#like I know it’s classified as a humor book but I remember it having some suuuuper heavy themes (obviously with the title but yknow)

[voidthewanderer]

Onto book number three

[mishervellous]

Ok prompt same as the bipolar stuff but with Iggy being protective big brother to Ian as well

anon! such a cute prompt 🥰 more protective!Iggy coming your way, hope you enjoy 💙 (kind of a continuation of this one)

(cw: meds' side effects)

“And then eggs, milk and cereal. I think that’s all.”

Iggy averts his gaze from the dark road ahead for a moment, eyeing Ian. “Can’t you write it down?”

“No need.” Ian says through a yawn, keeping up with his station-browsing on the old radio. “I have five siblings, remembering long shopping lists comes with the job.”

“And everyone got to have their pick? Aight, fancypants.”

“You can have your preferences and still be poor, you know.” Iggy feels Ian relax back in his seat, a John Denver song playing on the station he’s settled on.

The rain is pouring right now, cascading violently on the metal of the old van. Iggy turns on the windshield wipers, humming. “News to me.”

When Ian asked him to come with to the supermarket, Iggy was surprised. He was already planning on how to ask him to come without making it obvious that Mickey had been the one instructing him to bring Ian along earlier that morning. His brother knew he would be out of town for a while, and though he trusted Ian to stay at the house when either one of his siblings or Svetlana were there with him, it was harder for Mickey to leave Ian alone alone. And since the house was gonna be empty, and they were in dire need of a grocery run, Mickey had asked Iggy to take Ian with him.

Then when Ian had spontaneously asked if he could come along, Iggy had played it cool, nonchalantly shrugging while putting his coat on. He didn’t tell Ian he was gonna tag along whether he liked it or not.

Ian has been doing better lately. He’d spent the last days of his moping spell out of Mickey’s room, mostly staying on the couch watching cartoons with Yevgeny or action movies with Mickey. Iggy didn’t understand how that could be classified as progress, just moving his sadness from the bed to the living room, but Mickey had assured him that it was a good sign, no matter how small. Whatever.

Soon enough the good days started outnumbering the bad ones, and once Gallagher was (mostly) back on his feet Iggy had to admit he wasn’t that much of a pain in the ass to have around. The guy has the same fucked up sense of humor as them, and though they never really crossed paths before he’s been around the Milkovich house enough to know the ins, and outs of their family—so he’s cool in Iggy’s book.

Iggy would never admit it out loud to anyone, but he slowly started thinking of Ian as something as close as a younger sibling an outsider could be. So it came more, and more natural as the time passed for him to help Ian around, in his own way.

“I’m forgetting something.” Ian interrupts Iggy’s train of thought, shifting in his seat. “What did Mickey ask for?”

“Told you to write that shit down.” They stop at a red light, the rain enveloping the van. He turns to look at him. “Fuck if I know. Lube?”

Ian snorts, looking up from his shitty phone, and scratching his cheek. “I think we’re good for a couple of months on that.”

“Dude.” Iggy wrinkles his nose, putting on the right blinker with a shake of his head. “Jesus Christ.”

“What?” As they approach the Target’s parking lot, Ian unbuckles his seat belt. “You started it.”

With Ian came a lot of changes too—some of them more welcomed than others. Like sitting at the kitchen table to eat together because that’s what families do, or a list of chores stuck to the fridge with a cheesy magnet, complete with rotating weekly shifts and shit. Or the fancy reusable shopping bags that are currently folded under Iggy’s arm, waiting to be filled. He remembers his father using one of those over one of his ex-dealer’s heads, and now Iggy’s using it to bring mac and cheese from point A to point B like he’s some kind of hipster.

Ian is taking his sweet time in each aisle, standing there like a statue, and scanning each shelf with interest. Iggy follows him around, happy to just twirl the car keys around his finger, and leave all the donkey work to him.

However, after five minutes of Ian holding two different brands of fake Oreos in his hands—weighing all the pros, and cons of buying one or the other—and Iggy just staring at them over Ian’s shoulder, he’s positively bored out of his mind. If it was up to him they would have filled one of their fancy shopping bags with random shit, and booked it out of there in less than two minutes.

The only name-brand item in their cart is a family value pack of Snickers (What? They’re Mick’s favorite).

“Who’s paying for this shit again?” Iggy grumbles, using the van’s key to scratch his temple.

Ian turns to look at him, rolling his eyes. “Me.” He gets back to his intense Oreo staredown. “I mean, technically Mickey.”

Iggy catches the way Ian’s hands have started trembling faster. Apparently, the side effects of the crazy pills Ian takes are annoying as fuck, and according to Mickey there’s lots of them. The one that gets to Ian the most is the shaking, Iggy thinks, because when it starts it doesn’t stop for a while. He has these shaking fits where he can’t keep his hands still for shit, and it looks frustrating as hell.

As much as he wants to reach out, and take the boxes from him, Iggy has also learned that Ian is a stubborn motherfucker when it comes to accepting people’s help—claiming that he doesn’t need it even when he clearly fucking does. So Iggy just looks at his frowning profile for a second, then back at the two boxes he’s intently clutching—like if he concentrates hard enough on them he can will his hands to stop shaking—before backing away.

Ian’s got this. Iggy knows it.

“Aight Shakeinator, I’m in the booze aisle when you’re done staring at cookies.” He pats Ian on the shoulder, his version of a nonchalant encouragement, making his way towards the alcohol in the next aisle.

Iggy’s in the midst of choosing which brand of vodka has the easiest bottle to hide under his hoodie (because they might be currently playing Full House but there’s no way in hell he’s paying twenty bucks for any of this) when he hears the sound of something dropping coming from the aisle Ian’s in.

After a couple of seconds of silence, Iggy decides to let it be—if Ian’s in that dire of a situation he’ll call him. But then an angry voice from the same aisle booms through the store, catching Iggy’s attention.

“Are you done dropping things, you weirdo? There’s people that wanna shop here too.”

Iggy frowns. Leaving the vodka back on the shelf he rounds the corner towards the snacks section, leaning his head just forward enough to look down the corridor. The scene that greets him makes his blood boil instantly.

A middle aged man is towering over Ian despite the latter being taller than him. The guy has his hands on his hips, his shopping cart parked a few feet away, long forgotten. From his position Iggy watches as Ian’s head hangs low, two boxes of off-brand fruity cereals laying by his boots. Iggy can clearly see Ian’s hands shaking even while they’re stuffed deep into the large front pocket of his gray hoodie, hidden from the judgmental eyes of the guy in front of him. He’s clearly struggling, and instead of helping this asshole is just screaming at him.

Iggy sees the irony in that, in how he’s the one two seconds away from tackling the motherfucker to the ground now.

The older man scoffs, shaking his head. Mumbles, “Fucking junkie.”

Iggy just goes for it then. Ian can nag him all he wants about it later, but hell if he’s going to just stay back, and do nothing to put this piece of shit in his place. With a few quick strides he’s behind him, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt, and smashing him against the stocked shelves. Some boxes fall to the ground but Iggy doesn’t care; he gets in the fucker’s alarmed face, his hand holding onto a handful of his pullover.

“The fuck did you just say to him, asshole?”

The man frantically gulps a couple of times, scanning his eyes around the place for help, and looking more frightened by the second. Fucking bitch. “I—I didn’t mean—.”

“Iggy, leave him alone.”

“I don’t give a fuck what you meant, dickhead.” Ignoring Ian’s protests, he pushes said dickhead against the shelves harder, making him squirm. “This how it’s gonna go—you either walk out of this fucking shop in the next five seconds or I’m gonna make sure you never walk nowhere else on your own two legs for the rest of your fucking life, yeah?”

The fucker quickly nods, and when Iggy takes a step back, effectively letting him go, he books it out of there as quickly as humanly possible, leaving his half full shopping cart behind. Iggy follows him with his eyes as he runs out of the store, and into the pouring rain, before cracking his knuckles. That’ll teach him.

When he turns towards Ian, the redhead has his arms crossed, and an annoyed expression on. “Why did you do that?”

“The fuck do you mean why? That bitch is lucky I didn’t feel like breaking his nose tonight.” Iggy scratches the side of his own nose, giving the place a once-over before looking back at Ian. “You done?” But now Ian has a weird smile on—one that looks almost fond. It makes Iggy scoff. “Whatchu smiling at, giggles?”

Shrugging, Ian bends down to pick up the cereal boxes, throwing both into their cart. His shaking is seemingly under control again. “Nothing.” Again with that same smile on he adds, “You sound like your brother is all.”

Iggy pretends to look disgusted then, shaking his head. “Calm your tits, Red. I don’t bat for your team.”

“Fuck off with that, Iggy.” But Ian’s laughing, and there’s no real heat behind his words. Iggy has to fight a dumb fond smile of his own as they go about finishing their shopping.

***

The front door opens around eight later that night, and Iggy watches as Mickey makes his way into the kitchen, a blue duffel bag in hand that he unceremoniously throws near the counter.

“‘Sup losers.” Mickey rounds the table, leaning over Ian’ shoulder—Ian who’s currently intent on browsing their old laptop. In a gesture that looks almost rehearsed, his brother juts his cheek in Ian’s direction, and the latter places two loud pecks on there without ever looking away from the screen. When Iggy pretends to gag at the sight, Mickey just flips him off. “Watchu doing, freckles?”

Ian shrugs, lazily clicking away at the keyboard. “Shopping.”

His brother hums, leaving Ian’s side, and going for the fridge’s door while loosening his tie. “How was the grocery shopping?” Beer in hand, he walks back towards the table, stopping right behind Ian’s chair.

Iggy leans back on his own chair, watching Ian close the laptop, and stretch his arms up, yawning. “Same as usual.” He rests the back of his head on Mickey’s stomach, closing his eyes.

“C’mon Red, tell him what happened.”

Mickey frowns, looking down at Ian. Ian just sighs, keeping his eyes closed. “Nothing happened.”

When his brother clearly doesn’t buy that, he looks over at Iggy—who in turn smirks. “You know his shaking, right? Guy at the store called him a junkie ‘cause he dropped some boxes.”

Ian sighs again, opening his eyes, and staring daggers at Iggy. “It’s not a big—,”

“Forreal? Did you whoop his fucking ass?” Mickey says, clutching the neck of his beer harder.

“Made him run away like a pussy.”

Iggy and Mickey fist bump while Ian sighs again. “I can fend for myself. I didn’t need your help.”

“Motherfucker needed to be taught a lesson though.”

Mickey points the tip of his bottle towards Iggy in agreement, causing Ian to roll his eyes.

And Ian can get mad at Iggy all he wants for standing up for him. He’d have done the same for Mandy, or for Mickey.

As Ian leaves the room, clearly annoyed by their antics, and Mickey pats Iggy’ shoulder in a silent thank you for having his back, Iggy knows he would do anything—whether it be punishable by law or not—to keep his family happy, and safe.

[arrantsnowdrop]

To be a Jedi - Anakin Skywalker x Reader

Request: “anakin/female!reader getting together fic that involves reader crying because she’s feeling self-conscious about her appearance and feeling worthless and anakin comforting her and calming her down and then accidentally confessing to her?”

Tags: @lothloriien​

Warnings: self-deprecation, insecurities, etc. (~2,500 words)

~~~~~

Being a Jedi really sucked sometimes.

Not all the time. In fact, you normally enjoyed the fast-paced, demanding lifestyle you led. Even as a youngling you had taken pride in the ritual and responsibility of being a Jedi, and now, as a Padawan on the verge of facing the Jedi trials, you were more confident than ever that the Force had led you down the right path.

But that didn’t mean you didn’t have bad days every once in a while.

Your Master had been called away on some highly classified mission in the Naboo system, so you’d been spending the week at the Jedi Temple working on some independent research and participating in training sessions with the other senior Padawans. Unfortunately, they were focusing on lightsaber combat this week - something you were definitely not as skilled at considering your specialization in negotiation and communications.

It wasn’t that you were unathletic - you were training to be a Jedi for crying out loud - but it was hard not to feel a little self-conscious about how much you were struggling with the training exercises, especially when your assigned training partner was none other than Anakin Skywalker.

It was just past midday - you’d been training for hours already and still had a few to go. The sun was blaring down on the courtyard where you and the other Padawans were sparring under Obi-Wan’s supervision.

You panted heavily, eyeing Anakin as the two of you circled each other slowly. There was no question as to which one of you would launch the next parry - Anakin had taken the offensive right out of the gate - so all you could do was try to catch your breath and prepare yourself for his next attack.

His eyebrows were furrowed in concentration, a few beads of sweat dripping down his forehead and some of his hair sticking to his face. His eyes were following your every move, tracking you like you were some kind of prey.

You hated this.

Suddenly, Anakin lunged forward, blue lightsaber whirring loudly as he swung it towards you. You groaned, lifting your own lightsaber up at the last possible moment to deflect him.

“Such a slow reaction time,” Anakin teased, grinning as he stepped back to give himself a wider range of motion.

“I thought it would take you longer to catch your breath,” you replied, voice strained as you blocked another one of his strikes.

You’d been friends with Anakin since Obi-Wan took him as a Padawan years ago, offering to help him as he played “catch up” with the rest of you. The fact he’d become such a strong Force-user despite starting so late was something you deeply respected him for, though you were perfectly content simply watching him display these skills.

Being on the receiving end of a lightsaber attack from Anakin Skywalker was not something you would consider enjoyable. You’d spent the whole morning dodging and jumping and somehow still losing every match. 

You flinched as Anakin’s lightsaber hit your torso, the sting of the “training mode” setting hurting far less than the sting of your own pride.

“Seven to one,” Obi-Wan called from where he was watching. You groaned, rubbing your temples with your free hand and turning your lightsaber off.

“Hey, you were definitely doing better than time,” Anakin said reassuringly, sensing your frustration. “Improvement is all Obi-Wan is looking for.”

“Improvement doesn’t take away from the fact I’ve lost seven matches today,” you seethed, bending down to re-tie the laces of your boots.

“Perhaps if you worked out a bit more you wouldn’t lose so often,” one of the other Padawans jested. Your head snapped up, face flushing as you sent them a pointed glare.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you asked curtly, watching them look between you and Anakin uncomfortably.

“It’s just-”

They didn’t get a chance to finish, letting out a small shriek as they dodged a rock flying through the air. You turned around to look at Anakin, his slightly raised hand indicating who’d been responsible for the rock. At least he was using his Force capabilities in your favor now.

“Thanks,” you muttered, reigniting your lightsaber, glancing at the clock above where Obi-Wan was sitting. All you wanted was for training to be over so you could retreat to your room.

“They don’t know what they’re talking about,” Anakin said, a somewhat angry look on his face as he took a fighting stance across from you. “You’re perfectly capable of wielding a lightsaber, and you’d definitely beat them if you’d been paired up.”

“Hopefully,” you corrected him, “hopefully I’d beat them.”

“Definitely,” Anakin insisted, you rolling your eyes as you lifted your lightsaber in front of you.

----

What sucked about getting older was how little you saw Obi-Wan and Anakin. Your Master was responsible for conducting multiple research projects for the Jedi Council off-world, and Obi-Wan and Anakin hardly ever stayed on Coruscant for longer than a few days, so it was unlikely that you’d find yourselves in the same place for a decent amount of time anymore.

Normally, you would’ve used this week as a great opportunity to catch up with one of your oldest friends. This damn lightsaber training was getting in the way.

It had been yet another long day of sweating the equivalent of your own bodyweight and paling in comparison to Anakin’s abilities. Obi-Wan had focused on lightsaber combat in precarious and compromising situations, with one of which resulting in you falling off a two story rock wall.

As you stood in front of the mirror in your room you couldn’t overlook the spattering of bruises covering your torso and arms, all varying hues of blue and purple culminating from the last few days. You sighed, grateful you were getting the extra training you so clearly needed and nervous about what that meant. Imagine you’d been confronted by some Sith fanatic in the last few weeks - who knows how long you would’ve lasted?

Perhaps you were overthinking. You did have an extremely over-skilled training partner who made most other Jedi look incompetent with a lightsaber.

That being said, you still couldn’t shake what that other Padawan had said about you yesterday. Had you really become unathletic? You didn’t think you’d ever really neglected your daily training exercises, but perhaps those weren’t enough.

You sat down on the edge of your bed slowly, shoulder slumped. Maybe you weren’t as capable as you thought. The bruises all over you and lack of any actual visible muscle certainly pointed towards that.

----

The next morning, you skipped breakfast, giving Obi-Wan some offhanded explanation as to why you’d be missing training and heading for the library. You weren’t really skipping for no reason, your Master had given you a list of different research topics for you to look up in the Jedi Archives. Did you really need the extra time to get this done? No, but it still gave you a good excuse to avoid the feeling of physical incapability that accompanied your training sessions.

Plus, you didn’t want to slow the entire group down. Tears pricked at your eyes as you remembered yesterday when Obi-Wan made you repeat some dumb exercise on a floating raft over and over again, even though everyone else had already done it to his satisfaction. It was humiliating.

At least here in the library, surrounded by stacks of holograms and books, you were in your element. Here you didn’t have to move fast or chop anyone’s limb off out of self-defense.

It was sometime in the late afternoon when Anakin stormed into the library, loud footsteps immediately shushed by a swarm of librarians. You couldn’t help but grin softly, eyes meeting his as he marched over to you much more quietly.

“Even the great Anakin Skywalker is no match for an angry librarian,” you teased, him scoffing as he plopped down in a chair next to you.

“And where were you today?” Anakin asked, a strange intensity behind his question. You gulped, gesturing to the pile of transcripts and notes in front of you.

“I was right here,” you replied meekly.

“Since this morning?” he asked, eyes widening in surprise. You nodded.

“What the heck, Y/N,” he groaned, leaning back in his chair. “Obi-Wan assigned me a different partner. Do you know how irritating every other Padawan is to train with?”

“No, I’ve only ever trained with you,” you said bluntly.

“Exactly!” Anakin responded a little too loudly, earning him a dramatic shush from the circulation desk.

“Shut up,” you chuckled, slapping his chest lightly. He rolled his eyes.

“What I mean is that I’ve only ever trained with you, too, so everyone else doesn’t live up to my expectations.”

“What expectations?” you asked quizzically, flipping one of your notebooks closed.

“Working hard but still having a good time,” he answered, waving his hand nonchalantly. “You never sacrifice good banter for anything, I value that.”

“Ah, I’m glad to know you only value me as a training partner for my humor,” you retorted dryly, gathering all your belongings into a pile and standing up. Anakin’s brows furrowed as he looked up at you, a confused look painted across his face.

“Hey, what?” he asked, standing up with you. “What happened?”

“Nothing, just makes sense that you only enjoy my conversation, not anything actually training-related.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” he asked, completely dumbfounded as you started walking away.

“See you tomorrow, Anakin,” you replied, refusing to shed any more tears until you reached your room.

----

The next morning you were too unmotivated to let Obi-Wan know you weren’t coming, deciding instead to stay in bed and do absolutely nothing. Well, you were reading, but what did that really matter to a Jedi? You were supposed to be able to do backflips through the air and take on five enemies at once, and yet here you were wrapped in two blankets feeling like absolute shit. Some Jedi you were.

You held your breath as someone began knocking furiously on the door, hoping desperately they would think you weren’t home.

“Y/N, I know you’re in there,” Anakin called. You groaned, turning around and smashing your face into the pillow.

“Y/N!” he called again.

“Don’t come in!” you shouted back, voice muffled through the pillow.

“I’m coming in.”

“Don’t-”

You never got the chance to finish, bolting upright in bed as the door flew open, Anakin stalking in. You rolled your eyes, just thankful he had kept the door on its hinges.

“What is wrong with you?” he demanded, cringing as you recoiled slightly at his harsh words.

“What do you mean?” you replied quietly, his face softening as he took a seat on the edge of your bed.

“I meant what’s wrong, not what’s wrong with you,” Anakin corrected, taking your hand in his own.

“Nothing’s wr-”

“Don’t give me that,” he interrupted, shaking his head. “Don’t even try, I know you better than anyone Y/N, what’s wrong?”

You kept quiet, focusing on the way his thumb was rubbing small circles on the back of your hand.

“You’ve been acting off since we started training together, is it something I did?” he tried again, genuinely concerned. You laughed dryly and shook your head.

“No, Anakin, you didn’t do anything,” you replied truthfully, looking at him. “You’re perfect, I promise you did nothing wrong.” He gave you a small smile, looking down to where he was still holding your hand. He didn’t let go, only gripped you a little tighter, urging you to continue. You bit your lip, debating whether or not to tell him.

“Do you remember when that Padawan told me I needed to exercise more?” you asked finally. His head snapped up, eyes meeting yours.

“I knew it,” he murmured, nostrils flaring as he tried (and failed) to conceal his budding anger. “I knew it.”

“Anakin it’s ok,” you said, reaching out and rubbing his forearm, his gaze following your hand. “I mean, they were right, if I-”

“No,” Anakin said. “No, they weren’t right. They have no idea how strong you are, how capable-”

“Anakin I’ve struggled this entire week,” you blurted, eyes stinging and face heating up. “I pale in comparison to you, and the other Padawans, at least physically. I thought whatever training I’d been doing had been enough but clearly it wasn’t, so they’re right. I need to exercise more, I need to train more, I’m incapable of defending myself with a lightsaber and I don’t even look like a proper Jedi.” You thrust your bruised arms out towards him. “Look at these, you don’t have them, no one else does. I’m the only one who struggles with every exercise and test.”

You realized you’d begun to cry, tears rolling down your face and breaths shallow.

“Y/N,” Anakin murmured, hurt in his eyes as he took your arms gingerly in his hands. “Y/N, no.”

Your eyes widened as Anakin bent over, slowly pressing his mouth to each bruise on your forearms. You gulped, feeling a little dizzy as Anakin glanced up at you. “You’re an amazing Jedi,” he started, sitting back up straight and pulling you closer to him. You tried to pull away, not wanting to stain his robes with your tears, but he held you firmly. “You’re already stronger than half the people in that group, I’ll have Obi-Wan reassign you so you can kick someone’s ass and everyone will realize it.”

“Anakin-”

He shushed you, resting his chin on the top of your head. You closed your eyes, reveling in the warmth of his body against yours.

“There’s more to being a Jedi than using a lightsaber, anyways,” he continued. “You’re the only person our age in this whole temple that can negotiate with warlords and thieves and murderers and still come back unscathed with five new friends.”

You chuckled, biting your lip as he pressed a kiss against your hair.

“You’re perfect, Y/N,” he insisted softly, you shifting in his arms to gaze up at him.

You were surprised by how nervous he looked, as if he didn’t know how you’d react to what he’d just said, what he’d just implied. You just smiled softly, leaning up to press a slow kiss on his cheek.

“Thank you, Anakin,” you mumbled against his face, grinning as you felt him smile.

Suddenly he pushed himself up, forcing you down onto the bed and collapsing on top of you. You shrieked, bursting into a fit of giggles as he began nestling himself in your hair.

“Shouldn’t you still be at training?” you asked, a wide smile on your face.

“I was sent here by Obi-Wan to fetch you,” he replied smugly.

“So shouldn’t we both be getting back then?”

He propped himself up on his elbows, gazing down at you with a cocky smile on his face.

“I never told him when I’d be coming back.”

You decided you could afford to skip training another day - Anakin probably needed the rest anyways - and pulled his face down to meet your own.

[xoruffitup]

Annette: The AD Devotee Review

So I saw Annette on its premiere night in Cannes and I’m still trying to process and make sense of those 2.5 hours of utter insanity. I have no idea where to begin and this is likely going to become an unholy length by the time I’m finished, so I apologize in advance. But BOY I’ve got a lot to parse through!!

Let’s start here: Adam’s made plenty of weird movies. The Dead Don’t Die? The Man Who Killed Don Quixote? There are definitely Terry Gilliam-esque elements of the unapologetically absurd and fantastical in Annette, but NOTHING comes close to this film. To put it bluntly, nothing I write in this post can prepare you for the eccentric phantasmagoria you’re about to sit through.

While the melodies conveying the story – at times lovely and haunting, at times whimsical, occasionally blunt and simple – add a unique sense of the surreal, the fact that it’s all presented in song somehow supplies the medium for this bizarre concoction of disparate elements and outlandish storytelling to all coalesce into a single genre-defying, disbelief-suspending whole. That’s certainly not to say there weren’t a few times when I quietly chortled to myself and mouthed “what the fuck” from behind my mask when things took an exceeding turn to the outrageous. This movie needs to be permitted a bit of leeway in terms of quality judgments, and traditional indicators certainly won’t apply. I would say part of its appeal (and ultimately its success) stems from its lack of interest in appealing to traditional arbiters of film structure and viewing experience. The movie lingers in studies of discomfiture (I’ll return to this theme); it presents all its absurdities with brazen pride rather than temperance; and its end is abrupt and utterly jarring. Yet somehow, at the end of it, I realized I’d been white-knuckling that rollercoaster ride the whole way through and loved every last twist and turn.

A note on the structure of this post before I dive in: I’ve written out a synopsis of the whole film (for those spoiler-hungry people) and stashed it down at the bottom of this post, so no one trying to avoid spoilers has to scroll through. If you want to read, go ahead and skip down to that before reading the discussion/analysis. If I have to reference a specific plot point, I’ll label it “Spoiler #___” and those who don’t mind being spoiled can check the correlating numbers in my synopsis to see which part I’m referencing. Otherwise, my discussion will be spoiler-free! I do detail certain individual scenes, but hid anything that would give away key developments and/or the ending.

To start, I’ll cut to what I’m sure many of you are here for: THE MUSICAL SEX SCENES. You want detailed descriptions? Well let’s fucking go because these scenes have been living in my head rent-free!!

The first (yes, there are two. Idk whether to thank Mr. Carax or suggest he get his sanity checked??) happens towards the end of “We Love Each Other So Much.” Henry carries Ann to the bed with her feet dangling several inches off the floor while she has her arms wrapped around his shoulders. (I maybe whimpered a tiny bit.) As they continue to sing, you first see Ann spread on her back on the bed, panting a little BUT STILL SINGING while Henry’s head is down between her thighs. The camera angle is from above Ann’s head, so you can clearly see down her body and exactly what’s going on. He lifts his head to croon a line, then puts his mouth right back to work. 

And THEN they fuck – still fucking singing! They’re on their sides with Henry behind her, and yes there is visible thrusting. Yes, the thrusting definitely picks up speed and force as the song reaches its crescendo. Yes, it was indeed EXTREMELY sensual once you got over the initial shock of what you’re watching. Ann kept her breasts covered with her own hands while Henry went down on her, but now his hands are covering them and kneading while they’re fucking and just….. It’s a hard, blazing hot R rating. I also remember his giant hand coming up to turn her head so he can kiss her and ladkjfaskfjlskfj. Bring your smelling salts. I don’t recommend sitting between two older ladies while you’re watching – KINDA RUINED THE BLATANT, SMOKING HOT ADAM PORN FOR ME. Good god, choose your viewing buddy wisely!

The second scene comes sort of out of nowhere – I can’t actually recall which song it was during, but it pops up while Ann is pregnant. Henry is again eating her out and there’s not as much overt singing this time, but he has his giant hands splayed over her pregnant belly while he’s going to town and whew, WHEW TURN ON THE AIR CONDITIONING PLEASE. DID THE THEATER INCREASE IN TEMPERATURE BY 10 DEGREES, YOU’RE DAMN RIGHT IT DID.

Whew. I think you’ll be better primed to ~enjoy~ those scenes when you know they’re coming, otherwise it’s just so shocking that by the time you’ve processed “Look at Adam eating pussy with reckless abandon” it’s halfway over already. God speed, my fellow rats, it’s truly something to witness!!

Okay. Right. Ahem. Moving right on along….

I’ll kick off this discussion with the formal structure of the film. It’s honestly impossible to classify. I have the questionable fortune of having been taken to many a strange avant-garde operas and art exhibitions by my parents when I was younger, and the strongest parallel I found to this movie was melodramatic opera stagings full of flamboyant flourishes, austere set pieces, and prolonged numbers where the characters wallow at length in their respective miseries. This movie has all the elevated drama, spectacle, and self-aggrandizement belonging to any self-professed rock opera. Think psychedelic rock opera films a la The Who’s Tommy, Hair, Phantom of the Paradise, and hell, even Rocky Horror. Yes, this film really is THAT weird.

But Annette is also in large part a vibrant, absurdist performance piece. The film is intriguingly book-ended by two scenes where the lines blur between actor and character; and your own role blurs between passive viewer and interactive audience. The first scene has the cast walking through the streets of LA (I think?), singing “So May We Start?” directly to the camera in a self-aware prologue, smashing the fourth wall from the beginning and setting up the audience to play a direct role in the viewing experience. Though the cast then disburse and take up their respective roles, the sense of being directly performed to is reinforced throughout the film. This continues most concretely through Henry’s multiple stand-up comedy performances.

Though he performs to an audience in the film rather than directly to live viewers, these scenes are so lengthy, vulgar, and excessive that his solo performance act becomes an integral part of defining his character and conveying his arc as the film progresses. These scenes start to make the film itself feel like a one-man show. The whole shtick of Henry McHenry’s “Ape of God” show is its perverse irreverence and swaggering machismo. Over the span of what must be a five minute plus scene, Henry hacks up phlegm, pretends to choke himself with his microphone cord, prances across the stage with his bathrobe flapping about, simulates being shot, sprinkles many a misanthropic, charmless monologues in between, and ends by throwing off his robe and mooning the audience before he leaves the stage. (Yes, you see Adam’s ass within the film’s first twenty minutes, and we’re just warming up from there.) His one-man performances demonstrate his egocentrism, penchant for lowbrow and often offensive humor, and the fact that this character has thus far profited from indulging in and acting out his base vulgarities.

While never demonstrating any abundance of good taste, his shows teeter firmly towards the grotesque and unsanctionable as his marriage and mental health deteriorate. This is what I’m referring to when I described the film as a study in discomfiture. As he deteriorates, the later iterations of his stand-up show become utterly unsettling and at times revolting. The film could show mercy and stop at one to two minutes of his more deranged antics, but instead subjects you to a protracted display of just how insane this man might possibly be. In Adam’s hands, these excessive, indulgent performance scenes take on disturbing but intriguing ambiguity, as you again wonder where the performance ends and the real man begins. When Henry confesses to a crime during his show and launces into an elaborate, passionate reenactment on stage, you shift uncomfortably in your seat wondering how much of it might just be true. Wondering just how much of an animal this man truly is.

Watching this film as an Adam fan, these scenes are unparalleled displays of his range and prowess. He’s in turns amusing and revolting; intolerable and pathetic; but always, always riveting. I couldn’t help thinking to myself that for the casual, non Adam-obsessed viewer, the effect of these scenes might stop at crass and unappealing. But in terms of the sheer range and power of acting on display? These scenes are a damn marvel. Through these scenes alone, his performance largely imbues the film with its wild, primal, and vaguely menacing atmosphere.

His stand-up scenes were, to me, some of the most intense of the film – sometimes downright difficult to endure. But they’re only a microcosm of the R A N G E he exhibits throughout the film’s entirety. Let’s talk about how he’s animalistic, menacing, and genuinely unsettling to watch (Leos Carax described him as “feline” at some point, and I 100% see it); and then with a mere subtle twitch of his expression, sheen of his eyes, or slump of his shoulders, he’s suddenly a lost, broken thing.  

Henry McHenry is truly to be reviled. Twitter might as well spare their breath and announce he’s already cancelled. He towers above the rest of the cast with intimidating, predatory physicality; he is prone to indulgence in his vices; and he constantly seems at risk of releasing some wild, uncontrollable madness lingering just beneath his surface. But as we all well know, Adam has an unerring talent for lending pathos to even the most objectively condemnable characters.

In a repeated refrain during his first comedy show, the audience keeps asking him, “Why did you become a comedian?” He dodges the question or gives sarcastic answers, until finally circling back to the true answer later in the film. It was something to the effect of: “To disarm people. It’s the only way I can tell the truth without it killing me.” Even for all their sick spectacle, there are also moments in his stand-up shows of disarming vulnerability and (seeming) honesty. In a similar moment of personal exposition, he confesses his temptation and “sympathy for the abyss.” (This phrase is hands down my favorite of the film.) He repeatedly refers to his struggle against “the abyss” and, at the same time, his perceived helplessness against it. “There’s so little I can do, there’s so little I can do,” he sings repeatedly throughout the film - usually just after doing something horrific.

Had he been played by anyone else, the first full look of him warming up before his show - hopping in place and punching the air like some wannabe boxer, interspersing puffs of his cigarette with chowing down on a banana – would have been enough for me to swear him off. His archetype is something of a cliché at this point – a brusque, boorish man who can’t stomach or preserve the love of others due to his own self-loathing. There were multiple points when it was only Adam’s face beneath the character that kept my heart cracked open to him. But sure enough, he wedged his fingers into that tiny crack and pried it wide open. The film’s final few scenes show him at his chin-wobbling best as he crumbles apart in small, mournful subtleties.

(General, semi-spoiler ahead as to the tone of the film’s ending – skip this paragraph if you’d rather avoid.) For a film that professes not to take itself very seriously (how else am I supposed to interpret the freaky puppet baby?), it delivers a harsh, unforgiving ending to its main character. And sure enough, despite how much I might have wanted to distance myself and believe it was only what he deserved, I found myself right there with him, sharing his pain. It is solely testament to Adam’s tireless dedication to breathing both gritty realism and stubborn beauty into his characters that Henry sank a hook into some piece of my sympathy.

Not only does Adam have to be the only actor capable of imbuing Henry with humanity despite his manifold wrongs, he also has to be the only actor capable of the wide-ranging transformations demanded of the role. He starts the movie with long hair and his full refrigerator brick house physique. His physicality and size are actively leveraged to engender a sense of disquiet and unpredictability through his presence. He appears in turns tormented and tormentor. There were moments when I found myself thinking of Conan the Barbarian, simply because his physical presence radiates such wild, primal energy (especially next to tiny, dainty Marion and especially with that long hair). Cannot emphasize enough: The raw sex appeal is off the goddamn charts and had me – a veteran fangirl of 3+ years - shook to my damn core.

The film’s progression then ages him – his hair cut shorter and his face and physique gradually becoming more gaunt. By the film’s end, he has facial prosthetics to make him seem even more stark and borderline sickly – a mirror of his growing internal torment. From a muscular, swaggering powerhouse, he pales and shrinks to a shell of a man, unraveling as his face becomes nearly deformed by time and guilt. He is in turns beautiful and grotesque; sensual and repulsive. I know of no other actor whose face (and its accompanying capacity for expressiveness) could lend itself to such stunning versatility.

Quick note here that he was given a reddish-brown birthmark on the right side of his face for this film?? It becomes more prominent once his hair is shorter in the film’s second half. I’m guessing it was Leos’ idea to make his face even more distinctive and riveting? If so, joke’s on you, Mr. Carax, because we’re always riveted. ☺

I mentioned way up at the beginning that the film is bookended by two scenes where the lines blur between actor and character, and between reality and performance. This comes full circle at the film’s end, with Henry’s final spoken words (this doesn’t give any plot away but skip to the next paragraph if you would rather avoid!) being “Stop watching me.” That’s it. The show is over. He has told his last joke, played out his final act, and now he’s done living his life as a source of cheap, unprincipled laughs and thrills for spectators. The curtain closes with a resounding silence.

Now, I definitely won’t have a section where I talk (of course) about the Ben Solo parallels. He’s haunted by an “abyss” aka darkness inside of him? Bad things happened when he finally gave in and stared into that darkness he knew lived within him? As a result of those tragedies, (SPOILER – Skip to next paragraph to avoid) he then finds himself alone and with no one to love or be loved by? NO I’M DEFINITELY NOT GOING TO TALK ABOUT IT AT ALL, I’M JUST FINE HERE UNDER MY MOUNTAINS OF TISSUES.

Let’s talk about the music! The film definitely clocks in closer to a rock opera than musical, because almost the entire thing is conveyed through ongoing song, rather than self-contained musical numbers appearing here and there. This actually helps the film’s continuity and pacing, by keeping the characters perpetually in this suspended state of absurdity, always propelled along by some beat or melody. Whenever the film seems on the precipice of tipping all the way into the bleak and dark, the next whimsical tune kicks in to reel us all blessedly back. For example, after (SPOILER #1) happens, there’s a hard cut to the bright police station where several officers gather around Henry, bopping about and chattering on the beat “Questions! We have a few questions!”

Adam integrates his singing into his performance in such a way that it seems organic. I realized after the film that I never consciously considered the quality of his singing along the way. For all that I talked about the film maintaining the atmosphere of a fourth wall-defying performance piece, Adam’s singing is so fully immersed in the embodiment of his character that you almost forget he’s singing. Rather, this is simply how Henry McHenry exists. His stand-up scenes are the only ones in the film that do frequently transition back and forth between speaking and singing, but it’s seamlessly par for the course in Henry’s bizarre, dour show. He breaks into his standard “Now laugh!” number with uninterrupted sarcasm and contempt. There were certainly a few soft, poignant moments when his voice warbled in a tender vibrato you couldn’t help noticing – but otherwise, the singing was simply an extension of that full-body persona he manages to convey with such apparent ease and naturalism.

On the music itself: I’ll admit that the brief clip of “We Love Each Other So Much” we got a few weeks ago made me a tad nervous. It seemed so cheesy and ridiculous? But okay, you really can’t take anything from this movie out of context. Otherwise it is, indeed, utterly ridiculous. Not that none of it is ever ridiculous in context either, but I’m giving you assurances right now that it WORKS. Once you’re in the flow of constant singing and weirdness abound, the songs sweep you right along. Some of the songs lack a distinctive hook or melody and are moreso rhythmic vehicles for storytelling, but it’s now a day later and I still have three of the songs circulating pleasantly in my head. “We Love Each Other So Much” was actually the stand out for me and is now my favorite of the soundtrack. It’s reprised a few times later in the film, growing increasingly melancholy each time it is echoed, and it hits your heart a bit harder each time. The final song sung during (SPOILER #2), though without a distinctive melody to lodge in my head, undoubtedly left me far more moved than a spoken version of this scene would have. Adam’s singing is so painfully desperate and earnest here, and he takes the medium fully under his command.

Finally, it does have to be said that parts of this film veer fully towards the ridiculous and laughable. The initial baby version of the Annette puppet-doll was nothing short of horrifying to me. Annette gets more center-stage screen time in the film’s second half, which gives itself over to a few special effects sequences which look to be flying out at you straight from 2000 Windows Movie Maker. The scariest part is that it all seems intentional. The quality special effects appear when necessary (along with some unusual and captivating time lapse shots), which means the film’s most outrageous moments are fully in line with its guiding spirit. Its extravagant self-indulgence nearly borders on camp.

...And with that, I’ve covered the majority of the frantic notes I took for further reflection immediately after viewing. It’s now been a few days, and I’m looking forward to rewatching this movie when I can hopefully take it in a bit more fully. This time, I won’t just be struggling to keep up with the madness on screen. My concluding thoughts at this point: Is it my favorite Adam movie? Certainly not. Is it the most unforgettable? Aside from my holy text, The Last Jedi, likely yes. It really is the sort of thing you have to see twice to even believe it. And all in all, I say again that Adam truly carried this movie, and he fully inhabits even its highest, most ludicrous aspirations. He’s downright abhorrent in this film, and that’s exactly what makes him such a fucking legend.

I plan to make a separate post in the coming days about my experience at Cannes and the Annette red carpet, since a few people have asked! I can’t even express how damn good it feels to be globetrotting for Adam-related experiences again. <3

Thanks so much for reading! Feel free to ask me any further questions at all here or on Twitter! :)

*SYNOPSIS INCLUDED BELOW. DO NOT READ FURTHER IF AVOIDING SPOILERS!*

Synopsis: Comedian Henry McHenry and opera singer Ann Defrasnoux are both at the pinnacle of their respective success when they fall in love and marry. The marriage is happy and passionate for a time, leading to the birth of their (puppet) daughter, Annette. But tabloids and much of the world believe the crude, brutish Henry is a poor match for refined, idolized Ann. Ann and Henry themselves both begin to feel that something is amiss – Henry gradually losing his touch for his comedy craft, claiming that being in love is making him ill. He repeatedly and sardonically references how Ann’s opera career involves her “singing and dying” every night, to the point that he sees visions of her “dead” body on the stage. Meanwhile, Ann has a nightmare of multiple women accusing Henry of abusive and violent behavior towards them, and she begins growing wary in his presence. (He never acts abusively towards her, unless you count that scene when he tickles her feet and licks her toes while she’s telling him to stop??? Yeah I know, WILD.)

The growing sense of unease, that they’re both teetering on the brink of disaster, culminates in the most deranged of Henry’s stand-up comedy performances, when he gives a vivid reenactment of killing his wife by “tickling her to death.” The performance is so maudlin and unsettling that you wonder whether he’s not making it up at all, and the audience strongly rebukes him. (This is the “What is your problem?!” scene with tiddies out. The full version includes Adam storming across the stage, furiously singing/yelling, “What the FUCK is your problem?!”) But when Henry arrives home that night, drunk and raucous, Ann and Annette are both unharmed.

The couple take a trip on their boat, bringing Annette with them. The boat gets caught in a storm, and Henry drunkenly insists that he and Ann waltz in the storm. She protests that it’s too dangerous and begs him to see sense. (SPOILER #1) The boat lurches when Henry spins her, and Ann falls overboard to her death. Henry rescues Annette from the sinking boat and rows them both to shore. He promptly falls unconscious, and a ghost of Ann appears, proclaiming her intention to haunt Henry through Annette. Annette (still a toddler at this point and yes, still a wooden puppet) then develops a miraculous gift for singing, and Henry decides to take her on tour with performances around the world. He enlists the help of his “conductor friend,” who had been Ann’s accompanist and secretly had an affair with her before she met Henry.

Henry slides further into drunken debauchery as the tour progresses, while the Conductor looks after Annette and the two grow close. Once the tour concludes, the Conductor suggests to Henry that Annette might be his own daughter – revealing his prior affair with Ann. Terrified by the idea of anyone finding out and the possibility of losing his daughter, Henry drowns the Conductor in the pool behind his and Ann’s house. Annette sees the whole thing happen from her bedroom window.

Henry plans one last show for Annette, to be held in a massive stadium at the equivalent of the Super Bowl. But when Annette takes the stage, she refuses to sing. Instead, she speaks and accuses Henry of murder. (“Daddy kills people,” are the actual words – not that that was creepy to hear as this puppet’s first spoken words or anything.)

Henry stands trial, during which he sees an apparition of Ann from when they first met. They sing their regret that they can’t return to the happiness they once shared, until the apparition is replaced by Ann’s vengeful spirit, who promises to haunt Henry in prison. After his sentencing (it’s not clear what the sentence was, but Henry definitely isn’t going free), Annette is brought to see him once in prison. Speaking fully for the first time, she declares she can’t forgive her parents for using her: Henry for exploiting her voice for profit and Ann for presumably using her to take vengeance on Henry. (Yes, this is why she was an inanimate doll moving on strings up to this point – there was some meaning in that strange, strange artistic choice. She was the puppet of her parents’ respective egotisms.) The puppet of Annette is abruptly replaced by a real girl in this scene, finally enabling two-sided interaction and a long-missed genuine connection between her and Henry, which made this quite the emotional catharsis. (SPOILER #2) It concludes with Annette still unwilling to forgive or forget what her parents have done, and swearing never to sing again. She says Henry now has “no one to love.” He appeals, “Can’t I love you, Annette?” She replies, “No, not really.” Henry embraces her one last time before a guard takes her away and Henry is left alone.

…..Yes, that is the end. It left me with major emotional whiplash, after the whole film up to this point kept pulling itself back from the total bleak and dark by starting up a new toe-tapping, mildly silly tune every few minutes. But this last scene instead ends on a brutal note of harsh, unforgiving silence.

BUT! Make sure you stick around through the credits, when you see the cast walking through a forest together. (This is counterpart to the film’s opening, when you see the cast walking through LA singing “So May We Start?” directly to the audience) Definitely pay attention to catch Adam chasing/playing with the little girl actress who plays Annette! That imparts a much nicer feeling to leave the theater with. :’)

[knowltonsrangers]

Alphabet Prompt: Benjamin Tallmadge

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

I’d say a solid 7/10. Affectionate in private, but by that means he’s still a bit hesitant in his actions. Regarding how he shows it, he does it in smaller actions, maybe an arm around your shoulders while walking or while on the couch. He loves it when you initiate acts, because he feels as if he’s on cloud nine.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

Ben is the ultimate best friend. Loyal, understanding, quite the sense of humor-he’s got everything you seek out in a friendship. The friendship would start maybe over a mutual friend, or through a shared job? Or maybe in a class where you both don’t know anyone.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

UH-HUH. Ben really enjoys it, but would never say it out loud. Imagine his sassy ass walking into the room and just standing there. And you’re like “…hi Ben.” And he just opens his arms, and you know what that means without him having to say anything.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Yes. He does, tremendously. He enjoys domestic life and craves it when he’s at work and away from you. Ben would run home if it meant he would be back in time for dinner, not wanting you to have to wait an ounce of time for him.

Ben appreciates a clean space. His side of the room may appear on the surface as clean, but when he gets into his groove books, pens, and papers are known to accumulate.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

In person, and with his entire heart on his sleeve. He’d probably cry, too. [🥺]. It would really take something explosive and upsetting to get him to want to end things. He’s loyal, but not enough to a fault-he’d know when it was time to end things.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Oh? Probably right when he trusts his gut. He’ll know the exact moment when he decided that he was hopelessly in love with you, and it would always get him with butterflies in his stomach.

I wouldn’t say he’d be ready to drop to one knee right away, but soon enough. And he wouldn’t flake either, when he asks you to marry him, he’d want to get married right away.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

THE GENTLEST PERSON. Soft when he needs to be, stern when he has to be. He’s gentle physically when it comes to all things you, and is known to wear his emotions like a book. So he understands and is almost always the first to understand. I almost classify Ben as an empath, because he can tell when things have gone wrong even as best as you try to hide it.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

To be in Ben’s arms is like in my top 3 things I’ve ever wanted in my entire life. He’s so good at giving hugs, but he may be a little indifferent to receiving them. It’s not that he hates them, but has he ever really gotten hugs before?? Probably not. He envelops you and smells like the outdoors after a morning shower.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

Not very quickly. He knows when he loves you, but he has to be certain that you and him are on the same wavelength.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

A bit. A bit more than he’s willing to admit. Maybe you’ve been hanging around Caleb or Nathan too much. Or Lafayette gives you a hug as a greeting. Or his boss gives you a warm smile when he introduces you to him.

He doesn’t do anything. His stomach twinges, and he knows it’s jealousy, but he trusts you. He knows that you’d never do anything to double cross him.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

I’ve mentioned Ben’s smooches before, how giggly and bashful he gets when it comes to them. His kisses are like spring, beautiful and warm and full of love.

Ben likes to kiss you on your eyelids, but he loves placing little pecks on your cheeks.

Ben loves to be kissed on his knuckles, and his hands. Your butterfly kisses tickle him and he can’t help but smile as you ‘kiss’ his injuries away.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

Mediocre, average. Doesn’t actively seek out to babysit or anything, but isn’t opposed to it. Children do love him, however, and as much as he says he is “meh”, you can’t help but smile as he swings a giggling baby around in his arms.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Sleepy and loving. He kisses you good morning and rolls right out of bed for coffee. If you have to be up before him, you usually try and slip out without waking him (‘cause he needs his sleep), but he’ll groan and pull you close to him until you give him morning kisses.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Board games, [comic] books, and vhs tapes. Ben enjoys anything that he gets to do with you, and is awesome at trivia. He’d spend hours scouring the internet for a new sort of game or something to do with you.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

He doesn’t really have much to hide, truthfully. Ben enjoys sharing his interests, and that follows with his college friends and other friendships he has. He would start revealing things as soon as asked, or maybe a little strained, depending on level of privacy.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

Admittedly has a small temper. But it’s nothing that needs to be worried about, it’s only when he’s reached his absolute breaking point and can’t take another moment more. If you drop a pan while he’s concentrating or accidentally trip him up while he’s walking, he won’t even bat an eye.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

Every.thing. You can tell him once your favorite candle scent and he’ll buy it for you when your birthday comes around. He nearly has a photographic memory, I’d say. Writes things down on calendars (anniversaries, birthdays, pets birthdays, etc,) and jots notes when necessary.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

When he came home after a long day (usually he beats you home) of work and agony. You had dinner on the table and a record on the machine, humming a low tune that makes his heart flutter. He felt so loved at that very moment, and it was hard for him to choke back tears.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Very. Ben defends you to the day he dies, and he does so in very lowkey ways that you much appreciate. Taking phone calls for you when you ask, and stepping into public situations when you beckon him close with a warbly voice.

Ben loves feeling protected, especially by you. When you squeeze his hands in affirmation, or stepping in between him and his work to get him to get some rest.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

A lot. He can’t get over the idea of getting to see you cry of happiness/thoughtfulness when he watches you take something out of wrapping paper that you offhandedly mentioned once. Ben loves putting the effort in because he’s always so surprised when you return it tenfold, no matter how many times he tries to outdo you.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

Duplicate buying. I headcanon Ben as a collector, so whether it be comics or memorabilia, he’s known for an accidental duplicate buy every now and then.

He’s also guilty of leaving pens and pencils in bed. Oops.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Like literally 0%. He’s so effortlessly flawless, and a beautiful human being.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Yes. A billion times yes. You are accepted into being a part of him when you exchange “I love yous” and feels so lonely when you aren’t around. His heart is fragile and much more so than he’s willing to admit, so when you aren’t with him he looses his own sense of wholeness.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

While Ben is by no means scary-looking, he can be very intimating. He does not hesitate to get someone to back off when he feels it’s right to step in.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

Ben admires people who share his interests, and can’t stand when people don’t take time to at least understand a tad bit of what he enjoys. There’s a difference in respecting each other’s space and things, and actively seeking out to disregard them.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

Ben sleeps in socks.

[unimportant-ramblings]

1-20

Anon said go crazy we stan

1. Book you've reread the most times?

I should be cool and arty here but the answer is Twilight <3

2. Top five books of all time?

Good question man fuck okay as of this moment, knowing this definitely has some recency bias as well as some cringe

a) Pride and Prejudice

b) Finishing The Hat by Stephen Sondheim

c) Little Women

d) The Sleeping Dictionary by Sujata Massey (what if memoirs from a geisha was good?)

e) fucking ...... Midnight Sun tbqh like yeah maybe I'm cringe but!

3. Favorite genre?

I'll read anything but I read a lot of sci fi, historical romance, and performing arts history

4. What sections of the bookstore do you browse?

Sale 😎😎😎

5. Where do you buy books?

Tbh I don't buy many books? I use the library for almost everything I read, both physically and digitally. I like being able to read as much as I want without having to budget, or picking up a book and having the freedom of just taking it back without the feeling of "but you paid $25 dollars for this :///"

When I do buy books, I shop at the local children's book store for my niblings, I use Libro.fm for any audiobooks I want to own that they have (use libro whenever you can! Support local book stores and you own the book outright!) and I use the Canadian chain Indigo because that's where people get me gift cards from

6. What books have you read in the last month.

These are my books for May thus far

A Load of Hooey by Bob Odenkirk (audiobook, short humor stories!)

The Break by Katherena Vermette (audiobook; intergenerational trauma of indigenous Canadian women ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐)

Go Hex Yourself by Jessica Clare (paperback, second major publication of Reylo fanfiction ⭐⭐⭐⭐)

Just like Heaven by Julia Quinn (audiobook Bridgerton sidequest ⭐⭐⭐)

There's No Such Thing as an Easy Job by Kikuko Tsumura ( audiobook women experienced burnout, goes job hunting ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐)

Pride and Prejudice and other Spices by Sonali Dev (audiobook finally a good modern p&p ⭐⭐⭐⭐)

Squad by Maggie Tokuda-Hall (graphic novel about female werewolves!)

Midnight Sun by Stephenie Meyer (reread, audio, regrettably ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐)

7. Is there a series/book that got you into reading?

Probably a series of unfortunate events

8. What is the first book you remember reading to yourself?

I really have no clear idea, must have been a comic of some kind!

9. When do you tend to read most?

Because I do most of my reading through audiobooks, almost perpetually. I read a lot when I'm on walks!

10. Do you have a guilty fav?

Like I joke that Twilight is a guilty pleasure and it definitely was at one point, but when something brings you as much joy as Twilight and the surrounding fandom gives to me, it can no longer be classified as a guilty pleasure. I think the crown of thorns and roses books are at a similar level for me now, like not only will i read the next book Sarah j Maas writes in the series but I find myself kind of craving the next one like a sugar fix, even if it doesn't give me any sustenance. I spend a large amount of time frustrated with the book and then I'll cry over the ending. I guess I'm not that guilty about any of the books I read anymore Life's too short for finding guilt and things that genuinely make you happy?

11. Nonfiction books do you like if any?

Fucking love me some nonfiction books! One of the best nonfiction books I read last year was called A Mad Love: An Introduction to Opera by Vivien Schweitzer, cannot recommend it enough if you'd like to get into opera. Stephen sondheim's incredible books on lyrics Finishing The Hat and Look I Made A Hat are both perfect. Last year I read Between Two Kingdoms: A Memoir of a Life Interrupted by Suleika Jaouad, highly recommend, it's about cancer and being terminally/chronically ill, beautifully written. Oh and Catch And Kill by Ronan Farrow, and the audiobook is narrated by him as well. Nonfiction is good!

12. You enjoy any compulsory high school reading?

Well! I really enjoyed all the plays we had to read, and for the most part I don't think they were bad, but I also did not read them when I was supposed to. So it's a mixed bag

13. Do you have a goodreads?

You think I could read all these books and remember them without a goodreads?

14. Do you ever mark/slash dog ear books you own?

Sometimes! But I'm much more likely to take a picture of something I read.

15. Recommend and review a book.

In addition to the non fiction books above and the children's lit in my other post, the best thriller I read recently was The Plot by Jean Hanff Korelitz. I like thrillers in theory but I often don't end up actually liking them much as I want to. Either they are way too intense for my tastes, verging on horror (and I cannot deal with reading the death of a child so that greatly limits the titles I read) or they are tame, like all this mystery and I guessed the end immediately, and it's boring! With The Plot it was the perfect balance. I did guessed the ending early on, but watching it play out was, frankly, thrilling. It was almost a Greek tragedy, the way the end was inevitable. I also really enjoyed the focus on the publishing industry and the nature of story. Really good and a fairly quick read!

16. How many books have you read this year?

I've read 50 books as of this moment!

17. Top five children's books?

Answered!

18. Like historical books? Which time period?

Yes I like historical books!! I prefer my romances to be sent in Regency and I usually don't enjoy books centered around either world war but I'm not overly picky!

19. Most disliked popular book?

I no longer know if these are popular with the youths but they were popular when I read every single one of the Red Queen young adult books and hated every single minute of it I don't understand why they were so popular, they were billed as these young adult game of thrones and they were as shallow as a puddle

20. What are things you look for in books?

Answered!

Thanks for the ask!!!!!

[alpacaparkaseok]

I posted 2,122 times in 2021

1543 posts created (73%)

579 posts reblogged (27%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 0.4 posts.

I added 2,671 tags in 2021

#b:asks - 986 posts

#anon asks - 298 posts

#bts fluff - 221 posts

#bts - 214 posts

#the pact:asks - 195 posts

#htss:asks - 193 posts

#bts x reader - 166 posts

#bts fanfic - 154 posts

#b:rants - 150 posts

#l&f asks - 94 posts

Longest Tag: 113 characters

#the fact that you must have literally gone back and found this chapter just to post this gif with it is hiliarous

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

How to Sell Sunshine - M.list

"I've always wanted to be the villain."

→ Pairing: OT7 BTS x reader (not poly), mafia!BTS x mafia!reader

→ warnings/tags: SFW, e2l, mafia!au so some violence (but more like alludes to it), threats, humor, pining, heists and criminal activity, Hoseok is a hITMAN so ya'll already know this is gonna be a good time

→ a/n: I don't have a schedule for this atm, although I have a general outline that should help get the chapters out hopefully weekly! as always, please let me know what you think! I'm excited to share this with you guys and thank you for your love and support! enjoy!

See the full post

478 notes • Posted 2021-07-07 21:51:53 GMT

#4

Falling, falling

“I have loathed you since I first laid eyes on you.”

“Likewise.”

 Pairing: Slytherin!Tae x. Gryffindor!reader

 Words: 13.9k (don’t @ me I didn’t intend for this to happen)

 Genre: Hogwarts!BTS, e2l

 Warnings/rating: SFW, pining, Tae is a lovable brat™, reader is a mess, lots of pining, tension lol, kinda veiled threats but nothing violent I swear

 A/N: This is an installment in the BTS meets Hogwarts collaboration with @homeofbangtan! It’s been so fun working with these lovely writers, and I hope you guys enjoy this one shot as well as the rest of the installments! As always, pls let me know if this was decent. Love you all! banner made by the talented @ttaetae

See the full post

512 notes • Posted 2021-07-20 08:50:08 GMT

#3

The Pact - masterlist

Premise: You learned a few days ago that the boys have pact that doesn’t allow them to make a move on you. What happens when they find out that you know?

Warnings: none as far as I know! lol except for this reader. she has no idea what she just got herself into

Pairing: OT7 BTS x reader (not poly tho)

Completed

Did you know that this could classify as a small book? The Pact totals: 134 pages.

Spooked (important, the oneshot that started it all. read this first.)

 Well, this is awkward...

 Date #1 ✨✨

 Date #2 🌉🌉

 Date #3 📖📖

 Date #4 ✈️✈️

 Date #5 🥡🥡

 Date #6 ☔☔

the pact 📃📃

 Date #7 🌟🌟

I loved her first 💔💔

 Shocker 💌💌

Epilogue  🌙🌙

The Pact: An Inside Look

The Pact | Halloween Special |

playlist ( made by @fanfictionreader05 )

all rights reserved © alpacaparkaseok

599 notes • Posted 2021-02-28 02:39:16 GMT

#2

If I Could Lie

“I’ll feel much better if you let me walk you home.”

→ Pairing: idol!JK x reader (ex staff)

→ word count: 4k (why do I keep making these long??)

→ warnings/tags: exes au, SFW, angst, fluff, pining (lol I guess I have a thing for pining?)

→ a/n: 2nd summer request! requested by anon; a photo of your request will be at the bottom. I am uploading this one before the Jin one because it shares the same prompt as my last update & I wanted to keep a variety going. I hope you enjoy!

--

--

Jungkook’s eyes take in your every move - your every breath - from the second you step into the room. He doesn’t try to hide it, despite the fact that just about everyone is aware of his sudden infatuation. You give him an exasperated smile that hopefully communicates what you’re trying to say. 

Which is, last I checked, we’re supposed to ignore each other’s existence, Jungkook. 

Not that you actually say that. No, you attempt to actually uphold your side of the unspoken bargain by ignoring the man across the crowded room. 

You haven’t seen him in...what? Two years? Two and a half? All you can really remember is a door slamming in your face and a flustered staff member directing you toward the exit. 

You’d nearly made it to the exit before Jungkook burst out of the hallway, desperate and sprinting toward you as though you were his life’s work slipping through his fingertips. 

“I’m leaving,” you had muttered as Jungkook barreled into you that afternoon, panting and brushing his hair out of his face. 

“What?” He sounded incredulous. “No...no, you’re not. Listen, I’ll sort it out right now, and-”

“Jungkook.” The way you said his name had him closing his mouth in an instant. He was always such a good listener. “I’m...I’m leaving. I- I have to go.”

He let you leave, although the way he held onto your hands until you quite literally slipped through his fingertips left you with a shattered heart. 

You’d been together for only three weeks before it all came crashing down. Why did it hurt so much after so short a time? The fact that Jungkook - Jeon Jungkook - had come forward and confessed to you was the icing on the cake. As far as you knew, life was better and brighter than ever before. 

But you were young; you both were. Too young, Sejin had gently told you only a week into your secretive relationship with the singer. Jungkook was too young and on the verge of major success along with the rest of the members; a relationship was the last thing he needed. 

A scandal, he’d called it. Because that’s what it would look like. Jeon Jungkook fell for one of the staff members, how was it possible? The world would rip the two of you to shreds, and Sejin kindly reminded you of how quick Jungkook was to blame himself for any sort of mistake. 

For one week, you lived in bliss. 

For the following two, you lived a lie. You couldn’t bring yourself to tell Jungkook the truth. That you were leaving, that you’d submitted your two-week notice. It was for the best.

The feeling of someone staring has the hair on the back of your neck rising, and as you turn to glare at the perpetrator, you jump to see Jungkook right behind you. Drink in hand and mussing his hair with the other, he looks at you for a split second before looking down at his feet. 

“Hey.”

The word goes straight through you as you attempt to look nonchalant and lean against the counter.  

“Hey!” Ok, that was way too peppy. “I, uh...how are you?”

“Good, good.” Jungkook clears his throat almost comically before peeking back up at you. “How are you?”

“Great. Doing...great.”

Well, this sucks. 

Jungkook appears inclined to agree, but he treks on like a champ. “Yugyeom told me he invited you. Didn’t expect you to show up, though.” He gives a breathy chuckle, a wry smile appearing on his face for a moment before slipping away. 

See the full post

612 notes • Posted 2021-06-11 04:18:00 GMT

#1

Can’t Keep My Hands To Myself

pairing/genre: Taehyung x reader, idol!reader x idol!taehyung

premise: When you lock eyes with your soulmate, you’re immediately teleported to them. So, technically it’s not your fault that you ended up in Kim Taehyung’s lap for all to see.

word count: 1.3k

[1/2]

requested by @marianeamine​ - thanks for the fun request! a picture of your request will be at the bottom of the post! (also, can we just enjoy Yoongi’s tiny clapping in the background of this gif? lol)

The lights are nearly blinding as you move across the stage, basking in the fan-chants you can hear around the giant venue. You don’t claim to be anything like EXO or BTS...but still, you would be lying if you didn’t get some sort of satisfaction at the considerable amount of fans that made it to MAMA this year.

You watch as one of your group members takes the center as you’d practiced, the other two of you flanking her and pushing hard through the final notes of the song. 

Your little trio, while new to the competitive world of K-pop, had an amazingly successful year. When you were invited to perform not one but two of your hit songs on stage at one of the most prestigious award shows of the year, you were floored.

Now, locking eyes with your other bandmate as all three of you hit the final note - which is nothing short of a miracle, considering how hard you’re breathing right now - you can’t help but smile.

What a year it’s been. 

Together, the three of you sink to the floor, keeping those smiles on your faces until lights fade and the cameras go elsewhere. You were instructed to remain sitting on this portion of the stage for about a minute after the performance, due to the hosts coming out on the opposite end of the room and needing to rearrange this corner. It was deemed too dangerous for you all to get down just yet, but you don’t mind.

Now that you don’t have those blinding lights focused on you, you can actually see out into the crowd. Your heart swells as you spot all of your fans with signs and lightsticks, a few of them still trying to see your group through the darkness. It’s tempting to wave at them, but you refrain, not wanting to draw attention away from the hosts. 

“Dude,” Jiwoo scoots closer to you, Ari leaning over as well to hear what she’s whispering, “Is it just me, or did Yeonjun just get like...1000 times hotter?”

You refrain from laughing, instead craning your neck to get a look. “Where’s TXT?”

Jiwoo gives you subtle directions, not daring to point at him for fear of some fancams picking up on her newfound obsession. That would be a PR disaster. 

“They’re kind of hard to see from this angle,” Ari explains, having already found them. “They’re sitting right behind BTS though.”

Well, you know where BTS is sitting. Everyone, whether they like it or not, is automatically tuned in to where the biggest band in the world is sitting. 

You look over at them, eyes jumping over them to see TXT behind them. You grin. “Yeah, they all look really good.”

“Yeah,” Jiwoo huffs. “But Yeonjun looks sooo good, right?”

Squinting your eyes in an effort to get a better look, you’re a little shocked when certain BTS members sense your stare.

You watch with utter embarrassment as Jimin chuckles at your group, nudging Taehyung and mumbling something to him.

“Er...guys...” you begin, praying that Taehyung won’t look this way. How embarrassing, they probably think that you’re gawking at them not TXT.

You don’t get to finish your sentence as you see Taehyung glancing up, saying something to Jimin as he locks eyes with you.

The darkness from your corner of the stage suddenly becomes absolute, wind whistling in your ears as you gasp for air. The strange sensation doesn’t last long, and soon you’re slamming into something solid and warm.

Peeking one eye open, you’re met with fluffy dark hair, and arms that wrap around your waist to keep you from slipping off. 

Before you’re even able to understand what’s happening, you hear it. People whispering, a few even crying out in distress. Did something bad happen?

Straightening up, you let out a little squeak at you find yourself staring straight into the cocoa-dipped eyes of Kim Taehyung. His lips have parted, making it seem like he was gasping just a moment ago. One of his earrings glints in the light, casting him in a diamond-like glow.

Overall, he doesn’t seem to be faring much better than you, but as you go to move away because you’re on the man’s lap, he instinctively tightens his grip. 

“Let her go, Tae,” Namjoon grounds out from the other end of the seats, and it seems like only then does Taehyung begin to hear the obvious uproar and excitement from fans and idols. He gives you an apologetic smile, loosening his grip. 

See the full post

746 notes • Posted 2021-03-09 21:52:43 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

[five-rivers]

Glowsticks

Sneaking in before midnight on Halloween~

This is another continuation of Exhumed.

.

.

.

McGee had talked to several people about the strangely popular gravestone.  What he had learned made him feel sick.  Literally. He wanted to throw up.  First, the person buried there was the kid that had been found in the park.  Second, the locals had made him into a cult figure practically overnight.  

Or, at least, a tourist trap figure.  These people had no shame.  

On the other hand… Didn’t they say that Daily person was in charge of cults?  Did Amity Park have a cult problem on top of everything else that was going on?  Was the cult the problem, the root problem?  If there even was an actual cult…

Cults were dangerous and took vicious advantage of legal loopholes.  Maybe he should call the FBI.  They were the ones that were supposed to deal with cults.  

He took a deep breath, pulling himself together. No.  This was his case.  His job. He didn’t know that there was a cult involved, not yet.  Besides, it didn’t matter if they were religious so long as they were breaking the law.  Yeah.  

“Are you okay?”

McGee almost jumped out of his skin, his hand twitching towards his firearm before he realized that the person who snuck up on him was a kid.  The kid from earlier, to be precise.

The boy’s eyes narrowed.  “Were you about to pull a gun on me?” he asked.  

“No,” said McGee.  

The boy blinked, suspicion still evident on his face. “You’ve got to be more careful with guns,” he said.  “There’s no reason to go for one just because someone surprised you.”

McGee didn’t grace that with a response.  “What are you doing here, anyway?  Weren’t you across town, earlier?”

“Yeah.  So were you,” said the boy.  Danny. His name was Danny Fenton.  “Why are you here?”

“I asked first.”

“You shouldn’t ask questions you aren’t willing to answer yourself.”

What the hell was up with this kid?  “I’m just trying to get a better feel for the town.”

“Hm,” said Danny.  “I help out here at the cemetery, sometimes.  Got to lay all those ghosts to rest, you know?”

“Don’t you think that’s a little much?” snapped McGee. “Death isn’t supposed to be a roadside attraction.”

“Oh, don’t worry.  We take death very seriously around here,” assured Danny.  “But seriously.  I do help out.  The caretaker lets me take that stuff away when it gets to be too much.”  He nodded at the blank headstone and all the offerings around it.  “Mom likes the flowers.  Jazz is making a collage of some of the cards.  You know.  Stuff like that.”  He shrugged, angling himself away from McGee.  “Someone left a tiny copy of the Tempest once.  In one of those teeny tiny books.  Post.  It had that one passage from Ariel’s Song decorated.  It was nice.  I liked it.”

“What?”

“Ariel’s Song.  Full fathom five thy father lies;/Of his bones are coral made;/Those are pearls that were his eyes;/Nothing of him that doth fade,/But doth suffer a sea-change/Into something rich and strange. Shakespeare.  I think it’s supposed to be a commentary on ghosts, but the guy in the play isn’t actually dead, people just think he is.  So, I’m not really sure how to take it.  You’re a detective, right?  What do you think?”

McGee stared at the teenager. The kid who was buried there was his age.  “This isn’t a joke,” said McGee.  “A person is dead.”

Danny tilted his head. “I’m not joking?”

“How are you even connected to all of this?”  McGee waved his hand, frustrated.  

“I just told you how I’m connected to the cemetery.  If you mean the town…  Well, I do live here.”

“Why do Patterson and Collins know you?”

“I know everyone,” said Danny.  He started backing away.  “You should go get something to eat soon, if you don’t want to be late.”  He turned and disappeared in the crowd.  

What the hell.

.

McGee did not go to get food. He went back to the station.  He had some questions to ask Cameron Daily, and he got the impression that the man was the kind of person to practically live at work.  

When he opened the door, though, he had to stop.

“What is this?” he asked, loudly.  

“Glowsticks,” said one of the secretaries.  “You have seen them before, right?”

“Yes, but why?”

As much as the police department had been infested with Christmas decorations before, it was now covered with glowsticks of all varieties.  

The secretary shrugged. “You’ll find out.  And, no, this isn’t hazing.”  She broke a new glowstick with a snap.

“Right,” said McGee.  “Where’s Daily?”

“Cameron Daily is in the computer bay,” said the secretary, pointing.

“Thanks,” grunted McGee, once again wondering why there was a separate computer bay when everyone had their own desks, computers, and, in some cases, additional laptops.  

Screw it, he might as well ask.  

“Hey, Daily.”

“Mm?”

“Why’s there a separate computer bay?”

“Oh, it’s shielded,” said Daily.  

“Shielded.”

“Yep.  No signals, and the Fentons did some pretty neat stuff to the walls.  Bunch of, ehm, nasty hackers.  We learned our lesson, eventually.”

“The Fentons.”

“Yeah.  And Foley did the firewalls.”

“They’re the ones who did the computer filing system.”

“Uhuh.  Kids are geniuses.  The parents aren’t too shoddy, either.”

“The—” No.  There was no way.  “Are they the same Fentons that hunt ghosts?”

“Yeah.  You wouldn’t think it to look at them, but apparently they live off of their patents.  Made a bunch of fiddly little things that every other mass production factory in the country uses.  Also, they own a toilet paper company.  Not my favorite brand, but it isn’t the worst, honestly.  Kind of wish we’d buy it here, but, no, we get that gross single ply. I swear, that stuff should be classified as a crime against humanity.”

“You let the ghost hunters deal with your computer security.”

“Oh, I know that tone. You met them, huh?”

“Just the kid.”

Daily looked up at McGee over the computer.  “What?”

“I only met the kid. Danny.”

Slowly, Daily uncurled from his hunch in front of the computer.  The man was taller than McGee thought.

“Then what’s your issue? Danny’s a good kid.”

A good kid whose parents were allowed to run roughshod over the town, who was allowed to steal from graveyards, and knew all of the police officers.  For some reason.  

“I heard you’re in charge of monitoring the cult?”

Daily snorted.  “You make it sound like there’s just one.”

“Excuse me?”

“Well, after all the ghosts, most religions had to modernize, you know?”

Oh, god, this was part of the tourist trap.  Or the tourist trap was part of this.  Did they recruit from people who actually believed this nonsense?

“There’s more than one cult?”

“Yep.”

“Sounds like quite a job.”

“Eh.  I’m mostly just keeping track of their online activity.”

“So, how are the Fentons involved?”

“They aren’t.  They’re pretty areligious, overall.  Danny’s been almost kidnapped a few times, though.”

“What?”

“What?”

“Kidnapped.  By a cult.”

“Cults.  Gotta remember the plural, man.  Cults.”  Daily was hunching again.  “But, hey, if you’re interested in the subject, I can give you a thorough run-through of this new group that started up last week.  Their philosophy is wild.  I can’t even tell you—”

“Hey.  You’re early,” said Patterson, leaning through the door, her braid swinging.  “Great. Have you eaten?”

“Yes,” lied McGee.  

“Get better at lying,” said Patterson.  “Come on, let’s go.”

.

Patterson and Collins weren’t the only ones there.  In fact, there were more people in the station than there had been that morning. All with glowsticks.  Said glowsticks were being loaded into unmarked cars while office staff and police officers whispered back and forth.

“Did you get the green stuff?”

“Yeah, don’t worry. Gave me more than enough.” Glowing green milk jugs were loaded into a car.  The car McGee would be riding in with Collins and Patterson.

‘Green stuff.’  Was this some kind of bizarre drug smuggling ring? McGee had fallen behind in drug slang, if so.  ‘Green stuff.’  Were they lacing it with glowstick fluid?

Never before had he felt so lost on a case.  Amity Park was messed up.  

“You’ve got the howlers hooked up?” asked Collins.

“I asked Daily to do it this morning.”

“But did he do it?”

“I mean, it looks like it. Are the howlers really that important?”

McGee had no idea what was going on.  

The cars all started off in a group.  Their car was the last to leave and soon peeled off to trundle slowly down back roads.  

“You probably have questions,” said Collins.

“You could say that,” said McGee.  

“You’ve been a good sport about them,” observed Collins.  

“So,” said McGee, drawing out the word.  “What is this about?”

Patterson swallowed a laugh. “Ever hear of the Men in Black?”

“Look, I’m humoring the ghosts.  Conspiracy theories are where I draw the line.”

“Keep telling yourself that. Maybe it’ll stick.  Anyway, here in Amity Park, we deal with their less intelligent cousins.  The Guys in White!”

“That’s not their actual name,” said Collins, glancing back over his shoulder.  “But, well, their appearance fits.”

“Alright, let’s say I believe you.  What does this have to do with the jugs of glowstick fluid in the trunk?”

“Oh, that’s not glowstick fluid,” said Patterson.  “It’s waste from the reactor that powers the town.”

“Don’t worry,” said Collins, hastily, the car swerving somewhat.  “It’s completely harmless!  Not radioactive at all!”

“That’s not what—” started Patterson.  

“You absolutely will not get cancer from it!”

McGee raised a hand.  “You have nuclear reactor fluid in the trunk?”

“It isn’t nuclear reaction fluid,” protested Patterson.  “It’s—"

“Back on track,” interrupted Collins.  

“Yeah.  Anyway.  It’ll trip the Guys in White’s sensors—”

“Eventually,” Collins grumbled.  

“—so we can lead them on a chase.”

“And…  why do we want to do this?”

“Because it’s a quiet month,” said Patterson.  “Don’t want the Guys to get antsy.”

“What does that even mean?”

“It means what it means. You’ll see in January.”

McGee looked between his two ‘partners.’  “Are you trying to get me to quit?”

“Because you’re a spy for the county?” asked Patterson.  “Oh, no, never.”

Before McGee could process that statement, the car’s radio crackled to life.  

“We’ve got a class-3 northbound on Orion at 35 miles per hour.  Ectosignature suggests an amorphiform ghost—”

“Hah!” shouted Patterson. “That’s us!  Punch it!”  She twisted the dial on the radio as Collins slammed his foot into the accelerator.  “Bogey to Redrum!  We’ve got followers!”

“Copy, Bogey, this is Redrum. We need a few more minutes to set up. Can you stay out of sight?”

“The hell?”

The radio crackled.  “Forgot you had the new guy!  Don’t shake him up too much, okay?  Over.”

“Copy.  Collins you catch that?”

“Yeah, don’t worry, I’m taking Pan and Laurel.  The holiday tour.”

“Ooh, good choice.” Patterson held up the radio again. “Yeah, we can manage.  Over.”

Collins went faster. For the next several minutes McGee occupied himself with not throwing up.  He succeeded.  Barely.

“Bogey, this Cam,” said the voice of Daily, “followers are gaining.  They’re on Brassica, just passing High Street.  Triggered the speed cameras.  Over.”

“How many and what type? Over.”

“Three gliders.  Don’t think they’ve spotted you yet, though. Over.”

Gliders?  Who did these people think they were kidding?

“Copy, over,” said Patterson. “Not like those guys care about speeders, though,” she muttered.  McGee could barely hear her over the beating of his own heart.

“Sharp right, brace yourselves,” said Collins, split seconds before matching action to words.

“Redrum to bogey, we’re moving out now, over.”

“Copy.  We’re on our way.  Over.  Head to the park, Collins.”

“Gotcha.”

It didn’t seem possible, but Collins somehow pushed the car to go even faster.  Then, just as quickly as the whole ridiculous thing had begun, the car skidded to a halt in a parking lot.  Seeing his chance, McGee clawed at the door handle and dragged himself out onto the pavement.  

Collins and Patterson, meanwhile, were pulling the almost-certainly-toxic waste out of the trunk and launching it into the glowstick-filled woods with—

“Is that a bazooka?” demanded McGee, so far past his wit’s end that he couldn’t even see it anymore.

“Nah, just a modified T-shirt canon,” said Patterson, stowing the object away again.  “Fentonworks special.”

“I don’t believe you,” said McGee.  

Three – Three things – McGee did not want to call them gliders – raced overhead, jets roaring and wind whistling.  They came to a stop approximately where the ‘reactor waste’ had fallen.  

“What the hell?” whispered McGee, passionately.  

“Come on,” said Collins.  “Time for us to go.”

“Yeah, better to spectate from afar,” agreed Patterson.

“I agree,” said a third voice.

“Oh, Danny,” said Patterson.  “Didn’t expect to see you here tonight.”

The boy walked into McGee’s field of view and glanced down at him before shrugging.  “Couldn’t sleep.”  He looked up, at the park.  “Thanks for this.”

“Had to get them to blow this month’s budget somehow,” said Collins.  “But, really, we should all go before the fireworks start.”

Danny sighed.  “Hope they don’t blow up the fountain again.  It just got fixed.”

“Same,” said Patterson.

“Well, see you later.”

“Yep, we’ve got that wellness check tomorrow,” said Collins. “You don’t have any excuse to forget, this time.”

“Yeah, yeah,” said the teen, waving over his shoulder as he walked straight into the dark.

“What,” said McGee.  

“That’s just Danny for you,” said Collins.  “Great kid.  Super creepy.”

“Yeah.”

“How’d he even know we’re here?” asked McGee, trying to keep his voice even.  

“He did give us that eeeeehhhhhhh—reactor waste,” said Patterson.  “Come on, get up, we’ve got to—”

A small explosion sounded from the park.  

“Seriously.  I don’t want to have to pick you up.”

“I’d wind up doing most of the lifting,” grumbled Collins, who was sliding into the driver’s seat.

Patterson put her hands on her hips.  “Excuse you?”

There was another, larger explosion.  McGee climbed back into the car.

As they drove, he realized that no one had made fun of his name. Not even once.  

Amity Park was weird.  

[ichigo-daifuku]

Alone Together

Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia Pairing: Hawks/Todoroki Fuyumi Genre: Time Travel, Romance, Fluff, Angst, Suggestive Themes

Synopsis: A Quirk accident prompts Fuyumi to travel back in time in various intervals, where she does her best to keep a low profile so as not to alter the future timeline.

Except Keigo catches feelings for her a year earlier than scheduled.

1 | ☆ Chapter One: A Fine Mess Word Count: 5.2k

恋の予感 | こいのよかん | koi no yokan

premonition of love; the sense one can have upon first meeting another person that the two of them will inevitably fall in love.

At five in the morning, Hawks stirred in his sleep and shivered.

The air was frigid. He concluded the heater must have ceased functioning sometime in the middle of the night. If it didn’t, how else could he explain how frosty the temperature in his room was? He took a deep breath and exhaled through his mouth, rubbing a palm over his abdomen. It felt as if he was sleeping beside a block of ice. Groggily, he huddled further under his blanket and tried to fall back into slumber.

Five more minutes, he thought, and then, this early bird will catch the worm… no, the villains.

A shift on his bed followed by a yawn drew his attention. He froze. Eyes shut but conscious and alert, he spread out a number of his feathers and confirmed it: an intruder was on his bed.

Hawks opened his eyes and found a sight that made them go as wide as saucers. A scantily clad woman was curled up next to him, comfortably sleeping as if she was on her own bed. She mumbled something incoherently and embraced his torso, her hold loose but enough for him to feel the outline and curves of her body. A puff of breath from her parted lips tickled his bare chest. Her skin was as cold as ice, and for a second, he wondered if she was feeling unwell—until he came to his senses. He recounted the events of the previous night in search of any factor that could’ve led to this situation.

Hawks had gone through the daily grind of flying around and catching villains. It had been a busier day than usual. Exhausted after his final patrol, he opted to order take-out at a fast-food restaurant on his way home instead of dining in. He ate his dinner, freshened up, put a random pair of sweatpants on, and went to sleep. He failed to recall encountering her last night, and he was certain she wasn’t here when he plopped down on his bed.

Hawks had never met this woman before.

However, from what he was seeing, he slept beside this woman. He didn’t sleep with her, right? There was no way such a thing would slip his mind.

Was he going insane? Was he having his annual spring rut? Was he so sexually frustrated that he was having a realistic hallucination of a very attractive woman sleeping next to him?

“Good morning,” said a feminine voice, still husky from the early hour, near his ear.

Despite the silent questions he raised, the softness of the lips pressing on his cheek was real.

Very much so.

Languidly, the woman sat up, stretched her arms above her head, and let out a contented hum. She stepped out of the bed and left the room while combing her fingers through her snow-white hair, unperturbed.

Hawks, who was still dubious of the situation, left the bed and slipped on the first t-shirt he could lay his feathers on. He went after the woman and found her in the kitchen, browsing through the contents of the refrigerator with a frown.

She cocked her head to the side and scrunched her eyebrows. “Didn’t we go grocery shopping yesterday? Why is everything gone? Don’t tell me you got hungry in the middle of the night and ate it all.”

The two of them went grocery shopping? Yesterday?

Without waiting for his response, the woman grabbed two eggs from the shelf and closed the refrigerator. She set them aside and bent down to get a frying pan from the cabinet.

Hawks wondered how she knew where he kept his cookware, but before he could dwell on the thought, he found out it wasn’t all that she was cognizant of.

The woman knew how to operate the rice cooker and coffee maker easily and prepared breakfast with such familiarity that if he didn’t know better, he’d say it was her kitchen and not his.

All the while, he stood at the entrance, wary and ready to defend himself when she decided to strike—except she did nothing of the sort.

“By the way, have you seen my eyeglasses?” she asked, setting the plate of fried eggs on the table. “It wasn’t on the nightstand. I forgot where I put them.”

“Who are you?” Hawks finally uttered the question he was dying to find the answer to. He took a tentative step forward as a predator would when it stalked its prey. “How did you get in my place?”

She glanced at him but paid his threatening action no mind, filling two mugs with coffee. “Huh?”

“It’s a serious question, Miss,” he stated, his expression grave and stern. “Who are you?”

Silver eyes met his golden ones. For some inexplicable reason, he was taken aback, but before he could mull over the peculiar impression he sensed, the question that left her lips had alarm bells ringing in his head.

“What are you talking about, Keigo?”

Keigo.

She called him Keigo.

He launched one of his longer feathers to his palm and aligned it toward her neck as one would with a sword. The tip of the feather brushed a strand of her hair, from which he spotted distinctive crimson streaks from. It was a unique feature that would help confirm her identity if she refused to speak. “Are you a spy? Who sent you?”

Panicked, she shook her head and waved her hands in front of her in denial. “I’m not a spy! No one sent me!”

“How did you know that name?”

“Which name?”

“Stop pretending you don’t know what’s going on,” he snapped, glaring at her. “My real name. How did you know it?”

“You told me.”

His birth name was classified information. From the day he was instructed to live as Hawks, he had buried his past and told no one his real name. Nobody—save for his estranged parents, the Hero Public Safety Commission, and himself—should have been aware of it. Not even his sidekicks, nor his fans, and definitely not the woman standing in front of him. “You’re lying.”

“Keigo, are you okay? Did you hit your head or something?” The menacing stance he had did nothing to deter her. She stepped forward and touched his head in search of any injuries. When she found none, she retreated and put her hands behind her back. “If I remember correctly, we’ve been on a first-name basis since we met. Well, kind of.”

Why would he reveal his real name to someone he just met? He would never do that. 

Was this woman a delusional fangirl of his? He had encountered a few cases of those, but none of them had gone as far as this woman. She wasn’t from around here, he noticed, as she wasn’t speaking in Hakata-ben. Regardless, this was a penthouse of an exclusive condominium in Kyushu. How was she able to get past the security?

“We’ve never met. I don’t know who you are,” he stated without room for argument. “Now, tell me how you got in, and I’ll turn you in to the police myself.”

She stared at his face quietly, deep in thought. After a long pause, an epiphany struck her, and she spoke in a hesitant tone, expecting the worst, “Sorry, but… could you, perhaps, tell me what year it is?”

“That’s an odd question, Miss. What year do you think it is?”

The response she gave him left him disconcerted. With an uncertain voice, she told him today's month and day correctly, but she added three years to the current year.

When he revealed she was wrong, she backed away and buried her face in her hands.

“Oh my goodness! I’m so sorry!” she cried out with an apologetic bow, on the verge of bursting into tears. “We haven’t met yet, haven’t we? This must be so strange to you.”

“We’ve never met.”

“Yeah, not yet.” She paced back and forth and turned to him. “Do you mind if I look around for a bit? I just want to confirm it.”

He didn’t rule out the possibility she was unhinged, but he wanted to know what her deal was before handing her over to the authorities. Humoring her, he let go and returned his large feather to his wings, relenting. “Fine.” 

In case she had any funny business up her sleeve, he followed her. A few of his feathers hovered around her as a safety precaution, too. Yet as he observed her, he had to ask himself: how come she was able to roam around his place like she owned it? 

Similar to the way she acted in the kitchen, she barged inside his walk-in closet effortlessly. Stumbling upon rows and rows of men’s clothing, she mumbled, “My clothes…”

She peeked inside the bathroom and found a lone toothbrush on the sink and men’s products everywhere. “My toiletries…”

In front of an empty space in the living room, she stared and murmured, “My books…”

“None of my belongings are here.” She shook her head with a sigh, momentarily forgetting she had company as she glanced at the calendar on the wall. “I really am in the past.”

Keigo placed a hand on her shoulder, rousing her from her reverie. “Care to explain?”

The sound of her stomach grumbling interrupted her before she could speak. She covered her midriff in embarrassment, the skimpy nightgown she had on drawing his attention again. “Sorry.”

Keigo sighed. From a logical point of view, the current evidence indicated this woman as a threat. However, his feathers tingled in a different way than they would when they sensed danger was in the midst. He had gathered from her whispers that she believed she was from the future. Something strange was going on, and he would get to the bottom of it.

With a few small feathers, he grabbed a hoodie from his closet and offered it to her. “You can wear this.”

“Oh, thank you.” She slipped the hoodie on and awkwardly continued, “It’s cold, isn’t it? Not that I’m bothered or anything, though. I actually don’t mind the cold much, don’t worry! Haha…”

That’s not it, he thought but didn’t bother saying aloud. She already cooked breakfast, might as well let her eat it.

“You can enlighten me of the situation while you eat,” Keigo decided, leading her to the dining area. He pulled a chair out and instructed, “Sit down.”

She followed him wordlessly and watched as he set the table, brought the cooked rice, and sat in front of her. Upon noticing he wasn’t making any move to grab a serving, she spoke, “Aren’t you going to eat? I didn’t put anything weird in there, I promise.”

Keigo had witnessed her prepare them earlier. He didn’t see or smell anything weird in the food either.

She sensed his reluctance and lifted the chopsticks between her fingers. As proof of her innocence, she took a bite of the fried egg and swallowed. “See? It’s fine.”

Keigo acquiesced, putting a portion of rice and egg in his bowl.

“Thank you for the food,” they said in unison.

He took a much-needed sip of coffee and began with his inquiry, “Think you can tell me what’s up now, Miss?”

“Yesterday afternoon, a young girl’s Quirk went out of control and hit me. Nothing happened, but my companion and I went to the hospital to be sure. The doctors said it was a mutation type of Quirk, but they couldn’t confirm anything since the girl’s exact power was unknown.”

That companion was supposedly him. “And then?”

“Since nothing was wrong with me, they sent us home. We went to this penthouse, ate dinner, and slept. But when I woke up, I’m… here. In the past,” she told him. “One of the doctors did advise us to wait for twenty-four hours, so maybe, that’s my time limit.”

“You’re sure this is the past? Not an alternate universe?”

“I think so.”

“How are you going to come back to your own time?”

“I don’t know.”

“How do I know you’re telling the truth? Why should I believe you?”

“I…” Contemplative, she paused before offering a suggestion. “I’d like to wait for twenty-four hours, at least.”

“And if nothing happens?”

“I’ll turn myself in to the authorities if you’ll insist, but I hope you’ll at least let me call someone for help.”

“Let me guess. A colleague? Perhaps, a fellow villain?”

“No, I’m not a villain. My—” she broke off mid-sentence again, carefully choosing her words, “—a family member would know what to do, I think.”

“How suspicious.”

“Look, I know twenty-four hours is a lot to ask, especially from the Number T...hree Hero, but I’m also confused right now. If I’m being honest, I’d like to go back to where I came from right at this moment,” she confessed. “I hope you can bear with me for a while. It will really help me. Please.”

Keigo felt the accusation he was about to utter stuck in his throat. Sincerity and anxiety radiated from her words. His instincts told him it was an honest appeal for his assistance. While he was still unsure, he was a Hero, and the woman in front of him, a suspected villain or not, was asking him for help. He couldn’t ignore it.

He grabbed his phone with a stray feather and dialed his secretary’s number. “Hello, good morning. It’s Hawks. I won’t be coming in today. It’s an emergency situation, and I’ll be on surveillance duty.”

“Roger, Sir. I’ll let your sidekicks know.”

“By the way, don’t ask why, but can you send a set of women’s clothes to my place? Toiletries, as well. Thanks! Bye-bye!”

“Thank you,” the woman told him as he ended the call. This time, she was unable to hold back her tears, and she wiped them immediately with the sleeve of his hoodie. “Thank you so much. I’m really sorry for the inconvenience, Keigo—I mean, Hawks!”

Silence reigned during the rest of the breakfast. It wasn’t the awkward nor the comfortable type. She was engrossed in her thoughts while he was on high alert. After they finished eating, she volunteered to do the dishes, and he allowed her to, knowing she needed a moment alone to collect herself. He stayed at a considerable distance in the living room instead, aware she finished the task without any issues.

Keigo looked up from the YAP! News article on his phone and observed as the woman plopped down on the other side of the sofa and grabbed the remote control on the coffee table.

As if she felt his sharp gaze on her, she turned her face to his direction, and realization dawned on her.

“Whoops, sorry! I just…” she blurted out, embarrassed at the faux pas she committed. “Nevermind. Do you mind if I watch TV?”

“It’s fine.”

“Thank you,” she mumbled, redirecting her eyes to the television. She flipped the channels to find something appealing to watch and came upon an animated magical girl franchise. “Oh, PreCure!” 

“I see,” he noted, caught off guard she chose that show over the morning news on one channel and a rerun of a documentary about the most recent Hero Billboard Chart JP on another. “You’re into these kinds of shows?”

“I happen to know a lot of kids. They love this show,” she replied, heat creeping up her cheeks. “Besides, there’s no such thing as being too old to watch anime.”

“Yeah.” An amused smile crept upon his lips. “You’re right about that, Miss.”

She would squint her eyes from time to time throughout the episode. In addition, since she had been looking for her eyeglasses earlier, he deduced she had poor eyesight. Keigo thought she might get a headache later on if she continued watching television like that. That would be bad, wouldn’t it?

It turned out, he had no need to fret about such a thing from happening. A couple of hours later, she ended up dozing off. He stood, turned the television’s volume down, and fixed her position in a way she could lay down and sleep properly.

How could she let her guard down like that? he asked himself, covering her with a blanket. She seems fatigued, though.

Unable to figure her out, he took a seat on the solo sofa and let her be, still on surveillance duty.

While she didn’t mention anything about being unwell, she was exhausted—that much was obvious. It was only at lunchtime when she awoke from her nap, the sound of the doorbell serving as her alarm clock. Behind the door, the pizza delivery man stood with Keigo’s order in his hands. Keigo settled the payment and brought the box to the living room. He set the box on the table and untied the string on top of it. 

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“I’m okay.”

“Are you feeling sick or anything?”

“No, just tired.” She shut her eyes and massaged her fingers over her temple. “It must be a side effect of the girl’s Quirk. I’m not usually like this.”

He didn’t know this woman, but he knew how being sick without medicine felt: miserable. “Tell me if you need anything. I’ll get it.”

Her eyes fluttered open drowsily. “Don’t worry about it. It’s not that bad. I’ll be fine.”

“Do you want to freshen up after you eat?” He handed her a sealed paper bag through a feather on its handle. “The clothing and toiletries I asked for earlier arrived while you were sleeping.”

“I will.” She waited for him to release the paper bag with her palms wide open. When he did, she caught it and put it on her lap. “Thanks.”

Keigo decided to take his turn in using the bathroom after she did.

As soon as he stepped inside and shut the door, he was surrounded by her presence. Droplets of water trickled from the tiled walls to the floor. The delicate scent of floral shampoo and the fragrance of milk and honey body wash clung in the air; soft and sweet. No part of his house had smelled like that before. Another crack made its way through his composure. He was unused to having people over at his place. No, scratch that, he never had people over. Given who he was, he had a lot to protect, and to accomplish that, he must keep his secrets. It was a dangerous line she crossed easily. He found the experience daunting.

As quickly as he could, he finished showering, got dressed, and returned to the living room, where he was able to sense her presence. 

She sat in the same area she occupied earlier, flipping through a random magazine she found on the coffee table. The cream-colored turtleneck shirt and acid wash jeans she was wearing clung to her body in all the right places. Upon seeing him, she looked up from the pages and shut the magazine. “Hawks?”

“Y-Yes?” He cleared his throat. “What is it?”

“You’re twenty-two years old at the moment, right?”

“Yeah.”

She chuckled good-naturedly. “I’m still older than you.”

“Is that so?” he asked, unsure of how to respond to her statement. “Are you also older than me where you came from?”

“That’s right.” She returned the magazine to the table and stood. “By the way, do you mind if I wash my clothes?”

“Go ahead.”

“Thank you.”

She gave him a smile and left.

Dumbfounded by their bizarre exchange, Keigo stared at her retreating form and frowned.

She didn’t even ask him where the washing machine was.

The woman stood by the glass walls, the pad of her fingertips touching the surface as she stared at the carmine and amber hues of the setting sun.

Keigo made his way next to her and observed the view closely. The scenery was breathtaking from this altitude. He couldn’t blame her for being enamored by it. It was one of the reasons he picked this penthouse. The sky was fascinating, no matter the weather or the time of the day it was.

“Are you curious?” she asked out of the blue, her gaze still on the horizon.

“About what?”

“The future.”

“Well, I don’t really know if you’re from the future or not,” he admitted, an absurd idea popping inside his mind. “How about you tell me something that will happen a week or so from now?”

“Like a major event?”

“Something like that,” he said, although he speculated a definite answer from her would be unlikely. “Anything will do.”

“Okay, that would be an effective way to check.” The woman nodded. “If what I’m about to tell you happens, will you believe me, then?”

“It depends.” He turned to look at her. Her casual agreement caught him by mild surprise, his curiosity multiplying as the seconds ticked by. “But let’s say you do disappear and come back to wherever you came from after twenty-four hours. At that point, it wouldn’t matter, wouldn’t it?”

“It would. At least, to me, it would,” she stated, meeting his gaze. “I’ve got nothing to lose by telling you, but you have to promise not to meddle. If this is the past, the future timeline shouldn’t be altered.”

“Fair enough,” he agreed with a lighthearted laugh. “Sounds like a plot of a movie.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” She gave him a smile and fiddled with her fingers. The shift in the mood was palpable as she began, “A few days after the term at U.A. High School begins, a class will be attacked by a group of villains.”

“U.A.’s security system is top-notch, though,” he pointed out, not bothering to conceal his doubt. “I don’t see anything like that happening.”

“Everyone thought so, too.” Amused, she added, “Knowing you, by now, you’re already aware that All Might is going to be a teacher at U.A., aren’t you?”

“How did you—”

“I just do, okay?” She clasped her hands behind her back and leaned in. “Remember, you promised not to meddle.”

“Fine,” he agreed. “But if it does happen, who knows? You might have known of it because you’re a member of that ‘group of villains’ yourself.”

“I’m not! I’m not a member of that group of villains.” A chuckle fell past her lips, one tinged with amusement and melancholy. “That’s… not me.”

She returned her gaze to the scenery of Kyushu, and it gave Keigo a good view of her shoulder-length hair. The crimson streaks in it stood out against its dominant white color. When he thought about it, he couldn’t help but compare it to the color of his feathers. They were so alike that a smaller feather of his would blend in with them perfectly. He chided himself for thinking that way.

And so, instead, Keigo debated whether the crimson streaks in her hair were natural or otherwise.

The late-night news was on in the background as the two of them partook in their share of fast-food chicken meals. It was from the same restaurant Keigo visited last night except, this time, he ordered them online and waited for them to arrive after twenty minutes.

“I wish you didn’t have to have meals delivered all the time,” the woman lamented and took a sip of soda. “Eat healthier when you can, okay?”

“Aww, are you concerned about me?” he asked half-jokingly, setting the empty cardboard packaging aside.

“Of course.”

Keigo was quiet at that, once again blindsided by her candidness. He had only met this woman today, yet she cared enough about him to trouble herself about his diet. 

“Hawks,” she spoke, her voice gentle and hesitant, but of what, he didn’t know. “Are you doing okay right now?”

“Just peachy,” he answered promptly like he always did, pushing those strange thoughts aside. “Why would you ask me that?”

A long pause passed before she opened her mouth to respond. “You told me there were times you thought of the HPSC as a birdcage—sometimes, a shackle. Even if I know better, meeting you in this time of your life worries me.”

By then, the sound coming from the television was nothing but white noise. Everything she uttered was the truth. Those were sentiments he had hidden deep inside him and swore to keep to himself. This woman knew about them, though—she knew him well. He found no rational explanation for the way she was aware of specific matters he dared not to speak about. How else would she know them if he didn’t tell her? Maybe, not now, but in the future.

At that point, he started to truly believe her. One thing, however, kept creeping inside his mind once he came to terms with it. He stared at her intently, trying to unravel the mystery that came in the form of this woman. “Who are you in my life?”

“Uh, I am…” She averted her gaze, a blush forming on her cheeks. “That would be a spoiler, wouldn’t it?”

“I want to know.” Keigo was a sharp man. He already had an inkling of who she would be for him in the future, but he wanted the confirmation to come from her lips. “Tell me.”

She opened her mouth to respond, but the sound of a bell, similar to that of a cat’s, rang three times, diverting their attention.

The next thing he knew, the woman in front of him had vanished into thin air.

Keigo searched the entire penthouse but found her nowhere. He considered the possibility she had been a figment of his imagination, but he ultimately believed she wasn’t.

The cardboard container of her meal remained on the coffee table, in front of the seat she took earlier. The wooden chopsticks laid on top of a folded sheet of tissue paper, their tips dampened and darkened by the savory sauce of the chicken she ate and said was delicious. Inside his bathroom, the toiletries she used were arranged neatly on the corner of the sink.

The white cotton nightdress, as well as the hoodie she borrowed, hung on the metal clothing rack in the washing area, fresh with the detergent he liked best. A matching pair of underwear with a dainty ribbon—lingerie, to be specific—dangled beside them, mocking him for having thoughts he shouldn’t have had. He laughed them off as best as he could but didn’t know what to do with them. In the end, he decided to put them inside the unused drawer in his walk-in closet.

She might have disappeared, but she didn’t do it without a trace.

He checked his wristwatch and saw it was past midnight. If her assumptions and calculations were correct, it meant she had arrived on his bed last night around this time. He wondered if she made it to the future safely. 

He hoped so.

Hawks kept his feathers vigilant for any clues regarding the supposed surprise attack at U.A. High School. The mysterious woman would appear in his mind frequently because of the information she had given him concerning the near future. It piqued his interest because he found nothing about it. He couldn’t meddle at all even if he knew, which he could imagine, for her, was a good thing.

To his credit, he got the wind of the news before the press did. Class 1-A was attacked by a group called the League of Villains during an on-campus activity in the Unforeseen Simulation Joint training facility. People dubbed it as the U.S.J. Incident. The League of Villains aimed to put an end to All Might but failed in the end. Their leader, however, had gotten away. Hawks couldn’t help but consider what kind of trouble they would stir up in the future. He had to investigate further.

On the flip side, it further proved that the woman he encountered in his home was telling the truth. She was from the future. He opened the door to his penthouse and made his way to his bedroom, remembering her again. In retrospect, they had gotten themselves into quite a mess during the day she appeared. 

Not that he’d see her anytime soon, or so he thought.

It was a faint sound, but nevertheless, a familiar one. An invisible bell rang three times, and a feminine voice spoke beside him, causing him to stop in his tracks in wonder.

“Do you believe me now?” the woman asked, her head tilting to the side. Her doe eyes, framed with eyeglasses this time, twinkled with hopefulness.

“You’re here,” he blurted out, “again.”

“Yeah.” She leaned backward and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “I have twenty-three hours this time.”

“One hour less than last time,” he pointed out. “But how did you know?”

“We had time to visit the doctor again. The young girl has a Quirk that sends people back in time. Time Quirks are rare, so existing studies about them are insufficient to undo the whole thing. I can’t elaborate too much on the details, but there’s nothing I can do but go through the whole time travel duration. After this, there will be twenty-two more instances when I will appear somewhere near you at a random moment, each time lessened by an hour.”

“For how long?”

“A year, more or less.”

“But out of all the places you could appear in, why does it happen where I am?” he asked, meticulously processing the information she had given him. “Not that I’m complaining or anything. I’m just curious.”

“I…” she paused, contemplating whether or not to tell him, “because you were the one closest to me when I was struck by the girl’s Quirk.”

“How close?”

“We were standing next to each other.”

“And?”

“We were… holding each other’s hand.”

“Ah.” He nodded. “So, we really do have that kind of relationship, huh?”

She rolled her eyes and averted her gaze, folding her arms in front of her chest. “I’m not going to answer that.”

Despite her dismissal, the pink tinge of her cheeks betrayed her composure. It was all the answer he needed to his question.

They were together. Three years in the future, the two of them were in a relationship. How did such a thing happen?

Time would tell. For now, a cordial smile tugged at his lips, knowing exactly where to begin. “What’s your name?”

“If I tell you,” she said hesitantly, “will you promise not to look for me?”

“Why not?”

“I don’t want to change the present—I mean, my present—where I’m from. The future, if you will, in your case.”

“Okay, then.” Keigo nodded. It was a reasonable condition, after all. “I promise.”

“Great.” She grinned, relieved he gave her his word. “It’s nice to meet you. My name is Fuyumi.”

Notes: The three-year difference in their timelines and the sound of a bell ringing was inspired by Kimi no Na wa, one of my favorite movies.

I was actually working on a fic for another ship, but I thought of Huwumi again and ended up writing this instead.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Thank you for reading! ❄️

Alone Together

BNHA Masterlist | Main Masterlist

[xbladekitkat85]

Why Clint is on Tony’s Sh*t List

Word count: A bit over 3k.

Chapter summary: Peter and Harley are brothers and the children of Tony Stark. Which is highly classified knowledge that nobody outside of the Avengers knows. Until Clint Barton accidentally spills the secret with a technology related mishap.

Warnings: A bit of language here and there. Tony threatening Clint’s life because he did an oopsie.

Peter's POV

In the school that is Midtown School of Science and Technology, everyone is basically a genius of some sort. You have biology geeks, math geeks, chemistry geeks, robotics geeks. You name a branch of STEM subjects, there are guaranteed to be at least 5 masters in every subject.

That being said, being a master in a subject doesn't mean that you would be instantly popular. Sure you might get hounded for homework help, but it doesn't mean you actually make friends as easily. It's more like people want to leech off of your knowledge and don't bother to get to know you.

There's a social pyramid in all schools and let's just say I'm towards the bottom of mine. I build Lego sets, I love Star Wars, I'm a whiz at chemistry and math. But people ignore the fact that I'm 'somewhat' intelligent and focus on the Lego and Star Wars part of my image. Which sucks big time. At least I'm graduating this year.

But at least I have my brother Harley to confide in. We argue over stupid stiff but we both enjoy poking fun at each other.

3rd person POV

Peter was sitting at his usual table with his small group of friends. Ned, MJ, and Betty made up this small group of people.

"So, what are you guys doing this weekend?" Ned asked the group.

"Uhhhh, I was planning on going to see that new movie coming out." Betty answered. "You know, the one with Emilia Clarke and what's his name."

"Oh yeah, I know which one you're talking about." Ned replied.

"You losers can go see a movie, I'm going to a protest outside of Oscorp." MJ replied, sipping her thermos of coffee.

"What did Oscorp do?" Peter asked curiously.

"They're trying to cover up an employee getting severely injured, the safety protocols are shitty, and HR is as usual, the worst part of it all in addition to the censorship of the incident online."

Peter nodded his head, eyes widened.

"Gotcha. I definitely understand why you're going."

MJ set her thermos down and opened her latest book, Speak.

Ned turned to look at Peter.

"Stark internship all weekend?" He inquired.

Peter shrugged and took a sip of water.

"I'm gonna hang out with Harley. Probably do some stuff in the lab. Usual stuff."

Betty shook her head in disbelief.

"I still can't believe you're friends with him." She said. "He's pretty high on the social ladder here. I mean I know you guys have the internship together but it's still kind of baffling that I never see you interacting in school."

Ohhhhh, if you only knew Betty. Peter laughed to himself on the inside.

Nobody at school knew that Peter and Harley were half brothers and the children of Tony Stark. Not even Ned or MJ knew although he suspected that MJ somehow knew or was close to figuring it out. She's scarily perceptive and freakishly good at knowing things about other people that she definitely shouldn't.

The bell rang signaling the end of lunch.

The four friends parted ways and headed to their respective classes.

*After school*

Peter arrived at the tower straight from Delmar's after picking up snacks for the weekend. He had grabbed an assortment, ranging from potato chips to pretzel M&Ms.  He waved at Ms. Maldonado, the lady who commanded the reception area and dashed to the elevator, scanning his pass when prompted.

FRIDAY greeted him when the doors closed.

"How was your day Peter? Harley is already waiting for you. He told me to tell you, and I quote, "Peter, I hope you remembered my PRETZEL M&Ms not PEANUT M&M's like last time. If you forgot, I'm going to steal that new Lego set you were planning on building tomorrow. And I WILL hide it somewhere you'll never, ever, find it. Insert maniacal cackling, blah blah blah."

Peter stifled a laugh at Harley's message.

"Uh, well my day was the usual, you know. And tell Harley I got his stupid M&Ms. And I grabbed him something else too if he promises not to threaten the Legos again."

"Sure thing, Peter."

He exited the elevator to the floor which housed the labs he shared with Harley. There were multiple as the duo tended to accidentally blow things up and would need to have another place to work while repairs were being done. Needless to say, Tony was more than a little annoyed that his kids needed multiple labs because they kept blowing them up. But whatever, he loves them and will pay for it as long as he gets to blackmail them with all the ridiculous stories of what blew up and how it happened.

Harley looked up towards the door Peter walked through and lifted his welding mask off his face.

"Hand over the merchandise, blockhead." He said, his arm stretched towards the bag of goodies Peter was carrying.

"Only if you promise to leave the Legos alone, biotch." He replied.

Harley rolled his eyes and dramatically lifted his hand in the air as if he was testifying in court.

"I promise not to touch the Legos." He said in a half joking tone.

Peter handed him the pack of M&Ms as well as a container of Oreos.

"I still don't understand why you like pretzel M&Ms." Peter remarked. "There's too much pretzel and not enough chocolate."

Harley stared directly at him as he tore open the M&Ms and popped a few in his mouth.

"I don't understand why you don't like pineapple on pizza." Harley shot back as he swiveled around in his chair

Peter groaned.

"We are not having this discussion again."

"Peter you're an idiot if you don't like pineapple on your pizza."

"Harley, you're a disgrace to the entire state of New York if you do. Fruit is not supposed to go on a proper pizza."

Harley chucked a bolt at Peter's head.

"Hey!" He protested as he turned to look at Harley. And then he saw a glint in Harley's eyes.

"Pizza is a dish with everything from the food pyramid. You have grain, dairy, meat, vegetables, fats, and oh, wait, you don't like pineapple so you're missing out. You could be getting every nutrient from the food pyramid but you're an idiot so you miss your daily serving of delicious pineapple on your pizza."

"Oh my god, stop."

The boys busted out laughing for a full 3 minutes, eventually with Harley falling out of his chair. Tony walked in to find his kids cackling at who knows what, and one on the floor, almost incapacitated by his laughter. He sighed before clearing his throat to gain their attention.

The boys sobered up and finally stopped laughing but they had unshed tears left from the fun.

"What on earth were you two dying of laughter over? Should I call a therapist? Do I need to be concerned? Did you eat something that you shouldn't have?"

Harley sniggered as Peter was trying to keep a straight face.

"He was eating pretzel M&Ms!" Peter said, holding back his laughter. "The type that should be illegal!"

"Peter, you don't diss Pretzel M&Ms, they're an underappreciated member of the M&Ms family. If you think pretzel M&Ms should be illegal, you clearly haven't tried the raspberry ones." Harley replied while doing his best to keep his face straight. "If anything, you should call a therapist for Peter and help him overcome his aversion to pineapple on pizza."

Tony looked even more lost than he was before.

"Ok, I don't know what I'm supposed to make of this. FRIDAY, show me footage of what the hell happened while I wasn't here."

"Sure thing boss."

Friday pulled up security footage of Harley and Peter's conversation. Tony watched it as the two teens were snickering behind him. After he understood the situation he turned to his kids and let out a tired sigh.

"Ok, I don't understand your sense of humor, but I came to tell you that we're having Italian for dinner."

Peter pumped his fist and Harley just shrugged.

"Italian is fine by me I guess."

"All right kiddos, be in the dining room by 7ish or else I'll cut the power to these labs. We eat as a family."

*Time skip*

It was 2 am, Monday morning and everything was silent except for the faint noise of shuffling towards the ceiling.

Clint Barton was crawling around in the vents, obviously on his way to do something he probably shouldn't be.

He had lost a bet with Nat earlier and the punishment was that he had to steal something for blackmail off of FRIDAY's databases.

He quietly dropped out of a vent shaft into an important looking office. He didn't bother checking who it belonged to but he was already too far gone to ask.

"Ok Nat, what do you want me to look for?" He whispered into his earpiece.

"Check the computer on the desk. The password is written on a sticky note in your pocket."

He checked his pocket and there was indeed a post it with a password on it.

"Ok, what am I supposed to find?" He asked once he logged in.

"Look for footage from the labs." She said. "Check labs CTS2 and IAI1."

"CTS2 and IAI1, gotcha." He reaffirmed.

He browsed around until he found the cameras he needed.

"Ok, found em. What dates should I look at?"

"Look at this past Friday," She answered, "around 4:45 to 6:15 pm. Tony drank from a can of motor oil instead of his coffee cup. I would like this footage in my posession. For my entertainment, and possibly blackmail to pull on him."

"All righty, ok, uhhhh." He muttered as he searched through that window of time.

He watched snippets of the footage and fast forwarded a few times until he glimpsed footage of Harley swiveling around in his chair as Peter looked exasperated. He paused and rewound to see what the situation was.

As Clint watched the whole argument play out and the aftermath, a shit eating grin began to spread across his face. He emailed himself the whole interaction for his own entertainment (blackmail, cough cough) and went back to searching for what he originally came for. He eventually found it, sent it to Natasha, logged out of the computer, and climbed into the open vent.

"You get it?" Nat asked suspiciously.

"Oh yeah, I got it." He said, trying to hold back the mischievous laughter that was threatening to let loose. He checked his phone to see whether he got the email he sent to himself. But to his surprise and sudden panic, it was not there. His social media, however, was blowing up with comments about the two kids and who they were and theories people were spouting.

"Oh shit."

"What did you do, Clinton?" Nat asked in a threateningly monotone voice.

Clint banged his head on the vent, forgetting that he still had his comms on.

"I may or may not have accidentally exposed Peter and Harley as Tony's kids."

Nat was silent for a moment before she finally responded.

"Tony's probably going to kill you for this, so you should pack your bags right now. Make funeral arrangements as well and update your will."

"Ah shit."

*Monday morning, 6:45 am*

Peter woke up to his phone ringing. He groaned and turned on his side to ignore the call. The phone rang again and he sighed before reluctantly sitting up and grabbing his phone.

What the hell, who's calling this early?

He looked at his notifications and saw multiple missed calls and texts from Ned and MJ. Something must have happened because Ned had typed in all caps, 'PETER EVERYONE KNOWS! CALL ME NOW!' MJ's text just said, 'I knew already. Don't try to hide it from me whenever you come to school.'

Instantly, Peter was wide awake. Did the whole world know he was Spiderman? But how did this happen, who would leak that information and how did they get it?

He called Ned and before he could even say, "What's up?" Ned butted in with a sentence he was not expecting.

"Peter, when were you going to tell me your dad was Tony Stark?! This is even bigger than Spiderman! As your Guy in the Chair, I think this knowledge might have been missing in our conversations."

Peter was at a loss for words as he stood up.

"It's all over social media and people are going apeshit over this!"

"Ned, you shouldn't believe everything you read on the internet." Peter replied in a nervous tone as he began pacing back and forth in his room. "How do you know the source is credible? Remember what Ms. Hernandez said about credibility when giving information in an essays or whatever?"

"But Peter, Hawkeye was the one who posted it. You know, the Avenger who shoots arrows?"

Peter stopped pacing and froze midstep.

Uncle Clint was behind this? But why?

"You sure he wasn't hacked?" Peter asked as he feebly attempted to get out of this confrontation.

"No, it's security footage from a lab. Tony said in the video that you guys were a family."

Peter then realized that he couldn't worm his way out of this situation. The whole world knew he and Harley were brothers and the sons of Tony Stark. Of course this happened, why wouldn't it?

"I'm going to call you back, I need to talk to Clint." Peter said.

"Ok, just let me know if you and Harley are going to be ok or not." Ned replied.

"Bye Ned."

"Bye."

Peter hung up and took a deep breath before leaving his room to go find Clint.

He entered the kitchen and almost everyone was there except the one person he wanted to talk to.

"Hey, uh, where's uncle Clint?" Peter asked.

Uncle Steve looked up from his breakfast.

"He left last night. Family emergency."

"Uh huh, so correct me if I'm wrong but Clint left because dad was going to kill him, right?"

Suddenly everyone was avoiding eye contact with Peter. Yup, everyone knew what happened.

Just then, Tony walked in with a very irritated expression.

"I don't think you and Harley are going to be able to go to school today. Some kid from your school, Dash or something posted you go to school with him and know you both. So there are multiple news stations outside the tower and surrounding your school. Might be best to just stay home today."

"Is Uncle Clint still alive?" Harley asked as he walked in, yawning.

"He is alive," Tony responded "Not for much longer though."

"Dad, you can't just kill him." Peter protested. "It's not like he actually did anything that warrants his death."

"I don't think he meant to do it." Harley added. "He deleted it maybe 10 minutes after he posted it but other people recorded it on their own devices and re shared it. He probably realized what he had done and tried to delete it but of course, once it's out there, it's out there."

"Don't kill Uncle Clint, he's got a wife and kids. Besides, we need him on the team." Peter said.

"We don't need Clint," Tony said, waving his hand. "I already got a replacement set up."

Peter had not heard of this new team member that was apparently going to replace Clint.

"Who is it?" Harley asked curiously.

"Kate Bishop. She's already on her way here. Clint trained her to take over the mantle of Hawkeye anyway so it shouldn't be that big a deal." Tony shrugged. "She's a bit older than you two, 18 or 19, I can't remember at the moment."

"Ok, then, as long as she's trusted by you." Peter relented.

"Don't know what she might be like, but if Clint trained her, and they share similar personalities, whatever spirits above help us." Harley said solemnly.

Peter smacked Harley's arm.

"Hey!" He complained.

"She's not even here yet and you are badmouthing her already. Have some manners, dude."

"It doesn't matter at the moment right? You said it yourself, she's not here yet and I will 'have some manners' when she does."

All of a sudden, Peter heard a nearly imperceptible shuffling coming from above. He felt a shiver go down his spine and the instinct to get into a defensive position.

"He's right, you should have some manners young man." An unfamiliar voice boomed from above.

Harley looked around wildly in confusion.

"Who's there?! Are you a spirit from above???" He asked.

All of a sudden, a figure dropped out of the vent directly above Harley and tackled him to the ground.

"And that is Kate Bishop." Tony said, answering the question in everyone's mind.

Kate released Harley from her grip and she helped him up.

"Clint was right," She said, smiling. "Crawling through the vents to prank people is fun."

She looked up to the open vent and held out her arms, to everyone's confusion.

"Lucky, come on down!" She called.

To everyone's shock, a dog with one good eye poked his head out from the vent and jumped into Kate's arms.

"Oh crap, nobody has allergies to dog dander, right?" Kate asked, looking at everyone.

"Maybe? I'm not sure." Peter replied.

"Damn, I should have checked before bringing him, huh." Kate muttered.

Tony waved his hand at the dog.

"As long as he's potty trained, we should be fine." He said, trying to reassure her worries. "We're all fine with dogs."

Peter thought back to all the dogs he's pet on patrol. They always seemed happy to play with him and now there was a dog in the tower. Huzzah, he didn't get to only pet dogs on patrol now!

"Well, all's well that ends well, right?" Peter said.

"How about everyone gets acquainted with Kate?" Tony suggested. "It's not like you two are going to school today anyway."

Peter and Harley agreed and that day became a get to know the new team member day.

Peter texted Ned to let him know he was going to school the next day and invited him to the tower after school to meet someone. Oh the look on Ned's face when he found out would be priceless.

Taglist:

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[literaila]

hm. have you given me a specific show that’s one of your favorites? i’ll watch it right away. i do as well, i’ve been on a star wars movie for like months.. and ‘early man’ which was like, since summer. but.. what if you both die anyways? then that would be for nothing.

alsooo! have i asked for your favorite quote? or poem?

so. very hard to explain. me and my mother were at a store- then i saw these 2 guys that looked off. one pulled like a hood or beanie over him. so i was instantly like, “i have a bad feeling about this.” and i told my mother. she was like “???” but i dragged her over to the cashier and we just finished up before those guys pulled out guns. so the store was getting robbed and everything- i was right, obviously- and i just booked it. instantly ran out those doors, my mother following behind. we got into the car and drove away, then it cut off. i wonder if we got the bags and stuff that we bought. can’t remember. hope so.

right. so now i’m alone. in the streets or whatever. i think it was dark? i was just trying to get around, food and water, blah blah. i don’t know.

cut off again. now i’m at school. guess what? we’re held hostage. by the same two fucking idiots. it was so weird too. like we weren’t getting murdered or anything? just captive. we had class slowly, nothing really.. stopped completely. was a bit depressing. so it was lunch or we were outside, and i asked one of my teachers “you’re in on it, right?” because i thought it was a joke and all. there was no way that could be real, especially with how we were handling it. very weird. she just responded with, “no. this is real” and we were still switching classes and all. i didn’t really talk or anything, pretty silent.

it cut again. so in the middle of school, i kinda woke up then dozed off again. last dream. some of my classmates & i were.. outside. far away from school, i think. and it was dark outside. we touched something, and it was like a huge building. kinda like a castle. that’s all i can remember. sorry for the rant, my dreams are pretty weird. did i tell you about the one where i forgot my shoes at school?

yes i 100% agree. i think i’ve cried once in fourth grade and never after that. i can barely cry by myself, let alone in a school with teachers and kids. no way.

i left on page 434. so.. and my mother said she loved the twilight films, like, actually loved them. my mother spoiled it for me. haha. they got married??? and bella’s pregnant?? in the second one, or what? ugh. now i wanna know. yes obviously i did. who wouldn’t like chocolate? also, my brother bought donuts. i tasted one bite from the one my sister picked up- it was good. i’ll bring one with me to school.

no, i’m definitely the comedian. i have dark humor, but still classified as a comedian. i’m much more funnier >:)

noooo. i didn’t mean it like that. a late night walk, or an evening walk. outside. not in my house. i pace around a lot, since i daydream so much and. i just pace a lot. glad!! very glad. make sure to drink some water! that’s very important.

ahh, yeah. school is tomorrow. do you have any work on monday’s? that sounds horrible. i don’t write, but i know that feeling when you want to do something and just. don’t do it. tomorrow will be better! trust me, slug.

oh no no. let me guess, luke through or luke and see something. boringggg!

i think i’m going to sleep? well, obviously i’ll try to stay up to the best of my abilities. but goodnight verity. sleep well, slug :)

— 🐢

i just don’t know if you’ll like any of them. you might like “the haunting of hill house” if you aren’t afraid of ghosts— think you said you haven’t watched that. ha! i’ve learned that when i watch things for the first time i pay absolutely no attention. well then i tried— that’s worth it to me.

oh well. my favorite poem is one of my own— that’s a bit egotistical, but hey, i never said i was perfect. actually, yes i did. i am (get it?). as for quotes i’m just gonna…

“horror rips my eyelids open.”

“‘yes’ he says ‘this is okay’”

“‘because if i lower my voice i won’t be able to hear myself speak. and that’ he says ‘is my favorite part.”

okay last one. “his smile is wide, so wide. ‘god, i love that’

‘your name?’

‘only when you say it’”

(in case you couldn’t already tell, those are all from shatter me)

but! i also like “hell is empty and all the devils are here”

you remember a lot. im kind of amazed. that’s an insane amount of detail— and strange. i like dream theory, but i still couldn’t tell you what all that says about yourself. you.. forgot? your shoes at school? i know it didn’t actually happen— but how did you manage that? my dreams are all just blurs. had one about a criminal minds x greys anatomy… it was quite terrifying actually.

last time i cried at school was last week. but to be fair, i was crying cause of tv and not because of school. when i get really frustrated and can’t voice my thoughts out loud— all the time —i cry.

they don’t get married in the second one, and they also don’t have a baby. the second one is actually really sad so.. none of that. but the end is good. the end is great. lots of people don’t like chocolate. mmm donuts. yummy, glad you’re eating breakfast. i had soup this morning.

tell me one joke.

late night walks are dangerous >:( but yes, i understand what you mean. walks are nice, sometimes.

i like working on mondays but i don’t anymore. not working till tomorrow, and then on thursday. doing homework now so.

actually, no. luke how much snow there is. so funny, awe-inspiring, magnificent.

hope you slept well darling, enjoy today.

-v

[herstarburststories]

Quarantine Boredoom (Dick Grayson x Reader)

✾ A/N: It’s been a certain couple of months since I wrote smut/erotica, but here you go! Although, I think it’s better classified as silly porn aka Nightwing’s type? Anyway! Thanks to my friend for being my beta for this one.

✾ Request: hiya! i saw that your requests are open and then i had a mini asthma attack because i had come back from binge reading your masterlist oops,,,,that got me thinking,,,how funny would it be if reader has asthma and just has to use their puffer during sex? like could you imagine if that were to happen to dick or jason? i’d like to see that happen 👀 also your writing is absolutely amazing!!! keep up the good work!! 💕👌🏻🤠

✾ Disclaimer: fingering.

A purposefully loud huff escaped your lips when your body met Dick's couch. He looked away from the copy of Robin Hood in his hand to raise an eyebrow, but the only response he received was a dramatic sigh.

"(Y/N), are you okay?" Bludhaven's protector ultimately asked, placing his book on the desk to offer his girlfriend unrestricted attention.

"I’ve never been so bored in my life," you grunted, tilting your head in one of your best dramatic performances. "Quarantine isn’t as fun as it looks in the movies."

"I'm sure zombies will appear and we’ll convert to cannibalism soon, (Y/N). Don't worry," Dick replied, humor obvious in his tone. You rolled your eyes, huffing once more. "Also, it’s only been two days. You can't be that bored, right?"

"Easy for you to talk, Nightwing. You still go out on patrol every night. Something you shouldn't do, by the way." You changed the subject of conversation, returning to a topic which you and Dick widely disagreed. Fortunately, the acrobat had an idea of ​​how to entertain you and change the subject to something less likely to end up with him sleeping in the room he currently resided in.

"You know I can’t abandon my role, (Y/N). Especially at a time like this. I take the necessary precautions, like using my sticks instead of punching them in the face, don't worry." His patented wink was followed by the classic playful smile. Before you could rationalize the joke, he continued, "But I might have a hint of ​​how to get you rid of your boredom..."

The suggestive tone in his speech caught your interest instantaneously. "I would love to hear your idea, Dick Grayson."

Grayson's next words evaporated upon his lips, giving space to a malicious smirk as his body leaned over yours on the couch. His mouth easily found its home; your lips, into the slow, lazy beginnings of a kiss.

When you drink for the first time, it is easy to get drunk. Then, you start drinking on more occasions and your limit increases. Two glasses are needed when, a while ago, it would take just one. The organism gets used to it and needs more to achieve the sensation of the first time. With Dick, it always felt like the first time. It didn't matter if he had kissed you two minutes or two months ago; every single touch of him reached a new layer of everything good that someone could transfer to another person, like discovering a new exciting part of yourself.

His hand cupped your cheek, drawing you closer in. The world existed outside that apartment, each minute still had sixty seconds, and Dick Grayson was willing to spend all of them making your body reach a new level of highness for him, without even needing more doses of change to do so. Your heart felt like it was tied to his touch and his only. Dick's hand slowly fell down on the side of your face. His thumb pulled down your lower lip, a farewell present in the intense softness of the gesture.

You giggled, and Richard smiled at you. The playful fingers began their private journey in search of paradise itself on earth. More murmurous kisses were offered as bargain and readily accepted by you. It was a small distraction from the new heights your body was reaching.

Fingers from your chin to jaw, his tongue found yours and caressed it as if he were trained for it. Kissing him was like a dance, it always had been. Grayson's hand stopped on your neck for a moment, but there was no trace of pressure there. Dick just kept dancing, holding on; you wanted to wrap your legs around him, offer some comfort to your wet pussy, even if it was just pressing it against his erection, which was now hard against your leg, to make his self-control more difficult. Yet, you knew better than that. He would have already pulled your legs if that was the plan. His fingerprints on your chest indicated the antics the hero wanted to use.

Dick placed his lips on your neck, lavishing attention upon that spot as much as he wanted. You closed your eyes, unable to decide what you liked most: the bites and gentle suction on your neck or the tender fingers that were already on your stomach. Your hips moved of their own will, seeking the carnal solace you craved as you moaned softly. The former Robin laughed in pleasure at your neediness, moving away from his little branding job to look you in the eyes. He loved to watch you like this, spreading your legs for him while his hand found its way inside your pants.

And now, looking at you and feeling wetness in your panties, Dick decided to keep it a bit slow, as if to see how far you would go. After all, it had been three long weeks without sexual activity. Between his work of detective division vigilante and yours in full-time journalism, 24 hours weren't always enough, but in this moment, all he had to worry about was how needy for him you could get.

Grayson's digits circled your vulva, playing on the edges of its outer lips until he received an impatient sigh from you. He laughed, temporarily satisfied. You looked at him, ready to tell him to do what he knew how to do, but you were silenced by one of his fingers entering your vagina. You pressed your lips together and pushed hips towards him, a nonverbal way of saying that you wanted more. Dick, however, just moved his finger out of your reach. It caused you to open your eyes, stunned.

"Dick!" You were breathless, probably from the rush of sensations he had been — and was supposed to still be — making you experience.

"What?" There was false innocence in his voice that contradicted everything that was happening, especially when he took the finger that was inside you to his mouth and sucked, expression shifting into contentment. "You taste so good, baby. Imagine when you're coming for me."

"Richard John Grayson, if you don’t put— Fuck." The ensuing groan encompassed an ugly word. One of his fingers was still inside you while the other was pressed to your clitoris.

"How am I making you feel, huh?" he asked, despite knowing the answer as well as he knew your sweet spots. Adding another finger, Dick started looking for your G-spot, clitoris being well taken care of by his ring finger. Fuck, he was almost salivating by just thinking about eating you out, your taste, putting his tongue in the warm, wet place his fingers were, but for now, Grayson wanted to watch you enjoy yourself. It was in the way you bit your lip, whimpered for it and moved your hips to get more as if you didn't already have it all when it came to Dick Grayson. "Am I making you feel good?"

"I..." The weight on your chest worsened significantly, almost as if you had put a rock there. You mentally screamed at yourself. Fuck, out of all possible times, you had to be literally running out of breath while your pussy— Come on! The only good thing was that you knew your own body language well enough to quickly understand what was going on. "Dick, I can't breathe."

Dick, on the other hand, was too involved in taking you apart to reach the same conclusion as you.

"I’m making you breathless now?" Indigo eyes meet yours, full of lust. For a millisecond, you wondered if you could handle the random crisis, or if you could be confused about two different things with similar symptoms. That is until the shortness of breath had gotten worse. Fuck.

Well, the opposite of fuck now.

"No, Di— FUCK!" Feeling like the air wasn’t getting into your lungs and the fact that your boyfriend had just found a certain spot inside you while simultaneously rubbing your clitoris didn’t help you remember how to breathe. "I’m literally... My puffer!"

"Wh-- Oh my God, your inhaler!" Mentioning your little miraculous friend that wasn’t between his legs finally brought Detective Grayson's dormant instincts to the surface. He almost jumped away from you, hastily looking for the inhaler. "I'm sorry— I thought... Wait." The scene would be comical if you weren’t coughing in despair, gasping for air and yet simultaneously turned on. He found the puffer on the floor, beside the desk, and handed it to you. Relieved and mildly frustrated, you forced oxygen back into your body for a few moments. You forced yourself to calm down until the inhaler could be discarded next to Dick's book where it originally was.

You faced each other. What could be said? Sorry for forgetting how to breathe while you fingered me? Sorry for confusing your moans of "I can’t breathe’’ for "You’re making me breathless"? Can we agree never to use this expression again? So, I almost died, but am I still up for it? Is my cock still hard after your near-death experience?

For the second time in the evening, words were passed over to make room for another way of communication. The two of you burst out laughing, loud and scandalous. What the fuck just happened? A few good minutes later and you looked at Dick with a smile, your hand full of sin located on his thigh.

"We still got plenty of time. You know, quarantine perks."

Noises of 'you are unbelievable' from him were drowned out by a few more giggles, which soon gave way to corny moans. Perhaps the last two options were the right things to say.

[wittywallflower]

Merry Pranksters - Miles wants to play a practical joke on Julian while the doctor is off the station and asks Garak, of all people, for help.

(3,6k words, Miles & Garak gen fic)

Garak was just about to close up for the day when Miles O'Brien appeared quite unexpectedly. He was an infrequent visitor in the shop. The chief tended to leave sartorial considerations to his wife when he could get away with it. Outside of his holosuite costumes, that is, and in those cases he usually discussed things thoroughly with the doctor before letting Julian make the actual arrangements with the tailor.

"Good evening, Chief O'Brien," Garak greeted him as pleasantly as any customer. "How are those trousers I mended working out for you?"

"Fine, fine. Good as new," Miles said, but nothing more.

"Was there something you need?”

"You, uh... you want to help me prank Julian?" Miles asked.

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

Garak was just about to close up for the day when Miles O'Brien appeared quite unexpectedly. He was an infrequent visitor in the shop. The chief tended to leave sartorial considerations to his wife when he could get away with it. Outside of his holosuite costumes, that is, and in those cases he usually discussed things thoroughly with the doctor before letting Julian make arrangements with the tailor.

"Good evening, Chief O'Brien," Garak greeted him pleasantly. "How are those trousers I mended working out for you?"

"Fine, fine. Good as new," Miles said, but nothing more.

"Was there something you need? Don't tell me young Miss Molly had another growth spurt again so soon? That would be most inconvenient to Mrs. O'Brien. I believe she said they would be on Bajor this month? There aren't many clothing shops in the mountains of Ray'laht."

Miles was surprised, and not sure how he felt about the Cardassian talking so familiarly, and knowledgeably, about his family like that. But of course Garak would know a bit about it. Keiko liked the man, naturally would she would chat with him whenever Molly's pants were getting too short again and she had need of his services. Keiko was a nice, engaging woman and most people liked talking to her. Miles wouldn't have guessed Garak would care enough to listen, but then the man was or used to be a spy. He probably filed away any bit of intel, no matter how innocuous, just in case it came in handy later.

"Not that I am aware of yet," Miles answered, and huffed a laugh. "Won't be long though, the way she's growing."

Now that he thought of it, though, he could remember Julian mentioning that Cardassians were real big on family and loved children. Both apparently being big themes in the books Julian read and discussed with Garak. Julian, bless him, didn't try to get Miles to read any of it, limiting himself to the very broadest strokes of the stories when recounting his weekly lunches with the tailor. And Molly was adorable enough to win hearts wherever she went. It was possible that Garak not only knew but had a genuine friendly interest (as well as a professional one) in not just Molly's measurements but things like her favorite colors and what she liked to do for play. Some of the stain-resistant fabrics Garak had tracked down were a godsend, given how much the girl loved to paint.

Miles might not spend more time with Garak than he had to, but that didn't mean the man was entirely removed from his life. Even if Julian wasn't friends with the man, he would still be there on the station. In his tailor shop, discussing orchids with Keiko and making a mental note that young Miss Molly O'Brien detested knitted sweaters and broke out all over in itchy hives no matter how soft the wool.

Garak looked at the human and tried not to grin widely at the man's reticence, knowing the chief would only interpret it poorly. Garak simply enjoyed drawing information out of people otherwise reluctant to give it away. That's what had made him so good at procuring information for the Order. An honest zeal for the work.

"I stand at the ready when she does," Garak said with his blandest salesman smile. Which was really the only one the chief was likely to trust. "I was just about to close up for the night, if there's no assistance I can offer...."

He trailed off, eyes widened expectantly. Obviously the human had a reason to come here. O'Brien more than most was no fan of Cardassian company. With any other potential customers Garak would have set up an appointment for the following day. But if the chief was here for a fitting it wouldn't take long and Garak suspected O'Brien would be just as happy to have to over and done with quickly.

Miles didn't immediately answer and Garak began to turn away before the chief spoke up.

"You, uh... you want to help me prank Julian?" he asked.

"Pardon me?" Garak's tone and expression were a little too politely confused by half.

"You know, a practical joke."

O'Brien didn't believe for one second that the savvy ex-spy had lived among humans for so long without learning about pranks. In fact, he was damn sure a species as naturally devious as Cardassians was already intimately familiar with the concept, so he didn't elaborate.

"Julian's back from his conference tomorrow," he said instead, "Thought we could arrange a little 'surprise' for him."

"We? As in you and I?"

"Sure! Pranks are more fun with an accomplice," Miles said with a slight smile, and squinted speculatively at him. "And you seem like you might know a thing or two about being a co-conspirator."

Garak didn't insult the chief with his usual protestations that he was just a plain and simple tailor who couldn't possibly conspire against a soul, except perhaps his fractious supplier of Orellian brocade. In truth, the oft-repeated denial of his former career was getting a little tired. One should endeavor not to repeat the same lie too many times. And he was quite sure no one else found it as amusing as Julian did.

"Why me?" he asked. The two men did not have a habit of spending time in each other's company.

"Why not you?"

Miles tried not to get annoyed by the interrogation. He knew it was only annoying because he didn't want to explain himself. He had made the decision to try to be more friendly towards Garak, to reach out and include him in some shenanigans. It was his own fault if that gave the fellow a chance to get under his skin.

And it was a fair question after all, given the usually chilly civility between them.

"Dax and I have pranked Julian a dozen times already," Miles said. "Who else am I going to ask? Sisko? He's my commanding officer. Worf's barely got a sense of humor. And Odo is the station's head of security."

"You expect to engage in acts of dubious legality then?" Garak raised his brow ridges as if scandalized, but there was definitely a hint of mischief in his gaze.

"I expect Odo would find breaking into Julian's quarters a bit dubious, yes." Miles nodded.

Hmm, interesting. Garak was already intrigued by the novelty of the situation. The chief inviting Garak of all people into his fun. There was a 'why' to be discovered there and Garak did enjoy a mystery. But even if there were any reason to suspect the chief's motives might be nefarious, the chance to snoop around the doctor's quarters a bit would still be impossible to resist.

"Actually Quark is pretty good at schemes," Miles continued on through the list, "but there's no latinum in this for him so he wont bother himself. And the Major... well, she's had a hard life. A real rough time growing up. I'm not sure she would see the point in this sort of... silliness. And it occurs to me now that might be true for you too." Miles finished awkwardly. "I mean, I understand if you aren't interested."

Miles, with the natural intuition of a man of similar age who had seen his fair share of trouble, had guessed that Garak had been through a lot in his life. Even if he didn't have any idea what exactly. Garak didn't worry about anything Julian might have told Miles about the former spy's life simply because Garak hadn't told Julian much of anything that could be confirmed as truth. Station gossip surprisingly didn't have much to say about him beyond the painfully unimaginative: that he was still a spy, loyal to Cardassia, in service of the Obsidian Order, here to steal highly classified information and disrupt Federation efforts. Largely negative, but not so bad as to stop the gruff human engineer from sympathizing where he thought they might have common ground of being victims of trauma. Garak could almost feel a sort of... camaraderie with him for it.

"Why Chief, are you implying that I'm no fun?" Garak pivoted, a playful smile served with the joke. Easing their mutual discomfort at the near brush with emotional honesty, and signaling his acceptance of the scheme.

Miles barked an honest laugh at that and grinned back, relieved and, yes, a little amused by the Cardassian.

"I'll get what we need while you close up shop. Meet me at my quarters and we'll walk over to Julian's together."

When he received a nod of acquiescence, Miles left, cheerfully whistling on his way down the Promenade.

Garak was quite sure O'Brien knew he was just as capable of breaking into crew quarters as the engineer. But the former spy lurking around on a habitat level not his own would definitely draw some suspicion from station security. He did have a history of going where he wasn't authorized to be when the situation called for it and a door lock had never stopped that. In the chief's company his presence was less likely to be questioned, but Garak knew how to handle any potential run-ins with Odo regardless.

"Hey," O'Brien greeted him when Garak arrived at the chief's quarters with a parcel under his arm. "What's that?"

"My excuse for being on this level this time of night." Garak handed the package to Miles. "For Miss Molly. They'll be a little big yet, but that hardly matters with pajamas."

"What, did you sew these in the 10 minutes since I left you?" Miles asked with mild astonishment.

"I already had the pattern cut and fabric pinned," Garak said with a dismissive wave. "they were just waiting for the updated inseam measurement. It hardly took a moment to run my handheld seamer over it all."

Huh. Prepared for anything, this one, Miles thought as he accepted the parcel with a nod of thanks and set it down next to two Starfleet issue canvas duffle bags. One of which he hefted, the other he handed to Garak.

"Shall we?"

They made short work of the walk to the doctor's quarters and even shorter work of bypassing Julian's lock code to let themselves in.

Garak crossed to a table where he could set down the bag he held. Next to a pair of data padds that he made sure to 'accidentally' bump so as to activate their screens, which he then just happened to glance at long enough to make note of their contents. All of which would have gone unnoticed even if the room had been crowded with people. Garak was very discreet.

"What's the plan, Mister O'Brien?" He asked, opening the bag to pull out its contents. Which he stared at thoughtfully a moment before he gave up guessing and turned to ask an explanation. "With all these...pieces of paper?"

The bag was crammed full with short stacks of small slips of paper in various neon hues.

"They're called Post-Its, or sticky notes back home. Not exactly a novel concept, I've seen similar things around the galaxy. They mostly fell out of fashion on Earth in the 21st century when people started carrying electronic devices everywhere. You write notes on them: reminders, messages, shopping lists. They have adhesive on the back so you can stick them wherever you need and they come in bright colors so you can't miss seeing them."

"So we're going to... write notes to the doctor on these little squares?" Garak ask skeptically. That didn't seem terribly amusing but then, it would matter a great deal what exactly was written.

"No." Miles eyes suddenly gleamed with a light that bore ill tidings for Julian Bashir. "We are going to stick every single one of these little squares to every single surface we can reach until the whole room is covered with them." As Garak caught on and began to smile, Miles smiled back. "Though, now you mention it.... it could be funny to write stuff on 'em."

"Not all of them surely?" Garak asked.

O'Brien eyed his own bag crammed full of as many Post-Its as he could replicate. His hand cramped at just the idea of all that writing and he made a face.

"Because" Garak hastened to suggest, no more enamored with the thought of that task than the chief, "I really think it would be more amusing to write only on a select few of them. Say, give each word of a sentence its own square and scatter the message around the room. This would force him to examine every last one if he wants to be sure he's found all them."

"Garak, that's brilliant!" Miles grinned. Okay, maybe now he could see how Julian found Garak's devious mind enjoyable instead of just worrisome. "He won't be able to resist finding the clues so he cant just sweep everything into the recycler, he'll have to leave it all up and stare at it until he solves the puzzle."

Miles chortled, pulling out a cube of sticky notes and handing it to Garak.

"You think up a message, I'll try to find you a pen."

"No need, Chief." Garak pulled an elegant looking pen from a discreet pocket in his trousers.

"You just carry a fountain pen around with you?" Miles asked.

Plenty of people still enjoyed the tactile feeling of writing, Jake Sisko to name one, but who actually carried such an old-fashioned writing implement? Most everything on the station could be handled through a computer or padd. And even a standard ink stylus would work more reliably than a fussy fountain pen. They never leaked and stained your uniform, for one.

"A tailor is always prepared for anything," Garak said with a smirk, unknowingly echoing Miles' earlier thought.

Miles shook his head but he was still smiling as he turned away to start covering Julian's chair.

They were both accustomed to working with brisk efficiency so it didn't take as long as either expected to work their way around the room in opposite directions, covering everything in a kaleidoscope of neon paper. Still, it would have bordered on tedious if Miles hadn't broken the silence with a few stories of past pranks. Garak warmed up to the subject as he came to find the other man could be delightfully inventive in his mischief. The prank they were currently engaged in, while diverting, was not particularly impressive by Garak's estimation. The chief agreed.

"This is a pretty amateur effort, if I'm honest," Miles said over his shoulder as he lined the doorway to Julian's bedroom with bright blue squares. "But it was all spur of the moment. I didn't have the time to plan anything more elaborate before tomorrow. Besides, Keiko would have words for me if she came home to find i blew a bunch of latinum to play a joke on Julian. This only cost me replicator credits."

Garak could understand the pressure of a deadline, and a budget. Sometimes an uncomplicated plan was best when one was in a pinch.

"I think the doctor will be amused, regardless of the simplicity," he offered as reassurance to Miles. "And if he happens to return exhausted from his travels, it will be a kindness for him that it's not something a great deal more involved."

Garak was thinking of one of the stories Miles had just shared about locking a particularly annoying Enterprise crewmate in the holodeck for several hours to play out an especially embarrassing scenario.

Miles for his part was thinking how interesting it was for Garak to be so considerate of Julian's comfort like that. The doctor was known for his abundance (some might say excess) of energy; all bounce-and-go. He wasn't exactly the type you'd ever think of as being in need of a nap. Fretting that someone would have a proper chance to rest after a long trip... that spoke of a certain level of caring, in his experience. What level exactly Miles wasn't ready to hazard a guess at. He couldn't read the Cardassian in the best of times, let alone when they were both at work with their backs to each other.

Huh. Willingly turning his back on a Cardassian, a known operative of the Obsidian Order, alone and in close quarters with no witnesses. Miles could honestly say he didn't trust the man. If Quark had a pool going, O'Brien would lay a bet that Garak had at least 2 weapons hidden on his person at any time. But he somehow knew Garak's deceit did not extend to doing violence in this sort of innocuous situation.

Their final task was to cover the shelving along one wall, full of Bashir's books and belongings. They worked their way up from the floor, with some discussion as to how to wrap oddly-shaped knick-knacks, until they reached the top shelf. And its lumpy, rather disreputable looking occupant.

O'Brien eyed it dubiously.

"I don't think Julian will thank us for messing with Kukalaka. The adhesive on these things is pretty weak but still... that bear is half dust, held together by nostalgia and stubbornness. I don't want to try sticking anything to that threadbare fur."

Garak regarded the teddy bear, largely ignored on his previous visit (intrusion) in the doctor's quarters. The chief was obviously well familiar with the toy and what it meant to Julian. Miles didn't offer further information but Garak could read between the lines and tell it important. Very important indeed. Sudden inspiration suppressed the burning curiosity he knew wouldn't be satisfied in the moment anyway.

"I think we can include... Kukalaka, is it? in on the fun without harming him," Garak smiled at the chief.

While O'Brien finished the rest of the shelf, Garak grabbed a cube of notes and began layering them until he had a large multi-colored sheet. Very carefully (the chief was right, the adhesive barely stuck to anything) he began to fold his creation. Spare minutes later Kukalaka was the proud possessor of a very dapper, day-glo hat. All sticky edges safely folded and tucked away.

"Huh, I didn't know you could do origami." O'Brien remarked as he took in Garak's handiwork.

"I'm afraid I'm not familiar with the term."

"Oh, its an art form from Earth's Japanese culture. Folding paper to create shapes, usually animals and flowers and the like."

"And hats?"

"And hats." Miles chuckled. "I'm not too bad at it myself. Keiko taught me, thinking with all the fiddly engineering work I do my fingers would be good at it. She was right, like she usually is."

"I would imagine several society with advanced paper industries have developed similar arts," Garak said, always interesting in cross-comparing cultures. "I'll have to ask Mrs. O'Brien to tell me more about this origami sometime."

"You should," Miles' smile was... actually genuinely friendly. It was not a sight Garak was used to seeing. "She'd enjoy talking to you about it."

They both looked around for a long moment, feeling satisfaction at the visible results of their efforts. Nearly every surface was decked in bright colors. They didn't have enough supplies to completely cover the walls so they settled for framing the doorways and viewport, and covering all the wall art. An armchair was a violent neon purple, the low table before it a yellow that hurt Garak's eyes to look at directly. The replicator in the wall was ringed in concentric stripes and Julian's desk was covered in no less than 5 different eye-searing shades.

"I wish I could see his face when he walks in," Miles chortled, almost boyish in his glee.

"I can send you the feed from my hidden surveillance devices," Garak offered with a straight face and level tone.

Any other day that line, delivered with that sort of aplomb, would have left O'Brien with a suspicious, questioning glare. Such a thing was by no means beyond Garak's capabilities or outside his morals, they both knew that. But, despite himself, the unique experience of spending this time with the chief did not lend itself to Garal projecting his usual aura of danger cloaked in affability. The engineer looked him over and he could practically see Garak radiating with a energy of what he could only describe of as.... fun.

So Miles didn't bother to take the joke seriously. Even if it was true and Garak did have illegal surveillance equipment set up, the chief would never actually get confirmation or proof of it so it didn't bear worrying about right now. If, later, Miles decided it was a credible threat he would mention it to Julian.

"C'mon," Miles said, almost going as far as giving the man a good-natured slap on the back but definitely smart enough not to push his luck. "I'll buy us a round at Quark's in the name of a job well done."

"I don't think we've ever had a drink together, Chief," Garak couldn't help but point out, because it was in his nature to stir the pot, to provoke a reaction just to see what he would get.

Miles shrugged that off, knowing it was true enough. But the whole night had been unprecedented anyway, and he for one had worked up a thirst.

"You can relieve Quark of some of that overstock of kanar he's always complaining about taking up space in his store room. The more you drink, the less I have to listen to him whinge about it," the human said.

Garak accepted that, and the offer of a drink; oddly more comfortable for it to be a matter of selfishness on O'Brien's part rather than an honest gesture of kindness from an acquaintance. What sort of life left a man unable to trust motives that weren't entirely devious and self-serving? Miles shook the thought off as they headed for the Promenade and the bar. He was much too tired to go digging around in anyone's psyche right now, much less the enigma of a man beside him.

[tfw-no-tennis]

mtmte liveblog issue 22

oooh man, its time to feel some EMOTIONS!

I'm BACK after a hiatus, which was due in part to me getting my 1st dose of the covid vaccine! woohoo!

anyways, starting here w/issue 22....we have a great cover w/thunderclash, the legend himself

oof. the covers made me forget how much I don't like the art this issue...I hate to be mean to the artists but this art style just isn't doin it for me chief

god I love this issue though. the framing device of rewind’s movie is so so fantastic

tailgate listing off all his fake awards/accomplishments....ily 

rodimus my boy, you're a prime in my heart

the ‘not a decepticon’ label for cyclonus is so much hvbhkjfbskjf

I literally wanna comment on every single panel bc I love all the characters so much but then id be here forever...that being said whirl ily sm 

hvbjdfbhsfjhdfshja BRAINSTORM ‘according to perceptor - ships genius’ hvhdkjhbfhjs ily dumb gay idiot

and then the cut to perceptor after brainstorm like, blew up his lab vjbkdsfnbksjf dude

GODDDDDD drift ‘your name...defines you. it’s your soul expressed in syllables. hm? oh, yes, sorry. it’s drift.’ GOD he’s so fucking funny. I love early story hippy drift

god I cant stop thinking about how good this whole issue would be as an animated show...like, specifically rewinds film, it would be SO FUCKING GOOOOOOD mtmte show WHEN

rewiiiiind ;_; I fuckgin love rewind god. fellow video editing enthusiast....

ohhhh rodimus being embarrassed about his big speech at the beginning of mtmte....my boy I love u so much

gjhnbgehjsrkfbjksf magnus being suspicious of rewind oh my god. magnus ily but please, look at the lil guy, he’s a good boy, most of the time

the fuckgin footage that magnus removed hbvhakjbfhskf god. wasn't that intended to be footage of magnus dancing? I love him

minibot squad.....

and here it begins, the mystery stick rung question...

poor rung oh my god he’s just trying to polish his lil spaceship and people r throwing shit at him. taking Ls as per usual it seems

hand grenade tag hvbfjksdnfbkjdf love that callback

noooo rungs ship :( 

magnus’s censorship vhbhadkjfhdbhjsakjhfn

oh man I forgot about how they met that race of Transformers But More 

the one-upsmanship hbvkajsbehfjks

whirrrrrl lmao I love whirl sm

goddddd whirl just killing that other alien and ending the 16 million yr long civil war bvkjsdbfhjjkafs so fucking much

oh god oh god the ‘are you happy’ page, I'm not emotionally equipped to handle this like, ever

but I will say I feel like it would be EVEN MORE oof if it were milne or someone drawing it bc I feel like this art style takes away from some of the impact bc the expressions aren't really that...expressive? idk how to put it

anyways. every single answer destroys me!!! like even the happy ones, like chromedome and rewind and tailgate - well, in present time, none of those three are doing so hot, so that makes this just hurt 

and rung....that is so fucking depressing. jesus. this guy is so fuckng sad, somebody get him a friend stat

and swerve...ouch. this readthru I've really noticed how much early-mtmte swerve is not-so-subtly like, crying out for help bc he’s so alone and shit. jesus 

also brainstorms response is just plain ole sad w/context, but at this point in the story without context, it just seems very foreboding lmao. I'm realizing this readthru that brainstorm is very sketchy and ominous in a particular ‘is he evil?’ mad scientist sorta way in early mtmte

and then everyone else is also just so OOF in their own unique sad ways, but I think the worst out of everyone is drift....GODDDDDD. especially considering that at this point in the story, drift is this kinda goofy hippy guy, so seeing him just sit there with his face in his hand, not even answering the question...AND knowing that shortly after this he’ll end up banished...IT FUCKING HURTS M8!

meanwhile, the more upbeat ‘quest to see rungs alt mode’ continues...with an ‘alt mode party’ vhbadkjsdfnabskjf it looks so silly with a bunch of cars just sitting around a table lmao

I cant even tell who everyone is bc they so rarely turn into cars n shit lmaoooooo 

rodimus with the bucket on his head hbvhakjbfskjf I CANT

everyone’s reactions to thunderclash...i fucking love it

the fact that TAILGATE doesn't hate him, even though we’ve seen that tailgate tends to dislike people who are universally liked/who have achieved a lot of impressive things

rodimus you petty thot vbdkjbfdjhsakjdf ily

RODIMUS IS SO FUNNYYYYYY ‘I'm not making all these sacrifices and leading these guys into battle and being inspirational - I'm not doing that because it makes me look good’ RODIMUS VBHSKJDFNBKSJF

thunderclash talking about magnus’s article on typefaces....hdbksjfsdbkjgfb bro

AND THEN MAGNUS HUGS HIM....HGBSKJFDSHFKD I CANT

POOR DRIFT bvhajkdfbhjkjsfd rodimus saying he ‘rehabilitated him’ oh my god

the whole spectralism thing...im sorry I cant get over how funny all this is vbakdjfbksjf thunderclash rlly b out here charming rodimus’s entire crew

and then ratchet comes in, calling tc ‘thunders,’ and tc immediately notices ratchets new hands (somehow) hvbkjfhbskjf truly amazing

it cracks me up that rodimus is all 😒😒 at thunderclash, even though as we come to find out, tc really IS That Perfect, and him complimenting rodimus isn't sarcasm at all lmao

AND THEYRE LOOKING FOR THE KNIGHTS OF CYBERTRON TOO HVSDHFJBSHKHDFJS OF COURSE

the vis vitalis being a life support machine spaceship is a really cool concept tho

‘rescuing some orphans from an exploding sun’ I fucking cant

evil guy: [holds a gun to thunderclash’s head] 

rodimus: :D finally something doesn't go his way!

he’s so petty I’m..........dkdjhfdabhduifadijgl

and its the aliens from earlier! oooh

GODDD I forgot that swerve used rung in mystery stick mode to SCHWACK the guy

rung casually dropping the fact that the functionists like, experimented on him...there's a lot of implications there, and that'll certainly be explored more later...

the fact that his ID card says ‘rong’ hvbhjakhdsbfakhsjfn 

oughufadkfujbsfk the circle of light throwing wrenches n shit at skids...guys cmon vbhsdjkfnslfd

the circle of light is like ‘wtf you all have trauma and a bunch of weird unhealthy coping mechanisms this is wack byeeeee’ lmao

skids calling the lost light his home is rlly sweet tho

cant believe the religious space hippy cult is being so rude about a film made by a guy who died like a week ago. unreal 

cd finally figured out how to make the pffft sound, good for him

AUGHHHHH the fact that rewind used ‘little victories’ as the title of the film and that's something that chromedome said in the video ;_; I'm fucking inconsolable 

rodimus, despite his obvious posturing for the camera during the whole issue, comes off as surprisingly genuine when he says that he hasn't thought about his own future much, but wants the crew to have a happy ending....im gonna cry

‘who knows what's around the corner?’ tailgate, PLEASE don't say that, oh my god, 

OUGHHHH GROUP SHOT 

OHHH mannnnNNNNN i love this issue SO MUCH. what a good fun emotional rollercoaster wrap-up to mtmte s1. god. 

like, this issue has it all - humor, drama, crippling sadness, intrigue, worldbuilding...it’s so excellent 

and getting to see rewind again hurts so bad but also I love him

ok quick mtmte s1 retrospective...god s1 is so fucking good. I'm gonna have to read more to say which chunk of mtmte I liked best but s1 is so fucking excellent that it might be my favorite. though its hard to pick bc there's so much good stuff later on too...whatever, the point is s1 is so so good

the plotlines and characters are fucking stellar. like I cant even believe how well Everything works, its very impressive. I cant really think of anything major that made me go ‘yeah could've done without that plotline/character’

I love how dedicated jro is to connecting everything. I've mentioned it before but basically every single moment in the series has payoff - what you initially think is just a funny moment, or a fluffy character establishment bit, ends up ALSO being an important plot point later, in some way

an example would be here w/rung and his alt mode - it just seems like a fun little B-plot for this issue, and seems to pretty neatly conclude with the reveal that rung was eventually classified as an ‘ornament’ (lmao)...but we later on get to see a lot more about this, both here and in the functionist universe 

and like, stuff like tailgate’s autobot lessons w/magnus - at first that can be seen as purely character establishment stuff, showing that magnus is a strict rule-lover and tg is a loveable try-hard good boy - but that becomes plot relevant in remain in light, with tailgate saving the day due to his knowledge of the autobot code (and its also character relevant, with magnus’s arc in remain in light). 

and I know this is like. a normal regular thing in writing, but I'm just very impressed about how cleanly jro pulls it off, and how many things he’s juggling at once, especially in early mtmte - it’s very ambitious!

and we gotta remember, this is a comic book. I've read a lot of comic books, and the quality is all over the place. a lot of writers bite off more than they can chew, and the story ends up kinda scattered as a result. 

another thing I see a lot in franchise writing like this is a lack of strong early character establishing due to the author assuming the readers are at least somewhat familiar with the characters already - which can be totally fair depending on where it is in the continuity, but other times it can come off as lazy

in mtmte, the cast is extremely well fleshed out, and not only that, the cast itself is unique in that there are a lot of relative unknowns (franchise-wise) - which I think was an absolutely brilliant move, because then jro was able to essentially create The Definitive Version of these characters - characters like swerve, brainstorm, chromedome, rewind, tailgate...mtmte is their baseline characterization, because they haven't really appeared in much else

this also allows for deviation from the franchise norms - again, a comic book classic is good writing being stifled by a need to stick to a certain status quo regard the characters, the world, the powers, relationships, etc

(I've mostly read DC comics, and some marvel, so I'm thinking superheroes w/all these comic comparisons)

so mtmte had a good recipe for genuine creativity in that the characters were relative unknowns, the plot was basically ‘space road trip,’ the status quo of ‘autobot vs decepticon war’ had been demolished throughout the entire franchise...so jro was able to take all that and run, and it turned out so fantastic

and luckily it isn't over yet! so many comics suffer from premature cancellation...and sadly mtmte/ll isn't exempt from this, as we’ll see later, but I've seen some awful ones, where comics are forced to wrap up in like 2 issues while in the middle of an arc. yikes. 

but another comic staple...one of my least favorite things about comics books in general...something that was basically responsible for driving me away from comics after reading a bunch...the dreaded crossover event

yep, even mtmte isn't immune to this unfortunate plague on the comic industry. crossover events are the absolute worst, and I'm saying this as somebody who adores crossovers (in concept more than execution usually). they SHOULD be my favorite, but unfortunately they p much always completely suck

they're essentially a ploy to get you to read the other ongoing titles, but they usually only serve to bog down whatever story you're reading to the point where you don't even wanna read that one anymore, let alone read all the other ongoings. at least, that’s been my experience 

it doesn't help that reading orders tend to be hard to find/keep track of, and that you need to go read the other series to know what's going on. I just hate it, like, I came here to read THIS series, I don't want a bunch of other series showing up too - even if I was reading two series, I wouldn't want them crossed over, because they're separate stories! augh!

I'm totally losing my focus here but my point is...crossover events suck, and mtmte unfortunately is involved in one. I have not read dark cybertron, and I'm not about to. I've heard nothing but bad things so I have no desire to inflict that upon myself 

soooo ill be reading through the tfwiki articles for those issues to give myself a better understanding of what went on - which is more than I've ever done in the past - and maybe ill even make a single post summarizing my thoughts on what I read in the wiki, lmao

but yea ill be skipping to the mtmte s2 stuff next 

phew ok I'm super tired, my vision keeps blurring out and stuff lmao. its time for bed, I probably have more thoughts but ill save them for later. for now...peace out!

[isfjmel-phleg]

In Surprised by Joy, Lewis recalled of his years at Wynyard with embarrassment, 'My reading was now mainly rubbish,' like the 'twaddling school stories in The Captain.' The Captain was a boy's magazine published in London between 1899 and 1924. P. G. Wodehouse published three serial novels about Ronald Eustace Psmith (with the P silent) between 1908 and 1910, when Jack was reading the magazine devotedly. Lewis explained that the attraction of these kinds of stories lies in wish fulfillment for the boy who would never be the hero at anything or the boy who intended to win at everything. While Peter Rabbit appeals to a child's imagination, the stories in The Captain appeal to a boy's ambition to be seen as a hero, to be admired, to have a following. Such ambitions are fanned and fulfilled vicariously through the stories of boy-heroes who become captains.

 Harry Lee Poe, Becoming C. S. Lewis (1898-1918): A Biography of Young Jack Lewis

I stumbled across this while idly googling Wodehouse and Lewis, and well...

First of all, in the Psmith stories serialized between 1908 and 1910, Psmith’s first name was Rupert; the name change didn’t occur until 1923 in a story serialized in The Saturday Evening Post. So any possible subtle attempt to draw a connection between Psmith and a certain character of Lewis’s doesn’t work.

And yes, the Psmith stories were indeed among the school stories in The Captain. But they weren’t the only ones. I own quite a few bound volumes of The Captain, and there’s plenty besides Wodehouse in them. School stories of a more conventional sort. Adventure stories. Sensational historical fiction. Pulpish fare aimed at teenage boys. So Wodehouse can’t be held primarily or solely responsible for whatever unsubstantial fiction Lewis read. Furthermore, there’s a reason that Wodehouse’s stories are the only ones from The Captain still remembered and read today; they were of a higher quality than the others.

While one could argue that there is a kind of wish fulfillment in Psmith’s cleverness and Mike’s cricket skill, their stories do not revolve around achieving popularity and school status. Mike and Psmith begins with Mike losing his chance to become a cricket captain. His regaining this honor (which he never does) is not the driving force of the story but rather his change of attitude toward his new school and Adair and his agreeing to do the right thing and help out the team when they need him. There’s an irony and sense of humor in how the school world is portrayed that is absent from the dead-seriousness about sports achievements in other school stories of that day.

In the volume in which Mike and Psmith is serialized (as “The Lost Lambs”), there are a few short school stories, which I looked over for comparison. “Help” by Lincoln Green, about a couple of schoolboys on holiday who capture some burglars; “Coals of Fire” “related to” George Langridge,” about a schoolboy’s pranks involving spiders, which result in punishment but a new respect for a schoolmaster; and “How the Unexpected Happened” by George Langridge, in which a couple of school boys desire to achieve their School Boat Colours (places on the school rowing team) and do so. This last one in particular fits exactly what Lewis describes, far more than the Psmith stories.

We do know that Lewis was at least passingly familiar with Psmith. There’s a reference to Psmith, Journalist in a letter to his father during his time at university, but Lewis calls it Smith in Journalism and also refers to the nonexistent That Ass Smith “by the same author.” This could be either carelessness with details or lack of familiarity with the stories (after all, Psmith’s silent letter is one of his most memorable characteristics). And we know that in later life, Lewis enjoyed at least some of Wodehouse’s other books. In a 1939 letter to his brother, he calls Right Ho, Jeeves “one of the funniest books I’ve ever read” (I don’t have the volume at hand, but it’s in The Collected Letters of C. S. Lewis). If he could appreciate Jeeves, it seems likely that he might not have necessarily classified Psmith with the “rubbish.”

Lewis may or may not have been referring to the Psmith stories in the above quote, but there are much stronger candidates in The Captain for the kind of tale Lewis describes.

[saltoftheao3]

AO3 tags 101

So to classify its content Archive Of Our Own uses a system called “tagging”, and I’ve seen quite a lot of people puzzled as to how exactly it is used. This is going to be a long post trying to clear that up, and hopefully providing some help and orientation.

(i am going to use a lot of fanfiction terminology in this post – you can look a lot of it up in this post)

What is tagging?

To cite the AO3 FAQ: “A tag is a keyword or phrase that you add to your works to make them easier to find.“ Tags also have the, at least as important purpose, of helping readers avoid content they don’t want to read.

Some of the AO3 tags are more or less mandatory: you have to chose a fandom, a rating, an archive warning from the available options (and be it “chose not to use those options”). 

Those mandatory tags have pretty detailed explanation boxes, which is why i’m focusing on the more puzzling domain of “Additional tags”, or “Freeform tags”:

(As said in its name, those tags are “freeform”, which means the author is entirely free to chose whatever keywords and catchphrase they want, be it some common tags, misspelled common tags, or new tags they’re introducing. If it’s a new tag, the AO3 tag wrangling staff then checks if it fits into a more common category, or if it stands on its own. 

I’ve seen people asking the following questions:

Why do i have to use freeform tags?

Well first off you absolutely don’t have to. But it gives readers additional info on whether your fic fits their taste, and can therefore get more people to read it. 

I know sometimes i look at the summary, think “meh”, but then i see in the tags that the fic uses some of my favorite tropes and end up giving it a shot. 

Also, it helps people find your fic again! A former reader is wondering “Oh, dang, i don’t remember the name nor the author but it had unicorns and mutual pining”? If your fic uses those tags they can find it without any problem through the search engine.

And, and i can’t stress this enough: it helps people that absolutely loathe the kind of content you create (because sensibilities are different, so sometimes it’s bound to happen) to stay waaay clear of it. Which is good for everybody involved.

But what if it spoilers my story?

Fear not! AO3 offers the neat option to hide the freeform tags as a default (for logged-in users); so whether your readers decide to look at the tags or not is completely up to them. 

Me? I very rarely look at tags. I dislike being spoilered, and i accept that i’ll probably end up reading things that don’t really float my boat as a consequence. And on the contrary i have friends who’d much rather put up with spoilers if it means they know what they’re getting into. Matter of personal taste, really! 

As an author you can merely provide that option for readers who enjoy additional info beforehand. It’s a bit of a friendly courtesy.

How many tags should I use?

Again, it’s completely up to personal taste. I’m not a big fan of huge walls of tags, because i don’t think they’re read in details by most readers, so i’d recommend between 3-7 tags for shorter stories (<5k words). For longer stories, readers often want to know in more details in what journey they’re getting into, so up to twenty tags is game in my books. More than that tends to look cluttered and distracting (again, my biased opinion).

What kind of tags should I use?

*rubs hands* This is where I suggest my neat lil’ classification of freeform tags (with some minor overlaps here and there). It’s based on observations and my own fandom experiences, so obviously it has no objective value, but i think it’s still a good summary of the different types of freeform tags used for most fics. Some kind of fics (i’m thinking PWP) have slightly different tagging conventions, but the following typology applies to most stories. 

You can use it as a checklist, or simply as inspiration on what kind of tags might apply to your fic.

Here’s my typology!

1. Format

These tags specify if your fic follows a particular fixed format in regard to length and style. Here’s some of the most common “format tags”:

(Double/Triple) Drabble 

Epistolary 

Ficlet (Collection)

Imagine 

Novel/Novella 

(Short) One Shot 

Poetry

POV First Person

Self-Insert

Screenplay/Script Format

Songfic

Stand Alone

Vignette ...

2. Genre

This one’s already a bit more tricky because so often there’s no over-arching “genre” in which your fic might fit (which is why there’s all the other tags to help you put some kind of label on your content!). Still, genre is a pretty important descriptor for your content; hence here are some of the common “fanfic genres”:  

Action/Adventure

Angst

Badfic

Character Study

Crack

Dark(-fic)

Fluff

Friendship

Humor

Horror

Kidfic

Romance

RPF/RPS

Porn Without Plot/Plot What Plot ...

3. Relationship to Canon

That’s one super cool in my books, because it’s sooo unique to fanfic. It specifies in what kind of relationship to the original content your story operates. Most common tags:

Alternate Timeline

Alternate Universe

Alternate Universe: X (e.g. werewolves)

Backstory

Canon-compliant

Canon-divergent

Crossover

Fix-It

Fusion

Missing Scene

Post-Canon

Pre-Canon/Pre-Series

Reboot ...

4. Fandom-specific tags

These tags are particularly relevant for book or movie series where the overarching fandom tag covers a really broad amount of content. Those tags give orientation in regards to which part of the canon content we’re talking about. For example, Harry Potter fandom may use terms like “Marauders’ Era” or “The Golden Trio Era” to specify what part of the original timeline the fic takes place in. 

But they also apply to fandom-specific events like Big Bangs/Reverse Big Bang, or fandom-specific tropes, genres and fanfic conventions. These are different for every fandom!

5. Common Fanfic Tropes

There’s a slight overlapping with “genre”, but all in all those tropes are a bit more specific, though widespread enough to be recognizable to avid fanfic readers.

Domestic

Everyone is alive

Fuck or Die

Getting together

Hurt/Comfort

Pining

Sex Pollen

Slow Burn

Soulmates

Time Travel

UST   

Whump ...    

And last but not least:

6. Content Warnings

Reminder that there’s mandatory archive warnings for AO3’s big four (underage sexual content, non-con/rape, graphic depictions of violence, character death) that you have to use, or at least indicate to readers you chose not to use them. 

You are not required to use further content warnings and no one can blame you for it, as long as you used the mandatory warnings properly. But there are some benefits to additional content warnings:

1. It frames the “problematic behavior XY” (e.g emotional blackmail) you depicted as a problematic behavior, which makes readers both aware that it’s Bad™ (important especially for younger audiences) and that the author knows it’s Bad™.

2. It helps people that wouldn’t enjoy that content avoid it, which, good for them, good for you

3. It helps people that are actively searching for specific dark and difficult topics, for whichever reason, to find them.

All in all i’d say it has established itself as a widespread fandom etiquette to tag content commonly viewed as squicky/triggery. Here are some of the most common ones:

(Past/Implied) (Child/Emotional) Abuse

Age Difference

Alcohol/Drugs

Body Horror

Coercion/Jealousy/Manipulation

(Very) Dubious Consent

Gore

Kinks

Mental Health Issues (Eating Disorders, PTSD, Depression etc.)

Pregnancy/Abortion/Miscarriage

(Internalized) Racism/Homophobia/Misogyny

Explicit Sexual Content

Terminal Illness

Torture

Suicide/Suicidal Thoughts ...

(and here’s a far more complete list of content warnings, but you get the gist)

Voilà!