#so many times I’ve seen him absolutely butchered by what are CLEARLY attempts to keep him ‘in character’

[altschmerzes]

also just riffing off my last reblog re: sometimes in order to be in character the best thing you can do is be a little out of character, i have seen far more like. “out of character” depictions that were clearly motivated by a stringent desire to keep someone in character than i have ones that just kinda missed the mark for some reason. and usually this comes down to like- emotional investment or expressiveness or care or something along those lines. like when you’re writing a fic and something absolutely devastating happens to a character and they/the characters who love them just kinda Barely Acknowledge It except for a few quips that might be following a canonical lead established by canon not having much time to delve into a character’s emotional responses to something, but fic often depicts far more like. impactful or traumatic or moving events and having characters react the same way to that as they did to their run of the mill canon events can have the effect of being technically “in character” but in a way that is so emotionally bankrupt it is fully unrecognizable anyway.

[aiden21]

A Universe of Coincidences Present Mic x gn!Reader

Word count: 4k+

You’d moved into this new apartment expecting nothing other than a change in scenery. You’d initially fallen in love with the view that your balcony provided. You were on a high enough floor that no other building nearby really got in the way, and if you closed one eye and stretched out one hand, it kinda looked like you were holding some of the city in the palm of your hand. You didn’t even care about the fact that the apartment itself was a little small, and you spent most of your free time out on the balcony in a small garden chair, just gazing out at the world happily.

You only went out a few times a week for anything that wasn’t work, this afternoon being one such case, for groceries or other necessities. You had a small list in your hand, not trusting your memory, and got in the elevator. The doors were about to close when you heard someone running and you instinctively pressed the button to keep the doors open. A man trotted inside the elevator, a charming smile on his face.

“Thank you~” He told you, in clear English, and you smiled shyly back at him.

You shook your wrist out of pure instinct, the charms on your bracelet clinging together. It was a black bracelet with red roses and you realized the man was staring at it with cheerful eyes.

“Did you just move in? I don’t think I’ve seen you around this venue before.” He asked, green eyes sparkling behind a modest pair of glasses. He was cute, you told yourself, with his long blonde hair and little mustache.

“I’ve been in 1407 for a few days.” You said, offering your last name and a polite smile. He hummed, nodded, and then when the elevator reached the ground floor all too quickly, he pointed at you with a finger gun.

“Welcome to the building! Enjoy the show!” He said before walking out while whistling happily, his strides much longer than yours. You waved at his back dumbly, already getting the feeling that you knew him from somewhere. You pondered upon that as you walked to the store, feeling like you had the answer on the tip of your tongue. But, alas, you didn’t think you’d ever seen that man face to face before and so you pushed the thought out of your mind for a while.

The following morning found you in comfy clothes, the sliding door to the balcony wide open to let the breeze in. You were unpacking a few things, hanging some decorations, while your favorite album played in the background. You had one of those modern vinyl players along with five of your favorite records, all a gift from your family last Christmas, and you liked to listen to them like that, even though you had the songs on your phone. It’d be a shame to just let the vinyls gather dust, after all. You sang along, placing things on shelves and stacking empty boxes on top of one another. You were far from being a good singer, but being home alone gave you the confidence to try and hold longer harmonies or reach higher notes, all things you wouldn’t be caught doing out in public.

You half danced your way around your living room, putting things in their new places. You stepped out into your balcony, still singing happily. You looked at your plants, reminding yourself that you had to water them once the sun went down.

You stretched, butchering the high note on the song but belting it out regardless, and then you stopped dead when another, much more harmonious voice joined you. Apartments on the same floors technically all shared one long balcony, but it’d been divided by walls on either side so everyone could have their privacy. Thus, you couldn’t actually see who was out on their balcony. But the voice—male, for what you could tell—sounded impossibly close. They kept on singing along to your music, clearly not caring about being heard, and you ran back inside with a hand over your mouth, blushing like crazy.

You tripped on the rug and cursed out loud, knocking over a stack of books. Outside the voice laughed cheerfully and you wanted to bury yourself alive out in the garden. Thankfully, they said nothing after that and, not having seen their face, you managed to swallow down your embarrassment. You pushed back the feeling that you knew that voice, not wanting to even think about what neighbor had caught you singing like a teenager.

You came back from work one day feeling exhausted. You wanted nothing more than to climb into bed, listen to some music, and go to sleep. You stepped inside the building and immediately the guard stopped you in the lobby. He pointed you towards some boxes—at least ten boxes big enough to fit a medium-sized dog inside—and told you that they were yours. Of course they were. During your move a few of your things had gotten lost, you having moved from one end of Japan onto the other, and the moving company had promised you that the boxes had simply gotten mixed up in someone else’s move. You half believed that you’d never see those things again, but lo and behold, you got your things back. Now to get them up to your apartment all by yourself, since the guard couldn’t leave his post at the gate. Wonderful.

The first box was easy.

The third one felt a little heavier.

The seventh one had you gasping and you were honestly considering just leaving the rest of your stuff in the lobby until the end of times. You were tired and annoyed and hungry and still in your work clothes.

The elevator opened with a cheerful ding and you sighed, dragging your feet and taking another box with the word ‘books’ written on top. You attempted to lift it, the air leaving your lungs on that first attempt before you got a better hold of the box. Your back was killing you and your arms hurt, but you carried on towards the elevator. Unable to use your hands, you attempted to balance on one leg so you could free one hand just long enough to call the elevator, but no such luck. You lost your balance and, while you caught yourself in time, the box was heading straight for the floor. But then, fast as lightning, a hand reached out and caught the side you’d lost your grip upon.

“That was close! Almost missed a beat!” He said and you immediately smiled in relief.

“Thank you,” You said, a nervous laugh escaping you. You tried to take the box back, but the blonde man easily took it from you with a friendly smile. He was wearing a flattering red jacket and stylish black pants, his hair pulled back into a messy bun.

“I got it.”

You felt a little awkward, a little dumb, a thousand things, “I don’t wanna bother you.”

“No problemo. Happy to help!” He responded cheerfully, anchoring the box with his hip, and easily calling for the elevator himself. You felt hot under your shirt and you weren’t sure if it was because of the effort of the past boxes or what.

No, fuck it, you knew what it was.

“Hold on, let me get another one before the elevator gets here,” You said, practically running away. There were three boxes left, and you read over the words written on them to try and decide which one would be the easiest one to carry. Or should you take a heavier one? Which would be less embarrassing? You finally picked one that said ‘pictures’ and made your way back, getting inside the already open elevator. He looked over your head, chuckling at the sight of boxes still left behind. He put his box down and told you to wait and you watched in absolute dismay as he stacked the two remaining boxes one on top of the other, easily—easily, the smooth bastard— carrying them over.

You were beet red when he got in the elevator with you, his happy-go-lucky smile threatening to burn you.

“Not to pry, but what’s all this?” He said, almost teasingly, and you had to look away.

“Some boxes went missing during my move. I already got everything else in my apartment.” You said shyly. He hummed, nodding. When you got to the 14th floor, he got off the elevator with two boxes while you carried the other two, thankful that he’d allowed you to help him. He was the one helping you, you knew that, but you still felt embarrassed at the fact.

He’s just a normal neighbor, he’s being friendly.

You got to your door and you pushed it open with your hip, wincing internally at how plain and messy your place was. You lived alone and many of your things had been missing, so you hadn’t bothered with some of your things. Your favorite record was on the counter, right where he placed the boxes he’d helped carry. You turned to steal a glance at his face and you saw him pursing his lips together, trying almost in vain to bite a smile back and you wanted to jump out the window. Still, you inhaled slowly and pushed your embarrassment back, offering him a smile.

“Thanks for the help, really.”

“My pleasure. I’m here all week.” He shot at you with finger guns, almost posing as he did so, and you giggled. He was a little goofy, but you liked that.

“Do you want some help with unpacking?” He asked but you shook your head immediately. “N-no, I’m okay. Thank you, though, I really owe you one!” You gave him a wide, bright smile, and he stared at you for a second. His brows raised a little beneath his glasses and you looked down on instinct, thinking you’d made a weird face. Then you perked up, turning towards your kitchen.

“Oh! Would you like some water? I can also make some tea or coffee if you’d like!” You sounded nervous, you couldn’t help it, but you knew it was the polite thing to do now that he was inside your house.

“I’d love to, but I gotta bounce.” He said, smiling apologetically. You stopped to look at him and then, almost embarrassed, you walked towards the door by his side. “Duty calls, the crowd is cheering, you know how it is.”

You nodded, not really understanding what he meant but smiling regardless. He gave you a small salute and started walking away, you already closing your door behind him. Then, right before it locked,

“It’s Yamada, by the way.”

“Huh?” You asked, reopening the door and peeking your head out. He had another easy-going smile on his lips.

“My name. You told me yours but I haven’t told you mine. I’m Yamada.” With that, he left.

You closed your door with a dumb smile, pinching your cheeks to try and stop yourself from blushing like a teen. You were a grown adult for crying out loud, your cute neighbor helping you out shouldn’t be something to fluster over. Still, you smiled.

You sat right in the division between your balcony and your living room, wanting to feel the night breeze but also wanting to listen to your radio. The device was inside and the volume was low out of respect for your neighbors, and you sighed contentedly as one song ended and another began. Your breath blew away the steam coming out of your mug and you smiled, taking a small sip of your drink. It was a beautiful night, the view of the city looking as if stars had landed on the ground, lights twinkling everywhere.

You always had trouble falling asleep, no matter what you tried. Tea and music helped a little, but at your core, you were a night owl. Most days were the same, you working into the early morning just to make the most out of your nights, but Friday was different. Because on Fridays Present Mic did his radio show and you absolutely loved it. Three hours of music, both foreign and local, only interrupted by one of the most charismatic, funniest heroes out there. What wasn’t there to love?

And now that you had your new place, with that gorgeous view, well, you could’ve stayed out there forever.

“And we’re back! How did you like the new song, listeners?” A familiar, animated voice flowed out of your speakers.

“Tonight, my lovely listeners, I’d like to pose you all with a little situation.” He said, something he did every week without fault. He would ask something to the audience and then, after a few more songs, he’d read a few of the responses he got online. It was sweet and fun and a nice way to interact with his audience, not to mention the only way you had to even speak a word to the guy. For as long as you’d watched the show, your responses had only been read twice thus far and, while frustrated to not get your favorite hero’s attention more often, you were still happy with those two little shoutouts.

“Pardon if I get a little cheesy, but sometimes the melodies of the soul grow tender and you can’t help but wonder a few things.”

You took another sip of your tea, Twitter open in your phone just so you could answer as fast as possible.

“Do you think sometimes life works in our favor?” He paused, chuckled, and then cleared his throat. “See, I think we attract things our way. We write our own songs, if you will. But sometimes I’ll have these moments, where the universe really seems to be trying to get my attention and I won’t be able to tell if it’s really a sign as much as it is a coincidence, you feel me?”

You listened to him intently, your phone forgotten by your side. It was… odd. Really odd. You’d heard this man’s voice over the radio for years but something felt different at that moment. Maybe it was the tone of voice, or the subject being discussed, or who knows what, but you got a different feeling this time. But what was it?

“See, I’ve gotten a few this last week. And I’m sure you all get them all the time. And now I’m thinking that, maybe, if the universe sings to you, it’s only polite to join in, harmonize.”

Something crossed your mind, a quick flash, but you shook your head out of pure instinct. No. There was no way.

“My question, or challenge more like it, to you this week is this: if you think you’ve heard the call recently, answer it. Cause you never know who might be listening to you.”

You saw a flash of green eyes, you remembered two elevator rides, but you kept shaking your head. You even laughed, thinking yourself a total idiot. It was impossible, right? I mean sure the voice was eerily familiar, but that was just a coincidence...

Right?

“Of course, as the dutiful host that I am, I can’t ask you to jam out without a proper beat, so I’ll start. Here’s my attempt at seeing if this week has been anything other than coincidences.”

He went silent and you held your breath for a moment, your expression stuck somewhere between mocking and panicked. Then the next song started playing and it took you about two seconds to recognize it. Was the record sleeve still on the counter? Was the vinyl still beneath the needle, waiting to resume that same, exact song?

A few things crossed your mind at that moment. The superficial, more impulsive side of you kinda wanted to toss the radio out the window. The more intense side of you wanted to scream, because Goddammit, HOW HAD YOU NOT RECOGNIZED HIM AT ANY POINT!? Sure, the few times you two had crossed paths he’d been dressed in civilian clothes, he’d been wearing seeing glasses, and his hair had been held together by a simple bun, rather than the crazy updo that he usually wore. But still, you chided yourself, you’d shared an elevator with him twice already. You’d talked to him, face to face. He’d been inside your home, for crying out loud!

How? Hoooooow?

You groaned, letting your back hit the ground while you covered your face in absolute shame. You stayed down until the song was over and, as other songs played, you started going through every stage of grief, in order.

There was no way, absolutely no way. It was just a coincidence, that was all. Your neighbor just happened to be blonde and handsome and also happened to make a few musical references as he spoke, but that was normal. Anyone could do that. Besides, you’d never seen him in costume; there’s no way a respectable hero would go out wearing casual clothes. What if they ran into danger?

How had you not put the pieces together earlier? You were such an idiot, just talking to him as if he was a normal, cute guy. How had you let him carry your boxes for you!? He probably thought you were so dumb by now. How could you be so blind, so DEAF!? HE’D EVEN TOLD YOU HIS LAST NAME! Why had God cursed you with such stupidity?

At this point he started talking again, reading out some of the responses he’d gotten and encouraging people to ‘go for it!’

Oh God, there was no way you’d ever be able to look him in the eye again. You’d never be able to listen to that song again without thinking of how badly you’d messed up, how badly you’d probably offended him by not recognizing him. You’d just moved in, too, and you didn’t think you’d ever be able to step foot outside again. Why had he even played that song? Had he been the one to sing with you and then laugh at you? Oh great. He knew you were an idiot. Wonderful. It was over. Your life was over.

No, wait, maybe there was some way to fix this. Maybe he hadn’t been the one to sing and laugh, maybe he’d just listened to that from his own balcony and found it funny. Maybe this ‘sign’ was meant for the other person, the one that sang so much better than you. Maybe you were making all of it up in your head, a stupid fan moment where you really wanted him to know you, really wanted to be that close to him without even knowing. Besides, you could still sell the apartment and move somewhere far away.

You groaned again, pulling at your hair. You stared at the ceiling as the music stopped, as he gave his audience his usual, animated goodnight, even as the night air grew colder. It must have been sometime past midnight when you finally decided to act like a normal adult once more. You got up, switched the radio off, and closed your balcony door. You heaved a sigh, suddenly craving another cup of tea and a nice, long bath.

You shoved a mug full of water inside the microwave, not in the mood to boil the water properly. You watched the cup go round and round, the loud humming of the appliance giving you a crumb of comfort. You had to relax, you told yourself. Everything would be fine.

The sound of the power outage mimicked a sad sigh, the absolute silence of your apartment slapping you in the face. You sighed, resting your forehead against the counter. If the universe really did send out signs, then you wanted to slap the universe smack dab across the face. You glanced outside and, sure enough, all of the buildings and houses in your area had been plunged into absolute darkness.

“Anything else?” You asked to the heavens, slightly annoyed.

From the hallway, you heard a loud crash and a high-pitched yelp, and you sighed as dramatically as you could. You grabbed your phone, turned on the flashlight, and ventured out.

It was kinda creepy, you weren’t gonna lie. You hadn’t lived in there for long enough to grow familiar with anything, so the pitch-black hallway made you shiver. It was like a horror movie set up, you thought as you turned. You’d look down the other end of the hall and a monster would be waiting for you, ready to strike you down.

Except, it wasn’t a ghost or a ghoul. It was Yamada—should you call him Present Mic? Which would be less awkward to you?— with his green eyes wide and his hands outstretched. He’d knocked over one of those silver cylinders where buildings hide their fire extinguishers and you blinked a little at the sight. Why did he look so guilty?

“You okay?” You asked, stepping out of your apartment. You were glad that the light was aimed away from you, cause you knew you looked flustered and dumb.

“My phone died.” He offered as an explanation and you nodded as he placed the metallic container back in place. You shined your light down the hall, landing on the elevator and shivering.

“Thank God you didn’t get trapped in there.” You murmured. He looked up at you, then at the elevator and you saw him shivering. When he turned to face you, he looked sheepish.

“That would have been quite the show ender, huh?” He chuckled and you kinda smiled at him in the dark. This wasn’t awkward, why were you making it awkward on yourself?

You shone your light on the ground so he could make it over to you without tripping again, not that there were any other obstacles in the way. He gave you a disarming smile and suddenly you wanted to run back into your apartment and never come out again. Still, with the power out, your nice side won the battle raging in your chest.

“Which one’s your apartment?” You asked, almost a mumble. Yamada looked at you, blinking a few times, and you waved the light around a little. “I’ll walk you over. Wouldn’t wanna leave you in the dark.”

“Thanks!” He said, in English, and you nodded. He guided you down the hall into apartment 1403, which was on the same side of the hall as your own. Remembering your improvised little concert from a few days ago, you blushed madly. Of course you shared balconies, why wouldn’t you.

“Home sweet home,” He said, looking for his keys amongst an endless amount of pockets. He finally found them and you couldn’t help but smile at the keychains dangling from his set of keys. He had a little black cat, a rose, a little cloud, and a rubber duck, the last one making you giggle quietly. He looked at you in the dark for a moment, not even trying to find the right key. After a few seconds he snapped out of it and he unlocked his door in a flash. He pushed it open a little and neither of you moved.

“Aren’t I lucky you of all people were awake to shine my path,” He joked, sounding more nervous than you’d ever heard him, even from his radio show.

“It’s okay,” You smiled kindly, fighting back your emotions. “I did own you one, after all.”

He chuckled, nodding and rubbing the back of his neck. There was a moment of silence, both of you trying to figure out just what you should do next. You moved your phone, the light illuminating the wall.

“Why are you up so late, anyway?” He asked you. You had to bite back a panicked laugh, the events of the night replaying in your head. Not too late to sell the apartment, you told yourself.

“I was making some tea,” You said lamely, hands fidgeting. It was such a dumb thing to say since it didn’t actually answer his question, but it was all you had. “But then the power went out and, I mean, my stove’s electric anyway. I guess I’ll have to wait till tomorrow.”

You added that last part as a segway, a crutch of sorts that would allow you to excuse yourself before you could say anything else that might make you look like more of a fool. It was a shame, really. If you weren’t so embarrassed right now then you might try to keep the conversation going. He was handsome and polite, after all. But no, you had too much in your head, songs and signs and vibrant green eyes and you should probably go now, you told yourself. You mumbled a polite ‘goodnight’ before turning on your heels, already set on going home. Behind you, Yamada hesitated. He swallowed thickly, cursed his dumb brain, and then,

“My stove’s not electric.”

You stopped, frowning.

“Huh?” You turned back, raising the light a little just so you could look at him without outright blinding him. He was playing with his keys, his eyes on the ground. Was that… a blush on his face?

“My stove works even without power,” He explained dumbly, eyes only focusing on you for one second at a time as he spoke. “And I have tea. I mean, I’m not… Do you wanna come inside?” He held out his hands, a quiet and shy offer now between you. It was an invitation, a question and a hopeful wish all in one and his face reflected that perfectly.

You blinked, feeling numb for a second before a warm, tingly feeling crawled up your arms. You wanted to bite back your smile, wanted to convince yourself that he was just being kind, but there were too many coincidences by now.

If the universe is calling, then it’s only polite to respond, right?

“I’d like that. A lot.” You said. His eyes opened wide, forest tones enclosed by a ring of lovely, pastel green, and you smiled. He grinned from ear to ear, finally opening his door fully and stepping aside to let you in.

You hummed for a second, feeling a lot braver than you had in a long while.

“By the way,” You said teasingly, “That’s not my favorite song in the album.”

He blinked, watching you walk into his home with an almost shocked expression. He finally laughed, closing the door behind you both.

[pootlespud]

Ready Player Two by Ernest Cline (Book Review)

Monday 30th November 2020 Book Review - Ready Player Two by Ernest Cline First time reading. Rating: ** So I finished Ready Player Two! I'm sad to say that it didn't live up to the expectations I had for it especially after I thoroughly enjoyed reading Armada earlier this year. I did see some negative comments about RP2 before I started reading it so I'm not sure if that just put me in a mindset of negativity or if I would have felt this way even if I hadn't seen negative comments. The first part of this review will be spoiler free and the later part will include spoilers but I'll include a warning where the spoilers start. I also know this is a long one so there's a tldr on the last page if you'd rather read it!

[Spoiler free section but contains spoilers for Ready Player One] Ready Player Two picks up where Ready Player One left off, Wade has won Hallidays contest and inherited the OASIS and the rest of Hallidays property. As part of his inheritance, Wade comes across new technology developed by Halliday but never released to the world that leads Wade and the rest of the High 5 on a new Easter Egg hunt with a brand new villain turning up to make things complicated. My biggest issues were in the first 100 pages with the writing, pacing and characters and then when the plot finally got going my issue was with the main villain and their treatment. I also just find it awkward reading Cline's attempts at women, POC and LGBT+ representation. While I do appreciate the effort and inclusion, it's not done very well and clearly Cline hasn't got the right people around him to point this out. As well as issues with his writing of these types of characters I also have issues with the content. Unnecessary sex references, repeating small points multiple times, over-complication of minor details, treating the reader like an idiot, and more effort put into the nostalgic references rather than progressing the plot. A lot of these also combine into the issues I had early in the book with the pacing, sometimes moments were being unnecessarily drawn out and other times there were moments which I wish had more attention given to them. As the book progressed I found this issue lessened as the plot moved forward but it's still something that was an issue for me again towards the end. Most of the characters I actually didn't have a huge issue with apart from some characters being more side-lined and not getting quite as much time as I would have liked but that would be a minor issue. My bigger issue, especially at the beginning of the book, was with Wade, our main character. He's obnoxious and brags about everything he now has. He has an anger issue which makes him even more unlikeable and he totally violates the privacy of people using the OASIS system! As the plot progresses and he has less opportunities to be like this I found I could tolerate him more but there were still lines that I found myself scoffing at throughout the book. I want to also talk about the villain and why I had issues there as well but because it would contain spoilers I'll talk about what I did like first of all, explain the reasons for my rating and then get into the spoilers. So! Although I've been pretty negative so far there was some parts I actually did like which stopped me from dnf-ing the book. Although RP2 has some pretty bad writing and pacing issues I did actually enjoy the plot. I thought when it eventually got going it was actually pretty fun and I enjoyed a lot of the references even though Cline does treat his readers a bit like we're idiots when he's explaining them. I also still love Samantha/Art3mis and a lot of the other characters in the book so that managed to keep me going. Samantha has always been the more level headed and responsible one but she's still utterly badass and I wouldn't mind her being a role model for young girls reading these books. I was sort of conflicted between 2 and 3 stars for my rating because while in the end I can say I reasonably enjoyed the book I also had so many issues and those first 100 pages really annoyed me. Ultimately I settled on 2 stars because I know that I'm never going to reread this book but I also didn't dislike it enough to only give it 1 star. Now I'm going to get into the spoiler section and talk about my main issues with the villain and some of the spoiler-ey stuff that I actually did like so this is your spoiler warning for this section! [SPOILERS for Ready Player Two] So the villain is Halliday. Not really, technically the villain is a corrupted copy of Halliday's memories housed inside his OASIS avatar Anorak. I think by making this distinction Cline was trying to show a difference between Halliday and Anorak and that they're two different "people" which possibly would have been fine if Cline hadn't also totally dragged on the "real" Halliday in the process. He goes to great lengths to let us know that the real Halliday actually wasn't a good guy at all and was actually a sociopath. I have a few issues with this. The first and more minor issue is that, from what I remember, Halliday is portrayed as a good guy in RP1 and somebody a lot of the characters, especially Wade, admire. I didn't reread or rewatch RP1 before reading RP2 (especially as the movie is so different) so maybe I'm misremembering but it just felt like such a shock. I am well aware that Halliday wasn't perfect, especially when it comes to Kira and Og but that doesn't mean he needs to be villainised! I think the first book/movie perfectly showed how flawed he was without making him a villain and it's just so upsetting to me that Cline went in this direction for RP2. I also have an issue with Halliday as the villain because I think it could be so damaging for people who looked at Halliday and saw this socially awkward introvert who is also a genius and were inspired by that or could see parts of themselves in Halliday's character but now they're being told that, actually, because he pined after his friend's wife he's a sociopath! I think it could be so damaging to people who looked up to him. As I said, Halliday in the first book is flawed but so is everybody and he could still have been a brilliant role model for kids if Cline hadn't taken RP2 in this direction. For my final complaint regarding Halliday I felt like his relationship with Og and Kira was ruined in this book. Yes, in the first book his relationship with them was strained but I feel like they still loved each other. Even though Og had nothing to do with the company anymore Halliday still included Og in his will. I think Og still had affection for him and I never felt like they were friends through any sense of duty from Og. But here that relationship was totally butchered and Halliday felt like somebody Og and Kira tolerated because they felt sorry for him. And look where it got them, he totally violated Kira's privacy multiple times! Because of course Halliday couldn't just harmlessly pine over her, he had to go and do something absolutely mental. It just feels so out of character because even though he's a bit socially awkward he's a really smart man and should know better than to do this! It also at times felt like Halliday was the butt of their jokes which is just horrible! And not at all how I remembered any of these characters. As I said, maybe I'm mis-remembering but even so it was still a cause of discomfort and greatly affected my enjoyment of the book. But that's not all folks! Anorak isn't the only villain! Sorento is back! I just don't like the character at all so instantly I was annoyed because I dislike him so much but then he really wasn't involved that much at all which makes me wonder why Cline even brought him back to begin with?! He had one moment towards the end where he played a role in the death of Og and the "battle"/"escape" (how ever you want to word it) that ensued but I feel like this could have been done in a different way without having to bring Sorento back just for this. For spoiler-ey stuff that I did like. I liked Kira being more of a central character and getting to find out more about her. I think she's a really cool character and it was nice to go on her adventure this time around. I liked all the quests for the shards, especially the John Hughes one as a big John Hughes fan myself! I also liked the final battle between Og and Anorak. It's something that I think Cline does really well and also showed that he can do big, epic endings without it having to be a big battle sequence with lots of characters. 1v1 worked just as well and was just as enjoyable to read if not even more so. And that's the end of the spoiler section! Here's the tldr because I know this has been a long one! TLDR (Spoiler free) I had a lot of issues with Ready Player Two, specifically with the writing, pacing and handling of some of the key characters. I gave it 2 stars because I already know I'm not going to reread it so I wouldn't give it a 3 but I didn't dislike it enough to give it a 1. There were some elements that I did enjoy that managed to keep me going. Thanks so much for reading! Let me know if you've read RP2 and your thoughts or if you're planning on reading it (if so I hope you enjoy it more than I did!) Rating: ** Blog | Twitter | Goodreads (Read it first on my blog.) 

[funkymeihem-fiction]

A Hairy Situation

Commission fic for ObsidianRose- Thank you so much for your support!

***

“Jamie, can you even see?”

“Huh? See wot?”

“Anything?”

Mei scurried in from the open doorway, holding his prosthetic arm and peg. Jamison grumbled from the plastic folding stool in the tub, scooting to the very edge and sullenly patting the stump of his arm with his ragged towel before going to re-attach his limb. Waiting until he felt the familiar little sting of the archaic nerve-receptors digging into his skin, he clicked the joints of his fingers before he leaned to start on the leg as well, ignoring Mei’s fussing at where he was dripping all over the floor.

“Whaddaya mean, can I see? Did I miss a spot? I used soap and everything just how you like, that’s gotta pass muster! Grab me another towel, darl? Ugh, why’s water gotta be so wet—” He blinked as the wet yellow curtains in front of his vision were suddenly parted. “Oh, there you are. Yeah, ‘nother towel?”

Mei scrunched her nose, trying to slick back the mess of blond locks that were draped all over his head. They stuck to his crooked features and did nothing to help his ‘freshly drowned rodent’ look. “I thought your hair was looking a lot thicker now. Look at this, your bald spots are—”

“Oi!”

“I mean, um, your…follically-challenged areas, they’re getting better! See! Dr. Ziegler was right about the vitamins and everything.” She leaned to kiss away a droplet of water from the tip of his freckled nose. “And I was right about using the soap, Mr. Stinky.”

“Yeah, well!” His expression melted at the touch of her lips, eyes going gooey before he drew himself up to look affronted once more. “Tch! Yeah, well…Only reason I was taking those horse pills was because you threatened me. Blech. Does it look good, though? Hey, you think I should grow a beard? Oh, I bet I could stick so many explosives in a great long beard!”

“Let’s not get carried away. Actually, your hair is getting really long too. When was the last time you had it cut?”

“Why would I ever cut my hair? You know how hard it is to grow luscious locks such as these?” He reached up and tugged at a handful of blond, then blinked down at his palm. “Oh, uh…Usually they kind of fall out when I do that. Blimey, that’s pretty thick.”

Mei smiled, grabbing a nearby towel and starting to twist it around his head for him, the way she did for her own long hair. “You’re healing from all that radiation, then! This is good news! But you’re getting all shaggy, so it’s time for a haircut.”

His yellow eyes swerved upward at the makeshift turban sitting atop his head, sniffling water from one nostril. “Not so sure I like the idear of some stranger going at me with a pair of scissors, darl. What if they cut my head and then go for the throat next? You can’t spell ‘barber’ without ‘butcher’.”

“That’s…not how—”

“Asides, best way to get rid of hair is to burn it off! Here, help me out of the tub, I got the perfect stuff!”

She pushed him down where he started to get up. “Oh no you do not! You sit here and dry the rest of the way off, I’m going to go look up a video on how to give you a quick haircut. I cut my own hair sometimes, so I’ll just give you a little trim.”

“You’re no fun at all, love.”

Mei beamed back at him. “I know. Okay, let me go do a quick tutorial and I’ll be right back with the scissors!”

***

“Oops.”

“Wait, why’d you oops? You’re not supposed to oops!”

“No, it’s fine! Stop trying to move your head, I just have to fix this part!”

Junkrat jerked his head back into place, fingers twitching madly on the armrests. He sat in the kitchen with a damp towel still draped around his shoulders, trying to ignore the fact that there was a pair of sharp cutters buzzing around him. Even if it was Mei wielding them, he couldn’t help but be nervous. Especially with her audible ‘oops’.

“It’s fine, really,” she assured him, pausing to press rewind on the video tutorial. It had turned out that cutting another person’s hair was a lot more different than she’d thought, compared to cutting her own. “You have longer hair than the man in the tutorial, but we’re just doing a trim, so all I have to do is watch the length and make sure it’s even on both sides. Um. Okay. Hold still, I’ll just cut the other side just a tiny bit more.”

He heard the snip of the scissors, trying his very best not to fidget. Click click. Snip snap. The metal was dangerously close to his ears, and even his poor hearing could trace its every movement. Cold, sharp scissors next to his ears, just like that time back when he’d run his mouth in Junkertown, and they’d put him on the chair and made a list of what pieces he could spare…

“Is it done?! Are we done yet?” He couldn’t keep the screech out of his voice. “Looks great, darl, I think it’s done!”

“What? You haven’t even seen it yet. And you still can barely see through it. Just hold still a little longer, okay? I think I have it just about even…”

Snip snip. Click click. Hiss hiss. The scissors were moving around his head again, towards his eyes, and his neck…

He flinched.

Then Mei flinched.

A large chunk of yellow hair slowly drifted down onto the floor. Behind him, Mei froze up with the scissors still closed, before she backed up and put one hand over her mouth. “Mmm! No no no! Y-you moved and…I’m sorry, I’m so sorry! Here, I can fix it!”

He tried to stay still, he really did. But his shot nerves were now mirrored by his girl, and her attempts to try and even out the absent chunk were only resulting in more chops and more chunks as little bits of hair continued to scatter around his chair. And when Mei uttered a little whimper, he chanced a glance to her and found her chin thrust out and her eyes watering like she was about to cry.

She put aside the scissors, voice warbling as she hesitantly took the mirror from the counter and turned it towards him.

“I-I didn’t mean to…I don’t think I fixed it. Sorry. Sorry, I’m sorry.”

Junkrat blinked owlishly at his reflection. Frankly, ‘disaster’ was the normal state of his hair in the first place. But this? This was a kind of disaster he simply wasn’t familiar with. The burnt and scorched black bits in his hair were gone…but then again, so was a lot of his hair too. And now it couldn’t just be blamed on his old bald spots. It was jagged on the edges, hanging in uneven rags around his head or sticking out in odd places where it hadn’t been before. Setting his entire head on fire, which had been his plan in the first place, probably would have been doing his hair a kindness.

But Mei was ready to burst into tears at any second, so he put on his biggest smile instead. “Aw, darl! It ain’t all bad! Now this is a sort of new junker look, this is!”

“Y-you’re just saying that to make me feel better,” she sniffled.

“C’mon, Snowflake, it’s just hair! How about I take some more of those vitamins, make it grow back real fast so we can try again!”

“I ruined it!”

“Nah, nah, it’s always ruined anyway. No need to get crook. Junkrat’s always got a Plan B!”

She wiped at one cheek with her knuckles, shaking her head. “Jamie, I am not letting you set your head on fire. But I’m not sure I should be cutting it anymore, either. I think I need some help.”

“Er…From?”

***

He wasn’t entirely sure how it had happened or why he’d agreed to it, but now he was sitting on a chair in the middle of Overwatch’s main common room, surrounded by agents who were whispering and occasionally chuckling over the state of his hair. He growled and crossed his arms petulantly, pondering if it would be worth it to just blast his way out of this whole situation. But Mei was still looking awfully weepy, head down and cheeks red in shame from where she had turned his head into such a monstrosity.

It wasn’t helped by the stupid fucking face that Hanzo was making, with his dumb little pursed lips where he was clearly trying not to smirk at someone else’s misfortune. Catching Junkrat’s eye, the archer seemed to purposefully run his hands through his own silken black locks, voice dripping with disdain. “Honestly, I am not sure if any of this can be salvaged. Yet somehow, it manages to be an improvement from before.”

Junkrat heard Mei make a despairing little sound of shame at Hanzo’s words, and it took all his willpower not to jump up and double-grenade the archer right in his stupid handsome face. Maybe he’d be able to set someone’s head on fire today after all. It was only the distraction of Lucio and Hana that ended up saving Hanzo from having his very own hair emergency.

Hana squinted, circling around him. “Wow. Wow. Okay. No offense, Mei, but this looks like a chainsaw accident and calls for a serious salon intervention. I know some really good guys who might be able to salvage this. Maybe.”

Junkrat waved a hand to shoo her away from her phone. “Nah! I’m not going to go to some stranger. Can’t trust ‘em. I keep telling you, Mei can fix it! Just lop off a little more and she’ll be right!”

Lucio lingered forward from behind Mei was furiously shaking her head, prodding at a strange yellow curl that was sticking out from Junkrat’s left side where it hadn’t been before. “I dunno, J-Man. I know you don’t like strangers but Hana might be right on this one.”

“Well why don’t you just cut it then! Mei, give him the things!”

“Hey man, my hair takes care of itself, I never cut it at all. Maybe someone else here knows how to cut hair?”

Mei shyly lifted a hand. “Ms. Vaswani? I’ve seen her do it before. So careful and meticulous, she’s very good at it!”

Lucio half-lidded his eyes at the woman who was leaning by the counter with her arms folded and a sour expression on her face. Clearing his throat, he turned to look at the rest of the crowd. “Hm. Yeah. Maybe someone else?”

Satya gave both Lucio and the raggedy-haired junker an unimpressed look before lifting her nose in the air and pointedly turning away. “Absolutely not. I mean no offense, Dr. Zhao, but that is an unacceptable proposal. The state of Mr. Fawkes is regrettable, but I find that is very often the case. I have utterly no inclination to…”

Junkrat snorted aloud. “Touch me? What, because of the dirt? Just was in the tub, I’ll have you know. Still got a squeaky clean donger and everything. Oi, you’re not still sore about the prototypes what got blown up, are you? And after that lab incident with the dynamite umbrellas? Okay, not one of my most winning plans, I can admit it! Tch. Dunno why you always gets so worked up, lady. It was just a bit of soot. And some bricks. And fire. It builds character!”

Hanzo was unable to stifle a cold chuckle, only to have McCree sock him hard in the arm.

Mei winced a little, waving both hands as Satya narrowed her eyes. Strategically placing herself between the two, she interrupted them both before another argument could break up, trying to focus on the haircut disaster already at hand. “Th-that’s fine, Ms. Vaswani! Thank you! Um…Mr. Roadhog? Have you dealt with something like this before?”

Roadhog grunted.

Mei paused, but no more information was forthcoming. So she tried again. “Maybe you’ve cut Jamie’s hair for him?” She wondered aloud, trying to imagine the old biker’s huge spike-gloved fists holding something as delicate as a pair of beauty trimmers. “How did you deal with haircuts out in the Outback?”

Roadhog stepped forward, one enormous hand enveloping a fistful of Junkrat’s hair…and he pulled.

Junkrat, understandably, began caterwauling in response, punching up at Roadhog’s arm. “Owowowow! GETTOFF! What’re you doin’, ya drongo?! It’s attached this time! OW!”

Roadhog released his grip, looked down, and seemed mildly surprised that Junkrat’s hair was indeed still stuck to his skull. With a shrug, he stepped back with a ‘negative’ sort of a grunt, and didn’t try again.

Soldier 76 spoke up from the sidelines. “I was in the army. For a time. Could get some trimmers and give it a buzz.”

Junkrat covered his head with both arms protectively. “Don’t cut it all off! I worked hard for it, you know! Ugh, Mei darl, let’s forget this whole thing, just grab the snippers and let’s go back t—”

The door slammed open and all eyes turned to Zarya, who strode in with great purpose in her stride and a toolbox under one arm. The little crowd parted before her, and she slammed the box down on the table and glared down at the messy-haired junker down in his chair. Junkrat glared right back at her, jaw setting, a growl rattling in his throat as the two faced each other down.

“Rat Man.”

“Russki.”

“Mei has called me to fix you. I said to her ‘Oh Mei, there is too much to fix!’ but she said it is just your hair. That, I can do,” Zarya said, before turning and opening the toolbox.

Rat was going to snap something back at her, but his reply was cut off when he looked past her, into the open box. Inside was a vast assortment of combs, scissors, trimmers, hair dyes, elastics, and more hair accessories than he had ever seen in his entire life. A whole beauty shop had been crammed into that box. And Mei was looking so, so hopeful at it all. His insults died in his throat, and he merely grumbled something inaudible as he slumped down into his chair.

Mei seemed far happier about the situation, clasping both hands as she fluttered around them. “I thought you might know what to do! I really messed it up, but I’m sure you can fix it. Thank you so much for your help.”

The much taller woman looked flustered, pretending to stare into her toolbox a little harder. “Ah…Hmph, it is fine. You are welcome. This is for you, Mei.”

She descended on Junkrat’s mangled scalp, and he could only sit there with a shellshocked expression as she worked. Combs worked at tangles, little delicate clippers snipped at uneven edges, and there was a buzzing in his ears as the trimmer went sliding smoothly across his bristled skull. Zarya squinted, focused, sweated, and worked in stalwart and disapproving silence. The rest of Overwatch stood in silence as well, with occasional little whispers as she worked. Slowly, bit by bit, Junkrat’s hair began to recover from its grisly state.

By the time she was done, the junker was sitting there with a haircut that…actually suited him far more than Mei or anyone else would have assumed. The sides has been buzzed, cut off into fading edges, and he was left with a loose mohawk of yellow locks that draped to one side of his head: just rebellious enough for his wild nature, but neat enough for Mei’s approval. And when she finally stepped back, lifting up her arms in triumph as she unveiled the baffled Junkrat below her, a cheer went up from her audience.

“Oh wow, that’s so much better!”

“He actually looks kind of…good, now?”

“Woooo, J-Man, that looks sharp!”

A mirror was thrust into Rat’s hands, and he ran his metal fingers through his newly trimmed locks. Even he had to admit that it looked good. It looked pretty damn good. He could admit that. He just wouldn’t admit it aloud, that was all. So he turned away from the gloating Zarya, to the one person whose opinion actually mattered.

“D’you like it, Snowflake?”

“You look amazing!” Mei’s arms wound around him from behind, resting her cheek against his new ‘do. “Thank you so much, Zarya, this really means a lot. And Jamison, I’m sorry but I’m never going to try cutting your hair again. Unless I get proper training. Zarya, would you mind teaching me how to do all that?”

“Of course, pingvin. I will even teach you how to cut hair with hazmat suit and gloves, for the rat man.”

“Be nice. He looks so much better now!”

Junkrat didn’t even hear the insult, nor did he offer a reply. He was busy grinning stupidly, features flushed while Mei’s chest all but enveloped his entire head where she was leaning into him. “Huh? Yeah, okay. Heh. Yeah. Cut. Okay.”

Maybe he should get his hair cut more often after all.

[footbaliimagines]

happy birthday (a hector bellerin imagine)

Summary: he has a new girlfriend, and she’s totally, completely, entirely 100% fine with that, right? 

Seeing him was strange. Arriving at his birthday party and walking through a house that should have been theirs wasn’t just strange, but plain weird.

The kitchen is busy, with people crowded shoulder-to-shoulder around the island and countless empty beer cans and food wrappers littering the table. The atmosphere is light and jovial, with Justin Bieber blasting in the background and the golden fairy lights giving the room a warm glow. She continues to nurse her gin and tonic and every now and then, grabs a salted pretzel from the bowl to her left. She doesn’t want to be such a “debbie-downer” (in her best friend’s words, who keeps on trying, to no avail, to get her to join in with the karaoke in the living room where Crazy in Love is being butchered and the wine is flowing more freely) but she’s just seen him with his arm around her and now any attempts at a smile or a dance would be futile at best.

It’s weird to her that instead of celebrating the weekend and catching up with her best friends, she’s stood there, stationary and seemingly trapped, watching Hector laugh and sway side to side to ‘Shout Out to My Ex’. The choice of the song is so stupidly ironic, and so horrifically embarrassing, that her thoughts can’t help but jump to the events that had caused their downfall only a few months ago.

She downs her drink there and then and realises she wants nothing more than to go home and drown her sorrows in that nice bottle of red she’d been keeping for a big occasion.

(Freaking out over your ex getting a new girlfriend surely classes as a big occasion, right?)

And then her eyes fall on her. Her name had already been mentioned various times and she had picked it up earlier, mentioned cheerily in conversation by some and warily pointed out by those that knew her better. She doesn’t need or enjoy the pity or sympathetic glances.

“She’s his…” A friend had trailed off.

“Girlfriend?” She tries to act cool and calm and collected, as if the thought of him being with someone new doesn’t affect her in the slightest, but her voice is strangled.

They shook their head. “Too soon for that. A new girl he’s seeing.”

And he tells her the name of the new girl-he’s-seeing, but she’s quick to forget it, to act as if the pretty blonde floating around his apartment doesn’t exist, doesn’t faze her. She nods, croaking out a quick “wow, that’s cool”, and pours herself another drink- far too quickly and adding a bit too much vodka, apparently, as her friend picks up on her sudden eagerness to hurry up the effects of her drink, and asks her quickly, “You okay?”

“Perfect.” She grimaces.

It’s pretty evident that she’s lying. Her tightening knuckles and locked jaw also imply that she would much rather be left alone. “Here if you need me.”

“Thanks.”

She watches Hector’s fingers grip her waist and laugh at something she’s saying, and feels her stomach churn. The girl- her name is Emily, she finds out- is whispering something into his ear and running her right hand up and down his sleeve, and God, she wants to hate her so badly, wants her to be annoying, bitchy, fake, anything so she can justify the bitterness and hatred swirling around in front of her, but she’s outgoing and seemingly friendly and apparently her and Hector are a great match.

(She realises the only thing she’s guilty of is being with him, and that is no valid justification.)

It’s been a few months (well, 5 months and 3 weeks, but who’s counting, right?) since they had broken up. Since he had laid it all out on the line in front of her and, like a deer in the headlights, she had stuttered out a ‘I-don’t-think-I-feel-the-same-way-yet’ and bolted. And she’d told herself, and all her friends, over and over again, that she didn’t care, was totally over him and was looking forward to being single again, because that’s how she was.

Strong, independent, headstrong.

He needed her a lot more than she needed him.

(He clearly needed her to tell him to cut his god damn hair, that was for sure.)

Unknown and probably misplaced confidence burns up through her stomach, and she finds herself tapping him on his shoulder. Hector turns around, and an unrecognisable look of confusion, surprise and hurt flashes through his eyes. “Hey, Hec?”

“Hey! I didn’t know you were coming tonight. I’m really glad you could make it.” His words are coming out at a mile a minute and he’s smiling, but she can tell, from the slightly glazed over look in his eyes and the way his lips are firmly pressed together, that he’s lying.

“I just wanted to say happy birthday. I know I texted you and all but I wasn’t sure if you’d got it.”

“My phone’s, er, broke at the moment, so that’s probably why you didn’t hear back.”

(Of course, his failure to reply to her text had absolutely nothing to do with a broken phone, but absolutely everything to do with the fact that he’d had her number blocked ever since that night which had led to that conversation and that fight.)

“Ah.”

Suddenly hollers erupt around them, and a friend who’s clearly drank far too much beer or one too many tequila shots approaches them, screeching drunkenly, “Oh my god, you guys! I can’t believe you’re back together!”

She winces, partly from embarrassment, partly from the fact that Emily just turned her head and was looking at her in confusion and partly from the sheer volume of his yells.

“You need to have a glass of water,” Hector remarks lightly, rolling his eyes good naturedly and shoving their boisterous friend away and slapping his shoulder.

(At least he was able to find the humour in the situation.)

He capers off quickly, probably more excited by the fact that Bruno Mars had just come on shuffle, and they’re left alone again. “Jesus Christ,” she mutters, breaking an awkward smile.

“That’s awkward.”

“Yep.”

They fall into a silence. It’s not pleasant by any means, but it’s not hugely awkward either. He can sense her starting to fidget with her jumper. “How have you been?” She breaks the silence, looking up at him.

It’s a stupid question; she’s probably his Instagram’s most frequent visitor and she hasn’t been short of opportunities to see his face plastered across television screens and billboards. “I’ve been good. And you?”

“Same old, same old.”

It was weird to be stood next to him, in front of all their friends as if nothing had ever happened. If a stranger saw them right now, they would never know that they had been together, that only a few months ago, he had told her how much he loved her only to receive a rejection. After all, his Instagram had been purged of any sign of her and while her presence still lingered in his Facebook, in some old photos he hadn’t bothered to delete, his new relationship status said it all. Single.

Except he wasn’t. Not anymore. He was with her. And she was totally, completely, entirely fine with that.

(At least, that was what she kept telling herself.)

Truth be told, it felt like a punch in the gut. As if someone had sucker punched her in the stomach, knocked the wind right out of her and walloped her over the head with a sandbag at the same time. It wasn’t like he was completely out of her life- they were friends (okay, acquaintances would probably be a more appropriate term) and she would see him from time to time, at gatherings, parties or barbecues. It was always the same sequence of events. She would attempt to smile at him, he would avoid her like the plague. As if they were following a routine.

“Well done in the EUROs,” She spits out, clearly struggling for things to say.

As soon as the words leave her mouth she wants to bolt, or stick her head into the sand, whatever would be more painful.

“Thanks.” He says drily.

(It’s awkward, so so horribly awkward, because she knows him and knows that he’s probably still beating himself up about how they did even to this day. And she winces, regretting opening her mouth in the first place.)

“Look, Hector, “ He can sense the change in her tone of voice, and his defensive walls come springing back up. “I feel like we never got proper closure after last year, and I just want to say that-“

Hector takes one look at her before his heart falls into his stomach and he’s hot on his heels in the opposite direction, towards the balcony. He sighs, inwardly kicking himself and walking up to the railing and leaning resting his elbows in front of him.

Every time, every single fucking time. Every time that he manages to convince himself that he’s over her, ready to draw a line under that part of his life and erase her stupid face from his memory, she pops up again, on his Instagram feed, in the conversations of his friends- or in the worst way possible, standing right in front of him making funny comments and giggling and looking as beautiful as ever.

“You know, you don’t have to bolt every time we’re in the same room,” He hears her voice behind him and feels her approach him. “You don’t have to ignore me.”

“I, um, wasn’t?” Hector’s voice is strangled.

She stands still beside him, and he can feel her gaze fix on his face. His, meanwhile, remains firmly on the night sky in front of him, unable to look her in the eye. “You don’t have to hate me like this,” Her voice falls to a whisper; it’s soft, gentle and makes his heart break all over again as he remembers the tone she had let him down with a year ago.

“I don’t hate you. I don’t think I’d ever be able to.”

“The fact that you ran away from me while I was halfway through a conversation tells me quite the opposite.” she reasons, looking at him.

He chews his bottom lip and begins to drum his fingers against the railing. “That was unrelated. I wanted to get some air,” He fibs, shrugging his shoulders, and taking a swig from his beer.

“You’re a terrible liar. Always have been.”

“Hm.”

“Look, Hector, we have a lot of the same friends, we’re going to see each other. Can we at least try to be friends? Or at least be civil?”

“I think that’s unlikely.”

She sighs. “Don’t be like this.”

“Like what?”

You roll your eyes at his blatant, familiar stubbornness. “You know what I mean.” You press.

“Do I?”

“I swear to God, Hector-“

“I don’t know what’s so difficult for you to understand. We dated, I told you how much I loved you, you said no. Sorted. End of. No need to talk about it. I’m not bitter.”

“You sound it.” She scoffs.

“Well, forgive me for not wanting to act all chummy with the woman who fucked me over.”

“That is so unfair,” She argues. “You knew I wasn’t ready for that kind of commitment. Don’t you dare use that against me.”  

Hector opens his mouth to reply, feeling as if everything was crashing and burning in front of him, when she speaks before he can in a low voice, “Coming here tonight was a bad idea. I’m sorry.”

He rubs the back of his neck with his right hand and attempts to smile, and act as if he’s cool, calm and collected and totally unaffected. “I shouldn’t have run away from you before. You were just trying to be nice.”

“Trying being the operative word,” she comments wryly , provoking a laugh from him. The vision of a smile on his face caused a similar one to tug on her lips too.

Hector finally summons the courage to look at her and examine her face. Her gaze is fixed ahead, across the glittering London skyline, and her cheeks are slightly flushed from the cold. She was more beautiful than he had remembered. He had always known that she was gorgeous- it was clear to virtually everyone- but now, to him, she was positively ethereal, glowing even. He feared that looking into her eyes properly for even a second would blind him.

“You were right.” He manages to blurt out after a few moments of silence.

“About?”

“Me. Us. You were right.”

“I’m not following.” She turns to look at him, scrunching up her nose in confusion.

“We didn’t get closure. And I know why.” He gulps and takes a breath.

She narrows her eyes and prompts him to continue, “Why?”

“Because I’m not over you, and I’m not sure if I ever will be. And I can’t deal with these stupid, filler, bland fucking conversations and this awkward small talk, and I can’t act all pally and play friendly with someone I thought I was going to marry one day.”

She opens her mouth to reply when she hears footsteps and someone scampering to the French doors behind them. It’s Emily, and she’s grinning and gesturing wildly at to him. “Hector, hurry up! We’re doing your cake!” And the music from the dining room is suddenly cut short, presumably so all the guests can sing happy birthday to him.

“Coming, babe.” He smiles at her, though you can tell it’s not quite reaching his eyes, and she darts back inside.  

And she goes to follow Emily back inside (with the ulterior motive of refilling her drink and getting absolutely shit faced to avoid thinking about what he had told her), when Hector pulls on her arm and the next thing she knows, he’s leaning over her with a combination of wariness and fear and expectation flashing in his dark eyes. “Did you ever love me?” He splutters out.

She’s silent, her eyes darting around to avoid looking into his and her heart thumping so loudly she can feel it in the ground beneath her feet. “I know we broke up because you couldn’t say it back. But I want to know if you ever felt it.”

“You’re just asking questions for the sake of it, now.” Her voice is small and it matches exactly how she feels. Small, insignificant, with him towering over her, holding the power to turn her to putty in the palm of his hand. “You know I did.”

“Okay.”

The next thing she knows he’s leaning forward, his hands reaching to cup her face, and as if being shocked with an electric current she takes a step back. “Don’t want to keep your friends waiting, do we?” She wipes the tear pooling underneath her right eye and attempts to smile. “Happy birthday, Hec.”

And then she’s hurrying inside and leaving him stood alone, again, just like that night 6 months ago. He downs the rest of his beer. “Happy fucking birthday to me.”

 ----

A.N.: hi again guys!!!! had this lingering in my drafts for aaaaages and finally sorted it out to resemble an imagine (sort of) it’s a bit long and rambling and angsty which i’m not really used to but i hope you liked it!!! i might do a part 2 for it depending on what you guys think........hmmmm

(also i’ve just realised that i picked a rather odd gif so i will amend that when i next go on my laptop oops lol)

as usual please give feedback and send me requests!!!!! thanks guys xxxxxxx