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farfromharry · 5 months

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new year, new man 🏎️ ln4

Summary: you meet Lando for the first time after being dragged to a new year’s eve party. safe to say you didn’t hate this new year as much as the rest.

W/c - 1485

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You were far from a fan of celebrating the new year. It wasn’t much of a holiday for you, rather than a period of a couple days that made you sad. You spent too long focusing on how it felt like time was moving too fast and you were getting old and by the time midnight arrived you’d successfully brought down everyone else’s moods.

For that very reason you were planning to stay home and mope in your room to greet 2024. But it seemed your friends had other plans.

“I don’t want to go to a party,” you huffed.

The brunette at the end of your bed rolled her eyes. “And I told you, I don’t care what you want, you’re going.” She tossed a dress at you and stood there expectantly.

From out in the hallway you could hear one of your other friends calling for you. “Come on, Y/N, it’ll be fun.”

You knew there was nothing you could do. They wouldn’t leave unless it was with you following behind them. Part of you was warmed by the fact they wanted you around, but another part of you was irritated that they couldn’t just let you be in your misery. You wished you would have been more stubborn.

An hour or so later and you were stepping into a complete stranger’s home where a party was in full swing.

A drink was quickly passed into your hands and within minutes you were left alone sitting in a quiet corner. Your friends had failed to let you know that this party was being hosted by a friend of theirs, with some of their other mutual friends in attendance. Maybe you would have put up a bigger fight if you’d have known you wouldn’t know anyone here and yet they would know everyone.

It was awkward, you standing there, drink in hand and eyes darting around the place at all the strangers. You must have looked so out of place.

“Do you mind if I join you?” A voice startled you out of your daydream. You were getting ready to turn them away when you locked eyes with one of the most attractive men you swore you’d ever seen. Your heart began to beat a little faster. “All the other seats are taken by couples basically swallowing each other. Figured this is the least awkward place to sit.”

You managed to laugh, like a real laugh. You were surprised that a random guy had managed to make you feel even slightly happy for the first time tonight.

“No, you’re fine. I sat here to get away too.”

It was silent for a brief moment and you cursed yourself for being so antisocial.

“Not enjoying the party?” he asked.

You perked up at the chance to talk to him again. “Uh, not really. Unless it’s your party, then it’s great. I’m having so much fun.”

He chuckled. “It’s not my party. Friend of a friend. I don’t really know anyone here.”

There were butterflies in your stomach. Could this man get any better? “Me either.”

He seemed pleased by that, like he’d needed to know he wasn’t alone in feeling awkward and uncomfortable in order for it to dissipate. “Well now you know me.” He held his hand out for you to shake. “I’m Lando.”

You smiled. “Y/N.”

The pair of you were only talking for a short while when he was approached by a clearly drunk man. “Lando Norris!” Was all he said, rather cheerfully, shaking hands with the man beside you. Lando smiled, nodding to the stranger before he left.

You watched the interaction with a furrowed brow.

“I thought you said you didn’t know anyone here?”

He looked at you with a shy grin. “I don’t. I have no idea who that was.”

The revelation made you laugh, louder than it probably should have, but you would blame the alcohol for that one. He quickly joined in, the 2 of you trading giggles in a secluded corner as everyone partied around you.

When your laughter died down and you wiped a few stray tears, you took a long look at Lando. “I’m actually really glad I came tonight.”

He took that to mean you were happy to have met and spent your time with him. “Me too. Maybe we could do this again sometime, but in an environment we both like. Somewhere quiet, like dinner?”

“I think I’d like that.”

Going into the new year it looked as though you’d be getting a shot at love, or at the very least a nice, new friendship. Maybe new year did bring good things sometimes.

As you noticed the minutes ticking closer to midnight and the party getting rowdier, you ached to convince Lando to move somewhere that wasn’t right in the middle of the busy crowd. You were unsure if he would, given that the atmosphere would change so drastically, but what was the harm in asking.

He looked at you as you stood from your seat, worried that you might be about to present him with an excuse to leave early.

“Come with me,” you instructed, holding your hand out for him to take. He eyed it, feigning hesitance.

He hummed. “I don’t know. My mum’s always telling me about stranger danger.”

You rolled your eyes. “Come on.”

Lando didn’t waste another second, slipping his hand into yours and allowing you to blindly lead him through the maze of people. He didn’t expect you to take him outside into the garden where it was much quieter. There was no one out here but the 2 of you and a couple stray drunk people.

“Much better,” you sighed. “I finally feel like I can hear myself think.”

As the moonlight fell upon you he believed you looked even more beautiful than you had inside. He was slightly in awe. His daze was momentarily broken when he noticed you shiver, the cold chill of the December air being unforgiving to your bare skin. There was only one thing that would be right for him to do as the gentleman his mother raised.

“Here, take my jacket.”

Your mouth opened to protest but the stern look he gave you told you he wasn’t willing to hear any of it. So instead you let him place it over your shoulders, his warmth and scent immediately making your body heat up to a comfortable temperature.

“Thank you.”

He brushed it off. “Not a problem.”

Now that there was no overly loud background chatter from those inside, a lull in conversation meant things got awkward, fast. Or at least on your part. You weren’t sure what you could say now and that led you to a panic about whether he was thinking about how silent you were being.

In reality, he was working up the courage to ask if he could kiss you. In the end it was the lack of time to deliberate that led him to just blurting it out.

He was afraid you’d be mad, considering you hadn’t met that long ago, but actually you were just happy he’d pulled you out of your nervous thoughts— even if his question gave you nerves for a whole different reason.

“Would it be presumptuous of me to ask if I could kiss you at midnight?”

You pretended to think it over, taking a step closer to him so that your fronts were pressed together. His eyes were rapidly looking over your features. Between your eyes and your lips, like he couldn’t make his mind up about where he wanted to focus. In the end he settled for your eyes.

“I might be persuaded.”

And then the countdown began.

As the clock struck midnight Lando made his move and closed the gap between the 2 of you. His large hand on your jaw was more or less guiding you through the sweet kiss, a gesture which made your knees even weaker than they already had been.

The cheers of the party inside were what brought the 2 of you back to the present.

Your face burned as you eyed the crowd, wondering if any of your friends had noticed you sneaking off with the handsome stranger to steal a kiss. You hoped they didn’t, because truly you wouldn’t be able to escape the mountain of questions they’d have for you.

He must have noticed you were slightly distracted, taking the initiative to gently guide your gaze back to him. The corner of his mouth curved upwards when your eyes met.

“Happy new year,” he mumbled, brushing his nose lightly across yours. It was a tender move for a man you’d met only a short hour ago.

You beamed, maybe you’d get the chance to know him a little more this year. “Happy new year.”

It looked like 2024 was already going to be a good year.

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#lando norris #lando norris imagine #lando norris imagines #lando norris fic #lando norris oneshot #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris fluff #formula 1 #formula one #formula 1 x reader

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sithbvcky · 7 months

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Sweetest Thing

Synopsis: You join Sam and Bucky to assist them with the Flag Smashers. Since you're a telepath, you come in handy. One night, while Zemo and Sam are out, you and Bucky have a little heart to heart.

Warnings: angst and a little fluff 💝👍🏻

Word count: 1.3k

Note: I do not give permission for my work to copied or translated anywhere else but this blog.

Since The Blip, you started working more with Bucky. Assisting him and Sam when the fiasco with the Flag Smashers became bigger than expected. As a telepath, your abilities came in handy quite a bit. Nothing could be hidden from you, though you had a rule about invading peoples minds. You never did it without permission unless it was essential to an operation.

Bucky wouldn't admit it but he was nervous about working with you. His mind had been invaded so many times before. Molded to whatever was needed of him. But you showed your trustworthiness, and Sam vouched for you too. In time he began to ease up when you were around.

Often he'd find himself enjoying your company and preferring it to being alone like he usually was. He wasn't used to this feeling and he suppressed it as much as he could. He was unstable and never truly felt like he was worth all the trouble Steve had gone through for him. Even if he was free from the programming he still didn't feel comfortable and he was scared to let anyone else in.

Sam had forced himself in, somewhat against his will. But you, you were different. He didn't want to hurt you and he knew if you saw everything he was you'd turn and run.

One night, while Sam had taken Zemo off somewhere to gather more intelligence, it was just you and Bucky alone in the apartment.

The place was spacious, way too spacious for two people. Bucky was in the kitchen fixing himself a drink and you were sitting in the living room typing away on your laptop. As he watched you, he felt his heart rate speed up and he started feeling a nervous itch. Like he needed to move or he'd jump out of his skin. He took a sip of his drink and continued to observe you. Admire was a better word for it but he wasn't ready to admit that.

You were a pretty closed off person, didn't let a lot of people know much about you or where you came from. Other than what was on file. Bucky related to that in a way, he figured with your power it must be hard to let people in. Hearing thoughts and seeing someone's intentions before they act on them. He didn't realize he'd started tapping his foot anxiously until you spoke,

"You know, Sam did warn me about the staring thing." He stiffened and downed the rest of his drink as you closed your laptop.

"I'm used to people staring but it's usually after they find out what I can do. It's typically a disapproving, disgusted look but." You shook your head. Bucky felt like a deer in headlights. He hadn't meant to make you feel like he was disgusted by you. He just couldn't keep his eyes off you, they were drawn to you like magnets. He was wondering if you could sense it. Sense the feelings he'd been working to bury underneath layers and layers of gruff aloofness.

You stood up and walked over to the record player in the corner. You hadn't taken Zemo for a musical guy but he had an extensive record collection.

"Do you mind if I put on some music? It sort of helps keep me from hearing-" you waved your hands around your head mimicking the thoughts you often heard from unsuspecting strangers. If someone's mind wasn't strong enough, even without you trying you could hear them. Their deepest, darkest secrets and desires. Bucky nodded and you spun back around to place the record you chose onto the needle.

Music started gently drifting and echoing around the apartment. You breathed a deep sigh of relief, looking over at Bucky who was still standing stiff in the kitchen. You chuckled lightly as he averted his gaze to the floor,

"You don't have to ignore me either. I understand the staring, it's okay I'm not offended."

Bucky looked up at you, his eyes looking to you then back to the floor. His heart began to thump again and the song playing seemed to be spilling his secrets for him.

I wanna get close to you, tug at your ribbons and pearls

Just feel my heart go bump, baby

Feel it coming on through

He took in a breath and moved towards the living room. Finally leaving the sanctuary of the kitchen. He realized he hadn't spoken a single word and now he wasn't sure he could. He stood before you, a healthy distance away still, and parted his lips to speak but couldn't find the words just yet.

What he asked you to do next took you by surprise,

"I want you to read my mind." The statement was simple, but you never imagined him ever saying it.

"You want me to what?" You retorted, utterly floored at his request.

"I want you to read my mind. I'm- I can't express things correctly." He stuttered and you felt a twinge of pity.

"Why do you want me to read your mind?" You wondered, this was sort of sudden. You hadn't meant to make him feel guilty for staring. You truly didn't mind it, you kind of liked his attention if you were being honest.

"Just do it." He said, and you didn't argue any further. You closed your eyes and tuned the music into a low tone in your mind, you reached out to Bucky's mind. At first there was nothing, just emptiness and silence. Then, you saw flashes, images. Some you recognized but it wasn't from your perspective, but from his.

You saw Sam and the glares and eye rolls. The jokes and the sarcastic remarks. Then you saw yourself, laughing and smiling. Bucky seemed to hold onto those moments with you. He watched you more than you noticed and you felt that twinge in your heart. That pull on something you'd been ignoring since you agreed to work with them.

The warmth you felt from those memories of his was overwhelming. You knew you were blushing and you would deal with the embarrassment later. You were going to end the connection when you saw new flashes, Steve, Hydra, he still remembered everything. You pulled yourself out before you saw too much.

Tears were welling in your eyes as you opened them. You brought the sleeve of your shirt up to wipe them away quickly. Bucky still stood in that same spot, watching you. His face anticipating your rejection, readying himself for you to walk out the door.

"What did you see?" He asked, his voice a little more broken than he liked. You steeled yourself as you met his gaze.

"I saw myself. Your memories, with Sam and some with Steve." You didn't mention the ones of Hydra. That was something he probably didn't mean to reveal and you'd never speak of it.

"Bucky. I-" you paused, trying to gather your thoughts.

"It's okay." He said, shaking his head. "You don't have to reciprocate or respond or anything. I just wanted you to know and that was the only way I could do it." He looked down at his shoes and you felt that pull again. That tugging on your heart. He moved to turn around and you grabbed his hand, pulling him back to face you.

You reached up and kissed him. It took you both by surprise, but he kissed you back and you relaxed. You felt his arms hovering nervously at his sides and you broke the kiss to guide them to rest on your hips. You looked up into his blue eyes before going in to kiss him again, softer this time.

"You know." You whispered against his lips. "Next time you want to tell me something, just tell me." You joked and he flashed a smile as he leaned down to peck your lips.

"Understood." He mumbled.

When Sam and Zemo came back later that night, they found you both asleep on the couch. Your head on Bucky's chest and Bucky's arm around you, his head leaning back on the couch.

Zemo looked at Sam,

"I told you so."

"Shut up." Sam grumbled and left the room. Zemo smirked to himself, and went to his quarters. Leaving you and Bucky in each others embrace.

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Song referenced in the fic is Sweetest Thing by Gene Loves Jezebel

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #sebastian stan #sebastianstan #buckybarnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky oneshot

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n-agiz · 9 months

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FWB! CHOSO KAMO HCSㅤsmut [ fem! reader ] cws size kink + hair pulling + oral (f) + creampie + choso is basically a service dom ! MDNI

FWB! CHOSO who feels himself get slightly lightheaded when he sees you for the first time. you're in a bar, sitting in a softly light up corner talking with your girl friends and although he usually doesn't go out to these sorts of places, more often than not preferring a fun night in over one spent in a loud room full of drunk people, tonight choso's glad he decided to come. you're beautiful, almost unfairly so, and once more he decides to step out of his comfort zone and approaches you, taking the chance when you walk up to the bartender to order another round of whatever you and your friends were drinking — that information completely skipping his mind as he focuses on you, mustering up the courage to approach you just as you're about to leave and, thankfully, you're nice enough to listen to him even as he stumbles on his words trying to ask for your number. you smile, giving it to him faster than you probably would if you were completely sober, and end up staying to talk with him instead of going back to your friends.

FWB! CHOSO who kisses you the second time you hang out. this time you're in a park, a somewhat lazy date that involved you two and ice creams on a sunny afternoon, and he isn't completely sure why he does it because he usually isn't one to take things so far so fast, but he leans in without thinking twice and kisses you fervently, as if he had been wanting to do it for years. his want for you is unusual, choso concludes, something that burns him in a way that it feels as if his brain will spiral unless he acts on it, so when he asks you if you want to come back to his apartment, he isn't sure you'll accept, doubting he has the same effect on you that you have on him — but much to his surprise, you say yes, acknowledging that your feelings for him, how attracted to him you are, are also something foreign to you, this sort of almost uncontrollable lust something you had never experienced before.

FWB! CHOSO who, from the first time he touches you, is just so gentle. he's a big guy, and he knows it, deeply aware that although his strength and physique are something he prides himself on, they can also be a con instead of a pro if he starts acting careless. he enjoys picking you up before carefully laying you down on his bed, liking how you look under him, how his frame towers over yours and how overwhelmed you always look when he's on top of you. the way your fingers run through his arm, feeling up his muscles even if you won't admit to it, makes his cock ache, pure want filling him at the sight of you almost eating him with your eyes. he isn't left in a much better position tho, never getting tired of how good you look, always ready to ravish you until you're nothing but a moaning mess.

FWB! CHOSO who is quick to discover what you like, what makes you scream his name in pleasure the loudest, and who gets to know your body better than anyone ever has. he is just so eager, so ready to please and yet so dominant, always the one in control of the situation, letting you simply relax, only asking what you want so he can do it for you. his fingers know where to press to make your eyes roll back, his lips always wrapped around the spots that make you the wettest, and his cock always thrusting into the place that makes you cum the hardest. he just loves seeing you like that — nothing but a moaning mess, so deep into your own pleasure you can barely acknowledge anything else beside it.

FWB! CHOSO who loves eating you out, loves how you taste and how your clit feels twitching against his tongue and lips — but loves the most how you play with his hair, how your fingers wrap around the thick strands and pull on it, deep groans always coming from him when you do it, loving the sting on his scalp but also how you push him closer to your pussy, his lids falling close and his cock leaking more than it ever has in that moment, so hard it hurts to not touch it, but he resists the urge, preferring to wait until he can fuck you.

FWB! CHOSO who as soon as he slips into you lets out a satisfied grunt, head tilting down for a second before he starts moving his hips. his thrusts are slow, but each one sends you to the moon and back, his strokes beyond precise, always hitting the sweet spots inside you that he knows make you feel the most pleasure. he likes to savor the moment, to take his time with you, leaning down every once in a while to leave fleeting kisses down your neck, past your collarbones, and finishing on your chest, his lips tender as they touch your skin. he moves his hands down to your waist, wanting to get a better grip on you, fingers digging into the soft flesh when he starts picking up a quicker pace, cock starting to reach deeper into you, every time he bottoms out a sweet moan falling from his lips until he eventually cums, only then his thrusts becoming a bit messier, the way his orgasm hits him and how your pussy wraps so well around him while he fills you up with cum making him come the closest to spiraling that he ever has, all of it so overwhelming and still somehow never enough, his body always craving more of it — more of you, always wondering just how much more of only being friends with benefits he can handle before he breaks, slowly starting to realize that now, months after meeting you, his feelings are most definitely morphing into something more than just lust and desire.

N-AGIZ '23ㅤ REBLOGS ARE GREATLY APPRECIATED !

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hiwelcometothemonstersancturary · 3 months

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House Tour (not the house we wanted, but the house we have)

Fandom: Poppy Playtime.

Synopsis: Angel (referred here as "you") introduces their house to the toys after the events of the game.

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"It's not much", you hurriedly tell the group. "And it's not very big, we'll have to get a bigger house as soon as possible, can't forget to immediately look for what's on sale around here".

You stop on your tracks to face the door to your house, hearing the others stop just behind you. Searching for the right key, you add:

"Also please don't mind the fact everything's a big mess, I'm more organized than that but last time I was there it was a week or so ago and I left in a rush".

"Don't apologize, Angel", Poppy replies back, as gentle as ever. "I'm sure it's not even that bad! And, look, even Kissy agrees with me! Right, Kissy?"

The taller girl mutters a quiet "hm-hm" sound.

"Nothing will ever be as bad as the factory, Angel", Dogday adds. You turn around to see Huggy still holding into the dog's poorly-adapted wheelchair, smiling in return. "Besides! You're here with us now! That alone makes things a lot better".

"You guys give me too much credit", oh, finally, you found the key! "I'm just doing what I have to. Anyone else would do the same".

"Li-ar", Mommy Long Leg's voice echoes. "No one never ever took care of Mommy when she was hurt".

"I was the one who tore your arm off, I kind of had to help".

"Li-aaaar".

You sigh, finally opening the door and stepping inside: "C'mon, everyone, it's pretty small but it should do the work for now".

You counted the toys one by one as they entered: Bunzo, PJ, Poppy and Kissy, Dogday and Huggy, a very bubbly Miss Delight guiding Catnap inside, all the mini huggies, all the mini critters, all the other mini toys, then Mommy Long Legs. More than 80 in total.

Thankfully the money you got from that case was enough to cover a house and finances and medical expenses for at least an year for every single one of you. You still didn't know how the court case against the remains of Playtime would go, but with all the evidence against them, it should be enough money for a lifetime, right? You would never be able to pay for everyone's treatment with your current job...

"Angel, dear?", Miss Delight calls. You smile, give one last look outside, and close the door. "What an interesting house you have!"

"Oh, it's nothing much", you put the keys in a small counter, taking off your jacket and throwing your bag in a corner. "Huggy, can you help put Dogday in the sofa?"

"Angel, I'm very sure I can-"

"You need to wait two weeks before you can do any big moves, don't you even think about moving yourself only using your arms again unless you want another emergency surgery, big dog", you immediately cut him off. Dogday sighed, Huggy happily offered his hands to help the big puppy. The mini critters mischievously laughed. "Same thing for every single one of you. Medical orders".

The house's clock pointed at 8:44 PM. It wasn't late, thankfully.

The toys all gathered around the living room, curiously staring and exploring its corners. Someone - Bunzo, maybe? - had entered the kitchen, probably just wanting to take a good look at this new weird place. You decided to let them be, turning the TV on and trying to pick up a channel:

"So, uhm", you mutter. "This is the TV. Didn't change much since '95 except for maybe image quality. We now use CDs and DVDs instead of just cassette tapes, but I'll show that to you guys later. You can grab anything from the kitchen, I don't mind".

You blinked, hearing the sound of your Windows XP computer turning on. Somehow, PJ Pug-a-Pillar had figured out how to use it. You would be proud if not a bit worried:

"You found the computer", you announce to the group. "Okay. Don't mess up too much with that thing, I need it to work. I'll show you guys how to use the internet later, I think you would like it".

Long Legs decided to sit next to the TV, stretching her neck so she could watch it better. The mini critters seemed to really like her, as they still haven't let go of her arm.

"Angel, do you think the news are all still about us?", the spider doll asks.

"Well..."

You sit on the floor so Dogday can see the TV from the sofa. Bunzo immediately jumps to your lap, making himself comfortable. You pet him as images of the abandoned factory covered with cops and investigators appear, headline written as "PLAYTIME CO. INVESTIGATION STILL UNGOING".

You sigh. Bunzo seems to look up at you, confused.

"Is that a good or a bad thing?", his ears move. You stop petting him.

"It's not good nor bad. If the news aren't screaming how the investigation found out how you guys were made, then we can assume the Prototype is doing a good job".

"He always did".

Everyone, including you, turns to stare at Catnap. He decided to sit next to the sofa, lying his back against the wall. The ceiling was too low for him to be comfortable like that...

"Mommy cannot agree with you", Long Legs groans. "Would you want to know hy?"

The feline simply stares uncomfortably at the pink toy. She rolls her eyes, muttering something about him denying the evidence before turning her attention back at the tv. You're glad these two didn't get into a fight again, but you still don't feel comfortable. Most of the bigger toys are sitting on the floor, with the smaller ones either using Kissy, Miss Delight and Dogday or the sofa as a sitting spot.

The images in the TV then cut to you, eye bags and all, staring at the camera and politely answering a question.

"Look!", Bunzo points. "It's mom!"

"I'm not your... Nevermind", you put some of your hair behind your ear. The you in the TV keeps talking:

"No, I didn't see any guards or cops when I came in there", you shake your head, tired.

"No security at all?"

"I mean, the factory is full of weird machines you need to use a thing called a 'grabpack' to make them work, but there wasn't anyone who stopped me from grabbing one and going inside. I bet even a child could have gotten themself trapped in there from how lonely things were outside..."

"Do you think one of the monsters escaped the factory before?"

"The toys, is that what you mean?"

Your eyes finally showed some light as you bit back at the word choice. You lifted your head, now more determined than before:

"If any of them escaped, they are either dead or locked away somewhere by whoever knew about what Playtime was doing. Or do you really think these kids wanted to stay inside that prison? They were fighting each other over what to eat, for God's sake!"

"Angel...", Poppy muttered. "You didn't tell anyone about the..."

"Cannibalism? Hel- heck no. You guys will be regarded as monsters by a lot of people if i do that. Until things calm down, no one outside the investigators of our case will know".

You decide to get up from your spot, much to Bunzo's dismay. You pet his head before stretching yourself, hearing some bones pop:

"The kitchen is right there. Bathroom is there, and my room is there. I don't think there's any clothes good enough for you guys, but we'll see. You must be hungry, right?"

You step into the kitchen, followed by some of the toys and Long Leg's head stretching head. Miss Delight excitedly walks close to you as you look for what you have.

"Well...", you mutter. "I have some snacks and food, but not enough for all of us. Maybe we should get some pizza today, and tomorrow I'll rush to the grocery store".

"... Pizza?", Bunzo asks in the big toy pile that formed at the kitchen's entrance, his head between the smaller huggies. "What's that?"

"It's an italian dish made from bread dough and topped with plenty of ingredients!", Miss Delight answers in her cheerful tone before turning to face you: "But... You have pizza, Angel?"

"No, but I can just ask someone to deliver to us. I have the money", you grab the kitchen's telephone, searching in the drawers for the number of that one very good pizza place your friend worked at. "Since no one here ever ate a pizza I'll just ask for five of each flavor. Might do the job, seeing how many of us are in there..."

You turn, lying against the kitchen's corner, only to realize that everyone was staring at you. Even Catnap had gotten out of his spot, curiously watching, and you could see Dogday's head as he was trying to take a good look at what was going on.

"You guys can explore the house, y'know. It's our house now, not mine", you tell the group, going back to the living room, telephone in hand so the poor giant puppy could be included. Another door was opened, and the mini critters and huggies were now conquering your bedroom. Good for them.

You sat on the floor again. Bunzo proclaimed your lap, and Poppy decided to also sit next to you.

"I don't have to eat, Angel", the doll told you, watching TV. "Prioritize the others, alright?"

"Neither do I!", Dogday replied. "I ate at the hospital, don't worry about me".

You roll your eyes and pet Poppy's head. "I know you don't have to eat, doll, but you, young sir, have to eat. A freaking lot, actually! Didn't I tell you guys food isn't a limited supply anymore?"

A mini critter screamed and something was knocked over. Long Legs immediately got out of her spot, coming out of your room with a mini craftycorn trying to chew on a blanket.

Dogday, however, was whimpering. He lowered his head and fidgeted with his hands: "Are you sure? You did so much for us, Angel..."

"And I'll do even more. I'll be your legal guardian if everything goes well, remember?"

"But..."

Catnap then "accidentally" bumped his tail against Dogday's face. The pup's eyes widened, and you laughed at how offended he looked. The feline pretended to watch television as Dogday stared at him.

"Catnap!"

"I didn't do anything this time".

Now the pup was looking at you for answers. Poppy was laughing as well, all the while Catnap's tail kept bumping into Dogday.

"Listen to what the Angel has to say", he simply told him. "And eat".

You were smiling. Never in a thousand years did you think your life would become this weird, but you were glad it was like this nonetheless.

Then you realized something, and crossed your arms:

"Catnap, you do realize you'll also have to eat a lot instead of giving your food to the mini critters, right?"

The feline's tail stopped moving.

"What".

#poppy playtime #dogday #catnap #poppy playtime angel #poppy playtime poppy #kissy missy #huggy wuggy #mommy long legs #miss delight #save everyone au #poppy worldwide #garca writing

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2btheanswertothequestion · 1 year

Text

(part 6 of November Paramedic; part 5 is here and the AO3 version is here.)

"... and the biggest problem is that I like him. I really like him! I haven't liked anyone this much since fucking high school, and that's not comparable because I never got close to those guys. Just hopeless pining from afar."

Eddie takes a step back from the dresser. The clothes in the top drawer are in disarray, and after rummaging through them twice he must accept the shirt he seeks isn't among them.

"I admit, at first it was primarily physical," he says, slamming the drawer shut and yanking open the middle drawer to search it again. This time he pulls out the incorrect items and tosses them on the floor. "He's the guardian of my spank bank – of course I wanted to sleep with him. I would've been fine with that happening once and then never seeing him again. There's nothing wrong with that. Right?"

He turns to Gareth, who's lying in an uncomfortable-looking position on Eddie's unmade bed, spinning a pencil between his fingers like it's a drumstick. Though grimacing in disgust at the spank bank-mention, he nods. Eddie nods too, punctuating their mutual agreement.

"Right. But then I just had to go and get to know him, and he just had to be the perfect man, and I had to… ugh. Catch feelings."

The middle drawer is an equally lost cause. He moves on to the bottom drawer for the second time. He knows the shirt is there and he will find it.

"So, the good news is that I'm pretty sure I'm going to snag the guy. The worst news is that I have to tell him all my secrets, or else our relationship will be built on lies. And I- ah-hah!"

Rising from his ocean of fabric, he holds the shirt aloft in triumph before donning it. It's wrinkled from having been balled up in a corner, but that's okay. The creases add to the aesthetic.

Awesome. He's washed, brushed, dressed, and he's still got – he glances at the clock – five minutes before he's supposed to leave. Some of his nerves cool at the certainty of, if nothing else, at least he won't be late.

"Where was I?"

"You have to tell him all your secrets," Gareth says.

"Yeah. I have to tell the truth without it sounding like the creepiest thing ever. Emphasize the flattering angles. Be clever about it." Yeah. Yeah! He can totally do that. Sighing, he drags both hands down his face. "I'll need to strategize. I'm going to put distance between us while I plan my next move."

"Uh huh," Gareth says, dropping the pencil and sitting up. "But, Eddie-"

"No!" Eddie foresaw Gareth disliking the 'distance' part of it all. If he had his way, Steve and Eddie would be married already, just so Gareth could rub his essential matchmaking into Eddie's face during his best man speech. "I don't want to hear your counterarguments. It's what I'll do and I don't care what you think."

"Right, yeah, sure, that's not it," Gareth says. "It's just that curious minds would like to enquire why, if you're distancing yourself, you're 1. going to see him today, and 2. wearing your seduction shirt?"

Eddie's gaze dips to his chest, and the aforementioned shirt. It's just a normal shirt! A black and yellow Anthrax shirt, to be precise. Sure, he cut up the sides and the neck because it was too small, but that's irrelevant. It's not that revealing, just airier. His clavicles are visible but you can barely see any of his torso in it, unless he bends over and the front piece sags. But he's not going to bend over today, because his jeans are too tight for that to be safe. He glares at Gareth.

"This isn't my 'seduction shirt'."

"Yes, it is."

"I don't have a seduction shirt!"

"You do. It's that one. You only wear it when you want to show off to someone."

"You're creepy for noticing that," Eddie says, crossing his arms over his chest.

Gareth leans forward with a shark-like grin. "Oh, so you admit it?"

"No! It's not a seduction shirt!"

"All right, a 'manwhore shirt', then. Listen-"

"Oh, fuck you."

Eddie flounces out of the bedroom and through the living room, gathering keys and wallet on the way. Gareth follows.

"Listen. I'm not against you going out to see him-"

"I'm not seeing him, it's a group outing-"

"-pulling back now is stupid-"

"-that Max invited me to-"

"-and I think you should go all out and get your man. So I'm all for this. It's exactly what I would do."

Eddie pivots; Gareth almost crashes into him.

"Well," Eddie says, wearing a barbed smile. "I suppose that is how I know it's a bad idea."

Then he leaves for the hallway to put on his shoes. He tries simply shoving his feet into them, but the knot is too tight and he must untie them. Gareth leans on one shoulder against the hallway wall.

"Oh, ouch," he says. "You're grouchy today. Is it because I, while sloshed may I add, gave you an excellent opportunity to get your dick wet and you still returned home unfucked? You had Steve and his pouty lips and one size too small clothes on a silver platter. You were like a towel draped around him after a really intense workout, man. He looked willing to wipe the sweat off his junk with you and you still failed. That's sad."

Eddie, shoe dangling from his fingers by the laces and face schooled into new-sketchbook-bought-to-combat-art-block levels of blank, allows himself one raised but carefully unimpressed eyebrow.

"Are you finished?" he asks.

"Hm. Yeah, I think so."

"You're never beating the 'wanting to fuck Steve' allegations after this."

Gareth shrugs. "I mean, if he had a sister…"

"Jesus Christ."

Shoes mostly on, Eddie continues storming out of the apartment. He'd have slammed the door behind him if he didn't need to lock it after Gareth. He compromises by chucking the keys at Gareth and letting him lock the door (and slam it, if he so wishes).

Max is waiting for him on the front steps, skateboard by her feet and one earbud in; she pulls it out when Eddie passes her and pushes off the steps. She's dressy again today: dark jeans and a crimson shirt left unbuttoned and tied over a black camisole. And heeled boots! No more than an inch, but it's a big deal considering Eddie's never seen her in anything other than sneakers before. He's not under the delusion that it's his business to tell her what clothes to wear, but it's nice seeing her like this. Also, her being spruced up means his outfit won't be under as much scrutiny. He appreciates her for that.

Scrutinizing him, Max smirks as she says, "You're showing skin today. Nice."

Never mind, she is detestable.

"It's his seduction shirt," Gareth stage whispers, both hands circling his mouth.

Max scrunches her nose. "What's with him and seduction?"

"I think he just likes how the word sounds."

"It's not a fucking seduction shirt. Shut up, shut up, shut up!" Eddie stomps over to his car. "We're leaving now!"

Max jogs to catch up while Gareth laughingly waves them off and tells them to have fun on their dates.

He's wrong, though. There'll be nothing datelike about this outing, and Eddie's determined to make it so. However, in the end, it seems like he won't have to. Two minutes in and it's as unromantic as it'll ever be.

Why? Well.

"Okay," Robin says, flinging a lined notebook and a pen onto the diner table. "It's settled: Nancy, Jonathan, and El will all be home during July. And Argyle and the boys have their plane tickets?"

Because they're planning a mass reunion. The plat du jour may be delicious, but nothing beats the taste of vindication!

"Yeah," Steve says through a half-chewed bite of pulled pork. It should be gross, but it's not. Neither is his tongue darting out to lap the BBQ sauce from his bottom lip. Eddie takes a big enough gulp of his pop to drown himself; Steve rubs his back through the coughing fit. Having a mere thin layer of fabric between him and Steve's big hand doesn't really help, but Eddie will be the last person to admit that.

(Okay, so maybe Gareth had a minuscule point in this counteracting the 'distancing', but shhhhh… Eddie won't tell if you won't.)

"And Erica has permission to come over?" Robin asks after scribbling check marks next to most of the names.

"Uh huh," Lucas says. His mouth is also full, with fried chicken, but he has the decency to cover his mouth with a napkin as he speaks.

"Great. So, about the accommodations. You have space for the boys?"

Lucas nods. "My housemates will be home for the summer and they're fine with me having people over as long as we stay out of their rooms."

"Where will everyone sleep if the bedrooms are off-limits?" Steve asks, reaching for his glass. His arm, tee-shirt sleeve folded up and leaving the whoooooole bicep free to view, brushes against Eddie's and leaves a trail of fire in its wake. Thank God he wasn't drinking this time.

"There's a couch, Sammy has a futon we can borrow, and I've an air mattress," Lucas says, counting on his fingers. "We'll have a weeks-long sleepover in the living room."

"The boys are accounted for." Robin checks three of the names a second time. She points her pen at Max. "You will have El and Erica at your place?"

"Yeah," Max says, nibbling on an onion ring in an unusually ladylike manner. As if to counteract the daintiness, she's slumped in her seat, one foot on the upholstery and head resting against Lucas' arm. She narrows her icy blues at Eddie. "Remember that you'll have to be quiet. There'll be virgin ears on the other side of the wall."

"You're not a virgin?" Steve says over Eddie's indignant sputtering that he's not that loud, the walls aren't that thin, and exactly what has she been hearing anyway?!

Max ignores Eddie to roll her eyes at Steve. "I'm talking about Erica. Pretty sure she's still a virgin."

Steve's expression clouds over. "She better be."

Robin scoffs. "Seriously? She's sixteen."

"So?"

"So! You were slutting it up at sixteen!"

"Now, hold on." Steve shakes his finger at her. "I was with Nancy then, and we were monogamous."

"Oh, excuse me," Robin says in a phony voice. "You were slutting it up at fifteen."

"That's different!"

"Why? Because she's a girl?"

"Because it was a mistake, and I don't want her repeating it!"

They're both glaring, leaning so far toward each other over the table it looks like they're either about to kiss or duke it out. Eddie doesn't know which option is less appetizing. In their corner, Max and Lucas share a squirmy look that can only be interpreted as 'mom and dad are fighting.

Then Robin withdraws with a curt nod. Steve relaxes next to Eddie. Crisis averted, it seems. Still…

"I wish I'd been slutting it up at sixteen," Eddie says, mock-mournful, because nothing evaporates tension like a well-placed joke. It works, too; both Steve and Robin huff a chuckle.

"Tell me about it," Lucas says. Max straightens up to stare at him; he flounders. "Uh, tell me about it because I've never experienced the feeling and don't know what it's like."

Max shakes her head, but re-settles against him. And she doesn't shrug him off when his arm slips an inch closer to wrapping around her shoulders, so he's forgiven.

"Anyway," Robin says, tapping her lists. "That leaves Nancy, Jonathan, and Argyle. If we" – she waves the pen between her and Steve – "share a bed that leaves one bed and the sofa for the others, but it'll be cramped."

"That's why Eddie is here," Max says.

As if on command, everyone's head snaps to Eddie. He clicks his tongue.

"Exploited for lodging purposes. I should have known."

Robin frowns, contemplative. "Put someone with Eddie?"

"Yeah." Max smiles and, oh. He sees what she's doing now. "Like Steve. Then there are four in your apartment, and you two in Eddie's. You're good enough friends by now to make it work."

How nefarious. Is this a coincidence, or are she and Gareth in cahoots? Do they conspire behind his back? How dare they concoct plots to improve his life against his will!

"Max," Steve sighs, "volunteering Eddie's home like this is rude."

"He doesn't mind."

The worst thing is, it's true. He wouldn't mind. Not only would he give his skimpy shirt off his back for these people. Not only is he getting queasy green at the thought of Steve sharing close quarters with his badass and apparently Pulitzer-worthy ex, his equally badass friend whom he used to co-big brother with, and a guy who's a tall, dark California hunk with hair longer and silkier than Eddie could ever hope to achieve. Not only that, but also? Just sharing a living space with Steve 'November Paramedic' Harrington?

A dream come true.

Eddie's couch is fine to lounge on for a couple of hours, but not to sleep on a whole night. But they could share his bed. And they'd have breakfast together. Exist in each other's space. He'd find out what Steve does in his spare time. What his favorite song is, if he showers in the mornings or the evenings, how he dresses when he wants to be comfy.

It'd be amazing… and it'd completely fuck with his plan to distance himself. Honestly, he can imagine two scenarios: him falling even harder and proposing marriage and permanent cohabitation within a week, or Steve unearthing the calendar by accident, calling Eddie a stalker creep, and leaving forever. He'll have to reveal himself before that.

"Uh," he says. "We can figure it out. It's a while until they'll be here, right?"

Steve smiles softly at him; Eddie's heart gallops around his ribcage, thudding so fiercely he can feel it in his mouth, and, fuck, he's blushing down to his exposed collarbones. He might propose now. Do any of his rings fit Steve? Their hands aren't the same size.

"Yeah," Steve says. "We'll find a solution."

After lunch they drive to a nearby park, to aid their digestion with a promenade (Steve's suggestion, of course). Reminded by Robin, Eddie brings up D&D to Lucas – they discuss possible campaigns while Steve and Robin spectate. Max, her boots exchanged for Nikes, skates circles around them. Every so often she'll ride close enough to call them dorks, but mostly she keeps a wide berth, alternating between zigzags and jumps and waving like a queen when they whoop and holler at her.

And then it happens.

She's ahead of them, having reached a stone staircase. Leaping onto the railing, she slides along it like a pro. But halfway she loses her balance and falls. Slamming against the stone, she then tumbles the last steps.

They freeze, a collective breath rushing out of their lungs.

Steve reacts first, speedwalking toward Max, still on the ground. Robin is babbling that she's probably fine, that she eats shit all the time and takes it like a champ.

Max rises on wobbly legs. She stumbles, sinks back into a heap.

Steve sprints.

In an eyeblink he's reached her, skidding to a stop and dropping to his knees in front of her. By the time everyone's joined them, he's examining every inch of her by prodding and poking, even as she mutters that she's fine. She's not, though. Her clothes are dusty, her hair has come loose from her ponytail, there are scrapes on her jaw and hands, and the left knee of her jeans is torn open, bright red glistening where pale skin should be. Lucas sits behind Max, hands hovering over her shoulders. Wanting to soothe but not quite daring.

At last, after an eon has passed, Steve puffs in relief.

"No need for emergency care. Knee might be sprained," he gestures to the bloody, bruised thing, "but that should be the worst of it."

"Told you," Max mumbles, picking dirt from her palm.

Steve frowns.

"You know, this could've been prevented if you wore knee pads."

"Oh, really?" she says, mockingly exaggerated.

"Yes. And a helmet."

Max pushes out her bottom lip; it leaks more sarcasm than her leg does blood. "I thought my head was fine?"

"This time! But might not have been!" Steve exclaims.

"But it was!" she snaps, matching his volume.

"Guys, please…" Lucas says quietly; they ignore him.

"I just think you should know better by now," Steve says. "I mean, you've done this for how many years? How many times have you seen others get fucked up? How many times have I told you-"

"Oh. My. God. I get it. You think I'm irresponsible. You don't have to talk to me like I'm stupid, or a child. I'm not."

"Oh, yeah? Maybe you should back that up with your actions."

"Fuck you!"

They're both screaming now. Lucas is sitting with his head in his hands. Robin has wrapped her arms around herself and is swaying to and fro in discomfort. The tension in the air is thick enough to taste. Eddie doesn't know what to say or do.

"Come on!" Steve barks. "I need to wrap your knee"

He reaches for her; she finches away and kicks at him with her good leg.

"Don't touch me! I'll walk on my own."

"You'll exacerbate your injury. I'm carrying you to my car."

"Like hell you are!"

"Max…"

"I refuse care!" She bares her teeth at him like a rabid dog. "Leave me alone!"

Steve glowers at her. His chest is heaving and his body is drawn taut, rigid with cold fury. He shoots up and marches off without another word, leaving awkwardness in his wake.

Max gets to her feet slowly, winces slipping past her clenched teeth. Lucas touches her elbow to help, but she violently shrugs him off and limps away.

Sighing, Lucas pats Eddie's back.

"C'mon, man. She'll get more pissed if we try to match her pace."

So they walk ahead, sometimes glancing back at Max and Robin, the only one allowed near her, apparently. Even then she keeps a five-foot gap between her and the human firecracker.

Steve's already by the car, with a thunderous expression and a first aid kit in hand. When Max finally arrives, he yanks open the passenger seat door for her. She sits, he cleans her wounds, and not one word is uttered. Once finished, he slams the kit shut and storms off again, stopping by a fountain some 50 yards away, hands on his hips and back toward them.

Max, face somehow even sourer, curls up in the passager seat with her arms tightly crossed. Gliding down the BMW's polished side, Lucas takes a seat right beneath her.

Robin tugs at Eddie's wrist.

"Come," she whispers. "Let's give them space."

She brings them to a bench where everyone is within their view but out of their hearing. She collapses on the wooden seat like a potato sack.

"I hate when it gets like this," she says. "Don't you?"

"Yeah." He sits beside her. "Does it happen often?"

"Not anymore. But back when the kids were actual kids, sheesh. They were easier with us than with their parents, but still. Hormones and rebellious phases. Not that we were much better. We thought we were so adult." She rolls her eyes.

"Have you known them as long as Steve?"

"No, I joined the gang a year or two late. At first, I only hung out with Steve and the occasional child, when they deigned to stick around. I'm closest with Dustin, the MIT wunderkind, and Erica, Lucas' sister, the one still stuck at home. You'll love both of them – they're so savage."

Eddie nods, worrying his lower lip. At the car, Max’s hand has slipped down for Lucas to hold, but they still seem not to be speaking. Steve is stubbornly staring at the fountain like it'll reveal all of life's secrets if he's patient enough.

"You know after our gig?" Eddie asks. "When you raced ahead and we walked and talked? We talked a lot. Overshared, really."

Robin nods. "As you do."

"Steve told me about something important that happened at your old job? He wouldn't say what, because it's about you and it's private. But I'm curious, so… ?"

She sighs while grinning fondly. "He made it sound bigger than it is. All right. So we worked this shitty summer job at a mall ice cream parlor. The uniforms were hideous. We actually had to film a local commercial for it?"

"Oh my God."

"Yeah. I think it's still circulating – I'll ask around for it. Steve will never forgive me for showing it, but it has to be seen. Anyway, it was a summer job that continued into fall. That November, it all came to an end when the mall caught on fire."

"No!" he gasps, already invested.

"Yes!" she says, waving her hands, growing theatrical. "In the middle of the day! Rush hour! There was a stampede; we were trapped in the parlor for ages. By the time we got out of the shop, the fire had spread. Smoke everywhere! I inhaled so much I passed out. Steve carried me outside and gave me CPR."

He blinks at her, jaw slack. "Holy shit. Jesus Christ."

"Yeah. I'd have died if not for him."

She shrugs as if it's nothing, merely a fun little anecdote from yesteryear. Perhaps, to her, it is. Eddie shakes his head in disbelief.

"Why didn't he tell me this? He talked about his dad being a shithead, but not this?"

"Yeah… I don't know. When it's about him, he'll happily overshare. But when it's someone else it's all 'it's not my story to tell, I need permission'. Unless he hates them – he's sooo gossipy about people he doesn't like," she says, giggling a beat before sobering again. "Anyway, I'm telling you now that it was him saving my life and keeping me alive until the actual professionals showed up with the oxygen mask."

"Wow," Eddie breathes out. He gazes over at Steve's rugged form. "He's amazing."

Robin nudges him with her elbow. "He likes you, you know."

He likes him. He likes Eddie. He likes Eddie. Eddie kind of already figured. But hearing it from Steve's best friend is still…

"Yeah," he says, ducking his head and pulling ringlets of hair in front of his face. "Not sure I'm good enough for him."

"Oh come on. Isn't that for him to decide?"

"He doesn't know yet… what I'm capable of."

"Are you kidding me?" Grabbing him by the shoulder, she forcibly turns him to look at her. "Listen: I'm judgmental and I'm not afraid to admit it. When we first met, I took one look and thought I had you pinned down. 'Check out this guy. Leather and tattoos and black black black. So hardcore and gothic-'"

"I'm not goth-"

"'-he probably thinks he's soooo tortured'. And then you turned out to be a geeky-sweet bundle of sunshine. Well done, proving me wrong. And now you're doing this?" She gently smacks his chest. "Hitting me with all your self-loathing? Get over yourself! It's not like he's perfect either. Look at him!" She points at Steve. "He's sulking!"

A fit of giggles bubbles from Eddie's throat. It's true – he is sulking. No matter how impressive or resolute he's looking, that's what he's doing. It's so ridiculous and adorable.

"Whatever you're capable of," Robin says once the laughter abates, "you deserve to be happy. He deserves it."

She sends Steve a long look of pure love. It tells Eddie everything he'd ever need to know about her, he's sure.

"Also," she continues. "I'm getting seriously sick of the pining. I know, I should be kinder because Steve endured years of me desponding over various girls, but I can't stand this."

Eddie emits a triumphant noise. "I knew it. Only a lesbian dresses like that."

Robin's chin dips to her suspenders and tartan tie. She raises her brows at him.

"You wish you had my drip."

He would have replied if he hadn't caught movement in the corner of his eye.

Max is leaving the car. Eddie observes with bated breath as she slowly hobbles over to Steve. When reaching him, he spins to face her but makes no effort to step closer. She says something. He nods, sternness carved into his features.

For a moment, they're still.

Then she sways toward him; his arms envelop her, pulling her into a full-body hug. She tucks herself under his chin while he caresses her hair.

Eddie breathes out.

"They're fine."

"'Course they are," Robin says. "Don't you fight like this with your family?"

"Yeah." Eddie chuckles. By the fountain, Steve seems to be coaxing Max into letting him give her a piggyback ride. "Guess I do."

Tag list: @rougenancy, @raisedbylibrarians, @yourebuckingkiddingme, @swimmingbirdrunningrock, @emma77645, @goodolefashionedloverboi, @eddielives1986, @stevesbipanic, @the-redthread, @fandemonium-takes-its-toll, @henderdads, @gay-little-bitch, @lenore1232, @zerokrox-blog, @eddiemunsonswife, @cherrycolas-things, @ediewentmissing, @princess-eddie, @atombombbibunny, @ajamlessbaby, @dogswithforks, @grimmfitzz, @cutiecusp, @cuips-not-cute, @manicallydepressedrobot, @messrs-weasley, @madaboutmunson, @mightbeasleep, @suikatto, @brassreign, @snapshotmaestro, @courtjestermunson, @csinnamon-fox, @spectrum-spectre, @spinmewriteround, @just-super-fucking-gay, @escapingthereality, @oneweirdcryptid, @deehellcat, @misticageri, @lovelyscot, @linkydinky06, @rynnytintin, @anything-thats-rock-and-roll, @theysherobinbuckley, @freddykicksasses, @winterbuckwild, @sideblogofthcentury, @subparbrainfunction, @pemsha

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

Part 7

#steve has been on his best behavior because he's made an effort to be #and because he's older and thus wiser and chiller #but it wouldn't be steve if he didn't throw at least one bitchfit #and here it is!#stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #steddie #steddie fanfic #steddie fic: november paramedic #eddie munson #steve harrington #gareth stranger things #max mayfield #robin buckley #lucas sinclair #stobin #lumax #my writing

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imnotokayhru · 10 months

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As Taylor swift once said, “You should think about the consequence of you touching my hand in the darkened room.”

Hawkins High had a procedure for when the lights went out. The procedure went like this: First, every teacher locked the doors, then they instructed every student to find a buddy to stand next to for the next however long the lights would be out for.

The principal usually shut the power off to the whole school after making an announcement that they would be doing the “Blackout drill.”

It was a mandatory routine, Steve had been doing it for a few years because they did it on the second day of a new school year. Every time, he’d either be next to a girl who would get a bit too touchy because for some reason they weren’t allowed to talk with the power off, or one of the basket ball boys. This time was different.

“Alllllrighty students, this is your principal speaking, we are about to preform the Blackout drill. If you are new here and do not know what it is, I shut the power off to the whole school and you have to sit there in the dark next to someone for 30 minutes, then school proceeds as normal when the power is back on.” The principal said from the intercom. A collective groan came from several students, including Steve. “Okay, you heard him. Everyone find a person to be next to. I really don’t care who unless you guys start getting handsy.” The teacher got up to lock the door.

Steve looked around for anyone to be next to, but this time the girls congregated amongst themselves and the basket ball boys had already found each other. So Steve walked to the back of the classroom to hopefully find someone. Everyone else had already found their friends. But then, Steve saw a fluffy haired boy nervously standing against a counter in the corner. Out of sight, out of mind.

Confidently, Steve went to stand next to him and as soon as he saw his face, he recognized him. “Eddie, right?” He asked. “Uh, yeah.” The boy fidgeted with his hands. “Cool. I’m Steve. Although, you’ve probably heard of me already, huh?” Steve crossed his arms as he leaned against the counter with Eddie. “Mhm. King Steve.” He mumbled. “Right.” Steve said quietly.

The awkward silence only grew between them as the power shut off. To be fair, no one said a word. But Steve could’ve sworn he felt Eddie shaking next to him; he wanted to say something, but everyone was instructed to stay quiet.

This was the longest 30 minutes of Steve’s life, it seemed to last forever and nothing of note had happened for a while since he felt Eddie shivering. Then out of nowhere, Eddie grabbed Steve’s hand; pulling it down from the counter. And that’s when he seemed to stop shaking.

Should I finish this?

#stranger things #stranger things season 4 #steddie #eddie stranger things #steve stranger things #stranger things 4 #stranger things season four #stranger things series #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things fic #stranger things au

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love-toxin · 2 years

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pinky promise? - eddie munson & chrissy cunningham

plot: after Chrissy heads into the woods to meet up with Eddie, the two of them are stumbled upon by Hawkins High's most underrated sweetheart--and Eddie's best friend. but only when you step away to get back to your club do the two of them share some feelings about you that they can't bring themselves to say out loud.

cws: fem reader, fluff, pining, ambivalently unrequited love, eddie and angel are childhood friends, bi/pan/wlw chrissy, playful teasing, mentions of chrissy's abuse/trauma, implied throuple dynamics, chrissy and eddie talking about their crushes on you.

word count: 3.5k

Chrissy had no idea that, when she woke up this morning, she would think that she was going crazy. She probably wouldn't have guessed that it would lead to her stealing away into the woods for a secret tryst with the town's demon-worshipper, Eddie Munson, either.

But it's not really like that.

It's just been a hard day, and sitting down after school with someone who isn't going to judge her has been more than she could ask for right now. Eddie is a sweet guy, she's realizing, sweeter than people give him credit for–and the fact that he didn't bat an eye at offering her an escape from the real world for a while, titillating her with some banter to both calm her down and to let her see that he wasn't anything to be afraid of speaks volumes. He's someone she wouldn't mind hanging out with more, she's realizing. Unless she's particularly worried for her reputation, but after her rather explosive breakup with Jason a couple weeks ago, she's not all that worried about it anymore. People say stupid things, cruel things, and there's really nothing she or anyone else can do but ignore it–that's definitely a lesson she wishes she had learned earlier in life, because it probably would have saved her so much heartache. But at least some of that pressure has lifted from her shoulders, and she can freely laugh at Eddie's ridiculous antics without much care as to whether anyone will see the two of them together, and what they'll say if they do.

But someone does come walking up, she catches them out of the corner of her eye after awhile. They seem a little hesitant when they get a bit closer, and for a precious moment she fears it might be Jason, but upon reaching the edge of the clearing, Chrissy finally gets a good enough look to see that it's not just anyone.

It's you. Her throat starts closing up, and she struggles to swallow.

"Eddie?"

You take a step past one of the trees lining the clearing, your gait cautious like you're aware that you may be interrupting something. You've done your hair so nicely, and your skirt parts around each thigh as you inch closer–you have a pair of thigh-high stockings on too, something she's never really noticed on other girls before. But she notices them on you, certainly.

Oh, you're pretty. So pretty. She's usually just caught glimpses of you in the hallways, rushing something to a classroom or backstage–but only now has she finally gotten a good look at you, gotten to see just how pretty you are when you're at ease. Sometimes it's a difficult feat for her to navigate between wanting to be like somebody, and wanting somebody–but it couldn't be more clear that her feelings about you are stronger than any she's had for anyone else. She can't quite catch a breath, can't tear her eyes away–you have that demeanor that just ropes her in and ties her down, that sparkle in your eyes that betrays nothing less than such pure sweetness.

"Oh hey, angelface! Fancy seeing you here." Angelface. What a cutesy name–if she hadn't gotten a glimpse of his softer side already, she might find it quite strange to hear that nickname come out of Eddie's mouth. But it suits you really well either way. Eddie's turned his head over his shoulder to look for you, his smile splitting wide as he catches sight of you.

"You forgot your test," You finally close the distance between you and them while rummaging around in your bag, your eyes catching Chrissy's as you do so–and when she looks at you, you smile back at her, and little pinpricks of a warm feeling start bursting in her chest right over her heart.

"Ah…right. Another D, I presume?" Eddie says it a bit defeatedly, but punctuates the presumption with a pathetic sort of smile. You produce the slightly crumpled paper from your bag and present it to him with a flourish, laying it down on the table in front of him so he can see the big, red mark circled on the front for himself.

"Solid C. You're improving, Munson." When his finger grazes the paper to skim his answers is when you take a step back, and your attention turns to her, taking her in like you're evaluating her in some way. You pull at the strap of your bag. You're not nervous, are you? Not because of her, surely? "You're Chrissy, right?"

"Yeah, I, um…nice to meet you. I've seen you around school."

"Me too. I saw you at the pep rally earlier–I like your eyeshadow, by the way."

"Oh, thank you! Thanks.." The silence without Eddie is a little awkward, no thanks to her absolute inability to be witty in the presence of such an eye-catching girl, but you don't seem to acknowledge it. You're not fidgeting or looking away anymore, you just smile at her like you're happy just to see her. Maybe you are. Or maybe that's all just wishful thinking on her part.

"You're welcome." That smile is so warm, she just wants to drink it all up. You seem so cool, so relaxed, and charming even though your words are few and far between–you're an anomaly in the sweetest way, the kind of anomaly like one would find in a cherry that's brighter, sweeter, and more filled with juice than any they've bit into before. "Anyways, I have to get back to practice. Be a gentleman, Munson."

"Yes miss ma'am, I will miss ma'am." He wiggles those fingers in a wave, rings clacking as you take a few steps back before turning all the way around–but not before you wave to Chrissy too, and she raises a hand up to return it gently, dreamily, like she's still stuck in a trance.

Your footsteps and the cracking and crunching of twigs and leaves beneath your sneakers quietly fades away, interrupted only by the rustling of Eddie's test as he folds it up and sticks it into his pocket. Otherwise the forest is left quiet, almost empty without your presence.

"So….angelface?" She finally queries, and Eddie looks up at her with a hand on his chin, grinning as if he knew she would ask that exact question.

"It's been her nickname since we were kids. She wasn't a fan of my other ones, so I had to get a little creative. Apparently girls don't like being called 'pinchy' and 'hair-puller'." He laughs, flicking away an acorn that's been sitting on the picnic table, probably dropped by one of the overhanging branches.

"Why that one, specifically?"

"Oh, she used to grab my hair and just-"

"No, I meant the other one. The real one." She chuckles right back, knowing fully well by now that Eddie's just teasing. But it's a good kind of teasing, one that makes her feel at ease even though she's had kind of a crazy day.

And she watches Eddie's expression as it changes, shifts into something a little more genuine as he looks down at his hands, turning his rings all the way around his fingers before he works up the words he wants to say.

"Cause she glows. Her smile, her skin–she's just an angel."

Not in her life would she ever think that she'd hear such a sweet confession from Eddie "The Freak" Munson. She's heard the rumours about his drug activity–obviously–about the satanic influences of his metal music and that tabletop game he plays, even ones about his sexual promiscuity and that he belongs to some kind of deranged sex club. Whatever rumour one chooses to believe, they all paint Eddie as some kind of demonic young man with the spirit of evil inside him–but when he's talking about you, she can only see the glow of what feels like a halo around him as his mind wanders with thoughts of the girl she's sure he adores. But his eyes soon zero back in on hers, and he asks a question in that silence that strikes her right at her core.

"Do you like her?"

She can't, she really can't. It would ruin her, ruin everything about her–but she does. She knows she does in the pit of her soul, in the darkest place she can muster, that she's fallen in love with a girl. But how in the world can she tell him that? How can she admit that she's fallen for a girl she barely even knows? Someone she literally hasn't said a single word to until a few minutes ago?

"Wh..What? No, I…well, yeah, she's really nice, but I-"

"I can tell. Sorry to be so blunt, but-" His hair flicks over his shoulder as he turns his head, just making sure you're completely out of view before he continues. Surely he wouldn't take such a measure if he really wanted you to hear, and that means he also has something he wants to hide from you. "She's beautiful. I get it. You wanna know something?"

"Sure." It's a little comforting to hear him move on so quickly. It's easy to sense that he's not interested in embarrassing her.

"She was my very first kiss. She'll deny it, but it's true."

"Really?" She absentmindedly lifts her hands to the table, resting each one over the other as she listens with those bright eyes positively sparkling.

"You bet. Kindergarten. Gave me a smooch right here!" He purses his lips like he's mimicking that very moment, drawing a giggle from her own as he puppeteers a mouth from his hand and presses it to his in a very dramatic kiss.

"Are you guys dating?" She doesn't try to hold her breath, but it catches in her throat regardless.

"Nah, we're not…like that. I'm in love with her, though." It's so casual, she blinks like she's trying to refocus to make sure that he did say what she thought he said.

"Well, why not ask her on a date? She clearly likes you."

"I don't…" He starts, but he's unsure. His eyes fall to his hands, to hers, and then he rests his chin on the heel of his wrist.

"She's my best friend. I can tell her things I wouldn't dream of telling my other friends. I don't want to make it….weird. I don't want her to leave me. Pathetic, I know, but.." He shrugs his shoulders.

"If she's your best friend, I'm sure she would understand, Eddie."

"Of course you would say that."

"Why would I?"

"Because you're perfect." He says it with complete sincerity, in all seriousness, before he stands from his place at the picnic table and lifts each leg over the bench to wander aimlessly around the clearing.

"You, Chrissy Cunningham, are absolutely perfect. You're beautiful, and you're clever, and you're brave, kind, and you have a heart of pure gold. Anyone would be absolutely blessed to be yours." Her brain's first reaction is to scream no, to insist that she is nowhere near that perfect girl Eddie supposedly sees her as. Her mother's voice filters into her mind, spitting that awful venom that's seeped into her daily life since she was a young girl, and it's overwhelming for a moment–but only for a moment, because the sound of his voice overpowers that other one, the evil one.

"I, on the other hand," Eddie places both hands on his chest. "Am a demon-worshipping, drug-toting, tatted-up, metal-loving loser. I have nothing to offer her but my love, and what if that's not enough?" He throws his arms out in a dramatic fashion, like he's asking that question to the world and not just to her.

"It sounds like it is enough to me. You love her–that's all that matters!"

"So do you, don't you?"

"I..I don't…it's different, Eddie."

"But isn't your love enough?" Throwing those words right back at her, but not maliciously. She can see that sadness in his brown eyes–he doesn't mean it like that.

"I..I guess you're right, but-"

"But you don't want to admit it. Because it's hard, isn't it? I think we can both agree on that." It's difficult to fill that silence. It feels impossible, even, to breach that reality that Eddie's laid out for both of them at the table. It's a sobering thought, a sad one…and now she feels like as much of a loser as Eddie claims he is, two wimps who could never confess their feelings to the girl they supposedly love more than anyone else they ever have.

But if she leaves it there, if she gets up and walks away, then she won't ever feel like she gave it a chance. And turning away from Eddie at all feels like it's too difficult to do, even though she hasn't gotten a good taste of him yet. So she says the first thing that comes to mind, the question that she's most curious about fluttering off of her lip glossed mouth.

"What do you love about her?" There's a moment of hesitation, but barely a beat of silence as he turns back towards her in those beat up sneakers, the devil face on his shirt staring her right in the face.

"Everything."

"Be specific!" He laughs. It's a beautiful sound, and it puts her back at ease immediately.

"I love her shoulders."

"Her shoulders?"

"Uh, yeah? Perfect for laying your head on, hello?" He holds his arms out in a 'duh?' motion, quite clearly poking fun as he skips back over to her and rests his hands on the edge of the picnic table, before pushing off of it and jumping back.

"What else?"

"Her smile. She's got this lopsided kind of smile sometimes when she's really happy. So cute." He looks like he's off in his own world as he talks about you. His arms cross behind him and he hops in place, high up on the balls of his feet. "I love that she always listens to me, and not like in the way where you're waiting for someone to stop talking so you can, like, say your own thing. She really listens, she's always interested."

"Tell me more!" She pats the table in an excited gesture, looking up at him so eagerly that it almost makes him stumble over his words. Almost.

"Wow, really gouging me, here! Why don't you tell me how you feel about her, pretty, pretty Chrissy?" He points at her between the eyes, and she swats his finger away with a cackling laugh that she probably would have been snapped at for if she was in the presence of her mother. But she isn't, and that….witch, isn't here. Not such a bold word to think when she isn't anywhere around, and when she's locked eyes with a guy who throws around cusses like it's nothing.

"I love the way she dresses."

"Agreed. Very hot. The little skirts, and those tight stockings around her thi-" He holds his hands up like he's cupping one of said thighs between them, his tongue lolling out of his mouth in a not-entirely-sarcastic way, and it actually makes her a little flushed in the face. It's a little embarrassing to think of what Eddie's dirty thoughts are like, and to be privy to what he thinks about you. She can only imagine the things he fantasizes about when he's not face to face with a cheerleader, another girl, and when he's at home alone in his bed. She's sure that's not something she should think about any further at the moment, at least if she doesn't want to get too shy to even speak.

"Don't be gross! I was saying it's cute!" She laughs. She's not lying, it's absolutely adorable in an innocent way–those dresses and skirts and stockings she's seen you wear, soft colours and warmer tones such a contrast to Eddie's style when you're standing next to each other.

"And the way she talks to you…I can tell she cares a lot about you. Hearing her tease you like that, it…makes me want her to talk to me like that, too. I want to be the one she's looking at." Each word seems to spill out over the other until she's blurting out all her thoughts in a ramble, and while she's fully expecting Eddie to blow her off or comment about how she's talking too much, he does the opposite. He waits for her to say more, eyes glinting with piqued curiosity.

"And?"

"And," A little sass slips out, some confidence injected into her that he seems to enjoy quite a lot if that snicker is anything to go by. "I love how sweet she is. I've heard about all the stuff she helps prepare for the rallies, and for your club, it looks like she's always working so hard. It makes me wish I could help her, and make it a little easier for her."

Eddie sits on that revelation for a few moments, wandering back over to the table until he plops himself back into the seat he had once left. His eyes meet hers again, but he doesn't seem the same. They've still got that sparkle that he always seems to have, but his voice is lower and smoother when he speaks again.

"I think she would like you."

"You think?"

"I think she'd love you, Chrissy. I mean that." That idea is…sobering. Throwing all those thoughts about you into the open willy-nilly is fun, but it's also just a game. Actually telling you any of it would be mortifying, terrifying, and it's a prospect that she can't even wrap her head around quite yet. She's still not even completely settled with the fact that she likes girls, and whether her attraction is exclusively to girls now or not. The brush of Eddie's hand against hers as he stretches his arm out to readjust his sleeve makes her think….maybe not.

"I don't…I don't know."

"If you were a guy, would you think differently?"

"Probably. Because it wouldn't be as scary, I think, to tell her."

"Well, I can tell you that it is absolutely terrifying." His tone draws into a whisper of that word, like even the concept of it is too frightening to speak into existence.

"Yeah, I…I guess it's always scary to tell someone you like that you like them. Because if you get that close, and they don't feel the same, then you might end up losing them altogether." The two of them sit in a rather understanding silence after that. Part of her wonders if Eddie's experienced that kind of rejection before, if that's part of the reason why he seems so abject to the idea of telling you his feelings, even though it's clear that you like him more than you let on. Few would have your kind of devotion, and speak to 'just a friend' with such tenderness and care that most would struggle to find in their wives or husbands or family.

"Chrissy?" She raises her head to meet his eyes, not even aware that it had fallen to look at the worn, wood grain of the picnic table. "You are a gorgeous girl with a beautiful soul. If you want that girl, you should go get her. I'll even tell you what she likes. For free!"

That chuckle is hollow, she knows it for certain now that she knows him a little better. She's more familiar with the difference between his genuine joy and the kind he's mimicking just to keep from ruining the mood. And Eddie's clearly taken aback by how intensely she knows she's staring back at him, mouth falling open just to close soon after like something is dancing on the tip of his tongue.

"Not without you." She speaks with a kind of determination she's only ever wanted to have, never one she thought she could have. "We're in this together. Pinky promise?"

"You know…alright, you're twisting my arm here, but I'll bite. Pinky promise." He says it with a grin, but he meets her pinky and hooks his around it even though he seems like he's being facetious. The strength of his squeeze rejects that sentiment though, as well as the relief that she can see in those beautiful, brown eyes as they meet hers.

And like that, their deal is made. Some might say she's convening with a devil to get what she wants, some might just call her a slut for the town freak when they'll be seen around school together. But she's willing to put all that ugliness aside, to prove that their hurtful words mean nothing to her or to him. Not just because she's desperate and greedy for your attention, because she wants you so bad she'll lower herself to joining forces with Eddie Munson–but because she wants a partnership, a friend, a real one. And if that friendship doesn't stay a friendship, well…she might not be so against the thought of that, either.

#eddie munson #chrissy cunningham #eddie munson x reader #chrissy cunningham x reader #eddie's angelface #eddie munson x chrissy cunningham #hell cheerleader #eddie x reader x chrissy #throuple #st 4 #stranger things #ellie writes #3k

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angelsdevils · 2 years

Text

Haitani Brothers

Title: Soft and Sweet No Warning

You glanced around the neighborhood, that you just moved to, Roppongi. You didn’t know anyone, and you found yourself getting lost quite easily. You felt like a small bunny in a den of lions because everyone you passed just stared at you. You could tell they were bad news but no one really messed with you. Which you were glad because you had trouble talking to strangers.

You kept your eyes down, as you held your books close. All you wanted was to find a park, to sit and relax. But it was proving difficult since you didn’t know the language. You turned the corner and accidentally ran into someone. You dropped your books and fell to the ground. You heard a small grunt, before hearing someone else’s voice.

“Geez Rindou, you can’t just knock pretty girls to the ground. Are you okay?” You met the eyes of both men and blushed.

“S-Sorry, I didn’t mean to run into you. Really.” You took his hand, and he pulled you up and the other grabbed your book.

“It’s fine…” He handed your book back, and you hugged it to your chest.

“Are you okay? You fell pretty hard…” You looked at the other brother, who had scolded.

“I am fine thank you…” Your voice was so small, and Rindou looked off to the side.

“You look lost, you must be new around this area.”

“Yeah, I was just looking for a park. But I can’t seem to find one, and now I am lost.”

“Well, Rindou and I can definitely show you. I am Ran, by the way, that’s Rindou.”

“My name is (Y/N)… I don’t want to be a bother to you guys,” you waved your hands in front of you. Ran leaned close to your face and your eyes widened, as you backed away.

“It wouldn’t be a bother, plus it’s pretty dangerous around here. I am sure you noticed that all eyes are on you when you pass by.”

“I-I…”

“Ran quit scaring her. You need to keep it in your pants, it’s embarrassing. If she wants to go by herself let her.”

“Don’t be so rude, if she is lost chances are she will have trouble getting back home eventually.”

“Since when have you cared about random people getting lost?” Rindou glared at his older brother. Ran pulled away from you and stared at his younger brother before flicking his forehead.

“Owe, what was that for?”

“I don’t unless they are as sweet as this one right here. She is such a cutie, can’t pass up the chance of getting to know her.”

“Gross, keep it in your pants.”

The two started to argue back and forth, like normal siblings. You blinked and looked around since they were causing a scene. You weren’t sure if you should stop them, leave or just stay put. Eventually, they stopped arguing and glanced at you. You blinked confused before Ran spoke up.

“Would you like us to show you around? Or leave you alone? Or did you want only one of us to show you around?”

“It really isn’t necessary, like I said before… I don’t want to be a bother. And it seems it would be…”

“It’s not…” Ran said and you rubbed your arms slightly. Rindou rolled his eyes slightly.

“Well… I guess if you guys want to I won’t object or if only one of you wants to I don’t mind. Either.”

“Okay, well I want to.. so catch you later Rindou…” Ran took your hand. Rindou’s eye twitched slightly before grabbing your other hand.

“She didn’t even choose you.”

“Well you seem to not want to assist the pretty princess, so, it’s only natural I will assume it’s just the two of us.” He pulled you into his arms and you squeaked.

“As if I will leave you alone with her, you may do something weird.”

“Hey, I would never. You are gonna give her the wrong impression of me.”

“I am just saying…”

“So you do wanna go…”

“I didn’t say that…”

“So then me and (Y/N) are leaving. So let go, and bye.”

“Fine, I am coming to,” Rindou huffed. They both held your hands and you felt a blush creep up your cheeks. You were confused, and Ran grinned victoriously.

“That’s what I thought… you are attracted to her too.”

“I am not! I just don’t trust you with her,” Rindou huffed.

“Admit it, she seems so sweet and she is so soft looking… you want to be around her too.”

“Huh?” You looked at him confused but he wrapped his arms around your waist. Rindou did the same keeping you between them.

“Tsk, you know nothing…”

“Yeah, yeah…”

“I am confused,” you admitted, and Ran looked down at you with a smile.

“Rindou is trying to pretend that you aren’t the cutest thing around here. Or the fact he wants to get just as close to you as I do.”

“Why though?”

You asked confused and he chuckled ignoring your question.

“You are just cute… that’s all you need to know.”

“Alright… I appreciate this… do you guys think you can also show me the way back to my home? I remember passing a really bad area, and I am not sure it’s smart to go that way again.”

“Of course princess, we won’t let anything happen to you.”

© [@angelsdevils] all rights reserved. none of my posts or stories should be modified, reposted, etc. I do not own the character or the fanart, but I own the plots of these stories. All fanart goes to their appropriate owners.

#tokyo revenge #tokyo rev #haitani brothers #rindou haitani #ran haitani #rindou tokyo revengers #ran tokyo revengers #ran x shy reader #rindou x reader #shy reader

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pixiealtaira · 2 years

Text

Fic Snippet:July 2

The Lima Bean was much busier than Sebastian has expected. It was Thanksgiving for heaven's sake, supposedly a time for people to be gathered with their loved ones. He took Jasmine's hand and bustled her into the coffee shop and looked around for somewhere she could sit while he stood in the ridiculous line.

Kurt Hummel was ensconced in one of the corner nooks with the couches crossed legged in the middle of the couch with things spread out in front of him on the coffee table, including a laptop. No one else sat on the couch with him. It was perfect. He suspected Hummel hated him. But he was also certain Kurt Hummel was the type of person who would not mind in the name of protection a sweet little girl.

“Hummel?” Sebastian said, pulling Jasmine by the hand with him.

“No peace here either” Kurt muttered under his breathe. “Can I help you Sebastian?”

“This is Jasmine. Can we sit with you? And why the hell is this place so crowded?”

Kurt looked at the younger girl hiding half behind Sebastian and his entire demeanor changed. Sebastian had only ever seen Kurt Hummel stiff and poised as is ready to fly into a fight or run away...on edge. His body loosened enough to look relaxed and he looked welcoming and like he could not even be at all threatening.

“Hey, sweetie. Come sit right here by me while your...”

“Brother, Jasmine is my sister.”

“Brother gets you guys drinks. Sebastian, they make a very lovely hot chocolate here. Right now they have a white pumpkin spice or a white peppermint that are to die for.”

“I thought we were only half siblings, Bastian?” Jasmine said as she walked around the coffee table to sit by Kurt.

“Half, full, step, not even step but ours now due to marriage...we are all in this together with Corinna as Dad's new wife. Kurt can I speak to you for a second. I need your help with trying to decide a surprise cookie.”

Kurt nodded. He stood and followed Sebastian about six steps away...but refused to moving close enough for any secretive talk. Sebastian grabbed his arm and pulled Kurt towards him until Kurt was close enough to whisper to. Kurt slapped his hand away and stomped on his foot.

“Don't manhandle me, Smythe.”

“I don't care if you don't like me, I need you to not say anything about that in front of her.”

Kurt rolled his eyes. “She's what? 10? I'm not a jerk and I'm not an idiot. She does not need to know anything about teenagers tiffs. Certainly she doesn't need to know her brother likes to try to steal other people's boyfriends.”

“God almighty, I didn't know he and you were still dating until like 15 seconds before you showed up. He never answered anyone when they asked at Dalton!”

Kurt just looked at Sebastian with a 'seriously' look and Sebastian tilted his head back to look at the ceiling so he didn't have to deal with the fact that everything he had known about Blaine had indicated he was with Kurt.

“Sebastian, I won't say or do anything that might give your sister a negative view of you.”

“Half.”

“You said it best...family is family. Especially when you have to be protector. Unless they are your age and still homophobic assholes who use making jokes about hunting down gay people and getting rid of them to gain clout with his equally homophobic horrible cousins or cousins who have been trying to kill you just because since you were born. Then, they don't count for the most part.”

Sebastian raised an eyebrow. “See if you can get Jasmine to talk to you about our day.”

Kurt smiled. “By the way, today they have a frosted Turkey sugar cookie that is a spiced sugar cookie and delicious.”

#July Snippet #Glee Fic

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meanwhileinstasiville · 7 months

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I see all the yellow and I get followed around by the cars and...

You guys are stacked up against *every single old world stereotype from everywhere on earth* about that standard Latino build; laziness, pestilence, Animal Farm of the pigs as fascists, corruption, graft, sickness of the heart and of the mind.

Dear Arin, your brother acts and socializes and even attempted to court women, like a latino. And who absent that, seemed keen on tabling doumas like a Russian, a probable heritage from the perogi preparing great grandma of gangnes drive. And not white so much. Whataboutism, though definitely. Walking by "otterlifter" summons a yellow clad person, cooper, or otherwise? Mazatlan? Any of a number of college-meets-siskyou buildings?

Actives "that must not go unanswered" like *walking down the street* *across a bridge* *up a hill*? Really?

Whatever it is, it's not whiteness. American even at times. Slavic quality more and more, I swear.

(Am glad it's not dying, or that I can find shoes *because someone intends to mock me* rather than going barefoot, or that I eat daily because someone wants to ascribe or draw conclusions from it) Really.

...But what does it do? My parameters don't change anyone else's for being harassed all the time.

*seems to be getting a lot of exercise, the stationed person from the library lobby who spends time hogging the community phone there* (Since I started sitting in the corner)

*seems the mumbler girl who holed up; outside what was the paddington throwaway store, what the vicinity of love revolution has for seating, at the top of the library stair in the magazines, is taking to walking all the way to clay street to meet me there*

*Exponentially increasingly bizarre conversation downstairs as of the last three days or so*

*used to see this stuff at the mountain avenue crossing below the highschool where the walking path met the road* (any of the random encounters waiting for me to have them)

*used to see the car thing piled up as curated traffic at the walking path meets garfield location* (stacks of cars from encounters at intersections around town and the outskirts)

*and first spot next to the coop where had sat red hondas and blue fords before that, yet another cooper because some economist mags were left on a low library shelf* In the large print section (I'm going to hazard a guess that you became an economist because Eric read that, ryan. So, economics is about *making people ***do things*** not reading and citing indicators for praises; military strategy is about killing people *it's not about studying maps for notable features* ("we'll inflict so much pain on them (meaning I think, the fed) that they'll have to lay people off" said an old issue of the economist about fixing things. Which is why *you can't ever afford to actually be wrong* as a late friend might observe. Out of every hundred people; who lives dies works gets sick or has unmet needs?

(Following by cars based on make model and even color, is not a solution to any problem that I have. I am not for want of it when it is not there)

Unless of course, it's the nazi thing; which another friend strongly denies. So I lived at *both* an address of a dead friend and later a living one. I squatted a place in highschool formerly occupied by a family or two of illegals who spoke spanish. I am not any of them. I feel like this is more important than ever, to point out

Add to that the yellow clad woman with a leash and then the guy in yellow coat who made several passes *to be seen* next to the library

A motorcycle with sidecar, I don't know guys seems gangs plus fascism

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w-ht-w · 1 year

Text

Some might say this article woobifies Elon Musk. Regardless, it present an interesting reading on the man.

Passage from the article that I’ve been thinking about lately:

I understand now that Musk didn’t have me over to talk about his projects and vision. There’s nothing to be gained from talking about the problems of science with someone who doesn’t understand them. At the end of the day, he just wants to unwind and laugh about the world he’s trying to improve.

Full article:

IT’S MID-AFTERNOON ON a Friday at SpaceX headquarters in Hawthorne, California, and three of Elon Musk’s children are gathered around him – one of his triplets, both of his twins.

Musk is wearing a gray T-shirt and sitting in a swivel chair at his desk, which is not in a private office behind a closed door, but in an accessible corner cubicle festooned with outer-space novelty items, photos of his rockets, and mementos from Tesla and his other companies.

Most tellingly, there’s a framed poster of a shooting star with a caption underneath it that reads, “When you wish upon a falling star, your dreams can come true. Unless it’s really a meteor hurtling to the Earth which will destroy all life. Then you’re pretty much hosed, no matter what you wish for. Unless it’s death by meteorite.” To most people, this would be mere dark humor, but in this setting, it’s also a reminder of Musk’s master plan: to create habitats for humanity on other planets and moons. If we don’t send our civilization into another Dark Ages before Musk or one of his dream’s inheritors pull it off, then Musk will likely be remembered as one of the most seminal figures of this millennium. Kids on all the terraformed planets of the universe will look forward to Musk Day, when they get the day off to commemorate the birth of the Earthling who single-handedly ushered in the era of space colonization.

And that’s just one of Musk’s ambitions. Others include converting automobiles, households and as much industry as possible from fossil fuels to sustainable energy; implementing a new form of high-speed city-to-city transportation via vacuum tube; relieving traffic congestion with a honeycomb of underground tunnels fitted with electric skates for cars and commuters; creating a mind-computer interface to enhance human health and brainpower; and saving humanity from the future threat of an artificial intelligence that may one day run amok and decide, quite rationally, to eliminate the irrational human species.

So far, Musk, 46, has accomplished none of these goals.

But what he has done is something that very few living people can claim: Painstakingly bulldozed, with no experience whatsoever, into two fields with ridiculously high barriers to entry – car manufacturing (Tesla) and rocketry (SpaceX) – and created the best products in those industries, as measured by just about any meaningful metric you can think of. In the process, he’s managed to sell the world on his capability to achieve objectives so lofty that from the mouth of anyone else, they’d be called fantasies.

At least, most of the world. “I’m looking at the short losses,” Musk says, transfixed by CNBC on his iPhone. He speaks to his kids without looking up. “Guys, check this out: Tesla has the highest short position in the entire stock market. A $9 billion short position.”

His children lean over the phone, looking at a table full of numbers that I don’t understand. So his 13-year-old, Griffin, explains it to me: “They’re betting that the stock goes down, and they’re getting money off that. But it went up high, so they lost an insane amount of money.”

“They’re jerks who want us to die,” Musk elaborates. “They’re constantly trying to make up false rumors and amplify any negative rumors. It’s a really big incentive to lie and attack my integrity. It’s really awful. It’s…”

He trails off, as he often does when preoccupied by a thought. I try to help: “Unethical?”

“It’s…” He shakes his head and struggles for the right word, then says softly, “Hurtful.”

It is easy to confuse who someone is with what they do, and thus turn them into a caricature who fits neatly into a storybook view of the world. Our culture always needs villains and heroes, fools and geniuses, scapegoats and role models. However, despite opinions to the contrary, Elon Musk is not a robot sent from the future to save humanity. Nor is he a Silicon Valley savant whose emotional affect has been replaced with supercomputer-like intelligence. Over the course of nine months of reporting, watching Musk do everything from strategize Mars landings with his rocket-engineering team to plan the next breakthroughs with his artificial-intelligence experts, I learned he is someone far, far different from what his myth and reputation suggest.

The New York Times has called him “arguably the most successful and important entrepreneur in the world.” It’s an easy case to make: He’s probably the only person who has started four billion-dollar companies – PayPal, Tesla, SpaceX and Solar City. But at his core, Musk is not a businessman or entrepreneur. He’s an engineer, inventor and, as he puts it, “technologist.” And as a naturally gifted engineer, he’s able to find the design inefficiencies, flaws and complete oversights in the tools that power our civilization.

“He’s able to see things more clearly in a way that no one else I know of can understand,” says his brother, Kimbal. He discusses his brother’s love of chess in their earlier years, and adds, “There’s a thing in chess where you can see 12 moves ahead if you’re a grandmaster. And in any particular situation, Elon can see things 12 moves ahead.”

His children soon leave for the home of their mother, Musk’s ex-wife Justine. “I wish we could be private with Tesla,” Musk murmurs as they exit. “It actually makes us less efficient to be a public company.”

What follows is … silence. Musk sits at his desk, looking at his phone, but not typing or reading anything. He then lowers himself to the floor, and stretches his back on a foam roller. When he finishes, I attempt to start the interview by asking about the Tesla Model 3 launch a week earlier, and what it felt like to stand onstage and tell the world he’d just pulled off a plan 14 years in the making: to bootstrap, with luxury electric cars, a mass-market electric car.

The accomplishment, for Musk, is not just in making a $35,000 electric car; it’s in making a $35,000 electric car that’s so good, and so in-demand, that it forces other car manufacturers to phase out gas cars to compete. And sure enough, within two months of the launch, both GM and Jaguar Land Rover announced they were planning to eliminate gas cars and go all-electric.

Musk thinks for a while, begins to answer, then pauses. “Uh, actually, let me go to the restroom. Then I’ll ask you to repeat that question.” A longer pause. “I also have to unload other things from my mind.”

Five minutes later, Musk still hasn’t returned. Sam Teller, his chief of staff, says, “I’ll be right back.”

Several minutes after that, they both reappear and huddle nearby, whispering to each other. Then Musk returns to his desk.

“We can reschedule for another day if this is a bad time,” I offer.

Musk clasps his hands on the surface of the desk, composes himself, and declines.

“It might take me a little while to get into the rhythm of things.”

Then he heaves a sigh and ends his effort at composure. “I just broke up with my girlfriend,” he says hesitantly. “I was really in love, and it hurt bad.”

He pauses and corrects himself: “Well, she broke up with me more than I broke up with her, I think.”

Thus, the answer to the question posed earlier: It felt unexpectedly, disappointingly, uncontrollably horrible to launch the Model 3. “I’ve been in severe emotional pain for the last few weeks,” Musk elaborates. “Severe. It took every ounce of will to be able to do the Model 3 event and not look like the most depressed guy around. For most of that day, I was morbid. And then I had to psych myself up: drink a couple of Red Bulls, hang out with positive people and then, like, tell myself: ‘I have all these people depending on me. All right, do it!'”

Minutes before the event, after meditating for pretty much the first time in his life to get centered, Musk chose a very telling song to drive onstage to: “R U Mine?” by the Arctic Monkeys.

Musk discusses the breakup for a few more minutes, then asks, earnestly, deadpan, “Is there anybody you think I should date? It’s so hard for me to even meet people.” He swallows and clarifies, stammering softly, “I’m looking for a long-term relationship. I’m not looking for a one-night stand. I’m looking for a serious companion or soulmate, that kind of thing.”

I eventually tell him that it may not be a good idea to jump right into another relationship. He may want to take some time to himself and figure out why his previous relationships haven’t worked in the long run: his marriage to writer Justine Musk, his marriage to actress Talulah Riley, and this new breakup with actress Amber Heard.

Musk shakes his head and grimaces: “If I’m not in love, if I’m not with a long-term companion, I cannot be happy.”

I explain that needing someone so badly that you feel like nothing without them is textbook codependence.

Musk disagrees. Strongly. “It’s not true,” he replies petulantly. “I will never be happy without having someone. Going to sleep alone kills me.” He hesitates, shakes his head, falters, continues. “It’s not like I don’t know what that feels like: Being in a big empty house, and the footsteps echoing through the hallway, no one there – and no one on the pillow next to you. Fuck. How do you make yourself happy in a situation like that?”

There’s truth to what Musk is saying. It is lonely at the top. But not for everyone. It’s lonely at the top for those who were lonely at the bottom.

“When I was a child, there’s one thing I said,” Musk continues. His demeanor is stiff, yet in the sheen of his eyes and the trembling of his lips, a high tide of emotion is visible, pushing against the retaining walls. “‘I never want to be alone.’ That’s what I would say.” His voice drops to a whisper. “I don’t want to be alone.”

A ring of red forms around his eyes as he stares forward and sits frozen in silence. Musk is a titan, a visionary, a human-size lever pushing forward massive historical inevitabilities – the kind of person who comes around only a few times in a century – but in this moment, he seems like a child who is afraid of abandonment. And that may be the origin story of Musk’s superambitions, but more on that later. In the meantime, Musk has something he’d like to show me.

“If you say anything about what you’re about to see, it would cost us billions,” he says, rising from his desk. “And you would be put in jail.”

The most interesting tourist attraction in Los Angeles County is one that’s not in many guidebooks: It’s in the otherwise-untouristed southwestern city of Hawthorne, around SpaceX. If you walk along Crenshaw Boulevard from Jack Northrop Boulevard to 120th Street, what you will see is a city of the future that’s under construction. This is Musk city, an alternate reality, a triumph of futuristic imagination more thrilling than anything at a Disney park. On the west side of the street, a 156-foot-tall rocket towers above SpaceX headquarters, symbolizing Musk’s dream of relatively low-cost interplanetary travel. This particular rocket booster was the first in human history to be launched into space, then recovered intact on Earth after separating, and then fired back into space. On the east side of the street, an employee parking lot has been dug up and turned into the first-ever tunnel for the Boring Company, Musk’s underground-honeycomb solution to traffic jams and the future home of all his terrestrial transportation projects. Then, running for a mile beside Jack Northrop Boulevard, there’s a white vacuum tube along the shoulder of the road. This is the test track for the Hyperloop, Musk’s high-speed form of city-to-city travel. Taken together, the dreams of Musk city promise to connect the planet and the solar system in ways that will fundamentally change humanity’s relationship to two of the most important facets of its reality: distance and time.

But there is a particular building in Musk city that few have visited, and this is where Musk takes me. It is the Tesla Design Studio, where he’s slated to do a walkthrough of the Tesla Truck and other future vehicle prototypes with his team of designers and engineers.

Outside the door, a guard takes my phone and audio recorder, and I’m given an old-fashioned pen and paper to take notes on. Musk then continues into the building and reveals the Tesla Truck, which aims to help the trucking industry go green. (Musk has even been toying with creating a supersonic electric jet, with vertical takeoff and landing, in the future.) Four key members of the Tesla team are there – Doug Field, JB Straubel, Franz von Holzhausen, Jerome Guillen – and watch with anticipation as Musk explores a new configuration of the cab for the first time.

Guillen explains the idea behind the truck: “We just thought, ‘What do people want? They want reliability. They want the lowest cost. And they want driver comfort.’ So we reimagined the truck.”

This is a perfect example of the idea that Musk-inspired wannabe visionaries around the world worship like a religion: first principles thinking. In other words, if you want to create or innovate, start from a clean slate. Don’t accept any ideas, practices or standards just because everyone else is doing them. For instance, if you want to make a truck, then it must be able to reliably move cargo from one location to another, and you must follow existing laws of physics. Everything else is negotiable, including government regulations. As long as you remember that the goal isn’t to reinvent the truck, but to create the best one, whether or not it’s similar to past trucks.

As a result of this type of thinking, Musk is able to see an industry much more objectively than others who’ve been in the field their whole lives.

“I was literally told this is impossible and I’m a huge liar,” Musk says of the early days of Tesla. “But I have a car and you can drive it. This is not like a frigging unicorn. It’s real. Go for a drive. It’s amazing. How can you be in denial?”

An unfortunate fact of human nature is that when people make up their mind about something, they tend not to change it – even when confronted with facts to the contrary. “It’s very unscientific,” Musk says. “There’s this thing called physics, which is this scientific method that’s really quite effective for figuring out the truth.”

The scientific method is a phrase Musk uses often when asked how he came up with an idea, solved a problem or chose to start a business. Here’s how he defines it for his purposes, in mostly his own words:

1. Ask a question.

2. Gather as much evidence as possible about it. 

3. Develop axioms based on the evidence, and try to assign a probability of truth to each one.

4. Draw a conclusion based on cogency in order to determine: Are these axioms correct, are they relevant, do they necessarily lead to this conclusion, and with what probability? 5. Attempt to disprove the conclusion. Seek refutation from others to further help break your conclusion. 6. If nobody can invalidate your conclusion, then you’re probably right, but you’re not certainly right.

“That’s the scientific method,” Musk concludes. “It’s really helpful for figuring out the tricky things.”

But most people don’t use it, he says. They engage in wishful thinking. They ignore counterarguments. They form conclusions based on what others are doing and aren’t doing. The reasoning that results is “It’s true because I said it’s true,” but not because it’s objectively true.

“The fundamental intention of Tesla, at least my motivation,” Musk explains in his halting, stuttering voice, “was to accelerate the advent of sustainable energy. That’s why I open-sourced the patents. It’s the only way to transition to sustainable energy better.

“Climate change is the biggest threat that humanity faces this century, except for AI,” he continues. “I keep telling people this. I hate to be Cassandra here, but it’s all fun and games until somebody loses a fucking eye. This view [of climate change] is shared by almost everyone who’s not crazy in the scientific community.”

For the next 20 minutes, Musk examines the Tesla Truck. He comments first on the technical details, even ones as granular as the drawbacks and advantages of different types of welding. He then moves on to the design, specifically a driver-comfort feature that cannot be specified here, due to said threatened jail time.

“Probably no one will buy it because of this,” he tells his team. “But if you’re going to make a product, make it beautiful. Even if it doesn’t affect sales, I want it to be beautiful.”

According to Musk’s best guess, our personalities might be 80 percent nature and 20 percent nurture. Whatever that ratio actually is, if you want to understand the future that Musk is building, it’s essential to understand the past that built him, including his fears of human extinction and being alone.

For the first eight or so years of his life, Musk lived with his mother, Maye, a dietitian and model, and his father, Errol, an engineer, in Pretoria, South Africa. He rarely saw either of them.

“I didn’t really have a primary nanny or anything,” Musk recalls. “I just had a housekeeper who was there to make sure I didn’t break anything. She wasn’t, like, watching me. I was off making explosives and reading books and building rockets and doing things that could have gotten me killed. I’m shocked that I have all my fingers.” He raises his hands and examines them, then lowers his digits. “I was raised by books. Books, and then my parents.”

Some of those books help explain the world Musk is building, particularly Isaac Asimov’s Foundation series. The books are centered around the work of a visionary named Hari Seldon, who has invented a scientific method of predicting the future based on crowd behavior. He sees a 30,000-year Dark Ages waiting ahead for humankind, and creates a plan that involves sending scientific colonies to distant planets to help civilization mitigate this unavoidable cataclysm.

“Asimov certainly was influential because he was seriously paralleling Gibbon’s Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, but he applied that to a sort of modern galactic empire,” Musk explains. “The lesson I drew from that is you should try to take the set of actions that are likely to prolong civilization, minimize the probability of a dark age and reduce the length of a dark age if there is one.”

Musk was around 10 at this time, and plunged in his own personal dark age. He’d recently made a move that would change his life. It was a wrong decision that came from the right place.

When his parents split up two years before, he and his younger siblings – Kimbal and Tosca – stayed with their mom. But, Musk recounts, “I felt sorry for my father, because my mother had all three kids. He seemed very sad and lonely by himself. So I thought, ‘I can be company.'” He pauses while a movie’s worth of images seem to flicker through his mind.

“Yeah, I was sad for my father. But I didn’t really understand at the time what kind of person he was.”

He lets out a long, sad sigh, then says flatly about moving in with Dad, “It was not a good idea.”

According to Elon, Errol has an extremely high IQ – “brilliant at engineering, brilliant” – and was supposedly the youngest person to get a professional engineer’s qualification in South Africa. When Elon came to live with him in Lone Hill, a suburb of Johannesburg, Errol was, by his own account, making money in the often dangerous worlds of construction and emerald mining – at times so much that he claims he couldn’t close his safe.

“I’m naturally good at engineering that’s because I inherited it from my father,” Musk says. “What’s very difficult for others is easy for me. For a while, I thought things were so obvious that everyone must know this.”

Like what kinds of things?

“Well, like how the wiring in a house works. And a circuit breaker, and alternating current and direct current, what amps and volts were, how to mix a fuel and oxidizers to create an explosive. I thought everyone knew this.”

But there was another side to Musk’s father that was just as important to making Elon who he is. “He was such a terrible human being,” Musk shares. “You have no idea.” His voice trembles, and he discusses a few of those things, but doesn’t go into specifics. “My dad will have a carefully thought-out plan of evil,” he says. “He will plan evil.”

Besides emotional abuse, did that include physical abuse?

“My dad was not physically violent with me. He was only physically violent when I was very young.” (Errol countered via email that he only “smacked” Elon once, “on the bottom.”)

Elon’s eyes turn red as he continues discussing his dad. “You have no idea about how bad. Almost every crime you can possibly think of, he has done. Almost every evil thing you could possibly think of, he has done. Um…”

There is clearly something Musk wants to share, but he can’t bring himself to utter the words, at least not on the record. “It’s so terrible, you can’t believe it.”

The tears run silently down his face. “I can’t remember the last time I cried.” He turns to Teller to confirm this. “You’ve never seen me cry.”

“No,” Teller says. “I’ve never seen you cry.”

The flow of tears stops as quickly as it began. And once more, Musk has the cold, impassive, but gentle stone face that is more familiar to the outside world.

Yet it’s now clear that this is not the face of someone without emotions, but the face of someone with a lot of emotions who had been forced to suppress them in order to survive a painful childhood.

When asked about committing crimes, Musk’s father said that he has never intentionally threatened or hurt anyone, or been charged with anything, except … in this one case, he says he shot and killed three out of five or six armed people who broke into his home, and was later cleared of all charges on self-defense.

In his e-mail, Errol wrote: “I’ve been accused of being a Gay, a Misogynist, a Paedophile, a Traitor, a Rat, a Shit (quite often), a Bastard (by many women whose attentions I did not return) and much more. My own (wonderful) mother told me I am ‘ruthless’ and should learn to be more ‘humane.'” But, he concluded, “I love my children and would readily do whatever for them.”

As an adult, Musk, with the same optimism with which he moved in with his father as a child, moved his dad, his father’s then-wife and their children to Malibu. He bought them a house, cars and a boat. But his father, Elon says, hadn’t changed, and Elon severed the relationship.

“In my experience, there is nothing you can do,” he says about finally learning the lesson that his dad will never change. “Nothing, nothing. I wish. I’ve tried everything. I tried threats, rewards, intellectual arguments, emotional arguments, everything to try to change my father for the better, and he… no way, it just got worse.”

Somewhere in this trauma bond is the key to Musk’s worldview – creation against destruction, of being useful versus harmful, of defending the world against evil.

Things at school weren’t much better than life at home. There, Musk was brutally bullied – until he was 15 years old.

“For the longest time, I was the youngest and the smallest kid in the class because my birthday just happens to fall on almost the last day that they will accept you into school, June 28th. And I was a late bloomer. So I was the youngest and the smallest kid in class for years and years. …The gangs at school would hunt me down – literally hunt me down!”

Musk put down the books and started learning to fight back – karate, judo, wrestling. That physical education, combined with a growth spurt that brought him to six feet by age 16, gave him some confidence and, as he puts it, “I started dishing it out as hard as they’d give it to me.”

When he got into a fight with the biggest bully at school and knocked him out with one punch, Musk noticed that the bully never picked on him again. “It taught me a lesson: If you’re fighting a bully, you cannot appease a bully.” Musk speaks the next words forcefully. “You punch the bully in the nose. Bullies are looking for targets that won’t fight back. If you make yourself a hard target and punch the bully in the nose, he’s going to beat the shit out of you, but he’s actually not going to hit you again.”

When he was 17, Musk left college and moved to his mother’s home country, Canada, later obtaining passports for his mother, brother and sister to join him there. His father did not wish him well, Musk recalls. “He said rather contentiously that I’d be back in three months, that I’m never going to make it, that I’m never going to make anything of myself. He called me an idiot all the time. That’s the tip of the iceberg, by the way.”

After Musk became successful, his father even took credit for helping him – to such a degree that it’s listed as fact in Elon’s Wikipedia entry. “One thing he claims is he gave us a whole bunch of money to start, my brother and I, to start up our first company [Zip2, which provided online city guides to newspapers]. This is not true,” Musk says. “He was irrelevant. He paid nothing for college. My brother and I paid for college through scholarships, loans and working two jobs simultaneously. The funding we raised for our first company came from a small group of random angel investors in Silicon Valley.”

Musk’s career history decorates his desk. There’s an item from nearly all of his companies, even a mug for X.com, the early online bank he started, which became PayPal. The sale of Zip2 resulted in a $22 million check made out directly to Musk, which he used in part to start X.com. With the roughly $180 million post-tax amount he made from the sale of PayPal, he started SpaceX with $100 million, put $70 million into Tesla, invested $10 million into Solar City, and saved little for himself.

One of the misunderstandings that rankles Musk most is being pigeonholed and narrowcast, whether as the real-life Tony Stark or the second coming of Steve Jobs. When, at a photo shoot, he was asked to wear a black turtleneck, the trademark garb of Jobs, he bristled. “If I was dying and I had a turtleneck on,” he tells me, “with my last dying breath, I would take the turtleneck off and try to throw it as far away from my body as possible.”

So what is Musk about?

“I try to do useful things,” he explains. “That’s a nice aspiration. And useful means it is of value to the rest of society. Are they useful things that work and make people’s lives better, make the future seem better, and actually are better, too? I think we should try to make the future better.”

When asked to define “better,” Musk elaborates, “It would be better if we mitigated the effects of global warming and had cleaner air in our cities and weren’t drilling for vast amounts of coal, oil and gas in parts of the world that are problematic and will run out anyway.

“And if we were a multiplanetary species, that would reduce the possibility of some single event, man-made or natural, taking out civilization as we know it, as it did the dinosaurs. There have been five mass-extinction events in the fossil record. People have no comprehension of these things. Unless you’re a cockroach or a mushroom – or a sponge – you’re fucked.” He laughs sharply. “It’s insurance of life as we know it, and it makes the future far more inspiring if we are out there among the stars and you could move to another planet if you wanted to.”

This, then, is the ideology of Musk. And though basic, it’s actually very rare. Think of the other names that one associates with innovation this century: They’re people who built operating systems, devices, websites or social-media platforms. Even when it didn’t start out that way, the ideology in most cases soon became: How can I make my company the center of my users’ world? Consequently, social-media sites like Facebook and Twitter use a number of tricks to activate the addictive reward centers of a user’s brain.

If Musk’s employees suggested doing something like this, he’d probably look at them like they were crazy. This type of thinking doesn’t compute. “It’s really inconsistent to not be the way you want the world to be,” he says flatly, “and then through some means of trickery, operate according to one moral code while the rest of the world operates according to a different one. This is obviously not something that works. If everyone’s trying to trick everyone all the time, it’s a lot of noise and confusion. It’s better just to be straightforward and try to do useful things.”

He discusses building a permanent moon base, and further funding SpaceX by creating passenger rockets capable of traveling to any city in the world in less than an hour, a form of transport he calls “Earth-to-Earth.” I ask if there’s anything that he believes works that surprises people.

“I think being precise about the truth works. Truthful and precise. I try to tell people, ‘You don’t have to read between the lines with me. I’m saying the lines!'”

On another occasion, I watch Musk at a weekly SpaceX engineering-team meeting, where eight experts sit around a table in high-backed red chairs, showing Musk a PowerPoint with the latest updates to the Mars spaceship design. And while Musk keeps pace on technical details with some of the most brilliant minds in aerospace, he also adds an element that goes beyond logistics and engineering.

“Make sure it doesn’t look ugly or something,” he advises at one point. Then, later, “The aesthetics of this one are not so great. It looks like a scared lizard.” And, in a characteristically wry moment, “When you land on Mars, you want the list of what you have to worry about to be small enough that you’re not dead.”

Overall, there’s a theme to Musk’s feedback: First, things have to be useful, logical and scientifically possible.

Then he looks to improve efficiency on every level: What are people accepting as an industry standard when there’s room for significant improvement?

From there, Musk pushes for the end product to be aesthetically beautiful, simple, cool, sleek (“He hates seams,” says one staffer) and, as Musk puts it at one point in the meeting, “awesome.”

Throughout this process, there’s an additional element that very few companies indulge in: personalization. This usually involves Musk adding Easter eggs and personal references to the products, such as making the Tesla sound-system volume go to 11 (in homage to Spinal Tap) or sending a “secret payload” into space in his first Dragon launch that turned out to be a wheel of cheese (in homage to Monty Python).

Beyond all this, most maddening or exciting for Musk’s employees, depending on which one you ask, is the time scale on which he often expects work to be done. For example, one Friday when I was visiting, a few SpaceX staff members were frantically rushing back and forth from the office to the parking lot across the street. It turns out that during a meeting, he asked them how long it would take to remove staff cars from the lot and start digging the first hole for the Boring Company tunnel. The answer: two weeks.

Musk asked why, and when he gathered the necessary information, he concluded, “Let’s get started today and see what’s the biggest hole we can dig between now and Sunday afternoon, running 24 hours a day.” Within three hours, the cars were gone and there was a hole in the ground.

On the other hand, one thing Musk is notorious for is setting ambitious deadlines that he often can’t meet. The Roadster, the Model S and the Model X were all delayed from his original timeline, and now the Model 3 – with its nearly half-a-million-person-long waiting list – is experiencing its own production delays. There are many reasons for this, but Musk summarizes: “Better to do something good and be late than bad and be early.” So expect Musk to get it done, just not on time. Because if he can’t do it, he won’t pretend otherwise.

“I expect to lose,” Musk says. He’s in a three-story building in San Francisco that has only recently been furnished. It used to belong to Stripe, the credit-card payment processor, but now belongs to Musk, who’s housing two of his companies there: Neuralink and OpenAI.

These are visions of what Tesla or SpaceX may have looked like when they first began. A small group of excited people working with limited resources to hit a distant, ambitious target. But unlike Tesla and SpaceX, there aren’t anything close to road maps toward these goals, nor are they so clear-cut.

OpenAI is a nonprofit dedicated to minimizing the dangers of artificial intelligence, while Neuralink is working on ways to implant technology into our brains to create mind-computer interfaces.

If it sounds like those are contradictory ideas, think again. Neuralink allows our brains to keep up in the intelligence race. The machines can’t outsmart us if we have everything the machines have plus everything we have. At least, that is if you assume that what we have is actually an advantage.

It’s an unusual day at the office: Musk is showing a documentary about artificial intelligence to the Neuralink staff. He stands in front of them as they sit splayed on couches and chairs, and lays out the grim odds of his mission to make AI safe: “Maybe there’s a five to 10 percent chance of success,” he says.

The challenge he’s up against with OpenAI is twofold. First, the problem with building something that’s smarter than you is … that it’s smarter than you. Add to that the fact that AI has no remorse, no morality, no emotions – and humanity may be in deep shit. This is the good son’s second chance against the remorseless father he couldn’t change.

The other challenge is that OpenAI is a nonprofit, and it’s competing with the immense resources of Google’s DeepMind. Musk tells the group he in fact invested in DeepMind with the intention of keeping a watchful eye on Google’s AI development.

“Between Facebook, Google and Amazon – and arguably Apple, but they seem to care about privacy – they have more information about you than you can remember,” he elaborates to me. “There’s a lot of risk in concentration of power. So if AGI [artificial general intelligence] represents an extreme level of power, should that be controlled by a few people at Google with no oversight?”

“Sleep well,” Musk jokes when the movie ends. He then leads a discussion about it, writing down some ideas and bluntly dismissing others. As he’s speaking, he reaches into a bowl, grabs a piece of popcorn, drops it in his mouth and starts coughing.

“We’re talking about threats to humanity,” he mutters, “and I’m going to choke to death on popcorn.”

It is 9 p.m. on a Thursday night, and I’m waiting in the foyer of Musk’s Bel Air home for our final interview. He walks down the stairs a few minutes later, wearing a T-shirt depicting Mickey Mouse in space. A tall blond woman follows him down the stairs.

He is, true to his words, not alone.

The woman, it turns out, is Talulah Riley, his second wife. They met in 2008, and Musk proposed after 10 days together. They married in 2010, then divorced two years later, then remarried the following year, then filed for divorce again, then withdrew the filing, then re-filed for divorce and finally followed through with it.

Musk suggests doing something rare for him: drinking. “My alcohol tolerance is not very high,” he says. “But I tend to be a fuzzy bear when I drink. I go happy fuzzy.”

He pours two glasses of whiskey for us, and the three of us adjourn to his living room, where there’s a mechanical Edison phonograph, an Enigma machine and a short-wave radio from World War I on display.

During the interview, Riley lounges on the couch nearby, half paying attention to the conversation, half paying attention to her phone.

Musk is in a different mood than he was at SpaceX, and that’s something that those who’ve come to know Musk observe. One moment, he may be reciting favorite lines from an animated TV show he just saw, the next he may be curtly giving detailed instructions, the next he may be ignoring you while lost in a thought, the next he may be asking for your advice on a problem, the next he may be breathless with laughter while riffing on a humorous tangent for five minutes, the next he may be acting as if you’ve both never met. And through it all, you learn not to take it personally, because chances are that it has nothing to do with you.

We start off talking, or at least with me trying to talk, about AI, because a few weeks earlier, Musk had tweeted, “Competition for AI superiority at national level most likely cause of WW3 imo.”

But when I ask him about that, Musk gets testy. “I don’t have all the answers. I’m not saying that I have all the fucking answers. Let me be really clear about that. I’m trying to figure out the set of actions I can take that are more likely to result in a good future. If you have suggestions in that regard, please tell me what they are.”

Riley chimes in: “I think just the way it gets couched is that ‘Elon Musk says we’re all gonna die,’ as opposed to ‘Hey, let’s have some regulation.'”

Musk, it soon becomes clear, is not in the mood to talk about his work. Instead, he has some advice he’d like to offer to the world from his personal experience: “I find one learns lessons in the course of life,” he begins with a wry half-smile. “And one lesson I’ve learned is, don’t tweet on Ambien. That’s on the record: Tweeting on Ambien is unwise. You may regret it.”

Musk grabs a coffee-table book published by The Onion and starts leafing through it, laughing hysterically. “In order to understand the essential truth of things,” he theorizes, “I think you can find it in The Onion and occasionally on Reddit.”

Afterward, he asks excitedly, “Have you ever seen Rick and Morty?” And the conversation bounces from that animated show to South Park to The Simpsons to the book Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.

One of the lines from Hitchhiker’s, Musk says, ended up being Musk Family Rule Number One: “Don’t panic.”

“The boys were quite skittish about all kinds of things,” Riley explains.

“That’s our other rule,” Musk continues. “Safety third. There’s not even a Rule Number Two. But even though there’s nothing in second place, safety is not getting promoted to number two.”

We’re interrupted by Teller, Musk’s chief of staff, who informs him that as we were talking, the Hawthorne City Council ended an hours-long debate with a 4-to-1 vote allowing Musk to burrow his tunnel two miles into the city.

“Good,” Musk says. “Now we can dig past our own property line. Dig like fiends!”

He laughs at the expression, and I understand now that Musk didn’t have me over to talk about his projects and vision. There’s nothing to be gained from talking about the problems of science with someone who doesn’t understand them. At the end of the day, he just wants to unwind and laugh about the world he’s trying to improve.

I leave his home still hearing his chuckles in the doorway, and hoping that when the Mars colony builds its first statues of Musk, they’re not of a stiff man with a tight-lipped expression looking out into space, but of a fuzzy bear.

#saving it here to avoid the paywall #Elon Musk

0 notes

natsfirecat · 3 years

Text

Stay

summary: r gets hurt saving nat (who she’s in love with) and natasha wants nothing more than to get her back

based on these two requests:

1: If you still need Hurt and Comfort prompts, would you accept a scenario where Reader fell in a coma after a mission gone wrong, and the whole time she’s unconscious, Natasha doesn’t want to leave her side. She doesn’t sleep, barely eats, and constantly talking to reader thinking she can hear. Reader then wakes up after 3 months, and Natasha confesses her feelings for Reader.❤️‍🩹🥺

2: How bout Natasha x fem!Reader where Reader takes a bullet after saving her crush, Natasha, on a mission. Reader survives and brushes it off as “it’s my job” but Natasha doesn’t take the whole situation well, especially since she has feelings for reader too!I HOPE YOU FEEL BETTER! 😘😫❤️*have some tea 🍵 *

word count: 2.8k

genre: fluff and angst but fluff ending

warnings: swearing, gunshot, comatose, blood, medical knowledge that only comes from grey’s anatomy, catradora quote because i have no self control, lmk if i need to add any more!

A/N i combined these requests since they were kinda similar, i hope you don’t mind kind anons!

“She’s tachycardic! Push one of epi, STAT!”

“No, no,”

“Hang on, Y/N, I’m going to do everything in my power to help you. Just keep holding on, okay?”

“You’re gonna be okay, alright? You’re gonna be okay. You’re gonna pull through this,”

“Why would you do that? How could you be so stupid? Why did you do that?” She yelled.

“Just doing… my job…” You managed to get out.

Eventually the voices around you began to fade out as you succumbed to unconsciousness.

As you felt yourself slipping away, the only thing on your mind was the woman you loved; Natasha Romanoff.

~12 hours earlier~

“Are you ready to go home soon?” You asked.

“Kinda,” she replied honestly. “Don’t get me wrong, I love the team and all, but it is nice to get away sometimes,”

You shrugged,

“Yeah, I guess,”

She smiled, then walked closer to you, putting an arm around your shoulder.

“It is nice getting away with you, though,”

You grinned, feeling your cheeks heat up.

“I like getting away with you too, Nat,”

She smirked, squeezing your shoulder,

“Then it’s a good thing we still have a day left,”

You could feel your heart-rate increasing as your cheeks got even redder.

Her smirk turned into a soft smile before she pulled away and went to the bathroom to change.

You sighed, thinking about your hopeless crush on her. You had been an Avenger for three years, friends with Natasha for two, and in love with her for one.

You never imagined that you would fall for the Black Widow, but now you couldn’t imagine your life without her.

“So… there’s a mission Fury assigned me to,” she said, leaning back against the couch. “It’s in France, and he said it could last anywhere from a year or two,”

“What?” You sat straight up. “No! That’s too long!”

“I know. It’s a no-contact mission too,”

“That’s such bullshit. You can’t accept that mission, Natty,”

“He assigned me, Y/N, there’s nothing I can do unless someone else volunteers to take the mission instead,”

You stared at her, suddenly feeling very defeated.

“No…” you whispered as your eyes began to pool with tears.

You looked at Natasha, who held her tongue at the roof of her mouth so she wouldn’t cry. You leaned in and wrapped your arms around her tightly, letting out quiet sobs into her neck.

As she held you in her arms, the only thing running through her mind was that she had no idea how the hell she would survive being away from you for that long.

After two days of crying, and resisting the urge to scream at Fury, you heard a knock on your door.

“Come in!” You called. The door opened to reveal none other than your favorite redhead, who had the biggest smile on her face.

“Hey,” she said, sitting on your bed.

“Hi,”

“Guess what?”

You shrugged, not really in the mood for guessing games. You just wanted to cherish your last few moments with her before she left.

“So I got a call from Fury this morning…” she told you, her smile growing bigger. “And he said that someone else took the mission,”

You couldn’t believe it. Your best friend didn’t have to leave.

You opened your mouth to say something, but you couldn’t speak. So instead, you threw yourself into her arms.

As they had done several times in the past two days, your eyes began to fill with tears. But this time however, they were tears of joy.

She was holding onto you just as tight as you were holding onto her.

When you finally backed away, she smiled, then reached her thumb up to your face to wipe away your tears.

“Hey,” she said softly. “You don’t need to cry, I’m staying,”

“They’re happy tears, Natty,”

She brought her other hand to your face to wipe away tears on the other cheek, then just held your face in her hands for a few moments.

Oh fuck you thought to yourself. Those tears weren’t platonic.

After that night, you had tried to deny your feelings for her for a bit. After all, you had gotten romantic and platonic attraction mixed up in the past, who’s to say that this wasn’t one of those times?

But as time went on, the butterflies would happen even more often around her. Your heartbeat began to race if her hand brushed up against yours. Your face would flush when your arms wrapped around her in a hug. You wanted nothing more than to be with her, to feel her lips against yours, and to be able to tell her you loved her and have her say it back.

The only person who knew about your crush on Natasha was Wanda. She had asked if anyone caught your eye, and you refused to tell her anything. However, she decided to read your mind to find out.

You were a little frustrated that she did that, but you weren’t too mad, knowing you would’ve done the same thing to your best friend.

So since then, Wanda would always try to convince you to tell her, and you would always say no.

As much as it hurt to have these feelings and not tell her, you knew it would be nothing compared to telling her and having the feelings not reciprocated and losing your friendship. You’d rather stay just her friend forever than to lose her.

So here you were now, in love with one of your best friends.

“Ready to go?” She asked as she finished putting her suit on.

“Yep!”

She smiled, then gestured for you to follow her. Today was the last day of your mission, and you just needed to erase all files from some druglord’s computer.

For the past week, the two of you had done several stakeouts, gotten information, and identified people. The last step was destroying their information.

So, Natasha was currently driving the two of you to the location. She had the radio playing, and the two of you were softly singing the lyrics to the songs.

You turned to face her, feeling yourself smile at the sight of her being so carefree around you.

Not that you knew this, but you were the only person she would ever allow to see her like this.

She kept her eyes on the road, but saw you looking at her through her peripheral vision. You were simply mouthing the lyrics now, not really paying attention to them. Instead, your attention was purely on Natasha.

She kept singing the words though, but she was also smiling at the sight of you.

As she began to turn her head to fully face you, your cheeks grew red.

“Eyes on the road, Nat!” You told her, laughing.

“Okay, mom,” She retorted, earning a playful eye roll from you.

“Oh don’t be like that,” she said, beginning to as well. “C’mon, we’re here anyway,”

You nodded, opening the door as soon as she stopped the car.

Once she locked the car, the two of you made your way into the building.

She had her gun ready, holding it out at every corner you turned.

“We’ve been here like four times already, Nat,” you told her, scoffing. “We’re fine”

She grumbled in response, but kept her gun out.

You shook your head, letting out a sigh, then continued on.

Once you made your way to the necessary room, each of you sat down in front of a computer.

“Delete, erase, goodbye,” you muttered as you typed.

Natasha didn’t say anything as she typed away, just wanting to get out of this building as soon as possible.

You glanced over at her every once in a while.

You smiled, watching her type with the clacking on the keyboard. The tip of her tongue was poking out the corner of her mouth. Her eyes began to squint as she focused on the screen.

Unfortunately, while you were staring, you failed to notice someone else come in the room behind you.

“Avengers,” A voice from behind you said.

You whipped around, your eyes widening to see someone wearing a combat suit holding a gun out.

Natasha stood up, raising her gun immediately.

Before you could even process what was happening, you heard the sound of a gunshot.

Without even thinking about it, you threw yourself at Natasha, knocking her to the ground.

Turns out, she was the one who shot first, considering that the other guy was currently laying in a pool of his own blood that was spilling out fast.

But as you jumped, he aimed his gun at Natasha, pulling the trigger.

You let out a groan of pain, feeling a pain growing in your shoulder.

“Y/N no! What did you do?”

She cried your name a few more times, but you couldn’t respond. You only let out a few shaky breaths and sobs as the pain in your shoulder began to grow.

She pulled her phone out, calling for help as fast as she could.

Everything hurt, but you wouldn’t have changed a thing you did. All that mattered to you, was that the woman you loved was safe.

All that mattered was that Natasha Romanoff was safe.

~two days later~

“How’s she doing?”

“Same as before.”

Natasha sighed as she reached onto your bed, placing her hand over yours.

As soon as you were brought back, everyone began working on you right away. Dr. Cho saved your life, and managed to get the bullet out.

However, because of how long it had taken to get you into surgery, you had a lot of internal bleeding.

So, here you were now, in a coma. No one knew when, or even if, you would ever wake up.

Natasha stayed by your side the entire time.

“Nat, you can’t stay in here forever,” Wanda said, gently placing her hand on her shoulder.

“It was my fault, Wanda,” she replied, her voice hoarse from crying. “It should’ve been me,”

“Don’t say that. You’re both alive. She wouldn’t want you to say that, or to sulk in here all day,”

Natasha said something, but kept her gaze on your unconscious body as her red eyes began to fill with tears once again.

“I can’t lose her.”

After the first week, Natasha finally left your room at night. She would usually come in around 7:00 AM, and stay until midnight.

Clint would come by, and bring her food. He was genuinely worried that she wouldn’t eat if he didn’t.

Wanda came by often too.

“Do you think she can hear us?” Natasha asked her.

“I can try and find out, if you’d like,” Wanda offered.

Natasha nodded, removing her hand from you.

Wanda stood up, then placed one hand on your forehead, closing her eyes.

After a few moments of silence, she gave Natasha a soft smile.

“She’s dreaming,”

“Is she aware of things going on outside?”

“Not right now. I don’t think she’s constantly dreaming while unconscious. Hearing our voices right now, she’s either drowning them out or they’ll be in her dream. She might become more aware later,”

Natasha let out a shaky breath, then connected her hand to yours again.

“Hi, Y/N,” she breathed out. “We did it. We destroyed the files, and the building ended up being destroyed after we left. We did the mission, you can wake up now. You can come back now,”

She could feel herself about to cry, so she turned to Wanda.

“What’s she dreaming about?”

Wanda closed her eyes again, looking into your mind.

“She’s at this house, and there’s comforting energy coming from it. I think it might be her childhood home.” Wanda explained. “Something’s happening in slow motion. There’s like, cracks of electricity and… oh my god there’s a lightning strike right in front of her,”

“She’s dreaming about lightning?”

“I can hear her inner voice. Part of her is afraid, but the bigger part of her is thinking the lightning strike will give her superpowers… and she’s floating in the air right now,”

Natasha laughed for the first time since getting back. Of course superpowers would be on your mind while getting struck by lightning.

“Thank you, Wanda,” she told her, gently squeezing your hand.

“Of course,” she replied. “You should get some rest. I know Y/N would want you to,”

Natasha sighed, then nodded. She was feeling better for the first time since you took the bullet for her.

“Hey,” she said, getting a laptop out and setting it on the side of your bed. “It’s been three weeks now, and uh, I thought it might be a good idea to bring this down and watch your favorite movie. Y’know, maybe hearing it will help you,”

A lump began to form in her throat as she stared at you. However, she said nothing else as she pulled up your favorite movie, then placing it close enough so you could hear, and see it if you were to open your eyes.

Once she pressed play, she sat on the edge of your bed. She wasn’t looking at the laptop screen, she was looking down at you.

She brushed a strand of hair out of your face, and ran her thumb across your cheekbone.

Natasha didn’t even realize she was crying until she had to wipe her own tears off your forehead.

“Sorry,” she muttered, pulling away so she wouldn’t cry on you anymore. “I just… really miss you, Y/N.”

She opened her mouth to say something else, but stopped when she noticed your eyebrow twitch.

It felt like everything in her body stopped working for a moment as she replayed it in her mind; you moved.

Before she knew it, she was sprinting out of your room at full speed to get Dr. Cho.

“She moved! I think she’s waking up! Her eyebrow moved!” She yelled as she barged into her office.

Dr. Cho tilted her head to the side, but followed her back to your room.

She walked over to you, then examined the monitors. She looked at you, then back at your vitals.

“Miss Romanoff, I’m so sorry, but there’s nothing in her brain activity that indicates her moving or waking up. Sometimes, when we want to see something so bad, our mind tricks us into thinking we saw it. It’s a cruel thing, but it’s not uncommon for situations like this,”

Natasha’s heart dropped as the doctor left the room to give her space. She thought she had you back.

She wasn’t going to give up on you. She pulled the laptop away, then sat next to you again.

She then layed down, and wrapped her arms around you, sobbing into your neck.

“Wake up, please,” she begged between sobs. “Come back to me.”

Natasha pulled back, placing one hand on your cheek. She leaned down, pulling you close again.

“Don’t you get it?” She said at almost a whisper. “I love you. I always have. So please, just this once. Stay.” She pulled back again, then placed a gentle kiss to your cheek. “Stay.”

It was like everything in her froze again.

Your eyebrows were definitely twitching now. A groan escaped your mouth, as you blinked your eyes open.

“Natty,” you said, wrapping your arms around her neck. “You love me?”

“Of course I do,”

You smiled at her, despite the pain running through your body.

“Good, ‘cause I’ve been in love with you for like the past year,”

She let out a mix between a laugh and a sob as she leaned close to you once again.

You leaned forward too, and before you knew it, the distance between the two of you was closed as you were kissing.

It was gentle, considering the fact that you were still hurt, but you both savored every second of it.

“I love you so much,” you told her, keeping your arms around her.

At this point, you both had tears streaming down your cheeks. Neither of you cared as you leaned in for another kiss.

“Never do that again, okay?” She told you.

“Do what? Kiss you? I plan on doing that a lot more, thank you very much,”

She rolled her eyes, letting out a small laugh.

“Don’t ever put yourself in danger like that for me again, alright? I don’t care if you say it’s your job. Don’t do it again,”

“I did it because I love you, Natty,”

She sighed, wiping away one of your tears.

“I’m never leaving you though,”

“Good, I don’t want you to leave,”

Of course, the two of you would end up arguing about putting yourselves in danger to save each other, but it would all work out in the end.

You loved her, and she loved you. You wouldn’t have it any other way.

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha romanoff angst #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x yn #natasha romanoff x fem reader #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #black widow #black widow x reader #black widow x fem reader #natalia alianovna romanova

484 notes · View notes

messers-moony · 3 years

Text

So Perfect | J.P

Paring: Young!James Potter X Fem!Lupin!Reader

Summary: James falls in love with a bookstore called, Lupin’s Library, and can’t believe what they’re going through.

The bookstore was quiet most days. It was a tiny little two-story shop in London. The idea was it had a book for everyone. On the second story was a living quarter for the two siblings that worked at the shop. It was a small two-bedroom apartment, but it did what it was needed to do.

Remus and Y/n Lupin were the owners of the shop. It was their eighteenth birthday gift from their parents. Growing up, their parents didn’t have much, so for them, it means a lot. The name of the shop was something simple - Lupin’s Library - but inside held memories that they would cherish forever.

When they started the business, it was slow. Most days, no one would enter, and Y/n worked a separate job to help Remus pay the bills. But after a year it seemed that people preferred the shop over any other place in London. They enjoy the warmness of Remus’ smile and the radiant happiness from Y/n.

Remus worked behind the counter at the register, and when there wasn’t a customer, he was reading on the stool he sat on. Y/n did inventory and stocked books. She didn’t like to sit still, preferring to be on her feet moving around. Sometimes early in the morning, she’d grab donuts to leave on the front counter for early customers.

There was nothing like Lupin’s Library, and that’s why people loved it.

The bell-ringing announced a new customer into the shop. It was a tiny ding, nothing majorly loud. Y/n was stocking books while Remus was sleeping upstairs in his room. Over the past winter, he had caught a nasty cold leaving Y/n to take over the bookstore until he got better while also trying to take care of him.

“One moment, and I’ll be with you!” Y/n called as she slipped the last book into place.

She skipped to make it behind the counter where she met a man about her age - twenty-five. He was taller than her, maybe just around six feet. His hair was messy and curled slightly at the ends. His eyes were a beautiful hazel, and he radiated a certain playfulness Y/n could get used to.

“Mornin’ sir!” James was taken away by her light and fluffy accent, “What can I do for you today?”

He smiled, “Looking for something to read for my son.”

“How old is he?”

“He’s about to turn five.” James smiled proudly.

“That’s adorable!” Y/n gushed, “Any way we have magic treehouse books, maybe he’d like those?”

“Maybe, he’s been begging for new books.” James ran a hand through his hair, “It’s the only way I can get him to calm down.”

Y/n smiled, “You know, on Saturdays, I read to kids. If you want him to join us, he’s more than welcome. Saturdays, I read to kids five to nine. Sundays, I read to kids from ten to fifteen.”

“Wow,” James replied, “I’d love to take him in if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all!” She smiled, “Everyone’s welcome.”

James gave a grin in response as he searched the Library for these Magic Treehouse books. It took him five minutes before even finding the kids section, but when he did, James grabbed the set of them. He placed each book on top of another and brought them to the counter of the pretty girl.

He watched at how gently and smoothly she moved the books to scan them. James was so focused he didn’t even notice her handing him the books and the receipt, “But I didn’t-“

“It’s on the house.” Y/n replied, “I’ll see you Saturday.”

James’ face flushed; he hadn’t felt this way since Lily, “I’ll- um- see you Saturday….”

He walked out of the shop with a happy smile placed on his face. James hadn’t felt flustered and nervous around a girl since Lily in seventh grade. He had been head over heels for her since then. They began dating in sophomore year and had Harry right out of high school. It was poor planning on their part, but Harry was everything James had dreamed of. It wasn’t until Harry’s second birthday when Lily said she couldn’t take it anymore.

Not only had it broken James’ heart, but it broke Harry’s too. Harry had no idea where his momma had gone. What broke James’ heart the most was Lily saying she wanted absolutely nothing to do with either of them. Lily had placed the engagement ring on the wooden table, collected her things, and left, just like that.

Then it was just them against the world. James and his little mini-me, as Sirius would say. Sirius was the one who recommended the bookshop. He wouldn’t shut up about how cute the boy behind the register was (“Oh James, his hair looks so fluffy!”). It was like hearing a broken record. James didn’t see the boy with fluffy hair, but he did see the girl with the radiant smile.

That night James sat beside Harry in his twin bed. Harry was thrilled to see the new books on his shelf, and as James began reading, Harry became more hooked with each page. When James shut the book, Harry was devastated. He wanted to know more and finish the book! Alas, he had to go to sleep, and if he did, James promised him that they’d finish the book tomorrow.

When James brought up going to Lupin’s Library on Saturdays, Harry was ecstatic! He couldn’t wait to meet the new kids and begin a new book. By the time Saturday rolled around, they had finished two of the Magic Treehouse books. James entered the shop with Harry in front of him, hands on the little boy's shoulders. Now at the counter, he saw the boy with fluffy hair.

“Good afternoon, sir.” He greeted in the same soft accent, “Here for the kids reading circle?”

Harry nodded, and the boy chuckled, “Great. It’s just in that back corner.”

James thanked him before bringing Harry to the back corner, where kids were already sat on a rug. Blankets were spread among some of them, and the girl was sitting on a chair in the corner while the kids made a semi-circle around her. James beckoned Harry to sit, and James smiled at the girl in the chair.

As the reading began, James decided to venture through the bookstore. The bookshelves were surprisingly clean and rid of any dust. The books were taken care of, not a crease or bent page unless he went into the used section. Some people preferred new books; some preferred used. There truly was a book for everyone in here.

He made his way back to the front desk with some books he had gained from the shelves. A multitude of paperbacks and gently placed them on the counter. Remus put a bookmark in his book and began to scan each book just as smoothly as the girl. His hands didn’t seem as soft. They looked calloused and scarred. Sirius’ type, all the way.

“You wouldn’t happen to see a boy with straight black hair in here sometimes?” Remus quirked an eyebrow, “Wears ripped jeans and a leather jacket?”

Remus smiled, “Yes, we get him in here quite frequently.”

“Do you mind if I got your number for him?” James questioned, “He’s talked the world of you and your bookstore.”

“It’s not just my bookstore.” Remus correctly playfully, “My sister works it with me, who I see you’ve been well acquainted with.”

James’ face flushed pink, “I didn’t- I don’t-“

“It’s fine.” Remus replied, handing him the books and the receipt, “She’s a big girl. I trust her to make her own decisions.”

“I didn’t pay for these.”

“You can thank my sister.” Remus winked as he sat on the stool and began reading.

James grunted at not paying again. He rummaged through his wallet and placed forty pounds in the tip jar. Remus chuckled and shook his head at the gesture, appreciative nonetheless of the man's kindness. Another thirty minutes went by, and Harry was running back into his dad's arms.

“That was awesome!” Harry exclaimed softly, “She was so nice! She gave us lollipops!”

“Did she?” James asked, and Harry nodded.

Y/n smiled softly as she joined Remus behind the counter, grabbing some books to stamp while all the kids filed out to find their parents, “Looks like we’ll be back next Saturday.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Y/n replied, “I’ll look forward to it.”

Harry smiled, “Thank you!”

“You’re welcome, sweetheart.”

James and Harry walked out of Lupin’s Library together with smiles on their faces. Harry wouldn’t stop jumping with joy the entire day. He couldn’t get over how lovely the lady was and how she gave him a lollipop. Truthfully, it was the little things when it came to kids. Remus chuckled as they left the library together.

“He quite likes you, I’d say.”

“Little kids like anyone who give them candy.”

“I don’t mean the boy.” Remus replied, “I mean the adult who seems quite fond of you.”

Y/n hmphed, “And what about the man who wears the leather jacket and the straight black hair?”

Remus blushed, “‘Oh, Y/n, he’s so perfect.’” Y/n mocked.

“You’re annoying.” Remus nudged her with his elbow.

“Love you too.”

It wasn’t until Wednesday when he came back in again. Y/n had been absent from the shop due to having to help her friend bartend. Despite working at the bookshop full time, she still had a part-time job bartending. If she spent the whole day at the bar, then she spent the entire night at the bookstore. Working two jobs was no easy feat, but she did it.

James walked in and wandered aimlessly after not seeing or hearing her. Remus smiled amusedly as he walked in and continued to read his book. James felt the spines of the books but never plucked one from the shelf. Remus got tired of his lost puppy look and finally called to him.

“She’s not here, you know.”

“Oh,” James muttered, “Where- Where is she?”

Remus placed his book down after bending the corner of the page, “Helping a friend.”

“I’m sorry for wasting your time,” James replied nervously as he went to walk out the door.

“Wait!” Remus called, and James turned, “I can- um- I can give you her schedule if you want.”

“Schedule?” James questioned, “She doesn’t work here full time?”

Remus shook his head, “No, she works part-time at a bar around the block. It helps-“ He scratched the back of his neck, “It helps pay the bills.”

“You guys don’t make enough to stay in business?”

“No, we don’t.” Remus murmured, “I can't really do much else other than work here, so Y/n took up another job. Which she hates, and it drains her.”

James was appalled. These people were so nice and kind. How weren’t they making enough to stay in business? Remus looked utterly embarrassed by the whole thing, confessing to a customer that they were struggling. James, himself, was a Nephrologists at a hospital not too far away. His family was small, and he made a lot of money.

Without another word, James left the shop leaving Remus in a confused state. He walked to an ATM that was only a couple of blocks away before pulling out a decent amount of cash. James walked back into the bookstore and placed an envelope on the counter. Remus stared at it confused as he got on his own two feet to open it. As he peeled back the seal, he saw what was inside.

“I’m sorry, I can’t-“

“Please.” James begged, “Harry would be devastated if his favorite place went out of business.”

Remus had tears in his eyes as he placed the money beneath the counter, “Thank you. You have no idea what this means. Our parents bought this shop with almost nothing, and we’ve been trying, but it’s so hard.”

“Well,” James began, “I don’t know if I could live with myself if this place was gone, especially after knowing you’re guys’ kindness.”

Remus smiled and grabbed a piece of paper with a calendar on it. At the bottom, he wrote his and Y/n’s names along with their phone numbers. His handwriting was tidy and curvy. Remus handed the piece of paper to him, and James took it gratefully.

“It’s Y/n’s schedule along with her part-time bartending job. Our numbers are at the bottom.” Remus motioned to the calendar and at the numbers on the bottom.

“Thank you, Remus.” James smiled as he pulled out a business card from his wallet, “Obviously, you don’t need me to be your doctor, but my number is on the card if either of you needs anything.”

Remus took the two cards gently, “Thank you, James. We really won’t forget this.”

“I’m glad.” James smiled, “Because I won’t forget you two.”

He left the bookstore with a skip in his step. It felt good to do that. James hadn’t felt this happy since Harry was born, but now he felt like himself again. He felt like that energized boy from middle school who was always destined to be great.

James didn’t know what it was like to be poor. He grew up with his parents being doctors. They made decent money, and James always got what he wanted. They lived with the higher class. It made his heart ache that Remus and Y/n, who were so sweet we’re struggling. He couldn’t take it. He had to do something. It felt good to do that something.

Around the block was a bar called Whiskey Woes. It was old and rugged-looking. The black stone bricks seemed to be cracking in every spot. It made James grimace. Walking inside was even worse. The pungent smell of older men with no taste for cologne made him scrunch his nose. But behind the counter, he saw an exhausted girl who was giving it her all to get tips.

James made his way to sit on a barstool, and sluggishly Y/n made her way to him, “Good afternoon, sir! What can I getcha today?”

“A glass of water?” James replied, lifting his head, and Y/n let out a visible sigh of relief, “‘Course.”

A minute of running around the bar later, a glass of water was placed in front of him, “How’s work, Y/n?”

“How’d you find out my name?”

“Well, your name tag says it.” James pointed, “And I went by the bookstore today.”

Y/n hummed, “Remus tell you where I work, huh?”

“Yeah.” James replied, stirring his water with his straw, “And I want you to quit.”

“Excuse me?”

“I want you to quit working at this shithole.” James repeated, “And take this.”

Another envelope was passed to her across the bar. Y/n eyed him as she broke the glued seal on the white paper. Inside she saw cash, and it didn’t look like just a tiny amount either. Y/n’s face showed visible shock, and James smiled sheepishly.

“Consider it a tip.”

“This is more than a tip.” Y/n chuckled, “This is like three of my yearly salaries.”

James’ smile faltered just a tiny bit, “You don’t belong here. You belong at the bookstore with Remus. You don’t seem happy here, and Remus sees it too. Says you come home exhausted and drained.”

“Is there anything I can do to repay you?”

“Maybe go on a date with me?”

Y/n blushed, “A date?”

“Yeah, a date.” James muttered.

“I think you deserve a lot more than a date.” Y/n replied, and James smirked, “Only if you’ll let me.”

She laughed, and it made his stomach flutter. It was a sound he wanted to hear forever. It made his heart flip and the corners of his lips quirk. The way she tilted her head back and how her hair flowed as she did so—the crinkle of her nose and the creases of her eyes as she shut them tightly.

She was so perfect.

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