)

This is hard for Tabby! I guess Tabi?

9. Thoughts on Finn? Some people hate him, and others love him, so I’m curious

i’m not gonna sing his praises, but i think he’s more complex than some people give him credit for. he did terrible things, but i’m never gonna get behind the grounder agenda of spending hours torturing a child to death. i recognise that this is entirely bonkers to say in the universe of the 100, but that dude should have had a fair trial

10. Be honest. How willing would you have been to take the chip without knowing all the horrible things it does?

i wouldn’t do it! also i have trouble with pills, there’s no way i’m dry swallowing that massive hunk of plastic

11. What character do you relate to most?

monty!! i have also watched people i love deeply fall apart, and his struggles in season 4 really resonate with me. but on a lighter note, i also relate to his sense of humour and his deep seated need to snark at people. and eating leaves.

12. What character do you like the least?

i’m gonna go with Cage Wallace, because fuck that guy. he’s just smarmy, it annoys me lmao

13. Describe your delinquent outfit. (Would you wear something like Murphy’s jacket with the spikey red shoulder patch or have a trademark like Jasper’s goggles? Be creative, yet practical)

i would probably have a pretty normal shirt and a thick jumper. i like yellow, but that probably wouldn’t fare so well with hiding in the woods and such so i’m gonna go with a dark green. that + trousers + my trusty walking boots.

14. Favourite type of mutant animal?

the glowing butterflies are pretty great!

15. What would your job be on the Ark?

probably counselling or something? i can’t imagine i’d be very high up, but probably with people a lot, i’m no good with machines

16. Would you have willingly pumped Ontari’s heart if Abby asked?

yeah but my face would be like D: the whole time

17. If Lexa wasn’t Heda, but she was still alive then who would have made the best commander?

Indra’s my go-to! she has experience, she’s level-headed, she’s respected, and clearly a strong fighter. i would follow her into war is what i’m saying here

18. How would you act if you ate the hallucinogenic nuts like Jasper and Monty?

i’d probably get loud and just start talking over people and offering opinions that no one asked for then fall asleep

19. How would you have dealt with Charlotte’s crime? A more John Murphy approach or Bellamy Blake approach?

i’d never have turned her away from the camp, but she definitely wouldn’t get away with it scot-free and i’d probably keep her away from the others to keep her and everyone else safe

20. Who should have been the Chancellor, if anyone?

jake griffin :’) he has a strong code of ethics, he’s smart, and he’s kind

21. Would you have been on Pike’s side like Bellamy or on Kane’s side? Or Clarke in Polis?

Kane’s, but probably somewhat removed from the drama

22. Mount Weather had a lot of modern commodities. (example: Maya’s Ipod) What is the one thing you would snatch while there?

i feel like i should say their advanced medical supplies, but i’d probably just take the iPod tbh! love me some music and i know maya had good taste

23. What would your Grounder tattoos look like? Hairstyle? War paint?

i looooove those winding tattoos that go all around arms and legs like vines, so maybe something like that? and my hair is pretty short so i’d probably wear it as it is, but maybe add tiny braids. as for war paint, i can’t be bothered to do regular makeup so i don’t know if i’d even do it. minimal if anything.

24. Favorite quote?

“My mom was the revolutionary. I’m just trying to make things right.” It’s Maya lovin’ hours! i don’t know why, i just really like this one. i’m not sure it’s my favourite, but i can’t think of anything else right now

25. If all of the characters were in the Hunger Games, who would have the best shot at winning?

Octavia, but only if someone else killed Bellamy, she’d never do it

26. Least favorite ship? Favorite canon ship? Favorite non canon ship? NOT INCLUDING CL OR BC OR BE

Least: uhh i don’t really dislike any ships that much but i guess i never really got the cl.exa hype

Favorite canon: up until s5, i really loved kabby! afterwards, i have no idea tbh a lot of the ships didn’t quite do it for me in s5 but i enjoy becho

Favorite non-canon: i’m hoping for the rise of niytavia this season ;)

27. A song that should be included in the next season? If there had to be another guest star like Shawn Mendes on the show, who would you want to make a cameo?

john mulaney. next question please.

28. What would you do if you were stuck in the bunker with Murphy for all that time?

well hopefully we become friendly but i would probably also go a bit nuts

29. You’re an extra that gets killed off. How do you die?

i choke on berries in the background of a massive fight scene

30. A character you’d like to learn more about and get flashbacks of?

Indra :0

31. A character you’d bang?

raven but preferably not just bc she’s sad again. also i would like to not perish immediately afterwards.

32. Would you stay in the Bunker? Go up to Space? Or live on your own in Eden?

spacekru! i would not survive either of the other environments at all

33. In the Bunker, would you follow Octavia? What would you do to pass the time underground?

i like to think i’d be the leader of some cool underground revolution, but publicly i’d follow her because she’s terrifying. i think i’d read and write and sleep a lot

34. What crime would you commit in the Bunker that lands you in the fighting pits?

underground revolution as mentioned above! alternatively, i am the blanket thief

35. Up in Space, who would you bond with first? Who would be the most difficult for you to get along with?

the100!tabby is gonna follow monty everywhere, let’s be real. i like to think we’d get on. as for most difficult...i’m not good at reaching out to people, so it would probably be a while before i ended up close with echo purely by virtue of neither of us ever starting a conversation

36. How long do you think you would last on Earth by yourself?

oh god, not long at all. i have zero survival skills, i’d starve. madi would have to parent ME

37. When the Eligius ship lands what do you do?

probably reveal myself and make it very clear i am in no way a threat- i’m not clarke griffin, i’m 5′4, unarmed, and i look like i’m made of noodles

38. Favourite Eligius character? Least favorite?

favourite: diyoza no competition (except sassy rewind guy)

least favourite - mccreary but in a fun way

39. Would you Spacewalk?

absolutely not you couldn’t pay me to do that

40. Would you prefer to eat Windshield Bugs, Space Algae, or Bunker Meat?

algae...for monty :)

41. Would you start a war for the last spot of green on earth? What would your solution be to avoid it?

i would try the negotiations! i’m sure they could have gotten somewhere in peace talks

42. Would you rather dig out flesh-eating worms or stick thumb drives into bullet holes?

thumb drives in bullet holes- the worms are much worse

43. Are you willing to poison your sister for the Traitor Who You Love? What would you do to stop Octavia?

yeah i’d do it, but i’d hate it. i’d try to avoid killing her, but if she needs to be incapacitated, then i’d do it for the safety of everyone else

44. Would you go to sleep in cryo or stay awake like Marper?

probably sleep, i’m not sure i could handle that life in isolation

45. Who are you waking up first to explore the new planet?

more or less the same lot. i’d actually wake Gaia too, she’s the Flamekeeper and might know some helpful hints about flame culture and stuff. she certainly knows the history.

i’m tagging: @commanderclarke @paintingbellarke @sarka-stically and anyone else who wants to do it!

#the 100 spoilers #<- just to be safe bc i maybe hinted at some stuff #tag game

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whiskynottea · 6 years ago

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An interruption in the 1st law of thermodynamics.

Previously Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21

AO3

Shout out to @katnoenau for being my awesome beta!

Chapter 22. The Game of Things

source

Birthdays are strange.

The day comes just like any other day and it’s the same to everyone, apart from that one person who happened to cry for the first time on that particular date, years ago.

All I had from my early birthdays was pictures.

Colorful cakes printed on glossy paper. Smiles and shiny eyes.

My daddy’s strong arms hugging me and raising me up so high, that I could almost hear the toddler that I was giggle through the paper.

Curls just like mine falling across my mother’s cheeks, her warm lips smiling as she kissed my nose.

Lamb was travelling, and my birthdays were always a celebration for three. Judging from the pictures, we didn’t need anyone else.

I didn’t remember those days, but I made a story for each one of them, based on the pictures I had in my little box. And I remembered my stories.

Every 20th of October, I would lay on my bed with these pictures scattered around me, spending time with them, replaying the stories in my head.

It wasn’t a tradition that saddened me.

I just wished someone could tell me how many times the little me had to blow before the flames on the three pink candles were extinguished. Or what gifts I asked for. I wish I knew more, some accurate information to add to the stories I had created.

But what I knew deep inside me, was that these days, like any other day I spent with them, were imprinted in me forever. Forged with laughter and love, they made me who I was.

For that reason, I loved my birthday. I felt I was celebrating my parents’ gift, keeping them alive inside me.

With Lamb every birthday was different.

My gift could range from excavating the personal belongings found inside a tomb to a trip on a camel’s back in the desert.

Candles standing proud on a Basbousa or almost falling from an Om Ali.

Hugs and words that conveyed love and support.

Every time I woke up on the 20th of October, I felt that the world was shinier and cheerful songs would play in the back of my mind. The positivity that people hide on other days is finally released when it’s your birthday. It’s like an unwritten rule – you can’t be mean to the birthday person. Not today.

I couldn’t believe that Jamie ordered a special birthday cake for me. I couldn’t remember the last time I actually had a real birthday cake.

“You found yourself a really nice lad this time, lamb.” Uncle Lamb said, kissing me on the forehead when I finished narrating the day’s events. “This is for you.” He handed me a small box, with a wink. It was a beautiful watch, with a rose gold cadran and navy blue bracelet.

“Oh, thank you uncle! It’s beautiful!”

“I’m sorry I have to leave on your birthday.” He said with a rueful smile that then changed to something I couldn’t discern. “There are beers in the fridge, too.” He smiled seeing my raised eyebrows. “Gift from your uncle. Happy birthday, Claire.”

I snuggled into his embrace as I did years ago, smelling the ocean breeze of our conditioner on his suit, the mint leaves and cedarwood of his cologne.

“Have fun today and behave, okay?” I closed my eyes as he placed a kiss on my forehead.

“Okay! I love you, Lamb.”

“Love you too, lamb.” He said and was out of the door.

House cleaned.

Beers and soft drinks cold in the fridge.

Crisps in their bowls. Vinegar, oregano, barbeque.

Tortilla rolls made and laid out.

Cherry tomatoes, cucumbers and carrots all in place next to the mayonnaise and yogurt dip.

Dried fruits and nuts.

Am I forgetting anything?

The cheese and spinach pie!

The doorbell rang the exact moment I finished applying my lipstick.

My long lasting lipstick, that is – because with Jamie in the room it would be impossible to keep anything else on my lips.

I didn’t wear too much makeup, just my lipstick and mascara, and I thought it was perfect with my high waist blue jeans and a polka dot blouse.

Opening the door, I saw Joe and Gail’s smiley faces. Five minutes later, the swimming gang arrived.

Jamie was standing at the front of the door with a huge smile on his face. His lips were on mine the moment he got close enough and I surreptitiously checked his mouth for any sign of my lipstick.

Nothing. Cool. Maybe a hint of pink, but… I like it on him.

We joined Joe and Gail in the living room, my hands full of gifts.

“Do you want to open the gifts first, Claire?” Jenny suggested, and I sat on the couch next to Jamie, all the bags at my feet. I couldn’t remember the last time I received so many gifts.

I raised a medium sized orange bag first. “This is– ” Jenny started, but Rupert interrupted her.

“Let the lass guess who brought what!” He winked at me, leaning into the armchair’s back.

Jenny looked at me with a frown, trying to understand how that made me feel. Seeing me shrug, she smiled.

“Okay then, let’s do this.”

Gift number one was an infinite scarf, brown, red and yellow, and I loved it. Looking around, I smiled to Jenny and Ian. “Thank you, guys.”

“Did she find it?” Angus asked, reaching for the crisps.

“Aye, she did.” Ian’s smile was one of the sweetest I’ve ever seen.

“Grab the next, then!” Angus said with a mouth full of crisps, catapulting some bits towards Rupert who glared at him.

“Okay, I know this is from Joe and Gail…” I picked the white bag Joe handed me when they arrived. Books. The first two books of the series A Song of Ice and Fire by George R. R. Martin; A Game of Thrones and A Clash of Kings.

I raised my eyebrows. “No, you didn’t.”

Joe laughed, holding Gail’s hand. “We did. You love the show and you said you wanted to read the books!” As if Joe could read my mind about reading fiction instead of biology and chemistry for my classes, he continued, “It’ll be good to take a break from school stuff once in a while!”

“I don’t know how I’m going to stop reading these, once I start.” I muttered. “I hope I won’t get as obsessed I was when I was reading Harry Potter.”

“Ye read Harry Potter?” I heard Jamie’s excited voice from my left.

“Of course I did! I love Harry Potter! Don’t you?”

“Of course!” He said indignantly.

I sighed, relieved. “I mean… Who hasn’t read it?” I asked rhetorically, looking at my guests.

“Well, I haven’t.” Gail’s reply made Joe turn and look at her through bulged eyes.

“What?” He asked, not waiting for an answer. “We have to fix that, G.” He announced in a serious tone, making her shake her head.

“Ye should see the movies!” Rupert proposed, with Angus nodding in agreement. “Tis faster and more fun than reading.”

Jamie, Jenny, and I almost shot out from our seats. “WHAT?”

“What?” Rupert asked perplexed as we erupted in laughter at our identical responses.

“The movies are shite compared to the books.” Jamie stated and Jenny, Joe and I nodded again in agreement.

“Read the books, people! What’s wrong with you?” I asked, exaggerating my exasperation.

“Have ye seen the books, Claire?” Angus said, grimacing. “They weigh more than me. And are thicker than Rupert’s head.”

As we laughed, Jamie leaned closer to me, whispering, “Ye were Hermione, right?”

I looked at him smugly. “Why would you say so? And who would you be?”

“Well, I always imagined myself as Harry.”

“Of course.” I snorted. “The leading role.”

“I dinna want to be Harry anymore.” That made me turn to look at him. “Can I be your Ron? I’m a ginger already!”

My heart stopped before beating so hard that it was almost painful.

How does he do that?

I didn’t have time to answer his question, because Jenny’s voice directed my eyes back to her.

“Let’s move on with the gifts, aye?”

I opened the long and narrow bag to reveal a bottle of whisky. Angus’ smile reached his ears and Rupert’s eyes were glinting at my revelation. The disbelief in my eyes must have been evident, as I asked, “How did you manage to get this?”

“We have our ways, lass.” Angus wiggled his eyebrows with a huge grin.

“Okay then, let’s save this for later. Aye?” I mimicked his accent, and the Scots filled the room with laughter. I knew they would, because Jamie found my horrible impersonation hilarious every single time.

“So, this is the last one.” I turned to see Jamie, who for some unknown reason had started to blush.

Let the gift not be underwear or I’ll have to listen to crude jokes from Angus forever!

Seeing my furrowed eyebrows, Jamie stroked my back and smiled.

No underwear, then. Or he would have said something.

I opened the small bag to find a little box inside. Biting my lip, I swallowed hard and removed the top. There was a beautiful stainless-steel bracelet inside, with little leaves and bluebells with azure enamel on them. I couldn’t stop my smile, remembering the first day Jamie came to pick me up with a bunch of bluebells in hand.

“I love it.” I said, leaning into him for a kiss. “Help me?”

I extended my hand to him and Jamie locked the bracelet in place, interlacing his fingers with mine when he finished. I couldn’t take my eyes off my bracelet and our hands together and I felt my heart beating harder.

How did he find a bluebell bracelet?

I looked at him, grateful and happy, and I didn’t need to say anything, because he knew. He just knew. He held my hand tighter for a moment and then relaxed his grip again when my head found his shoulder.

With the gifts now opened we talked and gossiped about our teachers, eating the finger food I had prepared, and drinking both six-packs Lamb left in the bridge. When Rupert rose, stating that we should open the whisky, I got up too.

It was time.

I returned from my room with the box in hand. Everyone’s eyes were on me, their question obvious.

“The Game of Things!” I announced, excited.

“What?” Angus’ eyebrows almost touched, and I saw Joe shaking his head.

“Whisky and The Game of Things is a bad combination, LJ.” Joe stated, his raised eyebrows in complete contrast with Angus’.

“So, what is the game about?” Ian’s smile indicated that he didn’t mind whisky and games together.

“Okay, the rules.” I said, as everyone’s eyes focused on me.

Jamie’s stare was different than the others, and I soon realized he wasn’t thinking about the game at all. I knew that stare, I’d seen it more than once, and I felt my cheeks flush. Clearing my throat, I continued, “We all have to answer to the same question. We write our answers down on folded papers, and then we collect them all and open them. Each one of us tries to guess who wrote what. If your answer is correct, you go on guessing. If it’s not, the next one continues.”

With everyone on board Rupert started filling glasses with whisky. Lamb said that whisky is an acquired taste. If I was to stay in Scotland, I figured I had to learn how to blend in – with a blend.

I sat next to Jamie, opening the box and distributing the papers and pencils to everyone, painfully aware of his hand sinking deeper than my waist to settle comfortably on my arse.

I drank my first sip of whisky as Jenny revealed the first question.

Acquired taste. It’s going to taste better after a while.

THINGS… you wouldn’t do naked.

I bent over my paper, hiding it from Jamie’s prying eyes, as I tried to think what I wouldn’t do naked. Jamie’s free hand however, plainly disclosed what he would do if I was naked.

Cook. Plant greens in the garden. Open the door to a stranger.

I folded my paper placing it in the middle of the table. Joe guessed first, and he immediately identified my answer.

“Cook,” he said with a smirk. “Ever the logical mind, LJ. And greens?”

“Shut up!” I grinned back at him as he tried to figure out which was Gail’s answer.

On the next round Jamie immediately found Angus’ answer to THINGS… you would do if you were invisible.

Enter the shower to check on a lass.

But then he missed Rupert’s, who wouldn’t go around eating people’s chips. That would be Ian, the little bully!

The fifth question was the hardest one.

THINGS… you would do if you were a superhero.

The answers were collected again, and it was my turn to guess first. I squeezed my eyes, thinking.

“Will you stop distracting me?” I hissed at Jamie. “Are you doing that on purpose so I won’t win?”

“Busted!” He said, raising his hands up before replacing them on the exact spots they were previously.

I tried to ignore him – and the squeeze low in my belly – as I read the answers again.

Listen to people’s thoughts.

Be invisible.

X-ray vision

Time travel.

Fly.

Heal.

Run fast.

Transform to whoever I want.

Time travel was me.

X-ray vision should be Angus. Certainly. To see through girls’ clothes.

Heal, I had to go with Joe. Damn! Why I didn’t write that?

Now for the rest, things were getting hard.

What would Jenny do?

Definitely not being invisible. Neither fly nor run fast.

“Today, Claire.” Rupert grinned smugly from the other side of the table and I narrowed my eyes on him in response.

“Okay. Let’s go.”

I started my guesses, but they stopped me when I said that Ian would want to listen to people’s thoughts. Apparently, Jenny’s voiced thoughts were more than enough for Ian and he didn’t want access to more. Jamie’s turn was next, and he lost when he guessed that Gail would want to be invisible.

He didn’t seem defeated though, he just sank further into the couch taking me with him. I snuggled close to him, his chest in sync with mine as we laughed together at our friends’ inaccurate, tipsy guesses.

My eyes wandered to the table and I noticed that most of the bowls and plates were empty.

“I’ll go get more crisps!” I said, taking two empty bowls as I headed to the kitchen.

I was on tiptoes, trying to reach the packages in the back of the cabinet when his low voice came next to my ear, startling me.

“Open the door to a stranger?” Jamie’s breath was hot on my neck and I felt a current running through me.

“Mmm,” I smiled, content that he remembered my answer four questions back.

“But to someone you know? Would you?”

“Would I what? Open the door naked?”

His teeth on my neck answered my question better than words.

“Are you implying something, Fraser?”

“Aye, Beauchamp, I am.” His voice was burning me. I heard him inhaling deeply before he spoke again, more somber now. “You are so beautiful, Claire.”

He trailed kisses across my neck and I shivered, feeling his tongue against my skin.

I turned around, trapped between the counter and Jamie, feeling every inch of his body against mine. My hands found the nape of his neck just a moment before our lips crashed in a desperate kiss. To have him next to me all this time and not kiss him properly had made me crazy. Obviously, the effect had been the same for him, too.

“I want ye…” He whispered, his breath shallow. “I want ye so much, I can scarcely breath.”

My body trembled and my heart was racing as the whisky in his breath mingled with mine through our almost touching lips. “I want you, too.” I ran one hand down his body, until I found the waistband of his jeans.

Someone called my name from the living room and I heard the word crisps before everybody started laughing.

“We need to go back.” I whispered, my eyes locked with Jamie’s. Hooded and wild.

“Mmphm,” he exhaled loudly, his broad chest deflating. “I canna believe this.”

I smirked at him, running my tongue on his bottom lip one last time. “Can you reach the crisps?” I asked, nodding towards the cabinet.

Jamie gave me a lopsided grin and with an exaggerated move to show how easy it was for him, he handed me the bag.

We waited a few minutes for Jamie to be in condition to join our friends and we entered the living room, flushed, smiling, with our hands intertwined.

Ready to hear all the teasing.

Chapter 23

#thermodynamics #The first law of thermodynamics #high school au #jamie x claire #birthday party #outlander fanfic #outlander fanfiction

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