#i was snippy with this nice woman for absolutely no reason | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pa-panda-heroes · 4 years ago

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May I ask for some soft requests for the league ? What would they say to their S/O as they sleep in their arms ? Thank you 🥰❤️

ohooh this is cute, yes :>

What the LoV would say to their s/o as they sleep in their arms!

Tomura:

Honestly, Tomura wouldn’t say much at first. He’s much more intrigued by the face you make in your sleep and just watching you, content in knowing that you’re safe and asleep in his arms.

He’s also afraid of waking you, so he tries to be really quiet. But if he knows he can get away with it, he’ll absolutely run his index finger back and forth along your cheekbone lovingly.

Eventually he’ll get brazen enough to start whispering to you, firstly telling you that he’s happy to see you because he’s had a rough day, and then he goes on.

He’ll tell you about the nightmare he had the night before, wherein you had been hurt somehow - Tomura couldn’t remember details, but the tight feeling in his chest when he woke up stuck with him.

“I will keep you safe, I don’t care what I have to do. I’ll tear all of Japan apart. No, the world.”

And so he’ll tell you things he wouldn’t tell you if you were awake: what ran through his mind the minute he landed eyes on you, what kind of dates you’d go on if he weren’t a notorious villain, how he wants to see you smile more often, that he’s so happy you exist.

“You look as peaceful awake as you do when you’re asleep. That’s a good thing, right? I’m glad. I hope... I’m the reason.”

Eventually whatever leaves his mouth ends up as Tomura musing about you. It’s almost as if you aren’t even there and he’s missing you, like you were somewhere far away and he couldn’t bear not to see you.

Mr. Compress:

You could be cuddling watching TV or something, and he won’t even realize you’ve fallen asleep. It’s when he gushes about suddenly craving broiled eel like the one expertly prepared by the chef on TV, that he notices.

And he just melts. One thing Mr. loves to do is watch your facial expressions and how they change throughout the day, so he’s sky high when he gets to see your sleepy face(s) unabashedly.

He’ll compare them to expressions you make while you’re awake and will narrate how your facial muscles stretch and change as if you’re conscious enough to hear - and care.

From the faces you make, he’ll move on to just what he loves about your face in general, which eventually leads to what he enjoys about your personality.

“You’re perfect, you know that? I’m not idolizing you, you have flaws and so do I, but what I mean to say is... you’re perfect for me. But naturally, as I sit here, must I wonder - am I perfect for you?”

By the heavens he hopes so. And he’ll tell you that. He’ll tell you that no matter how much ruckus he stirs as a villain, he hopes that you’ll stay by his side and love him unconditionally. Being a villain isn’t some character flaw, he knows that.

“I think, maybe, you’re what I live for. What I fight for? Maybe both. No, maybe neither. What I mean is... hm, I can imagine different futures all I want, but I can’t imagine a single one of them without you.”

Mr. may not be adept at putting such intimate and serious thoughts into words, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to stop trying.

Twice:

To say that Twice wouldn’t take the chance to shamelessly ogle your sleeping face, would be to lie.

And to say that Twice wouldn’t take the chance to gush about you and how strong yet gentle and caring you are, shamelessly? Yep - a lie.

He’s going to narrate in explicit detail what it looked like that time you told off some older woman harassing you over your groceries after a lack of a good night’s sleep and a particularly grueling day. He was so damned proud of you for standing up for yourself.

Twice would 100% talk about selling everything he owns and buying you the fanciest ring he could afford just because. And while on that note, he’d change the purpose of the ring from “for funsies” to “you deserve it.”

“Somewhere down the road, that ring could be... y’know, special, right? More special than it is already, because it is yours, after all. How do I say it without actually saying it?”

Thank everything in existence you’re asleep because this poor man flusters himself! He trips over his words a bit, and he says things that would be embarrassing if you were awake. Hell, they’re embarrassing and you’re asleep!

But Twice means what he says, there’s no questioning it. He’s not much of a liar to begin with, and there’s no way he can look at you and lie - even if he’s trying to surprise you in some way.

“I just hope... you’re happy. This life isn’t so easy, so, ah, I wanna do what I can to make you happy. I want to give you everything you deserve and then some. Easier said than done, but... still!”

Himiko:

Himiko will start off poking and prodding at your face for the sake of doing so while she has you so vulnerable. It’s just self-indulgent fun for her and she can’t help it!

She’ll tug on your cheek, poke your nose, even run her fingers across your eyelids, like she’s making a map of your face. She’ll count the whispies or runaway hairs on your forehead if you have any, or possibly your eyelashes.

Himiko isn’t exactly “sappy,” and she’s not quick to open up. But seeing you so peaceful and serene even after her facial muscle torture, is a delight for her and she has to hold back the urge to squeal.

Oddly enough, she’ll ask you questions that you can’t answer amidst your unconscious state - almost rapid-fire, too.

“What did you think of me when we met? Did you think of me as just another bloodthirsty villain, or did you see me? Could you hear my heart race when I saw you beaten and battered on that sidewalk? Do you love me?”

After that she’ll fall eerily silent, electing to instead roam her hands all over you soothingly, with no ill intent.

Himiko’s face will scrunch as she looks at you, her lips pursing and eyebrows narrowing. To say that she never stalked you would be a lie. She only wanted you safe, and seeing you so defenseless reminded her of that.

“I think you can take care of yourself plenty, my dear. Don’t misunderstand. But the thought of letting you be on your own hurts. What if someone hurts you? Well, I’d hurt them tenfold.”

Dabi:

He’ll know you’re nodding off before you do, seeing your sleepy state the minute he’s exposed to it. Dabi’s attention isn’t anywhere but you when you’re cuddling like this, but you won’t know that.

The tips of his fingers gently ghost over whatever limb they’re closest to, and as he searches for something to say or do, or even think, he’s blank.

His brows furrow in frustration at himself. He’s not as open and verbal about his feelings as you are, and oftentimes it frustrates the living hell out of you, but he can’t help it. He’s been trying, though, and you’ve given credit where it’s due. He appreciates that.

“You put up with my shit too much, you know it? You’re so patient with me, even when you’re ticked at me for bein’ the jackass I am. Even when I do it on purpose, you stick by me. I don’t get it. Why?”

He’s enamored with how easily you seem to look past the grimy and cruel exterior that he’s created over the years, instead looking at Dabi, not the blue flame villain of the League of Villains. Would he stick around if the tables were turned? Psh! No! So why do you stay?

By the time Dabi had you wrapped around his fingers - or was it perhaps the other way around? - he thought he had your character down pat, known like the exact number of staples holding his skin together.

But the more hell he puts you through, as a wicked way of testing your loyalty he can’t help but do, the more you seem to want to stay with him. And the less he understands you.

“I guess I’m really stuck with you, huh? Not that you’ll catch me complainin’. Besides, you’re the one who gets the short end of the stick. Put up a fight more, yeah? Don’t just put up with me. Do what you’ve been doing, and help me be less of an asshole.”

Spinner:

He’s honestly the most clueless and flustered when it comes to talking to you, or about you, while you’re asleep in his arms. He feels so awkward, he can’t help it.

“You always believe in me when no one else does, so, uh, that’s really... nice of you. You’d think I’m a total creep watching you sleep right now if you were awake, huh? I just wish I could believe in myself like you do.”

Do you always encourage him and look up to him? Yes. But are you Spinner’s personal cheerleader? No, not all. What you do is not just boosting his confidence, it’s building it. And he’s going to tell you he appreciates that, if a bit awkwardly, and how much that means to him.

The other members or random passersby can call him a “lizard” all they want, but alongside his protests are always your snippy comebacks and jeered disapproval. He’ll be sure to bring up at least one instance of that.

While he’s telling you he appreciates your standing up for him, he’s also going to tell you to let up a bit so that he gets used to doing it himself. You’re not coddling him or anything, he’s just afraid of relying on you too much.

“I want you to rely on me more. I’m here for you... just like you’re here for me. Does that make sense? I guess it doesn’t matter, since you’re asleep... ah, what was I saying? I just- I want to support you like you deserve, I want to watch out for you. Forever. I want you to be you and not worry about me so much.

Spinner may trip over his words here and there, but his message would be absorbed all the same, if you were awake. He almost wishes you were, but realizes he can tell you all that once you’re conscious again, right? He’ll spill his guts to you, then.

#mha #mha headcannons #mha x reader #shigaraki x reader #mr compress x reader #twice x reader #toga x reader #dabi x reader #spinner x reader #shigaraki tomura #mr compress #twice #toga himiko #dabi #spinner #comfort / fluff #ig?#hng g i think im gonna put a character limit up when i open requests back up

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astridthevalkyrie · 4 years ago

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summer rain: chapter 2

Your days in the Training Corp aren’t too out of the ordinary. You make friends, you train hard, and you eat dinner every day.

Oh, and you’re also hellbent on getting revenge against Humanity’s Strongest Soldier.

Chapter 1, Chapter 3

Okay, okay, so, you’d prided yourself on your plan. Getting the lieutenant himself to train you personally so you could learn his weaknesses and use his own tricks to one day take him down and humiliate him in front of everyone - it’s convoluted, but it’s a good idea. It’ll take a while, but it’ll work if you stay dedicated. Right? Right.

But you hadn’t actually expected him to agree. And so easily at that. He’d given you a quick look over as though he was scanning for some potential scheme, and then he’d readily said he would train you, which not only shocked you, it shocked both Captain Erwin and the woman who you learned was Lieutenant Hange Zoe. If his friends were surprised, then this must be out of character of him. You can’t imagine why he possibly would willingly take you under his wing.

Maybe...maybe the harsh treatment was some twisted way of looking out for you. A small bit of guilt blooms in your chest at the thought, but you quickly squash it down. There are other ways to prepare someone for their future than by publicly embarrassing and physically harassing them. A simple hey, focus up, cadet would have sufficed. Not that you’d have listened, but he doesn’t know that.

Yeah, he’s just a dick. He probably has his own messed up reasons to be doing this. You have to mentally prepare yourself for whatever cruel and unusual punishment he’ll be inflicting upon you.

His instructions ring through your head as you go to bed that night.

��Be at the grounds at 4 AM, sharp. Don’t be late.”

However, that’s absolutely ridiculous. It’s bad enough that you have to adjust your sleep schedule to wake up at 8 AM instead of 11 AM since they don’t allow for beauty sleep at the Training Corp (how are you supposed to maintain your flawless skin?), but now he expects you to be up and out of bed four whole hours than everyone else? No one is expected to be up at that time. Not even him. People are sleeping at 4 AM. No, you’re absolutely not going to be getting up just to train with a grouchy, perverted midget, thanks very much. If he was serious when he gave you those instructions, he’s going to have to deal with someone who values their shut-eye time. Sorry not sorry, Lieutenant. Your dreams are pleasant that night, letting you visit the market on the edge of Stohess which always smelled of fresh fruits and exotic perfume.

You’re content with your decision until a fucking wave crashes on you and brutally brings you back to the world of the living.

With a heaving gasp, you sit up straight in a coughing frenzy, spitting up water. Your hair is soaked, along with your nightgown. Fat droplets run down your face and bite into your cheeks. It’s cold.

“Be quiet,” Lieutenant Levi mutters casually, as though he didn’t just dump a bucket of water on you, “you’ll wake up the others.”

You gape at him incredulously, bringing your hands up to frantically wipe water off your face. For a second, you forget all formalities and you forget he ranks far higher than you, or perhaps you just don’t care, and you splutter out what you’ve been wondering since the moment you met him.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

For someone who seems to enjoy teaching you discipline, he never actually tells you off for these comments. Instead of chiding you for being rude, he says in a snippy tone, “I’ve been waiting for ten minutes. Get up, or I’ll refill the bucket.”

You don’t need any further encouragement. You throw off the thin and wet blanket and stand up, now fully awake. He rolls his eyes when he sees how silky your nightgown is - yeah, he damn well should feel bad for soaking such an expensive piece of fabric, the asshole. It’s worth more than that stupid tacky cravat he’s always sporting, that’s for sure.

Fortunately, no one else has woken up. Thank Maria, you’re not sure you could stomach someone seeing Lieutenant Levi demeaning you yet again. You shakily grab your clothes and uniform, and then turn to him. He raises a brow.

“Some privacy would be appreciated, sir.” You cross your arms over your chest protectively.

He scoffs pointedly, as though to tell you he’d have to be absolutely obtuse to want to see you naked, to which you only take a little offense. He gives you orders to hurry the fuck up and then leaves the barracks. You’re tempted to take your sweet time changing, but you really, really don’t want to risk getting soaked again. You just wish that you had time to dry your hair - the morning air outside is bound to be freezing. Sighing, you tie it up tightly, mourning the days you could let your precious tresses fly freely. Stupid military, stupid titans, stupid lieutenant. You dislike all of them greatly. In that order.

When you join him outside, he’s leaning against a tree, looking at you dully.

“Managed to have a tea party before you got down here, (L/N)? Or have you always walked at the speed of a snail?”

Holy hells help you, this is going to be a long day.

You salute, and he lets out a small tch, walking up to you and sizing you up. You tense up immediately, you wouldn’t put it past him to knock you down again for the heinous crime of making him wait.

“This is how this is going to work, Cadet.” He stands right in front of you and you force yourself not to look in his eyes, choosing to look at the pretty leaves on the birch tree behind him. “Every morning, from 4 AM to 6 AM, you’re here, and you’re doing whatever the hell I tell you to.” Probably allowing him to punch you in the face repeatedly. “Then you go back, get two more hours of sleep so that you don’t look like shit at breakfast.” It’ll take more than the likes of him to get you to look like shit, but sure, he can flatter himself. “If I’m on an expedition or not here for some other reason, you do a basic routine regardless.” Right, like he’ll know if you skip out. Nice try. “I might have you do other bits of training at another part of the day sometimes, but for the most part, we’ll be doing the brunt of it in the morning so it doesn’t interfere with your classes and shit.” Okay, that’s fair, and you can’t find a complaint with it no matter how hard you try. “Questions?”

You open your mouth, but he doesn’t give you a chance to actually ask anything before barking out an order. “Twenty-four laps around the grounds, now.”

Twenty-four? Okay, okay, you can do this, you knew what you were signing up for. He’s going to be harsh. He’s going to wear you out. You’re not going to break. Even if it’s the crack of dawn and he’s certifiably insane.

When you start running, his eyes follow you. You briefly wonder how he’s going to keep himself entertained throughout this, but then you remember that he’s cruel and terrible, and he’ll be entertained plenty watching you suffer. Besides, you have other things to focus on besides how much fun he’s having.

The maximum amount of laps Grumman has had you run so far is twelve, and that was with everyone else, so all the cadets could feed off each other’s energy and boost morale. Right now, there’s no one with you, no one to complain to, no one to hide behind so you can spend a few seconds walking instead of running. Oh, and it’s way too early. Have you mentioned that it’s way too early?

Half way through the fifteenth lap, you drop down on your knees and start panting. You’re tired. You want to go back to sleep. Screw your plan. Screw getting revenge.

“Oi!” The lieutenant calls out from his cozy spot under the birch tree. “I didn’t say you could take a nap!”

Most all all, screw him.

You hear him approaching, but you can’t bring yourself to get up. The grass is damp against your fingers, looking like a nice and cool spot to just lie down and rest your head for a few seconds. Sure, not as nice as a regular feathery pillow, but -

He kicks you on the side. It’s not that hard, but you still hiss in pain.

You hate him, you hate him, you hate him -

“Get up,” he snaps, impatient. “You’ve got nine more to go.”

Everything about him is grating, from his voice to his polished shoes to his gorgeous grey eyes. How you wish you could shut him up.

Clearly not someone who enjoys waiting, he yanks you up by your arm, letting out another tch at your murderous expression. He applies just the slightest pressure against your skin, before speaking in a tone that makes it clear he’s getting fed up.

“You’re the one who wanted to be trained. If you can’t handle a few laps, then forget about getting into the top ten.”

“I don’t want to get into the top ten,” you huff, writhing in an attempt to break free of his grasp to no avail. Why does everyone and their mother assume you’re some tryhard goody two shoes? “And even if I did, running these laps isn’t gonna get me there. So can we just leave it at fifteen?”

Lieutenant Levi pulls you in closer, until you’re nearly nose to nose with him. Your eyes widen as he tightens his hold on you, and you despise that your heart beats faster for whatever godforsaken reason. Unwillingly, you think about what it would actually feel like to be wrapped up in his arms, to have his hands on your waist, to have his lips on your -

Fuck fuck fuck. Wrong and fucked up line of thought. Focus.

“You seem to think we’re collaborating here, (L/N). Let me make it clear,” he drawls lazily, “we’re not. You’ll do what I say, no questions asked.”

“I’m going to ask questions, sir. Blind obedience isn’t good for anyone.”

“I think it’s less to do with blind obedience, and more with you wanting to be a pain in the ass.”

“Very astute of you,” you say without thinking, and his shoulders move in what might have been a laugh, but it happens so quickly you’re not sure if you imagined it or not.

“Finish the laps,” he orders, letting go of you and jerking his head, telling you to hop to it.

You glare petulantly, but start running anyways. What he doesn’t realize is he just let you have a break, no matter how short it might have been, and that’s exactly what you needed. Not so clever, this one. You take the small win and feel triumphant, even though you still have to run nine more laps and your hair is still wet and it’s still a forbidden hour for anyone to be awake at.

Once the laps are done, Lieutenant Levi allows no further time for relaxation before ordering you into thirty push-ups, which is just thirty more than your preferred amount of push-ups. The amount of fucking delight he takes in putting his foot on your back, making it just a bit harder for you to get up each time, is unbelievable. He’s a damn sadist, who thrills in your pain.

After the push-ups are finished, you have to do squats. Once the squats are finished, you move on to crunches. Then around five million side kicks, or at least that’s what it feels like. Then forward lunges. Then tricep extensions against the tree. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

How fucking long is an hour anyway?

By the time the lieutenant finally tosses you a flask of water - he throws it so quickly it almost hits your face - you’re winded, out of breath, and dizzy. Nothing hurts per se, but your body is desperately begging for you to stop, to take a break, to just sit down for a single second. You know that any second now, you’ll be back in bed, and the only obstacle to that destination besides the fear that you might collapse halfway there is this asshole of a midget in front of you. You technically can’t leave until he dismisses you, a rule that you despise with all your being.

You think that dismissal is coming when he takes the flask back and then gives you another demand.

“Ten calf raises. Just a test run. I’ll see if I can put it into your routine.”

You look at him disbelievingly for two reasons - one, because he’s actually continuing this torture and two, he’s assuming you know what the hell calf raises are.

He sighs exasperatedly and then demonstrates. It seems simple enough, it’s just standing on your tippy toes, spreading your feet out, repeating the action, spreading them out even more, and then doing it again. Three angles, just a bit of balance for a few seconds.

At this point, you’ll do whatever it takes to go back to bed.

So you start. You do three (there’s three angles, so technically nine, but who’s counting? certainly not you) and everything’s fine.

The fourth set leaves you a bit sore, but whatever.

The fifth set hurts.

The sixth set stings like a bitch.

After the seventh, you cry out in pain. It’s quiet, but mortifying.

Great, just great. The whole point of this was to pick up on his weaknesses, and here you’ve accidentally exposed your own. You freeze completely, eyes on the ground, waiting for the lieutenant to say something about how weak you’re acting.

But he doesn’t say anything, and you’re too nervous to look at him in case he catches the embarrassment playing out on your face.

Eight. Your calves are killing you, but you’re not going to cry out again. Ever.

Nine. Holy shit. Are you on fire? You think you’re on fire.

One more. You can do this. You’ve done all the others.

“Hey,” a sharp voice cuts through the air, but you pay him no mind.

You clench your fists, muster up all your strength, and push yourself up as hard as you can.

And immediately regret it.

Your legs buckle under you, and you stumble with a yelp. You didn’t mean to. It just hurt so bad, but now you’re going to be on your knees again -

Up until now, you’d seen how fast Lieutenant Levi could move because he was constantly throwing you around like a child would throw around its favorite toy. When you feel a breeze against your skin, your mind is thrown into an alarmed state for a fraction of a second. He’s coming at you, to what? Push you? You’re already falling down, so nice try, jerk, but -

It takes you a few seconds to realize he’s caught you.

With his arms hooked under yours, he lets you put your weight on him, ignoring your astonished expression. Even the blunt pain is pushed aside as you take in the fact that he stopped you from falling. Apparently you can only be knocked down when he decides you can. For the life of you, you truly cannot figure out just what this man’s deal is.

“Well, then,” Levi murmurs against your ear, “we’ll leave that one out from now on.”

____________________

Millie informs you that you look like shit over breakfast, and you tell her to kindly fuck off.

____________________

These lovely morning meetings become routine. Since you’re waking up earlier, you try your best to go to sleep earlier too, but you’re a night owl who can’t be caged, so the operation isn’t really successful there.

Instead, you try to rest any second you can during the day. While Millie, Stephen and Ricky are reading over their notes under the same birch tree that you and Lieutenant Levi meet at, you’re lying on the grass with an arm thrown over your eyes. It’s not like you need to study that hard - one doesn’t need whole hours to learn that titans are dangerous.

Besides, your arms are sore from your push-ups this morning. You usually don’t do the same thing twice in a row, apparently the lieutenant likes to switch things up. Which is just fine with you, of course, you’ve never been a fan of the same old thing every day; you joined the military to get away from the feeling that all your days were stationary and felt the same. And the whole dead dad thing, but that’s kinda secondary.

“Try putting ice on it,” Stephen offers helpfully, the only one of the three to take your complaining in stride.

“Try putting a gag in your mouth,” Millie adds.

“Try taking the stick out of your ass,” you tell her pointedly before offering a grateful smile to Stephen.

“Have you considered asking yourself if this is worth it?” Ricky tosses his notes aside and nudges your head with his knee. “Your super duper revenge plan -”

“It’s a mega super duper revenge plan.”

“Yeah, that. Is it worth exhausting yourself like this?”

Surprisingly, Stephen is the one who speaks up. “I don’t think it’s right for a superior to disrespect his subordinate and get away with it without any repercussions.”

“Look, what he did was...sketchy,” Ricky concedes, “but he’s him, y’know? Some people are good enough to act like that and get away with it.”

“No one’s good enough to act like that. Do you know how hard he runs me into the ground every single day? He’s never satisfied, not until I’m fucking collapsing. The only reason he’s stopped dumping water on me is because he says it’s a waste of resources.” You blow out a puff of air, frustrated. Why does no one understand how not okay the lieutenant’s actions are? “And he never does anything himself. I haven’t picked up any weaknesses. I have to keep going until I find one.”

“That’ll take you your entire time here.”

“So be it,” you say dramatically, before finally sitting up.

You’ll stick to it for however long it takes. There are boundaries that should never be crossed, and Lieutenant Levi’s managed to cross every single one of them.

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch a familiar figure. It’s him, of course it’s him. It’s not enough that he disturbs your sleep, no, he has to make his presence known during the day too. Sure, maybe he’s just going about his day and not actively trying to aggravate you, but he’s still in your line of sight and he has such a punchable face.

Maybe Lieutenant Levi senses that he’s being watched, because his head turns and he catches your gaze.

You wave with a sugary smile, acting like you weren’t just fantasizing about punching his face.

Without so much as an acknowledgement, he looks away and keeps walking.

You scoff. Rude fucking midget.

____________________

The best parts of your days are undeniably after hours. Or more specifically, that small period before dinner and bedtime, when there’s nothing required of you, and you can slip away. You like leaving a bit earlier than everyone else, just to enjoy the cool night outside. It’s funny, how there are so many rules and restrictions here at the military, but a girl can still just get up and wander outside at night and no one will look at her strangely. It’s a wonderful feeling, freedom.

You’re just about to begin what’s sure to be a leisurely walk around the grounds when there’s suddenly a vice-like grip on your arm. You gasp, the first instinct to defend yourself. You raise your fist and immediately launch it, only for it to be caught rather easily.

The lieutenant rolls his eyes at your attempt to defend yourself. “I sincerely hope you never get mugged.”

If he followed you out here, that’s frankly quite creepy and he should feel ashamed of himself.

“I hope someone steals your cravat,” you mutter, and the corners of his lips twitch in amusement. “Can you let go? Sir,” you add quickly - it was becoming easier to forget that you had to refer to him properly. “I have a walk to take that doesn’t involve doing push-ups or crunches.”

His eyes are alight with cruel intentions. You hate that you still find them fascinating. “I have a training exercise for you.”

“You’re a few hours early, Lieutenant.” You give him a condescending smile. “See, 4 AM actually isn’t until much much later. It’s okay, I know telling time can be tough.”

His lips purse in displeasure, and you mentally do a small, victorious dance.

“Be that as it may, I recall telling you that your training can take place at any time that I see fit.”

“But,” you protest, stomping your foot childishly, “you also said you didn’t want to interfere with my regular training!”

He makes a point of looking to the right and then to the left and then finally back at you. “I don’t see any drills going on around here. Do you?”

If you say you do, will he let you off? Probably not, he’ll just cart you off to the infirmary and declare you mental.

“Fine,” you mutter with gritted teeth, “what is it now?”

Without answering, he turns and beckons you to follow. Like a good little obedient soldier. You fume silently, walking behind with clenched fists. First he cuts into your rightful nap time, and now into your wonderful walking time. Is there no limit to the amount of serene, private moments he plans to intrude on?

For some reason, the two of you head indoors, towards the rooms and offices. You may just be a dumb cadet, but even you’re pretty certain that none of the exercises are done in here. Is he taking you to his room? Why would he -

Wait.

Your mouth falls open, but your steps don’t falter. This is highly inappropriate. You don’t know what kind of woman Lieutenant Levi takes you to be, but you did not sign up for this. So you ask him to train you and call him sir a few times, and the man thinks you’re all good and willing, does he? That since he’s Humanity’s Strongest, he can have whoever he wants? What an insult to the name of courting. Where he finds the nerve to keep pulling stunts like these, you’ll never know.

Training your ass. This is an indecent night call. And you would never, ever -

Well.

Maybe. In a hot, scandalous kind of way that you would only ever tell Millie about. Not that you’d enjoy it, not with him. It’s more the forbidden aspect that’s attractive. It’s certainly not about the lieutenant, even with his nimble fingers and cold eyes and sharp tongue that you’re sure he could work wonders with - okay so maybe it is about him a little bit.

But it would also be delightful to turn him down. To watch the light leave his eyes (not that it was there in the first place) as you proudly tell him you respect yourself too much to sleep with a man who’s so arrogant and callous. Yeah, that’ll show him.

His fingers, though.

You’re so caught up in your little debate that you almost crash into him when he stops in front of a door. Ah, a private area. The barracks? How many members of his squad does he share a room with? You twitch uncomfortably.

“Here we are.” Even his voice sounds sultry. Or maybe it always sounds like that. Who knows.

“Why are we here, sir?” Your throat feels dry.

He turns and gives you a look that is decidedly not sexy. Rather, it seems like he thinks you’re the most idiotic person he’s ever had the unfortunate pleasure of laying his eyes on.

“You’re going to clean up in here, did you not hear me the first time?”

What?

You’re not sure what feels the most embarrassing. The fact that he’s apparently decided you’re the official Training Corp maid, or that you had actually been so comfortably considering sleeping with him that you tuned out what he was saying.

Shaking your head to clear your thoughts, you frown. “Sir, I mean no offense -” He raises a brow, clearly ready to get offended - “but your, er, sanitary habits are pretty much known to everyone here. I doubt that I’ll be able to make your room sparkle more than it already does.”

Lieutenant Levi scoffs. “Then it’s a good thing this isn’t my room.”

He opens the door and your mouth falls open in horror.

“This is Lieutenant Hange’s lab,” he explains as he steps in, “and before you ask, I’ve already secured her permission for you to clean up.” Producing a broom out of thin air, he shoves it in your waiting hands.

“Lieutenant, I...this is…”

“Disgusting. Yeah. So better not waste any time. You need to get some sleep if you want to survive your morning drills tomorrow.”

“Lieutenant, I’m from Stohess.” Too late do you realize that you’re pleading. “I’ve never even seen a pig’s den that is as messy as this.”

Countless exercises at the crack of dawn, and this is what’s broken you. The room is horrifying. It’s straight out of any neat freak’s nightmares. You don’t know how the lieutenant even stomachs looking at it.

“Never cleaned your own room, huh? Not surprised,” he muses, and you shoot him a dirty look.

This isn’t the spoiled brat in you talking, no, this is the sane human who knows that this room is basically hell incarnate.

“How does this count as training? You just need someone to do the Survey Corps’ dirty work!”

“Is there anything you don’t complain about?” he demands, but oho, you are ready.

“Exercising I can understand. Your random bursts of physical violence - harsh, but whatever.” Not like you’re trying to get vengeance for them, but he doesn’t have to know that. “This is just work, and I want to be paid if you’re making me do work.”

This makes him snort, shaking his head at you like he’s your teacher and you’re not understanding the most basic of concepts. “You’re not a merchant, (L/N), you’re a soldier.”

“A soldier, not a servant!”

“I am ordering you to do this,” he says softly, “are you disobeying an order, Cadet?”

Well, when he puts it like that, you’d rather not get kicked out of the military before you even complete your training. And certainly not before you make the lieutenant pay with everything you have. Oh, revenge will be sweet.

Begrudgingly, you step into the lab, swallowing your nervous inhibitions. This place is a dump, you wonder how Lieutenant Hange even gets any work done in here.

Goddammit, you are never going to clean this place up, no matter how hard you try!

“Like I said, we still need you to sleep,” the he-devil murmurs behind you, “so this better be done in an hour. I’ll come check on you then.”

Oh, fuck him. You wait until he leaves, and then get to work.

____________________

His royal highness comes back an hour later just like he said he would. When he opens the door, he finds you sprawled on the floor against the wall, tired but with your chest puffed up proudly, eyes zeroed in on him to see his reaction.

The room is spotless and distinctly organized. Papers that were strewn everywhere are now in one pile next to a stack of Lieutenant Hange’s many, many journals. Vials and flasks have been placed on top of one another by the sink, where they can be quickly washed and ready for use. The tops of the desks are spotless and dust-free. The floor is not only clean, but shiny.

There’s a brief flash of surprise on Lieutenant Levi’s face as he looks back at you. You allow yourself to smirk. Sure, your arms hurt even worse than they already did and you still feel like a maid because you’ve done more cleaning in the last hour than you have in your entire life (not because you’re spoiled, just because no rooms back home are ever this messy), but it’s worth it to see that he’s impressed by you, no matter how he tries to hide it.

You don’t know why you want him to be impressed in the first place, but you decide not to question it right now.

“Not bad,” he finally relents, walking up to you. “You plan to sleep here, or are you gonna get up?”

You snort. Such a charmer, this one. Well, you’re too lazy to stand on your own, so you hold your hand up expectantly. It’s really the least he can do after being no help at all.

After giving you a long look, he takes your hand and pulls you up to your feet. Your legs feel a little wobbly, and you wryly think about how you’d figured you’d be leaving the base with wobbly legs anyway. What a ridiculous fantasy. You hate him, and he probably hates you too. You would never do anything of any sort with him.

“Go to bed,” he orders quietly, taking note of how tired you look.

“So, 5 AM tomorrow, right?”

Again, he looks dryly amused like he always does when you say things like this, as though you’re just the funniest fucking person he’s ever met. “Nice try, (L/N).”

“When do you even sleep?” you question, brows furrowed in curiosity. You’ve wondered for a while.

Lieutenant Levi shrugs. “Usually from 1 to 3.”

You blink in disbelief, shaking your head. “Sorry, what?”

“Got a problem with that?” He’s clearly not fond of where the conversation’s headed, since he grabs you by the back of your collar and pushes you forward, out of the room. You comply, but you’re not done with this line of questioning. No one can just get two hours of sleep daily and continue to function normally.

“Is this why you’re so grouchy all the time?”

“You have no respect at all,” he quips, still shoving you ahead. The base is for the most part, bare and empty, since nearly everyone’s gone to bed by now. There’s only a few people still around, and they pay the two of you no mind.

“Have you always been an insomniac?”

“Fail to see why it’s any of your business.”

“Are you trying to make me an insomniac?”

The lieutenant sucks in an exasperated breath. “No, then I’d be punishing all insomniacs.”

“Rude.”

“You’re one to talk.”

You don’t know why it’s so easy to engage in banter with him. He never discourages you, as much as he points out how unruly you are. In fact, he seems to enjoy it almost as much as you do.

And you do enjoy it, as much as you don’t want to.

“Lieutenant,” you begin hesitantly, not sure why you’re saying this, “I hear chamomile helps people go to sleep.”

“So it does,” he mutters dryly, “thanks for the observation.”

Fuck him, you were trying to be helpful.

“Are you going to walk me all the way back?” You hum thoughtfully, craftily. “People might get the wrong idea.”

At this, his footsteps stop, and you wince. God, your mouth really just runs a mile ahead of your brain at all times, doesn’t it? It won’t be satisfied until you’ve dug yourself into a hole that you just can’t get out of. Implying to Lieutenant Levi that people would think the two of you had sex is just the icing on top of the snarky cake you’ve been baking him since you got here. When you turn around, he’s looking at you with an appraising expression.

“What wrong idea will they get, Cadet?” he asks softly, grey eyes piercing through you.

Your mouth is dry. Surely he knows, does he need you to say it? Of course he does, he wants to make you uncomfortable. You can’t even blame him, this one’s all on you.

Screw it, you might as well be blunt.

“They might think we slept together.”

If he’s taken aback, he doesn’t show it. “I see. And what would you do if these rumors spread?”

You take a deep breath. “Gouge my eyes out, sir.”

This time, you can’t chalk it up to your imagination or a trick of the light. He scoffs, but he’s laughing, normally cruel lips twisted in a humorous smile. You’re surprised by how pleasant the sight is, like looking at a lily in a field of roses. Out of place, yet so very beautiful, a sight you can’t take your eyes off of. Just how does one man manage to be so fascinating? It takes a lot to make you want to swoon, especially for someone who you harbor such negative feelings for. How does he manage it so easily?

“Can’t have that.” His expression is still lit up in mirth. “You better go the rest of the way yourself.”

You salute, and turn around. Even as you walk, the image of him laughing - laughing at something you said - is burned into your mind, and it makes something in your chest clench in an all too unfamiliar way.

Maybe he watches you go, but you’re too proud to look back and check.

____________________

The air is abuzz with excitement. Everyone’s been waiting for this day. If you didn’t know better, you’d say that everyone joined the military simply so that they could do this.

This being using the ODM gear, of course. Everyone has mastered the basics by now, or they’ve dropped out. The one who stayed have perfected balancing and not falling flat on their faces, they’ve watched senior veterans use the gear, and they’ve gotten a brief example of what it feels like to be shot forward through the air. Utilizing the blades properly will eventually be taught too, but for now, they get to practice flying. Actual flying. How amazing is that?

While people usually pair off on their own, Grumman sees fit to assign pairs himself today, much to everyone’s chagrin. By some shitty luck, you’re not paired with Millie, Ricky, or Stephen. You’re not even paired with Nifa or Jack, who you’re friendly enough with.

No, you’re paired with Petra fucking Ral.

You probably wouldn’t even know or care about who Petra was if not for Millie’s incessant complaining about her. Petra is one of the few people who balanced in the gear belts perfectly on her first try (you were also in that group, but Millie’s not gonna complain about you to you), Petra is all their teachers’ favorite because of how easily she retains information, Petra doesn’t have a hair out of place even when she fights. Petra this, Petra that.

Petra is Millie’s main competition for the number one position.

Frankly, you think your best friend is projecting.

“Do you feel a bit ridiculous too?” she asks after the two of you have put your gear on.

“Just a little.” You face her and strike a pose. “Do you think the titans would appreciate some more flair?”

Petra laughs, nodding. “Some eye candy would go a long way, I’m sure.”

The two of you exchange grins, straightening to attention when the instructor passes in front of you. He looks between you and murmurs something to himself before shouting out loud for just about everybody to hear. “(L/N) and Ral will go first! All the rest of you little shits, pay attention!”

Apparently being paired with golden girl Petra Ral means that you’re supposed to be a role model or something now. You groan inwardly - it seems everyone is convinced you want to be a model cadet. When will they get it through their thick skulls that you’re not that boring?

You and your partner step apart until there’s a safe distance between you two. In front of you is a forest, a forest that is the perfect place to practice with the ODM gear. You grip the handles firmly, knees crouching a little. Excitement bubbles inside you as you tense in anticipation. This is it! This is the first step to you becoming a full-fledged soldier. You’re one step closer to everything you’ve worked for.

“On my mark! Ready, set…”

You toss your shoulders back and push your chest forward and out of the corner of your eye you see Petra do the same.

“Go.”

Whizzing sounds are heard as the two of you fire your cables at the same time. You gasp as you’re shot forward, hurtling through the air at an electrifying speed. The trees rush past you in a blur of green and brown as you go up, up, up into the sky. You let out a breathless laugh as the hooks come free. This feeling, this feeling of your stomach jumping, this nerve-wracking feeling of doing something so dangerous and so thrilling at the same time - you’ve been craving it all your life. And here you are. You’re doing it, you’re actually up in the air and you’re flying. It’s incredible. You could stay up here forever.

So enthralled are you by this experience that you forget to hook to the next target, and with an unceremonious shriek you tumble through the branches and fall on the dirt below. Some gets in your mouth, unfortunately, and you hear loud chortles behind you. You spit out the rancid soil, shooting a glare behind you when you hear another whiz.

Up above you, Petra is still in the air. She’s slowly lowering herself down, though, concern dancing in her eyes as she stumbles to a stop a few feet away from you and rushes to help you up.

“Are you okay?” She looks genuine.

You sigh. Fucking Millie, she couldn’t share your distaste for Lieutenant Levi but she found it in her to hate this girl?

“I’m alright.” You take her hand and stand up, dusting dirt off your clothes. “Just got carried away.”

Petra giggles. “You were saying something about flair, right?”

You smile wryly, beckoning for her to come closer as an idea pops into your head. “We’ve got about two minutes before Grumman sends in the next pair. I bet I can get deeper into the forest than you can.”

Her eyes shine competitively, and she nods.

And without a beat, you two are up in the air again. You’re not a natural like she is, but you sincerely doubt that she or anyone else appreciates the wind whipping through their face quite like you do. You belong up here. You can feel it. For the first time in your life, you know instantly that you’re creating a memory that you will cherish for however little time you might have left.

____________________

Your heart beats with excitement as you bounce on the heels of your feet, looking behind your shoulder nervously. “Hurry up, Ricky!”

“I’m hurrying, now be quiet, someone’s gonna hear you.”

You don’t see how. No one is wandering around the kitchens right now. The cooks who prepare the food left their stations ages ago, and no one else in the base would have any reason to be wandering down here. Normally, you wouldn’t have any reason either, but today is a bit of a special day. Or more accurately, it’s a precursor to a special day. The day after tomorrow will mark the Survey Corps’ next expedition and as always, the cooks are preparing something special for the heroes and fools. An energizer for some, and a last meal for others. While you know that the lowly cadets haven’t done anything heroic - yet - you and Ricky agreed that some pastries would surely make everyone happy. Just a few measly sweet tarts, the Scouts wouldn’t miss them. You didn’t lay a hand on the meat, knowing fully well that most of the people going out in two days would savor it much more than you would.

Ricky is quickly shoving the tarts into a pouch, taking his sweet time counting so that everyone got the same amount. Fucking outer city peasant, concerned with fairness. You sigh impatiently, bouncing on your feet. You’re hungry. The bread at dinner seemed even more stale than usual today.

“Hey, what are you two doing?”

Your eyes widen at the same time as Ricky’s - why in the holy hells is the head chef still here? Does he sleep here? Before you can consider the disturbing implications of that possibility, you’re grabbing Ricky’s arm and running for all you’re worth. You’re counting on the fact that it’s dark in the kitchens, so hopefully he didn’t see your face. Unfortunately, the chef seems intent on finding out who broke into his precious kitchen, because he clambers on out after you.

After running for two minutes, he shows no sign of stopping.

“S-split up,” Ricky pants, wheezing as you two flee.

“Fine,” you huff, a bit proud of the fact that you’ve got more tolerance than he does, “but I want leverage.”

Without waiting for him to respond, you snatch a pastry from the top of the bag and skid to the hallway on the right while Ricky keeps running forward. The chef chooses to chase him, and you cackle maniacally at your friend’s terrible luck. You’re home free, and you have your dessert as a trophy too.

You turn your head to double check, turn back, and then crash face first into someone’s chest.

Rough hands grip your wrists to catch and steady you, and when your eyes adjust to the darkness, you want to scream.

Why is he everywhere?

Lieutenant Levi’s gaze goes from the tart in your hand to your panicked expression, and he understands what’s going on without any need for an explanation from you. He takes a step closer to you, tugging you firmly so you can’t move back. You swallow nervously, stuttering out apologies for crashing into him and for being up past curfew. He listens to you ramble, but doesn’t let go. His eyes flicker to the pastry again.

“Those are for the Scouts,” he murmurs lowly. Is it your stupid imagination again or does his voice sound more husky than usual? “Not for fucking brats, (L/N).”

Normally you’d answer with some witty comeback, but you’re feeling a bit dizzy with how close he is and how hungrily his stormy eyes are watching you. The most you can do is open and close your mouth like a fish out of water. You’re in deep shit now, you know that much.

Without removing his piercing gaze from your face, he lowers his head a bit, and takes a bite out of the tart in your hand.

You could swear your heart stops beating for a second. His grip on your wrists suddenly feels like it’s hard enough to make them bruise, even though you can tell he’s not holding on that tight. You watch him chew, swallow, and then lick his lips, all without looking away for even a second. It’s mesmerizing. Before you can tell what you’re doing, you raise the tart a bit, and let him take another bite. As though you’re fucking feeding him, like a good fucking girl. The lieutenant’s lips curl into a small smirk, and you think you’re going to drop on the spot when he takes a third bite, finishing the pastry, the tip of his tongue just brushing against your index finger.

You wonder if he can hear just how erratically your heart is pounding.

Levi’s close, too close. You don’t know what to do, how to break his scrutiny of your face, or if you even want to. He leans in, just a little. Your breath gets caught in your throat. When did you forget how to breathe? It should be easy. Suck in air, let it out, repeat.

He tilts his head a millimeter.

You sigh in anticipation, lean forward, and…

He turns away at the last second, and your lips meet his cheek.

Fuck.

You gasp against his skin, not moving. From his amused expression, he can tell that your face is burning up. Somehow, he’s managed to embarrass you again, even if this instance isn’t public and doesn’t end with you in pain. This feels worse than all the other times, though. Before, you were simply thrown around, his way of calling you weak. Physically weak. Not strong enough, a rookie. But this, this is him telling you that he knows he lords some power over you, something that transcends his rank. Something personal.

“Thanks for the snack,” he says, stepping back only a little (see: not enough) to cup your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Now hurry to bed before I decide I want more.”

Heat pools from your stomach right down to your core. If possible, your cheeks grow even hotter.

The lieutenant lets go and turns around, leaving you standing there with a wide-eyed expression, feeling strangely empty as you watch him go.

You’re never going to let him catch you breaking curfew again.

If you’ve never done calf raises before, I do not recommend, they genuinely will leave you sore for a bit if you’re not used to them. But otherwise, yay for exercise I guess.

Reader is very cocky but we love her for it.

We don’t have Petra slander here, folks. I adore her. Millie doesn’t, though. Rip.

Let me know what you think!

#aot #attack on titan #aot x reader #levi x reader #snk x reader #levi ackerman #snk

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plus-size-reader · 4 years ago

Text

The Trouble with Thrifting

Spencer Reid x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 1718 words

Warnings: none

Summary: The reader goes thrifting with Spencer and gets super frustrated bc nothing fits

——————————————————————————————————

Days off from a job like yours were rare. They weren’t common, especially with the amount of monsters there were out there, but they did happen sometimes.

Every once and awhile, you got a day off when you and Spencer could both sleep in a little later than normal

...And today was one of those days.

You rolled over in bed, stretching out fully in the soft, plush space, only to find Spencer’s side of the bed cool and empty. Though, you weren’t surprised by that.

Spencer had always been a little bit of an early bird, and nothing was going to change that. Not even a few spare hours in bed.

There were just too many things to be doing right now to be in bed. Spencer’s mind just ran too fast and it made getting a restful night of sleep difficult.

You understood that.

Without even thinking about it, you sat up to find him at the foot of the bed, his nose in a book.

“Good morning, sleepyhead” he hummed, finding you there with a tired look in your eyes. The sheets were pooled around you haphazardly and you yawned deeply as he addressed you, but you smiled nonetheless.

“Morning Dr.” you allowed, stretching your arms up as far as you could in your sitting position, a small groan escaping you as you moved.

You two didn’t have anything planned for today, for once in the last few weeks, and it was nice to have the whole day ahead of you. Though, you did have something in mind that could be fun.

You and Spencer had been talking about going thrift shopping for a while, but you’d yet to have time until now. Today was the first time in quite a while you’d gotten a chance.

...But before you could even mention it, Spencer had already stood from where he’d been sitting and made his way over to you.

“I was thinking we could check out a few of those little shops downtown today? What do you think?” he offered, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

It was quite the offer, an offer you weren’t going to refuse and Spencer knew it. He knew that you had been looking forward to this forever, and he wanted to take you.

After all, he had been looking for a chance to take you shopping forever, and this was just the chance he was looking for.

It was perfect.

“We could do that, and we could even go to that sandwich shop you like for lunch” you hummed, thinking about it with a nod.

Today was going to be awesome, absolutely awesome and you weren’t going to let it pass you by. This was something that was rare for you and Spencer, but that only made it more special.

This wasn’t some quick coffee on the jet in the middle of a case, or dinner that was interrupted by a job. Right now, there was nothing that could go wrong.

Right now, the two of you just got to be a normal couple, on a shopping trip.

Nothing was better than that.

...Or so you thought.

You had only gotten to the second shop by the time you wanted to quit. Nothing was worth the kind of trouble you were having in that fitting room, and you couldn’t get over it.

It was killing you.

You had a hard enough time shopping fast fashion when it came to getting something to fit, but thrift shopping was even worse.

There were already fewer options available in thrift stores and vintage boutiques but that only further drove down the chances of you finding something in your size.

Now, Spencer was in the middle of sorting through a very mismatched set of teacups when you came out of the fitting room, eyes red and head down.

It was clear to him almost immediately that you’d been crying but you did nothing to acknowledge it.

Instead, you just joined him in his fiddling, without a word and pretended like you hadn’t just dropped an entire stack of clothes against the wall.

You couldn’t wear a single piece you found, not even that super cute blouse you had immediately fallen in love with, the one with the shiny buttons in the front that your eyes had sparkled upon seeing.

Nothing was going to make that any better.

Not even watching Spencer meticulously try to find the china that matched the set was enough to make you feel better. It just made you feel so sick to not be able to find anything.

Especially after how excited you’d been over all this.

You hadn’t stopped talking about all the cute thrift stores right downtown from the apartment you and Spencer had just bought since you moved in.

...But now, your body language had completely changed.

“What is it? What happened?” Spencer wondered, catching on immediately to the negative change in your attitude. You seemed as if your heart was broken, and that was hard to miss.

For Spencer, especially.

You two were basically inseparable between living together and working together, and it was hard for him to ignore the obvious shift in your mood.

It was like an itch he couldn’t scratch, and it wouldn’t go away until he found out what was wrong with you.

Not that you made him wait very long.

That was all it took before you completely shut down. You had a lot of control over your emotions as a general rule but not where your body was concerned.

This was the one thing that triggered you beyond reprieve, and nothing was going to change that.

Usually, you did this sort of thing by yourself so you never had to explain the way it made you feel. However, that was one thing you couldn’t get away from with Spencer here.

Now that you were overwhelmed, you couldn’t just leave and go home like you normally would. With Spencer here, you had to tell him the truth.

There wasn’t any hiding it anymore.

“I can’t wear any of this. Can you believe that? All the stuff I found, it doesn’t fit” you huffed, ignoring the burning in your eyes as you thought about it. The dressing room had been hot, and stuffy, like a prison.

It killed you.

“Traditionally, vintage sizes were much smaller, and most of the things they carry are likely older than we’re used to” he reasoned, realizing that was likely the reason you were having trouble.

However, that wasn’t what you wanted to hear.

You knew that was probably the real reason, but all you thought about as you tried to stretch those garments over your shoulders, was all the things wrong with your body.

In your mind, it had nothing to do with the fabric.

So, it followed that the last thing you wanted to deal with was Spencer’s endless facts, even if he was only trying to help. It didn’t make you feel any better, even if he was right.

It just made you that much more frustrated.

“I know Spencer, I know that. But if I wasn’t so big, that wouldn’t matter” you sighed, not even meaning to be so snippy with him as the words fell from your lips. You were just so over being here, and all you could think about was going home and crawling into bed.

Nothing else mattered but that right now.

Not even how much Spencer clearly cared about the duress you were under.

“Hey, don’t say that.” Spence tutted, letting his hand fall to your arm lightly, where he gave it a light squeeze. You two didn’t talk about this super often but when it did come up, there was no avoiding it.

Confidence issues had always hit home with Spencer and he understood them, but not in you. Personally, he didn’t see anything wrong with the way you looked and found you to be the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen but that didn’t make your hurt any less valid.

There were things about Spencer that he hated, but you had always made it clear that you loved him. You loved everything about him and there was no avoiding it.

It didn’t matter to you that he had trouble with himself, because you couldn’t have seen a thing out of place in him. However, it was hard to imagine that same courtesy extended to you.

The love you had for him was unconditional and you would never change that, even if you had reason to and that was the same for you as far as Spencer was concerned.

Though, nothing was going to change what you had been through. You had spent so much time dealing with this in your life and no amount of assurance was going to change that.

“Come on, cheer up. We’ve got more places we can check” he assured, reaching out to take a hand in your own. It was a good plan, and he had a point.

However, you weren’t sure about that.

You weren’t sure if you had it in you to do something like that after what you’d already had to deal with before.

“Can we maybe do it later Spence? I just want to go home” you decided finally, knowing well enough that getting in some good cuddle time and a hot dinner would make all the difference in the world.

You didn’t have it in you to do this whole thing again this late in the day and Spencer understood that. He didn’t like the idea of you giving up under such sucky circumstances but if you weren’t in the mood, he wasn’t going to force you.

“Okay, we can do that too” he allowed, taking your hand in his own to head you toward the door. Since you hadn’t found anything, he wasn’t going to just keep dragging you around for no reason.

That wouldn’t be good for either of you.

This conversation was far from over but Spencer knew it wasn’t time sensitive to figure it out. You two could have a conversation when you weren’t so tired and overwhelmed.

Right now, Spencer just wanted to make sure that you were taken care of and didn’t beat yourself up too badly over it.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x ps reader #spencer reid x plus size reader #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds x ps reader #criminal minds x plus size reader #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid imagine

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corpse--diem · 4 years ago

Text

Making Adult Friends | Chloe & Erin

TIMING: Early-mid January at Erin’s previous apartment PARTIES: @chloeinbetween & @corpse–diem SUMMARY: Chloe and Erin meet up to watch Sharknado. It’s a very normal and not awkward time at all. CONTENT WARNINGS: none

It was fine. It was cool. It was definitely not Chloe staring at her reflection in a storefront, trembling in nerves. The last time she’d gone over to someone’s house who she barely knew, well…. That hadn’t ended well. This time, Chloe was prepared, a heavy iron pendant in her hand. They were meeting outside to chat a little before they went into the nearby apartment block that Erin had said were hers. Leaning on a nearby post, she breathed hot

into her winter gloves, her fingers growing cold in the wind. “Oh, um, hey, are you Erin?” Chloe asked when she noticed a woman also looking around for someone. “I’m Chloe.”

Erin hadn’t known what had possessed her to reach out and see if this stranger online wanted to just… hang out. Maybe it was the need to socialize, or to talk to someone, anyone, about absolutely anything but the supernatural for five goddamn minutes. It was like the moment she’d been dropped into this world nearly a year ago, she hadn’t been able to get above the surface for even a breath. When Chloe agreed to watch some stupid movie with her, she wondered if the other woman simply wanted the same thing--some company and some laughs. She eyed the blonde who had approached, standing there like she’d been waiting for a bus outside of the apartment building. At first glance she looked as normal as she’d sounded. As normal as anyone who wanted to watch a movie called Sharknado with her. “Yep, that’s me,” Erin chirped, perking up with a bright smile. “Nice to meet you, Chloe.” She pulled a glove hand out of her pocket where it’d been hiding from the bite of the winter air and offered it to the other woman. “Not to rush things but what do you say we get out of this cold and at least get to the apartment lobby? My bones can’t take the cold quite like they used to.”

Chloe smiled, but it was watered down by the nervous wideness of her eyes. Erin looked, as much as possible anyway, like a normal human being. Chloe wasn't sure what she was looking for but she was looking all the same. When Erin breezed there was a cloud of condensation. She wore thick clothes to match the winter air. She wasn't standing strangely, nor was there was anything unusual about her way of speaking like Lydia had sometimes had. Nothing about Erin set off alarm bells. Chloe just wasn't convinced that meant anything. There was some part of her that knew that looking was as pointless as trying to avoid everyone. "That would be great," Chloe said, looking down at Erin's hand ever, taking it in a shake. She was about to be rude, she knew, but it was the only thing that made the idea of going inside Erin's house bearable. "Just one thing," Chloe said, holding out the iron round pendant in her hand. "This is iron, can you touch this for me please? It sounds so silly, I know, I feel absurd asking, but it's really important to me."

This is why you didn’t invite strangers to your house, Erin, she thought to herself as Chloe held out the iron pendant in front of her. There was a sincerity in her voice and eyes that was hard to dismiss but it didn’t instill much confidence in Erin. “You want me to… touch it?” She repeated the question, shifting where she stood, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Like maybe this was some weird joke she wasn’t privy to. Her gloved hand reached out, an unsure smile wavering on her lips. “This isn’t one of those buzzer things that’ll give me a shock if I touch it right?” She’d dealt with weirder things than someone with bad jokes. Her hand hovered above it, hesitant, before tapping the top of it quickly--once, twice, flinching like it would do something. “Is that good enough?”

Chloe might have lost every social skill she’d ever had these last few years, but even she felt the immediate concern and discomfort from Erin. “No, no! It’s not a prank.” Her cheeks went a little red, and Chloe hoped she could just blame that on the cold. In hindsight, she should have asked Erin to take off her glove, and while she was sure Lydia wouldn’t have been so casual about touching iron ever, the leather really made the whole test moot. Chloe wasn’t sure she was brave enough to ask her to do it again without the glove. “Um yep! It’s just a safety thing, but it’s all good. I know it’s weird.” Maybe Erin would even tell her not to come in now.

A safety thing? Not surprisingly, Chloe’s affirmation did little to soften the eyebrow raised in her direction. “That’s--yeah. Of course. You’re coming to a stranger’s home. You want to be safe. I get it.” Erin doubled back, pointing back to the pendant in her hand. “I don’t know how that screams safety but if it makes you feel better… who am I to judge, I guess? I feel like I should probably have more precautions for you, honestly.” But there was real distress there Erin couldn’t ignore and it softened some of the harsher criticisms she would usually sling at someone giving such uncertain vibes. She’d never admit it but she did feel a little safer knowing there was a hunter right next door if shit ever hit the fan. “A little weird. But that’s okay. Maybe you can explain it when we go inside? Unless you’ve got any other questions for me or things you need me to touch.” She offered a smile, wrapping her arms back around herself, the cold collecting in wisps in front of her lips.

“Trust me, it makes all the difference in the world.” Chloe looked up at the building that Erin was standing by for the first time properly, and breathe a small sigh of relief. “If it makes you feel better, I actually know one of your neighbours, funnily enough.” Chloe had been about to expand on that when she realised that discussing how she'd been rescued from her prison by Kaden Langley was not the kind of thing that you used to open a casual conversation. Today was about fun and friendship possibly hopefully, not about digging into something that she didn't want to think about right now this second. “Oh!” Chloe exclaimed, laughing a little too high and a little too nervously, “No, no! Nothing else to touch, not that I can think of. Unless… there’s anything you want to ask me or to have me touch?”

A lingering hesitation followed Chloe’s confession about knowing one of her neighbors, casting a long glance her way. Please don’t be Kaden, please don’t be Kaden, was all Erin could think. “I think I’m good on the touching thing. People usually take me to dinner before I get asked that question, just for future reference,” she teased, trying to edge out some of the growing awkwardness, still very aware that they hadn’t even stepped foot into the building yet. She started walking back towards the building, stuffing her hands back into her jacket pocket. “So… wait, you know one of my neighbors?” She tried to add in casually despite the growing dread building in her stomach. She opened the door for Chloe and led her down the damn striped hallway the man in question was woefully responsible for. “Wouldn’t happen to be some french guy? Kinda rude? Name rhymes with maiden?”

Chloe did a double take, before flushing with real embarrassment. She didn’t know what to say to that, unable to shake the anxious discomfort that Erin hadn’t touched the iron with her bare hands. It was probably fine. What was the probability of any random person being fae? They were so secret for a reason.

“Right,” she tried to chuckle awkwardly. “What can I say, I’m a very forward person.” It sounded as awkward out loud as it had in her head. Chloe ran her hand against the wall, just in case she needed the balance help as the warm air of the hall wrapped around herm, but quickly withdrew her hand as the wall striped. It wasn’t a change in wallpaper, nor, when Chloe squinted, did it look like paint, it was just… printed on there, as if it was always meant to be there.

“Did you have a mime neighbor?” Chloe asked, before realising Erin had also asked her a question, she raised her eyebrow with a smile. “He, uh, hasn’t been rude to me, but yeah, I know Kaden Langley.”

There was a noticeable uncertainty in Chloe that seemed like it’d been there for sometime, and likely there before agreeing to watch a stupid movie with a stranger online. It wasn’t Erin’s place to push and instead smiled back at her, trying to assure her this was fine despite whatever unease she currently felt. “Obviously,” she laughed softly, digging her keys out. Nearly dropped them at the door when the word mime actually came out of Chloe’s mouth. She chuckled nervously, raising a brow. “You know, I’m not entirely sure about that. But I think I do,” she smirked to herself before leading Chloe into the apartment. Even if it was still generally bare, it was warm. “I’m glad he wasn’t then. He’s right next door, actually. He’s…” Erin sighed, a hint of reluctance in her voice, trying to save face in front of someone who could possibly be a friend or friendly acquaintance of his. “He’s not the worst neighbor. Even if he bakes constantly and doesn’t share. Ever.” She smiled over at her, shrugging off her coat and hanging it on a hook beside the door. Narrowed her eyes, suddenly straightening. “Oh shoot--you don’t have any allergies to animals or anything, do you?” As if on cue, the small, fluffy cat hopped up on the table nearest to Chloe, greeting the other woman with a friendly chirping meow.

“Doesn’t he?” Chloe repeated with a smile, sure that wasn’t the only reason for the rivalry between the two. Not that it was her business, but she couldn’t even imagine Kaden being a jerk. A little snippy, maybe, a little quick to temper, but that was the worst of what she could imagine. “It’s really cruel, to make someone smell how good your baking is without sharing it.” All the same, as she looked around Erin’s apartment, she couldn’t help but compare it to Kaden’s next door. Chloe jumped, bumping into the back of the doorframe and grabbing it wildly before regaining her balance. Just a cat. Just a cat! Chloe didn’t even realise how she’d clutched the chest of her jumper until she breathed out shakily. “No!” She replied, “Not allergic at all. Just- just a bit easy to startle. Sorry. Um, are, are they friendly? Do they like to be pet?” Chloe asked, her voice creaking.

“Could certainly be worse,” Erin replied, trying to brush off the edge in her voice she might have let slip through about her neighbor. All things considered, it truly could have been worse. Wasn’t great knowing you shared a wall with someone who would have preferred to see you behind bars. Easy enough to forget as she watched Chloe nearly jump out of her skin when Betty popped out to say hello. “I’ll remember that,” she nodded, another assuring, if not awkwardly unsure smile crossing her lips. Erin only knew a few things about Chloe so far, and two of those were: easy to startle and made people touch a pendant when they met. Strong start. “Oh, no, pet away. She’s the sweetest thing you’ll ever meet, I promise,” she added, crossing over to pet the top of her head. “Go ahead and make yourself comfortable and help yourself to anything out there.” There were already a few plates of snacks on plates waiting on the coffee table in front of the television. Maybe a slight overcompensation for two people but it was hard to remember a time she had someone over for a completel supernatural free evening, even if it involved shark infested natural disasters. “Can I get you coffee or tea or something to drink?”

“Don’t say that,” Chloe replied tightly, swallowing, her skin growing pale as she looked around for extra trouble. Or maybe Erin was the extra trouble. Or maybe she needed to chill, but the feeling that Erin was about to get herself trapped was… unshakeable. “I mean, I’m sure she’s amazing, but you know, you never know with absolutes, you don’t want to say anything that’s…. You know, you never know.” Chloe offered her hand towards the cat to sniff, then gently pet her head, only a tiny bit of tension melting from the shoulders as she was greeted with the cat pressing into her hand. Chloe swallowed, suppressing the moment’s panic at being asked to make a choice. “Coffee would be great,” She said after a moment. “Just black is good. I appreciate it.” Her skin crawled from how painfully awkward this already was. “So, funeral director, right? That’s a really interesting job, especially in a town like this.” She couldn’t shake the memory of how Erin had introduced herself, like she was supposed to just know who the funeral director was, because there were so many deaths.

Erin eyed Chloe warily as she fumbled through the explanation of an apparently very real fear that didn’t quite match up with its source. Not to Erin, anyway, and not right away. The more she thought about it though, a creeping, nearly long-forgotten dread started to climb its way back up insides. “Right,” she drawled slowly, as if trying to still understand but not wanting to be rude by sitting in the brief silence that followed it. She started the coffee anyway, thankful to have something to at least busy her hands with. “That’s pretty fair actually. Do you have a problem with promises as a whole, then? Or just absolutes?” She asked, maybe not so subtly alluding to what Chloe’s words had instantly brought to mind. A flash of Regan, a glass of water and Dr. Rickers’ beard hair flashed behind her eyes. If Chloe had any experience with those kinds of promises, her fear made a mountain of sense. “You mean a town like this with a death rate like this?” She tacked on, glancing over as she poured the coffee, a knowing smirk on her lips. “It keeps me busy, that’s for sure.” It did, anyway, and hopefully would continue to after things were sorted. She didn’t want to think about that right now though. “What did you say you did?” She asked, placing the cup of coffee in front Chloe before taking up a spot on the couch.

If Chloe could be any redder, she should just start a career as a traffic light. Her skin was flushed beetroot red as Erin drawled her skepticism. Which was better than what came next, as the blood drained from her face as quickly as it had appeared. Was it a trap? Erin had touched the iron with her gloves, after all, and Chloe was really regretting not insisting now. Then again, she wasn’t sure anyone who was a fae or hung out with fae in any significant way would have used the phrase I promise that quickly. “Promises are the most intense absolutes, more than most people realise, I think.” She tried to cover for herself, managing to answer the question even less subtly than Erin had asked it.

Safe to say, a conversation about jobs was much easier. “Well, uh, yes, considering the deathrate and all.” Chloe said quietly, matching Erin’s smile much more nervously. “Um, not much at the moment, if I’m honest? Kind of… looking for a job at the moment. I haven’t really been….. Employed for a few years now, but I used to teach music at an elementary school.” Because talking about the past was something Chloe could definitely, certainly do without coming across weird. It wasn’t even that the Lydia stuff was secret, or that she felt like it was a good idea to keep it secret, but in the closest thing she’d had to normalcy in… years, she was kind of reticent to ruin that.

Chloe might have answered her question but it didn’t leave Erin with any more answers or assurances than before she’d asked it. There was no missing the literal uncomfortable physical reaction Chloe had to her words. Her curiosity skyrocketed. “Oh, I agree,” she nodded whole-heartedly, wondering how long she could toe this line without asking what she actually wanted to know. The woman had already asked her to touch a pendant before she’d come into her home and they were about to watch a movie about a fictional shark-filled natural disaster. What did she really have to lose? “You make a promise and then suddenly you’re bound to it.” She pointedly paused, lifting the cup of coffee to her lips as she peered over at Chloe over the top of it. “Been there before and it’s not a good feeling. I don’t make promises I can’t keep anymore. Or at all, if I can help it.”

There was more ease in this part of the conversation, but not by much. If Erin ever thought she was wound tightly, she had absolutely nothing on the spring coil energy her new acquaintance had. “A music teacher? Really?” A softer, more genuine smile crossed Erin’s lips. “And there’s nothing at the schools right now? That’s surprising.” That high death rate touched every aspect of this town. No one was excluded. Her eyes narrowed gently in her direction. “Assuming teaching is something you want to get back to. Parents are always looking for private music instructors for their kids too. I was saddled with one until I was sixteen when mine decided I was learning how to play the organ.”

“Then you’re smart,” Chloe said softly, and itched to ask more, but they’d never watch the movie at all if she kept asking and… she wanted the quiet. She wanted to not spend every situation talking about fae, or being trapped, or anything. But her body did loosen up, relaxing, just to know that Erin knew something.

“Well, I don’t really know that I want to go back to music. Too much baggage, and my voice is kind of… wrecked.” Like she’d been swallowing gravel on a weekly basis. “I’m due a career change anyway, right? Something quiet and easy.” That didn’t even involve thinking about music. “Damn. The organ is an impressive instrument to learn, though, especially as a kid. Guessing it comes in handy at work too.”

Chloe’s conciseness didn’t have an edge to it but there was enough there for Erin to take the hint. There was more there, and as desperately as she wanted to dig further, chasing off the person she was trying to befriend with her nosiness wasn’t the goal for today. “Just experienced,” she tacked on with a raised brow, reaching for some of the snacks she’d prepared and left it at that.

Too much baggage? Wasn’t what she was expecting there either but she nodded as if she understood anyway. That was Chloe’s prerogative, after all. “Oh, absolutely. They loved being able to throw me out there in front of a grieving family and make the whole room sob with some Ave Maria or Amazing Grace.” She smirked, reaching for the remote, sorting through the available movies until the movie poster with the flying sharks filled the screen. “Something quiet and easy sounds fair though. Do you have your eyes on anything in particular?” She tilted her head at Chloe, a teasing smile on her lips. “You know, it’s very quiet in a funeral home. I’ll be opening up again soon, and positions are open, so…”

Experienced. Erin knew. Erin knew something about Fae, but the tone told her it wasn’t that she was fae. For the first time all night, Chloe relaxed more comfortably in her seat. She didn’t have to explain everything or talk about everything. They could just both… know, and not address it, not tonight. “Oh, I bet. Those melodies are heart stoppers.”

“The job offerings in this town are pretty… eclectic. I applied for a reception job at a ghost tour operator, but apparently competition for that kind of job is fierce,” Chloe said with an amused smile, not realising that not believing in ghosts had been the only reason she hadn’t gotten it. She smiled back at Erin, not quite sure how sincere the offer was. “Maybe you’ll see my application at some point,” Chloe said quietly, and although she expected to cringe away from the thought of working in such a macabre field, she found herself oddly… at ease with the idea. She’d seen more than enough terrible death to be afraid of the mundane kind.

Erin smiled sincerely in Chloe’s direction. Whatever she’d said seemed to add an air of calmness to the room, for the first time since she’d met her outside and was asked to touch an iron pendant. She couldn’t say she wasn’t thankful for it. “Well, I’d be happy to read over it, if that’s the case.” She wasn’t sure how applicable Chloe’s skills as a music teacher were going to translate to the funeral home but she supposed if she could wrangle a group of kids with loud instruments, she could handle some phone calls, surely. They’d cross that bridge when or if they got there.

“Oh!” She interjected, finishing a quick sip of her coffee and set it down on the table. “The movie.” Tucking her legs under her, she let a goofier smile pull at her lips and clicked the remote until the film was up and ready to play. “Are you ready to experience the thrill of a lifetime? Or do you need more time to prepare?”

“I don’t think anyone’s ever truly ready for Sharknado,” Chloe replied with a grin, settling into the couch. “How can anyone prepare for that level of artistry?” She turned her eyes to the screen as the opening sequence began, the corners of her lips turned up. Her body thrummed with a quiet kind of contentment. It was easy to be scared, but it was just as easy to be grateful. There was, on this couch with a new acquaintance and a delightfully terrible movie playing, so much to still be grateful for.

#wickedswriting #chatzy #chatzy: chloe #making adult friends

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wonderfulworldofmichaelford · 4 years ago

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Is It Really THAT Bad?

I’m going to warn you all now. This one is going to get a bit angry at the end. Normally I would try and remain as professional as possible, but in this case, I don’t feel like I would be able to.

Batman & Robin is a film that has lived in infamy since its release in 1997. Upon release, it was critically reviled, and this hatred of the film continued long into the modern day, where it frequently tops “worst films of all time lists” to the point where it actually is listed on the Wikipedia page for “List of films considered the worst.” It was nominated for at least 11 Razzies but only won a single one, and it went on to be a frequent punching bag on the {REDACTED] Critic’s web show, where he would get irrationally angry at the mere mention of the Bat Credit Card. In contemporary reviews, Mick LaSalle of The San Francisco Chronicle stated “"George Clooney is the big zero of the film, and should go down in history as the George Lazenby of the series,” which is less of a criticism and more of a compliment, if I’m being totally honest.

Most of the stars would take a negative stance towards it as well, with legend stating that if you tell George Clooney that you saw the film in theaters, he will refund you for your ticket out of his own pocket. Chris O’Donnell likewise is not particularly fond of the film, stating "It just felt like everything got a little soft the second time. On Batman Forever, I felt like I was making a movie. The second time, I felt like I was making a kid's toy commercial." And, perhaps most depressingly, Joel Schumacher himself was apparently very apologetic for the film, though this may or may not have come about because of years and years of vitriol being directed at him for making this film.

In the wake of Mr. Schumacher’s passing, I decided to re-watch the film, as I am famously rather fond of it, and I am going to tell you all why the answer to the question “Is it really THAT bad?” is a loud, resounding, NO.

THE GOOD

There’s honestly quite a lot to like here, more than you might think. I think first and foremost what you need to understand going in is that this is a silly, cartoonish take on the Burton style, blending the silliness and camp of the West series with the drama and aesthetics of the Burton films, all while adding some over-the-top, colorful flair. John Glover, who appears in the film as a cartoonish mad scientist, even has gone on record as saying "Joel would sit on a crane with a megaphone and yell before each take, 'Remember, everyone, this is a cartoon'. It was hard to act because that kind of set the tone for the film”… the last sentence makes the statement very baffling, but at least even the actors were aware of what they were doing. If this doesn’t sound appealing, well, the opening is sure to warn you off, as it is a suiting up montage with various shots of the firm butts, large codpieces, and stiff batnipples of the Dynamic Duo. The movie is very upfront about what you’re in for.

On the subject of the infamous batnipples, Schumacher stated "I had no idea that putting nipples on the Batsuit and Robin suit were going to spark international headlines. The bodies of the suits come from Ancient Greek statues, which display perfect bodies. They are anatomically correct." It seems a very odd choice, but it’s pretty clear that he meant it as an amusing little design choice and nothing more. Of course, this hasn’t stopped everyone and their mother from spewing homophobic comments about how he was purposefully making the film gayer, even from star George Clooney, who has said that he played Batman as a gay man and was told by Schumacher Batman is gay. It’s so disgusting that people did and continue to do this, because honestly, the costumes are fine, and even if they are meant to be fanservice… so what? O’Donell and Clooney’s asses look nice, as does Alicia Silverstone’s when she dons a suit. The fact hers is just as form-fitting as the other two really shows that the whole idea Schumacher did it because he was gay is ridiculous; the man was very egalitarian about the fanservice in the movie.

Whatever else Clooney says, he does a pretty great job as Batman and Bruce Wayne. His speech at the end of the film where he talks to Mr. Freeze and reminds him that he is a good man and offers to help him is honestly one of the few moments in any Batman film where Batman actually feels like the one from the animated series, a man who fights crime but also wants to help the people he’s trying to stop. Clooney just has a very natural charisma that lends himself to playing a hero, and while there are a few awkward moments in the performance, he captures the fun and charm a more lighthearted Batman should. Michael Gough’s last turn as Alfred is also surprisingly poignant, and a lot of mileage is gotten out of his genuinely tearjerking subplot.

Of course, the very best part of the film is the villains. Uma Thurman is clearly having a ball as Poison Ivy, and she gets to have a ludicrous amount of costumes as well as numerous moments of fanservice. She also has the power to turn every man around her into a simp, which is absolutely amazing and leads to quite a few scenes of Batman and Robin slapping each other over her. But f course, there’s really no doubt that the best part of the film is Mr. Freeze. He’s a combination of the sillier Mr. Freeze from the West days and the more modern take of the character most are familiar with, the tragic anti-villain who wants to save his wife; such a character would take a talented man capable of comedy and drama in equal measure. And who better than Arnold Schwarzenegger? Joel Schumacher wanted a man who looked like he was chiseled from a glacier, and Arnold certainly fits that description. He spends the movie juggling some of the most corny puns you can imagine and a lot of truly powerful, understated drama, and it really does work. You honestly get the sense that Arnold really gets Mr. Freeze and what makes him a great character. Also, that suit he has is amazing.

As a final note: the Bat Credit Card is absolutely not stupid. Linkara has defended it in the past, giving reasons why and how it could actually work, but really, all that needs to be said is… is this any more ridiculous than Shark Repellent Bat Spray?

THE BAD

So don’t get the wrong idea here; this film is far from perfect. As is the case with any comedy, the humor can be hit or miss; not all of the puns land, not all of the jokes are great. You’re never going to get a perfect comedy no matter how hard you try, and this is no exception.

As for performances, I think O’Donnell’s Robin and Silverstone’s Batgirl are a bit wonky. O'Donnell has long been a source of derision for his whining, and while I think the hate is a bit overblown, he does spend a ludicrous amount of time in this film being snippy, miserable, and arrogant. I think he actually fights with Batman more than any of the villains! Still, his performance isn’t horrible, he just gets a bit too whiny at a few points.

Silverstone is a bit of a bigger problem, but she’s not quite as bad as even I remembered. She’s pretty much Batgirl in name only, since she’s related to Alfred in this, but she’s mostly okay. The issue really is that her arc in the film is relatively bland and feels a bit shoehorned, which comes to a head where she fights Poison Ivy in a designated catfight, obviously because they didn’t want Batman to punch a woman in the face I guess. There’s just one issue with that:

On the subject of Ivy, while she definitely does have plant powers here, they’re strangely underplayed. She rarely uses them even when it would probably be beneficial, instead relying on Bane to do most of the fighting for her. Ah, Bane… Bane is one of the few things about this film I can’t really muster up any sort of defense for. While his creation scene is rather cool, it doesn’t lead to much of interest, as this version of Bane is pretty much a mindless supersoldier lackey who serves Poison Ivy. Now, this was still relatively early in Bane’s existence, as he had only debuted in 1993 and was really most famous for his signature “breaking the Bat” move, but it still is baffling why, with that famous thing fresh in everyone’s minds, that they would just choose to go and basically make Bane into Evil Diet Captain America. Surely they could have either saved him for a sequel or utilized him in a way more befitting of the character? I think this Bane is kind of responsible for the negative perception of Bane as this big, dumb bruiser, something that works like The Dark Knight Rises and Arkham Origins have thankfully gone a long way to rectifying. Bane is at his best when he’s a cunning genius bruiser; here, he’s nothing but a glorified prop.

Is It Really THAT Bad?

The answer is no. No it isn’t. AT ALL.

I’ve always felt this film came out at the wrong time. It was towards the end of the 90s, during the Dark Age of Comics when everything was dark, gritty, and edgy. The world didn’t want a movie like this back then; they wanted stuff like Blade, who would come in shortly after this film and show us how to make that aesthetic work. I guess in terms of Batman they wanted something more like Dawn of Justice, which really speaks volumes to how awful the 90s were for superheroes.

Look, I’m not trying to convince anyone this is the greatest Batman film ever. Even I don’t think that; Batman Returns, The Dark Knight, and Under the Red Hood are all much better films. But is this really the worst Batman film now that we have the deeply misogynistic and disgusting The Killing Joke and the relentlessly bleak and unpleasant Batman v Superman? Hell, it’s not even worse than Batman Forever! At least the Batman in this film has some kind of emotional range beyond “plank of wood!” And even calling it the worst sequel ever is just… so baffling. Again, this is definitely better than Batman Forever, lack of Jim Carrey notwithstanding. And can you honestly look me in the eye and tell me that this is worse than any of the Terminator sequels after the second film? Worse than Iron Man 2 or Thor: The Dark World? The almost half dozen Alvin and the Chipmunk sequels? This is only the worst sequel or even a bad sequel if it is the only sequel you’ve ever seen in your life.

A lot of the hate for it from back in the day carries a strong undercurrent of homophobia. Much like the infamous backlash against disco, it’s seriously uncomfortable, and it definitely is cruel how accusatory people were towards Schumacher’s intentions for the suits of the heroes in the film. The fact that even the two main stars have gotten in on it is a bit disgusting, though O’Donnell questioning why there needed to be a codpiece is certainly less offensive than George Clooney saying he played Batman as a gay man for… whatever reason. Was he implying that Batman being gay made the movie worse? I’m not sure what he’s on about there. Even The New Batman Adventures made a cruel dig at the film; notice the sign and the effeminate-looking boy. You could only get homophobia this good in the 90s!

The hatred of this film is absolutely overblown. It’s so ridiculous. #70 on the bottom rated movies of IMDB? #1 on the 50 worst films of all time list from Empire? Doug Walker’s personal punching bag whenever he needs to talk about a bad sequel, to the point where he literally said no one wanted a comedic take on Batman in his worst sequels video? Come the fuck on.

Joel Schumacher may or may not have ended up hating this film, but he certainly was made to feel like shit for making it… and it is honest to god not that bad! But he was just absolutely eviscerated, to the point where this was a fucking headline when he died:

Literally fuck all of these people. Fuck io9 for their insensitive headline. Fuck Empire for rating this as the worst film ever. Fuck Doug Walker for his constant bashing and his shitty old “chimp out over the Bat Credit Card” gag. Double fuck Mick LaSalle for shitting on George Clooney’s performance while also trying to say George Lazenby’s Bond was bad. In fact, fuck George Clooney for his weird idea that playing Batman as gay is a bad thing (sorry George, but I can’t defend this). Fuck the Razzies. Yes, it was nominated, but I just feel it’s always a good time to say “Fuck the Razzies.”

I will never say you have to love or even like this film, but the sheer amount of vitriol and hatred for it is absolutely beyond me. At worst, this film is just a bit too goofy, and at best, it is a fun tribute to the campy days when Batman just couldn’t get rid of a bomb. I didn’t take off my score this time. I’m proud to say I gave this an 8/10, personally. If I’m being honest, a 6.6 – 6.9 is more appropriate, because it does have quite a few issues, but god, this film is not bad at all. It’s silly, goofy, campy, and fun… but bad? Not by any stretch of my imagination. And fuck the critics for convincing an entire generation that this is Batman at his worst, when we have Batman fucking slaughtering his ways through criminals and fucking Barbara Gordon on rooftops these days. I will always take stupid ice puns over misery, murder and creepy intergenerational sex, thank you very much.

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I hope you can rest easy, Mr. Schumacher. Maybe you didn’t love your film in the end but, wherever you are, I hope you know I loved it.

#Is it really that bad?#IIRTB #Review #movie review #batman & robin #joel schumacher #George Clooney #Batman #Uma Thurman #arnold schwarzenegger #Poison Ivy #Mr. Freeze #superhero movie

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trifoliate-undergrowth · 5 years ago

Text

Jonah Magnus begrudgingly becomes a trans ally after putting himself in the wrong body “as a joke” and suffering

Concept: Dramatic Bastard Jonah “Hubris” Magnus decides to put his eyeballs in a female body for one of these bodyhops because he “thought it’d be fun” (and also perhaps make that snippy young librarian Gertrude stop commenting on the fact that the Institute has never had a female Head and that she feels it’s high time they got their heads out of the Dark Ages and stopped ignoring half the population) and it BACKFIRES HORRIBLY

(long post under the cut)

For one thing, half of his (actual, unstated) reasoning behind the switch was to spice up his third marriage with Peter, but Peter is Too Gay to Function(TM) and just takes one look at the new body and immediately books a year-long voyage to Siberia and leaves the country without so much as touching Jonah.

And then Jonah has to deal with having a female body to take care of and absolutely no idea how one works because despite serving the Watcher he is, also, Too Gay to Function(TM) and has not prioritized information on how to handle having a coochie. He didn’t think it would be a big deal. He was wrong.

See, up until now Jonah Magnus has always picked young, twink-ish bodies that have at least a superficial resemblance to the young Jonah Magnus, and has assumed that being able to adjust to the slight differences just fine and even enjoying the changes means that he’s immune to dysphoria.

Jonah Magnus is convinced that gender dysphoria is bullshit and that he’ll like a female body just fine because he wore drag once and had a fun time. Jonah Magnus has not thought this through. Jonah Magnus has not considered that “wearing drag as a man who enjoys being a man but also likes dresses” is actually different from “actually not being a man or comfortable in a man’s body”.

Jonah Magnus figures out the difference very quickly.

Jonah Magnus, King of Denial, writes it off as “needing to adjust to the new body” until he catches himself wishing he had that Leitner that makes you disappear bc he doesn’t want to be seen, or to have to see himself, in this body and he just wants it to disappear.

The first barista at Jonah’s favorite coffee shop to call him “ma’am” gets to watch a grown woman visibly flinch at being properly addressed and then rush out of the store. The barista then violently remembers something embarrassing that happened to her in high school, and spends the next week suffering from nightmares about her worst memories.

A man makes the mistake of catcalling some academic-looking librarian dame. She gives him a freezing look and suddenly he’s having violent flashbacks to all his worst experiences at once. He falls down on the street and has a nosebleed and eventually has to be picked up by the police and brought to a mental hospital because he’s raving like a lunatic.

Jonah “Cannot Admit I Made a Mistake” Magnus, still trying to convince himself this isn’t that bad actually, catches himself making a mental schedule for showering As Little As Socially Acceptable so he doesn’t have to see himself naked. Jonah Magnus is usually fastidiously clean, and can’t stand the feel of going more than two days without a shower. Jonah Magnus suddenly prefers that to seeing himself naked any more than necessary. Jonah Magnus finally admits that he made a mistake. Jonah Magnus is starting to understand what the words “gender dysphoria” and also “male privilege” mean and he’s hating every moment of it.

And then he forgets to take the birth control that this body was on and its period comes back with a vengeance and he does something he never does and calls Peter, screaming about how he’s LITERALLY DYING and Peter is like “you know women have periods right.”

“WHAT”

“Yeah they bleed every month”

“They WHAT?? EVERY MONTH???”

“...Jonah you serve the Eye. How do you not know basic human biology”

Jonah “Too Proud to Admit that the Information on Coochie is Buried Under Years and Years of Occult Secrets and Sexy Robert Smirke Moments” Magnus: “I KNOW!! I JUST--IT’S COMPLETELY IRRATIONAL THAT IT HURTS THIS MUCH”

“Yes”

“THIS CAN’T BE NORMAL”

“Yes it can”

“I’M DYING AND ALSO I’M STAINING ALL MY SHEETS THIS IS HORRIBLE”

“All of these are things I’ve heard my sisters say.”

“NO IT--wait really”

“They talked way too much. Really weren’t suited for Forsaken. I was so glad when they left. Partly because I was a squeamish little boy who really didn’t want to hear about their girl puberty issues any more”

“Hang on, I’m NOT dying?”

“Probably not. Do you have any painkillers? Get in a hot bath and wait it out.”

“HOW LONG???”

“Euuughgjs I dunno maybe like a week? Ask a woman”

“A WEEK?? WHAT?? I’M GOING TO DIE PETER I CAN’T ENDURE THIS FOR A WEEK”

“You.... didn’t think about this BEFORE you stole the body?”

“Y-YES OF COURSE I DID”

“Jonah Magnus, world’s greatest occultist and scholar, forgot to do his research?”

“THAT’S NOT IT, I JUST DIDN’T THINK IT WOULD BE THIS BAD,,, PETER YOU’RE LYING TO ME PETER PLEASE TELL ME YOU’RE LYING I CAN’T TAKE A WEEK OF THIS PETER”

“I said I don’t know. A week sounds right but I could be totally wrong. Ask a woman.”

“I DON’T KNOW ANY WOMEN THAT I CAN ASK AWKWARD QUESTIONS OF”

“Go to the library”

“I CAN’T I’M IN PAIN AND BLEEDING ALL OVER EVERYTHING”

“Oh, yeah, there should be stuff for that. You’re in, uh, the former body’s apartment right? She’s probably got like, what are they called? Feminine pads?”

“WHAT? PETER I’M AN ADULT I’M NOT WEARING A DIAPER”

“Okay, have fun getting the bloodstains out of everything you own.”

“HOW DO WOMEN LIVE LIKE THIS”

“I don’t know. Rather impressive really.”

“FUCK”

He caves and goes to young Gertrude and is like “listen if you tell anyone this I’ll destroy your life but I’m actually an ancient bodyhopping bastard and this is my first time in a female body and I’m in hell please help me” and that’s how this Gertrude finds out who Jonah Magnus is

Elias Bouchard gets snagged for the next transfer because, yeah he’s kind of a weird pick for next Head of the Institute and people might talk but Jonah is Desperate at this point and Elias more or less fits his MO as far as physical traits go at least

Peter is so relieved to have A Husband when he gets back that he doesn’t even complain about Elias picking a blond just because he knows Peter doesn’t like it. And for once Elias didn’t even do it on purpose, he was just in a hurry to get out of the Hell Dysphoria Body and took the first option he saw.

The formerly-plagued-by-nightmares barista at Jonah’s favorite coffee shop stops seeing the increasingly depressed-looking woman who’d been coming in, but now there’s a nice young who smiles like the sun when she calls him Sir and it’s such a nice smile that she feels a deep sense of warmth and contentment and only thinks good thoughts for the rest of the day. She falls asleep content in the knowledge that all her friends love and appreciate her and that she makes the best coffee in London and for the next week she has pleasant, restful dreams that she can’t remember but that she wakes up from smiling.

Elias Bouchard quietly starts offering trans-inclusive health benefits to employees of the Magnus Institute. Martin Blackwood, Broke Trans Guy In Need of a Job, instantaneously appears on the doorstep.

#elias bastard bouchard #peter lukas #lonely eyes #gertrude robinson (briefly mentioned)#I love trans martin headcanons they're Good #joke post #long text post #the magnus archives #personal #alternate headcanon where Joanna Magnus was actually trans. but this was funnier #raise your hand if you would work for a shady paranormal archive that gave trans health benefits *slowly raises hand*

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oghoneytryst · 6 years ago

Text

savior;

continuation from the sunflower. series / part 3

where a fan becomes a friend

a/n: thank u for being so patient with this. my inspiration and writing just ... hasn’t been it lately, but I'm really pushing through and i am so happy to have finished this part. honestly, we’ve got a long road ahead of us, but I will try my absolute best to drive this wild ride down.

pls let me know how you feel about this part! pls be nice b/c I'm currently in sad bitch hours :-)

also sorry that tumblr is a weirdo and made the format for text super strange, idk what to do about it but i hope it doesn’t affect anything!

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

~ Nov. 14 ~

Every digit embodies a shapely mark of intimidation; all ten, with their loops and their curves that shower in iridescence through her late morning eyes. Midnight ink saturates the sticky note’s pale yellow, tiny creases in the square body and little curls at the edges. She knows the value of this ordinary paper, and in her hands, it dances in the flame of eternal possibilities.

The pregnant woman sits on an office chair with desperation in her chest. Beneath the buttons and ruffles of her bright marigold blouse, her heart beats against her clammy skin. Heavy thighs stick to the squish of the chair, a mermaid’s tail in a muted pencil skirt. The material expands and shapes over her little bump; her growing joy; her inconvenient little bundle that she adores so much.

As a result of her punishable overthinking, she tears away the inside of her cheek, gnawing teeth at war by mindless command. In a pile of her worries, the minimal harm is at the very bottom. At the top are these ten digits that transfix her curious eyes. It isn’t as if she hasn’t considered dialing the number before. Insignificant pregnancy whines, however, cannot compare with the favor she would be asking of him now.

Without trouble, she recalls the days that had followed Harry’s visit. She recalls her tears on the couch, angry at nothing, angry at everything; the frustrating changes of her body, the awful work days. In all of her recollections, she complains to her roommate, who she admires greatly for putting up with all of her dramatics.

On the 6th, she had obsessively craved some Dippin’ Dots. It had been on the 6th that Aaron found himself arguing with a pregnant woman, a feat he had never wanted. It hadn’t mattered that such a pregnant woman had been his infuriatingly needy roommate, someone he actually does care for. He really had no trouble telling her no after her incredibly annoying behavior that afternoon.

She, of course, is never able to control her pregnant mannerisms. Yet, Aaron has always been suspicious of what she had been like prior to the bun in her oven. He has only ever known her as a woman-carrying-child in need, so perhaps during this process a lot of her personality hyphens instead of alters.

Nonetheless, her demand had been frankly impossible on the 6th. The nearest Dippin’ Dots is more than a half hour drive away from their home, and nighttime had been approaching soon. There hadn’t been a chance that Aaron would bear through Los Angeles traffic for, quote, “fucking balls of ice cream.”

So, with the fire of the sun drizzling to a bedazzling California sky, she had wept over nothing and everything at once. The timeline of her pregnancy had not made her emotions plausible. Instead, it had been the collective world turning against her on a tiring, unwelcomed day.

In the flash of a second, she had heard the ding in her fuzzy brain. The sticky note with the fruitful digits ... maybe he has some connections! Maybe he can bring us some! Do you think? If he’s not busy? What if he has a special freezer meant for his own supply of Dippin’ Dots?

It had been harmless on her part; an oh-so-bright idea crafted from a momentary desire for soft frozen food. She had been so close to make the call, if not for her dearest roommate and his not-so-delicate intervention. Aaron, the man who she believes admires Harry more than she does. With a high percentage of certitude, she knows he’d be first in line to invite the Cheshire man back to their unimpressive home.

In truth, that had been the reason for his disapproval of ringing him up that night. He believed it to be lunacy, sharp scissors at the ready in order to cut the special ties she had somehow knotted up with Harry. The man’s exact words – in that richly Northwestern accent – had been: “if you ever need something, please, don’t hesitate to call this number.” Something, in Aaron’s eyes, had not been anything. While he does not have a single doubt that the rock star would fly to her rescue in any situation, he advised against calling him for certain things.

Not everyone is so fortunate to have Harry in their lives. Aaron, with all of his respect for the man, knew that this had been a game to play carefully. If his pregnant roommate really enjoyed Harry’s company, she would have to play every card right, especially with a man as reserved as he is.

His points had been compelling, but she had not seen it as seriously. Her intuition had not stopped her from rethinking her decision once and twice and thrice. In the end, she had put her trust in Aaron’s madman words and had not called Harry. In the days that had followed, his charismatic voice lured in the back of her head whenever she scanned the sticky note, second-guessing herself about whether her temptation to call him had been worthy enough of his time.

It had been more difficult to resist calling when she had been alone one unfortunate night. The bustle of the neighborhood brought her to a reality that she did not particularly enjoy. Forced by the comfort of her pregnancy pillow, there had been a magnetic pull of the stars that whispered to her eyes through an overbearing distance.

She only wanted a friend that night. Someone to talk with, to hear their voice so that it could bring her back to the bit of sanity she had left. Previous nights, Aaron had been a solace for her, soft-spoken words lulling her to sleep after suffocating in the clouds for too long. Except that night, he ended up at his workplace until the late hour, and she recognized her loneliness as dangerously frightening.

For hours she cried, wanting a hug, wanting something to make her feel real and existent and safe. On that night, in her most calamitous moments, she later came to notice the vivacity of her swollen stomach. It had been – always is – comforting to feel something there, even without having to actually feel movement. It had been therapeutic to whisper her fears and truths. It had been on that night, she would never be alone again.

She hasn’t thought to call the number since. While it has only been a mere 10 days, there feels to be an infinite timeline of moments in-between. She knows it to be more accurate for him and his busy, ever-changing schedule.

They’d had a conversation last time, when he brought her that treasured gift. He sat on the dusty floorboards, her rested on a heavenly cloud with a smile to match. It had been simple, a little awkward at times, though never once had it felt forced. She feared them reverting back to strangers, to sense the shift in energy that would put a strain on her heart.

She scans the note again. xxx-xxx-xxxx. A dime of kisses, where no other option lies.

With her phone face-up on the receptionist’s desk, she rolls her eyes. Messages of apologies and excuses flood in, though her scant aggression dissolves into an antsy frown. She cannot be mad at Cindy/Sydney for cancelling on her, especially when she does not even know her actual name. The frustration of her anger devolves into frustration of herself, for this damn appointment that she had not set up a backup plan for.

“Excuse me?”

Breaking up with an intense, one-sided conversation, she raises her head to a sheepish man in his late 30’s, early 40’s. He stands at a short height on the other side of the receptionist’s desk, square glasses disguising his truest features.

She grins at him, a cheery delight overpowering her honest glum. “Hi, how are you?” her voice chirps, a shift in her behavior that she considers a skill-set. “What can I do for you today?”

“Uh, I’ve already spoken with you. I have an appointment with Sanders at 10 and you told me to fill out a form. I’m still waiting for it.”

The woman’s smile falters at the man’s irresolute explanation. He ends each sentence as though it is a question, not wanting to step on a wrong foot. She takes in his appearance, and there is familiarity in his rusty red, untucked polo.

“Right.” Her eyes close in repent of her common forgetfulness. “That’s right. I’m sorry.” She scurries to get the papers together on a clipboard, pushing the rolling chair in every different direction. “I’ve just been a little slow today.” The man laughs off the mistake, assuring her that there are no worries.

“Really, no trouble at all.”

He thanks her for the form once it is secure in his hands and walks to the waiting area. This accidentally precedes her rushing to hand him the sticky note, to which she quickly realizes her mistake before he has a chance to read the numbers. He sits down in a modern arm chair next to its twin, where a young preteen girl shifts around nervously. Out of plain assumption, she recognizes the pair as a father-daughter duo. The man smiles at the girl, crossing his legs, trying to console her nerves as best as he can with humor.

The pregnant receptionist smiles.

The ventilated air of the office smoothens in her lungs.

For her child, she would do anything – everything. As hesitant thoughts surge through in hungry waves, she dials the number in her phone anyway. In the back of her head, she contemplates whether it is actually his number or if it belongs to an assistant of his. It doesn’t sound completely off from what a celebrity would do. He doesn’t know who she is. It’s better to play it safe than to make a foolish mistake that he later regrets.

The trio of short, snippy buzzes vibrate through the line. It is an electric feeling, comforting almost to hear its warm murmur during her wait.

“—Hello?”

Her languid eyes illuminate in the mirror of neon signs; her body freezes over with a blizzard of nerves. His voice is somehow deeper than she remembers from 10 days ago, an ironic sultriness in his polite tone.

“Hello?” he asks again with a tad more infliction in the single word.

“...H-Hello,” she responds, tongue running dry and the last sensible part of her brain sabotaging her. Why didn’t I prepare for this? It is feasible that deep in her subconscious, she had expected an assistant to answer. She practically wanted an assistant to answer.

He repeats himself, “Hello,” a little more chirp in the melody of a mockingbird.

“Hi. Harry?”

“Who’s calling?”

The question stumbles her for a second. Is it good or bad that he cannot recognize her voice? Admittedly a consequence on her part for taking so long to reach out. She answers anyway, her name spoken with so much dubiety, but really, what is she afraid of?

“You know, the uh, the one from—”

“Oh—”

“From Mel’s and, the one with ... pregnant, y’know—”

“Yeah!” he exclaims, echoing her name through a mildly static output. “Of course. How are you? Doing alright? Baby’s fine?”

She pulls away from the phone to breathe, suddenly elated over his reaction. His charisma is virtually magical. She touches her cheek to the screen again to answer:

“I’m doing great, thank you. Baby’s fine, I hope.”

A delay of worry replaces his lack of an immediate response. “You hope? Why, what’s – is there something wrong?”

“No!” she bursts out, the father and daughter staring back at her in surprise. She nervously chuckles and smiles at them, deflating in her chair as she continues. “No, sorry, that came out wrong. I meant to say ... well, I’m sure the baby’s fine. Nothing feels wrong, but I do have an appointment for an ultrasound today.”

A faint crackle from the line resonates in her ear. She clearly pictures Harry’s sigh of relief.

“Really? That’s great. I hope it all goes well.”

“Thanks! Thank you, I do too—” she snickers, “Obviously, but I have uh ... there’s a bit of a predicament.”

“Predicament? Fancy word.”

“Right, well, it’s not so much of a fancy situation that I’m in. See, I was supposed to be picked up later today by Cindy Sydney so that she could take me from work to the appointment, but she just called and cancelled because she has to pick up her aunt from the airport. She got the dates mixed up somehow, which makes no sense because pregnancy has made me very forgetful, and even I didn’t get the dates wrong. I think that might have to do with the planner, it does keep me organized, but even then—”

“Darling,” Harry stops her, unaware of how she chokes on her own tongue at the endearment. Darling. Darling again! From darling to love, she is in a storm of beating hearts. “You’re gonna ‘ave to slow down. What – you don’t have a way to get to your appointment, is it?”

“Yes. Right. I don’t have enough for an Uber or a Lyft right now without affecting my budget for next month. She offered to pay for it, that or for cancellation fees, but I don’t really trust those kinds of transportations right now, and I already got approval from my manager, so switching the date would just be super inconvenient.”

“Right. I understand.”

“I’m so sorry, it’s just that no one else that I know of is available, and I don’t want to bother you if you’re busy. I wouldn’t be calling if—”

“No, no, that’s alright. I’m glad that you’re calling.”

The pregnant woman simpers, a needle pricking at her heart. “R-Really?”

“Of course. I would be more than glad to help. If you could just send me the location of your workplace and where you’re getting your ultrasound ... what time is your appointment?”

“At 2. I want to get there maybe fifteen minutes earlier. You’ll never know how much the traffic will back up at that time. Is it okay if uh ... are, are you picking me up or...?”

“Yeah, why?”

“N-No, nothing, I just ... didn’t know if you were busy. Didn’t want to assume.”

“Yeah, my schedule’s fine. Not really doing anything that I can’t do later, so everything’s fine.”

“Oh, okay. Good. Great. So, uh, is it okay if you arrive here at, say, one-oh-five-ish?”

“Oddly specific.” Harry chuckles. “But sure. I can make that happen.”

“Great! Thank you so much. You have no idea how much this means to me.”

“You’re quite welcome ... thank you for calling.”

While her appreciation for him has always been so strong, this heavy thump in her pink and red organ is nearly unbearable. Ever since he fell intertwining into her life, she tries her hardest to ignore whatever feelings may occur. Now it seems more ideal to control it than to suppress it.

“You’re welcome,” she speaks softly, 16 again with a crush on a boy. “Thank you for picking up.”

Unbeknownst to her, he smiles on the other end. “S’ my pleasure. Now, get back to work, you over-achiever!” His accent purposely thickens on his second sentence, eliciting a natural, honest laugh. “Don’t forget to send me the addresses. I’ll make sure everything works out.”

Their phone call ends with innocent expressions of repetitive gratitude and gentle goodbyes. The pregnant woman does not waste a second to send him the addresses via text message, not allowing herself to fall victim to her lapse of memory. She checks over the numbers, the street names, the zip codes – all more than once, to make sure that all is well and not in metaphorical flames.

new message: Got it. See you later. H

H. She bites on her silky lip, a refreshing taste from her natural balm. She is familiar with the signoff, though she doesn’t know if it is something he does regularly or if it is only a one-time confirmation that this is, in fact, his number. Does he expect her to save his ten digits in her contact’s list, somewhere underneath a family member and above an old friend? She is giddy, undoubtedly so. An unspoken dream of hers as a plain teenager unraveling into reality! It causes the brightest smile this orthodontist office has ever seen.

So much esteem fills her up at eleven in the morning, and to her expectation, the hours go by very slowly. Alternating clients, each with different lives, somehow bound to this one place and time. Sorting forms and making calls and opening emails; a distraction in one way or another, but neither can steal her attention entirely.

Due to a much-needed bathroom break, she almost misses the message. Relieving her bladder had not been the first or even second of the day, but it is important that she stays hydrated, and this is especially true during her pregnancy. She really cannot afford a preventable trip to the emergency room right now.

When she reaches the receptionist’s desk, the message hides behind the black screen of her phone for an entire minute. She is lucky that her outdated iPhone can still be trusted by reminding her of a message succeeding two minutes from when she receives it.

new message: I’m outside. Toyota Camry in black.

Despite her anticipation for his arrival, the message throws her off any and all guards. Primarily it is because he arrives six minutes before their agreed time, whereas her friends are usually a few minutes late. Secondarily...

“Toyota?” she whispers to herself, eyebrows arching together. She isn’t too up to speed with car models, but she is more than certain that Harry has driven some different sort of vehicles in his time. The only moment she can ever recall him in a Toyota had been that commercial he had done years ago.

Regardless, she raises steadily from her chair on wheels, pushing it back as she collects her belongings. It is without trouble that she notices the slight shake of her hand, the sweat collecting on different sections of her skin. She ignores it. “Ang!” she calls, groaning at the absolute mess of her work bag. It is more professional than her casual bucket bag, wide with its faux leather, but it is just as much of an interior travesty.

She picks up her phone to send a one-handed message:

Conch.

Coming*

Be out soon.

“Ang!”

There is a franticness to her as she steps around the receptionist’s desk. She sports an added height in her footwear, something that she tries to savor before her feet start to swell. She thinks it will be unbearable to wear heels then, but she’s not for certain.

“I’m here, I’m here!” Ang announces, stepping into the light of the front area in her navy scrubs. “Sorry, nena, I had an alarm set for one in case you forgot. Guess it didn’t go off.”

The pregnant woman watches her coworker situate herself on the rolling chair. “No, no, you’re fine, it’s not one yet. Honestly, I don’t think I would’ve been able to forget. I’m just so excited, you have no idea.”

“No, I don’t.” Ang smiles. “You’re about to see your child! That’s a huge deal.”

“I know! I know, I can’t wait.”

“I can. Especially until Stefan buys me a ring. Otherwise, I’m going to keep working on my career.”

The woman smiles at her friend, thanking her once more for taking over her station while she is gone. She repeats the same gratitude, expressing how much this truly means to her, because it all comes from her honest heart. She really is in awe of how willing people are to help her when she is in need.

“Also, turn that alarm off before it starts ringing. It makes me anxious every time I hear it.”

“You and I both.” Ang snickers. “You’re off to your appointment then?”

“Yes, my uh, my ride’s here so ... better early than late when it comes to these things, y’know?”

“Mm-hmm. Who’s taking you?”

The pregnant woman hesitates. “A friend. Has the day off from work, thankfully.”

Ang begins to sift through a small pile of paperwork, sparing her coworker a measly glance. She’s not unfamiliar with the receptionist’s work, so she takes this as an opportunity to rest her active legs. She can also recognize the strange tone of the pregnant woman, a shaky smile that carries suspicion.

She doesn’t think too much on it. “Great. Be safe. Let me know how it goes.”

For that, the pregnant woman is grateful. “Thank you.” She smiles, a frail wave in Ang’s direction as she blindly scurries away. “I’ll see you tomorrow!”

She almost runs belly first into the glass door, but stutters her movements before any panic arises from Ang. Still, she sighs with relief when she hears the chime above her pregnant coworker’s head. “...Be careful.”

“Got it! Bye!”

The woman’s face twists in agony as she exits the office. A tenacious heat buries her in an embrace. Parallel to the sidewalk she stands upon is a dark vehicle, a protective tint rises from the brim of the tires and extends beyond the sleek windows. She gravitates in its direction at the sound of the passanger door unlocking, considering it symbolic, the single click of the door a new breath of feasibilities.

She stalks a couple feet to her right where the car reeks with caution. It isn’t until the passanger windows rolls down that she can sense her blood settle and burst all at once. “Hi.” Harry leans forward at his side, revealing his face amongst the darkness of his surroundings.

“Hey, hi,” she greets him back through the open window. “Good to see you. Nice car.”

“Thanks.” He smiles, scarce eyes pulling to her every movement. In the most mundane activities – fingertips at the door handle, crouching to the seat, buckling the seatbelt – she highlights his curiosity. “Good to see you as well. Also, s’ actually not my car.”

With her lips as barriers around a reusable straw, she pretends to be surprised. “It’s not?” she smacks her tongue, relishing in the purity of her water.

Harry shifts the gear in drive, setting the GPS up and maneuvering out of the lot with high-alert. “No. I’ve borrowed it.”

“Why—”

“Starting route to—” The animatronic voice interrupts their conversation.

She tries again, “Why would you do that?” with slight disappointment in their reunion. It lacks excitement, but somehow picks up where it’s been left off. No longer a drastic stretch in time are those 10 days.

Harry shrugs casually, turning onto the main road where other vehicles swim along. “Draws less attention.” He pauses, to which she then decides to look over. With the exception of him driving, she gets the impression that he avoids her eyes more so to keep her from catching the sadness in his. There is only a sprinkle, a shimmer that is never truly absent. “Thought you’d might be a little anxious about your appointment,” he continues, “Didn’t want you to have to worry about something else.”

“Oh.” She warms up, her organs all collectively combusting. “Thanks. Thank you for thinking of that.” Her words express gratitude with ease, but the glimmer in her eyes twinge with empathy. She doesn’t ponder over her privacy, or how simple it is for her to go out and do as she pleases. Since his 16th year, he had not been so lucky.

“Of course,” he replies, professionally monotone, as though he can shut off even the faintest flicker of emotion. “S’ my pleasure. How are you feeling? Nervous?”

“Uh, yeah, a little. I’m really jittery and I’ve been drinking water nonstop. On top of that, my bladder is the size of a bean. I’m really good at holding it in though, so I’m not afraid of ruining your seats or anything. Or ... not your seats, but your seats for now. Not like ... not that you were even thinking about that...”

Harry chuckles throughout the entirety of her run-on spoken thoughts. It is never at her – no, never. It is because of her, because despite any situation, she is this fountain of goodness drowning in gold. “Very nervous then?” he teases.

“Yeah ... sorry.”

“No, it’s alright. Nothing to be ashamed about. It’s an important day for you. I’d expect—”

“Turn left on—”

“I’d expect nothing less,” he finishes, lowering the volume of his pesky GPS. “Must be surreal, if anything.” The robotic voice is still present, but becomes more of a background noise that allows them both to speak freely.

“Oh yeah, completely. It’s like ... it’s like I can’t feel them yet, like movement wise, but ... I don’t know. I guess ... obviously I know they’re in there, but even without movement I can feel them. I know they’re present, heartbeat and everything. Does this – is any of this making sense?”

“Yeah,” he quips amusingly, “it is. Even if it didn’t, doesn’t matter. It makes sense to you and that’s more than enough validation.”

“Mmm. Right, but it’s still nice to have someone understand.”

Harry sneaks a glance in his peripheral, inhaling and exhaling as to settle into the moment. “I know—”

“In 500 feet, keep right—”

“What was, uh—” he digs into another topic, the robotic voice somehow a savior that refreshes the conversation. “What you said on the phone about ... Sin City, I think it was?”

“What?”

“You said something about being picked up near Sin City? From your work to your appointment? I thought there might’ve been a store or somethin’ near your job, but I don’t think I saw anything like that.”

“Sin ... oh!” The woman laughs, slapping her knee consciously. “Cindy Sydney. She’s my ... well, yeah, I guess she’s my friend.”

“Cindy Sydney?” he repeats, slowly enunciating every syllable so as to make sure he’s got it right. “Huh. Eh ... that airport story makes more sense. Didn’t know who you were talking about.”

“Yeah, my bad. I know I tend to ramble, probably explains why no one calls me anymore. They can’t even understand what I’m saying.”

“I understood!” he proclaims, expression of his pride lacing around his lazy smile. “Yeah, got it now. Cindy Sydney. That’s really her name? Like ... Phillip Phillips?”

“No.” The woman laughs, almost choking on her water. “N-No, it’s ... I don’t know her name, to be honest. One of them might be it.”

“Wh—how do you not know?”

“Okay, so basically, I met her maybe a month and a half ago? Somewhere around two months, I guess. And it wasn’t like this everyday sort of meeting at, say, a retail store or something. Can you believe that one night I wake up to use the bathroom I half-pay for, and this woman who I’ve never seen before comes out, no pants, maybe underwear, and what I now assume to be Aaron’s shirt?”

“Aaron?” Harry questions nonchalantly, as though the thought of him is of half-importance. “What, like a—”

“Yeah, so, he usually never brings anyone home. If anything, he’ll go over to someone else’s and come back really early in the morning. So, picture me, pregnant, really loopy because I have to pee, half-awake mind you, running into a complete stranger in my own home.”

Harry adds dramatically, “In the middle of the night!”

“Exactly! So, while I’m tiredly freaking out, trying to not literally piss myself, she’s apologizing and introducing herself. I don’t know if I heard Cindy or Sydney, hence why she’s both, but it could be neither. Anyway, we ended up talking in the hallway and I told her about my situation and why I was living with Aaron. She was actually really nice and offered to drive me whenever I needed a ride.”

“Hmm. Interesting how that played out.” He shoots her a look, to which she can only shrug. “Why haven’t you asked Aaron what her name is?”

“I did! I think he’s annoyed that I befriended his one night stand because he told me her name was Sierra. Then again, he probably doesn’t know himself.”

“Jesus. Why don’t you ask her yourself?”

“Oh, it’s too late for that. I’ll just be extremely awkward. I really do feel bad about it though. She is a nice person, except for, y’know, cancelling on a pregnant woman. I mean, it’s not a huge deal or anything, but ... c’mon. Would you ever do something like that?”

“Dunno,” he playfully smirks, “Maybe if she forgot my name...”

“I didn’t forget it! I never knew it!”

“I’m joking, I’m joking. But I have noticed that you like to play the, uh, the pregnant card a lot.”

“Oh yeah!” she fixes her position on the seat, pulling the seatbelt to her preferred adjustment. “Not a doubt about it. Coming from a place where no one really took me seriously. I mean, yeah, maybe I was a little dramatic when I was younger, but that shouldn’t invalidate my feelings. Now it’s like ... you have to take me seriously. Not only am I going to raise a child on my own, I’m literally growing said child inside of me. Isn’t that just ... just fucking amazing?”

Harry stops at the red stoplight, which he is glad for, because now he can look over and mesmerize at her. He can see before him a woman who smiles at the window, water bottle between her thighs, hands on her belly. It’s grown a bit, he thinks, and it is truly, wonderfully, unimaginably powerful.

“Yeah,” he silently agrees, “fuckin’ amazing.”

The woman smiles, but her wandering eyes suddenly widen with worry. She holds her hands out, an aura around her belly as she props an inch forward. “Did I...” she thinks aloud, “I didn’t ask you how you were doing today. How are you, Harry?”

She looks at him with features full of soft inquiry. The now green light ever so symbolic, he wonders how magical such a mundane thing must be in the dark of the night. “M’ alright,” he answers, pressing on the gas, somewhat wishing that the drive never ends. “Thank you for asking.”

Her angled feet dangle from her seat on the examination table. Harry sits in front of her on a separate chair, leaning back in a position juiced with supremacy. His index finger taps against his lips in sync with the tick of the black and white wall clock.

“So, you work as an orthodontist?”

She looks to Harry with her body stiff in discomfort. “No,” she answers, noticeably quieter in such a mellow area. “Just at the office. I’m a receptionist. Didn’t go to like ... an orthodontist school or anything. Even if I did, I’d probably still be there. Probably takes a lot of years.”

“Right,” he agrees. “A receptionist, then? Do you like it?”

“Sure. It’s not my dream job, but it pays the bills. Plus, I get along with everyone in the office. They’re like ... my distant second family.”

“Alright...” he gradually begins to smile. “What’s your dream job then?”

The woman shrugs, so quickly that it is considerably sad. “I don’t know. I went to community college undecided.”

“What did you graduate in?”

“Well, I got my A.A., but beyond that I haven’t ... finished. I transferred to the nearest University but after a semester or two I just ... I just didn’t finish.” She looks to her lap where her fingers play with the material of her blouse. Harry discreetly frowns at her dejected expression, an ambience of regret seeping out of her system. “It’s hard enough for people to get a job with a Bachelor’s degree. Competition is high, especially in Los Angeles. I’m lucky as it is with just my A.A.”

“Yeah. I understand. M’ sorry for bringing it up. Didn’t mean to pry.”

Her features immediately shine with worry. “No, it’s completely fine. I’m the same way. Always curious.” She forces a laugh, but the intention is sincere enough. “If anything, thank you for asking, or even ... caring at all. Not a lot of people show an interest in me, especially not after this one.”

She points an accusatory finger to her belly, which he takes as another opportunity to marvel. It is so fascinating to him, as he believes it would be to anybody. This power she holds, the strength she gives off. This strange and endearing woman who he had met by questionable circumstances of fate – she opens his eyes to something he’s not quite sure of yet.

“Anyway, being a receptionist is fine for me,” she continues. “I’m basically Pam Beasley except knocked up and without a Jim Halpert. I mean, she was pregnant twice, but by then she was already married.”

Harry narrows his eyes. “I’m sorry, who?”

“Oh ... um, The Office reference.”

“Ah. Alright. Still haven’t seen it.”

“Finished the series again. At least Pam wasn’t a receptionist forever.” She allows her eyes to wander around the room. “...Thanks for coming in with me,” she offers, meekly smiling amidst a thick, awkward air. “I’m sorry if it’s super weird, they’re probably going to assume you’re the dad, so just so you know—”

“Oh—”

“Just so you can be prepared—”

“Right, no, it’s fine. It’s good. That’s fine.”

“...Really?”

“Of course. I mean ... like, I’m not the father, duh, but it’s harmless. I’m honored to be here with you either way.”

She looks down to her belly, where her freshly painted nails – she’d recoated for the special occasion – search tenderly. “I didn’t ... picture it like this. Not everyone wants to have a baby, or get married, or things like that. But those who do ... you just can’t help but picture it, y’know? You dream about your wedding, what the venue will look like, what you’ll dance to or wear. Or when you have a kid, you imagine that first look. Your first look at your baby to know they’re actually in there, and you can almost see your whole future right before your eyes.”

By now, Harry is in a trance of both comprehension and disbelief. For him, it is difficult to find people in which he can relate his thoughts to; someone he can honestly understand. With the spontaneous flow of his life, he isn’t able to picture the future as he once did at 16. Yet, as her defenseless words spew out, he contemplates the quick flash in his eyes.

She smiles, and though it does not reach her eyes, it is authentic in the purest sense. “I ... wish the circumstances were different. No one ever really wants to picture it like this.”

He doesn’t find offense in her honestly, no matter how poorly she constructs it. If anything, with his entire body and soul, he aches to turn back time. “I understand,” he says, because while she most certainly does not need or depend on the father, she had pictured it differently. He knows that she had pictured herself to be in love instead of broken and built up again. She doesn’t need him, but she wants him, at least a little bit. It is for that that he can never entirely hate him.

“...Except you,” she confesses shyly. “And I’m not just saying that for obvious reasons. If you weren’t here, I’d be alone. I probably wouldn’t even be here. That’s why I’m always thanking you, because it really does mean more than you can imagine. Being alone is fine, I can sort of manage, but ... it’s nicer to have someone with you, y’know?”

“...Yeah.” Harry blushes, failing to cover it up with a cough and a sniffle. “I’m ... I know. I understand.”

The sound of the door unlatching rattles their bodies. “Hi!” the doctor storms in, breaking their moment. The two of them smile, the pregnant woman nods as her name from the lips of the lady in the form of a question. “This must be papa?”

The pregnant woman silently snickers at her oh-so-psychic abilities. She offers Harry a witty raise of the brow, but due to the blindness of her pride, she fails to recognize the cheeky glint in his eyes. As she opens her mouth to deny the doctor’s innocent assumption, Harry chimes in and steals her words. Except, they’re not her words at all.

“Yes,” he announces, his accent supplying to the playful sarcasm of his tone. “Yes, that is me. As Maury would say ... I am the father.”

To say she is shocked ... well, it is not all that off-character. Harry is a humorous man, one that loves to entertain. The statement makes her do a double-take, jaw opening with a single throaty chuckle. He responds with an animated grin and cartoon wink – how can she not play along?

“Right.” She nods. “This is my baby daddy ... Halpert.”

Harry snickers, but covers it with a cough. “Halpert. Yes. Says so on my birth certificate.”

The doctor smiles at them both, amused by their charade. She has probably seen many acts in this office, so she lets their humor be. Besides that, she begins by asking a few simple questions, reconfirming everything before directing the woman to lie on her back.

“Sorry I didn’t dress practically,” she discloses, “I just came from work. Didn’t really have time to change, or even think about bringing clothes to change into.”

“It’s no problem. We’ll just open this up...” The doctor starts with the lowest button on her blouse, continuing to undo the following three. “And lower this down a little,” she continues, carefully dragging the upper part of her pencil skirt down until her belly is nicely exposed.

The pregnant woman tries to ignore the discomfort that she feels. Firstly, lying on her back is a nightmare without her pillow. Secondly, with her blouse pried open, a mere centimeter of her bra peaks out. Harry sitting next to her is the third basis of her discomfort, intense concentration on his part with the upmost awareness. The fourth, the icing on the cake, is like literal icing. While the doctor had told her to prepare for the cool gel, it doesn’t make it any less frosty on her skin.

Despite it all, her minds swivels around a haze. The doctor’s equipment runs along her stomach, eager to discover. Her hands clench without her noticing. She feels as if her lungs run out of oxygen – she forgets to breathe! Nothing is important to her other than what the doctor has to say about what can be seen on that unreadable screen, the one where she strains her neck to catch even a glimpse of meaningless motion.

She looks to the doctor, taking in every feature that may indicate something, anything. She momentarily forgets about Harry, who leans forward in his seat, risking everything by placing a hand over her knuckles. She doesn’t notice. All she can focus on is the doctor’s smile.

“Found them,” she announces, continuing her movement with more confidence than before.

“You...” the pregnant woman’s chest deflates. Her breath hitches, needing more than two words to convince her that everything is okay. “...You found?”

“Yes. There’s the head,” the doctor points to the screen, brown muck never more beautiful. “the body...” The woman listens, matching up the body part with the picture on the screen. A wave of newfound contentment vanishes every worry away – almost, because really, she can’t help herself. “Everything looks great, mama.”

“Mom...” she stumbles out, swallowing thickly as her fingers fall loose. She shakes her head, overcome with every emotion she’s ever known on top of those that are entirely new to her.

Harry smiles at her, noticing the light drips swaying down her cheeks. “That’s your baby,” he says, disregarding the possibility of destroying his cover as Halpert. He himself begins to empathize with this woman, this calm of a storm that he’s only known for a few short weeks. “Congratulations.”

“C—” She can’t seem to tear her eyes away from the screen, the ache in her neck multiplying, but she just doesn’t care. “My baby...” she speaks softly, the room almost entirely silent, but still it feels like there are a million things going on at once. And yes, she is smiling. She is over the moon, over this entire universe and the next. It is dangerous territories to be so elevated, and she knows this to be true when she begins to feel the low.

A bitter California sun never truly settles. When she walks out of the imaging center, heels scraping against the dry and jagged sidewalk, she winces and sighs. Her blouse now intact, her skirt lifted again, but the residue of the gel makes it stick to her skin more than any perspiration. In her hands, she holds onto the envelope with the printed pictures of her son or daughter – she doesn’t know yet. With the baby’s position, it had been a little hard to tell. She’s relieved for it though. There had only been so much that she could absorb in such a short, life-changing moment.

Harry follows after her, already with his shaded sunglasses scooted close to his face. He mimics her position as she leans against the side of the Toyota, staring down at an enclosed envelope. Very steadily, she lifts the flap open and slides the picture out, running a thumb over the body of her child.

“Sorry you couldn’t find out the gender today,” he speaks up, observing the way she cradles the print. It is natural, the way she possesses that tender quality of a mother. “Must have ... must be—”

“It’s fine,” she says, not wanting to hear the end of his sentence. “It’s not like I’ll never know.”

“Right.”

“Good. Still a beautiful moment, eh?”

“Yeah...”

“Thank you for letting me be a part of it.”

She looks up at him, but the connection is blocked by his sunglasses. She smiles either way. “You’re welcome. That sounds weird to be saying.”

He looks down, ankles crossed, hands in his pocket. “I know I can’t, um ... ever know what you’re feeling, but ... how are you feeling?”

“...Good?”

“What I mean is ... I’ve never been to an ultrasound. I’ve been friends with lots of pregnant women, and I know that doesn’t mean I have a clue about ... I just, for the moments like these, I imagine the woman to be happy. Happier than happy, and I just ... I don’t know. How are you feeling?”

A period of elongated seconds pass as the pregnant woman considers his talk. Birds chirp, an ambulance sounds in the near distance, and the faintest wind kisses her face with the leaves of the rustling trees. “I’m ... happy,” she answers truthfully, closing her eyes as the burn in her chest rises up her throat and to her nose.

“And...” Harry presses on, noticing how her answer hangs off the edge of a cliff.

She swallows, face molding like a ceramic statue on which the rain pours. “...And scared.” Her voice quivers. She doesn’t want to open her eyes. She’s far too cowardly to envision the colors.

Harry stands still, watching as she unravels the rawest parts of her. He doesn’t want to ask why – it should be obvious to everyone. She is a single mother-to-be. Her life is moving quicker than she could have ever imagined. Of course, she is scared. It would be strange of her not to be. Therefore, he doesn’t ask, but instead calls to her. In a faint second, she breathes in, coming alive to the world again. Her shaky hands wipe frantically at her blinking eyes, a sorry attempt to erase the remnants of her weakness.

“God...” she scoffs. “I can’t – why am I crying? This is so dumb.”

Harry shakes his head, his entire body now turning to her. “No, it’s not. So, you’re scared. Everyone is. I am. Why wouldn’t you want to be scared?”

“Because I don’t know what I’m doing!” she bellows, entirely turning to him. As her words sink in and flow on, he slides off his glasses, letting them hang from the fine stitch of his t-shirt collar. “Or – or what I’m going to do. I’m ... I was a child yesterday. That’s what it felt like. I was ... searching for independence and purpose and now I’m...” A breath trickles out. “I don’t want to ruin this child, Harry. But I have absolutely no clue what I’m doing.”

“No,” Harry argues. “No, you won’t. I know you won’t. You’re going to do everything you possibly can for your child. That alone makes you an incredible mum.” By now, his hands are on her shoulders, thumbs absentmindedly smoothening her nerves. “And incredible mums don’t know the answer to everything, that’s what makes them so incredible. They don’t know anything!”

She sniffles at the sidewalk. “Yours does,” she mumbles, indicating how well-rounded she sees this kind man. The manner in which he had been raised ... he is a foundation for reckless excellence.

“To be fair, I’m her second child,” he reasons, even tittering a little. “When she had my sister, she didn’t know what she was doing ... but she learned. Even after all these years, she’s still learning. You can’t expect yourself to be perfect ... at least, perfect without any flaws. You’re scared, that’s ... it’s important. You can’t skip that stage, alright?”

She reluctantly nods, but she has to admit to herself that his charisma is magical. To be a mother at her age – perhaps it is not uncommon. Yet, it is a vague new-coming of an experience. This growth that she possesses, her body ever-changing in the autumn to spring, the little person that will resemble parts of her and no one else. If that is not a future more uncertain...

“You’re going to be excellent. An excellent mum. And you’re not alone. You have Aaron. Maybe Cindy Sydney Sierra, if her aunt’s not visiting ... and you always have a friend in me.”

...but how sad it would be to plan every waking moment and every dying night. How safe it would feel to stumble upon no surprise. In the end, a future without uncertainty is no future at all. She doesn’t know what she will do when her baby fusses and whines and drives their mother to insanity. Previously oblivious of the happiness it will bring, the overwhelming flutter in her chest is a euphoric feeling like no other. To love another person unconditionally, entirely – to be loved in return – that is the greatest and only certainty she will never need.

#honeytryst

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keyes-tothecrown · 5 years ago

Text

Posado Colonial Hotel Room 202 San Juan, Puerto Rico October 1, 2020

A tangle of unknown curses first. And then. ‘‘This is messed up.’’ The end of a cigarette fizzled as Aubrey dropped it into a glass half-filled with water. An agitated sigh. The window was closed after her last exhale of smoke. A curtain dragged hastily closed.

Maddox squinted in judgment at the woman and then looked down at the sketchpad paper with torn broken loops at the top he held in both hands. “That is some fucked up harsh criticism for a seven year old’s drawing skills. I can tell it’s a shark.” At the San Juan airport Maddox had picked up a small art set with paper. Ebony pencils. All the colors of the rainbow, and more, in fine pointed ink. Scented thick markers. A sharpener. All packed in a pink glitter-encrusted case. Luna asked how to draw a star too. Along the edge of the paper Maddox’s instruction and a child’s follow through appeared in alternating gold and green ink. “I like it, when I get home I’m going to--”

The glass Aubrey held was slammed down on a hotel room desk. Water and ash splattered on the stationary, the location embossed in navy blue. “No, this! This situation!” Exasperation flung her arms wide before they dropped, hands smacking the sides of her thighs. She charged forward muttering a curse in Spanish that grew louder over a few steps forward. Her hands flew up again to aim an angry shove at Maddox’s chest. “After all these years of neglecting us, you can’t walk in here and tell me what to do.” More cursing powered by a fire in eyes he remembered at their softest. Crazy, motherfucker, piece of shit. Plenty of words in Spanish he recalled hearing directed at him in the past.

The drawing was placed beside the glass with a calm determination that didn’t last long. “I didn’t ask to find my father. It’s the last thing I wanted, but it’s done. Yeah, you’re right. It’s a mess.” Staring down at a woman a good foot shorter than him, he paused and ran a hand through his hair, finally lowering the boom in his voice that had grown. “You’re the one who blew up Rosario’s phone looking for me. As soon as you found out who I was with, and how much money they have. So I can only assume you want something. But i’m willing to negotiate. To be responsible here.”

To be a father. Finally. “It’s called a fucking life, Aubrey. It’s all unexpected. Honestly, there are worse things. The king of Portugal has no grandchildren. He wants to meet Luna. She could have what we didn’t growing up. Go to a good school, to uni, the whole--”

She interrupted. Again. “I left to get away from the bullshit. Pirates, royals, I wanted nothing to do with it! Now you show up years later and want to be a father? You tell me we are... are... I am supposed to uproot my daughter from everything she has ever known because a king says so?Live under armed guards? Like we are being punished because of who you decided to be?”

Aubrey fell back on her native language. Maddox began to argue the points she twisted well out of proportion until she brushed by him without warning. He watched his ex kneel in front of a little girl with colored ink splotches on a cheek, her hands, an elbow. Aubrey whispered to Luna and kissed her forehead, coaxing wild waves of dark hair back into place.

They were thrown together on a boat in the ocean. Their language was the same. Sarcasm, sex, a love of the same music. She was beautiful with a pouty snarl smothering any emotion threatening to rise to the surface. Rarely did she break. Same for Maddox. At the time it all made sense.

They had never really loved each other. More like a deep, secure trust developed between two lost pirates surviving in the shipwreck of Roman Tierney’s design.

A shot of pitorro shared in a hotel room sealed an agreement. Legal documents couldn’t be tied back to Maddox for obvious reasons. “At the first of every month the money will be deposited into your account. I see a story sold by a tabloid and our deal is over.” Now he had a grand piano and seven years of back child support to pay off. Fantastic. A refill of the shot glasses was needed. “I would like Luna to visit me. After Christmas. A week, or two. What works best and isn’t a disruption. We can start gradually.” Speaking of... “If you decide you would like protection I will arrange it. I’m sorry.” He was. “For the inconvenience.”

“You have always been an inconvenience in my life, Maddox Keyes.” The words empty of a sentimental pull as Aubrey downed the second shot and looked away. Maddox could see her reflection in the mirror on the opposite end of the room. If they could’ve been those people in the reflection it might have all been different.

“When are you coming back?”

Aubrey had coached the child, Maddox thought. He sat on the edge of the bed. “I’m not sure, but I’d like you to visit me next time. Actually, uhm.” Maddox unlocked his phone and began flipping through photos as Luna scooted up beside him, crossing her legs and squeezing the life out of a stuffie, peering over his arm.

“This is my house. And this is Hilde. She would love to meet you.” Hilde probably wouldn’t. She might be snippy with children. A bridge to cross. Hilde was there first, after all. “This is Aaron. He’s my boyfriend and would also like to meet you. He’s very nice. You will love him. He has a horse.”

Luna reached to turn the phone towards her with shadeless brown eyes fixed on the photo. A voice pitched high, the tone rosy and sweet. “My abuela says you are going to hell because you live with a man.”

Ah, of course. Aubrey’s mother already decided he was going to hell way back when. A tight smile. Fun conversations ahead, Maddox could tell. A comment about children going to hell for staying up late was nixed.

He had a daughter now. In the same way Alfonso had a son he hadn’t expected. Many dead ends bore the indentation of Maddox’s frustrated kicks trying to determine what the man wanted. Looking at his own daughter, he still couldn’t understand. A little. Not completely.

“Tell your grandmother to save Maddox a seat beside her, yeah? She will absolutely be there before me.” Aubrey’s fucking bitch ass mom. “Go to sleep. Thank you for my drawing.” His smile relaxed.

#self para: aubrey

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heartslogos · 6 years ago

Text

newfragile yellows [511]

Lady Ellana Lavellan of Morrin Keep, more recently of the Dales, is a very beautiful woman, who is both fair of face and temperament, quick with both wit and smile, and gracious in body and charm. Evelyn has no doubt in mind that she is well suited and lacks nothing in regards to the upbringing of a noble lady expected to marry for politics and practicality rather than romance and friendship.

That said.

“Is it to your liking, the Coast?” Evelyn asks, by which she means, and makes sure to clarify a beat later before Ellana can answer with a very reassuring and tailored answer that any lady of noble bearing would be able to think up, “Does the Iron Bull treat you well?”

Oh, Evelyn has no doubt that the Iron Bull has been nothing but a perfect…er. Well. Not gentleman. The Iron Bull is a man and is capable of being gentle, but he is never going to be a gentleman.

But the Iron Bull is a good man and he would not do anything untoward to anyone. Evelyn knows the Iron Bull and she’s certain that she knows him well enough that it makes him irritated with how well she knows the man behind his many masks whenever she uses that knowledge against his many tricks and plans and plots. It is, usually, for his own good. The Iron Bull is too good at scheming things to his own detriment.

Though, not even Evelyn could have foreseen the Iron Bull reluctantly volunteering himself for political marriage.

All of this to say, the Iron Bull would not abuse his newfound position of lord-husband to his lady-wife. But the Iron Bull is an acquired taste, and while he might not be pushing buttons or crossing boundaries with malicious intent, he is not the kind of person who everyone can befriend.

If Evelyn is going to steal away this woman’s future with a possible love-match or at least, match with someone more familiar, the absolute minimum she should do is make sure that the marriage she has found herself in is not driving her up the rain-slicked walls, or causing her any distress. More than the usual political marriage stress.

“You know,” Lady Ellana says, hands folded in her lap and looking quite serene and in place among the gray backdrop of the coast and the powerful fresh, almost threatening green of the grass, “I spend a vast majority of my time answering the question of does your husband treat you well, I find myself wondering if anyone has asked my lord husband if his lady wife treats him well. Do you think that is a question he gets asked?”

Evelyn had exchanged a few words with Lady Ellana prior to the marriage — not as many as she would have liked, of course — and heard a few more things about her from people who had spent a fractionally larger amount of time with her and with that one answer she’s lived up to every single rumor, whisper, word, and hope.

Evelyn grins, relaxing as she lets herself cautiously edge towards a more casual approach, “Oh don’t worry, Lady Ellana. That part is going to come right after this question. The Iron Bull is a loyal member of the Inquisition, and a close friend of mine. You can be assured that I am concerned for how he’s acclimatizing to his new domesticity.”

Lady Ellana holds out her hand and Evelyn takes it, surprised by the roughness of her palms and the strength with which she twists their arms into a soldier’s grasp.

“You can call me Ellana, Inquisitor,” Ellana says, grinning, “I am a Lady in name only, I assure you. A few decades training for the humble life of priesthood will strip away certain veneers, you see.”

“Thank the Maker,” Evelyn says, returning the grin with a wry twist of her own, “Because I grew up in the Circle and there isn’t much in the way of etiquette training going on there. Call me Evelyn, Ellana. And can I say? It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“So. How’s married life treating you?”

Bull cuts Dorian an annoyed look.

“I like to think we’re over the hostility,” Dorian continues, “At least. We pretend to be civil when around people we are actually civil with. So. I repeat, before Maxwell or Edric jumps in on this to force us to behave, how’s married life treating you?”

The Iron Bull lets out an annoyed exhale through his nose, “Fine. It’s the same as regular life. The three of you didn’t come all the way here to ask me what it’s like to be married, and I didn’t ride out all the way to the edge of the Storm Coast to get my ass soaked by cold rain and be asked pleasantries. Get to the shit.”

“No, really, that’s it,” Maxwell says before Dorian can reply. “We really are here to ask how things are going. You know. In case there was something you couldn’t say in a letter because it might be intercepted? Or it wouldn’t be good to have on record?”

“To rephrase it,” Edric says, “Do you think this thing is going to hold or is it going to fall apart?”

“Are you asking me if my marriage - my month long marriage - is in tatters?”

“Yes,” the three of them reply.

“Thanks for that vote of confidence,” Bull grumbles. “You couldn’t have asked me this at Morrin Keep? Where I didn’t have to ride out for two days and it’s comfortable?”

“Again,” Maxwell says, “Anything you want to say to us that you might not say where overzealous ears can reach?”

Bull gestures to the shack they’re in, “And this is the absolute pinnacle of security, right.”

“Don’t be glib, just tell us what we need to know,” Dorian snaps. “It wasn’t a pleasant trip for us, either.”

“It’s fine,” Bull replies. “It’s been one month. We’re still figuring each other out. We don’t hate each other. She seems nice enough. Sometimes she makes me laugh. She likes dogs. She’s working on landscaping the Keep. She’s sit at sewing anything more complicated than straight stitch. She likes to go riding when the weather’s good. Do you want a full dossier on trivia I’ve figured out about her?”

“Does she feel the same way about you?” Edric asks, “Before you get all snippy, I’m just checking to make sure that this is a two way thing and she’s not sending coded messages for an immediate removal and divorce back to the Dales.”

“Why, the Dales say something to the Boss?”

“No,” Dorian admits, “But who knows how long it takes for messages to travel.”

Bull rolls his eye.

“Just come visit us at the Keep if you’re so worried. Things are fine. We’re getting to know each other. I’m not reporting back shit because there’s nothing to report. Unless the Inquisition seriously wants me to send the diary entries about her or something. That would be weird as fuck, but sure, I guess I can do that.”

“Do not send the Inquisition diary entries about what you and your wife do,” Maxwell stresses. “There are so many reasons why you should not do that and I don’t need to tell you any of them.”

“Then tell the Boss to quit it with the constant worrying,” Bull replies. “No news is good news, just let it be for a bit, alright? I’ve got this.”

#heartsfic #gather your party and venture forth

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rue-by-another-name · 6 years ago

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10 Reasons to read Marlie B’s ‘Novelty’

Okay, so I’m sure you’ve all already seen me posting about my good, cute, adorable, passionate, smart, sassy friend Marlie ( @hey-marlie ) and her novel - ‘Novelty.’ But I figured I’d just clue you in to some of the things you’re missing and why it’s such an important piece of literature that you should definitely at least sneak a peek at. Marlie is a really talented writer, whether she believes it or not, and I’d love to share this story with the entire world.

So, that being said, let me just Buzzfeed this bitch and tell you the Top 10 Reasons why YOU should be reading ‘Novelty’ :

1. Fallon Ford - The main character is an aspiring writer working on her senior capstone project. She’s spunky, short, affectionately called a ‘Tiny Demon’ by her ex-best friend (and total hottie). Fallon Ford is a strong and confident woman, and she may be a hot mess in her brain about her writing, but she’s got some serious power moves out there with the way she handles her work life, academic course load, friendships, and free time. Her fashion is kind of basically the cutest mix of vintage boss-ass bitch, and she’s a literal fucking ray of sunshine. We need more more strong female protagonists in our lives, and Fallon’s main goal in this novel isn’t to find a man and be happy - I mean, sure, she’s Out There and Getting It with some total hotties that I will mention later, but her main goal and aspiration is to become the best writer she can be and do her best. And that, my friends, I think is super awesome.

2. Diversity - The cast of ‘Novelty’ is super diverse and it’s not the kind of diverse that is trying to make a statement, but the kind of subtle diversity that is a part of all our lives and should be talked about more. When asked about her diverse cast of lovely characters, Marlie responded by saying: “initially i don’t really think i noticed that my ‘cast’ per say was quite diverse. my college campus is 50% international students - on a campus of less than 1,000 students - and so having extremely diverse classes, or diverse ‘friend groups’ and all that is super normal. we have a really active lgbtq community, and so that’s a huge norm in my life and so i really wasn’t questioning it until i was pinteresting and realizing that i’ve got a really good group of kiddos that i’m molding to perfection and helping them be the best versions of themselves. so i think it’s obviously important to have representation, and i think it should be second nature that we don’t have to think ‘oh i have to have a character to fill out ____ quota’ because then what’s the real reason you’re doing it, ya feel ? so yeah … definitely a diverse squad, but that’s how it should be. and i’m really happy with the characters i have so far and i’m looking forward to what’s to come ! thanks for the shout out ! it means a lot and it’s good to reflect on these things.” Her characters represent multiple members of the LGBTQ+ community, multiple POC - African American, mixed-race, Vietnamese, Bangladeshi, and Puerto Rican. Marlie also tackles body image and represents all her characters in all shapes and sizes.

3. Friendship - The friendships in ‘Novelty’ are the kind of healthy relationships with a bit of banter and tough-love that I think we can all learn lessons from. The relationship between best friends and roomies Fallon Ford and February Vale is one for the books. They are supportive of one another, basically co-habitating grannies, who help each other dress, motivate the other in their fields of study, and also find the time to hold each other accountable for their actions and emotions. There’s no judgment, no secrets, and while their friendship is a central part of the novel, it’s not something that Marlie overdoes or feels the need to include in every chapter. It’s authentic and organic, and it’s a great lesson in how a friend can be supportive in multiple situations. Honestly, they’re just super cute, and it’s nice to see how they interact with one another both in private, in public, and respect the other with utmost love and adoration.

4. The Enemy - The main plot and conflict of the novel comes in the form of a tall drink of water known as Dane Jacobs. He’s a year older than Fallon, a post-graduate teaching assistant at their university, and he and Fallon share quite the history. They’re the best friends to enemies trope wrapped up in an angst blanket that makes your heart throb whenever they’re alone together. But what sets Dane “The Enemy” Jacobs apart from other enemies to potential-lovers trope is that he’s not diminished to an abusive or degrading male who sees the female as inferior to himself. Yeah, the fall out he and Fallon had was not quite the separation many of us would ever want to feel in our lives. But Dane doesn’t put Fallon down in any way when he’s assigned to be her advisor for her project. If anything, their banter and quippy remarks to one another show the deep rooted friendship they once shared, and how their separation from one another since the breaking off of their friendship has impacted them in a more emotional way then they’d care to admit. He still supports her writing and is honest with her - sometimes a bit too honest - and only wants her to do best. He masks it by saying he wants her to do well so he can be graded fairly on his work ethic as a teaching assistant, but I think we can all agree he’s doing it because deep down, he still loves Fallon and wants to see her succeed. Plus, he has an adorable puppy named Watson who makes an appearance whenever we need him most.

5. Breaking Masculine Norms - Where the obvious pairing a lot of us are hoping for is the reunion of Fallon and Dane, there is one character that has waltzed into Fallon’s life in a big way - Lawyer Tom, the ultimate hottie. Marlie writes Tom in a very specific way - he’s not buff, or strong. He’s a freckly, unruly red-haired, tall and lanky man with bony shoulders and a nose that wrinkles when he laughs. He’s not your typical heartthrob, but he’s mouthwateringly perfect in every single way. He comes into Fallon’s life at a time where her love life is in a bit of disarray, and in the past couple chapters we’ve come to learn that Tom is the gentlemen-status all men should aspire to be. He lets Fallon stay overnight after a night out clubbing and doesn’t expect anything from her but her company over dumplings. He visits her at work when she tells him she’s nervous about getting back to her normal shift. He even finds time to make morning runs with Fallon fun by going out for breakfast quiches at a little cafe every morning. He’s quarting her platonically and it’s so goddamn adorable and quirky. Yeah, they kissed once and it was hot hot hot, but he hasn’t kissed her since and he’s letting her take the relationship at the pace she wants. She’s the one who has to ask him on dates, and he’s the one who’s always justifying her emotions and actions whenever she’s feeling down or insecure. He’s a great support system and is open about his emotions and the fact that his home life hasn’t been the absolute best in the past. He’s confident in his work, is constantly calm and at peace with his surroundings, and enters every situation with grace and poise. Not to mention he has the most amazing relationship with his younger brother Cody, and honestly, is my new ultimate hero. He’s the role model all men should be aspiring to be, and the fact that he’s being so patient and kind and wonderful with Fallon is a huge turn on.

6. Success in Art - The legendary roommate February Vale is a goddess not only casually in life, but also in the art department. I know this is only a little tiny thing, but February is also in her senior year of university and she’s already had great success in her art career. It’s not often we see characters studying art portrayed as successful, or as having a grip on their education. The concept of the “struggling artist” is romanticized and oftentimes degraded to nothing more than just a hobby. But February expresses everything that’s wonderful about art - immersing yourself in your project, applying to galleries and exhibits, and being raw with your art in a way you sometimes can’t express yourself in words. When February came out as bisexual to her parents, it wasn’t received well and she took those feelings to the canvas, winning her awards and slots in galleries all through London (the characters’ home base). Marlie also never explicitly mentions what kind of art February is most interested in or establishes as her signature, and so I think that is truly important for us as readers to depict what we consider to be successful art and know that it can not only come from a student, but a woman, and a damn wonderful and courageous one at that.

7. The Banter - One of Marlie’s greatest triumphs in writing is her dialogue. She’s taught me so much about how to find multiple voices in your characters and to embody those personalities within their conversations. The banter between all the characters - primarily the snippy and sometimes crass comments rapidly fired back and forth between Fallon and Dane - is exceptional. The characters come to life through their words and expressions, and it’s a great way to not only connect to the characters yourself, but to really feel as if you’re standing there watching these characters interact. The office scenes between Dane and Fallon are truly amazing, and the flat scenes Fallon and February bring to life are hilarious. You can tell that these characters are can portray different versions of themselves depending on whether they’re in public or in private, and I believe that’s a great attribute to the great writer behind the words.

8. Pinterest - Per a request from an anon, Marlie has constructed an entire Pinterest account dedicated to storyboarding the personas of her characters. Every outfit mentioned, every studio described, and every action played out by each individual can be found within the boards of the Novelty Pinterest, and is a great outside resource to gaining a better understanding of who these characters are and how Marlie is envisioning them. They’re super fun to scroll through, and I oftentimes find myself going back to the characters mentioned in each chapter and attempting to find the outfits they were wearing, or the coffee shop they were sitting in. Seriously, it’s the absolute most unique thing I’ve ever seen a writer do and I’m fascinated by it.

9. Updates - Marlie is extremely good at making sure the updates are on time every single week. She updates every Saturday mid-morning and provides her own thoughts on the chapter as well as some insights to her writing mind. If Marlie has received any donations to her ko-fi page that week, she works hard to make sure the updates go up faster. She’s even posted on a Wednesday before. So really, you’re always getting new content and always learning more about the characters and the story, which is really truly wonderful.

10. Marlie - Obviously I’m going to talk about my girl. Marlie has been writing for ages, but has never really shared anything with anyone in public like this before. She’s taken what little concepts I had about these characters and this world and she’s run with it. I get the most random texts from her at 3am saying she has this great idea for how to develop a specific relationship, or introduce a certain character. She thinks everything through and edits the shit out of whatever she’s written so that it’s pristine by the time it’s published. She works so hard, and she lives with these characters in her mind 24/7. The thought and care that goes into her writing after each chapter and how she interacts with her readers is so important, because she will write paragraphs depicting specific, seemingly minute moments from the previous chapter, only for your mind to be blown as you learn something that you may have missed. She’s a lovely human and cares so deeply for her writing. She’s been helping me for years, YEARS, with my own writing and the fact that she’s out here creating this whole world and community of her own now is fascinating to me. There is nothing this girl can’t do, and I am constantly in awe of each chapter and the emotions I feel even if it’s what she considers a ‘filler’ chapter. She’s a keeper, that’s for sure.

-----

SO, those are the top ten reasons why you should be out there reading ‘Novelty’ and supporting our girl Marlie B. There are so many other reasons why the novel is as amazing as it is, but I think what it all comes down to is having a writer who cares about her readers, cares about her writing, and cares enough to want everything to just make sense. I’ll put all her links below so you can explore it all you want, but let’s support some new writers on here and make sure you’re reblogging what you like. Circulating what you’re reading is so important! And this girl deserves our love for sure.

Thanks for everyone who is already out here representing our girl and for all the questions and donations you’ve provided for her! She loves it! And she’s going to kill me for posting this! But I love her so freaking much! If anyone ever wants to freak out about each chapter with me, I’m always here to fangirl. No doubt about it. Thanks for your support, everyone! Have a great weekend.

Read ‘Novelty’ HERE Support Marlie B HERE Find the Pinterest Boards HERE Ask Marlie B a Question HERE

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hereliesbitches--me · 6 years ago

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Rules

Hello There! Well if you’re here, that means you’re probably interested in me and me cat girl here, and for that I thank you!

While I’m not too big on specific rules, I suppose it’s best to have some little stuff that may clear up some questions in the future.

First off, Both Mun and Muse are of age. 18+ ,

Mature themes will be present on here, and some aspects of Rosie, her life, and her habits may be triggering. Such as mentions of physical and emotional abuse, manipulation, rape, suicidal thoughts and tendencies, etc. I try not to get too detailed but if you’re squeamish about it, follow at your own risk.

I do my best to tag triggers with things such as

tw: (insert trigger), but im not perfect. If ya see something that bothers you, let me know so I know what to tag for future reference. I won’t bite your head off for anything, i’m pretty understanding as long as you approach politely. I myself have no triggers, but please tag nsfw stuff.

The basic roleplay etiquette applies here just as much as anywhere else. Most people already know- no godmodding, metagaming, etc. It’s no fun like that, and we’re all here to have fun, right?

Im open to just about anyone, mutuals and non-mutuals. Canon or OC muses. Even if we don’t follow each other, im happy to roleplay anything if you have an idea.

Please, feel free to shoot me a message in the inbox even just to say hello when you follow, if you’d like. If you want to interact, and you send me a message like “Wanna RP?” please have something to suggest. Even something completely vague can lead to more, because I myself can suck in coming up with something on the spot. I’ll likely ask you personal questions about your muse, like what draws you to them and such even if you have a bio page and all that, I just like to hear different thoughts. A well rounded character is great, and if it’s in development I don’t mind exploring subjects and aspects.

I would definitely appreciate basic literary knowledge.

I’m fine with small mistakes here and there, but I have to at least be able to make sense of it. ��If English is not your first language, I ain’t gonna bash ya for it. I’ll make do- though unfortunately, I’m a loser that knows only English. That’s all I can write in. I am on mobile most of the time, so sometimes formatted responses may take me some time to look into because it doesn’t translate well into mobile. Won’t keep me from following if I like your writing, but I am a simple gal ^^

. When it comes to following, I may not always follow back. But that doesn’t always mean I don’t want to rp.

Like with multimuse blogs, I may have a bit of difficulty because there’s so much to take in, but I do try sometimes!! Also, as nice as it is, im not a person that likes to get involved in social justice post, political post, or drama/callout posts. To each their own, and I respect your opinions and your passion, but personally I don’t have the mental strength to be drained in the involvement of such things. I don’t mind ooc posts because I do them myself, but if the subjects become too heavy and repetitive, I will have to unfollow. I rather leave that stuff on a personal blog, not an rp blog. If there is something I do that bothers you, you are free to unfollow as well, but just because I unfollow does not mean our interactions have to stop. You can also just approach me directly and we can discuss it so I don’t make you uncomfortable, I don’t mind compromising! I hope you can understand! I don’t condone the gross shit like actual racism, -phobias, etc if its a real issue- then call it out, but when it comes to material being written, I personally don’t believe that people should be policed in what they write if they are not actually harm anyone, and that everyone needs to stay in their own lane. Thank you.

I like to write in para format, personally.

I like to get in depth and put a lot into a scene and scenario, so one liners aren’t exactly something I enjoy- Lest it’s for crack and such. You’ll probably see me fooling around a lot, but actual rp is usually done in paragraphs. I sometimes do and I sometimes don’t use icons. I have to draw mine out, mostly, I also use Aoshika from Wolf Guy as a face claim for expressions as well, but the issue is being on Tumblr mobile about 80% of the time blows up the icons out of proportion. Im sure you understand how long drawing icons can take. I apologize now if it looks ugly on the dash. As a partner, I’m not too picky about having icons or not as long as the quality of writing is good. Do you my dudes!

Speaking of writing, I’m horribly slow with replies.

I apologize in advance, as I am a student in college and I’m working, I find it hard to get inspired to actually sit down and write. But I take long because I will not give anyone a half-assed reply, I make sure there is always something to work with. And if for whatever reason something I wrote doesn’t make sense for your muse in a scenario, just let me know! Im always willing to edit and change something . Even if I’m not writing replies, I’m always open to ooc chats and ideas to throw around about future scenarios.

In regards to shipping, I am Multiship, but I do naturally have my preferred partners.

Don’t let that turn you away though! I ship based on chemistry, based on interesting dynamics, and the likes. If you have an idea and you wanna ship, please let me know. I may not always be into it at first but who knows, it can grow on me! Rosie is bisexual so she has potential with both male and female partners, however how her behavior is between the genders varies in a relationship. You will find that Rosie has more sexual interest with the same potential romantic interest in men, and is much more romantically inclined than sexually interest in women. While she is generally open about male relations, she’s even more picky about females because its based more on emotional attachment. But both are absolutely possible.

A side note about Rosie is that depending on the stage in which she is met, and in what verse, loving her is not always easy.

She is an unstable woman underneath with trauma which has created association that expression of emotion is bad. She won’t always be the most loving and affectionate person at times as she drowns herself in responsibility, and she is not very direct in expressing her love through words, but rather through actions. Can definitely be a rough ride, but if you’re willing to go on an emotional roller coaster, so am I. ♡ I am also always open to platonic ships, friendships, hateships and all that kind of good stuff. Variety gives me life and makes everything more interesting. Rosie has been even prone to toxic relationships.

When it comes to writing smut, understandably I will not write it with minors.

In general, it takes me a while to be fully comfortable enough with a partner to write it, but I’m not closed off to the idea once we build up a good bond ooc and between the muses. Anything smut related is tagged under nsfw. Rosie is has a sexual addiction in a way, so she may be highly suggestive if she’s interested. I’m absolutely okay with fading to black if that is your preference!

On the note of Rosie’s sexual addiction as a hypersexual, please understand that she can be quite sensitive to it being brought to light. Its a shame to have such intrusive thoughts. Her emotions and feeling towards people can vary drastically- she can be completely indifferent to sexual thoughts towards a person, and then at some other time she needs it like a junkie. She may joke around her flirtatious conquest with friends, but it is not something she likes to get into. Also suffering from bipolar depression, her moods can vary drastically when dealing with particular people.

I like plot driven threads very much.

I find on the whim threads rather hard to keep up, and slice of life moments are only a rare indulgence. I can indulge in all kinds of subjects, from the nitty gritty to the fluffy, whatever my partner might be interested in as long as we can discuss it.

Rosie was made from an original world, but she is an absolutely malleable character to any sort of fandom story. You can jump to mine or I can jump to yours, even if I know nothing about it. I’m more than willing to do research, go off of what you might tell me, and we can go on a journey from there! I need new stuff in my life. Please show me a new world .

Note that I usually do not like fighting threads.

They can be difficult for me, because while my muse is powerful, she is more often than not incredibly passive. Your muse is free to taunt and push buttons, but know well that she is fully capable of biting back hard. There are consequences for actions, but I do not like going into battle threads unless it’s plotted. For the sake of her children, or keeping her secrets, she is not afraid to kill.

PLEEEAAASEE!! Please Please Please understand that my muse and I DO NOT share the same views on things.Muse does not equal mun. Especially if there is tension between a muse and Rosie, and she gets snippy and harsh. She can be impulsive and say mean and offensive shit because she’s defensive.. and the shit she does is not always alright. Please understand I will not always condone what she does.. She is her own fictional person.

AAAND THAT SHOULD BE IT! Thank you so very much for reading, and I look forward to threading with you all!

#mobile: rules #Gotta get this stuff up and out #Hope im not being too harsh with stuff..

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lunarlooroo · 7 years ago

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Severus paused just outside, adjusting his shirt and smoothing out the creases. He fussed with his collar, straightening it out to make it look neat. Raising a hand to comb through his hair, he realised what he was doing and scowled. He felt absolutely preposterous. Shaking his head, he pushed through the doors.

A sweeping glance showed that the other man had not arrived yet, thank Merlin. He’d left earlier just for this reason. It would not reflect well if he were later than the person he had invited out.

Nodding at Rosmerta as he passed by her, he chose a more secluded booth towards the back, one that would afford more privacy for what he wanted to discuss. Just the mere thought gave him to urge to shift uneasily in his seat. He locked his spine to prevent that from happening.

As hyperaware as Severus was, he noticed the moment the man stepped into the bar. A stiff wave got the other’s attention.

“Severus! Sorry, were you waiting long? I had a surprise visit from a student and had to answer her questions before coming.” Hadrian Potter took the seat across from him, smiling in greeting.

“Good afternoon, Hadrian. No, I have just arrived, myself. Please, feel free to order what you wish, this lunch is on me,” Severus offered stiltedly.

Hadrian blinked in surprise. “Nah, that’s alright! You don’t have to do that!”

“Please, I insist.”

“Err, okay, if you say so?” Hadrian said, bemused.

They sat in awkward silence, broken only when they gave their orders to the waitress. Hadrian fidgeted uncomfortably as he looked anywhere but forward. Severus grimaced as he wracked his mind for a topic of conversation.

“How is Hogwarts?” he asked suddenly.

Hadrian jerked a little in surprise. “Oh, great! Fantastic. It’s much more peaceful than I remember from my own schooldays, though.”

He had to bite his lip to stop the sarcastic remark he had from escaping. He settled for nodding in agreement. The sad attempt at conversation petered off quickly. They both heaved sighs of relief when their food was served. It gave them both excuses for something to fixate on.

Eventually, however, they both finished their food.

“Look, Severus,” Hadrian started, ever the Gryffindor, “I’m glad you asked me here and all, but I kind of get the feeling there was something you wanted to say.”

Severus didn’t know whether to feel relieved or nervous at the opening. “Yes, there was something I wished to ask you.”

The man looked understandably confused by this. While they had both mended whatever broken fences they’d had during Hadrian’s schooldays, they weren’t exactly bosom buddies. Severus didn’t typically seek the other man out for anything.

“More of a request, actually,” Severus ventured. He looked into Hadrian’s eyes. “I would like your blessing to ask for Heather’s hand in marriage.”

Green eyes widened comically as Hadrian set his glass down with more force than necessary. “What?”

He loathed repeating himself, but in this case, he made an exception. The second time was no easier than the first.

Hadrian blinked rapidly, clearly still trying to process the statement. Eventually, he collected himself, gaining a considering look.

“You want to marry Heather?”

“If she is willing, yes.”

With great trepidation, Severus realised that he recognised the damnable twinkle in the man’s eyes.

“Well,” Hadrian said, smirking, “I have a few conditions.”

~~~

Severus cursed as the tangle of stems fell apart. For the fifth time. This was much harder than it looked. He questioned why he was doing this again, sighing.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of the list of tasks. The one Hadrian had rattled off as conditions. The brat must be enjoying tormenting him, probably as payback for all those detentions in school. Right at the top of the parchment read: Make a flower crown, no magic!

Glancing down at the bundles of heather flowers on the table, his glare softened. Right, back to work then.

~~~

“My, my Severus! I didn’t know you were interested in cooking,” Molly Weasley said, wiping her wet hands on her apron.

Severus forced a smile. “Heather has been stressed lately, and I would like to surprise her with her favourite dessert.”

The matronly woman gave him a fond look. “Well, you’ve come to the right place then! The girl is absolutely mad for my treacle tart!”

“Yes, so I’ve seen.” No one dared to fight with Heather for the first piece when it came to her beloved treacle tart. Not if they wanted to go through the night un-pranked.

“This won’t be easy though!” she warned, “My recipe isn’t at all like what you find elsewhere.”

Withholding a sigh, he put on the hideous apron Molly handed him. He was well aware, yes. He had already made up a few from other recipes, only to have them all rejected by Hadrian. Molly had been his last resort.

~~~

Handing over the carton of runic potions he had personally brewed with no assistance from Heather, Severus felt a surge of satisfaction. There, he had completed every little thing on that damnable list! Hadrian couldn’t deny him now.

“Huh, nice work!” Hadrian commented, admiring the potions, “Great timing!”

“What?”

The brat waved it off. “Well, you’ve done everything I asked. Brilliant job! You have my seal of approval. BUT there’s one last thing.”

His first instinct was to protest, but it was clear he was at a disadvantage in this scenario. Schooling his expression into a semblance of acceptance, he waited for Hadrian to continue.

The frustrating man had the gall to look smug at his reaction. “It’s the last one, I promise! There’s just one more person you need to get approval from. Just bring everything on the list to this location at 6pm tomorrow and give it to them.” Hadrian handed him a slip of paper with a set of apparation coordinates.

Severus’ brow twitched at the short notice given. It was likely Black he had to ask. He was in for a fight tomorrow.

~~~

When Severus apparated according to the coordinates he was given, he did not expect to land in a large meadow. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw lights flashing and he quickly turned, half expecting Black to have sent a few curses at him.

To his utter shock, what he found instead was a cosy little set up for a picnic at the base of a large tree. Strings of fairy light were weaved through the lower branches, giving the area a soft glow. There was a nice assortment of finger foods and even some wine chilling in an ice bucket on the ground. However, the most surprising of all was that Heather was waiting for him there.

Severus snapped back to awareness, looking at his bag full of items from the list, then back at Heather again. He was ready to wring Hadrian’s neck for the prank, but then he paused for a while to think. Perhaps Hadrian was giving him a chance.

“Heather, this looks lovely.”

“Thank you, Severus. Do you like the surprise?” Heather asked, fiddling with her hair nervously.

Looking at her affectionately, he sat next to her on the picnic mat and took her hand. He placed a reverent kiss on her palm. “Of course I do. Thank you. I also have a few gifts for you.”

She tilted her head curiously. “Oh?”

Well, it was now or never. If there was ever a time to be a Gryffindor…

The first thing he reached for in his bag was the flower crown, which he placed gently atop her hair.

“Severus?” she asked, amused.

“Hush, I’m not done yet.”

He then pulled out the treacle tart and passed it to her. Her mouth made an ‘o’ in realisation after she took a whiff of Molly’s recipe.

A picture of Fred and George glowing bright green in the exact shade of her eyes. A knitted pair of mittens. The runic potions. And so on.

She looked more and more bewildered with each token he presented to her.

The second to last thing he passed her was a letter. It was from Lupin and it only contained one sentence. ‘You have my blessings.’

“What? What does this mean?”

Finally, he removed the last item from his pocket. “Heather Lyra Potter. You have seen me at my worst and at my best. You have stood by me through times of pain and times of joy. You have been my student, teacher, friend and love. Now,” He opened the box in his hand to reveal a glittering platinum ring. “would you do me the honour being my wife?”

For several moments, Heather just stared unblinkingly at him. Severus was beginning to worry when she said, “I can’t believe this!”

The words made panic shoot through him as he wondered what that was supposed to mean. Had he read everything wrong? For those nerve-wracking seconds, he thought that his proposal would be rejected. Instead, he watched, stunned as she pulled something from own pocket and resized it.

It was a box, almost the same size as the one in his hand.

“Ugh! I knew Hadrian had looked a little too smug these past few days! I can’t believe I entrusted him to do this! Should’ve asked Daphne and Astoria instead… And I even planned it all out perfectly! Or, at least I thought so, because then you made your proposal and that was so much better than mine!”

When he finally caught on to what was happening, he couldn’t help but laugh. “Heather, I think you are forgetting something. I asked you a question.” He snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her closer. “Will you marry me?”

She threw herself into his arms, tackling him into the grass. “Yes, of course!”

Severus was quick to slide his ring onto her left fourth finger, feeling a wave of possessiveness at the sight. It fit perfectly, of course.

Heather, not one to lose, helped him put on her ring as well. It was an unfamiliar weight, but he was looking forward to getting used to it.

Sprawled across the grass with Heather lying on top of him, Severus didn’t think he had ever been as happy in his life. He imagined his future with her by his side, more laughter and joy to come. Then she leaned down and claimed his lips, and he wasn’t thinking of anything but the here and now.

~~~

A quiet pop had Hadrian shooting out of his chair.

“Well, Dobby? How did it go?”

The house elf, held up a camera, grinning and ear flapping happily. “Master Snippy and Mistress Heather being very happy and wearing rings, Master Hadrian!”

He clapped his hands excitedly. “Perfect! I still can’t believe they both decided to propose at around the same time! They really are well suited, aren’t they?”

Dobby nodded eagerly. “Yes yes! And when they is marrying they will have babies! Little masters and mistresses for Dobby to take care of!” The elf was practically squealing in glee.

Hadrian laughed as he cast the spell to develop the photos in the camera. He added the various snapshots to the album he had started ever since this proposal thing started.

When Severus had come to him to ask for his blessings just days after Heather had asked for his help distracting the man, Hadrian knew he couldn’t possibly pass up this chance.

He grinned as he flipped through the album again. He’d had Dobby followed them both around during this period to snap photos of them preparing for their individual proposals. However, Severus in a frilly pink apron was still the one that made him crack up every time.

Well, that’s their wedding present settled. Hopefully they would be too besotted with each other on the day to throttle him for his little scheme.

~~~

The list:

· Make a flower crown, no magic!

· Bake Heather’s favourite dessert

· Play a prank on Fred and George, with photographic evidence

· Learn how to wandlessly conjure fire on your fingertips

· Extract a pensieve memory of the first time you realised you were in love with Heather

· Knit Heather something

· Write a list of five of Heather’s likes, dislikes and habits

· Brew a runic potion by yourself

· Ask Remus for his approval (no need to ask Sirius)

· Get the perfect engagement ring for Heather

#WHfP #prompt ficlets

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charlinert · 7 years ago

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South of the Equator 4/16

New Chapter of South of the Equator….

Summary: A young teacher from Boston will do anything in her power to ensure that her upliftment project goes ahead, when the ground of a small farm school is threatened to be sold to a buyer who has no interest in her project. Oliver Queen, movie director of Queen Studios volunteers to do a documentary on upliftment work in a small farm town to put as much distance as possible between women, love and his broken heart. Oliver and Felicity’s paths cross 9000 miles from home, when their worlds come crashing in the heart of Southern Africa.

Available to read on AO3

***************

CHAPTER 4 : IQ vs EQ

She makes her way across the paved halls, filled with the chitter chatter of high school students. She has a math class in a few minutes and just enough time to get from the parking area to her class room.

Deep in thought about the math lesson awaiting her she nearly bumps into Anna, a pure Afrikaans red head heading in the opposite direction.

“Oops! I’m so sorry Anna, I didn’t see you there.” Felicity apologises missing Anna by mere centimeters.

“Lis! How good to see you! And no worries there girl, I guess when you’re looking so under the weather you’re bound to bump into someone at some point right?” she answers with her fine high pitched voice.

“Under the weather? Sorry I don’t quite understand what you mean?”

“Yes! With the school, your big project, the wedding arrangements you know, I can imagine it’s just so much for you to handle. Please just don’t buckle under the pressure okay?”

Felicity is not sure if Anna is sarcastic or not, but she smiles nevertheless. “I assure you everything is under control, thank you for your concern Anna.”

“Any time Lis, absolutely any time!”

They head in their various directions again when Anna calls her name again.

“Oh Lis! I still wanted to say that I absolutely adore the top you’re wearing today. It was sooo cute when it was still in fashion.” she winks at Felicity, who in return is trying her hardest to keep her facial expression neutral. “Kiss kiss!” Anna sings in greeting and walks away.

It doesn’t happen much but she’s completely speechless. She has no idea what this woman’s problem is with her. It’s not like she’s competing for any special attention from the school board and even if she was, their fields are light years apart.

She shakes her head and resumes her route to her class room.

She’s just in time as the bell rings indicating the end of break and as the students start piling into the room she readies herself for the lesson.

“Good morning everyone, please settle down and take out your assignments from yesterday, so we can quickly run through the answers before today’s lesson.”

She starts opening her notebook when she notices one of the students approaching her desk in the corner of her eye.

“What’s your excuse this time Norman?” she asks still going through some notes. “You should be very worried, because I’m starting to wonder that your dog’s diet consists only of homework.” she looks up at Norman suddenly blushing. “Come on, out with it.” she prompts.

“Well Miss Felicity, you see, the weather was absolutely amazing and it was also the last weekend before our neighbours’ granddaughters had to go back to Namibia, so there was absolutely no time for homework.”

Felicity is positively shocked by the truthful admission from the boy standing in front of her and she tries her best to hide her smile.

“Please Miss Felicity, I’m sure a pretty lady such as yourself will appreciate that I had a real predicament this weekend.”

“Careful young man, she’s taken.”

She turns her attention towards the sound of the voice when Norman’s blushed face turns as white as a sheet. Ray enters with a smug smile on his face, but playfully winks at Felicity who is clearly surprised by his presence.

“You’re here!” Felicity hugs Ray, not sure if she should be happy about this sudden drop in.

“Yes, and just in time it seems. Maybe I should buy a shotgun? First the strange man in the supermarket and now the kid? Do I have something to be worried about? Are you trying to tell me I have competition?” he asks jokingly.

“No honey, nothing to be worried about.” she pats him on his chest.

“Well wonderful then.” he leans down to kiss her, but the moment the kids start cheering she pushes him away with a warning look.

“Okay okay, I just wanted to make sure you’re not working yourself too hard.”

Does she really look that bad? What is it with everyone thinking she’s overexerting herself?

“I’m fine honey, I promise.” she turns toward her desk and picks up the box with the toothpaste and toothbrushes she got at the supermarket and hands it to him. “But, if you really want to help, you can put this box with the rest of the supplies please.”

She laughs when he pouts his lips like a two year old. “Come on, off you go. I’ll see you in a bit.”

“Fine, saving the world one toddler at a time.” he whines while he kisses her cheek and then leaves with the box.

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

“Is this really necessary?” he complains when they enter the driveway of the Swartberg Manor.

“Yes Ray you know it is. I promise I’ll be quick okay?” she squeezes his hand before getting out of the car.

“Yes yes, now hurry up!” he rushes her, but she laughs it off, not entirely sure if he means it to be a joke or not.

She heads towards the main entrance feeling her heartbeat increasing. She hates playing referee between her fiancé and her family, it’s exhausting. Maybe that’s the reason Anna thought she looked worn out.

Once she reaches the patio in front of the entrance she hears what sounds like 50’s music playing. Curiously she enters and finds her sister in a typical black 50’s dress completed with gloves and a shawl, draped with black pearls around her neck, a red feather in her hair and a cigarette holder between her fingers.

“And what’s this?” she questions looking around the foyer, “Halloween is still months away.”

Her sister rolls her eyes at the quip. “Mom had this brilliant idea to have a ‘Breakfast at Tiffany’s’ theme for our guests. She’s busy preparing the food as we speak.”

“Breakfast? It’s nearly dinner time!”

“Dinner shwimmer. This breakfast will kick any dinner’s ass.”

Felicity laughs and then looks behind her when Caitlin’s eyes keep reverting back to the door.

“Ray waiting in the car?”

“Yes he is.” Felicity gives the short answer.

“Of course he is. It’s utterly unfair to expect the ‘Ostrich Baron’ to mingle with the commoners.”

“Caitlin! You can’t really blame him after what you said.”

“I only said he was a nice guy.” she responds innocently, but Felicity gives her sister a knowing look.

“Okay, more like he has the potential to be one.”

“Cait!”

“Whaaaaat? It was a compliment.”

“I can promise you he didn’t take it that way.”

“I say it’s misinterpretation. Now that’s quite something when you have such a high IQ.”

Felicity rolls her eyes and decides to immediately change the subject, “so is everything ready for the gala dinner? You still remember you promised to introduce me to the director of the Global Upliftment Fund?”

“Yes sis, I still remember, now will you please relax?”

Felicity is ready to continue the conversation and tell her sister to back off, when Julian enters the room. He has a mask covering his nose and mouth and he urgently makes his way over to the reception desk with a pack of wipes and more masks.

It’s obvious that he wants Caitlin’s attention but she completely ignores him. After a few seconds of awkward silence and glances he rings the reception bell.

“Caitlin?” he asks softly.

“Yes Julian?” she finally acknowledges him.

“You are aware that the people from the Global Upliftment Fund are here right?”

“Yes Julian, I am very well aware, everything is ready and no, I don’t have amnesia.” Caitlin answers snippy.

“It’s just….there are a lot of people from other countries being represented here where personal hygiene is not a priority. So who knows what kind of germs or viruses will enter with them?”

Caitlin stares at him in disbelief.

“It is my duty as co-owner of this manor to inform you of the dangers that await us and kindly request that you wear one of these.” he explains lifting up one of the sealed mask.

“Okay Julian, two questions….one, what on earth makes you think that, that thing,” pointing to the mask in his hand, “will fit with my outfit? And two, have you ever wondered about the people who pack those masks? You know, the people who make the masks and put them into their boxes and so on? People.With.Germs.”

Julian stares at her with big worried eyes. He tries to answer, but he’s stuck. Finally he throws the mask down on the counter and shivers as Caitlin’s words sink in when he dramatically runs passed Felicity and out the door.

Felicity stifles her laugh, but when her eye catches the clock against the wall she realises she’ll have to finish up her little pop in.

“Well that was fun, but I have to run. Ray’s waiting for me, you know, dinner with my fiancé.” she waves heading for the door.

“Enjoy your dinner Snob!” Caitlin jokingly yells after her.

Thank you to everyone who’s supporting this fic by reading and commenting and liking and such! You guys are truly awesome!!!

Please let me know if you would like to be tagged or untagged.

Amazing people under the cut:

@aguscha333 // @alemap74 // @all-things-olicity // @almondblossomme // @angelalafan // @angelicmisskitty // @aussieforgood // @ccdimples88 // @cinfos // @coal000 // @competitivefornoreason // @cris101071 // @diggo26 // @dontyou-forgetaboutme89 // @fandomlove130 // @felicity-said-just-in-case // @foggydefendorgiver // @geneshaven // @georgiakblog // @ghostfoxlovely // @hope-for-olicity // @hopeful-warrior // @jaspertown // @jcc04220 // @kajunblueyes // @kebarr // @laurabelle2930 // @lgtwinkie99 // @lou-lou26 // @love2luvyyou // @lovejesusarrowavengersblog // @lucymtz16 // @lynaye1993 // @marytagus // @mel-loves-all // @memcjo // @miriam1779 // @missafairy // @myhauntedblacksoul // @nalla-madness // @olicity-in-the-heart // @olliewer // @oliverfel4 // @pimsiepim // @quiveringbunny // @scu11y22 // @smkkbert // @speakandseethetruth // @storyteller0311 // @tdgal1 // @tinaday3w // @to-dwellondreams // @turnupthemusicandscream // @undercover-sparrow // @victoriapolicity // @wherethereissmoak // @yolandi-l // @yourebeautifuleverylilpiecelove // @yryssss

#olicity #olicity fanfic #olicity fic #olicity fanfiction #south of the equator #oliver x felicity #fanfic by charlee #fanfic by charlinert #olicity au

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justsomebucky · 8 years ago

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Ten Years (Part 3)

Summary: AU. When a major account is on the line at work, reader is forced to revisit some old connections at her ten year high school reunion for a chance at success. Will she let the past consume her, or will she see the future in her grasp?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word Count: 2,279

Warnings: language, snark, excessive unlikely events

A/N: Meh?

You still weren’t exactly speaking with Wanda.

Sam had spent a day or so trying to convince you to forgive her, but you weren’t quite ready yet. Not only had she forced your hand to go to an event that you absolutely didn’t want to go to, but she’d caused your job to be in a delicate balance over that event.

Plus, now you had to work with Bucky.

You’d been asking people around the office about him, about their opinions of his rumored ego and his personality. For the most part, people said he was quiet and kept to himself. The only ones who took issue with his ego were people who had been bested by him in the past over an account or a promotion.

One person had even told you that you ought to consider yourself lucky, because once Bucky set his sights on a goal, he never failed.

Another coworker said that you should take the time to learn as much as you could from him, because he never took on any junior managers or offered to show people the ropes. This was a rare chance, they said, to find out how he became the office golden boy.

You hated to admit it, but you were both intrigued and irritated. Why was he so much more to all these other people, and so stuffy and snippy with you?

Anyways, your RSVP to the reunion had been mailed, and you’d emailed the details to Bucky like he had asked, including little facts about you.

That had taken forever; it was hard enough to describe yourself to your friends, let alone a coworker you barely knew. What was relevant and what wasn’t?

You still had to come up with a backstory about how you met, but maybe that wouldn’t matter in the end as long as your ex-best friend didn’t reveal anything to any higher-ups at Stark Industries.

After what turned out to be one of the longest and most excruciating weeks at work since you started, the weekend finally arrived, and you shut your laptop and desk light off with excitement. You were going to go shopping to find an outfit for the reunion, and retail therapy was exactly what you needed.

“Leaving without me?”

You looked up in confusion as Bucky Barnes rounded on your desk, blocking your way out. You tensed up, eyes glancing left and right to see if there was anyone else left to call out to, but everyone had bolted already. “I wasn’t aware that I was supposed to wait for you?”

He smirked, but not unkindly. “We need to iron out some last-minute details, don’t you think?”

“The reunion isn’t until next weekend, Bucky.” What was he getting at?

“Ah, but preparation is key, Y/N. For instance, you probably don’t have anything to wear. You probably haven’t made arrangements with the travel agent yet. You probably haven’t got any proposals down, and you definitely don’t have anything saved to a flash drive that you could easily hand over to your contact. And lastly, but most importantly, you don’t know a thing about me.” He offered you a full-fledged smile, his perfect teeth on full display.

You gaped at him. He almost seemed like he was enjoying the idea. “We have time to figure stuff out.”

“No, we barely have any time at all.” he said, shaking his head. He motioned for you to follow him, turning on his heel and disappearing through the exit.

You grabbed your coat and followed after him, knowing that there was no one around to hear your dramatic sigh.

---

“You aren’t serious?”

The two of you stood on the sidewalk on Fifth Avenue, and you stared at all the familiar designer storefronts around you.

“I’m serious,” Bucky said with a shrug. “You have to look the part.”

You gave him a look. “It’s Long Island, not Martha’s Vineyard.”

“First impressions are important, Y/N.” He started walking down the sidewalk, and you turned to follow.

“I can’t afford a good first impression like this. Besides, that’s a little sexist, don’t you think?”

His eyes widened. “No? You don’t have to get a dress. Just something that could work for both your reunion and a work event.”

You scoffed, looking away. Easy for him to say. He was handsome, and could wear a burlap sack and look good.

“If it makes you feel any better, the company can pay for it. I get a monthly stipend to woo clients. This is for work, so we can use it.”

“W-what?” You stopped again, blinking. “Bucky…”

He stopped too, eyes meeting yours. “I have never lost a pitch, Y/N, and I’m not about to lose one now, just because I have to work with someone else.”

You frowned at him. “You don’t have to be a dick about it. I didn’t want to do this, either. I didn’t even want to go to this stupid reunion.”

Bucky stared at you, hands splayed. “I didn’t mean it to sound that way, I just..just come on, please?”

With a big huff, you marched into the first dress shop you saw, Bucky trailing after you.

The woman inside, who obviously was trying very hard to earn her commission, found you three dress choices, none of which were anything more than business attire. You made a face, but took them all into a changing room to try on so that Bucky wouldn’t yell at you again.

None of them seemed right.

You came out with them tucked on your arm, and shook your head at him.

“Let’s try the next place,” he suggested. For someone with a reputation of impatience, he sure was being level-headed and patient with you and your shopping habits.

The next two shops had clothes that were more fun, but still nothing that seemed to work. Each time you’d step out of the changing room to show the salesperson and Bucky, he would say it didn’t seem quite right, and you agreed.

In the fourth shop, you found a plain black dress that fit you perfectly. It had three-quarter length lace sleeves that didn’t look too 1980’s Madonna, with a low-cut back, and you could pair it with some nice jewelry. It was fun, but work fun. Even Bucky approved (not that you cared, nope).

Plus, it was on sale, so you didn’t feel too bad when he handed over the company credit card to the salesperson.

Once you were back on the sidewalk, with people and traffic bustling around you, it seemed like a good time as any to bolt.

“All right, well, thanks for the dress. I’ll see you on Monday!”

Bucky, however, had other ideas.

You looked down as his hand gently clasped your forearm and he tugged you toward the curb, his hand raised to hail another taxi.

“Time to get dinner,” he said, almost sheepishly. “Get to know each other better.”

“I didn’t agree to dinner,” you protested, trying very hard not to sound too harsh.

At least he was trying. But, he was also trying your patience.

“Oh, grow up,” he laughed, opening the taxi door for you. “Get in. I promise I won’t bother you about this again until Monday.”

“All right,” you grumbled, scooting into the back seat. Bucky slid in beside you and shut the door.

Dinner was filled with surprisingly easy conversation. The atmosphere was too formal, and the menu too expensive, but he flashed the company credit card again.

You wondered how this was helping the first quarter numbers. Did he always spend the gross profit on himself?

Bucky made dinner interesting, though. He brought up talking points from your email about your life and yourself, while you slurped expensive spaghetti.

In return, you asked him about himself, while he poured glasses of expensive red wine.

“Where did you grow up?”

“Connecticut,” he supplied, taking a sip.

“What’s your family like?”

“I’m an only child. My parents are retired.”

Figures. You bit back a smirk. “Why did you start working at Wakanda Inc.?”

“Because they offered me the most money for a career right out of college,” he replied, taking a bite of his steak. “Why did you?”

You twirled some spaghetti around your fork thoughtfully, trying to figure out how to answer him. “Because I wanted to help people. I wanted to help them find their voices, and show their true selves to the public. For all those people or companies that have made incredible blunders but want to be better…for all the companies that want to prove themselves in world where no one has the patience for second chances…for all the times a person was reduced to the sum of their misfortunes or mistakes…I wanted to help.”

Bucky’s blue eyes were watching you intently now, but he remained silent.

You stared back at him, offering a small awkward smile. “Too much?”

“No,” he said softly, shaking his head once. His eyes stayed on yours, the intensity of his gaze becoming a little unnerving. “Those are good reasons. Great reasons, even. That’s what the industry should be.”

“Well, Stark certainly falls under those terms,” you reasoned, looking back down at your food. “He should be given a chance to prove himself, to show the world that he means what he says, and he’s going to put his best effort into this pet project. Stark has made mistakes – big ones – but I genuinely believe him when he says he wants to revolutionize healthcare for everyone’s benefit.”

“I do, too.”

You looked back up at Bucky in surprise, and he actually offered you a sincere smile. He’d never given you reason to think he didn’t believe Stark, so why were you so relieved?

That was the moment that you decided you weren’t going to let your company down. You weren’t going to let bigger, more experienced firms boss you around and take what should be yours.

Yours and Bucky’s, you reminded yourself.

(That was also the moment that you decided you didn’t want to let Bucky Barnes down, either.)

---

After a cab dropped you off at your apartment, you hung your new dress up on your closet door and got settled for the night. A nice hot shower and some comfortable pajamas made you feel completely at ease with everything, even the prospect that you could lose your job if things didn’t turn around.

You grabbed your phone and sent a quick text to Wanda, telling her you were sorry for how you had treated her after the meeting.

She called you almost immediately. “I’m so sorry, Y/N, I really am!”

“Let’s just move on and try to come up with a game plan,” you told her. “I have the business side down because of Bucky, but I need the social side to work out, too.”

“You mean, because you’ll have to see your ex-boyfriend with your ex-best friend?”

“They are still together,” you confirmed. “And I’m really over Clint, I promise, but the betrayal part still stings.”

“Well, I should hope so,” Wanda countered. “If you become immune to that from people you love, you’ll be nothing but a doormat your whole life.”

“I know,” you agreed, flopping down on your couch and reaching for your iPad. “But everyone who’ll be there knows what happened between the three of us, and I just...”

Your voice trailed off and you couldn’t help but smile when you saw another email from Bucky. In just a week, you’d be in your hometown, and-

“Earth to Y/N,” Wanda called out, her voice breaking you from your reverie.

You bit your lip. “Sorry, I just saw that Bucky sent me an email.”

“About what?”

“He came up with a plan for us to pretend to be a couple, and that we’d break up after the reunion so that if we got the account, it wouldn’t seem like a scheme.”

“But it’s totally a scheme.”

“I know,” you exclaimed. “Don’t remind me, I feel guilty as it is. But Bucky said that the bigger picture is what really matters here, and I’m inclined to agree with him.”

“Bucky said, huh?” You could hear the glee in her voice. “It seems like someone has a fondness for a certain golden boy.”

You rolled your eyes even though she couldn’t see you. Instead of agreeing, you tried to make it seem like he tortured you this evening, filling her in on the shopping and dinner adventure. “You’re the one that got me stuck with him. At least have a little sympathy.”

“Oh yes, I feel so bad for you. Poor Y/N, had to get a free designer dress from Fifth Avenue, and free dinner from a five-star restaurant, and now has to be seen back home on the arm of one of Manhattan’s most eligible bachelors.”

You blinked at his name on the screen. “Come to think of it, why is he one of Manhattan’s most eligible bachelors?”

“According to the last woman who tried to date him, and Page Six of course, Bucky was all about work. He had no work-life balance to speak of, and would consistently ditch his dates to make more money.”

“I could see that.” You closed the email app and set the iPad down on the coffee table. “Anyways, Wanda, I need to see you Monday for lunch. We’ve got to plan my confrontation with Natasha and Clint.”

“You got it. Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Night.”

With a great big sigh, you ended the call, stood, and headed to bed. You were finally starting to feel nervous about seeing people from back home again, but you weren’t about to let it ruin your sleep.

---

Part 4

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