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weartirondad · 5 years ago

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Meant To Be

FF.net I ao3

“Do you believe in fate?”

Tony looks up from the tablet he’s still working on, even though he promised himself an hour ago to wrap up soon, to find Peter leaning against the kitchen counter that is overlooking the grand living room he has holed up in after sending the kid to bed two hours ago.

He looks like he slept already, too.

There are red lines on his left cheek where he always mushes it into his pillow and even from afar Tony can see he’s blinking away sleepy sand as if he didn’t have the time to wake up properly before coming to find him. There’s an urgency to his question in the way he’s swaying on the balls of his feet and his hand is tugging on his oversized hoodie, making him seem smaller than he is.

“What do you mean?” he asks, putting down the tablet and tugging in his legs to make more room on the couch, turning towards him and patting the space next to him in a silent invitation that Peter takes without hesitation.

He curls up around one of the plush pillows like he does during movie nights and leans against the backrest of the couch, facing Tony who has to bite down a fond smile at the sight.

There’s something about Peter when he’s sleepy, something unguarded and childlike he tries to hide when he’s awake because he’s in that age where kids don’t feel like children anymore and he’s a superhero on top of that, too, and so he tries to act tough. Right now, though, he’s wearing the pink Hello Kitty pajama pants, Tony’s old MIT sweatshirt and doesn’t care about his hair being all mussed up.

He wants to ruffle that hair, wants to chase away the trouble in his eyes with a hug and kiss to his temple, but refrains. Instead, he watches closely as Peter chews the words over in his mouth before setting them free.

“Do you think some things are meant to be?”

Tony squints at him like he’s a puzzle he’s trying to solve, an enigma he can’t really figure out, which is true in a lot of ways. He’s not sure where Peter is going with this but it feels important and it’s not like Tony himself hasn’t thought about that question a lot.

“I do,” he nods.

“You do?” Peter sounds surprised, perking up at his answer, a million questions racing through his eyes before he quietens them and props his head up on his elbow. “Do you think you were meant end up here with… with all the people you ended up being here and, uh, you know?”

“I think,” he starts slowly, pausing to think because there’s a whole lot to unpack there and he’s not quite sure he’s the right person to give any kind of advice but that’s how he usually feels when Peter asks him something that’s not science related and, well, he’s always come back so far.

“I think everything happens for a reason,” he settles on finally, meeting Peter’s eyes and trying to radiate the tenderness he feels deep into his bones. “I think that bad things happen and that we have the power to make something good out of it, anyway, and get somewhere we never would’ve gotten without them.”

He’s reaching. He has no clue where Peter wants to go with this, if this is a question prompted by a nightmare and self-doubt and fear or if that’s a normal thing teenagers ask but he finds he wants to find out.

Peter seems to mull over his words for a heartbeat and bites his lower lip, a habit he turns to when he’s nervous but not really panicky anxious and so Tony tries to relax into the couch some more, grabbing a pillow of his own to hog, so he’s mirroring Peter’s pose.

“Do you think you were meant to marry Ms. Pepper?”

How, after everything they’ve been through, he’s still stuck on those formal terms, Tony will never understand but they’ve come to sound like an endearment now and he can’t picture his life without his wide eyed kid calling him Mr. Stark with the outmost joy.

Being stuck on the name he didn’t fully register the actual question, but now that he does, he frowns. There’s something deeper behind those stupidly smart doe eyes but he can’t figure it out yet.

“I do. I mean, can you imagine anyone else putting up for me this long and, hopefully, forever?”

That cracks a smile out of the kid and he gives himself a mental high- five when he sees the spark of snark in his eyes.

“And, uh,” he looks down now, breaking eye contact for the first time and concentrating on fumbling with his sleeves instead, “You, uh, you never had doubts about, uh, you know, uh, staying with her?”

“Doubts?” he almost scoffs but tries to keep the self-depreciation out of his tone (apparently that’s good for your mental health, who knew?) “Kid, you’re talking to the King of Doubt. The Lord of Suspicion. The Ruler of –“

“Okay, okay, I get it, you’re doubtful,” Peter giggles, throwing the pillow at his face and pushing himself up so he’s sitting cross-legged on the couch, hands clasped together and arms resting on his knees. Again, Tony goes to mirror his pose but keeps the two pillows in his lap.

“About a lot of things, generally,” he agrees easily. “But the real question ought to be, what are you doubtful about at –“ his eyes flick to the clock up on the kitchen wall, “two in the morning on a Saturday?”

“You know, just,” he shrugs, “stuff, I guess.”

Stuff. Sure.

But apparently asking won’t get him anywhere this time so he’ll just have to wait this out and hope his joints will keep going for however long that is going to take. Waiting, as impatient a man Tony has always been, is a virtue he has been practicing a lot recently.

He doesn’t have to wait all that long.

“How did you know Pepper was the one?”

“Same way I knew Rhodey is my best friend. Same way I knew that you’re my kid,” he points his index at Peter, smiling fondly when he blushes, “I just knew.”

“Ugh,” he huffs out in that half-way to annoyed way teenagers have perfected when not getting the expected answers right away, “But how? And when did you know? I mean, how did you know you weren’t just – I don’t know – wasting your time on us?”

“Now, why would I have ever thought I’m wasting my time on you?”

“Because, because,” he sighs heavily, his annoyance at the world? bleeding through, “If you were never meant to be then – then what’s the point?”

Oh. OH.

“Is this about that whole high-school romance you’ve got going on recently?” he asks, ignoring the indignant glare he gets in return and leaning forward to prop his chin on his hands and watching Peter intently.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but you’re having doubts about your three week relationship because you’re not sure they’re The One you’re going to grow old with and you think about breaking up just so you can be sure you’re free when The One comes along or just because you think it’s unfair to temporarily have a relationship when you’re not sure it’s gonna last forever.” He stops. “Is that about right?”

Peter is still glaring but he also gives a jerky nod and sinks deeper into the couch. “Yes, I mean, it’s just so, so stupid. How am I supposed to just know who’s –“

“You’re not,” Tony interrupts.

“But you just said –“

“I know what I just said and I stand by it but, christ, you’re 16, kid. Do you think I knew who I was going to marry at 16?”

“But people say –“

“Yeah, well, there’s the problem with that statement. People say a lot of things and most of it is a load of B.S.” Tony tries to be as understanding as possible because he doesn’t want to overstep his boundaries and, he knows what that first crush feels like and he knows how big and yet small the world seems at 16 and how expectations, especially your own, can pull you down faster than you can blink.

“Listen, kid,” he lets out a long breath in an attempt to sort his thoughts, “I met Rhodey when I was 17, right? We were two nerds at MIT, having fun, being idiots, giving our parents and teachers a head full of grey hair.” He smiles at the thought, sees Peter hanging on to his every words with unconditional trust and feels his smile broaden.

“Do you think I knew then that he would be the one to pull me back into reality when my parents died four years later? Or that he would be the one to pick me up in the middle of a desert after being held captive for three months? Hell, when we met I didn’t know if we’d be able to keep up our friendship after college let alone that he’d be the best man at my wedding three decades later.”

“What I’m trying, and probably failing, to say is that you don’t always know from the start what someone else is going to mean to you somewhere along the line. And, despite what every single movie nowadays is trying to tell you, that’s okay.”

“There’s not always fireworks the first time you lay eyes on the person you’re going to spend the rest of your days with. When I met Pepper, I was more annoyed at the disturbance than anything else. She piqued my interest, though, and became a friend and then – years later – she became more and while I can safely say for myself that I was hoping we could make it work, I just can’t say that the fact that it might not, never crossed my mind. And I’m sure she had her fair share of doubts, too.”

“But,” Peter leans forward, too, now, so the tip of their noses are just a few inches apart and he can feel his warm breath on his cheeks, “That seems exhausting. Not knowing, I mean.”

“Oh, it is. It’s daunting and weird to put effort into something you’re not sure is gonna last but, then again, if you don’t, it definitely ain’t.” It seems like a pretty bad way to end the conversation and Peter still looks doubtful, so he inhales again and tries to channel whatever is left of the adult in him.

“Look, as long as you feel good in your relationship – no matter if you think it’s going to last until the day one of you kicks the bucket – then just go with it. Put your heart into it and see where it takes you and just enjoy whatever happens. And, if it doesn’t feel good anymore for whatever reason then you get the heck out of there but it is okay to be in a relationship and to continue having a relationship when you don’t know if it’s ‘meant to be’.”

It’s quiet for a second then, while Peter’s eyes search his for something that he seems to find because then he exhales and, in a voice smaller than he has ever heard him, asks: “And that’s … really okay?”

“Yeah, kid. It really is.”

When he lets out his next breath, it’s like years of worry have fallen from his young shoulders and his entire posture loosens when he lets himself fall forward into Tony’s lap so his head comes to rest on the pillows.

His eyes have already fallen shut when he mumbles a thank you and Tony can’t help the bout of unconditional love racing through his heart like a shooting star lighting up the night sky. He reaches out to comb his fingers through the messy shock of curls and smiles when the kid leans into the touch.

“Mis’er S’ark?”

He hums.

“When’d y’ know I’m y’r kid?”

“When I realized what a dumbass you were, Underoos.”

“Hey,” he blinks up scandalized, a frown sitting between his eyebrows, “Fo’ real, though?”

“I think it was in the lab some day,” he whispers, rubbing a thumb over Peter’s temple absentmindedly, knowing how fast it sends him off to dreamland and already accepting the fact that he would have to carry him upstairs. Again.

“You were talking about an idea that Ned and you came up on your way home and were asking me if it was feasible.” He’s not sure what the idea was about but he’s 90 percent certain it wasn’t.

“I just looked at you and I knew.”

Peter doesn’t reply but he does curl up, digging his nose into Tony’s knee and smiles, the picture of content and he realizes, yeah, he’s never been surer of anything in his life.

“Love you, Pete.”

#irondad #irondad fic #iron dad #iron dad fic #peter parker #tony stark #josis fic #meant to be #fate and stuff #i thought some of yall might need to hear it #cause a friend of mine did

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kumeko · 5 years ago

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A/N: Written for the @bubblinezine! I got assigned an AU, so I played around with reincarnation and immortality.

…

“I wonder if it’s something in your DNA,” Bonnie muttered, staring at a vial of brownish-green liquid. She gently shook it, swirling the contents, but the colour only got murkier and she put it into the rack with a sigh. Pulling off her glasses, she cleaned them with the edge of her shirt as she thought aloud. “Maybe I should take a blood sample? Or something deeper?”

“Ugh. Again?” Marceline scrunched up her nose, not looking forward to the next round of injections. Despite her age, she still hated the little pinpricks. Even if they had become less and less noticeable with each new technological development. She leaned against the wall in Bonnie’s bedroom, softly strumming a guitar as she watched her girlfriend pace back and forth on the rug. “You’re more of a vampire than I am.”

“But you’re not a vampire.” Bonnie chewed her lips thoughtfully. She brushed a bang behind her ear and Marceline ached at the familiarity of it all.

It was funny how little and how much a person could change through reincarnation. Bonnie had done this before, only she had been Rose then, disguising herself as a boy as she tried to get a job at a university lab. All of her incarnations looked the same, their images overlapping sometimes till Marceline wasn’t sure if she was looking at the present or the past.

Or maybe even the future—like a fly trapped in amber, Marceline was certain they were bound together now. Perhaps whatever kept her alive for so long had also tied Bonnie to her, a curse that lasted beyond lifetimes.

“No, just an immortal.” Marceline shrugged, looking at the posters of dead scientists and their creations on Bonnie’s walls. The periodic table took over the space above her workspace and this version of Bonnie was a bigger nerd than all the other ones combined. After a moment, Marceline leered at her girlfriend. “Though maybe I should take your blood so we’re square.”

Bonnie’s coloured slightly, her cheeks matching her dyed bright pink hair. No doubt she was remembering the hickey Marceline had given her last night. Her hand automatically covered her neck and she glared. “Marceline!”

“What?” Marceline blinked innocently, blowing away her bangs from her forehead. Even though she’d tied it back in a bun, stray hairs fell out of it here and there and she was due for hair cut. Maybe she’d trim it short this time. “Were you thinking about something you shouldn’t have?”

Snapping her pencil in two, Bonnie tried very hard not to growl. “No.” Taking a deep breath, she turned away and a ran a hand through her hair. “Anyways, I think it might be genetic thing instead of a disease or something that happened to you.”

“You thought that last time too,” Marceline commented, focusing on her fingers as she changed the tempo of the song. They’d had this conversation before too and just like the melody, the next words were almost muscle memory. “Though I’m kinda the only one like this, so you weren’t sure if it was hereditary or not. And the science wasn’t really—”

“Stop!” On cue, Bonnie quickly dashed toward her, pressing a finger against Marceline’s lips.

For a moment, Marceline stared at the finger, at a girl with waist-length brown hair and hoop-earrings. There was a smirk as Ruby pushed back a lock behind her ear, her eyes lowering as she leaned closer and this wasn’t the past, this was the present, and Marceline shook herself out of the memory before it threatened to drown her.

That was the problem with living so long. Everything had a memory associated with it. Frowning at the finger, she bit it and Bonnie recoiled with a grimace. Marceline cocked her head. “You do that every time too.”

“Maybe because I’m right every time?” Bonnie rolled her eyes, about to rub her finger on her pants before thinking better of it. Quickly, she grabbed a glass slide and swiped the saliva on it. “I don’t want to know what the other ‘me’ did. Any of them.”

“Why?” Marceline set down her guitar now. Getting up, she strolled over to the work desk, to Bonnie’s messily organized notes, tiny cramped writing filling in the margin of each sheet. “Blood, skin tests, health check-ups—you’ve done this before.”

“But science has changed since then,” she replied, hands on her hips. Her brow was furrowed and there was a cross tone in her voice. “And there could be a bias in their work.”

“Right.” Marceline’s brow rose. The results were the same either way.

“I’m still not convinced they’re ‘me’ anyways.” Bonnie snorted, crossing her arms. “Reincarnation doesn’t have any scientific grounding.”

“Hmmm, neither does immortality,” Marceline pointed out, rolling her eyes. To be honest, she didn’t think the answer was in science, her immortality a curse or a blessing. It had happened so long ago she couldn’t remember, at a time when gods walked the earth and she couldn’t recall if those stories were myth or reality.

“True. Fine. Fair point.” Bonnie sighed, conceding the argument. “Still, it’s more of a challenge this way.” Bonnie’s eyes sparkled and there, that was the truth of it. She had always been competitive. “I will figure it out.”

And the same words were uttered by Ruby and Bubbles and Rose and Momo and a centuries long list. If anything, the list would probably extend centuries forward, a stretch of hellos and goodbyes that would stop only when the world ended and maybe not even then. Could Marceline outlive a supernova? Would she hover in space, dying and living within seconds?

It was a question she didn’t want to know the answer to. Marceline sat back down, grabbing her guitar again as she shrugged. “If you say so.”

“I do,” Bonnie insisted, settling down beside Marceline. She leaned close, bumping their shoulders, and it’d be easy to kiss her.

Marceline didn’t think twice before closing the gap. Bonnie blinked before relaxing, pressing back fiercely. Always so competitive. Finally, they broke apart for air, and Marceline smiled cockily. “Break time?”

“Just taking a different tack.” Bonnie’s flushed skin was a delicious pink and Marceline leaned down to nibble on her neck, only for Bonnie to push her head away. “Later.”

“Later?” A little put out, Marceline shot her a grumpy look as she sat back.

“Don’t give me that, just wait a bit. I just have a question.” Bonnie rolled her eyes and let out an annoyed sigh. “Do you remember my first life? There might be a clue in there…”

Marceline shook her head, grabbing her guitar once more. “I can barely remember my early days, let alone yours. I don’t think I even knew you then.”

“Wait, what?” Bonnie whipped her head to the right, staring at her. “You didn’t know me?”

She snorted. “Princess, you aren’t the center of the world” When Bonnie bristled and looked ready to bite her head off, Marceline added, “I think I saw you once ore twice, but it’s…hazy.” Like looking in a fogged-up mirror or rippling water. Marceline’s memories of the past were distorted, and each year sent them further and further away.

Interested, Bonnie stroked her chin. “When’d we meet then?”

“I dunno.” Marceline shrugged. She played with her guitar’s tuning as she thought about it. It had been a long time since considered those early days. “Maybe a hundred, two hundred years after that? I think I saw you a few times before that but we never really talked till then.”

“Huh. Interesting.” Bonnie rested her head on Marceline’s shoulder. Stifling a yawn, she continued, “I thought that maybe we both did something together to end up like this, since you kept finding me over and over again.”

“Oh? Admitting you’re wrong about reincarnation?” Marceline teased lightly, her lips curving into a smirk.

“Only if it’s tied to what happened to you but since it’s not…” From the tone in her voice, there was an irritated frown on her face. “But you don’t know anything about me, so either it’s unrelated or it’s just a coincidence.”

“And—”

“And I don’t think it’s a thing,” Bonnie interjected, each word slow and drawn out. “Maybe you’re imagining things.”

“Mmm…don’t think so.” Marceline chuckled. She softly strummed her guitar. “What else could it be?”

“There’s a chance that…” Before she could finish her sentence, her body leaned hard on Marceline.

“Bonnie?” Marceline turned her head the best she could, trying not to knock her head against Bonnie’s. “You ok?”

The only response was slow, even breathing and a soft snore. Fast asleep. Not surprising, considering the all-nighters Bonnie liked to pull when she was researching something interesting. She even forgot to eat sometimes and maybe Marceline should force a few more breaks. Trying not to laugh, she curled her hand around Bonnie’s and gazed out the open window.

This felt familiar, like a memory over two centuries ago in Japan, when Bonnie was Momo and Marceline had tried her hand at adventuring. Tuberculosis had weakened Momo in that lifetime, leaving her a shell of herself, her hand as frail as a bird’s bones. That lifetime had been a short one and she had breathed her last like this, their hands intertwined.

I’ll see you soon, Momo had promised, despite her constant rejection of reincarnation. There had been the faintest of smiles on her lips. I know you’ll find me.

And she had, as Ruby and Rose and Bonnie and sometimes Marceline wondered if whatever she had was infectious, if it had intertwined in Bonnie’s soul so tightly that she would never be free. Perhaps they would always be like this, losing and finding one another.

That was fine. She tightened her grip and rested her head on Bonnie’s. Part of her hoped that Bonnie would never figure out her immortality, that they would always be drawn to each other like this like a moth to the flame.

I’ll see you soon.

The words were a promise and a curse and the truth. It was easier to say goodbye when she knew that in a few decades, she’d say hello again.

Marceline had always thought that Bonnie was the fly trapped in amber but maybe it was her all along.

#adventure time #bubbline #marceline #princess bubblegum #marceline x bubblegum #fanfic

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issabangtanfic · 5 years ago

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[Jungkook] The Windmill House (Chapter 2)

Masterlist

Synopsis: When for once rich doesn’t rhyme with Christian Grey.

Pairing: Jungkook x OC

A/N: Feel free to submit a cover! Tell me what you think in my inbox! Enjoy!

“Why?” I frown, cofused, even though I know I should just shut up and thank him given the position I'm putting my company in.

“I thought you hated my vision.” I murmur. His eyes light up, and he gives me a soft smile.

“It’s all the contrary. I love your vision, Maya.” He croons, my whole body going rigid. Oh, please.

“Mi-“

“Miss Fair.” He corrects himself. I swallow.

“Then why didn’t you give me the project for your mansion?” I ask him, crossing my arms over my chest.

“Because this is much more important to me.” He counters.

“Huh.” Is all I manage to say. I don't understand his logic. I should be the last person he gives such an important project to then.

“Wanna see what it looks like?” He proposes, jerking his head towards the house. I nod, my curiosity getting the best of me. Mr Jeon leads me up the stairs to the porch.

This house doesn’t even have a door. It’s just a big plywood board with a metal chain on each side, chains that are attached to the house by two hooks and two big locks. Mr Jeon fishes the keys out of his pocket, opening each lock. He then lifts the board effortlessly and moves it to the side to reveal the inside of this old guy.

We step in, and I discover a dark and desolated place. The left wing of the house is closed off by a door, and in front of me lay old wooden stairs that lead to the upper floor. The only point of light comes from the open room on our right, the high column where the windmill is. My feet carry me inside that room, the old wood crackling and squeaking under my heels. A stuffy smell of rotten wood invades my nostrils, and I absolutely love it. This definitly is an old guy.

The room we walk in is the living room, one of the most beautiful spaces I’ve seen in my life. The room is high, really high. Easily dwarfing the ten meters I had guessed. And it’s luminous, bathed in light by two humongous bullseye windows, making the inside look like a ship of some kind.

The furniture is covered by big white pieces of cloth, and I’m dying to uncover them. I guess the shape of a couch, two armchairs, a table and a cabinet by the windows, and a bar on the left where there are no windows.

If half of the cylindric room is covered by windows, the other half has a huge embedded bookshelf as a wall. I’ve never seen anything like this except in harry potter. A huge wall of books, easily covering half of the height of the room, and a ladder that can slide across it.

Oh wow.

At the far end of the room, there is a small metallic spiral staircase that leads to a small platform at the very top of the room, and I guess it’s the windmill maintenance area.

“So?” I hear Mr Jeon ask expectingly.

Is this, like, his childhood home? Someone clearly has spent a lot of time here. Was it him? His parents? Windmill houses are usually found in America, and he has an American accent, it wouldn’t be surprising if this was family home.

But it’s odd. The whole Poudlar spaceship spirit of it makes it look like some kind of… big child room. A place where you’d come to escape reality, far from the city.

“It’s…” I trail off, trying to put a word on all of my thoughts. This house speaks to me, and I can feel that it’s filled with meaningful moments and memories.

“Heavy.” I breathe, my shoulders sagging. I look up at him and watch his eyebrows slightly furrow.

“Heavy.” He repeats, looking at me intently. I shy from his gaze, focusing on these beautiful windows again. That’s when I notice the fireplace.

“Take a look at this.” He offers, pulling my attention back to him. He strides across the room, towards the metal stairs, and grabs the wall. Thats when I notice a crank I hadn’t seen before.. He grabs it, and it must be rusty, unsurprisingly, because he has to put some strength on it to get it to spin. When he finally gets it moving, I hear the sound of heavy metal rustling.

The sound comes from above, so I lift my eyes, and see the ceiling opening. Wow! The roof of the windmill is actually made of blinds, against glass. And as Mr Jeon turns the crank, the blinds lift up to reveal the sunny blue sky.

“Woah.” I breathe as I’m starting to get bathed in sunlight. Now that is luminous!

“That’s amazing!” I laugh in delight. This is so cool! But who the hell would’ve thought of that back then?

“And also, really strange.” I had, now that I think of it.

“You should see it in the night.” He says, pulling my eyes back down to him. He’s taking slow but confident steps towards me. I don’t answer, my eyes glued to his face. I hope he’s not going to stand too close to me.

“You can see thousands of stars. There’s not much light pollution.” He adds, still walking to me. I’m tempted to take a step back, but that would give away my lack of composure. He stops when he’s unreasonably close to me, as if he knew it would make my heart pound in my ears.

He knows.

“You can even see Saturn, in the summer.” He finishes. I look up at him. Not knowing what to say, unable to form any decent answer to that. He smells so, fucking divine, It’s giving me a head rush.

“You in on this?” He asks softly. I manage a small nod, swallowing a big lump in my throat. The corner of his mouth curls up.

“Good.” He says, his lips twitching, refraining a grin. Good? This is anything but good. He’s trouble. Is he not going to move?

His phone rings in his pocket, and I take the opportunity to look away and step back from him. He fishes his phone out of his pocket and looks at the caller’s ID.

“I have to take this.” He says, looking up at me. “Make yourself at home.”

I manage another small nod, and he strolls out of the room to take his call. Sighing, I place my bag on the bar and walk over to the covered furniture. I pull a cover, revealing a leather couch and also sending dust into the air.

I cough, taking a look at the fine piece of work. This could stay here. But I’m more intrigued by the bookshelves. I cover the couch back and take my heels off, walking to the ladder. I slide it across the wall and climb to the top, grabbing a random book.

Curiosities of the sky by Garrett P. Serviss.

Astronomy.

I put it back and grab another one.

A brief history of Time by Stephen Hawking.

Astrophysics. This place is a spaceship! I open it and find a note on the inside.

For my neutron star Jungkook. Don’t aim for the stars but for Canis Majoris. Love A-

I have no idea what this means. But at least I know Mr Jeon has lived here. And he’s keen on space science. What an actual nerd.

The squeaky floor boards announce Mr Jeon’s return way before he enters the room again. I look down at the doorway until he appears, and notice his tie is gone and the top two buttons of his shirt are undone. Yum.

His eyes land on me and widen.

“What are you doing?” He scolds, pacing towards me.

I thought I could make myself at home!

“I’m sorry, I thought I could look around.” I stutter, surprised.

“Of course you can, but not. like this. Do you realise how high this is?” He mutters. I look down at him, realising he has to bend his neck to look at me.

Damn, I am high.

He could see my knickers!

“I’m scared you’ll fall.” He murmurs, holding his hand out to me, inviting me to come down. He’s scared I’ll fall? Well, he better stop making me so dizzy.

I place the book back on the shelf and proceed to step down the ladder.

“Where are your shoes?” I hear him ask from under me.

“Erm…”

“In such an old house, that’s dangerous.” He lectures. Yeah, yeah, whatever.

I look down at him, and he’s still offering his hand. I have no choice but to take it. I decide to jump down the last step.

You could get a sh-“

“Ow!” I cry.

“Shard in your foot. Well, congratulations.” He mutters. I hop on one foot, my heel stinging painfully. I don’t know what I just landed on, but it was not a shard!

“Careful.” I hear him mutter, and suddenly I’m sent flying as he scoops me up in his arms. I gasp, wrapping my arms around his neck so I don’t fall off, but shocked this is happening. I’m in his arms, and they are strong. He has a hand on my back and the other curled around the back of my knees.

My eyes bulge out of their sockets and I feel my face heating up. I feel hot in my cheeks and my heart is racing. This is both hell and paradise.

“Let’s see.” He breathes, walking to the couch. He sets me down on it and sits on the adjacent armchair’s arm, grabbing my leg and setting my injured foot on his knee.

My face is about to explode. He takes a look at the underside of my foot.

“You’ll have to take your stockings off.” He declares, looking up at me.

And I know. I know myself and I know, my face is bloodshot and I’m busted from miles away. Mum and Dad always tell me this will bring me troubles, blushing that hard that easily, now I know why.

I blink and swallow, not knowing what to do.

I take a minute process things. My dress is knee-length but it’s flowey, so it won’t rise up to my waist if I reach under it. If I ask him to turn around, he’ll make fun of me. I must act confident,.

Looking away from his eyes so I don’t see his reaction, I carefully reach under my dress and grab the waistline of my stockings, lifting my bum to slide them down.

When I’m past my bum and reach halfway down my thighs, his hands cover mine, and he “helps” me get the rest off without having to bend. But the way he does, it sends my body in a frenzy. He doesn’t take my stockings off, he caresses my legs, sliding his hands down on my skin and dragging the stockings with them.

Heat licks along my skin and I let out a shaky breath, shocked by his boldness but too focused on not letting it show. My stockings come off, and I exhale deeply.

His thumb strokes my ankle as he lifts up my foot, and I chew down on my lip, not wanting to make a sound. Suddenly, his phone vibrates again.

Halle-fucking-lujah!

“I’ll take care of it.” I declare, removing my foot from his lap. “Take the call.”

He nearly yanks my foot back onto his knee.

“While you’re bleeding all over my floor?” He mutters. “Sorry to disappoint, but I’m not that much of an asshole.”

Not that much? So he knows he’s an arse.

“So, you’re aware that you were a arse to me yesterday?” I ask, my feverish body making me brazen. He examines my foot carefully, tugging on a shard.

“I’m... merciless, when it comes to business.” He muses, removing a shard with a sharp movement.

“Ow.”

“Sometimes it’s a quality, sometimes it a flaw and costs me a lot.” He says, pensive. This is dangerously close to an apology.

“Is that your way of saying you’re sorry?” I try.

“No it’s not.” He retorts, pulling another shard out of my foot. I scowl at him.

“Would you happen to have tweezers?” He asks casually, looking up at me and ignoring my scowl. I blink at him.

“In my bag, yes.” I indicate. When he stands, I sag against the couch, rubbing the bridge of my nose. This man is so attractive, I hate feeling like this. I know men like him.

He comes back with my tweezers.

“You went through my bag?” I ask, shocked. I thought he’d bring it to me!

“Well, that’s where the tweezers were.” He retorts, sitting back down on the armchair, ignoring my semblance of annoyance. He grabs my foot again.

“Has anyone ever told you it’s very rude to snoop in a lady’s bag?” I mutter, readjusting my position.

“Stop moving, woman.” He mutters. Rude!

“There.” He declares, pulling out what feels like a huge chunk of wood. I hiss in pain.

“That’s a nasty cut. You’re still bleeding. I’ll see if I can find bandages somewhere.” He declares before leaving again. He comes back a few moments later with bandages and disinfectant.

He cuts a piece of bandages and pours some disinfectant on it, before bringing it to my heel. The product stings.

“Ow!” I squeal, removing my foot from his hold.

“Maya.” He calls, grabbing my foot back. Will he stop?!

“It’s Miss Fair.” I grind out, yanking myself out of his reach. He looks up at me, sighing deeply, his tongue briefly poking at the inside of his cheek in annoyance.

“Yeah, as soon as I get this disinfected.” He mutters. Huffing, I reluctantly give him my foot, letting him do his business and wrap it up in some bandages.

“Done.” He declares once he’s finished.

“Thank you.” I mumble, because I’m that. He places his medical equipment on the covered table.

“I guess that’s enough designing for today. Wait here.” He announces before rising and disappearing. He comes back with my bag and hands it to me. I take it and stands, and before I can even take an actual step I’m flying again.

“Jesus Christ!” I yell in surprise as he scoops me up again. What the heck? “Mr Jeon, I can walk.”

“Clumsy as you are, you might break a leg.” He mutters, casually walking towards the exit, with me in his arms. I clench my jaw.

I am the clumsy type, but this is wrong!

“I am not clumsy. You can put me down.” I try not to sound like I’m begging, but I bloody am.

“ I insist.” He retorts, stepping out of the house. Oh, how fucking perfect. He carries me over to my car, but heads for the passenger side.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Taking you home.”

I start to panic.

“I can drive, really.” I blurt out, stumbling over my own words. He sets me down in front of the passenger door.

“This is really unnecessary.” I murmur, looking up at him.

“I don’t feel comfortable knowing you’re driving with an injured foot.” He shrugs a shoulder, narrowing his eyes at me because of the sun in his face. He looks perfect in the sun. I imagine him in shades and a V neck. Mmmh..

“Injured is a big word.” I retort. He opens in mouth and I’m not having any of this.

“And, I don’t feel comfortable with you taking me home.” I say before he can argue, reminding him he’s a client and I’m not going to cross this line with him.

He frowns, staring at me for a moment, his face a knot of confusion. Finally, he scoffs.

“Listen to me, lady.” He admonishes. Lady?

“I know I affect you, and you should know the feeling’s mutual, but this,” He pauses, taking a small pause and knocking the air out of my lungs. “Has nothing to do with how bad I want to have sex with you.”

I mean, I knew he knew I was attracted to him. I keep making a show of myself whenever I see him, but I didn't think it would be mutual! Oh, and the way the word "sex" sounds in his mouth is filthy and filled with promises.

Oh my god, if I come home with him, he might just-

“I’m not giving you the keys.” I say sternly. His lips curl up and he seems pleased.

“I see you’re not denying it.’ He murmurs.

Oh bloody hell!

“Oh, and I already have them.” He says, fishing them out of his pocket and holding them up. Bloody bastard!

"In." He jerks his chin.

"In not going home, I have to go to my office." I try.

"At this time?"

"Yes."

"To your office we go then. Hop in." He pipes up, unlocking my car and opening the door for me. I make a desperate attempt to snatch my keys out of his hand.

I fail, and he smirks at me.

“Cheeky.” He murmurs. “I like that.”

There’s a detonation inside me and blood rushes to my face. This is just getting worse. I thought just being around him was hard, but how am I supposed to keep calm when he teases me like this?

Huffing, I get into the car just because I can’t stand the way he looks at me.

"I'll get the door. Don't go anywhere." He says to me before closing the door. While he’s good I take a look at myself in the rearview. I’m one messy tomato. I sag against the seat, defeated.

I groan. When will I stop being a fucking impressible? I have no fucking taste in men. Ugh.

When Mr Jeon finishes closing off the house, he gets in my mini, cramming his frame into my tiny car. he pushes the seat all the way back and still looks like a clown in a clown car.

I don’t make any remarks though, I don’t think he’d laugh at himself. he ride to my office is silent and feels like an eternity because he just had to look smoking hot while driving.

He parks in front of the office and gets out the car. I don’t wait for him to open my door for me, and I don’t even know if he was going to. I kick my shoes off and leave the there before getting off as well.

“And now on the concrete? Miss Fair, how much do you hate shoes?” He utters while circling my car.

“A lot.” I mutter.

“Here.” He says, bending to grab the back of my knees.

“That’s enough!” I squeal, swatting his hands away. Not on the bloody street! Is he mental?

His brow furrows. I clear my throat.

“My keys, please.” I ask sternly , holding my palm up. Sighing, he hands them back to me.

“Thank you for the ride.” I say before turning on my heels.

“What about when you go home later?” He calls from behind me.

“I’ll manage.” I reply, looking over my shoulder. “Thanks for worrying.” I add before disappearing inside the building. I sigh deeply, feeling exhausted. My foot doesn’t even hurt that much.

This man is mentally exhausting. I feel more drained by an hour with him than by a full day at work. And I’ll have to see him again and again until the project is finished! What am I going to do with myself?

I make it up to my office to grab my sketchbook, and on my desk lay a bouquet of flowers. Frowning, I take a closer look, discovering a card with the white Roses. I open it, and it says:

I’m sorry. - J x

So he is sorry after all! And he sent flowers to apologize? So that’s what he meant. He said his speech about him being merciless wasn’t his way of saying sorry because he had sent a whole bouquet of flowers to my office.

When I realise my smile is reaching my ears, I pul myself back together and put the card back. I’ll deal with that tomorrow. I grab my sketch book and head back out, taking a moment to reply to my Mum’s text asking why I din’t call her after work.

Worked late today. I’ll call you when I come home. Love you lots x

While I’m sending the text, I feel my car keys being snatched from my hand.

“Ah!” I yelp, feeling myself flying again. And here I am again, in Mr Jeon’s arms, confused and nearly having a heart attack.

“Walking down the stairs with your eyes glued to you phone and an injured foot.” He mutters, walking me down the stairs. What in hell?

“It’s like you want to get hurt.” He grumbles.

“Put me down! What are you doing here?” I utter, in deep shock. He waited outside?

"Taking you home.”

“I said I was fine!”

“And I don’t want to take the risk.” He retorts, circling my car and bringing me to the passenger’s side.

“You’re taking care of a life project of mine. I don’t want you to die on me.” He explains, letting me down. I take a step back,, leaning against my car huffing and puffing.

“Pretty sure driving with a stinging foot isn’t going to kill me.” I mutter, smoothing my hair and tugging my dress down.

“Not taking the risk.” He counters, opening the door.

“Mr Jeon.” I grab the door.

“Mind your head.” He says, taking advantage of my lack of balance and pushing me down onto the seat. I groan, frustrated at him.

It’s not like I can do much to stop him. He has the keys and he seems stubborn as heck. Grumbling to myself, I let him get in the driver’s seat and take me home. I guide him to my house, relieved when we make it in front of my home. I wait for him to join me on the pavement, and he gives me my keys back before leaning against my car.

“Did you receive my flowers?” He asks me.

Oh.

“Yes.” I reply. “They’re pretty.”

“Do you accept my apology?” He enquires, stepping in front of me, trapping me between him and my car. I swallow and nod.

“Great.” He smiles to me.

“Now that I’m forgiven, I think we should drop the honorifics.” He proposes.

“This whole Miss Fair Mr Jeon thing is getting old.” He shrugs. Oh hell no!

“I’d rather we didn’t.” I counter.

“Why?”

“I don’t call my clients by their name.” I lie.

“Well, in case you still haven’t figured, I hope to be more than a client to you.” He replies, his tone changing, becoming low and inviting. I refrain a gasp and try to hold his smoldering gaze.

“Mr Jeon, this is highly inappropriate.” My voice is almost as quiet as a whisper.

“Yeah.” He breathes, nodding. Yeah?

Yeah, it’s inappropriate, and he knows it. What kind of excuse was that. Everything about this is inappropriate, I bet that’s why he wants to have sex with me.

“Should I give the project to Mrs Bingfield?” He proposes, tilting his head to the side. My jaw drops.

“I wouldn’t be your client.” He shrugs. I scoff. He narrows his eyes at me.

“So I guess that’s not the actual reason you won’t have sex with me.” He guesses correctly, and a shiver runs down my spine when he says ‘sex’. I’m in so much trouble.

“If you have no reasonable reason, that could mean you’re scared.” He muses. “If you tell me what you’re scared of, I’ll do my best to reassure you.”

I blink, his words echoing and bouncing in my head.

And then I see him, really see him.

He’s there, using his charms to pin me against my car, all cocky and arrogant, talking about how he’ll do what it takes to get me in his bed. He’s human garbage. He’s just a rich, power hungry arse who likes to seduce women. He’s playing with me.

I’m a conquest for him, a challenge.

I know that all too well, and it all comes back to me like a nasty aftertaste.

“So, whatever happens you’ll be the one to make it all. better.” I scoff.

“I’ll try.” He shrugs a shoulder. I’m such a fuck-up. He’s just plain trash, how could I have missed that. He’s hot, alright, but he just emanates with manwhore energy and now I want to throw up.

“I absolutely abhorre men like you.” I grind out in his face, using my sketchbook to poke at his chest and push him away. He takes step back, frowning deeply.

“You can keep your project. And your dick in your pants for that matter.” I mutter before pushing past him, and go home without a single look back in his direction.

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thelastspeecher · 5 years ago

Text

A. Quinn “Badass” McGucket

Hehehe I think I’m being clever with the title.

Here’s some more from that “Angie is a greaser and Stan is a nerd” AU that I’m going to tag as “West Coast Trio”, bc Angie, Stan, and Ford all end up at West Coast Tech in this AU.

Specifically, in this collection of scenes, we see the first meeting of Angie (who goes by her middle name, Quinn, in this AU) and Stan, the first meeting of Angie and Ford, and also the first hints of the good ship Stangie. Enjoy.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Whattaya gonna do about it, Pines?” sneered Tom. Stan could feel the bricks of the building digging into his back as he pressed up against it. Every inch of him was shaking in fear.

“Look, Tom, I don’t think that we need to get physical about this-” Stan started. Tom leaned in, close enough for Stan to feel his breath.

“I think we do, charity case. You and that freak brother of yours don’t belong here. You know that.” Stan clenched his hands into fists. Before he could respond to Tom’s insult about Ford, a female voice spoke.

“Tommy boy, what are ya doin’?” Stan and Tom looked over. A girl Stan had seen around campus a few times was idly leaning against the wall, chewing gum. She blew a large bubble and popped it. Tom took a step away from Stan.

“N-nothing,” Tom stammered. Stan glanced at Tom in surprise, then turned his attention back to the girl. Her hair was roughly chopped short and dyed a bright magenta, popping against her dark leather jacket. She cocked her head curiously.

“Sure ‘bout that?” she asked. “‘Cause it looks to me like you were messin’ with this poor feller. Intimidatin’ him, perhaps?” Her voice was breezy, but an undertone of threat wove in with her southern accent. Tom swallowed.

“Nope. Not- not at all, Quinn.”

“See, I don’t think I believe that,” the girl – Quinn – drawled. She stood straight. The arm she was holding behind her back fell to her side, revealing that she was holding a large, wooden baseball bat. Tom blanched and stepped further away from Stan. “You know I don’t tolerate folks beratin’ other folks.”

“I wasn’t-”

“Kid,” Quinn barked. Stan stood up straight.

“Y-yes?”

“Was he botherin’ ya?”

“…yes,” Stan said. Quinn glared at Tom.

“I’m gonna- I’m gonna leave,” Tom stammered. Quinn’s eyes narrowed.

“I think that’s fer the best. You can get a head start that way,” she said in a low voice. Tom sprinted away. Quinn strode over to Stan. She looked him up and down. “He didn’t hurt ya, did he?” she asked.

“N-no,” Stan mumbled. Quinn frowned.

“Ya sure? You seem a bit…quiet.”

“I’m- um-” Stan rubbed the back of his neck nervously. Quinn stuck out her hand.

“Quinn. Quinn McGucket.” Stan shook the offered hand.

“Uh, Stan. Stan Pines.”

“Stan…” Quinn’s eyes widened. “Oh! You and yer brother work on that comic strip in the school paper, don’t ya?”

“Y-yeah.”

“I like it. It’s funny.” Quinn cocked her head, a small smile curling the corners of her mouth. “Think you’ll show me how ya make it sometime?”

“M-maybe.”

“I’d like that.” Quinn sighed and looked over in the direction Tom had run off. “But right now, I’ve got other fish to fry. See ya ‘round campus!” She marched away, whistling a tune that sounded vaguely familiar to Stan, but he couldn’t quite put a name to it. Stan felt a slight flush spread across his features.

That was…the most badass girl I’ve ever met.

-----

Ford didn’t turn when the door to his and Stan’s dorm room opened. He was too engrossed in his biology assignment. He scowled at the worksheet.

Why is this so difficult? It’s a simple pairing question.

“This is where the magic happens,” Stan’s voice said proudly. There was a soft chuckle.

“The magic, huh? Ya have a mighty big opinion of yer lil comic strip, don’t ya?” a southern voice asked. Ford’s head shot up.

A female southern voice. He spun his chair around to face the door. Immediately, dread dropped into his gut. Oh, no. Standing in the doorway with Stan was a young woman Ford had seen around campus. From her brightly colored hair to her thick combat boots, every inch of her stuck out like a sore thumb among the other students, who tended to come from upper-class backgrounds. Most likely, she does that on purpose.

“Oh! Quinn, this is my twin brother, Ford,” Stan said, gesturing towards Ford. Ford inclined his head slightly in a small nod. “He co-creates the comic strip with me. Ford, this is Quinn McGucket.”

“I know who she is,” Ford said. Quinn raised a blonde eyebrow.

“My reputation precedes me, I see.” She grinned viciously. “Good.”

“So, Stan, how did you meet Quinn?” Ford asked. Stan shoved his hands in his pants pockets and grinned.

“She saved me from getting my ass kicked and realized that I work on the comic strip. Turns out she’s a big fan.”

“Yes, I am,” Quinn said. She shrugged. “It’s funny.”

“Yeah, that part’s all me,” Stan said proudly. Ford quirked a small smile.

“He’s right. Stan’s the comedic genius of the two of us,” Ford said. Quinn chuckled softly. “What are you majoring in, Quinn?”

“Biology.”

“Ah. A noble field. Not as noble as some fields of science, but-”

“Let me guess,” Quinn said. “Yer a physics major?”

“How did you-”

“All the physics majors I’ve met act that way ‘bout biology.” Quinn turned to Stan. “So, where do ya get yer ideas?” she asked in a low tone. Satisfied that his role in the conversation was finished, Ford turned back to his homework. He didn’t realize Quinn had crossed over to his desk until she spoke behind him.

“You’ve got that wrong,” she said lightly. Ford’s arm jerked in surprise, leaving a streak across his worksheet. Quinn pointed at the matching problem Ford had been having such a difficult time with. “That’s not the coccyx. It should be the pharyngeal arches.”

“How did you know that?” Ford asked, erasing the streak as well as the incorrect answer.

“Uh, did ya not hear me say I’m a biology major?”

“No, I did, I just assumed that you weren’t-” Ford started.

“Oh.” Quinn’s voice was completely flat. Ford looked over at her. She had stepped away from his desk and was watching him with a disgusted expression. “I see.”

“I- I just mean- you come from an upper-class background-”

“No, I don’t,” Quinn snapped. She crossed her arms. “My parents run a farm.”

“Then how did you get into West Coast Tech?” Ford asked. Quinn’s eyes flashed with fury.

“On my merit,” she snarled. “Just like you and yer brother. What, ‘cause I’m a girl, I can’t get in on my brains?”

“No, not-”

“Or is it ‘cause I’m southern?” Quinn’s voice became harsher as she continued to speak, viciously biting off the end of each syllable. “Maybe ‘cause I grew up in the country? ‘Cause of course, no southern hick chick could ever be smart?”

“No!” Ford said desperately, holding his hands up. Quinn did a double-take at the sight of his splayed fingers, but returned her fierce gaze to his eyes. “No, none of those things! You’re just- with the-” It was one of the few times in his life Ford found himself at a loss for words. His explanation died on his tongue as Quinn’s raw anger magnified. “The hair and the jacket and the boots-”

“Oh! It’s ‘cause I’m tough!” Quinn said. “I get it.” She looked around, caught sight of a stack of books on Ford’s bed, and shoved them onto the floor. “You should learn how to judge people by gettin’ to know ‘em, not by rumors or appearances,” she spat. “You seem like the kind of person who has a lot of experience with folks judgin’ ya exactly fer those things.” With that, she spun around and stormed out of the dorm room, slamming the door shut behind her. Stan crossed his arms, glaring at Ford.

“I didn’t mean to-”

“Yeah, Sixer, that’s pretty obvious.” Stan rolled his eyes. “C’mon, man! My first shot at a friend here, and that’s how you treat her?” Stan shook his head, then exited the room. Ford pursed his lips.

Should I follow? At least to apologize? I don’t want Stan to socialize with a delinquent like her, but he could use a friend other than me. He has higher social needs than I do, after all. With a sigh, Ford got up and walked to the door. Before he could open it, he picked up on muffled voices. He pressed his ear to the door.

“I’m sorry,” Quinn’s voice said. “That was- that was rude of me, to push someone’s things ‘round when I’m a guest in their livin’ space. I do apologize fer that.”

“It’s fine. Ford was being a dick,” Stan’s voice said. “He deserved it.”

“Maybe. I just- I have to go study fer class.”

“…Oh.” Stan sounded disappointed. “I guess I’ll-”

“-have to give me the grand tour when Ford’s not home,” Quinn finished for Stan. Ford couldn’t see his twin, but could easily picture the broad grin stretched across Stan’s face.

“Yeah. Definitely.”

-----

Ford turned his head to the side. Being pressed up against the side of the chemistry building and threatened was rote at this point. His primary concern was to avoid Bennett’s disgusting breath. It was futile.

Did he eat onions marinated in garlic? It reeks.

“I told you before, freak,” Bennett breathed. “I don’t like it when people show me up. I warned you last time not to open your damn dirty mouth in class, and you didn’t listen. So.” Bennett grabbed Ford’s shirt, snagging Ford’s skin in his roughness. Ford’s eyes began to water, both from the pain and the smell of Bennett’s breath. “You’re gonna pay, freak.” Ford resisted the urge to point out that Bennett had used the insult mere moment ago. Abruptly, Bennett was pulled off Ford, startled enough to let go of Ford’s shirt. Bennett hit the ground, landing on his back with a heavy thump. Ford looked over at his rescuer.

“Bennett Thompson,” Quinn snarled, standing over Bennett. “Prep school bully extraordinaire.” She tossed her bright purple locks. “Remember how you asked me out last week?” Quinn smirked at him. “Yer insistence on harassin’ folks was just one of the reasons I said no. The other one is yer nasty-ass breath.” Quinn cocked her head. “Have ya ever even heard of a toothbrush before?”

“Quinn, I-” Bennett started. Quinn’s face hardened.

“No,” she said flatly. She slammed a boot-clad foot onto one of Bennett’s hands. There was a sickening crunch. Bennett let out a yelp. Quinn leaned over and whispered something in Bennett’s ear. Bennett nodded, his face pale as a sheet. Quinn straightened again. “Good.” She slowly lifted her foot off Bennett’s hand. “Skedaddle.” Bennett jumped to his feet and rushed away, cradling his hand. Quinn turned to Ford. “You all right?” she asked gently.

“I- you-” Ford stared at Bennett, quickly disappearing into the distance. “Quinn, that was vicious.”

“I don’t pussyfoot around. But you knew that.”

“Yes, I suppose I did, I just-” Ford swallowed. “You used such force to assist with someone who isn’t even a friend of yours, I-” He stopped at the sight of Quinn’s heartbroken expression.

“…We’re not friends?” Quinn whispered. Ford’s heard plummeted.

Oh no, I’ve offended her. Quinn looked away, blinking rapidly, as though she was fighting back tears. No. I’ve hurt her feelings. That’s worse.

“I didn’t mean-” Ford started. Quinn let out a harsh laugh.

“Is that yer catchphrase or somethin’? I hear it come out of ya all the flippin’ time,” she said. She was attempting to portray a light tone, but her voice was thick with emotion. Ford thought back to his first impression of Quinn.

That she’s insisting on being a lone wolf because she knows she’ll be mostly on her own as is. Quinn kicked a pebble. It bounced a short distance away. She’s decided to lean into it, embrace it. It’s the same principle behind Stan’s motto when he was hospitalized but still cracking jokes. You either laugh or you cry. You find a way to spin it in a positive way, even if it feels like you can’t or shouldn’t.

“Whatever,” Quinn muttered. She began to walk away.

“Wait!” Ford blurted out. Quinn stopped by the stairs leading into the building. She turned.

“Yes?”

“I- I do apologize. Sincerely,” Ford said. Quinn rolled her eyes.

“Sure.” She crossed her arms. “Look, I get it. You think I’m a delinquent. I’ve heard ya say as much to Stan.”

“Yes, well…” Ford rubbed the back of his neck. Quinn scoffed. She began to turn away. “No, Quinn, I- thank you.” Quinn stopped. She stared at him. “Not just for saving me, but also for saving Stan. It’s- I- to be frank, we could use the protection.”

“I ain’t yer personal bodyguard.”

“No, I know, I just-” Ford swallowed.

Let’s try a different tactic.

“I get the feeling that you have roughly the same amount of experience with friendships that I do.” Quinn’s expression changed from frustrated to bemused. “That is, minimal outside of family members.” Quinn leaned against the stair handrail.

“Is this yer way of sayin’ that ya suck at communication?” she asked.

“I- yes.”

“Hmm.” Quinn looked away. “That explains why ya keep puttin’ yer foot in yer mouth.” She sighed. “Didn’t know ya were observant enough to catch onto my own��social deficits.”

“Wh- I’m very observant!” Ford protested. Quinn shrugged.

“Sure, with science ‘n data. But with people? I’d say yer more oblivious than observant. Or did ya forget ya managed to insult me within ten minutes of meetin’ me? Or what just happened a few seconds ago, where ya upset me after I saved yer ass from bein’ turned to creamed corn?”

“Creamed corn?” Ford asked. Quinn scowled at him. “Never mind.” Ford looked down at his feet. “You’re still upset that I had made an impression of you even before we met.”

“Yup.”

“You can’t honestly blame me for thinking you might be dangerous after hearing about the numerous occasions in which you beat someone up with a baseball bat.”

“Sure, I can,” Quinn drawled. She looked off into the distance. “All those folks deserved a good kneecapping.”

“I-” Ford let out a wry laugh. “Fair point.” He chewed on his lip, thinking. “Why do you do it?”

“Kneecap folks? ‘Cause they deserve it.”

“No, not that. Well, not that alone. Your entire…thing.” Ford walked over to Quinn and leaned against the handrail as well. “I know how it feels to stick out. Why would you choose to do it, when you could easily fit in?”

“You have far too much faith in our classmates,” Quinn said dryly. “I doubt I could ever fit in with them boys in letterman jackets and boat shoes.” She was silent for a moment. “I don’t need to prove myself to others,” she said softly. “I don’t need to bend to the whims of what society says a lady should be. I can succeed without doin’ either of those things.”

“That’s…not an answer.”

“Yup.” Quinn grinned crookedly. “It’s only part of one.”

“What’s the full answer?”

“Oh, I ain’t tellin’ ya.” Quinn met Ford’s eyes. “It’s somethin’ I’d only tell a friend.” A challenge sparked in her gaze, daring Ford to say they were friends just to get a full answer.

“Cruel, but fair,” Ford said, backing down from the unspoken challenge. Quinn raised an eyebrow thoughtfully.

“Hmm.” She looked away.

“I suppose I could always get Stan to ask, and then he would tell me,” Ford remarked. “Since the two of you are friends.” Quinn rolled her eyes, but a small smile played around her lips. “By the way, Stan wants to be more than friends with you.”

“Oh, I know,” Quinn said. A faint pink blush began to spread across her cheeks. She ducked her head, hiding her smile, which was getting stronger.

“You do?”

“Yes. I might not have a lot of experience with friends, but I know my way ‘round body language and social cues. Unlike some folks.”

“Ouch.” Ford watched Quinn’s face continue to flush. “I take it you feel the same way about him?”

“It don’t matter if I do or not.” Quinn stood straight and stepped away from the handrail. “He can’t handle me. Not yet.” She glanced at her wristwatch. “Biochem starts soon. We should head inside. I’ll walk with ya. Someone’s got to protect ya from bullies.”

“Maybe I should hire you as my personal bodyguard,” Ford mumbled. Quinn laughed.

“Nah. You couldn’t afford me.”

#if you're wondering what song Angie was whistling at the beginning #it was her favorite song. ''Take Me Home Country Roads''#even being a punk greaser badass can't stop Angie from loving some John Denver #the only person who wouldn't love John Denver would be Anti-Angie #Stangie #Angie McGucket #Stanley Pines #Stanford Pines #West Coast Trio AU #ficlet #my writing #my stuff #speecher speaks

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7deadlycinderellas · 6 years ago

Text

The Starks at War

(aka, I am a huge ww2 nerd, and you all will suffer for it)

Ao3 link

Truthfully, it must be said, that Winterfell had seen better days.

The once huge estate no longer provided any income of it's own. The grounds were cut when the council bought off the land to put a road through behind the house. The house was still grand, the gardens still it’s Lady’s pride and joy. The Lord of the house now owned a hand tool factory down the road, and the Lady oversaw a staff of only a cook and two maids (plus the children’s tutors of course, and Old Nan, who nursed the youngest). Even the stable of horses had been replaced by a motorcar.

The Starks themselves too, had known loss. Eddard Stark, only a second son, had not known he would inherit, until the loss of his brother in the Great War. His fiery sister Lyanna too, lost her life only a few years later, poisoned by the munitions factory where she worked to serve her country.

But it was clean, and well kept, and the Lord and Lady kept up appearances.

And the Stark children, it must be said, loved the place. The summer times they all spent on their families lands may well have been paradise to all of them.

Robb, the eldest of them, got his driving license that summer. Ned Stark spent most of the summer in London, leaving Robb to take the car down to the village where it attracted the attention of men and women alike. He would be going to university come autumn, and was appreciating his final months of freedom.

A word must be also spared for the children’s cousin Jon. Raised as their brother after his mother’s untimely death, he was often spoken about in hushed tones for the truth of his illegitimate birth. Though the Starks had planned to provide for his education as they had for their own children, his own pride led to him deciding against university, and spending his summer working for the newspaper office in the village.

Sansa, the eldest daughter, had returned home from boarding school. She had come bursting with stories of her classmates, who came from families older and more important than the Starks, who lived on huge country estates and gave her stories of grand parties and great romances. And if she spent most of her summer in the window seat of the parlour, reading paperbacks and writing letters, she was no less happy for it.

Arya Stark’s summer holidays were spent much the same as the rest of her year, though without her being scolded for trying to dodge her lessons. Earlier that year, she had received a bicycle for her birthday, and it carried her more days than not into the village. Far less touched by her mother’s concerns of propriety, Arya had many friends there, and carried back with her dime novels and packs of sweets. On her other days, she climbed over the rock wall marking the end of their estate into the land owned by their neighbors, the Reeds, such as it was, and joined the two children there in climbing the trees and swimming in the pond that was all that remained of their land.

In fact, it was Arya and the older Reed girl, Meera, who had a special project that summer: to get Arya’s younger brother Bran out of the house more.

Before the coming storm, it would have been said that the greatest tragedy to befall Winterfell that generation would have been Brandon Stark’s fall. An active and athletic child, at the age of ten, Bran had taken a bad fall from one of the manor’s windows. The injury had truly in the grand scheme of things, not been terrible. Bran could still bend at the hips and partially straighten his right knee, but both legs were left incredibly weak, and the left one nearly completely numb.

That had been two years ago, and the boy had resigned himself to spending most of his summer days sitting in his room reading or listening to plays on the wireless. Sometimes he would sit with Old Nan and Rickon, and listen to their stories, but he felt far too old for it now.

Neither Arya or Meera could stand for this.

So, one warm day in July, the two girls approached him when he was in the parlor, reading a book.

Both of them have their arms crossed, and Bran isn’t sure what’s going on.

“Come with us, we’re going swimming.”

Bran looks his sister up and down. She might have been wearing cast off work trousers of Jon’s and an old jersey with her hair in rough plaits, but she looks completely serious and at that moment, has a definite air of authority.

“I’m reading.”

Arya looks at him like he’s grown a second head.

“You can do that outside. Come one, you’ve been inside nearly the whole year, you look like a fish’s belly.”

And she isn’t wrong, so Bran decides to give in.

Admittedly, being in the sun again is nice. The window can only let in so much. The day is rather hot, and the water will be nice. The stone path leading out from the house is easy enough for him to push the wheels of his wheelchair on, though when they cut off onto the grass, it takes more effort.

“What are you reading now?” Meera asks him cheerfully, “Burroughs again?”

The last time Meera had come by, Bran had been finishing the Land that Time Forgot. He had enjoyed it, but ultimately preferred Conan Doyle’s take on a lost prehistoric world.

He shakes his head.

“Wells this time.”

“Island of Doctor Moreau?” Arya interjects, “If so, give it back, I didn’t finish.”

“War of the Worlds. It’s that one that was on the radio in America last year and made everyone think it was real.”

Arya wrinkles her nose. “Jon said that was bunk, made up to make newspaper seem better than radio.”

“I suppose Jon might know, working at the paper.” Jon had often told them that the men who ran the news office were a bunch of stodgy, stuffed shirts, who seemed to think they knew more than him simply by virtue of his age.

“Well it’s a good book either way.” Bran insists.

They’ve reached the end of the Starks land, marked with a low stone wall just above knee high. It’s easy to just step over. Just one more of the easy things rendered impossible to Bran now.

Arya looks at Meera,

“You take the top, I’ll get his feet. “

And suddenly, Meera steps up onto the wall and grasps Bran under the arms and hoists him in time with Arya lifting him up by his pasty, atrophied legs.

“Did you two practice this?” Bran asks grouchily, feeling rather like a slab of meat.

“You’re not that much different than moving a log.”

That’s not really any better, Bran thinks, when Arya sets him on the ground and moves to drag his chair over and help him back into it. He wishes the back of the device wasn’t so high. If it were lower, he might be able to drag himself over the wall like he does from the window seat. But he was already lucky that it was light weight and metal and not one of the huge wooden monstrosities he had seen when he woke in the hospital after his fall.

When they reach the edge of the pond, Bran slides himself out of his chair carefully, settling himself under one of the tall trees close to the water’s edge. He pulls off his shoes and socks, letting his lower legs float into the water, even though only righty appreciated it. Arya had been right, it was a good enough place to read a book.

The pond was large for a pond, feeding into one of the streams that led to the canals through the south. Good fish could still often be fished from it, and it was more than deep enough in the middle for swimming to be a bit dangerous.

Arya seemingly paid no heed to this, as she stripped off to the swimming costume she had on under her trousers beside the tree. She then climbed one of the branches that hung over the water to its end, and did a cannonball.

Meera goes back to the house and returns with a pole and line. She rolls up her trouser legs before taking a seat on a log near Bran and casting out her line.

“What’s happening now?” She asks Bran, gesturing at the book in his hand.

“A bunch of ships with people on them are fleeing the Martian tripods, so one of the Navy’s ships rams it so it the people can get away.’

“Do you think they’ll make it?”

Arya pops her head up out of the water,

“Doubt it, the Martians have heat rays.”

“Don’t give it away!” Bran says petulantly. This was another of the books he’d filched from Arya’s shelf, that consisted nearly entirely of science fiction and pulp adventures, to her governess’s despair. Arya had once told him they had contained all the adventures she was never going to get to have.

“Just saying, the narrator is just a journalist, and the tripods are enormous.”

That’s what made the story so good, Bran thought. It shouldn’t be very long, yet there’s still half a book left.

Not too much later, Meera’s brother Jojen sticks his head out the house.

“Mum asked if you all want sandwiches.”

“Tell her yes,” Meera calls back, and Jojen disappears inside.

Arya swims up to the edge and crawls out of the water onto the shore.

“Isn’t he coming out too?”

Meera’s gazing back at the house with a distant look in her eye.

“He had another seizure this morning, and was out of it for a while. Mum’s taking him to the doctor’s tomorrow to see if his medicine needs adjusting.”

Ah. Though most in the village had come to understand Jojen’s condition, Bran had come to feel kinship with the other boy’s vulnerability. Lady Reed had been a school teacher before she’d wed, and taught him at home before the doctor’s had been able to keep from having the fits anymore. Him and his sister both attended the village school now.

Jojen does join them when he returns with lunch, sitting between Bran and Meera on the dirt.

“What are you going to do now that you’re done with school?” Arya asks Meera idly, still chewing on a tough bit of green.

“Get a job I suppose. Father says one of the sailing clubs down at the marina needs someone to handle registrations and paperwork. Though I’m not eighteen until November.”

“That would just drive me mad. “ Arya responds, “All day, just seeing all the boats go in an out but being stuck in a little box.”

Meera shugs, “I don’t think I’d mind.”

“Not holding out to get swept up by some handsome Duke at a ball somewhere?” Jojen asks with a smirk.

Bran hides his face. He’s always known Meera was pretty- even if the other boys in the village didn’t appreciate her- but in the past year looking at her has made him feel like he was taking another long fall.

Meera laughs him off, “If the boys weren’t interested in me at school, they won’t be interested at the balls I won’t go to.”

The balls and derbies and garden parties that make up the London social season. They had never been something that interested Bran or Arya in the least. Mother occasionally spoke of the ones she had attended as a girl, and Robb had gone to the Windsor horse show as a guest of a school friend, but Father had expressed more than a bit of disdain at the opulence in the wake of the slump. The world was changing, he said, and they ought keep up.

It was not something the Reeds would have ever been able to take part in. While they maintained what remained of their family’s land, and kept the title, the only thing resembling a fortune they had was Howland Reed’s Navy pension and his earnings from his current role as the harbourmaster.

“Sansa sure won’t shut up about it though,” Arya comments.

God above, that was true.

Sansa had pled to be allowed to go to boarding school for her last few years of secondary education, and Ned and Catelyn had reluctantly agreed. While they indeed missed their eldest daughter, her education was important to them, and Cat in particular had recognized that Sansa, a social butterfly, would blossom surrounded by other girls of her station.

And blossom she had.

Sansa had left for school with a neat red braid, a pressed uniform, and a head full of dreams. She returned home with her hair pinned up, a purse full of smuggled make up, and dozens of tales of party invitations on the weekends.

Right now, she was at the table in the dining room with her mother. Having finished her lunch, she was writing to Margaery Tyrell, her house’s head girl, and one of the closest friends she had made during the year.

“Have you gone into the village to visit Jeyne yet?” Catelyn asked.

She had not. Jeyne Poole was the daughter of a man Ned had once employed who now ran a shop in town. Jeyne had before this year, been Sansa’s dearest friend.

“No, Mother. It’s just- I worry we won’t have anything in common anymore having been apart for a whole year.”

This was a half truth. It is what Sansa thought when she pondered her magical year away at school and tried to fit. Giggly Jeyne, who was so frightened of mice and snakes, and dreamed of one day being a film star, just seemed so far away from the sophistication she had come to know.

“You should go see,” Catelyn says, smiling, but firmly. “Pack a picnic and sit somewhere. I’m glad you’re so happy at school, but you musn’t forget your old friends, or where you came from. Winterfell may not be as grand as where your school friends live, but it is still your home.”

Sansa tried not to wrinkle her nose, but she takes her mother’s advice. The next day, Cook helps her pack a basket and she dons a straw hat and walks to the village and finds Jeyne getting her hair set in the beauty shop, and they share lunch on a bench in the park.

“At least without you around, there were a lot more boys paying attention to me,” Jeyne tells her, taking a sip from her bottle of cordial.

Sansa laughs.

“Oh forget about these village boys. I met so many lovely young men at school.”

Sansa tells her about Margaery’s brother Loras, with his golden curls, who was planning to study at Cambridge. Of Joffrey Baratheon, who had such a lovely face and was of such a good family. Even of Joffrey’s uncle Jamie, who was captain of football at their school, and such a good player, his feats were still spoken of to this day. He had joined the army after graduation, and the girls at the school whispered breathily of his exploits.

“Oh it sounds so wonderful,” Jeyne sighs, “I wish I could move to London, that’s where all the fancy people live. I would love to go to a ball or a tea party, instead I’m stuck here.”

Sansa purses her lips. The girls she went to school with were girls with estates, and titles. Little Myrcella Baratheon was even the daughter of a Duke. Truly, she did not believe any of them would invite a girl such as Jeyne to any of their occasions, but she can’t tell her that.

The potential awkwardness of the discussion is brought to an end by the honk of a car horn coming down the street.

Robb sticks his head out of the window and waves to them.

Jeyne hastily fixes her hat while waving back.

“How is your brother doing now? Any of those high-class ladies catch his eye?”

“Robb still has university to finish, I don’t imagine he’ll think of marrying at least until he’s graduated. I think he’s just having fun now, he’s probably driving out to visit Theon.”

Theon had been raised among the Stark’s as a child. Son of another man who Ned had known in the service, he had fostered the boy as both a gesture of goodwill, and a protection from the harsh reality that his life would be up in the industrial north. Now nearly twenty, Theon had moved out of Winterfell and taken a job at the dockyard.

He had already gone out there today though, in fact he was actually on his way home when he drove past Sansa and Jeyne.

A bit down the road, he also passed Arya.

“Want a lift?” He asks, head stuck out the window.

Arya waves him off.

“I still want to go by the newsstand, I told Bran I’d bring him the newest Strange Tales.”

Robb pulled on past her, and Arya stepped back on her bike and kept going.

She’d only gone out today because Jon had forgotten his lunch, but it was a good enough excuse.

Gendry had worked the newsstand for Mr. Dondarrion since he had left school two years ago. Initially, he had tried to dodge Arya as she pawed through the stacks, interrogating him about the contents of all the pulps. He seemed to have gotten more used to her in recent times though, and often would offer her recommendations.

After plucking Strange Tales, she turns to him.

“Anything else good?”

After a moment’s thought, Gendry passes her a copy of Astounding Science Fiction.

“There’s one in there about an alien. Incredible. “

“I’ll have to take your word for it.”

When he rings her up, and takes her pocket money, he asks.

“So how’s it all go for the Starks up upon the hill?”

Arya makes a face.

“There’s no hill, the land here is flat.”

“It’s a figure of speech.”

He had always been like this, ever since he found out her father was Lord Stark. It used to make him wary of her, now he seemed just to take the opportunity to tease her.

She shrugs.

“Most of the same. Sansa chattering on about school, me trying to drag Bran out more. Robb keeps driving places and still won’t teach me.”

“I’m with you, I’d love to learn to drive. Thought about going down to the next town, see if I can find a job working on them.”

Arya’s stomach twists at the thought of him not being in the village anymore.

“You won’t do it will you?”

Gendry makes a soft noise, and tugs his cap a little lower on his head. He puts his elbows on the counter and rests his chin on his hands.

“I don’t know. It would be a great opportunity. A chance to leave,” he gestures at the quiet street in front of him, “all of this.”

Arya’s in a bad mood the entire ride home. She tries not to agree with Gendry. The village was tiny. The shops, a newsstand, the post office, the newspaper, the church. That was mostly it. She’d often had the same sort of thoughts herself.

Much of the summer passes in the same fashion.

Bran turns thirteen in August. When asked what he wants for his birthday, he says,

“I just want Father home, he’s always gone for it. “

“Alas your father still has social obligations in London.”

Catelyn too, wished he could return, but some courtesies must be observed, no matter how much she missed her husband.

Bran sighs, he really should have known better by now.

“A new sketchbook would be good too.”

He gets the book, and spends much of the remains of the month by the pond with Meera and Jojen. He draws planes that he’s seen in magazines, and newspapers, or the few that fly overhead.

“I wish I could be a pilot.” He tells Jojen one day.

“I used to want to be one too.” Jojen admits.

“I guess neither of us are ever going to fly.”

It wasn’t fair, he thought, that the both of them were stuck grounded.

One day, Sansa peeks her head into Arya’s room.

“Can you come to Jeyne’s with me today?”

“Why?” Arya asks, confused. Sansa’s sudden appearance in her room was unusual enough. The two girls were not close, and Arya had often been pleased that they didn’t have to share a room like some of the girls she knew in the village.

“I’m going to cut my hair.”

That was a bit surprising. Sansa had always been so proud of her long, smooth, Tully red hair, so much like Mother’s.

“Why do you need me for that?”

“I’m worried I might chicken out.”

Well that at least made sense.

Jeyne’s aunt Ellyn did hair out of the family’s parlour. When Sansa was sitting in the chair, with Ellyn washing, combing, then snipping at her long hair, Arya would have swore her sister was in pain. But, Sansa insisted that long hair was terribly old fashioned, and she’d even seen pictures of Lady Lannister, Duchess of Casterly Rock, with her hair bobbed. When Ellyn’s done, Sansa shakes her head in amazement,

“My head feels so light!”

Looking at her sister, Arya has a queer notion.

“Can you do mine too?”

Both are a touch worried when they come back home that night. Sansa rides on the handlebars of Arya’s bike, like she had done with Robb when they were young children, and Arya felt for once like they might really be sisters.

When Catelyn sees them, she reaches out to touch the shorn ends of Sansa’s hair.

“I can show you how to set it properly later.”

Then she moves on to Arya’s.

“Did they use the hedge clippers on yours?”

But the cut proves very practical the next week, when Catelyn enlists her to help her dig up and move several of the rose bushes in the garden. It stayed out of her face, and reduced the sweat on her neck.

Ned returns to Winterfell near the end of the month. The only one not home when he comes is Jon, who’s working late.

When Jon returns home, only Ned is still in the parlour.

Happy to see his uncle, Jon moves to embrace him.

“Any particular reason your superiors kept you from my homecoming?”

Jon laughs, but he looks a bit uneasy.

“We had to run an extra edition. Thorne got word in last minute, Hitler has invaded Poland.”

Ned sighs deeply.

He stays up later than the others, alone in his study.

It would be a lie if he said he hadn’t felt the waves coming in in the past few years. Ned had served in the Navy during the Great War, and though he had had more than enough of war, he knew what he heard.

Jon stayed up that night too, switching through channels on the wireless, nearly all dead. He was in a unique position compared to the rest of the family, and wasn’t sure what he should say, if anything.

The next day is chaos, with Sansa packing to return to school, Bran and Arya having to be coerced into restarting their lessons, and Robb preparing to leave for university. Ned and Jon barely had time to think about anything.

September 3 was set to be their last breakfast all together. Sansa was nibbling at her eggs, which she swore the school cooks could not make as good. Arya was shoveling down her porridge so she would have enough energy to make a break for it after. Bran appeared to be attempting to demonstrate something to Robb using bit of his bacon as his models. Rickon had somehow already gotten jam smeared on him.

And Cat was watching Ned, with a smile on her face.

Jon didn’t usually turn on the wireless during breakfast, but he’d had an impulse that day. One that turned out to be prudent.

A hand reaches out and turns the volume nod, and the voice of the Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain is head:

“I have to tell you now that no such undertaking has been received, and that consequently this country is at war with Germany.”

The speech continues, but one by one, every face at the table freezes.

Ned feels something deep in his gut begin to ache. He hopes he can remember this breakfast as it is.

#game of thrones #gendrya #breera #theosa #jongritte #fic #couple of choices I make here will probably ruffle some feathers #theonsa

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sigritandtheelves · 6 years ago

Note

Au where mulders a writer of sci fi stories and Scullys a scientist hired by his editor to fact check some of his stories. Bonus points if theres a romantic subplot in his story and they quote lines to each other

A/N: This gets a bit meta for a quick sec. It is also… irredeemable fluff. I’ve had a hard few days and I needed something wholesome. I am 100% sure I will regret it in the morning, lol.

—

He wants this one to be different. He needs the science to feel more real than the speculative world-building he’s done in his last three books. The universe should feel like ours, he thinks—its physics and its materiality should have the same weight. Its atoms the same heft. This is going to be the one, he thinks. The one that puts his name on the charts. It needs to not just be right, but to feel right. He calls his editor, asks about a consultant.

His index finger disappears inside the looping plastic phone cord as he talks—feet on the desk beside his word processor.

“Well, I might know someone,” his editor says.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah… she’s good. Not usually her line of work, but she’s bored with her day job. I think she’d take it on.”

“You think.” Mulder senses hesitation—the pause draws out a moment too long. “Charlie?”

“Yeah, Mulder. The thing is, it’s my sister.”

“Your—huh.”

“I’ll give her a call tonight if you want?”

“Okay.” The chair creaks as he sits up to bring the receiver to it’s cradle, but then at the last minute—“Hey Charlie?”

“Yeah?”

“Is she hot?”

The line goes dead.

She is, though. Hot. Not porno hot, but… something. Dana Scully is short and fresh-faced, spring-stepped and the tiniest bit awkward a suit that seems ill-fitting, a little uncomfortable. She’s a pathologist—usually spends her days in scrubs, he thinks. But she majored in physics and her science is blade sharp, a razor to scrape his work clean.

“So in the novel,” she says, “It’s a conspiracy of men?”

“And aliens,” he says.

Her look is wariness and amusement, eyebrows to the hairline, red lips pinched to hold in a smile.

“See, they’re working together. They’re developing a colonizing agent that will wipe out most of the population.”

“Unless your hero can stop them.”

“Right.”

“And he’s a scientist?”

“Yeah, that’s the plan.”

“He’s working alone?”

“He has kind of a sidekick, a friend who’s a conspiracy nerd, spends all his days in his mom’s basement, connecting dots.”

She purses her lips and he senses her skepticism.

“What?”

“Are there any women in the book?”

“The main character’s mom is in one scene. And there’s a sexy informant. Plus the aliens abduct several women, and I tell their stories too.”

The lip pursing has been joined by a disapproving squint. “Let me read your draft,” she says.

It comes back with notes. So very many notes. At first he balks—digs in his heels and swears at the marked-up manuscript on his desk. He throws a pillow, kicks his trash can. He wanted science notes, not… ugh. Of course, she has given him the science notes… and story notes and character notes and structural notes and even a few on language. He ignores the last page, where she’s placed a yellow sticky-note:

I know this is a lot but it’s only because I really like it. I think it could be great. Call me and we’ll talk about it more?

He frowns. He pouts. He doesn’t touch the book for a week. How dare she? He thinks. But then he thinks of her freckled face, that smile he’d gotten when he described the story, the way she’d gone nose-to-nose with his crazy ideas. After a while, and after he reads everything again, he realizes that she’s right.

He tucks away his pride. He works and works and works, thinking of her raised eyebrows, her little smirk, the whole time. Thinking of her, mostly. It’s three weeks before he’s happy with the draft, but he calls when he’s finished, nervous somehow, to hear her voice again.

“I thought you wouldn’t call,” she says. “I thought maybe… I’d gone a bit overboard with the comments.”

He laughs a little. “Yeah, well… me too, at first. But I think you’re right. About almost everything. Come over?” He’s surprised at how casual his voice sounds, how easy it is to ask her.

“Okay,” she says.

She comes to his apartment bearing coffee and a box of donut holes, stands his doorway looking vulnerable. Apologetic. She’s dressed casually this time—jeans and a maroon sweater. She tilts her chin in an I’m sorry pout as she holds up her offerings.

He smiles. “Come in.”

Wary at first, not sure what to expect, she takes in his apartment: the art on his walls, his leather couch, his fish. She’s surprised at how comfortable the space feels, how she wants to curl up in his cushions, put her feet up, watch a movie with him—though she barely knows this man. A clean, printed manuscript rests on the coffee table. He gestures with his chin. “Take a look.”

She does. Her eyes go wide as she thumbs through the first chapter. “You made the scientist a woman?” She asks.

Mulder nods, chewing his thumbnail. He tries not to hover, sips coffee and chews donut holes instead. She got jelly ones, bless her. When she’s skimmed roughly a third, she sits back and looks up.

“Are they in love?” She asks, cheeks red.

“Maybe,” he says. “I hadn’t thought at first—“

“They should be,” she says, and now his face is red too. “Can I read it all?”

She comes back again. And again. They spend evenings reading, sometimes aloud, her nose wrinkling when something’s not right, talking about the story, and then talking about other things. They watch Plan 9 from Outer Space and he makes her laugh when he recites the lines. He frowns at her unbuttered popcorn. They drink beer and she settles into his cushions. He watches her face while she reads. Watches her lips. She swallows hard when he tells her that there is a love scene.

“So he’s a little roughed up from his escape, and she thought he might have been dead. But then he shows up at her door, and he’s stolen some vials of the vaccine… It’s kind of a reunion, plus they think maybe they’ve won,” he explains.

Her knee is touching his. Denim against denim radiates heat up her leg. Her palms feel hot. “So what does she do?”

Mulder looks at her and there’s a smile in his eyes. He’s chewing his bottom lip. “Well first she yells at him,” he says.

“Hmm. He did do something kind of stupid.”

“He did,” Mulder concedes. “But then… then she kisses him.”

“She does?” Her breath sounds too loud in her ears. His tongue comes out over his lips again.

“Mm hmm.”

The air: so still. Fish tank burbling. Pages between them on the couch. He watches her pupils dilate. She shifts and her knee rubs along his thigh. “Oh,” she says.

And then he’s kissing her, thumbs at her cheeks, taste of coffee on his tongue. Her fingers come around his wrist, feel the pulse point, stroke the fine hairs beneath his watch. She falls. She is falling. She does not land. Somehow she knew. She knew it would be like this with him.

His book does well, so much better than he expected, even gets nominated for a Hugo award.

On Sundays, they lay in bed and read the New York Times Book Review, watching his title climb the list, smelling of sex and tasting of each other. He visits her at work, brings coffee, and vomits into stainless steel basin the first time he watches her use a bone saw. She tries not to smile, rubs his back, brings him a cup of water.

When the paperback edition of the novel comes out, he has a special edition printed just for her. It is Saturday and they are in the park, legs entangled, her head on his shoulder. “I have a surprise,” he says.

He hands her the copy and she frowns because it feels strange, the cover lumpy.

“What?” She asks, but he’s shaking his head.

“Open it.”

She does, giving him that squinty, skeptical eye he’s now so used to. He’s had the dedication page changed. Where it once said, “For Dana who made this book what it is,” it now reads, “For Dana, who makes my life what it is. Will you marry me?” Taped below it is a ring.

She gapes. She almost chokes. She smacks him with the book. “You sap!” She says. But then she is crying and putting on the ring and kissing him.

At their wedding, Charlie is insufferable. He drunkenly tries to take credit for bringing them together, not to mention for the book. They ignore him. They dance.

“Let’s write another one,” Mulder whispers into her hair.

-end-

#a thing i wrote #oh god it's sappy #i regret it already lol #what have i done #msr #au #xf fanfic

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the-pandering-fool · 6 years ago

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Disconnection is it a good thing?

In a world where video games are as prevalent as they are plentiful, how do they disconnect us from reality in a way we can kill and steal from just about anyone and feel no remorse? More importantly, is that a good thing?

At their core video games are an escape from reality that allow us (the player) to do things we never thought possible, or that we’ve always wanted to do without any real consequence. It’s because of this that many people love them, they can slay dragons and save the princess, be what they aren’t, and do so from the comfort of their own homes.

Being able to do impossible things has always driven mankind to great heights, it drove the Wright Brothers to build the first (functional) planes, Thomas Edison to make the incandescent light bulb and the phonograph. Needless to say it can accomplish amazing things. It’s what led people to make the first narrative driven games, they were a marvel of entertainment, for the first time rather than just being an observer you were the hero. These games gave you control and made an experience uniquely its own, like salted caramel. It’s a wonderful thing they do letting anyone be anything for any reason.

Let’s take an example of a relatively recently released game Monster Hunter World (let’s call it MHW from here on out). In MHW you take on the role of a Hunter, someone who hunts Monsters - giant dangerous beasts with strange abilities - for science. I know that sounds a bit weird but we’ll talk about that later. What we’re going to talk about now, is how MHW uses common strategies in media to make players follow it’s narrative, not feel bad about hunting the dozens of monsters, harvesting their skin to craft various weapons and armor, and to keep hunting.

Most video games use some common strategies to make the player feel like they’re not responsible for any bad decisions they make. One of these strategies is called dissociation — in other words, disconnecting the player from the character they’re playing. In MHW one thing the do to achieve this is they never call you by name, instead they give you the title of Hunter or occasionally call you Fiver (a title given because you are from the 5th research fleet). They also call every other Hunter this too so don’t feel special just yet. By doing this they make you feel less important and like you’re one of many, and it’s not a bad thing to start with. MHW draws a clear line between you and your expectations, but also leave room for interpretation and character development, saying you have to earn your place here, and until you do you’re just a gear in the machine. And eventually you do, in the end you are granted the title of Sapphire Star, this title has significance in the lore of MHW so it’s quite an honor for you to have.

It’s not an easy road to earn your place in the world though, you need to be a skilled Hunter and craft some pretty strong gear to beat the final boss in MHW. You might be asking what I mean by “crafting strong gear”, in MHW progression is both locked by story, player skill, and gear. This means that you’ll have to keep hunting specific monsters to harvest materials, or mats, to make better weapons and armour so it doesn’t take an hour to kill a monster or you don’t die by a sneeze from a stronger one. Monster slaying is exactly what the game wants the player to do as well! By locking things behind progression walls the game makes you play more and more to fight stronger and cooler monsters.

In MHW the payer is given many ways to hunt as well. There are 14 different weapon classes each with their own unique set of skills and fighting styles. And let me tell you choosing just one is extremely hard. I myself use about 4 of them on a regular basis, the Insect Glaive (IG), Charge Blade (CB), Longsword (LS), and Switch Axe (SA). These names alone probably don’t mean much to you do they? I’m gonna get a bit technical here so if you’re not as big a nerd as I am skip ahead to the next part which I’ll mark with an * for you.

Now allow me to get into the nitty gritty of the IG for you as it is my personal favorite weapon. The IG is a powerful weapon used to give a player a much needed aerial advantage in combat. It has two main features which are its ability to propel a hunter into the air and stay there, and the Kinsect.

The Kinsect is your own little buggy buddy that helps you hunt more effectively by gathering different extracts from monsters. These extracts are categorized by color, red is attack, by collecting it your moveset changes and you’re able to dish out more damage, orange is defense/resistance, it gives you a small buff to your defense and elemental resistances, white is an amplifier, it boosts the effectiveness of the other extracts, and finally there’s green, it heals you just a little bit. And this is just 1 of 14 different weapon archetypes you can use. They also get even more complicated as well so there’s definitely a learning curve involved, but if you can master a weapon practically nothing can stop you.

*Some of you might be arguing that we as the player are destroying the ecosystem by going out and slaughtering these creatures and that’s wrong. It’s true that if you were to go out on a mission to kill every squirrel in existence you would damage the ecosystem. However in MHW every monster you hunt is an apex predator, meaning they’re at the top of the food chain and the only thing that they have to worry about are the other monsters you’ll eventually hunt.

Plus you need to have a suspension of belief to properly enjoy most games anyway, meaning you need to recognize that what you’re doing has no real world consequences. You can hunt a Legania a thousand times and you’re still gonna have to go to work on Monday.

I talked about the fact that you are hunting for science earlier and it’s true. In MHW you are exploring a brand new continent, dubbed the new world, and have very limited information on the creatures that live there. So it’s your job not only to hunt these monsters but to study them. You can even capture them and bring them back to your base so the rest of the research team can examine them further, this might not be the smartest way to do it, but hey it works. MHW encourages this by giving you bounties to hunt specific monsters and rewarding you with currency and mats. Plus the more you hunt a monster the better you get at it. You’re able to track them better, learn their individual quirks, such as what the best element to use while hunting them is. And you can do it with each of the many monsters making mayhem and mischief. Over time you learn their habits, you learn their weaknesses, and you learn their faults.

One of my personal favorite monsters from MHW is the aforementioned (and shown above yay for gifs!) Legania. It is, on the most basic level, an ice dragon. The Legania is also a ‘boss’ monster, it’s the true apex predator of one of the environments. At first the Legania is a pain in the ass to hunt, it’s nimble, has a variety of AOE attacks, and can fly. If you jump right in and try fighting it Leroy Jenkins style you’re probably gonna get carted (die) a few times.

On the other hand if you stay back and watch how it moves and interacts with the environment, you’ll learn that when it lands it becomes extremely vulnerable, and that you can force it to land in some places by placing bait. The game rewards you for playing the way it wants you to. Just like any other game there are proper ways to play where you get the best results.

Another strategy MHW uses is Immersion. It creates a world that makes sense and draws the player in. It accomplishes this by showing how the different creatures interact in the areas you explore. The player is constantly reminded how dangerous their job is by seeing the more docile herbivores eaten and hunted by the dominant predators. Even the predators fight in aptly named “turf wars”. The player can be hunting one creature and out of nowhere a bigger, stronger one can finish the job by flinging it around like a chew toy. In some instances you can also find two monsters fighting over food, or their hunting grounds overlap and they proceed to fight for dominance, the loser leaving the area wounded but still alive.

By giving players attainable goals, an immersive world, unique and challenging opponents, and many ways to play MHW does a great job disconnecting players from the real world. Yes, getting too lost in a game is a bad thing, but sometimes that’s exactly what someone needs. By giving players an outlet to forget the chaos of the world around them video games are an amazing thing. Moderation is the key to not only enjoying, but enjoying video games healthily. That’s right, it’s as simple as mere moderation. So next time you have a bad day, or maybe just need to shut out the day to day chaos of the world, grab a controller, hit up your friends, and just lose yourself in a good game.

#monster hunter world #morals

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ragwitch · 7 years ago

Note

First of all I love your writing so, so much. I hope that every time you have a doubt about your talent you think of the fact that I've reread the mermaid prompt you just wrote like FIVE TIMES and at least three were at work. Second, a prompt? Since you're still open to them maybe, if it tickles your fancy? Darcy/Bucky or Darcy/Steve (or hey I'd take all three): what these hands can do/Mr. or Ms. Fix-It

Thank you so, so, so much for this. It has been a weird week and I’ve been feeling funky through it and seeing this really brightened my mood

This fic went wildly awry from the prompt and I hope you forgive me/enjoy it all the same! (Most of these dates were rough guesses of mine for when things happened so if they aren’t right just blame time travel.)

Paring: Darcy Lewis/James Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers

Rating: G

“Darcy, you can’t,” Jane whispered, grabbing at her friend’s arm. She paused and then stared in the same direction Darcy’s eyes were fixed on. “Can you?”

“I dunno if I can fix it,” Darcy whispered, still staring at where Steve was ushering his skittish, solemn friend around the camp of hero outcasts Laura Barton had set up with them earlier in the spring. Bucky Barnes looked halfway between some poor abused animal just waiting to be struck, and an amnesiac. And the fact that neither of those were so far from the truth made Darcy’s heart ache.

“I don’t know if it will be perfect,” Darcy said. “But at least I can do something.”

“Is this even safe?” Jane asked.

“Umm no, Janie, it’s not safe,” Darcy said, huffing and finally turning to meet Jane’s eyes. She shrugged. “It’s time travel. I’m probably gonna mess a bunch of stuff up. But, I mean…ehnnnnn…I’ll fix that too. I just…I’m gonna do it, okay baiiiiii.”

Jane gasped and stumbled forward as Darcy vanished out of her hands. She looked up and there was Captain America and The Winter Soldier, gaping at her.

January 8th 1945, on a train over the Danube River

“Bucky, hang on! Bucky! Bucky NOOO!!”

Steve’s hands were grasping at air and there was a chorus of shouting. His own. Bucky’s. Something had gone still and dead in his chest. Bucky Bucky Bucky Bucky Bucky.

“I just wanna say, I am so super sorry about this.”

He whipped around and there was a small, beautiful woman behind him. She was wearing glasses and odd, soft looking clothes and her hair was whipping in the air. She shrugged softly at him, sweet face scrunched with worry.

“Who-?” he started and then she kicked him, squarely in the gut and he slid out the open door of the train and into the frigid, empty air. A moment later, and what felt like miles of falling, his shield was spinning above him, following closely after.

March 4th 1945, on a plane over the Arctic

“Ahh!! You’re both still here, it worked!!”

Bucky spun and leveled his gun squarely into the face of the small, beautiful girl who was wearing glasses and the ugliest sweater he had ever seen.

“You!” Steve shouted, twisting in his seat as he tried to pilot the quickly failing plane.

“Who is she? Hydra? One of Peggy’s?” Bucky asked as the girl raised her arms sheepishly over her head.

“Ooohhh, you still have your arm!” she cooed, rising up on her tip toes and staring avidly at his left hand.

He shifted to block her view and tried not to find her so adorable or terrifying.

“She pushed me off the train after you,” Steve said.

“Hydra,” Bucky snarled. Adorable or not, he knocked a bullet into place on his gun.

“No, nononono,” she said, taking quick short steps back until he had her pressed between the nose of his weapon and the wall. She stared up at him with huge blue eyes and a trembling smile. “I’m not Hydra, I swear. I only wanted you guys to save each other. I figured you had a better chance of getting free of Hydra if he was with you. So I time traveled. And then, yeah, I pushed Captain America off a train car. But only with the best of intentions.”

His head was spinning. Steve had pulled him out of the water before Hydra arrived at the river. He had reset his arm. He had saved his life. If Steve hadn’t been there…

But he was and she couldn’t just take credit for it like she’d done them both a favor by kicking a man out of a train. Could she?

“Bucky,” Steve murmured as the girl chewed at her lip. “Shit. Bucky there’s nothing I can do. We can’t fly this plane to New York. Everyone there…”

“Aim for the ocean,” the girl said, throwing the words to Steve over Bucky’s shoulder. “That’s is….really everyone’s best option.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed. Jesus, she was crazy. And they were crashing. And Steve was on the other side of this cockpit so what the hell was he bothering with her for?

“You looking forward to a long cold death, doll?” He asked, stepping back. Her shoulders eased as he lowered the gun, as if he couldn’t have killed her with a twist of his arm. It was some strange kind of innocence and it made his chest squeeze.

“Oh,” she frowned and shook her head, soft hair flicking over her shoulders. “No, sorry. I’m gonna skip that part.”

And then she just wavered and…vanished.

“Bucky,” Steve said, as the plane started to nose dive.

He blinked at the space where a girl had been a moment ago. A girl Steve had seen too, he wasn’t crazy. And then he turned and went to kiss the love his life before they crashed a plane into the bitter, unforgiving water.

April 3rd 2012, New York City

“Can’t believe we spent seventy years in ice to wake up to this,” Bucky’s voice growled in his ear and then there was a wet splat and a Chitauri warrior who had been sneaking up on Steve’s flank wilted to the ground, bullet hole square between his eyes.

“Thought you liked it exciting,” Steve said and Bucky huffed.

And then Steve heard, fuzzy and distant, “Ohmigod, yay!! Hi! You’re alive.”

“Jesus, it’s her,” Bucky said.

“Grab her!” Steve snapped, slamming his shield against another alien.

He wanted answers. He wanted to know what she knew. Why she had chosen them. Chosen Bucky.

“Oh, no you don’t,” he heard her over Bucky’s comm. “No, now, don’t get fresh, soldier! I just came to check on you. Make sure you made it through the ice!”

“Doll, you got a lotta explaining to do,” Bucky muttered.

She giggled and Steve nearly fell over his own feet at the bright sound, ringing over the roar of violence around him.

“That’s funny, you’re cute like this,” she said.

Oh Christ, they were flirting. Of course they were. He left Bucky alone for all of ten minutes after SHIELD resurrected them and he found a dame to chat up. All Steve managed to feel was light jealousy, that he wasn’t on the roof with them. Watching Bucky at his best kind of sparring. Seeing that pout of the girl’s again. Those hips. Something whizzed past his head and Steve shook the thoughts off, tried to focus on the city falling apart around them.

“I got her- shit! She just…I had her. She’s gone. She disappeared again.”

“Next time,” Steve said. And somehow he felt certain there would be a next time.

March 6th 2014, Washington D.C.

“Stevie, look at this,” Bucky whispered, pulling up the file on the holo-screen, and nudging it closer to Steve who was trying to nap next to him on their couch.

They were catching their first rest in weeks, back at Avengers Tower.

SHIELD had fallen, Hydra hadn’t died despite everything they’d been through. Their secrets were everywhere. And this secret too.

“It’s her,” Steve said, blinking at the picture and sitting up from the cushions. He read her name on the screen. “Darcy Lewis.”

Darcy Lewis. Political Science Degree. Associate of renowned astrophysicist Jane Foster. Affiliated with Thor. Red lips, blue eyes, gap-toothed grin. Prettier than Steve remembered, although he’d never really gotten a good look at her. Not like Bucky who had no qualms about bragging the fact.

“She’s real,” Bucky said, sounding surprised.

“Doesn’t say anything about the…you know…” Steve almost couldn’t say it. It was too ridiculous.

“Time travel,” Bucky said, with that awed and gleeful smile he got anytime someone showed him an especially innovative piece of technology.

Nerd, Steve thought fondly. “We could find her,” he suggested.

Bucky frowned at that, “I dunno, punk. In books…there are always rules. We might find her and she might not know what we’re talking about. If she hasn’t done it yet, we shouldn’t say anything to her about what she will do. She might not do it…But if she didn’t we wouldn’t be here so-”

“Okay,” Steve said, smirking and raising a hand. “I get it.” He didn’t, really. “We wait till next time.”

(There wasn’t a next time. Steve kept waiting through every disaster. Ultron, the Accords, the Avengers scattering apart to avoid detection, Tony playing the game with Ross to cover everyone’s tracks. Nothing. No sign of Darcy Lewis until…)

Now

“You made it!!”

Steve and Bucky had barely stepped foot onto Canadian soil when a small, beautiful, bouncing brunette ran up to them.

“You!” Bucky and Steve shouted together.

“Hi,” she said, and her grin was so wide it made even Bucky’s cheeks hurt. It flickered and then settled. “Umm…you’re not still mad about the train thing, are you?”

Steve stiffened at Bucky’s side and then gathered himself up to straighten and stare down at the girl. “I’m not mad,” he said, sober and even. “Just disappointed.”

Darcy Lewis broke out into cackling laughter. “Lulzzz, Captain America is a troll. What about you, Smooth Operator. You mad at me for not getting to keep that fancy metal arm of yours?”

Bucky blinked and turned to stare at Steve, who shrugged, equally clueless.

Darcy leaned in and raised her hand to the side of her lips to whisper to them. “It was sexy, but I don’t think you liked it very much.”

“I have a lot of questions,” Bucky said, frowning and trying to find some even footing in the conversation.

“Well I’d tell you to buy me dinner first, but we can’t go out to dinner around here,” she started, waving a hand behind her to where familiar faces were starting to appear out of little houses in the old ghost town.

“We’ll make you dinner,” Bucky said. They’d catch the damn animal and cook it if they had to. If it got this strange, lovely girl to sit down with them for a few minutes.

“Oh yeah?” Darcy asked, and there was pink on her cheeks and she started to shift in step, taking quick glances between the both of them.

“Yeah,” Steve said, grinning at Bucky and then at Darcy, that devastating wholesome smile that Bucky knew for a fact hid all sorts of wonderful sins.

“Well alright then,” she said, and the shyness that was starting to build in place of all her bravado had Bucky itching to chase her, tease her. “Janie!” she said brightening and greeting someone behind them.

There was another, smaller, brunette behind them. Jane Foster, Bucky remembered from the files.

“Look,” Darcy said, gesturing to the two men. “I did it! I fixed-it!”

Jane blinked and took a noisy slurp from her coffee mug. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Do you have my spectrometer?”

“Oh pffft, time travel,” Darcy muttered, flapping her hands at Jane who was already wandering away. She whispered up to Bucky conspiratorially, “You never get any credit for all the cool stuff you do cause nobody remembers how it was before it changed.”

“Tell us about it,” Bucky suggested, sliding a hand behind her shoulder. “We’ll believe you, right punk?”

Steve flanked Darcy on the other side. “Course we will.”

Darcy flustered between them and blushed again and Steve winked at him over the top of her head. “Well, maybe just parts,” she said, sort of leaning back and forth between them. “It’s a sad story, and anyways it’s all this way now.”

#wintershieldshock #darcy lewis #james bucky barnes #steve rogers #darcy x bucky x steve #time travel au #fix-it fic #ragwitch prompt party #ahandafootahead

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violettemcon · 7 years ago

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Circle’s end :: Jearmin College AU

SUMMARY: Armin’s a welfare kid with a sordid past. Jean’s a prep school graduate living in the cushy upper middle class. Scholarships and the simple Privilege of the Rich grant them entry into the renowned Trost State University, and by the begrudging grace of Eren Jaeger, these two end up as roommates.

Author: azxrae

Rating: mature

Pairings: Jean/Armin + other side ships

Chapters:6/28

Warnings: read tags on ao3

Read here

check out the first chapter below:

FRIDAY, JUNE 9TH: 3:19PM

Eren Jaeger peered at his best friend. Across from him, a rather distracted blonde was all but inhaling his steak burrito bowl. Delicate features wrought into what was presumed as bliss.

“How is it?” he asked with a grin.

“Mm—” Armin Arlert caught himself when he swallowed, a hand rising to cover his mouth while eyes widened in embarrassment.

“S’good.”

“Just good?” Eren chuckled tauntingly and dropped his own burrito into its basket.

The two had come to Chipotle straight after Eren and his mom picked Armin up from the train station. The blonde asked to eat there out of curiosity; they didn’t have Chipotle in Shiganshina, and he knew it was both Eren and Mikasa’s favorite place to eat. Armin wanted to experience the hype for himself.

That, and he was super hungry; he’d only had a bag of Doritos before the six-hour train ride into the city.

“I’ve never brought anyone here who wasn’t in love,” Eren said matter-of-factly, “It’s like a rite of passage, ‘MIn. You come to Trost, you gotta eat Chipotle at least once.”

Armin fixed the brunet boy with a smile. “It’s yummy. Definitely some quality Mexican cuisine.”

Speaking with Eren face to face was certainly surreal but in the best way. It was nice not having to rely on a Skype call to get his attention for once. And those letters were always a hassle to keep exchanging. Of course, packed away in one of his moving boxes was a New Balance shoebox filled to the brim with each one he’d received from Eren, as well as Mikasa. Keeping the letters was mostly for sentimental value though; reading them over would’ve undoubtedly sent Armin right into depression.

He pushed his fork through his burrito bowl, trying to even-out the lettuce piled at the top.

“Hey, Eren?”

“Mm?”

Eren paused mid-chew. Beneath the table, the blonde poked Eren’s calf with the tip of his shoe.

“I really missed you… that’s all.”

The green-eyed boy’s gaze had softened. Clearly, he’d not expected Armin to get all emotional on him. But it was well-received – or at least it appeared that way by Eren’s smile growing and him poking right back under the table.

“Aww, come on. You know I missed you too, ‘Min.” He reached across the table to give his hand a squeeze.

Armin was happy, but his bliss wasn’t what it could be, not when he had yet to reunite with the third of their trio. Mikasa was currently attending a dance camp another town over and wouldn’t be back until the end of the month. It was, to say the very least, unfortunate. Armin’s impatience to see her was becoming a nagging ache.

“I just wish Mikasa could be here…” The blonde puffed his cheeks out. “Feels incomplete without her, doesn’t it?”

Eren agreed with a nod. He tapped his phone’s screen and peeked down at the date. “But hey, only sixteen more days. And then ErenMikArmin will be back at it again.”

It was visibly difficult for Armin to keep his laughter in. Evidentially, Eren was still holding onto that ridiculous nickname he’d created for them in middle school. The blonde shook his head and rested his cheek on his palm, grinning.

“You’re the only one who calls us that for a reason, you dork.”

Eren’s lips turned into a grin of his own. He’d started to retort to Armin’s comment, but a call to his left promptly claimed his attention.

“Yo! You on a date, Jaeger?”

Armin blinked at the unfamiliar voice. He looked over and up, meeting the questioning stare of a pair hazel-brown eyes – that belonged to a rather attractive boy if he should say so himself. This mystery boy had a smirk wiped over his lips, one that seemed to rouse irritation in Eren because he hopped from the stool the instant he noticed his presence.

The unnamed youth stood only an inch or two taller than Eren. He had dusty brown hair and a long face that one might compare to a horse if they were fishing for insults. But Armin thought he was handsome. Really handsome. He was clad in a pair of Adidas shorts and a muscle tee of the same brand. ‘Did he just come from working out?’ His limbs were thin, muscled and hung lean against his lanky build. Everything about his appearance was long.

“Fuck off, Jean. No.” Eren growled at the other male. “Did you forget my best friend was moving here in June? This is Armin.” He gestured to Armin with his hands.

This “Jean” character raised those perfectly-arched eyebrows – one of which had a barbell pierced into it – and tilted his head. “Oh yeah, Armin! That friend you and Mikasa talk about nonstop.”

There were faint hints of what was presumed as a French accent in Jean’s speech pattern, which was interesting.

Eren rolled his eyes. “He’s right here, dumbass.”

Armin dabbed the corner of his lips with his napkin. He swung his stool around to face Jean and held out a small hand.

“Hello…. Jean, is it?” He smiled, hoping he wouldn’t notice just how shy he felt. “I’m Armin.”

The grin Jean wore broadened as he grasped Armin’s hand. Armin expected a callous feel but was instead greeted with soft, smooth skin. He noted the designer clothing he was wearing and suppressed a snort. ‘I bet he’s never worked a day in his life.’

“That’s me. Sorry, I was kinda rude, but it’s nice to finally meet you, Armin.”

Armin didn’t understand why he was suddenly so enamored by a complete stranger, but he was, and as he sipped his Cherry Coke, the boy felt his smile growing.

“You too.” He drummed his fingers on the side of his cup. “So, um, I’m amusing you’re French?”

Jean nodded. “Oui. Je m’appelle Jean Kirschstein,” he said it with a smirk, “My grandfather on my dad’s side is German, though. S’where the last name came from.”

“I highly doubt he cares about your lineage, Horse Face.” Eren clapped a protective hand on Armin’s shoulder, and the blonde playfully stuck his tongue out while biting back a giggle at the nickname.

“That’s for me to decide,” Armin said, “And I decide I care.”

Jean’s expression was triumphant as he peered at Eren. “As you should. Eren mentioned you’re staying here permanently, right? That means we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.”

Armin brought his drink up for a sip. He tried to put Eren’s scowl to the back of his mind, but it was difficult. The curiosity surrounding why he seemed to so intensely dislike him was there. But, knowing Eren, and with the bit of information he’d gathered about Jean, he couldn’t help but think it was something stupid.

“Maybe...” He cleared his throat and spoke up, “Maybe a lot more if... Well, are you going to be at Trost U in the fall?" Jean had done well at making him feel comfortable enough to be more social. It was similar to the buzz a person got after having a drink at a party full of strangers.

“Ay, just so happens I am!” The words left him enthusiastically.

“Really?” Amin lifted his head. “What’s your major?”

“Studio art. Yours?”

“Astrophysics.”

Jean whistled, clearly impressed. “Astro—? So, like, you wanna be an astronaut or what?”

“Um, no…” Armin shook his head, the corners of his mouth rising into a small grin. “I’d really like to just… study the cosmos and, in a perfect world, write books for NASA.”

The taller male was blatantly awestruck. “Cosmos? Sorry, I pretty much slept through astronomy in tenth grade.” He let out a sheepish chuckle. Armin didn’t understand how anyone could sleep through a science course (or any course, for that matter), but he didn’t speak on it. It would undoubtedly make him sound like a nerd. And, for some reason, he wanted to leave the best impression possible on Jean Kirschstein.

“It’s the universe, you idiot.” Eren returned to his seat and took another bite into his burrito.

“Eren, not everyone knows scientific terms...” Armin sighed.

“Yeah, Eren.” Jean punctuated the second syllable of his name. “No need to be a condescending ass.” When he looked back to Armin, his expression softened notably. “Armin, I’d love to talk to you about space one day. Though, it’d mostly be an info session since I don’t know much aside from the name of the planets.”

“Careful, Jean,” Eren warned, chuckling as he looked straight at Armin, “Armin might just take you up on that and talk your ear off. I know from experience.”

“Oh, hush.” Armin kicked the brunet’s shin under the table. “Don’t pretend like you don’t know a whole lot more about what goes on outside of our galaxy because of me.”

Eren didn’t even pretend the impact of Armin’s shoe hurt him. “You’re just proving my point, ‘Min. Once you get started about space, there’s no stopping you.”

“I don’t think I’d mind.” Jean leaned against the wall and crossed his foot over his ankle. “Yo, Eren, you bringin’ him to Karaoke Night?”

Armin’s attention piqued. He looked between the two boys questioningly.

“…Karaoke Night?”

“Yeah. Next Saturday. Our friends rented out a room at this sick karaoke bar downtown,” Jean informed him, “It’s a noraebang. A Korean karaoke joint. You should come since you’re gonna be going to uni with us. A friend of Eren and Mikasa’s is definitely a friend of ours.”

A sense of warmth settled in Armin’s chest at his words. Friends. He’d never really had many of those. Only Eren and Mikasa, and when they moved away Armin was, for the most part, alone. Sure he had his school peers, but he wouldn’t consider them actual friends. When it came down to it Armin spent a great deal of those years on his own. He never complained though. He always had his books and his grandpa, and that had been enough to sustain him.

Until now, at least.

“I’ll bring him.” Eren’s words brought Armin back. “Just so happens Armin's got an amazing singing voice.” The tanned boy shot his friend a smile, to which Armin blushed.

“Hey... don’t exaggerate."

Jean took a step forward when the line moved, but remained a close enough distance where he could keep his voice at a leveled volume.

“It’s a damn shame Mikasa’s still in Yalkell.”

“Dude.” Eren rolled his eyes at Jean for the second time that afternoon. “Let go of that crush already. As her brother, I can tell you she’s not interested.”

‘Crush?’ Armin’s eyes widened slightly, and he couldn’t help but feel a bit… well, actually, he didn’t know what he was feeling. He knew it wasn’t difficult to develop a crush on Mikasa, considering her appearance, and the fact that she was well…. Mikasa. Armin poked his tongue to his inner cheek.

‘I wonder… does that mean Jean’s interested in women? Exclusively?’

“Shut up, Jaeger,” Jean growled at him, “You know I left that shit behind ages ago. I was just saying, ‘cause she’ll miss Karaoke Night and it’s Squad tradition.”

“You guys… are in a squad?” Armin cocked an eyebrow in faint amusement.

“Yep.” Jean seemed proud to bestow this knowledge on him. “Consists of me, my best friend, his girlfriend, Eren, Mikasa and this little blond girl that looks freakishly like your female doppelganger.”

Eren nodded with a chuckle and surveyed Armin’s appearance. “Kris does look a lot like you, Armin. It’s actually weird.”

Armin took the final sips of his cola, huffing softly when he realized it was empty. He decided to focus on eating for the moment. He didn’t want his food to get cold. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jean push himself from the wall.

“Can I… ask where you’re staying, Armin? It’s kinda important.”

‘Why would my living arrangements be important to him?’ Both confused and curious, Armin licked away some lettuce from the corner of his mouth.

“Um…well, currently, I’m staying with Eren. But it’s temporary. I’d like to start renting a place in the student-housing district pretty soon,” Armin informed in his soft voice, waiting for Jean to elaborate on why he’d asked.

“Oh yeah?” The handsome boy inclined closer, interested. “That’s awesome news, because—”

“No.” Eren’s head whipped around instantly. “Don’t even suggest it.” He sent Jean a sub-zero glare, just as Armin’s brows raised in curiosity.

“Suggest what?” He blinked.

Jean crossed his arms and his lips fell into a smirk. The Apple smartwatch on his wrist lit up but he ignored it in favor of speaking to the boys before him.

“My best friend and I have been searching for a roommate.” His eyes were on Eren as he spoke. “We’ve got a pretty nice spread, and the rent’s hella cheap ‘cause it’s near campus.”

Armin could feel Eren’s hands grab his own, and he heard the growl he emitted, but he couldn’t help but consider it. It would be ideal to live with the Jaegers, but Armin was too prideful to lean on them any more than he already had. Being self-sufficient was more important to him than anything else. He would not allow himself to be a burden.

“Wow, I’ll admit that sounds—”

“It sounds awful,” Eren cut in. “You’re not… really considering it, are you?” He looked to the blonde with pleading eyes.

Armin groaned, but he wouldn’t deny he looked horrendously adorable pouting at him like that.

“Eren…” He spoke sternly, but was sure to disarm him by taking larger hands in his own. “This is exactly what I’ve been looking for, and you know it. All that work I put in last year wasn’t for nothing. I’ve already saved up enough for a few months’ rent and I have a job. It’d be a good idea to put my finances towards something productive.” It had always pleased him to speak of things he knew would ultimately progress him in life.

Jean whistled again. “Sounds like you’ve got it made, Armin.” A taupe gaze shifted to Eren then. “I think he should at least come look at the place. It wouldn’t hurt.”

Truthfully, Armin was considering doing so whether Eren approved or not. His opinion mattered of course, but the boy was fully capable of making decisions for himself. As Jean had said, exploring his options couldn’t hurt.

“Jean, tell me more about the apartment, please.” Expectant eyes lifted to the taller male.

Jean beamed, though he did seem hesitant when he stole another glance to his smartwatch. “How about you give me your number instead?”

The suggestion was unapologetically bold. Armin was stunned. He saw Eren grimacing out of the corner of his eye.

“I mean so I can text you and give you the details,” he elaborated, a sigh escaping after he said it. “I don’t think I can chat much longer, as much as I’d like to. Connie – that’s my best friend and your maybe-future-roommate too – very explicitly said he wants burrito waiting for him when he gets off work. He’s been texting me nonstop to make sure I don’t forget.” Jean looked up at the ceiling for a short while and then flicked his eyes back to Armin.

“It’s weird, but for some reason, I’ve got a good feeling about you, Armin,” He said, smiling faintly, “We could FaceTime. And maybe I could give you a virtual tour?” Jean looked hopeful. Strangely, Armin found it to be kind of cute. He sunk his teeth into his lip and decided to focus instead on what his new acquaintance had said. A proposal for a new apartment on his first day in Trost. What were the odds? Honestly, it seemed a bit too good to be true, and Armin had always been rather pessimistic, (according to Eren at least – he’d just called it realism), but he supposed, for now, he’d go along with it. He could see no better choice but to do so, anyway.

Wordlessly nodding, he watched Jean retrieve his iPhone, unlocking the screen with his thumb. Armin quickly did the same and they exchanged mobiles.

“I can’t believe this,” Eren was saying as Armin’s phone chirped with a new text just an instant later. “You do realize he’s a fucking douche, don’t you?”

Armin huffed and looked down at the message. He punched in his contact as “Jean”, deciding he’d personalize it with an emoji when he got to know him a little better.

The taller boy seemed exasperated by Eren’s so very apparent repulsion at their exchange. Armin pocketed his phone and pushed his food across the table, walking around to sit next to him. He rubbed his arm gently.g

“I should probably go.” Jean stared at Eren momentarily, then he shot Armin another, smaller smile. “Nice meeting you Armin.” He began to walk backward towards the line, which had grown significantly shorter. “See y’all around.”

Eren waved his hand, and Armin returned the smile with an even brighter one.

“Bye Jean!”

Jean waved back before jogging off to order his food. When the smaller male turned back, Eren was staring at him with this smug, knowing look in his eyes.

“…What?”

“I saw that, Armin.”

Armin was confused. “Saw what?”

Eren reached behind him and held his nape, drawing him in so their foreheads were nearly touching. “You were giving that bastard googly eyes the entire fucking time.” He spoke in a low murmur.

“W-What?!” Armin practically squeaked and jerked backward, then remembered where they were and settled for a fierce whisper. “I was not!”

“You so were.” Eren’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “You like him? Is that why you wanna room with him?”

Armin pushed his bangs out of his eyes, staring at his friend in disbelief. “No, I don’t like him. I just met him like fifteen minutes ago!”

That God-forsaken look persisted on Eren’s face, though. He swigged his Nantucket Nectar then returned his attention to Armin. “Do you at least…. think he’s cute?”

That was when Armin stopped short. He rested his elbows on the metal surface of the table, sinking his head into his palms dramatically. He really hoped that Jean hadn’t somehow acquired a superhuman hearing ability and was able to hear him from the other side of the restaurant.

“Maybe a little."

Eren scoffed, though he didn’t seem too surprised by this knowledge. “I really don't get that," he sighed, “How the hell can anyone find Jean Kirschstein cute?”

Armin was digging through what remained of his burrito bowl, avoiding eye contact with that intense, marble-eyed stare.

“From what I’ve seen, he seems to be… nice.”

Eren rolled his eyes. "That's just 'cause he has yet to rub his dickery all over you."

Armin curved his brow upward. “Why do you hate him so much?”

Eren shrugged. “I don’t… hate him. I’ve known him since I moved here and he’s in my circle of friends. Guess our personalities just clash sometimes.” He bit his lip. “Most of it's just playful bantering. It’s what we’re used to, I guess.”

“Oh.” Armin nodded thoughtfully. For a while, they finished up their food in silence. Armin reached into the shared bag of chips and dipped one into the guacamole.

“Yo, 'Min."

He looked over at Eren curiously. “What’s up?”

The other boy leaned in a bit closer to him. His voice had grown quiet again. “If… if you do become his roommate,” He looked almost shy then – which was certainly a cute look on him. Armin bit back a smile.

“—you won’t start to like that bastard more than me, will you?”

The blonde blinked at the question. The notion of him liking anyone more than Eren was entirely ridiculous, and he should know that. Armin suddenly felt inclined to smack him upside the head for asking something so stupid.

“You’re seriously asking that?” Armin shook his head, poking lightly to the side of Eren’s cheek. “Don’t be ridiculous, you dummy. You should know by now. You’re the only guy for me.” His tone was playful but the words were deathly serious.

“Good.” Eren was clearly satisfied by the reassurance. He squeezed the boy’s arm gently.

“Let’s hope it stays that way.”

- - -

THURSDAY, JUNE 15TH: 2:45PM

Jean had been right when he said the apartment was nice. It had sufficient space, with three moderately-sized bedrooms as well as a living area, and an open kitchen with an island-bar to serve as a dining space. There was one bathroom at the very back of the apartment. Compared to a place not so close to campus, the rent was cheap. But it was definitely on the luxurious end of things.

Of course, the decision to live there was made quickly. After all the paperwork was finalized, Armin began moving his stuff in. The lot of his things that he didn’t immediately need was kept in the Jaegers’ storage, though, so the process seemed to breeze by. Armin wouldn’t deny he enjoyed spending time with Jean and Connie whenever they were hanging around the apartment.

It was all so surreal to Armin, and the feeling hadn’t worn off, not even on the following Thursday when Armin gripped his brand new key (wrapped in a Trost University holder) and fitted it into the lock of Room 305.

He paused when a hand touched his shoulder.

“Y’know, It’s not too late to change your mind and come live with me instead,” Eren said. The seriousness of his tone provoked the softest of laughs from Armin. Of course, he’d make such an offer when Armin’s mind was already completely made up.

“It actually kinda is.” He turned to smile apologetically at the other boy. He’d admit it was endearing how clingy he was to him, but Eren had to know this would be good for him. Armin had always craved a life where he relied minimally on the support of other people. Renting an apartment – even if he currently was sharing it with two guys – was a start along that path.

“But hey,” Armin looked up at him, “We can still see each other at school. And work. Remember that.”

Eren grumbled, but it was the truth. After his graduation Eren had been in dire need of a job, so his friend found work for him waiting tables at Olive Garden, a job Armin had for several months before he moved to Trost and was relocated.

“School doesn’t start until the end of August.” Eren pouted slightly. “That’s like a whole two months of not constantly being in each other’s presence.”

“We managed it before,” Armin reminded. He closed his eyes at the memory of those years spent without his best friends. He couldn’t be more thankful that they were going to the same university in the fall, honestly; there was so much lost time that had to be made up for.

“I don’t know how we did.” Eren took the liberty of opening the door while Armin swallowed down his anxiety. His eyes were immediately drawn to the side of the den, where Jean stood at his easel. His back faced them and he was singing rather loudly to some grunge song blaring from the kitchen.

“Yo Horse Face! Stop being a tool for a second, will ya?” Eren rolled his eyes and walked in front of Armin, tossing the overnight bag he’d been holding at the couch. The noise made Jean jump and spin around, nearly dropping his pallet in the process. He narrowed his eyes.

“Mother fuck— you’re early.” Sitting his art utensils on the stool, he wiped his hands on his smock and strode over.

“I definitely was not expecting you to bring him, Armin.”

“I needed an extra hand. Couldn’t lug all this stuff over here by myself.” Armin smiled and surveyed the perimeter of the room. He set his bag of pillows down in front of him.

“You’re here alone?”

“Yeah.” Jean looked down at his pillows, then back at Armin’s face. “Connie went grocery shopping.”

Eren laughed and leaned on the arm of the couch. “Connie went grocery shopping?”

“By that I mean he went to go restock our ramen supply."

“Sounds more like him.”

The guy in question, Connie Springer, was their third roommate and also Jean’s best friend. Armin always thought he was short for his age – being the smallest in his graduating class and practically dwarfed next to Eren – but when he met Connie he was stunned. He could see why he was close to Jean though; they were both ridiculously dorky but in the most endearing way. That and he was really nice. Something told him he was the one that kept Jean in check most of the time.

The blonde ran a hand through his hair and joined Eren on the couch. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?” He nudged him lightly with his thigh.

“Are you kicking me out, ‘Min?” Eren feigned a sob, his legs kicking up on the coffee table. “I’m hurt.”

Jean scowled at him. “This isn’t your house, Jaeger.”

“It’s not yours either, Kirschstein,” Eren said matter-of-factly, a small chuckle following. “It’s the landlord’s.”

“Aunt Carla said she wanted you back before three.” The softness left Armin’s voice, and he looked at his friend sternly. “You do remember that, right?”

“Mommy setting a curfew for you now?” Jean walked back to his easel and picked up his pallet to check if any paints had dried out.

“Fuck off, you bastard,” Eren hissed, “There are relatives over and she wants me there.”

Armin hoisted him by the arm and they stood together. “Go home, Eren.” He walked behind him, lightly pushing him towards the door. “I don’t want your mom flipping out at you.”

Eren turned to him and sighed beneath his words. “Fine, fine. I’ll leave. But if Jean does anything shady call me. I’ll be over like that.” He snapped his fingers on the last word to emphasize just how serious he was.

“Everything will be fine. Promise.” Armin smiled reassuringly at his friend and patted his arm. His eyelids fell when Eren began messing his hair, then he very lightly kissed his temple.

“I’ll see you at work tomorrow, okay?” The blonde’s eyes opened again after a pause.

“Sure thing, Armin.” Eren poked the tip of his nose, not bothering to say anything to Jean as he left the apartment. Once he was gone Jean sighed dramatically and returned his attention to his easel.

“Good fuckin’ riddance.”

Armin only smiled at that. He knew Jean and Eren thought fondly of each other, despite the constant verbal abuse. That much was made clear when he looked at the pinboard of Polaroids posted above the TV. At the center was a photo of Jean, Connie and Eren that he presumed was taken a few weeks before at their graduation. Eren was in the middle and Jean and Connie both had their arms draped over his shoulders. All three of them had wide smiles painted over their lips. Armin thought it was adorable, but it did make him kind of sad. He’d graduated early so he never got to experience anything like that; all he’d gotten was his diploma in the mail and a congratulatory letter from the principal.

Armin sighed at the memory. It was in the past, so there wasn’t a need to dwell on it. He walked back from the door and crossed the room to stand a few feet away from Jean.

“What are you painting?”

The taller youth smiled, though his eyes remained on his work. “My parents’ anniversary is coming up. They spent their honeymoon in Venice so… I’m painting a Venetian cityscape.” he told him, “Y’know how there are those canals running between the buildings there? The hotel they stayed at was like that. I’m trying to recreate it for them.”

Armin craned to see the painting and was impressed. Jean’s artistic talent was far beyond his expectations. There was so much detail, and the portion of it that was painted was so vibrant. For that moment, Armin couldn’t take his eyes away. He admired it with a silent smile.

“Also,” he continued, “peonies are my mom’s favorite flower so, in front of one of the buildings, there’s a pot of those. See?” He pointed to the little flower pot with the tip of a long finger. Armin’s eye followed.

“Jean, this is amazing,” the blonde commended excitedly. “You’re so talented! And this gift… it’s so thoughtful! Your parents will love it for sure.”

Jean wordlessly eyed the piece. "You think?"

"Yes, I think," Armin said, nodding earnestly.

Jean snapped his pallet shut and dropped his paintbrush into a cup of water.

“Thanks, Armin. It really means a lot to hear that.” His tone was sheepish as he untied his smock and pulled it off his body. "Yo really have no idea."

The blonde’s smile grew a fraction. “You’re very welcome, Jean.”

The taller boy scanned over Armin’s appearance for a second, then met blue eyes.

“So, uh… hey, I… made some iced tea earlier. Do you want some? I need another person’s opinion on the taste and Con’s not here.”

The offer made Armin nod with sudden fervor. Tea was his all-time favorite beverage, hot or cold. He didn’t think there was a time when he wasn’t in the mood to drink it, truly.

“I’d love to have some.” He tucked some hair behind a pierced ear. “Tea is, like, my favorite thing to drink ever.”

Jean peered down at him, chuckling. “Well damn. Armin. Now your opinion's gonna be biased.” He walked past him into the kitchen. Armin instinctively followed.

“I promise it won’t be!” he said while plopping onto a stool at the island counter. When Jean turned to him, Armin’s eyes held unwavering intensity. The idea of not having the tea wasn’t something he was willing to accept.

Jean chuckle grew into a broad laughter. “Shit… don’t look at me like that. I wasn’t gonna deprive you.” The assurance came gently. Armin observed him approach the fridge and produce a plastic pitcher when he opened the door. The taller boy had a tiny smile on his lips whilst pouring the darkened liquid into a glass he’d acquired from the cupboard.

“Here you are, my good sir.” Jean slid the tea over to him.

“Thank you.” Armin smiled and lifted the cup to his mouth. As he sipped it, he let his mind wander, and found himself thinking of Eren’s actions before he left. He knew his friend had a tendency to get overprotective, so the wariness wasn’t unlike him. Armin wondered if it was warranted, though. Something was telling him he’d get along living with Jean and Connie just fine, and he was an excellent judge of character.

But he knew there was something that could pose a problem if he let it. Jean happened to be the hottest guy he’d seen in a while. That was, to say the least, unnerving. Armin would just have to be thankful repression was one of his greatest talents. It was a sad thought, he knew, but there was no way someone so filthy was deserving of anyone.

Armin stared into his glass, hoping his features remained composed despite where his mind had gone. The blonde took another sip of tea to calm himself, suddenly remembering why he was drinking it in the first place.

“This tea is delicious, Jean,” the boy complimented, sending him a smile when he looked up. “It’s not too sweet or too bitter. It’s just right.”

At that, Jean looked something akin to a dog who’d just been told they did something right and received a treat for it.

“Yeah?” He grinned. “I’m glad you think so, Armin.”

‘He’s cute.’ It was becoming apparent that Armin wasn’t doing as well at controlling his thoughts as he’d like, but saying those things within the protection of his mind... That was okay. That had to be okay.

‘I’m completely allowed to think something harmless like that.’ The blonde rested his cheek on his fist and sighed to himself.

Jean seemed oblivious to the goings-on of Armin’s mind, which was fortunate. He smiled at him and poured a glass of tea for himself.

“So hey, after this, would’dja like some help unpacking?” he asked. “Pretty sure I’ve got an empty storage bin that’s perfect for under-the-bed space somewhere around here...” Jean lifted his tea up to his lips. “You can use if you like.”

Armin was prepared to deny the help even though he knew he needed it, but he made himself stop. The honesty of Jean’s smile was a little unsettling, as was how fixated the blonde suddenly became on watching the bob of his Adam’s apple whilst he swallowed his tea.

‘I really need to chillax. I’m not some rabid animal...’ Armin tore his eyes away. He remembered reading somewhere that victims of… what he went through often acted out in terms of seeking sexual partners. Armin may not have been doing something as extreme as that, but this effect Jean was having on him at such an early stage was definitely something to worry about.

“Yeah, sure thing,” he said despite the minor inner turmoil. He put on his most convincing smile and downed the remainder of his tea.

Jean beamed. “Awesome!” He too finished off his tea and carried both their cups to rinse in the sink. He was placing them in the dishwasher when Armin moved to grab his belongings from the living room, then together they exited the space and made for Armin’s bedroom at the very front of the hall.

#jearmin #armin arlert #jean kirschstein #snk #shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan

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zoetekohana · 7 years ago

Text

I finally watched “Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Out of the Shadows” and I wrote down all my reactions:

Here it goes... COWABUNGA MY TURTLE DUDES.

Ooooh I love the use of ninja throwing stars for the Paramount stars.

I’m also digging the music.

TURTLE FORMATION

Omg, Mickey, no squirrel formation. (I don’t want to see those creepy squirrels from the 2012 series.)

Honestly, even though the plot of the 2014 film wasn’t great (hopefully this one will be better), they had the personalities down to a tee, and it’s great to see that’s still the case.

The way they depict the sibling relationship between Leo, Raph, Donnie and Mickey is so awesome to watch. Not to forget: the fact that they actually act like teenagers is such a plus.

Case in point: Donnie repeatedly telling Raph to “do it do it do it do it do it [the shellskateboarding thing]”. I love it.

Hahahaah, Kevin the pizza guy. Such a nice Kevin Eastmann cameo!

Donnie: “When I say Knicks you say Go.” I’m reminded of the failed “When I say Vol you say Tron.” speech. But at least the bros got it right.

Vern The Falcon? Oh no....

Hahaha, shooting the little spit balls at Vern and then mimicking his falcon. See, such teenagers.

APRIL IS CALLING DONNIE.

I REPEAT APRIL IS CALLING DONNIE.

Yes, I ship them. Shush.

Also, that blonde wig + glasses look really good on Megan Fox?

Baxter Stockmann... He’d go with a FLY FORMATION.

Donnie to April: “Do you need us there?” Awwww.

April to Donnie: “That birthday present that you made for me?” AWWW.

Yes, April, explain Baxter the difference between geek and nerd.

Omg, Baxter, that laugh.

Ofc there needs to be some Megan Fox fanservice... /eyeroll (She was pretty badass going undercover, but still that was unnecessary.)

HAHAHA I LOVE THE DONNIE SMILEY FACE ON HER WATCH WHEN THE DOWNLOAD OF THE FILES IS COMPLETE!

Oh no, the pizza slice on the basketball court....

Poor Mikey, he just want to “LIVE UP THERRRREEE. Up there where flowers bloom.” (And now I have that South Park song stuck in my head.)

Also, a Transformers reference, really?

Wait;;; How are the copied files on April’s watch being deleted? She downloaded them? She wasn’t streaming them....

But good on her for discovering that Baxter is working with Shredder (where did that hunch come from though?) and that he + the Foot Clan plan on breaking him out when he’s being transferred.

Casey Jones as a law enforcer? That’s new?

Ngl, I don’t really like that detail. It doesn’t suit him.

BEBOP AND ROCKSTEADY!!!!! :D

It’s not a Michael Bay production without car explosions. /eyeroll (again)

Also, NYC believes that Vern stopped the Shredder. Why didn’t the NY police ask him to accompany this super important transfer?

Hahaha, that tmnt theme’d honk. I LOVE.

Great updates on the Turtle Shell, Donnie.

Raph when taking out the last of three foot bikers: “That’s how I roll. That’s how you roll.”

Why didn’t Raph stay on the bike? He could cover more ground that way.

Soooo, Baxter knows of the Turtles.

I love how personalised the Turtle Shell is.

Hi there, Krang!

So, lemme get this straight: Krang needs the three teleport devices he sent to Earth to join them into an arch capacitor to teleport the Technodrome to Earth to conquer it. But he was able to teleport Shredder to where he was. Something does not add up there...

So many plotholes.

But whatever, I’m still enjoying this. :)

Donnie and April make such a great team.

But how is she going to get to the TCRI’s mainframe? (Also, how is she going undercover everywhere? Isn’t she recognised as a television reporter?)

Chief: “Manhole covers?”

That was some nice exposition on Jones wanting to become a detective. Like really? It was so odd to tell your superior who’s clearly mad at you that.

The casting for Bebop and Rocksteady is so spot on.

It’s still weird not to have the Shredder vs Splinter backstory. It feels like Splinter is just there now? He’s more important than that. :(

Is that barkeep the Vulture from b99?

Quickly looked it up, yep, that’s Dean Winters. :D

It’s not a Turtles movie without some Vanilla Ice. ;)

Reporter thing aside... Why go on this important undercover mission on high heels? Everyone can hear you. That’s not stealthy there, April.

I get that the purple ooze is different (iirc from the 1987 series) - although I’m not a fan of a different kind of mutagen -, but why not mention the green ooze? They have the green mutagen from the previous film that mutated the Turtles and Splinter? Or am I completely remembering the 2014 film wrong?

Also, how did Shredder shoot two darts into two different directions?

Yes, that gun has two barrels, but he shot both darts practically at the same time?

Also, how are they mutating into a warthog and a rhinoceros without the DNA from those animals?

The way they transformed, that sequence, was pretty cool, though.

Hmm, so we all have a dormant animal gen. It’s an explanation for not needing the animal DNA, I guess.

YES TO HBIC APRIL O’NEIL!

So Casey wants to be a detective, but then suits up as the Hockey Vigilante we know and love. That really doesn’t make much sense.

April to Casey: “Stacey Moans?”

Stacey’s mom has got it going on.... And now I’ve got that song stuck in my head, haha.

Amell physically makes a good Casey Jones. But I’m sorry to say, he’s so stiff and mainly has two faces: this :| or this :D. I’m not a big fan of this casting. I’m okay with it, but idk. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

And Koteas is forever my favourite Casey Jones.

Casey to the turtles: “Do not eat us humans.” Are we really going with that joke?

I love Mickey’s introduction of the Turtles to Casey. :D

DONNIE’S POSE . <3

Haha, Mikey and Raph keeping Casey out of the huddle.

Leo about Casey: “Raph, grab Friday the 13th.” Great reference.

Casey: “And have the most pretentious names ever.”

”Is it me you’re looking for?” ♫ Omg, Splinter listening to pop ballads. I love. xD

Of course Donnie could turn the ooze so they could become humans.

Don’t keep secrets from your brothers, Leo.

Awww, Mickey. The one who wants to be among humans the most. :(

A Turtle Christmas album?? I WANT!

Leo: “There’s only one vote that counts in this family: Mine!” Harsh, bro.

Awww, ofc Donnie loves museums. :)

Casey to Vern: “See you there.” Mikey to Vern: “See you there.” Vern: “He already said that.” That made me laugh more than it should have.

I love how Leo and Donnie are riding the subway like that.

They’re not monsters. :’(

I want to give Mickey a big hug.

Leo to Splinter: “I can’t get them all on the same page, to think with one mind.” Splinter to Leo: “You shouldn’t want them all to think the same. It’s their different points-of-view that makes the team strong. A good leader understands this. A good brother accepts it.” I love this.

Seriously, the personalities and the interactions are so on point.

Where did Beebs and Rock get a tank???

So many fistbumps in this film, omg.

I forgot to mention this before, but I like that Donnie isn’t as muscle-y as the others. I do like these different personal designs.

Also, Donnie easily jumping to go to the other plane. That was great.

Raph: “What would Vin Diesel do? No regrets, no fear.” Hahahaha.

Whoa, really, shooting from a tank inside a plan? “Dude seriously” is the right reaction.

Also, how is Donnie able to stay inside that open cockpit???

Lbr, Donnie is the mvp in this film.

“THIS PIG IS FLYING!” Hahahahahaha.

Raph seeing that turtle. A reference to Spike, maybe? :D

Okay, that entire river sequence was AWESOME!!!

I wouldn’t change one things about it: from seeing the turtles swim under water, to Raph saving Donnie from the tank missile, to the four of them hiding in their shell (along with that “ploemp” sound effect) when going down the water fall.

Leo (sarcastically): “Thanks, guys. Real time effort.” Wow, way to be a dick there. :/

”Justice comes in all shapes and sizes.” That explains Casey Jones suiting up in his hockey vigilante get-up, I guess. But idk, that little plot could have been written better.

Come on, Vern, you can step up. :)

Oh no, Vern missing the obvious there with the location of the data storage of that hidden camera. hashtag relatable

Leo: “We may be brothers, but we’re not a team.” That hurts....

But that portal technically isn’t your science, Baxter, it’s Krang’s. The names you mentioned might become footnotes, but so would you.

Donnie gathered all that information rather quickly? Unbelievable quickly?

But again, he’s the mvp!

I love that old video console on Donnie’s wrist.

They’re turtles forever. :)

I really thought Shredder was going to say that Baxter would always the same, aka “a fly on the wall” instead of “a footnote”.

Vern: “When something bad happens, you want to be with the turtles.” That is true.

Haha, oh u Shredder. You betrayed Baxter to have all the glory, but you didn’t consider Krang would betray you?

KRANG DOESN’T SHARE FOOD.

Oh, I noticed that Triceration next to Shredder! :D

Wow, Jade spoke for once. :o

I like the way the police protected the Turtles from being seen by the public.

Raph: “SURF’S UP, NY!”

Again with the heels, O’Neil?

I love that shot with the four turtles standing on the edge of the almost finished Technodrome.

Mikey calling Krang “a chewed up piece of gum” and then Leo continuing with “Bubblicious”, haha.

Mickey: “I’m vertical.”

Mickey is the second mvp this film.

I really really love that Donnie and Mickey get most screentime this film.

Great how Casey tricked Beebs and Rock like that. :)

TEAM EFFORT, BB!

Leo: “We got something nobody else has.” Leo, Donnie and Mickey: “Turtle power!” while Raph: “Garbage truck!” Hahahaha.

But seriously: TURTLE POWER!

Finally, April being a reporter again.

Chief to the turtles: “Last name?” Hamato immediately came to mind, tbh.

Some Capril flirting. ;)

HEROES IN A HALF SHELL! ♫

I love the comic style in the end credits.

But see: Splinter’s actor isn’t even mentioned in the special part of the end credits. He deserves better and more.

All in all, despite its flaws (too many expositions or Krang being the main villain with hardly any screentime f.e.), I really enjoyed watching this. It’s so much better than the 2014 one.

(I do hope for actual one on one friendship between Donnie and Mickey next time, though. I love the turtles most together, but separate friendships I love them the most.) (And on that note: Where was my Raph&Casey romance friendship?)

#teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt #tmnt out of the shadows #tmnt 2016 #apritello #capril #zoe liveblogs #zoe liveblogs tmnt #i'm so incredibly late watching this i know #unfortunately i didn't get to see this one at the cinema #unlike with the 2014 film #when my stepsis and i got the entire room to ourselves #that was so awesome!#but i'm finally watching it now #because i've been working hard the past couple of days and dealing with a lot of irl stuff #so tonight i'm going to relax by finally watching this #and liveblogging as i watch it

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h-styles-babes · 8 years ago

Text

No Control | Chapter Nine

Summary:

Micky Bennett: college student, loyal friend, aspiring nurse, One Direction fan, Harry Styles enthusiast. Her best friend, Trevor, wins tickets to a show in New Jersey with meet and greet passes. Micky expects a quick photo op with the boys and a great night at the concert with her best friend. What she gets a whole lot more than she bargained for.

To read previous chapters, you can go here.

*Feel free to reblog and send feedback. It’s much appreciated :)*

*Gif is not mine.*

NINE

Since we’re only a few blocks from Central Park, the boys make a group decision to head there first, which gives me time to drink my coffee. Harry is still being cautious—which I totally understand—so I stand between him and Niall as we walk around, chatting and enjoying the nice weather. We stick to a paved path as the other boys quiz me, which is much more comfortable for me when they’re sober and Harry is present.

I get asked the typical questions: What am I doing in America? What am I studying? What do I plan to do when I’ve graduated? Where am I from? What’s my family like? What’s with my name? They all are properly astounded when I admit that my parents are hippies and my brother and I are named after famous musicians of the time period.

The boys talk and joke about like any normal twenty-somethings would, which I’m more than happy to experience. If you didn’t know who they were, you’d have no idea that they make up the most popular boyband in the whole world. Aside from the security that assures no one tries to do anything crazy where the boys are concerned, there’s nothing about the four of them that indicates they’re anything other than normal young men.

As we walk, they all excitedly recall stories about their time on tour so far, including me in their conversation. I can’t stop laughing at some of the antics they get into on stage. The stories of their falls and tumbles while performing are abundant, as they seem to all be pretty clumsy. Louis seems to be the only one that hasn’t taken multiple spills.

We stumble upon one of the many playgrounds throughout the park, and there are quite a few children running around and enjoying themselves. Their parents or babysitters sit off to the sidelines, smiling and calling to their children, who seem to all be giggling as they play with one another. All the boys linger, watching the kids play, smiling and waving when a little boy comes up to the fence and waves at them. He’s only about five, so I highly doubt he has any idea who these men are, but he’s excited to see new friends anyway, and the guys look just as excited as he does. I step back and snap a photo on my phone, capturing all their smiles and crinkled eyes.

“You excited for that, mate?” Harry asks Louis, bumping his friend’s shoulder gently with his own. Harry nods his head in the direction of a young family with a baby—probably less than a year old—cuddling on a blanket in the grass, baby propped up on it’s dad’s chest. Why he’s pointing the family out to Louis, I have no idea. I didn’t think Louis was in a serious relationship at the moment.

“Honestly, I can’t wait,” Louis admits, a small, meaningful smile tugging at his lips. “It was a shock at first, but I’m getting more excited.”

It suddenly dawns on me what the boys are talking about. My eyebrows raise on my head and I feel my mouth drop open slightly. The summer months and how busy I’ve been has really cut into the time I spend on social media or watching trash news programs, so I’ve been a bit out of the loop on fandom news.

“You’re gonna be a dad?” I ask, my voice a mix between astonished and excited. I wanna ask who he got pregnant, but I’ll just go home and look it up later if he doesn’t reveal that information himself.

He turns to me and smiles. “Yeah. Beginning of next year.”

“That’s amazing!” I gush, genuinely happy for him since he seems so excited himself. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks, love. We’re looking forward to it. Honestly thought Harry would be the first of us to have a kid.”

“That means he’d actually have to get past his commitment issues,” Liam throws in, snickering.

Harry rolls his eyes. “I do not have commitment issues. I’m a faithful guy.”

“Yeah, you just can’t keep a girlfriend for longer than a couple months. Totally not commitment issues.”

“Fuck you, Liam. I just haven’t found the right girl, yet.”

“Hey, I just realized something!” Niall interjects, turning from the fence to address us all and effectively ending the spat between Harry and Liam.

“What’s up, Ni?” Harry asks.

“Now there’ll be two lads in the group that someone else calls ‘daddy.’”

My mouth drops open in shock, and I cover it with my hand to keep in the laughs that want to come out. Louis and Liam double over in laughter, making wheezing comments about Harry’s kink. Harry glares at his three bandmates, cheeks sucked in where he’s chewing on them. Niall is cackling like I’ve never heard before. Seeing them laughing so hard makes it impossible for me to keep mine in, so I let out a few chuckles and place a comforting hand on Harry’s back in silent support, hoping his anger or embarrassment isn’t too much. Harry just rolls his eyes and begins walking away, the four of us rushing to catch up.

When we finally emerge from the park, it’s to a small crowd of young girls, apparently here on some sort of trip, because they’re with an older woman who’s trying to herd them to their next destination. One of them looks up from their phone and looks directly at the boys. Here eyes widen and her mouth pops open comically. She silently tugs on the shirt hem of the girl next to her. Her friend looks to her and looks where her eyes are trained, a similar expression sprouting on her face when she sees all four boys of One Direction.

The boys notice the attention, so they all smile and walk up to the group, throwing out greetings. The girls are a little stunned, and only mumble responses. The mother or chaperone seems to be the only one able to form a coherent sentence, smiling and asking how the guys are. She obviously knows who they are, but she just shakes their hands and tells them how much her daughters and nieces love them. The girls around her nod in agreement.

“Do you boys mind if we get a picture?” the mother/aunt asks.

“Not at all,” Liam responds, smiling. “Group photo, yeah?”

They nod and all get into a group, the boys weaving there way amongst the five girls. They all seem pretty giddy to be taking a picture with the boys of One Direction, and the older woman moves to take the picture.

“I can take that for you, if you wanna get in the picture with them,” I offer. I’m just standing there pretty uselessly, so I figured I may as well. She thanks me, handing me her phone, and inserts herself into the side. I count off and take a few pictures, making sure there’ll be at least one that turns out alright.

The boys all hug the girls and thank them for the support. The woman comes over to me and I hand her the phone back.

“Thank you so much,” she gushes. “I say the girls are in love with One Direction, but they’ve grown on me, too,” she admits a little bashfully.

I laugh. “That’s alright, they’re lovable guys.” I watch over her shoulder as the boys talk with the girls, who are smiling like they’ve just won the lottery. I guess they have won the celebrity encounter lottery.

The girls say their goodbyes and walk down the street, squealing with each other about what just happened as they pass. I chuckle and imagine I would’ve acted much the same way if I had met One Direction when I was their age.

The guys chat about how nice the girls were as we work our way toward the Guggenheim, since they’ve never been. It’s more centered towards children, but it’s definitely something you should see while you’re in New York. So, I wander alongside the four of them, taking in the attractions and pointing things out to the boys that I find interesting. Obviously, being the science nerd that I am, I find things a lot more spectacular than they do, but they play nice and humor me, humming in acknowledgement as I explain things.

After the museum, we double back and head back the way we came, taking the streets. I suggest the guys go shopping in 5th Avenue while Harry and I go the MoMA, which they agree to. We agree to meet in Times Square to figure out something for lunch in a few hours.

When Harry and I get to the museum, he looks around, sees most of the patrons are older, and grabs onto my hand. I lock our fingers together and smile up at him before letting him lead us to the first exhibit. There’s a room full of van Gogh works that Harry likes and I’m quite partial to, but I can tell he’s excited to get to the Warhol installation by the way he keeps glancing at it on the little pamphlet we got handed when we entered.

We walk through a few modern exhibitions from local artists that are really good. I’m not much into abstract art, but Harry seems to really like it, so I let him mull over a few that he seems to get sucked in by as we walk through. After about fifteen minutes in that room, we finally get to the Andy Warhol room. All his famous photos are up in the walls, including the Campbell’s Soup Can that Harry seems to really love. I really enjoy Warhol, too, so we spend about half an hour in the exhibit. I get particularly hung up on the James Dean piece, and Harry kindly stands beside me, his arm wrapped around my waist.

“He was just so handsome,” I sigh a bit dreamily, I’ll admit. Next to Harry, James Dean is my ultimate celebrity crush. Something about film in the fifties and the enigma that was James Dean is so fascinating to me. It also doesn’t hurt that he was so attractive.

“He really was,” he agrees with a resolute nod. “Shame he isn’t still around. There’s so much I’d want to ask him.”

We stand there for a few moments more, just admiring the artwork, before Harry presses a kiss to the side of my head and we get moving. The boys text Harry and we all agree it’s time to head out to meet up at Times Square. When we get there, we walk around a bit and decide to head to Hard Rock Cafe for lunch. The boys will be able to get a private table, so I’m not worried about running into anybody taking pictures.

The hostess nearly trips over herself getting the boys to a table, even though she works at a pretty famous restaurant in the middle of a popular spot for celebrities. We’re seated in a fairly private corner in the back, and I take a seat between Harry and Niall, Louis and Liam sitting across from us.

After the waitress leaves once she’s taken our drink orders, I feel the buzz of my phone in my pocket. It’s a text from Trevor, and all it says is, ‘Go on Twitter. Now.’ This is a little more urgent and serious than I’ve really ever heard Trev over text, so I immediately pull up the app on my phone and wait for it to load. As my timeline is loading up, Harry’s phone goes off, buzzing on the tabletop where he set it when we sat.

“What is it, mate?” Louis asks as Harry’s eyebrows furrow.

“My mum,” he answers. My app finally displays Tweets and I scroll, trying to find something that would get Trevor in such a serious mood. “It’s kinda late there.” He sighs and answers anyway with a sweet, “Hi, Mumma.”

I can hear his mother responding something in a sweet voice as my eyes land on what Trevor is so worked up about. My eyes bug out of my head a bit as I see the photos plastered all over the site: Harry and the boys out in Central Park, us entering the Guggenheim, Harry and I entering the MoMA, Harry and I walking hand in hand throughout the exhibits, Harry with his arm around me in the Warhol room, Harry pressing a kiss to my head in front of the James Dean piece. My face is plain as day in all the photos, and I curse whoever’s phone has such great camera quality. The captions on the photos quickly diverge from the casual, ‘One Direction and friend out for day off in NYC,’ to ‘Harry Styles pictured getting cozy with mystery woman in NYC.’

“Mum, what are you talking about?” I hear Harry ask, the furrow on his forehead getting deeper. I have a feeling I know what she’s talking about. I tug on the sleeve of Harry’s shirt to get his attention.

“H,” I say, pushing my phone toward him. He takes it in his hand as his mother continues to talk in his ear. He scrolls through, seeing all the photos that have been posted of us. His lips are pursed and he looks less than happy.

“Mum, it’s not a big deal. You know how the tabs always make it out to be. Twitter is just as bad. She’s just a friend I met in New York. She offered to show us around a bit.” Harry hands me my phone back with a mouthed, ‘sorry.’ I just nod to let him know it’s okay. I really don’t care about photos being out there of me when my name isn’t attached to them. But I know this is less than ideal for Harry and the boys.

“You know how I am, Mum. She’s nice, promise. Her name is Micky. The boys like her. She’s here with us at lunch right now.” He pauses again as his mother says something. “She’s from Manchester. She’s in the states for school.” Another pause. “That’s not up to me. I’ll have to ask her.”

He takes the phone away from his face and gives me an apologetic smile. “Mum wants to talk to you, if that’s alright.”  I hear the other three boys snicker, but they hide it behind their drinks that have been delivered. I throw them all a warning look. I’ve known them for about five hours and I already feel like I have to mother them. Must be exhausting for their handlers.

“That’s fine, Harry.”

“She’s probably just gonna apologize for you getting exposed like this. Might quiz you a bit. She’s harmless,” he assures.

“I’m sure she’s lovely, Harry. She raised you, didn’t she?”

He beams at me as I take the phone from him. I take a deep breath before pressing it to my ear. “Hello.”

“Hello, darling, I’m Anne, Harry’s mum,” she greets, sounding warm and bright, just like her son. “Saw the pictures on Twitter.”

I sigh. “Yeah, I just saw those, too. I’m Micky, by the way.”

“It’s good to sort of meet you, poppet. Harry and you getting on alright?”

I chuckle. “Yeah, he’s been great. Gentleman and all.”

“He better be,” she says, her voice carrying a slight warning. “Raised him right, I hope. Anyway, I’m sorry you’ve already got your face plastered all over the internet. Not gonna be any better once gossip mags get ahold of them.”

“It’s alright. As long as they don’t get any personal information of mine, I’ll be okay. Can’t do much with just a face, right?”

“Right,” she assures, though she sounds a little hesitant about it, which is understandable. Nothing is certain when it comes to the public eye. “Well, I’ll let you get back to your lunch. Let me know if Harry gets out of line. He needs someone keeping and eye on him out there.” I can hear the teasing in her voice, so I chuckle.

“Of course. It was nice talking to you, Anne.”

“Oh, you too, darling. Give me back to Harry, yeah?”

“Sure thing.”

I pass Harry back his phone, and he raises his eyebrows, obviously curious as to what Anne and I have been talking about. I just smile at him as he addresses his mum again.

I tune out the rest of their conversation and go back to my own phone to text Trevor back. I send him a quick check-in, telling him I saw the photos and Harry’s on the phone with his mum and that we’ll deal with it. He sends me back a thumbs up emoji and tells me he’s going out to a gay bar with some of his other friends tonight, so I shouldn’t wait up.

Harry finally hangs up with his mum when our food comes out, and even though I didn’t get a chance to order, since I was on the phone with Anne, Harry ordered me a burger just the way I like it. I’m curious about how he knew about it, but I remember a conversation we had the previous day about how we liked out food. Apparently a useless conversation actually came in handy for once.

“Saw the photos online,” Niall comments between bites of his burger. “What are yeh gonna do?” He looks between Harry and I for an answer.

“We’ll just lay low for the rest of the day. You guys are welcome to adventure some more, but I want to spend the rest of my day off out of the public eye,” Harry says.

I nod. “I agree.”

“You don’t care that they’ve got your face plastered everywhere?” Liam asks.

I shrug. “Not much I can do about it now. They don’t know anything about me, so I’m not worried.”

I feel Harry’s hand clasp over my thigh under the table, giving me a comforting squeeze. I look over at him and smile, letting him know that I’m okay. It was a one time thing that will blow over when no new pictures of the two of us together emerge. Harry’s got a tour to get back to tomorrow, and I’ve got a trip back home planned before coming back to start the new semester. Our time seeing each other is nearly over, so there’s no reason to worry.

My heart does lurch a little at the thought of this being the last of my time with Harry, though. I’ve grown so fond of him in the two days that I’ve got to spend with him. I can only hope that we’ll still be able to talk once in a while, because he really is an amazing person. What little I’ve been let into his life is so astounding and he’s so wonderful, I don’t even want to begin to think about what it would feel like to be excluded from it now.

Niall picks up the tab for lunch as an apology for taking the piss out of Harry all day, and Harry just smiles at him, tossing his arm around his shoulders as we walk out, back into the warm New York air. We part in front of the restaurant, bidding the other boys farewell as Harry and I make our way back to the condo. Security has been foregone, since the other three will need it more after their whereabouts have been posted online. Harry simply pulls his hair up into a bun, shoves on a beanie, and pushes his sunglasses over his nose as a mediocre disguise. We walk with his arm slung over my shoulder the whole way back, not once being stopped by fans on the street.

When we arrive back, the house is quiet, Trevor having already left to grab an early dinner with his mates before going clubbing. He’s left a note on the counter saying he’ll be back in by three in the morning, and if he’s not, to call the cops. I roll my eyes at his dramatics an drop my purse on the counter.

“Where’s Trev?” Harry asks, having not seen the note.

“Went out to eat and to go clubbing with some mates,” I say. “Just you and me, Styles. What do you want to do?”

A smirk pulls at his lips as he takes his beanie off his head. He takes his hair out of the tie and lets it fall in the messy curls around his shoulders. I can see his pupils dilating as he cups the back of my neck, tilting my head back slightly to make me look up at him. I can feel my nipples hardening at the intensity of his stare, and I can’t help pulling my bottom lip between my teeth. His thumb reaches up to pull the flesh away from my grip on it.

“How about we have some fun, princess? Daddy wants to make you feel good.”

TEN

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #No Control #one direction

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speedygal · 8 years ago

Text

The evolution of a average trekker writer

I thought of making this post because when you think about it. IT’S TRUE. For trekkers learning the robes in writing each character, of course.

Bones ran after KiRK DOWN THE HALL WITH HIS HYPOSPRAY IN HAND GOING PAST SEVERAL WOMEN AND MEN SCREAMING OFF THE TOP OF HIS LUNGS,” GET BACK HERE JIM!” Kirk was terrified.

McCoy ran after Jim down the hall with a padd in one hand, speeding past security officers and some science officers, while shouting off the top of his lungs, “Get back here, you little infant!” Nyota came to the side watching the two men engage in a chase. Jim was avoiding paperwork, again. His vaccines were just last week.

Kirk was walking down the hall without Spock. His first officer had made good pointers. And there was something about those lips. Those thighs. Those wist. Those cheeks. Those hands. And his entire being screamed to be on top of him. Kirk had a fantasy about hooking up with his first officer. They barely knew each other. Just had been thrown into space. But there was a emotional connection to a man who wasn’t was. Despite how Selek had tried to prevent a emotional transference. He failed. He saw all the memories. A emotional, comforted, loving relationship built on trust and respect and dotting over each other and--- Kirk wasn’t worth of it. He just wasn’t. How could he be worth of a Vulcan like that? So loyal and trust worthy.

Jim was walking down the hall without Spock. The corridor was empty. Spock had made a good point. Thee was something about him that Jim liked. Was it being correct? Having his back? Being a nerd? How drop dead handsome he was. Was it those brown eyes? Was it all the memories and emotional transference, the ambassador Spock Prime, had dumped on him? Was he even worthy of someone like Spock? Spock was different. A ocean of violent emotions being controlled at bay. Why was he suppose Spock’s soulmate? He had a record. Spock didn’t. He was thrusted with responsibility, greatness, and . . . How could he be saddled with a loyal crew like that? Let alone a Vulcan? He trusted a Vulcan. Because they were calculative and knew what they were doing.

Spock couldn’t keep himself restrained. Every touch by the captain was arousing--

No improvement there.

Uhura eyed at the two men. He LIKED he captain. SHE KNEW IT!!!!!

Nyota eyed at the captain and first officer. Then to Christine tending to a security officer’s injuries. She looked back toward her ex-boyfriend who appeared to be worrying over his captain. Part of her felt it was supposed to be that way. She didn’t know how to start a conversation wit a nurse. Like, hello? How do you say, “Hi, I have a crush on you” without sounding like a bit creepy? McCoy looked over toward Nyota’s direction then walked right over toward her.

“MOWE, MOWE, MOWE!” Chekov shouted. “I KAN DO IT!”

“And so the cow said, “Moo?” Pavel said. “And the Russian said, “Moo?”

Sulu pulled the leveler down.

“Pasha, I have a plant in botany you might like.” Hikaru said.

Scotty was behind the console.

“Aye aye, captain.” Scotty said.

“Keenser and I are goin’ down to shore leave, Romaine,” Scotty said. “Ye sure ye dinnae want tae come down and enjoy the ladies?” Scotty raised his eyebrow up. “I am on medical shore leave for that head injury in engineerin’.”

“Scotty, I would love to but I am not on shore leave.” Romaine said.

Scotty frowned.

“Ahh,” Scotty said, leaning back. “All right. See ye after shore leave, Romaine.”

Demora was four years old.

No improvement because she is adorable as hell. It was supposed to be Joanna.

Joanna was three years old.

“Daddy!” Joanna grabbed McCoy into a hug.

“Pumpkin!” McCoy reciprocated. “How is my little nurse doin’?”

“Mom doesn’t want me to be a nurse.” Joanna said. She was eleven years old. “I want to be a doctor just like you and help people in space!”

Jocelyn divorced him. And still bitter with him.

“Hey, how is our grumpy bear?” Jocelyn asked.

“Fine.” McCoy said. “And you?”

“Better than I was before,” Jocelyn said. “Did you say yes?” Her eyes widened in hope. “God say yes, your daughter won’t stop talking about Uncle Spock and Uncle Jim. I want her to say daddy Spock and father Jim instead of Uncle.”

Winona, Jim’s mother--

“Miss Miller?” Spock asked.

Winona smiled, giving the ta’al.

“Greetings son in law.” Winona’s cheeks were a hot shade of pink. “I heard you nearly lost him in the amazon.”

“That is a understantement.” Spock said. “He nearly lost me there.”

Pike died. And has a mysterious daughter.

“Can I attend your public wedding?” Pike asked.

“Sure.” Jim said.

“Okay I am bringing my wife and daughters---” Pike said.

“Wait you have daughters?” Jim asked.

“Yeah, do you know any girls I can hook them up with? They haven’t been out dating since they got out of high school. They need some new girls to hang out with.” Pike looked at him. “Do you?”

“Sorry, no.” Jim said.

“Damn. Maybe I should introduce the girls to the Orion cadets I met earlier.” Pike said. “They are so picky.”

That man was not Khan Noonien Singh--

“Ambassador Spock!” The officer said. “You destroyed the botany bay!”

Spock Prime looked in their direction with a hard glare.

“The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.“ Spock Prime said.

Kirk was leaned against the wall behind the glass door.

Jim was leaned against the glass door with dead skin. The radiation had done its toll on him. His once pretty face was scarred. His chest wrecked in pain. His saphire eyes looked up toward the Vulcan whose hands were on the window. He closed the door then reached his hand out expressing sorrow through their bond. It was funny, Spock should be here. He died defending a alien ship from the Enterprise. He was dying from helping people be saved from his ship that went under the control of a virus.

It was fun.

And humbling.

To have served with Spock and the crew.

His T’hy’lara now had two.

His Bones can take care of him.

He had to.

“James T. Kirk? How did you find me?”

“Jim?” Spock Prime stood there in sheer amazement looking down on the old man sat down on the snow of New Vulcan. “How did you find me?” The sheer emotions clouded down upon the elder as he held a hand out for the human. “I did not think you would come after me.”

Kirk Prime took Spock Prime’s hand with a grin.

“You can’t get rid of me that easily, old friend.” Kirk Prime grabbed Spock Prime into a hug. “No Klingons here this time.” Spock Prime’s hands wrapped around the elder man’s backside.

Spock softly whispered, “T’hy’la.”

Kirk Prime would explain, later, how he found his husband.

“Her name is Carol Marcus.”

“Hhis name is David Marcus.” Carol said, gesturing toward the little boy in her arms.

Jim knelt down to the little boy with hazel eyes.

“He has my moms eyes.” Jim said.

Amanda is dead. After falling to her death.

“Mother!” Spock said.

Amanda was showing off the baby pictures of Spock and Sybok to both Jim and McCoy.

“That’s your husband chewing on I-Chaya’s ear.” Amanda said.

“Daww, I never realized he was that cute.” McCoy said.

“I love it.” Jim said.

George was a constant figure over Jim’s shoulder--

“Jim, get a boyfriend.” George said.

“Dad, no!” Jim said.

“I can trust you with my brother’s corvette.” George said. Frank was a terrible father figure. That George knew but the car was his to wrek not Jims. Which was why he hid the damn keys. “Get a boyfriend who knows how to drive.”

“I know how to drive.” Jim said.

“No, you don;t. I tried, and you largely ignored it.” George said.

“You taught me to drive a hover car.” Jim said.

“Honey, he is yours!” George said. “Shore leave is over!”

Sarek chewed out Spock. And never was seen again.

“Your kid a terrible driver too?” George asked.

“He cannot drive a motorcycle. He prefers to walk.” Sarek said. “He prefers to climb the mountains.” No wonder Spock is bold and patient, George thought, here I was trying to iron my kid out from being under my brothers care and he does better than I!

“Hey, lets in a motorcycle game. Sarek.” George said.

“A motorcycle game?” Sarek asked.

“Gang, I meant.” George said, rubbing his forehead. Sometimes the words sounded better in his head.

“That would be a reasonable use of our time.” Sarek said.

“Yeah, WHEN YOU ARE NOT BUSY BEING A AMBASSADOR!” George drives away on his motorcycle leaving the Ambassador to the dust. Winona and Amanda were exchanging stories on the porch over sweet tea with Eleanor McCoy in between them. They were laughing at the startled Vulcan. George was giving the middle finger as he left.

You can rearrange any of these scenes into a full on story.

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