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stillwinchester · 3 years

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Destiel AU - toddler!jack, mechanic!dean

“Good morning, sir!”

Dean looked up from his newspaper straight at the kid with a teddy bear. He had no idea where it came from. He was just sipping his coffee and reading the news, when some stranger toddler appeared on the seat in front of him.

“Umm, mornin'?” he greeted him, still confused.

“I have a birthday today,” said kid and grinned. Dean looked around, but nobody seemed to bother with his situation.

“Congratulations, but you shouldn't be alone here. Where's your mom?”

“In Heaven. She's watching over me, like an angel,” kid explained, and after that kicked him accidentally under the table. Dean dusted his knee off.

“And what about your dad?”

“There!” he pointed to the counter, where was standing a dark hair man in the trench coat. “He's buying birthday's milkshakes. Strawberry!”

“Yeah?” Dean relaxed a little bit, good that kid wasn't alone here. “And how old are you?”

“Four! It's more than three,” he said cheerfully. “Look, I have The Marvelous Marvin. He can talk!”

Kid showed him a teddy bear and pressed his belly. A plushie toy said: 'Hello!', his father turned around immediately and came quickly to Dean's table. He picked the kid up and spoke to him:

“Jack, I told you, don't harass people.” And then to Dean: “My apologies.”

“Nothing happened... He's a great kiddo.”

The man tried to smile, but he was too much embarrassed, so it lookes more like a grimace. Jack, on the other hand, seemed not to care about anything, playing with his teddy bear.

Dean pulled something out from his pocket and asked: “Hey, Jack, do you like stickers?”

“Yeah!”

“So, I have something for you. Happy birthday, buddy!”

It was a commercial sticker with a big text "Singer Auto Repair Shop", but there was also a picture of Chevy Impala which was what Jack noticed first.

“A car!” exclaimed Jack, putting a sticker on his teddy bear at once.

“Jack, what do you say?” reminded him his father.

“Thank you, sir!”

“You're welcome!”

The man put Jack on the seat at the next table and went back to Dean.

“I'm sorry once again, he's a little too much excited,” he excused for his son.

“Sure, nothing happened.” Dean shrugged. “I'm Dean, by the way.”

“Castiel.” They shook their hands, and Dean smiled at him.

“It's nice to meet you.”

“You too.” Cas smiled back. “I'm not gonna take more of your time. Have a nice day.”

Cas sat across of his son. The waitress had brought their milkshakes already. The kid started drinking, but a few seconds later he was talking again.

“Dad, can I try yours?”

Dean heared a chuckle, he looked at Cas and caught how he was rolling his eyes.

“They're the same, Jack.”

“Please... I have a birthday,” begged the kid with a sweet voice.

“All right.” Cas gasped, but changed their milkshakes.

“Yours is better,” admitted Jack, and Cas laughed once again.

Dean finished his coffee and walked away a few minutes later, one more time looking at them. The family picture, a lovely and cute view...

Cas knew shit about cars, but he was certainly sure his truck shouldn't make so weird noises.

“Crap,” he murmured. Did he say it loud? Crap! He turned to the back seats where Jack was sitting in the child chair. “You didn't hear anything, Jack.”

“That's not true! You said: crap!” said excited Jack. “Crap, crap! Crap, crap!”

Great! Now his kid expanded his vocabulary.

“I think grocery needs to wait. Somebody needs to check our car.”

“Maybe Marvin? He's a mechanic. He has a badge.” Jack pointed at the sticker on his teddy bear.

“Oh, honeybee, I think we need the other specialist, but thank Marvin for his service.”

Cas pulled out the phone to find some Auto Repair Shop on the internet when he realized that actually Marvin could help. He gave a quick look at the sticker and read an address.

“I have no idea how to fix a car. Sometimes I even forget to refuel it,” explained Cas to the old man with a baseball cap. He had found out earlier it’s Bobby Singer, owner of this Auto Shop. For a moment, he felt disappointment because deeply in his heart he had hoped he was going to see Dean from the milk bar again.

“I’ll call my best mechanic. We can handle it,” Bobby assured him, and after that he turned around and yelled: “Dean, we have a client, can you come here?”

Dean got out from under one of the cars. He was wearing work clothes, and his face was dirty from grease, but Cas recognized him at once. Jack, who was standing next to him, was too busy with his teddy bear to notice him.

“Oh, Cas. Hi,” said Dean, frowning with confusion. Probably he didn’t expect to see him again.

“Hello, Dean.”

“And how are you, Jack?” he asked a toddler.

“Good! Marvin took us here!”

“Yeah, so let’s see what’s wrong with a car.”

Dean opened the hood and checked the car. It didn’t take him a lot of time before he found cause of trouble.

“It's the engine...” explained Dean.

“Crap!” said Jack, and Dean looked at him surprised.

“Whoa, isn't it a big word for so little guy?”

“I'm big now! And dad taught me that!”

Cas’ cheeks turned red at once, and he mumbled: “No, I... I didn't.”

“You did, daddy. Don't you remember? Truck was broken.”

Dean chuckled, but he was not going to torture him any longer.

“Okay, I need at least half an hour. You can wait there if you want.” He pointed to a bench near a big tree.

“All right, thank you.”

Dean started working, but his eyes were heading to Cas and Jack all the time. He saw how they were talking and playing with a teddy bear, laughing all the time. They looked so happy, and Dean found himself jealous of what they had.

When he finished, he called them and Bobby. Cas paid for the repair and thanked him for help. They didn't go at once, so Dean used an opportunity to talk with him a little longer.

“He's similar to you, like Mini-Cas,” said Dean, and Cas smiled with proud.

“Actually, he's not my biological son... His mother was my very good friend, but she died in childbirth, so I took care of him,” he explained.

“What about his biological father?”

“It's my brother, but I don't know where he is. He ran away when he found out Kelly was pregnant.”

“This one,” started Bobby and patted Dean on the arm. “I kinda adopted him and his brother. And they're good men. I think I did no bad job raising them.”

“Yeah, you were always a better father to me than John.”

Bobby squeezed Dean’s shoulder, and walked away to talk with Jack. Cas looked at his son with love in his eyes.

“It must be hard, huh? Be a lonely father with a toddler?”

“Sometimes. But I've never regretted this. He's my whole life.”

After a long minute of silence, Dean decided to go one step further. He scratched a back of his neck and cleared the throat.

“Listen, Cas, I'll give you my private number...” he started, but then added quickly: “You know if something would be wrong with a car, just call me.”

Shit! It wasn't supposed to look like this... He chickened out.

“Umm, thank you,” said Cas, putting the card with his number in his coat's pocket. “Dean, one more.”

“Yeah?”

“Would it be okay if I call you on another matter?”

“Which means?”

“If I want to, for example, invite you for a milkshake?”

Dean's face brightened with a smile. So, it wasn't like he was the only one who was interested.

“Yeah... it would be okay, Cas.”

“So, I think I'll call you.”

“I will be waiting.”

Cas gave him a huge smile one more time before he went to Jack.

“Jack, we need to come home. Let's go!” He took him on his arms.

“Okay, daddy!” Jack raised his hand and waved with it. “Bye, bye, Dean!”

“See you later, buddy! Oh, and I have another sticker for you,” said Dean.

“It's like a doctor, but without needles.”

“Yeah, I'm a car doctor.”

“Cool!”

They drove away, this time without a noisy engine, and Cas thought it's a very good day.

Cas put Jack to bed, read him the bedtime stories and kissed his forehead. He turned the light off, but stayed there a few minutes more, just to look at his sleeping kid.

Yes, like he said before, being a single father wasn't always easy, but he would never change his life. At least not in this area. Because, of course, he would like to find somebody who could love Jack like their own son, and somebody who could love him...

Sometimes, especially in the nights like this, he felt lonely, it wasn't like he has a lot of time to meet new people, not to mention dates. That's why he went to the kitchen to make a call.

“Yeah?” asked Dean, and Cas couldn't help smile, hearing his voice.

“Hello, Dean. It's Cas. I hope I don't call too late.”

Answer came almost immediately.

“No. It's never too late.”

Part 2

#tbh i don't know why i wrote this #destiel fic #toddler jack #destiel au #castiel #dean winchester #deancas #spn #supernatural #fanfiction #ficlet #jack kline #mine

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gamer-logic · 3 years

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Since my state, Georgia, is having the annual Peaches to Beaches event which is two days of statewide yard sales, I thought it would be interesting to show how America, the states, and any other countries wanting to participate both 1p and 2p would be during this event. So here you go!

Georgia is happily selling fresh produce like boiled peanuts and Vidalia onions and peach-based deserts. Her homemade peach cobbler and ice cream are to die for!

Antonio (Spain) also sells many fresh tomatoes, olives, and other vegetables. He doesn't understand why no one wants his Olive Juice though.

Hawaii and Alaska make a killing selling lemonade at their stand with a free complimentary handmade flower crown with every purchase. While using their sheer cuteness to attract everyone including one of those sweet biker gangs. It's really surreal to see a huge gang of buff, tattooed, tough-looking guys in leather wearing flower crowns and drinking lemonade. Allen's also there to supervise and ward of creep. Also, to provide people more 'incentive' to buy their lemonade.

Texas breaks out the Texas BBQ and is in a Barbecuing turf war with Jett (Australia). They draw huge crowds for the five-alarm chili as well and hold a competition who can eat the most without burning out their tongues and/or passing out.

Florida sells some of the weirdest stuff you'll ever see. "Want a full-scale model of a gator made entirely out of bottle caps? Only ten bucks! Want a portrait of Florida Man painted with orange juice? 15 bucks!"

Nevada also tries to sell weird and sketchy stuff to scam everyone. "This piece is the genuine article folks! One napkin gently used by Elvis Presley himself! Just 500 bucks! Also, gets into a haggling war with Lars (Netherlands). Somewhere Alfred's dad instincts go off and he reminds himself to ground Nevada.

California, Oregon, and Washington collaborate and California sells anything vegan or made with avocadoes and the autographs of Hollywood stars, Oregon sells his old tye-dyed shirts and records, they also made him sell his old groovy hippy bus from the sixties he'd never got rid of no one knew they had. Oregon can be a bit of a hoarder, so they had to tie him to a chair and gag him because he wouldn't surrender the bus without a fight. Washington also tries to sell and drink cups of coffee, but in the hot Southern heat, this doesn't end well.

Louisiana sells anything Cajun-style from frog legs to fresh gumbo, to beignets. Also has a full collection of Mardi Gras masks and shrunken voodoo heads on sale for two bucks a pop.

Gilbert (Prussia) gets tricked by Nevada and gets a ton of stupid things he doesn't need. Ludwig (Germany) tries unsuccessfully to keep him on a metaphorical leash.

Ludwig always checks the quality of things he sees and buys dog toys and supplies for Blackie, Berlitz, and Astor. Later, he actually buys a kiddie leash for Gilbert.

All the while Lutz (2p! Germany) is asleep in a lawn chair with his hat on his face after drinking like six cold beers from this really good booth. All the while, Klaus (2p! Prussia) finds an antique Teutonic Knights flag from a vendor whose family was from Germany.

Vash (Switzerland) buys antique guns from Alabama and Roderich (Austria) also checks out some of Tennessee's guitars. He's horrified upon seeing Alabama's banjo and washboard.

Mathew (Canada) and Emma (Belgium) combine their powers and tag team to sell the best pancakes and waffles on earth with genuine Canadian maple syrup.

New York sells tons of baseball memorabilia and collectibles. Allen, trying to save his bad-boy image, tries to be discreet when buying some while taking Hawaii and Alaska around to get something with their lemonade money. James also gets some hockey memorabilia with Michigan and Minnesota who also got snow cones.

Alaska and Hawaii see a giant deluxe dollhouse but are almost in tears when they don't have enough money. But they end up getting it for free because no one can resist their weaponized puppy dog eyes. Also, no one can resist a growling Allen. Using the leftover money, they buy cute little rainbow umbrella hats for everyone and have Allen wear one who begrudgingly accepts it.

James, walking by with an armful hockey gear and flannel shirts, bursts out laughing when he sees this. In revenge, Allen forces him to wear one too and help him carry the dollhouse, much to Hawaii and Alaska's delight! "I said go my way puck head!" "No, it's my way, you vegan loving hoser!" A passing Francis (France)' is in stylish horror when they also make him and a nonchalant Luis (2p! France), holding a case of vintage wines, wear them too. Hawaii and Alaska go around giving umbrella hats to everyone including a sleeping Lutz they pass by.

Loving (Romano) practically has to supervise Feliciano (Italy) and keep him from buying anything too stupid on impulse or get scammed. They still end up with stacks upon stacks of cookbooks, kitchen wear, and a Mona Lisa made entirely out of Macaroni. They also get umbrella hats.

Flavio (2p! Romano) browses through clothing racks to get ideas for his vintage line. Also checks out the handmade fabrics like quilts. "Such craftsmanship! This pattern is so unique and chic! I simply must have it! What's your price Bella?" The nice old woman selling the quilt just smiles, "Oh just about five dollars young man." "Perfect!" Flavio hands the quilts off to Andreas (2p! Spain) who's practically buried underneath the fabric. Luciano (2p! Italy) facepalms while holding a new knife set in its case. "Oooh! Look at those adorable hats I just have to have one." Cue three more umbrella hats and a humiliated Luciano. "Just kill me now..."

Katyusha (Ukraine), Elizaveta (Hungary), Lillie (Liechtenstein), Natalya, (Belarus), Katya( 2p! Ukraine) and Anastasia (2p! Belarus), and Michelle (Seychelles) explore with armfuls of clothes, new ribbons, and a gun case for Switzerland (Lillie), cast iron frying pans (Elizaveta, watch out Prussia!), farm tools (Katyusha), Jewelry and unmentionables (Katya), dresses (Anastasia), an assortment of switchblades (Natalya), and one of those singing fish on a plague (Michelle). It's definitely an interesting group.

Kiku (Japan) and Kuro (2p! Japan) find a nerd booth selling comics, manga, and Japanese weapons like katanas. Kuro test swings a blade and tries to slice the table so hard it breaks the blade, "Hmmm, not sharp enough for me, got anything else?" He throws it on the pile of broken blades he's already tested. Kiku stockpiles on limited-edition manga and he and the vendor end up getting into a huge, heated by Kiku standards, debate on who's waifu is best. Further down, Alfred reads every Marvel/DC comic while keeping an ear out on every state's location. He checks on Texas via his glasses and notices he's beating Australia in the chili contest. "That's my boy!"

Wisconsin wearing a cheese head sells anything cheese-based. He's got cheddar, goat cheese, string cheese, cheese spray, gorgonzola, grilled cheese, cheese curds, Mac n' Cheese, cheese sculptures of all world monuments, you name it he's got it! He also starts a war with Iowa's corn dishes and Idaho's potato dishes. They eventually end up flinging cheese, potatoes, and corn after they start dissing each other's foods. "Take this cheese brain!" "Nice aim, I-da-ho!" "I told you not to call me that!" "I'm gonna go children of the corn on y'all's behinds!" Poor Nebraska is stuck in the middle.

Alfred (America) hears the commotion and using his parent radar, immediately knows who it is and reminds himself to ground Iowa, Wisconsin, and Idaho later along with Nevada who, though still grounded for sure, makes him feel a little proud of since he managed to out haggle Netherlands.

New Mexico and Arizona also sell Native American handicrafts along with things like dreamcatchers and giant inflatable aliens. While Delaware, being the boring stick in the mud that he is, walks by with a framed and complete U.S. quarter collection from a vendor.

Kansas sells out of every sunflower she had courtesy of Ivan (Russia). Ivan and her the team up to buy out every sunflower seed from here to kingdom come. Viktor (2p! Russia) buys all the vodka he can find and a new shovel while Xiao (2p! China) tries giving people tattoos for 10 bucks a pop.

He tries to convince Yao (China) to get a hello kitty one to match the giant plushie he's holding, with the encouragement of Leon (Hong Kong) and Yong Soo (South Korea) who all collectively agree he needs to quit being such a grandpa. They also like calling him an antique-like the items on sale. " Aiyah! I'm not that old, aru!" "Yeah, you are Sensei." "Don't deny it! Da Ze!" Respect your elders!" "Tattoos originated in Korea da ze!" He totally is that old.

Oliver (2p! England) holds a bake sale and has people lined up for blocks to get some. Arthur (England), after having his scones shut down after it poisoned some unlucky squirrels, fries selling authentic magical items like unicorn hair or pixie dust. Everyone thinks he's a little crazy but he did sell a good bit of old magic books he needed to get out of his house, after making sure no one could actually use them of course.

The Nordics also went perusing for antique and handmade furniture when Mathias (Denmark) spots two full sets of Viking costumes and tries to get Lukas (Norway) to try them on with him. Lukas wasn't amused.

Berwald (Sweden) and Tino (Finland) also find a great handmade table to get after inspecting the workmanship and a full Lego set for Peter (Sealand), now if only Mathias would stop squealing like a little kid at the full piece lego death star. Emil (Iceland) keeps thinking he's the mature one until he spots a mini top hat and cane for Mr. Puffin.

In the end, everyone ends up wearing umbrella hats courtesy of Hawaii and Alaska, loving all the strange things they bought or counting the profits they made. Alfred (America) is proud of his kids and visits everyone one of their stands. He ends up looking pretty funny with an umbrella hat (HW, AK), a washboard, (AL),a picture of Florida Man, (FL), a balloon alien (NM, AZ), a tye dye shirt (CA, WA, OR), hockey stick shaped glasses (MN, MI), a giant stack of comics with a replica Thor hammer and Captain America shield on his back, all in a shopping cart (NV), and a giant turkey leg in his hand (Tx). Unsurprisingly, it was a tie between Oliver, Texas, and Australia for who earned the most with their food. Georgia just smiled as this was another great year for her state and people!

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anobscurename · 4 years

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ocean eyes – chris evans

previous part: PART XV — masterlist

concept: the three times chris comforted you, and the times you returned the favour. the slowest of slow burns, the angstiest of all angst. part sixteen of many.

pairing: chris evans x reader

word count: 3,8k

warnings: drinking, so much fluff, heartbreaking angst

author's note: this one, guys, gals, and non-binary pals, is for @fangirlovestuff because it's her BIRTHDAY. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BABYYYY (and i'm sorry in advance). the songs are linked, so if you don't know them, you can check 'em out :)

In your ten months of knowing him, Chris had always known how to cheer you up, irregardless of how big or small the issue was.

You would even go so far as to call him a master of distraction – because by the end of the day, you wouldn't even have known you'd cried at all.

You could recall three times he had been there for you, and the two times you returned the favour.

The first time he had seen you cry – about three months into your living situation – he had been by your side immediately, pulling you flush against his body. He held you in his big arms for the longest time, and just waited the sobs out.

He wasn't the type of person to press, and he knew you'd tell him what was wrong if you wanted.

Instead, he asked you what you wanted.

You were lightheaded and cry‐drunk, so it took a moment to come back to yourself. "Huh?"

"Do you want to be quiet or loud?"

"I just..." You struggled to find words that didn't make you sound needy, but you found none. "I don't want to be alone."

"That's out of the question," he smiled knowingly. "So, what will it be, {your last name}? Quiet or loud?"

He had a twinkle in his eye, one that suggested his question delved deeper than the words implied.

"Quiet."

And then he was pulling you up off the couch and out the door in total disregard of your chosen attire.

"Where are we going?"

"You'll see."

"Chris, I'm literally in my pyjamas–"

But he was already opening the garage, the creaks of the gears overshadowing your weak protests.

"You're wearing pants this time," he winked at you. "So we have that going for us."

And then you were in the car, location still a mystery.

Any attempts to get a modicum information was shut down with a simple "it's a surprise."

"Why can't you tell me?"

"Because then it wouldn't be a surprise."

And you were glad he hadn't told you, because soon, you were pulling up outside a place you hadn't been to since you were a kid and going on school trips. You'd never been to any L.A. ones, having moved there only half a year ago. But the way your whole body immediately was overcome with such calm...

It was like you had been hoping to come here since you'd woken up that morning, and had received the news of your grandfather's admittance to the hospital earlier that night.

But there was no way for Chris to have known that your grandfather had taken you to the aquarium when you were young, telling you about all the fish, helping you make up increasingly bizarre backstories for them.

He just knew you had to leave the house, and go somewhere quiet.

And it was a weekday, so the chances of kids screaming and running through the aquarium hallways were slim to none.

So while you walked in the tinted blue light, eyes scanning over information plaques and watching the multi-coloured aquatic animals lazily drift past the glass panes in a comfortable silence, you reached out to give his wrist a gentle squeeze.

His hands had been sitting in his pockets, giving you your space, but hovering close enough to you to let you know you weren't alone.

"Thank you," you croaked out softly.

When you turned your head to look at him, he had been looking at you, a smile of heartwarming endearance on his face.

If you hadn't been so consumed by the exhibits, you'd have known that he hadn't taken his eyes off you the entire time, and you'd have known he also hadn't stopped smiling. Smiling at you, seeing just how happy you were, even though your eyes were still watery and worry was still thick in your throat.

He slid his hand out of his pocket easily to lace your fingers together, loose enough for you to pull away if you had wanted, but tight enough for you to know that he had no intention of letting go first.

But you didn't pull away, instead strengthening the intwining grasp.

And so you continued, walking through the aquarium in that comfortable silence. And at some point along the way, you found laughter again, pointing out the ugliest fish and saying it was him, only to have him gasp in mock surprise.

"My God, you're such a flirt," he'd say.

And then he'd point out the most beautiful fish he could find.

"That's you."

——————

The second time was a week later.

It was your grandfather again, but the issue had been more serious than any one of your family members initially believed.

You didn't cry this time, but Chris could sense the immeasurable sadness in your posture, the way you sat on the couch, staring blankly ahead.

He came to stand in front of you, and gently knelt down so your eyes would focus on his. Everything about his stature screamed concern as he caressed the hair away from your face.

"Quiet or loud?" He had asked so softly, so simply.

"Loud."

He helped you up, careful with your fragile state. He walked you to your room, into the bathroom, and left you to take a calming shower by yourself.

When you'd gotten out, gotten ready for whatever surprise excursion was next – dressed casually in a t-shirt and jeans, scuffed sneakers on your feet but Chris would claim you looked prettier than he'd ever seen you – Chris was waiting for you by the front door.

You knew better than to ask him where he was taking you this time. And honestly, you were too drained to even muster the words.

You wanted loud, to drown out the misery.

And you got what you wanted.

Chris had taken you to a local pop-up carnival, and in spite of the cloudy weather mirroring your emotion, threatening rain, it was filled with screaming kids and the sounds of joy.

"They come by once every six months," he explained while you waited in the line to enter. "I wanted to take you under different circumstances, but..."

"It's wonderful," you assured him, although your tone didn't sound like it.

He paid your entrance fees – buying a large roll of game tickets for the both of you – and with his hand ghosting over the small of your back, he guided you inside.

Your smile first came when you were on the ferris wheel, and it didn't fade until you were back home, saying good night.

You had spent the whole afternoon there, and even most of the evening, until around ten, when they had begun to take down the stalls and unpitch their tents.

"I'm totally going to crush you at this," you had grinned at him at some game or another. And you did, but only because he wasn't entirely focused on the game, but watching you.

He would tell himself later, as he lay in bed, the reason he couldn't take his eyes off you was because he had wanted to make sure you were alright, and having a good time. But that was a half truth. The full truth was simply because he couldn't stop looking at that smile he loved so much, on the girl he loved more.

A sense of pride would swell in his chest at the very thought of him having played a part in your happiness.

And so you did absolutely crush him. But only because he'd been distracted, and, if truth be told, because he let you.

You held your prize – a hilariously massive teddy bear, drowning you in its fluff – with both arms, laughingly taunting him for his loss, which had got him a much smaller bear (a participation trophy at best) which he carried in one hand.

You had also gone to the circus they had there, your teddy bear seated beside the two of you, taking up a whole seat by itself. You marvelled at the trapeze artists, the charisma of the ringleader, the fire juggler from Prussia, and even found it in yourself to giggle a little at the clowns who you thought you'd be irreparably prejudiced against since you watched Stephen King's It.

And if you were to now scroll back in your camera roll, you would find the hundreds of pictures you had taken together in the hall of mirrors, and the beautiful twinkling lights of the distant city that sparkled like their own constellation from your view at the top of the wheel.

But you wouldn't scroll back now.

Not now.

———————

The third time had just been a bad day.

Nothing set it off, but you'd woken feeling like trash, and it really didn't sit well with you.

It had been post kiss, post Vegas, in that week Chris had returned, and he could feel it the second you stepped into the kitchen.

His usual morning greeting of "good morning, Sleeping Beauty" fell short on his lips.

"Both," you said to him, already knowing the question he was going to ask.

You had managed to get yourself dressed that day, thinking that that one step into productivity would pull you out of your slump. It hadn't. So you told him "both," and he immediately complied.

Setting the mug down, coffee unfinished, he grabbed his keys off the counter. He called for Dodger, and you were in the car again.

This time, you already knew where you were going. It wasn't a difficult puzzle to solve, especially with Dodger there with you.

And your suspicions were confirmed when he pulled up to a remote beach, a hidden gem that only locals would know about.

And in the secluded bay, you walked alongside each other, Dodger prancing ecstatically into the water and darting across the sand.

You watched him greet other dogs, tail wagging. You encountered very few people, giving them a greeting smile in passing.

It really was the perfect mixture of both – serene in the best way possible, ocean waves loud in their crash on the shore.

Chris made no effort to hide his gaze on you this time, aside from a pair of sunglasses perched on his nose, obscuring his eyes.

"Why are you wearing those?" You chuckled.

"What?"

"You're wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses. Did it not come with instructions or something?"

"Oh, that," he grinned. "I wear the cap for the aesthetic, sunglasses for the disguise."

You had to reach up on your tippytoes to do what you did next – which, if you were so inclined, could be referred to as theft in the court of law.

You easily snatched the cap off his head, and, dancing out of his reach, put it on. It was a size too big, and dipped into your eyes, making him laugh through the stern demeanor he was jokingly putting on.

"Give that back," he warned. "You're ruining the aesthetic."

You repeated him mockingly, and then he was chasing you down the beach, your squeals of delight interrupting the peace and grabbing Dodger's attention.

You weren't being chased down by one Evans anymore, but two, and hoping to find sanctuary, you made your way into the water.

The sea lapped eagerly at your knees, stray droplets clawing to soak into the frayed denim of your shorts.

Chris had been wearing jeans – not exactly intending for a beach day that morning – and you'd hoped that would be enough to halt the attack.

"If you think that some water is gonna stop me from righting this injustice," he began, equally as out of breath as you were. He had been holding himself back from outright catching up to you, and you knew that – Chris was the epitome of fitness. What did you expect? To outrun Captain America? – "nay, this crime, then you are dead wrong."

"I'm in international waters!" You called back, flicking the peak of his cap teasingly. "I'm out of your jurisdiction!"

"Fuck jurisdiction!" He yelled out, and then he was wading towards you.

Water slowed both of you as you tried to keep out of his grasp, but he had the benefit of being naturally quicker. He had you in a bearhug, trapping your body against his as you struggled to break free.

"Give it back," he playfully growled into your ear.

"Never! You'll never take me alive!" You fought the words out through your laughter.

And then Dodger was there too, all but pushing you over into the shallows of the shore.

You both lay there, allowing yourselves to be drenched, through and through, Dodger licking your faces excitedly.

And as the laughter slowly subsided and the cold the breeze introduced to your wet forms finally registered, you both got up.

"Alright, have your stupid hat back," you sighed, moving to take it off.

He captured your hand in a lightning quick grip, stilling your movements. "Keep it," he smiled. "Looks better on you anyways."

You smiled back sarcastically, rolling your eyes, before pushing him back down onto the sand playfully. "All this?! All this for me to keep it?!"

He propped himself up on his elbows to peer up at you, sunglasses knocked askew.

"Dodger, as my head torturer," you said to the exhilarated mountain of a dog. "I command you to execute this man."

———————

It was hard to watch a strong man crumble, and there were days when that happened, too.

It was the day of Dodger's operation – a hip surgery, nothing too life threatening – but Chris, with all his quick wit and charming smiles, was a shell of himself.

Of course, you were worried too. But Chris needed you more than you needed him, and so, in the mournful silence of the waiting room, you placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

He flinched a little at the sudden contact, but didn't pull away.

"Quiet or loud?"

In all definitions of the word – in the hour he had been in that waiting room, leg bouncing – he never thought he could hate quiet as much as he did now.

"Loud."

It took some effort to tug him to his feet, his body sluggish with worry. But he was up, and you were guiding him to the door, leaving your number with the vet secretary for any updates.

You didn't want Chris to be worrying and checking his phone every five seconds, because you knew how that dread felt. No, he needed a distraction.

"Where are we going?"

"It's a surprise."

You had never understood why Chris enjoyed doing that to you, never telling you where he was going to take you, but with the thrill of him not knowing, you got it. Spontaneity ran in his veins, and he didn't press like you so often did in the past.

You had been in L.A. long enough to find your own little secret spots, and to know exactly where you were without much guidance.

And if you were being honest with yourself, you didn't really know where you were taking him until your legs had absentmindedly taken you to an old vintage diner you knew had once been the talk of the town – filled to the brim with hipsters – before once again slipping into obscurity.

It was late into the night, but the diner was open 24/7, and you knew Chris hadn't eaten in a while.

When the bell jangled upon your entry, the waiters jolted, having taken to sitting down in the vacancy of their restaurant.

A few customers lingered here and there, club goers drunkenly scarfing down fries to try and sober up a little before hitting the next party and insomniacs downing their third cup of coffee that hour.

But for the most part it was empty, and, unfortunately, quiet.

"You here for karaoke night?" A bubblegum popping waitress asked. It really felt like the cliché, but it weirdly added to the charm. She stood, perched on the rubber stop of her roller skates, waiting for your response.

"Oh, hell yes we are," you grinned.

She took you to a table situated in front of a makeshift stage, a jukebox-karaoke machine hybrid standing proudly to one side.

Chris sat down, anxiety still heavy in his bones. You quickly ordered – two burgers, and a milkshake to share – before you were shedding your jacket and making your way on stage.

You didn't care about making a fool of yourself. The only thing you cared about was seeing Chris smile again, and in that moment, you'd do almost anything to make that happen.

You hummed in thought as you perused the songs available to you. You didn't expect much from the collection, given that the whole vibe of the diner was 50's through to early 90's. A total pocket dimension in time.

A song caught your eye and you grinned, selecting it immediately. Chris didn't want quiet – and you were going to be the loudest bitch here.

You could hear the whir of the machine as it came to life and you made your way to the vintage microphone. It crackled and whined when you pulled it closer to yourself.

You had caught the eye of the sobering-but-still-quite-drunk party animals, and they had come over to investigate.

"Sorry," you winced, voice booming on the mic. "This song goes out to my good friend Chris."

And then the music started to play, and he groaned. He knew the song decently enough, it having been one of your most replayed disco bops of the week.

"This is Sunny, by Boney M," you said over the intro. "Hope you enjoy."

And then you started to sing, intentionally bad at first to wheedle that cry strained laugh from Chris, and then finishing off in that voice he knew you had.

Every time the song mentioned "Sunny," you'd look directly at him, giving him an exaggerated wink. And at "I love you," you'd point at him, smile growing on your face as you danced ridiculously with the mic.

He was laughing, whole body shaking at how over-the-top you were being.

And when the song wrapped, you whooped into the mic, feedback squealing. "Thank you, everybody!" you panted.

The club goers applauded, screaming their drunken praises.

"YES, QUEEN!"

"YOU GO, BABY!"

"FUCK YES!"

"BEYONCÉ WHO?!"

That last one earned some shocked gasps and scolding. "Woah, dude. Too far."

"Thank you, thank you," you grinned, feeling alive. You could see the laughter starting to fade from Chris again, and so you moved to put on another song.

"This one," you whispered into the mic, "is a duet. So, please. Good friend Chris, wouldst thou riseth to the occasion?"

He shook his head, cheeks flushing at being called out.

"Oh, come on," you whined, the music already beginning to play out the intro. "For me?"

He narrowed his eyes at you, already smilingly weighing the pros and cons of his embarrassment. You batted your lashes. "I know you can sing, Evans. Don't start this shy shit now."

"COME ON, CHRIS!"

"YEAH, COME ON CHRIS!"

"Give the people what they want," you wiggled your brows.

He shrugged, muttering "fuck it," and reluctantly rising from his seat, he hopped on stage with one jump.

"You were working as a waitress at a cocktail bar, when I met you," he started singing flatly, eyes on yours, letting you know how much he didn't want to be up there. You arched a brow, pushing him let loose.

Slowly, with the encouragement of your smile, and the cheers from the drunk, he lost himself in the performance of "Don't You Want Me" by The Human League, even taking to dancing at your part of the duet.

And that's how you spent the rest of your waiting period – singing bad karaoke, shovelling food into your mouths between songs, and returning the favour of cheering on the clubbers when they had resolved to stay and sing because they decided the best time they were probably going to have that night was in that stuffy little diner on a street they probably would've walked right past on a regular day.

And when your phone rang for Dodger, you paid your bill, leaving a hefty tip in apology to the staff for having to endure your wailing. You said your goodbyes to your newfound friends of the night.

And Dodger was fine when you took him home.

And Chris was smiling again.

———————

You couldn't bare to dwell on the second time you took it upon yourself to cheer up Chris Evans, because the fact of the matter was, that just reminiscing about those other four had you muffling sobs all over again.

You thought about that day – the road back from Vegas, pulling off to Route 66, taking him to the food truck park – and the alcohol you urgently gulped down did nothing to numb you.

You had often looked back on those memories fondly. But now it was a gaping hole in your chest.

You were sitting on the balcony, overlooking the beach. In the distance, under moonlight, you saw a couple walking hand-in-hand, and you knew it was them.

"Thought I'd find you out here," a familiar voice said. It wasn't Chris', and that had you swigging another shot from the near empty bottle in your lap. "You holding up okay?"

"Ask me again in a month," you stated blankly. You hadn't even moved to address the newcomer, nor had you shifted over to make room for him. He sat all the same. "If you want to put a number to how long it takes to move on, ask Chris. The answer is a month."

It had taken a month for him to move from you to Lily. But it wasn't exactly like any of you had made your feelings and intentions known, aside from a kiss that you had claimed you'd been drunk for, and a confirmation of friendship.

If you let yourself think about it too long – which you had, on more than one occasion, this one specifically – it was your fault.

Sebastian reached over and gently pried the bottle from your iron grip. He looked at how much was left, surprised. And still, you gazed numbly ahead.

"This is how day one looks, huh?" He attempted a joke. Even he knew it fell flat, and instead took a sip to ease himself.

"The alcohol content in that bottle is directly proportionate to how many fucks I have left to give," you shrugged, voice monotonous.

"How much more are you going to put yourself through before you've had enough?"

"I've had enough," you sighed. "But I'll probably suffer a little more."

"You have more strength than I do, then."

His sympathetic arm wrapped around you, and you melted into his side, the comfort another person brought acting as a placebo salve to the pain. Like an ice pack on a shattered femur.

And you realised why you were so sad. Those memories meant nothing to you now.

They had lost their meaning because he wasn't there with you, on this roof, asking you that question when you needed it asked the most. Quiet or loud.

He wasn't there, and the taste of whiskey was chased away by ash.

#dina writes #dina cries #chris evans #chris evans fanfic #chris evans x reader #chris evans x you #chris evans/you #chris evans fluff #chris evans/reader #chris evans angst

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megalodon-writes · 4 years

Text

Misunderstandings

Pairing - Akaashi Keiji x F!Reader

Word Count - 1.5k - Part I

Warnings - slight unwanted physical contact

Synopsis - The reader sees a couple strange men at her work.

Part I - Part II - Part III - Part IV

a/n: I have worked really hard on this fic for about 6 days now. I had the idea while watching Finding Nemo (along with some akaashi fics) and this story is very close to me. thanks to @/dorkyama , @/spicyness , @/thicchaikyuuboys , Arnold, and Victor for helping me with questions/concerns/editing. I’m not gonna apologize for all the fish facts in this series bc high key im a slut for aquatic life

“Did you guys know that otters hold each other's hands when sleeping in the water to avoid drifting away from each other?” You said into the mic, watching the few otters swim around playfully. A couple little girls' mouths flew open and they sighed wistfully. You chuckled with how sweet they were. “Otterly adorable, if I do say so myself.” Usually, when you said some sort of pun, you got a groan from others. But you started giggling when you heard ugly laughter in the back from a guy who looked like an owl.

“That was not funny.” A little boy said seriously, crossing his arms. You looked at him and smiled sweetly.

“I thought it was hilarious.” A man said, standing behind the boy. His hair was spiked up and it looked like he had forgotten to re-dye his hair for a long time. The boy carefully turned around and his eyes grew wide.

“Whoa! You’re.. You’re…!” The kid stuttered. You raised an eyebrow and looked at the guy, trying to remember if you had seen him somewhere before. The man that was standing behind him piqued your interest. He was attractive, his messy black hair framed his stoic face nicely.

“Hey kid.” The guy who looked like an owl grinned. He stuck his hand out and shook the kids hand vigorously. The boy looked excitedly at his palm, before running off to his parents.

“Are you a celebrity or something?” You asked the man. You didn’t mean for it to come across rude, but you would have thought you shattered his world from how he looked at you. “Oh, I didn’t reali-”

“He’s fine.” The dark haired guy said. “Bokuto plays on a professional volleyball team.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I don’t watch.” You said. Just then a little kid came up and tugged on your shirt.

“Hi, um, what are the otters named?” She said, her voice reminding you of songbirds. You bent down so you could look her in the eyes and smiled.

“Hey sweetie. That one is Jasper, and the other is Kegin.” You pointed out the two cuddling and the girl's eyes lit up. “The other three are Daya, Sunshine, and Moon.”

“Akaashi! Touch pool!” The volleyball player yelled, grabbing the other guy's hand and dragging him over to the stingrays.

You stood up after the girl ran off and you glanced over at the two guys. The one named Akaashi was standing there barely leaning over the edge while Bokuto had his whole arm in. You thought it was adorable when Akaashi made a face as he grabbed Bokuto's sleeve to pull it out of the water. You quickly looked away when his blue green eyes met your gaze. Turning back towards the otters, you gave several more facts into the microphone, hoping the guy didn’t notice you staring. Once the time came, you switched headsets with your replacement and hurried to your other station. As soon as you arrived, you gave several quick facts out and took a nice, deep breath, pondering if you would see that cute guy and his chaotic friend again. The way the fish moved in the water was so calming that you watched the sharks for longer than you probably should have.

“That one has a gnarly bite outta it!” A blonde haired teenager said to his date, knocking you out of your trance. “Look!” He pointed to one of the reef sharks that had a large circular scar on it’s side. You smiled and scanned the crowd, but your heart stopped when you saw Tozen walk in. He grinned and sauntered up to place a hand on your shoulder. You cringed slightly and mentally kicked yourself from forgetting you were going to have to present with him.

“Hey.” His smile made your toes curl. “I’m glad we get to be partnered up.” He let his hand fall away, but not without brushing down your entire arm. It wasn’t drawn out, but it still sent chills up your spine and you looked at the ground.

“Yeah.” You mumbled.

“What’s up guys?” He said excitedly into his mic. “I’m Tozen and this lovely woman is Y/N. We’re going to be giving you a small presentation about sharks so if you have any questions, remember them for the end of it!” You took a deep breath and forced yourself to focus on everything except him.

“Please sit on the benches and if there’s room then scoot closer.” You smiled and looked at the people. The two guys from earlier walked in and your heart lifted as Bokuto waved happily. You threw your hand up in a small response before they snagged seats in the front row.

“By raising your hand, how many of you like sharks?” You asked. Bokuto's hand shot up followed by Akaashi and several others. One little boy turned to his mother and not so quietly whispered how much he loved them. “Me too! So what we have in here are some reef sharks, a couple sandbar sharks, and a few guitar fish!”

“Don’t forget the sea turtle and the other aquatics.” Tozen laughed. Honestly, you preferred when he presented because it didn’t give him as much of a chance to do things that made you uncomfortable. You let out a shaky breath you didn’t realize you were holding and got wrapped up in the presentation. Your favorite thing was that every time you gave a fact or some form of fish trivia, Bokuto looked like a kid given free reign in a sweets store. You kept letting your eyes drift to Akaashi, and everytime you met his gaze you felt the butterflies in your stomach become more alive. You opened the floor up for questions and several peoples hands were raised, including Bokutos. You chose a kind looking boy with a red baseball cap on.

“Hi sweetie, what’s your name?”

“I’m Nen.”

“Hi Nen! What’s your question?”

“Why is that one shark hurt?” He asked, worry laced in his voice. Bokutos hand dropped and he leaned forward intently.

“She actually healed up nicely so she doesn’t hurt anymore!” You said, making Nen give a small smile. “Sometimes sharks bite others to establish dominance or-”

“That specific one is a female and sometimes the mating process of sharks can be a bit rough.” Tozen said, looking at you. You had to bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from giving a reaction that would probably be best described as gagging. His comment caught you so off guard that you felt like you had been thrown into a hot pan. Akaashi’s eyebrows furrowed when you looked at him.

“Usually, they get playing around and sometimes just bite each other. That’s what happened to our sweet Miyako here.” You took a couple steps farther away from Tozen and continued answering questions until no one else raised their hands.

“Alright, thank you guys for coming! Go ahead and check out our other shows for the day! We’ve got a seahorse feeding, penguin talk, and others!” He grinned and waved to everyone. “Not to mention if you buy our stingray package, you get a small plushie and some food to feed them right out of your hand!” A few people said thanks as they left to find out about the stingrays and others went to marvel at the sharks.

“We have to do that, Akaashi.” Bokuto said. “I want to feed the stingrays. I bonded with them.” You snickered under your breath and suddenly the two men were standing next to you. “Hey, you’re really smart!” He said happily. You laughed and switched the mic off, sliding it into your back pocket.

“Thanks for being so excited. Honestly, it made my day that you were ecstatic.”

“You know a lot about sharks.” Akaashi said simply.

“I’m currently studying to be a marine biologist. Plus, they’re my favorite animal. It’s the whole reason I decided to work here.” You smiled sweetly but your heart sank as you felt Tozens arm snake around your shoulders.

“We’re glad to have her. She’s quite brilliant.” He smiled down at you. You stood there, rooted to the spot and clenched your fist. “I’m Tozen.” He moved his arm off of your shoulders and stuck his hand out. Bokuto shook it quickly but when it was Akaashis turn he folded his arms. “Okay. Well, I’ve got to go to another presentation so it was nice to meet you guys.” He gave you one last look before leaving the room. Your entire body relaxed and you blinked several times.

“You’re not giving any other presentations today, right?” Akaashi asked, watching where Tozen had disappeared. You raised an eyebrow at him and shook your head.

“No, this was the last one.”

“Ah man.” Bokuto complained. “You’re really fun to listen to.” You were touched by the small compliment. Grinning, you pulled out your phone to look at your schedule.

“Well, you guys are welcome to come back again. I have more presentations over the next couple of days.”

“We also could just hang out outside of your work.” Akaashi suggested, making Bokuto's face light up.

“Yeah!”

#akaashi x reader #akaashi x female reader #akaashi keiji #akaashi #haikyuu #hq #haikyuu!!#haikyu #haikyuu fic #bokuto #haikyuu writers #fanfic #fic #akaashi scenario #Akaashi Keiji x reader

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elenamcwrites · 4 years

Text

folklore - a reading

If you’re a swiftie (officially not capitalized now), like me, you’ve probably been experiencing the mystical reverb and spiritual reckoning that is folklore. You’ve also probably been reading plenty of reviews and analysis articles--there are some stellar articles out there already.

Listening to the album is like lying in a meadow over the course of a summer day, afternoon thunderstorm, and the harsh sunset that comes afterwards, spiraling through memories and contemplation. It’s the best of the worst feelings you’ll ever have, and you can’t stop.

So, compulsively, I had to share my own interpretations and thoughts as I listen to the album again for the 7th time.

the 1 - Starting out with just piano, and then turning into what feels like a casual bop, the attitude of this song starts out very ‘I Forgot That You Existed’. And we hold onto that cavalier, ‘oh well’ attitude until... UNTIL. “If my wishes came true, it would’ve been you.” That line starts the slow ache that builds through the end of the track and makes this song much more more layered and complex than the first song of Lover. Perhaps this is a more honest version of the same feeling. Swift digs deep into that nostalgic feeling, letting us vibe to the wistful wishing at the same time. And of course, there is foreshadowing in the lyrics--film, graves, rose, chosen-family, painting. All of these reappear later on in various songs on the album, and some have been themes from earlier albums, too (especially graves).

Highlight lyric: “In my defense I have none // for digging up the grave another time.”

cardigan - We start with a beat that sounds reminiscent of “high heels on cobblestones,” and it emphasizes this early imagery. Being young is one of the major themes of this song, even though it’s also part of the triptych of songs about a love triangle. The nostalgia feels more specific to young love generally than to the specific lover, asking us to wonder why we judge the young perspective so harshly. The song is an anthem to how much she knew about love, including the pain of it, despite what people say. Swift has shown a special appreciation for the wisdom and raw experience of youth, and this song is another classic defense of the teenage experience. The metaphors in this song are classic Swift, and the structure of this song is reminiscent of ‘All Too Well’--the chorus lyrics change just a bit each time, and we get a powerful, gut-punch verse at the end.

Highlight lyric: “I knew you’d haunt all of my what-ifs // the smoke would hang around this long // cause I knew everything when I was young.”

the last great american dynasty - ‘The Man’ was probably Swift’s first real feminist anthem, directly stating how sexism affects her career and the perception people have of her. But this song gets at feminism from another perspective. First of all, she’s telling the story of Rebekah Harkness, who was the heiress that lived in her Rhode Island mansion before her. She was a trouble-maker in her town, blamed for her husband’s death and for ruining the calm status quo of the old money neighborhood. It’s completely apparent that Swift relates to this experience, and she likely knew some of this story before she purchased her home. In telling the story of a powerful, interesting woman, Taylor is rebelling against the patriarchy in a slightly subtler way than her previous songs--though she still makes her point pretty clear. Swift cares about the herstory of her home, and she’s made this story iconic by including it on her album. It’s like she took the idea of ‘Starlight,’ but instead of retelling a happy love story, she used her powers for an even more important tale. Now, there are also two potential connections to note: Rebekah also went by Betty, and her maiden name was West. Just remember that. And of course, the theme of the mad woman returns later as well.

Highlight lyric: “who knows if I never showed up what would have been // there goes the most shameless woman this town has ever seen // she had a marvelous time ruining everything.”

exile - I like to imagine this song as the follow up to ‘The Last Time,’ from Red. Both are duets, and they both have relatively simple, but strong chords as the primary musical backdrop. Where ‘The Last Time’ depicts a relationship at the cusp, moments before their final conversation, ‘exile’ is post break-up. She’s out with someone new, and we understand this is an unspoken conversation across a room. And the vibe of the songs fit with this progression perfectly. ‘The Last Time’ feels like anxious desperation, but exile feels heavy and depressingly final. We revisit the film motif, and there’s some potential connection to the archived ‘If This Was A Movie’. Now, is that intentional, or does Swift just really like movie imagery? Does it matter? The build in this song is arguably the best on the album, which I think is partly due to the style of the musicality, and partly because it’s helpful to have a lower voice to mix it up. This song sounds the least ‘Swift-esque’ to me--reminds me of Damien Rice most of all--but it still fits beautifully into the album. Also, lots of callbacks in here--town and crown are used a LOT in her prior albums. A few examples: “You traded your baseball cap for a crown” in ‘Long Live’, “They took the crown but it's alright” in ‘Call it What You Want,’ “Staring out the window like I’m not your favorite town” in ‘False God.’ Now, again, these could just be words that she loves to use (they also rhyme with a lot), or there could be some deeper connections. I’m guessing it’s somewhere in the middle.

highlight lyric: “second, third, and hundredth chances // balancin' on breaking branches // those eyes add insult to injury”

my tears ricochet - I’ll admit this song had to grow on me a little bit. Why? Well, I don’t love revenge-ballads. But, this is much more complex than LWYMMD, and like the rest of the album, it centers the more vulnerable side of her anger. This song is 100% about Big Machine Records and Scooter Braun. The funeral is for her--or the version of herself that died just before Reputation--and she is back as a ghost (or another version of herself) to haunt those who caused her death. It’s slow, moody, haunted... Everything you want from a bitter funeral march. The best part of this song is that she doesn’t solely pass blame. She shows off her self-awareness, which has become more common in all her music since 1989, but still very clearly places responsibility on Scooter for her ‘stolen lullabies’ (i.e. her masters). Swift claims this song is about young love gone wrong--but, death is a pretty intense metaphor, and given that she blatantly used it (for the first, and maybe only time?) to talk about her career, I don’t think anyone is buying it.

highlight lyric: “I didn’t have it in myself to go with grace // and you’re the hero flying around saving face”

mirrorball - Maybe I’m just a biased toward romantic and nostalgic songs, because I don’t love this one either. (I’m sorry!) But, here’s what I’ll say: this song is still exquisite. It reminds me of the reverb-radio-vibe of the late 80s songs, but with the astral, saccharine flavor of the rest of the album. If you condensed the Miss Americana documentary into a song, this would be it. A reflection (get it?) of fame and her desire to be everything to everyone--to be well liked, to be the center of attention. The coolest thing about ‘mirrorball,’ to me, is that she hasn’t written a song quite like this before. It’s sort of a manic-pixie-dream-girl version of herself. Swift is telling us that she knows who she is, and that comes with seeing the less ‘pretty’ side.

highlight lyric: “I’m still a believer, but I don’t know why // I’ve never been a natural, all I do is try, try try.”

seven - Can you say haunting innocence? This is a great song for half-attentive listening in the sun, and it could almost be a lullaby. In Swift-lore, the theme of childhood shows up every so often, like in ‘Mary’s Song,’ ‘The Best Day,’ ‘It’s Nice to Have a Friend,’ and ‘Christmas Tree Farm.’ This one is definitely the most dreamy, and it is also tinged with that darkness that consistently underlies all the tracks on this album--“Are there still beautiful things?” Imagine a sepia filter, and that’s kind of what this song embodies. Some fans have wondered about this song as a possible hint to bisexuality and/or relationships with women in general. (See Kaylor fan theories if you want to dive deep.) I can see this--the childhood friend has braids, which could imply she’s a little girl, and they ‘hide in the closet’. However, it seems more likely to me that this is coincidence. Lots of kids play in their closets, and if the song is about the friend’s father being angry all the time (and maybe abusive?) hiding in the closet also makes literal sense. I think the imagery in this song is some of my favorite on this album.

Another interesting point that I haven’t seen discussed so far is that Swift names this song ‘seven’ spelled out, yet uses the number ‘1′ in the first track title. The only other track she uses numbers in the name is ‘22′, which is about being 22. So, she could be trying to push past the idea that ‘seven’ is just about being 7 years old--though I do think it’s about that, too. She could also be intentionally connecting ‘the 1′ to ‘22′ in some way. They are both a similar vibe, and perhaps they even refer to the same time period in her life. If we go with that theory, who was T dating at 22? The most likely candidate for that timeframe is Conor Kennedy, which was sort of short-lived, and didn’t seem to end with as much fire as many of her break-ups. So, it’s possible that it’s about him. Or, maybe she just wanted to make sure we knew that ‘the 1′ was a concept she doesn’t really believe in anyway, and didn’t want to grant it the full word ‘one’. Will we ever know?

highlight lyric: “Before I learned civility // I used to scream // Ferociously // Any time I wanted”

august - It seems clear to me that this is the second song in the love-triangle narrative. I’ve heard people claim this is ‘illicit affairs’, but those people obviously haven’t looked at the lyrics. The narrator says ‘James, get in the car,’ which is directly connected to the lyrics in ‘betty.’ But, even without that obvious link, the style of august fits in with the stylistic choices of ‘cardigan’ and ‘betty’. All three have strong instrumental tracks complementing the vocals, soft harmonies, and lots of wistful lyrics. ‘illicit affairs’ cuts much sharper and deeper, but more on that later. Combining the dreamy vibes of ‘seven’ with the slight bop of ‘the 1′, this track is sticky--easy to get stuck in your head. The only thing I wonder about this song is how old this narrator is meant to be. They’re drinking wine, and she references going ‘back to school,’ which sort of feels like a reference to the college experience. But, the betty and james characters make numerous references that feel like high school. So, maybe this affair took place in another city with a college girl? I have to wonder if this is Swift referencing some of the age-gap relationships she’s been in. Again, with Conor Kennedy, she was 22, and he was 18. She also supposedly crashed his sister’s wedding in August, and that was the start of the end of their short romance. I’m just saying...

highlight lyric: “Wanting was enough, for me it was enough // to live for the hope of it all.”

this is me trying - If ‘The Archer’ was Swift confessing to her bad habits after a couple early relationship fights, ‘this is me trying’ is a desperate reminder a few months into the relationship. The two songs are sonically very similar, and I didn’t love the vibe (sorry, again!) the first time. But, I do love the artistic continuation. ‘this is me trying’ slows us down even more than ‘The Archer’ did, with a drum line that is almost like a heart beat, and it feels much less hopeful as a result. The lyrics are also some of the darkest I’ve heard from Swift--”I got wasted like all my potential” and “could’ve followed my fears all the way down.” My heart almost can’t handle this song, to be honest. She also references films again, but my favorite imagery connection is her standing over the lookout, which calls back to Rebekah looking out over the sea in LGAD.

highlight lyric: “and maybe I don't quite know what to say // but I'm here in your doorway”

illicit affairs - This song has that ‘All Too Well’ ache with a hint of ‘Death by A Thousand Cuts’ energy, and personally, I love it. You’ve got the busy instrumental strings underneath a simple, yet haunting melody line, and it’s that light, anxious tension that fits beautifully with the theme of the song. The lyrics depict the simple, small heartbreaking things that remind you of the pain you’re putting yourself through, which is reflected in the slightly surprising, soaring note at the end of the line in the verses. Whether you’ve actually been involved in an affair, these feelings show up in plenty of toxic relationships, and that universality is part of what makes the song powerful. The lyrics aren’t about pretty images, but that’s sort of the point. It’s prime Swift conversational lyricism, and you could pick out any number of lines that make a painful short poem all by themselves.

highlight lyric: “and you wanna scream // don’t call me “kid,” don’t call me “baby” // look at this godforsaken mess that you made me // you showed me colors you know I can’t see with anyone else”

invisible string - The primary love song on the album, this feels like a follow up to ‘Lover,’ maybe something she’d sing after being married a year or two. It’s sort of like ‘Mine,’ but much more mature, partly indicated by the pace of the song, which is steady and sure of itself. It’s also lovely to me that she’s returned to a bit of her country vibes--I ask you, would it feel like true end-game love for Swift if she couldn’t write a country love song about it? Back when she wrote country, all her happy ending songs were merely aspirational, and now they feel true. This is also 100% about Joe Alwyn, and to me, this is proof they have not broken up like some early reviews speculated. We also need to acknowledge that she’s past the Joe Jonas break up (um, good, that was ages ago) and is sending him and Sophie presents for their baby. I read a review that basically said this song seems a little too ‘all tied up’ for Swift, and that it doesn’t feel as genuine as a result. I sort of agree, but if we can take a sad song and accept that it isn’t how she feels 100% of the time, can’t we also do that with happy songs? Plus, she technically does say that it would be ‘pretty to think,’ which sort of implies it’s more a thought experiment than an actual belief. So, there’s that little twinge of sadness we needed to appease the folklore goddess. Oh, and of course, there’s a reference to Lover’s color scheme, saying time “gave me the blues and then purple-pink skies.” Which, many Kaylor hopefuls read as a reference to the Bi pride flag. To that, I just say... Maybe?

highlight lyric: “time, mystical time // cutting me open, then healing me fine”

Mad woman - My favorite thing about this song is the piano melody that happens in the background the whole song, working in concert with the main melody, but also completely independent (and haunting). It reminds me of one concept of madness--having multiple voices or thoughts going on simultaneously. But of course, it’s artfully and perfectly put together, which is the whole point. What could be perceived as madness is, in this case, what makes her able to create a masterful work of art. Now, this is also certainly a song about her masters, Scooter Braun, and Scott Borchetta. But it is also another feminist anthem. Women are taught not to be angry, not to yell, not to react with any emotionality otherwise we are discredited entirely. Swift directly calls this to attention by explaining that we’re angry for a reason--often antagonized intentionally until ‘you find something to wrap your noose around.’ She also makes the important point that women can also ‘hunt witches,’ and can be complicit in treating one another poorly. This is a reference to Scooter Braun’s wife defending him publicly against Taylor. Probably the most savage line is about the ‘master of spin’ having affairs, which she implies his wife knows about and seems to passively accept. But Swift doesn’t go too hard on her, reminding us that ‘no one likes a mad woman’, and that pressure is real. Could this ‘master of spin’ also be Scooter? I think probably. But I did read that some people are connecting this song to Hillary Clinton (she’s a scorpio, and the song references a scorpion sting), and that maybe Trump is the adulterer here... I feel like that’s a stretch, but I appreciate the interpretation.

highlight lyric: “What a shame she went mad // You made her like that”

epiphany - I suspect this song is directly related to how Swift is processing the current state of the pandemic. The atmospheric vibe with slow, clock-ticking beat in the background really feels momentous and poignant. Yes, she starts with images conjured from her grandfather’s stories of World War II, but she quickly seems to compare this awful battle to the doctors fighting COVID-19 on the frontlines in hospitals. The lyrics are simple, repetitive, and powerful. With so many ill literally struggling to breathe, the lines about breathing out really do hit especially hard these days. I can’t believe that wasn’t a thoughtful choice. The chorus is just barely hopeful, reminiscent of the numbness we all have to use as a coping mechanism to get through traumatic experiences. But it’s that little sliver of hope that makes the song even sadder--is that possible?

highlight lyric: “only twenty minutes to sleep // but you dream of some epiphany // just one single glimpse of relief // to make some sense of what you've seen”

betty - Give me all that Tim McGraw, Love Story, early Taylor pop-country. This song is definitely enhanced in part because of its connections to ‘cardigan’ and ‘august,’ but it stands strong on its own. It’s old news at this point, but James and Inez are based on the names of Blake Lively and Ryan Reynolds’s daughters, so it’s all-but-confirmed that their third daughter was named Betty. Written from the perspective of James, there is massive speculation out there about whether the narrator is meant to be a boy or a girl. There are reasonable clues on both sides, so I’ll just say this: I love Taylor, but she’s always been a little late to the party when it comes to socialized ideas of male/female. Because of that, I don’t think she’d have a female narrator riding a skateboard. I also feel from the style of narration--“I don’t know anything;” “just a summer thing;” “would you tell me to go fuck myself”--it does sound more like stereotypical teenage boy language than what we know as swiftie teenage girl language. What I do like about this song, though, is that because it’s written from James’s perspective, it does sort of leave a wider opening for personal interpretation than some of her other love-story-like songs. The reason I personally love this song is that it’s mostly about redemption and forgiveness. Everyone has wished someone who broke their heart would write this song about them, and so it offers catharsis. Plus, it’s the only song on the album that truly feels happy at the end--thanks, key change! It’s refreshing and heartening, and it’s good timing, too. After the heaviest song on the album, we needed it. (Oh, and there’s a callback to the broken cobblestones from ‘cardigan’. And then he literally mentions her cardigan. So.)

highlight lyric: “if you kiss me // will it be just like I dreamed it? // will it patch your broken wings?”

peace - The vibe of this song is like laying on your couch in the summer with light coming in through the blinds and the ceiling fan is going around just fast enough to keep the warm air circulating, but not really cool you off. This song has a hint of ‘False God’ style, a little jazzy, but otherwise, it’s a pretty fresh feel for Swift. The message fits this thoughtful, lightly antsy feeling. She’s basically saying she wants to start a family with Joe (no, I don’t think she is literally pregnant yet) and settle down, but there is no real ‘settling down’ with her level of fame. I also think that Swift truly enjoys making music, performing, and engaging with her fans, and she doesn’t want to leave that life behind any time soon. So, she’s asking him if he can make that work. It’s, again, a mature vision of what a long-term relationship can actually look and feel like. Not all of us can truly relate to the burdens of fame, but there are other ways we can be unable to ‘give you peace’. No relationship is idyllic forever in the way romantic love often makes it out to be, and this song gives us a more realistic, consistent example. And just in case we thought this was just a nice song, the whole ‘clowns to the West’ is another potential Easter egg. In the lyric video, east is not capitalized, but West is. Most likely, this is a dig at Kanye. If we want to believe Taylor wasn’t being vengeful, it could potentially be a reference to Rebekah (West was her maiden name). I lean toward theory one, although it’s kind of amazing that it works out such that it connects to both.

highlight lyric: “but I'm a fire and I'll keep your brittle heart warm // if your cascade ocean wave blues come”

hoax - (Phew last one--I don’t have access to ‘the lakes’ yet) Swift can’t end the album without bringing us all back to the raw emotional space she opened up within us. This song brings back similar piano lines from ‘mad woman’ and the image of screaming on the cliffside. Chronologically, ‘hoax’ feels like it takes place after or during the death of her reputation, i.e. the feud with Kim and Kanye, when she was still very vulnerable. Based on timeline, this seems likely to be either Calvin Harris or Tom Hiddleston. It could really be some combination of the two, since many songs aren’t really about just one person. My gut tells me it’s primarily about Calvin, since she’s referenced that they didn’t have a very faithful relationship--”your faithless love’s the only hoax I believe in.” Both relationships travelled a lot--“I left a part of me in new york.” I’m guessing she’s referencing the feud with Harris over her writing credit on ‘This is What You Came For.’ She takes attacks on her career as seriously as hurtful relationships, and since she’s referencing being torn apart by the media when she says that “what you did was just as dark,” I think it’s likely that this also has something to do with hurting her reputation. It’s another hauntingly beautiful song, and you can totally imagine yourself out on that cliff looking at the midnight sea as the piano line ends.

highlight lyric: “you knew the password, so I let you in the door // you knew you won, so what's the point of keeping score?”

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

Overall, the album is my favorite of Taylor’s so far for two reasons: 1) the continuity in both theme and sound is stellar, and 2) there aren’t any songs that I don’t like. Usually, there are 1-3 songs on Taylor’s albums that are either forgettable or too on-the-nose for my taste. I’m sure that is a product, in part, of having to craft songs for radio-play and for her amazing, cinematic live shows. Having given herself the freedom to make whatever music she wanted without thinking (so much) about whether they’d top the charts or be good for a stadium concert, she made an album without a single ‘pop just because’ track.

Now the real question is... What will she do with the remaining 6 months of quarantine???

#taylor swift #swiftie #folklore #album thoughts #folklore thoughts #ts #ts8 #tswift #who else was supposed to go to lover fest?

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steebharringt0n · 5 years

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cat’s in the cradle

infant | toddler | child | teenager | young adult

a 5-part story exploring the relationship between billy hargrove and his first-born son, adam

pairing: billy hargrove x you

rating: t

a/n: thank you all for the feedback, this has been super fun to write so far and i’m so happy to see it receive so much love, if you’ve missed a part, I have linked them up top! enjoy!

---

part 3 - child

“Ma! I can’t find my baseball glove!”

“Mommy, mommy, mommy!”

“MA! MY GLOVE!”

“MOMMY!”

Your head was going to explode if your children would not shut up.

The Hargrove household was in it’s usual chaos mode. Backpacks and shoes had a permanent place by the front door, the living room wall was adorned with pictures of the kids, pictures of you and Billy, pictures of you, Billy and the kids, and a couple with Max and your parents in them. It was Saturday morning and Adam had his championship little league game. The Sunset Cliff Tigers were on a hot streak and as usual, the four of you were running late because your husband just loved to take his sweet time showering. You were in the kitchen quickly stuffing snacks and drinks for the team, it was your job as the coach’s wife to always bring after game snacks - plus you always brought the best snacks.

10-year old Adam came rushing into the kitchen, his square glasses adorning his face as he frantically searched around the area for his lucky baseball mitt. His blond hair had darkened out as he got older, turning into a dirty blond that matched Billy’s hair. All dressed up in his yellow and white striped uniform, you heard the loud clacking of his baseball cleats roam around the kitchen.

“Adam, you left it in the laundry room” you casually told him, zipping up the large snack bag.

Adam blinked blankly, then quickly turned on his heels and ran over to the laundry room. You heard small puttering steps come into the kitchen, accompanied by a mischievous giggle you knew too well.

“Mommy, mommy, mommy!”

Ah, yes, Ava.

5-year old Ava Grace Hargrove was a carbon copy of you - minus the blue eyes. She had the same hair, same smile, same nose, and she even laughed the same way you did.

But my god, was she nothing like you. She was everything Billy, and it terrified you.

The mere thought of her turning into an angry, rebellious teenager gave you nightmares. She was nothing like your sweet boy, in fact they were the complete opposite of each other. Ava threw tantrums, Ava hated eating her vegetables, and oh man, don’t even think about reading her a bedtime story - she found them incredibly boring. She was loud, rebellious, and had a knack for getting into trouble.

She got along swimmingly with her Auntie Max.

But she knew how to work her way around you and Billy. She had a look - pretty much the same look that Billy would give to charm his way through situations. She would hang her lower lip in a pout, bat her long eyelashes and suddenly you and Billy were turned into goo.

Billy more than you. She had him wrapped around his finger, she was always able to weasel her way out of getting into trouble when Billy was around. His little princess could do no wrong in his eyes. He was there for every boo-boo, every cold, every flu. He was incredibly protective of her, more than he was with you in high school, and that’s saying something.

With a loud sigh escaping your lips, you turned to face your daughter, “Yes baby?”

Standing barefoot, with her long barbie pajamas, she gave you a grin, “I want my cheerios”

You quickly whipped out a sandwich bag, shoving handful of cheerios and zipping it close.

Being a full time mom, and teacher had its perks. You were a master multi-tasker, simultaneously grading papers, cooking dinner, doing laundry, putting your kids to bed and still find time with your husband? You were like Wonder Woman in Billy’s eyes.

You approached Ava, crouching down to her size. The bag of cheerios dangled in your hand, Ava went and tried to get a grab at it but you swiped it away before she could. She let out a angry grumble,

“You’ll get your cheerios when you go get dressed - we’re already late Ava Grace, I laid out your clothes for you on your bed, go change.” you ordered, your head gesturing towards her bedroom. Ava nodded at you, letting out a giggle before she scampered upstairs to her lilac colored room.

You scanned around the kitchen, making sure you didn’t forget anything else to pack. You had snacks, drinks, first-aid, sunscreen (yes, you were THAT mom). You heard the thundering footsteps of Billy come down the stairs, “Let’s go! We’re already late!” he shouted.

He poked his head into the kitchen flashing you a smile that still, at 30 years old, made you weak in the knees. “Ready momma?”

He donned on a yellow baseball cap, the words coach written in white, bold letter words. When Adam had expressed interest in little league, Billy jumped at the chance to coach his team. It was pretty much the only thing they had in common. Adam had no interest in cars, no interest in his dad’s lame old music, no interest in surfing, they had nothing in common.

Except for their love of baseball.

Billy and Adam held season passes to the San Diego Padres. They wouldn’t miss a game if their life depended on it. Hell, Billy even closed shop early one day in order to catch a game.

It was their thing, their little club, and your heart would swell when the two of them would come bursting into the house, their hands sticky from eating popcorn, their shirts stained with mustard from the hot-dogs, with large smiles on their faces, drunk on all the fun they had at the game.

Although they both couldn’t be any different, their love for baseball is what kept their bond tight.

“I’m waiting for our little hellraiser to get dressed” you told him, leaning forward on the kitchen island.

“My little Ava? My little princess who can do no wrong?” he dramatically feigned hurt, his hand placed over his heart.

He leaned over the kitchen island, meeting you halfway. Your noses grazed one another as you felt his minty breath on your face.

“What do I get when we win today?” he huskily spoke. After being together for over 10 years, you both were still crazy in love with each other since the first time he laid eyes on you when he walked into Hawkins High. Albeit you both were older, but his features had become more defined, his jaw more chiseled, his shoulders more broad - he still had that ugly tattoo on his shoulder (which both Adam and Ava marveled over) but he was still as sexy as ever.

“Hmm ... I dunno, maybe you’ll get to first base, maybe a little bit of second base ... not sure if you’ll hit a homerun though ... “ you playfully teased.

Billy’s raised an eyebrow, “Is that a challenge, Hargrove?”

“You bet your ass Hargrove”

“Ew, what are you guys doing?”

You quickly placed a peck on his lips as Adam’s voice broke the conversation between the two of you.

You smiled sweetly at your son who was now wearing a matching yellow baseball cap, walking over to him, “Nothing, did you find your glove?”

He pulled his old, ratted glove from under his arm, waving it in the air. “Got it right here, Ava! Let’s go!” he shouted at the stairs.

“I’m coming!” she shouted back, running from out of her room, her [Y/H/C] hair all wild as she carefully walked down the steps. All dressed up in her yellow overalls to match the team color, and white shoes, she looked absolutely adorable and for a second you forgot how much a little spitfire she could be.

“Daddy, daddy, I wore yellow for you!” she exclaimed happily, pushing her hair out of her face as she proudly showed off her yellow overalls. Billy scooped up his daughter, planting kisses all over her cheeks. He rested her on his hip, “I have my own cheerleader, whaddya know!”

You walked over to Billy and Ava and handed her the ziplock bag, she eagerly took it from your hands, and immediately started to shove the cheerios in her mouth.

The four of you quickly ushered out of the house, piling into Billy’s top of the line 1997 Honda CR-V, or as commonly known as, the family car. Billy’s poor old camero was collecting dust in the garage. He rarely had time to drive it around, but he knew one day he would pass on his first baby to Adam.

The drive to the baseball field was quick, but the crowds were already getting large. The Sunset Cliffs Tigers were going up against the Hillcrest Sharks - this was turning out to be a big game. Adam knew how difficult this team would be, but he wouldn’t let it effect his game. He didn’t want to let his father down.

Billy pulled the car into park, and Ava quickly jumped out of her booster seat, running towards the concession stand where you promised to buy her ice cream if she behaved well. You gave both your boys a good luck kiss (and a swat to Billy’s ass for good measure) as they headed down towards the coach’s box to huddle up with the team.

You caught up with Ava, who was having a hard time deciding on whether to choose chocolate or vanilla ice cream. Ultimately she ended up going with both. The two of you then found a spot on the bleachers, right behind the coach’s box as the game started to get underway.

The Tigers started out with a strong lead, hitting home runs left and right, but it was up until the 5th inning that the Sharks were quickly catching up to them. By the time the 9th inning rolled around the game was tied, 5-5, and it was a nail-biter.

Adam was on third base, he was so close to home base that he could feel it under his cleats. He pushed his glasses up, his neck turning towards you and Ava as you happily waved and gave him a thumbs up.

“You got this baby!” you shouted, Ava’s sticky hands that were covered in soft serve ice cream clapped along with you.

Suddenly, Adam got nervous. The crowds, the expectation, it all hit him at once.

He looked up at his father who could clearly read his nerves, and Billy called a time-out.

Adam jogged his way over to the coach’s box, a panicked expression on his face.

“Dad, I can’t do it, I can’t slide”

Billy crouched down to Adam’s height, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder, “Hey, hey, where did this come from?”

Adam shook his head, “I don’t wanna mess up, I don’t wanna lose.” Adam paused, sucking in a breath, “I don’t want to disappoint you”

Billy’s heart clenched at those words. It was like staring at a mirror when he gazed over at a nervous Adam. The painful memory of Neil berating him for not sliding properly at his own little league game suddenly entered his mind. He remember how terrified he was when Neil grabbed his arm, shaking him violently for not listening - for disappointing him.

For being a pussy.

But Billy isn’t Neil. He is nothing like Neil.

Billy placed both hands on Adam’s shoulder as he hung his head low. Billy lifted his son’s chin up, adjusting his glasses, and sweeping his sweaty hair out of his face.

“Win or lose, slide or not, I am proud of you no matter the outcome. You will never disappoint me Adam.”

Adam’s bottom lip trembled as he nodded at his father. Billy then stood up and engulfed his son in a tight hug. Billy pulled away, adjusting Adam’s yellow baseball cap. With a watery smile on his face, Adam jogged back to third base, a new wave of confidence instilled in him.

Jacob Richardson was up to bat, and as soon as the pitcher threw the ball, Jacob swung with all his might, the loud clack of the ball hitting the bat echoed throughout the field. All eyes were on Adam as he started to run towards home base. His cleats digging in the dirt, his arms woosh-ing by his side. He didn’t have time to think, but he went ahead and took the leap.

He threw himself onto the ground, feeling the rocks pierce his skin, the dirt burning his arm as he slid towards the base. His glasses were complete dirty, obstructing his vision. He outstretched his arms until the felt the home base plate under him.

“SAFE!”

The crowd roared with excitement. Adam jumped up, swiping his glasses off his face to see his teammates rush towards him. Lifting him up on their shoulders and parading him around. You and Ava ran out to the field, running over to Billy who was being handed the championship trophy. You placed a big sloppy kiss on his mouth, he was grinning from ear to ear as you pulled away from him. Billy then ran out to his team, handing Adam the championship trophy as his teammates placed him on the ground.

“I did it dad! I slid!” Adam beamed, his entire face caked with dirt.

Billy swept Adam in a hug, “You did! and I am so, so proud you”

You and Ava ran out to the field, and as soon as Billy let Adam go from his hug, you pulled your baby boy and held him tight against your chest.

“Oh my baby boy is a little league champion! I am so proud of you!” you exclaimed.

“Ma .. you’re embarrassing me ...” he muttered as you started to clean away at his face. No son of yours was going to look dirty for the championship photo. You felt tears prick your eyes as you stared down at your boy, the pride you felt for him made you feel overwhelmed, and you had a take a second to calm yourself down.

You probably snapped a million pictures of the whole team, but the favorite picture you took was of the three people who you loved the most. Billy holding Ava in his arms, Adam standing right beside them with the championship trophy in his hands, showing it off with a proud smile.

After a long celebration with the team (with lots of cake and pizza) the four of you headed back towards the car. Ava being Ava, consumed way too much cake and had a sugar crash. She ended up passed out on Billy’s shoulder, crumbs of chocolate cake decorated her lips as small snores escaped from her mouth. Billy had his other arm wrapped around your shoulder, Adam walking right beside you with the trophy in his hands.

“So am I getting scoring a home-run tonight?” he cockily spoke in your ear, his eyebrows wiggling suggestively.

“Wait you guys are playing baseball tonight? Can I play?!” Adam suddenly interjected. Billy was apparently not a good whisperer.

Ava suddenly awoke from her slumber, her eyes wide and alert, “I wanna play too! I wanna play baseball! I wanna score homeruns!” she whined.

Billy’s eyes almost bulged out of his head, and you almost choked, “Ava you are never scoring a homerun” Billy managed to utter out.

This in turn caused Ava to start whining even more, and for Adam beg, to plead to play baseball with his parents.

Luckily they were too young to realize the sexual euphemism that Billy had tried on you.

You jabbed Billy on his side, throwing him a look, “Real smooth Casanova, real smooth”

---

tag list: @the-first-breath-of-autumn-air @justabeautiful-letdown @fab-notfat @tarahell @noodlenerd101 @crazylittlethingcalledobsession @letdecemberburninflames @kake-babe @barbarasbae @delqcour @wearewiththebands @oogachuggaoogaoogachugga

#billy hargrove #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove x you #billy hargrove fanfiction #billy hargrove imagine

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ryfionline · 2 years

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captainchrisfics · 5 years

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Out of Fenway Park

About: A SoCal born-and-raised reader relocated to Boston, where the very last thing she expects is to run into Chris Evans at a Red Sox game with beer dripping down her head and his hotdog plastered to her shirt. Literally, running into him, and then somehow still getting a date out of it.

Word Count: 3,365

Requested By: Anon. Thanks so much for sending this in! Absolutely love this story, thanks for giving me the opportunity to write it. Feel free to send in any other reqs!

P.S. I’m sorry but, as deeply as I love Boston, I’m just a New Yorker, posting a fanfic on the internet, asking you to forgive me for my inability to give the Red Sox the dignity of winning- feat. the best gif I could find of him repping the team

The sun was the only reason I agreed to go to this baseball game anyway and even that had failed me. I was looking forward to sitting back with its warmth washing over my skin so I could close my eyes and try to pretend like I was back on a beach in Southern California. Instead, it was borderline freezing rain and all I could think about was the ground being even muddier with the still melting snow and how I couldn’t tell if there really was rumbling thunder or if it was just the shouts of countless Bostonians surrounding me, cheering on the Red Sox. They were up against the Yankees and even I could tell it wasn’t looking good, but that didn’t dampen their home-team spirits.

My coworkers were maybe the worst of the bunch, drunkenly yelling profanities at the players while they sloshed their beers in agreement with one another’s profane criticisms of the pitcher. I was almost regretting giving up SoCal for a job offer I could hardly dream of fresh out of college with the only downside being that it was on the east coast. Anyone could’ve told you I despised the cold, being too far from the ocean, and the Patriots, maybe not in that order. But even more than that I knew I’d hate myself if I passed up this opportunity. So, without giving more thought than I maybe should’ve, I packed everything I could into three suitcases and a carry-on and moved across the country, hopes probably higher than the plane.

Winter, however, brought me crashing back down to reality. Everything in nature either died or got the right idea to chase the sun south. I was stuck with snowbanks higher than my knees and a proper coat was nowhere in sight. Not that it mattered much anyway, the weather felt like it was freezing my bones to their core no matter what I wore. Initially, I had this glamorous idea of curling up by the window with a blanket on my lap as the fire crackled, holding a book in one hand and a hot chocolate in the other. Hitting the pavement after slipping on ice knocked the ignorantly blissful can-do attitude right out of me the first time. And the second and the third and I lost count after that.

Which is exactly why I agreed to come to this baseball game in the first place. Back home, spring meant warmer days and blooming flowers and short sleeve t-shirts. I thought I’d get to enjoy a little bit of sunlight at the very least, maybe get to finally connect with my coworkers in a meaningful way outside of asking for help to unjam the copy machine. However, the start of the season in this hell hole apparently included a lot more of the lion than the lamb and a rowdy crowd of Red Sox fans who thought it was good enough for shorts anyway and drank like alcoholic fish to top it all off.

A girl I shared the wall of my cubicle with, Alex, wrapped a lazy arm around my shoulders, pulling me too close into her Heineken haze than I was comfortable given the fact that I barely knew her. Plus, being the only sober one was never any fun. I had a feeling they only invited me under the guise of getting to know each other better considering all I’d become familiar with was the smell of their beer burps. After all, being barely of-age and the new kid made me their permanently designated driver, even though we’d taken the T here.

“Know the difference between a Yankee and uh,” Alex paused to laugh at her own joke and let out a hiccup, “a pothole?” She was hanging onto me for support, speaking close enough to my ear that it could’ve been a secret though she was saying it loud enough for the rest of our group to hear over the boom of other fans. “I’d swerve for the hole!”

I chuckled a little to be nice, although I didn’t think it was very funny. Our coworkers to Alex’s right, on the other hand, guffawed as if it was the most hilarious thing they’d ever heard. Preferring their reaction and acting almost in slow motion, she raised her cup in cheers of herself and simultaneously turned to the others, sloshing the frothy drink until it rained down on me.

I shot up out of my seat as the cold beer trickled down my back. Everyone paused, eyes glued to me for my reaction as I tried to maintain my temper. I used my hands like windshield wipers, tossing the liquid on my face to the floor with an angry snap of my wrists. Alex started to profess a slurred apology, but I held up my hand for an extra second or two to compose myself. “It’s...” I paused to suck in another deep breath. “It’s okay. Accidents happen. I’m gonna go clean up.” Before she could offer to help, I whipped around and jumped down the stadium’s stairs two at a time.

My cheeks were hot with embarrassment as I scanned the hall, looking for something resembling a bathroom sign frantically. People were probably busy enough with their own agendas, be it getting back to the game or buying a baseball hat, but I still felt every set of eyes boring into me. So I tried to put my head down and run to the closest restroom until I hit a wall instead.

Literally, it sent me tumbling to the floor until I landed on my ass, melting into a messy puddle of beer mixed with my former self. Contrary to my belief, someone said, “I didn’t see you there.”

My eyes left my hands, where I’d tried to bury my face like an ostrich in the sand, to see a broad man bending down on his knees before me. He had a Red Sox cap pulled low over his face, a thick beard, and a light grey t-shirt with a dark wet patch in the middle of his chest. Must’ve been where we collided. “I’m so sorry,” he continued with the exaggerated o’s and r’s that sound like ah’s, still so wrong to my west coast ears. I spotted an empty disposable food tray in his hand and looked down to see the hotdog it’d previously housed glued to my stomach by its condiments. Exactly what I needed.

“Are you alright?” He extended a hand to help me up, but I couldn’t move. Instead, I just sat sprawled on my butt at Fenway Park, reeking of somebody else’s alcohol, staring at this beautiful stranger. His concerned look turned a little suspicious the longer I sat there without grabbing his hand, my mouth moving like a fish out of water. All I had to say was yes or I am or something, anything really, but I couldn’t even manage a three-letter sentence.

Instead, I peeled his hotdog off of my shirt and returned it to its little white boat. “Oh, uh, thanks I guess. Or sorry, I mean.” He adjusted his hat and cleared his throat before extending his hand again. “Is there anything I could do to… help?” His eyes scanned me again as if he were sizing me up, making me even more self-aware of the awful state I was in.

“Bathroom,” I blurted out as my mind caught up, barely able to rip my eyes from his biceps. He stitched his eyebrows together, back to confusion again, though I didn’t give him any time to ask questions before I all but snatched his hand and he hoisted me up.

“Nice to meet you, Bathroom. I’m Chris,” he said with a smirk, teasingly shaking my hand. “You didn’t hit your head, right?” He tried to subdue a laugh, but the playful look in his deep blue eyes betrayed him as he reached to brush off my shoulder.

“Very funny,” I shot back with an exaggerated roll of my eyes, betting my smile gave me away. “As in Evans, right? You look too much alike for it to be a coincidence.”

He played with the sunglasses tucked into his shirt’s collar, probably wishing he’d kept them on for the sake of a disguise. Chris only shrugged, claiming he would neither confirm nor deny. I didn’t need him to though, I’d been stuck watching Marvel movies with my brothers long enough to recognize those cheekbones anywhere. “I’m more of an Iron Man fan anyway,” I tried to emphasize my nonchalance in the hopes that I wouldn’t scare him off. “What I meant was I need help finding the bathroom.”

“Oh, yeah. Just passed one over there I think…” Chris trailed off as his eyes swept over the stadium, looking with much more of a level-head than I could. He found one almost immediately and laced his fingers between mine so it was more like we were holding hands. In a silly school-girl kind of way it made my cheeks flush, which was awfully embarrassing that, given my condition, holding hands with a cute boy was what had turned me into a tomato. Then he tugged me in the direction he came from and I wasn’t in the position to protest.

There was only so much I could do with thin paper towels, lukewarm water, empty soap dispensers, and a tide stick from a kind woman who took pity on me. Still, I spent a while scrubbing at the mustard and ketchup stains and wringing my stringy hair over the sink. It was long enough that I was more than surprised to see Chris leaning against the wall coolly. One foot was pressed against the wall and his arms were crossed over his chest while he whistled a tune.

“Is that The Little Mermaid?” I asked with a wrinkled nose, sounding more dumbfounded to hear this burly, bearded, lumberjack-looking man all but belting out Under the Sea than I was to see he’d been waiting for me.

Chris only shrugged, a crooked grin softening his features.

“Is that a problem?” He cocked an eyebrow and flexed his arms as he crossed them as if to challenge me. But there was this twinkle in his eye that betrayed his demeanor so all I did was shake my head. I tucked some hair behind my ear as I glanced back at Chris, who looked far too satisfied with himself as he said, “Good thing since I owe you some ice cream.”

Chris started walking away, taking quick steps so long I had to take two for each of his to keep up. I called his name but he ignored me until I grabbed his hand to get his attention, which it certainly did as he squeaked to a halt. He squeezed mine before letting it go, looking at me curiously.

I wasn’t quite sure exactly what I was going to say until it was already tumbling out of my mouth. “If anything I owe you a hotdog,” I muttered, avoiding his stare. Not that I was uncomfortable waltzing off with a stranger in the limelight, which I totally was. Not that my coworkers were waiting for me and would never believe I’d been getting ice cream with Chris Evans, which was also true. Not any of the totally valid reasons to feel a little funny about this whole thing. Instead, I insisted on buying a hotdog for a guy I was sure had more cash sitting in his bank account than I’d ever see.

“Don’t be ridiculous, my lunch had it coming,” Chris insisted with a swipe of his hand, playfully brushing me off. “Your shirt, however, did not deserve that stain.” His pointed finger dropped to the orangey Rorschach test permanently painted just below my chest, getting a laugh from me.

“Here,” Chris said as he untied the hoodie around his waist. I tried to keep my eyes from wandering to his stomach, where his shirt lifted a little higher than it should’ve been allowed, revealing the curve of his chiseled hips and the beginnings of a fuzzy trail dipping below his belt. “Take this to cover that up.” He handed me his sweater covered in pet hair and I slipped it on immediately, hoping it would hide my wild blush for a few seconds at least until I popped out the other side. It smelled like a dog had been curled up to it coupled with an intoxicating cologne I didn’t recognize and crisp air right before it rained.

I thanked him but Chris shrugged and puffed out his bottom lip before resuming his long strides to the concession stand, tugging me behind like luggage. “Plus, the game is already over. I don’t have to watch my boys actually lose. Maybe if you’d been a Yankees fan, I could’ve excused the whole sweeping you off your feet thing... but come to think of it you aren’t repping the Red Sox either.” He side-eyed me suspiciously without pausing until he nearly hit someone else’s back.

“That’s an awfully nice way to put sending me tumbling to the concrete,” I scoffed, skidding to a stop at Chris’s side in line. “And sports culture is just misplaced nationalism if you ask me.” I crossed my arms to emphasize my point when I was met with raised eyebrows and a slack jaw.

“Then what are you doing here exactly?” He asked, keeping one eyebrow perched a little higher than the other. There was something about the way he smiled at me, all genuine and gentle, and this look in his wide eyes. Whatever it was, I felt like I could tell him everything. So I did.

“All I wanted to do was sit in the sun,” I started, completely aware of how much I sounded like a toddler who missed her nap as I launched off into everything as if he’d been the one pulling up to watch my origin story with popcorn in hand. I told him about how much I missed California and how I felt like I hadn’t met anyone here who got me the way my friends did back home. And how much I loved the work I was doing, the way the end of every day left me feeling complete until I left the office, and how I didn’t think I could survive another Nor’easter for it. I spilled my guts along with the can of worms Chris didn’t mean to open as the concession line grew shorter until we were at the front.

He ordered chocolate and vanilla cones, giving me the choice between the two once they were handed over so I thanked him. We walked around the stadium for a while, bumping hips on occasion and crunching on our cones while we chatted about anything and everything except what I’d said earlier. That was until Chris suddenly stopped to sit on a bench, grabbing my hand to take me down with him. He cleared his throat before speaking with more of a serious air to him so I knew to brace myself for what was coming.

“You’re young, yeah?” he asked, shoving his napkins into a nearby bin. I nodded as I sucked what I could out of the bottom of my cone, though I felt like I’d done a lot of growing up lately. “You’ve got a lot of time to figure these things out. Trust me, I know California is nice, but there’s a reason why I keep coming back to Boston.”

I thought about what he’d said for a beat or two, but I’ll be honest, it was difficult sitting next to him. It was awfully cold with the sun tucked far behind the clouds all day so I was grateful that Chris was so warm. Even his hoodie retained his heat, although I still curled up a little deeper into his side than I might’ve if he wasn’t a human radiator. “Mind telling me why?” I asked, popping the last of my ice cream into my mouth.

He shook his head as he said, “Sure, oh man. So many reasons…” I watched as his blue eyes rose as if he could see the sky through the stadium ceiling, the corner of his jaw flexing as it clenched and relaxed as he thought about it. “Other than my family being in Mass, there’s always something to do. We’ve got the best museums and such a rich history, if that’s your sort of thing,” he paused to scratch his beard as he thought a little more.

His blue eyes nearly popped out of his head as another thing occurred to him. “The culture is something else. There’s something really special about a middle finger being a sign of affection to some poor sap giving tours in colonial clothing and everyone joining in to sing Sweet Caroline on the T on the way home from a game,” Chris continued with animated, sweeping waves of his arms, talking with a kind of passion for a town I couldn’t imagine having in my heart. He shook his head as he added, “And the food is great, too. I mean, where else do they have a whole word for cod that isn’t really cod?”

I laughed from the bottom of my stomach, where I expected a heavy pit of anxiety to be sitting at the beginning of a conversation like this. My homesickness and unhappiness here wasn’t something that I told anyone before out of fear of disappointing someone or being unable to admit my failure out loud. Chris was easy to talk to, more than a stranger usually was. Their judgment never really mattered to me, knowing that I’d probably never see them again. It wasn’t like that with him though, it was easier than that. I felt like he didn’t really judge me at all. He only tried to understand, help, and make me smile while he was at it. And I couldn’t deny a part of my heart that hoped I’d see Chris again. Not only again, but a lot.

“The people aren’t too bad either,” he smiled sheepishly, bumping our shoulders together and looking at me through his dark eyelashes in a way that made me feel like the only person here. As if I was the only one he was talking about. Chris took a deep breath that puffed up his chest, one he didn’t release until after his arm was comfortably slung over my shoulders. “Just give the city a shot, I think it’ll surprise you.”

I wanted to tell him it already had, really he had, but instead, I laughed dryly and said, “Hell, this city makes me feel like I need a shot.” I leaned my head on Chris’s shoulder as it shook with his chuckle, looking up at him to see how he rolled his eyes even though they were scrunched by his smile.

“Know what?” he said like he was asking himself with a deep, shaky breath. He shot up from the bench as if he’d been shocked. I obviously didn’t know Chris well, but even I could tell he was nervous as he rubbed his palms dry on his jeans. “Let’s go get a drink then, instill a little Boston pride in you. There’s this great pub down a couple blocks with live music and everything. I mean, if you want to…?” He scratched the back of his head with one hand and extended the other to me with his offer.

When I grabbed it, Chris broke out into a grin that made my stomach feel like I was on a rollercoaster. “I’d love to,” I said with a smile that barely held a flame to his. Neither of us made an effort to let go so Chris tugged me toward Fenway’s exit. As we left, I heard tens of thousands of Red Sox fans sigh like deflated balloons before the screams of just as many obscenities broke out. Probably another point for their opponents, but it certainly didn’t make me feel like I’d hit anything short of a home run.

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redrobin-detective · 5 years

Text

Street Kids Do it Best

“I had a fight with B, needed to get out, let me crash with you for a few days,” Jason shrugged, hiking his backpack high on his shoulder. Billy Batson blinked and then decided it was totally worth it to die by Batman’s hand in order to spend time with his best friend.

Now edited and up on AO3

The sound of knocking at his door instantly awakened Billy and sent him into panic mode. He was an incredibly light sleeper and had trained himself to wake up when anyone walked by the hallway outside his door. The fact that someone was able to get all the way to his door to knock meant he was dealing with someone who knew how to move without being noticed. None of the people he hung with in the city knew where he lives and, even if they did, they wouldn’t be stopping by at just past 4 am. He supposed Toyman or Monsieur Mallah wouldn’t waste time knocking but tell that to his paranoia? He grabbed a baseball bat he’d found at the dump and held it at the ready in front of the door.

“Who’s there?” He demanded in his deepest voice, trying to channel Batman as best he could.

“It’s Goldi-fucking-locks, now let me in dipshit,” Billy relaxed instantly, lowering the bat and opening the door to reveal Jason Todd, his best friend and also the latest Robin. He looks almost bored with Billy’s attempt at defense but when you live with Batman, everyone else kind of pales in comparison.

“Jay, jeez you scared the shit out of me. What are you doing here anyway, B didn’t tell me about any uh work stuff,” Billy added, holding the door open for Jay to come in. He noted immediately that Jason was on edge; his eyes wouldn’t stop casing Billy’s one room, broken down apartment and his free hand was twitching against his thigh. The other hand was tightly wrapped around the strap of an overfilled backpack. Billy has a bad feeling about this.

“I had a fight with B, needed to get out, let me crash with you for a few days,” Jason shrugged, hiking his backpack high on his shoulder as if he hadn’t asked Billy to hide him from the World’s Greatest Detective and probably the World’s Most Paranoid Over-Protective Father. Of course that wasn’t the real issue here.

“A fight? What was it about?” Jay’s frown deepened at the question so Billy diverted. “Please tell me you at least told someone where you were going. Batman’ll rip my arms out if he found out I kidnapped his sidekick, how’d you even get here?”

“Drove my bike to Bludhaven and used one of the Zetas there to get here, made a couple of other stops to throw off the trail.” Jay said clinically, dumping his bag on the floor and flopping onto the bed, making himself comfortable on Billy’s pillow. “And I’m not a total moron, I told Alfie. He saw I needed to blow off some steam, said he’d keep the Bat off my back for a day or two but don’t worry, I’ll be out of your hair by then.”

This is way too much for Billy to comprehend at 4 in the morning so he joined his friend on the bed and rubbed at his eyes. He’s seen Clark do this when dealing with Batman and some of the Titans with Nightwing so he guess it was just a Bat thing.

“Let me get this straight,” Billy drawled, “you decided you wanted to leave your fancy mansion in order to slum it with me for a few days, practically inviting the goddamn Batman to wring my neck, because you’re in a pissing contest with him?”

“Pretty much but I brought food, the good shit and B will never know I was here,” Jay countered. Unlikely but whatever, he’s too tired to think about this right now.

“Fine, but the sun’s not even up and Captain Marvel had a busy day yesterday so I’m going back to bed,” he dramatically rolled over on top of his friend, eliciting a squeak of protest. But he already gave Billy one heart attack tonight and was totally messing up his schedule which is probably why he was letting Billy use him as a giant heat pack.

“For what it’s worth Jay, it’s good to see you,” Billy murmurs into Jason’s chest.

“Shut the hell up and go to sleep, Batson,” Jay growled back but he didn’t protest the contact. Content, Billy let himself drift back to sleep still curled up in his friend’s side.

XxX

Billy woke for the second time that day considerably more comfortable than the first time. For one thing, he was warm which was unusual considering it was February and he didn’t remember his pillow being this soft… or breathing. He peeked open one eye and saw Jason watching him with a bored look.

“About goddamn time, I lost feeling in my arm hours ago, probably gonna have to chop it off now,” Jay said, pushing Billy off of him. Billy himself just shook his head to catch up, right, Jay stayed the night er morning, was gonna stay in Fawcett until Batman tracked them down and killed them both. Cool.

“You coulda moved me,” Billy yawned as Jason rolled out his arm.

“You looked like shit kid, you clearly needed the sleep. You gotta take better care of yourself or you won’t be doing anyone any good,” Jay sneered.

“You’re barely six months older than me,” Billy frowned but Jay got up and stretched anyway.

“Might as well be six years, I see how the Cap acts out in the field with all his ‘aw shucks’ charm. It’d be sickening if it wasn’t so goddamn genuine.”

“At least I’m wearing pants, Mr. ‘I like to feel the wind on my bare thighs,’” Jason turned and stared at Billy with an intense expression which Billy returned. It lasted a solid 30 seconds before Jay cracked and grinned at him. Billy returned the smile; this is why they were best friends.

“Alright fuck, way to hit below the utility belt,” Jay said, still smiling slightly as he ruffled his wiry, slightly curled hair and looked out the dirty window. Now that he’s more awake, Billy saw Jay is wearing a sweat stained t-shirt and tight black work out pants which he wore under his costume when it was cold out. Did he come straight from patrol? Jay got pissed at Bruce all the time but he’d never shown up at Billy’s doorstep with a packed bag before. This might take more than a few days separation to heal but there’d be time for that later.

“How about some breakfast, there’s a shop up the street that sells uneaten food off plates for 1/3 the price,” Billy chirped.

“I’m not making you spend your meager savings in addition to putting up with me,” Jay rolled his eyes, his Gotham accent coming out especially thick as he grabbed for his bag and pulled out a Tupperware. “I told you I brought the good shit, Alfie made those obnoxiously sweet fruit crepes you like.”

“Please tell Alfred I would die for him,” Billy responded automatically as his mouth watered.

“Me too man but I won’t pass that one, he’d just get all sad,” Jay smirked and conversation kind of died off as they attacked the lukewarm crepes with mismatched forks. It tasted heavenly and Billy closed his eyes, letting him enjoy the sensation of eating amazing food prepared just for him. Jay could have had these baked in front of him, fresh and warm with a glass of sparkling water or whatever rich people drank. He chewed thoughtfully, looking at Jason through his bangs. He’ll open up eventually, Jay was terrible at hiding things that upset him and Billy could be patient and wait until he was ready to talk. That’s why they worked so well together.

“Alright, what’s the plan, Bill?” Jason asked, wiping off some blueberry from his face with his arm. Jason was the only person who called him Bill; he said Billy was too childish for someone who could punch out Superman. Billy liked his name but he couldn’t deny a thrill of pleasure at having a special nickname from his best friend.

“Um I didn’t really have anything to do today so why don’t I show you around Fawcett,” Billy shrugged.

“Yeah but like show me the real deal,” Jason stressed. “I don’t want to see the clean tourist shit, I want to see what you deal with every day. Wanna make sure you’re taking care of yourself out here plus I gotta prove that I still got the stones after almost a year living the high life.”

“Uh okay,” Billy said, quirking an eyebrow. It was weird but considering that it was Jason, it could have been way worse. “Let me get dressed and we’ll head out.”

Their day ended up being pretty uneventful. True to his request, Billy dragged Jay along to his usual haunts: the diner where they let Billy sit even when he didn’t buy anything, the nice ladies on the street corner selling their wares, the library where Billy tried to catch up on his studies, the homeless shelters where Cap went for information and Billy got food if he really needed it. Jason acted his usual self: sizing up everyone they saw and spoke to, asserting himself to anyone who even thought about hassling them. One older teen looked like he was gonna go for Jason’s bag when Jay flipped out a big-ass switchblade Billy knew the Big Bat didn’t authorize. Billy is a notorious pacifist in their little community; he knows going to have a lot to answer for being seen with someone like Jason.

Jason bought them hot dogs with the frankly ridiculous amount of money he brought with him and they sat on a park bench and munched in silence.

“You got any work lined up tonight, you know, for the big guy?” Jay questioned through a mouthful of hot dog. Billy shook his head because his mouth was also full but he didn’t like talking with food in his mouth unlike some people. Honestly, which one of them lived in the fancy mansion again?

“Sweet so you and I can go out,” Jason grinned and Billy almost choked.

“Woah,” he wheezed, catching his breath. “Woah are you insane? I thought you were trying to keep a low profile? I can’t have Rob- you know who running around Fawcett, what would people say?”

“I didn’t say Cap and Robin would go out,” Jay whispered under his breath, still with that animated, half crazed look in his eyes. “I say you and me throw on some cheap masks and take out some baddies the old fashioned way, no powers, no fancy toys, just our fists.” And Jason’s grin is all fire and teeth and Billy can instantly see why Bruce took one look at this crazy kid before deciding to bring him home. What was he getting involved in, being friends with Bats?

XxX

“Jay, I don’t know about this,” Billy whispered, incredibly uncomfortable in his friend’s slightly too big work out pants while gripping his wooden bat. He went out fighting bad guys all the time, yeah, but unlike Robin he was used to being a 7 foot tall god, not a scared kid in borrowed clothes and an itchy domino mask.

“Don’t say my name,” Robin, and he was Robin right now no matter what he’s wearing, warned. He stood tall, weight perfectly balanced for ass-kicking, playfully spinning a piece of pipe they’d found lying around. Billy, meanwhile, felt terribly exposed and had literally no training in street fighting. He should have called Batman when he’d had the chance, too late now.

“What am I supposed to call you then?” Billy spat back but kept his voice down.

“Well try not to call me anything first off but I guess Rob works if you really need my attention, you can be Marv,” Jay grinned and Billy felt his eyebrow twitch in annoyance. Normally that’d get at least a good-natured groan but he’s not exactly happy with his best bud right now. He was going to suggest, once again, that they head back to his place and do something notlikely to get them beat up and in trouble but Jay’s smile smoothed out into something serious. He held up a hand to be quiet and then stalked forward, not making a sound and clinging to the shadows like he belonged there. Billy watched him go with an incredulous expression, how the hell was he supposed to do that? He tried his best, creeping after Jay but he knew he was too loud and too noticeable compared to the other boy. This is why he was not the street rat chosen to be the new Robin.

“Hey ass-lickers!” He heard Jay say confidently, Billy stepped forward and found his friend confronting no less than 6 guys in ski-masks with a crowbar jammed under a window to pry it open. Amateurish compared to what Rob and Cap have dealt with but those adults were more than enough to do serious damage to a couple of street kids. Well to him anyway. “You’re about to have your butts handed to you.” Jason didn’t waste any more breath on the meat heads, immediately diving into the fray and unleashing some wicked martial arts on the criminals who sure as hell weren’t expecting it. Billy would almost feel bad for them if he wasn’t terrified and angry at the same time.

“You little shit,” one robber hissed, ducking away from Jason and speeding towards him. Billy planted his feet and swung his baseball bat with all his might into the man’s side. While he hunched over and wheezed, he brought the bat down again onto the back of his head and he went down like a lead balloon. His heart swelled with victory as he gave the bat a little spin. Not bad considering it was his first proper bad guy taken down as regular ole Billy. Of course, Robin has taken down all the others by the time Billy got the one. Jay finished tying up his goons and gave him a thumbs up.

“Way to go, Marv, felt good, didn’t it?”

“No,” Billy frowned as the brief high crashed down around him. He looked down at the groaning man at his feet then at the bat in his hands. It suddenly felt a lot heavier than it had earlier that morning. He wasn’t used to his fights being this, intimate. “This isn’t what being a hero supposed to feel like.”

“Yeah well it is for us mere mortals,” Jay sniped, “Don’t get on your high horse, Cap. You live on these streets; you know how ugly shit can get and sometimes you gotta get dirty to take care of it. Now come on, help me drag these suckers out to the sidewalk and we’ll keep going.” Billy pursed his lips and did what he was told but already his stomach was twisting with nerves.

Luckily it turned out to be a quiet night in Fawcett; they stopped one attempted mugging, kicked around a few drug dealers and returned a lost toy to local girl. Billy gave thanks to the Gods he knew exist but still wasn’t sure he believed in because he’s not sure he could have dealt with anything bigger tonight. They’re on a rooftop and it’s clear his partner wasn’t as relieved as he was by the peace. Jay had the same restless energy he’d had when he first arrived that morning. It took some convincing but Jason eventually, reluctantly, agreed to turn in for the night. He remained sullen all the way back to the apartment, changed into his nightclothes and fell into bed without saying a word. Billy did the same, he’d grown used to Jay’s mood swings and he knew sooner or later, the Boy Wonder would crack. He slipped underneath the covers next to Jason and watched his friend angrily rub at his eyes.

“Feel better?” He asked quietly.

“No,” Jay hissed, “fuck, no, I’m sorry Bill,” he covered his eyes with one arm. “I shouldn’t have made you go out like that. You ain’t like me, that’s not your scene. You’re better than that and I was annoyed enough to try and drag you down to my level.”

“There are no levels, one is better here. We’re both just dumb kids Jay, but I accept your apology anyway,” Billy said before letting a few moments pass. “What did you fight with Bruce about?”

“Fuck, I don’t want to talk about it,” Jason cursed before turning his back to Billy. Billy huffed sadly but decided he’d simply try again in the morning. He was just getting comfortable in bed when Jason spoke again, quietly this time. “B said he loved me for the first time.” Oh Jay, Billy thought fondly, Only you would get upset about that.

“Oh really?” He coaxed and Jason turned onto his back again, his arms crossed protectively across his chest. He rustled his legs under the scratchy blanket like an angry cricket before continuing.

“We’d just got back from patrol, cracked a big case we’d been working on for the past week. I said something that helped B figure it out so I was riding pretty high, y’know? Alfie made those lemon scones he knows I’m apeshit for and B ran his hand through my hair and said, well, said the L word.”

“That’s great, Jason,” Billy said warmly, genuinely meaning it. It’d been so long since anyone had said those words to him but he’s still happy for his friend. Jason is amazing and deserving of love and Billy is so glad he’s finally receiving it.

“I freaked out,” Jay huffed. “Got skittish, you know the way I do. Bats turned back into an awkward potato and said some things that set me off. I screamed some stuff at him that I uh really shouldn’t have. Real deep shit about him and Goldie’s fucked up relationship and how I’m just some weak attempt at replacing him. B started getting mad, I got even madder and I just left which doesn’t make things any better, I know, but I did anyway.” Jay sighed and scrubbed at his face.

“I came back ‘bout an hour later, all filled with apologies and overheard the big guy complaining to Alfred about how he just doesn’t get me, how it was never this hard with Dick. My head was still kind of fucked up so I wasn’t really thinking when I grabbed my Go bag and left again. Was halfway to the ‘Haven before I realized they’d flip if I just disappeared so I called the house and told Alfie I was visiting you and I’d be back in a few days. He at least seemed to understand me,” Jay grumbled the last part.

“To be fair, you’re kind of a mess Jason, not even Batman can be expected to figure you all out,” Billy teased lightly and was rewarded with a light chuckle.

“You know it, Big Bill.”

“I know this may seem kind of sudden but Bruce does love you,” Billy whispered, scooting a little closer. “It’s obvious every time he’s with you. He brings you up all the time in League meetings; he’s like stupidly proud of you.”

“I mean I guess I know but it’s just so weird,” Jay said, pulling up the blanket a bit. “I mean, I came to him with a suitcase full of problems and that’s not even factoring in all of B’s bullshit. I just don’t know how to deal with people actually, y’know, liking me. Plus we all know I don’t fit in there.”

“Jay…”

“Nah shut up it’s true. I’m not fucking Dick Grayson with his award winning smile and magnetic personality that just makes everyone better, made Batman better. Fuck, I guess,” Jay sighed heavily and curled in a little on himself. “I’m just afraid I’m gonna screw it all up. Bruce… he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me and he’s out there doing honest to god good shit, as both Bruce and Batman. I just know I’m going to mess it up, mess him up. He’s too goddamn soft, if he really does love me, he can be hurt by me and I’d rather go back to the streets than drag one of the only good men I know down.”

“Jason,” Billy said, closing the distance between them and setting his head on Jay’s chest, wrapping his arms around his friend and listened to his fast beating heart. “I can’t speak for Batman but all I know is that we love you, warts and all and it would be a privilege to be hurt by you because that means we got to have you in our life.”

“Fuck man, no wonder that wizard guy gave you superpowers,” Jay mumbled in a watery voice. He brought a hand up and tightly gripped Billy’s and they cuddled like that for a long while, just feeling each other with all their faults out to bear because there was no one else to judge them for being less than the ideals they strived to be. It was so freeing just to be for a change and Billy relaxed into his friend’s absurdly warm body.

“You know the same goes for you, Bill,” Jay added on after a bit, sounding half asleep. “You got a lot of people who love you, including me, Alfie and B who know who you are under the cape. I want you to have your freedom but fuck man you deserve so much better than this shithole. You know you just need to say the word and B will have you in the Manor in a heartbeat. We could be brothers, much better than the awkward thing me and Dick got going on.”

“Thanks Jay,” Billy muttered. “I know you and Bruce mean well but Fawcett is my home and I’m happy here. I have my normal friends, my job as Captain Marvel, the League, you; I don’t need any more and besides,” he gently kicked Jay from underneath the covers. “We’re already kinda brothers; don’t need any papers to tell me what I already feel.”

“Christ you’re sappy,” Jason huffed but he sounded a lot better than he had earlier. “I’m going to sleep before you make me vomit with all that sweetness.”

“Night Jay,” Billy grinned but he suspected Jason was already asleep. He probably didn’t sleep much at all yesterday; Jay was someone who let issues keep him awake and as soon as they were solved was out like a light. He was kind of dumb that way but Billy loved him anyway. With Jason asleep, he took the time just to watch his friend. The way his whole face just completely relaxed, how many teeny tiny freckles he had all over his nose and cheeks and spotting down to his neck and collarbone, how long and thick his eyelashes were, highlighted by the moon.

Billy thinks he might have a little crush on his best friend, is it weird to think your bro is kinda attractive? The Wisdom of Solomon he has when he’s Cap tells him that it’s just Billy’s loneliness latching onto one the only true relationships he has with someone his own age and turning it into something more. Still, all that seemed so far away when he’s half on top on a boy who’s the most wonderful asshole he’s ever met. He decided to stop thinking about stuff he can’t figure out and let himself enjoy the moment, falling asleep himself, warm and with the undeniable knowledge that he is loved.

XxX

Billy was woken up by the sound of violent cursing. He bolted up out of bed for the second day in a row and turned to see Jay’s face twisted in a snarl as he held a note. He peeked over his friend’s shoulder and recognized Bruce’s neat handwriting, ‘Let me know when you’re on your way home.’ It was folded with Jason’s name written on the front, obviously left near Jay’s portion of the bed for when he woke up. Billy scrubbed at his eye, he probably should be more mad about Batman breaking into his place but he’s growing desensitized to the level of bullshit that comes with Bats. He and the others should form a support group.

“I thought Alfred would hold him off longer,” Jason grumbled, throwing the note across the room.

“Probably just wanted to make sure you were where you said you’d be. I bet he was real worried when you didn’t come home,” Jason hummed, still annoyed but with a note of understanding in it. “You know, he didn’t make you go back with him. He’s trying to give you the space you asked for, you can stay as long as you need to.”

“Nah,” Jason breathed out. “I can’t keep sponging on you and I need to own up to the things I did and said the other night. I’ll treat you to breakfast then head out.”

“If you insist,” Billy said, stretching out his limbs. “But seriously Jay, stop by anytime. It’s nice to see your dumb face outside of League business where we gotta act like a wise god-like adult and the perfect little sidekick. Just like, tell Batman where you’re going next time.”

“No promises Captain Lame-o,” Jay answered in a mocking tone with a little salute and Billy pushed him over. He loved having Jason Todd in his life. There weren’t many other kids his age who knew not only what it was like to be a superhero but also dealing with all the shit that comes with being out on your own at a young age. So yeah, one of these days Jay was going to talk him into something that got them into massive amounts of trouble and B’s totally gonna ream him for willingly hiding his son away from him. But it’s totally worth it to spend some time with his best friend

#my writing #billy batson #jason todd #this was so cathartic to write #reblogging again because this is cute dammit #there isn't nearly enough Jay/Billy friendship content out there #and I will fill that gap

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lucy-mors · 2 years

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Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Concept One Marvel Avengers Logo Kids/Youth Baseball Hat Cap.

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queenangst · 5 years

Text

the taste of summer so sweet (under my tongue)

by: achieving elysium | Read on AO3

Dabi visits his family.

The day before the number one hero’s demise, Dabi sits in the sun.

It’s bright. He used to like doing this as a kid, sneaking out of his room to catch snatches of sunlight. He’d climb on the roof when Father wasn’t looking, would take his siblings’ hands as they spent a spare moment together under the light poking through tree leaves. He’d stand at the window for hours if he could.

He swings his feet back and forth on the edge of the roof, and around him the city buzzes with energy. Dabi soaks in the warmth, rolling stiff shoulders back under a leather jacket. It’s hot, but not unbearingly so—Dabi can stand heat.

“Dabi!” a voice chirps, and Himiko materializes from nowhere. She’s not wearing anybody else’s face today, eyes gold and bright.

Dabi grunts.

“Leaving soon?” she asks, plopping down next to him. Himiko, though he will never tell her, is kind of cute. She’s different; she’s not like any of his siblings, but he likes her enough to be one anyway.

“Yeah,” Dabi says. He stretches his arms above his head and then stands. “Don’t murder anyone without me, brat.”

“ Dabi, ” Himiko whines, “not even a little?”

He kicks her gently and rolls his eyes. “I’ll see you later.”

Her bright laughter follows him as he heads back into the shadows. Dabi scratches at his wrist as he heads to his destination. It’s not Shigaraki-approved, sure, but nothing is Shigaraki-approved and it’s not like Dabi likes him much anyway. He gets the job done, and that’s all Dabi needs.

Being in the sun after so long in the dark stirs up old memories. Dabi keeps scratching at his wrist, then moves his fingers up to the lines of stitches like a noose around his neck. It’ll never leave him. He can run as far as he wants, but it’ll never leave him.

Just for old times’ sake, Dabi ducks into a ratty old convenience store and buys himself two blue raspberry popsicles. Fuyumi’s favorite. He used to get them for her, slipping into her room after curfew and marvelling at the soft, pleasant surprise on her childish face. He savors the first one on the road, a little sweet, a little tart.

He has to be careful, now. Dabi slows. He pulls on a baseball cap with a flame design and slips on sunglasses. Not a perfect disguise, but Dabi likes to cut corners where he can.

The sound hits him first.

Laughter. Distant yelling of high-pitched voices and rounds and rounds of laughter. Dabi’s lips curl into a bitter smile as he rounds the corner and sees a quaint middle school.

“Right on time,” Dabi says, leaning against a tree. He adjusts his sunglasses and peers at the kids roughhousing, happy as they play pretend. There’s a group he can tell is playing heroes and villains; he laughs. If only they knew he was watching. If only they knew how close they were to a real villain.

He’s not here for the kids, though. He’s never here for the kids.

Instead Dabi lifts his gaze and searches. By the playground gates stands a couple teachers, keeping watch over the kids—one is leaning over the railing yelling and waving his arms. He doesn’t see her at first, but the second time around he spots a young woman watching from the back, arms folded over each other.

There you are, he thinks. His hands are sticky; when he twists them together he can feel the sugar on his fingers.

Dabi crosses the street. Stands near the gates until one of the teachers spots him and points; he lifts his hand in a lazy wave, but it’s Fuyumi who comes to speak to him.

“Can I help you?”

Her voice is calm, professional. But there’s a soft expectant smile on her face, and her eyes are just like he remembers.

When Dabi smiles at her he’s sure she sees the blue on his teeth. It’s not a Dabi smile, really. What surfaces is Touya—gentle, kind Touya. Touya, who used to braid Fuyumi’s hair even when he was bad at it.

“Here for a student?” Fuyumi presses, when all Dabi does is look at her for a moment.

“I’m here for you, ” Dabi says, and she takes a step back. He slides the sunglasses off so she can see his eyes.

“I’m sorry—” she begins.

“Here,” Dabi says, and holds out the second popsicle as an offering. “This one’s for you. Keep your eyes on the TV tomorrow, Fuyumi.”

She takes it hesitantly. Unwraps the plastic curiously and sees it, the edges melting. Her eyes go wide.

When she looks back up, Dabi’s gone, disappeared amongst a passing crowd of people. He slides the cap off his head. Then Dabi pauses so she can see him one last time, turns so their eyes meet.

She’s still standing there, blue raspberry popsicle clutched in her hands. This is the Fuyumi Dabi wants to remember—this one.

Dabi’s always been more selfish than selfless. Survival instinct, he always used to say.

When Fuyumi mouths his name, Dabi smiles. He lifts his hand in a goodbye as she steps off the curb to follow him. The popsicle drips over her fingers, staining them blue, and Dabi turns away and leaves.

“One last time,” he says, “one more time.”

Midsummer, the afternoon is hot, but Dabi suffers it. He still has one more stop to make before the day is over.

There’s not enough time to see Natsuo or Shouto, and that’s the regret Dabi carries with him next to the pink flowers he buys from a street stand. His footsteps are light in the building lobby. Security is a funny word—he slips past them in well-timed moment into a crowded elevator where no one dares look at or speak to each other.

He’s never been here before.

Well, not upstairs, at least. Dabi has stepped in the lobby a handful of times, but never a step farther until today. When he reaches the right floor he shuffles off alone, feeling his jacket sleeves shift. His old wounds itch.

Dabi doesn’t bother knocking on the door; he just opens it and walks right in. The person inside is at the window looking out but jumps in surprise when the door clicks shut behind him.

“Who—”

But she falters.

Dabi steps closer, footsteps soft on the floor. Her hand moves to her chest when Dabi stops in front of her.

She recognizes him. Dabi knows she does, past all the scars, past all the hurt and the darkness clinging to him. A mother recognizes her child, an ewe her lamb no matter how many times it’s been slaughtered.

“Touya,” Mother whispers faintly. Her hand drifts upward, and Dabi goes still when light fingers touch his face. “Oh, Touya. ”

“I brought you flowers,” Dabi murmurs, and holds them out. They’re different from the ones he sent before; he blinks when he spots pots placed on the windowsill, an array of colors blossoming in the sun.

Mother follows his gaze. “You…”

Dabi smiles. “Did you like them?”

“I thought,” Mother says, and her voice breaks. When it does the rotten cracked thing that remains of Dabi’s heart pulses once and reminds him he’s alive.

When she turns back to look at him he’s at her feet kneeling. He hears the way her breath catches, the soft stutter of air.

“I came to say goodbye,” Dabi says. He reaches for her hands and takes them wordlessly; his are much rougher than hers. Mother’s eyes shine when she runs her fingers over his knuckles, and the touch is so gentle Dabi shudders. No one has touched him like that in a long, long time.

“Touya,” Mother whispers, “you could—”

“No,” he tells her, “I came so I could see you again, so you could see me again.”

“I’m sorry, ” she says, and when Mother tugs him into a fierce hug Dabi almost wants to stay. Almost wants to give up, return to his family like she was about to tell him to. He can feel her hands tightening in the fabric of his jacket, her breath gentle against his neck. Dabi lets himself rest his palms on her back and thinks, it’s funny how things turn out.

The window cuts them a square of sun. Dabi sinks into it, then gently pulls away.

“I forgive you,” he murmurs in her ear. There’s tears on her face now. He slides a hand along her jaw and meets her gaze, then smiles. “I hope you can forgive me.”

“Touya,” Mother says desperately, but he thinks he sees the moment when she realizes he has no intention of staying. She swallows, then says, “I love you, Touya.”

He brings her hand to his mouth, presses his lips to his fingers, thinks about how close they are to his teeth. Then he drops her hand and steps away.

“We’ll meet again,” he promises, and there is nothing of the villain in him in that moment, only a son in the shadows. When he closes his eyes for the last time, dirt in his mouth, he thinks he’ll see her again. “It’ll all be over soon.”

As he leaves, he snags the roll of newspaper on the coffee table. Endeavor's face is on the front page.

When the door shuts Dabi is finished. He leans his forehead against it for just another moment and thinks about the life he left behind.

The day before the number one hero’s demise Dabi walks under the light of the slowly-setting sun and feels a fire ignite in his chest. The last hints of blue raspberry are still stuck between his teeth. His fingers smell faintly of flowers.

The day of Endeavor’s fall Dabi carries these things with him, and when his father recognizes him he smiles.

#my fanfic #bnha #bnha fanfic #dabi #todoroki touya #lol idk yall #really dunno yall

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scifrey · 5 years

Video

youtube

In February of 2017 I had the great pleasure of addressing the Grant MacEwan University English Department with a keynote speech titled “Your Voice is Valid.”

This speech was all about Mary Sues, fandom, and marginalized voices, and is a direct response to the negative reactions that media texts receive when they announce a protagonist that is deemed to be a "Mary Sue".

In the intervening years I think the message of my talk has become even more vital to creators, so I thought I’d record a new video of the speech to share with a wider audience.

If you liked this video, you can find more of my writing advice on my website.

Read the full speech on Wattpad, or below:

(Text may not match the video exactly as I did alter some of the phrasing.)

My friends, I have a declaration to make. A promise. A vow, if you will. And it is this:

If I hear one more basement-dwelling troll call the lead female protagonist of a genre film a ‘Mary Sue’ one more time, I’m going to scream.

I’m sure you’ve all seen this all before. A major science fiction, fantasy, video game, novel, or comic franchise or publisher announces a new title. Said new title features a lead protagonist who is female, or a person of color, or is not able-bodied, or is non-neurotypical, or is LGBTQA+.

It might be the new Iron Man or Spider-man, who are both young black teenagers in the comics now, or the Lt. Michael Burnham of Star Trek: Discovery, or the new Ms. Marvel, a Muslim girl. It could be Jyn Erso, the female lead of the latest Star Wars film or Chirrut, her blind companion. It could be the deaf FBI Director Gordon Cole from Twin Peaks or Clint Barton from Fraction and Aja’s Hawkeye graphic novel series. It could be Sara, of Dragon Age fame or Samantha Traynor from Mass Effect, both lesbians, or Dorian also from Dragon Age, who is both a person of color and flamboyantly queer. Maybe it’s Lt. Stamets and Dr. Hugh Culber, played by Anthony Rapp of (best known for his time as Mark in Rent) and Wilson Cruz, both open out gay men playing openly out gay men in a romantic relationship in Star Trek Discovery. It could be Captain Christopher Pike, from both the original Star Trek series and the reboot film, who uses a wheelchair and assistive devices to communicate. Or maybe it’s Bucky Barnes, aka the Winter Soldier, fights with a prosthetic arm in the comics, or Iron Man, whose suit serves as Tony Stark’s ego-tastic pacemaker.

And generally, the audience cheers at this announcement. Yay for diversity! Yay for representation! Yay for working to make the worlds we consume look more like the world we live in! Yay!

But there’s a certain segment of the fan population that does not celebrate.

I’m sure you all know what I’m talking about.

This certain brand of fan-person gets all up in arms on social media. They whine. They complain. They say that it’s not appropriate to change the gender, race, orientation, or physical abilities of a fictional creation, or just protest their inclusion to begin with. They decry the erosion of creativity in service of neo-liberalism, overreaching political-correctness, and femi-nazis. (Sorry, sorry – the femi-“alt-right”).

It’s not realistic. “Women can’t survive in space,” they say, “It’s just a fact.” (That is a direct quote, by the way.) “Superheroes can’t be black,” they say. “Video game characters shouldn’t have a sexual orientation,” unless – it seems - that sexual orientation is straight and the game serves to support a male gaze ogling at half-dressed pixilated prostitutes.

“And strong female characters have to wear boob armor. It’s just natural,” they say.

These fan persons predict the end of civilization because things are no longer being done the way they’ve always been done. “There’s nothing wrong with the system,” they say. “So don’t you dare change it.”

And to enforce this opinion, to ensure that it’s really, really clear just how much contempt this certain segment of the fan population holds for any lead protagonist that isn’t a white, heterosexual, able-bodied, neurotypical, cismale, they do everything they can to tear down them down.

They do this by calling that character a ‘Mary Sue.’

When fan fiction author Paula Smith first used the term ‘Mary Sue’ in her 1973 story A Trekkie’s Tale, she was making a commentary on the frequent appearance of original characters in Star Trek fan fiction. Now, I’m going to hazard that most of these characters existed as a masturbatory avatar – wanna bone Spock? (And, um, you know, let’s face it who didn’t?) They you write a story where a character representing you gets to bone Spock.

And if they weren’t a sexual fantasy, then they were an adventure fantasy. Wanna be an officer on the Enterprise? Well, it’s the flagship of the Starfleet, so you better be good enough to get there. Chekov was the youngest navigator in Starfleet history, Uhura is the most tonally sensitive officer in linguistics, and Jim Kirk’s genius burned like a magnesium flare – your self-representative character would have to keep up to earn thier place on that bridge. This led to a slew of hyper sexualized, physically idealized, and unrealistically competent author-based characters populating the fan fiction of the time.

But inserting a trumped-up version of yourself into a narrative wasn’t invented in the 1970s. Aeneas was totally Virgil’s Mary Sue in his Iliad knock off. Dante was such a fanboy of the The Bible that he wrote himself into an adventure exploring it. Robin Hood’s merry men and King Arthur’s Knights of the Round Table kept growing in number and characteristics with each retelling. Even painters have inserted themselves into commissioned pictures for centuries.

This isn’t new. This is not a recent human impulse.

But what Paula Smith and the Mary Sue-writing fan ficcers didn’t know at the time was that they were crystallizing what it means to be an engaged consumer of media texts, instead of just a passive one. They had isolated and labelled what it means to be so affected by a story, to love it so much that this same love bubbles up out of you and you have to do something about it, either in play, or in art. For example: in pretending to be a ninja turtle on the play ground, or in trying to recreate the perfect version of a star fleet uniform to wear, or in creating art and making comics depicting your favorite moments or further adventures of the characters you love, or writing stories that encompass missing moments from the narratives.

‘Mary Sues’ are, at their center, a celebration of putting oneself and one’s own heart, and one’s own enjoyment of a media text, first.

Before I talk about why this certain segment of the fan population deploys the term ‘Mary Sue’ the way it does, let’s take a closer look at this impulse for participatory play.

Here’s the sixty four thousand dollar question: where do ‘Mary Sues’ come from?

I’d like you take a moment to think back at the sorts of games you enjoyed when you were about seven years old. Think back. Picture yourself outside, playing with your siblings, or the neighbour’s kids or you cousins. What are you doing? Playing ball games, chase games, and probably something with a narrative? Are you Power Rangers? Are you flying to Neverland with Peter Pan? Are you fighting Dementors and Death Eaters at Hogwarts? Are you the newest members of One Direction, are you Jem and the Holograms or the Misfits? Are you running around collecting Pokémon back before running around and collecting Pokémon IRL was a thing?

That, guys, gals and non-binary pals, is where Mary Sues come from. That’s it. It’s as easy as that.

As a child you didn’t know that modern literary tradition pooh-poohs self-analogous characters, or that realism was required for depth of character. All you knew was that you wanted to be a part of that story, right.  If you wanted to be a train with Thomas and Friends, then you were a train. If you wanted to be a magic pony from Equestria, you were a pony. Or, you know, if you were trying to appease two friends at once, then you were a pony-train.

Self-insert in childhood games teach kids the concept of elastic play, and this essential ability to imagine oneself in skins that are not one’s own, and to stretch and reshape narratives is what breeds creativity and storytelling. It shapes compassion.

Now, think of your early stories. As a child we all told and wrote stories about doing what, to us, were mundane everyday things - like getting ice cream with the fictional characters we know and love.

My friend’s three year old tells his father bed time stories about going on walks through Home Hardware with his friends, the anthropomorphized versions of the local taco food truck and the commuter train his dad takes to work every morning. He doesn’t recognize the difference between real and fictional people (or for him, in this case, the stand-ins that are the figures that loom large in his life right now as a three year old obsessed with massive machines). When you ask him to tell you a story, he talks about these fictions as if they’re real. And he does not hesitate to insert himself into the tale. “I did this. I did that. We went there and then had this for lunch.” He is present in all his own stories because, at this age, he understands the world only from his limited personal POV.

As we grow up, we do learn to differentiate between fantasy and reality. But, I posit that we never truly loose that “me too!” mentality. We see something amazing happening on the screen, or on the page, or on a playing field, and we want to be there, a part of it.

So we sort ourselves into Hogwarts Houses. We choose hockey teams to love, and we wear their jerseys.  We buy ball caps from our favorite breweries. We line up for hours to be the first to watch a new release or to buy a certain smartphone. We collect stamps and baseball cards and first editions of Jane Austen and Dan Brown. We want to be a part of it. Our capitalist, consumer society tells us to prove our love with our dollars, and we do it.

And for fan creators, we want to be a part of it so badly that we’re willing to make more of it. Not for profit, but for sheer love. And for the early writers, the newbies, the blossoming beginners, Mary Sues are where they generally start. Because those are the sorts of stories they’ve been telling yourselves for years already.

But as we get older, as we consume more media texts and find more things to adore, we begin to notice a dearth of representation – you’re not pony trains in our minds any more. We have a better idea of what we look like. And we don’t see it. The glorious fantasy diversity of our childhoods is stripped away, narratives are codified by the mainstream media texts we consume, and people stop looking like us.

I’m reminded of a story I read on Tumblr, of a young black author living in Africa – whose name, I’m afraid, I wasn’t able to find when I went back to look for it, so my apologies to her. The story is about the first time she tried to write a fairytale in elementary school. She made her protagonist a little white girl, and when she was asked why she hadn’t chosen to make the protagonist back, this author realized that it hadn’t even occurred to her that she was allowed make her lead black. Even though she was surrounded by people of color, the adventures, and romance, and magic in everything she consumed only happened to the white folks. She did not know she was allowed to make people like her the heroes because she had never seen it.

This is not natural. This is nurture, not nature. This is learned behavior. And this is hegemony.

No child grows up believing they don’t have place in the story. This is something were are taught. And this is something that we are taught by the media texts we consume.

I do want to pause and make a point here. There isn’t anything fundamentally wrong with writing a narrative from the heterosexual, able bodied, neurotypical, white cismale POV in and of itself. I think we all have stories that we know and love that feature that particular flavor of protagonist. And people from that community deserve to tell their stories as much as folks from any other community.

The problem comes from a reality where when it’s the only narrative. The default narrative. The factory setting. When people who don’t see themselves reflected in the narrative nonetheless feel obligated to write such stories, instead of their own. When they are told and taught that it is the only story worth telling. ‎

There’s this really great essay by Ika Willis, and it’s called “. And I think it’s the one – one of the most important pieces of writing not only on Mary Sues, but on the dire need for representation in general.

In the essay, Willis talks about Mary Sues – beyond being masturbatory adventure avatars for young people just coming into their own sexuality, or avatars to go on adventures with – but as voice avatars. Mary Sues, when wielded with self-awareness, deliberateness, and precision, can force a wedge into the narrative, crack it open, and provide a space for marginalized identities and voices in a media-text that otherwise silences and ignores them.

This is done one of two ways. First: by jamming in a diverse Mary Sue, and making the characters and the world acknowledge and work with that diversity. Or, second: by co-opting a pre-existing character and overlaying a new identity on them while retaining their essential characterization. For example, by writing a story where Bilbo Baggins is non-binary, but still thinking that adventures are messy, dirty things. Or making Sherlock Holmes deaf, but still perfectly capable of solving all the crimes. Or making James Potter Indian, so that the Dursleys prejudiced against Harry not only for his magic, but also for his skin color. Or making Ariel the mermaid wrestle with severe body dysphoria, or Commander Sheppard suffer from severe PTSD.

I like to call this voice avatar Mary Sue a ‘Meta-Sue’, because when authors have evolved enough in their storytelling abilities to consciously deploy Mary Sues as a deliberate trope, they’re doing so on a self-aware, meta-textual level.

So that is where Mary Sues comes from.

But what is a Mary Sue? How can you point at a character and say, “Yes, that is – definitively – a Mary Sue”.

Mary Sues can generally be characterized as:

-Too perfect, or unrealistically skilled. They shouldn’t be able to do all the things they do, or know all the things they know, as easily as they do or know them. For reasons of the plot expedience, they learn too fast, and are able to perform feats that other characters in their world who have studied or trained longer and harder find difficult. For example, Neo in The Matrix.

-They are the black hole of every plot – every major quest or goal of the pre-existing characters warps to include or be about them; every character wants to befriend them, or romance them, or sleep with them, and every villain wants to possess them, or kill them, or sleep with them. This makes sense, as why write a character into the world if you’re not going to have something very important happen to them? So, for example, like Neo in The Matrix.

-A Mary Sue, because it’s usually written by a neophyte author who’s been taught that characters need flaws, has some sort of melodramatic, angsty tragic back-story that, while on the surface seems to motivate them into action, because of lack of experience in creating a follow-through of emotional motivation, doesn’t actually affect their mental health or ability to trust or be happy or in love. For example, like the emotional arc of Neo in The Matrix.

– A Mary Sue saves the day. This goes back to that impulse to be the center of the story. Like Neo in The Matrix.

-And lastly, Mary Sues come from outside the group. They’re from the ‘real world’, like you and I, or have somehow discovered the hero’s secret identity and must be folded into the team, or are a new recruit, or are a sort of previously undiscovered stand-alone Chosen One. Like, for example, Neo in The Matrix.

Now, as I’ve said, there’s actually nothing inherently wrong with writing a Mary Sue. Neo is a Mary Sue, but The Matrix is still a really engaging and well written film. And simply by virtue of the fact that an individual with ingrained cultural foundations is writing a story, that story is inherently rooted in that writer’s lived life and experiences. As much as a writer may try to either highlight or downplay it, each character and story they create has some of themselves in it. The first impulse of storytelling is to talk about oneself. We write about ourselves, only the more we write, the more skilled we become at disguising the sliver of us-ness in a character, folding it into something different and unique. We, as storytellers, as humans, empathize with protagonists and fictional characters constantly – we love putting our feet into other people’s shoes. It’s how we understand and engage with the world.

And we as writers tap into our own emotions in order to describe them on the page. We take slices of our lives – our experiences, our memories, our friend’s verbal tics or hand gestures, aunt Brenda’s way of making tea, Uncle Rudy’s way having a pipe after dinner, that time Grannie got lost at the zoo – and we weave them together into a golem that we call a character, which comes to life with a bit of literary magic. I mean, allow me to be sparklingly reductionist for a second, but in the most basic sense, every character is a Mary Sue.

It’s just a matter of whether the writer has evolved to the point  in their craft that they’ve learned to animate that golem with the sliver of self-ness hidden deep enough that it is unrecognizable as self-ness, but still recognizable as human-ness.

For years, mainstream western media has featured characters that were primarily heterosexual, able bodied, neurotypical, white cismales. And, regrettably, because of that, this flavor of human is now assumed to be the default for a character. When people from other communities speak up requesting other flavours, for characters for whom the imbedded sliver of humanity remains just as poignant and relatable, but the outer shell is of a different variety, this is when that certain segment of the fan population looses their cool.

That certain segment of the fan population has been telling us for years that if we don’t like what we see on TV or in video games, or in books, or comics, or on the stage, that we should just go make our own stuff. And now we are.

“Make your own stuff,” they say, and then follow it up with: “What’s with all this political correctness gone wild? Uhg. This stuff is all just Mary Sue garbage.”

Well, yes. Of course it is. That’s the point.

But why are they saying it like that?

Because they mean it in a derogatory sense.

They don’t mean it in the way that Paula Smith meant it – a little bit belittling but mostly fun; a bemused celebration of why we love putting ourselves into the stories and worlds we enjoy. They don’t mean it the way that Willis means it – a deliberate and knowing way to shove the previously marginalized into the center. They don’t even mean it the way that I mean it in my own work - as a tool for carefully deconstructing and discussing character and narrative with a character and from within a narrative.

When a certain segment of the fan population talks about ‘Mary Sue’, they mean to weaponize it. To make it a stand-in for the worse thing that a character can be: bland, predictable, and too-perfect. Which, granted, many Mary Sues are. But not all of them. And a character doesn’t have to be a Mary Sue to be done badly, either.

When this certain segment of the fan population says ‘Mary Sue’, they’re trying to shame the creators for deviating from the norm - the white, the heterosexual, the able bodied, the neurotypical, the straight cismale.

When this certain segment of the population says ‘Mary Sue,’ what they’re really saying is: “I don’t believe people like this are interesting enough to be the lead character in a story.”

When this certain segment of the population says ‘Mary Sue,’ what they’re really saying is: “I don’t think there’s any need to listen to that voice. They’re not interesting enough.”

When this certain segment of the population says ‘Mary Sue,’ what they’re really saying is: “This character is not what I am used to a.k.a. not like me, and I’m gonna whine about it.”

When this certain segment of the population says ‘Mary Sue,’ what they’re really saying is: “Even though kids from all over the world, from many different cultural, religious and ethnic backgrounds have had to grow up learning to identify with characters who don’t look or think like them, identifying with characters who don’t look or think like me is hard and I don’t wanna.”

When this certain segment of the population says ‘Mary Sue,’ what they’re really saying is: ”Even though I’ve grown up in a position of privilege and power, and even though publishing and producing diverse stories with diverse casts doesn’t actually cut into the proportionate representation that I receive, and never will, I am nonetheless scared that I’ll never see people like me in media texts ever again.”

When this certain segment of the population says ‘Mary Sue,’ what they’re really saying is: “Considering my fellow human beings as fellow human beings worthy of having stories about them and their own experiences, in their own voices, is hard and I don’t wanna do it.”

When this certain segment of the population says ‘Mary Sue,’ what they’re really saying is: “I only want stories about me.”

They call leads ‘Mary Sues’ so people will stop writing them and instead write… well, their version of a ‘Mary Sue.’ The character that is representative of their lived experiences, their power and masturbatory fantasies, their physical appearance, their sexual awakenings, their cultural identity, their voice, their kind of narratives.

Missing, of course, that the point of revisionist and inclusive narratives aren’t to shove out previous incarnations, but to coexist alongside them. It’s not taking away one entrée and offering only another – it’s building a buffet.

Okay, so who actually cares if these trolls call these diverse characters Mary Sues?

Well, unfortunately, because this certain segment of the population have traditionally been the group most listened-to by the mainstream media creators and the big money, their opinions have power. (Never mind that they’re not actually the biggest group of consumers anymore, nor no longer the most vocal.)

So, this is where you come in.

You have the power to take the Mary Sue from the edge of the narrative and into the centre. And you do can do this by normalizing it. Think back to that author who didn’t think little black girls were allowed to be the heroes of fairy tales. Now imagine how much different her inner world, her imagination might have been at the stage when she was first learning to understand her own self-worth, if she had seen faces like hers on the television, in comics, in games, and on the written page every day of her life.

And not just one or two heroes, but a broad spectrum of characters that run the gamut from hero to villain, from fragile to powerful, from straight to gay, and every other kind of intersectional identity.

You have the power to give children the ability to see themselves.

Multi-faceted representation normalizes the marginalized.

And if you have the privilege to be part of the passing member of the mainstream, then weaponize your privilege. Refuse to work with publishers, or websites, or conventions that don’t also support diverse creators. Put diverse characters in your work, and do so thoughtfully and with the input of the people from the community you are portraying. And if you’re given the opportunity to submit or speak at an event, offer to share the microphone.

The first thing I did when actor Burn Gorman got a Twitter account was to Tweet him  my thanks for saving the world in Pacific Rim while on a cane. As someone who isn’t as mobile as the heroes I see in action films - who knows for a fact that when the zombie apocalypse comes I will not be a-able to outrun the monsters – it meant so much to me that his character was not only an integral and vital member of the team who cancelled the apocalypse, but also that not once in the film did someone call him a cripple, or tell him he couldn’t participate because of his disability, or leave him behind.

Diversity matters.

Not because it’s a trendy hashtag, or a way to sell media texts to a locked-down niche market, but because every single human being deserves to be told that they have a voice worth listening to; a life worth celebrating and showcasing in a narrative; a reality worth acknowledging and accepting and protecting; emotions that are worth exploring and validating; intelligence that is worth investing in and listening to; and a capacity to love that is worth adoring.

White, heterosexual, neurotypical, able-bodied cismales are not the only people on the planet who are human.

And you have a right to tell your story your way.

Calling something a ‘Mary Sue’ in order to dismiss it out of hand, as an excuse to hate something before even seeing it, is how the trolls bury your Narrative and your Identity.  We are storytellers, all of us. Every person in this room. Whether your wheel house is in fiction, or academia, or narrative non-fiction, we impart knowledge and offer experience through the written word, through the telling of tales, through leading a reader from one thought to another.

And we none of deserve to be shouted down, talked over, or dismissed. No one can tell you that your story isn’t worth telling. Of course it is. It’s yours.

And don’t let anyone call your characters, or your work, or you a ’Mary Sue’ in the derogatory sense ever again. Or I am going to scream.

#J.M. Frey #Words for Writers #Writing Advice #Writing Community #writer #am writing #voice #how to #writblr #writeblr

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