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mjolnir-steve · 3 years

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I Want Your Midnights

Jake Jensen x fem!reader

Word count: 1926

Summary: Jake has been your best friend since first grade, and as is tradition, you're spending New Year’s Eve together. This time, Jake’s throwing a party at his new apartment. You share feelings, but not timing.

Warnings: straight-up angst, hints of fluff to ease the pain, mentions of legal alcohol consumption

Author’s note: This is a little bit of backstory for Hack the Halls, what I thought would be a one-shot. I received some amazing feedback on it, though, and I want to try my hand at a series if folks are interested and I feel inspired. I think this can be read as a standalone, but if you’re reading it alongside HTH, this takes place one year before. Thank you (again) to Iva (@beefybuckrrito) for beta-reading this for me, helping me make decisions when I stalled myself, and getting me through the blocks I had along the way. 🥰

The title and some story elements are from “New Year’s Day” by Taylor Swift (lyrics | song), one of my all-time favorite songs. This time of year is always difficult for me for a number of reasons, so channeling some of those emotions into this story was extremely cathartic and served to help me begin building a world for these two cuties.

As always, likes, comments, and reblogs are so appreciated. I’d love to hear your thoughts on this and to know if you’d like to see more of them!

I hope everyone has a happy, healthy, safe, and UNEVENTFUL (lol) 2022! Happy New Year, friends. 💙

This is dedicated to @syntheticavenger, the shining star whose amazing work and 5K Challenge played such a major role in getting me to put pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard lol) again. Taking the leap and writing/sharing stories again changed my life immensely, and I look forward to what this year will bring. I hope you’ll check out Synth’s work immediately.

Around 5 AM, you thought you’d scraped the last of the candle wax off of the floor, ready to take a nap before heading to Jake’s sister Franny’s house for New Year’s brunch. Why Jake thought trusting a bunch of inebriated adults with lit candles and sparklers inside his new apartment was a good idea, you could never be sure. But he did, and now here you were, cleaning up the mess from his first-ever “Petun-Year’s Eve” party while he took a quick shower to rinse off the glitter and champagne.

Yes, your grown-ass best friend of over 20 years threw a holiday soirée with a theme honoring his niece Rebecca’s pee-wee soccer team, even though she wasn’t invited herself. Guests were required to wear something pink, or else they would be “denied access”... That didn’t stop Pooch, Clay, and Cougar from walking right past Jake at the door. Aisha conceded to Jake’s rule in her own way, opting to wear a deep shade of pink lipstick with her all-black clothing. Even though you had a perfectly nice outfit picked out, Jake pleasepleasepleased until you agreed to wear a Petunias home jersey, matching with him in dark jeans and the new sneakers he bought you for Christmas.

The new year’s celebration looked more like a little girl’s birthday party, the living and dining rooms decked out in sparkly pink and purple decorations and dinnerware. Your best friend was silly and a little too carefree sometimes, but those were some things you loved most about him. He didn’t care about conventional ideas of fun, unashamedly and wholeheartedly liking what he liked and not letting anyone tell him he couldn’t.

Unfortunately for you, these qualities (and his biceps) also caught the eye of his neighbor, Ally. He invited her at the last minute while making small talk in the elevator, and though you would never admit it, it made you see green. She didn’t show up when the party started at 7, so you enjoyed yourself with Jake and his coworkers, making use of the Polaroid camera you’d gifted him and playing amateur bartender.

You’d spent New Year’s Eve with Jake and his family since you were kids, and it became tradition that you kissed each other on the cheek at midnight, even though you eventually found yourself wishing one of you would “accidentally” not turn your head. The thought of telling him briefly crossed your mind, but was interrupted by the tiny blonde from the sixth floor arriving at 11 PM.

She seemed nice enough, but after introducing herself to the other guests, she immediately clung to Jake, flipping her hair and laughing a little too much when he spoke. He didn’t seem any more or less interested in her than anyone else, ever the crowd-pleaser as he explained the theme of the party and gushed about his niece. You couldn’t blame her, could you? He wasn’t yours and you weren’t his, and this was another ill-timed reminder.

You maintained conversation, laughing when appropriate and asking about her life. If your stomach weren’t turning at the innocent smile Jake gave her, you might have even liked her. Might.

At 11:59 PM, your friends lit sparklers (idiots) and began counting down. You walked across the room towards Jake, having wiped off your lip gloss because he disliked the feel of it on his skin.

3… 2… 1…

You froze in place when Ally lifted the Polaroid camera, snapping what would’ve been a cute selfie of her kissing Jake if seeing it didn’t make your bottom lip quiver. You shook your head and rolled your shoulders, backing away so you could get a grip and grab one of the mini bottles of champagne from the ice bucket. Noisemakers went off entirely too close to your ears as you walked down the hallway, ducking into Jake’s bedroom and climbing out onto the fire escape for fresh air, half-empty bottle in hand.

When Ally pulled away from him, you were the first person Jake searched for, his eyes landing on the back of your jersey as you tried to slink away unnoticed. Shit, he thought, knowing he had to fix this somehow and fast.

“Thank you so much for coming, Ally! It’s actually past my bedtime, so I’m gonna go and put pajamas on… Yeah, um… I’ll see you around.” Jake pointed finger guns at her before vaulting over the back of the couch to chase after you, leaving Ally confused as all hell until Aisha pulled her up to dance.

Jake found you on the fire escape, legs dangling over the edge and sipping your champagne while you watched the fireworks display over the Harbor.

“Bub, did you forget something?” He smiled, sitting down next to you.

“I remembered just fine, Jensen. You were preoccupied.” You took another swig from the bottle.

Jake frowned when you called him by his last name, something you only did when you were fed up with his shit. “It’s only 12:03. Can we institute a five-minute rule?”

You exhaled, knowing you couldn’t argue with him without making your jealousy and possessiveness painfully clear. He was looking at you like a kicked puppy, and you knew your therapist was not going to love hearing about how quickly you caved… if you decided to tell her.

“How about instead of a rule, we just make up for it now and try not to miss it again?” You held out your hand to shake on it, but he grabbed your shoulders turning you to face him, promptly kissing each cheek twice.

“One for the original, plus one for each minute I was late. Happy New Year, Y/N.” He smiled at you and your heart clenched, but you knew you had to play it cool, as if he weren’t the most adorable being you’d ever come into contact with. You brushed your lips softly against his cheek before standing up, downing the rest of your champagne, and climbing back into the bedroom.

“I’m gonna start putting the leftovers away, okay? I’ll see ya out there.”

Jake stared after you, wondering if he was imagining the tinge of envy to your tone, unsure if there was anything he could do to make things right when he wasn’t quite sure where he went wrong.

You heard the shower turn off and pinched your cheeks, trying and failing to snap yourself out of the funk you’d let yourself sink into. You didn’t know it, but Jake was doing the same in front of his fogged-up bathroom mirror, working a small amount of gel into his hair as he reviewed the events of the night.

Franny asked you to take a picture of the two of them together, giggling and nearly spilling her vodka soda as she played with your hair and said she only trusted you to get the best angle. He smiled to himself, watching you fix his sister’s hair for her before allowing them to pose. He picked her up, squeezing her tight as she laughed and begged to be put down.

After the three of you took a group picture, Clay called Jake over to make a call for the seemingly never-ending game of Uno. As his guests argued the rules about the +4 card, he zoned out, making heart eyes at you across the room while you laughed with Franny as you contemplated your poses.

“Dude, are you listening?” Clay plucked Jake’s glasses off of his face when he still didn’t respond.

“Come on, I’m busy,” Jake whined, snatching his glasses back and putting them on in time to see you smile wide, eyes closed and fingers held up in a peace sign.

Clay threw his arm around Jake’s shoulder, walking him over to the far corner of the room. “Will you just tell her, Jensen? This is becoming painful to watch. Kiss her at midnight. If she reciprocates, great. If she doesn’t, say you’re drunk and I dared you.”

Jake’s eyes widened, weighing his options. “Do you think that’ll work? God, yeah, okay. I think it’ll be fine.”

But when the countdown started, he couldn’t find you in the packed apartment, and he only caught sight of you right before Ally crashed her lips to his, ruining his plan.

Maybe next year.

The only thing left to do was sort the Polaroids since Jake decided the glitter was now simply a part of the hardwood, always popping up again “like a cold sore,” never fully gone. You flipped through the photos, making piles so you could give everyone copies. You smiled at all the group shots of Jake and “The Losers,” as they called themselves, choosing to let them each pick the ones they wanted. There were several pictures of Jake and his sister, you and his sister, and the three of you together. You outright laughed at some photos of your work friends, evidently out of their minds during a game of Uno with the other guests.

As if confirming your life was just a sitcom for whatever being was watching the big TV in the sky, the last two photos were of you and Jake… and then Ally and Jake. They do look cute together, you thought to yourself, tossing both photos on the table and calling it quits.

You were in the middle of making a pot of coffee when Jake emerged from the bedroom in yet another Petunias shirt (the away jersey now) and a pair of joggers. He took over, pouring two small cups and fixing yours exactly how you liked it before handing it to you and taking a seat at the table where the snapshots lay.

“That’s a cute picture of you, and um, Ally. Good idea.” You took a sip from your mug, internally smacking yourself. Idiot.

He choked a little, wiping his mouth with a purple paper napkin. “Eh. I guess it’d be cute if I liked her like that. I was just trying to make a new friend.” He shrugged, picking the picture up and folding it into a grossly disproportionate plane before aiming for the trash can in the corner, narrowly missing. “This is why I stick to computers.”

He stood and walked over to pick up the little plane and place it in the trash can, leaning over to kiss you on the cheek on the way back to his seat. “Did you change your face wipes?:

Your face warmed at his questions. “Uh, yeah. You said the other ones made my face ‘taste funny,’ so…” You hid your grimace behind your mug.

He hummed, sounding pleased. “Well, thank you for helping me with the party, I always wanted to do something like that, and I couldn’t have done it without you.” He grinned when the Polaroid of the two of you caught his eye, your arms wrapped around him from behind, kissing his cheek as he laughed, his glasses slightly crooked. “This might be my favorite picture of us we’ve ever taken, bubba.”

You gave him a soft smile in return. “You’ll have to make a copy for me. I like that one, too.”

“I know exactly where this is going.” He ran to his bedroom, placing a small piece of double-sided tape on the back and leaning it against the lamp on his nightstand, facing his preferred side.

I wish I knew where this was going, you thought to yourself, deciding your New Year’s resolution might just have to be finally letting go of your feelings for your best friend.

#jake jensen fic #jake jensen x you #jake jensen x reader #jake jensen x fem!reader #jake jensen angst #jake jensen #maggie's writing

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lacheri · 3 years

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|| moon river. || part x. bonus chapter ||

|| masterpost || taglist form || part x. ||

pairing: Levi x fem bodied reader

bonus chapter content: all the usual mr content tags sry I'm lazy, suggestive themes, alcohol/drinking, fluff as this is painfully sweet, minors/ageless blogs do not interact.

summary: in which you try to figure out what to buy Levi for his birthday.

wc: 3.7k

a/n: SURPRISE! (: I had to write a lil holiday thing for my boy, and lowkey I couldn't fit christmas/his birthday into the main plotline of mr SO HERE WE ARE! I hope you guys enjoy! thank you to my beautiful friends as always for beta-ing, Mochi and @astridthevalkyrie <3 happy holidays everyone!

“What?”

“What do you mean “what”? I just told you pretty clearly.”

“But,” you gape, hands sliding over your face in frustration. “I had no idea! No one told me!”

“We just told you,” Hange gestures between themselves and Petra, who smiles sheepishly. “Levi’s birthday is Christmas Day.”

“But it’s Christmas Eve,” you say exasperatedly. “How am I supposed to find him a gift now? It’s nearly midnight.”

You’re glad the ravenette in question is busy mulling over bills in the bar office. You would die on the spot if he heard you talking about his birthday, and his no gift, at this very moment.

It came up casually in conversation. Hange decided to generously inform you that the bar would be closed tomorrow, but would be “open to us to celebrate shithead’s birthday”. When you had asked who shithead was, Petra had chimed in with a meek “Levi, obviously”, and left you utterly embarrassed and rattled with guilt. You didn’t know, didn’t even think to ask when your neighbor’s birthday was.

“You sound like Petra when she found out,” Hange chuckles. “What was it you said? It was so funny.”

“That I couldn’t believe he even had one,” Petra snorts. “He’s like a robot. Have you ever seen Levi eat? I haven’t. Robot.”

You nod your head, “Actually, you have a good point.”

“Thank you!” Petra shouts, throwing Hange a pointed glare. “I’m glad someone understood my conspiracy theory!”

“No, that’s crazy,” you wave your hand. “The food thing, does Levi have any favorite foods? I could probably get a gift card to some place he likes.”

“Hm,” Hange leans their forearms across the bar counter, hands cradling their chin. “Not that I can think of. He’s very picky.”

“Chicken tenders and fries kind of guy?” you arch an eyebrow.

“No, worse than that.”

“Thinks ketchup is spicy?”

“Worse.”

You groan, throwing your head back in frustration, “I’m the worst friend in the world! I have no idea what to get him.”

Petra frowns, “We usually don’t get him anything big. One year, Hange got him a new fancy camera, and he got so mad at them over it, he went to the store the next day and returned it. Gave Hange the money back and everything.”

“Told me, and I quote, “If you ever spend that much on me ever again, I’ll burn your bar to the ground so you can’t afford to buy another gift in your life”. So now I just make him his favorite drink and call it a day.”

“Holy shit, Hange,” your eyes widen. “He’s that bad with gifts?”

They nod, face stoic, “Yes, that bad.”

You purse your lips together in deep concentration, “So I’ll just give him something he can’t return!”

“The food thing was a good idea,” Petra offers, placing a palm between your shoulder blades. “You cook, right? You could make something for our little party we throw.”

“Yeah, I could,” you sigh. “But I feel like it’s not enough. It’s his birthday, and Christmas.”

“Well technically, it’s not really his birthday party. Hange convinced him that the party is for employee morale, and for legal reasons.”

“How?” you send Hange a bewildered look.

They shrug, “I forged some papers to make it look like the law requires at least one employee event at any establishment. This shit runs deep.”

You shake your head, “Oh my god, this is insane.”

The two nod, Petra murmuring, “Yes. Yes it is.”

“What does he even like?” you ask, sighing deeply. “Does he ever buy himself anything?”

“Nope, not that I’ve seen,” Hange lays their cheek flat on the counter, their words squishing between their lips. “Levi saves every penny he makes.”

“So, I’m fucked.”

“Yeah,” they nod. “We’re all fucked. We gave up on gift giving a long time ago. Hence the party.”

You scrunch your eyebrows together in determination. No, you’re not willing to admit defeat quite yet. You’re going to find something, no matter the result.

And if Levi throws a fit over it, oh well. That’ll just be too bad.

“Out of pure curiosity, what are your likes and dislikes? Please be as specific as possible.”

“What the fuck are you up to?”

“No, I’m curious. I just want to know.”

“Why?”

“Why can’t I know?”

Levi narrows his eyes, “Why?”

“Because I want to ruin your life,” you say sarcastically. “I’m trying to figure out something.”

“Figure out what?”

“Can you just answer my question?” you bite, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Because I don’t want you to know, obviously.”

“You’re such an asshole.”

“I answered your question, didn’t I? You didn’t specify which one.”

“Asshole.”

Levi breathes out through his nose in laughter, “I know what you’re trying to do. I’m not an idiot.”

“Then what am I trying to do?” you challenge, stopping dead in your tracks. The bar looms behind you, a pressing reminder of what little time you have to come up with a gift for the man by your side.

“I don’t do gifts,” he rolls his eyes, slowing his pace. “I don’t care that it’s a holiday. It’s a waste of money.”

“But everyone deserves a gift,” you pout. “Especially something they like.”

“Then make me a drink tomorrow. Actually, no, let Hange. You can say it’s from you.”

“You don’t trust my bartending skills? I’ve gotten a lot better, you know.”

“Three months of making drinks doesn’t make you an expert.”

“But I’m better than when I started,” you try, pout becoming fiercer by the second. “C’mon, you can at least give me that.”

Levi arches an eyebrow, “It’s cold. Are you done being a brat?”

“No, no I’m not,” you cement your feet in place, unwavering and unmoving. “Not until you tell me what you want for a gift.”

“Enjoy the cold,” he shrugs, and resumes his walk home.

You think he’ll turn around, so you stay. His head doesn’t turn once, but you hold strong. He won’t leave you behind, he can’t. Despite Petra’s theory, Levi isn’t a cold hearted robot. He wouldn’t leave you out in the cold, especially on the eve of a holiday. Right?

Wrong. He would and he is. Levi’s form becomes smaller and smaller as his legs carry him further away. He follows the bend of the sidewalk, and all too soon he is out of your sight.

“Asshole,” you grumble, the last shred of resiliency slipping from your hold.

Your feet move, following his footsteps. Your anger swells, how dare he leave you all alone on the freezing street. It’s almost a holiday, for fucks sake. He could spare a sliver of patience, you’d even accept it as a gift. In fact, him letting you know exactly what he likes would be a great gift in itself. The gift of knowledge, how perfect. In turn you’d repay him with the gift of a material item he would actually enjoy.

Levi likes the color green, he likes photography, likes making fun drinks. He gets really excited when someone orders a more obscure, tedious drink at the bar. His eyes light up and his hands work so carefully to craft the requested cocktail, taking his time to perfect whatever it is he’s making. It’s sort of cute to see Levi get excited over something as simple as that, though he tries his best to mask his enthusiasm.

Levi likes your artwork too, you think. Any time he’s been inside your apartment he makes a point to stop by your hanging painting of Jeremy. He glances over it a few times, usually making some remark about it. Something or other about, “It’s holding up pretty well.”, “Do you use varnish?”, “How long did this take you to paint?”, “Do you have other paintings?”.

It’s actually quite sweet. Not that Levi visits your dwelling often aside from your routine walks to and from work, and well, that one time. Well, multiple times, actually. But neither of you have spoken much about it, or addressed whatever all those times really meant.

Okay, so maybe Levi does pay you a visit more often than you think he does. They usually don’t consist of much talking though, not the “get to know you” kind anyways. Well, that’s a lie, you’ve definitely gotten to know each other quite well.

That’s besides the point. Your experience with his body gives you nothing to work with gift wise. Unless a blow job could be considered a decent enough gift. Actually—

You follow that familiar bend, concrete curving to the left, and nearly slam into a body. Levi stands with his arms crossed, silently gloating at your defeat and his victory. You hope your glare is as mean as you intend it to be.

He had waited for you. It makes you happy and angry all at the same time. He’s still an asshole though.

You roll your eyes and stomp past him, huffing out a weak insult. Levi only laughs, and follows closely behind you.

Thankfully, the time he had left you alone had given you a wonderful idea. You just hoped you had enough time to execute his gift.

The cold fades from your bones and hangs off the material of your clothing as you enter your apartment lobby. You shiver at the change in temperature, but it’s not enough to stop you in your tracks. You run up the stairwell, knowing exactly where to place your feet to avoid the cracks and dips in the old wood. It’s a quiet accomplishment, your familiarity. It reminds you that this is now your home.

Levi is left in the dust this time, and it’s only until you’re about to slam your front door shut do you remember your companion. His palm holds the pine still, and you turn your head. His eyes flicker, a questioning invitation.

“You want to come in?” you ask rhetorically, noting his left foot is sliding further and further into your threshold.

“Obviously,” Levi answers anyway, eyeing at your lips. “It’s a holiday, I can think of a gift you can give me.”

“Too late, I already came up with an idea,” you laugh, blocking him from taking any more steps inside.

He frowns, “Seriously?”

“Yeah. You left me to my own devices. You reap what you sow, pretty boy.”

His silver irises roll, “Now I’m definitely coming in.”

“Nope.”

You hate to resort to this, as it’s a cheap trick, but it’ll work. You think. You hope.

Turning completely, you place your hands to Levi’s shoulders, and jolt your body to shove into his. Your lips meet his, and though he’s unprepared for how quickly you capture his pout, he responds pretty quickly. His hands fall from your door, his feet falter, and he takes a step back to brace for your impact. All according to your plan, you smile into the kiss.

When he’s far enough into the hallway, you remove your hands, push back with lightning speed, and slam your front door shut. You lock it before Levi can wrestle his way back in.

“You’re devious,” he swears behind the pine. “I swear, if you even think of doing anything big or extravagant, I’ll never speak to you again.”

“Then how will you get your birthday gift?” you call back. “You know, that gift you were hinting at earlier?”

“Who told you?” you can feel the anger in his voice reverberate off the wood.

You snicker, “Who do you think?”

“I’m going to kill them.”

“Goodnight, birthday boy!” you smile ear to ear, turning your back and walking away.

Levi calls your name, knocking on your door rapidly, “You better not give me anything, I swear!”

You choose to ignore his threats as you go about setting up your painting supplies. Your kitchen floor isn’t exactly the best art studio, but risking the chance of Levi seeing your creation out on your balcony isn’t worth taking. So, your kitchen tiles will do. You can always clean up your mess later with a washcloth and some soapy water. Worst case, you have bleach on standby.

You think Levi gives up after fifteen minutes. The knocking slows, his shouts becoming weak, until finally you hear nothing but silence. You chuckle to yourself, already covered in drying paint, and dutifully continue your work.

You can see it in your memories, but you thank the universe for the creation of the internet. It provides great references for your subject matter, even though it takes you a decent five minutes to find the exact image you’re looking for.

You drink multiple cups of coffee throughout the night, groaning in frustration and sighing in accomplishment at your piece. It’s a rollercoaster of emotion, to say the least, but you think Levi will like it.

The sky is a lighter shade of midnight when you finally complete your painting, washing the dried paint off your hands and arms and settling into bed. You go to set alarms on your phone, and laugh quietly to yourself when you see three missed text messages from the very ravenette you’ve been crafting for.

“I really won’t talk to you for a week. I hope you know that.”

“Please don’t waste your time getting me anything. I don’t need anything. It’s just another day of the year.”

“My bed is cold. Fuck you.”

“Merry birthday Levi!”

You spring up from behind the bar, Hange and Petra on either side of you. You shout in unison, smiling ear to ear.

Levi stands in the doorway, face fallen and eyes hard set. You think his expression is hilarious, exactly on par to how Levi must feel about this.

All morning, you tried your absolute hardest to avoid the ravenette. Offering your beloved begonia his routine cup of water, Levi had seen you out on your balcony. Slamming his doors open, mouth already opening to yell across the railing at you, you flew the cup to his side of the mezzanine. Your distraction worked, the plastic clattering noisily across the metal, and hauled your ass back inside. Nearly a close call, you huffed and came to accept the fact you’d have to isolate yourself within your dwelling for the rest of the day.

Or until the coast was clear. Luckily, Hange was one step ahead of you.

“The Raven is at the cafe. I REPEAT. THE RAVEN IS AT THE CAFE. MISSION GET YOU TO THE BAR WITHOUT RUNNING INTO THE RAVEN IS IN THE GREEN. GET YOUR ASS MOVING SOLDIER.”

“Hange… are you stalking Levi?”

“Mind your business soldier. MOVE MOVE MOVE!”

Not the nicest text messages in the world, but they made you laugh regardless. You just hoped Levi would miss your retreating form in the midst of your mission, gift in tow.

Thankfully, the plan went without a problem, and you made your way undetected into the bar. Setting up the decorations with Petra didn’t take long, a mix of birthday banners and Christmas colors. Hange’s bar looked very festive within an hour’s time.

It was all worth the effort, even if Levi looks like he’d be happier doing literally anything else. He deserves to have a day be focused on him.

“Wow, you shouldn’t have,” he mutters monotonically.

“Cheer up, friend!” Hange grins, circling the bar to pull the ravenette in for an enthusiastic hug. Levi wriggles against their hold, displeasure ridden across his face, “You get one hug from everyone. That’s my gift to you this year.”

“You’re a menace,” he hisses, though his right hand comes around their waist to pat at their back.

“Happy birthday, Lev’.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

When Hange pulls away, you can’t mistake the gleam in Levi’s eyes. It’s calm, full of comfort. He can act like he hates this, but you think Levi’s just a big softie. It’s cute how he hides his smile behind a frown.

Petra follows Hange’s path, hands behind her back, smirking, “You won’t believe what I got you.”

“Petra,” he grits his teeth. “What?”

With a shit eating grin, Petra whips her hands forward, and you stifle your laughter. Levi stares at the gift dumbfounded, blinking rapidly to understand.

“You got me a bottle of water?”

The strawberry blonde nods vigorously, “Yes!”

“Why?”

“I owed you one. For that time I blacked out and Hange had to take me home.”

“Very thoughtful,” Levi mutters, taking the plastic in his hands. He ponders at it for a moment, before a small smile graces his lips, “Thanks.”

Petra leans in, hugging his side for a brief moment, “I put my heart and soul into that.”

“I’m sure you did,” he half heartedly hugs her back. They release each other quickly, and then you realize with a pounding heart that it’s your turn.

Why Hange insisted on giving gifts the second he came through the door, you’ll never know. They gave some vague explanation about “He’ll just kill us on the spot if he has to wait anymore than what he has to”. You had simply shrugged, and agreed to their plan.

You gulp, and spare a glance to the wrapped gift resting at your shins. You pick it up, and tread lightly over. You hope he likes your painting.

His glare could cut through your skin. Levi looks pissed. To be fair, the canvas is pretty large. On the floor it reaches just below your knees, a good half of a foot long on either side. It was the biggest surface you had in your collection. Still, it’s sentimental, so you think he’ll look past the size.

“Levi,” you state his name, standing directly in front of him.

He narrows his eyes further, opting not to speak. Oh, so he’s going to be serious with that no talking thing? Fine with you.

You hold out the present with a shy smile, “Happy birthday.”

Levi takes a deep breath, exhaling loudly out of his mouth. After a moment, he reaches for the gift, and the weight leaves your hands. He’s meticulous at unwrapping, making sure to not rip any section of the paper. You wonder what he’s like when he has multiple wrapped gifts in front of him. It probably takes Levi an hour to open every gift.

You think he figures it out pretty quickly — the underside of the canvas meets his gaze first, and his jaw slacks. Whipping it around, he’s less careful with the paper, and tugs off the wrapping with abandon.

Levi stares at your painting, eyebrows furrowed. Without removing his eyes, he speaks, “Is this-“

“Yeah,” you bite your lip.

“But,” his eyes continue to search the subject, running a finger over the dried paint. “How? You did this all last night?”

You nod nervously, “Yeah.”

“It’s the river,” he states. “The one in the city.”

“Mhm,” you smile. “I didn’t have time to buy a frame, but I figured you’d kill me if I did. I took your threat very seriously.”

Levi flips the canvas back around, mumbling out the message written on the back, “A cool place.”

You take the time to drink in your finished painting. It’s hazy, definitely more messy than what you would’ve preferred, but you like it all the same. From the descending steps of the park, to the moonlit water cascading eternally to the right — you remember with fondness the night you and Levi had shared. The first time you truly felt like you knew him, the unapologetic, raw version of himself. It’s cheesy, you know, but it’s as much of an important place to you now as it always was to him.

“So you have somewhere to think when you can’t go to the real thing,” you offer as the silence invades your conversation. “You’re not going to give me the silent treatment still, are you?”

“I may, depending on how shitty your hug is.”

A clear invitation given, you close the distance between the two of you. Levi settles the canvas down cautiously, and you wrap your arms around his back while his hands rest on your waist. Your head lulls to his shoulder, and you smile softly.

“I hope you like it,” you whisper.

“I do,” he rasps. “Thank you.”

As subtle as you possibly can, you place a quick peck to his shoulder, and pull away from the comfort of his arms. His grip starts to tighten, but ultimately loosens once Hange speaks.

“Get a fucking room you two.”

“Disgusting,” Petra agrees with the brunette, feigning a sour face. Though, she sends a wink your way.

Levi only rolls his eyes, “Fuck off. Are we done with the gifts now?”

Your nails scratch his back in comfort, “You know, I’m very curious about this traditional drink Hange makes you every year. I have to try it.”

“It’s great!” Hange says.

“It’s awful,” Petra groans.

The pair share a look between them, erupting into giggles after a moment. Hange shakes their head, “Whatever, you’ll drink it because I said so.”

Petra sends you a discreet look, mouthing a near silent, “It sucks.”

“I like it,” Levi pouts.

“I’ll pretend to like it if I hate it,” you console him, hand still making tiny circles into his shirt.

Levi leans into your touch, and after checking to see if anyone’s watching, he leans in and places his lips to your forehead, “How kind of you.”

“I try,” you respond, heart fluttering in your chest. “By the way, you have one more gift.”

“Is it the one I asked for last night?”

“It may be,” you tease, wiggling your eyebrows suggestively.

“Maybe I do like gifts afterall,” he muses, sparing you one last kiss before he joins the pair at the bar counter.

The night blurs after that. Between conspicuous touches shared between you and the ravenette, to swallowing down special cocktails you end up actually liking, time begins to fog. Hange’s bar booms with boisterous laughter, and your heart warms at a particular thought that passes through your brain.

There isn’t anywhere else in the world you would rather be than right here, right now, with the people most precious to you. You adore every single one of them. You finally feel completely at home.

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#levi ackerman fic #levi x y/n #levi x you #levi x reader #levi fanfiction #levi ackerman x y/n #levi ackerman fanfiction #levi ackerman x you #levi ackerman x reader #aot fanfiction #snk fanfiction #tw: alcohol #tw: drinking

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thatredheadwriter · 3 years

Note

Hi! I saw your requests are open and I was wondering if you would wanna write something with Peter Parker x reader where y/n is super nice and understanding to everyone around them and basically lets people walk all over them and they give 110% to everyone but doesn’t always get that back and at some point something pushes them over the edge so they goes to a party or something and gets super drunk and not acting like themselves and Peter finds them and they breaks down and cries “what about me?!” Very dramatic of them lol (I identify as her so I’m sorry if one crept in, I tried to make it gender fluid!)

Overworked

Hey anon! Hope this lives up to your expectations, and sorry it took me so long.

This fic is not NSFW, however, my blog is only for those 18+ as a general rule. Do not re-publish or cross post without my explicit written permission (reposts with credit are ok). All characters are over the legal drinking age.

Warnings/mentions of:

drinking

family issues

job stress

swearing

(Y/N) = your name

(y/g/p/s) = your gender preference sibling term (i.e. brother, sister, sibling)

(y/p/n) = your pronoun

(Author's Note: This was fun to write, and I'm sorry it took me forever! I just really wanted to get it right. I did my best to keep it gender neutral, but just for future reference, you can request whatever pronouns you like for the reader! I'm personally she/her, so I enjoyed getting a little out of my comfort zone and trying to write a gender neutral reader.)

"Yeah...of course...I'll be there," you waited for your mom to finish talking. She was throwing your sister's baby shower this weekend at some restaurant in midtown and she was insisting you stop by, even though you were working all night the night before. "I love you too, mom. Bye."

You couldn't exactly tell her you'd be running mission control for a small covert operation into a recently reactivated Hydra base. And that you'd be sitting in the same desk chair for nearly twenty hours from take-off to touch down. And that the whole time you would be worried about the lives of your closest friends in the world.

Sure, your family and friends knew you worked for Stark Industries, but they had no clue how you really earned your pay. Your cover was that you were an event manager, and it wasn't a total lie, you managed a lot of events.

"Hey, can I ask you something?" Nat poked her head into your office. You smiled tiredly and the unusually bubbly redhead sank into one of your office chairs. "I am planning a she’s, gay’s, and they’s, night, not optional," she added before you could protest,"We're going to celebrate a successful mission, and my latest birthday."

"Nat, I really don't think I..."

"No buts. Please, for me?" she faux pouted, and you sighed, giving in.

"Great, we'll meet in the lobby at eight. Make sure to wear something sexy," she stood up from her seat and left so fast it left your head spinning.

The rest of your afternoon consisted of you running all over the tower. Upstairs to find Tony and ask a question about the new tech, downstairs to talk to Steve about the plans to enter the base (and to remind him he is REQUIRED to wear a parachute anytime he jumps out of or off of something greater than a three story building). Then you had to find Nat again, which given her burst of energy was difficult even with FRIDAY's help. By the time you were finished it was ten o'clock and your stomach was growling.

You met Peter in the elevator, and immediately remembered you had agreed to watch the most recent few episodes of the Mandalorian with him, and you groaned. All you wanted was to go upstairs to your apartment, eat a bowl of macaroni and cheese, and collapse into bed. Not to mention you had an 8:00 am meeting with some people from the DOJ that Tony had asked you to attend.

"Hey, you ready to start watching?" he asked, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

"Yeah, yeah. Do you care if we order takeout? I'm starving," you groaned as you pressed the button for Peter's floor.

"Oh, well, I already ate, but you should definitely order something. Are you okay? You seem kind of off."

"I'm fine, just tired," you leaned your head back on the cold metal and shut your eyes for a moment.

"Do you want to reschedule?" Peter shifted slightly trying to catch your eye.

"No, no. I'm fine. Let me just get some food in me and I'll be good."

You were not good. After downing some lukewarm noodles from the only Thai place still open and delivering in your area, you settled in next to Peter on the couch in his apartment. It wasn't fifteen minutes into the first episode that you were out.

Pete woke you gently, trying not to startle you. You woke up slowly and blinked the sleep out of your eyes. Peter's gray shirt had a small dark stain over his chest, and you realized that you'd been drooling.

"Oh my god, Peter. I'm so sorry."

"This," he looked down at the spot and laughed a bit, "It's fine, no big deal. You were also snoring."

You buried your face in your hands, wishing you could curl into a ball and disappear. Peter's hands found your wrists and gently pulled them down. You could see he was still smiling, though softly now.

"Hey, hey. It's okay. You just need some sleep."

"You're right," you said rubbing your face. You stood from the couch and stretched. Peter looked like he wanted to say something, but he didn't. "I'm sorry I fell asleep, let's try again later. If that's okay with you."

"Yeah, I'm free tomorrow night."

"No can do, I'll be power-napping. I'm running mission coms for Steve, Nat, Sam, Bucky, and Clint. They're going to scope out that re-opened Hydra base in Argentina."

"Ok, what about the night after that?"

"I've got a baby shower in the afternoon and then Nat's dragging me out to a mandatory ‘she’s, gay’s, and they’s’ night."

"Damn, and I thought I was busy."

You sighed in defeat, "We'll figure it out some other time, okay?"

"Okay. Just get some sleep," he said softly, and you nodded.

The next morning, you woke up only thirty minutes before you were due downstairs at one of the biggest meetings of your life. You hurriedly fixed your hair and pulled on your best business suit and made a beeline for the elevator. Once inside you popped a stick of gum in your mouth and cursed not showering the night before. But you figured after the meeting you could slip back upstairs and really get ready for the day.

You practically slid into the conference room, out of breath and hoping you didn't look too insane. Tony looked at you, a little concerned, and introduced you to the five members of the U.S. Department of Justice. You had no clue as to why Stark insisted you join the meeting, as you were clearly out of your depth. He only referred to you twice during the meeting and one time you didn't even know the answer to his question.

"Thanks for coming," he'd addressed you after the visitors left, "I wanted your opinion of some of their surveillance proposals, since you run coms on a lot of our recon missions."

You thumbed through the documents you'd collected during the meeting, "Yeah, I'll look over everything."

"Great, we'll meet on Monday afternoon and go over what you think."

You really just wanted to stay in your apartment for the rest of the day, but you had at least two more things to do before you could get in bed for a power nap. A quick shower helped you feel more awake and you grabbed a bagel and your usual coffee before heading to your office. First you had to file a few reports, one of which was past due. After three hours of paperwork you had to go down to the coms center and get the space ready for your long haul shift and double check all the tech the team would be using.

You were just finishing making your checklist when your watch started buzzing like crazy. It was an S.O.S. signal coming from Ned. So since you were in the center, you activated the console and called him.

"(Y/N), are you there?" he asked, sounding really frantic. You could hear metal crashing in the background and something that sounded like screaming.

"Yeah, Ned, I'm here. What's going on?"

"Well, Peter and I were over at this comic shop on Staten Island to check out the newest issue of..."

"Ned, get to the point faster, please," you blew stray hairs out of your face.

"Right. Peter's fighting a lava monster."

"A lava monster?"

"Yeah, I guess. I'm not really sure. We're over on Staten Island. I'm trying to help out as much as I can, but I don't have my tech."

"Ok, I've got your location. I'm going to patch into Pete's coms and try to help him from here. Get to safety, Ned. I'm going to mute our connection so I can focus on Peter, but I'll still be on the line."

You tapped furiously on the console, fingers flying over it as you sent commands and searched information relevant to the area. Moments later, you had tapped into Peter's suit so you could hear and see what he sees.

"Peter, can you hear me?" you asked, trying to make your voice as clear and enunciated as possible.

The video feed on the screen in front of you shook a bit, as Pete wasn't expecting to hear your voice.

"(Y/N), is that you?" he yelled, and you scrambled to turn down the volume coming out of the speakers.

"Yeah, Ned called me. Lava monster?"

"I think so. I was able to clear out most of the citizens."

"Okay, let's do this then."

You stayed on coms with Pete until he finally subdued the 'lava monster.' Turns out it was just a jewel thief who got his hands on some high tech and decided to take a hint from the Scooby Doo villains. When you finally turned the console off, you headed upstairs to intercept Peter for a debriefing. You learned that if you didn't debrief right after a mission or incident, it really made paperwork a bitch.

Peter swung in on the landing pad to find you already waiting for him. You noticed he was limping a little bit, so you stopped him, knowing he'd never go to the infirmary of his own volition.

"Peter, are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," he said, but the grimace on his face and the way he was holding his side told you he really wasn't.

"Let me see," you demanded, and Pete dropped his hands from his side with a hiss to reveal a portion of his suit had been burned away, and underneath you could see red, charred flesh.

"Oh my god, Peter!" you gasped, covering your mouth with your hands. You weren't a squeamish person, you couldn't be with your job, but you felt bile rising in your throat. "I am taking you to the infirmary right now."

He started to protest, but you weren't having any of that.

"Don't make me get Stark involved," you warned, and he sighed. You led the way to the elevators, and told FRIDAY to bypass any other floors.

You sat with Peter as he got checked out and bandaged up. Luckily he did have the advantage of rapid healing, but the doctor who treated him warned him to take it easy for the next week. An hour later and you followed him back to the elevator. He was holding his suit and looking at it pitifully.

"Tony's definitely going to know. At least if you want your suit fixed. Hey, but at least you went to the infirmary and got checked out. That'll shorten the lecture by at least five minutes."

"Yeah, well, it'll still be a long lecture. Do you have time to grab something to eat?"

"I wish. I still have to finish prepping for the mission."

"Okay, well good luck."

"You too."

You and Peter took separate elevators, he went up to the residential floors and you were headed back down to the communications room. Finally you were able to work in peace and get everything done you needed to. You checked your watch, it was six. Perfect timing, you could go upstairs, get comfy, order some good takeout food, eat well, and then get into bed early. You were practically drooling at the thought of a good nights' rest. In the elevator you did a little happy dance, it was all coming together. But of course you celebrated too soon.

A blaring alarm came over the speaker in the elevator, and you felt it change directions. An automated voice began repeating evacuation instructions over the intercom and you felt like you could cry. Once the elevator opened on the ground floor, you started looking for someone who could give you some answers, like when you would be able to get home.

It wasn't until 9:00 that night that your were allowed back into the building. You'd killed time by taking a taxi to the nearest big box store and getting a card and a gift for your sister's baby shower, ticking that box for the weekend. You were going to have a couple of hotdogs, but the vendor was cash only and you were out. You'd given the last of it in a loan to Clint. So you went back to wait with the others who needed to get into the tower.

You caught the elevator up with Bucky and Sam. They were in a much better mood than you were, and were way too loud about it.

"Hey, maybe (Y/N) can help," you heard Sam say as they entered the elevator. You groaned internally thinking, "no, (Y/N) cannot help you." But instead you simply sighed and waited to see what they could possibly want from you.

"Ok, so we're trying to figure out how to get Nat for her birthday."

"Get Nat?" you asked, already wary as to what you were being dragged into.

"Yeah," Bucky started, leaning back on the elevator wall, "we're trying to think of a way to prank her."

"A prank for her birthday? Do you want her to kill you?"

"No, it's not really a prank," Sam corrected, "We just want to surprise her a little bit."

"So get her something nice."

"It's her birthday, she'll be expecting to get gifts. We want to do something, uh, what's that word Sam?

"Extra," Sam finished for him.

So instead of going to bed like you should have, and they should have thinking back on it, you ended up in the shared common area trying to help them figure out what she would like.

An hour and a half later they finally let you go. You dragged your lifeless body into the apartment and kicked the door shut behind you lazily.

In the kitchen, you made a couple of peanut butter sandwiches and poured yourself a large glass of milk. You ate quickly, given that you were starving, and went straight to the shower, not counting on waking up early enough to do it in the morning.

After the shower, you were ready to collapse into bed. You'd just pulled back the duvet when you heard a knock at your front door. With a sigh, you padded into the living room and opened it. You were shocked to see Vision of all people.

"(Y/N), I hate to disturb you this late, but I could use your assistance with a personal matter."

Vision looked uncharacteristically distressed, so you opened the door further and stepped aside to signal he should come in. He stepped inside with smile and a nod. You gestured with your hand that he should sit, and he took a seat on the couch. You sat in the armchair next to him.

"What's up, Vis?"

"It's Wanda. I said something earlier that upset her. She told me which words upset her, but I don't understand why they did. I was hoping that you, as her friend, could explain exactly what happened."

"I'll do my best, what did you say?"

Vision went on to repeat something that on the surface sounded innocuous enough, but its meaning could either be completely innocent or extremely derogatory. You had to explain to him what exactly Wanda heard in his words and why that would make her feel belittled and insecure. When he realized how he sounded, Vision immediately became remorseful.

"Thank you, (Y/N). I appreciate your help, and your friendship. I will let myself out."

He stood from the couch and walked back out your front door. You sighed and pulled yourself back off the chair and trudged to the bedroom where you finally collapsed into the warm embrace of your bed.

Your alarm came far too early the next morning. After hauling your ass out of bed, you brushed your teeth and washed your face before slipping into a t-shirt and joggers. In your kitchen you poured a large glass of your favorite cold-brew coffee and fixed it to taste. You grabbed a banana and a granola bar and headed down to your new home for the next twenty-four hours.

Take-off occurred without a hitch, and comms were up and running smoothly. You had to stay alert in case of emergency, but as long as you could still hear and monitor things, you were able to entertain yourself however necessary. So you worked on reports.

The flight from NYC to the old Hydra base in Argentina was just over six hours via Quinjet, so you had plenty of time to finish your reports, and even had time to look over some of the DOJ proposals. But when they touched down outside a remote village at the base of the Andes, it was time to give your full attention to the mission.

You spent the next ten hours giving the team whatever they needed: blueprints, topographical maps, satellite imagery, etc. There were times when it was fairly quiet, but it was never long before someone needed something.

Thankfully the mission went off without a hitch. The team was headed home, and you were almost done. Just another six hours, the debriefing, and then you could get back upstairs and into your bed. Well, after you wrapped your sister's gift and signed the card.

It was seven in the morning when you finally saw another person. A whole 24+ hours alone was actually kind of nice, despite your exhaustion. The debriefing was fairly quick, the whole team was ready to crash so you went over all the necessary stuff and agreed to do the rest later.

You crawled back into bed right at 8:00 am, and hoped four hours of sleep would feel better than it sounded.

Four hours of sleep did not feel better than it sounded. You scrambled around the apartment, running between trying to get ready in the bathroom and getting your sister's gift and card ready. You crawled in an Uber ten minutes past the time you were supposed to leave, and asked the driver to step on it. Unfortunately, you had the world's slowest driver.

You fumbled out the back of the car with the large gift in your hands and rushed inside, knowing your mom wouldn't be happy with your tardiness.

"I know, I know, I'm late. I'm sorry," you sat the gift on a table overflowing with them.

"It's fine dear," your mother said in a breathy voice that made it clear that she was not pleased with you. "Although if you keep prioritizing career over family, you may never have one of your own some day."

You rolled your eyes. It was going to be a long afternoon.

The whole party you saw your sister one time. You stopped by her table at the head of the room to say hello, and she introduced you to her friends, "Oh, yeah, this is (Y/N) my (y/g/p/s). (Y/P/N) works for Stark Industries."

You smiled and made some small talk, and then went back to the table you'd been sat at. After that, you tried to sneak out several times, but your mom always intercepted you. She would introduce you to someone new or ask for your help with some menial task.

Five o'clock rolled around and you, of course, got stuck helping to clean up. First you helped her get all the gifts into the rental SUV she'd pulled around back. Then you helped her collect all the decorations, as she was convinced she could reuse them. Finally you aided her in taking out the trash, because she didn't want to pay the venue staff to do it.

It wasn't until 6:30 that you finally left, and it was another hour before you made it back to the tower after traffic.

"(Y/N)? What are you doing up?" Peter asked you as you joined him in the elevator. He was sweaty and wearing training clothes. It was easy to deduce he was on his way up from one of the basement training floors.

"I had my sister's baby shower to go to, and now I'm headed up to change for Nat's thing tonight."

"But didn't you just run coms for that 24 hour mission?"

"Yep," you popped the 'p' as you leaned your head back against the cool metal wall of the elevator.

"You should really take a break."

"You don't think I don't know that?" you laughed sarcastically.

It may have been a bit harsh, but you really didn't need a lecture at the moment. Peter looked at you like he wanted to say something, but he didn't, and you spent the rest of the ride in silence.

Once back in your apartment, you turned on the coffee maker, and ran back to the bedroom to get changed. You pulled on what was your only really nice 'going out outfit'. It was definitely on the sexier side, but you didn't have the time or energy to get self conscious about it.

Back in the kitchen you poured a large cup of coffee and drank it black. Not your preference, but you didn't have time to fix it nicely, and the more concentrated, the faster the caffeine would hit your bloodstream. After rinsing your mug, you headed back downstairs to meet with the others.

The others were thirty minutes late, you pulled out your phone to text Wanda when the lobby door opened. Wanda and Vision walked in, his arm around her. They were eating ice cream.

"Hey, (Y/N). You look good, where are you headed?" Wanda asked, as Vision broke away to push the elevator button.

"Nat's thing. That's still going on isn't it?"

Her eyes widened, "Oh, no one told you? Nat was pretty exhausted after that mission, so we're pushing it to next weekend."

"Oh," you said simply. It felt like you were floating, detached from reality. "That's fine."

"Are you sure?" she asked, looking concerned.

"Yeah, yeah. You know, I think I'm going to go out anyways. I need it."

Without another word, you started for the front door.

You weren't sure how long it had been and how many drinks you'd had, but you felt great. The music in the club was loud and it kept you from thinking. As you danced through the crowd, you found a stranger. He was tall, dark, and handsome, and best of all he was right there, willing to give you what you needed right then and there.

As you rubbed your ass back against his clothed crotch, your arm was grabbed, and you were pulled away from him. Looking at your abductor, you were shocked to see a concerned looking Peter.

"(Y/N), where the hell have you been?" he yelled over the thump of the bass once he'd gotten you over to the wall.

"I've been having fun," you slurred, rolling your eyes at him.

"You shut off your phone and no one's heard from you in hours! Mr. Stark had to remotely activate your phone and ping your location."

"You tracked my phone?" you asked, getting angry. Who the hell gave them the right, you wondered. "I'm just out here, by myself, getting fucking wasted!"

"Why, (Y/N)? This isn't you."

"Maybe it should be me," you countered, "Maybe if I cut loose every once in a while and did something for myself I wouldn't be so fucking miserable all the time."

"What are you talking about?"

"My life sucks, Pete. It really sucks ass. I never have any time for myself. I never sleep, I hardly ever get to eat a hot meal, and I'm constantly exhausted. I do everything for everyone, and I'm sick of it."

At some point during your rant, you'd started crying. Hot tears rolled down your face and you leaned heavily against the wall. Peter's face softened, and he reached out to touch you. As soon as his skin met yours, you pulled him into a tight embrace, and his arms locked around you. His fingers smoothed your hair as you sobbed into his chest.

"Come on, let's get you home."

He pulled you through the crowded club, half carrying you. You finally made it outside, where Peter held you close as he asked the valet to retrieve the car. They brought around the dark sedan and Peter helped you into the front passenger seat, even going as far to buckle your seatbelt for you.

Peter jogged around the front of the car and took his place in the passenger seat. You turned to face the window, embarrassed to let him see you this way, drunk and overemotional. His free hand reached over to rub your shoulder softly.

"I'm sorry," you breathed through sobs.

"For what?" he asked, genuinely confused. You turned to look at him.

"For going off on you like that, and running off and getting drunk, and making everyone worry."

"No, (Y/N). We're the ones who should be sorry. You've been working way too hard lately."

You didn't have the strength to argue, so you just let your head rest on the cool glass of the window.

When you woke up the next morning, you couldn't remember how you'd gotten to bed, or when, but you were grateful you had. Your head was pounding and the light coming from the window wasn't helping. You rolled over with a groan so see a glass of water and some ibuprofen set out for you on the nightstand.

After downing the water and medicine, you checked your phone and had nearly had a heart attack. It was 2 pm already, and you'd missed several meetings, and a scheduled phone call. You jumped out of bed and began fumbling around for your clothes.

"(Y/N), your vitals indicate you may be in distress. May I call someone for you?" Friday's voice came from above you.

"No, Friday," you grumbled, "Actually, wait. Call Mr. Stark and let him know I'm on my way down. Tell him I overslept and missed our earlier meeting, but I'll be there ASAP."

"Mr. Stark has indicated you are on paid leave for the week. Would you still like me to send the message?"

Paid leave? You hadn't requested any time off.

"Also, Mr. Parker asked to be notified when you woke up. Should I notify him?"

"Sure," you agreed absentmindedly as you sat back down on the bed. As hard as you tried, you couldn't remember what happened after Peter picked you up at the club last night.

You stood up from the bed and made your way in to the bathroom. A hot shower helped relax your tense muscles and alleviate the headache. Afterwards, you felt much better. You dressed in shorts and a t-shirt, deciding to stay comfortable.

In your living room sat Peter, scrolling on his phone on your couch.

"Hey," he said, setting his phone down and turning to look at you over his shoulder. "How'd you sleep?"

"Pretty good I guess. Do you know why Stark has me on paid leave?"

"Yeah, I talked to him last night after I got you into bed. He agreed that your workload's been way too high lately, and he's giving you the week off to rest. He's also going to let you hire an assistant, if you want."

"You did that for me?"

"Of course, (Y/N). I hate to see you so stressed out. You deserve better."

"Thank you, Peter."

"Don't thank me yet. I ordered a pizza, your favorite ice cream is in the freezer, and I'm still supposed to take it easy from the other day, so I was thinking a Star Wars marathon might be in order. If you're up for it."

You smiled so wide your cheeks hurt, "Definitely. Have I ever told you that you're the best?"

You leaned over and pulled him into a hug, and he reciprocated. As long as Peter's by your side, you could do anything. Including say no.

thatredheadwriter’s Masterlist

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker imagine #peter parker oneshot #peter parker headcanon #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker fanfic #peter parker fic #peter parker is an adult

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finerllines · 3 years

Text

lonely heart

(gif from @t-lostinworlds)

a/n: hi amigos this is my first time writing for tom so i am kinda nervous but i hope you guys enjoy!! if anyone has any feedback/thoughts pls lmk :D

summary: tom thinks before he speaks and unintentionally hurts jamie's feelings and his attempt to remedy the situation does a bit more than rekindle their friendship (crappy summary sorry, basically its a footballer!tom friends to lovers)

wc: 7.3k+

tw: just fluff with a couple of effs and jeffs

///

It was highly unusual for Jamie to be one of the sharpest in a class. As a proudly mediocre student she tends to be the 10th person to raise their hand to answer a question. But for the first time today she was the first to answer a couple questions despite requiring her usual minute of processing. The boost in self-confidence was short lived once she realised that most of the lecture hall were in several states of hung over. Ah right, the men’s football team had finally broken the three year curse and made it to semis sp of course they threw an obscene party to celebrate.

She had heard about these legendary parties. There would be booze, weed and anything else they could legally get away with. Being one of their rare ‘no invite needed’ parties, pretty much the entire student population would show up. Jamie was one of the few that opted out. She had yet to find her group of ethnically diverse friends as advertised on school brochures, so she always felt too awkward to show up alone. But turns out her rather square habits had served her well this time – at least that’s what she told herself.

Amongst the murmurs of everyone packing their things, a familiar voice called her name. “Jamie hey!” She turns to see Tom waving her down from a couple rows back.

Tom and Jamie went way back. Being next door neighbours since kindergarten meant that they shared every memory up until about 15, when they started to drift apart. There was no big dramatic fallout or any bad blood. They just gradually stopped talking when Tom started getting busy with football and Jamie, well Jamie was never really busy with anything. She was more than happy to be cheering from the side lines. But she never got an invite and was too nervous to ask. Tom was just so personable and charismatic that the whole room can’t help but be cling on to his every word. The complete opposite of Jamie really. So naturally, she was too intimidated by Tom’s newfound popularity to try to insert herself into his new life.

By pure coincidence (or fate) they wound up in the same university where Tom continued to play football and Jamie continued to do … the bare minimum really. She wouldn’t go so far as to say they were back to where they were as kids, but she would call them friends at least.

Tom slowly made his way down the stairs, giving nods of acknowledgement to other hungover people. When he finally reaches her, its almost disappointing.

“Could you do me a huge favour and send me your notes? I think I’m kinda still pissed from last night so all I heard was loud ringing.”

“Bold of you to assume I’m not in a similar state of drunk or hung over.”

Tom runs his hands through his hair and lets out a quiet laugh. “I mean you don’t ever go to any parties so it’s not too hard to guess that you didn’t ditch your loner tendencies last night.”

Okay, that hurt.

“I’m sorry, loner?”

“Yeah.” His nonchalance makes the affirmation more cutting. “What? What did I say wrong?”

Her frown only deepens as she makes her way past Tom to leave the lecture hall. “Sorry that I’m a little offended that you just called me a loner.” Too embarrassed to show her hurt, she walked past Tom and tried to unfurrow her brows.

Jamie wasn’t oblivious. She knew that she could count the number of friends she had on one hand and probably none of them knew her birthday. Sure, maybe she was a little lonely. But to be called a loner, by Tom? That definitely stung.

“Hey are you mad? Don’t be mad I didn’t mean it in like a mean way. I mean it in like a normal way!”

That definitely did not make it better.

Tired of this back and forth, Jamie turned around and gave her best deadpan. “I’ll send you the notes as soon as I can. Promise.”

She tells herself to not get bothered by the comment and just keep a straight face, at least until she got back to her room. But for some reason she couldn’t shake it off. She didn’t know if it was the way he said it, as if it was a known fact, or because it was Tom who said it. Either way, Jamie knew that it was going to bug for at least the rest of the day.

You know how after you learn a new word you suddenly hear that word being used all the time? And you can’t help but think ‘is capricious really a word that everyone uses daily and I just somehow never noticed?’ That’s how Jamie was feeling after being called a loner. She was suddenly so acutely self-aware of her loner-ness.

Isn’t university supposed to nurture independence? Why was everyone except Jamie with a buddy 24/7? Apparently, she was the only one capable of going to class, or the canteen, or the laundry room alone. It suddenly became very clear that the line between independence and loneliness was incredibly fine, and she wasn’t too confident which side she was on.

Has she always been like this? No wonder Tom never invited her anywhere. He would have to babysit her the entire time because she wouldn’t even try to speak to new people.

It never really bothered her because frankly there was no one she particularly wanted to be friends with. No one except Kai.

Kai was the starting striker on the football team and was also in almost all of her classes because they were doing the same degree. Jamie found herself reinforcing an unfortunate cliché by crushing on the cute jock with floppy hair. She tells herself that it wasn’t his boyish smile or cute little celebration shimmy he does whenever he scores a goal that got her, but his insightful and nuanced comments in class. Sure.

Despite their clear shared interest and the countless opportunities for Jamie to befriend him she always chickened out and convinced herself that it was a bad idea. But this newfound self-awareness had her thinking: if she could strike a conversation with Kai then she wouldn’t be a loner. Loners didn’t talk to new people, let alone their crushes.

It was a fool proof plan. If she could actually do it that is.

Tom was looking for an empty seat in the library when he saw Jamie at a table with a spare seat. With a silent nod of acknowledgement, he sat his things down and got situated.

Results for his exposition module just got released and he couldn’t afford to fail another writing class. If the team continued their winning streak his final submission for the class would clash with a match, so he needed to maximise all the other components to compensate for the inevitable bullshit he submits for his final.

“Fuck!”

The light slap to the table caused Jamie to look up from her work. “You good?”

“Yeah, I just got a shitty grade for that expo assignment.”

As if paralysed, Tom could not stop looking at his screen.

Good ideas, but disorganised and sloppy. Need for more effective proof reading.

Of course.

After what felt like hours, he was broken out of his reverie. “Do you need help with the class? I’m pretty good at editing essays so I could help with your final if you want?” Jamie chewed on her bottom lip, immediately regretting her offer.

“Really? You would do that?” Tom asked with a brightness in his voice and eyes.

Getting uncomfortable with all the eye contact, Jamie’s eyes started darting around the library. She mentally urged herself to commit and replied, “Well yeah. But it would be cool if you could help me with something in return.”

“You want my help with school?” he asked.

“Um, it’s not exactly school related. More of a personal problem,” she offered vaguely. There was something about Tom’s eyes that prompted her to continue. It was that damn charm again. “I need you to help me be more … uh social.”

“Uh, can I get more details please?”

Her mouth opened and closed a couple of times before she mustered enough courage to say, “I just need some help like, you know, putting myself out there and making new friends.”

“Okay … is there a particular thing you want me to help with?” he prompted again.

Fuck it.

“There is this guy that I kind of have a crush on and I could maybe benefit from some coaching. You know since you are so extroverted and well liked I thought you could teach me some stuff. Like how to start conversations with new people, or whatever.” Jamie tried to sound casual. As if asking for help making new friends was completely normal. “I’m a pretty good writer so I thought we could exchange services. I help you get a better grade for your expo final, and you help me potentially make a new friend.”

Her façade must have worked because Tom simply replied with a chipper “Sure!” and stuck his hand across the table for a handshake.

Huh. That was simple enough.

When Jamie made her proposition, she did not account for the fact she and Tom would have to start spending more time together. Like actual time together, not just the brief catch-up when they crossed paths. That’s how she found herself in Tom’s room for the first time for their first ‘lesson’.

She sat at his desk taking in his room while waiting for him to return from the kitchen. Amongst the football medals and jerseys, she spots a small photo pinned in the corner of his corkboard.

It was the two of them as kids in colour coordinated swimsuits. They were dripping wet from the pool, arms wrapped around each other, and cheesing hard showing off their missing teeth. Her mouth quirked up as she recounted the memory. That was the day they learnt how to swim in the adult pool together (because they had to do everything together) and they were so excited at all the adventures they could go on now.

“That photo’s pretty cute huh. I found it when I went home last winter.” Tom grins widely at her and places two glasses of water down before sitting on his bed.

“Yeah, I forgot about that day. I forgot about how fun that was.” The wistfulness in her voice was not lost on Tom but she changed the subject before he could reminisce. “So, what’s up first!”

“Well, there really isn’t a formula to making new friends. If I’m honest you might have made a bad deal here J.”

Jamie deflates a little. All her insecurities came rushing back at once.

But before she could say anything Tom jumps in to reassure her, “Don’t worry though! We just gotta find a way to get you to open up.” He sits up and rests his hands on her shoulders and gives her a confident look. “You will speak to that boy.”

And just like that, Tom somehow managed to instil her with confidence in so little words. There was something about the way he looked at her that made her trust him.

“Okay, teach me your ways Tom.”

Tom’s first tip to starting conversation was to find some common ground. So, they spent the day trying to narrow down a couple of Jamie’s key interests that she could bring up.

They started out slow. Talking about herself never felt natural and this occasion was no different. She tried telling herself that it was just Tom, someone she had known forever, but that somehow made it more difficult. This weird purgatory in between acquaintances and friends made it difficult for her to gauge how exactly to approach the situation. She didn’t want to imply that she thought Tom had forgotten all about her for fear of insulting him. But she also didn’t want to be presumptive and assume that Tom still remembered everything.

Thankfully, Tom was a natural conversationalist and did most of the heavy lifting. Whenever he sensed that she was getting shy about something he made sure to pay extra attention and probe further. It didn’t take long for the two old friends to fall into a comfortable conversation, bantering and poking fun at each. By the end, Tom had forgotten that he was supposed to be teaching her something, he was just having a good time.

“See, you’re a natural. We’ve been talking for, woah, we’ve been talking for three hours.” A surprised grin stretched across Tom’s face. He was so invested in their conversation that he didn’t realise that so much time had passed. And if he didn’t have to go to training, he was certain they would have continued to talk for hours and hours.

Seeing how (dare she say) proud of her Tom was made Jamie feel good. Like really good. With heated cheeks and a shy smile, she replied, “Well that’s just because it’s you. We know I can talk to you because we used to be best friends. We probably share 30% of the same brain because we spent most of our lives living the same life essentially.”

“Nah, don’t sell yourself short, you are very fun to talk to. You always have been.”

“Hmm, well my lack of friends suggests otherwise,” she said sarcastically, immediately wishing she hadn’t said anything because she could tell from the way Tom tensed that her playful reply didn’t read as playful to him.

An awkward beat of silence passed before Tom said, “You don’t think you are fun to talk to? You’ve always been a little quiet you’ve never been boring.” Then he gives a little shrug and asked, “and we’re friends, right?” sounding almost offended.

She felt the hair on the back of her neck stand, unsure of what she should say. Eyes darting around his room, she spotted that photo of them again.

“Yeah, we’re friends but that’s different because we were kids, you know. I don’t really have any ‘adult’ friends I guess.”

Tom didn’t know what to say to that. His first instinct was to disagree and insist that they were ‘adult’ friends, but he knew it would be a lie. This was the first conversation they had, that wasn’t just an exchange of life updates in about five years - their first proper conversation. Hell, he didn’t even know they were in the same university until they bumped into each other a month in.

When she asked him to teach her how to be social, he didn’t think much of it. He thought she was just wanted a guy’s perspective on how to talk to her crush. It did not even occur to him that she was actually affected by being referred to as a loner, that this was something she was insecure about. Once he connected the dots, he felt like a dick. It wasn’t mean spirited; it was just the first word he thought of when his friends asked him why they never saw them hang out if they had been friends since young. She’s just a bit of a loner, doesn’t really go out much. In hindsight, it probably wasn’t the best thing to say especially to people who didn’t know her. She was just shy, not very good at starting conversations with new people. But it didn’t matter back then because they were glued to the hip, she didn’t need to speak to new people when Tom kept her plenty entertained. Guess that all changed when he stopped speaking to her.

He normally didn’t get bothered when their past friendship was brought up, most of his team even knew her as his friend from back home. But for some reason being reminded of the relationship they used to have this time made him a little sad. Maybe because this was the closest he had felt to her in years and it was only because she was trying to become friends with someone else. Someone who was not Tom.

“Sorry I’m late,” Jamie apologised while placing a takeaway cup next to Tom’s laptop, “the line was super long, so I got you an apology tea.”

Tom greeted her with warm smile and took a sip. “London fog?” he whispered, surprise flashing in his eyes.

“Yeah, she replied, suddenly feeling insecure, “do you not drink them anymore?”. She didn’t think twice when placing the order but now she was thinking five times over.

“No! You got it right I just didn’t expect you to still remember.” Tom took another sip to try and obscure the grin growing on his face. A foreign warmth spread across his chest and up his neck, kind of like how he felt when she would nuzzle into his neck when they hugged as kids. He found himself struggling to stay focused on the question she was helping him with, wanting to sneak glances at her profile.

This was the fourth time they had met since their agreement. The previous three meetings had been ‘socialising lessons’, which basically meant that they spent hours just talking, under the guise of getting her to loosen up. Really, Tom just enjoyed their first meeting so much that he found himself looking forward to their next one. They talked about different things each time, somehow never running out of topics, and he could not remember the last time he spoke to intensely with one person about something other than football or school.

Instead of quenching his excitement, each conversation only fed it, making him increasingly eager for the next. He even caught himself subconsciously keeping a mental catalogue of stories and random thoughts that he wanted to tell her, hoping to see her eyes crinkle with delight as she brings her hand to her mouth to try and stifle her giggles.

Even now, when they were in the library to work on an essay, his head was swimming with conversation topics, waiting for the right moment to jump in instead of paying attention to the definitely helpful things she was saying.

A quick snap pulls Tom out of his head and he sheepishly mutters a quiet apology, expecting Jamie to be frustrated that he was wasting her time.

Instead, he gets two quick pats on the forearm and a soft, “it’s ok, I know it’s hard for you to concentrate for too long a time.”

Aaaand that warmth was back.

He told himself this was normal. Jamie was very pretty, and when a pretty girl touches him his body reacts. That’s just science. It was definitely not because she still remembered two small details about him, and not because it made him feel special.

“We can take a break if you’d like, I’ve been rambling for quite a while.” Jamie arched her back and raised both arms in a big stretch, and Tom’s eyes followed her fondly.

Fondness. That’s what he felt for her – the thing you feel when you rekindle an old friendship.

Angling his body sideways to face her, he pushes the laptop away and leans forward to rest his head on his folded arms. “A break would be nice, I’ve been so working hard,” he agrees with a cheeky smile.

With a sarcastic eye roll Jamie joined Tom, resting her head on the table so that they were face to face.

Taking advantage of being in the library, he slides an inch closer to her before asking, “So, have you spoken this mystery boy yet?”

Her cheeks immediately flush. It wasn’t as if she was embarrassed to find a boy attractive, it was just that she had never told anyone about Kai before and admitting to being attracted to someone you have yet to speak to felt like a very primary school thing to do. But she had committed. Besides, Tom had heard her gush about boys before, no big deal.

“Um, not yet, I haven’t had the opportunity I guess,” she replied, tucking her bottom lip between her teeth.

“Do you have a particular ‘opportunity’ in mind?”

To be honest she hadn’t thought that far ahead. She kinda just assumed that once Tom’s knowledge was bestowed on her everything would just fall into place. Maybe she didn’t think this through.

“I was thinking that I would talk to him at some party,” she whispered quickly, “but you know, when I’m ready to go to parties that is.”

“Oh, your guy is a party guy?” There was no hiding the shock in Tom’s voice.

He had imagined a quiet, well-read guy who would have thoughtful conversations with her until the wee hours of the morning; not some guy who spent his nights drinking piss cheap alcohol in crowded rooms. Basically, the opposite of him. But seeing her face drop a little at his comment made him feel terrible once again.

Damn it Tom, this is not how you rekindle a friendship.

“I didn’t mean to sound surprised in a bad way you just never go to parties because –”

“Because of my loner tendencies right?” she mutters with a tight smile. “No, I get it. I’m not a fan of crowded tight spaces or hooking up with people so parties aren’t really my thing. I just – I mean parties are social spaces right, so talking to new people would be normal, and I know he goes to some parties so, I just figured.”

Leaning in even closer and tilting his head to meet her eyes, he tries to clarify, “I’m sorry about the loner thing, again. I wasn’t thinking and I didn’t mean anything by it, and you are great to hang out with so obviously you being alone is a choice and not because no one wants to hang out with –”

“Tom, it’s ok, I know you weren’t trying to be mean”, she reassures, cutting his ramble short, “besides, I know what I’m like.”

Wanting to move away from the hole he dug for himself he asked, “So who’s this guy anyways?”

“Oh, I didn’t realise I hadn’t told you yet. It’s Kai, from your football team.”

Kai.

Tom tried to pretend that he wasn’t staring at Kai while during warmups because he felt like he got punched in the gut when Jamie revealed that she had a crush on him. Tried to pretend that he wasn’t jealous that she was willing to attend a party for Kai and not for him (not that he had ever invited her to a party). That would be ridiculous. She confided in him about this insecurity so obviously she trusts him. Which was better than a stupid crush. Way better.

No, no, no. Kai was simply in Tom’s line of sight, that’s all.

Admittedly, that doesn’t explain why he spent way too long that night scrolling through Kai’s Instagram and watching his match highlights.

But that didn’t mean anything, he was simply curious, that’s all.

A good thing, Jamie discovered, about this arrangement was that it distracted her from being self-conscious about doing things around campus alone; a bad thing, was that she now spent all that time thinking about Tom.

She found herself replaying their conversations on her walk home after every meeting, surprised at how uneventful they all were, almost as if them talking and hanging out was … normal – just two old friends. A gentle smile would always appear no matter how much she tried to suppress it. She enjoyed Tom’s company, sue her.

She also had Tom’s number now, which was new. This meant she now received the occasional meme or update related to something they had talked about, which often led to a short exchange of quips before the conversation naturally died – nothing too crazy.

That was until he sent a photo that proceeded to occupy her mind for the rest of the day, week even.

Growing up, Jamie would jump from hobby to hobby hoping to find something that stuck. Needless to say, she never spent enough time with a hobby to become good at it. But that didn’t deter her, or Tom for that matter. Having been inspired by the Olympics, she persuaded her parents to enrol her in rhythmic gymnastics classes, and she somehow stuck around long enough to compete with her group. Her enthusiasm won her a ‘best performer’ ribbon which she was chuffed about, but no one was more excited than Tom who was over the moon.

Captioned “look what mum found” was a photo of Jamie donned in a sparkly leotard with slicked back hair standing in front of Tom, who was beaming, with his head propped on top hers and arms wrapped around her tightly.

Seeing it made her breath catch. She had completely forgotten about that competition and seeing little Tom’s proud expression made her insides turn to mush. The award she won meant nothing, merely a participation ribbon, but he gushed and sang her praises as if she had won the whole damn thing.

He was her number one hype man. And then they stopped talking.

Whenever she was asked why they stopped talking she would just say they drifted apart, were into different things. But they had always been into different things and that didn’t stop them before. Truthfully the real reason, at least from her perspective, was very embarrassing.

When Tom started getting serious about football they started spending increasingly less time with each other, and when they did, he would excitedly talk about his practices and the recent matches he watched. And she had no problem listening to him talk about football constantly, she just felt a little … inadequate. No matter how hard she tried she just couldn’t really contribute to these conversations, she couldn’t match his excitement or join his world. So, when she didn’t get an invite to watch his first football match, her 15 year old brain immediately concluded that he didn’t want her there, that he decided that she didn’t fit into his new cool footballer life. With each passing match she was absent from, this narrative grew stronger and stronger. Would he have invited her if she had asked? Sure. But that would effectively be inviting herself, and there is nothing worse than being somewhere you are not wanted. Strangely enough she didn’t allow herself to be upset by it because to her it made perfect sense.

The worst thing was, she wasn’t sure if she was embarrassed because she let a small insecurity end a friendship, or because a part of her still believed it. Even now, she couldn’t see how she could possibly fit into his life. Would he even want her to fit into his life?

But that was not important right now, she was not supposed to be thinking about Tom. She was supposed to be thinking about Kai. Like should she change seats to be in his eyeline in class? Should she wish him luck before their next match? Did him and Tom not like each other? Is that why Tom froze and went silent for half a second when she told him it was Kai? Why would Tom not like him, was Kai secretly a dick?

Shit, now she was back to thinking about Tom.

Let’s hope Kai says something so smart and insightful in class today that she can’t help but swoon.

As luck would have it the football team made it to finals and of course the only appropriate response is to throw a massive send-off party. Jamie was initially going to sit this one out as per usual, but after some persuasion from Tom, she found herself putting on an outfit that was not hers and running over all the advice he gave her on how to start conversation.

It honestly didn’t take much to persuade her. The moment Tom extended a personal invite she was sold. The moment he said, “Please, I want you there to celebrate with me,” she was done for.

But of course, she couldn’t let him know how easy she was for him, so she put up a bit of a fight by making a bunch of excuses: I won’t know anyone there – that’s the point, plus Kai will be there; I don’t like drinking around strangers – you don’t have to drink if you don’t want to, and I will make sure there is stuff for you; I don’t have anything to wear – I can get you an outfit.

Sure enough, Tom showed up an hour before the party with clothes he borrowed from a teammate’s girlfriend and an excited grin. Admittedly his excitement was infectious. She was full of adrenaline and the new clothes almost making her feel like she was playing a character, a more confident and charismatic character.

That’s what she continued to tell herself as she approached the house and saw party-goers spilling out of the house and onto the street.

No big deal just get a drink and lean against a wall until you spot Kai, then casually approach him and wish him luck for his match. Easy peasy.

As she squeezed through the crowd to find the kitchen someone grasped her forearm and tugged gently, turning her around.

“You came!” Tom half-shouted to make himself heard. His eyes looked her up and down and he muttered a soft, “Woah.”

Not being able to hear him, Jamie interpreted his raised eyebrows and slightly open mouth as a look of disapproval. She self-consciously pulled her arm out of his hold to fold her arms in front of herself. “I look kinda weird huh,” she said.

“No, you look great!” he assured her, reaching out of unfold her arms to pull her closer to him so he wouldn’t have to shout. “It’s just not something you would usually wear so I was caught a bit off guard, but it’s not different bad, just different.”

Unsure of how to respond, Jamie gave him a quick smile before going back to her resting expression, one of unease. She let Tom lead her to the kitchen and pass her a can of coke. As he leaned against the counter and opened his mouth to say something, a group of guys came up to him and started talking about the upcoming match. Tom turned to give her an apologetic look. But before he got the chance to excuse himself from the group, she mouthed “it’s okay” and left to go find a suitable corner to people watch.

When Tom was done making his rounds after what felt like forever, he finally got the chance to look for Jamie. He was usually more than happy to spend the whole night mingling and chatting football with anyone, but for some reason tonight he was impatiently waiting for each conversation to end so that he could look for Jamie. Instead of trying to dissect why he felt his way, he shoved that aside along with the way his mood deflated a little when she excused herself and left.

He peered around bodies looking for a girl in a sparkly black top, finally spotting her standing next to the sofa talking to … Kai.

Oh.

Right, that was why she was here, so this was a good thing. Good because she was getting what she wanted, a chance to speak to her crush and meet new people; not good because she and Kai could actually hit it off and he didn’t want to think about her laughing and sharing secrets with another guy. But who she spoke to was none of his business, because she was none of his business, so he forced himself to focus on the good only.

Recently, however, he had been getting this burning urge to make her his business. But that was neither here nor there, just like all the other new Jamie-related feelings. With his plan now thwarted, Tom decided to find a comfortable spot with a good view of the two of them. Just so that he could keep an eye on her for her safety. Like a good friend.

So, he parked himself by the hallway sipping his beer, trying to let his gaze wonder instead of staring right at Jamie. Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t help but take this time to admire observe her.

She looked beautiful, of course she did, but he didn’t really like the outfit. Maybe it was the way she kept adjusting the straps or tugging at the hem, but there was something about her outfit that seemed like a costume, like she was playing pretend. He didn’t think twice when borrowing a top from a teammate’s girlfriend but now he couldn’t stop himself from worrying if she felt uncomfortable, scolding himself for not picking something that was more Jamie. At least the conversation seemed to be going well, she didn’t look uncomfortable. Quite the opposite actually. She wore a casual smile which seemed to grow with each occasional nod.

It was getting harder and harder to focus on the good.

Before he could continue to analyse Jamie and Kai’s conversation, a hand firmly clapped his shoulder.

“Hey man what’re you doing here by yourself!” It was a tipsy Nate, Tom’s teammate. Nate scanned the room before spotting Jamie. He squeezed Tom’s shoulder to get his attention and asked, “Isn’t that Jamie? Looks like the loner turned over a new leaf huh she looks good.”

“She’s not a loner, don’t call her that,” Tom practically growled, shrugging Nate’s hand off his shoulder. He wasn’t allowed to appreciate how beautiful Jamie was without appreciating the other parts of her.

“Woah,” Nate said, holding his hands up in defence, “chill man I was just joking.”

The logical part of him brain knew that Nate was just joking, but the slightly drunk and jealous part of his brain knew that being called a loner really hurt Jamie’s feelings, and with Kai seeming to make Jamie happy, he couldn’t be the one hurting her feelings.

Giving in to his irrationality, Tom forcefully poked Nate in the chest and told him that it wasn’t funny and to knock it off. Being a drunk 20 something year old boy, Nate was easily provoked, so of course he had to retaliate. The next thing he knew, Tom was forcefully shoved backwards causing him to stumble into a couple people beside him and spill a couple of drinks. A chorus of “oyys” and a few more pushes were directed at Tom and before he knew it, a small commotion must have started because it suddenly got pretty shouty and pushy. Before things got out of hand, Tom was grabbed by the wrist and pulled out of the crowd and house and into the cool air.

A concerned voice grounded him. “Are you okay? Are you hurt? What the hell happened?” It was Jamie.

He took a second to take in her furrowed brows and the way her eyes scanned him up and down. Slipping one arm out of her grip, he cupped her face and locked their gazes.

“Hey I’m okay, nothing happened.”

She let out a small sigh of relief and asked, “Do you want to leave, you are kind of drunk and your team may be a little mad at you.”

“No, you finally got the chance to talk to Kai!” When he realises what just happened, he drops his head onto her shoulder dramatically and groans. “I’m so sorry J, my stupid drunk ass interrupted your conversation with Kai.”

She chuckles softly and strokes the back of Tom’s head slowly, and assures him, “It’s ok, no one is that bright when drunk. C’mon let’s get you home.” Holding him by his wrist again, she began walking towards his flat before he could protest.

Tom was not that drunk. The couple shots and beers had mostly worn off during their cold walk back. But was he going to pretend that he was still sloshed so that Jamie would stay a little longer and tend to him? Absolutely. Even though he knew he should feel bad for making her leave the party (and Kai) early, he couldn’t suppress the buzz in his stomach. He spent the whole night trying to get her alone and it finally happened.

Jamie placed a glass of water and some painkillers on his bedside table then she started to look for her stuff to get ready to leave. As she turned to say goodbye, she was met with a boyish pout.

“Can you stay for a bit? Leaving me alone would be well cruel, I was supposed to be celebrating tonight.” Tom extended grabby hands from where he sat on his bed to try to be extra convincing.

Who was Jamie to deny him.

So, the two old friends laid side by side on Tom’s bed and fell into a deep conversation. When the conversation started to lull, Tom asked, “Good job on speaking to Kai tonight, you looked like you were enjoying the conversation. Why did you guys talk about?”

“Wow, approval from the master, what a privilege,” she said sarcastically before answering sincerely. “It did feel kinda good to put on a fun outfit and speak to him, like I completed some kind of mission. And the conversation was good, I suppose. I wished him luck for the match and then we started talking about a book we were reading for a class which was … nice. It was nice to have an in depth discussion about it, but I couldn’t really find a way to transition into something more personal. There wasn’t much of a connection, maybe we just don’t have much in common.”

“We don’t have much in common but always have loads to talk about.”

“Well, I guess the student has yet to become the master.”

They shared a soft laugh together before Tom changed the subject, “Speaking of, do you remember when you tried to teach me how to juggle.”

She laughed loudly at the memory – something she found herself doing a lot with Tom. “How could I forget, you somehow managed to bruise both our eyes. We had matching black eyes for a week and you wouldn’t stop telling people that we fell trying to do a wrestling move.”

“Uh, a genius move if you ask me. We were the coolest kids in primary school. I wanted to tell everyone we punched each other in the eye to know what it felt like but I figured the wrestling was more bad ass.”

They spent the rest of the night going through their rolodex of memories, intermittently going off on random tangents about whether magicians were cool or whether waking up early on weekends to watch cartoons were worth it.

When they could no longer fight of the exhaustion, Tom boasted quietly, “Didn’t have to talk about school once. Quite a connection if you ask me.” His hand patted around the small space between them to find hers, and timidly slid his hand under hers to intertwine their fingers.

Despite appearing to be asleep, Jamie’s mind was wide awake. She just realised that they had once again talked for hours, and even though she was still in her party outfit, she felt totally like herself and at ease. Maybe Tom was right, they had a connection, a special connection.

She forced herself to switch off her brain and just enjoy the moment, and not think about what this might mean. She wiggled her fingers to grip his tighter and moved towards him to rest her head against his shoulder, prompting him to do the same. Tom subconsciously let out a satisfied hum and drifted off to sleep with his head nestled against hers.

A couple weeks after their unplanned sleepover, Jamie found herself packed into stadium stands, feet bouncing constantly to try and keep warm. The football final had finally arrived and for the first time, she had been personally invited by Tom to spectate. She nearly peed herself with excitement.

She woke up before Tom the morning after the party. Their fingers were no longer interlocked but his hand was still atop hers. They had both turned onto their sides to face each other through the course of the night. Unsure of what to do when confronted with their closeness, she stayed put and took the opportunity to admire his boyish features. He still looked so familiar, almost comforting.

When Tom woke up, he too took a minute to just gaze softly at her. It was oddly intimate, like there was something in the air.

Their day started the way the previous one had ended – two friends reminiscing and talking about everything. Well, almost everything. Consciously or not, they both skirted around the waning of their friendship.

In a moment of bravery, Jamie shared how she felt at 15, apologising for letting her insecurity ruin something great.

Tom was silent, face frozen. She started to panic.

Before she could apologise again, Tom whispered, “It wasn’t your fault.”

In all honesty, he was not 100% certain why they stopped talking. When he joined the football team in secondary school he started getting invited to hang out with the team during and after school, and he remembers feeling … self-conscious. He loved playing football, don’t get him wrong, but it almost seemed boring in comparison to Jamie. He went from being Tom to Tom from the football team while Jamie was a wildcard, picking up new hobbies every other week. She was so secure in herself, not needing to depend on one thing for external validation, and that made him feel pretty lame. Not wanting to bore her with football all the time, he slowly retreated from her until they eventually stopped talking. In his defence, he was 15.

It took Jamie a second to take in all of that. “Maybe our brains were extra undeveloped at 15,” she said light-heartedly.

Realising she wasn’t mad at him, Tom let out a relieved laugh and leaned forward to bump his head against hers affectionately.

“Will you come to my next match?” he whispered, “It would mean a lot to finally have my best friend cheering for me.”

“I would love to go.” She couldn’t stop smiling.

Intertwining their fingers again, Tom squeezed her hand and sported a smile as wide as hers.

“I’m so happy we’re best friends again.”

She couldn’t agree more. And that excitement had yet to die down. Despite having to be out in the cold at 8 in the morning, she couldn’t be happier to be there, clapping and cheering especially loud when Tom got hold of the ball.

The brightness in her eyes didn’t even falter when they lost, and when she went to meet Tom, she was pleasantly surprised to see his eyes light up when he saw her too.

She opens her arms to await his embrace and when he locks his arms around her waist to press her into his warm chest, she can’t believe she went this long without his hugs.

“Sorry you lost, but you looked really good out there, I’m really proud of you.”

No one could have guessed that he just lost the league final by the grin on his face. He couldn’t find it in him to be upset. Not when he had the rest of the day to spend with Jamie.

They held hands all the way to the car and before they parted, he tugged her towards him and gave her a smack on her forehead then lips causing her to erupt into shy giggles.

Yeah, that smile wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

#tom holland imagine #tom holland one shot #tom holland fanfic #tom holland imagines #tom holland #tom holland fluff #peter parker imagine #peter parker one shot #peter parker fanfic #tom holland x reader #bestfriend!tom #footballer!tom #football!tom #tom holland football #tom holland oneshot #tom holland fanfiction #writing #never wrote for tom before kinda nervy

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humanlighthouse · 3 years

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hello i am here and i have heihua kiss prompts!! either 8. Laying a gentle kiss to the back of the other’s hand. (+bonus if hurt/comfort!) or 23. A kiss that tastes of the food/dessert they are eating. xoxo

Hello friend!! I went with the second prompt, you will notice a theme in there perhaps :D I hope you like it! This was cross-posted here for better readability~

__________

For their young master’s birthday celebration, the Xie clan went all out, as was expected.

It was a grandiose event, with only the finest of culinary delicacies, the prettiest of dancers, and the best of everything that could be drunk. Everyone of importance in the antiques and less-legally-acquired antiques business was there, in black tie - or almost everyone. Xie Yuchen’s smile never quite reached his eyes but he shook sweaty palm after sweaty palm and posed for the required photos with a level of patience that should honestly count toward his general karma. Thankfully, by midnight, the young master was deemed properly toasted to, fed and celebrated, and the guests bid their goodbyes at last.

Xie Yuchen closed his bedroom door behind him and rested his forehead against the wood panel.

Here’s to another year.

Shrugging off his jacket, he walked into his closet. His own face stared at him from three different angles as he loosened his tie. He wasn’t tired yet, but he should probably change anyway. He crossed the room toward his pajama closet, looking for something comfortable. There had been enough showing off for one night, so he pushed aside the silk co-ords. Maybe the velvet robe. He took it off the hanger, running a manicured hand over the fabric. No. Too hot for the season. He dropped it on a chair. When he turned back toward the closet, he noticed a midnight blue sleeve peeking out from behind where the robe had hung, in the darkest part of the closet. His only hoodie.

There was an idea.

He stared at it for a long moment, before grabbing the garment and shrugging it on over his dress shirt and wool-blend pants. He swapped his leather shoes for crepe-soled boots and turned the lights off.

Less than five minutes later, he exited the manor, having successfully avoided every single person in it. He had had to duck behind a vase at some point so a maid didn’t see him, and for the first time that evening, he had laughed, albeit silently. There would be no real consequences, no consequences at all, even, if he was found out, but it was exciting to sneak out. He snapped a face mask onto his ears, checked again that he hadn’t been spotted, and walked down the street and away from the gates.

As he walked, Xie Yuchen wrestled his phone out of his pants pocket. With the ease of habit, he created a throwaway account, and then pulled up the webpage of his favorite fast food place. The closest one would be too suspicious - he had been there only last month. Selecting the next one over, he submitted his order and paid. By the time he arrived, his number was first on the list, and a greasy bag of treats awaited him.

This restaurant was farther from his house but closer to the river. It was warm enough, that evening, that groups were scattered here and there along the riverside. Xie Yuchen found one empty spot with a decently clean bench to sit on, and dug into the bag.

The city lights twinkled over the water’s surface, ever changing - stop lights turning red and green and red again, car blinkers sparkling to life, office neons buzzing in the distance. There were people laughing nearby. He listened to what he could of their inept conversation as he chewed, salt and fat heavy on his tongue. Usually he would be annoyed at the forced proximity, at the unwanted company of these strangers sharing beers and laughs, but not tonight, for some reason.

Still, it was better to be alone after the night he’d had. Enough socialization for one day. Even after an entire burger and most of a large serving of fries, he didn’t have the energy to keep up the usual pretense. Maybe if he was there with a friend it would be different, but he didn’t have that many of those. Wu Xie certainly counted as one, but according to the birthday card he had sent, he was off raiding a secret spot in the South with his boyfriends this week and wouldn’t be back for a while. Xie Yuchen hoped it was code for something else. At least one of them would be having fun tonight.

He finished the fries and crumpled the greasy paper, throwing it back into the mostly empty bag. The only thing left was what he had been looking forward to: a tub of soft-serve ice cream doused with an extra helping of chocolate fudge. He rummaged around the bag for the plastic spoon and popped open the container, inhaling the sweet scent with a smile of anticipated delight. That would almost make up for tonight.

He carefully chose the ratio of chocolate to ice. That first spoonful was always the best one. He brought it to his mouth and closed his eyes. The fudge melted onto his tongue, vanilla ice cream following right behind, hot then cold, and delicious. He couldn’t help but let out a small moan.

“That good, uh?”

Long legs folded beside his on the bench and for one short second Xiao Hua was tempted to throw the ice cream tub into the river and pretend this never happened.

It was too late. Hei Xiazi had seen him, and he would never let him live this down now.

Oh sure, the man had seen him in more compromising situations, technically speaking, but from the way he smiled at Xie Yuchen’s face, Xie Yuchen knew that his guilt was obvious. He was screwed. Hei Xiazi had just hit blackmailing gold.

“Gimme a taste if it’s that good,” he asked with a jerk of his chin toward Xie Yuchen’s ice cream.

Xie Yuchen frowned and moved the tub away from him. He had expected a few days of grace before the demands started, at least.

“What are you doing here?” he asked in return.

The man’s attire was ridiculous, even by his low standards. Under his usual leather jacket, the one he always wore, the one Xie Yuchen could recognize the stink of from miles away, he wore a tank top and a black polyester tie, haphazardly tied around nothing and dangling well under his belt. He looked like a cheap gigolo. Maybe that was his new side gig. Xie Yuchen made a mental note to inquire about that.

“Well, you see, I was on my way to wish a friend a happy birthday, maybe a little later than I should have, admittedly, but what’s a little night visit between friends? Except, what should I see when I arrive at their home, but a shady silhouette sneaking out of it! Very suspicious, you’ll admit. I felt that it was my duty to make sure that the interloper was properly identified.”

“What bullshit are you sprouting now?” asked Xie Yuchen, eyes narrowed.

“I followed you,” replied Hei Xiazi with a satisfied smile.

“No you didn’t.”

“How would you know?”

“Because I checked. You ran into me here by pure chance and extrapolated the rest,” he guessed.

The smile fell from Hei Xiazi’s face, but the humor stayed in his voice.

“Yeah, okay I did.”

Xie Yuchen huffed a laugh and turned back to his ice cream before it melted.

“I really was on my way to you, though,” continued Hei Xiazi. “Look, I even have a gift and all.”

When he turned, Xie Yuchen found himself faced with a brightly patterned square. The gift wasn’t badly wrapped, Hei Xiazi’s fingers were certainly skilled enough for it, but it had been done with the tackiest paper Xie Yuchen had ever seen. There had been plenty of gifts at the party earlier, covered in gold-embroidered fabrics and satin, tucked into leather boxes and glossy bags, but this was the first that Xie Yuchen had wanted to open all night. It was the only one of those that seemed … heartfelt.

He quickly ate another spoonful of ice cream instead. It was probably just another joke.

“What’s in it?” he asked after a minute.

Hei Xiazi was still holding it out to him, and probably would until he relented. Sighing, Xie Yuchen took the package.

“Open it later.”

At the strangeness of his voice, Xie Yuchen raised his head and looked at Hei Xiazi. The lights were playing on his face, and with those stupid glasses he could never be sure of anything, but it almost looked like he was blushing. The man was looking toward the river, not at him, so Xie Yuchen allowed himself to stare.

In his hand, the ice cream tub was cold and slightly wet with condensation, and the sweetness of chocolate remained in his mouth. There were still people laughing nearby, in riotous bursts, but he found that he didn’t envy them anymore.

It was his birthday, and Xie Yuchen was going to celebrate it the way he wanted.

“Hey,” he called.

With a hum, Hei Xiazi turned, just enough for Xie Yuchen to grab his face and kiss him. He startled but didn’t pull away, rather turned his head aside to deepen the kiss, hands curling around Xie Yuchen’s waist and into his hair. His clever tongue swiped at Xie Yuchen’s lips and he licked into his mouth when they opened.

“Wow, you were right,” he exclaimed when they broke for air. “That is good ice cream!”

With a roll of his eyes, Xie Yuchen handed the tub to him. It was a day to indulge in guilty pleasures, it seemed.

#heihua #kiss prompts #my fics

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thekitschdiet · 3 years

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the kitsch diet part II

part one alr posted!! this chunk is about 3,000~ words long... let me know what u think :-) thank u all for all the luv already!!! looks like I really will hit 31 followers by easter!!!!!!!!

Who is the Kitsch Girl?

I think this is more loosely defined, but The Chic Diet did a truly admirable way of reducing a girl to her YSL bag and her really skinny legs. Now, that implies an archetype, or a population in a specific location. I think kitschness is kind of the niche you fill when you’re not really much of anything else, sort of your own conglomerate of mainstream-specific. One major requirement, though, is being a little too into something somewhat uncool. And the whole illusion falls apart if you have any sort of outward insecurity. See, the Kitsch Girl is somewhat undefinable because she is so much of everything. She exists in multitudes, in a way that is also quite simple to understand; think of a list of axioms, or principles to live by. And now add a section to each one that says “but…” to make a collection of verified exceptions. Say, the kitsch girl will never wear jeans. But she thrifted this pair of vintage flares she just loves. She doesn’t reply to texts efficiently, but sometimes she will within a couple seconds. No mascara, no dinner forks, candles are to be collected not burned; but that was a gift, or something. It’s not personal, of course, those are just the contradictions she exists in. Don’t try to understand it, the enigma is essential to the facade. Or maybe she just lives like this, and her character is so homogenous with her inner world there’s no sense in trying to separate it. You have to have a little bit of an individuality complex about the whole ordeal, which is normally so eugh, but if you’re kitschy enough it works on you. Trust!The Kitsch girl is not someone unlikeable, but amiable and well heeled. I double checked that last one, assuming it meant liked by most, but apparently means affluent. I suppose that is an aspect of the kitsch girl too, having seemingly endless frivolous expenses with no real strain, but that’s not important right now. People that don’t like her think so out of jealousy, or something. Envious that her clothes are all kind of shake-it-up-esque and her highlights desperately need touching up, but she still seems so enthralled with the whole of life… How does she enjoy her own company so much when other people want to know her better? Doesn’t she feel weird about blowing people off to make a joke about reading Kafka in the bath? Why would she document her cluttered, unexciting life on Instagram so delicately, so vibrantly? Of course, no one would say this to her face because they are really baseless claims. She’s nice, generous, and valuable to have as a friend. Trade-offs exist, as they do with anyone. But I like thinking it’s easier to overlook a forgotten birthday when your kitschy best friend gave you a multi strand pearl necklace to celebrate the welcome breeze of June. Or some other made-up holiday. She is so unassuming if you’re not really looking. Girls want in on her inner circle. Or they just don’t care. Nothing wrong with being liked or thought of naught, for the most part. Boys are either enthralled or repulsed by her. Her doctor knows her as something of a hypochondriac, but only minorly. It’s just carpal tunnel, don’t worry… The sales staff at CVS turn a blind eye when she slips an eyeliner pencil into her tote bag. She shoplifts on occasion, just to see if she still knows how. But she is not a shoplifter. $9 here and $6.45 there doesn’t really add up to much. Everywhere she goes, she makes a tertiary friend or two. The term of friend is loosely used here, of course. But it is nice to tell a stranger you like her earrings. Or her phone case is so fun, is it Wildflower? The kitsch girl has an eye for this kind of detail. Simply put, she is sort of unspectacular. But in a way that makes you sort of wish you knew her better.

Phone cases

The phone case is, like, religious for the kitsch girl. Sorry, but there’s just no other accessory as flippant and expensive and single-purpose as a trendy little iPhone case with some semitacky stickers plastered over the design. I used to have an iPhone XS- extrasmall- with like, 18 phone cases. It was kind of a sordid affair. I jest, but really… owning that many phone cases was kind of sick. We get it, you are frivolous and spontaneous and sooo stylish! Stop posting mirror selfies on your Instagram story, your crush isn’t going to see it. Kidding again. Having an extensive collection of phone cases is just so fun because while attainable, most people just simply do not partake in it. That makes you kitschy and unique. I really thought I had more to say about the IDEA of the phone case, but I guess in practice it is all very, very simple. You can slide your driver’s license in the back of a clear case. At what point does it stop being cool to have legal operational control of a vehicle? I don’t display mine because I don’t really like the photo. I look round. In the eyes but also just in general, swollen, unglamorous. Whatever. Not like I drive a Nissan or anything. I drive my *Mom’s* Nissan. Playing Bladee in the car seems sacrilegious. She would hate it.Back to phone cases. Sonix ones are cute but kind of overpriced retail- unless you have like, an iPhone 12 Pro Max or whatever the fuck is new this year, just go to Winner’s. They always have Xs and 11 cases. I had a cherry one for my previous phone, like the exact one Lana Del Rey had? Thank god I sold it before she got outed as a copfucker or whatever. Casetify is for an inadvertent flex. Flexing your lame, lame taste. Sorry, I know you bought it because you liked it, but what you failed to consider is just how un-Kitsch they are. SO common, and they advertise on Instagram. Sorry, I just can’t get into it! Kind of how I just never liked the Brandy Amara tanks. Or lowtop converse. Otterbox is just distressing. Like, if my boyfriend gave me an otterbox phone case I would probably break up with him because somebody clearly isn’t paying attention- one of my favorite, potentially overused joke is how Otterbox cases are the equivalent of orthopedic insoles. Sorry but if you have poor arch support or whatever, but no pain is worth giving up a good pair of Margiela slingback tabi heels. Obviously I couldn’t afford that right now because all loose income goes directly to Wildflower and my cig boy. But like, one day. I hope you want to punch me in the face a little bit after reading that. If Wildflower isn’t your thing, at least have the decency to get a beaded phone strap. But not from String Ting. Pray tell you aren’t keeping score, but they are one of my several parasocial enemies. That should have been ME collaborating with Wildflower! Should have been ME mailing shit to Caroline Calloway (more on her later, but she is the only blue check I follow. I adore her! I was on her patreon for a bit I thinkl!!) …. Side note. Phone cases are cute but there is no way to properly protect your laptop without looking just absurd or colossally lame. The foam sleeves… ick.

Having the shittiest music taste ever

So like, here’s the thing. I’m an Apple Music user, which sort of reinstates my status as an unironic My Bloody Valentine Hyperpop Death Grips kinda gal. Read; volcel. My most recent conquest ended up being a huge L on my part, but also… I totally dodged a bullet. The guy had an iPhone 11 (female trait) and didn’t know who Rei Brown was, which just seemed suspicious given his Niche. I just know he had a “making out playlist” comprising entirely of like, Joji. Which isn’t a bad thing I guess but so unembarrassing it horseshoes back to being humiliating.Like I said. Having the worst music taste. It’s nice how subjective and deeply personal your music taste can be; no one really Needs to know you’re a die hard drainer. But there’s also no point in being a die-hard drainer and Not capitalizing off it somehow. I added it up and I have well over 150 hours of just Bladee and Yung Lean. Which is so yass? The more I write, using myself as a case study, I realize just how desperately jobless I am. And Yogenfruz isn’t even hiring! UGH!I think there is something very kitschy about liking hyperpop in the least ironic, least obnoxious way. Sort of feeds into a “I’m not like other girls” thing, but I mean… That’s kind of the idea of kitsch, isn’t it? Be a little different but also the very same as your lipgloss brethren?!Side note. If you make monthly playlists I am genuinely kind of afraid of you. That is just so organized!! I just make playlists with esoteric titles and then make a new one when I’m sick of the stuff on the last. I have exhausted most genres but I think my favorite is the “I’m wearing f****ng air forces and my teeth are SO white”. Guess what genre it is. Or don’t, but it’s probably what you think is. Okay, moving on….

Curating a scent

I like thinking I smell like mango and peach, Glossier you, whatever citrus is in that Lush shower jelly and mint 5Gum. But of course it is probably less distinct and just kind of generally fruit-floral-mint. Anyway. I think Glossier You is the perfect scent for anyone with a rather elementary understanding of the whole.. Perfume business. Every bottle of intentional fragrance I own was made via aesthetic choices… it really helps that Glossier You is so cute And so universal. Now, Glossier is kind of interesting to me because it really is at the intersection of cheugy and kitsch. Kind of basic, overplayed, unspectacular. But also…. Often popular things are popular because they are good. Glossier has excellent customer suurv, they ship SO fast (and no import duties! W!) and their stuff is just so sweet and nice if not unoriginal, in kind of the same way strawberry ice cream is. Which is still my favorite, of course, especially if there’s a vegan option. I was talking about Glossier. What the hell! It’s really worth trying out. A huge principle of kitsch is just… having as many possible layers and appendages to your composure as possible. And adding a signature scent just really completes that! When curating your own, I say this as a complete amateur, know-nothing; make it something that comes kind of naturally to Your Character. Like, I’m just not a Chanel No 5 kind of girl. Odds are you aren’t either. My bottle (before she asked for it back when I told her I didn’t use it, in exchange for a Nordstrom’s gift card) was from my grandmother. Ummm.. Yeah, I really have no expertise in curating a scent. But it is nice to have a signature. And having a bottle displayed on your dresser next to your aughties McDonald milkshake themed beanie baby and a handful of lip products is just way too fun! This is the kind of girl I am, everyone! Cluttered, but prioritizing pretty-delicate things!

Cheugyism

Cheugy is a relatively new word that has unfortunately wormed into my vocabulary to replace “uncouth”. Which I use to mean graceless or tacky, but if that isn’t what it means…. Don’t tell me. That would hurt more than weighing myself after a “feast” slash pastry binge at my dear Grandmothe’s house. Like I was saying. Cheugy. It’s sort of a fucked up concept to me because it is a critique on consumption, but not the pace or volume or magnitude of it. But rather… the idea of not being “good” enough at engaging in microtrends, or involvement in the fast paced fashion cycle. Don’t get me started on TikTok, or do, but… yeah,. No. That will require a cigarette because I’m so sorry, but writing a thinkpiece on social media is so lowbrow I would need to find about six ways to aesthetically counteract it…. Moving on. I think the idea of cheugy is good, we really do need a word to simply and efficiently define “out of date/uninspired/lame”. But the way it is used to shame others for not liking the same trends or whatever is kind of gross. If you use cheugyism to put other people down and not as a neutral identifier umm… you will become what you fear. Sorry, that’s what happens. Some things that I think are cheugy or embarrassing, or just not part of my stylistic lexicon are… 1. Hooded or zip up clothing, or things with a large graphic on the back. Bingo if it's all three! I just can’t get behind it. Side note, my summer home outfit is brandy sweats and a tube top (Urban Outfitters tank I ripped the straps off) and a large cardigan that should have belonged to a stoner, but probably didn’t. I can dunk on bulky, uninspired clothes because I would honest to God NEVER be caught DEAD out of the house wearing any of it. I’m so serious. Next segment should be about the kitsch girl’s inadvertent affinity for diuretics. Remind me….. One of the ports of my laptop is dead. Not really sure what to do about that.

Eye makeup and what it means to me….

Personally, I am one of those people who never wears foundation and kind of has a complex about it. The kitsch girl wears fluffy eyelashes and owns a plethora of sparkly eyeliner. Or maybe she doesn’t, but she has something distinct and a little ritzy, if not haphazard. We all saw Euphoria and it like, totally imprinted on us. The way glitter sits on your face after a long day is so resplendent. When it’s shining and a little bit melted off from your long, semi-productive day… ugh! Just made for film. Pictures on film. But not the Prequel app. I keep getting fucking ads for it. But it’s so embarrassing. Like, isn’t the whole point of film the authenticity of the moment? The texture of the afternoon? Why would you fabricate that? Prequel is just so cheugy. More on that later. But anyhow. Wearing a ton of eye makeup kind of fits with the idea of film too I think. Like, look at you, in the moment. With your strip lash falling off! It’s all so tres-chic. Plus, for whatever reason, it’s kind of unique or notably dedicated to ~Pull up to the function~ with more eye makeup on than everyone else. Sorry, but it really doesn’t take that long! But yes I will gracefully accept your praise… it’s kind of like the dropshipping of complements if you think about it. Easy to source with little to no effort in the curating. Side note, lashes are like $20 for 40 weeks if you cut them in half and use each pair about 5 times. You could probably do more but I lose track. How the fuck is it almost June? I was trudging through the snow to check the mail for my Online Ceramics shirt just last week, I swear. The trick to cutting your lashes (the way I do it anyway) is pretty simple. Get out two lashes that are symmetrical. Find the middle and cut one slightly to the left and one slightly to the right. This means you have two sets (one set is a little more dramatic than the other but at least they are symmetrical) with longer outer edges. Glue this to the outer corner of your eye and you will look so Composed… obsessed with how this layers with three eyeliner tails (one traditional one pointing up and one pointing down directly below it, sort of like the tail light on a 2019 Lexus UX) and one below your eye, like a clown. Fun, irrelevant fact, is the first time I added this third tail to my eye makeup, my dad had just gotten home from the hospital because he was sure he had like appendicitis or something and it was actually.. Not that. Typical indie hypochondriac. He made me bring him cottage cheese on a plate with a teaspoon that evening. I put black pepper on it for flair, which he hated. Walking up and down stairs with a plate of cottage cheese is much more imprinting than most of the multiplication tables. Don’t forget to use a bright shimmer eyeshadow in your inner corner. It really opens up your eyes. I recommend Too Faced. One time I got a little bit too high and tried to film an “editorial” makeup tutorial. You will never, ever, ever see that video. But I essentially covered my whole eyelid in the ABH shadow “palermo” and smudged out the edges with a tan Tartelette Toasted shade, coupled with my long-expired Milk Makeup holographic stick. Lopsided lashes and near-blinding eyeliner experience aside, it was kind of cool. My point is, you really cannot go wrong with an arsenal of shimmers, taupey mattes and a good eyeliner pen.

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lovelyirony · 5 years

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File Away for Later

for @stony-starks, with a very nice thank you to your wonderful tags! i hope you enjoy.

The Avengers don’t have many secrets.

But there is a glaringly obvious one.

No one knows Fury’s birthday. They don’t know why he doesn’t like to share this information, as someone else knowing your birthday guarantees free cake. Tony lets everyone in the New York-area that it’s his birthday on the off-chance that he gets more than one cake.

He does get more than one cake. He gets on a power trip. It’s bad.

But Nick Fury won’t let anyone know his birthday. Not even Natasha can figure out his birthday, and she’s figured out where he buys his groceries, which was said to be impossible.

“We can’t find out,” Natasha says. “I have tried for years. I even took money from Steve!”

“No you didn’t,” Steve says.

“It was from your wallet, I stole it,” Sam says. “I wanted to know if money provided different results. I filed it under scientific research.”

“Why didn’t you steal money from Bruce, then?” Steve asks. “He’s the scientist.”

“Everyone at this office fears me more than you could ever dream of,” Bruce answers, not even looking up from his paperwork. “Also, you are incredibly easy to steal from. I feel bad every time I steal your five dollars to get a latte.”

“So I wasn’t just losing it?!”

“No, I owe you over three hundred dollars that I won’t be paying back,” Bruce says. “Good luck. Win the next bet that Bucky poses and I think that you’ll be fine.”

“Let’s not talk about Steve’s trusting nature, we’re supposed to be discussing how to figure out Fury’s birthday.”

“Short of breaking into the Pentagon, you can’t,” Clint complains. “I tried.”

Tony blinks.

“We’re allowed to break into the Pentagon?”

“It is a federal crime, possibly punishable by death depending on which judge you get,” Rhodey reasons. “But I don’t see how you couldn’t do it. Haven’t you done it before?”

“For legal and personal reasons, I refuse to answer,” Tony says. “But I will be in the basement looking over files in the next hour if anyone was wondering.”

Fury knows they’re looking for his birthday date. He also knows they won’t find it because he’s not a little bitch who lets just anyone try.

(His birthday is in December. He just doesn’t like it because it’s so close to Christmas, so then he just celebrates it then. He doesn’t see a point in having a specific date. He’s weird.)

But he doesn’t want his team knowing it because honestly? It’s kind of...fun to stop them. Over the years it’s been more elaborate. Steve’s attempts are always pitiful, Natasha tried once and got the closest, and Tony only got as far as accessing New York records, which Fury then decided to crash the whole system.

But he feels like something is happening. Bruce hasn’t looked up from paperwork once, which is highly suspicious because Bruce will take any excuse to look up from work that he hates.

There is also the fact that Tony is reorganizing files.

So Fury decides to pay a visit.

He even ditches his official coat and opts for gym shorts.

“Good afternoon, Stark,” Fury says. Tony’s head whips around, hands dropping the file box.

“I am horrified and yet intrigued that you own athletic wear. I should have known but the coat...” His voice trails off. “What did you need, Director?”

“Just wanted to know why you’re reorganizing files. You hate doing that and frequently trip Barnes into doing the task by promising him something...illicit.”

“I never promise him anything illicit,” Tony protests. “Mostly wine and occasionally bedroom fun.”

“I would like to recommend that you never tell me that ever again or bring it up again in conversation for all time,” Fury responds. “I will...leave. After you tell me why.”

“Jim is behind on files and wanted to get it done before our weekend,” Tony says. “Just file things, you know how it is.”

Fury has no reason to be suspicious. He still is, but he gets the feeling it’s a diversion as he hurries up the stairs.

Fury wasn’t exactly wrong. While he was away, Natasha did pick the lock on the door and get personal things, like a cellphone or any schedule. Fury preferred pen and paper.

Unfortunately, Fury knows that those are weaknesses and has prepared. He also carries a lighter and burns notes as soon as he is rid of them.

There is nothing in his office other than the possibility of Natasha being caught, which is precisely going according to plan.

A laptop can fit into a file cabinet. This is precisely according to Tony’s plan.

“We are a go,” Natasha says. “Now.”

Tony starts typing again, grinning.

“Rhodey, you’re on go for now,” Tony says.

Rhodey’s whole job for today is to be as suspicious as possible. This includes using Tony’s office, getting shifty looks, and asking Bruce to create a diversion.

Bruce is fantastic at creating diversions.

“No causing diversions,” Fury announces.

“I will do what I want under the Constitution,” Bruce says, not even looking as he flings the whole drawer of silverware onto the floor.

“That’s not even a good diversion,” Fury says. “Now all you have to do is pick it up.”

“Or will I?” Bruce ponders. “Due to federal regulations, I am legally required a lunch break. Which perhaps I will take. And then perhaps Thor will fall severely sick.”

“I need a doctor’s note.”

“And I happen to have one that I will send a picture of,” Bruce says, not even looking away as he backs to the door. “I am going to my lunchbreak and potentially staying home with my sick husband so I can be a loving spouse and force-feed him chicken noodle soup.”

Fury sighs, pinching his nose. This was going to be a long day.

Tony committed a felony!

Fury’s birthday is December 21st. According to his uncle who lives in Vermont, they celebrate it at Christmas, per his request.

“Wow,” Steve says. “So he just...celebrates it on Christmas? Like. It’s not even his day?”

“Oh no, it is,” Fury says. “I’ve made Christmas my motherfucking bitch. But I figured kill two birds with one stone. Did you seriously break into the Pentagon?”

“I am wanted in two other countries, might as well have made it my home one as well,” Tony says pridefully. “Besides, they don’t think it was me. I don’t leave clues. And Bruce went home and emailed you a doctor’s note because Ross will suspect that it is him because I gave him my pumpkin bread last year.”

“The pumpkin bread was the start of this?” Fury asks.

“Exactly,” Tony says. “Director with all due respect, you don’t take me as a class idiot, do you?”

“Of course not,” Fury says. “I’m just impressed that you planned something in advance. You usually stick to getting work done after procrastination.”

“I prefer to do my best work under pressure.”

“Is it your best work?”

Tony laughs, but flips Fury off after a few moments.

“Yes, it is my best work. But, now I believe that I will celebrate your birthday every twenty-first, and you will have to suffer me bringing you cake and presents and potentially embarrassing you with a long and drawn-out social media post.”

“I will be hosting a surprise party at some interval,” Bucky tells him. “You won’t know when.”

“You just told me, now I have to remain constantly vigilant.”

“But did I tell you which date?”

Fury blinks.

“Exactly,” Bucky affirms. “I did not. See you soon...Director.”

Fury sits down in his office and smiles to himself. Sure, the team wasted time trying to find out something so trivial, but he can’t deny it did pair well with his plan to have the team bond. And if it means committing crime...well.

Worse things have been done for his birthday, in his opinion.

230 notes · View notes

fridayfirefly · 5 years

Text

Lost and Found [Part Eight]

Masterlist | Ao3

Time passed, and Marinette loved every second of it, especially the time she spent with her friends. By the time she graduated from collège and moved onto lycée, her group of friends had expanded. She, Nino, Kim, Alix, Chloé, and Adrien spent as much time as they could together. The group of six had started an unofficial language-learning club. Marinette, Nino, and Chloé all made a pact to learn English, their Soulmates' primary language. Kim, Alix, and Adrien chose Japanese as their language of choice. For a while, Marinette was exceptionally proud of herself for taking the initiative to learn English, until she learned that her Soulmate's actual native language was Arabic. It took only five minutes of begging for Nino to agree to teach Marinette Arabic. She didn't pick it up as naturally as she picked up English, but after three years, she got rather proficient.

Time passed, and Marinette yearned for her Soulmate. Every Friday night for three years, she spent with her five best friends in the world. They baked cookies, watched movies, and stayed up late talking about Soulmates. But there was always something missing - her Soulmate. Marinette desperately wanted to meet him, but she knew that neither of them was ready. They were both too young. Marinette's parents didn't want her to meet him until she was at least sixteen. Still, Marinette thought that she deserved to at least know his name. After all, he learned her name when they were fourteen. Marinette had slipped up and sent him a picture of one of her pieces of artwork, a piece with her signature at the bottom. When Marinette asked him to return the favor, he decided, citing that their previous agreement to not reveal names until they were sixteen was still in effect. Marinette knew he was right. Learning more information about him would only increase the temptation to try and discover his identity, and discovering his identity would only lead to her trying to meet with him. But understanding didn't make it any easier, not when she so desperately wanted to hold his hand and talk all night with him - in person, not through paper.

Time passed, and Marinette got better at being Ladybug. She and Chat Noir learned how to work together. At first, it was a little rocky. Marinette was her clumsy self, tripping over her yo-yo string and falling flat on her face every time she tried to use her new wings. Chat Noir was a good partner, though it took him some time to figure out how to work as a team. Eventually, they both perfected their roles as Paris's superheroes. Things only got better after the superhero duo revealed their identities to each other. Learning that Chat Noir was actually her friend Adrien Agreste was a relief - Marinette already had so much on her plate, and Adrien helped take some of the load off of it.

Time passed, and the burden of fighting Hawkmoth decreased. At first, fighting him felt like a full-time job. Marinette and Adrien had to transform at all hours of the day, and sometimes the fights would last hours and require multiple retransformations. For two sleep-deprived thirteen-year-olds, it felt like hell. But eventually, Hawkmoth's attacks decreased. A viral campaign, started by none other than Chloé Bourgeoise, called on the people of Paris to be kinder to each other, to help strangers in need, to do whatever they could to prevent akumas, instead of simply waiting for Ladybug and Chat Noir to fix everything. Amazingly, it seemed to work. Hawkmoth's akumas didn't stop entirely, but overall they grew less powerful, and eventually, less frequent. Tikki and Master Fu both had their own theories for Hawkmoth's gradual decline, but Marinette believed wholeheartedly that it was Chloé's doing.

Time passed, and Marinette changed. She started as an awkward thirteen-year-old, desperately trying to juggle her Ladybug responsibilities, her schoolwork, and her relationship with her Soulmate. Three years later, and Marinette was sixteen. Confident, capable, and ready for anything. She wasn't perfect, she knew that, but Marinette felt that she just might be prepared to meet Damian.

Time passed, and Marinette and her Soulmate passed notes constantly. Three years of notes required five separate shoe boxes just to hold them all. Every one in a while, Marinette would go back and read them all.

I played my first video game today and it was more enjoyable than I expected. My friend Jon got it for me. It's called Ultimate Mecha Strike III, and apparently, his Soulmate recommended it to him. It's really popular in France, but it hasn't caught on in the United States yet. It has a multiplayer mode, so if you play it too, maybe we could play together sometime. D.

After many months of waiting, my eldest brother finally took the engagement ring out of his sock drawer. If he doesn't propose soon I fear that I might have to do it for him. D.

The macarons you sent me this morning were absolutely heavenly. Unfortunately, I made the grave mistake of sharing them with my family. If you do not send more soon, there might be a riot in my house. D.

I passed my driving test this morning. Now that I finally have my license, my brothers will stop bothering me about my illegal driving. It's not my fault that where I live, you can only get legally licensed once you reach sixteen. Frankly, I don't think I should have had to abide by it because it's a rule made for children with poor risk assessment skills. My risk assessment skills are above average, and they have always been. D.

Happy Sixteenth Birthday, Marinette. I hope that you have a wonderful day today, and I hope that this year is the year we finally get to meet face to face. Damian W.

However, it wasn't until the day of Damian's seventeenth birthday, March 19th, that Marinette and Damian finally took the first step towards meeting each other in person.

On the morning of Damian's birthday, Marinette woke up early and headed down to the kitchen. Damian's favorite treat was Marinette's lemon raspberry macarons, so it was a birthday (and half-birthday) tradition that Marinette would bake him a whole batch and send them to him one-by-one throughout the day. The macarons were just a small gift for him, though. Marinette's real birthday gift for Damian was a project she had been working on for weeks. It had taken hours upon hours of practice just to become proficient enough at knitting to even think about beginning the project, but Marinette was nothing if not persistent, especially when it came to the people she cared about. Her gift to Damian was a knitted blanket, but not just any knitted blanket. It was made of soft dark blue and white wool. Marinette had painstakingly knitted it so that it contained the same constellations as would be above Paris on the night of Damian's birthday. So that tonight, even though we are miles apart, we can be under the same night sky. Marinette hoped he would like it. Her friends all assured her that he would (Nino, hopeless romantic that he was, was brought to tears when he read the note, which Marinette hoped was a good sign).

It wasn't until late that night when Marinette was sending the last macaron to Damian, that she finally decided to send her gift.

Every day, I am amazed by you, Marinette. Your creative talent astounds me every time I look at something you created. I will treasure this blanket forever. Damian.

Marinette blushed. The only downside of meeting Damian was that he would see exactly what his words did to her, specifically, the amount that she blushed on a daily basis just from reading the notes he sent to her.

Marinette was getting ready for bed when she received another note. She was immediately curious, as this one was in an envelope.

After the longest engagement in the world (3 years, can you believe it) my brother and future sister-in-law have finally set the date for their wedding. If you are able, I would love for you to be my date for the ceremony. You wouldn't have to worry about a hotel or transportation - my house has a spare bedroom that you can sleep in. You could stay for as long as you'd like, though I know that your internship at Agreste Fashion starts on the 29th, so I'm sure you'll want to be home in time for that. I hope that I can see you soon. Damian.

Attached to the note were a wedding invitation and a plane ticket. The invitation was beautifully designed, cream paper trimmed and decorated in gold foil. YOU'RE INVITED. The ▇▇▇ family invites you to celebrate the union between ▇▇▇ and ▇▇▇. The ceremony will be held on Saturday, June 20th at 5 o'clock at ▇▇▇ Gotham, NJ.

Marinette frowned. He had blacked out the names of his brother and his brother's fiancée, as well as the street address of the wedding location. "I'm not that obsessive," Marinette complained to herself. In fairness, while her actions used to border on stalking, she had mellowed out over the past few years, partially due to becoming Ladybug.

The plane ticket didn't have anything blacked out, though none of the information gave Marinette any hints to Damian's identity, other than the fact that he lived in or around Gotham. It was a standard ticket. American Airlines. The date and time of departure: Wednesday, June 17th, at midnight. The most surprising part of it was that he booked her a first-class seat.

"So sweet," smiled Marinette, "But you didn't have to."

There was one glaring problem in her going to Gotham for a week - Hawkmoth. But his attacks happened so infrequently, practically once a month at that point, that Marinette didn't think it should be her biggest concern. A quick internet search revealed that in the worst-case scenario, a nonstop flight from Gotham to Paris was seven hours. While Hawkmoth could certainly do damage in those seven hours, the miraculous cure would reverse all of the damage. Marinette knew it was slightly irresponsible of her, to put her Soulmate responsibilities over her Ladybug responsibilities, but she pushed the thoughts out of her mind. For once, she was going to make a selfish choice. Without even alerting Tikki of the situation, Marinette snagged a piece of notebook paper off of her desk and penned a note to her Soulmate.

To start, I would love to be your date to your brother's wedding. It might take a little bit of convincing to get Maman and Papa on board but I'm pretty sure I can get them to agree. I am sixteen now, after all. Also, you didn't have to spend so much money on the plane ticket. You're already letting me stay with you at your house. I would have been fine flying coach.

I’m glad you liked my birthday present. Hopefully, my next gift to you will be given in person. I’ll be counting down the days until I arrive in Gotham. ~~Marinette~~

Marinette sent the note off, going to bed before waiting for a reply. After all, she would need to be well-rested for a long day of convincing her parents to let her travel to Gotham alone.

——————————————————————

“No way. Gotham is one of the most dangerous cities in America. I’m not letting you travel there alone.”

"But Papa-"

"No."

Marinette frowned. Breakfast had gone a lot worse than she had expected. While she knew her Dad would put up a fuss, she hadn't anticipated him being so dead set against her going. It was Marinette own fault, for not preparing for the argument with her Dad, for trying to pass the trip off as "no big deal", for not doing her research on the crime rates in Gotham (apparently they were exceptionally high, nearly twice as dangerous as Paris). Marinette thought that the discussion would be fairly simple, but her Dad wouldn't budge.

"Tom, she has to meet Damian at some point. This is a good opportunity for her to get to know him and his family." Marinette's Mom was tentatively on her side, but Marinette could tell that even she wasn't fully on board with the plan.

I won't have Marinette traveling halfway across the world, unaccompanied, just to meet her Soulmate."

"What if I wasn't unaccompanied?" asked Marinette.

"It would be too difficult for us to take a week off from the bakery, you know that, Marinette," said Mom. "There's just no way that this trip of yours will work. I'm sorry, Sweetheart."

Marinette sighed, her shoulders slumping. "Fine," she whispered. Abandoning her half-finished breakfast muffin, Marinette grabbed her backpack and left the kitchen. "I'm off to school. Not sure whether or not I'll be home for lunch."

Marinette spent the walk to school holding back angry tears. Her parents promised her that she could meet her Soulmate when she turned sixteen. Yet now that she had the opportunity, they were opposed to it just because they didn't like the city he lived it. (In the back of her mind, Marinette knew that they were just looking out for her, but at that moment, missing the wedding felt like the end of the world).

"What's got you in such a bad mood?" asked Chloé as soon as Marinette sat down next to her.

The entire group of friends all had independent study together first thing in the morning, so all eyes were on Marinette when she pulled the envelope out of her backpack. Spilling the documents inside across the table, Marinette said, "Damian invited me to his brother's wedding, which would be wonderful, except my parents won't let me go because it's in Gotham."

"Gotham as in Batman and Robin?" asked Kim.

"Yep. Apparently, the crime rates are really bad, and my parents think it's too dangerous for me to go there alone."

Chloé picked up the invitation, furrowing her brow as she read it. "This is going to seem crazy, but look at this." Chloé grabbed a book out of her backpack, the copy of Pride and Prejudice that she had gotten so long ago, and opened up the front cover. Tucked inside was the same wedding invitation that Marinette had. "Yesterday, my Soulmate invited me to his brother's wedding as his plus one."

Marinette's eyes widened. "You mean-"

"Damian and J.T. are brothers."

Nino cleared his throat. "I got this from Jon this morning." He held the same invitation in his hands. "Jon says that his family is really close to the family of the groom, and Jon's brother is dating one of the groom's brothers."

"Just how many brothers are there in this family," Alix exclaimed.

"I suppose Damian has at least three," said Marinette. "He talked about his brother's a lot, but I never really connected the dots that there were three of them."

"Wait a minute," said Chloé. "If Nino and I go with you, you won't be going unaccompanied."

"We should all go," Nino suggested.

Kim shook his head. "Alix and I are spending all of June in Japan with Kagami, remember."

"Maybe next summer then," Chloé decided. "We should all take one big vacation somewhere next summer. Maybe a cruise."

While Chloé was brainstorming vacation ideas, Adrien had pulled out his phone to check his calendar. "Damn," he swore. "I have Fashion Week in New York City from the fourteenth to the twentieth. There's no way my Father would let me miss that."

"Maybe you could come afterward," suggested Marinette. "Gotham is only a two-hour drive from New York City. You could be in Gotham on the twenty-first, and you'll still get to spend time with us."

Adrien nodded. "I think that might work. Father would make me bring a bodyguard, though."

"Even better. There's no way my parents could complain about me being unaccompanied if I had a trained bodyguard with me for nearly all of the week."

"Then it's a plan," Chloé sounded excited.

"I can't wait," said Marinette, her mind already starting to daydream about her future trip to Gotham, to see Damian in person for the first time.

——————————————————————

Good news, Damian. I got my parents to agree to let me travel to Gotham. It's a bit of a long story, and I think I might wait to tell you about it until I can tell you in person. Also, you'll have to send me the dress code so I can start making my dress.

I'd like to stay in Gotham until the 27th if you're able to have me for that long. I'll leave early that morning, so I'll have a day to adjust to the jetlag.

There are 89 days left until I get on the plane to Gotham, which means that there are approximately 2136 hours until I meet you face to face. I might die from the wait, but I know that it will be worth it when I get to see your pretty face. ~~Marinette~~

Marinette felt her guilt grow every day that she didn't tell Tikki about the wedding. Marinette didn't like keeping secrets from Tikki, but she also knew what Tikki was like when she was disappointed, and it made her cringe away from the idea of telling her. But enough was enough, and a week after Marinette agreed to go, she brought it up to Tikki.

"Hey Tikki?"

"Yes, Marinette."

"How bad do you think it would be if Chat and I took a vacation in June."

Tikki narrowed her eyes in thought. "A train from London to Paris can make the journey in just under two hours. It's not ideal, but a vacation would be doable."

"I wasn't exactly thinking of England."

"Germany then? Spain? Switzerland? They're all a little further away, but another hour isn't the end of the world."

"I was thinking..." Marinette hesitated. "I was thinking Gotham. To meet Damian."

"No way."

"But Tikki, you don't understand."

"A flight from America to Paris would take far too long in an emergency."

"It's seven hours. You said another hour isn't the end of the world. What's another three or four?"

"Ladybug is not a hobby, Marinette. It's a full-time responsibility. You know that."

Marinette felt like her arguments were going nowhere. "Tikki, listen to me. Hawkmoth's attacks have been more and more infrequent lately. It's over halfway through March now, and we've only had four so far this year. All four were very weak akumas. Chat and I defeated them all in less than twenty minutes. Hawkmoth, for whatever reason, isn't attacking with the same level of danger as before."

"Hawkmoth is still a threat."

"I understand that, but a flight from Gotham to Paris is seven hours. While the akumas would cause damage during those seven hours-"

"-and that damage to Paris would damage the reputations of Ladybug and Chat Noir. The citizens of Paris will spend seven hours believing that they've been abandoned by Ladybug and Chat Noir."

"We can fix any physical damage. As for damage to our reputations, it wouldn't be that hard to record a message telling everyone to remain calm and wait for us to show up. It wouldn't be great for our reputations, that's true, but I’ve given the last three years of my life to Ladybug. I deserve to be Marinette for a little bit.”

“I- I- Fine,” Tikki sighed. “You and Chat do deserve a break. I’m sorry for being so unreasonable.”

“It’s not your fault. You’re just looking out for Paris, in case I get a little too wrapped up in my own life. We balance each other out.”

Tikki nodded, her smile returning. “Life is better with a little bit of balance.”

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#Lost and Found #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #Damian Wayne #miraculous ladybug fic #miraculous ladybug #my work #fanfic #maribat #maridami #marinette x damian #daminette

167 notes · View notes

infinitelytheheartexpands · 4 years

Text

My laptop is currently updating, so while I have that working in the background, I wanted to share a series of six short, mostly-opera-inspired autobiographical narratives/prose poems I wrote last April and May:

I would kill to have some wine right now.

There is a bottle of red wine sitting on the kitchen counter. My father bought it when he went to the store the other day─ don’t ask me what day it was, I don’t remember, the days already blend together as is─ and I have considered pouring even just a little bit into a glass and downing it.

And then proceeding to throw the glass against the wall and shatter it.

I’ve been contemplating doing that a lot lately.

True, I would kill to have some wine, but if I did go ahead and pour even just a little bit into a glass, and down it, and possibly then proceed to throw the glass against the wall and shatter it, I would most likely be killed before I had the chance to kill.

Kill or be killed. We are all trying our very best to do neither these days, but it happens anyway.

I am sixteen years old. As I start writing this, I am nine days away from turning seventeen. For me, alcohol consumption is thus not only not approved by the Parents, but also illegal. But then again, so is voting blue in the 2020 US Presidential election. That is also something neither approved by the Parents nor legal for me. But I digress.

Thirty-one, twenty-nine, thirty-one again, sixteen now, that makes sixty, ninety-one, one hundred and seven days since I watched one of my classmates get drunk at a New Year’s Eve party. She downed a whole bottle of peach wine (I didn’t even know that was a thing) and looked at me with her red eyes and silver-sequined halter top and curly dark brown hair in a high ponytail. You’re more beautiful than Jesus she told me and you’ll go to the moon on a rocketship. I laughed.

I laugh when something’s so unexpected I can’t do anything else. I laughed when I first heard Notre Dame Cathedral had caught fire because it seemed so ludicrous that I couldn’t do anything else. Notre Dame on fire? You can’t be serious, it can’t be serious.

It was serious.

I’m not sure if she was.

A little part of me wishes she were.

When I was in sixth grade, I told the same girl I thought her hair was luscious. Sixth-grade me didn’t know the word had a sexual connotation; the girl did and was offended.

Maybe a little part of me did know, somehow.

***

As I write this next part, I am working on a paper about state-sponsored censorship. I have picked this topic because it is a fascinating topic, it fits the requirements for the paper─ write about a major global problem─, and because I feel censored myself.

Expressing anything that conflicts with the Parents’ thoughts and opinions is strictly forbidden. If you are different, you are ostracized. I am different, so I am ostracized.

I am too proud, too strong to succumb. But it still hurts.

As I write this, I am listening to Act IV of Rossini’s Guillaume Tell, an opera about liberation, appropriate for both me and my paper. At this moment, Hedwige is calling on God, ‘the hope of the hopeless’, to save her husband and break the yoke of oppression that binds Switzerland.

It’s very nice, and the sentiment is good and true, and it works for her and Mathilde and Jemmy and the Swiss women, but it does not work for me. I lost my faith a long time ago. Ironically, it is French grand opéra, the genre to which Guillaume Tell belongs, that is partially responsible for my loss of faith.

It was impossible for me to watch Verdi’s Don Carlos for the first time in eighth grade and Meyerbeer’s Les Huguenots in tenth and not be horrified by the things people do in the name of religion, to kill people senselessly just because they believe slightly differently than them─ even their own daughters (as is the finale of Les Huguenots).

How can a good God allow such things?

Do I realize these works are fictional? Yes. But do I know they are based on history, on real events? Yes.

“These things are meant to happen; they are all in God’s plan.” Well, can God just not find another way to make what’s meant to happen happen? I cannot believe in a God that allows these things to happen. To say that an all-powerful, all-knowing, all-good God who can allow such things exists is a lie.

***

Now that Guillaume Tell is over, I am listening to another grand opéra, Les vepres siciliennes, albeit in its Italian version, I vespri siciliani. Another opera about occupation and liberation, but a liberation that comes at a horrible cost: the entire French ruling class is massacred by the Sicilians at the end of the opera.

If I didn’t care, I would stage my own personal ‘massacre’: I would turn my back, walk out the front door with the possessions I most needed to survive on my own, and never come back.

But I do care. They may not care, but I do.

One of my greatest curses is that I care about what I care about too much. My heart is too deep to not care.

There are some battles that are not worth being fought.

If a massacre is your only recourse to accomplish something, perhaps you should not do that thing. Or, at least try to find another way.

Right now, I am at the beginning of Act III, at Monforte’s aria “In braccio alle dovizie”. In the original French, it’s called “Au sein de la puissance”. At the breast of power.

Monforte is the hated French governor of Sicily, the revolutionaries’ primary target. When he sings this, he has just learned that one of the main revolutionaries, Arrigo, is his long-lost illegitimate son.

By rape.

‘The breast of power’ indeed.

Just like with a massacre, if rape is your only recourse to accomplish something, perhaps you should not do that thing either.

Just a thought.

I’m a woman. What do I know, in the eyes of many out there?

One of my friends said that Verdi gave Monforte his just deserts, but also overly beautiful music. “He couldn’t help it, though, not when his Dad Music Instincts were activated.”

I feel guilty listening to the aria, even though it is truly a beautiful piece and the recording I’m listening to─ a 1989 recording from the Teatro alla Scala, with Giorgio Zancanaro as Monforte─ is absolutely gorgeous.

Can we separate the music from the character, the art from the artist? I do not know. Everyone has something utterly heinous to someone else. Once we stop separating the art from the artist, where do we begin again? And yet, I do not want to support people who do horrible things to others.

Perhaps it is all relative.

Perhaps everything is.

Perhaps nothing is absolute at all.

That frightens me.

***

Today is Rome’s 2,773rd birthday. As a six-year Latin student and future classics and history double-major, this is cause for celebration.

If things were normal and I were at school, my Latin teacher would bring birthday cake for all the Latin students, and we’d eat it and sing “Felix dies natalis, Roma”. Happy Birthday, Rome.

But things are not normal, and I’m at home multitasking between this and a presentation script for that paper, and still listening to I vespri siciliani.

Now I’m at the end of Act IV. Everyone is celebrating the impending marriage of Arrigo to Duchess Elena, one of the Sicilian revolutionary leaders. Sicilian and French, united at last. Everything is set to work out.

But there’s still Giovanni da Procida, the other major revolutionary leader, who is hellbent on revenge. He sees this wedding as the perfect opportunity to strike down the French once and for all.

And thus, the massacre.

Everything can be set to work out, but there is always something that comes up. A massacre, a pandemic, a set of internal troubles that bring a proud empire to its ruin.

Now I’m in Act V, at Elena’s bolero ‘Merce, dilette amiche’. She has no idea about Procida’s plans; she’s just excited to marry Arrigo and bring peace to her beloved Sicily at last. I think I’m going to change operas again after this is over; the act is rather uneven (though I still very much like it) and I would prefer not to listen to everything falling apart today.

I debate listening to Berlioz’s Les Troyens, the closest thing to an opera about the founding of Rome and a masterpiece itself. But there is still too much about collateral damage for my tastes today: one kingdom falls and another loses its benevolent queen, all in the name of a supposedly greater destiny. And that’s just based on the first third of the Aeneid. I wrote an essay about that first third once for English class, using that thesis; my English teacher said it was one of the best essays he’d ever read. But I digress.

After a quick refresher on the synopsis, I decide to change styles and go with a story from the heyday of the Roman Empire: Handel’s Agrippina. Lots of plotting, but everyone gets what they want in the end and it ends happily for all. No collateral damage here. I am weary of that.

Sometimes I feel like collateral damage.

It’s tough to remember that you’re the master of your own story, not just a side character or a scapegoat in so many others’.

Everyone in this opera knows they’re the masters. That’s the problem. But it ultimately works out.

I want nothing more than for it to work out for me. It hasn’t yet.

But I have a feeling it will.

***

I got maybe halfway through the first act of Agrippina yesterday. I love Baroque opera, but I guess only in small doses.

No matter.

Today I’m listening to the beginning of Act II of Verdi’s Don Carlo. This is the fourth time in a row I’ve listened to it.

I read John Green’s Turtles All The Way Down recently. The main character frequently finds herself stuck in ‘thought spirals’, where she keeps thinking more and more about the same thing. I have those too, although I tend to picture my mind more as a bullet train: it always moves hundreds of miles an hour, faster than I can control, from one thought to the next. I constantly find myself retracing the figurative map of my mind to figure out what I was thinking about, what I need to remember but simply cannot. And it’s like my mind keeps returning to the same stations a lot; these are my equivalent to the spirals.

This opera, this moment, is one of my frequent stations.

Make that five times in a row now. This will be the last, I promise myself.

In this scene, a group of monks chant, praying for the rest of the dead Emperor Charles V, whom, I note with a smile, was himself a character in one of Verdi’s earliest operas, Ernani. In that opera, he sings an aria where he confronts his destiny as the next Holy Roman Emperor. My legacy will live throughout the ages, he sings.

Including in two different Verdi operas.

But there I go again on another bullet-train route.

The monks are singing now, their stark minor-major shifts making me feel as if I am there, in the cloister of San Yuste or in any of the great cathedrals of Spain, looking up into the vaults of the ceiling, of heaven itself, seemingly. The only lights come from candles in my mental picture, and I gaze up, my head uncovered, my mind only partially spellbound, more by the visual beauty and the history than by any religious feeling.

I am a heathen.

I have only been inside a Catholic church once, when I was fourteen; it was an impromptu side trip during a school-sponsored tour of colleges in St. Louis. One of the chaperones said the Cathedral Basilica had can’t-miss art, and thus managed to get a large section of the attendees to come with her.

She was right. It was one of the most beautiful places I’d ever seen. And that was all I thought.

Okay, that’s a lie. I did wonder what it would be like to be able to have faith again, to be able to kneel in one of the pews, and pray, and believe, as my ancestors have done before me; after all, if religion were something you inherited in your blood, then I would be half-Catholic.

But I cannot kneel and pray and believe.

In this scene, one of the monks claims that Charles V fell because he was too proud, because he believed that he was greater than God. If a god exists, I do not claim to be greater than them. I am not perfect, not by a long shot.

He did not die because he did not believe in God. He died because everyone dies, even those who are supposedly the greatest of us.

God alone is great, the monk proclaims. I do not, cannot believe that. We are all great to begin with, but some of us are led to believe we are not.

We are the masters. I must remember that.

And I realize that I have let it play a sixth time.

Sometimes I am not the master of my own mind.

***

The sixth time was the last.

Now I am at the end of the act, listening to the showdown between Filippo II, King of Spain, and Rodrigo, Marquis di Posa. Filippo is the guardian of the way things are; Verdi called Rodrigo an anachronism, and indeed, he was the only principal character who never existed.

Rodrigo, he said, was at least two centuries ahead of his time.

I don’t know what exactly Verdi’s feelings were about this, but personally, I do not think this is a bad thing. Progressivism is often progressivism in any age.

At any rate, Rodrigo, who has recently returned from Spanish-held Flanders, has taken his chance─ a rare private meeting with the King, who is confused as to why Rodrigo has never approached him for favors like all the other courtiers─ to confront him about the horrific conditions of Flanders and its people. Give them liberty, he pleads.

No. I have given them the same peace I have given Spain.

A horrible peace!, Rodrigo fires back. The peace of the tomb!

We should not have to suffer until death.

Let history not say of you, “He was a Nero.” A murderer of innocents, a torturer of the defenseless, an occupier, a denier of liberty─ perhaps the greatest torture of all.

I once watched a video in which a director said, “To live in an occupied country is to live only half a life.” I would say that to live in an occupied country, or even any place where you cannot be free, cannot live fully as yourself, is not even that. It is to barely live at all. It is to merely have a beating heart and breath.

To live in spite of this, to simply be as you wish, is the ultimate act of defiance.

#notyouraveragejulie writes #(or rather reads old writing)#writing #poetry #poems #prose poems #autobiographical narratives #life in the time of COVID #opera #opera tag #censorship #freedom #also the author would like to note that this was written *before* she saw Agrippina and loved it so those comments aren't 100% accurate now

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anxietycalling · 4 years

Text

how i spent my summer vacation

Or, where the fuck have I been these literal years? (I can’t believe it’s been years.)

I feel like I need to, at some point, talk about everything that happened between now and the point where I dropped off the face of the earth. And, like, actually talk, not that thing I do where I make a joke out of everything. So... I’m doing this up front, so if anyone actually still follows my shitshow of a life, you know what you’re getting yourself into before it’s too late.

Okay. Where to start.

Um, obviously, after the 2016 election I gtfo’d the US. Because I couldn’t legally work in the US at that point, I had pretty much no savings and no money because every dollar I did get went to supporting me and Dash because of the absolute nightmare that happened there. I’m not... mad at her anymore, not quite - I recognize that a lot of actions on both sides were the result of severe, untreated trauma and mental illness, so it’s hard to look at either of us and say that someone was the villain there. It’s hard to recognize when you’re in survival mode that your actions are self-destructive. But, anyway, because of that, I had no choice other than to move in with my parents. Which many of you are aware is not the healthiest choice for me mentally or physically.

And, again, it’s not that my parents are bad people. They’re good people who are trying their best, but there are two factors that lead to me living with them being a terrible idea. 1) My mother has a lot of unprocessed intergenerational trauma due to mental illness that she is still dealing with, and 2) Neither of my parents have ever lived in an urban center, which lends itself to a specific mindset when it comes to dealing with mental illness and LGBTQ+ issues. Which is to say, it’s hard to have a regular dating or sex life when everyone knows your business while your parents are simultaneously trying to pretend you don’t have genitals that they’re uncomfortable with. Also, I didn’t have my license at the time because I let it expire before getting my permanent one, so I was pretty much at the mercy of whoever could drive me places. (I lived in cities before that, so not driving was never much of an issue. I am highly proficient in public transit.)

So living with my parents was this precarious balancing act of trying to do everything they wanted me to do, because they were letting me live there for free, and meeting the demands of my bosses (who immediately demoted me once they found out I wasn’t planning on living there forever), and trying to have a social life outside of my family. And, like, I had just come out of the closet, so I was also trying to date without my parents finding out, because, like? It gets exhausting trying to explain why you have a right to exist and love who you want to love and I tend to get defensive when I feel like I have to justify myself. But all that secrecy really wears on you. I think in the worst of it I was probably sleeping 3-5 hours a night between the anxiety, having to walk or wait for rides everywhere, and staying up late enough after my parents went to sleep to try to meet guys on dating apps.

Dating apps when you live in a rural area are the worst. Not only is there a limited dating pool to begin with, it sucks when someone ghosts you and then re-signs up for the same dating app using a fake name and you catch them at it. I get it to some extent; people are afraid of being outed, even if on paper we’re one of the premier retirement destination for gay couples near Toronto. (Read: affluent, white, cis gay men.) It’s gotten better in the last couple of years, but... Yeah, there just was nothing for me there.

Obviously I had to widen my perimeter for who I was willing to date, and that’s how I met Husband. Completely by accident. My phone provider was out one day, so I didn’t get any messages from anyone for almost 24 hours while I was figuring that out. His message to me was one of the ones that got pushed through when my phone service restored itself. (I still, to this day, don’t know why or how this happened.) And there was nothing there that was inherently like, “Hey, you’re going to date and then marry this guy,” other than the fact that he actually put effort into his message instead of sending “hey” over and over again to get a response. But he was funny, and he was charming, and we fell for each other really quickly. Pretty soon all my money (which, again, limited, because the awful ladies I worked for decided I wasn’t leadership material even though they gave me no training or direction, ever) was going to taking the train here pretty much every time I had a day off from work. And I was lying to my parents about it, because they decidedly do not like or approve of dating apps or internet friendships in general.

Something happens in relationships where one or both of you are chronically ill. There comes a sink-or-swim moment in the relationship where you either step up and deal with the shit that happens, or you realize you can’t handle the intensity or uncertainty of it, and you gtfo. And... obviously, I chose the first option. Pretty much immediately after my first visit (as in, I was still on the train) Husband calls me, because his doctors are afraid that he has cancer. I go home, work exactly one day and turn the fuck around and go back so we can meet with the hematologist and find out whether he has bone cancer, Jesus fuck. Thankfully, it turned out that he didn’t; it’s something that comes up a lot because he doesn’t have a spleen and that, apparently, makes it look like you’re dying a whole lot. We ended up moving in together a month later because living at my parents was making me suicidal, which isn’t the greatest love story of all time, I know, but I had wanted to move out anyway and living with him was a much better option than random roommates.

I didn’t talk to my mother for... a month and a half, after I moved out. She kept trying to contact my friends on Facebook one day and I was ready to freak out on her for being controlling or something. Turns out, my biological father died. At the time, I was calm. Like, I wasn’t surprised - he had nearly died of alcohol-induced cardiac failure before I moved to the US, and it’s not like he had done anything to make his situation better - but it turns out I was actually in shock, I guess. The whole situation was fucking terrible; not because he died but because it kind of cemented that my only value to his side of the family was being “the only granddaughter” and not that they gave a shit about me as a person. They misgendered me in his obituary; they spelled my brother’s girlfriend’s name wrong.

I think the worst part is that they tried to make his celebration of life thing about how great he was as a person, though. And, like, I’m sorry, but great people don’t molest their children, or their children’s girlfriend. They don’t have sex in front of their children with their children’s physical abuser. They don’t make their teenage child in charge of being the sober adult when they want to go drinking. They don’t let their partner physically abuse their child when that child tries to get them both help for their drinking. They don’t trap their kid on a boat for a week with a creepy adult male stranger and freak the fuck out when that child has their first anaphylactic reaction to a novel food 20 kilometers from land or the nearest hospital. They don’t call that child on their birthday every year to remind them what a woman they are and always will be when they were the first fucking parent I came out to.

Actually, no - the worst part of him dying was that I had to deal with his hellbeast girlfriend afterward, because apparently there was money for me in an RESP that he had never cashed, but all that got me was a shady financial representative who repeatedly wanted my mother and me to break the law over it. Like, my mom got her lawyer involved and everything, and once the legal letterhead came out the financial dude dropped off the face of the earth, stopped answering my calls and I never got my thousand pity dollars.

And, like, things were okay for a little while after that because Husband and I were close with our roommates up until the point where it became clear that one of them had severe, untreated borderline personality disorder. I’ve lived with someone with BPD before; I’ve lived with a hoarder before. I was not prepared for the level of hoarding that this woman could produce. Or just, like, generally weird and shitty behavior and refusal to seek treatment for her condition. We tried everything we could think of, but ultimately we had to have secret meetings outside our house with our other roommate (who was dating her at the time) to figure out what to do with her. The things we found out... I’ve never wanted to genuinely harm a person before. Because she had been r*ping our roommate for months, and convincing them we didn’t want to be their friend, and using all their money because she wouldn’t go to work or apply for welfare or do the bare minimum required to be a human being. We had to get her removed by the police (who I do not advise contacting unless there is genuinely no other options) and the police acted like it was a typical roommate squabble even though we had fucking proof. So, anyway, we had to contact hell roommate’s parents and sister, and do all the packing to get her shit out of our house.

I will add that there were a few golden months right after hell roommate moved out. We got very close with remaining roommate, and it was nice, but then they started dating their current boyfriend and it just got... uncomfy for everyone somehow? They never outright said they were dating him, it was weird, one day they were like “Hey, I have a friend coming over!” and then he was just... there all the time? And they never told us they were dating? And, like, I’m happy for them, they’re great together and genuinely like each other, but it was weird. It was uncomfortable when we had to have the “We want to move out” conversation, too, because originally we had wanted to move to a bigger place with all of us, but ultimately we ended up keeping the apartment.

So that should have been fine, right? Especially since they moved in with one of Husband’s friends. Except that that friend turned out to be secretly awful and took advantage of everyone around them, and accused good roommate of being secretly racist and a bunch of other stuff that wasn’t true. (Trust me, good roommate would rather sever their left leg than do something that would hurt someone’s feelings.) And, like, I’m sorry, but you can’t use your master’s degree in social work to push around people who you know freeze during confrontations and have memory issues due to trauma, and then turn around and lead healing from trauma workshops. No. You’re a garbage human being who deserves to step on a thousand Lego. (Legos? Anyway.)

OH. Right. Before that, I had surgery. I had surgery and then pretty much the day we got home from that, the pandemic happened. At the beginning of it, good roommate and a woman who would later become one of our best friends came to stay with us because, again, horrific garbage pile of a human being in their house. Recovering from surgery took forever - I still don’t have feeling back 100% in my chest - but thankfully I was better enough by the time they moved to be somewhat helpful there. (They were incredibly smart and hired movers. We were pretty much there because we had just bought a car and could move breakable stuff.)

Ugh. God. Sorry, I have to jump back to 2018 for a second, which is when I was diagnosed with OCD. Like, officially, I mean. It was probably pretty obvious to everyone who wasn’t me, but I always kind of thought that since I wasn’t on My Mom-level germophobic, there was no way I could have it. Uh! Turns out! Normal people don’t cry when a garbage bag that is clearly about to be taken outside touches the floor while they are putting their shoes on to take said garbage bag outside. So... I take pills now. And go to therapy. Which is very expensive. But, yeah, my symptoms were pretty fuckin’ bad then. And continued to be bad - like, bad enough that I had to quit my job in 2019 because my bosses weren’t taking it seriously enough or even listening to me. (It’s Mcdonald’s, it’s chill, they ruin or fire all their best employees.)

Okay. Back to now. Pandemic! School! Suffering through all my pre-requisites so I can take actual interesting classes! Somewhere in there we started watching Twitch streams - I think it was because Husband found out Felicia Day streamed, and he loves her, and it kind of spiraled from there? But anyway, I somehow ended up part of this weird, delightful community that’s genuinely nice and non-trollish, and now I stream sometimes. Or attempt to stream. Or attempt to keep a regular schedule. It’s nice, though, to feel like there’s someone to hang out with when you pretty much can’t leave your house. There’s a sense of normality to being in a place at a specific time and seeing specific people. And Twitch has given me a lot of ideas on research topics I’d like to pursue in grad school.

Like I said, it’s been a pretty mixed bag. There have been some really bad parts, but there’s a lot of good stuff that happened too. I just. I miss Old Me a lot, lately. I miss who I was before all the trauma. (I mean, obviously not all the trauma, because I don’t miss being a literal child, but like... 18-23 or so.)

I think this might be the most I’ve written outside of a school context in actual years. Part of me keeps thinking about adding in APA formatting, but uh. You can’t really cite something when it’s just memories inside your own head. Anyway. I need to work on liking myself more, and working through some of the baggage that goes with trauma, and... I don’t know. It’s nice to have an outlet that’s not my husband or my cats. (Again, Husband is awesome, Husband is amazing, but we’re around each other 24/7 right now. I think he deserves a break sometimes.)

So... Yep. Thanks, if you made it this far. I promise not all my posts are going to be like this. I just figured, if you were going to stick around, you probably deserved to know what happened while I was gone.

#personal

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mingtiddies · 5 years

Text

prince!mingyu

genre: fluff? prince au

word count: 1213

warnings: one (1) suggestive bullet point, it’s less than mild

a/n: I AM BACK and i’m coming to you with a prince!seventeen series as a continuation of @cheollies‘ series that she never got to finish. i got permission to revive it and so i will be writing for the missing members, while trying to do her writing justice. i’ll make a separate masterlist for this with the OG bullet point fics so that you can read those. anyways please enjoy :D

● it all started when mingyu was a kid

● little mingyu was a bit clumsy

● the helpers were always so scared of letting him wander off alone

● and they were right

● because when he started running around and bumping into table, all hell broke loose

● helpers were screaming and pulling their hair out at the broken (and very expensive) vases

● it was already kinda dangerous to begin with

● but the worst that had happened were the vases shattering to the ground just a few feet away from the little boy

● and on his 7th birthday came in you

● princess of an equally big neighboring kingdom, destined to marry prince mingyu when the two of you were older

● mingyu got used to you pretty quickly, even though you were always in and out of the palace

● he played with you a lot and because he started to run around a lot more with you around, the staff was always running around to make sure he didn’t hurt himself

● they were so tired

● it became slightly more alarming when he would go into the kitchens??

● the kitchen staff would scream about prince mingyu being in the kitchen and the babysitting staff (as mingyu’s dad liked to call them) was also screaming about mingyu being in the kitchen

● but he was only there to get milk for you

● so as he tried to hold two glasses of milk that were way too big for his small hands, they slipped out of his hands and shattered to the floor, milk spilling everywhere

● mingyu’s babysitter at that time freaked out so much that she broke into tears after she’d cleaned up

● an 8-year-old PRINCE and sharp glass?

● a heart attack is what she almost had

● it was funny to you that this small boy could cause so much trouble just by existing

● and growing up with him, amusement turned into concern as 17-year-old mingyu started bumping his head and dropping plates on himself while trying to take it from the staff

● all in all, a complete disaster

● how is he alive

● “OH MY GOD PRINCE MINGYU PLEASE DON’T TOUCH THE LAMP”

● has bodyguards for outings in the town now

● he broke so much stuff

● had to go around with tons of cash to pay for all the broken stuff

● “we’re so sorry it won’t happen again”

● “that’s exactly what you said when he broke the chandelier”

● some bodyguards quit

● it was too much

● he literally ran into a staff member and knocked them into a service trolley that held his parents’ lunch and it knocked a table and broke a vase

● and he also broke a table

● like he stuck a sword into it and the table snapped in two when he tried to pull it out

● why did he have a sword in the first place????

● (someone got fired for it and mingyu never found out about it)

● and you truly get concerned for him like how is he supposed to survive as a king if he can’t even take care of himself

● you find out that the two of you are supposed to get married sometime between your 16th and 18th birthday, through people gushing about the two of you

● your parents were trying to keep it on the downlow, as they were learning and taking notes from Seungkwan’s parents’ mistakes

● (boy has been throwing tantrums his entire life about not getting married yikes)

● but you and mingyu knew anyway

● but as you reached legal age, both of your kingdoms required big and days-long coming of age parties

● that and add the preparation for the days-long engagement party and celebration the two kingdoms were preparing

● you saw mingyu again for the first time in about two years

● and boy has he gotten taller and more handsome

● but then at dinner with both of your parents’ his glass of wine escapes his hand

● and you thought “it’s fine he didn’t mean to”

● but it only gets worse

● he bumped into you (which was totally fine, you weren’t really looking where you were going either)

● but he also bumped into you because he was walking backwards, you fell and he fell too

● he felt bad that he hadn’t seen you

● he was so SO tall like so tall

● no bruises, just a tiny flame of anger burning inside you haha

● you once were in the royal garden, watching the staff tending to the flowers

● mingyu was watching as well and when he saw you he joined you

● only him could have been so clumsy that he tripped a lever

● the emergency watering lever

● you were so sure you hated him now

● if he wasn’t going to kill himself in a dumb accident you would do it for bringing you into one

● even the staff at this point, were just tired and had completely given up on the boy

● they watched him run into a door frame and just shrugged

● “if it happens it happens”

● you glared so much at mingyu and your staff would always tell you not to glare at the prince

● but you were starting to lose it

● “please don’t break off the engagement”

● and it was so funny to you that he begged you not to

● “if you break it off, our kingdoms will be enemies, do you really want that?”

● you’d ignore him

● you’d always tell him that he was gonna end up killing you

● and then it happened

● you couldn’t remember the moments leading up to this but the next thing you knew

● his arm had come in contact with your face

● so hard

● it hurt for a whole day

● and you were so mad but you tried your best to contain it

● and prince mingyu had obviously noticed in your eyes that you were about to murder him

● all of a sudden, accidents stopped happening

● well

● mingyu was trying so hard to stop them

● would only hurt himself in the process of avoiding an accident

● bumped his head, knocked a table, broke an expensive painting, all while trying to avoid bumping into people

● mostly you

● he was so so careful around you

● and you found it cute in a way

● because he was trying not to hurt you

● “your majesty please” and “YOUR MAJESTY NO” his entire life

● he headbutted you the first time you kissed

● (sex was also very interesting the first time)

● your first newborn was a constant stress because mingyu would always try to hold your little girl

● who could blame him it was his first baby girl

● but it’s literally mingyu

● “DON’T TOUCH THE BABY YET WE NEED TO WRAP HER IN BUBBLE WRAP BEFORE YOU LAY YOUR HANDS ON HER”

● pouted so much

● but he understood

● never stopped working on keeping his clumsiness throughout your entire relationship

● being a parent ignited something in him that turned his carefulness on like a damn switch

● but in the end, you knew you would have accepted his clumsiness and helped him manage it, because you had fallen so hard in love for him that you would do anything to protect him (and your kids) from himself

seungcheol ║ jeonghan ║ joshua ║ junhui ║ soonyoung ║ wonwoo ║ jihoon ║ seokmin ║ mingyu ║ minghao ║ seungkwan ║ vernon ║ chan

#seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #seventeen bulletpoint #mingyu #mingyu imagines #mingyu bulletpoint #mingyu scenarios #prince!seventeen #prince!mingyu #svt #svt imagines

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nonsensicalobsessions · 5 years

Text

Perchance to Dream

Author’s Notes: This is the sequel to my very first post on Tumblr, Shattered. While it picks up immediately where Shattered ends, it may help if you read it first.

Trigger warnings: grief

Tom knew Cara was dead. He knew because he felt her die in his arms, just as surely as he felt his heart shatter as she did.

She had nestled her head in the crook of his neck and shoulder, as she had done thousands of times before, and he spoke softly to her, words of tenderness and devotion. “I love you, Cara. I’ve got you, darling.”

As he rocked her gently in his arms, he felt her body slowly relax, and become limp as he continued, his voice remaining steady even as his tears were flowing steadily down his face. “Be at peace, sweetheart. You are loved.” He ignored the heart monitor as it stuttered, and became erratic. It didn’t matter.

Tom never once faltered, even as he felt her slight form begin to become so heavy, as it had never been in all the times he had held her before.

“Cara, I love you. With all of my heart, I love you. I don’t want you to go, I know you need to...but God...if I could keep you with me, I’d give anything I had, even my own breath, if I could get you to stay...you are so precious to me, Cara...you are loved, my darling, so loved...be at peace, knowing you are beloved and in my arms.

“I have you, my dearest, and you are loved...even though I thought I was running headlong into a row, as soon as my flight landed, I chucked my bags into the house, and ran straight to you, did you know that? Even thinking you were angry with me, that you weren’t speaking to me, I ran to you anyway...because I love you, Cara.”

The monitor showed frantic activity, then stilled. Tom kept talking.

“I have you, Cara. I have you.”

A nurse entered, saw how Tom was rocking Cara’s body in his arms, weeping as he caressed her with his words, sang to her with his touch. Silently, she turned off the monitor, and slipped out of the room again, allowing him to grieve.

Tom remembered reading somewhere that hearing was the last sense to leave the conscious brain and was determined Cara would know he was with her until the very end. “Darling, you take my heart with you. Please, forgive me for not taking better care of you. I would give anything to have you back, Cara, and don’t know how I am going to face my tomorrows without you.”

After awhile, Tom looked down at Cara, and found her face calm, and showing no sign of distress. She did not look as through she was asleep, but at least she did not look as though she was in pain. He took solace in that.

Carefully, as he had done so many times in the past, he extricated himself from her, as though she was sleeping and he was going for a morning run and he did to wish to disturb her. He arranged her carefully, tucking her in, and bent to kiss her forehead.

“Rest well, Cara,” he whispered. “I love you with all of my heart.”

He left her side, only looking back once, promising himself it wasn’t the last time he would see her. Certainly, there would be one last look, one last kiss, before all was said and done.

This could not be the end. No. It couldn’t be.

Somehow, he made it back to her home. He stumbled to her bedside, resolutely ignoring the bed and sheets, and found her phone. He tried to turn it on, fully expecting it to be completely dead, considering the state the display was in, but to his shock, it powered on...locked, of course. He slid to the floor, realizing he had no idea what her passcode was. It was a simple four digit code, bless her...he tried her birthday, and was promptly denied.

With a shaking hand, he tried his birthday...and the phone unlocked.

Tom’s hand was now trembling so badly he could scarcely see, but he began searching her contacts. He found a group of solicitors and rang, demanding to speak with the solicitor she had listed, insisting with the receptionist it was an emergency. Once he got the person on the line, Martin Fisher, he managed to give the necessary details without breaking down, and was assured that he no longer had anything to worry about, all of the necessary details and final arrangements would be handled by his office. He would be contacted shortly with regards to any official gatherings or requirements. For the moment, he had the full sympathies of the office for his loss.

He was left holding a dead line.

Two days later, when he had not heard anything, he arrived there in person, white faced but dressed impeccably in his best black suit, politely but firmly requesting to speak with Mr. Martin Fisher, and would not be denied. He was quickly shown into a private conference room, and an elderly, portly gentleman joined him within ten minutes.

“Mr. Hiddleston, I am sorry you did not telephone before coming, I could have spared you the trip. I was preparing to contact you this afternoon,” Martin Fisher introduced himself quickly with a warm, sympathetic handshake.

“Thank you, Mr. Fisher, but I was hoping to have heard from you by now about the arrangements for Cara’s services and simply couldn’t wait any longer.”

Martin looked at the handsome man before him and felt nothing but pity. Already the young man was clearly suffering from his loss, and now, he was forced to deal him another harsh blow.

“Mr. Hiddleston, I think it best that you sit down.”

“It’s just Tom...and why? What’s wrong?” Cautiously, Tom sat down, his heart sinking even lower than it already was resting.

“Tom, Ms. Hyde left very specific instructions in her will that were to be enacted immediately following her demise. Her will was quite simple with regards to her wishes for her final remains...she did not desire any services at all, you see. As she had no family, she did not expect there to be any to mourn her. Therefore she requested her body be cremated as soon as possible...”

“Cremated? But...surely, surely I will have a chance to, to say goodbye, to see her once last time, won’t I? I have to see her again, certainly I still haven’t lost...it could not have happened yet?” Tom stood so abruptly that the chair he had been seated in fell over to one side.

Martin shook his head in his deep sorrow to be the bearer of such bad tidings. “Tom, I’m afraid it already has.”

Tom had never fainted before, and he didn’t now...but it was a close thing. Knowing the kiss on the forehead back in hospital was to be the last for all time...that he would look upon her face no more...it sucked the air from his lungs, and the strength from his legs.

“Here, here...! Tom! Are you all right? Should I call a doctor?! Is there a friend, a family member I can call?”

Tom found himself leaning heavily against the gleaming, heavily polished table in the conference room, his face covered in sweat. “No. No, thank you, Martin. It’s simply the shock of it all...I was so sure, so sure I would be able to see her again...” He pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at his forehead, and then at his cheeks and eyes, completely unselfconsciously.

Martin wrung his hands in dismay. “I’m so terribly, terribly sorry. But the will was quite clear. Some clients wish us to move expeditiously for religious reasons, others for legal ones...I had no idea you were unaware of the timeline Ms. Hyde set forth. I can tell you that while all of her material wealth is to be donated to the nonprofit foundation she instituted for abused and orphaned youth, she did state that you were to have whatever you wished as mementoes, without limit or question...it was the last codicil in her will. The way she has it stated, you could basically carry away the entire contents of the house, if you like, including her vehicle...”

Tom shook his head. “I don’t want anything,” he could barely manage to say.

“I beg your pardon, Tom, I didn’t quite...”

“I don’t want anything from her home, I just want her back.”

Martin was silent for a moment, before gently replying, “You don’t have to decide now. In fact, I would urge you not to do so. Perhaps...perhaps it would comfort you right now if you had something quite personal. Like a blanket, or a throw, that belonged to Cara. You’re shaking, Tom.”

Tom looked at Martin and replied simply, “I’m very cold.” The life had drained from his usually sparkling eyes, and there was no color in his complexion.

“Yes, grief will do that to you. Go to Cara’s, Tom, and get some of her blankets. They will help, I think. Are you sure I can’t call anyone for you?”

“Yes, I’m sure...I have a car waiting. Thank you, Martin.”

“Tom, we are releasing the news of her passing tomorrow. Just so you know. I wouldn’t want you to be in her home and be unprepared, I am certain there will be some media presence that will take photographs.”

“Of course. Thank you, Martin.”

“If there is anything I can do...” the solicitor added helplessly.

Tom shook his head, then the gentleman’s hand as he rubbed his chest absently. “No, thank you, Martin. You’ve been more than kind.”

The next day, the literary world at large as well as the UK in general was shocked and stunned to hear of the sudden passing of Cara Hyde, celebrated and award-winning author and poet.

As soon as Diana Hiddleston, Ben Cumberbatch, and Luke Windsor learned the news, they suddenly understood why none of them had heard from Tom since he returned from his press tour, returning neither their texts nor calls. All of them immediately descended upon Tom’s home at the same time after coordinating with each other.

Diana rang the bell, pleaded into the speaker. “Tom, it’s Mum. Please let me in, I’m worried about you. Please, son.”

When there was no response, she sighed and used her own key to open the door.

The trio found Tom sitting on the sofa, wrapped up in and hugging an afghan looking ahead into space blankly. Diana approached him cautiously, her face a study in sadness. “Tom, darling. It’s Mum. Are you all right, dear?”

“Mum?” Tom’s face and voice was curiously childlike as his eyes slowly focused on Diana. “Why are you here?”

“Darling, you haven’t been answering your calls, and we all started to worry about you.”

Tom’s face crumpled. “She’s dead, Mum. Cara’s dead.”

Diana wrapped her son into gentle embrace, sitting besides him. “I know, son. I heard.”

His face became twisted and bitter. “But did you hear how it was my fault, Mum? I killed her, Mum. I killed her.”

Luke decided to speak now. “How is it your fault, Tom? Tell me, so I know how to protect you.”

“I don’t deserve to be protected, Luke. God, I loved that woman, and I killed her.”

“Explain it to us anyway.” Ben’s voice was calmness itself.

Tom shook his head in self-condemnation. “She bled to death, Ben. In this day and age, she bled to death in her own bed, because she dropped her phone, and couldn’t call for help...”

“Then how is this your fault?”

“Because I knew. I knew something was wrong and I didn’t do anything about it. I was so bloody cock sure she was sulking about a fight we had, a row I started, even though it was completely out of character for her to go silent. If any of you suddenly stopped talking to me, I wouldn’t be so complacent. I’d ask someone to check on you. But for the woman I love, what did I do? Nothing. Cara never shut me out. Never. But I still immediately assumed she was giving me the silent treatment...why? Why did I do that, Cara, I’m so sorry!” Tom doubled over in a paroxysm of grief, although he did not sob. His tears had dried up days before. Tom’s own inability to speak was terrifying.

Luke discreetly contacted a physician, requesting him to come to Tom’s address, with something to help Tom cope with his pain...

Diana was rocking her son, in a similar manner Tom had used days earlier, unwittingly increasing his distress. “Tom. Do you even know what happened? Perhaps there was nothing that could have been done for Cara in any case, sometimes...”

When he found his voice again, it was hoarse. “No. I only caught every other thing they were saying at the A&E...I found her in her bed, Mum, called for an ambulance, rode with her...she was able to speak with me, I was so sure she would be all right, even though there was,” he grimaced, and swallowed hard as he recollected painfully, “blood, so much blood...” Tom drifted off, trapped in his memories, awash in his overwhelming sorrow and guilt.

Diana brought him back to the present by stroking his cheek and he continued. “The doctor told me that even though Cara was still conscious, it was a miracle, she was already dying from the blood loss, it had gone on for too long...if she had only gotten help sooner, it would have been different...” Tom then rattled off a bunch of medical terms that clearly meant nothing to him, but had Ben and Diana exchanging despairing, alarmed looks over Tom’s head. Tom was already so distraught, there was no telling how devastated he would be once he learned the true cause of her death.

Luke texted the physician, asking him to hurry...

Tom felt as though he was being repeatedly dashed against the rocks, his soul drowning in an undertow of misery, but he was no longer catatonic. He could hear Cara’s voice, telling him, “Tom...I can’t...can’t breathe, Tom...” His heart cried out to her, “Oh, God, Cara, neither can I, my love...”

“What? What is it, what does all that mean, I don’t understand and at the time I didn’t ask, it didn’t matter...what happened to Cara? Mum...?” He turned to her, instinctively knowing she could explain, his face once more soft, open, as a child’s.

The howls of anguish that could be heard outside his home was more apropos of a horror film than a quiet, well-to-do London suburb.

Months passed in a haze, a blur. Tom began seeing a therapist to help him deal with his overwhelming guilt and sorrow, especially as the holidays drew closer. He was both blessed and cursed with having time off already built into his schedule. He had planned, had hoped, to spend the time with Cara. He knew he was exhausted to begin with, it was one of the reasons he was so short with her to begin with during that last ill-fated video call. He was missing her so very badly as it was...he had wanted nothing more than to drop everything, and return to her side.

He spent much of his free time running. He even picked up rowing again. But no matter how quickly he made his body move, he could never outrace his mind. Nor could he slow his thoughts enough to relax long enough to read for very long, unless it was Cara’s poetry.

Cara’s gentle ways of caring for him had become a part of his life, without him even becoming aware of them, and once they were gone, the easiest of social interactions often felt caustic and abrasive. Intellectually, he understood this was grief. Emotionally, he quailed from the most basic forms of communication with the world at large, and knew he was behaving as reclusively as Cara herself was accused of by his own friends and family. This stung his heart badly. “I understand now, darling,” he thought miserably, after his mother chided him to get out more. “I never realized how difficult it was on you, when you were having a bad go of it, to do the simplest things. So many people, hectoring you to pick up and get on with it. No wonder your poetry is so gentle, tender, and profound. It speaks for those who have no words, just silent screams...but you never showed me that side of you. I wish you would have...but I understand why you didn’t.”

While he was trying to manage his feelings, all he capable of was finding ways of concealing them from those who loved him, and worried about him. Intellectually, he understood it was not his fault Cara died. He could not have known from across the globe what was going wrong inside her body. He was not a mind reader. Cara would have never expected him to be one.

Emotionally, he still was enraged over how he took her for granted, and was so quick to assume she was playing some sort of game with him, she, who had never stooped to such childish emotional manipulations. He should have done better, should have had someone check on her. He was inexcusably, unforgivably careless with his darling, and she paid for it with her life, and he was being punished for it by being forced to live without her for the rest of his. Not a day, not an hour went by that he didn’t regret his decisions.

He kept her photo on his nightstand, and told her goodnight every evening, “I love you, Cara...I’d give anything, anything, to have you back in my arms, sweetheart. I miss you so much. I hope to see you in my dreams tonight.”

He did dream, but sometimes those dreams were more a lash for his back than a solace. He would wake, shivering, remembering how very cold Cara had been, and feel as though he, too was freezing, his hands and feet like ice, even as he was drenched in sweat. He would wake in tears, feeling the pain of losing her as though it had happened the day before instead of weeks, or months ago. Or worse, he would dream of Cara being with him again, as though nothing had ever happened, and he would be filled with so much joy his chest would ache from it...and he would wake to his cold bed of grief and agony once more.

But some dreams would be worth the pain awakening would inevitably bring, nights spent wrapped in Cara’s arms, passionately tangled limbs, a consciousness blissfully free of loss. Skies filled with sunshine. Hands held, eyes constantly filled with his beloved. Endless conversation, and laughter, always laughter. Hearts dancing as merrily as their feet, fireplaces and snow and afghans and hot chocolate cuddles and Cara reciting poetry to Tom’s enraptured ears, plans made for a future together...

“If we could go anywhere in the world, dearest Cara, where would we go?”

“Anywhere, mmm, tall order, my giant...I’ve never thrown my imagination’s atlas open that wide, and well you know it.” Cara leaned over and planted a kiss on the edge of Tom’s jaw, as they snuggled together in Tom’s bed, listening to the rain pouring down on the rooftop, the wind lashing sheets of it against the windows. December never felt so cold, so bleak before now.

He wrapped his bare arms around her, pulling her even closer. Her skin felt chilled next to his. Tom pulled the blankets tighter around them, and Cara sighed, sounding almost like a contented cat. He knew he had more than contented her well and throughly earlier, but this went deeper, it was coming from her soul, and he gloried in it.

“It’s disgraceful, a celebrated, award-winning author such as yourself, being so self-limiting,” he teased her. “Think on it. Throw the world’s door wide open, my love.”

“Oh, gods, Thomas...someplace warm,” she moaned, and burrowed her head into the crook of his neck, snuggling into his arms as tightly as she could. “I’m so tired of the grey and the cold already, and it’s just begun! I want birds, blue skies, warm water...”

“A blue sky holiday then, it’s decided...but where?”

In his sleep, Tom smiled, and rubbed his chest slowly as he turned over.

Christmas came. Christmas went. Tom smiled as he went to the parties, the gatherings. He said all the right things. He told the ridiculous jokes he was known for, and made plans for the new year, new projects that were set to begin soon. His short rest was nearly over.

Those that knew him best saw how his smiles never reached his eyes, how his laughter was hollow, and his infamous appetite was lacking...but he was trying. That had to count for something, and it had only been a few months still. At least he was a far cry from the guilt-ridden, grief-stricken, catatonic man they found that afternoon. Progress, however slow, was progress...

New Year’s Eve.

Ben was hoping his annual party would give Tom a few hours of happiness, but through no fault of his own, it began on a somber note. Many of his guests were discussing the tragic plane crash that had taken place earlier in the day. An aircraft had disappeared from radar over the Pacific, and it was feared there would be no survivors. Some of the passengers were reportedly from the United Kingdom, and the BBC was providing nonstop coverage.

“Turn that off, would you?” Tom was irritable from overhearing the chatter of both the telly and the guests. “It’s ghoulish.”

“Sorry.” Ben was quick to comply, switching off the set in the kitchen. “I was hoping to catch some cricket scores, but they won’t stop playing this on the news. Can I get you anything? Have something to eat, Tom.”

“Thanks, but no.”

“Aw, come on, here, there’s a lovely carrot dish. It will help you see in the dark, carrots.”

Tom rolled his eyes expressively. “Ah, yes. And wanking will make you go blind, if you dream you are going to die and don’t wake up, you die in reality, and bad things happen in threes.”

Ben’s smile resembled a shark. “So, where’s your seeing eye dog, mate?”

Tom’s laugh was genuine. “Fuck you, Ben. Everyone knows that’s why you eat so many God damned carrots!”

As the evening progressed, Tom grew weary of the celebrations, and found Ben to thank him and say good night.

“No, Tom, not yet. It’s not even midnight, you can’t possibly wish to leave so soon...what’s your hurry, it’s not as though...” Ben pulled himself up short before he continued any further, but the damage was already done.

Tom gave him a wintry smile. “Yes, it’s not as though I have anything or anyone to hurry home to, thank you for reminding me Ben.”

“Oh, Tom, don’t be like this, you know I didn’t mean anything by it...I just hate to see you close yourself off like...”

“Like Cara did?”

Ben closed his eyes and turned away.

“It’s only been three months, Ben. I think I have every right to still be mourning her, and mourn her I do. I can’t help but still look for her, everywhere I go, did you know that? I’m still looking for her, waiting to hear her voice. It’s as though she’s always just in the other room.”

“Tom, have you talked with...”

“Yes, I’ve spoken with Michael, my therapist, about it. He said grieving is a process, and mine is no more prolonged than usual.” Tom sighed, and rubbed his chest absentmindedly.

“You keep doing that, you know.”

“Doing what?”

“That.” Ben gestured with his glass. “Rubbing your chest. Are you having chest pains?”

Tom rolled his eyes again. “Ben, I’ve been having chest pains now for three months. Ass.”

“Have you...”

“No, I have not been to a doctor about it, nor will I. I’m not having a heart attack. Life is not that easy.” Tom stopped at the door, after he donned his pea coat. “Ben, I’m sorry, that was uncalled for...Cara’s...death...put me off balance. I want to go through life looking for joy, and happiness, because there is already so much pain in the world. When she died, and the dream that died with her...it took so much out of me. But with this new year, I am going to do my level best to start looking for the joy in life again. Even with this terrible plane crash that no one can stop talking about...”

“Come for lunch tomorrow?”

“What’s that?” Tom’s musings were interrupted by Ben’s impromptu invitation.

“You know I’m going to have a mess of food left over, so come for lunch tomorrow. I insist. Noon on the nose, or else I will come and drag you out of your bed and you know I will, Hiddleston. I will stuff you stupid with pudding and carrots and whatever else is left. You’ve not eaten right in quite some time and you need to get fit again. The studio is going to go spare when they see the shape you’re in. No one wants to see your scrawny ass like this. There will be loads of pudding left over. Carrots. Even chicken and beef, Thomas. So lunch, or face most dire consequences, oh scrawny-one.”

Tom glared at his best friend, and then grinned, giving him a hug. “You’re such a tosser, Ben, I don’t see how we’re friends. Happy New Year,” he chuckled.

“Yeah, yeah. Happy New Year...and I’m sorry I interrupted you earlier.”

Tom shrugged, muttered something that Ben only half understood, and ambled off into the darkness. It was a dreary night, but he didn’t mind the walk. Halfway home, it began to rain.

“Of course,” he sighed. He changed his pace from a leisurely walk to a jog.

Once he was home, he peeled off his coat and wet clothes, had a shower to warm himself back up. Then with a sigh, he crawled into bed.

As he always did, he turned and faced the photo of Cara sitting besides his bed.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he sighed. “God, I don’t want to face a new year without you.” Sadness settled into him, a familiar heaviness that was never away from him for very long.

Weariness flooded his being. The notion of beginning work again was almost crushing. The man who was usually vibrating with excitement, impatient to begin any new project, felt like a stranger, someone that not only he didn’t know, but someone he wasn’t sure he would even like to meet. The enthusiasm and energy would be too much to tolerate.

He tried to scold himself, to remind himself of what he had just told Ben about embracing joy again. Then he remembered what Michael, his therapist had advised him:

You need to be honest with yourself, Tom. Grieve when you need to grieve. Forcing yourself to suppress your sorrow will not only do you no good, it will actually do you just as must damage as wallowing in it. Honesty above all, Tom. Isn’t that a quality you’ve espoused, repeatedly?

He swallowed over the lump in his throat, looking at Cara’s warm smile, frozen in time.

“God, I loved you so much,” he choked out. “I still do, my darling. I would give up anything, anything at all, to have you back in my arms. I would give up everything. I can’t believe you’re gone because I was so stupid, so careless...how could I have been so foolish? How could I have thought for one single moment you were playing games?” He pressed his hand to his aching heart, as if he could somehow stop the pain through direct pressure like a bleeding wound.

“I held you in my arms and you slipped away from me...I will never get over that, Cara. I was supposed to be getting home to spend time with you...I can’t begin to tell you how much I was looking forward to having days upon days to do nothing but be in your presence, have your voice fill my ears, your face ever in my sight...I was going to have to restrain myself from smothering you. I was so certain you were angry with me, but I came running to you as soon as I was home, to the point I even took advantage of knowing where your key was and letting myself into your home...”

Tom was unabashedly weeping, and in a way, it was a relief, to have the freedom to weep in the privacy of the bed he’d shared with Cara, along with his body, so many nights. There was no one to try to stifle his tears. He looked at Cara’s face, and for a moment, he thought he saw a glimmer of sympathy in her smile. She always listened to him, and never disparaged his thoughts or feelings. Which made his assumption she was sulking even more arrogant and inexplicable.

“Cara. Cara, I wish I could take it all back. I made the biggest mistake of my life, and I can’t get past it...I would give up everything to make it right, my love. You deserved so much better. I love you with my entire being, and I would give you my very last breath to give you yours back. Forgive me, my dearest...wherever you are, forgive me. I would give anything, everything, to make it right...”

He looked at her photo one last time, and sighed, “Goodnight, my darling. I love you, and hope to dream of having you in my arms. You are everything to me. Goodnight, sweet Cara.”

He closed his eyes, and fell asleep before the clock heralded the new year had begun.

He opened his eyes, and squinted. Tired, God so tired. Where the hell was he?

He sat up, looked around. Hotel room...the same hotel he was in...for the press tour, that God damned last press tour...wait.

He grabbed his phone. The date, the date, what was the fucking date...

It was the day after his disastrous video conversation with Cara. He frantically dialed her.

No response.

Texted her.

No reply.

NononoNO! Not so soon, she couldn’t have fallen ill so soon after the call, could she? He never had a frame of reference...he panicked inwardly. What to do, what to do...he always wanted to change things, but now that he had his chance, he was at a loss. He had hoped to talk with Cara before she actually became incapacitated, but it seemed like that particular window had closed. Should he call his mother? No, that wouldn’t work, Cara didn’t fully trust his mother, and he would most likely assure Diana that nothing was wrong, that Tom was just being silly, was overreacting...

Fuck it. He was calling emergency services. He would flat out lie to them, he didn’t care. It was a dream, anyway...wasn’t it? This was nothing more than a wish fulfillment lucid dream. He’d read all about them, and God, it was going to suck so badly when he awoke, but he was going to make it right this time, this was the way his subconscious was going to give him peace...

Dialing 999 from halfway across the world was surreal, but through the miracles of technology it was done. Tom concocted a story of how he was speaking with Cara on the phone, how she was complaining of feeling ill with sharp abdominal pain with sudden bleeding, and then she cried out and line went dead. He could no longer reach her. He was desperately afraid for her well being. Would someone please go and check on her? He could even tell them how to access the house, and was more than willing to remain on the line as long as necessary...he was packing his bags as he spoke, and was heading for the airport, his fingers flying across the keyboard, changing his reservations to the first available flight back to London.

It wasn’t nearly as long as it felt before a voice told him, “Tom, you nailed it. We found your girl in bed, and she needs to get to hospital right away. I can’t say exactly what is wrong with her, but the reason you couldn’t get through to her is she dropped her mobile and was too weak to retrieve it. If she didn’t get medical intervention soon...well, let’s not even go there! We’re getting her loaded into the ambulance now. I know you said your plane is going to be taking off soon, but someone will be keeping in touch with you as best they can, will your flight have WiFi?”

Once Tom confirmed that he would indeed have WiFi capability once his plane reached cruising altitude, the first responder took his information and concluded, “Seriously, mate...you saved her life by making this call. Well done. Boyfriend of the year award, right here.”

Tom took a deep breath. “I just want her to be okay.”

“Well, you certainly took a step in the right direction. Look gotta go.”

“So do I, they’re closing the doors.”

Tom was shaking so violently the flight attendants thought he was reacting to takeoff and were offering him different ways to help him relax. He kept waving them off politely, and leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes. He’d done it. Even though it was just a dream, he’d done it...he could feel the tears threatening, and the massive lump in his throat restricting his breathing. He knew he’d be waking any moment now.

Any moment.

He pinched himself. He should be waking now. Dream time was a funny thing, the way it would ebb and flow. This dream had been going on for...he checked his watch...how long now?!

He would rest. He would close his eyes, and when he woke up, he would be back in Belsize. He didn’t want to be, but at least, this one time, in his foolish dreams, he had saved his beloved.

Clutching his mobile to his aching heart, he closed his eyes, tears threatening still, and took a shuddering breath.

He opened his eyes.

He was still on the plane.

Wildly, he looked around him. This was impossible.

His mobile vibrated in his hand, and he jumped, badly startled.

It was the hospital, informing him that Cara was having emergency surgery, and she was listed as being in critical but stable condition.

Tom pinched himself again, and again, and again. Nothing changed. He was still very much in an airplane seat, streaking towards London. Cara was still very much alive, and he...

...he was somehow still in his own dream.

“Am I dead?” He looked at where he had been pinching himself, and he could see the beginning of bruises. “No, dead people don’t tend to bruise...and dead people don’t have to pee,” he realized, as he recognized he was going to have to make use of the airplane’s loo. He stood, and stretched his legs.

As he used the facility, his mind continued to spin frantically. “If I’m still dreaming, will I wake up when I wake up from this dreamscape?”

That made sense. Sorrow swamped him. For a moment there, he was beginning to believe the impossible, and oh, how sweet that impossibility was. The thought, the idea, he might see his sweet Cara again, the kiss in that hospital room would not be the last, was more intoxicating and mind blowing than any alcohol or drug even known.

“I can’t,” he grimly told himself. “I simply cannot continue with this false hope. I am going to force myself out of this. Losing her once was excruciating, I cannot bear to think of having to do so again. I am ripping this plaster off. If I have to spend the next three days on a bender, I will do it, but I am not going to live in this lie.”

He gave the flight attendant his best smile, and asked for three servings of scotch. Neat. Which he proceeded to take as precisely as though they were medications lined up in little cups.

Soon, he was as high as the plane...and then, he was asleep, with a dopey smile on his face. Scotch on an empty stomach was a sure-fire way for him to sleep under any circumstances. It might have a nasty wake-up call, but hell, he wouldn’t care. Dream Tom would be gone, and Real Tom wouldn’t have to deal with it.

Tom awoke to realize Dream Tom and Real Tom were both suffering with a massive headache, both on the same fucking airplane, and both had to vomit.

Thankfully, all of the Toms involved made it to the loo in a polite and timely fashion, managed to sick up the scotch without unduly offending anyone other than themselves (thank God, thank God, most passengers were asleep) and return to their seat without incident. He began to drink copious amounts of water and stop thinking of himself in terms of multiples. That made the headache worse.

He looked at his mobile fearfully. There were several messages there. One from the hospital, informing him that Cara was out of surgery and faring quite well. Another from his abandoned press agent, scolding him for bunking off and leaving early, although the last panel was of small moment and no harm was done. “What’s going on,” she questioned, “is something wrong? You left without saying a word to anyone, changing your reservation and everything. I hope all is well with your family. It’s not like you, Tom. I’m worried. Let me know.” Guilt reared its ugly head, here was a perfect example of someone reaching out instead of being complacent...

The last text was from an unknown number.

~Tom, this is Cara. I am using my agent’s phone. I don’t know how you knew...but thank you. You saved me, Tom. I am so very, very sorry about everything. I love you, and hope you still love me in spite of everything that has gone wrong.

His heart thudded painfully. Skipped several beats...then began pounding faster than the jet engines were spinning...

~Cara, it’s Tom. My darling, you must be on some pretty good drugs. How could I not still love you? I am flying to your side as quickly as I can. SO DON’T MOVE. You have my heart. PS What happened to your phone, sweetheart? I tremble when I think of all of the incriminating photographs...

~Tom, all you have ever sent me are pictures of puddings, bad jokes, cute baby animals, and more bad jokes.

~I know...think of how my image would suffer...I am supposed to be sending you sexy photos. Setting you on fire, driving you wild with desire....and the jokes aren’t THAT bad...are they?

~Please. Please don’t make me laugh. Hurts.

~Well. Maybe then I might let the world see the incriminating photos I have of the award winning author that is Cara Hyde.

~Yes. I think the world is ready to see the ground breaking photos of my flipping you off. With the sweetest smile imaginable. No one will believe it, btw. Everyone thinks I am shy and silent and demure.

~You have the world completely snowed.

~I am really a member of Her Majesty’s Secret Service, Licensed to Kill.

~I believe it. Rest, my beloved. I can’t wait to see you and hold you and—

~Stop right there, Shakespeare. This still isn’t my phone.

~I’m landing in a few hours. Rest, Cara.

~Hi, Tom. This is Molly, Cara’s agent. I’ll make sure she rests until you arrive. And I will make sure she gets a replacement phone. You two are making my blood sugar spike. Ugh.

Tom approached Cara’s hospital room with trepidation and heart pounding joy. He said he was going to be looking for the joy in the world, but this was not what he thought was in the realm of the possible.

He entered a completely different room, of course. He could hardly breathe, his hands and feet were cold, and he was trembling.

Cara blinked at him sleepily. She was hooked up to a variety of monitors, but this time, the heart monitor was beeping in a quiet, happily regular rhythm, and there were several bags of fluids hanging over her head, with machines beeping in counterpoint. “Tom? Why are you standing over there? Won’t you—”

She could say no more, for Tom had crossed the room in two quick strides and had her in his arms, covering her face with his kisses. “Cara, my Cara, my Cara...” He had the side rail down, and he was now engulfing her body with hers in an all-encompassing embrace.

“Tom...Tom, you’re freezing, and shaking like a leaf,” Cara pulled away from him, stroking his cheeks with both of her hands, her expression dismayed in the light of his pain.

Looking at her face, hearing her voice once more, Tom found he couldn’t speak. He didn’t deserve this second chance, for now he had come to believe that somehow, for some reason, he was being gifted with just that. He didn’t deserve it, he couldn’t understand it, but for some blessed reason, he was holding his beloved in his arms once more.

Cara bit her lip, and buried her face in Tom’s neck. “Tom, I...I’m sorry, I...”

He pulled away from her immediately, his eyes glowing fiercely.

“Cara, I came so close to losing you that I can scarcely breathe when I think about it. I cannot speak plainer. I can’t bear it, Cara, you have no idea...” Tom took a hand and pressed his palm deeply into his chest, shaking his head violently. “There is nothing more important to me than having you in my life, nothing at all. I would give up anything, everything, to keep you here besides me!” He cupped her face gently, and kissed her lips. With all of his strength he suppressed the memory of kissing her forehead in another room in this same hospital. “Please say you believe me, Cara.”

Tears were flowing down her face in a thick stream as she nodded.

He leaned forward and touched his head against hers, and began to murmur words that were private and meant for her ears alone, words that brought both of them to more tears, but these were tears of healing, and they wrapped their arms around each other tightly. Tom nuzzled her lovingly. Swearing to himself this time, he was never going to let her go, for any reason. He had learned his lesson. She could live in her home, she could live in his home, but he was never going to let her go.

Once she was discharged, he did as he once dreamed in his other life, the one he was determined to put behind him forever. He asked her where would she like to go, if they could go anywhere in the world. And as she did in his dream, she confessed she wanted to go someplace warm. As Tom still had his downtime, he splurged and took himself and his sweetheart to Fiji. Neither of them had ever been, and it was the trip of a lifetime. Crystal blue waters, blue skies to rival the color of those waters, warm sun that pinked both of their skins (in very interesting places, as they were enjoying a very private location) and starry nights that filled their eyes.

It was with great regret they had to leave.

As they settled into their plane, Tom and Cara were giggly and relaxed as they had never been before in their entire lives. Two and a half months of fun, laughter, complete privacy, relaxation, love, and each other...and a promise made they had not shared with anyone else yet, but that would tie them together even closer still. Tom knew it was the most natural step in the world. And they would be taking this next step to further another natural step.

There was going to be one more project to complete, and then he was going to stop traveling about the world for movies. He was done. Theater was in his blood, he would always want to tread the boards, but he was ready to stay home now. No more chasing the brass ring. There were other rings he was more interested in, and Cara was thrilled. She had been very worried he was going to put himself back on another treadmill, and would become exhausted all over again. He was willing to travel to do theater stints abroad, but no more movies that would require extensive publicity tours pre- and post-production as well as filming around the globe.

However, as Tom and Cara were teasing and laughing, there was something that was bothering Tom. Something frustrating him, niggling at the back of his head.

It wasn’t until the plane lurched unexpectedly over the ocean that he remembered the date, the name of the airlines they were flying on, and the flight number.

It was New Year’s Day, and Tom was late for lunch. Late for pudding. Ben grumbled as he turned to his wife, “I swore to him that if he was late, I was going to drag him here, and drag him I shall.”

“Don’t be too hard on him,” Sophie advised him softly. “You don’t know how he slept last night. It may have been very hard for him to let go of the old year, or look forward to the new.”

Ben leaned towards her and kissed her cheek gently. “You are an angel, and I don’t know what I would do without you,” he confessed, his eyes soft as he looked at her with love. “There is nowhere I would rather be than...” he trailed off, his mind beginning to race, his head cocked to the side.

Sophie, unaware, was putting away cutlery and glasses from the party. “I feel so badly for Tom. I saw him rubbing his chest all night. You know, he reminded me of my grandfather each time. He died within three months of my grandmother, the death cert said heart failure but we all knew it was from a broken heart...”

Ben whipped his head around. “Say that again.”

“What?”

He gripped her upper arms carefully. “Repeat exactly what you just said, Sophie.”

Her eyes wide, she did so.

While Ben only played Sherlock on television, he did have a keen analytical mind of his own, and his mind was quickly putting together a frightening picture of his own, and he did not like what he was coming up with, at all.

Tom’s last words to him yesterday evening were, “You know Ben, as much as I feel so keenly for those waiting for news of loved ones that may never come home to them, I envy those who were seated next to their loved ones on that plane...while no one wants to die, knowing that you are going to be with your beloved when you leave this earth? Holding their hand, being in their arms? I can’t help but think, it’s not a bad place to be.”

“...if you dream you are going to die and don’t wake up, you die in reality, and bad things happen in threes.”

“Bad things happen in threes.”

“If you dream of dying and you don’t wake up, you die in reality.”

The plane crash.

Cara dying.

Tom continually wincing and rubbing his chest... caustically saying, “Ben, I’ve been having chest pains now for three months. Ass.”

His grief so profound, his guilt still unassuaged...Sophie casually mentioning dying from a broken heart...and now, Tom, late for pudding?

And this sick, sick feeling in his own gut, of something gone terribly wrong.

He didn’t say a word to Sophie, just ran to his car, jumped in and peeled out, speeding off to Tom’s home. Ever since the horrible day they found him after Cara died, everyone had a key to his home, and Tom no longer cared. He no longer felt he had a life so private he had to guard it.

The plane was lurching at sickening angles, and the air was filled with voices screaming. There was a small voice in Tom’s head that kept insisting that if he would just wake up, he would be fine. He shook his head, and took a deep breath.

The flight attendants were urging everyone to assume the brace position. Cara looked at Tom in amazement, for he seemed to be completely at peace, despite the horrific chaos that swirled around him. In fact he was...smiling?

He took her hand and sandwiched them in both of his, and spoke in the low baritone that never failed to both thrill and calm her by turns.

“Darling? I don’t see as to where we really need to get into a brace position. Do you?”

She looked deeply into his eyes. She knew they were over the ocean. She recognized how very perilous their situation was, and shook her head.

“No, Tom. I don’t.”

He nodded, and leaned over to unbuckle her, then easily lifted her body to pull her into his lap. She snuggled into him as she had done a thousand times before. Snickering, Tom then buckled them both in together, somehow managing it, huskily whispering in her ear, “Good thing you’re so tiny, love, as I don’t think I’d be able to find an extender just now.”

“I can’t believe you can make me laugh at a time like this...!”

“Darling, the way you’re wiggling your sweet bum in my lap, you’re making me—”

And with all the screaming and wailing and panic and despair, Cara cried out “Thomas William!” in a scandalized, laughter-filled voice. Tom wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in her hair, delighting in the scent of her shampoo and perfume and just her, laughing along with her.

The plane gave another drunken lurch and he was glad for both the belt and the strength in his arms. Because he had sworn he was never going to let her go.

Cara looked in his eyes and confessed, “Maybe I’ve been living on borrowed time, ever since you called that ambulance.”

Tom looked into hers, and replied, “Maybe that’s so, but I want you to know one thing: there is nowhere, nowhere on earth that I would rather be, right now, than where I am, with you, here, in my arms. I would give up anything, and everything, to be here with you. I love you, Cara.”

“Oh, Tom. I love you too.” She felt his arms tighten around her body as she turned her face into his neck and shoulder.

He smiled, his face smelling her hair, and one hand crossed over, cupped her cheek lovingly.

“I have you, Cara. I have you.”

“Tom? TOM!”

Ben was out of breath from calling, and running from the car, into the house, up the stairs.

He found Tom lying peacefully in bed, curled on his side, almost as though he was in a seated position, a faint smile on his lips, with one hand curled up, pressed against his chest, and the other arm extended, with the palm out, as though he was cupping something, as his head faced Cara’s smiling photograph at his bedside table.

TAGGING: @hopelessromanticspoonie @just-the-hiddles @yespolkadotkitty @winterisakiller @redfoxwritesstuff @sabine-leo @vodka-and-some-sass @theheartofpenelope

#tom hiddleston rpf #tom hiddleston angst #perchance to dream #tom hiddleston x oc #tom hiddleston x ofc #look Christine I did a thing #Nonsensical Writes

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edream93 · 5 years

Text

A Queen’s Loyalty

Super sorry to @demons-like-music-too for this late @descendantssecretsanta gift. None of these characters wanted to give me an easy time while writing this. Hopefully you’ll still be able to enjoy this Uma/Audrey oneshot with a hint of Humaudrey.

It had been fun. His flirtations had been crass but his attention, anything that wasn’t a look of pity like from her grandmother or a look of fear like when her eyes connected with Chad’s, was better than nothing.

They had danced, spinning around and around for so long that Audrey could pretend that he was some prince from a faraway kingdom. Harry Hook definitely had the jawline of a prince. She even told him that which caused him to look at her with an unreadable look on his face before he erupted with loud boisterous laughter.

“Ye want me to be your pretty little boy toy hanging off yer arm, lass?” he asked with a wicked grin as he dipped her. “Want me to be your little Isle pet?”

Rolling her eyes, Audrey shook her head. “I’m not really interested in just a pretty face.” Her eye caught Ben and Mal in each other's arms, surrounded by their friends as they stared adoringly at each other.

The pain had dulled but the wound was still tender. Audrey doubted that it would ever go away, but it would be tolerable. It would have to be.

“Then what is a princess like ye wanting?” the pirate asked bringing her attention back to him.

“Loyalty,” Audrey said firmly without hesitation. “I don’t remember much about...before, with the scepter. But I remember watching you and Ursula’s daughter. It was so easy to see that you would follow her anywhere.”

He cocked his head to the side, his face unreadable as he searched for something. He looked somewhere over her shoulder, staring off at something. Before Audrey could ask what he was looking at he cut her off, intense gaze on her.

“Loyalty,” he murmured “has to be hard won.” Suddenly, he spun her around out of sight from the rest of the party, pressing her back against a wall. The smell of cologne, leather, and gunpowder set off warnings of danger in Audrey’s mind as he leaned closer. “A good pirate often doesn’t have much to their name but the loyalty they’ve gained. What does a bonnie pink princess like ye know about hardship?” he asked.

His gaze fell to her lips and Audrey couldn’t decide if she wanted him to kiss her or not but the air around them felt charged with intensity, and Audrey wanted one moment of not being a princess. Of not having every decision she made being judged by whether it was proper or not...

“Harry. Chill.”

Audrey jumped, pushing away from the boy whose lips were mere breaths from hers. Guilt and the image of being on the Tourney field embarrassed and heartbroken flashed through her as her eyes turned onto the frightening scowl of the sea witch Ursula’s daughter.

Uma stood, arms crossed and eyes narrowed as she took both of them in. Audrey swore the air around the teal haired girl was thick with charged energy though her face showed no tell of what she was actually feeling.

Audrey sputtered, attempting to speak, to apologize. Despite not wanting to necessarily ruin Mal’s life at the moment, she definitely did not want to follow in the path of the future Queen first year in Auradon.

Before she could get out an apology though, Harry was already pulling away from her.

“Darlin’” he purred in greeting, all swagger and sharp angle as the intensity that surrounded them melted away, Audrey not even an afterthought.

Audrey felt her cheeks warm as the son of Hook easily placed himself next to the sea witch’s side, kneeling as he kissed her hand with such reverence and care that Audrey had to look away from the intimate action. Total devotion, Audrey thought with not a little jealousy.

She allowed herself to feel embarrassed, cheeks warming in shame. She was a princess. Though her memories of the last few days were murky beneath a fog of purple haze, she remembered watching these two through the scepter. A princess didn’t allow herself to act with so little class, especially in front of a sea witch who could potentially have a short fuse and turn her into pond scum.

However, before the delayed panic and pleas could rise within the Audrey, Uma spoke.

“It’s getting late, Harry,” she said as if she had not just walked in on a scandalous scene, expression bored. “Just because the barrier is down doesn’t mean you’re off from doing your sweeps. Mal,” she said not necessarily with contempt but not overly filled with fondness, “forgot that there are actually people who actually deserve to be on the Isle, namely our parents.”

Harry snorted, slinging his arm over her shoulder. “Always cleaning up the wee dragon’s mess, aren’t we?” Uma frowned but otherwise didn’t look too bothered by their closeness, even hooking her pinky with the hook dangling from his hand around her shoulder.

They were already turning around to leave, when Audrey remembered that breathing was something that human beings needed to do. She almost sighed in relief, wanting nothing more than to go to her room and wash off the last week or two. However, Uma stopped and Audrey held back a gasp as the sea witch stared over her shoulder at her with an intense and unreadable look.

“Stealing from a queen is not a smart move to gain her loyalty.”

Cold fear ran through Audrey at those words.

Of course Mal would legally be queen of the Isle and of Auradon but Audrey had heard enough whispers, seen the way that those from the Isle seemed to defer to Uma once the barrier had been brought down and the bridge built.

This was it. Audrey had angered a sea witch, proclaimed Queen of the Isle by flirting with her beau and now Audrey would be cursed, turned into sea foam, and-

Harry was suddenly at Audrey’s side again, slipping on the ring that Audrey’s mother had given her for her sixteenth birthday back onto her finger. An elegant thing where the band was made out of rose gold twisting vines and small delicate roses. It was Audrey’s favorite ring.

When had he taken that off of her? She hadn’t even realized it was gone until he was replacing it.

“Sorry lass. Bad habits,” Harry grinned widely with a discomforting giggle before pulling his calloused hand away. He winked at her, mouthing the word “loyalty” before quickly catching up to Uma who had already started walking away again. Audrey watched them until the crowd of still celebrating people quickly swallowed them up, neither pirate in site.

Letting out a very unladylike sound, Audrey slumped against the wall, heart pounding against her chest and not quite sure what just happened.

---

“Audrey! Will you please stop fidgeting? It’s a beautiful necklace, which is saying something since it came from pirates.”

Audrey glared over the rim of her tea cup at Evie. They were sitting in Evie’s workshop in her castle. Audrey was supposed to be having a dress consultation done for an upcoming royal event she had to attend. However, the dress consultation had quickly turned into a consultation about a particular pirate captain, who was now also the liaison for the Isle and co-leader for the Isle Rehabilitation Initiative. Said pirate captain had also sent Audrey a deceptively beautiful necklace with a teal rose shaped pendant made out of sea glass that Audrey was adamant the sea witch had cursed.

“Is that supposed to be reassuring? Not only was I probably given a cursed necklace but it was probably a stolen cursed necklace. What else am I to think when it comes from the same person who threatened me for stealing her boyfriend.”

“That she wanted to thank you for advocating to keep Sammy Smee together with his younger twin brothers?” Evie sighed, setting aside the jacket that she was creating for the Queen of Hearts’ youngest son, Ace. The young boy would be coming to live at the quickly filling castle towards the end of the week. “The Isle born pirates always had a strong sense of loyalty to each other, more so than anyone else on the Isle. Since Harry is her first mate and the Hooks and Smees have a long history together, she probably felt indebted to you,” Evie reached for her own cup of tea, frowning at how lukewarm it was. “Isle kids hate owing a debt, especially to outsiders. Never know when someone will use it against you or what for.”

“I was just fulfilling the requirements of my community service,” Audrey softly said.

As part of her punishment for breaking into the Auradon Museum of History, stealing the crown and Maleficent’s scepter as well as her stint as “the Queen of Mean”, Audrey had been assigned to community service work. The majority of her work was helping Evie prepare for and help with the adjustment of Isle children who would be better off living under Evie’s protective care than staying on the Isle.

Queen Leah had initially not been happy but Audrey took the punishment with aplomb and grace of a princess who wanted to repent. Who wanted to do better and grow from her narrow minded shell. Besides, despite their initial first meeting what felt like years ago, Audrey found herself appreciative and in awe of Evie’s ability to balance a fashion line, mentoring Dizzy with the development of her accessory line, housing more than a dozen Isle children, and assisting with the rehab of one marginally disgraced princess.

It didn’t take long for Audrey to admit that Evie was a princess in every way but the title. They weren’t necessarily friends, but it was easy to talk to Evie and not just feel heard but also understood. After all, they had both grown up with the legacy of their mothers’ hanging over their heads.

Setting down her tea, Evie gave her a beautiful smile, moving over to sit next to Audrey. She briefly took the other girls hands in her own for a brief squeeze. “Not that many people would pull connections to get the son of a villain’s sidekick a stable job so that he can support his two younger brothers,” she said before letting go of Audrey’s hands. “Listen Audrey, things on the Isle…” looking down as she searched for her words. “They aren’t, they aren’t always as straightforward as they are on this side of the bridge.” Evie looked up, a strange look in her eyes as she stared at something across the room. “We didn’t have the concept of love, not really or not as publicly shown like it is over here. We had loyalty though.”

Audrey followed her gaze and saw a small table with two picture frames. One was a recent picture of her and Doug, taken shortly after the barrier was brought down. The other frame held a picture of Mal, Evie, Jay, Carlos, and Ben right after Ben’s coronation as king. When Audrey turned back to Evie, there was a soft smile on the other girl’s face.

“If you’re really worried about Uma being after you or not, just talk to her,” Evie advised. “She’s a sea witch but also a pirate. A pirate of her word,” she added when Audrey opened her mouth to protest. “Besides, she’s been working with Ben on the adjustment efforts for the Isle. Uma is passionate, not stupid. Things are too delicate to be threatening a princess who easily fell for Harry’s old flirt and snatch trick. It was essentially business as usual for Harry and I’m sure that Uma knows that you weren’t interested in stealing her first mate.”

Audrey rolled her eyes but nodded before switching the subject to the work she was doing raising money for Evie to find an even bigger castle and staff for Isle halfway home. Days later, if Evie saw Audrey where the sea glass necklace, she didn’t say anything, just smiled knowingly.

----

Weeks passed. And then a month.

Audrey’s community service ended two weeks ago but she continued to work with Evie, creating fundraisers and promoting the need for Isle informed trauma care at Auradon Prep for both Isle and Auradon born. Some days she would be at Evie’s castle, helping to wrangle some of the more energetic children to eat their vegetables before they could stuff their faces with cake. And some days she sat patiently, helping the smallest children to those who were very nearly close to her in age sound out their words as they read, the summer before the school year being used as a literacy crash course.

Chad and her grandmother didn’t understand why she would want to continue with her community service work when she had met the requirements but Audrey merely politely kissed her grandmother on the cheek and temporarily blocked Chad’s number before diving deeper into the Isle Rehabilitation work.

Surprisingly, Audrey found her groove when it came to keeping some of the rowdier Isle children in place. Apparently her short stint as the Queen of Mean was known about even on the Isle and had given her a pretty hefty amount of “street cred” making it very easy for the younger children to quickly get in line with just one look. Even the older ones felt more comfortable going to Audrey if they needed anything rather than their assigned Auradon peer mentors. It was nice to be looked at with awe and not fear and distrust. It was surprising that the people she had once thought were Auradon’s enemies were the most forgiving.

“Moldy bread for your thoughts?”

Audrey startled, brought back to the bench she was sitting on from her thoughts. She had been watching Carlos and Jay teach some of the younger Isle kids how to play Tourney. It was a nice day and Evie had forced her to take a break. Audrey looked next to her, eyes widening when she saw who had interrupted her thoughts.

“Uma!” She squeaked, causing an amused tilt of the sea witch’s lips.

“So you do know my name,” she said while leaning back on the bench with a combination of casual ease and an air of deadly grace.

“Of course I know your name,” Audrey nervously brushed invisible wrinkles from her skirt, folding her hands delicately in her lap when there proved to be no wrinkles to be smoothed out.

“Wasn’t sure,” Uma yawned, chuckling when the Smee twins tagged teamed Jay and knocked the older boy on his back. “Atta boys!” she cheered, a wide genuine grin spread across her face.

Audrey found herself staring. Uma looked nice with smile, she thought distractedly. Definitely better than the scowl that Audrey had last seen her with when she caught her with Harry.

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” the sew witch grinned, her brown gaze on Audrey.

The world screeched to a halt and the only thing Audrey could do was hide her face in her hands. “I said that out loud, didn't I?”

Uma merely smirked.

A few minutes passed as Audrey wondered if the ground beneath her would just swallow her up and end her embarrassment. Jay and Carlos continued with their Tourney lessons, Jay explaining the importance of trust and teamwork.

“So,” Uma broke the silence between them. “A little blue bird has been sayin’ you’re avoiding me and after I got you that pretty necklace. Looks good on you by the way,” she said reaching out and gently stroking the pendent. Audrey felt warmth rush to her face as the tip of Uma’s fingers brushed against the sensitive skin of her collar bone. “Gil picked it out. He has a good eye for things like that,” Uma moved her hand away to toss her long waves of teal hair over her shoulder.

In the sunlight, Audrey was mesmerized by the strands of gold hair that was brought out in the light, difficult to notice unless you were up close.

“I’m not jealous or out to get you because you were with Harry,” Uma suddenly said.

Eyes widening, Audrey managed to get out, “You weren’t? But aren’t you two, a thing?”

“The labels in Auradon don’t always perfectly match with the ones from the Isle,” Uma shrugged tilting her head back to bathe in the warm light of the sun. “It’s like explaining to Gil the difference between a grape and a berry when he’s never had the reference for any type of fruit to begin with.”

Audrey found herself frowning, once again reminded how sheltered her life had always been. “Evie mentioned something similar.”

Uma nodded. “But passion, drive, initiative? Loyalty?” she smirked as Audrey’s eyes widened. “That’s something that translates well anywhere,” she bumped her shoulder with Audrey’s. “That’s why I want you to help me with some of the Isle Rehabilitation initiatives I’m working on. Hence the necklace to butter you up.”

Carlos let out a loud cheer, running around with one of the Smee twins laughing on his shoulder, narrowly dodging Jay’s grab with his own twin on his shoulder.

“Why me?”

“You impressed me. Didn’t know a pretty in pink princess could care about what happened to Isle kids.”

“It’s not that big of a deal. Evie does the same thing. I don’t see why you don’t just go to her.”

Uma rolled her eyes. “Seven seas, give me strength,” she muttered before turning to fully face Audrey on the bench. Audrey only had a second to process Uma leaning in towards her before their lips met. The sounds of the beautiful day and the Tourney lesson faded away as Uma’s lips pressed firmly against hers. Audrey was frozen, brain failing to process how to respond until Uma slipped a warm but calloused hand against the back of Audrey’s neck. Her other hand combed along the scalp of the princess’s head, bringing out an unexpected moan that parted Audrey’s lips further, giving the sea witch further access.

Audrey melted against Uma, feeling like she was drowning in the best way, surround in the sea witch’s attention. The voices in her head that constantly went back and forth about proper princess protocol were silent, everything else put on pause to just lose herself in this unexpected but not at all unwelcome embrace. She was just Audrey.

Uma smirked at the whine of protest that Audrey didn’t even have the energy to pretend to be embarrassed about letting out as she pulled away. “That’s why,” the sea witch explained.

Audrey glanced over at the area where Carlos and Jay had been giving Tourney lessons only to see that they had left, only Harry Hook grinning at them as he leaned against a nearby tree. When their eyes met, he winked at her, mouthing “loyalty”.

Uma got to her feet, looking cool and collected, the only evidence of what just happened being her tousled hair that Audrey just realized she had been running her hands through.

“No more avoiding me,” Uma ordered more than said. “Doesn’t do well for the others to think we’re not on the same page.”

Audrey licked her lips, tasting faintly sea salt. “And,” she began before clearing her throat. “And what page exactly are we on?”

Uma grinned, already sauntering away towards Harry, a little bit more of a sway in her hips as both Harry and Audrey watched. “That two queens are better than one, of course,” she called over her shoulder.

#disney descendants #uma descendants #harry hook #audrey descendants #evie descendants #umaudrey #humaudrey #descendants secret santa #edream93 fanfic #edream93 fanfiction

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