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literaila · 1 year

Text

push and pull

tasm!peter x fem!reader

summary:

"how are you today? i'm getting a different aura."

you raise a brow, confused.

warnings: fluff, awkward reader and awkward peter. coffee shop vibes, a lot of miscommunication, tiny bit of angst

a/n: what can i say?

peter will admit that when he's working--four times a week eight hours a day--he forgets some social cues.

like what he's supposed to say when someone complains that their coffee is too hot. i'm sorry would you like it iced next time? i'm sorry when you said boiling i thought you actually meant boiling. or what he's supposed to do when someone makes a joke, but not very well, so he's scrambling for an explanation and they're laughing in his face. ha ha ha, you wouldn't believe how many times i've heard that today. or, especially, what he's supposed to do when a girl is flirting with him--outright, with pretty lipgloss and fluttery eyelashes--but all he really wants to do is get her through the line.

working with people, in any close or not-so-close contact, results in forgetting how to interact with anyone. or so has peter found out.

but he's not used to this extent of crossing boundaries.

because he's typically pretty professional. he likes to smile and ask people about their days, and tell them little ways they can make their drink taste better, but he doesn't ever go too far. he doesn't inquire about where he might find this college girl later in the evening, or ask to be invited to a party he doesn't really want to go to.

but this, peter knows, is overstepping.

he's been staring at this girl--at you--for the past ten minutes. and technically, it's not completely his fault because his coworker david accidentally spilled hot coffee all over himself and decided that going home was necessary, leaving peter to take orders, make the drinks, all the while trying to keep his workspace clean.

so it's not his fault that this line hasn't moved very far up. or that you're standing in it, biting your lip and ruffling your hair every couple of seconds, and that peter can't stop staring.

you're wearing a sweater, sleeves pulled past your hands, wrinkled at the bottom. you're tapping your foot against the floor, looking around like you're trying not to look anywhere.

and you're in peter's direct eye line. so at least this--at least right now--he excuses.

he calls another person's name, sliding their drink across the counter and turning back to the register. even he can tell that his smile is a bit lazy.

"what can i get for you?" he asks this man at the counter, a frown plastered to his face, while also, of course, stealing a glance at you.

you're three people away now, and peter can see the tiny furrow between your brows.

he can watch as your eyes flicker over the words on the board above his head, and you purse your lips. he noticed when you look around, almost apologizing to the lady who bumped into you, before turning back around. your foot is tapping nervously on the ground.

and then there's someone making a very strange noise in front of him.

"oh," peter whispers, tilting his head and smiling, sheepishly. "sorry, i just--sorry. what can i get you?"

he's also, effectively, irritating every person who has walked into the coffee shop this morning. and missing out on twenty-percent tips that he really needs.

but anyway.

and by the time you're right in front of him, he almost wants to ask a couple of questions about why you look so nervous. or tell you that he's incredibly sorry for the wait. offer to buy you a scone.

instead, he smiles. "hi," his voice almost breaks. "what can i get for you?"

"just a coffee black, please."

you're not making eye contact with him. to be fair, he's been making enough for both of you.

"that's all?" peter asks before he even thinks about it. "nothing else? no sugar? or whipped cream?"

who gets whipped cream on the top of their drip coffee?

"you're busy," you answer, giving him a tight and short smile. "just the coffee, please. a small."

"i'd rather you'd get something that actually tastes good than save me a couple of seconds."

you stare at him, blinking slowly. peter watches your chest rise and fall. he can hear your heart pounding.

"a small black coffee," he says aloud, putting it into the pos. "that's $4.28."

you hand him a five-dollar bill, fingertips just barely grabbing the corner--maybe so he won't be able to touch you. "keep the change."

peter's eyes meet yours for a millisecond. he nods, instead of answering.

and then he turns around, pours you a cup of coffee, and puts a lid on the top. he hands it to you, trying to achieve his usual customer service smile--and failing. "have a good day," he tells you, kind of like a threat.

you nod. and before you go, peter watches you put four more dollars into the tip jar.

and then there's a lady frowning, asking him what the hell a breve is.

the next time, peter watches you walk through the door.

he's sitting in the back, playing candy crush on his phone because it's two pm, and no one's gotten out of class yet, so it's just him--and nina, who is studying for an exam at the counter--waiting for the rush they know is coming.

so when he looks up, he's not expecting much.

especially not you in a coat, shivering from the cold and brushing snow off of your sleeve.

nina hasn't even looked up yet, but peter just stares as you look around, seemingly embarrassed to be the only person in there. your eyes widen, your movements slow, and then you're looking up, towards the bar, and meeting peter's eyes.

again, eyes a bit puffy and tired.

you look away, continuing to brush snow off of yourself, and peter watches as you take another step back, your fingertips just grazing the handle of the door.

he walks up to the register, hand going to nina's shoulder. "i've got it," he tells her, gesturing towards the back. "you keep working."

"you sure?"

"yeah, yeah. no problem."

his game is blinking idly, colorbomb long forgotten.

and he greats you with a smile, standing at the register like a good little worker, waiting for you to come in. it might be just because he's actually looking at you now--without trying to hide it, or act like a complete lunatic because his eyes are glued to one spot--but you take a step forward, making fists with both of your hands.

"hey," peter rocks on his heels while you get closer, feeling strangely restless. "how are you doing today?"

one of your hands falls, fingers flexing. "good. you?"

"i've only got an hour left in my shift," he tells you, tilting his head while grinning. "so i can't complain. is it cold out there?"

you nod.

"i can make you something warm if you'd like. or if you're more cold-blooded, i can make you a smoothie."

your mouth quirks up, teeth scraping against your lips. "something warm, i think."

peter is still smiling--because he's an idiot, and it has been a shitty day until you walked through that door, peaking something more than his interest. "okay. do you need a minute?"

you shake your head. "can i get a hot chocolate?"

"just regular?" peter asks. "not peppermint or snickerdoodle?"

"regular, please."

peter nods, finally looking away, and down, pretending to type something in. "what size?"

"small."

"small," peter repeats, still nodding. "okay, it should only be a minute."

peter makes your hot chocolate, whistling while doing it, and gets a couple of weird looks from his coworker--which he promptly ignores--and then he goes back to you, trying to tone down his smile this time.

"here you go. enjoy."

your eyes dart from the cup to him, blinking fast. "i haven't paid yet." you're holding some cash, and your other hand goes to push your hair behind your ear.

peter shakes his head, scrunching his nose. "don't worry about it. i owe ya."

"um, you don't--"

"really. it's on the house."

you bite your lip, looking away from him. peter almost laughs when you hesitate to take the cup from his hands. but you do, eventually, grip tight. "are you sure?"

"absolutely," peter says. and he doesn't go back to playing on his phone. instead, he stands at the counter, watching you read something and sip on your hot chocolate.

and he could pretend not to notice--but he does--you leaving when the rush starts. or you slipping a five-dollar bill into the tip jar this time, not bothering to say goodbye.

you come back at the same time next week. and peter is still there, patiently counting the minutes until he can go home--to his bed for forty minutes and then back to work.

today though, he's manning the register, and david is making the drinks.

just a bit of payback.

and also, he's been waiting for you. not that he'll admit to that.

but you walk in anyway, backpack keeping your head up, fingers playing with a ring around your pinky. your hair is up--which is convenient for peter, because then he can stare closer at your neck, and see the visible tension of your jaw.

peter's eyebrows lift as you walk up to the counter. "fancy seeing you here," he says, because he is so smooth. "still cold?"

"better today."

"yeah," peter nods his head, shrugging. "no ski jacket."

your tongue pokes at your cheek, and you look away. "yeah. it's still drying out, so..."

peter almost starts laughing--because he's pretty sure that was a joke, half-assed and a bit awkward--but refrains, just smiling instead. just leaning against the counter so he can get as close as humanly possible to you.

"what can i get you?"

you blow out a breath, looking above his head. and then you glance back at him, almost narrowing your eyes. "are you going to let me pay?"

peter sighs, then nods. "sure. but only because i'm pretty sure he's watching me."

he can feel david's eyes on his back. and he can see the glare coming from his eyes, even without looking.

your cheek twitches. "okay. a mocha, then, please."

"small?" he reaffirms, waiting for you to nod. he enters it in, mostly just so david will make it while he talks to you, hanging his head. "you like chocolate, huh?"

you're not looking at him, but peter watches as you swallow, eyes contemplating. "it's almost impossible to not like chocolate," you answer, quietly. "with the phenylalanine and all."

peter's brow furrows.

you're looking back at him, eyes wide and guilty. "sorry."

"no, no," peter smiles again. "that's just funny."

you tilt your head.

"because i don't like chocolate very much."

it's your turn to frown, which again, almost makes peter laugh, but then someone is clearing his throat behind him, and peter looks back.

"here, peter."

"thanks," he says, meaning anything but. "here you go. you can drink enough serotonin for the both of us."

"sure," you hand him a ten-dollar bill, grabbing your cup. "thank you."

"anytime."

you walk away, and peter watches just a moment longer. and then he realizes that he never gave you your change back.

peter is not working today.

which, is unfortunate, because he's almost sure that you're going to show up, eyes wide and nose frozen. and this time, one of his coworkers will get the fortune of taking your order.

so he has to make the most of his day. going to class and getting lunch and heading to the library to study.

he's in there, looking for a textbook he supposedly needs for a midterm when he catches a glimpse of you in his peripheral vision.

tapping fingers, restless legs, and enough movement to draw his attention. you're reaching up to a shelf, trying to grab a book that you're much too short to reach.

and peter will not admit that he watches for a minute, just because it's a little bit cute (and also because he wasn't expecting to see you today, so he has to mentally prepare himself).

then he walks over to you, stepping right by your side to grab the book for you.

and you almost jump back into the bookshelf behind you.

peter probably should've thought it through a moment longer. or tried to make some noise when he was walking over.

"whoa," he says, hand at the sole of your back, keeping you from hitting it on the metal. "sorry. i didn't mean to scare you."

you look at him, then down to the book, back to him. "it's--" you shake your head, blinking. "it's okay. i just didn't notice you there."

peter offers you a half smile, leaning on his right foot. "is this the book you were trying to reach?"

"yeah. um, thank you. i'm still growing."

peter chuckles then, causing your face to relax--or tense, he can't tell. "don't worry, i'm used to it."

"growing?" you question, frowning.

"being used for my height. it's more of a burden than a blessing."

you nod, clicking your tongue. and then you finally take the book from him. "thank you, again."

"i really didn't mean to scare you."

you shake your head, telling him that it's okay without the words.

and peter feels a bit uncomfortable, out of place in this library with you standing there like a regular person--not just the regular he might have a crush on. he holds his hand out. "i'm peter, by the way."

you blink. "oh, i know."

"you do?"

"that guy," you gesture your head like someone is standing behind peter. "said it, um, last week. so, i know. i've known."

"oh, okay," peter lets an easy smile rest on his face, hand dangling mindless in the air. there's a beat of silence like someone has pressed mute on the two of you. "...what's your name?"

you wince. "i'm y/n. sorry." and then you shake his hand.

"that's pretty."

you take a deep breath, look away from him, and let go of his hand. "thank you for getting me this. i've--i've got to study. but..."

"oh, yeah, no problem. of course," peter interrupts while you're still talking.

"i'll probably see you soon. or, around, i mean."

"yeah. yeah."

you wince again, eyes closing for half a second. "bye, peter."

and honestly, his name sounds better than it ever has coming out of your mouth.

it's about three days later that he sees you walking through the doors of the coffee shop.

it's warmer today; incoming spring vibes to trick all of you when it snows again. you're wearing a t-shirt, tennis shoes.

and a half smile when you walk up to the counter. today, you speak first. "hi, peter."

he smiles back, arms crossed as he watches you look away and then look back. "how are you today? i'm getting a different aura."

you raise a brow, confused.

"i mean--" peter runs a hand through his hair, rolling his eyes at himself. "you look... refreshed. or, well-nourished?"

you purse your lips.

"thoughtful?" he tries.

you shake your head, and peter can hear an echo of a laugh that isn't there. "i like the sun," you tell him.

"yeah, me too."

especially when she's standing in front of me, so fucking bright.

you blink at him, looking away. "can i have an iced tea?"

"iced? that's a bit far."

you just shrug.

"sure. anything in it?"

you shake your head.

"okay, that's $3.50. are you going to sit outside? or by the window?"

you hand him a five, blowing a raspberry--which is, officially, the cutest thing peter has ever seen. "the window, probably."

peter continues to smile, handing you your drink. "okay. let me know if you need anything."

and it's the very next time that peter decides to just get over himself. you're just a girl, coming into a coffee shop because it's the best place on campus and practically every college student has a caffeine addiction, and he's just a guy, taking orders.

so he needs to start acting normal. or just professional. needs to learn how to control his smile before he burns someone's face.

and besides, he's starting to get looks. his coworkers are catching onto the fact that he'll take over the register--sometimes out of pure kindness, but most often--when you walk up.

so when you walk in that day, peter is on the bar, brewing espresso.

he can hear your voice as you speak to sarah, his coworker. you're polite enough--just like you are with him--and sarah even gets a little laugh when she tells you that milk burns are just an occupational hazard.

peter definitely does not still at that, almost looking over to you before stopping himself.

and he makes a mocha with the same passion he has for everyone's drinks--because peter really cares about his job, and he likes to make people happy.

and he's being professional. he's trying to leave you be because he just seems to scare you. you've never really laughed at him.

for just a moment, when peter looks over, noticing you lean against the wall and wait for your drink to be ordered, he enjoys your parted lips and careful eyes and the way you seem to swallow yourself up.

and then he writes his phone number on the side of your cup.

it's been four days.

now, peter doesn't know much about the typical amount of time you're supposed to wait to text or call someone after they give you their number. and he also doesn't know if writing your number on the girl you like's cup is appropriate, or allowed, or...

still, he feels worried. or stupid, or just ridiculous in the first place. he wishes that he had followed his instincts that day instead of his impulses. wishes he had taken your order, or just talked to you, or...

it's been four days and you haven't texted him. you haven't called. and you haven't been back to the coffee shop.

briefly, peter even considered going to the library to find you and then decided that doing that would be either heartbreaking or incredibly strange.

he thinks that maybe you didn't even see it, and the cup was sitting in a trash can somewhere, never to be touched again.

or that it smudged while you were drinking it, and now the numbers were more creative doodles.

or that you didn't have a phone. your phone was broken. you spilled your drink on your phone and had no way to text or call him.

but honestly, the more he thinks about it the worse he feels.

the more he imagines a full smile from you, or your actual laughter as a response to something he's said, or listening to you talk about school, or your day, or the book you're reading. when he thinks about speaking to you, or taking your order and smiling at the cash you had to him, he just feels those tiny little pinpricks in his heart.

if you wanted to text him, you would.

then, he watches you walk into the shop.

it's cold again, and you're wearing a large sweater, rubbing your hands together. he watches you shake your head like you might get the cold off of you.

he can feel the breeze from the register.

peter looks up, sighs, tries to decide whether telling nina he needs to go to the bathroom is worth it or not.

but you're right in front of him, licking your lips and offering him some eye contact that he isn't used to.

"hi," he says before you can. and it feels short and clipped. different. but he places a smile on his face that he hopes makes up for it. "what can i get you?"

"oh, um, just a mocha, but--"

"small or regular?"

"small."

peter nods, still smiling. he stands at the screen and feels like it's staring him in the soul--telling him not to be so stupid--and he waits while the receipt prints. "that'll be five dollars and eighty-three cents."

you hand him a ten, and he can feel your eyes on him.

"your change is--"

"keep the change," you tell him, just a tiny wrinkle in your brows.

peter looks up, finally, into your eyes. "thank you," he says, raising his brows. "your drink will come out over there." he nods his head toward the bar, where nina is making the drinks, and blinks at you.

you blink back, waiting for a moment.

peter clears his throat, waving a bit to the line. "i can help who's next."

this time, it almost feels like he walks away first.

peter's just walking out of the shop when a hand--a couple of fingers, more like--grazes his shoulder.

he turns, quickly, to see who's touching him, this close, when he's wearing regular clothes.

and he meets your eyes. wide and worried.

"peter," you say, his name falling from your lips. "i'm sorry, i didn't--well, i didn't mean to scare you."

peter furrows his brows, pursing his lips. "it's okay. are you alright?"

"me?" you look around like someone is watching you. "yeah, yeah. i'm fine. cold, but... fine."

peter nods, slowly. "okay. i'm gonna go then," he gestures to somewhere behind himself that is definitely not his apartment.

and he's about to turn, but your hand is out toward him, and you make a tiny sound--tight in the back of your throat, like a squeak. and peter frowns.

"do you have a minute to talk?" you ask him, hand at your neck, eyes toward the ground.

embarrassed or worried, or...

peter blinks, brows shifting. but then he nods, because this is what he's wanted for weeks--an actual chance to talk to you, a moment to hear your voice a little bit breathless and reckless, and right in front of him.

he might be an idiot, but he's not that big of an idiot.

you nod your head, small smile meeting your face, then disappearing. you almost laugh.

peter is very confused. slightly concerned about your mental state.

"you okay?" he asks, again, just slower.

you shake your head, trying to smile at him. "i'm good, i just, um..." your voice is drawn out and quick. "i just wanted to say that, that i saw your number on my cup. and that i..." your mouth is open, but no words are coming out.

peter feels his cheeks flush. of course, you would need to bring this up. the one conversation you've initiated would be about his terrible choices.

"i, well, i put your number in my phone. and in my contacts. you know, peter," you laugh, quick and nervous. "god, of course, it's peter i'm just--" you shake your head. "i just wanted you to know that i was going to text you. really, i even tried a couple of times. it's just that every time i thought about it--" your voice drifts off.

peter is watching you talk with your hands. bite the inside of your cheek.

"i was too nervous to actually do it. and i wanted you to know that it isn't because i wasn't happy that you gave me your number--i was really happy--it's just because i thought about it too much and then i couldn't."

you stop, jaw tense and hands pausing. you're not really looking at him, but you're also not looking at anything else.

you wince after a second goes by, sighing, hand rubbing at your face. "sorry. i didn't mean to, um, monologue at you. i just wanted to tell you, in case..."

"you put me in your contacts?"

peter can feel his cheek twitching, the beginnings of a smile on his face.

you meet his eyes, nodding.

"you're not mad about it?" he asks, just to clarify. "or worried that i'm a stalker, or trying to swindle bigger tips out of you?"

you laugh, finally, shaking your head. "i didn't think that."

peter blinks. "you were going to text me?"

"yeah, i--i was."

and then he actually smiles, nodding with you.

you both stand there for a moment, almost looking at each other but not quite. despite how terrible the rest of his day was, peter feels like laughing until his ribs hurt.

he feels like there's some magnetic force pushing him toward you, making him lean in your direction, and feel your breath from four feet away.

you clear your throat. "i was wondering if i could give you my number? just, so that, you know, i don't--"

peter nods immediately, hand sliding to his pocket. "yeah. that'd be great."

"yeah?" you ask him, softly.

peter smiles.

when you walk into the shop the next week, peter knows a couple of new things about you.

he knows that you're a junior here--a couple of months younger than him. he knows that you're studying sociology, and that you have an apartment three blocks away from the coffee shop. you have a gap between classes from noon to three, so you always stop in.

and he knows that you don't know a lot of people at esu and that you don't have a lot of free time for extracurriculars. you like movies and reading.

and you think that peter's nice.

"hey, sugar," he says, as you walk up. "did you come all of this way just to see me?" he presses a hand to his heart, mock-honored.

you purse your lips, eyebrows raised. "i didn't even know you worked here."

he narrows his eyes at you. "rude."

you blink. "i'm sorry," you say, softly, "do i know you?"

peter delights in the way your lip twitches, the small indent in your cheek, and your hands, clasped together.

"mean," he says, sighing.

"hi, peter."

and then he grins. "what kinda coffee?"

"something sweet?"

he leans back, tilting his head at you. "are you trying to suggest that i recommend something?"

"i'm trying to suggest that you just surprise me, but..."

peter taps a finger to his chin. "hmm, something sweet. is chocolate a requirement?"

you shake your head. and then the bell rings again, and there's a group of people walking in.

"okay. david'll make it for you. don't try to spit it on me if you don't like it."

you half smile. "how much?"

peter scoffs, crossing his arms. "you don't even know what you're getting. i'm not letting you pay for something you might hate."

your brows furrow.

"and don't just put that bill in the tip jar--" peter groans as you do it, giving him a sickly sweet smile. "what did i ever do to you?"

"we'll see, i guess." you nod at him, moving to the side. and when peter greets the next person in line, it's with a bigger smile than before.

three weeks after that, peter is feeling pretty secure in the relationship he's developing with you.

you tease him back when he makes a joke, and he's gotten you to full-on laugh at least four times now. when you bite your lip, it's because you're trying not to laugh at him.

and by secure, of course, peter means that every day he goes into work hoping you'll show up--even if he knows that you have opposite schedules, and he'll be gone before you get out of class. he watches the door, expecting a girl that he's quite fond of to walk through, and when she doesn't, he frowns just a little bit.

and then he texts you, complaining.

he doesn't tell you that he has a severe case of butterflies. or a concerning heart murmur every time he hears his phone buzz.

he doesn't tell you that he thinks you're beautiful, and that he'd like to spend hours just trying to get you to laugh. he can't tell you that he thinks you're incredibly smart, and kind, and that he can't imagine a single person not liking you.

and by that, of course, he tries to man the register when david is working. mostly because he's slightly afraid of his coworker, and slightly afraid that you might find him more charming than peter.

but it's three weeks later when peter finally dials your number, fingers tapping against his desk.

he waits for a moment--telling himself that you might already be asleep, or at a party, or in the shower--listening to the dial tone.

and then after about ten seconds, he hears a tiny little click.

your voice, quiet and smooth when you say "hello?"

"hey, you," peter answers back, trying not to breathe into the microphone. "sorry, i know it's late. did i interrupt anything?"

there's some ruffling and then your voice: "no, i was just, um, folding laundry. so i guess you saved me."

his laugh is warm and his heart is pounding. "anytime. are you, uh, are you busy at all tomorrow? in the evening?"

peter briefly considers that maybe he should've written a script for himself. thinks about scheduling a doctor's appointment.

"tomorrow?" you repeat.

peter nods, wincing when he realizes that you can't see it. "yeah, well, there's this band playing at connor's park tomorrow, and i don't--there's no one else i can go with, so i was thinking that you might like to come?"

there's a beat of silence where peter wants to die.

"tomorrow," he repeats, "at six."

"at the park?"

peter hums.

"what band?"

peter swallows. "i actually don't know... a good one? i hope."

and you laugh, finally, your breath a welcome gesture across five miles and static. "sure, i'd love to. do you want me to meet you there, or...?"

"how about i pick you up? we can walk."

"you don't have to do that, peter."

"i want to," he tells you. "just send me your address and i'll be there around five-thirty tomorrow. okay?"

"okay," you whisper.

peter picks you up outside your apartment the next day. he's leaning against the wall, thinking about a smirk you gave him a couple of days ago when he couldn't remember the word millennium.

he's thinking about calling you, just so he can talk to you while you walk down the stairs.

but then you're opening a door, slipping past it, and standing right next to him.

and you're wearing a dress.

it's above your knee, a soft and pretty color, and it almost makes peter want to fall to the floor. he's seen you in giant coats, and torn sweaters, and t-shirts, but never a dress.

he thanks mother nature for making it just hot enough for this today.

"whoa," he says to you, smiling and dipping his head a bit, so he can look you in the eyes. "you, you look great."

you lick your lip. "i don't like these shoes," you tell him, but peter doesn't even look down.

he's watching your eyes dart from him to the ground, your chest expands as you breathe, and your hand, trying to scratch the dress off.

peter considers just skipping the whole thing and standing here to look at you for the rest of the night.

and then you're frowning. "what?" you ask him, looking down. "is there something wrong? tag?" you spin around, searching for some unbelievable flaw that you think you're missing.

peter smiles. "no, it's just... you look beautiful, is all."

you look back at him, eyes wide. and then you clear your throat, turning away from him to start walking. "do we have to pay for tickets or anything?"

peter follows your stride, hand very close to yours. "no, it's just at the amphitheater so we just have to walk up."

you nod.

and peter is walking with you, copying your pace, trying to move right and left with you.

he's also trying to refrain from putting his arm around your shoulder and pulling you into him.

"peter?" you say after a couple of minutes.

"hmm, bug?"

"do you have any pets?"

peter looks over to you with a question in his brows but you're looking straight ahead, like this is a normal question.

he shakes his head. "no."

"did you have any growing up?"

"may had a cat when i moved in with them, but nothing besides that. i always wanted a dog."

"what kind?"

"any dog. just someone to cause trouble with."

you exhale, a bit less than a laugh. "that's cute."

"why'd you ask?"

you shake your head, walk a couple more feet. "do you have a five-year plan?"

"what?" peter laughs.

"like a goal for where you want to be in five years. good career? house? kids?"

"i'm twenty years old."

you're shrugging next to him. "i want to buy a new tv in the next five years."

peter snorts. "okay, well, i want to get into astronaut school in the next two, and on the moon in three."

"you're too flimsy for space."

peter's mouth drops. "someone's got some sass today, huh? i'd make a great astronaut, thank you very much."

"you'd drift away."

"this hurts, you know," peter says. "this is just mean."

you're giggling next to him, knuckles sliding past his every thirty seconds, making him want to jump out of his skin.

"do you want kids?"

peter almost chokes on his own spit. "wh--what?"

"i'm just asking."

"what's with these questions? did you get a list off of the internet, or something?"

"i--" you pause. "no."

peter looks over to you, almost laughing. "you did."

"i didn't," you insist, a bit louder than he's ever heard you. "these are perfectly normal questions for any friend to ask another friend. i don't know why you're being so weird about it."

"weird?" peter laughs, throwing his head back. and then without even thinking about it, he slings an arm around you, holding you close. "oh, you're too much."

"peter, you're all sweaty."

"this is a perfectly normal activity for friends to do together--"

"smelling each other's armpits?"

"i learned it online. and google doesn't lie."

you finally laugh, shame easing from your face.

"c'mon," peter says, shaking his head at you. "we're going to miss it."

peter buys you a snow cone before the show starts, smiling at the way it turns your tongue and lips blue, and laughing when it starts to drip down your hands.

he finds you a spot on the grass, sitting down without thinking about it, even when you frown.

"what?"

"there's bugs down there."

peter raises a brow. "don't tell me you're afraid of a little dirt?"

"i'm afraid of disease. and getting grass stains on my pants."

peter purses his lips, trying not to laugh at how serious you are, staring down at him with narrowed eyes. "you can sit on my lap if you want."

you groan and then sit down beside him. "when i die, i'm blaming you."

"of course," peter responds, easily.

and he leans a little bit closer to you.

there are ten minutes before the band starts, and during that time, peter begins to point out people in the crowd. he whispers to you that an old man is sitting on a lawn chair, crossing his arms like he's going to call the police as soon as anyone makes too much noise. he guesses that the couple in front of you is going to start making out within the next five minutes.

you're leaning into him, your smile almost evident on his neck. it's fun when you play along, guessing that the boy with a cowboy hat on is really an undercover fbi agent and that the girl staring at peter is really a vampire.

"what girl?" he asks, looking over.

you almosr grin. "literally any one of them, peter. you've got groupies."

he looks around again but doesn't see anyone. he just sees you smiling at him.

and then there's a man walking onto the stage, introducing himself and his band mates, thanking all of them for coming--but peter's not really paying attention. you're much more interesting than a twenty-five-year-old man that he can barely see.

when the music begins to play, he watches as a small smile falls on your face. sort of like you hadn't even meant to let it get there.

and as they play, peter can feel you getting closer to him. your skin almost brushing against him, your heart almost knocking into his.

he looks away, just so he can pretend that he can't feel any of it.

after a couple of songs and a couple of minutes of playing the game where he looks at you until you look back and peter pretends that he wasn't staring, he leans down to you, mouth right by your ear.

"do you like it?" he whispers, noticing your hands picking at some grass by your legs.

"they're good."

your voice is quiet, and you seem a bit on edge. peter leans back so he can look at you better, frowning. "you okay? is it too loud?"

you blink and turn to him, eyes wide. "no, it's--" and then you smile at him. and within a second your head is on his shoulder, and he swears that you're trying to kill him. "it's great, peter. thank you for inviting me."

he spends the next twenty minutes trying to stay completely still. trying to figure out how to glue you this close to him.

it's almost seven when he looks around, realizing that the sun has gone down and that the crowd has dwindled, leaving only the people that are willing to dance along to the music.

there are stars right above his head--bright and beautiful--but he'd much rather look at you.

eventually, you look back. "you okay, peter?"

he shakes his head, but he's smiling. "perfect."

your returning smile almost matches his. and your hand is close to his own, and he can feel his thigh touching yours.

and honestly, if he doesn't do a single thing about it in the next thirty seconds he might have a heart attack.

"do you want to dance?" he asks you.

you turn to him again, brows furrowed. "right now?"

"yeah," peter answers, easily. "right now." and then he stands up, holding a hand out to you.

there's a moment where you're staring at his hand, then at the ground, heart beating recklessly.

"i promise i won't step on your feet," peter swears, hand still there, heart still yours.

finally, your lip twitches, and you nod. "okay."

your hand is cold in his, but peter feels like he's burning up from the inside. you take a step closer to him, chest almost to his. you're short enough that he could rest his chin on the top of your head, and hold you there forever.

instead, he waits for your arms to unlock, opening up for him, and he places a hand around your waist, gently pulling you closer.

his breath is right by your ear, and he can feel it when you shiver.

you relax into him, arms moving to wrap around his neck, fingertips just barely hitting his hairline. his other hand takes yours, and he sways, softly, feeling you move with him.

eventually, you lean your head into his chest, letting him hold you up.

"good?" peter asks, feeling your breath on his skin.

and you nod against him, letting him move you slowly and softly, heart pounding to the beat of the music.

but peter can't even hear it anymore. he can feel a single thing but you.

"thank you for coming," he says. "there's no one else i'd rather be with."

you look up at him, eyes soft and knowing. "peter," you whisper, just loud enough for him to hear.

he looks back, and there's a moment where he can almost see himself reflected in your eyes--his adoration and heart, all intertwined into something absolutely ridiculous. but it looks beautiful in your pupils, just like everything else.

he smiles.

"peter," you whisper again.

his hand moves from your waist, crawling up your sternum to rest against your cheek, keeping you from looking away. peter is almost certain that he's making all of this up.

his other hand follows, and you let him hold you, let him stare at you while soft music plays in the background.

it's a bit chilly now, without the sun. but you're close enough to peter that he can feel your body heat, he can push his into you.

you're blinking softly, breathing harshly--loud enough that he can actually hear it. and finally, you close your eyes like you can't stand to look at him for a moment more.

"peter," you repeat, one last time.

"yeah?"

your eyes open, and your face is soft and nervous when you say, "will you kiss me?"

peter pauses, his mouth opening, his eyes searching yours, like he might be hallucinating this. like you might just be a dream, some figment of his imagination he's going to miss so dearly when it's gone.

his eyes dart down to your lips, following up to your nose, and then meeting your eyes again.

and he leans in--knowing that he can't control the pull toward you anymore. his nose brushes against yours, making you shiver and peter chuckle as a result.

he stays there for a second, just breathing you in.

your arms are still around his neck, but one of your hands moves up, trying to pull him even closer.

finally, peter leans forward, keeping your head tilted and meeting your lips with a desperation he wasn't sure even existed.

it's soft, and you taste like syrup. and you're moving with him, just a bit uncertain, letting him push and pull at your lips, and not letting you go.

you're sighing against his mouth, a small breath into his.

peter can feel you pushing closer to him, standing on your tip-toes so you can reach further.

he smiles against you. and then he pulls back, giving you both a moment to breathe.

his heart feels nonexistent in his chest. the flapping of a hummingbird's wings, almost too fast to be seen.

he laughs at you, or maybe himself, and keeps his forehead on yours, eyes closed. you laugh back, like an echo or a response, or a desperate plead for more.

peter opens his mouth, feeling his lips just barely brush against yours. "does this mean you'll stop trying to pay for coffee?" he asks.

and delights in the way you laugh against him.

my masterlist here.

tags:@moonlarking-blog @v1ci0us @preciousbabypeter @alexxavicry @directioner5life @inthegetawaycarwithtaylah @localrockstargf @thestudiouswanderer @take-my-hand-time-boy @thoughtsofagodlovingsunflower @nyomjoon @moo-b1tch @raindropstearsandtea @rqmanoff @hollandweather @wetcoldnoodle @urlocalavenderhazestan @valvlry @imthatcoolmom @spideysimpossiblegirl invisibletrolleyson-jeremy @sharkswaters @rowniebow @anaislfbv @take-my-hand-time-boy @mileyc111 @starsval @ratsys

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najia-cooks · 10 months

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Cranberry chutney

Sweet, tart, jammy cranberries evolve into the subtle aromatics of cumin, mustard, and bay leaf before rounding off into a smooth, even chili heat in this Anglo-Indian-style chutney. It's excellent in place of cranberry sauce on all kinds of roasts, meat pies, flatbreads, sandwiches, and charcuterie boards.

The cooked fruit-and-vinegar chutneys made by English cooks during the British colonization of India were inspired by the fresh and pickled Indian condiments that English traders and soldiers—including those in the East India Company's military arm—had acquired a taste for, but substituted locally familiar produce and cooking methods for Indian ones. "Indian" recipes began appearing in English cookbooks in the mid-18th century, inspiring and fulfilling a desire for the exotic and, effectively, advertising colonial goods. The domestic kitchen thus became a productive site for the creation and negotiation of colonial ideology: the average English housekeeper could feel a sense of ownership over India and its cultural and material products, and a sense of connection to the colonial endeavor desite physical distance.

This sauce, centered around a tart fruit that is simmered with sugar and savory aromatics and spices, is similar in composition to an Anglo-Indian chutney, but some Indian pantry staples that British recipes tend to substitute or remove (such as jaggery, bay leaf, and mustard oil) have been imported back in. The result is a pungent, spicy, deeply sweet, slightly sour topping that's good at cutting through rich, fatty, or starchy foods.

Recipe under the cut!

Patreon | Tip jar

Ingredients:

1/2 cup dried cranberries (krainaberee), or 1 cup fresh or frozen

5 curry leaves (kari patta), or 1 Indian bay leaf (tej patta)

1/2 tsp cumin seeds (jeera)

1/2 tsp black mustard seeds (rai)

3 Tbsp jaggery (gur / gud)

1-3 small red chili peppers (kali mirch), to taste

1/2” chunk (5g) ginger (adarakh), peeled

1 clove garlic (lahsun)

1/2 red onion (pyaaj) or 1 shallot

1 Tbsp mustard oil (sarson ke tel)

1/3 cup (80 mL) water

Pinch black salt (kala namak)

Curry leaves can be purchased fresh at a South Asian grocery store. If you can't find any, Indian bay leaves can be used as a substitute (the flavor isn't per se similar, but it would also be appropriate in this dish). Indian bay leaves are distinct from Turkish or California laurel bay leaves and have a different taste and fragrance. They will be labelled “tej patta” in an Asian or halaal grocery store, and have three vertical lines running along them from root to tip, rather than radiating out diagonally from a central vein.

Instructions:

1. Pound onion, garlic, ginger, and chili to a paste in a mortar and pestle; or, use a food processor.

2. In a thick-bottomed pot, heat mustard oil on medium. Add curry leaves or tej patta and fry until fragrant.

3. Add cumin and mustard seed and fry another 30 seconds to a minute, until fragrant and popping.

4. Lower heat to low. Add aromatic paste and fry, stirring constantly, for about 30 seconds, until fragrant.

5. Add cranberries, jaggery, black salt, and water. Raise heat and bring to a boil. Reduce to a simmer and cook uncovered, stirring often, until thick and jammy. Remove from heat a bit before it reaches your desired consistency, since it will continue to thicken as it cools.

Store in a jar in the refrigerator for 2-3 weeks.

#Anglo Indian #fusion #Christmas #cranberries #dried cranberries #curry leaves #tej patta #mustard oil #jaggery #cooking #gluten free #condiments #Indian

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thefangirlfever · 5 months

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DBF! Miguel O'hara x reader (part 6)

Tags: F/M, age gap (reader is 28 and Miguel is 48), taboo relationship, mention of medication, depression and racial prejudice, reader is a woman of color, angst, mention of death and grief, slow burn

Disclaimer: English is not my first language.

See the end for notes.

Words count: 6503

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Miguel and you had come to an agreement. You were in charge of the dinner from Monday to Thursday and he took care of it the rest of the week. But even like that, he couldn’t help but intervene into your cooking; no matter how many times you’ve told him to “trust the process”.

“But how can you be sure that it’s gonna taste good if you don’t even follow the recipe?”

You rolled your eyes, amused by his comment while adding a last spoon of spice to the boiling soup on the stove.

“Who needs the recipe when you got vibes and confidence?”

He was now the one rolling his eyes. He hated to admit it but your recipes always managed to taste edible, good even, despite your inability to follow a recupe. You should have already been responsible of a food intoxication but you didn’t. Cooking by your side was always an experience, truly. But it also managed to help him relax after a long day at work. You even looked more relaxed while doing so.

You turned toward him, holding a spoon of soup and asked him to try the soup with a small grin. Miguel could only oblige when you looked at him this way and so he leaned forward to sip a bit of the soup. And just like he had guessed it, it was delicious. He may not be the most objective taster out there but it was still good. The creamy and rich texture made him think that you must have some hidden talent because he has seen you cooking without a recipe and there was no other logical explanation for it to taste that way.

“So? Not that bad, huh?"

It was nice to see you were feeling better now. After only a few days of his attention, you were already back on your feet. His gaze traveled down your figure, noticing your now rosy cheeks and the way you looked generally better. Maybe the countryside had a better effect on you than what you could have expected? But he couldn’t ignore the tired lines on your face, meaning that you were still sleeping poorly.

“Miguel…” Your soft, questioning voice took him out of his thoughts and he blinked twice, collecting his thoughts.

“Yeah, sorry. I was just thinking…”

“About what?”

“Do you...still have trouble sleeping?” The sudden change in the conversation surprised you but you didn’t immediately deflate the conversation or tried to run away, which was a progress in Miguel’s eyes.

“Yes, I do.”

“Have you considered taking something to help you fall asleep?” Miguel wasn’t surprised when you shook your head no. He still asked: “Not even melatonin?”

“I used to take some when I was in high school but...it wasn’t strong enough.”

His eyes opened wider and he stuttered: “In high school?”

“I was an anxious kid.”, you simply replied. He didn’t have any trouble believing that.

“I could get you something more efficient if you want…” You turned off the stove and shook your head.

“I...I don’t have a good history with strong medications.”, you simply replie. Most doctors you’ve met so far were quite insistent, always trying to convince you to take those type of things. But speaking from your personal experience, you didn’t like how they made you feel. And in general you’d rather avoid any type of medication.

Miguel didn’t insist, thankfully, and he simply nodded.

“Well...if you need anything, you can always ask me.”

“I think I’ll stick with herbal tea for now but thanks.”, you replied while smiling. And he gave you back your soft smile. You seemed in a great mood and he thought it was not the right time to ask anything about your history with medication. Plus, he was not on duty anymore. He could simply enjoy this moment with you, without thinking about anything related to his job.

The two of you were setting up the table and he had to remind himself to leave a good distance between you. Nevertheless he still looked at you from the corner of his eyes, watching every movement you made, from the very tip of your fingers to the way you balanced your weight on your feet. It’s been a month since your arrival and Miguel has felt something changing inside him ever since. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it but he has been waiting with so much enthusiasm for every chance to see you. Every moment you shared had become the highlights of his week. And you were more present in his thoughts than he wants to admit it. Your father had told him how much of a nice girl you were; saying things about how the two of you would get along so well. But Miguel had this feeling that your father may have underestimated just how good the two of you got along… Because he had the feeling that was he was feeling when you were together had nothing to do with friendship or what he was supposed to feel.

You have also noticed how closer the two of you seemed to be. It’s not a bad feeling but you would have never guessed the two of you would feel this comfortable in the presence of each other. Maybe Sarah was right. There was nothing wrong in asking for help… And Miguel has been a great help so far on so many levels. He didn’t just help with the house; you have the feeling that he helped you personally.

You’re taken out of your thoughts when you hear Miguel saying: “That color looks good on you.”

You looked down to where his eyes were. He was looking right at your sweater, an old one that you have found this morning in the back of your closet. You couldn’t remember exactly when was the last time you wore it or even when you bought it, probably during one of your phases in high school. It was bit loose on your shoulders and it hung loosely over your clavicles but the soft fabric felt like a blanket and the color really appealed to you when dressing up this morning. It was a soft lilac, almost the same shade as an aster.

“Oh thanks. It’s just an old thing, I guess…”

Miguel’s eyes have been nothing but locked on the way the fabric exposed your clavicles or the slope of your neck; especially with your hair tied up tonight. That color reminded him of a flower but he was not sure which one exactly. You reminded him of some flower. As embarrassing and corny as it may sound. He thought he was way past this at his age but it seemed like he was wrong. The mohair wool had caught his eyes ever since he came in the kitchen and he couldn’t stop wondering just how soft it acutally felt, how easily his fingers would slide through it…

He promised himself he would not look at you like that. He can’t do this. You trust him. Your father trusts him. He knew better than this and he didn't want to be that type of man who pried on younger, inexperienced and fragile women. He swallowed back the rest of his compliment, which turned into a lump in his throat and he looked away; just when your father called for you.

The three of you were sitting around the diner table, chatting lightly, joking from time to time. It’s been quite a long time since you shared a real meal with anyone. Since you began living alone, you were usually relying on take-outs and would eat in your bed in front of a show, enjoying the calm of your apartment after a long day at work. Your apartment… You had left a double of the keys to Sarah like most people would do so their plants would be watered and all these kinds of things. But there were no plants to water at your place, no animal to take care of… Sometimes this place didn’t feel like yours. But you had to move quickly after and that was the fest thing you had found. It was not objectively bad but...it was not your home.

The conversation had slowly shifted toward the topic of your school years when Miguel told your father about the restoration work that would begin soon. You still remembered vividly the walls of red bricks with the wine climbing on them, the windows decorated with the drawings of the students, the ugly yellows wallpaper… Maybe it was not a bad thing that this place was going to be renovated. It will be safer at least.

“It will be for the best.”, your father declared before taking a sip of his coffee. “Those buildings were already there when I was a student after all.”

“So they must be really old.”, Miguel joked and your father laughed heartily.

“Are you implying that I’m some type of dinosaurs or something?”, he asked with a grin and you couldn’t stop yourself from smiling too. It was nice to see him laughing around. Miguel’s presence only did good things to him.

“I would never.” You looked at Miguel’s expression and he had the exact same grin on his face. But when he was the one smiling, your eyes would linger a bit longer on his face, on the curve of his smile… He caught you looking at him and you were suddenly very invested in the appearance of your cup of tea. Your father didn’t notice anything and kept joking:

“Well, you’re not getting younger either, my friend.” He added with a knowing smile in your direction. “Poor Y/N, you’re stuck here with those two old men…”

“You’re not that old.” You protested weakly and you were not sure who you were trying to convince of that and if you were only speaking about your father. Your father sighed and his smile looked a bit more contrite.

“Well, I’m not getting younger for sure…” He looked at the cast on his leg with a look you've been catching more frequently on his face recently. He was in pain. Not physical pain. But he had to come in terms with his mortality, with the fact that he was growing older...exactly the same way than when your mother died. “I just think you would maybe enjoy more the company of people of your age.”

You were not sure of where this is coming, so you slowly took a sip from your cup, waiting for him to finish talking. Miguel was also waiting.

“Why wouldn’t you try to link up with some of your old friends? You know, most of them didn’t move away.”

Miguel suddenly looked more intrigued and interested by the conversation. It was true that so far, you haven’t mentioned any of your past acquaintances. You couldn’t be this antisocial truly. With a shrug of your shoulders, you replied as casually as you could:

“Well, they must all be busy.”

“I’m sure they would be glad to see you too.” His soft tone didn’t fool you. You know how stubborn he could be when he had an idea in mind. So you asked: “What did you do?” His satisfied smile proved you that your assumptions were right.

“I called one of your best friends and asked her to come visit over. And she gladly accepted.”

“Who did you call?” Miguel watched your exchange like one would watch a tennis game, his head swinging from left to right.

“Actually I called a few people.” Your father said with a bright smile and that was when it hits you. He genuinely thought he did something good. As much as you appreciated his effort, you couldn’t help but groan, slightly annoyed. What were you supposed to say to your old friends? Would you even be able to talk with them or link up the way you used to? Would they even recognize you?

***

The next day the living room was filled with laughter and the faint sound of chit-chat. Sitting on the edge of the couch, you quietly observed your friends from high school. The atmosphere in the room reminded you of the time you would all have slumber parties in high school. Except that it was only 4 in the afternoon and that you had traded your snacks and corny movies for homemade cookies and old album photos.

The three women facing you looked nothing like the pictures you were watching and at the same time they couldn’t be more themselves than they were now. On your right Jane was no longer wearing the thick glasses she used to have when she was younger, having them replaced by lenses but the movements of her fingers reminded you of how she would always adjust the frame of her spectacles back then. She had already apologized three times for being late but who would blame a business woman like her to have more important meeting in her day? Assya’s cooking skills were still unmatched and you thanked the Lord for her cookies, delicately wrapped into a pink paper. Her calloused hands from all her work were still looking rough but your eyes could’t miss the wedding band on her finger. A bright diamond on top of a silver ring. And there was Margareth, Mag as she’d rather have you calling her, whose athletic silhouette was now draped under a delicate green tailor suit. Even under the large jacket, she couldn’t hide the impressive bump of her stomach.

And there was you who was giving “I peaked in high school” energy compared to them. But none of them seemed to address this or even wanted to make you feel uncomfortable. They seemed to respect your silence and they ware graceful enough to not comment on your tired face or rub too hard their happiness on the said tired face. None of them mentioned your mother as they keep flipping the pages of the album. Assya even slided a new box of cookies toward you when you were finished with the first one. So...it was a bit better than what you were expected.

Jane pointed at one of the pictures and started telling a story about this day. Her memory was quite impressive to you. You barely remembered that day. The four of you were looking at the camera with a bright smile. You were all sitting in your bedroom, during one of these infamous slumber parties. The more you looked at the picture, the more you realized that your friends were not the one who changed. You did.

The four of you were still down the memory train when the front door opened. It can’t be your father. As soon as your friends came in, he disappeared into the patio, saying that he wanted to give you as much space as possible. It could only be Miguel. It was a nice surprise for him to be here this early. There was something comforting into knowing that he’ll be back after almost every day...

You turned toward the door, a bit too enthusiastically, and watched him making his way toward the living room. He was the one in charge of the dinner tonight and he was carrying a crate full of fresh vegetables. His forearms flexed slightly when he lifted the box and for some reason, you couldn’t take your eyes away from this sight.

“Doctor O’hara, I wasn’t expecting to see you there. Is this where you’ve been hiding all these weeks?” Assya asked with an amused smile while crossing her arms over her chest. She had told you she’s been working as a nurse at the clinic but it was only now that you realized what it meant. She knew Miguel. For some reason the small grin she gave him annoed you, wedding ring or not.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you there either. Do you guy know each other?” Miguel asked with a polite smile and all the women nodded in unison. His eyes stopped on the silhouette of Mag and he asked in a caring voice:

“How are you feeling today?”

She slowly patted her stomach and replied: “He’s been really quiet today. No nausea whatsoever.”

“Good. If you need anything, my office is always open.”

It was your first time seeing him interacting with his patients and colleagues, and again, you could’t believe that people like him actually existed. People who were so selfless, people who cared and who could genuinely talk to other beings. And for a second, you could picture him at the clinic, working, giving orders, taking care of his patients… Just how many parts of his life did you actually ignore?

Miguel was slightly amused by the sight of all four of you reuniting in the living room. Once again, it seemed that you have underestimated yourself and your social skills. Everything seemed fine. His eyes trailed over you, taking in your polished appearance. You tried to make yourself look a bit better for today and he actually realized that it was the first time he saw you wearing some make-up. It was just a bit of blush and lipstick but his eyes are drawn to the shape of your lips tinted in a deep carmine. The same color rushed to his cheeks and he looked away before saying in a firm voice:

“I’ll let you to your memories now, ladies.”

You watched him going to the kitchen, a bit disappointed. You were not sure of what just happened because it lasted only a millisecond but if you had listened to your body, you would have followed him into the next room. Instead you just sat there, quietly, while your friends started giggling. Assya was the first one to break the silence:

“I know I’m married but…”

“Please, don’t finish this sentence. I already know what you’re going to say.”, replied Jane with a growing smirk.

“Come on, you can’t blame me. He is fine.”

The two of them whispered in order to not be heard from him and you felt like you were back to your high school years when you would all tease each other about your crush. So, it looked like you haven’t been the only one noticing that he was attractive…

Mag gave you a knowing look from the other side of the couch and your eyes were drawn to the shape of her stomach. While Jane and Assya kept bickering around, you decided to shift the conversation away:

“So...when is it due?”

She must have sensed your uneasiness because she chuckled softly. You have always been awkward around children and maternity, so it was not a surprise. Again, her hand gently patted her stomach.

“In two months I think.”

“It’s a boy?”

She quietly nodded and as soon as this conversation begins, you found yourself unable to ask anymore questions. It’s not that you didn’t care but the topic of motherhood made you feel uncomfortable, even more so these last years… Hopefully she changed the conversation when sensing your discomfort.

“So...it seems that he comes here often?”

“Who?”

“Doctor O’hara.”

“Ah...yes, Miguel...well, he is here to help my father. They’re good friends and I think it’s good that they are hanging together.” It felt like you were trying to justify yourself or something. You cleared your throat and grabbed your coffee while Mag kept looking at you with a knowing smile.

“He is nice, isn’t he?”, she asked after a few seconds and you simply nodded slowly.

The rest of the afternoon went by pretty fast as the four of you got lost again in your memories. Assya was the first to leave because she had to pick up her kids at daycare and Jane and Mag followed quickly. Once they were gone, you let the silence of the house wrap around your and youfinally rested your face against the wooden panel of the door for a few seconds with your eyes closed. As much as it was nice seeing them again, you feltl drained of all your energy and you would probably need a few days to recharge your social battery.

The sounds of footsteps made you turn around and there was Miguel, looking at you from the end of the hallway, a soft smile on his lips.

“Are you alright?”

You leaned your back against the door for a few seconds as a migraine started hitting your head. He could sense that something was off and that you needed to rest despite your attempt at reassuring him. He slowly moved closer to you and only stopped when he was a few feet away. He didn’t exactly know what made him act this way but there was again this lingering need to take care of you in ways that would make him feel ashamed if he could admit it.

“I can leave you alone if you want…”

“No it’s okay.”

Your eyes trailed up and down his figure in the dim light of the corridor and your eyes locked on the apron he is wearing. The white fabric had turned yellow at some point and the blue flowers on it looked withered. On one of the pockets there was a small heart. You had embroidered yourself when you were younger, as a gift to your mother.

Miguel seemed to realize his mistake and he started to untie the apron. He didn’t mean to offense you by taking this memory of your mother out of the cabinets. He just took the first thing he had found to cover himself. He was about to apologize when your hands stopped his movements, holding his wrists firmly.

“Don’t take it off.”

Your voice was only a murmur but he clearly heard you. With a soft sigh, he intertwined his fingers with yours while your two bodies got a bit closer. The mere light from the window of the door looked like a halo around your hair and he has to catch his breath. The room suddenly fels like it had been completely deprived of air while he got lost in your eyes. What if he got closer? What if he held you in his arms, only for a few seconds? What if…

The questions rushed in his mind, pressing him to decide what to do. But he had the feeling that none of this is what you need at the moment, nor what he should do. The grip of his fingers on yours finally loosened and he stepped back.

“I’ll be in the living room if you need anything.” You watched him slowly walk away before leaning back against the door. Your body slowly slid down the panel and you end up sitting down the floor, a mix of boiling, raw emotions that you couldn't identify lingering inside your chest.

When you were finally back inside the living room, you noticed that Miguel had left a glass of water and some aspirin for you. You smiled at the sweet attention and immediately swallowed one pill. He also had cleaned up a bit the room and yet, all the album photos were still out. Your father was sitting down the couch, absorbed in the old pictures, so much that he hadn’t notice your presence at first. You didn’t need to look over his shoulders to know what, or rather who he was looking at. In fact you’d rather disappear from the room rather than bring the attention to this topic but he caught the sound of your footsteps as soon as you started moving

“Hey…” he gently called you out. When he turned around, you caught a glimpse of the picture he was looking and you were unfortunately right. It was a picture of you and your mom. It had been taken the first year you all went camping in family. “How was the afternoon with your friends?”

“Good. Thanks.”

He was smiling in a way that would break even a heart of stone. With a tired sigh, you dragged your body to the side of the couch and sat by his side.

Your mother was holding you in her arms on the picture. You zere both wearing matching green windbreakers, an idea from your father because he was wearing the same one on the other side of the picture. There was something so comforting about staying in her arms like that. She was not a frail woman with he square-shaped shoulders, her burly arms tanned after hours spent in the garden and she was always carrying around her a scent like the one of a fireplace. You were sure that it was how a mother’s hug was supposed to feel for a long time in your life, strong, maybe a bit rough in the beginning like a mama bear holding her cubs. It was the only kind of hugs that could chase away the monsters under your bed or in your heads once you grew up.

Your father’s fingers glided over the page and you felt a bit uncomfortable. You squirmed over your sit, not knowing what to do. Should you offer a few words of comfort? Hug him? It would be quite appropriate but you were not sure your hugs would feel as comforting as hers.

He sensed your discomfort and flips the page. A large smile slowly crept up his face and he started laughing. It was a picture of you at a dance recital, around age 8, dressed as a large daisy. You cringed at the picture. Your chubby cheeks were squished by the fabric of your corolla and you were all red and sweaty, because of course the taffetas of the dress was too hot for the month of May.

“Dad, can we please ignore that?”

“No way, you’re looking adorable. And your mother spent so many time on your costume.”

The sound of your banter had attracted Miguel and he smiled when he seed that you seemed to feel a bit better. When your dad called him in, you felt a cold sweat running down your back.

“Dad, no.”

But the catastrophe happened too fast for you to react. Miguel sat on the other side of the couch and as soon as he looked at the picture, a goofy smile curled up his lips.

“No wonder you enjoy gardening. It’s like your natural habitat after all.”, he teased you gently. Your father laughed loudly at what you would have considered a pretty lame joke if it wasn’t for the adorable smirk that he was wearing. On the next picture, you were dressed as one of the rats for the ballet Nutcracker and you thought that you might actually die of embarrassment right now.

Miguel was having a blast seeing all these pictures that your dad always commented on with a funny story. Not only did he get to see an other side of you but he also caught the blush that crept up your cheeks and that slightly annoyed pout you were doing. Ever since he met you, he had never seen you embarrassed or really flustered. This might be the most emotions you’ve shown in one time and he quickly diverted his attention from the picture to your profile. After seeing the pictures he could clearly see how well of a mix you are between your parents. You got the lanky silhouette from your father, his long and thin face with the sharp eyes and pronounced chin. And from your mother, those curly locks, your nose with the high arch and those cheekbones… The said cheekbones were turning more and more flushed, their shade according well with the one of your tinted lips.

"Stop looking", he taunted himself.

As the pages kept moving and your dad talking, you slowly relaxed and your arm was now resting on top of the head of the couch. Just like Miguel’s. You were still trying to act unbothered the first time his fingers brushed against yours, thinking it might be an accident. But when it happened again, you were not so sure anymore that it was a mistake. Your two hands were resting behind the couch and your fingers were brushing from time to time, especially when Miguel was laughing at one of your dad’s jokes. At some point his forefinger brushed against your wrist, right against the edge of your sleeve.

You quickly pulled your hand back to yourself. Not out of discomfort but because you felt confused. This was not an invitation from your part...but you wouldn’t have minded for this contact to last a bit longer either…

Miguel didnn’t dare thinking that he was disappointed. Touching an inch of your skin even for a few seconds was still worth every hour of hesitation and turmoil that would come after it. How could your skin be so soft? So tempting? All when he had seen of it so far was your hands and a bit of your neck?

Still unaware of what was happening behind his back, literally, your father turned to an other page. It was a picture of you on your last recital. You were around fifteen years old, dressed in a dainty pink tutu, glitters sprinkled all over your hair. You had spent hours cleaning them off with your mother afterwards...

“This was your last recital?”, Miguel asked but it was your father who replied.

“She had to stop after that. You know how it is? High school, college entrance exams…”

Miguel didn’t reply but he did furrow his brows and nodded with a serious look on his face. He would have liked to ask more questions about this part of your life that looked so surreal. How come this little girl with that bright smile and her face covered in glitters turned into the woman you were today? He could’t also help but wonder if you still remembered a few dance moves…

But your father had flipped the pages once again and now there was an other picture of you with a boy around your age. His skin was the same shade as yours and brown curls flowed down to his shoulders. The two of you were standing close to each other, at a respectable distance with a shy look on your face. Miguel knew too well this type of picture and when he looked back at you, he was expecting to see some reaction on your face. Maybe you would be a bit embarrassed, flustered or at least nostalgic? But to his surprise you had a blank expression on your face. He didn’t know if it’s good or not. Before he could ask anything else, your father said in an obnoxious voice:

“You were such a cute couple together, David and you. You remember that day, Y/N?”

“Mhh...not really.” You seemed pretty unaffected by the picture, which was not something that Miguel was expecting from someone who just saw such a memory.

“Oh come on...you really don’t remember? It was for your birthday. You remember that nice necklace he gave you?”

You nodded without saying anything. You knew it was useless to argue with your father over this topic. He had always loved David, almost like a son. The fact that his parents were from the same diaspora as your father only made them get closer and your father had always assumed that you would end up with David. He was a nice guy, sure. But there was a reason why you never kept seeing each other after high school and you remembered it while looking at the picture. There was no chemistry between you, even a blind could see that, whatever your dad liked to think.

Miguel’s eyes were still locked on your profile and the more you were looking at the picture, the more anxious he was getting. Why were still silent? How was he supposed to understand the way you were looking at this picture? Was this good? Bad? Did you miss that David guy? Why was he suddenly just realizing that you must have had former partners? And why did he make him want to take your hand back in his, to pull you closer to him?

Your father didn’t seem to realize that there was a slight tension because he kept digging his own grave:

“It’s been a long time since you saw each other. Did you even call him? You know, I think he would be really happy to talk to you…” and with what was supposed to be a playful nudge, he added: “And I heard that he is single.” Miguel quickly caught the pink hue on your cheeks and it made his stomach twist as if he was sick. Were you embarrassed? Or was there more to this reaction? God, he hadn’t realized until now how hard it was to read you and he wished he could ask you directly. But...he was not entitled to ask that of you. Who was he to think that?

“Dad, I’m not going to call him.”, you replied while organizing the albums on the coffee table. “We had a good time and now it’s over. What happened in the past belonged to the past.”

Miguel almost sighed out of relief but your father was quick to reply: “Maybe you should start thinking about the future...I mean, you’re almost thirty and I haven’t seen you with anyone in a few years now.”

That was a low blow.

Even if it had been said in a rather understanding voice, you couldn’t help but feel your blood boil. This was the last conversation you wanted to have with your father. Miguel felt like his presence was unwanted and he tried to make his way out of the living room as quietly as possible. He would be in the kitchen if you needed help but there was no need for him to make you feel like he was prying on this delicate moment.

***

It was not your first time having this argument with your father. In fact, you remembered the last time it happened. It was a few years ago when you decided to move with your last boyfriend. Most parents would have welcomed such a good news but your father wasn’t too happy about it. First of all, he never really liked this man. History would prove him right, but it was not for the good reasons that he disliked him.

“He is not what I imagined. He is..."

Not like us.

That cryptic sentence took all its sense when you introduced your boyfriend to your father. He didn’t fit in. Your father wanted someone who could speak his language, who could share his memories of the country they left…

“And you’re living with him without even getting married?”

“You know what the people will say!”

“I raised you better than this…”

Hearing him screaming was somehow less hurtful that his resigned voice. He could sound so disappointed sometimes that you almost wondered why you even kept trying.

But at least at the time, you had your mother by your side. She always knew how to calm him down. She was like this bridge between the two of you and somehow she was the only one who would manage to help you find a compromise.

At least when she was alive.

***

You couldn’t run to your mother after an argument anymore and you’d rather stay alone than talk with anyone else. At least, that’s what you used to think. Now that you were back in this house, you might as well go and see her.

The next day, you grabbed your windbreaker and headed out of the house before your father had waken up. You had spent the last evening, alone in your room. It’s been so long since the two of you fought; you had forgotten how bad it could hurt sometimes. The thought that Miguel could have heard your argument made you feel so embarrassed. What was he thinking now?

The air around you was crisp and you could feel the scent of the pines and the muddy ground this early in the morning. It was a perfect day for what you were about to do… The gates of the cemetery had barely opened when you walked inside. It was a few days before Halloween and a few people would come and clean the graves soon, change the flowers… Seeing all the decorated graves made you regret not bringing anything. And given your father’s state, no one probably brought anything to your mother’s grave.

She was right where you remembered her. The plaque with her name stood at the foot of a small hill. A vase with withered flowers, a decoration with a dove...exactly how you remembered it to be. You carefully sat in front of it and watched the black marble. A few remaining raindrops from the night slid down the material, on top of her name engraved on it.

“Beloved mother and wife.”

Finally, some peace and some silence.

You didn’t know how long exactly you stayed there, sometimes contemplating the grey sky, sometimes the delicate intricacy of the letters of her name. Next time you would bring some flowers you promised as much as her than to yourself. At some point while looking at the build-up of stormy clouds in the sky, you noticed a large silhouette, all too familiar, moving down the hill.

What was he doing here?

You tried to get up despite your numb legs and the silhouette seemed to walk faster in your direction, his long coat flowing behind him. It was only when the first raindrops fell down that he managed to join you.

Miguel didn’t even dare asking you anything, if you were feeling alright, who you came to visit… the answer to each question was obvious. Instead, he simply offered you shelter under his umbrella and a tissue for your wet eyes.

“Do you want to stay a bit longer here?”, he finally asked after a few seconds. You shook your head and the two of you made your way out of the graveyard. His arm was holding yours, guiding you gently toward the exit, his sturdy shoulder brushing against yours from time to time.

When you reached his car, Miguel opened the door for you and then sat in front of the stirring wheel. But he didn’t feel like taking you back home now. And neither did you.

The rain was hitting the roof of the car in a loud, discorded melody. You could barely see the world outside through that much rain. A slight fog had covered the windows with the warmth of the heater, and yet your shoulders don’t stop shivering.

Miguel’s comforting hand gently squeezed your shoulder as he tried to make you look this way, a vain attempt to anchor you in the moment.

“Hey…”

He was slowly getting a bit more worried that you’re not responding but he doesn’t dare insisting. His hand stopped at a few inches from your face before he slowly leaned back into his seat. The silence inside the car was only troubled by your heavy breaths as you tried to compose yourself. After a few minutes, he couldn’t hold it anymore and asked: “Do you want to talk about it?”

You were not sure if he was talking about the argument with your father or your visit to the cemetery but you still shook your head. He felt a bit relieved when he heard your voice, even if it was barely a whisper:

“I’m fine, Miguel.”

An other heavy silence filled up the space inside the car and quite surprisingly you were the one breaking it this time, again.

“Why were you here?”

His eyes seemed suddenly very focused on the stirring wheel and he absented-mindly started rubbing his pointer finger with his thumb while looking for his words.

“I needed to visit someone.”

===============================================

Notes: This was a pretty messy chapter, so I want to thank anyone who took the time to read this.

I'm currently working on the seventh chapter and just so you know, I'm very impatient to write it.

Taglist: @safixiovi @laysmt @reverieblondie

My Masterlist!

< part 5 / part 7 >

#miguel o'hara #across the spiderverse #spiderman 2099 #atsv #astv miguel #miguel 2099 #fanfic #spiderverse #atsv miguel #miguel x reader #dbf!miguel #miguel angst #daddy issues #older dad bf #this fic has turned into my therapy #i'm sorry

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rimeiii · 3 months

Text

I return to WHB Tumblr to see how the game us doing and I see the fandom in shambles, damn. And after scrolling through the tag for a bit, I have...questions.

Yo how big is WHB now even? I stopped playing shortly after they introduced the paywalled Gabriel and that's one of the things I've seen several people complain about...

Like I understand the rest of the complaints - it's mostly the same complaints I've been having about the game prior to me quitting. Multiple decisions that seem to reinforce the idea that this game is heading down the P2W path, very anti-F2P practices in general, outrageous prices for the paid Nightmare Pass, no pity system on launch, the disaster that was the implementation of the Solomon's Seals gacha, the many bugs on launch especially, the small amount of farmable premium currency, and the list goes on...the pancake shop rework not only seems to be in line with the trajectory PB seems to be taking in terms of game decisions, but is also the straw that broke the camel's back for a lot of players.

But, uh, storage? Wasn't it like 2 GB tops on launch? That was reasonable I think, because Arknights was around that size on launch and back then, there was so little additional content. Only JP dubbing, no L2D E2 art or skins (the only L2D we had back then was Closure, the SHOPKEEP), 5 story chapters (which translated to 92 stages, in which around half have a Challenge Mode variant and with a large majority being unique maps), and no additional game modes.

For additional context, currently Arknights is ~6-7 GB on a fresh account with all language dubbing, and it gets bloated if you don't delete unused event data (it's ~9.7 GB for me and I have Arknights on my current phone ever since Near Light first hit Global, so just over 2 years now). Keep in mind Arknights is close to 4.5 years old in Global, and CN just celebrated their 5th anniversary a few months back.

Talking about storage, I don't think comparing WHB to older games and non-tower defense is fair either, since:

Older games in general are much easier on your device in terms of storage to content ratio and performance, mostly due to device limitations of the past requiring less sophisticated game mechanics and the devs sticking to these simpler mechanics even as time passes and technology gets more advanced. Gentle reminder that FGO is ~7 years old in NA, ~9 years old in JP, and ALSO doesn't download everything initially - afaik there's an option for that in the settings menu which bumps the total size up significantly (the wiki lists it as around 9-10 GB total).

Different genres and graphics mean different storage requirements. Anything 3D or open world will almost always have higher storage requirements compared to anything else. Path to Nowhere is around the same size as Arknights despite being younger due to the former using 3D models for their battle sprites, compared to the 2D chibis Arknights uses. Love and Deepspace, a ~5 months game, is huge because of how they do the cutscenes AND the stage-based action gameplay, but Wuthering Waves is closing the gap on size quickly despite being only ~1.5 months because it's an open world action RPG.

What I will say, though, is that WHB is not optimized well. Now I may be very unfair by comparing WHB to Punishing: Gray Raven, a game by the optimization gods known as Kurogames (people ran the PC PGR client on 2GB RAM laptops and my 4GB RAM laptop can run WuWa despite it using UE4 - an engine notorious for chugging on low end devices - albeit with lag spikes in the open world map), but when a 2D tower defense game fails to run as smoothly as a 3D action game with stylish and fast-paced combat, then we have a problem. For context, my 4GB RAM phone only has minor lag when I use a skill that has a lot of visual effects like Lee Hyperreal's Hypermatrix, but back when I played WHB I still experienced lag spikes when deploying units.

Again this all boils down to PB just not being used to the game format. Which is all well and good, Arknights was a huge departure from Girls Frontline too - a good portion of Arknights' devs worked on Girls Frontline before splitting off to work on Arknights. But what made Arknights succeed is how accessible and F2P friendly the game was, with smooth and solid gameplay as well as an engaging plot that discusses themes such as racism, discrimination, and the fragility of hope.

Of course you can argue that Arknights is a tower defense first, visual novel second. Unlike WHB, which is an otome game first, tower defense second. And I would agree, but only to a certain extent. Once you step into the realm of having Actual Combat Gameplay Elements then I believe it's your duty to make progression as reasonable as possible. Including a power gate is fine, but nothing too excessive - and certainly do not hold any significantly strong unit behind a paywall.

Because fun fact - in Arknights' entire runtime, there were only a handful of completely paywalled content:

Player icons from promotional packs for large events, particularly the Ambience Synesthesia concerts

Character skins from promotional packs, like the Exusiai and Guard Ch'en skins during the anime release

Purestream, a B4 Therapist Medic who was released as a WWF collab, where all sales from her $1 pack were donated to the WWF. Even then, she eventually became available for everyone, as she was later added to the Recruitment pool (use a resource obtained from Dailies for a chance to get units, some unique to the pool like Purestream). She was a decent healer, and her Module made her a good budget medic. Even then you're more likely using the Medics you've already built by then - for B4 budget options, Perfumer is usually better for multi-target healing and a party HP regen passive, while Sussurro is your go-to for strong single-target healing.

And guess what? None of these had any direct impact on gameplay during their paywalled period. Purestream wasn't even a B5 or B6 unit, yo. There are many better options for healers. I STILL USE THE B3 ANSEL AND HIBISCUS IN INTEGRATED STRATEGIES.

I'm just...PB's choices baffle me, and I do wish they can improve not just on the game performance standpoint, but in how they treat their playerbase in terms of in-game purchases. I hope I made that abundantly clear...

#what in hell is bad #whb #rimei rambles #i'm confused y'all #storage was the least of my issues with this game #but idk how it is now so #for the love of god please compress your files #optimize your game #again i am arknights biased #and it definitely shows #arknights is such a good game i genuinely think it ruined all other tower defense games for me #so maybe i'm not the most objective person to be making all these statements #but the game state is so much of a dumpster fire it makes me sad #because if done well whb could've been great #instead...we got this

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forest-falcon · 26 days

Text

The Butterfly Effect

Chpr 6

🩷🩶🚒🚀

Cass slipped into the mess room and boiled the kettle, for herself, for the first time in...oooh, what was it? Going on four days.

The station had experienced back-to-back callouts all week, and she was ready for a strong, semi-decent, cup of coffee. One that she didn't have to neck, stone-cold, between tasks.

She'd used up the last of the blend Virgil had gifted her, so station-sludge it was. Well, it wasn't that bad. It was just that ThunderBrews were indescribably better.

Rain thrummed steadily on the misted window pane - the London skyline, melting into one long, silver-grey blur. But, the addition of her coffee and a more-manageable workload had her staving off her mound of paperwork - just a moment longer, to savour the subtle autumnal vibe.

"Quiet one today, Chie-"

"-DON'T...say it Probie."

Her mug was moments from her lips and...

An alert sounded on her phone. It was one she had never hoped to hear. One that most of the station had no clue existed.

Protocol Phoenix.

It instantly triggered the station alarm.

Boots could be heard running down the hall, as her team grabbed kit and headed for the trucks.

Chief McCready headed them off, making use of one of the old fire-poles, that was mainly kept for show, to dart between floors.

"LISTEN UP, LISTEN UP!

Her voice drowned out the clatter of boots on the stairs.

"THIS IS A NON-STANDARD EMERGENCY!"

"LINE UP, LINE UP."

A number of firefighters looked visibly confused, dithering momentarily, as they looked between their Chief and the trucks.

A select few understood. Their faces wore a different shade of concern.

Right, I'm gonna need Jonesy, Mac, Tam - you're with me.

Where's Ashwell?

"Ash, you're in charge of the station. You can have my brew. Enjoy."

"Probie, you'll be cleaning the trucks until needed."

"What did I do?"

"Tempted fate."

Cass shrugged at a run.

* * *

The GDF carrier was already waiting at the rendezvous point. She was sleeker than the rest of their fleet; designed by Brains himself, and equipped with state of the art rescuewear befitting a Thunderbird.

Cass strapped in and braced herself. Training days with Scott and Virgil had already proven the serious Gs the aircraft could pull.

Col. Casey gave her a small nod of acknowledgement before a blue hologram projected out between them.

"Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward here, confirming attendance of myself, Parker, and Tycho Reeves."

Tycho offered a derpy smile and half-wave from the edge of the projection.

"All present and correct here, also. Setting coordinates for Tracy Island. Protocol Phoenix is Go."

The projection blinked out.

"Just noticed, you added a name to the carrier since last time," Jonesy called out over the noise of the engine.

"Lucy?"

"Any reason behind the name choice?"

"She was the boys' mother," Casey supplied.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderfam #thunderbirds fanfiction #Colonel Casey #lady penelope #aloysius parker #oc Tamara Fielding #oc Jonesy #oc Mac #Captain Cass McCready #the butterfly effect

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uniiiquehecrt · 1 month

Text

I'm thinking in terms of actual real life experiences I've had when I say this, but I'd imagine part of what makes being a Thor enjoyer so frustrating in 2024/MCU's phase 4+ era is that... you're effectively not allowed to enjoy your favorite superhero.

I once had a conversation with a close friend of mine during a casual outing, and without going into very many details, this particular person is an enjoyer of Ragnarok, and enjoys Tailka's work overall. Now, I should say right off the bat: there is nothing wrong with these opinions. Everyone is entitled to like what they like and enjoy the work of creators just the same as other people are allowed to dislike them. For this particular post, I'm not here to get into fandom wars or "reasons why taika waititi is a terrible director" beef. I have other posts in line for that. But what I will say is that I already knew this about my friend, so it never surprised me when the topic of Thor came up that it would be a point of disagreement.

The issue I've found that continues to circle in the general space of "being a Thor fan" came when I expressed that I don't like Ragnarok, I do think Thor was funnier (and just better overall) before Ragnarok and therefore Taika's involvement, and quite frankly Taika had very little business taking on the mantle of director of a superhero franchise he has never liked or understood in his life just because he had mouths to feed. (There are other opportunities to fulfill that. And filmmakers know going into this industry that it's all gig-based and - if they're smart anyways - work around that.) I hadn't even gotten a chance to go through all of the reasons WHY I feel that way, of which I have had before compiled an organized list of about 16 talking points off the top of my head, so as far as that particular discussion goes... it didn't go anywhere. We were busy at the time.

But namely what I want to talk about is this:

The response I was given, in summary, was something along the lines of "well I think Thor was boring, and he wasn't my cup of tea, so I'm glad he changed."

But, you see, there's just ONE small issue with that: Thor isn't meant for everyone.

In fact, no character is meant for everyone. So why is it that Thor needs to change to be "for everyone" and be the MCU normies' "cup of tea" when no other character has to? Why does he need to lose his core identity (both as a character, as a franchise, you name it, it's been done) just because people like my friend don't understand him as well as Tony Stark or Spider-Man? And why should Thor fans have tow watch their favorite superhero get stripped down and turned into something completely divorced from the character, world and cast we were first involved with from the beginning?

Nobody at any point has been able to answer me that besides "well just because I didn't like Thor personally."

Iron Man won't appeal to everyone. Neither does Captain America, neither does Spider-Man, beloved as even Spidey is. They have their own quirks, their own villains, their own storylines... Every superhero has a core to them that their stories revolve around. He's from DC, but Superman, for instance, has the core of: love, justice and the American Way. Therefore, his stories revolve around challenging that core, and making Superman prove it. Steve Rogers/Captain America has a similar core. Justice, freedom and the American Way, is what I'd mostly boil his core down to. Thor's is "love" all around. I've written about that '(here)' in my post about his 2011 themes. Maybe it's different for other fans, but for me personally? I adore that about Thor. It's one of the many reasons I'm drawn to him over any other marvel Super besides Spider-Man. (not you tom holland ... yes you andrew garfield...)

So when I go to Thor for entertainment, I'm going to him above the other superheros because I want a story that revolves around HIS core and how Thor goes about reckoning with his challenges. I also go to MCU Thor specifically for his quiet, kind, regal nature. I come to him for his gravitas, his passion, his relationships with his cast of companions.

I go to him for high-sci-fi action/adventure, or for the "what if we took norse mythology and made it an alien superhero" route they took him in for the MCU. I go to Thor because he IS different from the rest of the Avengers... and that's the point.

So when someone says to me: "Well Thor wasn't for me so I'm glad he changed", or "Well I really liked Ragnarok because Thor kind of become more in line with the other Avengers"... they're fundamentally missing the point of why Thor has a fanbase at all.

#&&. whispers #&&. thor.#&&. | marvel. |#salt to taste #&&. meta #&&. my meta #thor deserves better #thor #thor ragnarok critical #anti thor ragnarok #anti taika waititi #mcu thor

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ladyluscinia · 11 months

Note

Hi there! I just read your meta about how Izzy knows the real Edward and not just Blackbeard, and that got me thinking… why does Ed tell Stede he doesn’t have any friends? I’d initially chalked this up to Izzy only wanting to be friends with Blackbeard, but if Izzy knows and is loyal to the real Ed, why doesn’t Ed consider him a friend?

Hi! You just stumbled on one of my favorite things to talk about that now I get to add S2 context to, so thank you!

Ok... Edward & his total denial of friendship. There's the big reason - which is completely divorced from the reality of any of his relationships - and then there's the smaller, related reason that I'm not even sure Edward is fully aware of.

Reason #1 (the big one) why Edward says he doesn't have any friends is because he's having a depressive breakdown in a bathtub when he says it.

It all comes back to the fact Edward hates himself, which was fairly clear in S1 and now made explicit in S2. Specifically in 2x03. Which, in a season full of excellently timed flashbacks and echoed scenes from S1, still contains the single example that made me leap from my seat in pure vindication.

When Edward tackles his conjured Hornigold to kill him, before he realizes he's in the gravy basket, we great a great line...

"It all boils down to this. You're afraid you're unlovable."

...followed by a set a flashbacks that feel chosen specifically for me 😌

Edward killing his dad, with the voiceover "I'm not a good person Stede..." cut to Izzy's destroyed laugh right before Edward left the room in 2x02, and then cut back to the bathtub from 1x06 to finish "...That's why I don't have any friends." Stede affirms he is Edward's friend and then it ends on the crew's mutiny from 2x02 and the absolute darkest point of Edward's depressive spirals so far.

That is literally an explicit connection I couldn't have dreamed of in the S1 hiatus.

Because, like... Edward's whole thing is that he's been on the edge of drowning under this lifelong struggle against depression since we met him. He does fundamentally believe in his darkest moments that he is monstrous and poisonous and no one could ever love him, but it's not a logical belief. He's not making an assessment of his relationships as he sees them, he's voicing his self-loathing and depression.

And the parallel between "I don't have any friends" and "I'm unlovable" is soooo crunchy because we know for a fact the second statement is just depression talking. Not even just Stede! Edward spends the first two episodes actively resisting evidence to the contrary in his spiral because it hurts too much - Izzy blatantly confessing his love didn't break through, it just got him shot for trying.

To go back to the bathtub in 1x06, Stede's affirmation there wasn't any more effective than Izzy's confession in S2. It gets Edward to get up out of the bathtub and pull himself back together, but the very next episode opens with Edward getting antsy and trying to leave before Stede can reject him. In 1x08 he's still half-waiting for Stede to notice there's something wrong with him.

Edward always has a little dark voice in the back of his mind saying that Calico Jack isn't his friend, and Izzy isn't his friend, and Stede isn't his friend... but it's Edward's voice. One he'll have to fight against forever, one that will sound really persuasive in his darkest moments (like when he's in a bathtub admitting its source out loud for the first time in his life), but also one that is lying.

So... that's the big reason.

Now, Reason #2 is a bit more nuanced - Edward is really repressed.

This is pretty much entirely the fault of Reason #1, but it is technically a different thing. Because Edward hates himself and has a flawed perspective of all his relationships, he instinctively holds himself back from them to some degree.

This kinda gets into the whole Izzy vs Stede thing, because Edward has a very small collection of interests and desires that he shoved into a small box as things he didn't deserve well before becoming a pirate (due to both mommy and daddy trauma), and then he never brought those things up with anyone close to him. Until he met Stede, who was basically the walking embodiment of several of those interests/desires and a person who Edward uniquely did not have a script or baseline for interacting with, so he ended up doing the reverse and diving into exploring all that as the core of this one singular relationship.

Which has left him very unbalanced.

Like, he's not wholly engaging in the relationship due to fear of rejection either way. There's nothing intrinsically healthier about letting Izzy know all his ugliest bits or Stede know all his most hidden emotional vulnerabilities. And the fear of rejection in both cases is based in his depression / conviction he's unlovable, not evidence that Izzy would react poorly or whatever.

But if he was capable of evaluating his relationships objectively, he might have felt a little like even Izzy who knew him so well wasn't as close of friend as he truly desired, simply because he puts away that box of things around him. Only... Izzy doesn't make him do that. That box was probably put away before Izzy even met him.

And like... Edward can feel his feelings about Izzy not knowing the super important emotional things he wants him to know, but it's still on Edward for not even trying to tell him.

(This got longer than I meant it to, lol. Anyway here's my hiatus post where I'm nice to Calico Jack on this topic too.)

#our flag means death #ofmd s2 #ofmd s2 spoilers #blackbeard ofmd #izzy hands ofmd #ofmd meta #ask #stede bonnet ofmd #ofmd 1x06 #ofmd 2x03 #parallels #hornigold ofmd #ladyluscinia

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bleedingichorhearts · 4 months

Text

𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐌𝐚𝐲: 𝐃𝐨𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐬

𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗: This one reminded me of Subnautica.

𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖌𝖊𝖉: @kit-williams, @egrets-not-regrets, @bispecsual, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan, @sleepyfan-blog.

TW // Injury, Violence.

|°𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐌𝐚𝐲 𝐂𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐬°| |°ᴛᴀɢ ʟɪꜱᴛ ᴀᴘᴘʟɪᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ°| • {𝐂𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧} • {𝐀𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐮𝐬} • {𝐆𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐁𝐨𝐢’𝐬}

Collecting minerals across the deep-ocean floor was a rather pleasing experience, especially right next to the lava lakes and volcanoes. It was cool to see when they would pop and create this “pillow lava.” All round and bulbous, its sphere crust erupting to other Little Rock’s called “igneous rocks.”

Of course, you have to be careful on doing this sort of job. Be wary where you go, how deep you go, what and where you decide to collect your mineral or samples. Creatures and Mother Nature might not like you if they so much desire to rip you to pieces or shoot pillows of lava at you. It can be a very dangerous job in a second. So it’s best to leave it up to the professionals who have more experience for these types of jobs.

This also accounts for the equipment needed to use for this type of job. You can’t have some weak and classic diving suit to swim to the approximate depth of your area filled with underwater lakes of lava. That suit has to be modified for a human to be able to take on the heat of the lava in order to get the goodies like: Gold, silver, copper, manganese, cobalt and zinc.

Though, you gotta be careful of how much the human weight and pressure can take. You don’t want to sink to the ocean floor and be pressurized by the water for going too far down for a human being. So you got to be careful with your selective gear, but your absolute must haves are a storage pouch, underwater flashlight(s), lining, and a knife. All these are important for your survival into the depths of the ocean, and if you think you can take a harpoon? Go for it, the ocean can be quiet and scary when it wants to be.

Pushing of some rock with my hand. I avoided some hydrothermal vents as I took my diver knife from my waist and stabbed it into piece of rock wall a couple times, digging out some mineral with in it. The disrupted sand on the rock obstructing my vision for a second before I spot that shine of the material and grab the mineral with my other hand.

Zinc, I recognize from the splintery metal it has and the sheeny grayish color it’s known for. A good chemical element for to help you immune system fight of bacteria and viruses inside of your body. Though, I would not recommend to blankly just touch, inhale or eat raw zinc before giving it over to the scientists. It can could cause some side effects too like: Stomach cramps, nausea and vomiting. For higher levels: Anemia, damaged pancreas and decreased levels of high-density lipoprotein (HDL) cholesterol.

Opening my pouch, I place the small mineral into the storage pouch on the other side of my waist, from the knife holster and sheathed my knife back into its holster. Swimming carefully near the edge of the cliff where a lava lake resides just a few inches below. The boiling heat of it warning me if I was too close to it or not while I looked for some more minerals to collect. My feet and hands pushing off rocks when I didn’t find anything in the surrounding area.

I hum unhappily into my mask when I couldn’t find anything more than just zinc and occasional copper. Bubbles obstructing my vision when I stop and float in place, looking around me carefully for one last scan for minerals. The feeling of unaccomplishment pressing onto my shoulders as I didn’t want to leave the area without another mineral stocked into my pouch. I wanted them for a reason.

The weight on my shoulders pull off instantly when I spot a sliver of gold shining against the red and yellow of the lava lakes light. My legs already working to swim closer to the lava lake; more than one should. The heat threatening to burn off my heat resistant suit if I got anymore close to the lake, having its limitations.

Rounding the material, I made sure there wasn’t any more that I was going to miss. My hand reaching and unsheathing my knife back from my holster as I get ready to dig at it. Head tilting back and forth on how I would like to dig at it to make sure I didn’t damage the gold too much before resting a hand above it for support and giving the surrounding rock around it a good stab.

It took about 7 times before the noble metal popped off its spot. Breifly floating in the water as I made a reach for it. My fingers almost closing around the metal before I found myself scarcely close to the lava lake. A muffled cry ripping from my throat.

Rapid bubbles surrounded my vision as my hand clutches at my shoulder. A line of red threading through my fingers and through the water from the harpoon stuck into my shoulder. My back slowly burning up for being too close to the lava lake; like when you get too close to the campfire for comfort.

My eyes go wide when another harpoon tinks itself near my ankle, cutting my suit there as I scramble back as far as I could to the best of my abilities without getting scorched by the lava. The harpoon in my shoulder not helping when I find myself pinned under the hands of another human. Their knife threatening to crack my goggles as the tip of the knife scratches them, creating a line in them.

All I could hear from them are rough mumbles and gestures to my pouch. Their hands occasionally gripping at the harpoon in my shoulder for more power as I cry out at the pain of it being moved. Their eyes giving a certain glee when they did.

What was another person doing down here? Was this person a pirate? How long were they following me? Where did they even come from? How did they know of this area? It’s wasn’t common to have some search the floor of the sea for some scraps of minerals.

The person shoves my body back into the sea floor harshly and backing off; taking my storage pouch with them as I become lightheaded at the force of their push. That feeling of dread, sadness and questioning settling on my shoulders.

Why would one person what to steal from another and wound them in the process? If they could have asked I would have lended over some materials for them. I wasn’t a greedy person! That— that just doesn’t make any sense! Why steal when you have a perfectly good gear to come down into the depths of the water and steal from me?

I groan and exhale slowly in order not to cry at the loss of my materials and with the harpoon in my shoulder. My hand gripping at the handle and pulling the harpoon out with a painful jerk. More of my blood flowing through the boiling waters of the ocean depths.

I jump when a nuzzle to the back of my shoulder takes my attention when I look back behind me to the creature of the lava lakes. His black reptilian-like body rising out of the lava as it bubbles off his scales. His deep, yet glowing reddish-orange eyes, serpent-like irises with a solid black line going horizontally through his eyes looking me over. A deep rumble coming out of him, vibrating the water.

Relived it was just the sea creature, I reached up to the creature. His head coming down to nuzzle into my open arms. His form chuffing bubbles as he slowly moves to the wound on my shoulder. A low growl rumbling through the water before his long black tongue rolls out of his mouth and laps at the wound, sealing it up with his saliva as I nuzzle up against his shoulder, his appearance welcoming as the saddening thought of being stolen from still ranked through my mind. I was going to make a trinket for this loving creature, and now I have to start from ground zero.

The creature gently coos at me when he wants my attention, giving me a little kiss on the neck while he’s at it. His talon-like hands rubbing against my back soothingly. Prompting me to let go of him as he gestures and gently pushes me to go back to his nest. His form curling around me, blocking me for any disagreement of not going to his nest.

Pushing off the sea floor a little. I reached for the creature again before I went and nuzzled him right underneath his chin. Purposely exhaling bubbles as he gives these chuff-like sounds at my antics. Gently pawing at me to get me swimming back to his nest, and giving me a forehead kiss before I make my way back to his nest. His eyes carefully watching me go swim to the location of his nest before he turns a pushes off the ground with quiet power in his talons and tail with a new hunt in mind.

A vengeful one too.

#Ichor’s Chronicles #warhammer 40k #mermay 40k #mermay 2024 #mermay #x reader #reader insert #oc: dorvenos #salamander #tw: injury #tw: violence #he is batman

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crossedwithblue · 1 month

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The Sharmas, and vegetarianism in India

I just finished the books and this stood out to me. One side of my family is Jain, a small religion philosophically very similar to Buddhism, with a similar emphasis on nonviolence and the complete avoidance of harm to any human being. This includes:

No meat, obviously. Eggs are also excluded (as in the more general Indian definition of vegetarianism) No root vegetables, even, because you have to kill the whole plant to get them. Interestingly, non-lethal animal products are fine - milk, honey, wool - so it's not the same as veganism. I'm not sure what the position is on the hidden life-cost of milk i.e. the death of male calves because it's a waste to keep most around. This is common enough that retaurants will have 'Jain options' on their menu/allow you to request a Jain version of a dish, and it's a widely understood dietary requirement (though most people in India seen to think Jainism is a branch of Hinduism. It's not, it's a completly splintered-off heterodoxy, but we don't need to get into that).

They also don't use leather or silk since that does require death to produce, though my granny does have a 'peace silk' sari that's made without boiling the cocoons.

No eating after sunset and no eating food kept overnight, because they had some concept of germ theory and knew that bacteria bred more after dark. Pre-fridges, this is generally a pretty good idea in a hot country, anyway.

A yearly ritual where you meditate and ask forgiveness from any creature of any kind that you might have injured, deliberately or not. It's meant to be an acknowledgement that you've done wrong and a meditation on forgiving other people because everyone's fallible. You also exchange this with anyone you can - friends, family etc. I have very very mixed feelings about this one, how valid and meaningful it usually is in-practice and its actual effect on most people's mental health, but I'll leave that out of this post LOL

In the same vein, a prayer ritual you do at the temple where you repeat the same request for forgivness while repeatedly moving from a standing position to kneeling and prostrated with your head on the floor, the gradual standing - kneeling upright - kneeling fully - completely prostrate timed to the lines of the request. As my mum pointed out, it's also pretty good exercise, like a slowed-down bungee squat that's also gentler on your joints. I can picture El doing it for mana.

If you thought this was intense enough, the monks and nuns take it to another level. They eat nothing but boiled vegetables, lentils and grains, and I believe are not allowed to wear any clothing but what is purely plant derived, so they are closer to veganism in that sense. They have little brooms they use to sweep the path ahead of them to avoid stepping on insects (which, since they spend a lot of time on the road physically walking from place to place, presumably slows them down as much as you might imagine. They wear masks over their face to avoid inhaling small insects and keep out bacteria as much as possible (presumably the tiny insects are more of a concern if, again, you're pretty much sleeping out in the open in a rural area).

Not Jain any more, but upper-caste Hindus from some regions, essentially the priest caste, are also pretty strict vegetarians to the point that they're quite snobby about it. They are vegetarian because they consider it necessary to ritual purity, and look down on people who aren't - according to my mum, who went to uni with a lot of people like that, the reason why they accepted her relatively easily was because she was also a very strict vegetarian. I'm not sure if those guys avoid root vegetables too - mum had to start eating them at uni, anyway, because she would have struggled for food otherwise.

The Sharma family's insistence on strict mana reminded me of these practices a lot. They won't use any malia because you cannot get it without deliberately causing harm to another living being, even if that's just a blade of grass. I don't know if Novik was aware of this but it's pretty plausible and if she was, it adds a lot of context to her making El half-Indian and giving her paternal family similar beliefs. My headcanon is that they are indeed Jain - there's a pretty big community in Maharashtra/of Marathi origin.

#el higgins #the scholomance #a deadly education #the last graduate #the golden enclaves #arjun sharma scholomance #deepthi sharma scholomance #galadriel higgins #via shitposts

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theship-thewalrus · 2 years

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the third time's the charm {2/3}

ser harwin strong x fem!reader

twice you have tried to confess your love to ser harwin, you could only hope the third time's the charm

word count: 1282 words reading time: about 8 minutes warnings: none that I can see part 1 part 3

2nd attempt

Coming out to the middle of the woods was not something you enjoyed, especially when doing so has put Rhaenyra in such a foul mood. Not only was she jealous of the attention her younger half-brother received. But she was also worried about her position on the Iron throne. As well as the endless suitors that are fighting for her hand. You knew the stress she suffered from as a female heir, and how overwhelming everything was at this moment. You tried your best to help her in any way you could, not as a handmaiden but as her friend. Rhaenyra has treated you beyond well during her time in her service, never asking for too much, something you will always be grateful for.

Picking up your dress you attempt to keep up with the angered princess. The small squabble with her father boiled her blood and the frustration of not being heard was getting to her. Resulting in the need to cool off, run away and not return until they realised how much she truly meant. In a strange way, putting herself at risk as a consequence of those who have upset her. "Rhaenyra, please! Where are you off to? I beg you to allow me to help!" your desperate plea falls on deaf ears as she continues on her warpath. Not even making any acknowledgement to show she had heard what you had said. Her path lead her to a white stallion, which she swiftly mounted. Before you could even open your mouth to question her or ask where she was going, she had galloped off.

"My lady!" you yell giving no attempt to chase after her knowing it was no use to try and catch up with her as she was on horseback. Another horse gallops past you, Ser Criston Cole going after the princess himself. Huffing in defeat you watch the two ride past the tree line and into the lush forest. Although you admire Rhaenyra for her unwavering opinions and spirit. You knew at times how difficult she could be when she sets her mind on something.

"You seem to be in distress once more, my lady." The familiar voice of Harwin Strong filled your ears, his presence was felt from behind you. Despite having effectively lost the princess and now trapped amongst the guests for Aegon second name day. But now there was a silver lining to this cloud, Ser Harwin Strong. Turning to face him you smile softly "It seems so yes. My only companion has just ridden anyway on horseback." At your words Harwin let out an offended but playful scoff, rolling his eyes before they rested on you. "How you wound me. Here I was thinking I too was your friend."

You pause for a moment, your eyes widen slightly as you come to the realisation of what you have said. Never did you mean to offend him, quickly you attempt to fix your mistake before too much damage can be done. "I didn't mean it like that! Of course, I like you. Gods be good, everyone adores you" Your words come out quickly and if one had not been paying attention they could have easily missed what you said. But Harwin's attention seemed to be solely on you as he heard every word you spoke as though they were not a jumbled mess.

"That's good, as me asking you to go for a walk together may have been very awkward." he jests slightly reaching his hand resting just at the small of your back he began leading you forward. It was a good thing he began to lead you himself as you feared that left at your own devices you may have said something you would regret. Face flushed red and eyes cast downwards once more you allowed him to lead you, knowing he would not allow anyone to run into you and possibly knock you over.

With great care, he leads you through the camp and to the forest edge, the same place Rhaenrya rode through not long ago. Why did he want to walk with you of all people? Maybe, just maybe he reciprocated your feelings for him? The Gods showing you some mercy and giving you something good in life. But what the Gods give they also take away, you only hoped they would not take this single kindness away from you.

You had not realised how far the pair of you walked in the forest until Harwin stopped in a little clearing. Looking around you took in the scene around you, taking note of how everything seemed to look like a painting. You wondered if the pair of you just happened to stumble upon this place or if had he seen it earlier and simply decided to take you there. Though you did not allow yourself to think about it for too long in fear you would disappoint yourself with the answer.

"What a gorgeous place." looking back to Harwin for a moment you smile before taking in more of the scenery, hoping to commit this moment to memory. "I came across it when looking for the white stag. Thought if anyone was to appreciate this place properly it would be you." Though he said it as an off-handed comment, there was more to his words. An underlying look at his feelings for you, which you did not seem to catch. He smiled softly, moving to sit under the shade of a large old tree. Swiftly you joined him, sitting at a comfortable distance next to him.

Both of you sat in comfortable silence for some time, simply enjoying each other's company. Both of you fearing if you spoke a word you may ruin such a peaceful moment. You had not believed when arriving on this trip you would get a moment to yourself, there was always so much that needed to be done. A moment in the forest with the person who held your heart was nothing but a dream in your mind. But as you both sat there together, you begin to think that maybe other dreams could also become a reality. You did not wish to let such a perfect moment pass you, working up the courage you began to speak.

"Harwin, I-" but it seemed you had taken too long to say anything once again. As the moment was interrupted by loud rustling from the shrubs in front of where you both sat. The words you were going to say caught in your throat, at the sudden intrusion. Harwin moved into a crouching position, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword while the other hovered in front of you. Eyes set on the shrub you feared what could possibly be ready to attack. You had heard tales of Boars in this forest ripping people apart, the vicious beasts not caring in the slightest about who or what they killed.

Yet what showed itself was not a boar or even an animal, instead a nervous-looking boy. "Ser, my lady." The small boy bows swiftly to your both before directing his attention to only Harwin. "Your presence is needed at camp, the king wishes to set off again and all are to be present." Letting out an annoyed huff Harwin stood tall holding out a hand to help you stand. Once you both stood next to each other Harwin's attention turned to you, a sheepish smile on his face.

"It seems we have to cut this short, a shame since I find myself enjoying our time together." a light blush dusts your cheeks as he leads you back to camp.

tag: @ephemeralninon

#harwin x reader #harwin strong x reader #hotd x reader #house of the dragon x reader #ser harwin strong x reader #house of the dragon imagines #hotd imagines #harwin strong imagines

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theradicalscrivener · 2 days

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The Little Spoon Part 3

After the events of their previous experiment, Felipe sets to work figuring out what is causing the cumulative effects of his potions.

(P.S. Ya boi's got Linktree and Bluesky now)

[First Chapter] || [Previous Chapter]

Caleb sat on the edge of the table while watching Felipe hard at work. Even though Caleb’s build was as broad and muscular as ever, Felipe’s old clothes now hung loosely on Caleb’s much-dwindled frame. During the past year, Caleb had taken a few doses of the shrinking serum. Each time, the loss of height had been more significant than before. Now, the once towering 6’3 stud now stood a meager 4’6.

Caleb was now shorter than his “little lover” by several inches. Not only had Caleb dropped so small, but Felipe had also shot up a few inches himself. It was this recent growth spurt that Felipe had enjoyed that was why Felipe was now rushing around the kitchen brewing several pots full of various concoctions.

Every burner on the oven was running as well as a few hotplates. Even the coffee pot was doing double duty as a potion brewer. Everywhere he looked there were pots and carafes full of various colored liquids in various states of boiling.

“You’re so hot when you’re in nerd mode,” Caleb said sweetly.

Felipe looked up from the pot that he had been stirring to flash a smile at his shrunken boyfriend. He looked more like a chemist than a witch in his current getup. He had large, plastic, protective goggles over his eyes, and a large, white lab coat over his clothing.

“Thanks. You look cute as hell yourself. I never thought I’d see you in my old hand-me-downs,” Felipe said with a laugh. Felipe flashed a playful wink at his boyfriend. When he did so, his gaze lingered for a moment in Caleb’s thick, sculpted pecs. Thanks to the plunging V of the oversized shirt Caleb was wearing, Felipe was given a clear line of sight to a lot of cleavage.

“So, what exactly are we doing here?” Caleb asked.

“The potions have been having a compounding effect. That’s not supposed to happen,” Felipe explained.

“Yeah, but we’ve known that for a while. Why are you turning our apartment into a chem lab? I feel like we’re going to get a house call from Walter White,” Caleb said.

“Right. So, the other day, when I grew, it wasn’t just my height that changed,” Felipe explained.

“That was so hot. When can we do that again?” Caleb replied.

Felipe smiled. “I love that you loved it, but I only took a height potion. The whole thing with the dick was not supposed to happen,” Felipe explained.

“But I’m glad it did!” Caleb cheered.

Felipe reached over and playfully ruffled Caleb’s hair. “Oh yeah. I had a blast too, but it completely destroyed my theory,” Felipe explained.

Caleb tilted his head to the side like a curious puppy. Felipe’s smile grew wider at the sight. It was still hard to believe how Caleb managed to be so hot and beefy and still look adorable at the same time.

“At first, I thought that with each dosage, the body got better… primed? For change. Like, think of modeling clay. It’s hard as a rock when you first get it,” Felipe said.

“I know the feeling,” Caleb replied.

I know you do,” Felipe said. He flashed Caleb a wink and playfully rubbed a hand across Caleb’s sculpted abs before quickly shifting back into nerd mode.

“As I said, imagine clay. It’s hard when you get it. You have to play with it a bit before it gets soft,” Felipe said.

“I know the feeling,” Caleb replied.

Felipe rolled his eyes and threw a nearby washcloth in Caleb’s face. “Focus, children…” he chided in a playful, sing-song voice, but despite his protests, he was stifling a laugh.

“So, the clay…” Caleb replied.

“Right. The more you warm it up, the easier it is to sculpt. So, each dose, your body got a bit more pliable… at least that’s what I thought at first,” Felipe explained.

“So, that’s not what happens?” Caleb asked.

“If that were true, my dick shouldn’t have grown last time. So, maybe there’s something that stays in the body and just lies dormant until reactivated,” Felipe said.

“You’re trying to figure out what is getting reactivated?” Caleb asked.

“I’m less worried about that and more curious about what is causing the dormant stuff to reawaken. I’ve worked with potions long enough to know what causes which effect, but I have never heard of old effects getting restarted,” Felipe said.

“Did you talk to Mr. Yen about this?” Caleb asked.

“Yeah. I mean… I didn’t tell him about you, but I mentioned how my dick grew when I used the height potion last. He’d never heard of this happening either,” Felipe explained.

“How’s he doing, anyway?” Caleb asked.

“He’s enjoying his retirement. He stops by every few weeks to check on the shop, but he seems pleased with how I’m running things,” Felipe explained.

“It’s weird to think of him retiring. He was old as balls when you met him, right? I just figured a dude like that doesn’t age,” Caleb said.

“Like most things, age for him is malleable. When I say “retiring” I mean he’s changing personas. He’s got enough of a nest egg to take it easy for at least a decade even with the godawful inflation, and a young, hot body so that he can actually enjoy having time and money in his old age,” Felipe said.

“Man, I want to do that. Imagine being twenty-something and rich,” Caleb said.

“Maybe someday. I kind of want to try getting old with you before we hit the reset button, though,” Felipe replied.

“When you put it that way…” Caleb murmured and looked away to hide his blushing cheeks. Felipe clocked it instantly, though.

“I think you’ll look great with some grey,” Felipe said and ran his fingers through Caleb’s hair.

“Wait. Does that mean you have the recipe?” Caleb asked.

“Yes,” Felipe replied, but the way he said it gave Caleb pause.

“How did you manage to say that with an asterisk?” Caleb asked.

“He gave me a copy of his old notes, but they are still mostly in… I don’t even know what language this is. It may just be his personal cypher. It will take me a while to translate it all, but it’s not my main concern right now,” Felipe explained.

“Yeah. For now, we need to cook,” Caleb replied and gestured to all the beakers.

“Speaking of which… try some of this,” Felipe said and handed Caleb a beaker.

Caleb gave the contents a sniff and said, “oooh. Smells alcoholic. I’m in.” and took a sip, but he almost instantly began gagging.

“Now I know why you’re not a bartender. What is this shit!?” Caleb whined.

“It’s called a tincture. It’s mostly water with a little sugar and alcohol boiled in. It’s a common potion base,” Felipe explained.

“So, it’s cough syrup. Why were you asking me to drink this?” Caleb asked.

“As I said, it’s the basis of a potion. The plan is to slowly add less benign and more exotic ingredients as we go and figure out which part is causing the reaction,” Felipe explained.

“Can we use an alcohol that doesn’t taste like paint thinner for it?” Caleb asked.

“That adds way too many variables, and as we add more to the mix, you shouldn’t be able to taste the base as much anyway,” Felipe replied.

“What are all these other ones?” Caleb asked.

Felipe pointed to beaker after beaker after pot of bubbling concoction and listed off each one. “Base. Thickener. Activating agent. Shrinking agent. Stabilizer. Flavoring. Coloring. And those… are just filler if I’m being honest.”

“Filler?” Caleb asked.

“Yeah. A giant cauldron’s worth of mixture only nets you a droplet or two of usable potion. That’s really all you need to get the desired effects, but people don’t want to buy a dropper’s worth. You’d be surprised how much marketing goes into this gig. People expect to buy their potions in three-to-six-ounce vials or stoppers, so the rest is just for presentation. I’ll do a bit of castor oil or some coconut milk depending on the thickness or cloudiness I’m looking for. Then I dye it red for health or blue for mental acuity. All that fun stuff,” Felipe explained.

“And here I thought you said you weren’t a snake-oil salesman,” Caleb sassed.

“I must have misheard you. It almost sounded like you were not asking me to make you smaller,” Felipe sassed back.

“I’ll be good,” Caleb muttered apologetically.

“Of course you will,” Felipe chided playfully. He once again ruffled Caleb’s hair and then handed him another bowl to sip from. “Here. Try this,” he said.

Caleb took a sip and once more grimaced. It didn’t taste as bad, but it was far from what he would call delicious.

“How long do we have to keep doing this?” Caleb asked.

“Until we figure this out. I’m basically distilling a potion one ingredient at a time and then letting you taste the in between steps,” Felipe said.

“Since this tastes bad, you owe me something that tastes good afterwards,” Caleb replied.

“Sure. What’d you have in mind?” Felipe said.

“How’s steak sound? We haven’t gone out in ages,” Caleb replied.

“Sure. Maybe if you shave before we go, you can order from the kids’ menu,” Felipe teased.

Caleb looked ready to tease back, but his expression went from impish to contemplative and then to understanding. “That might actually work,” he said.

“Great. It’s a date! Now, drink this,” Felipe said and handed Caleb another tester.

This process went on for hours. Felipe tried mixture after mixture and every time the result was the same – absolutely nothing. Eventually, they had tried everything except the shrinking agent and the activation agent.

“Ok. Now try this. Don’t drink too much because this is where things could get weird,” Felipe explained.

Caleb nodded and took a small sip from the bowl. They waited for a moment, but it soon became apparent that nothing would happen. Felipe then handed Caleb a different bowl to try. Caleb took a sip, but the result was the same – nothing.

“That was both the shrinking and the activation agent. We’ve tried everything shy of giving you a fully prepared potion, but given how volatile the shrinkage from that would be, I don’t think that’s a good idea… Although… the fact that you didn’t shrink at all is weird. I did the catalyst last because I figured that would make something happen. Apparently, the cumulative effect is completely separate. There must be a second catalyst…” Felipe muttered.

“Does this mean we won’t be going out tonight?” Caleb asked.

“No. We’ll still do that. I just need to go back to the drawing board… And I should probably clean up in here beforehand. Grab a snack while I clean up. This will take a while,” Felipe said.

“Is any of this stuff edible?” Caleb asked, gesturing towards a few jars of unused materials.

“Not really. None of it will hurt you, but that’s the filler I was talking about. Some generic herbs and roots and different kinds of oils and plant milk,” Felipe said.

Caleb reached into one of the jars and pulled out a thin root that looked a lot like ginger but a strange shade of grey. “How about this? This smells good,” Caleb said, but he didn’t wait for an answer. No sooner were the words out of his mouth than the root went in.

“Don’t…” Felipe began, but he could see that Caleb was already chewing. Felipe let out a sigh and shook his head but made no real effort to intervene.

Caleb chewed on the root for a moment. His nose scrunched up a bit like he tasted something bad, but he kept chewing. It wasn’t terrible… but it wasn’t good either. It had a faint earthy taste kind of like a radish but with hints of sawdust and cardboard.

“It’s fine. You can spit it out,” Felipe said.

Caleb was about to, but he changed his mind. It was silly, but he felt the need to save face. He had done something dumb, but it was better to take his licks than admit it. Caleb swallowed audibly and shuddered slightly as he did so. He then flashed his best, cheekiest grin and said, “needs salt.”

“Cute,” Felipe said and rolled his eyes.

“It’s actually not bad once you get past the initial flavor. Nice aftertaste,” Caleb said.

“You think? Maybe I can try it in a stew sometime,” Felipe said.

“What is it anyway?” Caleb asked.

“Some new age bullshit. Nornroot is what they are selling it as. The crystal bloggers are nuts over it. They say it aligns your chakras and all that,” Felipe said.

“Does it?” Caleb asked.

“Fuck no. Someone found it on a walkabout in the tundra and decided just because it’s hard to get to it has to be special. They brought some back, propagated it, and it’s now being added to herbal remedies everywhere,” Felipe explained.

“Neat. So why do you have it if you hate it so much?” Caleb asked.

“I don’t hate it, but I don’t think it deserves its reputation. I just sprinkle a bit in my ‘premium’ potions and then charge a markup. As I said, the new age retro hippies love it,” Felipe said.

“Cool. Well, I’m famished so let’s get cleaned up so we can go get dinner,” Caleb said.

“Sure. Try not to snack too much while I finish up here,” Felipe said.

“As if I’d leave you to handle it all by yourself,” Caleb said.

“As if you could reach the counters to help,” Felipe teased.

“I’m not that short!” Caleb sassed back. However, there was an unspoken “yet” in there that both boyfriends seemed to pick up on.

Felipe rolled his eyes and set to work cleaning out the used beakers and pots. Meanwhile, Caleb slipped the last bit of the root he had been nibbling on into his mouth and hopped down from the countertop.

Felipe looked up from his cleaning when he heard a crash and a “Fuck!” from around the corner. Felipe peered over the counter to check on his boyfriend and saw Caleb picking himself up off the ground.

“Babe…? You good?” Felip asked.

“Yeah. I just misjudged the distance,” Caleb said and then let out a little cough and grumbled, “That last bit almost went down the wrong pipe…”

Seeing that Caleb was fine, Felipe let out a sigh of relief and went back to cleaning up, but there was a silence that steadily grew more awkward by the moment. Finally, Caleb was the one to speak up.

“Hey, babe… have you ever used this root in potions you’ve given me?” Caleb asked.

“Yeah. Don’t laugh, but put it in my ‘premium’ potions, and I wanted the stuff I give you to be special. Wait, why do you ask?” Felipe said.

“… I can’t see over the counter,” Caleb replied.

“What!?” Felipe yelped. He quickly rushed around the corner and stared down at his shrunken boyfriend. Felipe’s formerly loose hand-me-downs now were now hanging off of Caleb’s dwindling frame. Mere moments ago, Caleb was only a foot shorter than his boyfriend. Caleb’s was about chest level with Felipe. Now, however, he barely came up to Felipe’s midriff and was still visibly shrinking.

“How small do you think I’m going to get?” Caleb asked, trying and failing to hide the excitement in his voice.

“I don’t know. I don’t know if the extra shrinking agent you drank earlier will have an impact nor do I know how much of the root you ate,” Felipe said.

Caleb nodded and stared down at his body in awe. He was wearing Felipe’s old tunic like a toga. The shirt was hanging off of his dwindling frame and only barely managing to hang off of his shoulder.

Caleb glanced back up at his boyfriend. His jaw dropped at what he saw. He now stood eye level with Felipe’s crotch. Caleb’s already chubbing cock gave a lurch of delight as a thought flashed through his brain. Felipe’s cock had to be massive at this size!

Felipe stared down at his dwindling partner and ran the numbers in his head. “This is slower than before. I don’t think this is the normal potion effect, so I don’t think we’ll see a rebound effect,” Felipe said.

“What’s that mean?” Caleb asked. He stared up and up at his towering boyfriend. The top of his head now only came up to Felipe’s mid-thigh.

“I think you’ll reach a size and stop,” Felipe said.

So whatever size he reached, that would be his new permanent size!? Caleb was simultaneously freaked out and bricked up. This was what he wanted, but he didn’t like not knowing how small he’d get. Would he stop at Barbie sized? Action figure sized? Maybe he’d dwindle down to the size of a green army man! Maybe he’d keep shrinking until he was a spec of dust to a spec of dust!

The shirt reached a point where it was just too heavy and awkward to keep up. Caleb let the enormous garment slide off his shoulder and pool in a pile around his ankles. His rock hard, pre-drooling cock was openly on display. Caleb was now as naked as the day he was born and not much taller. He was now so short that he only came up to Felipe’s knees.

Caleb stared down at the gigantic clothes that now clumped around his ankles. He had just shrunk out of these clothes, but if he didn’t stop, he’d soon shrink back into them.

Caleb glanced back up at his boyfriend. Felipe now towered over him like a titan. Caleb had definitely shrunken even more, but not by as much as before. Caleb was now only a hair shorter than Felipe’s knees.

“Oh good. It looks like you’re stable,” Felipe said with a sigh of relief.

“Woah… how am I going to explain this to my boss…” Caleb murmured in awe.

“I don’t think I can reverse this any time soon, so for the time being, try to use your sick leave. Maybe they’ll let you work from home,” Felipe said.

“You want to reverse this!?” Caleb yelped.

“You were the one worrying about work!” Felipe protested.

“That doesn’t mean I want to grow back!” Caleb said.

Felipe gripped the bridge of his nose and shook his head. “Right… ok… we’ll figure that out later. I don’t think we’ll be getting steak for dinner tonight, though,” Felipe said.

Caleb shrugged and looked up at his towering boyfriend and said, “Take-out is fine with me.”

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#shrinking #gay romance #gay #macrophilia #size difference #story tag

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