#I am very effected and easily stirred by music | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

agent-cupcake · 3 years

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As a resident Claudefucker, I know am curious to know what our fave charming schemer is doing during this Mafia!AU. He'd look lovely in a suit.

~It was quite the headline when Godfrey Riegan died. The details are a little hazy, a little convenient, but people don't talk about that sort of thing. Car accidents are common. Tragic, but not unreasonable. There’s no reason to smear a man’s perfectly respectable political career for the sake of some sensational gossip.

~In the right circles, however, there was a huge uproar, questions about who was going to take over the Riegan family when the elderly boss Oswald died. The Riegan’s had been dominating Leicester for quite some time, but a lot of people began to predict that the Gloucester family was going to move in. They had powerful friends, it seemed. Friends with money, no less.

~Claude Riegan, grandson of Oswald, appeared out of nowhere just when he was needed. Stories of the lost daughter Tiana still circulated, sure, but there were still a lot of questions about Claude’s origins when nobody except Oswald were able to vouch for him. He obviously had military leadership experience—his skill with guns and ability to lead was just too excellent for any other explanation—but he dismissed the question out of hand. There’s no documentation of him, either, leading some to wonder if even his name was false. But Oswald said he was family, and that was that.

~Claude was quick to establish himself, in any case. Despite his cavalier attitude, his efficacy in overhauling the power dynamics of Leicester were profound.

~He decided, first and foremost, that the way to win the people over was to invigorate the local culture, which had seen a sharp decline as a result of new laws that were unfavorable to business, Adrestia’s growing market monopolies, and the bad reputation of the red light district Ailell. This included some perfectly legitimate campaigning and some under the table type schemes.

~The result was a flourishing Derdriu Street. While it lacks the prestige of Enbarr Square in Adrestia, it welcomes entertainment that would be considered too “low brow” like comedy, trendy new restaurants, and music venues. Even better, all of it is built on the recently cleaned up river. The Riegan family is involved in all of it, of course.

~Casino owner Claude. This exists solely to thirst but maybe it was preexisting and he took it over due to its poor management? If there’s going to be gambling anyway, it should be done right. The extra money’s not so bad, either. But, Claude lounging in a big leather chair in a dark blue blazer with gold brocade, his white shirt unbuttoned low enough to see enough his chest. Enough to make you drool. Enough that you’d definitely get caught staring and probably called out for it because he can’t help himself. Claude with his elbows on the arm rests and fingers folded in front of him as he considers you, gold rings winking because he’s just that ostentatious and appearances are important. Claude asking you how you feel about taking risks in a way that really feels like it has nothing to do with cards, staring at you with a friendly smile that doesn’t meet those calculating eyes—eyes that you know will pick up on every tell.

~Claude also struck a deal with the Kupala Distillery. They’d been fighting to keep hold of their historic business for years, and Claude offered to help them with that. You know, not for free, but he’s good at making deals that leave everybody happy.

~The second biggest thing he tackled was the drug trade. For the most part, no one family had ever had a complete handle on that market. The Goneril’s had a hold over the docks for years, but the Edmunds had been moving in and working with the Gloucester family to bolster their power. Distribution was scattered and hard to keep track of as it ultimately circulated wherever there was a profit to be made. Looking at it like this, Claude decided that the only way to fix things was to take control over all of it. In his line of work, shady things like the drug trade are impossible to avoid. At the very least, if he has control over it, he can ensure the product is clean and expel far more unsavory ventures.

~Through these escapades, Claude was able to make alliances with all of the major families. A lot of them had only remained loyal to the Gloucester family out of fear so as soon as they had an alternative, they bolted. This has an unfortunate side effect of revealing how his power is perceived. Every day is a balancing act for Claude. He allows each family to function as they please as long as they’re aware they do so at his mercy. It’s better to keep friends than to control enemies, but even that requires a delicate maneuvering of power.

~However, Claude likes the conflict. He enjoys the game and he especially enjoys winning the game. There’s a certain level of his excusing amorality for the sake of his family and Leicester, but there’s an equal part of him that understands his wrongdoings and deals with it separately. He wouldn’t hold to the naïve “ends justify the means” idea to excuse himself, but he would still argue that his actions have value and are even necessary. If it weren’t him, it would be somebody a lot worse than him. That’s probably something that would linger in the back of everybody’s minds whenever they shook his hand or paid their respects, whenever they began to think of how easy it would be to take him out. Fear, too. So far, Claude’s never done anything shockingly bad, only what was necessary. But with his power and intellect, it’s always a question of what he could do.

~If someone asked him that, Claude would smile that friendly smile and tell them that he would do anything to see his vision made real. Whether or not that’s true remains to be seen.

~Luckily, Claude’s not alone! Hilda is the stereotypical crime family princess. She joined Claude because he offered her freedom from the overbearing control of her father and brother. Her skill in manipulating everybody around her combined with her reputation as a ditzy rich girl makes her fantastic at gathering information, assuming Claude can get her to do so. But, as long as he’s not being too forceful, she’s surprisingly motivated to weave her way through social circles and charm everyone. Although she would never say it, the order he brought to Leicester, not to mention the entertainment, made everything a lot better for her and her family. Plus, she likes being useful after spending her entire life watching Holst give his heart and soul to family while she did nothing. Ultimately, the information she provides is essential and her relationship with Claude is one of the few either have that’s built on trust, respect, and loyalty. That said, sometimes even Claude gets a little shiver as he watches how easily Hilda can manipulate people.

~Lorenz was one of Claude’s most disdainful detractors, although a part of that was jealousy. Claude just swept in and did things that Lorenz had been waiting and planning to do once he became the head of the Gloucester family. Even after being on the receiving ends of such vicious attacks, once Claude undeniably had the upper hand in Leicester, he went behind the Gloucester boss’s back to Lorenz and told him that they were going to be friends or enemies, it was Lorenz’s choice. Not threatening him, just pointing out that the fall of the Gloucester family was inevitable under his father’s leadership and that Lorenz didn’t have to suffer for his father’s sins. Probably over mimosas and brunch. Lorenz is proud and has no appreciation for Claude, but he’s not stupid. After they worked out their disagreements and more or less accepted each other, Lorenz and Claude became pretty close. Claude knows that having someone to openly and aggressively disagree with him isn’t a bad thing. Not only that, but Lorenz’s a solid ally with a better grasp on some of the things Claude has difficulty with due to not being a native. Lorenz is willing to admit that Claude is a good leader.

~Marianne is well educated in the realm of the law and political action. The reason the Edmund family saw such success despite their lesser status was because of her adopted father’s genius. which he made sure to share with Marianne. She is invaluable in aiding Claude on the perfectly legitimate side of his business, and helping him hide his tracks for the shady stuff. Raphael is the muscle. Lysithea is a computer genius. Being a sickly shut in with issues that only recently saw treatment, she’s on the Mr. Robot level of hacker mode activated. Ignatz is an architect which is useful since so much of Claude’s power is in the property and infrastructure. He also designed a lot of places to have some neat-o hidey holes. Claude loves buildings that have secrets. Leonie is manages a lot of the physical and pettier side of the work. If someone’s stirring up trouble, she’s likely to pay them a visit as a warning before Claude has to get involved. She used to be a mercenary but being on Claude’s payroll is a lot better of a gig.

~As for the suits, one thing is very important. Claude would not, under any circumstances, wear something tight on his thighs. I actually kind of like the idea of him going for a 1980′s style modernized. In his post timeskip outfit, he’s already got a hint of that going on with how oversized his outfit looks. The 80′s (rightfully) gets a bad rep for fashion, but it’s also very iconic with those wide-collared suit jackets, matchy-matchy three piece suits, sportscoats with a fun patterned shirt underneath, open blazers, pleated pants with an oversized jacket, and—in particular—the trend of summer suits in shades of tan and cream with colored shirts underneath. Then, combine that with a pair of Ray-Ban Aviators and a topless convertible and you’ve got a distinctly recognizable mob boss who doubles as a devastating heartthrob. I’m not saying he’d do a 1:1 recreation, but you’d definitely see references to the fashion of the era in his outfits. He would wear oxfords or ankle boots. Whatever it was, they’d have to be comfortable. He also doesn’t shy away from jewelry. The earring, of course, and rings when he's feeling particularly decadent. When he’s wearing his shirts unbuttoned Claude could possibly wear a gold chain. I mean, what are you gonna say, no? That gold doesn’t look gorgeous against his skin? That it’s tacky? You’re talking to the man who wore quilted pants. Claude’s not afraid to stand out because he knows he will anyway, nor is he afraid to be seen as unfashionable because he doesn’t particularly care about trends. I also enjoy the idea of him emulating the 80′s as someone who didn’t grow up in a western culture and thus mainly saw things through the lens of movies. Whatever he wears, however, he would look very handsome.

#claude von riegan #fe claude #claude von riegan headcanons #fe claude headcanons #claude von riegan x reader #fe claude x reader #fe3h #fire emblem three houses #headcanons #did i put too much thought into this? yes #do i regret it? a little #but this has been festering in my mind

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sprinklesandshatters · 3 years

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A Review on NCT 127′s 3rd Album <Sticker>

So NCT 127 just came back with their 3rd Full Album <Sticker> and this is my first 127 comeback since I became a fan last year! Neozone is such a special album for me as it was their first album that I explored entirely. I've known NCT as the group who never fails any expectations so I've kept mine up although I know they'll exceed it anyway. And guess what, they did! I absolutely love their new album hence this review~

This isn't a technical music review—as I am not a musician myself—but rather a listener's honest takes, goofy notes, and interpretation on each of the tracks in the album. I admit I've also struggled to build my own opinions on some of the tracks until I listened to them over and over again.

I have also heard there are mixed opinions on the title track <Sticker> and a lot says it's another acquired taste. But I think it's not just that, as it can be a grower, just like how most of NCT's songs were for me. Maybe after a few listens and a right passage of time, it will grow on those people. The bottom line here is, I like it a lot! 😛

So I listed down the songs according to their respective track numbers and followed each with a bulleted list of my opinions and interpretations.

(Viewer/reader discretion: before you continue, minors, do not interact as there are few 18+ contents under the cut. Thank you.)

1. Sticker

THEY DIDN'T JUST PUNCH A NEW NOTCH ON THE BELT LIKE THAT

THIS SONG SLAPS, LITERALLY SLAPS… AND WHIPS

The recorder at the intro boyyyy I thought something was wrong but then I remember it’s NCT lmao

It already stuck in my head from my first listen from the Instagram audio.

With Taeyong opening the verse with his divine rapping, I knew I'm in for a new ride.

STICK-UH STICK-UGH STICK-UGHGHGH

To those complaining it sounding like noise music, imagine it sounding generic. I don't think it would fit as the title track. Not a b-track or in their repertoire, even. They are called NCT because they define the NEO in the music culture and music technology!

It honestly was an unorthodox, just like all of their title tracks, which I’m inherently here for.

Literally, no one does it like them!

The growls and the vocal flexes and adlibs! (You can tell it has Yoo Youngjin's brand.)

The crisp metronome sound that’s consistently ticking except for the pre-chorus and the dance break adds depth to the soundscape. I love how it’s used instead of the usual snaps.

The production quality blew my mind. Like how can someone think those melodies would sound so exquisite? CAN I CALL THEM GENIUS?

The piano at the back, oh my God—Yes! It adds this mystifying element to the song.

I'm not sure if it's a midi violin at the pre-chorus, but it added thrill to the song. It was a great transition from the bass line in the verses to the combination of the flawless harmony with the same instrumental.

"You treat me like a boy, like a grown-up child chasing a dream" JUNGWOO BABY NO MORE HUH

Taeil, Doyoung, and Haechan—the bridge vocal trinity!

But why the heck are they cowboys? I dig the concept, but why? LMAO

BTW GUNSLINGER MARK I’M ON MY KNEES YEEHAW

This is easily one of my favorite tracks from NCT 127's entire discography 💚

2. Lemonade

(⌐■_■)

Jaehyun starting off this song with his deep voice eee

The song opens to a verse oozing with chill confidence. They're like, yeah you're lurking because we’re cool.

This is such a huge slap to their haters. NCT's not chillin' like a villain, nah they're the main characters!

Well maybe they’re villains, but still ya not cooler than them ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Funny enough how they could have just referred haters as simply lemons whose sour/bitter to the taste, but 127 squad's success is sweeter than all the haters' spiteful remarks so yeah, SIPPY SIPPY LEMONADE 🧃

"WOOF"

I might have just barked too wOW

Yuta’s vocals hooooO his voice just sounds so glamorous mhmm

Also Mark referencing their previous title tracks such as: Firetruck, Cherry Bomb, and Regular (it's Irregular in the lyrics) in his rap part 👌💅

I just love Mark's energy when he raps. HE RESOLUTELY BITES AND STRAIGHT UP EATS EVERY TIME HE DOES.

3. Breakfast

Now breakfast time, oh jeez!

AAAHAHFU—

Summer 127's bestie!

If Summer 127 talks about dancing all night long, Breakfast is the morning after.

You know what it is.

"Even if I gulp and drink you, it's not enough for me." oho Taeyong no you ha—STOP

Sexual innuendos aside, isn't it just sweet if someone tells you they'd want to have breakfast with you every day? Okay maybe I'm melting at the thought 😩🙈💞

And I can see myself dancing to this song as I make breakfast (in the afternoon or at midnight bc I’m crazy)

This was an okay b-track for me at the first skim on the album, but boy it grew on me wildly.

Honestly one of my favorite tracks in this album.

4. Focus

Did I just invade a private call? LMAO

The analog voice filters make it like so.

Dude, this feels intimate in the level of eavesdropping a phone call between seasoned lovers. Then you realize you hear them whispering their kinks over the line and you're ooh, that's sexy! hfgklhfhf

My first listen to this, I almost went feral because,

"I can't wait to eat you…" when it's actually "I can't wait 'til we chill…" aahaha

"Baby call me when you want me." OKAY!

This sounds relaxing and chill. I'd love to play this on a late night drive or just before bed time along with Fly Away With Me, Sun & Moon, My Youth, and Long Flight.

Belongs to ‘make out session’ playlist ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

That was lowkey a playlist recommendation, huh?

I'd be kidding if I don't say I could touch myself while listening to this song AHAHAFGHFJFJ

I didn't know this would grow on me this much lol I love love LOVE THIS!

5. The Rainy Night

Ooh, the holy melancholy!

Piano at the intro—I knew I'd cry to this.

This song isn't just about break-up, but the heartbreak after one.

The yearning; the remnant pieces from the shattering of what was once there.

I think I crumbled from this one.

This hit so hard I felt like I fit in the shoes with the lyrics throughout the entire song.

What’s fascinating is I clearly forgot the title when I mentally said this sounds like a sad rainy day song from the first listen.

Something I’d turn up when it suddenly rains, just because I want to feel the blues.

Taeil and Haechan singing in lower register? I wanna cry :( they’re just one of the best vocalists in K-music industry right now.

Could have been also nice if they added Yuta to the vocals.

"My selfish heart who waits for you to come back," OKAY WHO HURT THEM?

And the fact that they sang it so good that it translated every ounce of the emotions well even before I looked up for English translations is the reason why I love this song too.

6. Far

Hmm… What the hell?! Do I like this? Wait...

Alright!

The jumpy vibe from the first verse to the pre-chorus set the mood for this song. It sounds merry and heavy. It was honestly too much to take until I’ve reached the chorus part.

Honestly, I think this song could fit NCT Dream better, as it gives off a vibe similar to Hello Future's b-tracks. If some credible source say this could have made HF’s track list, I might believe you too fast.

Also Dream’s Deja Vu where they go na nananananana na na na~

Playful yet confident! That’s what I mean!

As usual, the vocals are insane! Vocal flex from left to right!

I swear Jungwoo sounded a bit like Taemin at the second verse that I had to replay it hahaha

I love hearing Johnny as a vocalist! SM, how many signs do you need until you utilize his vocal talent???

Taeil's part where he sings, "go nuts, go nuts, 'til we go bust, go bust" IDEK BUT I SNORTED A LAUGH AT FIRST LISTEN HFCAHKFHK

Not my favorite, but still great though!

But wait it’s actually stuck in my head???

7. Bring The Noize

Yes, they never beat those noise music allegations

HERE'S SOME NOIZE, BITCHES

I love me some noisy percussions. AND THE BASS YO

This screams so much confidence!

The build up from the pre-chorus to the chorus—FIRE!

This song reminds me a lot of SuperM's Super Car, especially with the engine roar samples and the battle cry-like singing at the chorus.

JAEHYUN RAPPING? You mean Jaehyun the visual, the vocalist, the actor, the model, the funny dude, aka my everything?! (markie bb look pls look away for a moment)

THEY DELIVERED IT STRAIGHT FROM NEOCITY THAT'S SOME NCT MUSIC RIGHT THERE NO ONE DOES IT LIKE THEM

When I said I'd play Focus on a late night drive, and if I add this in the playlist, VROOM VROOM SPEED LIMIT WHAT

OUTTA MY WAY

“We got no shame” ouh TAEYONG’S FLOW IS JUST VERY HIM AND HE’S IN A LEAGUE OF HIS OWN

You know what's so clever about this song? It's how it ended with Mark's final rap without any instrumental, leaving you standing there with a doppler effect-like post experience.

A super car on a super speed just whooshed past you and you look its way as it zips through the road. It's gone in an instant but you're floored dumbfounded at a sidewalk. That's how I describe this song.

8. Magic Carpet Ride

This song… Wow. Oh gosh it's so beautiful.

Their harmony in the chorus—it makes me want to kiss someone so passionately that I'd cry.

This makes me want to feel love that transcends the universe. Literally, just please take me on a magic carpet ride :(

The background harmonies too oh my goodness—HEAVENLY.

Jaehyun's voice is so warm and soulful it fits perfectly with songs of this genre.

Okay alright Doyoung Grande!

And Taeil makes me feel like I'm listening to old school R&B.

The first time I heard this from the track video, I can't stop replaying because it's just that great.

This makes me want to love. I think that sums it up.

9. Road Trip

This is such a soothing song for me, especially how I easily become nostalgic thinking about the road trips I've had.

Whenever I listen to this, my brain immediately conjures up thoughts of my ideal getaways. Gazing at the sky through the car window, stirring up from a nap in the middle of the ride, and eventually reaching your destination.

Oh, to travel around anywhere... (curse you covid-19)

Okay that's it. I'M PACKING UP.

But where do I go—

I could also imagine Mark playing this on the guitar and the other members sing along together, something like that.

Just Wholesome™ vibes.

I love how it evokes such a nice emotion within me effortlessly.

This isn't my favorite, but I still love this.

10. Dreamer

Eyyyy such a refreshing song!

This song is so bright it makes me want to dance. I play this first in the shower!

It reminds me so much of Elevator (from Neozone)

The horns make it more lively I think!

Yuta and Jungwoo's voice suits lively songs like this.

The background vocal in low register in Taeyong's part in the first verse is so good ahhfhf

Taeil, the R&B vocal king you are...

There's this part where Doyoung and Johnny harmonized, that at first listen they seemed to clash, but it sounded actually fine after a few listens. Maybe it's just that I've never heard them do it before.

And I think it's Doyoung's laugh at the end of the bridge? Oh my goodness I really love this too!

11. Promise You

MY FIRST LOVE AND MOST FAVORITE SONG IN THE ALBUM!!!

The first time I heard this from their NCIT Sharehouse Sitcom, I fell in love with the song already.

It sounds like something you'd feel from a warm, welcoming hug.

The lyrics are so beautiful and endearing. It's definitely a be-there-for-you type of song that will touch your heart.

It definitely sounds like a promise.

A song about platonic intimacy.

This really fits to be the closing song of the album. It's like the end of it but holds a promise that says “see you soon.”

Because they cherish their fans like that.

It's also like I've watched a movie with a happy ending, where the camera pans up to the clear sky and this song starts playing.

Speaking of ending, I would love to hear them sing this as an encore stage in their concert. You know, that moment just before the stage lights die down at the end of the concert where they send final blows of flying kisses to NCTzens. Then you come home smiling and crying.

This wasn't supposed to be this long since I originally planned to write this with just simple phrases and emojis but I got too engrossed lol. I also meant to include my own ratings but I figured it’s pointless since I can’t really decide about them hahaha

I really enjoyed the whole album and I love how they're progressively defining what NEO means by breaking through standards. It's not NCT music if it doesn't make you say "WHAT THE HECK WAS THAT?" But then you realize it’s stuck in your head and you’re enjoying it already.

✨ OVERALL RATING: 127/10 💚

if you’ve reached until here, thank you for letting me share you a braincell or two 💞

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wizkiddx · 3 years

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your song blurb

hello!! sorry ive been so inactive and I have got a number of req that I am trying to work through - I am sorry, please be as patient as you can with me. general life shit and all hasn't been ideal. I am aware I reaaallly need to update my master list and will get round to it when I can I promise ;)

also have lots of asks abt the t + z situation but all I have to say is im so very happy for them and hope people respect their privacy ;)

harryhollandxreader // friends --> lovers blurb

summary: harry never sings in front of you, until you need it

//////////////////////////

There were some things that Harry, even after being friends for years, kept close to his chest. The one that you always tried to catch him out on was his singing. For some unknown reason, he was super self conscious of it. Every time he was nonchalantly humming along to himself, all it took was for you to make a single sound, and he’d immediately lock his mouth shut. From those fleeting moments, you had thought he didn’t even sound half bad, hence where your frustrations drew.

Because whilst you, who sounded like a cat being tortured, would scream your lungs out - Harry, who wasn’t even that bad, refused to make a fool out of himself.

It was exactly what had happened this evening when you had let yourself into Tom’s house otherwise unannounced. It’d been years since you’d been given a spare key by Harry - when they were both away, you often ‘house-sat’ for Tom; plus, you spent most evenings there too because that was where your best mate was.

Tom had messaged on the group chat to say he would be out for the evening, and Haz was around his girlfriends tonight, meaning on arrival, you’d known it’d just be you and Harry. So once you heard the quiet tune of a song, that you couldn’t quite place yet, safe to say you were on stealth mode. Sliding your shoes off and wincing as the floorboards creaked a little, you slowly crept through the house to find your frizzy-haired friend.

Sure enough, as you made your way through the kitchen, you found him stood over the hob, stirring round a wooden spoon of a saucepan - presumably filled with pasta he’d promised to have ready for you. Pouting as you leaned on the doorframe and crossed your arms, marvelling at him. He was dressed just in grey joggers and his favourite pink hoodie, arms rolled up to his elbow as the poor boy slaved away at the stove.

You stayed silent, to what you now recognised as billy joel, only unable to stifle a giggle when he reached a particularly high note. Like a rabbit caught in headlights, he jumped around and yelled, eyes fiery and pointed at you.

“OH fuck off Y/n!!”

“Billy Joel, an old school choice.” You smirked, now walking into the room to greet him properly.

“How long have you been stalking on me?”

“It’s not stalking if the stalkee gave me the key.”

“I don’t think that’s admissible in court.” He deadpanned back, pouting for a couple more seconds before finally shooting you a wide grin. The boy held his arms out, welcoming you into a proper greeting hug. Happily reciprocating, you inhaled deeply with your face pressed into the crook of his shoulder.

“How was work?” He murmured, already guessing the answer correctly.

“Shit. Exhausting. Hell, you want any more adjectives?” Harry just snorted back as you leaned away from his warmth.

“Nah rule of three is quite enough. Did you never pay attention in GCSE english?”

“Fuck off you can’t even spell GCSE.”

That was always how your friendship had been; it had always been a piss-taking battle. You simply were one of the boys - or at least that’s what you thought. Said boys though (meaning Sam, Tom, Harrison, Tuwaine and even Paddy) disagreed. You didn’t know, or didn’t believe, that Harry did NOT treat you like one of the boys. He cared about you differently, too. Tom thought it didn’t stop there, that Harry did in fact love you.

And yes, you might’ve admitted to Harrison on one very, very drunken night that you had occasionally thought of Harry as something more than your sarky friend. He had been since sworn to silence, though Haz had in fact, told Tom - who only replied with an ‘i told you so’.

Even though everyone else saw your relationship as complicated, to you and Harry it was just simple. You were just the best of friends.

And that’s how the evening went. The two of you were just messing around as usual; after eating the tomatoey pasta creation Harry had tried, you both made a right mess of the washing up - water ending up coating the floor and maybe one of the walls too (Tom would never know). And just like usual, it ended with you sprawled out on one sofa, Harry mirroring you on the adjacent one.

It was love island season, which meant every night at 9 pm there was only one place on earth either of you would be. On your respective sofas, watching the most trashy tv in the world.

Tonight though, no matter how excited you were for the next instalment of who-likes-who, your day of work caught up with you. Not that you noticed, but you’d pretty much passed out as soon as the opening scenes started. There were only two minutes of silence before Harry registered something was up - typically, he was trying to make you shut up so he could actually hear the TV. To investigate, he jumped off the sofa and leaned over the couch, the sight making him pout.

He knew work had been super stressful recently; and he also knew that your insomnia had been coming back with a vengeance. So instead of treating you like ‘one of the boys’ and throwing things until you woke up - Harry used a different approach. He draped the blanket that hung off the side of the sofa over you, biting back a slight smile as you huffed in appreciation for the soft quilt. Then Harry left you alone, knowing you could do with every little bit of rest you could get.

That was all good until it reached the third set of adverts when Harry heard you huff and move about on the sofa. And then again and again. Then again with what sounded like a bit of whimper too.

Brows furrowed, he paused the TV and slowly got up, rounding the sofa to see you somewhat matching his expression. Your face was contorted in one of distress, and you kept thrashing your head from side to side of the pillow. It didn’t take a genius to work out; this was your nightmares rearing their ugly heads.

Harry just wanted to stop this for you. Although the two of you were never particularly ‘mushy’ or vulnerable with each other - he knew just how much you were suffering recently. So without much thought into it, Harry knelt down to sit on the floor, side leaning up against the sofa as he looked towards you. Trying to hush you, he ran his hand over your forehead and over the top of your hair, though it seemed to take little effect. And then, again entirely without hesitation, Harry started to softly sing.

It’s a little bit funny

This feeling inside

I’m not one of those who can easily hide

Why Elton John was the first that came to mind was a mystery to Harry - except maybe that the lyrics ran true a little.

And you can tell everybody

This is your song

It may be quite simple, but now that it’s done

I hope you don’t mind

That I put down in the words

How wonderful life is while you’re in the world

You’d always loved old 70s music, you were the one that had properly got you into all that stuff - the beatles, billy joel, elton, even a bit of springsteen. He owed half his music taste to your Spotify playlists, even if he’d never admit it to your face.

So excuse me forgetting

But these things I do

You see I’ve forgotten, if they’re green or they’re blue

Anyway the thing is, what I really mean

Yours are the sweetest eyes I’ve ever seen

With a final huff, you finally settled down, Harry swore he could see all the discomfort literally melting away from your face. It took a minute but your breath evened out, mumbling something incomprehensible as you curled up toward him on the edge of the sofa.

This wasn't the first time he’d sang to you in your sleep - and he sort of hoped it wouldn't be the last either.

feedback is really appreciated <3

harry taglist : @euphorichxlland @lovehollandy12 @pandaxnienke @msmimimerton @crossyourpeter @hallecarey1

#harry holland #harry holland x reader #harry holland imagine #harry holland fluff #tom holland #harrison osterfield

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stxphxn-strange · 3 years

Text

(no) rest for the innocent

summary: Tony wasn’t even on trial, but the jury found him guilty and he couldn’t disagree.

a/n: idk last night i was thinking about tony dealing w survivor’s guilt after endgame (and IW) so i threw this together, tw for mention of death and implied thoughts of suicide

“Good evening, Doctor.” FRIDAY’s warm, pleasant voice always reminded Stephen of home and cinnamon scented candles. “How was your trip?”

“Too long for a meeting that could’ve been handled over email. Or through carrier pigeon, as Tony would say,” Stephen replied as his cloak sailed off down the hall.

He washed his hands carefully, drying them on an Iron Man dish towel that Peter had given them as a joke wedding gift before putting the kettle on.

As the water was boiling, he noticed a covered plate on the kitchen counter. There was an obnoxiously orange piece of paper in front of it, which made Stephen smile. Tony always left him little notes on purposefully electrifying paper, that way they were easy to find.

The sorcerer’s smile only widened as he read the note.

Steph—

I wasn’t sure when you’d be back, but I decided to make you dinner anyway. But not because I’m missing you and wanted to surprise you, I just accidentally cooked too much. You know how that happens sometimes and you just end up with an ungodly amount of chicken parm? Life’s funny like that.

Anyway, I’m in the lab. I had some good ideas earlier and I wanted to start them while I still felt productive. Welcome home sweetheart, and if you go to bed before I do (because you probably will, you responsible asshole you), sweet dreams and goodnight.

Love, Tones

PS— Orange you glad you met me? … don’t answer that, I just couldn’t help it and had to write that down.

Stephen rolled his eyes fondly. “Fri, will you tell Tony that even though he’s not funny, I’m very glad I met him?”

FRIDAY was quiet for a few moments before responding. “Boss says, quote, ‘fuck you Gandalf, I’m hilarious,’ unquote.”

Stephen smiled, heating up his meal before sitting down to eat. He flipped through a magazine while he ate, FRIDAY turning on some soft jazz music as background noise until Stephen cleaned up and left the kitchen. After a refreshing shower, the sorcerer found himself in his most comfortable pjs and slippers as he walked through the house. Stephen wasn’t sure if he was going to bed yet, but he wanted to see Tony (and maybe he wanted a kiss or two or even three).

The music in the lab automatically lowered when Stephen shut the door behind him, and Tony looked up with an expression that could only be described as tired.

Actually, he looked exhausted. Weary. Barely holding himself together. Stephen wasn’t a thesaurus, but very concerned about his husband.

Tony was trying to smile, but he seemed too exhausted to do that and just gave up, not saying anything as Stephen sat beside him.

“Hi.” Stephen leaned over and softly kissed his husband’s temple. “Thanks for cooking for me, you didn’t have to.”

Tony shrugged. “I had a lot of energy earlier, and I accidentally cooked way too much. Maybe it was intentional, you know I’d take any excuse to go out of my way for you.”

His words said one thing, but his tone betrayed him. His voice was brittle, hard, and almost staticky. Stephen thought he sounded like a rusted hinge that was trying not to cry out for repairs… or maybe that analogy only made sense given where they were.

Stephen kissed him again as Tony sat back at his desk, closing his well-used sketchbook. “You alright?”

“Yeah. Tired I guess.” Tony sounded as unconvinced as Stephen felt.

“Come to bed with me,” Stephen offered. “I’ll bore you to sleep by telling you about the meeting.”

Tony laughed hollowly. “That bad?”

“I don’t know how to describe it, but it was a waste of time. Even Wong was bored, and he watches the Antiques Roadshow remake for fun,” Stephen replied. He yawned and leaned against Tony’s side.

“I see what you’re doing,” Tony murmured, trying to be lighthearted. He was just feeling some kind of way right now, he felt serious and was so endeared by his husband that it hurt.

“What am I doing?” Stephen asked, resting his head on Tony’s shoulder.

“Being cute and sweet so I’ll go to bed and let you be the big spoon,” Tony accused. “And maybe I just really fucking need a hug, but… it’s working.”

Stephen shifted and pulled Tony into his arms, holding the mechanic close as he went lax.

“My Boss Is Singing Closing Time Protocol please, Fri,” Tony mumbled.

“Goodnight Boss, goodnight Doctor,” the AI replied, beginning to run the lab’s standard closing protocol.

“Portal?” Stephen asked. Tony was getting better with going through portals, but some days were harder than others. Stephen didn’t know what tonight would be like and opted to ask, selfishly wanting to make sure Tony got some rest as soon as possible.

He was so out of it by that point that Stephen wasn’t sure if Tony registered the question, but he nodded slowly and trusted Stephen to lead him through it and into their bed.

Despite “resembling a sloth clinging to a tree bough,” (Tony’s words) Stephen was intuitive and knew when not to hug Tony. Even when he was asleep, if Tony woke up thrashing or fighting against something in a dream, Stephen let him go.

Tonight was a bit different. Stephen wasn’t brought to the edge of reality by Tony thrashing in their bed or accidentally tangling himself in their sheets, so he assumed everything was fine. That was until the sorcerer hugged his husband closer, still mostly asleep and just following his instinct, and Tony outright begged Stephen to let go of him. He wasn’t quite awake, but Stephen backed off immediately and heard Tony trip over his own feet as he left the room. The sorcerer fell asleep again after that, trying to stop the sound of Tony’s broken plea from cementing itself in his memory. When Tony climbed back into bed some time later, Stephen was stirring a little bit more. Tony hid his face in Stephen’s collarbone and said nothing, his breathing still slightly erratic.

“Sorry if I woke you up,” he mumbled.

“Don’ be,” Stephen replied, his voice unsure whether or not to wake up.

“Will you hold me again?” Tony asked pleadingly, his voice almost imperceptible.

Stephen wordlessly obliged, kissing the top of his head. “Whatever’s bothering you… you can talk to me about it. When you’re ready. And you don’t have to, but I’m here for you.”

Tony nodded. “It feels like too much right now. What I’m thinking about, I mean. I need time to process, I guess.”

“Okay,” Stephen said simply. “But I’m here for you whenever.”

“I know. I love you,” Tony replied.

Stephen began to trace soothing patterns on Tony’s back. “Love you Tones.”

++++

Tony didn’t seem any more rested the next day, but his confident Tony Stark™ pose seemed natural. He’d easily be able to fool people who didn’t know him as well as his family did. So it was a “fake it until you make it” kind of day, and Tony’s energy was on a strict schedule. There was only so much he could take today, and if his teammates wanted to call him selfish then that was their choice.

It would just go in one ear and out the other, especially this late in the day and after brutal team training. Tony was close to skipping the meeting, but a cutting remark in the hallway made him change his mind. Why did they always act like it was breaking news when Tony needed to step back from something anyway? He was just as human as anyone else, and the world was happy to throw responsibilities on his unenhanced, steady shoulders just because he was a natural caretaker.

The arguments about Tony’s quiet, withdrawn demeanor started two minutes into the meeting. Stephen was ready to defend his husband as soon as they got to the conference room, Tony collapsing into a chair and leaning his head against the cool metal of the table.

He didn’t want to talk today, and Stephen didn’t want him to.

“It’s not nap time, Stark.” There was a small hint of fondness in Natasha’s cold, clipped voice.

Tony was already regretting his decision to show up, wishing he hadn’t told Stephen again and again that he was fine. He wasn’t, and they both knew it. Everyone knew it, but Tony knew better than to advocate for himself in front of his… colleagues.

“I don’t even remember what we’re meeting about,” Tony muttered, looking up enough to address whoever was talking to him.

Rhodey took a seat beside Tony, encouragingly patting his back. “You good?”

“I’m fine, Honeybear,” Tony replied. He was sitting between his two favorite people, and that helped him feel a little more grounded. “I just didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.”

Someone scoffed. “I don’t think anyone’s slept right in months. And don’t say you haven’t slept in years, Stark. We don’t need a story about how everything you’ve ever done has led to years of sleepless nights. We know already. Put it in a book or something and make the team more money so I can have better arrows.”

Stephen was two seconds away from dropping the archer into the Dark Dimension, or flipping a table. He wasn’t sure how to handle the man yet, still taken aback by the rudeness and stupidity of his comment. “Barton, what the fuck—”

“Steph, don’t bother with him,” Tony said. He stood up, forcing his tiredness into a corner and giving his coworkers a confident glare. “Pardon me for giving it my all and being a bit tired as a result. Now I’m going to get an ice pack for my shoulder and maybe a cup of coffee. Does anyone want anything?”

“I’ll take a—”

“Get it yourself, you know where the kitchen is.”

For dramatic effect (and moral support), the cloak landed on Tony’s shoulders and billowed out as he left the room. He returned with the aforementioned ice and coffee, and a mug of tea for Stephen.

“You didn’t have to do that sweetheart, but thank you,” Stephen said appreciatively.

“That’s why I wanted to,” Tony replied. He relaxed a little into his chair, starting to believe he could get through the meeting.

Then, like clockwork, Clint opened his mouth to complain.

“Why did you bring him tea and nothing for the rest of us?” He whined.

“Doesn’t Tony do enough for you?” Stephen asked, innocently taking a sip of his tea. It was his afternoon green tea, made exactly the way he liked it.

Tony was always so sweet and attentive with his loved ones, it warmed Stephen’s heart. The sorcerer stifled a laugh as Rhodey poured half of Tony’s coffee into his own empty mug.

“Thank you,” the colonel said impishly. “Consider the roommate tax paid for this month.”

Tony tried to smile at the old inside joke, but Stephen noticed that it fell flat.

“Are we done with the interruptions? We need to talk about what’s out there. We don’t know if Thanos is the exception or the rule, and—”

Tony stopped listening. Clint’s snootiness was doing his head in, but the idea of another threat, another thing, another colossus he’d have to conquer and survive if his luck had anything to say about it… that was the breaking point.

Tony didn’t have a good relationship with luck. He didn’t really believe in it, but apparently it believed in him. Because Tony was lucky. It was true that he was lucky in meeting his husband, his friends, and his family, but this was a different kind of luck. Tony was intelligent and skilled, shrewd and savvy, and there was virtually nothing he couldn’t do or solve, except for one thing.

He was constantly lucky, constantly cheating death.

And he didn’t realize that he was hyperventilating, didn’t recall dropping his head into his hands. He didn’t recall that he’d just walked out in the middle of the meeting after a minute, didn’t realize that he was home when he opened his eyes.

Tony was home, in his spot on the couch in Stephen’s library. Stephen was sitting beside him, quietly watching a documentary or something like that. Tony was laying down, his head in Stephen’s lap with the cloak draped over him like a blanket. The crimson fabric continued to cling to him as he sat up, further proving Tony’s point that Levi liked him best, but he wasn’t in the mood to banter now. He just appreciated the support and the warmth of his sorcerer and their shared, sentient blanket.

With some hesitancy, Tony leaned over and rested his head on Stephen’s shoulder. They locked eyes for a minute, Tony’s gaze deliriously bright and vacant.

Stephen didn’t know what to say or do to make the man trembling in his arms feel better, but started by hugging him closer and softly stroking up and down his spine.

“I’m sorry,” Tony whispered, lowering his head and hiding against Stephen’s chest.

“No apologies,” Stephen reminded him. “I don’t want or need them, and you don’t have to explain yourself.”

“I have to give a good reason,” Tony said, his voice beginning to shake. “Everything I do needs a reason.”

“Why? Says who?” Stephen asked. He was more thinking aloud, half expecting Tony to leave the question unanswered.

For a while, he did. He just sat, furiously trying to blink back tears and gather his thoughts as Stephen held him protectively.

“Sometimes I think about… things,” Tony began vaguely. “And people. And places. I guess I just like nouns.”

At this point, he didn’t even know if he was trying to deflect or just tell a joke, but his attempt at humor fell flat. He tried to force a laugh, but halfway through it turned into a painful sob. He cried harder with each breath, ignoring the ache in his chest. Tony barely listened when Stephen encouraged him to breathe, but eventually he gave into his exhaustion and listened to his lungs.

His stupid lungs, which apparently were just as stubborn as his brain.

“I can’t keep doing this,” Tony whispered. “I shouldn’t have survived Afghanistan, New York, Sokovia, Siberia, or Titan. I can’t keep cheating death, Stephen. I don’t want to. I don’t want to be lucky and survive when the damage I’ve caused, the damage I claim full responsibility for, has taken so many lives. I don’t want anyone else to get hurt or killed for me.”

Stephen pressed a soft kiss to his hair, feeling Tony’s guit and fatigue as if it was his own.

“I don’t want to do this,” Tony repeated. “I’m probably just spiraling or being needlessly selfish, but I… I don’t know.”

“You’re taking on too much responsibility where you don’t need to,” Stephen said. “I know that’s easy for me to just say from the outside, but you aren’t the only Avenger. It’s about time the team, if you can even call them that, takes accountability for their actions and stops bulldozing you with their problems. You aren’t selfish, Tones. You’re tired and overworked, and you deserve a break. You deserve to breathe, to just exist without feeling like you have to look over your shoulder or justify your every step.”

“I don’t think I know how to even do that anymore,” Tony replied. “And I don’t deserve it.”

“You do,” Stephen argued. “And rest assured I’ll keep telling you that. And I’ll keep telling you how much I love you, because I really do.”

Tony smiled sadly, trying to press himself closer to Stephen if that was even possible. “I love you too.”

He was starting to settle down, soothed by a flurry of soft kisses in his hair and the gentle brushes up and down his spine, when FRIDAY quietly spoke up. She almost sounded remorseful.

“Mister Parker is requesting one or both of you in the lab, whenever it’s convenient,” she began. “And he’s asked me to assure you that it’s nothing major.”

Tony sighed, sitting up again. “I’ll investigate.”

Stephen shook his head. “No, let me. I’ll tell Peter that you’re resting, and he’ll understand.”

“I don’t want him to think I don’t care,” Tony whispered.

“He would never think that. You know how he gets about making sure you take care of yourself, and Peter knows with certainty that you care about him. Our son is much more mature than the Avengers,” Stephen replied.

“I still feel bad,” Tony said.

“I know. I can promise him Thai food if that’ll make you feel better?” Stephen suggested, half jokingly.

“It actually would,” Tony admitted. “FRIDAY, will you schedule a Thai food delivery for 6:30pm please?”

“Scheduled,” she replied simpy. She still sounded apologetic for disturbing them right as Tony was falling asleep, but maybe Stephen imagined that.

The sorcerer stood up gracefully, covering Tony with another blanket as the cloak wrapped a bit tighter around him. “Look after yourself and relax, or get some sleep. No one’s expecting anything from you right now Tones, alright? I love you.”

Tony nodded, a little smile on his face as Stephen kissed him again. “Love you.”

He really wanted to sleep. He actually put effort into falling asleep, which was something he never thought he’d do, and of course sleep didn’t come easily. Sleep never came easily, but the memories did. It was all too easy for Tony to get caught in a thought stream, whether he was planning a surprise, inventing, or remembering unpleasantries. Today he was overwhelmed by guilt, readily convincing himself that he was a selfish failure like Howard Stark and his teammates liked to say. It was too easy to get lost in their ire and wanting to please everyone, and Tony had given up so much of his agency just to try and make other people happy.

It was exhausting, and he didn’t even feel like he’d succeeded at that.

The mechanic started tearing up again as he continued to think in a circular pattern, faintly aware of the Cloak trying to comfort him. It was a sweet, welcome gesture, and Tony let it happen and let himself cry. He was still laying there in tears when Stephen came back in half an hour later.

“Pete says he hopes you feel better,” Stephen said, returning to his spot and pulling Tony close. “And I told him to just go ahead and eat whenever he’s hungry, or when the food gets here.”

Tony just nodded, feeling relieved and supported in Stephen’s arms again. He nodded again, as if trying to shake the unending self-deprecating thoughts from his head, before saying anything. “Sounds good.”

tags: @salty-ironstrange-shipper @stark-strange-love2 @chocopiggy @katninjagirl97 @kitkatfat15 @taruyison @funkylittlebidiot

#tony stark #stephen strange #ironstrange #not endgame compliant #non infinity war compliant #peter parker #ironstrange and spiderson #not avengers friendly lowkey #not clint barton friendly #james rhodey rhodes #tw mention of character death #tw death mention #tw sui mention

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estrxlar · 3 years

Text

The Ghost Of You

01 - You’re Familiar

This chapters songs:

Daughter Of A Cop; TV Girl

I Hope To Be Around; Men I Trust

Weird Fishes/Arpeggi; Radiohead

—

— Y. L. Perspective

My breath got louder and louder each second I ran. With my bento box hitting my hips, bag tossing around, and my skirt flying up, there was no way things could get any worse.

But luckily just around the corner, I spotted students climbing onto it, which made my feet run even faster.

Near late on my first day? Damn, Y/n, way to start your year.

Just then, I heard the sharp hiss of the engine, sending me faster towards the vehicle than I had been pacing myself before. But still, the driver was ignorant, obviously not caring how much I needed this. It wasn't like my parents would take me anyways.

"WAIT..! PLEASE WAIT!" I started on the side of the bus, running side to side with the wheels. After a few seconds of loud disruption, it finally stopped. The break was hard, and students inside were heard making remarks of protest.

Sure, I felt bad for the people who had to get a brake check, but I on the other hand was completely out of breath and near dead. Couldn't they spare me?

"I'm, I'm so.. I'm so sorry I.." My breath is short, and loud while I breathe in and out, trying my best to try and explain my tardiness to the driver. He simply sighs, gesturing for me to seat myself already.

While I stumbled down the aisle, I received a few weird glances from fellow students. Some familiar and some new. I couldn't tell if it was because of my reputation, or because I looked like a hot mess. Either way, it was too early in the morning for one to give a damn. And so, I seat myself next to another student, finally resting from the marathon I had just run.

I sighed, rolling my head back, and placed my fingers on my temples. 'I probably look like a mess right now.' I thought, letting out a huge sigh. Once I sat my fingers back down onto my lap, I observed more of the people I was surrounded by.

Some third years I was familiar with, a few that wouldn't dare speak to me, and some that were strangers. Other second and first years I didn't know at all; throughout high school, I thought it'd be best to stay hidden and introverted, especially if I were to become popular in the music industry. Lots of young stars still went to school, and usually got dirt easily thrown onto their title and that's exactly what I would avoid this year.

Bringing me back to reality, I capture a peek coming from the boy I was seated next to. He had fluffy gray hair and seemed just as tired as me. But the bus was so dark, I couldn't completely make out his features.

"Something wrong?" I said to him.

He jumped a little, adjusting his eyes back down to his phone. "S-sorry, I didn't mean to stare. I just- I think I know you from somewhere."

"Lots of people know me, buddy—" I lifted my head, facing him. 'Hey, this guy does pretty familiar. But there's no way I'd forget a face like his. Then again, I have the memory of an 80-year-old woman.' I think to myself, examining his features in an awkward mood.

"Wow, it is you. (Y/n), it's been quite a while!" He smiled widely, reaching a hand out to me. I only froze, too confused to comprehend the situation. "You have no idea how glad I am to see you're doing well!"

"I-Im sorry?" I question, wondering why a stranger would confront me this way. But something was off— I knew him, I just couldn't remember where from. Maybe from previous classes, or from a concert?

He turns slightly, growing a smile on his pale face. "I was trying to figure out if it was you or not, but it is! It's great to see you're better. How are you?"

"Who are you?" I ask back, a bit frightened.

"Uhm, well, I sat next to you in math class during my first year. Remember? I was a little ditzy, kind of annoying, I never shut up about volleyball..?" He asks, hoping to get a hint of nostalgia. "Come on, you've gotta recognize me, right?"

"Wait, Sugawara!" My finger jumps out, pointing to his sitting figure. "I'm sorry I couldn't recognize you! It sure has been quite a while. But I definitely remember you, now! You were one of the people who talked to me during my first year.. thanks for that. Anyways, how've you been?"

"I think that's my line, L/n." Suga pats my shoulder, then places his hand onto his lap. "You've changed so much! I've gotta know how you're doing!"

"I-I'm not sure if that's a good or bad thing in your perspective, but thanks anyway. I've been doing just fine." I explain before a yawn escapes my mouth. Sure, this conversation was energetic, but I certainly wasn't.

"Again, so very sorry for being so forgetful. I don't remember much from first year, especially not anything in math, but I sure do recognize you now." I say, hoping my rudeness from before wouldn't have any effect on how he viewed me. Not that I cared, of course.

Luckily, Sugawara was forgiving that day. With a wide grin, he replies, "No need to apologize. People change drastically during high school; we're no exceptions. Although, I would've enjoyed being mutuals with you throughout most of it! I wonder why I haven't seen you around until today... I believe the last time we had talked was around the last day of first year."

"Yeah, we didn't have any classes together. If we had, I'm sure we would have stirred up a discussion. You seem very kind. " I gently smile, rubbing the nape of my neck. I tend to forget any bad memories, and the beginning of high school sure was a fat one.

"What a shame, you too seem wonderful.." He comments, gazing towards me for a split second, before reverting his focus. "A-anyways, it's a bit of a surprise I saw you here. Have you always ridden the bus? I usually take it in the mornings as well."

"I've actually just moved into this neighborhood. My parents work more hours than ever, so they decided it's best if I'm closer to school so that I can get to school and back quickly." I explain, tapping the sage green bento in my lap, before setting it on my side.

Sugawara nods, understanding the circumstances. "That makes sense. I'm sure you'll enjoy it now that you've got a friend in the neighborhood. Although, a girl like you must be quite familiar, right?"

'Is that intended to be disrespectful, or am I just tripping?' I think to myself, asking him to spell out the meaning of that remark. "I'm sorry, what? A girl like me?"

"Oh, crap! I didn't mean that to sound rude— I meant because of your band! I understand you guys are the talk around school, considering you're getting pretty popular in the field."

A sigh of relief leaves my lips, preparatory to my correction. "Oh, my band. I'm not sure I necessarily make friends, more like connections and acquaintances. Only a couple of students know about the band, and usually just the down-low ones. But enough about me, what about you, hm? I assume still volleyball obsessed."

I had obviously steered in the wrong direction with our conversation, for Suga's aura quickly altered at the mention of the sport. "Eh, I'm not as excited about it as I used to be." He says, along with a hint of dissatisfaction in his raspy voice.

"No way. What happened to cheerful Sugawara who asked me, the lamest, to join the girls' team?" I ask, hoping a bit of that childish personality was still inside the older version of Suga. The one which was taller, more masculine, more of a man than before.

"Honestly, can't tell you. 'Teams has been a mess ever since I've joined." He leans back in his seat, stretching his arms out, before placing them around his neck from behind. "We're hanging on my a very thin thread."

"Dang, that really sucks. You never know, things can always turn out better." I say, doing as he did, and resting against the leather seats.

"Yeah, of course. I guess it's pretty hard to keep going after so many fails, haha." A sad chuckle leaves his mouth, as he sighs.

"Anyway, nice talking. I'm outta take a quick power nap; I barely got sleep last night. Mind waking me up when we get to school?"

"Yeah, of course," Sugawara replies. With that, I'm left with laying music in my ears like always, and nodded off to slumber.

—

"Hey, sleepyhead. We're at school," I hear someone say, feeling a tap of a cold finger on my nose. Almost immediately, I shoot up from my position, standing directly above Sugawara while students leave the bus with their bags, having loud discussions of excitement. Was there anything more embarrassing than falling asleep on someone who ghosted you as a friend?

"Dear God, I'm terribly sorry." I panic, brushing down my blue skirt. "That happens on rides, it was a mistake."

"Oh, it's no big deal! Don't worry—" Suga chuckles, standing up from sitting. But before I could let him talk anymore, I started making my way towards the exit of the bus.

"Uhm, I've gotta go! Great talking, though. I'll catch you later, have a good day," I mumble, before frantically leaving the vehicle. 'What a morning.'

— K. S. Perspective

Before I could grant Y/n a polite goodbye, she'd disappeared in just a few seconds. But even so, the measly to,e I'd discussed with her was quite enjoyable. I couldn't believe how much she'd changed.

Long ago, the beginning of high school, Y/n was the type of girl you could barely see, as if she were invisible. I think the only reason I ever even noticed her was because we were seated next to each other in math class, and she immediately caught my attention. But thank goodness I had at least tried making an effort to talk to her, or else we wouldn't have had our conversation this morning. But it wasn't her fault she was so gloomy; supposedly she had lost someone close to her the year before.

Although our talk was brief, it still meant a lot to me. Especially since I was informed that she was finally happy. Looking down at the seat she used, there was a small box with a handle at the top, and a few anime stickers covering it.

'Is this what was making that loud tapping noise on the way here?' I asked myself, examining the box more. Small initials marked 'Y.L.' We're at the bottom, informing me it was Y/n's. At first, I considered handing it to our bus driver, but for the few years I've known him I learned he doesn't return lost things. And so, I leave the bus with it in my hands, ready to start my morning.

"Suga!" I hear a familiar voice call out to me. Looking up, I see my friend, Daichi, and another fellow behind him, Tanaka. The two of them jog towards me, with their scarfs unfolding in the wind. Both I had met in volleyball, and they've been my buddies ever since.

"Hey, Sugawara!" Tanaka exclaims, roughly slapping my back. The bento tosses in my hands, thankfully not spilling onto the floor. Unfortunately, he notices the box and snatches it right out of my hold. "Wow, feeling a bit girly, are we?"

I laugh in response, quickly taking it back. "It's not mine, it belongs to the person who sat next to me today. Hopefully, if I see her again I can give return it."

"Hopefully?" Daichi teases, as we all begin our walk towards the school doors. "Do you know her name?"

"Yeah, her name's Y/n. Know her?"

He lights up at the mention of their name, replying "Oh, I know her! That girl you never shut up about I in first year, correct?"

"Ha, yeah."

Tanaka doesn't understand, digging deeper into the situation. "What?! I've never known good ole' Suga to genuinely have feelings for a girl, unless it was some fling."

"I don't! I used to. There's a difference." I say, as we enter the building.

"If she rides your bus, then why don't you just give it to the driver? She'll probably go looking for it later at the end of the day. That is unless you wanna see her again.." Daichi teases me.

"You see, I would. But the bus driver is sort of a thief, and this girl has had a rough morning as it is. I just wanna be nice." I explain to him. Though a part of me did want to see her again and hope that we could talk longer than we did before.

"Sure you do," Tanaka says, patting our backs. "Listen, this is my stop. I'll catch you guys at practice?"

"Sure thing, bye." We say our farewells, and make our way towards the third-year halls. "What about you, Daichi? Got anything exciting happening this hour?"

"If stressing about volleyball counts, then yes! Most definitely.." He says, clearing his throat. "Watch, like, two people show up."

"Actually, Kiyoko informed us in the group chat that we've got at least four! That's better than last year, right?" I try my best to cheer him up, but it only made him even more nervous. I couldn't blame him. Too much was even more of a burden, but too little was a disappointment and would leave us exactly where we left off.

"It's okay, Suga. I have a lot of faith in our team. I know it's been rough lately, but as long as we try our best, we'll work this out." Daichi smiles, turning towards a separate hallway than mine. "I'm off to homeroom. See you later!"

"Yeah, see ya!" I'm left by myself, giving me more time to focus on what should happen today. - 1st, I have to go through each class and say hi to a couple of familiars, and hopefully not see anyone I've had a conflict with.

- 2nd, I had to give Y/ns bento back to them, but that could only happen if we happened to have a class with each other before, or if we had the same lunch.

- 3rd, volleyball tryouts were this afternoon. I had to make sure and represent myself as a role model, and make it clear I was vice-captain. I wanted nothing more than for the new players to feel safe.

But internally, I knew none of those plans would work out. Especially if I wasn't focused on them. Currently, all I could think about was Y/n, and how refreshing it felt to be around her again. When I was first around her was at the same time when things in my life started to fall apart, and my little crush on her made me feel better about it all. I guess you could say she was my comfort corner, even if she talked to me only once or twice during the week. And sometimes on her bad days, I would be able to at least get a laugh out of her, even if it meant making a complete fool out of myself.

All I wanted was for her not to harm herself or feel lonely, which took a quick turn towards me once the year had ended. Not only had my thing for her end, but my family soon fell apart after my mother had passed away. Of course, I still had my responsibilities like volleyball club and helping my younger sister and my father get through it. But it seemed that everyone would do their own thing, so I did the same. And for a while, I was lonely and didn't cope with the loss very well. Just like Y/n, I distanced myself.

This went on throughout my entire second year of high school, while she on the other hand started to get her life together. She started her band, made and covered a couple of songs, and finally healed from her hard year. Honestly, I didn't even really believe that she was in such a good state, but I was proven wrong today. Ultimately, she truly inspired me to pick myself up and start fresh. And now that she popped up so suddenly, I was back to square one.

'It's been a while, Y/n'

—

HEYYY SHAWTYYYS.

Give me notes.

SO, I've finally rewritten the first chapter of my fanfiction!! It took a while, but I did it. If you didn't know, I started this story about eight months ago, and I had no writing experience. Now that I'm reaching the climax of this story, I decided I should edit the chapter, especially since they sucked ass! Nothing much was changed, just far more detailing and extra feelings.

Overall, thanks so much for reading the first chapter. Please vote if you enjoyed it!! It helps others know that it's worth reading. And if not, no worries. Thanks anyways. I love you all so much!

- your friendly Suga simp

#sugawara x reader #sugawara koshi #koshi sugawara #haikyu x reader #haikyuu!!#haikyū!!#ao3 #fanfic #anime #wattpad #writing #fanfiction

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ajokeformur-ray · 5 years

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okay so what about getting asleep on the sofa while watching TV and then he wakes you up to go to bed and he's just so happy you're by his side that he dances with you around the room like he does with penny and you're still sleepy and you murmur 'we better dance like this at our wedding, future husband' hhhhf im SOFT

I’m soft omg this is the life ????? also I love that shoulder thing he does in this scene ugh. He’s such a cutie pie.

Warnings: swearing, smoking (why do I still bother tagging these?) and implied nsfw at the end. You may need to bite a pillow to keep from squealing, this is soft.

word count: 1, 981.

The Arthur Fleck/Joker Defense Squad @writings-of-a-gen-z @x-avantgarde-x @mapreza1 @insomniabird@mavalenovaninagavi @itwasrealenough @morrisonmercurymalek @rand0ms-fand0ms @rafaelina-casillas @aclownthing @rebs-doom @vivft@help-i-am-obssessed @autumnaffection @taintednihilist @vladtoly @mg-woolf99 @misstgrey92 @that-s-life @dopey-girl-blogs @seeking-dreamland @sweetheart-syndrome @heartxfdesire @xmusichealsthesoulx @0callmejude0 @the-one-that-likes-riddles @hannibalsslut @folliaght @freeeshavacadoo @bingewatchingmylifegoby @unlovedbyeveryoneandeverything @okamiredfoxx @sp0okysp0oky @the-pandorabox @mardema @jibanyyan @honeyflvredcoughdrop @emissarydecksetter @jokerfleckk @epidendroideae @chuuntas @stillmabel @pumpkinpeyes@onehystericalqueenposts @the-jokers-wolf @nalsswa @justahyena @arianatheangelworld @soullessblondbitch @gothamslittlejester @twentyonestarrynights @sirianfromsixties

You were exhausted.

All day had you had to be in contact with people. You hadn’t had a free moment to yourself. Even when you had gone outside your university to have a cigarette, people had wanted stuff to do with you. It hadn’t been more than an hour since leaving the apartment building that you had wanted to go home again. At least Arthur didn’t socially wear you out; one look at you and it seemed like he could read your entire mood, and know what to do to be around you peacefully, without causing you any sort of distress. He was an actual angel and you didn’t know where you would be without him. Your entire life revolved around Arthur, and though you knew that that was mildly unhealthy, you also knew that you wouldn’t have it any other way. He was the kind of man to demand that all eyes were on him. He was unaware of the beauty of his own self, and that only increased his allure, somehow.

When Arthur had finally come home from work late in the evening, just as tired and worn down as you were, you had already been curled up on the sofa, ready to go to sleep. Instead, however, you had jumped up with more physical energy than you thought you had left in you, such was the effect he had on you, and reheated his dinner, spoken to Arthur about his day, and made him feel loved. Loving Arthur Fleck was a gift, but it seemed almost surreal for him to love you back just as hard, if not even more than you loved him. He felt deeply, which meant that he hurt deeply, and rarely could he experience a single day without another punch to the face. Sometimes, life expressed that particular sentiment physically, and you were always there with a gentle touch to patch up his wounds. It was the emotional ones which required more tender loving care, and you only gladly obliged. He deserved the entire fucking world, and though you couldn’t physically give it to him, you could make him feel like he was on top of it.

When at last all your daily responsibilities, stresses and duties had been tended to, Arthur had invited you to sit beside him on the sofa. The Murray show was on, but you weren’t concentrating on it. Not only did you not like the host - he was a rude man who preyed on other people to get a cued laugh from the paid audience and sometimes you found yourself wishing that someone would just permanently shut him up - but you were just so tired. You leaned easily against Arthur’s upper arm, feeling his body heat radiate through his thin cotton shirt. Naturally did his arm curl around your shoulders, pulling you snugly against him. You shifted so that you were pressed completely against his side, his body warding off the chill in the apartment; the heating was just too expensive, even and most especially given that it was winter and therefore, the government could get away with putting up the prices because of the ‘supply and demand’. It was bullshit, but what could you do? You were a working class citizen working to the bone just to survive and therefore, you had no real voice and no power of your own.

You were asleep before you knew it. The scent of cigarette smoke kept your own nicotine craving at bay, and the feeling of Arthur pressed tightly against you and the gentle smell of his cologne kept you in that secured lull which promised a good night’s sleep in preparation for all that was waiting for you tomorrow. You couldn’t wait for Sunday; it was your Day with Arthur. Once a week, every Sunday, did you only make plans for each other. You didn’t leave the apartment on Sundays, anything important could wait until the following day, and so you were left to indulge in each other in whatever means were most appealing on that day. Often, you stayed in the bedroom and played card games, smoking together and watching Charlie Chaplin re-runs.

The first thing that you became distantly aware of was that the bed you were lying against was moving in a steady rise and fall. There was a rumbling just under your ear and then Arthur’s gentle, patient tone threatened to send you right back to sleep.

“Y/N, darling. Come on, it’s time for bed.”

You groaned. “Nope. Sleeping. Shush.”

Another rumble ran through Arthur’s chest and bubbled up and out of his throat, the sound creating a lovely laugh. You adored it when he laughed genuinely. It was such a rare sound and you cherished it, so different was it to the terrifying attacks he so often experienced.

“No,” Arthur hummed, “You gotta help me get you to bed. I can’t carry you.”

You sighed sleepily and sat up. Arthur laughed both at the expression on your face and the way your hair was sticking up on one side, laying completely flat on the other.

“Sleepy head.” He teased, his eyes soft and full of love for you. The harsh blue light from the television screen illuminated the dark circles under his green eyes, and you felt guilty. Had you kept him awake while he waited for you to stir?

You stood, taking Arthur’s hand, and he pulled you close to his chest, swaying with you. He spun you slowly, a sweet smile on his face. His hair was fluffy, freshly washed, the dark curls framing either side of his forehead. His waistcoat was perfectly matched with his trousers, and he looked so ethereal. He was heaven sent. As he pulled you close again to dance with you without music, your sleep addled brain failed to consider the potential consequences of your next words.

“I want to dance like this with you at our wedding, future husband.” Your eyes were already sliding shut as you relaxed against his chest.

Time seemed to stop as your words seeped into your brain. Arthur froze and you even felt him stop breathing.

You weren’t tired any more as reality doused you awake just as surely as a cold bucket of water tipped over you would. You stared at Arthur’s still chest, not blinking, your entire body trained on the person in front of you, his hands still tightly gripping you.

A shuddered inhale. A bubble of quiet laughter. Silence.

“What… what did you just say?”

You dared to look up into those beautiful green eyes you so adored. You had memorised that face so well that you could recall it perfectly even in your sleep. Many a night had you fallen asleep staring at it, hoping that its features would find you in your dreams.

Little did you know that your wildest dreams weren’t inside your mind, but physically present in the bed with you.

“What is your shirt made of?” You reached out and plucked the sleeve of his shirt between your thumb and forefinger. You had a reason for the apparent sudden change in topic. You would make your point known in all the ways you could think of. It was the least you could do for Arthur.

“No, Y/N, what did you - “

“I’m getting there.” You smiled patiently, pleading with him inside your mind to go along with you.

Arthur nodded, sighed and seemed to accept that you would repeat yourself when you had had your fun as, with a slight bite of impatience, he said, “I don’t know, cotton or something. Please tell me what you said.” His voice was quieter towards the end of the sentence. Did he think it was a joke to you?

You shook your head and made sure to look him straight in the eyes. “No.” You disagreed. “It’s made of husband material.”

You saw some pre-existing spark in his eyes explode into a fire as the most beautiful smile lit up Arthur’s entire face like a christmas tree. You hadn’t intended to say this here and now, but your mouth had made the decision for you, as it so often did when you were tired. Actually, scrap that - your mouth often made your decisions for you, and your brain was left to figure out the aftermath. Your brain to mouth filter had always been faulty, even more so when you were tired.

“Wait here.” Quick as a flash were you gone, disappeared into the bedroom. You left Arthur’s arms feeling empty with naught for company but the ghost of your touch. Like a whirlwind, you were back just as quickly as you had gone.

In your hand was a small black box, which was clenched painfully in your grip. Ready? Go!

“Here.”

You handed it to a wide eyed Arthur. His hands were shaking and nearly did he drop the box. He sought to cup it in his hands. “W-what… I don’t -” Laughter. Cruel and painful laughter ripped its way out of your love’s throat, making him cross his arms over his shoulders as he buried his face in the material of his work shirt. He doubled over, turned his back to you, and violent chuckles threatened to destroy the very gentle, loving atmosphere that had naturally occurred when the two of you were together.

You put a hand on his back, rubbing up and down his spine, feeling the different vertebrae through his clothing. You said nothing, you only stayed, and that meant so much more to Arthur than anything else that you could have done. Guilt racked him as he squeezed his eyes shut. He had ruined the moment. You had just presented your future together to him on a silver platter, the entire scene practically gift wrapped in its perfection, and he had ruined it with his condition. As he quieted to hiccups and straightened up, breathing in deeply, you said, “Don’t you dare think you’ve ruined anything, Arthur.”

He hiccuped, “But - “

“No.” You smiled gently to take the bite out of your words, and pulled him into a hug. Immediately did your fingers find the dark curls at the nape of his neck. Arthur’s head sunk down onto your shoulders, taller than you was he, and he pressed his nose into your jugular. His lips soothed the day’s tension away, and you allowed him to lavish you with kisses.

Slowly did you realise that he hadn’t answered your question.

“Arthur.”

Something in your voice caught his attention and he straightened up.

“Are you gonna’ answer my question?”

“Wait… you weren’t. You weren’t joking?” He was so incredulous, so disbelieving, that you couldn’t help it. Your jaw dropped. Did he really think so little of himself? You didn’t even need to think about it. Yes. Yes, he did.

“I would never fucking do that.”

Arthur looked down to the floor in shame, and you found the fallen box - he must have dropped it during his sudden attack - and picked it up, dusting it off. You opened it to reveal a set of modest antique rings. It was the best you could afford. The design was plain and simple but elegant.

“So, how about it? Will you marry me, Arthur?”

The ferocity with which he kissed you took you aback, as again and again did he mumble “yes” against your lips. Your legs somehow found his waist, and it was with speedy movements and little care for the late hour that you showed Arthur just how much you had meant your question. The rings lay abandoned on the living room table; you would put them on each other tomorrow. For now, you would consummate the as yet unofficial but official vow to love each other in sickness and in health, ‘til death do you part.

#rebs-doom #Requests closed #arthur fleck #arthur fleck x reader #arthur fleck imagine #todd phillips #joker #joker interview #joker x reader #joker 2019 #joker 2019 imagine #Joaquin phoenix joker #joaquin phoenix #joaquin phoenix x reader #joaquin phoenix imagine #phoenix!joker #phoenix!joker x reader #phoenix!joker imagine

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toastandfanfic · 4 years

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Okay so I wrote this last weekend, before the last episode aired and it took me a while to get it into shape because real life stuff takes precedence..and yeah...I’m still not sure about this instalment in the “Daisuke and Suzue when they were young” but here it is...

When September Ends

“Why do I have to go?” he asked resentfully.

His mood had already been low when he’d seen that his grandmother had ordered a traditional Japanese breakfast, natto included.

“Because you are in effect head of the main family and people will expect us to be there for the memorial tribute. As future heir, it is important that you understand your duties towards the Kambe group and its employees,” his grandmother answered calmly.

He looked at Suzue who was quietly eating her breakfast. He knew that she disliked natto just as much as he did.

“Are you going?”

The moment he said it, he knew it was absolutely the wrong thing to say. She actually halted in the act of eating, the rice on her chopsticks precariously balanced. He was just about to apologise for his thoughtlessness (apologising did not come easy to him but knowing he had hurt her was even worse), but Suzue spoke first.

“Of course I will be there.”

She didn’t say anything else. She also seemed to ignore him from then on.

All the way to the Kambe corporate headquarters, where the ceremony was to be held, he tried to think of ways to get her to engage with him. Tongue-tied and not knowing how to make things better (or at least the way they were before he opened his stupid mouth this morning), he slowly came to resent Suzue’s aloof attitude. (At sixteen, he still had ways to go to understand all the many feelings this girl stirred in him.)

How dare she act so cold towards him, he thought as they got out of the car. How dare she make him feel this bad about what he said this morning. How dare she make it so hard to apologise because he would have but she hadn’t let him because she hadn’t even looked at him since breakfast. (On and on these thoughts went in his head as he was forced to interact with the many people who were there for the ceremony.)

“Yeah, that’s the head engineer’s daughter. The Kambes have adopted her,” someone whispered behind him.

“There are worse things than being adopted into one of the richest families in the world,” someone whispered back, for which they got immediately scolded.

“Hush you. I don’t think all the money in the world could make up for losing your parent in such a horrible way,” the first voice whispered back.

Daisuke tuned them out, focusing his attention on Suzue. She sat alone amongst the other family members of the employees who had died alongside her father in the laboratory accident one year ago.

All the resentment that had been building up in him evaporated. And he remembered that feeling he had the first time he’d met her - of knowing what it’s like to be alone.

All throughout the ceremony he watched her. He watched her pale, solemn face and saw not one single tear roll down her face. And he remembered too that he had not cried for his parents after their funeral.

—

He tried to stay out of sight, keeping his distance, ready to duck behind a gravestone if needed.

He felt a bit silly, of course, but he hadn’t been invited and he didn’t want Suzue to be angry at him. (Since his parents deaths, there were very few people whose opinion mattered to him. At sixteen, he did not really understand why he cared that Suzue was not speaking to him. What he did know was it made him feel awful and he wanted the awful feeling to go away.)

She’d stopped in front of gravestone, and even from his distance, he could clearly read her father and mother’s name on it.

When he thought it was safe, he moved closer, crouching behind a tall stone. He knew he was intruding (knew too that if it had been him visiting his parents’ graves, he would have absolutely hated being followed). But somehow, he felt it was vital that he was here. (It would take him a long time to understand why he’d felt that way on that day.)

He realised that Suzue was speaking to her parents.

“They are very kind to me. I’m very lucky that…that they took me in. The chairwoman…she wants me to call her grandmother, you know? She’s not as scary as I thought she would be…but sometimes…oh and Master Daisuke, he’s…he’s…”

His heart began to beat a little faster. He strained to hear very single word.

She laughed, “He’s a boy, you know?”

He scowled at that, almost stepping out from his hiding place.

“Sometimes…sometimes… I think he’s just very sad…he plays the piano, just like you did, Mama. I like it when he plays. But I’m not supposed to let him know that I’m listening…the servants say he doesn’t like it when people listen…I wish…I wish I could play the piano…I wish you could have taught me, Mama.”

He hadn’t know that she’d heard him play. He did it very rarely since his parents’ deaths and always making sure no one else was around.

“I miss you, Mama, Papa. I wish you were still here…” Suzue’s voice broke and suddenly he could not bear it.

She started when he handed her his handkerchief.

“What…what are you doing here?” she asked, wiping at the tears running down her cheek. She ignored the cloth in his hand.

This made him angry because…(well, at sixteen his emotions were still often raw and volatile and it was frankly baffling to him how he could go from feeling like he absolutely needed to take care of Suzue to wanting to stomp away from her in a strop. Of course, adult Daisuke would often think of that young boy and wonder how Suzue hadn’t simply punched him a few times when he’d been at his absolutely worst.)

“Never mind,” he replied gruffly and walked away. He didn’t turn to look if she was following him (but was disappointed when he reached his waiting car to see that she hadn’t.)

— He was roaming the mansion, unable to sleep. Eventually, he was drawn to the music room, a place rarely visited anymore during the day time. The piano was always dust free and tuned.

He played the bits of pieces he knew from memory, different composers blending into each other as his muscle memory took over and his mind was still, simply floating in the notes.

He always forgot how much he missed this, how happily he had sat here as a child, learning to play the instrument, practicing his favourite pieces (because they were his mother’s and his father’s favourite pieces.) How easily he had forgotten the warmth and security he had felt, in the embrace of these familiar melodies (in the loving presence of his parents.)

He played until his hands and arms felt tired. As the last note rang out, vibrating in the air, he felt wrung out, emptied of everything that he’d kept inside so tightly all of the time (he often pretended that he wasn’t keeping anything inside).

“You play beautifully,” a quiet voice said from the shadows.

He almost laughed, thinking it was only fair that she’d spy on him, after what he’d done earlier. But he was exhausted, all he could do was grunt.

Tensing, she said, “Well…goodnight then, Master Daisuke,” turning to leave.

Something almost like panic gripped him then (he didn’t understand why, only that he needed to act.)

“I’m…I’m sorry,” he blurted out.

“What for?”

Everything, nothing. He didn’t know how to explain.

“It’s hard…isn’t it? Being alone?” (He wondered if he was asking the question to himself.)

She looked at him for a long time (all day he had wanted her to look at him and now he was afraid of what she’d see.)

Then something softened about her. “It is hard…I miss them every day…but…but I don’t think I am alone.”

(At sixteen he did not know what to say to that. Neither at seventeen, eighteen, nineteen…indeed, not until very much later did he truly understand what she had meant that night.)

And because he he didn’t know, he said the only thing he felt safe to say. “Goodnight, Suzue.”

“Goodnight, Daisuke.”

(He would find himself playing the piano more often from then on, but still only at night when he knew there would be no audience…or at least only one person, whose presence he never minded.)

-tbc-

other parts in this series

The First Time (I Ever Saw Your Face)

Everywhere You Go

There are two more ficlets planned for this series...and one of them is going to be more than just PG...

#Daisuzu #Suzue Kambe #Daizue #in light of the final episode...it makes me sad to think that it seems that Suzue was his only real friend

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vaguekiwi · 4 years

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Whom Shall I Fear?

@tony-is-my-daddy posted this and my brain fucking broke down.

Whom Shall I Fear?

Pairings: Tony Stark x Peter Parker

Summary: 1 Samuel 16 - 17 but it’s Starker. (David in Saul’s Service, David and Goliath.) Tony is David and Peter is Jonathan and I have so much to say about this but I’m gonna put it at the very end.

Characters: David:Tony Stark, Jonathan:Peter Parker, Saul:Richard Parker (background unnamed Samuel, Goliath, and Merab.)

Word Count: ~2000

Other Inspiration: Sight by Sleeping at Last

Warnings: Biblical crossover/speculation, safe for work, not safe for church, hint of homophobia, inappropriate use of Biblical concepts/language

When they met, they were both still young.

There was a new attendant in the king’s court. He had dark hair and his neck was curved toward the instrument, so Peter could not see his face. But he handled the lyre carefully, almost reverently, as he played.

Peter itched for the man to turn his face, longed to see the rest of the full jaw in his view, wanted to see the colour of his eyes. Eyes which captured the lyre with an earnest focus, eyes which Peter was sure enamoured anything and anyone they looked at.

“Peter!” Peter started at the sound of the king’s voice, but was glad he did not sound angry or resigned.

“I apologise, my lord king.” Peter bowed when he addressed his father. He could feel those eyes on him now, fought the urge to turn.

“Peter,” King Richard straightened himself and waved his son in, “come, meet Anthony.” So Peter faced the musician who stood to bow.

Peter could see immediately that he could do more than play the lyre. His frame was strong and his eyes - Peter had been right - were bewitching pools of brown; traces of green and gold flashed in the man’s gaze as he looked Peter up and down.

“A warrior, too,” King Richard sighed as Peter shook Anthony’s hand, “yet to truly prove himself in battle, but that time will come. I find his songs… soothing.”

Anthony finally spoke, his cadence rough and gaze never leaving Peter’s face, “I am fortunate the Lord has blessed me with such a gift, my king.”

“Yes, thanks be to God.” The king mumbled, then shook his head. “To think your talents were being wasted so— herding sheep! It is good you have come here, Anthony.”

“I am grateful to be here, my king. And grateful too, for the beautiful instrument you have provided me.”

The king mumbled at that, and made a motion that he should continue playing. So Anthony sat down again and lifted the lyre.

Peter knew he had effectively been dismissed, but he lingered outside the door. He pressed his back to the wall and listened to Anthony’s music. He wondered why his cheeks were warm, and what the stirring in his stomach meant.

—

Anthony’s music did more than soothe the king. It stopped any temperamental episodes all together. The entire castle grew to welcome the sight of the young man with the lyre who could keep the king’s demons at bay.

He was not there all the time. He often went home to his family. Said tiredly that he needed to look after his father, help his brothers, and of course continue to watch the sheep.

When he was not there, King Richard became paranoid and angry. He threw things and spat heresy. The rumours troubled him; the ones that said King Richard had lost favour with God, that God had sent prophets to anoint a new king. Peter didn’t know whether to believe them or not, he just continued to pray for forgiveness for his father.

Then Anthony would return with his lyre, always carefully tuned and polished, and he would play to ease the king’s heart.

He sang too, beautiful homilies of faith and wonder; stories about far-off lands and battle glory. It was because he sang that Peter first got to know him.

“Anthony, are you alright?” He found the young man bending over a desk, a quill rolling between his fingers, lower lip tucked into his mouth.

“Prince Peter,” The shepherd looked up and their eyes met, and Peter wished they hadn’t. He did not want to feel surrounded the way he did by that gaze, like there was pressure on all sides and he was held down by it. Like he desperately needed to come up for air, but could not unless the strength and assurance in Anthony’s gaze gave such permission.

It was a strange feeling of authority, between prince and subject. But it also felt right.

Then Anthony turned his worried gaze back to the paper and he sighed in exasperation. “I am having trouble writing,” he admitted at length, “the words don’t come as easily as some might think.”

“What is it about?”

Peter stepped further into the room, wanting to thumb away the anxiety creasing Anthony’s forehead.

“Fear,” Anthony chewed his bottom lip and anxiously rubbed the fingers of one hand together so flakes of ink fell to the top of the desk. Peter looked down at the paper, the jumble tight print against the page.

The wicked advance against me to devour me, the armies besiege me, war breaks out against me.

There was no music written to the lyric, but Peter could imagine it easily. Could hear Anthony’s lilting voice while his fingers strummed the lyre.

Peter spoke, and put his finger to the top of the page, “if it is about fear, then what is it that gives you strength when afraid? Write about that.” And so Anthony put his quill to the page again and scrawled

The Lord is my light, whom shall I fear?

Then he went still and looked up at Peter.

“It’s… difficult to write, my prince. With someone watching… like this.”

Peter took several steps back which were too big, putting more distance between them than they needed. “Of course, I’m sorry.” He said and turned away. The wicked advance against me, armies besiege me. What did that mean? What did Anthony, the shepherd with the king’s favour, have to be afraid of?

Before Peter left, Anthony called:

“Thank you, Prince Peter.”

And so that became routine. Short moments in the afternoon sitting in an abandoned office; Peter prompted and Anthony’s words flowed. And come evening Peter snuck to the king’s chambers and listened for the finished song.

—

King Richard was right, Anthony did eventually have cause to prove himself in battle.

Peter watched from afar with a trembling lip as Anthony shed the armour he’d been given.

Anthony cast aside his sword and declared the Lord was with him. It was a haughty sentiment, Peter thought, when in theory the Lord was with all of them.

Peter watched the musician push his way to the front lines with only a sling and five smooth stones in hand. Peter turned away, feeling a deep loss at the prospect of his friend’s death. The man who had brought peace to the king’s tortured mind.

The army jeered. King Richard shook his head sadly.

Peter thought of the tales of heroism which had been borne from Anthony’s mind - and what a brilliant mind it was - and sent a prayer for the Lord to protect His servant.

Afterward, when Anthony held the enemy commander’s head aloft, when their army roared and their foes retreated, Peter looked cautiously to his father. They could hear the chanting from here:

Richard has slain his thousands

And Anthony his tens of thousands!

A thinly-veiled insult to the king, if ever there was one.

King Richard’s face was unreadable as he turned to an aide. “Bring the shepherd boy to me.” He ordered.

And Peter thought God must be weary by now of his prayers.

—

But the king did not kill Anthony.

Peter was waiting outside the tent when he emerged. Blood still stained his hands and his clothes were still torn, but now a handsome purple mantle had been draped over his shoulders.

“Anthony!”

“Prince Peter.”

They stood just a bit too far apart from one another, a setting sun casting them in golden light while the cheers of victory and scent of sweet wine filled the space between them.

“My father…”

“He did not hurt me,” Anthony shrugged off the mantle and trudged away. Peter hurried to follow him.

“Are you alright?”

Anthony took them away from the festivities, toward the back of camp and to the seclusion of the streams and veld beyond.

When they were too far for anyone to hear them, but probably still in sight, Anthony said: “Our lord king has asked me to stay with him. To advise. To lead your army.”

“That is a great honour,” Peter said, even though his heart clutched with worry, “your family will be proud.”

“Prince Peter,” Anthony stopped now and turned to face him. He rubbed two fingers together, they watched flakes of dried blood sift off and settle to the ground.

“Prince Peter, I fear I am an enemy of your father.”

Peter glanced furtively back to camp before asking, “Why do you say that?”

“Have you heard that another man was anointed by the prophets? To be king in your father’s stead?”

“Yes.” Peter was conscious of his heart racing in his chest. He had a suspicion of what Anthony would say next, he did not know if he was afraid of it or wanted it to be true.

“Peter, I cannot lose a battle.” With the honorific prince cast away, Peter felt like his own skin had been peeled back, like Anthony was looking down at something raw and something secret. Anthony shook his head and kicked his foot into the desert ground, “I can go up against a ten foot tall general without a sword and still win… apparently.”

Peter whispered: “If you are the man the rumours are about, then the king will want you dead.”

“Or he will want me leashed,” Anthony replied, “he has already offered your sister’s hand. A fine home. A title. He is already afraid of me.”

“There is good reason to be afraid of any man with the Lord’s favour.” Peter mumbled, and then gasped when Anthony stepped forward. He put one hand on the small of Peter’s back and the other on the side of his neck, Peter could still smell the blood on it. The stench of sweat flooded his nostrils and they were very close like this, pressed flush against one another.

“Are you afraid of me, Peter?”

Peter didn’t completely understand the question, but he understood what was happening. He understood the danger of it, the horror of it. He understood that anyone could look down on them from here, and if not recognise them they could recognise the sin of two men so close.

His voice shook, “This is an abomination, Anthony-”

But Anthony only held him tighter, “The Lord is my rock, my protection, my Saviour. I can run to him for safety. He is my shield and my saving strength, my defender.” They were his own lyrics, his breath hot on Peter’s neck as he growled them out, “the world cannot touch me, Peter. Not unless He wills it. And He won’t, His plans for me are grander than this one battle.”

They were both quiet, Peter’s breath was hoarse but he let himself hang in Anthony’s grip, pressed his chin into his palm.

Again: “Peter… are you afraid of me?”

“If the Lord has chosen you to be king, then whom shall I fear?”

Anthony smiled, and it was genuine. It was happy. It was born from goodness and patience, from peace, joy, and love.

And Peter reached for the soft woollen britches which Anthony wore, torn at the knees and along his thigh from the battle.

“May I worship my king?”

Anthony growled. It was a sound that sent a spike of heat through Peter’s whole body. That made his head white with electricity when their lips met.

“Only if I may reward my servant.”

--------

Notes from Grace:

Okay, there’s SO much potential to this story. Everything I have written here is before the Bible actually mentions David and Jonathan making their covenant together. Like after this, there’s chapters on King Saul hunting David, Jonathan helping him to escape, Jonathan manipulating and lying to his father to protect David, Saul lowkey realising they’re in love so lying to Jonathan and accusing David of stealing his son away and corrupting him. There’s this actual dialogue:

**David: Your father knows very well that I have found favour in your eyes

Jonathan: Whatever you want me to do, I’ll do for you

Jonathan: Don’t be afraid, my father Saul will not lay a hand on you. You will be king over Israel, and I will be second to you.

And these actual verses:

“So Jonathan made a covenant with the house of David, saying ‘May the Lord call David’s enemies to account.’ And Jonathan had David reaffirm his oath out of love for him, because he loved him as he loved himself.”

“Then they kissed each other and wept together — but David wept the most”

And David being on the run and Jonathan straight up sneaking away from his dad to meet up in a secret liaison like who can possibly say that wasn’t gay as hell?????

And Saul offering David two of his daughters’ hands in marriage and David being like “... nah.” while ‘affirming covenants’ with Jonathan left and right.

But this is all I wrote. If anyone’s into it I would encourage/welcome you to continue it and would love to be tagged in any such continuation.

**(I use an NIV Bible for 99% of my Bible needs)

#starker #starker fic #tony stark x peter parker #bible au #grace writes

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doomedandstoned · 3 years

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A Talk With BREATH, Portland’s New Meditative Doom Metal Duo

~By Billy Goate~

Illustrations by Tyler Wintermute

We're used to doom metal being, well, rather dark and sinister, but can it be meditative too? OM, the famous Al Cisneros side project, proved that yes, it can. Other acts, such as the celebrated UK band Bong, the New Brunswick trio Zaum followed (with Italy's Ufomammut, Finland's Dark Buddha Rising, and Ukraine's Bomg being just a step away with their generous, if often louder, landscapes).

Then I encountered doom metal yoga in Portland, and all bets were off.

Last month, Doomed & Stoned introduced you to another band you can add to your short list, whether listening in your Savasana stance ("corpse pose"), getting your groove on at work, or doing a little wake 'n bake to start the day.

This is BREATH from the City of Roses and on February 5th, all mysteries will be revealed as the meditative doom duo brings us their debut LP, 'Primeval Transmissions' (2021) on Desert Records.

Their music "is informed by adventures leaving the comforts of what was known behind. Going into unknown woods sometimes figuratively and some literal. With heavy melodically driven grooves their Meditation Doom will take you to secluded caves, and totemic vision quests'' (band bio).

Over the weekend, I traded words with Steven O'Kelly (bass guitar, vox) and Ian Caton (drums, percussion) recently to get to know this new name in the Pacific Northwest heavy underground. Doomed & Stoned also takes this opportunity to share a new visualizer with you for Breath's latest single, "Observer."

Breath - Observer

What themes and concepts does Breath explore musically and lyrically?

Peering into rituals meant to transcend the physical world. Initiations into the varied mystery schools like Orphism or Druidry I find very powerful. The Shamanistic role being so selfless putting themselves through extreme trials, shedding their previous self to protect their people by communication with spirit.

These things have lots of weight with sacrifice, and knowledge seeking from traditions nearly lost to time. Our sound aims to reflect that weight through the way we use the bass guitar and drums. I think a theme of meditation informs a lot of the riffs with spaciousness and transformation.

Who are your musical influences?

Foundationally, Black Sabbath is a center pillar. My first record being a Sabbath compilation by Earmark. I appreciate the balance they find between settled songs like "Orchid" leading into its counterpart "Lord of this World." Grails’ Burning Off Impurities is such a vehicle that I would get lost in through the whole record. Melting boundaries of East and West with Zak Riles’ classical guitar and the crushing drum work by Emil Amos.

That brings me to Om, which is an important band to me that struck a chord all the way through from the music to aesthetic. Every show I’ve been to is like I’ve snuck into a temple ceremony, and leave feeling light on my feet and blissfully ringing eardrums. "On the Mountain at Dawn" is the heaviest song to me, with this immediacy and undeniable flow like the strong current of a river.

Photographs by Marissa Caldarelli

What sort of gear do you guys perform and record with?

Ian: DW Performance series Drum kit with Maple shells. Remo heads and Aquarian Kick Drum head. Zildjian K cymbals.

Steven: 4003 Rickenbacker bass guitar. Electric Amp Innovations Power Unit 180. Ampeg 8x10 speaker cabinet. Geezer Butler Cry Baby bass wah. MXR bass compressor. Ernie Ball VP Jr. Electro Harmonix Freeze. Deluxe Bass Big Muff. Also, Shure SM 58 and VE-20 Boss Vocal Performer.

You've mentioned gaining inspiration from solitary walks in the woods. What does the Oregon outdoors mean to you and how does it stir your creative processes?

When I first tried meditation, I was given this palm sized booklet by Buddhadasa Bhikkhu on breathwork as the entrance to a practice. Feeling and visualizing blue water filling and then leaving the well of your lungs. The band like our actual breath is a lifeblood for me. Making music and lyrics I can easily and gladly lose myself in. That practice I believe is responsible for shaping our sound.

Sometimes I feel a sort of unspoken conversation with the trees that surround, lots of times getting most lyrical ideas during these hikes. Boundaries are fluid in this space, and by its very nature puts my mind out of whatever box it might’ve been in before. Wilderness here has lots of personalities through wind, rain, and sun. For me, watching trees come alive moving in the wind or the quiet calm after a rain breeds deep reflection. Nature is a mirror.

What's the biggest epiphany or the strangest thing that you've experienced while being surrounded by Mother Nature?

On a summer day at Mt. Tabor in East Portland sitting in a secluded grassy opening circled by trees, I had the most psychedelic out of body experience without the aid of eating anything. High through trance, I came to the plants and tree’s awareness of me and I them. Like they knew my name.

Many of your tracks tell a story. Are these original tales or based upon the band's own mythos?

Whether I identify with an archetype or am retelling an experience I had, All the lyrics have roots in my real life even if themes might be far flung from our time.

Primeval Transmissions by Breath

Give us a walk through your new record, track by track, if you will.

Track 1 Starting with "Evocation," it’s a mixture of Shamanistic ritual and the effects meditation can have in clearing hurdles of adversity. I had been reading a book on Druid Lore and their equivalents around the world. Then I discovered Werner Herzog’s Cave of Forgotten Dreams and was completely spellbound. Seeing cave paintings perfectly intact, it’s entrance hidden by a rock slide before Roman times in France. This painted a visual counterpart to my reading and was consumed with the world it represented. Hallucinogenic trance, their soul migrating to the spirit world through the rising smoke of the fire lighting cave art meant to dance with flickering flame. Taking on an animal guide and returning anew.

Track 2 "Dwarka" at its roots is a story about confrontation with otherworldly phenomena. There’s two personalities to it. At first the ominous impending arrival and, the character coming to grips with what he’s witnessed. The nature of the main riff reflects the enormity of space, and what might be out there. I feel like the energy of the song mirrors how the witness felt, getting heavier as the night becomes more harrowing.

Track 3 "Observer" bridges my love of Eastern music like Ravi Shankar and Baris Manco with metal accents. It’s the journey your mind can take through meditation, simply focusing on your breath and how it can lead to intensity. Mainly one riff building and transforming over the course of Observer. The lyrics are a recording of Sri Swami Satchidananda leading Hatha Yoga, an important teacher for me.

Track 4 "Battle for Harmonic Balance" is centered around the ancient mystery schools of the left and right Eye of Horus. Invoking themes of renewal like the Akhet, a Sun rising between two mountains. Heaviness from the beginning reflecting the weight of importance Egypt holds to me, being a cornerstone of our past. The riff deconstructs towards the end, aligning the song like the Sphinx during the Equinox. Facing East to summon the Sun once more. "Halls of Amenti" is the realm of the Gods, where the Sun goes at night. An ethereal ceremony exchanging distortion and drums for the hypnotic beat of a Shaker and deep Bass guitar.

Track 5 The reprise to "Evocation" is a continuation of the Shaman’s trek across the razor’s edge. With this offering without lyrics we convey the obstacles, lulls, and successful return starting with the similar ritual beginning as its first chapter. This is followed by a call and response conversation between drums and bass guitar. Floating in the ether until finding his way alongside the totemic animal guide culminating at the end, returning to body like the tide returns out to Sea.

Follow The Band

Get Their Music

#D&S Interviews #Breath #Portland #Oregon #doom #meditative #metal #doom metal #meditative doom #interview #Desert Records #Doomed and Stoned

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lokispettigerr · 5 years

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Painting the Wind: Jotun!Loki x Female!Reader SMUT (NSFW)

Requested by @rougepetale. I killed three Bilgesnipe with one arrow though because I decided to follow out two more requests-- a Jotun!Loki fic and a dark fic. This is book material and I am proud.

***It is Pet Tiger Tuesdays!!!! Get stoked!

Summary: Reader drives men, and women, wild with just her scent. One evening, she attends her friend’s art viewing at a studio. When Loki catches her scent she runs, spurred on by the dangerous lust that he radiates.

Word Count: 4096

Warning: Sex Pollen, Dom Loki, Non-Con

A/N: So, remember that Mushroom Muse Stew I posted about a while back? Maybe last week, well it pops up again here. **Not my image

Beauty, attraction, and irresistibility is a blessing and a curse.

When I was younger, I was raised by monsters who injected their precious serum into my blood year after year after year. Each injection would make me the person I am today, the beast I have become. But do you ever wonder who the true monster is? The beast that was either born into its circumstances or forced into them, or the people or superhuman entity that made them the way they are.

As I look in the mirror now at my reflection I don’t look much a beast. I have doe eyes, bright and big. My lashes make shadows dance upon my cheeks. My lips are full and my skin glows inhumanly. I have womanly curves and hair that shines even on a cloudy day.

If you want to know the truth, how I really feel about all this talk of monsters and beasts. I think that both parties are at fault. The people who raised me are at fault for sure for forcing this path upon me, but I too am at fault. You gasp? You are shocked? You don’t know me. There are times when I enjoy the way people are uncontrollably aroused towards me. I enjoy knowing that I am constantly in control because they would do anything to be with me, if even for a few moments. You see, there is a part of me that is very much like the monsters who raised me. I am greedy. I was never given love or affection and no matter how much I get now, even an infinite amount… It would never be enough. There is something in me insidious and wrong.

I turned from my reflection just as my open hand turned to a fist wanting to smash the shiny glass into pieces. What good would that do me?

I left the house, my heels clicking down the sidewalk outside of the apartment building. The wind was beginning to pick up and the sun kept passing behind giant, ominous looking clouds. I kept my head down shielding my eyes against the wind as my hair fanned out, causing a trail of pheromones to sway luxuriously out behind me.

Everywhere I went I painted the tail of the wind with my intoxicating scent. Of course, this wasn’t always safe, but I had been trained by the monstrous, mad scientists that raised me. I was unbelievably strong and was meant to be a breeding *whore* to create super soldiers.

I was an experiment gone wrong. All of my sisters were too. All of us failed. It was something I always found laughable.

We were all deemed infertile. The pheromones they so ruthlessly injected us with made us alluring, but ironically it nuked our reproductive organs. No sweet bundle of baby joys would ever be a product of me, and in truth, I liked it better that way. I can imagine that with my background I would be a horrifying parent.

I essentially was a super-soldier. I could practically strangle a man with my bare hands within moments. I could hit someone on their shoulder hard enough that their head would come clean off. When I was a kid, and not very strong I would walk past dandelions doing the same thing. Hitting them hard enough for the flower head to pop right off, all while I ran along wearing a white dress, bows in my hair musical laughter pouring from my lips. Innocence turned to corruption-- it has always been there.

My text notification chirped and I pulled the phone out of my pocket with a quick glance at the screen. I was meeting Willow at her art showing tonight. I had promised and I was going to come through for her. Being around a group of people like that always made me antsy, all of them would be horny and wanting to grab at me being in close proximity but luckily, Willow mentioned there was an open bar. When I was able to get a little buzz, the anxiety from the surrounding horn dogs usually lessened and I could loosen up, even give them a little of what they wanted.

I turned the corner and approached the art studio building, “Montross Art Studios” a golden wire looking sign read. It swayed back and forth in the wind as the breeze began to pick up. I could only hope that when I opened the door, the wind would not blow my scent within the art studio. In close quarters it moved slowly, but if the wind stirred the air it would be a scent spread like wildfire.

I was lucky. The wind had stopped long enough for me to get inside the studio. The door creaked loudly on its hinges, but the studio was full of laughter and chatter, blues music playing over the speakers.

I scanned the sea of faces looking for Willow’s dark bob and big brown eyes. She was around somewhere, I could sense it. I knew I would run into her eventually and my nerves were already jumping and on highwire so I decided to go to the bar and grab a drink.

A handsome man stood up against the bar, his posture excuding cockyness and confidence-- of course, if I looked like him I would do the same thing. His hair was shockingly black and his eyes were bright green. He was leaning over the counter of the bar talking in an erotic purr at the bartender who would laugh intermittently while he took a clean wipe towel and rubbed different glasses, making them have a shine.

He took a sip of a green drink and placed the cup on the bar to move a strand of his black hair behind his ear, exposing his sharp jawline. I was usually not nervous when approaching any sex, but this man at the counter made me feel uneasy. I weighed my options, continue to feel anxious and on edge throughout the art gathering or face one man for a few moments, order a drink, and feel the calm settle over my brain like a security blanket. The choice was easy, a few minutes of discomfort was much easier than discomfort the remainder of the night.

I made sure to walk as smoothly as I could, so as not to stir the air. When I made it to the bar I kept my distance from the attractive man who oozed danger all about him.

“Hi there,” I paused while I looked for the bartender's name tag, it read, “Joe?”. I giggled, “ You aren’t sure if Joe is your name?”

He shot me a shy smile back, “If I made a beautiful woman like you laugh then I have succeeded. For you, I’ll be whoever you want me to be. What’ll you have?”

“Just a martini please.” I glanced from the side of my eye at the dark-haired man standing beside me. I could feel his piercing gaze. “Joe, she was mistaken, she will have what I am having.”

I looked at him, wide-eyed, my eyebrows going up. Joe seemed confused, “She said she would like a marti--”

The man standing beside me cut him off, his eyes boring through Joe and into the wall, “Absinthe, Joe. Get the lady Absinthe.”

Joe’s face went blank and he immediately began to pour Absinthe. A chill went down my spine, I had never seen someone command something with such force. I quickly began to rethink the drink. Screw this, I could be uncomfortable the rest of the night.

Once the bartender had finished preparing the Absinthe he lit the sugar cube on fire. I could not deny the color of the Absinthe combined with the bright burning flame was beautiful. I smiled to myself enraptured by the fire. For a moment I felt alone in the room, the fire holding my attention. It was so beautiful.

“Your complexion is glowing.” The twilight satin voice brought my thoughts back to the current situation.

I looked away from the flame, “Just a trick of the light, everyone looks captivating against the allure of firelight.”

The man was silent as he continued to watch me, his eyes half-lidded.

“I think not,” he whispered, “you’re special…”

I feigned ignorance, after all he was just feeling the average effects of being too close to me. “I don’t know what you are talking about.” I wanted to take a sip of the absinthe, something to keep my mouth busy so I no longer felt the need to carry on this conversation.

Just then, the door to the studio opened and a gust of wind blew in stirring the air around me, making my hair twirl along my back and shoulders. The flame above the absinthe blew out. Shit!

It was as if time stilled, the man beside me went rigid-- his body freezing, all except for his nostrils which flared dramatically, taking in my scent. His eyes fluttered closed and his head reclined slightly back. Strangely, blue lines were creeping up his neck, and his skin began to darken.

My eyes searched the crowd, Did anyone else see this?

His eyes shot open, burning and completely red, “What were you saying?”

I had to get out! “Uh, gotta go!” I turned to leave, but his fingers quickly closed around my arm. “Not so fast,” he warned. He was strong, superhuman strong. I should have easily been able to break his hold on me but his grasp was like chains of solid iron.

Just then Willow approached. The mysterious man released my arm, but not before Willow saw him holding it.

“What’s going on here, Loki?” She asked, a concerned look on her face.

I answered instead. “I’m so sorry Willow, I got a call. I’ll try to see if I can make it next time.” I ducked my head not wanting her to see the lie.

Her face fell, disappointment covering it, “Well, okay, if you have to go, I understand.”

I began to walk away, towards the door, towards freedom, “I’ll call you!” I called out over my shoulder and the door slammed behind me. I never looked back to see what the man was doing or if he was watching me, but every fiber of me felt like it was the sugar cube still sitting on the absinthe, on fire, burning brightly-- a flame that would never extinguish. I knew he was watching me as I walked away.

Usually, I don’t have this kind of reaction, but my body screamed at me to get away as fast as I could. It was as if my brain knew, from all the strength and training that I had, even I could not hold my own against the man in the art studio-- Loki was it? What an odd name. I shoved my arms, hurriedly into my cloak and quickly flipped up the hood. I carried around a thin cloak oftentimes, it helped keep my pheromones in one place and not billowing all about-- plus it looked kinda cool.

With each step I took, my anxiety increased. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being followed. I sped up my pace only to hear what sounded like footsteps approaching at the same speed as my own. I glanced back, the wind tugging ruthlessly at my hood. No one was there. It was only me, the echo of my footsteps. I was alone and so close to home. I would be safe soon.

My heart was racing and my blood was pumping, making a whooshing sound that filled my ears and pounded around my head. Every few moments I would glance back only to see an empty sidewalk and a few dried leaves skirt by, pushed on by the wind.

Dusk had settled, not doing anything to help my nerves, and street lamps flickered to life. The harsh light pooled down at the sidewalk interrupting any chances I had at using my night vision. I would try to peer out past the bright lights towards the edge of the trees or across the sidewalk from where I loped, but all I could see were shadows with hunger in their eyes and saliva dripping from their teeth. None of it was real, my fear was making it all up. My imagination was running wild and I knew that as soon as I made it back home and my locks were in place everything would be right in the world.

Wait… There, what was that? Footsteps not matching my own approaching from behind, my breath caught in my throat and I opened my mouth in case I needed all the air possible for a scream. I was so close, so close to home-- just around the corner and I could rush up the steps, past the lonely, naked lady fountain, past the gardenias making the night smell aromatic, past the garden bed, past the empty swing that often rocked back and forth in the cool night air as it creaked out a forlorn tune, all the way up seven steps to the threshold of my *home*.

I opened the old iron gate, tossing it shut behind me without ever looking back. My hood flew off in my hurry to get inside and I skipped up the steps taking two at a time. The keys were already in my hand and I forced them into the latch turning while I simultaneously twisted the knob.

The smell of the sage I had burnt early trickled out. I inhaled deeply, the sigh that left my parted lips was one of triumph. I had made it. I shrugged out of my cloak, exposing the skin on my shoulders. I tossed the keys towards the stand near the door and they landed with a sharp clack. The house was dark, but it didn’t matter. I let the darkness of my home envelop me like a warm blanket. I teased my arm along the wall feeling towards the light switch, bracing myself for the moment the lights would come on when I heard a low rumble as someone across from me cleared their throat-- a growl from a hunter.

Panic choked me, my eyes grew wide with fear and I could acutely see myself from somewhere else in the room. I stood, frozen with terror, unable to move.

“You’re wondering how I came to be here. How I knew this humble abode was yours.” Loki’s sultry voice purred at me from the shadows, just above a whisper. “The fountain out front is a nice touch.” He stalked towards me, the shadows sliding away from him to expose his predatory form. The blue tendrils that had begun to crawl up his skin in the art studio had taken full effect. His skin was now a deep blue hue with exotic markings and his eyes were a violent red. They glowed and cut through the darkness. Had he been bitten by some ghastly bug that had bestowed this monstrous, yet alluring form upon him?

Suddenly, my brain jump-started. I pushed away from the wall, running down the hallway and towards the kitchen. I needed a weapon! Anything.

It was no use! Somehow the devil named, “Loki” was there-- it was as if he appeared from thin air.

“There is no use in fighting it. You will soon tire, and I will not soon grow bored.” He glanced at me, his eyes glowing feverishly.

I reached for a large knife, serrated and as long as my forearm. *This would do the trick*, I thought, right before it turned into a snake within my grasp. I yelped dropping it before running off again towards the dining room. Had something been slipped into my drink to make me have delusions?

I stopped, my back against the wall, my shoulder blades hurting. My chest rose and fell as I heaved. Loki walked, smooth as a water dancer, into the dining room. His chin was tilted down and a deranged smile was on his lips. He was beautiful-- there was no denying it.

When he reached the rug under the table, I pushed off the wall, my palms lifting and shoving the solid oak table towards Loki.

But with a simple wave of his hand, it stopped in thin air, never touching him. He moved his hand to the side as if swatting at a lazy fly and it smashed against the wall next to me. How? How was he doing this?

He laughed and I wanted to smile in response, I would do anything to hear that sultry laughter again. “You are clever. I like that about you,” he said as he moved towards me. I stayed against the wall. Clearly, running was useless. I clenched my jaw and narrowed my eyes.

“Ooo-- you plan to fight me then?” his eyes went up and down my body, lingering on my hips and my heaving, sweat glistening breasts. “How,” he paused a smile spreading to his face again, “...admirable.”

He stopped inches from me and part of me wanted to reach out to touch the lines etched on his skin. Were they scars? Had they ever caused him pain? I bit my lip.

“I wouldn’t,” he warned, his voice causing goosebumps to race across my skin and my nipples to tighten.

I lifted my hand, reeling it back to hit him with all of my strength. It would stun him, for sure. Anything I could do to get out of this situation.

Too quick, and he saw it coming. My wrist hitting his hand made a loud smacking sound and Loki laughed as if he was amused by my animosity.

“You are a feral thing aren’t you?”

I grunted, getting ready to slam my forehead against his. He managed to see that one too! His other hand went to my throat, his cool fingers closing around my windpipe.

He was too strong-- it was incredible. His power was immense.

Loki leaned towards me, his fingers sliding up my throat to push my jawline. I tried to withstand him, but at last, I submitted. I turned my head to the side and he slid his pointed nose up my neck, inhaling deeply.

“I can’t possibly help myself,” Loki said aloud, though more to himself than to me.

“Any reservations, my delightful pet?” he asked, polite as ever, as if he wasn’t holding me against my will.

“Yes,” I spat, “Go fuck yourse--”.

Loki’s finger went to my lips, shushing me. “My, my, what a foul mouth you have.”

Stupidly, I opened my mouth, taking his finger between my teeth as I bit down. Loki didn’t flinch, instead, he chuckled and removed his now slick finger from my mouth. Though he was smiling, I could feel dark rage rolling from him in waves. “Watch me,” he commanded, and compelled, I couldn’t look away from him.

His hand slid down to the hem of my dress, pushed past it and pulled gently at my thong, exposing my weeping, wet opening. His masterful fingers plunged within me forcefully, and I cried out in pleasure and in surprise.

“Ohoho, you like that don’t you? You have wanted this since you first laid eyes on me. Haven’t you?” Loki asked.

I looked away from him, not wanting to admit what I had in truth felt from the beginning. I wasn’t ready to admit it.

“Answer me!” he growled as he curled his fingers within and without faster, his thumb rubbing around my aching clit in tight circles.

The more he rubbed his finger pads upon the spongy tissue of my g-spot, the more I lost the ability to speak-- to form coherent thoughts. I moaned in response.

“Very well, Pet. That is answer enough. I need to hear you speak for me again.”

*Speak for him again?* What did he mean by that?

I leaned closer to him, drawing him towards me. My lips closed on his own, and my tongue pried at his lips, coaxing him to part them. He did as I bid, an unspoken communication taking place. And when he opened them I bit down, tasting his blood in my mouth-- it was cool and tasted of the darkest berries. Poisonous yet delicious.

I had surprised him and a hiss escaped his lips as he pulled away from me. He had recovered quickly, regaining his composure.

“Fool me once…” His strong arm closed around my waist, and I cried out. “You shouldn’t have done that, Pet.”

He threw me down, effortlessly and I hit the couch, the springs bouncing against my weight.

He removed his clothes and his body met mine, his soul touched mine. His skin covered me like the waves of the sea that caress the sand of the beach.

Loki pulled back from me, looking at me hungrily. His hand came up to graze at my breast. I could tell he wanted to slow down, to take all of me in, but something in him or the beast in me made him rush on.

He pushed his way into me, and I whimpered, his length filling me entirely.

I rolled my eyes back in my head as visions danced behind my eyelids. A lightning strike met a lone tree, igniting it, making it burn brilliantly. A fox took down a hare, killing it as its narrow jaws closed down around its neck. A herd of wild horses, free and unbroken, stirred the dry-packed earth of a desert-- their mouths open in a song that echoed throughout a canyon. A bird plummeting down, wind flowing through its outstretched wings, 10,000ft. down.

Loki’s deep moan aroused me further. I opened my eyes to find his muscled form taken in the throes of ecstasy. For a moment, I wondered if he had seen what I had seen, but the thought was gone as quickly as it came.

Loki’s body stilled as if he was trying to slow down and savor me, but my hips continued to move and buck. I grabbed his narrow hips, pushing and pulling at him, fascinated by the blue tint his skin had against mine. His hand grabbed at both of my wrists, bringing them up easily to rest in confinement above my head.

“Fuck it,” he breathed raggedly and he sped up his pace, his fingers closing harshly around the bones in my wrist.

“I’m cumming, I’m cumming, oh.” Loki thrust into me, his cum pumping against the opening of my cervix.

In response to Loki’s words, my body came without warning and my back arched, legs shaking as I cried out, my walls clenching down around him.

Loki’s breath was cool against my neck, a welcome sensation. He stilled above me before turning to lay beside me. I watched his every move, my eyes full of wonder.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing,” I replied, “Well, I guess I’m just surprised.”

Loki read my mind, “In the manner things played out? I must admit, I am surprised by this myself.”

I shook my head, “It’s normal. For you... Anyone else, really. I have a curse or an ability. When I was young I was forcibly given a serum that creates a pheromone that causes an irresistible attraction towards me.”

“I knew you were special, but even regardless of that, you are special because you were created for me.” He nodded, knowingly.

I glanced at him, surprised, “How do you mean?”

“You saw my skin change to blue, my red eyes-- the lines upon my skin. I am part Jotun-- something I can explain more later. Without any control, my true mate will force me into Jotun form without my consent. Something that will not placate until my sexual needs and union with the mate is fulfilled.”

I was speechless. I needed time to process this.

After a few moments of silence, Loki muttered, “Mushrooms.”

“Huh?”

“Mushroom stew. A writer friend of mine recently taught me how to make it.”

“Oh-- uh, cool,” I responded, confused and unimpressed.

“Are you hungry? I am completely famished. I’ll make it for us.” He looked at me, his green eyes shining like stars in the dark. It took me a moment to realize he was waiting for me to say something.

I smiled, it was evident he wanted things to work. “Sure, Loki, that sounds delicious.”

“Perfect.” He bent his neck, his face coming towards me and he placed a shy kiss on my lips.

***** Hope you all enjoyed this and it made you slide to the edge of your seat! There is so much about this one I am proud of, and I cannot wait to hear your thoughts! Send me an ask or leave me a comment and like and reblog! It is the most helpful thing you can do.

If you would like to be on the Taglist please send me an ASK. Until next time, Loki’s Pet Tiger

#loki fanfic #loki #loki marvel #imagine loki #tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston fanfic #tom hiddleston loki #loki mcu #loki odinson #loki laufeyson #loki smut #loki lemons #loki x you #loki x reader #smut #sex pollen #sex pollem fic #lpt

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deery-fiction · 3 years

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Lost Bird’s Forgotten Song

Author’s note: This isn’t a Something’s Changed Update, but The credit is going to the same person, @7spaceace7 because this piece was inspired by her “I Need a Surgeon” fic about Henrik! As always, I hope you all enjoy! A reminder that if you like anything that I’ve written, my Requests are open! Also, this one is DEFINITELY under the Keep Reading break because it took a full 6 pages in my google docs

TW: Blood, Violence

It was dark out, the night sky obsidian black and freckled with glittering stars and a full, gleaming moon. Jackieboyman, protector of the city and one pissed off superhero, was finally turning in for the night as the sun would be rising soon. As a matter of fact, he could see it starting to peak over the horizon, but Jackie was in no mood to appreciate the beauty of a sunrise against the city skyline. Jackie hadn’t been in the mood for awhile now, tense and agitated in his own skin as he spent night after night hunting for a certain elusive glitch bitch. He’d stop to help the civilians, because he couldn’t just neglect them for tragedies in his personal life, he was the hero! But it was frustrating, every night that passed without him finding Anti was another night that something could happen to the people he cared about.

In addition to the agitation and frustration tugging at him, Jackie could feel exhaustion pulling at his mind and limbs. Every night that he went hunting for Anti was another night he didn’t sleep well, and he could tell the exhaustion was slowly taking its toll. It whispered from the corners, spawning and cultivating doubts and fears, things that he carried in his heart and which weighed heavily upon him.

Jackie would blame the exhaustion for his lack of awareness, but he almost didn’t notice that things weren’t quite right in his apartment. The hero paused a few paces from the open balcony he had entered through, suddenly noticing the eerie quiet to the room. It was always quiet when he came back from patrol, one of the side effects of living alone and spending all night out in an armoured protective suit saving people, but this silence… it was different. It hung heavy to the air and clung to his lungs with every breath, settling like a weight in his chest. The shadows seemed darker, more menacing in a way he hadn’t feared in a long time, pooling thick in corners and forming puddles on the ground. If he didn’t know better, he’d call it tar. Above all, it was the awful stillness that raised the most red flags in his mind. No matter how long Jackie spent away from the apartment, it always felt lived in and familiar whenever he came back. This? This felt unfamiliar and desolate, more like a crypt then a place someone actively lived in.

Something was very wrong.

“Aw, is that all the greetings I get, Jackie boy? For a friendly neighborhood superhero, you are awful at making people feel welcome!” Anti mused, giggling maniacally at the other’s severely unamused expression.

As if on cue, an awful, staticy cackle echoed in the room, raising the hairs on Jackie’s arms as he spun around to face the inky, shadowy corner that the Glitchy demon had concealed himself in. The red clad hero instinctively fell into a defensive stance, feet shoulder width apart and fists raised. His face falling into an angry snarl.

“Anti.”

“What the hell do you want Anti? Unless you’re looking for an ass kicking. Which I can happily provide” Jackie snarked back, glaring fiercely.

“I find it funny that you think that’s threatening, especially that you think I’d find that intimidating. Really, do you know who you’re talking to, Jackie boy? I’m offended!” Anti snorted in a rather ugly manner before physically waving it off. “But I digress! I had a question.”

“How does it feel to be the forgotten one, Jackie? I’ve been stirring up so much chaos in the community that I’ve almost… forgotten what it’s like! Haha!” Anti asked, but can’t help breaking into cackles at his little joke, ignoring the confusion on Jackie’s face.

“What the hell do you mean, I’m the forgotten one? The fans certainly haven’t forgotten me, and Jack loved superheroes, he’d never forget.” The hero was baffled, but didn’t fall from his defensive stance, ready if Anti tried anything. “Is this one of your tricks, Anti? Cause it’s not going to work!”

“Oh, but he was so busy, wasn’t he? Making videos, hanging out with friends… and yet he never even so much as called you” Anti pushed, eyebrow quirked and lips twisted into a sadistic grin. “You have to wonder if he had forgotten about you, Jackie. Surely it crossed your mind…”

“No, he hadn't! He would never forget any of us! Unlike you, he was our friend!” Jackie grit out, teeth bared and eyes glowing bright before he releases a bolt of green energy at the glitch. He didn't care if he singed or burned his apartment, he can always get it repaired later with a good enough excuse. If he let Anti get away now though, who knows when he would next be able to find and subdue the demon. That can’t happen, because who knows how many people Anti would have hurt by then? However, it wasn’t surprising when the glitchy rat simply glitched out of the way. “Don’t insult Jack by implying he wouldn’t remember his friends!”

“Oh testy testy... but surely you must wonder? When was the last time he came to check in on you, see how you were doing? When was the last time he did anything with you, Jackie?” The bleeding snake of an ego taunted, flicking out his wrists, and subsequently the knife, out in a bit of a shrugging gesture. Jackie could feel his blood boiling at the insinuations that Jack had left him behind, steadfastly ignoring the quiet part of his brain that was tired, insecure, and feeling small.

“Really? You're asking that? When you're the bastard that KILLED him in the first place?!” Jackie shouted, lunging forward with a fist cocked. He took a hard swing at Anti and let out a frustrated grunt when the dark ego danced just out of the way. He took a small satisfaction in the brief flash of alarm in the other’s eyes, rolling away from the retaliatory swipe of the knife. His eyes flashed radioactive green once more and he let another bolt of powerful energy fly at the other’s head, just barely missing him to slam into the wall.

“Jackie, Jackie, Jackie... you misunderstand me... when was the last time he had done anything with you before I got involved? Haha, of course I'm not asking about after I... t̶o̷o̶k̴ ̵c̴a̴r̸e̸ ̷o̴f̸ ̶h̵i̵m̵, though I am rather quite proud of that one! But my personal pride aside... surely you can't tell me never noticed?” Anti demurred, dancing out of the way of every blow Jackie was sent his way. The Glitch knew he couldn’t take a single hit or it would be game over, Jackie’s strength was no joke. He was a superhero for a reason, after all. Jackie tried to ignore the other’s nagging voice, because he knew that small, exhausted part of his brain would latch onto the other’s words if he focused on it. As it was, The hero could feel himself slowing quickly, the lack of sleep of the past couple of weeks was wearing on him and his stamina certainly took a hit. With each hit Anti dodged, Jackie would acquire another scratch or two from the other’s retaliation. Anti would never take anything lying down, after all.

“SHUT UP! GOD, You piss me off! I'm gonna knock that smug ass grin off your glitch bitch face!” Jackie screamed, not wanting to admit how that last comment was digging its barbs into his heart. He WAS slowing, the hero couldn’t muster up the speed he used to. Was it really because of the exhaustion? Or has he really been declining this entire time, and he’s just never noticed because so few of his opponents truly pushed him to his limits? … Was Anti right?

“You got your little music video... you got that one appearance in Welcome to the game... but then you were scraping by with just references. He stopped showing you in his videos, he eventually stopped mentioning you all together.” Anti continued, voice dripping with false sympathy, as if he genuinely felt bad for Jackie falling behind. However, that was quickly disproven when his voice took a gleefully sadistic edge, grin growing horrifyingly wide, showing teeth sharp enough that it made Jackie flinch back in fear of being bitten. “Meanwhile, everyone else was getting new videos! Even that magic cat brat got to come back before you! Face it, Jack forgot all about you, Jackie. Oh, and you know what happens to Egos who are f̶o̶r̴g̶o̷t̵t̴e̴n̷, don't you?”

“Everyday, you feel yourself grow just that little bit weaker, that little bit less relevant.” Anti sang, letting his words sink into the Hero’s mind. He was taking entirely too much joy in this, it was infuriating how easily Anti was dodging. The glitch was fucking with him and he HATED it. Jackie wanted to make the asshole shut his mouth, because he just wouldn’t stop speaking. His words were like nails on a chalkboard to the hero. “HA! You're slow! You don't hit like you used to Jackie, such a shame... You would have landed that no problem back when you were still relevant... you're only still here by the skin of your teeth, allowed to live and continue only by the grace of the audience. But you and I both know just how fickle they can be, Hero~”

“HAHAHA! You can certainly try, Hero. Should I even call you that? I don't know if you even deserve that title anymore... you certainly haven't done anything to earn it~” Anti jeered, singsonging it in Jackie’s face. He had leaned in, the two practically nose to nose before glitching out of the way of the other’s punch at the last possible second, as if to emphasize his taunts.

“No one asked you, ya ugly bastard!” Jackie shot back on instinct, though it was clearly something he shot back without thinking. With the dark thoughts starting to creep in heavily, that comment about whether he even deserved to be called a hero had shot through him like lightning. Jackie despised how the Glitch Demon knew exactly how to appeal to all of his inner demons and insecurities. Every person he failed to save, every fight that could have gone better, all of it weighed so heavily on the hero. It made for the perfect weakness to exploit. With an enraged shout, Jackie channeled all of his doubt, fear and rage into a single blow, managing to nail the demon in the nose far too quickly for the other to react. For once, the hero relished in the shattering of bone under fist, the crack of Anti’s snapping nose sounding unbelievably satisfying to the pissed off superhero.

“Oh, that hurt~” Anti crooned, sitting up with a dangerous grin, blood leaking down from his nose, dripping down his chin and joining the bloody mess of his neck. “Did I hit a N̷̹̕E̵̻̽͋R̷͎̓͠V̶̛̦̇E̶̹͐̎?! You don't need to be so sensitive, Jackie! I'm only saying what we've both been thinking! What e̶v̶e̷r̷y̵o̶n̸e̸'̶s̸ been thinking!”

“No you're not! Of course I'm a hero! That's my whole thing! I was born to be a hero! It's my duty to protect everyone!” Jackie tries to shout, but his voice was too weak to convey the same sort of authority it used to. It was clear that he was trying to recollect himself, to reassure and convince himself. Anti was starting to wear him down and Jackie didn’t know how to save himself.

“HA! You SAY that, but you only prove my point! You were BORN to be a hero, and yet what have you done?” Anti was digging in his heels, he wanted to make Jackie hurt. The hero was overwhelming in a one on one fight, but words? Words seem to be Jackie’s worst enemy. The demon’s voice turned hissed and glitchy, wanting Jackie to hear every word. “Where were you when I slit dear Jack's throat? Where were you when the good doctor was fighting for both Jack's life and his own? Where were you either of the times sweet, cheery JJ needed you to save him from M̷E̴?̶ ̶W̶H̴E̵R̷E̸ ̸W̵E̸R̷E̵ ̶Y̴O̵U̸ ̷J̴A̸C̵K̸I̵E̷?̴ ̶C̴A̶U̴S̸E̵ ̷I̷ ̸S̸U̴R̷E̸ ̵D̶I̶D̵N̷'̵T̵ ̸ ̷S̵ ̴E̴ ̶E̷ ̸Y̸O̵U̷ ̴T̷H̷E̸R̶E̸!̶ ̵H̸A̶H̷A̷”

Jackie flinched back, Anti’s voice shrill and drilling into the hero’s temples like an ice pick to the skull. The hero was still, eyes wide as he felt himself starting to freeze up, breath catching his throat. As the words left Anti’s mouth, Jackie felt his eyes start to burn, hands shaking. He wanted to yell, to scream, anything at all to make him just. Shut. Up. He didn’t want to hear it, he couldn’t bear to hear it. Because Anti was right. Where was he? When everyone needed him, where was he? Jackie felt cold all over, like he had been dunked in ice water and left to freeze.

“Some hero you are, Jackie! Who have you saved? Where have you been, huh? You say you're a hero Jackie, but from where I stand all I see is a failure and a coward, who never deserved to called himself a hero” Anti giggled, feeling his victory on the horizon and watching with glee as the Heroic ego winced, shoulders tense and raised towards his ears defensively. Their physical struggle settled in the face of the mental anguish that Anti was gleefully inflicting upon the hero.

“Shut... shut up... you don't know what you're talking about…” Jackie tried to protest, but his voice was soft and weak, practically a whisper. The fight was draining from his form, his protests more of a token fight at this point. How could he deny it? He failed. He couldn't save anyone. Anti was right. How could he call himself the others' friend, let alone a hero? He wasn't there, and nothing can excuse that. He was a coward. The burning behind Jackie's eyes grew unbearable, but he still fought to keep the tears back. He didn't want to cry in front of Anti, didn't want to give the demon the satisfaction.

“Oh, don't I? As the villain, I think I'd know the hero the best out of anyone.” Anti cackles, “Come on, What's wrong Jackie? It shouldn't bother you if I'm not speaking the truth~ Oh, but that's the thing, isn't it Jackie? It IS the truth, and you and I both know it.”

The burning feeling in the hero’s eyes finally spilled over, salty tears dripping from cobalt blue eyes as Jackie choked on the rising feelings of failure and grief. Emotions that he had been so steadily ignoring in favor of hunting down Anti resurged with a vengeance, and Jackie found himself sinking to his knees as he grappled with the staticy dark thoughts choking his mind. That grappling turns literal as his choked back sobs turn into desperate, choked gasps of air as something thick and corded wrapped around his neck and squeezed. His hands, which had been at his mouth in an attempt to muffle the sounds of his grief, flew down to his throat, tugging desperately at the cord as if he could make it budge.

…

The hero should, by all intents and purposes, be able to dislodge what he assumed to be some sort of rope or... Or physical manifestation of Anti’s powers from his throat with his superstrength. However, Jackie found that he couldn’t, the cord holding tight no matter how hard he pulled. Whether it be from a genuine sapping of his strength, or a simple lack of will to actually try, Jackie was as helpless to what was happening as any other regular human would be. The tears came faster and harder, dripping down his chin and landing in soft splashes on the ground and on his thighs. Another Failure. Some hero I am...

“Aw, don’t cry Jackie…” Anti cooed in a sickeningly sweet tone, all soft and fake concerned. The glitch lazily made his way around the kneeling hero, til he was directly behind Jackie. The demon fell into an easy crouch, arms curling around the other ego’s shoulders in a mocking facsimile of a hug. Jackie could almost believe it was one, if it weren’t for the sharp blade resting light on the tender flesh below the bruising rope burn on the hero’s neck. “It’ll all be over soon. Soon, you’ll never have to worry about failing another person. Ever. Again. I’m gonna put you out of your misery, hero, and you’ll finally be able to rest. Now doesn’t that sound just d̶e̶l̶i̶g̸h̷t̸f̷u̵l̴?̷”

That was the last thing Jackie heard the glitching demon croon before the rope was ruthlessly pulled even tighter and a silver blade was pulled, almost painlessly in comparison, across his throat. The world rapidly fell to black and then the Hero knew no more.

“H̶a̵…̴ ̴H̴o̶w̵ ̵p̵a̸t̵h̶e̶t̴i̵c̴…̶ ̷a̶n̸d̸ ̷h̶e̴r̷e̵ ̵I̶ ̸t̶h̶o̷u̶g̸h̴t̷ ̶y̸o̶u̸’̵d̵ ̶b̵e̵ ̸m̴y̴ ̶b̵i̶g̵g̷e̸s̶t̶ ̵t̷h̷r̵e̸a̵t̵ ̵o̷u̷t̴ ̸o̷f̷ ̵t̷h̵e̶ ̶b̷u̷n̶c̵h̵,̷ ̴w̸i̸t̵h̴ ̸a̸l̵l̶ ̴t̵h̵o̴s̸e̶ ̶p̷e̷s̴k̷y̴ ̶s̷u̵p̷e̴r̷p̸o̸w̴e̷r̶s̵.̴”

#Jacksepticeye egos #Jackieboy man #jse jackieboy man #Antispeticeye #JSE Anti #Blood mention #Violence warning #Jackie has a bit of a breakdown #It's anti #An Anti that's a little closer to Canon Anti then Fanon Anti at that

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dweemeister · 3 years

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Soul (2020)

2020 dashed the best-laid plans, disrupted dreams, and brought disease. For almost one full year now, COVID-19 has upended society the world over, and taken the lives of almost two million as of the publication of this review. The pandemic, as contemporary readers may notice, has taken its toll on the film industry too. If you are reading this in the distant future, Soul is the first film that I have written in which its release date was delayed and its distribution altered because of the pandemic (from June 19 to Christmas). Pete Docter’s first directorial effort since becoming the chief creative officer of Pixar is part of a phenomenon which may or may not last past the pandemic. Soul, like a few other high-profile releases in 2020 and early 2021, debuted simultaneously in reduced-capacity theaters and streaming, via Disney+. The film itself is middling Pixar. But given the studio’s high quality – albeit sullied over the last decade with underwhelming sequels and glaring missteps from some non-sequels – it is still something worth celebrating.

Joe Gardner (voiced by Jamie Foxx) works part-time as a middle school music teacher in New York City, but quietly harbors dreams of pursuing his dream of becoming a jazz pianist. Taking an opportunity to audition for professional jazz saxophonist Dorothea Williams (Angela Bassett), Joe receives an offer to play with Dorothea’s band. Ecstatic, speaking giddily on his cell phone on the musical adventure that awaits that evening, Joe has forgotten to look wherever the hell he is walking. As a result, he falls down a manhole, Looney Tunes-style. He awakens as a fluorescent blue-green blob, his soul on a stairway to heaven. No, not yet, Joe says. He runs backwards, but ends up in the “Great Before” – a place where unborn souls are endowed the traits (in the form of a badge) that will direct, but not predestine, the course of their lives. In a case of mistaken identity, the Great Before’s leaders assign Joe to 22 (Tina Fey) as her counselor. 22 has been stuck in the Great Before for eons, fostering a cynical view of human existence that has confounded her previous counselors (“You can’t crush a soul here. That’s what life on Earth is for.”). If you are asking whether or not Joe will be the one that shows 22 life’s beauty, you clearly have never seen a Pixar movie before.

The English-language film’s voice cast also includes Graham Norton as a sign twirler extraordinaire, Rachel House, Alice Braga, Richard Ayoade, Donnell Rawlings, Questlove, and Daveed Diggs. Veteran actress Phylicia Rashad plays Joe’s mother (who disapproves of his dreams of playing jazz professionally). This is the first Pixar movie without a character voiced by John Ratzenberger.

22 and Joe will prematurely escape to Earth, but the plot is unnecessarily complicated by a body swap and a tired trope of modern animated features: a non-white character accidentally spending more than half the film in the body of an animal. The Emperor’s New Groove (2000) and The Princess and the Frog (2009) are among the highest-profile examples of the trope. Like Cuzco and Tiana in those past films, Joe is not white – and, automatically, is someone the likes of whom has very little history of starring in a mainstream American animated feature. To see him lose his bodily agency for almost the entirety of the film is frustrating. The screenwriting team (Docter, Mike Jones, and Kemp Powers) declines to explore Joe’s racial identity, instead favoring the hero’s journey (Pixar has never deviated from this template, but that has not prevented them from making great films) and the predictable pratfalls often present in Pixar’s movies. Soul’s body-swapping comedy not only brushes away any such exploration of racial identity, but relegates the film’s jazz (an African-American creation) as ornamentation, overcomplicates the narrative structure, and interferes with its messaging. None of these issues existed in Coco (2017) – an unabashedly Mexican glimpse into the culture surrounding Día de Los Muertos and Mexican regional folk music all while retaining its primary themes.

Soul shares the introspective spirit of Docter’s previous film, Inside Out (2015). The lack of external adversity in both films allow us to better understand the passions of the main character. Joe’s conflict stirs from within – his dreams and expectations against practicality and unexpected realities. More prevalent than in Inside Out, Soul’s moments without dialogue poignantly depict those contradictions and unmitigated thrills. In Joe’s case, his near-total dedication to jazz is celebrated – never excessively mocked by 22 or any other character. But his passion, the film says (and as revealed through 22’s temporary occupation of his body), cannot alone quench the fullest expression of his humanity. The film is at its best in two types of contradictory moments. The first type occurs while Joe is playing his piano; the other appears when the film stops for several seconds to admire a minor detail, overlooked by everyone passing by except 22, along New York’s streets. In the latter, the film is allowed to take a breath, allowing just the ambient noise to play in the sound mix – the rustling foliage in the wind, the light traffic of one-way streets, the whoosh of passing subway cars. It is the closest Pixar has ever come to refuting Alfred Hitchcock’s flawed, oft-quoted statement that the movies are, “like life with the dull bits cut out.” For it is in some of life’s mundanities that 22 sees life as worth living. It is life’s mundanities that lie at the heart of Soul’s most powerful moments.

With the assistance of a legion of cultural consultants, Soul is, in spurts, a casual, intentionally unremarkable foray into New York’s black community and a faithful depiction of jazz performance. Animation history has long caricatured black roles in various ways, so the Pixar animators took pains to faithfully render hairstyles and varying skin tones to highlight the diversity of appearance in African-American communities. Many reviews of Soul will justly extol the background art, but plaudits must also go to the character design of the numerous African-American supporting figures across the entire film. It endows the film with an authentic vitality that I cannot envision happening in a film released by a studio concentrating on CGI animated features. A short scene to a barbershop underlines this laudable attention.

As a pianist and violinist, one of my personal pet peeves while watching movies is when an actor is fake-playing an instrument – it can be comically, pathetically obvious. I am certainly not the only one, as I’m sure some orch dorks, band geeks, and other instrumentalists might attest. Animated movies are not spared our eyes and ears. Soul, however, represents a glorious break from expectation. In a film already boasting photorealistic backgrounds and uncanny lighting effects, Joe’s piano playing is some of the most “realistic” I have seen in an animated film. His posture and muscular movement made me forget, momentarily, I was watching an animated movie. Perfectly rendered, too, are his fingering patterns (for the sake of consistent character design, Joe has elongated fingers). This musical accuracy extends to all other musicians in the film, too. It is glorious to behold as a musician. Soul could easily have cracked jokes at the expense of Joe’s passion. That the film affirms his love for jazz, all while tempering his desires (through 22, his mother, and other factors), is a high-wire balancing act that triumphs.

Soul’s score is split in two: Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross of Nine Inch Nails fame (2010’s The Social Network, 2020’s Mank) compose for the scenes in the Great Before and jazz pianist Jon Batiste composes for the scenes in New York. Anyone who has read in my past reviews about my thoughts about film music are probably guessing that I dislike Reznor and Ross’ compositions for film. They would be correct. So far in their nascent film scoring careers, Reznor and Ross’ ominous synths for David Fincher’s movies sound too much like background droning, minimalist aural wallpaper. Their scores – all texture and little else – have no life outside the contexts of the movies they appear in. In Soul, Reznor and Ross develop a soothing synth sound that is some of their most melodic film music yet. It sounds like Jerry Martin’s music for the less interesting moments from the early Sims and SimCity soundtracks. Still, the score – even in its best moments, such as the lustrous cue “Epiphany” – suits the portions of the film it appears in. Perhaps Reznor and Ross are finally making progress towards understanding how melodic structure can dramatically reshape a film’s drama.

Down on Earth, Soul plays the music of Jon Batiste, perhaps best known as the bandleader of his band Stay Human on The Late Show with Stephen Colbert. Not all of Stay Human’s members were selected to perform for the score, as Batiste chose a handful of musicians from outside his band. The jazz score is mostly original, but includes variations on four pre-existing songs: “Space Maker” (Walter Norris), “Cristo Redentor” (Duke Pearson), “I Let a Song Go Out of My Heart” (Duke Ellington), and “Blue Rondo à la Turk" (Dave Brubeck). Batiste’s jazz influences are too many to name for a review not solely dedicated to the score, but suffice it to say that Batiste intended his part of the film score to serve as a soft introduction to viewers who might not be accustomed to jazz. In this half, Batiste captures the bustle of New York City with his signature floating piano solos. Backed by tremendous saxophone lines, percussion, and double bass, this is a decidedly acoustic affair in marked contrast to the music of Reznor and Ross. The musical contrast is profound, easing the viewer into Soul’s occasionally chaotic narrative structure. By film’s end, though, despite Batiste’s end titles cover of The Impressions’ “It’s All Right” (a wise selection in no small part due to its lyrics), I wanted more from the jazz half of the score and wished it was held greater prominence in the film. Am I unashamedly asking for someone to hire Jon Batiste and give him the freedom to compose an unconstrained jazz score? Of course!

In a year where straight-to-streaming movie releases have dominated the American film industry, Soul ranked third in viewership behind Thomas Kail’s live stage filming of Hamilton (2020) and Patty Jenkins’ Wonder Woman 1984 (2020). Has Pixar righted its inconsistent form apparent over the 2010s decade? Can they ever recover the alchemy that reeled off consecutive pop culture touchstones and wondrous films for fifteen years (1995’s Toy Story to 2010’s Toy Story 3, excluding Cars)? Soul might not be the fair winds needed to steer Pixar from its worst habits, and it is unfair to place such a burden on this film. That fifteen-year run might also never be matched again. For what Soul represents to Pixar’s rather monochromatic leadership and narrative groupthink, it is a fascinating step outside the familiar.

My rating: 8/10

^ Based on my personal imdb rating. Half-points are always rounded down. My interpretation of that ratings system can be found in the “Ratings system” page on my blog (as of July 1, 2020, tumblr is not permitting certain posts with links to appear on tag pages, so I cannot provide the URL).

For more of my reviews tagged “My Movie Odyssey”, check out the tag of the same name on my blog.

#Soul #Pete Docter #Pixar #Jamie Foxx #Tina Fey #Graham Norton #Phylicia Rashad #Donnell Rawlings #Questlove #Angela Bassett #Trent Reznor #Atticus Ross #Jon Batiste #Mike Jones #Kemp Powers #My Movie Odyssey

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nothingeverlost · 4 years

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Fic: Hands

For Cablana Week Day 5, Established Relationship

Here there be smut, people. Not quite PWP but it’s not very plot heavy. II

The Harlan Thrombey Clinic was a week away from opening. Construction was complete and supplies were being delivered daily. Marta, of course, spent her day at the clinic from the moment she ran out the door with a cup of coffee and a portable breakfast to the very late hour when she finally dragged herself away. Sometimes someone else had to do the dragging, which more often than not was Benoit’s job.

“Marta, darling, I’ve brought dinner from that Chinese place you like.” Benoit was glad to find that the door was locked, since Marta’s car was the only one in the parking lot. It was still the same car she’d driven when they met; one of these days he was going to convince her to get something more reliable. She didn’t need to spend a lot of money, and he’d honestly prefer she didn’t get anything flashy. Thieves were attracted to flashy. She needed something that wouldn’t break down on her when she worked late nights, and something with as many safety features as possible..

“Watson?” That one usually made her laugh, giving him a clue as to where to find her. There was only silence. He left the food on the table of the staff room, which at the moment didn’t contain more than a folding table and a couple of chairs; Marta’s focus was on the medical equipment and the drugs carefully stored in a locked room. She wasn’t in the reception area or waiting room. The first exam room was empty and the door to the restroom was open. The second exam room answered his question. Marta was curled up on the exam table, using her own arm as a pillow. She was sound asleep.

“I did worry about you exhausting yourself.” It had taken months of work before even starting on the physical building. Once construction had begun there were interviews, hiring, buying supplies and all the little deals that construction always entailed. She’d been running on caffeine and hope for months now. On nights he stayed over he was able to get her to bed earlier, but she was almost always up before him. Morning was not his favorite time but he’d started setting his alarm so he could make sure she ate a breakfast that was more than a granola bar.

“What am I going to do with you, Marta Cabrera?” He couldn’t let her sleep on the table, no matter how tired she was. She’d have trouble getting to sleep once they got home, and the last thing she needed was a shorter night’s sleep. She was so peaceful that it seemed a shame to wake her up.

“I would carry you home if I thought I could get you there without you waking up.” He’d managed it once, when she’d fallen asleep on the sofa, but a flight of stairs was a lot different than a cross-town drive. Gently he touched the side of her face, brushing the hair back that had fallen against her cheek. Her lips parted, a small sigh escaping.

“I hope your dreams are pleasant, darlin’.” She deserved only the happiest of dreams, but he knew that she had her own share of bad ones, some even verging into the territory of nightmares. The first few times they’d woken her she’d tried to hide them from him. He’d teased her into telling him with the promise that he’d kiss them all away.

Perhaps he could do something to ensure that her current dream was a good one. If nothing else he could make sure her wakening was pleasant.

“You are so beautiful.” She ducked her head or tried to change the subject when he spoke of how beautiful she was. His Marta was far too modest and humble about her appearance. He liked to whisper it when she was sleeping, hoping it might penetrate her subconscious. His thumb moved to glance against her lower lip. The fact that her mouth opened a little more was probably just coincidence, even if the tip of her tongue did brush against the pad of his thumb.

“But when i see what's in your heart, all the rest is blurred. The grace you bring into this world's too beautiful for words.” He sang softly to himself as he gently undid two of the buttons on her shirt, letting his fingers brush against her skin in soft touches. Her bra was worn cotton that Victoria’s Secret would scorn as unsexy, but he loved the feel of the well-washed material against his fingers and the way it became almost see-through when he dragged her into the shower still half-dressed. He loved, too, how easily the clasp came undone at his touch, but that would have to wait until they were home. For now he touched her through the bra, moving his finger in circles.

His singing devolved into humming as he leaned over to kiss her arm, starting at her shoulder and working his way down. The sticky summer weather meant that she was wearing a shirt with barely any sleeves. Even better she was wearing a skirt that only just brushed her knees.

“Time to wake up, my love.” He was careful not to disturb her too much, though, as he pulled the hem of her skirt up to her waist, shortening it until it barely covered her upper thigh. He paused to admire the picture before him. In sleep she looked even more innocent than usual, her fierceness and determination not visible. Only he got to see her like this, the swell of her breast above her bra, the toned muscles of her thighs a shade paler than the rest of her skin. His Marta never did spend much time in a swimsuit.

“My sleeping beauty.” He kissed her gently on the lips, amused when she stirred but did not waken. After so many years of private nursing she was used to waking up when anyone else was in the room, but she was used to him now. Comfortable enough to relax completely around him. He was proud of that.

Her thighs were pressed together and he wasn’t yet ready to move her enough to wake her up, but there was just enough room to tease a single finger between them at the apex, brushing against her. It took him a minute to find the edge of her underwear and work his finger to touch her flesh. When she let out a soft moan he smiled in victory.

“That’s it, darlin’.” His other hand returned to her breast, pinching lightly at one of the nipples. He could feel moisture begin to pool against his finger as he found her clit.

“Benoit?” Warm brown eyes slowly opened as Marta blinked the remains of sleep away.

“You looked prettier than a package on Christmas morning sleeping here. I never have been very patient about waiting to open presents.” Her mouth was warm and pliant when he kissed her, her tongue inviting. No matter who often they did this there was always something heady about kissing Marta, like a single taste of her made him feel drunk.

“Might I open a little more?” He wiggled his finger against her clit. Marta’s eyes widened a little in surprise before her lips curled up into a smile.

“You have been busy, haven’t you?” She shifted from her side to her back, her legs separating.

“It’s almost impossible not to want to touch you when I see you sleeping so peacefully. I can resist when I know you are in your own bed and need the sleep, but I had to wake you up anyway.” This time he used two fingers to ease her underwear to the side, finding her wet enough that he could slip inside of her. “I brought dinner with me.”

“Dinner can wait.” She arched her pelvis up, his fingers sinking a little deeper into her. “I was having the most wonderful dream before you woke me up. I was dancing with a very handsome man, and he was whispering into my ear. His voice was like music.”

“Should I be jealous?” he teased as he moved his fingers inside of her, finding a gentle rhythm. He wasn’t in a hurry.

“Well he was very charming, and very handsome, and very strong. I especially enjoyed his hands.” She bit her lower lip, color rising on her cheeks.

“Anything particular about his hands?” He increased the speed just a little, using his free hand to stroke the inside of her thigh. Not too gentle; she was ticklish.

“They were very strong, but very gentle with me. I wanted him to touch me everywhere.”

“I hope you enjoyed your nap because you are not going to bed when we get home. Minx.” He would be all too glad to touch her anywhere she wanted, but some things required a bed, or at least the privacy of home.

“You started it.” She laughed, one of his favorite sounds in the world. It had been almost a month after meeting her that he got to hear a real honest Marta laugh and it had gone straight to his groin.

“I’ll finish it too.” He moved his hand quicker, changing the angle to brush against her clit with each touch. Her laugh turned into a moan, and then a plea.

“Please.”

“Anything for you.” He curved his fingers just enough, feeling her tighten around his fingers a moment before she shuddered and called out his name. The most relaxed he ever saw her was the moments right after an orgasm. He drew out his hand and rested it on her thigh, feeling the tiny spasms in her muscles from the after effects. “We should eat dinner at home. No more work for tonight.”

“We’ll eat dinner eventually.” Marta sat up, resting her hands over his own. “But first I believe you mentioned something about plans when we get home.”

“Oh, I have plans alright.” He fixed her buttons and helped her off the exam table. “I have a lot of plans.”

#cablanca fic #cablanca week #cablanca #benoit x marta #marta cabrera #benoit blanc #my fic #smut fic

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egoludes · 5 years

Note

hear me out: drunk with best friends shawn at an LA party leading to heavyyy teasing

this is late af but i have been thinking about this since you sent it and may have gone off a tiiiiny bit because i freaking love the concept of best friends toeing the line and am, uh, so very here to talk about it 🙂

i could see it being a situation where you're very affectionate with each other as it is, but you try your best not to read too much into it. you know shawn is a hugger, a nuzzler, an absolute, goddamn sweetheart who has a tendency to show he cares through touch -- to be especially so with his best friend isn't really that odd. but that doesn't mean your breath won't catch every time his hand presses into your lower back to guide you into a hug, or that your heart doesn't stutter every time he kisses your cheek when he says goodbye. you wouldn't call it a full on crush (at least not out loud), but you know it's not nothing either, which always makes for an interesting time -- especially when you're drunk.

because when you're drunk and your inhibitions are lowered, you don't think so much about burying your attraction to him. you don't think so much about hiding the way his touch can get to you and sometimes, if your hazy mind isn't playing tricks on you, you get the sense that he isn't thinking so hard on it either. that he might be letting his fingers linger on purpose when you wear something backless or that he’s deliberately letting his lips brush your ear when he's talking over the loud music.

now fast forward to our party in la —— maybe something one of shawn's crew put on, maybe something he knows no one at but you, brian, and anyone else who's tagged along. either way, it finds you two attached at the hip, as always, and happily drinking your fill. the shift happens around the fourth or fifth round, when the buzz becomes a high and your head starts swimming delightfully from the booze. there’s someone telling a story — cez, maybe? — and your leg is pressed against shawn’s as you both lean in to listen. his body heat is palpable, even through two layers of jeans, and your thoughts keep wandering to how firm his thigh is, how good it feels being tucked so close, and how he seems to shift whenever you do, as though trying to keep it that way.

not that you mind, though. if anything, you’re aching for that proximity too and eventually settle on resting your head to his shoulder to get it. shawn doesn’t even bat an eye at the contact and repositions himself to ensure you’re well-supported. he’s too engaged in the conversation to rest his head on yours like he normally might, but he makes up for it with a large hand finding your knee. the touch is brief in the grand scheme of things, a thumb rubbing over your skin through the holes for a second before he pulls his hand back. but it’s enough to stir you, to stoke a fire in your tummy that’s been lit since the first shot. being so close to everyone else, you try to quiet it with another gulp of your drink, but that only does so much — especially when the next thing to come out of the conversation is a suggestion from someone else — brian this time? — to do a round of body shots.

you pause. weigh your options with a sideway glance at shawn, a quick sweep of the rest of the table, then a long, final drain of your cocktail. “i’m in — as long as it’s not vodka."

once you commit, shawn follows suit, and after that, it’s a blur of laughter and movement until everyone involved has found a place to settle. as the one to suggest it, brian goes first, his grin wider than you’ve ever seen it as he lays across a marble countertop and hikes his t-shirt up his middle. he reaches for a girl you don’t recognize, who’s giggling as she places her hand in his and steps up beside him — no wonder he’s smiling so big.

beside you, shawn is bouncing to the music, his attention split between brian in front of him and you beside him. but when the song changes to one you both love, you get all of him in an instant, his lips pulled up at the corners as he reaches for your hand with a playful “dance with me!”

you’re already laughing when he twirls you, head tossed back in abandon because there’s nothing more freeing than this. being drunk, being with him, perhaps a mix of the two — whatever it is, it’s perfect, and you fall headlong into it, swaying your hips as his free hand finds them to bring you flush against him. your arms wind around his middle, head to chest, and you both start to rock giddily to the music. shawn’s humming along, a sound that travels through your whole body, and over the next few songs, you can feel a world all your own building around the two of you, his touch, his voice, his warmth all you feel until —

“shawn! it’s your turn!”

brian snaps you both out of it easily, his voice lined with a bit of laughter because he knows exactly what he’s doing. shawn is disoriented, blinking down at you, then up at brian, before noting the very empty countertop and very full bottle of tequila he’s holding. then, he’s all caught up, chuckling as his eyes dance back towards you. “you’re gonna do it with me, right?” he doesn’t wait long for an answer, and doesn’t really need to when you’re grinning up at him immediately, giving one firm nod. "come on then,” he mutters, the hand at your waist tightening to guide you forward as he moves backwards. he doesn’t stop until he’s almost run into brian, who laughs fully this time with his free hand pushing at shawn’s back. “hop up, bro, come on!"

he has to let you go to do what brian asks, and the distance is disappointing — your skin’s buzzing everywhere his hands were, as though something’s clawing for him to come back. it’s enough that you might’ve been bothered, if you didn’t know you were about to get close again — closer, even — in just a few moments. like brian had before, shawn gets his t-shirt rolled up to expose his tummy the moment he’s settled on the counter, a noticeable flush to his cheeks when he does. you want to laugh because he’s far too long to be comfortable, most of his legs dangling over the edge, but you can’t keep your eyes off him long enough to commit.luckily, brian keeps him too busy to notice you gawking, the redhead immediately moving to uncork the bottle once shawn is still and get as much of a shot poured into his belly button. when the liquor settles, shawn hisses, eyes squinting a bit as his whole body tenses. “that’s fuckin’ cold, man.”

brian smirks, his entire demeanor devious as he sprinkles salt in a straight line leading up from shawn’s belly button. “no worries,” he says with a pointed glance at you, "think someone’s about to warm you right up.”

you respond with a playful roll of your eyes, though that energy dies down the moment you’re at the counter. shawn is hyper focused on you, his whole body taut like he’s holding a breath; and when you start to dip your head down towards him, you realize he is. part of you is proud about that — having such an effect on him, and you can’t help the smirk that comes when you murmur, just before your tongue meets his skin: “shawn? breathe.”

air leaves him in a heavy chuckle, an exhale that uncoils his whole body. and the moment he does, your mouth is on him, tongue moving through the line of salt before finding the alcohol in his belly button. you lap at it a bit, giggling at the way he squirms, before hollowing your cheeks and sucking the tequila up into your mouth. immediately, shawn's tense again, holding his breath a second time; but, now, it’s to keep himself from letting out any sounds that might betray how good this feels.

he doesn’t breath again until you’ve pulled back, licking your lips down at him. “holy shit, i didn’t spill any,” you chirp, looking impossibly pleased with yourself as you dust lingering salt grains off him with a hand. he’s dazed still, doing nothing but watching you to get his head to stop spinning; but when he hears brian turn to you with an excited “now, you!”, it’s all he needs to rein himself in, rising from the counter with only one thing in mind.

returning the favor.

you feel his hands on you before you see them, a squeal leaving you as he hoists you onto the counter with a smirk of his own. it takes feeling the marble underneath you and seeing shawn reach for the tequila from brian for you to realize — “wait, i’m wearing a body suit!”

they both pause, their eyes turning onto you almost thoughtfully. brian speaks up first, tapping his collarbones — “i think we can still do it. no straps — we can put salt on one side, tequila on the other.”

you snort, leaning back with one of your hands supporting you. “bri, that’s just going to make a big ass mess.”

shawn’s response is a rumble that makes you nearly clench your thighs: “aren’t i here to clean it up?”

you don’t have much else to say after that, laying back on the counter while both boys flank you on either side. brian handles salt, lining it along your left collarbone, while shawn waits patiently for him to finish before starting to pour the tequila into your right. just like you suspected, only some stays put, most of it snaking down your arm and making you whine from the odd feeling.

but, that doesn’t last long. the moment the tequila starts running, shawn is moving, taking advantage of his height to lean all the way over you and lick the salt off your skin in a smooth go. then he’s pulling back to find your hand, pausing long enough to make sure you’re watching him before he dips to press his mouth to your wrist. the tequila’s trailed down the whole length of your arm by then and you realize when you feel his tongue over your pulse, that he absolutely intends to clean up every drop.

in actuality, it doesn’t take long, but it all feels like it’s moving in slow motion, his tongue swirling over your arm to make sure he doesn’t leave anything behind. the trail is easy to follow and at the end of it, he’s practically tucked into your neck, tongue darting and cheeks sucked in to get everything he can from what’s left in your clavicle.

when he pulls back, full lips wet from all his work, shawn’s face is inches from yours — so close you swear you can feel the air in front of you shift when he takes a sharp breath. no one else seems to notice what’s happening between you — or maybe they’re pretending not to — and it gives you the space to let it bloom. he’s got a hand to the counter at your left side for support; but when you chance a look at his mouth, he moves it to squeeze your hip, drawing a soft sound from the back of your throat. it makes his head dip, the space between your faces shrinking, shrinking, shrinking —-

then, all at once, the moment is gone. someone calls his name, your phone buzzes in your pocket from a string of texts, and you separate in a flash. no one notices that either, but that doesn’t keep the tension from being nearly tangible. shawn’s face is red, his chest rising and falling fast, and you’re sure you look just as worked up, even as you try to hide behind your phone and thumb out a quick response to the texts.

“sienna’s here,” you murmur eventually, the first to break the thick silence, “i’m gonna let her in.” you slip off the counter, tugging your jeans higher on your hips before finally looking up at him. he’s already looking back, lips tilted into a knowing grin before he nods, curt and to the point. but you don’t move, not even when you feel your phone buzz another time in your hand. it’s like there’s something rooting you both there as your eyes dance, minds wander, and hearts pound in your ears. it takes another call of his name and one more text for you to give in and separate. “be right back, rockstar,” you call over your shoulder.

“don’t be gone too long, hon.”

there’s something in his voice — a huskiness you’ve never been on the receiving end of — that makes you look back. and when you do, you can see him watching you, eyes dark and curious, with his lip between his teeth.

#my sincere apologies if this sucks #your girl is hopped UP on some cold medicine LOL #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes blurbs #shawn mendes fanfic #asks.#also finally feel ok enough to finish responding to asks!!#Anonymous

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boreum-dal · 4 years

Text

la confiture, pt. iii

fandom: miraculous ladybug (adrinette, nino/alya)

summary: marinette dupain-cheng is one step closer to her dream of becoming a top chef when she's hired to cook at the famed restaurant, la confiture. but to get to the top, she's got to surpass adrien agreste, her rival and the son of la confiture's owner.

too bad he's so sweet that he's nearly impossible to dislike.

and too bad she loves when he invites her over after work to test out new dishes at his apartment.

and too bad his relationship with his father makes her want to hold him and never let him go.

and--just like that, her dreams don't seem so simple anymore.

“Marinette…”

Marinette turned around, too surprised to do anything besides look at Adrien’s hand, just barely touching her arm, and then up at his eyes, dazed and full of… What was that? Confusion? Appreciation? Something she didn’t know how to name. She wondered vaguely to herself how they could look so green and vibrant in the dim lamplight of his foyer. It wasn’t fair.

“Why... Why are you doing this for me?” Adrien asked, his voice quiet.

Marinette felt her heart drop, a soft breath escaping her. Oh, Adrien. “Because you’re my friend, of course. And I didn’t want you to be sick and alone with no one to help you.”

cross-posted: ao3

prev: i | ii

la confiture

part iii.

Comment from Chat Noir on “Chocolate-Glazed Marble Cake”

1:31 AM

22/1

Hi, Ladybug! I hope you take comfort in the fact that the cake looked delicious, even if not the most aesthetically pleasing. It’s unfortunate that one of your cakes broke, but the other looked beautiful when it came out of the oven! I also totally sympathize with your frustration with tempering the chocolate for the glaze. Truth be told, for things like glaze, I find it’s much easier to do away with couverture and just go with a big slab of chocolate compound. You won’t have to deal with the mattifying effect you described, and the glaze will look professional grade. Thanks as always for your wonderful posts. They really do make my week!

Reply Comment from Ladybug to Chat Noir on “Chocolate-Glazed Marble Cake”

2:40 AM

22/1

Chat Noir, thank you for the solid advice. I did a little reading on compounds after your post and am sad that I put myself through the pains of tempering couverture chocolate now, ha. Thanks also for your kind words. I always love getting to know my followers, but I’d like to say I’m so happy you’ve become a regular commenter these last few weeks. These days, I find myself wondering what you will have to say in particular about my dishes with each post! Please take care.

---

“How is it that you stop by the restaurant and talk to Nino one time and land a date within five minutes of meeting him?”

Alya laughed. “I’m a charmer, what can I say?”

Marinette shook her head as she whisked a bit of cream into the sauce she was simmering. “You really are. Well, he’s a wonderful guy, and I actually think you would get along really well. I’m not sure why I didn’t think to introduce you two before. Here, come try this.”

Alya hopped off of her seat on one of the barstools by Marinette’s kitchen counter, wine glass in hand, and let Marinette tip a spoonful of sauce into her mouth. “Oh, that is so good.”

“Yeah?” Marinette grinned. “That’s great—I’ve been trying for days now to lessen the amount of cream I use in this sauce to make it less heavy, but it’s been really hard to replicate the taste.”

“Guess you found a winner! I can’t wait to eat. So tell me more about Nino.” Alya leaned back against the counter beside Marinette and took a sip of her wine.

Marinette glanced up as she continued to stir, thinking. “Mm... Well, he’s very easygoing, a good conversationalist, and a good listener. He doesn’t get riled up easily, but he’ll also stand his ground. It kind of makes him the perfect bartender, because he can talk with anyone and nothing will ruffle his feathers, not even the worst customer or Gabriel Agreste on his worst day. Plus, he’s so nice.”

“And cute,” Alya added.

Marinette giggled. “And cute. I think he’s also interested in music? He mentioned DJing at a few places before he started working as our bartender.”

“So that’s how he got tickets to that show!”

“What show?”

“The one he’s taking me to for our date. It’s a really popular DJ on his European tour. Those tickets were sold out weeks ago.”

“Somehow, it doesn’t shock me that you’re going to a club for your first date,” Marinette said, laughing.

“Hey, now. I’m not a cheap date. He’s taking me to dinner first!” Alya grinned. “Also, he mentioned to me he’s close with your little chef prince.”

Marinette frowned as she turned the stove down and removed her pan from the heat. “My who?”

“Adrien Agreste. So if you’re so close with Nino, why can’t you use him to get closer to Adrien?” Alya reached up into Marinette’s cupboards and began to pull down plates.

Marinette snorted. “How would I even do that?”

“I don’t know, like figure out if they ever hang out outside of work and then tag along with Nino!”

“Okay, now that would be shameless,” Marinette said, giggling. She carefully began plating the steak and mushroom marsala. “Just too weird. Nino and I aren’t nearly close enough for that. Plus, I don’t need to get any closer to Adrien.”

Alya frowned. “Why not?”

“It makes me… I don’t know, confused?” Marinette said, keeping her eyes on the plates. “It’s simpler not to know him well. Like you said, it’s much harder to compete with someone I like.”

“There is such a thing as friendly rivalry, you know.”

“I know.” Marinette sighed. “I just preferred when I had tunnel vision and this singular goal with no distractions.”

Alya patted her friend on the back. “Look, Marinette. You’re a fantastic chef. You’re also a fantastic human being. It’s natural that people around you will want to get to know you. I think you can afford to make a few friends while you work your way up the ladder, don’t you think?”

Marinette chewed her lower lip before smiling. “Yeah, I suppose so.”

Alya grinned. “And a little romance wouldn’t hurt, either!”

Marinette laughed and whacked Alya playfully with the dish towel she’d been holding. “As if. Let’s eat!”

---

Marinette stared at the metal numbers glued to Adrien’s front door and wondered to herself how she’d ended up here for the second time in a month. She bounced a bit on her toes, wondering why she was nervous to knock.

Despite what she’d told Alya at dinner a few days ago, she’d caught herself wondering—only when her guard was down—whether Adrien would actually invite her over again. They’d brushed elbows and exchanged glances and jokes at work a few times, and they’d left and locked up together even more, but beyond that, he hadn’t expressed any interest in seeing her outside of the restaurant again. Much to Marinette’s own surprise, she’d found herself disappointed instead of pleased—until he’d asked her out of the blue a few days ago if he’d like to come by on Monday to learn how to make that coffee cake.

Alya’s triumphant cackle when Marinette had told her echoed in her ears.

Whatever, she thought to herself. This is normal. Perfectly fine! I’m excited for no other reason than the fact that we’re friendly coworkers, and he offered to show me some new tricks. Like baking a coffee cake.

She sighed before knocking on the door.

“It’s open!”

The door creaked loudly as Marinette opened it and stepped inside, taking a moment to shiver in pleasure at the burst of warm air. It was frigid outside, and the drafty interior hallways of Adrien’s apartment building were not much better. She glanced around at the kitchen and living area as she shrugged off her coat, but Adrien was nowhere to be seen.

Plagg appeared beside her, butting his head against her ankles. Marinette smiled and reached down to pet him. “Hello, chaton. It’s nice to see you, too.”

“Marinette?”

Marinette looked up, and there was Adrien, dressed in a grey long-sleeved knit and black fitted joggers. She’d never seen him so dressed down before—even when he’d had her over previously, he’d been in jeans and a button-down. It made her feel like he was a little more human, even if a voice in the back of her head reminded her unhelpfully that he still looked quite handsome.

“Hi,” she said, standing up as he came over to take her coat from her. “Thank you for having me over.”

“Anytime.” Adrien smiled, and this close up, Marinette realized he had a dimple in his left cheek. She promptly urged herself to ignore this.

“Sorry I didn’t come to the door—I was digging around in the pantry for the hazelnuts. I thought for a second I was out and nearly panicked. Ready to learn the ways of the Agreste family coffee cake?”

Marinette caught an apron he tossed to her as she followed him into the kitchen area, where Adrien had already set up two stations with all the ingredients they’d need.

She tried to quell her nerves; Adrien had proven himself time and again to be kind and astonishingly nonjudgmental. He wouldn’t make her feel bad once he saw how badly she would botch this cake. Or tell his father and then have a good laugh about it. Right?

“I was born ready.”

“That’s what I like to hear!” Adrien cheered. Plagg looked up at Adrien disdainfully. “Let’s get started, shall we?”

---

“Look at that,” Adrien said softly, peering into the oven window beside Marinette. “You’re a natural.”

Marinette smiled, feeling herself flush. She glanced back into the window of the oven, where her surprisingly not-malformed coffee cake was baking. “We can’t say that just yet, can we? We’ll jinx it. Plus, look at my work station. And myself,” she said, standing up and laughing as she held out her forearms, which were covered entirely in flour.

Adrien chuckled, wiping up a little bit of flour from Marinette’s work station with his finger. “There were... a few mishaps, sure. But what’s important is you soldiered on and didn’t let the mistakes affect your final product!”

“You’re very kind, Adrien.” Marinette grabbed a paper towel and wet it under the sink, intending to wipe the remnants of flour and batter from the counter while they waited for the cake to bake. She paused when she felt a hand on her arm and turned to Adrien, eyes wide.

“We’ll leave that for later,” Adrien said, a grin on his face. “For now, how about a latte? Can’t have coffee cake without coffee.”

Marinette felt her stomach do that same uncomfortable flip it had done when she’d first walked up to his door that afternoon. She swallowed and nodded, trying to ignore it. “U-uh—sure.” She smiled. “A latte sounds nice.”

The two ended up on Adrien’s sofa, artfully poured lattes in hand. Marinette had removed her shoes and her knees were drawn up to her chest, chin resting on them as she relayed to Adrien her experiences growing up in the public school system.

“So you’re still friends with Alya to this day?” Adrien asked, eyes wide. “How old are you?”

“Yes, she’s still my best friend,” Marinette said proudly. “I’m twenty-eight.”

Adrien whistled. “That’s incredible. Twenty years of friendship. I don’t think I’ve known anyone for twenty years except my father.”

He sounded wistful, and Marinette took a moment to observe him more carefully. Adrien sat with his elbows leaning on his knees, hands folded around his cup, bright green eyes staring out at the cityscape beyond his window. His mouth was set in what looked, at first glance, like a neutral line, but when Marinette looked a little closer, she realized that one corner was tilted up—but then, she thought, why did he look sad?

Marinette knew how demanding the life of a chef was. The days they worked were long and tiring, beginning before lunch and often ending in the late hours of the night when the city was already shutting down. The few days they had off consisted of catching up on sleep where they could and then still spending time training to perfect their craft. So in a sense, every chef was probably a little bit deprived of personal relationships compared to the average person.

But Adrien had revealed to Marinette as they’d taken their first few sips of coffee that he had been home-schooled his whole life until he’d attended culinary school. He had been given no chance by his father to even consider working anywhere besides La Confiture upon graduation. And upon learning these things, she’d come to a realization that produced the strangest ache in her chest: Adrien must have been profoundly lonely throughout his childhood. Even in adulthood, it was evident in the way he so readily opened his arms and his home to his colleagues.

“Marinette?”

Marinette startled, nearly spilling her coffee. “Hm?”

Adrien’s lips curled up into a soft smile, and now Marinette’s stomach was doing those stupid flips and that ache in her chest was getting stronger. When he spoke, he sounded amused. “You seemed like you were checked out there for a little bit. Or maybe there’s flour on my face?”

“Oh!” Marinette could feel her face getting hotter by the moment, and she scrambled for something to say. “I—um—I was just thinking—speaking of Alya, did you know that she and Nino are going on a date this weekend?”

Adrien, much to Marinette’s relief, seemed totally distracted by this information. “Is she really? That’s awesome!”

“Yeah! So—maybe one day, if it works out between them, I mean—we can all grab lunch—I mean—that is, I’d love for you to meet her…” Marinette trailed off and tried not to imagine how red her face was by now. Why couldn’t she stop rambling?

Adrien didn’t seem to notice, and instead gave her that same slow smile, electric green eyes trained on hers. “I’d really like that. Thanks, Marinette.”

In lieu of responding—or throwing herself out of his window, which was her preferred reaction—Marinette opted to gulp down the remainder of her latte.

---

“So, how was your date?”

Marinette rolled her eyes. “It wasn’t a date, Alya.”

“You went to his house and baked and had coffee and then he made you dinner! Sounds like a date to me.”

“The dinner was impromptu,” Marinette mumbled into the phone as she settled into bed.

“Dates can be impromptu.”

“Alya,” Marinette groaned. “Can we not? I’m confused enough as it is.”

”Okay, okay. Can you at least tell me how it went?”

“It went fine, of course,” Marinette sighed. “I mean, he was perfectly sweet, he’s a great teacher, and when we talked…”

“When you talked?”

“It was… I just learned so much about him that made me feel… I don’t know, like he needed a friend. Like I should be his friend.”

“Hmm. That’s not the tune you were singing a few days ago.”

“I know,” Marinette said, and then, only because this was Alya she was talking to and no one else, she let herself admit, “But maybe now I’m in too deep.”

Alya was quiet for a moment, and Marinette knew that her friend was thinking of how to respond. Thankfully, she didn’t press the issue.

“So did the cake turn out okay?” Alya asked, pivoting to another subject. “You can use the recipe for your blog!”

”No way. On the off chance he reads my blog, he’d figure out who I was in an instant if I did that.”

“So?”

“So then he’d know that I’m a sham of a chef!”

“Marinette,” Alya said, exasperated. “You are not a sham. You’re working at one of the top restaurants in Paris. The Gabriel Agreste personally called you in to tell you you’re doing a good job. Just because you never attended cooking school or got formal training doesn’t mean you’re not a real chef. If anything, it makes you even more amazing for having gotten where you are today.”

Marinette smiled softly. “Thanks, Alya.”

“You know it. Any time you feel that impostor syndrome coming on and need someone to kick its ass, I’m your girl.”

---

Marinette glanced at her watch as she made her way out of the kitchen. She frowned. It was already past three, and Adrien was nowhere to be seen. By now, he’d normally have already finished whatever prep work he had to do and would have moved on to help the others, cracking terrible jokes that everyone secretly loved. It felt awfully quiet without him around.

Nino called Marinette over from the bar, startling her out of her thoughts.

“What’s up?” Marinette said, taking a seat at one of the stools.

“Looking for Adrien?”

Marinette’s brows shot up to her forehead. “Wh-no, I—”

“It’s okay,” Nino said, laughing. “You don’t have to be embarrassed. I’ve just seen you looking around all afternoon, but I get it because I’ve been worried, too.”

Marinette pursed her lips. “Well, do you know where he is?”

Nino nodded. “He finally texted me back about ten minutes ago. Said he’s at home sick.”

“Sick?” Marinette repeated. Her frown became even more pronounced. “He must be feeling horrible if he couldn’t even come in."

“Yeah, I think so, too. He’s such a workaholic.”

Marinette glanced around to make sure they were relatively alone, and then she leaned in. “How does Chef Agreste feel about it?” she whispered.

Nino shook his head. “He’s in a bad mood. No telling if that’s why, but he’s probably not very happy that Adrien couldn’t make it to work.”

“Of course,” Marinette sighed. Chef Agreste did not strike her as the type of person who easily overlooked even his own son calling in sick on a shift. “Do you know if anyone’s been by to see him?”

“I don’t think so,” Nino said. “I offered to take him some leftovers from the restaurant after we closed up, but he said he’d be okay. I worry about him, though, living by himself and being that ill.”

Marinette turned this information over in her head. Adrien was a grown man, and he could obviously take care of himself—but the picture she had painted of him over the time she’d gotten to know him made her think he was probably lonely and wracked with guilt, on top of being sick.

Marinette smiled at Nino. “You know, I make a pretty mean chicken soup... I’ll bring it by to him after work. I’ll send him your regards.”

---

Adrien opened his eyes to darkness, completely disoriented and not quite able to understand what had woken him in the first place. His head was pounding.

His phone buzzed twice more on his nightstand before going silent, and he realized someone had been trying to call him. Blindly, he reached over to grab his phone and looked at the screen.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng

Missed Call

It registered somewhere in the back of his fever-addled brain that since they had exchanged numbers, Marinette had only texted and never called him before. Before he knew what he was doing, the phone was at his ear, and he heard two rings before Marinette’s voice came through the speaker.

“Hello? Adrien?”

“Hey, Marinette,” he rasped. He cleared his throat—he didn’t realize until just then that he’d gone the entire day without speaking. “What’s up? I missed your call.”

“How’re you feeling?”

Adrien sat up, leaning back on one hand. Plagg stirred in his spot on top of the duvet between Adrien’s calves. His covers fell off of his torso, and he immediately regretted the action. Sweat had soaked through his t-shirt as he’d slept, and the air outside of his blankets felt frigid against his dampened skin.

“Oh, you know. Just…”

“Terrible, I’m guessing, if you called in sick,” Marinette said, her voice sympathetic. “Did I wake you?”

“No,” he lied. He leaned back against his pillow. The inside of his head was so hot, but his body was so cold. He had no idea how to fix this. “What’s going on? Everything okay?”

“Of course! Actually, the reason I’m calling is—well, I know you’re not well, but I was wondering if I could stop by? I made you soup.”

The surprise cleared Adrien’s head better than any medication had all day. “Soup?”

“Yeah, but I also completely understand if you don’t want visitors,” Marinette responded quickly. “Plus, it’s late—I’m sorry, this was stupid of me, and—”

“No, no,” Adrien said, sitting up again. “Please—please come by. If it’s not too much trouble.”

There was a pause. “You sure?”

“Yes. Soup sounds wonderful. Are you coming from the restaurant? I’ll see you in fifteen minutes?"

“Um... Not to be creepy, but I’m already here. I was just going to drop it off, so—”

“Oh,” Adrien said, too dumbfounded to respond in a more intelligent way. He shook his head. He felt a rush of appreciation for Marinette’s thoughtfulness. After he’d reluctantly called in sick, his own father hadn’t called once to check on him—not that he’d expected him to. “I mean—no, it’s not creepy at all. Hang on, I’ll buzz you in.”

---

Marinette could have kicked herself. She didn’t know what she’d been thinking, coming over uninvited. And of course Adrien would be way too nice to turn her down, as intrusive as she was being. The door opened before she had time to convince herself to turn around.

“Hey,” Adrien croaked, and then he chuckled, scratching the back of his head. “Sorry. I probably sound horrible.”

All of Marinette’s embarrassment drained away into concern. Adrien leaned against the doorway, pale and gaunt in wrinkled, baggy pajama pants and a t-shirt, blond hair mussed and matted against his head this way and that. He looked like he might fall over any moment.

“Adrien! Just how sick are you?” Marinette said, rushing inside. She set the large container of soup down on the nearest surface and reached up to feel his forehead, and then felt blood rush to her cheeks when she recognized how intimate the action felt.

Adrien, for his part, didn’t seem to mind; he closed his eyes, and Marinette felt the slightest pressure as he leaned his forehead into her hand. Something warm surged inside of her at the trusting nature of the action.

“You’re burning up,” she said, feeling her brows knit together. “Have you eaten anything today? Taken any medication?”

“I’m fine,” Adrien mumbled.

“I’ll take that as a no. Well, lucky for you, I brought chicken soup! And there should be enough for you to last you through tomorrow, too.” She picked the carton back up and held it up to him proudly. “Mind if I use your kitchen to heat this up?”

“Oh—of course not,” Adrien said, slightly dumbfounded. “Um... Do you need help?”

Marinette laughed. “You are impossible. No, I don’t need help! I just wanted to pour it into a pot and heat it over your stove for a bit. You should go lie down.” She turned to head toward the kitchen, pausing only when she felt warm fingers brushing against her elbow.

“Marinette…”

“Why... Why are you doing this for me?” Adrien asked, his voice quiet.

Marinette felt her heart drop, a soft breath escaping her. Oh, Adrien. “Because you’re my friend, of course. And I didn’t want you to be sick and alone with no one to help you.”

Adrien’s eyes widened ever so slightly—or maybe that was just Marinette’s imagination. His lips parted, like he might say something, but instead, he let out a quiet exhale. Marinette was aware, perhaps too acutely, of the warmth of his fingertips, still on her elbow. Later, she would guess that they stood like that, staring at each other in complete silence, for maybe three seconds after she’d answered his question. But in the time it happened, it felt like forever.

“I’m—I’m gonna go heat this up, okay?” she finally said. “I’ll bring it over when it’s ready.”

“Ah, right. Okay.” Adrien paused. “You’re eating, too, right? You must be starving after work, after all.”

Marinette glanced at the clock, surprised. She hadn’t even realized how late it was. She looked back at Adrien, who was watching her again, this time with clear anticipation, evident just at the end of the curve of his lips, in the slope of his raised eyebrows. She was reminded, again, of how much he seemed to crave human company, and how much he must have been deprived of it in his lifetime.

“Sure,” she said, nodding. “I’ll make myself some, too. Find something good on TV, won’t you?”

---

Adrien was a no-show the next day, as was expected. Marinette was mostly relieved—she wouldn’t have been shocked if he’d tried to drag himself out of bed, even in his condition, if his father gave him hard enough of a time—but she also found herself enjoying work a little bit less. As Rose had noted the day before, Adrien’s absence was oddly loud.

Thankfully, La Confiture was so busy that night that Marinette didn’t have too much time to think about it. With Adrien gone, everyone’s workload had increased somewhat, and as one of the more junior chefs in the kitchen, Marinette was saddled with quite a bit of extra work. But in the few spare moments she did have, she thought more than once about pulling out her phone and sending him a message.

Just checking on you. Hope you’re ok. Eat all of your soup!

Marinette stared at the screen of her phone, which glared back at her in the darkness of the locker room, where she’d come for a brief reprieve from all the action. She chewed on her lower lip as her thumb hovered over the “send” key. Why was she hesitating? Her stomach felt funny—maybe she’d caught the bug from Adrien. It was a perfectly normal message to send. But she felt like she’d imposed so much the night before by just assuming she could come by, and—

“Marinette!” Juleka’s voice rang. “We’ve got a situation in the kitchen!”

Marinette sighed as she pressed her thumb against the backspace key and shoved the phone back in the pocket of her coat.

---

At 1:05 AM, when the kitchen was finally clean and the restaurant was totally silent, Marinette let herself into the locker room and began to pull on her coat. She picked her phone out of the pocket and hit the home key absentmindedly before nearly dropping it in surprise. Below a missed call from her mom and half a dozen texts from Alya, there was a particular name she hadn’t expected to show up in her notifications.

Adrien Agreste

3 New Messages

12:47 AM

Marinette slid her thumb across the screen, not sure what to expect, and opened the messages.

Hey, thank you again for the soup! It was just as good on day two. I feel better already. Hope things weren’t too insane at the restaurant tonight.

And then, beneath a picture of Plagg, standing on the coffee table and sticking his nose into a near-empty bowl:

Plagg likes the soup, too, btw.

Marinette felt her lips curve up into a smile. Without too much thought, nerves forgotten, her thumbs automatically typed out a response.

Tell him I’ll bring some more by tomorrow, if he’d like.

An answer came back immediately, and as she read it, Marinette registered with some shock what that odd, dully painful bubbling at the pit of her stomach was.

He would love that.

#miraculous ladybug #fanfic #ml fanfic #miraculous ladybug fanfic #adrinette #marinette dupain-cheng #adrien agreste #la confiture

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