#wish it were more common on the internet to go 'could you explain [x]' instead of 'how DARE you do [x] for this reason i made up' | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

imagine-lcorp · 4 years

Text

Between Two Lungs (One Shot)

A/N: Hello dears, so here it is the infamous fic I’ve been writing. I really hope this fullfils my dream of crushing your hearts once again and that you have a fun time agonizing over this final choice. Because yes, I’ve made this a multiending fic...As always, remember to tell me what you think, is it something you want me to keep doing for other fics? Also, how did you feel after this? pls let me know. Also i made this PLAYLIST if you want to add some feeling to this while reading... Enjoy!

Lena Luthor x R/Hanahaki AU//Word Count: 3,464

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

It is possible to die of a broken heart.

You look it up somewhere in the internet. It's similar to a heart attack, caused by a very strong and emotionally stressful event. The death of a loved one, a breakup, a betrayal. It's treatable and rarely fatal. Following the recommendations of your doctor, you can make a full recovery within weeks. Still, it is possible to die of it.

You don't have a broken heart. You wish you had one. Because love, the one only you feel, is growing inside of you and it is much worse than that.

Thankfully, compared to others your condition it's not as painful as it could be.

You have heard about people with roses inside them, how their thorns puncture their pharynges with every breath they take. Others don't get flowers. They get apple or cherry trees with their fruits pouring juice inside their lungs and out of their mouths. Some others have pines and spruces, with cones constricting their organs and rib-cages until they bones break.

So you look at the small white petal that lays in your hand and think that, in your case, it is something almost magnanimous.

Plumerias have no thorns and, even though some can be a bit thick, their branches are soft enough to bend around your heart and lungs without much trouble. Their petals, small and delicate, rise easily up your throat without lacerating it in a coughing fit.

Maybe, you want to think in a very optimist way, if you can keep that love from growing further, you won't have to suffer through it.

Maybe.

So you prescribe for your own heart solitude and abstinence.

The first one is the easiest.

You tell your friends you are sick and need some time to recover. Most of them get worried as they don't know yet what illness has fallen upon you in these troublesome times.

"You know, If you wanted, I could get you a full medical examination." Alex offers with a raised eyebrow, giving you the look of the always concerned big sister.

"Thanks, but it's alright." You assure them with a smile. "I was thinking about spending some time at home anyway."

After a lot of questions you manage to dodge in the end, they decide there's no reason to doubt your intentions. So they leave you to your own devices.

Homemade remedies, or herbicides depending on who you ask, seem to help as you spend your days at home. Drinking some salt water with lemon in the morning, or a couple of vinegar tablespoons in a cup of tea before going to bed. They don't taste that bad once you get used to the flavor and these help you ease the new bitterness that you taste in the back of your throat.

The second is a bit harder.

You have to stop yourself from dreaming her, thinking her, missing her.

She has texted you a few times already, wanting to know how you're doing and offering her help if you don't feel like you're doing okay on your own. You handle it as best as you can. You text back, consistently enough and with measured time and words, so you don't raise any red flags. When you don't seem to answer she calls, but just thinking about hearing her voice makes your chest hurt a little.

You never answer. She doesn't try to call again. You spit your first handful of flowers after that.

It's all fine, you lie to yourself, at least until the pain reaches your insides and white petals come out of you mouth dappled in red.

"You need to tell her." Kara says softly as she pats your back after another coughing fit.

You cover your mouth with your hand, making sure there are no signs of blood or petals as you tight it into a fist. "Tell who what?"

"Tell Lena about the flowers." She sighs when she fells you freeze under her touch. "Sorry. Alex told me if I could get a clear shot at your lungs maybe we could figure out how to help. I didn't expect it to be... well, flowers."

It shouldn't come as a surprise to you but you are still amazed at how easy it is to forget Kara has x-ray vision when she's not wearing her suit. With or without it, she's still the same caring and protective person you have always known. It also explains why she has been so adamant about having lunch together, at least once a week, after your failed attempt at convincing her you were doing well after a month alone. You couldn't expect less from your best friend, you remind yourself as you catch your breath.

"How do you know it's her?" The taste is bitter as you swallow the rest of blood and petals in your mouth.

"It's plumerias, isn't it?" She rubs your back again as you regain you posture. "They are her favorites."

There are a couple of red tainted petals in your palm when you open your hand. "Yeah, they are."

Kara looks at you and you see something in her you don't think you have ever seen before in the Girl of Steel. But you recognize it, because you feel the same way. Hopeless. Helpless. Powerless.

"(Y/N)." She says like she's already grieving. "It's spreading fast."

The easiest way to get ride of the disease is by removing its seed from your heart, the doctor says. No more than an hour in the operating room and your respiratory system would be as good as new. Common symptoms after the surgery can include aches between your shoulder blades, ribs, back of the neck or chest, weakness and hoarseness in your voice, and, in general, some memory loss and the inability to experiment intense or deep affection towards another person. Most of these stop shortly after you recover, except for the last one.

More experimental methods have been developed with the help of biotherapy. Experts in Japan are said to have reduced the spread of the flowers with other plants like kudzu or barberry, while someone in Europe has been using thrips to eat the plant and control its growth. It's like using maggots to eat your wounds, the doctor explains more enthusiastic than you feel.

You could, of course, try the simplest of things and confess your love.

It only takes to be loved in return for you to heal before any permanent damage is done. The seed that grows in your heart will almost instantly wither, the cough will purge the last of the flowers out of your lungs, and your recovery will last only a couple of weeks. You will breathe again.

But, if your love goes unrequited, you'll reach your fatal end in a matter of days. Doctors will give you a double dose of morphine or induce a coma trying to ease your pain. Flowers, fruits and cones bloom, branches and thorns grow. You convulse and gasp until your last breath when the biggest flowers come out of your mouth. All until your thorax is transformed, beautifully and violently, into a garden of flesh and blood.

Anyone who has seen it happen will tell you, how shocking it is to witness such a thing.

Whatever the case, this only serves to confirm what you already know. You can't be optimistic anymore.

You're dying and you will die, soon with flowers in your lungs or after many years with a loveless heart. Because this life and death of yours, you think, cannot be, shall not be, decided by a coin in the air.

And yet.

"It's flowers...in my lungs." You can almost tell which direction the flower stalks take inside your chest as the words form in your mouth.

"Oh." Lena says as she starts to fidget with her hands.

The anger, that had been growing inside her after weeks of vague replies and evasions, vanishes in her eyes the moment she understands what you're going through.

"Have you...talked to the other person?"

"No, not really. Not yet." You try not to lose your composure as you feel the flowers threatening to rise up your throat.

"Will you?" She asks.

You take a deep breath, feeling the gravity pull your already heavy heart down. "It's plumerias."

"Plumerias?" You can see the moment it dawns on Lena, and the look she gives you makes you wish again you could die of a broken heart instead.

"Miss Luthor, I'm sorry but the board meeting will start shortly."

Jess opens the door a second later and it gives you time to look at the other side and place your hand in your chest. As if that could possibly stop your heart and lungs from collapsing.

"Thank you, Jess. I'll be there." Lena dismisses her with a nod and looks again at you.

She doesn't say anything else and you feel a coughing fit building in your lungs. Stronger than you have ever felt it.

"(Y/N)!" She leaves her chair, running towards you.

You cover your mouth as your chest feels like a boxer is using it as a punching bag. I doesn't feel like it will end quick and when it finally does the only thing that remains is pain.

You thank the chair that holds you in place as you catch your breath.

"I'm fine. It's fine." You don't want her to see it, but she manages to catch a glimpse of the bloody petals that cover your palm once you recover.

"No, it's not, (Y/N). You're dying and I-"

"It's not your fault." You cut her off, shaking your head and taking a little napkin from you pocket to clean yourself as best as you can.

The death, the break, the betrayal. You feel it all as worry and pity finally merge in her eyes. There's also guilt when she looks at you. It is there along with everything else she doesn't feel for you. So you don't want an apology, especially not from her, especially not like this.

"You're my friend and I just- I wanted you to know. I got my surgery already programmed."

"Surgery?" You watch her draw back a bit in surprise.

"I'll be fine." You lie again.

"(Y/N), I-"

"Miss Luthor, the board-"

"I know!" Lena snaps and, when she realizes the magnitude of her reaction, she retracts, taking a deep breath for herself before answering. "Sorry, yes. Do you think you could hold it for a minute?"

"You should go." You say with a small voice before any of them can say more. "The meeting, sounds important."

"(Y/N)..." The way she pronounces your name makes you want to be over with this already. You just can't stand it anymore.

"We'll talk later." You say. "We got time."

She wants to argue, you know, but you won't, can't, do it. Still, you pull a little smile for her.

"We'll talk later." She replies with a nod.

There will be time for another conversation. There will be time. There will be time. There will be time. You repeat it like a mantra to help you carry yourself out of her office.

Everything else after that passes like a blur.

You know you reach the front door of the building, with the voice of the receptionist behind your back offering to call for help. You stumble on the sidewalk trying to hold onto light poles and signposts to keep yourself from falling. You clutch your hand in your chest as the pain reaches its peak. Flowers come pouring out of your mouth and you gasp for air as you finally fall.

You're delirious by the time you land on the hospital bed.

Many faces come and go then, doctors, nurses, friends, ghosts, both the living and the death. The only constants are your dying gasps and the painful beating of your heart until the morphine does its work. It helps you see, with certain clarity the only face that can make a difference.

"You listen to me, alright? I'm sorry I didn't say anything earlier." You open your heavy lids at the sound of her voice, and you see those emerald eyes for what could be the last time. "I love you, (Y/N), please, I love you."

You hear her words, or you don't, or it is simply to late to care anymore. The coin is in the air and there's no more time.

***

☞ You let yourself drift into darkness as the plumerias are pulled to a better light. The garden is gone and what is left behind is only an empty carcass. You cannot stand the emptiness and your heart does what it should have done from the beginning. It breaks and breaks and breaks...

***

☞ Your mind tries to grasp her words but you find your heart too weak to keep a hold of them. So you let them pass through like a shadow. No need for them anymore as the anesthesia and the scalpel give you a break from all this suffering. There will be no flowers and it is, truly, not as bad as it could be...

***

☞ Her words suddenly hit you in their full meaning and your mind does its best to keep and save them into your heart. Even through branches and petals, it has the effect of an echo chamber, repeating those words like a healing prayer. I love you. I love you. I love you...

#Between Two Lungs #One shot #lena luthor #lena luthor x reader #lena luthor imagine #lena luthor imagines #lena luthor x you #lena x reader #lena x you

195 notes · View notes

angelicymp · 3 years

Text

Perhaps a little coaxing is needed...

Good evening my literary friends,

I am hoping to find a suitable partner for specific cravings and ideas I have in mind.

My introduction will be brief and a bit more to the point than usual. I am quite thorough and detail-oriented when it comes to being a writer, including some of my rules and preferences. However, since I believe it to be quite a hassle to go through every point I’m making, my ad will be a bit more compact.

A brief recap: You can call me Imp; I am in my twenties and a student, striving to become a part-time freelancer as well. My main hobbies are photography, traveling, drawing and of course, the art of writing. Currently, I reside in Europe, so my timezone could differ from yours, unless you are also from a similar region.

Be sure to read through my ad to see if we’re compatible. Too many times I’ve encountered cases where the inquirers skimmed through all of the info and upon messaging me, were surprised to learn that we weren’t a match from the beginning. So if you haven’t properly read my ad, I’ll know. I’d like to urge everyone to stick with it so there won't be any misunderstandings and not waste everyone’s time.

————————

 Me, myself and I

(art by: Ayami Kojima)

♦ Nickname: Imp

♦ Experience: 12 years and counting

♦ Style: 1:1 with the inclusion of doubling

♦ Rating: Mature

♦ Roleplaying Platform: Email and Google Docs

♦ Chatting Platform: Email, Google Hangouts or Discord

♦ Pet peeves: Slice of Life

 After finishing the game of Resident Evil 8 Village, I was struck by yet another muse.

I am currently looking for either a pre-existing canon inspired roleplay, or, something completely original. Be sure you are above the age of eighteen, preferably 21 and upwards. I will not accept any inquires from minors - this is not negotiable.

What to expect

♢ Content: Mature. I am more interested in darker things like horror, occultism, the supernatural, you can maybe guess where I am going with this. My limits are few, safe for a couple of minor pet peeves that I have, I am pretty much open to some experimentation; such as violence, gore and sexual themes. When it comes to heavy scenes, I will not fade to black, unless it serves no purpose to the story. Not a huge fan of censorship. However, I will not force or push my partner into something they are not comfortable with. If you want to know the extent to how far I am willing to go, what sort of content, or how graphic my writing will be, you can ask me directly.  

♢ Rating: I have little to no issues with delving into more sensitive topics. Since reality is often stranger than fiction, it is very interesting to explore all sides of human nature, including the less comfortable subjects such as psychology, crime, etc. But I also like to remind that this is a world of fiction and no one in their right mind would condone such things in real life. The world of adults is not easy to handle, but it sure is interesting to explore. So if you are a gentle soul and can’t take the heat of more serious moments within the roleplay, be it a character going through trying times, etc; this might not be ideal for you.

♢ Writing: My texts are considerably lengthy, detailed, and elaborate. Third-person is usually my preferred way of playing my character unless there’s a special case where an exception can be made. Word count usually fluctuates, though I have a standard form of 400-500+ words per reply. It also highly depends on the given situation.

♢ Romancing: I admit to being a hopeless romantic. There’s nothing more enjoyable than witnessing good and powerful chemistry between two characters. Preferably I go for the usual MxF pairing dynamic but I am also open to FxF and MxM, should it feel more fitting. While doubling, I can write the character/love interest to my partner’s desire, but I always aim to stay true to their personality and character. I hate nothing more than forcing characters into a relationship, especially if there’s no spark, so I won’t respond well to being pressured into letting characters act out of their personality. It’s just not realistic. As for smut, or what have you, I have no issues with adding a few spicy scenes, sometimes even drawing them out of our pleasure. When there is, however, a running theme where sexual themes are taking the focal point of the plot, it can become quite boring. It is never the center of any of my roleplays, so be warned.

♢ Plotting: I am fairly quick when it comes to building new characters, concepts, premises, storylines, backstories, etc. It allows me a certain latitude. Feel free to communicate your ideas and thoughts with me. I am happy to chat, even when it doesn’t involve the roleplay directly. Though this is a hobby, I am still extremely passionate about good storytelling and interesting character arcs. I hope to meet someone who is just as enthusiastic and willing to put in the same amount of effort. If it’s only me who’s pulling all the weight, I will lose interest and feel forced to end the correspondence.

No gos

♦ Won’t do: Pedophilia, Necrophilia, Bestiality, Scat, Vore, Toilet Play, etc. I am sure you can also think of many other strange fetishes that have developed over the years spent on the internet.

♦ Won’t write: The idea of supernatural beings trying to fit into human society. The typical bully x victim storyline. The run-of-the-mill vampires vs werewolf plot. BDSM centred stories. Slice of life. Flawless or excessively flawed characters.

What I expect

♢ Literacy: You should at least have a decent grasp of basic grammar and coherency in your spelling.

♢ Flexibility: Since we all have lives outside of the roleplay, we both need to be flexible. Sometimes our schedules may differ, and if life is currently intervening, we can take things a bit easier. Plus, I can’t always respond every second of every day, either. This should be considered a hobby and not a job. If a hiatus is on the rise, there is no problem with putting things on ice until things clear up.

♢ Experience: And by that, I don’t mean how many years you’ve roleplayed, rather the experience that comes with age and emotional maturity. Especially if you want to write stories with grit.

♢ Open to doubling: Quick explanation. Doubling is when we play two main characters each. The dynamic is as follows; I write your chosen love interest against your main character while you do the same for me.

♢ Long term: Only long-term partnerships.

♢ Sharing the spotlight: Don’t forget, this is all about you too! Let me know all your specific cravings, interests, or wants that you want to be included into the roleplay.

Cravings

♦ Urban fantasy: Supernaturals, demons, spirits, vampires, you name it. I’d be more interested in something original and unique, especially when it comes to vampirism and demonic entities.

♦ Dark Sci-Fi: So this is a bit inspired by Resident Evil. A world where monsters become a vicious reality, generating fear among the people they come in contact with. But as it turns out, these monsters are not supernatural, but rather infected or mutated by a virus that cannot be explained.

♦ History, mythology, and folklore: An interesting take on the historical timeline, where legends and myths were once a reality. However, their existence was greatly misrepresented in the storybooks, sometimes even completely distorted. Our characters could be accidental time travelers who have been sent from the future to see it with their own eyes. Inspirations are mostly Slavic, European, and ancient folklore from all over the world.

♦ Crime with a dark twist: Mafias, organized crime, and corrupted politicians run this town. All of them have one thing in common. A particular drug that grants humans superhuman abilities; but at a cost. The drug will turn force the users to reject their humanity to instead embrace their monstrosity.

Canon & Fandoms

♢ Castlevania: Rather the original games than the Netflix series. But I am also not opposed to tackling the Netflix universe.

♢ Devil May Cry: Every game is game. Except for the reboot. Never played that one.

♢ Invincible: Not so invincible.

♢ Resident Evil: Village is one of the best games I’ve ever played. Periodt.

♢ Harry Potter: Next gen anyone?

————————

If you made it this far, I am glad you managed to hold on, lol. If you found what I wrote, agreeable and have a similar interests to mine, feel free to message me on this email adress.

You can also contact me via DM on my Tumblr blog, though preferably, I would rather be more receptive on Email since I am more active there. And it’s a lot more personal as well.

Email: [email protected]

Hope to see you there.

I wish you all a lovely day my fellow readers!

-Imp

12 notes · View notes

jbbuckybarnes · 5 years

Text

Burned into my mind

Bucky x Reader Soulmate AU (name on their wrist) Warnings: None, I think. Not Beta read.

M A S T E R L I S T

If there is one thing that has always been natural to you it was covering your left wrist. Not because of a dark past, not because you disliked your wrists, just because there was this name. Everyone had the name of their soulmate on their left wrist and while you didn’t mind finding your soulmate you didn’t want to pressure yourself and constantly be reminded of it was definitely pressure. And the last thing you wanted in a job surrounded by people was constant reminder of them knowing someone with that name. Most of the time you had your Fitbit, a watch or a thick bracelet over the cursive “James” on your wrist and the people around you were used to it. If they asked you explained to them that you wanted things to happen naturally. You weren’t desperate to know your soulmate. Sure, once you had him, that would be nice, but you could lead a normal life without him. You were just about to bring your empty coffee mug to the kitchen of the compound when a blob of color flew past you. Bucky. And then there was another more colorful blob shortly after. Steve. The only way you could tell them apart when they were running past you on top speed was their taste in clothing. Bucky had seemingly managed to get a cream pie into Steves face and you definitely needed to keep your reaction hidden. You had no fair chance of running away from the blonde giant of a man and you weren’t keen on getting cream pie onto your favorite shirt. “James Buchanan Barnes!” you heard the serious voice and instead of letting your eyes widen at the shock you swallowed it down. Sure, it could be Bucky, but James was a common name. And Bucky quite obviously didn’t have his left arm anymore, along with tons of past memories. You wondered if he had a soulmate in the 40s. There must’ve been a lucky girl with his name on her wrist. Maybe he could remember her and missed her. You shook your head to get out of your thoughts and vanished into the kitchen.

“Can I ask you something?” your small voice got his attention. Both of you were relaxing on the roof of the building by the quinjet. The last mission had been quick and you had ordered some food. “Sure.” a small smile formed on his face with an attentive look at you. “Do you remember your soulmate?” your tone was cautious of potentially hurting his feelings. His eyes weren’t in the now anymore for a while, “Never found her. She’s probably 100 or dead by now. If Hydra didn’t make me kill her.” “Do you remember her name?” your legs were by your chest now and your head on your knees. He nodded, “It’s burned into my mind like nothing else.” Without more context. That was his little secret and you totally understood. You would tell him the name on your wrist if he asked, but that was only because it was also his name. “Do you think she had your actual first name on her wrist or Bucky?” you smiled. “Probably my actual first name. I only started getting called Bucky when I began going to school.” he smiled into the distance. “I feel like nobody ever hears my actual name. My soulmate has it extra hard. An Avenger that doesn’t have their name on public record that much? Yeah. Sounds like a pain in the ass.” you both giggled. “He’s definitely missing out on you scream singing the Lion King intro multiple times per week.” he chuckled. “And my legendary cookies.” you smiled at him. “Y/N’s legendary cookies are an Avengers-only thing.” he looked at you with a serious face before you both broke into laughter. “He can have ONE. C’mon.” “I’ll steal them all before he can have one.” “Bucky with 10 cookies in his hoodie pocket. Not suspicious at all.” you grinned. “In those moments I appreciate that I can look scary.” a soft smile played on his lips. A few weeks later Pepper, Nat and Steve had actually managed to push the team to go on a small vacation together. “Bonding outside of the job,” they said. As if the didn’t live together at pretty much all times. “Who the hell picked India out of all countries?” Sam yelled. “Shut up, birdman. It’s a multicultural place that we can appreciate and pressure Tony to spend money in.” you came back at him which earned you a smirk from the two ex-spies in the room. “Varanasi. Never heard of that.” came from Wanda. “It’s a very spiritual city. Holds a lot of value for Hindus. Lots of cows, lot’s of spiritual places.” Vision, the wandering human internet gave a small rundown. “Sounds like a good place to calm down.” you shrugged. “Not really. It’s a place where tons of people go to die actually. But I guess we should learn more about their culture.” he explained. You left the room shortly after to pack some stuff. Busy streets, dogs, cows, dirt and a lot of praying people. That was your first impression of Varanasi. You had learned a bit more about the city on the flight there and you were definitely intrigued. “I’m excited for all the stuff that isn’t burning people and bathing. I like how they do it, very spiritual, but my western brain can’t handle the directness of burning dead people and drinking river water. But I also can’t handle basic christian church sometimes, so what’s new?” you let your brain go. “I hate to say it but I’m so down for the food and touristy stuff. And the cows.” Nat smirked. “I hope you all have good shoes.” Tony yelled from the pilot seat. “Combat boots.” the group of people yelled back. “We’re here.” Clint now yelled. You were greeted with masses of people and animals, quite a few of the people were asking if you wanted things and you kindly shook your head. It didn’t take long for Nat, Wanda and you to be decked in vibrant fabrics. “Glass Beads,” you said and the three of you looked into the direction of the shop you had just found. “Those are prettyyy.” “You can get them engraved with your initials. Charges them spiritually.” the old man that owned the shop explained to you. You loved to collect all kinds of spiritual and handmade things and this was right up your ally. “I need your full name.” “Y/F/N Y/N Y/L/N.” you smiled and looked at Bucky’s reaction from your peripheral vision. His mouth stood slightly open and he looked between you and the glass bead bracelet you held out to the man. “I’ll be right back.” the man smiled with your dark blue bracelet in his hand. You stayed in a more luxurious place a bit further away from the city. It was a bit like a resort. The team was definitely grateful for that after the culture shock they had just been faced with. You were sitting on the porch of your little house, overlooking an insanely pretty lake. Soft steps came towards you and a tired Bucky sat down next to you on the bench. “You look pretty in a sari,” he smiled at the beautiful silk sari you were still wearing. “Thanks. Definitely makes me feel pretty. I mean look at it.” you went over the pretty patterns. “Where’s the bracelet?” he asked and you held out your left arm with a proud smile. “Why didn’t you buy one?” “Wouldn’t wear it.” a shrug. “I think it would look cool on your arm.” you pointed at his left wrist. “Well, I don’t have anything to cover there.” he rubbed over the space that had his soulmates name on it once. “Do you think you’ll be without a soulmate? Or do you think she’s alive and actually synced up to your weird life?” you smiled. “I think she lives. I know she does.” he grinned down at the blank space. “I didn’t see the name since I lost my arm and I can’t think of anything else that was burned into my mind like it.” He looked up at you with a little frown, “Y/N? What name is on you wrist? I know you don’t like to talk about it, but...we talked about this so much and you never told me.” “It’s in the top 10 of most common English names. Could be anyone.” you shrugged before pushing the glass beads down and the band of your watch up. His name was written across your wrist in cursive and a wall of overwhelm hit him. Visibly. “I know, it’s also your name, but…” you shrugged and looked towards the lake again. “Y/A/N.” he stared at you cause he couldn’t keep himself from doing so. “Hm?” you looked back into his direction. “Y/A/N, that’s the name that I’ve have burned into my mind.” he was searching for your eyes. “Really?” you finally met his eyes with a little frown. “That’s the last topic I would joke about, Y/N.” he said serious. You needed to laugh, earning a confused look from him. “Wow, we really made this harder than it needed to be.” A soft smile came onto his face with a nod before he took your left hand again. “Wish you could see mine.” his finger went over his name. “You can be damn lucky that I like your metal arm without the name on it just as much.” you smiled up at him, making him blush. “God, I didn’t know you were capable of blushing.” you said fake shocked. He grabbed you to shut you up but you only started giggling more. “There’s probably a picture of you from back then, right? Why don’t you get the name tattooed onto your right wrist?” you smiled up. “Only if you let me take you out to my favorite places in Brooklyn.” he smiled at you on his lap. “I can get behind that, James.” you said his name extra sweet. He stared at your lips for a second before his eyes shifted up, “Can I kiss you?” With a short nod warm lips were landing on yours and you suddenly understood why he was such a lady killer back in the day. Not too innocent, not too intense, just sweet but loving. “You’re gonna have to shave.” you blinked up at him and got a chuckle back. “Fine.” he wanted to sound annoyed but that was impossible with the big happy grin on his face and his left hand caressing your face.

M A S T E R L I S T

174 notes · View notes

hamiltalian-creates · 5 years

Text

RemRom in Quarantine

Summary: Roman has the flu and his stuck with his roommate, Remus, who he definitely does not have feelings for, who said that he did? Logan? Well, he doesn't.

Pairings: Remus x Roman, Background Logan x Patton

Words: 2,121

Warnings: None

“Day 1 of quarantine. If I have to stay with Remus one more hour, I’m going to lose my mind.”

“Princey! Time for your medicine! Unless you want me to hide it in your food, like a dog!”

Roman groaned and deleted the video. He could complain to the internet later, when Remus wasn’t awake to bother him. Just the day before, he’d tested positively for the flu, so he was stuck with the only one of his five roommates who hadn’t just left for Spring Break, at least until he recovered from that stupid virus. The last thing he wanted to do was catch a second, but dealing with Remus made the thought seem more than tempting.

One would think that things couldn’t get much worse than that, but of course, life found a way. In this case, Remus was not only the mot obnoxious roommate, but also the one that Roman found himself hiding feelings for. And now, Remus was babysitting him and all of his sick from the flu grossness.

“Roman!”

“Alright, I’m coming!” He wrapped himself in a blanket and went to the kitchen, finding his flu medicine and some orange juice waiting for him.

“What do you say?” Remus asked, pushing a plate of spaghetti and veggies his direction.

“Thank you,” Roman grumbled before knocking back the medicine like a shot, chasing it down with a gulp of orange juice. “You know, I could make food too, I’m not dying yet.”

Remus shrugged and started eating his own food. “I don’t want to catch your coronavirus and you won’t let me bleach my food to disinfect it.”

“It’s just the flu!”

“So you say.”

“So the doctors say,” Roman groaned, rubbing his aching head.

“Besides, it’s not like I mind, it’s just cooking. You need to rest up so you can get better,” Remus explained with a surprisingly genuine tone.

Roman furrowed his eyebrows a bit. Maybe he was being a bit harsh on Remus. “Uh.. Th.. Thank you..”

“The longer you rest, the faster you get better, the less I have to hear you whine.”

Or maybe he wasn’t being harsh enough. “I do not whine!” Roman said in a very whiny tone.

Remus laughed at that, making Roman blush. “Way to prove my point, Princey. Just eat up and rest up and you’ll be back to your gaudy self in no time.”

Roman rolled his eyes and kept eating, choking as he felt Remus’s hand on his forehead. “What are you doing?!”

“Well, your fever’s finally going down, so that’s good.”

Roman blushed harder and hoped that Remus would assume it was just his flu. “You can stop touching me, then, if you’re so desperate to not get sick.”

“Pfft, you’re barely even contagious, I just don’t want to deal with you being a big baby,” Remus corrected, poking Roman’s face and laughing as his hand was just swatted away.

Roman pouted and ate his food quietly before escaping back to his room, hiding under his blanket fort and calling one of his friends.

“Hey, Roman! How are you doing, buddy?”

“Patton!” he cheered, as if he didn’t know that Patton would answer immediately. “Thank goodness, I was getting sick of only hearing Remus’s voice...”

“How is that going, anyways?” Patton asked with a sympathetic tone in his voice.

Roman rolled his eyes. “Awful.. He’s just so... Remus! I seriously can’t wait for you guys to get back..”

“I know.. We’ll be back as soon as you’re better!”

“Is that Roman? I would like to talk to him,” Roman heard Logan’s voice saying.

Patton nodded. “Here’s Logan.”

Roman sighed and heard the phone being shifted before hearing Logan’s greeting.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Logan. Why do you want to talk to me?”

“I wanted to know how you’re dealing with Remus.”

“Poorly.. I just can’t get him to leave me alone for five minutes.. He keeps coming in and bothering me, trying to take my temperature and give me medicine and I just know he’s trying to bug me.”

Logan paused for a few seconds.

“What?” Roman asked.

“You aren’t seriously this dense, are you?”

Roman tutted. “You could tell me what you’re talking about instead of insulting me like this.”

Logan sighed. “Remus has feelings for you. He asked me not to tell you, but-”

“He what?!” Roman shouted before covering his mouth.

As expected, Remus came knocking on the door seconds later. “Roman, I heard shouting.”

“... I’m watching a movie?..”

“I know you’re lying, but I”ll leave you alone for now.”

Roman sighed as he heard Remus’s footsteps leave before putting the phone back to his ear. “Alright, what did you say? I think the flu is making me hallucinate.”

“You heard me correctly. Remus has feelings for you, romantic feelings, and you are an idiot for not noticing it by now. Now that I’ve told you, you can go ahead and tell him that you like him back.”

Roman scoffed. “I... What? What are you even talking about? You sound like a crazy person right now, do you know what you sound like? You sound like you can’t even hear yourself, you crazy, crazy guy.”

Logan stayed silent, which Roman took to mean that he wasn’t convinced.

“I definitely don’t have feelings for him!”

“Rather than convincing yourself that that’s true, why don’t you go act on your feelings, knowing that he won’t reject you? Honestly, I know I’m the logical one, but this is just common sense at this point.”

Roman felt his face burning from the embarrassment of being caught. “What should I do?..”

“Suck his dick would be the obvious answer, but with you having the flu, perhaps something involving less bodily fluids.”

“Are you saying this with Patton in the room?!”

Logan hummed in thought, which Roman assumed to be the sound of him checking around the room. “No, he’s gone. But we are a couple, in case you forgot.”

“Yeah, but it’s Patton. I’m not sure he’d want to hear that.”

“Don’t try to distract me from my point. I did you a favor by telling you about Remus’s feelings against his wishes, now you have to return the favor by agreeing to tell him about your feelings. Or show him, depending on how bold you’re feeling.”

Roman thought for a second. “Alright.. I’ll do something when I get the chance.. You promise you’re not just pranking me or something?”

“What would I gain from that? Embarrassing you like that would make the atmosphere in the apartment incredibly awkward and unpleasant. Telling the truth about Remus’s feelings for you, however, will greatly help to alleviate the amount of romantic and the much more prevalent sexual tension in the air. At least with Virgil and Remy, Remy doesn’t live with us.”

“Fine.. I guess he’ll tell you about it later.”

“Great. I’ll see you after break, if this pandemic doesn’t get any worse.”

“I’ll see you then...”

Logan hung up and Roman groaned before flopping onto his back, knowing what he had to do.

Sure, he had feelings for Remus, but he was hoping it was just a phase, a temporary need to do something - or, rather, someone - absolutely disgusting to celebrate the fact that he was finally living on his own. But after the first few months, he realized that those feelings were definitely romantic. He wasn’t mad about it, but Remus had openly voiced how much he’d prefer to die than to date a prissy boy, something that Roman definitely was.

Maybe it was some way of deflecting any suspicion about his feelings for Roman? Why would Logan lie?

Logan definitely would’ve enjoyed the drama.

But Logan wasn’t a liar, was he?

Unless Dee put him up to it, Dee definitely would’ve been entertained by something like that.

No, Remus was Dee’s best friend. He wouldn’t do that.

Unless Dee put Remus up to it and lied to Logan to get the news back to Roman!

No, Logan was usually so airtight about secrets and there was no way he’d hurt Roman’s feelings like that...

That settled it! Roman was going to act on his feelings and he was going to do so now!

“Roman, I’m going to watch a Disney movie, do you want to join me?”

He couldn’t do this.

He promised Logan he would!

No.

Yes.

No.

Yes.

No!

“Yes!” Roman clamped his hands over his mouth as he realized he’d said that out loud, but it was too late to take it back.

“Alright, corona boy, come on!”

Roman whined to himself, but got out of bed and out of the room, with his blanket wrapped around himself, of course.

Remus smiled as he saw him coming, waving him over. “Come on, it’s Tangled. We can talk about the fact that people are honestly comparing their quarantines to being kidnapped and being forced to live the same day for 18 years.”

Roman laughed awkwardly and sat on the other side of the couch, trying to hide his blush as Remus moved to sit directly next to him.

“Oh, you only have the flu and you’re recovering from that. You don’t need to sit so far away, Princey.”

“W.. Well, sorry I didn’t want you to get sick. I didn’t want you to get even weirder from a fever, plus, I want our friends to come back,” he said, trying to seem as uninterested as possible.

Remus just laughed and leaned against Roman, using the thick layer that the blanket provided him as a pillow. “I’ll be fine, you know I’ve got the immune system of a champ.”

“That’s what they all say.”

Remus shrugged and started the movie, sighing as he got comfortable.

Roman did his best to stay still for the entire time, not wanting to bother Remus, and tried to focus on the movie, but it was nearly impossible when his crush was literally cuddled against his side like a giant teddy bear.

“You know, this is nice,” Remus said as they watched Eugene almost die.

“Watching beloved Disney characters die?”

Remus tutted. “No, I mean us just hanging out without bitching at each other the whole time. Don’t get me wrong, I love arguing with you, but isn’t it nice to have some good quiet time once in a while?”

Roman paused for a second before nodding slowly. “Yeah... Yeah, I guess it is.”

“See? We don’t always have to bicker.”

Roman nodded, trying to hype himself up on the inside. It was now or never, the movie was about to end. Besides, they were having moment, weren’t they? What better time to just make a move?

Remus shifted to sit up. “I’m going to get some snacks so we can-” He was cut off as Roman grabbed his shoulders and pulled him down into a kiss.

Roman kept his eyes shut, hoping with every fiber of his body that Remus wouldn’t pull away and run.

Actually, Remus did quite the opposite, leaning down and putting his hand on the couch beside Roman’s head, not exactly able to hold him from where he sat wrapped in his blanket.

Roman relaxed a bit and moved his hands to Remus’s face, feeling stubble growing on his cheeks. Why he decided to shave everything but that god awful mustache, Roman will never understand, but it really did fit the trash rat aesthetic that Roman found himself falling for harder and harder everyday.

Remus pulled away a minute later, panting to catch his breath, since Roman had caught him by surprise. “Christ, Princey, I was just going to get some popcorn. What’ll you do if I go out and get ice cream instead?” he asked with a wink.

Roman blushed. “Shut up! I just... I couldn’t even fathom telling you to your face how I feel without feeling sick, so I figured I might as well just kiss you instead.”

“Well, it worked.” He stood up straight before taking Roman’s hand and bowing. “Would you allow me to treat you on a quarantine date for dinner? I will make us the most luxurious chicken lasagna that I can with whatever kind of vegetable sides you want, as long as you agree to take your medicine.”

Roman laughed a bit. “Fine.. I think I’d really like that...”

Remus hummed and stood up straight, singing as he floated into the kitchen. “When the class moves online and the boomers all die, that’s corona..”

Roman snorted a laugh. Remus may have been a trash rat, but he could be kind of funny at times. Besides, this trash rat was going to be his boyfriend. Not even the worst of his humor could ruin Roman’s mood now.

#sanders sides #fanfiction #fanfic #fan fic #roman sanders #remus sanders #ts roman #ts remus #princey sanders #ts princey #ts duke #duke sanders #remrom #romrem #logan sanders #patton sanders

42 notes · View notes

monsters-demons-and-ai-oh-my · 5 years

Text

What We Lost and What We Have

Chapter 9: Wookies, warnings and homophobic grandpas

In which Jack’s sneak stat is a 2, Sam has a weird story about a wookie encounter, and everybody needs a pep talk.

TW’s for this chapter: Talk about past sibling death (not of a main character)

-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-

AU somewhat inspired by Episode 2x20 - What Is and What Should Never Be, and the season 14 storyline concerning Jack’s illness.

-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-

AO3 Link

Previous Chapter

First Chapter

Complete Tumblr Chapter List

-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-

Jack spent almost the whole two hours or so Castiel was gone on his phone and part of Sam was elated.

He’d drafted the same email about corporate responsibility (for the proliferation of inaccurate information on rechargeable batteries) six times now. It was incredibly dull technical writing and he hadn’t been able to focus at all.

Every line of legal jargon he managed to type was interspersed with his mind screaming.

“Say something!”

Sam had come back to the hospital with a purpose, to be helpful to hold out the olive branch to Castiel and BE there for Jack.

But ‘there’ was all he was…

He had no idea what to say to Jack. The day before had been easy enough, everything had been one long train wreck fed by the intrinsic emotions that came with serious illness. But now that things had calmed down and everyone especially Jack was not on the verge of emotional collapse? He had no idea what Jack needed from him.

And outside of what Jack explicitly needed or wanted it wasn’t like Sam had a deep well of topics to draw upon for small talk..

‘What the hell did Sam have in common with a kid literally half his age?’

“What do you say to your estranged baby brother when at his age one of your main goals was keeping the hell away from him?”

It didn’t help that Jack himself seemed to suddenly become incredibly shy, only occasionally peeking at Sam sheepishly when he thought the man wasn’t looking…

“So you like… Star Wars?” Sam finally blurted after twenty long minutes of silence.

Jack blinked at Sam in confusion at the out of the blue question before glancing at the back of his themed phone case and flushing slightly.

“I… Yes?” Jack looked a little unsure.

Sam grabbed onto the subject, “Who’s your favorite character?”

Jack’s phone buzzed in his hand and the kid glanced between Sam and the screen nervously before setting it gingerly aside.

“I think… I think Finn is pretty cool?”

Sam suddenly realized his mistake, he knew absolutely nothing about the new movies, he’d been too busy to get around to watching any of them

“Oh that’s… cool… I used to have a Chewbacca plush when I was a little kid,” Sam tried instead.

There was a long moment with no noise but the passive whirring of one of the machines and a soft cough from Jack.

“Oh?” the teenager said politely.

“Yeah it was pretty cool, original too, apparently those things are worth a few hundred dollars now…”

‘What are you babbling about now Sam?’

Jack smiled and that made it seem worth it though.

“So do you collect stuff like that or something?” he asked curiously.

“Well no, it was kind of… destroyed?” Sam huffed a little sheepish.

“Destroyed?”

“Yeah… Like I said, I got it when I was a little kid, I chewed on the fabric weapons belt until it tore off and one day I left it outside and it rained so it got all mildew-y,“ Sam quickly explained fumbling for purchase with the Jack’s interest.

Jack pulled a face, "that’s too bad…”

“The final straw though was when Dean called it a moldy sloth and I hit him with it, he tried to take it away from me and it tore raining the carpet with mildew-y stuffing…” Sam chuckled to himself.

“That’s pretty destroyed,” Jack looked mildly grossed out.

Sam missed his cue to let it go.

“Thing was though even after all that I still didn’t want to throw the thing out, I was too attached, So at six I thought it was a great idea to put this damp mildewed furry thing in a pillowcase, tie the pillowcase shut and hide it in my bed’s box spring…”

Jack’s only response was to stifle another cough in his elbow.

“We didn’t find it again until my bed started smelling like mildew, somehow it spread into the wood of the box spring and the bottom of my mattress, and the wookie… well it was some other kind of furry when my dad finally pulled it out.”

Things were dead quiet and when Sam glanced back up at Jack, he looked uncomfortable, “O-oh?” Jack said diplomatically.

‘You… really overshare Sam, for fu-…’

“Yeah… it was… nasty, sorry, that was a long time ago.”

Jack’s eyebrows drew down a little and he looked rejected for a moment. Sam wondered if it was something that he’d said.

There was another few minutes of awkward silence before Jack’s phone buzzed again and he glanced nervously between it and Sam.

“Just… go ahead I’ll… “ Sam awkwardly tapped the side of his laptop and just like that they both went back to their designated devices as if nothing had been said.

Sam didn’t know how to talk to Jack, every happy childhood memory he had was from before Jack was born and didn’t include him, and even outside of that, he didn’t really know Jack’s personality, what made him smile, what bothered him… what he loved.

Jack seemed to be cautiously trying to connect too and somehow that made things worse, like they were both going for a high five and Sam kept awkwardly missing.

‘Trying to meet in a middle that might not even exist…’

Sam quickly went back to his emails and stayed with his head buried there until Castiel got back a while later.

———————————-

“I’m so, so sorry I fell asleep in the parking lot, Where’s Jack?” Castiel asked anxiously before the door even swung closed behind him..

He looked a lot better, his hair still damp but neatly combed and finally dressed down a little bit in a fresh shirt and no jacket.

“He’s fine,” Sam quickly placated, “the nurse just… took him for an X-ray of his arm. I think they wanted to put on a cast or something.”

The man relaxed a little and sighed going back to his spot beside the bed, “right… yes, they… mentioned they might do that today if the swelling was down… I…” He brushed back his hair wearily, “was everything alright while I was gone?”

Sam shrugged, “it was just like I said, nothing bad happened because you stepped away for a few minutes…”

Castiel shot him a look and for a moment Sam worried if he’d crossed a line but the man quickly relaxed again.

“I know you probably think I’m being… paranoid, and I don’t know, maybe I am, or maybe you just can’t understand this, but Jack…” Castiel’s eyes were far away, “I don’t want to take any chances with him…”

Sam felt the same mild discomfort he had for days now, seeing Castiel vulnerable just… felt wrong. The time away had done him good but for every bit less manic he looked now he looked ten times more exhausted.

“You’re right I really don’t get it…” Sam huffed. “I mean the way I see it he’s already in the safest place he could be.”

Castiel snorted sounding unconvinced.

“I but then again I’ve never been a parent so, guess I wouldn’t…” Sam paused, he was coming off all wrong, “I don’t know… what this is like for you.”

Castiel eyed him a little amused, “I didn’t know you even thought of me that way… I… I don’t want you to think I’m some nut but who doesn’t trust modern medicine…”

“I don’t, I’m sure your not…” Sam said quickly.

“It’s just…” Castiel rubbed at his face. “The doctors were doing the best they could when my sister died, sometimes it feels like “the best” still doesn’t mean much …”

Sam paused trying to figure out whether his next words would be welcome or get him another dirty look.

“I mean, I don’t really think things are that bad…”

‘Dirty look, it definitely got him a dirty look.’

Sam quickly switched gears, “what I mean is, Jack seems better today so maybe the doctors are on the right track. Or better yet this thing, whatever it is, is just sorting itself out…”

“You didn’t hear what the doctor said last night, you don't…” Castiel sighed and rubbed at his forehead.

“Don’t you have a job to get back to… in California?” Castiel muttered wearily.

For a moment, Sam felt affronted and maybe a little hurt, but there was no real malice in Castiel’s words and the message became clear.

'Change the subject…’

“I asked for some time off…” Sam shrugged, “most of our case prep work is done over the internet nowadays anyway…”

Some of the senior partners hadn’t been too happy about it if Mr. Roman’s rather passive aggressive “I hope your family matter clears up soon,” was anything to go by.

But none of the other junior partners seemed to mind at all…

'Probably glad to have a chance to get ahead and prove themselves…’

'Part of Sam wished he still cared, but lately…’

Castiel just nodded noncommittally.

“What about you… the high school?” Sam tried, “you’re a teacher right?, how’s that going without you?”

“There’s a substitute…” Cas said simply.

“Oh…” Sam screamed internally, he thought the man wanted a distraction but now it just felt like trying to keep up a conversation with a brick wall.

“I… already had the last few weeks of lessons planned out and review worksheets written up, so while I can’t be there right now, my classes should be… prepared.” Castiel muttered suddenly, seeming lost in thought, “That’s… one thing I’ve always prided myself on… being prepared…”

Sam caught the implication but decided not to feed into it.

“it’ll be okay…” Sam said simply.

Castiel blinked at him in confusion, “I know they will, Mr. Wyatt is an excellent substitute teacher.”

‘Okay maybe Sam was lost…’

He snorted further confusing Castiel.

“What?”

“Nothing…” Sam shook his head, “Jack… he… he told me he misses school.

Castiel blinked in surprise, he opened his mouth to ask something but before he could get the words out there was a knock at the door.

"Delivery,” a voice called.

Jack appeared in the doorway being wheeled in by the nurse Meg with a new violently blue cast on his arm and a sheepish look on his face.

“Jack,” Castiel smiled relieved earning him a nervous smile back from Jack.

He seemed much more stable on his feet than the day before when he climbed gingerly out of the wheelchair as the nurse re-hung the IV bags.

“They’re taking him off the oxygen for now,” the nurse said, her tone seemed considerably nicer now that Jack was awake.

'She probably had infinitely more patience for sick kids, than antagonistic asshole family members who just act like children…’

“It’s getting easier to breathe now,” Jack said brightly, even though his pronouncement was almost immediately broken up by wheezy coughing.

“That’s um… that’s great Jack,” Castiel said gently eyes still distracted back on the nurse.

'With a pang of amusement, Sam caught Jack carefully peeking at his phone beneath his blanket when he thought his uncle wasn’t watching.’

“So um… was everything alright?” Castiel asked the nurse, trying to keep his voice chipper and upbeat.

She blinked at him sardonically, “Nope, his wrist is definitely fractured.”

Castiel’s eyebrows furrowed, “That’s not what I…”

She interrupted, “I know, but that’s all I really have to tell you, everything else is above my pay grade, you’ll have to wait on the doctor for any more papa bear.”

Castiel gave a frustrated huff glancing back at Jack who quickly dropped the covers back down over his phone and glanced around sheepishly.

'If Castiel noticed he didn’t say anything.’

“You wanna know my professional opinion on this?” the nurse quickly re-drew both men’s attention.

“I don’t know but I feel like you’re going to give it to me either way…” Castiel sighed.

“I can’t guess at what’s going on with your kid, or whether he’ll keep getting better or worse, I could get the hospital sued and lose my job and all that,” Meg shrugged, glancing back over at Jack who was sitting up in bed and playing with his phone “sneakily” under the covers again.

“But…” her voice softened, “he seems to be having a good day… so I’d say try to take today for what it is… and enjoy it.”

Sam wished her saying that did anything to calm the ripples of anxiousness in his stomach, a feeling that must be like waves breaking on the beach in Castiel…

-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-

Dean wished he could say he changed his mind as soon as Sam walked out of the shop, but it took another day and a half…

He’d finished rebuilding the Cuevas’s Jeep’s engine block, changed a fuel filter on some Uni Kid’s car and an engine coil on another’s before he even looked back at his phone again.

No missed calls, no texts. Either everything was fine or Sam also didn’t want to talk to him.

'What else was new.’

Either way Dean refused to be the first one to call back. He’d meant what he said and if Sam wanted to act all pissy about it that was his business.

But by the next morning his familiar routine tasted like a Kahlua hangover in the back of his throat.

He was already in a bad mood at eight am when Jesse came to pick up his Jeep from the shop.

“I thought you were going to pick up this hunk of junk yesterday…” Dean scowled hands tucked in his pockets a little defensively.

“Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed…” Jesse sounded bemused waving briefly over his shoulder at his husband waiting with the truck running.

“It would have been nice not to be in a time crunch, yeah…” Dean snorted, pulling out a beer from the mini fridge in the garage’s work area.

“Sorry man,” Jesse shrugged guiltily, “I got a call I couldn’t miss. I thought you said you weren’t busy anyway. Something come up?”

“Brother’s in town,” Dean could feel the man eyeing him concerned as he sipped his morning beer.

“You want one?” Dean offered half sarcastically.

“It’s eight Winchester,” Jesse said flatly.

Dean shrugged.

Jesse sighed pulling out his wallet and fishing out an envelope of cash to pay for the repair, “seriously man what’s eating you, 'cause I’ve met Sam and he doesn’t normally get under your skin like this.”

Dean said nothing just took the money and headed towards the office..

Jesse shook his head looking half amused half irritated following him, “look, me and Cesar are meeting with a few friends at Gabe’s to celebrate tonight, maybe come by if you’re feeling less pissy past nine…”

Dean snorted handing over the cash to the teenager behind the desk, “what are you a fourteen-year-old girl? I’m not 'pissy’.”

“You’re one of the pissiest person I’ve ever met Dean Winchester,” Jesse said with a good-natured smile.

“He’s right, you’re like, super pissy…” Claire remarked flatly counting the cash out into the drawer and not meeting her boss’s glare.

Dean snorted tossing Jesse the Jeep keys, “just try the damn engine already…”

Jesse laughed and Dean followed him out to the car, wanting to remain annoyed but significantly distracted.

“What are you celebrating anyway?” Dean finally asked unable to suppress his admittedly childish curiosity.

“Retirement,” Jesse said simply.

Dean blinked in mild confusion, “dude you’re like 36…”

Jesse grinned infuriatingly and climbed into the Jeep cab, “I know right?”

He let the curiosity eat away at Dean as he revved the engine.

It purred like it was fresh off the line and Dean couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride at the pleased look on the other man’s face.

“Beautiful, man,” Jesse said patting the side of the door.

Before Dean could ask Jesse if he’d won the lottery or something he pointed to Dean and said simply.

“Nine-Thirty, Gabe’s.”

Dean shook his head, “fine, fine.”

The man smiled, gave a brief thumbs up to his husband in the other vehicle and they both drove off leaving Dean to sit with his extremely mild curiosity and confusion.

Dean rolled his eyes and tried to get back to work.

“Pissy my ass…”

He hated feeling like this.

He had his mother who was doing better then she had been in years teaching mythology at the University and his standoffish little brother who came for Christmas. That was his family.

A house that was payed off in full and the shop he inherited from John that he kept running like a well oiled machine. That was his life.

Dean had made mistakes in the past, lost people in the past

Who hadn’t?

He’d made his peace with that and moved on.

He’d decided long ago that Jack and Castiel had their own sad chapter in the Winchester’s life but it was long over. Their lives were two completely separate stories now…

'Dean was sure the kid couldn’t want the fact he was born because some guy made a mistake, got drunk, and cheated on his wife following him around his whole life… Or at least… he’d get that was a bad thing when he was older.’

As far as Dean was concerned they were better off forgetting that shitty night ever happened, and he knew forgetting was the right thing to do but people constantly questioning his every decision wasn’t helping.

Sam’s self-righteous huffing and puffing.

Jesse’s… amusement.

Castiel’s confusion over the phone.

'Don’t act like you care all of a sudden…’

Things were so much simpler when there was just vague dislike and mistrust between the two of them…

Why was he even worried about this? Castiel said the kid was doing better, that should be the end of it.

If Dean saw someone hit by a car he’d try to help, call 911, stay by their side and keep them calm until the ambulance came.

'He was a decent man, despite what Sam might think.’

What Dean wouldn’t do was follow them around the accident victim for the next six months and bludgeon and prod their family for information and acknowledgment.

Jack and Castiel weren’t family.

Not really.

Jack was blood sure, but he was blood like a great aunt who lived six states away who nobody talked to for some stupid reason no one remembered, why bring up old shit?

There was too much baggage and bitterness.

Better to leave the great dam of 2000’s infidelity up between Kansas and Indiana as a monument to the shitty past rather than go picking at it and have all the crap pour out.

‘Dean felt dangerously close to drowning in that bitterness already.’

If Sam wanted to swing an ax at that himself (like the lumberjack in business casual he looked like) Sam could deal with the resulting flood himself.

He repeated the last thought to himself until he finished up for the day, leaving Claire to lock up the building.

He was of half a mind to ignore Jesse’s offer and just head home, but…

He didn’t think the empty house would do anything to calm his mind and drinking alone was just sad.

“Screw it,” He turned at the first red light and headed towards Gabe’s.

He set his phone to silent and decided to act as if that corner of his life didn’t exist for the evening.

He was spotted as soon as he entered the Gabe’s, Cesar grinning at him and gesturing him over to the little group at the bar.

“Hey Dean, sit, first round’s on us,” Jesse called from around his husband.

It was a little bit to Cheers-y for comfort but Dean didn’t fight it sighing and sidling up to the bar.

“Whiskey, neat…” Dean ordered gruffly.

Gabe poured the whiskey one eyebrow slightly raised, “well you’re awful chipper today Deano.”

“Yeah well I don’t even know what we’re supposed to be celebrating yet so…” Dean toasted in Jesse’s general direction smile not reaching his eyes “What’s the party for?”

“New beginnings,” Jesse smiled lifting up his own glass. “Finally bought the property of our dreams.”

Dean blinked, “yeah? How’d you swing that?”

“Finally sold the old shop…” Cesar said smiling at Jesse proudly.

Dean blinked, feeling a slightly bitter pang of nostalgia. He could remember long summers going out with friends and dates to rent kayaks and buy ice cream from Jesse’s family’s old rental shack by Clinton lake.

“Business finally get that bad?” Dean felt how rude the words were in his mouth and cringed internally, but Jesse just snorted and smiled.

“Just the opposite actually, it’s shaping up to be one of the biggest tourist seasons yet…”

“So… going out on a high then?” Dean took another swig of his whiskey.

“Something like that,” Jesse shrugged.

“The Gallager kid turned 25 and he’s been working there since he was 16, we figured he was probably ready to take over,” Cesar explained.

“Wait time out,“ Gabe cut into the conversation brandishing his bar rag. "Dude hasn’t your family been running that place since most of the people in the old folks home were in diapers the first time?”

“That’s the thing though, it’s always been my family’s thing,” Jesse said diplomatically, “I only actually took over because my brother was gone, my grandpa in fact had some strong opinions on ‘people like me’.” Jesse snorted, “honestly I think I only stayed so long out of spite, that and I promised mom… I always meant to let the place go when I found someone to take care of it. It was never what I dreamed about doing…”

“Sam was the same way, never wanted to work at the shop…" Dean huffed a laugh, “He never could get along with dad… so it would have been fucking weird if he stayed.”

John had been angry; not so much at Sam wanting to go his own way but just… how vehemently against staying Sam had been. “You just can’t wait to leave your family behind can you?”

“Don’t you dare, you don’t get to say that to me, not you!” Sam spat back.

“Why wallow in the shitty past when you can just move on…” Dean muttered coming back to himself in the bar.

Jesse turned his glass in his hands looking pensive, “Sometimes it felt like that… but no that’s not really it.”

Dean’s eyebrows rose.

Jesse quickly explained, “I mean yeah there was a lot of shit there, but I grew up around that old shack, me and my brother worked there pretty much every summer after we were old enough to see over the counter…”

Dean whiskey tasted ashy in his mouth, he remembered Jesse’s big brother, he’d always been the cool older teen who’d give you an extra half scoop of ice cream when “the boss” wasn’t looking.

He’d drowned on a fishing trip with his younger brother when Dean was in junior high…

Jesse shrugged continuing where he left off, “why would I let one shithead ruin all of that?”

Dean hummed vaguely still feeling a little lost, “but you’re still giving it up now?”

Jesse nodded glancing toward Cesar, “Don’t get me wrong, if my brother was still alive… if I still had family interested in running the place maybe I wouldn’t've… For a long time I thought that was going to be my whole life.”

Cesar gently squeezed his husband’s hand and Dean felt a pang of emotion he pushed away before he could identify it.

Jesse continued, “But I have a family now and I… I just… can’t live in the past anymore.”

Dean felt more lost than ever, “Makes sense I guess, why literally live in all the painful bullshit when you have something better…”

Cesar blinked at Dean, “seriously dude why so dark?”

Dean bit back the need to find a smarmy way to tell his friends it was none of their damn business, “Just shitty family stuff…”

“Your brother?” Jesse asked.

Dean snorted, “you could say that…” he knocked back the rest of his glass. “I just don’t get that kid anymore…”

“He do something stupid?” Jesse asked.

“He’s an adult, he can do what he wants,” Dean snorted and tried to get Gabe’s attention for a second whiskey, “It’s not like we really even talk much anymore, who am I to keep him from shoving his foot up his own ass…”

“Yeah, that’s real convincing…” Jesse shook his head bemused.

Dean hurumphed and muttered a thanks to Gabe who finally came over.

“Are you two still on the same crap from a few days ago?” Gabe asked pouring the second glass.

Jesse and Cesar’s ears perked up and even Gabe’s weird brother Gadreel was watching him from across the room. Dean wondered darkly if there was any privacy left in this town.

“Yeah my own, personal, crap,” Dean said pointedly.

Gabe held up his hands in mock surrender, “okay, okay, fine, don’t talk about it, it’s just seems like whatever "it” is seems to be eating you an awful lot…"

“Yeah well Sam has that effect, he does dumb shit and you worry about him, over and over until it’s just too much and…” Dean wrapped his knuckles on the table, “maybe you have it right and it’s time to cut him loose, move on…”

Jesse pulled a face, “that’s not what I meant at all…”

“Yeah well then what do you mean, because I’m getting tired of guessing,” Dean barked.

Jesse had the courtesy not to smirk at him.

“My point is… I don’t really know Sammy haven’t seen him since he was sixteen but… make sure shutting him out is what you really want, and not just some petty shit.”

It dug like a knife in Dean’s gut, “You’re right you don’t know shit…” Dean muttered taking a swig from his glass…

Jesse smiled more than a little forlornly, “all I do know is, having lost him, if I had a second chance with my brother…” he trailed off, “Make absolutely sure you’re ready to give up your chances at this future, when you’re planning on leaving behind your past…”

-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-

Oof, sorry it took me so long to get back, it’s been a crazy few months and it’s been a struggle to get back to my usual writing routine with everything going on. Hopefully, things will be better now.

#SPN #Supernatural #Castiel #Sam Winchester #Jack Kline #Dean Winchester #fanfiction #whump #humor #Jesse Cuevas #Cesar Cuevas #Claire Novak #kylermalloy #flightoftheseraph #family drama

7 notes · View notes

lostinfic · 5 years

Text

6. Boston, Fall

Summary: He’s photographed devastated war zones, refugee camps and child soldiers. She writes for magazines about luxurious resorts in exotic places and five-star hotels in glamorous cities. For both of them travel is an escape, but he’s had enough of this grim reality, and she’s had enough of this disconnected fantasy. Perhaps together they can find something in between, something real, and stop running from themselves. Each season, a new destination and a chance to grow closer.

Pairing: Alec Hardy x Hannah Baxter Rating: Mature~ish (for now) Word count: 5k

A/N: Many thanks to those who commented on the chapter addition I posted this week, it felt really good to see people still interested in this story despite my absence. You’re the best!

Tumblr | Ao3

He couldn’t believe he was doing this again: waiting for her, unannounced, in front of the cruise terminal. In Boston, today. But it was different because she’d gone to his exhibition in New York and wrote a message in the guestbook, and that knowledge emboldened him.

He zipped his North Face jacket up to his chin against the cold sea breeze. And waited.

Finally she came out, leather jacket, pink travel mug and hair in lazy curls.

“Baxter,” he shouted, his voice betrayed his excitement, and he immediately buried his hands in his pockets, affecting a casual air. With a head tilt, he beckoned her closer.

Her eyes widened at the sight of him then narrowed to a furrowed brow. “What are you doing here?”

She didn’t look as happy to see him as he’d hoped. His stomach clenched.

“I hitched a ride with a mate,” he said.

“To come see me?”

“Nah, I’m a Red Sox fan.”

Sarcasm to muffle his beating heart.

A small smile appeared on her red lips which she hid behind her thick tartan scarf.

“Miss Baxter!” An Asian man jogged up to them. In his white and aqua tracksuit, the cruise line colors, he looked like a figure skater. The too-wide smile and forced eye contact betrayed his marketing position even before Hannah introduced him.

“Jeffrey Allen, the marketing liaison on board. And this is my— photographer, Alec Hardy.”

“Delighted to meet you, Mr. Hardy.” Jeffrey shook his hand with too much enthusiasm. “Now, Miss Baxter, Mr. Hardy, Festival Cruises is happy to provide its esteemed guests with complimentary shuttles to the heart of historical Boston. You will be boarding one, yes?”

“Actually, we—” Hannah began, but Jeffrey pushed her towards a big charter bus. With mild panic in her eyes, Hannah grabbed Hardy’s sleeve and tugged him along.

He followed her to the very back of the bus. She slouched down, pressing her knees against the seat in front of her. She apologized for yawning, she hadn’t slept well.

“Sea sick?”

She shrugged. “How did you know I was here?”

“Your whole life’s online.”

“Don’t you know you shouldn’t believe everything you read on the Internet?”

“That’s right, you didn’t post about seeing my expo yesterday. Not good enough for you?”

She toyed with the lid of her travel mug, twisting it left and right, then taking a sip.

“So you saw my message in the guestbook.”

“I did.”

“There was a photo of me in your exhibition.”

She sought his gaze. She wanted him to say more about the photo. One photo out of fifty. Aesthetically pleasing. That’s all. Or so he tried to convince himself. Her eyes mirrored his own anxious expectations. He wished she’d say more about his exhibition. What did she think? Why did she feel shaken?

She looked away first, bit the corner of her thumb nail. She flipped back to teasing.

“Besides, you need to pay if you want exposure on my blog.” She bumped him lightly with her shoulder.

He had this feeling again, of something on the tip of his tongue, something about her that escaped him every time.

Jeffrey came on the bus too, and they both groaned at the sight of him.

Yesterday, she’d skipped a special shore excursion to visit the World Press Photo event, she suspected Jeffrey would try to oversee her work today.

The man sat beside her across the aisle and monopolized her attention with talks of museum discounts. She listened with a tight, polite smile.

Hardy observed the other passengers, most of them silver-haired, carrying canes and walkers. It wasn’t adding up. He and Hannah may be very different types of travelers, but from her articles, he’d gotten the impression they both preferred to avoid the main tourist attractions to experience local culture. She ate street food, talked to people, danced to their music. This didn’t seem like her no matter how much they paid. But then again, he shouldn’t believe everything he reads online.

“Didn’t think you were the senior cruise type,” Hardy said, interrupting Jeffrey.

“I’m looking for a husband,” she joked.

“Preferably one on the brink of death?”

“And who loves to travel.”

She grinned, and his stomach unknotted.

“Well actually,” Jeffrey began, unprompted and unwelcome, “the average age of cruise passengers is lower than you would think.” He lectured them on the advantages of sea travel for the whole family.

Hardy rolled his eyes.

“I like to think of it as sampling the best of each port of call,” Hannah summed up.

“While dumping a ton of waste in the harbor,” Hardy said.

Jeffrey squinted his eyes at him. “You’re not one of our esteemed guests,” he realized.

He would have thrown Hardy off the bus if it weren’t on the highway. Hardy couldn’t care less, but Hannah’s glare stopped a lecture of his own.

“Don’t make me lose this job too,” she whispered to him.

Soon, the shuttle stopped near a visitor center. Mid-morning Boston was busy and cloudy. the scent of last night’s rain hung in the air, pigeons bathed in puddles. Shop windows sported pumpkins, real or painted or fashioned into garlands.

Hannah wanted better coffee than the one on board and headed for a coffee shop chain to refill her mug. Hardy coaxed her instead towards a local place advertising Fair-trade coffee.

Seven years ago, he’d photographed children harvesting coffee beans in terrible conditions. Seven years later people still didn’t care. Perhaps if he’d stayed in New York he could have convinced a few more people to choose their coffee brand wisely.

He’d meant to pay for Hannah’s beverage— an indication of his intentions— but work had clogged his mind again, and he found her handing him a cup instead.

They stood on the cobblestone pavement, unable to settle on an activity to do, neither wanting to make a decision the other might dislike. They had both been to Boston before. “As you wish,” was uttered more than once without any action following.

Hardy ran a hand through his hair and shifted his weight. Now that he was in front of her, he didn’t know what to say. It had seemed so easy in Singapore.

“I should probably get some work done,” Hannah said. “Check out a few landmarks, take some photos… “

“Right, yeah, don’t want you to be in trouble with Jeffrey. Sorry, I shouldn’t have come.”

Jeffrey interrupted them once more, coming out of the visitor center with a handful of brochures. He was really pushing for Hannah to join one of their guided tours.

Hardy opened a rideshare app on his cellphone. He had to drop by his friend’s place first, get his overnight bag back, but he might make it to New York City in time for Alys Tomlinson’s conference.

“Are you alright?” Hannah asked with a frown.

He hadn’t noticed Jeffrey’s departure.

“I know it’s not your thing, if you’d rather go…” she trailed off.

“Do you want me to?”

“I suppose not. Look, once that’s out of the way—” she waved the brochures— “we can go somewhere nice, yeah? Hang out.”

Maybe it was the caffeine finally kicking in, but there was a light dancing in her eyes as she said this, things promised but unspoken. His heart sped up like a puppy’s tail.

Hardy grabbed a random brochure out of her hands: the Freedom Trail. He studied the map. “This way.” He hurried away with long strides. “C’mon, Baxter, before Jeffrey comes back.” She laughed and caught up to him.

The trail started in Boston Common. In the park, ancient elm and oak trees fanned out their shades of red and orange. Dead leaves crunched under Hannah’s ankle boots as they walked among morning joggers and giggling preschoolers. They picked the shortest way across the park, took a wrong turn and ended up at the Frog Pond. The water surface reflected the cloudy sky, still but for the brush of weeping willow branches. Their pace slowed to a stroll.

“What did you mean earlier, about losing your job?” he asked.

“Well, I lost my job at Elite Travelers because of you and your bloody work ethic.” She poked him in the chest, and he crossed his arms.

After she’d followed his advice and exposed the magazine’s censorship, she was fired. That was only the beginning. Every other media part of the same conglomerate shunned her too. Magazines, newspapers, websites and TV shows she’d worked with before, now didn’t reply to her emails and phone calls. A secretary she’d befriended finally explained HR had blacklisted her.

As for hotels, anything part of Group Peregrine, the Mahal Kita Resort owners, became off-limits too.

“Don’t blame me for your shitty boss,” Hardy replied, though he did feel a smidge guilty.

“I know, I was taking the piss. I thought I could be like you, you know. That it’d be good for my reputation, I’d be credible, get more interesting assignments.”

“You did it for the wrong reason.”

“Alright, don’t worry, I did it for the people of Pulau Kesuma too. It can be both. I just mean I thought good deeds were supposed to be rewarded.”

“Give it time,” he replied lamely.

The cruise line’s offer was the first she’d received in weeks. They needed her to rejuvenate their image. “And I’m always up for a challenge,” she said, and he smiled at her determination.

“But you don’t like it.”

“I prefer to focus on the positive aspects.”

“Thought you were a journalist.”

“Exactly. I’m neutral. Just because something doesn’t appeal to me, doesn’t mean it wouldn’t appeal to someone else.”

“Fair enough,” he said.

“Really, I thought you’d argue more.”

He would have, but he was trying to make a good impression.

He told her he’d sent her article on Pulau Kesuma to Ellie who had translated it in Indonesian for the island population. “The maids you interviewed asked about you. Did you stay in touch?”

“They did?” She smiled, genuinely touched. “I haven’t… I meant to… did you stay in touch with anyone?”

“I try… I’m not great at it. I tell people letting me take photos will help, I give them hope. I have a responsibility to see that help through.”

“I don’t think I could ever do that. The responsibility…” She blew out a puff of air.

“It’s not all bad. I lived with this family in Kuwait, about— well, early in my career. I was young, the mother she fussed over me. She still writes to me. Yesterday, the youngest son had his first child, and they sent me a picture.”

He showed her the picture, saved on his phone, of Omar with a baby in his arms. Hannah leaned closer until their shoulders touched. Her weight against him made him forget what he wanted to say. She glanced at the photo, then looked up at him.

“You’re a good person,” she said.

He shrugged, embarrassed. He never helped as much as he wanted to, but it felt like false modesty to say so. In fact, the retrospective of his work in New York made him uneasy, and he was relieved to escape it for a day. But he knew he should have stayed to talk about the issues he’d photographed rather than go and have fun.

He was about to offer they sit on a bench and he’d buy her a pastry to apologize for her lost job, when he spotted Jeffrey, in his bright suit, on the other side of the carousel.

“I bet he’s spying on me,” Hannah said in a whisper. “We have to shake him off.”

They slowly backtracked and hid behind the trunk of a large tree.

Hardy looked at the Freedom Trail map. “We need to head that way, but he’ll see us. So we take this road to go around and exit the park.”

“Ok. Got it. Ready?”

Hannah grabbed his hand, and it surprised him so, he froze. She tugged on his arm. His legs remembered how to move, and they made a run for it. They dashed from tree to tree, laughing.

He’d once done the same to dodge bullets. This was much more fun.

Once they’d put enough distance between Jeffrey and themselves, they slowed down and Hannah let go of his hand.

They exited the park and reached the next stop on the trail, the Granary Burying Ground. Samuel Adams and Paul Revere were both buried somewhere beneath the time-worn tombstones. Neither Hardy nor Hannah could remember what made these men famous. As they kept walking, Hannah read out loud about the landmark while Hardy guarded her from colliding with anyone.

Two more landmarks and Hannah realized she’d forgotten to take photos for her blog. Hardy took hold of her camera and swiftly snapped photos of her in front of an old brown-brick building.

“Oi, I wasn’t ready.”

“It’s called street photography.”

They strode the streets, still looking over their shoulders for Jeffrey. The imaginary threat pushed adrenaline through their blood. They slalomed between tourists. Their breaths came quick and cloudy.

Old State House.

Quincy Market.

Hardy took shortcuts through private properties. “The trick is to look like you know where you’re going.” She found it thrilling. Their eyes gleamed, their cheeks flushed.

Paul Revere’s House.

Old North Church.

Inevitably, they talked about US politics, but also about history and their work. What they said didn’t matter. They were like two dogs sniffing and chasing each other. A test of sorts. A trial run.

The few women he’d been with since his separation— accidents, convenience— they didn’t feel like this. The gravitational pull of Hannah threw him off course. She tugged at the very center of him. He knew, and perhaps she did too, that they were on the edge of something great. Something all-encompassing. There would be no going back. But parts of her were wild and unknown. Like a wounded beast hides in the shadows. And so he photographed her, as she walked, as she curled her hair around her finger, as she looked at the city. Moments, seconds, like puzzle pieces that might reveal her heart to him. A hint to give him the courage to step over the edge.

In an hour, they reached the last stop on the trail: the Bunker Hill Monument. They stared at the towering granite obelisk.

“I prefer the ones in Egypt,” Hardy said.

Hannah wanted to climb the 295 steps leading to the top. The view would be worth the effort, but a sign by the door warned people with heart conditions. He stalled.

“What are you afraid of, old man?” Hannah teased.

He bristled at that. He couldn’t tell her about his pacemaker precisely so she wouldn’t overthink the age gap and see him as old and sick.

“I’m not old, I’m experienced.”

She snorted a laugh. “At least you’ve still got all your hair… For now.”

“I’ll show ye, Baxter.”

He opened the door to the obelisk and let her go first under the pretense of chivalry.

A narrow spiral staircase led to the top. Humidity beaded on the cool stone walls. By step 60, they started building up a sweat and gradually shed layers: scarf, coat, jacket, collars were opened.

Over the weeks, Hardy had grown accustomed to the foreign object in his chest, but now his hand flitted to his heart every minute.

“Are you alright?” Hannah inquired, noticing the gesture.

“Fine. Keep going.”

“I need a rest anyway.”

Pity. He gritted his teeth. How could he hope to ever get back in the field if he couldn’t even climb a couple hundred steps. No one would pause for him Syria.

“You’re wearing a suit.” Hannah observed now that he’d removed his windbreaker.

“That bad? I had it for the conference.”

“No, I like it. You made an effort.”

She slid her fingers along his collar to straighten it.

“I almost brought you flowers too,” he said and immediately regretted it— she would think he’s old-fashioned.

“Next time,” she replied with a teasing smile.

That affirmation spurred him on. He resumed climbing before he’d caught his breath. Two steps at a time. Proving a point. His heart raced but at a steady rate. The pacemaker held on.

“295!”

The top of the obelisk was a tight space of gray brick, with only four tiny windows under a high, peak ceiling.

Hardy sagged on the sill of the closest window, and Hannah squeezed next to him. She raked her hair back from her forehead, sending a whiff of floral shampoo his way.

Their panting breaths on the glass fogged the panorama. Hannah drew a smiley face with her fingertip and gave it a little beard. She grinned at him.

The fog faded and they stared at the Charles River and its cable bridge beyond the tiny squares of brown bricks. There were other windows with a different vista, but Hannah was here, honey eyes on the horizon, skin flushed with exertion, warm against his sleeve.

They talked in low, dreamy voices about the highest places they’ve visited: the Petronas towers, a volcano in Hawaii, Lake Titicaca, a rooftop bar in Hong Kong, a suspension bridge in the Alps. Up in the clouds, where humans seem small compared to nature and one’s life inconsequential.

They shared a bottle of water, and only moved when other people arrived.

Hannah begged him to let her take a good photo this time. She meant one over which she had control.

“The light’s rubbish in here.”

“I trust your skills. Just let me fix my face, must be all shiny.” She pulled a pocket mirror out of her purse and dabbed her forehead. “If I’d known you were coming, I’d have washed my hair.”

“Don’t worry, you look great.”

“Really?” she asked coyly.

“You know you do.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t know you agreed.”

“I came all the way here, didn’t I?”

“For my pretty eyes?” She fluttered her eyelashes.

“So, are we ever getting to Fenway Park?” he asked with feigned impatience.

“Knob.”

He’d been called that before, but never this fondly.

Hannah reapplied red lipstick. As she smacked her lips together, she glanced at him over the mirror. A sultry look that roused butterflies in his stomach.

He couldn’t tell whether she was serious or messing with him. She’d been straightforward about sex in Singapore, if she still wanted him, she would simply say so, wouldn’t she?

He raised the camera, and, with practiced ease, she flashed the smile he’d seen many times before on Instagram. He didn’t care for it. After a few poses, she asked him to join her for a selfie and his indulgence stopped there.

“Hungry?” she asked.

“Starving.”

Hannah had a list of trendy restaurants in Boston, and he already dreaded the place she would choose. He scowled when she guided him towards a tiki bar, but the restaurant she wanted was at the back of it.

“Half my job is knowing the coolest restaurants.”

“At least Jeffrey won’t find us here.”

Large garage-style doors opened on a courtyard, ensconced in climbing ivy, where small fireplaces and blankets kept the clients warm. It smelled like Guy Fawkes night and camping, green and smokey.

They arrived past one o’clock, tail end of the lunch rush, so a table was available. They sat at the corner of the table to see through the archway offering a view of the river.

The sun had come out, Hannah traded her scarf and leather jacket for a blanket loosely draped over her arms. She wore a tunic underneath with a wide boat neckline, and he was struck by the desire to cover her neck with kisses.

He pulled himself together while the man-bunned waiter explained today’s specials. Hannah asked the waiter what he recommended, and soon they were talking about the creative process behind the menu and his vision for the future of catering. She was fishing for some quirky details to share on her blog, and it fascinated Hardy, her easy smile, the effect of her charm on other people. And on himself. He was just one of many. She returned her attention to him, and the misgivings evaporated.

“Sorry about that. I’m all yours now. What will you have?”

Wherever he traveled, he ate the food laid out in front of him, pigeon stew or roasted guinea pig, he made do and thanked his hosts, and yet in Western restaurants, he became picky. Here, the menu offered only six meals, each one elaborate. Hannah couldn’t decide between duck arancinis and wild boar noodles, and thus his dilemma was solved; he ordered one of the two so she could taste both. They ended up eating out of each other’s plate, a level of intimacy he hadn’t expected to reach so fast.

The coziness of the setting enveloped him. The excellent food, the laughter. He wished the afternoon would never end, but she had to be back aboard the ship at 4pm.

The ticking clock boosted his courage. He touched the tattoo on her inner wrist, a simple black outline of a star or flower, he couldn’t tell. “What’s the story?” he asked. It was a blatant excuse to touch her, and they both knew it. Keeping his thumb there, stroking the delicate skin, filled him with a heady sort of audacity.

“It was supposed to be a compass. Never pick the cheapest tattoo parlor, it’s cheap for a reason. The bloke got bored halfway through, didn’t even write the cardinal points. I used to add them by hand.” She laughed then lowered her eyes. “My best friend, Erin, she got the same so I never had the heart to have it changed.”

“Erin? Is that your friend who passed away? The one you wanted to travel with.”

“Yeah… I was just thinking about her yesterday, your photos they… stirred things up.”

She looked like she wanted to say more, she stroked her collarbone as her eyes flitted between him and the river. He wanted to take a photo to study later and decipher.

“Anyway, how do you know about that?” she asked.

“I read your blog.”

“All of it?”

“You sent me a link.”

“To one article.”

Her knees rested against his under the table.

“You’re a great writer.”

“Really?” she asked, this time no coyness colored her voice.

He leaned on his elbows, towards her, and told her about the articles he’d preferred. The things he’d learned even about cities where he had been. He didn’t feel as out of his depth now, it was professional almost, except her legs were brushing together and it sent a thrill up his spine.

She had written less in-depth articles in the last year as her followers favored shorter pieces with many pictures, and affiliated links generated revenue. She confessed she missed it, sitting with one person and having a real conversation and then finding the words to convey the moment to her readers.

They ordered deserts, despite feeling full; it was a day for gluttony. She insisted on feeding him a piece of pumpkin pie.

She was a great conversationalist, always a funny quip or an unexpected question. She wanted to know people. Yet, when the tables turned, she used humor and flirting to deflect.

He thought of developing photos in a dark room. She revealed herself slowly, like an image in the tray of developer chemical. But if a photo was left in that chemical too long, it turned black, and so did Hannah eclipse herself if pressed too much. However, it was in Hardy’s nature to persist, to question, to get to the heart of things. Of people.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming to New York?”

“You didn’t tell me you were coming to Boston.”

“Fair enough.”

“Kind of silly, isn’t it? I mean we obviously— I think— wanted to see each other. Right?”

“Yeah.”

Hannah’s hand was so close to his. Her pink fingernails scratched at the buttons on his cuff. He opened his hand: an invitation.

“I’m glad I came here today,” he said.

“But you haven’t seen the Red Sox.”

“I’ve seen everything I wanted to see,” he answered, looking into her eyes.

His hand was still splayed opened, and he waited with a lump in his throat. She looked at him as if assessing his honesty. Finally, she slipped her fingers into his palm, and he closed his hand over them. Hannah smiled and tucked her chin in her shoulder closest to him, as if trying to hide her joy.

“I’m glad you came too,” she admitted in a quiet voice.

Affection overwhelmed him, and he impulsively kissed her forehead.

They ordered cups of tea, and continued holding hands as they drank. Her touch warmed him more than Earl Grey.

Clouds drifted in front of the sun and a cold breeze swept the courtyard. Hannah shivered, and he pulled the blanket higher up her shoulders. She caught his hand so his arm remained around her.

He glanced at her lips, within reach, parting delicately, her half-closed eyelids, and he knew she was going to kiss him.

“I’m not…” he began, compelled to warn her but not sure what about.

“You’re not what?” she asked with an amused lilt.

I’m not good at this. I work too much. I shut myself off to the people I care about. I fucked up my marriage. I can’t give you what you need.

Hannah’s expression turned to one of concern, so he pretended to have forgotten what he wanted to say.

His cell phone rang. “I have to get this, it’s my daughter.” He rose and stepped away from the table. His thoughts were scattered. He took a second to regroup before answering. Daisy was coming to join him in New York in two days, and she had some last-minute questions about packing.

While he talked on the phone, Hannah went to the restroom.

He was a dad. She’d imagined him as this free spirit, roaming the world, hurtling towards danger to save women and orphans. But he was a dad. She didn’t want to be a step-mother. They were ugly or cruel or evil. She wasn’t ready for that. She couldn’t deal with a teenager. No way. And with the ex-wife— no fucking way.

Why was she even thinking about being a step-mother? This thing with Alec, it was just a fling. Would be a fling. Nothing more. Whenever she slept with a man abroad, she made a point never to see him again after. Hardy was no exception. She wouldn’t see him again and certainly never meet his daughter.

An impatient knock on the door startled her. She quickly pulled up her pants, though she couldn’t remember if she’d peed or not.

As she walked back to the courtyard, Hannah observed Alec who was lost in thoughts. Why did his sad eyes make her want to blow him so much?

She could have kissed him hours ago— should have— but she’d enjoyed the slow blooming of it. The way her touch rippled through him. He was so starved for it, he didn’t even know. Yet he held back, and she couldn’t understand why.

“I’m not with her mum anymore,” he said as soon as he saw her. “Divorced. There’s no going back after what happened.”

If she asked what happened he would tell. He would open up to her. She didn’t ask.

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it. I just didn’t know you have a daughter.”

“Well, I didn’t mean to keep it from you. Can’t believe I haven’t mentioned her.”

“So you’re a daddy, that’s kind of hot.”

“No.” He inspected her, a wrinkle deepened on his brow. “Did you want to go?”

She was still standing up behind her chair.

Alec paid for both their meals, and then there was nothing to do but leave. She asked him to walk with her to the visitor center where she would catch the shuttle bus back to the ship. She wasn’t ready to part from him yet. The closer they got to the visitor center, the heavier her heart felt. Alec’s eyes were on the ground with serious dimples in his cheeks. She wanted to say something clever and flirty to lighten up the mood.

They rounded a corner and saw the big white charter bus, with Jeffrey standing beside it. They backtracked a little, just out of his sight, under an old-fashioned lamp post.

Once again, they stood face to face on the pavement, without knowing what to say, but for entirely different reasons now.

“I should let you go,” he said even as he stepped forward, closer to her.

Those eyes of his were on her now, wide, almost pleading. He made her feel so warm and soft inside, pliant, in a way she didn’t recognize about herself.

She stepped closer too.

She’d made her desire abundantly clear, twice he’d turned her down now, the ball was in his court.

Hesitantly, he brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. His fingers lingered on her jaw, and she could have melted in that touch.

He straightened his shoulders, and she sensed he’d come to a decision.

“I can’t leave without kissing you...”

“Go on, then.”

He laughed at her impatience. A deep breath, and he dipped his head to kiss her. Just a brush of lips at first, enough to send sparks through her blood. The day’s energy finally released. His fingers carded through her hair, her arms wrapped around his waist. The kiss deepened, and she felt it to her toes. People walked around them and leaves twirled in the wind, and they kept kissing. It was a day for gluttony. She gorged herself on every bit of lust, sadness and hope.

Hannah kept her eyes closed and Alec rested his forehead on hers. She felt peaceful and high-strung all at once. She relaxed her fists that were clenched into his jacket.

He sought her mouth again, with more confidence, hands splayed over her ribs, wide and steady.

Engine noises alerted her to the shuttle about to depart. Hand in hand, they walked over to it. In front of the door, he pulled her into a hug.

“I wish I could take you on board,” she whispered against his neck.

“I can be a stowaway, I’ve done it before.”

She chuckled and they kissed again, holding each other close. Jeffrey cleared his throat meaningfully.

“Where are you going next?” Alec asked.

“Portland, Maine. Why? Do you have another mate you can hitch a ride with?”

“I could find one.”

“It’s a date, then.”

Chapter 7: Portland

#Hardy x Hannah #Alec Hardy #Hannah Baxter #teninch fic #Broadchurch #secret diary of a call girl #crossover #travelers AU #lostinfic writes stuff

28 notes · View notes

jeannereames · 5 years

Note

Could you comment on kasta tomb? Is the excavation still ongoing? Has there been new discovery/hypothesis/debate? For a while it was all over the news then it fizzled out. Google searche only surfaces old articles. What's the academic consensus, if any, regarding whether it was a dedication to Hephaistion?

Okay, so, for the TL;DR crowd:

1) The excavation is more-or-less on hold due to lackof funding (like a lot of excavations in Greece).

2) No new discoveries for reason 1, plus the usualquagmire in Greek archaeology of access to a site and turf wars. But, thesethings also take time.

3) It wasn’t a dedication to Hephaistion. I don’tknow an academic (outside the excavator’s team) who genuinely believes it was. Attachingit to H. (or any other major figure at ATG’s court) is part of the usualattempt to get media attention (and funding).

Let’s start with #3, which will in turn answer #s 1 and 2.

First rule of archaeology: gold and famous names raise money.It doesn’t matter how important one’s discoveries actually are for the field,it matters how well the lead archaeologists can market what they’re finding topeople/gov’t with funds. Sometimes really good (non-gold) artwork also can beused for attention.

Witness how the archaeologists at Bethsaida (Israel) havehandled the finding of an iron-age stele w the image of the moon god in a “highplace” in the gate. This is *really cool*, given the date (900s?). But do theytalk about its rarity, etc.? Oh, hell, no. The email I got from Rami pointing to anarticle about the find from Israel’s Jerusalem Post announces, “Archaeologists identify citygate from time of King David.”

Famous name! Especially in Israel.

Now, compare: “Large Looted Tomb from Hellenistic Period Foundin Northern Greece,” or “Archaeologists Report they may have Found the Tomb ofAlexander the Great’s Mother/Best Friend/General…etc.” Now, which of those isgoing to get anybody to read the article? :-D

That’s how you get media attention (and hopefully, money tokeep digging, as archaeology is EXPENSIVE). Yet if the claim turns out to bebogus/unsupported, the media attention goes away or can even turn against theexcavator. If/when the first goes down, sometimes the team tries to come upwith other exaggerated explanations to maintain that spotlight, but this canjust dig the grave deeper.

So, why couldn’t this tomb be Hephaistion’s?

First, there are other burials in it—five people to be exact.Were it a monument for Hephaistion, it would be a cenotaph, not a tomb (hisbody was burned in Babylon), and it would be solo, not have other people there.Macedonian Tombs come in two basic types: solo and family. We do have otherfamily tombs (most famously, the Tomb of Lyson and Kallikles, excavated byStella Miller-Collett), and this appears to be similar to that. So attachingthis tomb to Hephaistion faces the immediate problem of, “Uh…other people?”

(Couldn’t they be his surviving family? Well, maybe, but it’sstill really weird. Trying to argue such a thing would be better called “reaching.”*grin*)

The presence of an older woman in (if I recall right) her60s, led some to propose it was Olympias in there—except, again, other people,plus we know (from ancient testimony) that Olympias was buried in Pydna (whereshe was murdered on Kassandros’s orders). So it’s also not Olympias. BothOlympias and Hephaistion are important enough that they’d have merited a solo,not family, tomb. (And most all of Olympias’s family were killed and buriedelsewhere.)

Another name put forward is Nearkhos, one of Alexander’sgenerals, who had land in the Amphipolis area. At least he is a possible candidate,although the tomb might be too late for him (but he sure as hell would have hadthe money for it). Like our Macedonian soldiers, Lyson and Kallikles, Nearkhosmight have sought to establish a family tomb. Again, it’s a reasonablepossibility, just a question of whether the tomb is too late.

Back to Hephaistion (and why it’s not him)…

The argument that it is rests on the presence of some graffiti on stones. First, the graffiti does NOT name Hephaistion (that’s an interpretationby Peristeri and her team). Second, if this were a tomb memorializing such animportant person, why on earth would it be indicated by graffiti?

The graffiti says “arelabon” followed by the letters Eta andPhi (and maybe a sigma?). Peristeri has turned that into “parelabon” and “Hephaistion”:received by Hephaistion. Problem: “arelabon” appears twice, missing thenecessary “pi” in both cases. While missing letters in inscriptions is hardlyunusual, missing the same one in two different places is odd. I’m not going toplay with that further, just leave it for true epigraphers. (I’m aprosopographer, so I deal with epigraphy only occasionally and largely withnames.) What I really want to kick to the curb is the idea that the letters area monogram for “our” Hephaistion.

My current research work involves epigraphical occurrences ofHephaistion, as well as other Hephais-based names in both their Attic-Ionic andDoric forms. Trust me, there are a LOT of names that start with Eta-Phi, evenbeyond Hephais-based names. But even if this meant “Hephaistion” the nature ofthe graffiti itself suggests somebody working on the tomb: an architect,mason, or other craftsman—not the person for whom it was made. We find suchcrafters marks on pottery, bronze, etc. (We also find such etched names on dedicationsin temples, but I don’t think that applies here.)

I think if this was really referencing Hephaistion Amyntoroshis full name would have been given (not a monogram), and it would be a lotmore prominent within in the tomb.

Furthermore—and one of our eternal problems with IDingMacedonian tombs—is that, unlike many figured tombstones (stele), Macedoniantombs usually DON’T name the dead person buried there, even when we suspect theymay portray the dead persons image (like the Tomb of Judgement at Lefkadia).The Tomb of Lyson and Kallikles is unusual. Instead, we get names like the Tombof Judgement, or the Tomb of the Palmettes. The Tomb of Eurydike was calledthat by later archaeologists; there’s absolutely no indication that it belongedto Philip’s mother. It’s almost certainly a woman’s tomb, but that’s about allwe know.

And oh dear, wouldn’t the whole Royal Tomb II at Verginadebate be SO much simpler if there was actually a flippin’ name on the tomb?!There’s not.

Identifying who’s buried in a tomb is REALLY HARD. Itdepends on dating, objects, and probabilities.

So yeah, some craftman’s graffito on the Kasta Tomb means zilch,except that he got his wish and has been spoken of by posterity.

So…trying to turn this into a cenotaph or tomb ofHephaistion is a pile of …wishful thinking. 😉 It’d be cool if it was…but it’s going to takea LOT more evidence to make that claim (not to mention explaining the 5 peoplein there).

Another problem is trying to DATE this sucker.

Those who want to tie it to Alexander more directly are desperateto make it early Hellenistic, despite clues to the contrary ranging fromarchitecture to the gown style of the Karatids. I’m not an art historian, so Iwon’t dig into that. I’ll simply point to one thing I found extremely curiousbut have not seen anyone (yet) address: the use of blue in the mosaic.

Now first, no silliness please about the Greeks not “seeing”blue; that was going around the internets for a while. Yes, they saw blue! Butthe color palette common to painters like Apelles in the late Classical period weremore earth tones. (Again, not an expert. I’m just gonna point to the word ofOlga Palagia, et al. Go and read Olga.) We find these colors in the pebblemosaics at Aegae (Aigai) and Pella, as well as Dion, et al. Even in thebeautiful Persephone painting in Tomb I and Aegae/Vergina.

The first time I saw that BLUE in the Kasta Tomb mosaic, itreally struck me. Unfortunately, art historians tend to catalogue mosaicsby how they’re made, not the colors in them, so I haven’t been able to track thisdown further, except to say that I, personally, have not seen an early Hellenisticpebble mosaic in Macedonia that used blue pebbles. Maybe there’s one hiding ina museum basement somewhere, but these mosaics are pretty spectacular and tendto be shown off. Blue as a color in mosaics is later, showing Egyptian influence.It’s also seen more in tessera mosaics than pebble, which were going out ofstyle by the Roman era. (I think the last datable pebble mosaic is from Delos,1st century BCE—again, Olga.)

So given the use of blue in that mosaic, I’d prefer to see adate that’s mid-Hellenstic at the earliest.

Ergo, we’re probably looking at the family tomb of animportant Hetairos during the Antigonid Dynasty. That’s my best guess.

Incidentally, pointing to the 4th century AmphipolisLion and saying, “Well, it was on top, so the tomb must be 4thcentury!” is horrible methodology. Something stuck on the top of thetomb (which may or may not have been there originally) does not date the tomb. Evenif the lion had been inside, that doesn’t help. Let me explain with an example:

Just because you want to be buried with your great-aunt Bertha’sWWII WAVE wings does not mean that *you* fought in WWII. 😉 It means you were buried with an antique. Sothe presence of the lion means only that the tomb probably can’t date BEFOREthe 4th century lion. That doesn’t mean it can’t date afterit. In fancy archaeologist-speak, the Amphipolis Lion provides only a “terminuspost quem” (earliest date for X), not a “terminus ante quem” (latest date for X).

#Kasta Tomb #Macedonian archaeology #Hephaistion #Hephaestion #classical archaeology #amphipolis tomb

40 notes · View notes

steves-on-a-plane · 6 years

Text

Grant & Ed

Words: 2018 Stony (Steve Rogers x Tony Stark) Reader Insert Main Character Coffee Shop AU (Kind of) MCU Timeline: Captain America: Civil War Prompt Credit: @dailyau & @mundej-deactivated2018528 Summary: Reader has been working at a coffee shop for nearly a year and grows increasingly curious about two of her regulars “Grant” & “Ed” who always come to the cafe together. That is until one day “Grant” arrives alone.

You hadn’t been working at the coffee shop very long. You leaned against the counter and did a rough calculation in your head. It had been about nine months. Though your tenure had not been as lengthy as most of your co-workers, you’d gotten good at your job quickly. You’d had to. People took their morning routines, and their coffee, very seriously. After about a month you’d gotten to know who the regulars were and their orders. You seemed to be generally liked among the customers and for the most part you liked them too. Eventually, your fake smile and cheery greetings came to be genuine acts of delight.

But there were two customers in particular that you always looked forward to seeing. One of them was a blonde with striking blue eyes. He always flashed you a warm smile when placing his order. The other seemed, at least to you, as his complete opposite. He had brown hair and brown eyes. Where the blonde generally looked put together at all times the other man had this air of always being slightly disheveled. His pockets seemed to be stuffed with old receipts, scraps of paper or loose dollar bills. Sometimes his tie was slightly askew or one of his suitjacket buttons would have gotten missed.

You’d come to know them as “Grant” (the blonde) and “Ed” (the brunette) though you’d always assumed those weren’t their real names. While they were always polite to you and your co-workers they preferred to keep to themselves. Generally, “Grant” would place the order, while “Ed” fumbled around his seemingly endless number of pockets looking for enough money to pay the tab. Their order was always the same too. A black coffee, a plain bagel with cream cheese, an iced Americano with whipped cream and three sugars and a blueberry muffin. After the coffees were poured and the pastries bagged the men would carry their order to a small table near the back of the shop.

They didn’t come in every day. Which to you was the most bizarre thing about them. They might frequent the place two or three times a day for an entire week and then two months might go by where you didn’t see them at all. Still, they always came back eventually. You couldn’t help but want to know more about them. Were they a couple? If so, how long had they been together? How did they make their conflicting personalities work together? Why did they disappear during seemingly random periods of time? You knew it would never be polite to ask, so you didn’t. That is until the day that “Grant” came into the coffee shop on his own.

“No, Ed today?” You couldn’t help but note as you already began ringing in the usual order of two coffees, a bagel and a muffin.

“No, uh not today.” He told you quietly. He seemed surprised that you noticed. “And just the black coffee for me.” He added.

“Oh?” You stopped what you were doing and looked up from the register to study him. He looked tired. His eyes weren’t shining like they usually did. Instead they looked red and irritated, like he’d been crying. His hair was sticking up as if he’d been running his hands through it. It wasn’t the way you were used to seeing him. The sight put you slightly off kilter.

“Coffee’s on me.” You said, clearing the order off the register without hesitation.

“No, please I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble…” He insisted uncomfortably.

“It’s the least I can do.” You told him firmly. “You’ve been very generous with your tips over the past few months.” (In fact they had tipped you $20 a day since you’d started working there. Not just you, but your co-workers as well. If they happened to be working when the couple came in.) You wouldn’t hear another word on the matter, turning away to pour his familiar order of a straight black coffee. You turned faced him again before sliding the Styrofoam cup across the counter. At the same time, you placed a hand over the top of the tip jar, preventing him from could slipping a crumpled bill inside.

“Coffee’s on me, remember?” You offered him a smile, and he just nodded in return. “Grant’s” mind was clearly on something else as he walked slowly to his usual table. You began to wonder once again what his relationship with “Ed” was. Had they been a couple? Had they had a fight? Were they breaking up?

There were no other customers in line after “Grant” So you decided to take advantage of the slow moment to bus and clean tables. You tried to turn your mind to other things. To focus on the cleaning and give “Grant” the space he probably needed. But even as you collected empty cups, and wiped table tops you’re eyes continued to drift over to the little table for two that was currently only occupied by one.

You saw “Grant” still sitting there, but now he was on the phone with someone. Could it be Ed? You tried to casually make your way to a nearby table so that you could overhear what he was saying. As you wiped your table down with a soapy rag, you strained to hear the conversation.

“Tony, I’m glad you’re back on the compound. I don’t like the idea of you rattling around a mansion by yourself. We all need family. The Avengers are yours. Maybe more so than mine…”

“Avengers?” You repeated to yourself. No that couldn’t be right. You pretended to scrub a stain on the table that had been there longer than you and wasn’t going anywhere any time soon.

“I’ve been on my own since I was 18. I never really fit in anywhere, even in the army. My faith’s in people, I guess. Individuals. And I’m happy to say that for the most part, they haven’t let me down. Which is why I can’t let them down either. Locks can be replaced, but maybe they shouldn’t. I know I hurt you Tony. I guess I thought by not telling you about your parents I was sparing you, but can see now that I was really sparing myself and I’m sorry. Hopefully one day you can understand. I wish we agreed on the Accords, I really do. I know you’re doing what you believe in, and that’s all any of us can do. That’s all any of us should…so no matter what. I promise you, if you need us, if you need me, I’ll be there.”

Finally your curiosity got the better of you. You sighed knowing full well what curiosity did to cats, but you just had to know what was going on. It was probably going to lose you your job, but you stopped pretending to clean the table and tossed any empty cups in your possession before circling back to “Grant’s” table.

“So, I wouldn’t normally do something like this.” You apologized, standing across from him. “But you and Ed always come in here together and I can’t help but notice the lack of bagel in your order or the fact that your usual dapper appearance is looking a little…” You paused trying to think of a polite word.

“Unkept?” He chuckled. It was a sad chuckle, but he hadn’t asked you to leave him alone yet. So you continued on.

“Yeah, I guess.” You nodded. “I just, wanted to make sure you’re okay. I’m sure that sounds crazy because I don’t actually know anything about you but…”

“No, no.” He interrupted you with a weak smile. “I think it’s kind, but I’ll be all right. Thank you.”

“Um, okay.” You bit your lip. You knew that you should return to your place behind the counter, you were supposed to be working after all, but something told you to sit down instead. An instinct you would later be glad you didn’t ignore.

“I’m sorry.” You apologized again. “But I have a feeling this is probably the last time I’m going to see you, so I have to know, Grant’s not your real name, is it?” Again he laughed, but this one was lighter. It almost conveyed genuine humor.

“No, it’s not, but it’s not exactly not my name.” He explained. “The fake names had been all Tony’s idea. He’d wanted us t have somewhere that we could go, just the two of us. I guess now that everything’s over this is to.” He said, looking around the café sadly. “I’m Steve. Steven Grant Rogers.”

“You’re name’s Steve Rogers?” You asked in disbelief.

“Yeah.” He nodded.

“Hang on a second.” You pulled your phone out of your back pocket. You didn't know why, but that name sounded familiar. You opened your internet browser and Googled ”Steve Rogers.” Hundreds of thousands of results came back, but you were most interested in the top result; a Wikipedia article. You tapped the Wikipedia link and anxiously waited for the page to load. The heading on the next page read:

Steve Rogers (Captain America)

“Huh.” You laughed. “I knew it was familiar. You have the same name as Captain America. I wonder if you look alike.” Your finger moved across the screen so you could scroll further down the article. There was a photo of Captain America in his full costume, but what caught your attention was the small section under the photo. Wikipedia had Steve listed as a “historical Figure” while the second row of information listed his full name.

Steven Grant Rogers.

“No way.” You gasped looking up at Steve. “You’re…this is you?” You positioned the phone screen so that he could see the article you’d been reading.

“That’s me.” He agreed.

“And Ed?” You asked.

“Anthony Edward Stark.” He supplied.

“Oh.” You suddenly felt very stupid. You’d been serving Captain America and Iron Man coffee for the past nine months and never noticed. It was like being at the end of a Scooby-Doo cartoon. All it had taken to fool you was a set of slightly misleading names.

“Ohhhhhh.” You repeated, this time dragging the word out. You began to recall everything you’d seen about the Avengers in the news and on Social Media. They’d essentially been forced to break up because of the Sokovian Accords. It was relatively common knowledge that while Tony Stark had been a driving force behind getting the Accords ratified, Steve had been adamantly against them.

“I’m on my way out of the country.” Steve explained. “But I wanted to stop in one last time, since it was our place. You were right, you probably wont ever see me again.”

“Whoa. That sucks. For you, I mean.” You told him. “It’s awful that they’re trying to force you guys to sign something that basically gives the government total control over what you can and can’t do. Do you mind if I ask, I wont ever tell anyone else, but you and Tony…I sort of overheard your phone call. Were you…was he…”

“We never said as much out loud.” Steve admitted. “But yeah. For about five years.”

“Let me get you another coffee.” You offered, noticing his empty cup.

“No, it’s alright.” He waved you off. “I’ve got to be getting on my way.” Steve slid his chair back and started to get up from the table. “But if you could do me a favor…”

“Anything.” You agreed immediately.

“If he ever comes in, will you tell him…” Steve’s sentence trailed off. He couldn’t seem to get out what he wanted to say. So you nodded with understanding.

“I’ll tell him.” You promised.

“Thanks.” He offered you a mournful smirk. “Oh, and in case you ever need a favor of your own.” Steve reached for a napkin and quickly scrawled a ten-digit phone number down. He added the name “Grant” in the corner before handing the napkin to you. “It was nice talking with you, [Y/N].” With his smirk still front and center on his face Steve Rogers walked out of the coffee shop.

31 notes · View notes

queen-of-deans-booty · 7 years

Text

Hunted-Part 1

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 1,980

Warnings: Typical Supernatural violence, angst, language, minor character death, blood, you know the usual, fluffy Bobby and Reader fluff, Gordon being an asshole

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. Please, if you want to be tagged for this series, let me know and I’ll add you! If you want to be tagged for my other fics, I’ll add you! I want to hear what you guys think about this. If you want something requested, send it in!

Feedback is the glue that holds my writing together.

Tags at the bottom

“John said something to me right before he died and it’s about us, Sam and I don’t know how to deal with this.” You said, getting tears.

“What? I thought you said the only thing he mentioned was Bobby.” Sam said.

“He said something to me too, Sam. Something about you.” Dean said, admitting it.

“What the hell is going on? What did he say?” Sam demanded to know. You didn’t know if he was ready to hear it but he had a right to know.

“We’re special, Sam. There’s a reason we can do the things we can do and it makes no sense to me. You see, I was never supposed to be like you. Shit got messed up and I became like you over an accident and the demon didn’t like that. He didn’t want me so he sent demons to find and kill me. But they got my mom instead. John said I have demon blood in me which I don’t know what the hell that means but that you’ve got it too.” You said, letting the tears fall.

“And you thought you could keep this from me?” Sam said, getting angry.

“Sam, I’m sorry but I thought that if you didn’t know, you would be protected.”

“What did he tell you?” Sam asked, looking at Dean. He was hurt that you and his brother would keep this from him.

“He told me that I would have to watch out for you and take care of you.” Dean said, not knowing how to word it.

“He always tells you that.” Sam said, shrugging.

“No, this time was different. He told me that I had to save you.”

“Save me from what, Dean?”

“Just that I would have to save you. He didn’t explain any further. But if I couldn’t… I would have to kill you.” Dean said, getting very emotional. You grabbed his hand and he didn’t hesitate to squeeze it.

“Kill me? What the hell is that supposed to mean? I mean, he must have had a reason for saying it. Did he know of the demon’s plans for me? Y/N, did he say anything about that?” Sam asked questions that you couldn’t answer.

“No, Sam, I have no idea what the hell is going on or what I’m supposed to think of it.” You sighed deeply.

“What else did he say?” Sam asked the both of you.

“Nothing.” You said.

“That's it, we swear.” Dean said.

“How could you two not have told me this?” Sam asked, shaking his head in disbelief.

“He begged me not to. He was really scared, Sam.” Dean said.

“Who cares?! Take some responsibility for yourself, Dean! You had no right to keep this from me!” Sam yelled, glaring at his brother.

“You think I wanted this? Huh? I wish to God he'd never opened his mouth. Then I wouldn't have to walk around with this screaming in my head all day.” Dean argued, fighting back.

“Look, this isn’t helping! What matters now is that we all know what is going on. Now we have to move forward and work together and we can’t do that if you two are fighting all the damn time!” You yelled, letting go of Dean’s hand.

“We've just got to figure out what's going on. What the hell all this means.” Sam said, taking a few steps back from you and Dean.

“see, I’ve been thinking about this. I think we should just lay low on this. At least for a while. I think it would be safer this was and that way, I can make sure nothing bad happens to you.” Dean said, looking at Sam.

“What? You think I might turn evil or some kind of killer?” Sam asked, scoffing.

“I never said that. Don’t put words into my mouth.” Dean said.

“Jeez, if you’re not careful you might have to waste me one day.” Sam said, glaring at his older brother.

“I never said that! Damnit, Sam, this whole thing is spinning out of control, alright? You and Y/N are immune to some weirdo demon virus and you're pissed at me, I get it. That's fine, I deserve it. But we lay low until we figure out our next move, okay?” Dean said, calling the shots.

“Forget it.” Sam said, shaking his head. He turned to the road and sighed deeply.

“Sam, please. Just give me some time. Just some time to think, okay? Please. I’m begging you, please.” Dean said, pleading. Sam turned around and stared at Dean, noticing the worry and pain in his eyes. He sighed and nodded reluctantly, getting back in the car.

You looked at Dean with a sigh, moving to comfort him but decided against it, going back in the car. Dean sighed and followed, taking off once more. You guess that the time has come when you wouldn’t have a case for a while. Yay, crappy motel room for days to come.

Lately, not being able to sleep has kind of gotten to be your thing. Ever since John died, you have had a hard time falling asleep, even in Dean’s arms which was saying a lot considering that is where you felt the safest. You’ve also been losing sleep over the last case.

You hear about these stories all over the internet from all over the world. Each one would be tweaked to fit its culture but all of them have one thing in common: Their name. That was the truest part of a story. Its name. You can hear a thousand and one different versions of the same story but its name is where it sticks.

That is why you were so damn curious when you saw the word ‘Croatoan’ carved onto that post. That is why you were so damn curious to see the reason people were acting violently for no reason at all. That is why you were so damn curious to know why you didn’t turn into one of those things after you got infected. Why was one of your members a demon but never came after you? Demons have been trying to come after you your whole life so why stop now?

Their leader, the yellow-eyed demon is still alive and the last time you saw him, he was trying to kill you so why hasn’t he made a move yet? So many questions but not enough answers to go around. Your brain was so awake and it was running with thoughts, that is why you couldn’t sleep.

You didn’t want to wake Dean up so instead of tossing and turning, you decided to sit at the table, by the window so you could look outside to find some sense of peace and calm. You thought it would help you.

You have been inside your head for so damn long, you didn’t notice Sam get up, go to the bathroom and come out all dressed with all his things packed. The only reason you caught him was because his bag hit the couch and that noise was like a shot being fired from a gun in the silent room.

“Sam? What are you doing up? Why are you dressed?” You asked, startling him. He jumped as he faced you and he smiled sheepishly at you. You narrowed your eyes at him, wondering why he was so jumpy.

“Y/N, I didn’t know you were up.” Sam said, scratching the back of his neck.

“You didn’t see me when you were apparently getting dressed?” You asked, crossing your arms.

“Apparently not.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Right, I am going on a walk. I couldn’t sleep and I think neither could you.” Sam said, looking at the door before looking back at you.

“Okay, so why do you have your bag packed?” You asked, looking at his bag.

“Oh, Dean didn’t tell you? He found this simple salt and burn case in the state and wanted to do something about it. I’d figure I put this in the Impala tonight so I don’t have to tomorrow.” Sam lied, hoping you wouldn’t see through it.

“I thought Dean wanted to lay low. You know, keep off the radar for a few days?”

“He did but you know how he gets when he finds a case. Always have to take it.” Sam said, chuckling nervously. You narrowed your eyes at him, noticing something was a bit off. But this was Sam, there was always something off about him.

“Right, well don’t stay out too long if we have to leave early for the case.” You said, not believing a word he said. But you didn’t call him out. You wanted to see what he would do when he left.

“I won’t.” Sam said, smiling at you. He left the room and you peered out of the window, watching his every movement. Thankfully, Dean chose a parking spot right in front of the room so you could see everything. Sam walked to the backseat of the car and opened the door. The door was blocking most of the view but you watched as Sam threw his bag in the back seat and close the door.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and walked away out of your line of vision. You looked at Dean with a sigh, wondering what was going on. Why did he want this case when he made it perfectly clear he wanted to lay low?

“Sweetheart? What are you doing up?” Dean asked, his voice thick with sleep. You sighed and stayed where you were, despite your body wanting to go to him.

“Can’t sleep. This whole year has been bugging the shit out of me.” You replied with a sigh.

“Come here,” Dean said, sitting up in bed, leaning against the headboard. You got up from your spot by the window and walked over to the bed, sitting cross legged at the end of it, staring at him. “What’s on your mind?”

“Just everything. You… me… Sam… John… Bobby… my mom,” You finished with a sigh. “I don’t know. I just have been thinking about the last case and how it ties in with me. I mean, you weren’t there but I was attacked by an infected person. I know my blood mixed with his. I was infected Dean, so why didn’t I act out?”

“Maybe he missed. Maybe you weren’t really infected.” Dean said, trying to think of a logical explanation for this.

“No, he sliced my neck and sliced his own palm. He put his wound over mine. I know he mixed his blood with mine. So, why wasn’t I infected? Why wasn’t Sam infected?” You said, thinking over everything in detail, always worrying about every single thing.

“Where is Sam, by the way?” Dean asked, looking at his made bed.

“Out for a walk.” You said, looking at him.

“So, why are his things gone?” Dean asked, confused.

“He put it in the car. He wanted to do it now instead of the morning for the case you found. Which, speaking of that, we should get some sleep. I told him not to be to that long.” You said, crawling to Dean and getting underneath the covers.

“What case? I didn’t find any case.” Dean said confused.

“What?” You turned to him with a confused look. “He said you found a simple salt and burn case a few towns over that you just couldn’t let go.”

“I never found a case. Are you sure he went on just a walk?” Dean said, getting up. You frowned and got up, walking out of the motel room, leaving the door open. You ran to the car and peered inside the backseat to see it empty. That little shit left.

Just as well, he was always the person to hate being told what to do.

The Queens:

@maddieburcham1 @ginamsmith @mogaruke @whit85-blog @inlovewithbja @spn67-sister @kdfrqqg @jarpadandjensenaremyheroes @roxyspearing @supercalifragilistic26 @mishamigose @cobrakai1967 @essie1876 @wishedworld @crispychrissy @laqueus-ludovicus @nostalgic-uncertainty @jerk-bitch-and-an-angel @potterhead1265 @starswirlblitz @untitled39887 @ta-n-ja @deans-fallen-angel-boy @scarletluvscas @notnaturalanahi @tahbehonest @stay-in--place @innernightwerewolf @dreaminofdean @posiemax @donnaintx @mikey1822 @alexandriajanae4 @li-ssu @just-another-winchester @obsessivecompulsivespn @emoryhemsworth @newtospnfandom

The Dean Beans:

@akshi8278 @mega-mrs-dean-winchester @winchesterandpie @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @carribear31 @tacklesackles @oreosatmidnight @not-naturalfangirl @missselinakitty @iam-a-cutiepie @kristendansmith @milo-winchester-4ever @jensenackesl @codyshany316 @pheonyxstorm @helllonearth

Series Rewrite Junkies:

@helllonearth @amyisabellal @deanwnchstr @caseykitten6 @roxalya19 @quixoticcat @supernaturalblogging @notmoose45 @crowleysminion @mina22 @tahbehonest @hadleymcallister2177 @destielsangels @spnhybrid @oreosatmidnight @valerieshubin

86 notes · View notes

denimwrites-archive · 7 years

Text

Friends? (Part 2)

Prompt: Not a request - I couldn’t just leave it as a cliffhanger, so I continued it. The last part will come out next week.

Fandom: Newsies (2017) - Modern College AU

Pairing: Davey Jacobs X Male Reader

Summary: Jack’s plan for getting you to confess is a little unorthodox, and leads to some new problems, but it’s done with good intentions so can it be that bad? The answer is… probably?

Word Count: 3,107

Warnings: Bars (no alcohol consumption though), food, angst, idk

A/N: I tried to make this just a two parter, but looks like this will be three parts but like I said previously in this fic Jack is bi, Davey is gay, and the reader’s sexuality is left ambiguous. He/him pronouns are used for the reader and I apologize if I don’t write a male reader very well, but I’m trying. Any tips or recommendations would be greatly appreciated! The plan Jack has is probably not that obvious, but it’ll be better explained in the next (and final) part.

Friends? Series - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

~~~

You were not expecting to see Jack Kelly on your doorstep when you answered the heavy pounding on your door. Furrowing a brow as he pushed past you and into your apartment, you closed the door and waited expectantly for him to spill about his newest scheme. “So, (Y/N), how’s the dating game going for you?”

Rolling your eyes, you turn away from him and head to the kitchen for a snack. There is no way you’re having this conversation with Jack, especially without something to stop yourself from talking. You hear him follow behind you and you grab some chips before turning back to the artist with a dead expression on your face.

He gives you a look, which you don’t acknowledge and he shrugs before continuing. “I was just thinkin’ that maybe if you got yourself somebody then I wouldn’t have to keep setting up people on blind dates. There’s only so many people I can introduce my friends to, y’know?” he lets out a light chuckle and you just raise your eyebrow at him incredulously.

“Well then, Mr. Love Guru, what was your idea? Set me up on a dating website?” Laughing at the idea of it, you take a bite of chips. However you almost choke on those chips when Jack just sheepishly smiles and shrugs his shoulders. Swallowing thickly, you immediately start to protest. “No. No way in hell, Kelly. I don’t have time to deal with all the shitheads who are on the internet. I have school, and work, and too much stuff to focus on my love life.”

“That’s the beauty of my plan!” Jack says, holding up a placating hand. “I would check it out for you. You would only have to fill out the profile and I’d set up everything. If you match with someone I can scope ‘em out and see if they’re who they say, then bring you on the double date. If you don’t like ‘em then it’s no harm no foul or whatever the stupid saying is.”

He’s looking at you imploringly and you take a deep breath, considering it. It is different than all the other times people have tried to get you to try online dating. And you know that Jack’s probably desperate enough to find you an actually pleasant date. You bob your head thinking about the possible outcomes, Jack looking at you expectantly.

Finally, you let out a sigh and nod your head. Jack pumps the air with his fist in triumph, but you hold up a hand and he pauses. “One condition: I am allowed to back out of pre-planned double dates if school or work comes up.” You see Jack start to protest, but you level him with a look and he sighs in defeat.

Sticking out a hand to shake, he grasps your hand firmly and pumps it a few times, face serious, and the deal is made. Jack’s smile immediately returns and he then moves to your couch where you left your laptop and pulls up the website. Fortunately it was free, so you at least wouldn’t waste any money if this venture didn’t work out.

You spend the next half an hour filling out the different boxes with information. By the end of it you’re really tired of talking about yourself and your ‘ideal’ partner. Jack knows your login information, but you trust him not to do anything too stupid. He leaves with a promise to only use this information for good, and you make sure he keeps that promise with a threat to expose his amazing singing voice.

His face paled and you knew he would definitely behave himself now. You always pulled that card when you needed Jack to be serious. Everyone always bugs him since he’s an artist, but if they knew how well he could sing too, he would be tortured with requests and people asking for proof and such.

Finding yourself alone in your apartment once again, you decide to try and get some homework done before your shift in two hours. Making more progress than you thought possible, you head to work content that you can somewhat relax when you get back to your apartment.

The next few days go by without much difference, class is boring, and work isn’t better, but life continues on. Until you get a text from Jack saying he might have found someone for you. ‘I’m meeting them at the bar two blocks down if you want to come spy and see how they look’ he texts you. Checking the clock, you see it’s about seven and that you could just scout them out and be home at a reasonable hour.

‘Be there in a few’ you reply, before grabbing a jacket and making your way down the street. Your mind wanders to who they could be. Sure you trusted Jack’s judgement, but that didn’t mean you were any less nervous. Stepping through the door, you see that the bar is pretty well packed, but not completely crowded.

You scan the room, but don’t spot Jack. You quickly decide to take one of the few open seats at the bar instead of possibly drawing unwanted attention. You order some water, not really in the mood for alcohol, and try looking for Jack again.

Still unable to find him, you slowly sip on your water and scroll through your phone. Sending Jack a quick text of, ‘I’m here, where are you?’ but not getting any response, you let out a sigh and start to get up, leaving the bartender a tip for their time.

However, your attempt to leave is foiled when you bump into a very solid mass. Taking in the person in front of you, you’re struck speechless for a second at their sheer radiance. They smile and you can feel your cheeks heat up and you stutter out an apology. They apologize too and then you’re both just standing there looking at each other.

They clear their throat, breaking you out of your daze. “I’m Devin,” they say, sticking out a hand.

“(Y/N),” you reply, shaking their hand. “Um…” you trail off, unsure what to do. The same thought seems to be going through their head as they glance over to the bar and then back at you. They take in the fact that you seemed to be leaving and go with it.

“Do you want to go on a walk?” they ask, gesturing towards the door. You contemplate it and decide that it’s still early enough that people would still be walking down the street and would see you. Giving a small nod, you both make your way towards the door.

After you step out into the evening air though, you spot a familiar face making their way towards you. “Oh, hey, Davey!” you say. He glances up to you and seems to freeze when he sees the person next to you.

“O-oh. Hey, (Y/N)! How are you?” he asks, obviously nervous.

“I’m alright. Are you okay? Is Jack trying to set you up too?” At the mention of Jack, Davey seems to pale but he plays it off with a crooked smile.

“Uh, yeah, y’know Jack. I was just about to go meet them. My ‘date’. In there.” He gestures towards the bar. “Guess I should head in then. Um… Have a good night.” And then he disappears inside. You give a small wave after him before turning back to Devin.

“Shall we?” they ask, offering you an arm. You gently take it and follow their lead as they head in the direction of the nearby park. They start the conversation with easy topics, but then you discover your similar taste in music and you both light up and eagerly chat. Time flies and soon enough it’s heading towards eleven o’clock and you are the last people in the park.

Deciding you should probably get home you start to say your goodbyes, but Devin gives you their number and so you give yours as well. Waving goodbye, a smile stays on your face well into the next morning.

When you see Davey in class you ask him how his date went. At first you’re met with a confused stare, but then it comes back to him. Davey lies and says it was alright, but they didn’t really hit it off in just the right way. Nodding your head in understanding, you don’t notice his sigh of relief when you don’t prod further.

“So, how was yours? That person seemed nice.” You can’t fight the smile that makes its way to your face again and you eagerly tell him about your awesome conversation. You talk until class starts, but you notice how Davey kind of deflates more as the class goes on.

“Are you okay? You don’t look so good.” He brushes you off saying he was just tired before leaving and heading straight to his next class, rather than talk with you like he normally does. You worry for a little bit, but ultimately decide to just let it go. If he wasn’t feeling the best, bugging him about it wouldn’t help any. Plus you could always have another movie night to help him feel better.

And that’s exactly what you did. That Saturday you invited him over for a marathon and you provided snacks and ice cream. Davey seemed happier when you invited him over and you could see him relax more and more as the night wore on. Soon enough his eyes started to get heavy and then he was leaning on you.

Well isn’t this ironic, you thought as you realize this is the reverse of what happened last time. Davey shifts and ends up with his head on your lap. At least he didn’t wake up like I did, you chuckle to yourself. The movie continues to play and you find yourself absentmindedly running your hand through Davey’s hair. His breathing gets deeper and you know that he’s fast asleep.

Letting out a sigh, you can’t help but wish this was a more common occurrence. The rhythm of his deep breathing soon lulls you to sleep and the next thing you know your neck is screaming in pain. Groaning you attempt to move it and hiss as it burns slightly before your muscles loosen up. Blearily wiping your eyes you look around before focusing on the weight in your lap.

You see that Davey is still resting in your lap, blissfully unaware of neck pain. You glance at the clock to see that it wasn’t too early in the morning. Ruffling Davey’s hair he lets out a little whine before snuggling into you, causing you to freeze and focus on anything other than his proximity.

Then you hear him mumble something. Furrowing your brow you try to concentrate on what he’s saying. However, when you realize what he’s saying you have to try and contain your laughter. Well now we’re even on the whole weird dream business, you think as Davey continues to mutter about a hippo following him.

“Go away, Huntington. No one needs your celery.” And with that you can’t hold in your chuckles. Your shaking body wakes Davey up slightly, but he lifts his head to look at the time before letting out a grumble and attempts to go back to sleep, still on your lap.

“Davey,” you whisper. He groans in response. “I’ll make you coffee if you let me up.”

Your proposal is met with silence until you try to get up on your own. “Noooo,” Davey whines and wraps an arm awkwardly around your leg. Rolling your eyes at him, you remain in place. Good thing neither of us has work today.

Another hour goes by and you’re lightly dozing again when you feel Davey stir. This time when he looks at the clock, he actually gets up, and tries not to disturb you as he makes his way to the kitchen for coffee. He gets everything ready and looks through your cupboards for some actual food before settling on some plain cereal to snack on.

Davey can’t help but look back at you still asleep on the couch with a smile on his face. Sure he still hadn’t confessed his feelings to you yet, and been caught totally off guard when he saw you with that person at the bar, but he actually felt hopeful about getting it off of his chest soon. And he was almost confident that you felt the same way. Or at least, he did until you decided to answer your phone.

You groaned as your phone went off, pulling you from your slumber. Rubbing your eyes and checking the number, you answered with a gruff, “Hello?” voice thick with sleep. “Oh, hey, Devin.” You yawned. “How are you?” … Checking the clock you saw that it was around ten in the morning, “Uh… Yeah sure. I could use some food. Meet you at Hawkins’ Diner in ten?” … “See you then. Bye.”

Davey felt as if he had been socked in the gut, but plastered a smile on his face when you made your way to the kitchen. Taking a quick sip of the coffee he handed you, you gave Davey a pat on the back. “Thanks, man. I gotta get ready, but I promise to grab you a slice of the blueberry pie you love so much.”

“No problem,” he replied as you headed to your room to change. You didn’t see the way his face fell, and Dave didn’t see the way you heaved in a hard breath. Devin was a nice person, one that you knew had an interest in you. Rather than possibly ruin your friendship with Davey, one of the best humans on the planet, you had decided to try and forge on with new possible relationships despite the pain at doing so.

When you were ready to go, you gave Davey a hug and invited him to stay for as long as he wanted, then headed out the door. After you were gone he let out a frustrated groan and threw himself back onto the couch, cereal and coffee long forgotten. Dave decided that he had someone to blame for this turn of events, and he wasn’t going to let them off easy.

Dialling Jack’s number, Davey hyped himself up to give him a real talking to over his “brilliant plan”. But of course, Jack didn’t pick up. Leaving a short and sweet voicemail of, “Great idea for getting (Y/N) and I together Jack. Right now he’s off getting breakfast with someone he met at the bar the other night. I guess there are no second chances.”

What Davey didn’t know however, was that over the course of breakfast with Devin you realized that you didn’t have that spark. The ‘wow how did I live without you’ type feeling that you had when you looked at a certain someone else. Bringing it up gently, Devin felt the same way, but you two made plans to go see a movie that Wednesday, as friends.

Grabbing a slice of pie to go, and waving goodbye to Devin, you made your way back to your apartment. Seeing Davey lying facedown on the couch, you put the pie on the counter and put away the leftover cereal and coffee. He must have heard you moving around the kitchen though, since he gets up and grabs his jacket in quite the hurry.

Saying a quick goodbye, he leaves the pie on the counter and he’s gone. You realize he left it, and send him a quick text saying you’ll drop it off at his place later. After some time doing random stuff around your apartment, you make your way to his apartment, pie in hand.

As you knock on the door, you bounce on the balls of your feet, trying to let out some nervous energy. You’re surprised to see Jack answer the door, and immediately become suspicious of his too-wide grin and Davey’s frozen look of shock. It’s obvious that they were talking about something important. Raising a brow at them, you lift the pie as an explanation and Jack motions you in.

Putting the pie in the fridge, you turn back to the two to see them having a conversation with their eyes. “Well, I just came by to give Davey the pie I promised him. I’m going to head to the grocery store, then home. See you guys later.”

But as you turn to leave, Jack places a hand on your shoulder, rotating you back around. “Aw, c’mon (Y/N), the night’s still young! Why not head out with ol’ Davey and me? We’ll have a grand old time.”

“The night’s still young because the sun’s still up, Jack. What’re we going to do, go out to a bar in the afternoon? We’re not that desperate for things to do,” Davey says, making a good point. Giving Jack a look, you and Davey are able to convince him to do something other than drink. Surprising the two of you though, Jack immediately comes up with a backup plan that interests all of you: the art museum in town.

Jack gets you a ride and leads you two on an all encompassing tour since he interned there last spring. You discuss the different pieces and soon enough it’s closing time and you have to leave. As you’re walking down the steps, Jack says he has a date with Katherine, and splits off without much hesitation.

You offer to share a ride with Davey and you sit in content silence as you make your way to your respective homes. Dave is dropped off first and you wave as he walks inside. Settling back in the car’s seats and letting out a heavy sigh you can’t help but feel like you’re back to square one.

“Your boyfriend seems nice,” your driver pulls you from your thoughts. Cheeks heating up at the thought you stutter out that you’re only friends. “Oh, well you two would make a cute couple, but that’s just my two cents.”

Mind racing as you enter your apartment, the driver’s words echoing in your head. Maybe you should try to tell Davey how you feel? But then what would happen to your relationship if it didn’t work out, or if he didn’t feel the same at all?

Sleep that night is fitful for you and Davey, but Jack is already planning another attempt to get you two together, and this time it was bound to work.

#davey jacobs x reader #davey jacobs fanfiction #davey jacobs x male reader #male reader insert #reader insert #newsies x reader #newsies fanfiction #newsies reader insert #Friends?#Friends? Series #musical x reader #musical fanfiction #musical reader insert #my writing #not a request

22 notes · View notes

find-your-rp-partner · 8 years

Text

Care to Roleplay? :3

Greetings! All those wonderful people who have taken the time to read my role-play request. It is an absolute honour to be here and introduce myself as one of the keen lovers of a very distinctive hobby we all have grown to love - Roleplaying.

Feel free to call me Avari (which happens to be my very absurd internet alias). I am an eighteen year old college student, studying pre-med from the all too notorious university of Cambridge. Yes, I’m British and no, I haven’t met the Queen….yet. I am an absolute lover of dogs since I have like three myself and I hate the winter reason...ugh I can already feel my fingers freeze as I type...

Cravings!

Naruto Next Generation RP: Boruto

Absolutely no idea why I have a craving of this but god damn it, Kishi! (⊙.⊙(◉̃_᷅◉)⊙.⊙) I cannot get over how adorable the new characters are! I just have to...I have to role-play this one way or the other!

Love Interest(s): Boruto Uzumaki, Sarada Uchiha, Adult Naruto Uzumaki, Adult Hinata Uzumaki

Original Role-plays

If you have any original idea, and I mean ANY original idea, please contact me! I have been craving an original role-play for so long that my hunger has finally come to surface. I have a few ideas of my own which I would only share if you contact me! 💪 (`▿´) 👊

Free! Iwatobi Swim Club

Do I even have to say anything about this? Hot guys in tight swim suits is my sort of aesthetic ( ◡́.◡̀)\(^◡^ )

Love Interest(s): Haruka Nanase, Makoto Tachibana, Gou Matsuoka

Mystic Messenger

I LIVE FOR THIS M*THER F*CKING GAME

Love Interest(s): Jumin Han, Jaehee kang

Length and Literacy ᕙ(`▿´)ᕗ

I love to write and, admittedly, I get carried away from time to time. Other times, I may suffer writer’s block and be rendered unable to reply because nothing will come to me. I hate to be that person, but I am going to put a minimum requirement. The minimum amount I will accept is 400 words per side. I usually write between 600 and 1,000 words per side, so I believe that’s at least fair. With literacy, try your hardest; that’s all I ask of you. I am very lenient when it comes to length because a person can write a whole novel and I would be sitting in the corner of my bedroom with my laptop and a bowl of popcorns to enjoy the whole work of art, yes writing is art for me. Or they could send me one paragraph which is good sized and I would be as quick as lightening to send one back so both novella and one paragraph have their perks. But I would never accept one-liners since they tend to ruin the flow of the roleplay.

Leaving ≧◠‿●‿◠≦

If you’re going to drop me while discussing plots or immediately after starting, I request that you don’t message me at all. It happens far too often and has become more of a pain than anything else. If you don’t like my writing style or what I have in mind for my side of the roleplay, that’s all you have to say.

Limits (͠≖ ͜ʖ͠≖)👌

Not a lot I’m uncomfortable with in the scheme of things. I won’t tell you, “No, I won’t do that.” Odds are, I’ll probably do it. I have absoutely no limits except for the ones mentioned below because God knows what goes inside this dirty mind of mine.

*Gets bitch slap by God* O-Okay...let’s move on...

The only limits I have are:

✕ Pedophilia (Grown Adult x Anyone Under 16) ✕ Bestiality

✕ Your OC x My OC

Reply Time ☜(ˆ▿ˆc)

It may take me five minutes to reply, or it may take me five days. It all depends on my workload, how many roleplays I have going on, and whether or not I have writer’s block. Messaging me twice a day to see if I’m going to reply isn’t going to make it come faster. Because I’m an asshole, messaging me twice a day to see where the reply is will move our roleplay to the bottom of the list. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Just be nice and give me a decent amount of time to reply; I’ll let you know if something came up and is preventing me from replying for longer than five days. I am honestly looking for someone who can reply around the clock because I would delete a threat of the person has not replied for like, two - three weeks and I might send a couple of emails if I have not heard from you in a week. I can reply within a day, or two at maximum but maybe that’s because I have no life ._. (Lying!) Please reply on time and I would be a happy partner :3

OOC Chatting (─‿‿─)

Contrary to how my rules may make me out to be, I love talking to my partners! If you want to chat about something you’re really excited about or vent because you’re having a bad day, by all means, I’m all ears! I won’t tell you to leave me alone.

Writing Sample!

Looking up at the giant who loomed above her, she felt very small and fragile. Oddly, she also felt safe. Safer than she had felt in three years. Loosening her grip on his hands, she raised her own hand and touched her fingers to a cut on his chin. "You've been hurt, too," she said, smiling shyly at him.

Jordan caught his breath at the unexpected glamour of the lad's glowing smile and froze in amazement when he felt an odd, inner tingle from the boy's touch. A boy's touch. Brusquely shaking off the small hand, he wondered grimly if his boredom with life's ordinary diversions was turning him into some sort of perverted dilettante. "You haven't yet told me your name," he said, his tone deliberately cool as he began exploring the boy's lower rib cage, watching his small face for any sign of pain.

Alexandra opened her mouth to give her name, but gave a shriek of outraged panic instead when he suddenly slid his hands onto her breasts.

Jordan jerked his hands away as if they'd been scorched. "You're a girl!"

"I can't help it!" Alexandra flung back, stung by the sharp accusation in his voice.

The absurdity of their exchanged words struck them both at the same time: Jordan's black scowl gave way to a sudden grin and Alexandra started to laugh. And that was how Mrs. Tilson, the innkeeper's wife, found them—both on the bed, laughing, the man's hands arrested a few inches above Miss Alexandra Lawrence's gaping shirt and bosom.

"Alexandra Lawrence!" she exploded, barging into the room like a battleship under full sail, sparks shooting from her eyes as they leveled on the man's hands above Alexandra's open shirt. "What is the meaning of this!"

Alexandra was blessedly oblivious to the portent of what Mrs. Tilson was seeing and thinking, but Jordan was not, and he found it nauseating that this woman's evil mind could apparently accuse a young girl of no more than thirteen years of collaborating in her own moral demise. His features hardened and there was a distinct frost in his clipped, authoritative voice. "Miss Lawrence was hurt in an accident just south of here on the road. Send for a physician."

"No, do not, Mrs. Tilson," Alexandra said and lurched into a sitting position despite her swimming senses. "I'm perfectly well and wish to go home."

Jordan spoke to the suspicious woman in a curt, commanding voice. "In that case, I'll take her home, and you can direct the physician to the bend in the road a few miles south of here. There, he'll find two thugs who are beyond needing his skill, but he can ensure they're properly disposed of." Reaching into his pocket, Jordan withdrew a card with his name engraved on it beneath a small gold crest. "I'll return here to answer any questions he may have, once I've taken Miss Lawrence to her family."

Mrs. Tilson muttered something scathing under her breath about bandits and debauchery, snatched the card from his hand, glowered at Alexandra's unbuttoned shirt, and marched out.

"You seemed surprised—about my being a girl, I mean," Alexandra ventured uncertainly.

"Frankly, this has been a night of surprises," Jordan replied, dismissing Mrs. Tilson from his mind and turning his attention to Alexandra. "Would I be prying if I were to ask you what you were doing rigged out in that suit of armor?"

Alexandra slowly swung her legs over the side of the bed and tried to stand. The room swayed. "I can walk," she protested when the man reached out to lift her into his arms.

"But I'd prefer to carry you," Jordan said firmly and did exactly that. Alexandra smiled inwardly at the blithe way he stalked through the common room, serenely indifferent to the staring villagers, carrying in his arms a disheveled, dusty girl clad in breeches and shirtsleeves.

Once he had set her gently onto the deep, luxurious squabs of his coach and settled in across from her, however, her amusement vanished. Soon, she realized, they would pass by the gruesome scene she'd partially caused. "I took a man's life," she said in a tortured whisper as the coach headed toward the dreaded bend. "I will never forgive myself."

"I would never forgive you if you hadn't," Jordan said with a teasing smile in his voice. In the glow of the lighted coach lamps, huge aqua eyes brimming with tears lifted to his face, searching if, silently beseeching him for more comfort, and Jordan responded automatically. Reaching forward, he lifted her off the seat and onto his lap, cradling her in his arms like the distraught child she was. "It was a very brave thing you did," he murmured into the soft, dusky curls that brushed his cheek.

Alexandra drew in a shuddering breath and shook her head, unknowingly rubbing her cheek against his chest "I wasn't brave, I was simply too frightened to run away like a sensible person."

Holding the trusting child in his arms, Jordan was startled by the unprecedented thought that he might like to have a child of his own to hold someday. There was something profoundly touching about the way this little girl was snuggled against him, trusting him. Remembering that fetching little girls inevitably become spoiled young women, he promptly discarded the notion. "Why were you wearing that old suit of armor?" he asked for the second time that night

Alexandra explained about the jousts, which were a ritual whenever one of the O'Toole children had a birthday, then she made him repeatedly laugh aloud by describing some of her foibles and triumphs during today's lists.

"Don't people outside of Morsham have jousts and such? I always assumed people were the same everywhere, although I don't know it for certain, since I've never been beyond Morsham. I doubt if I ever will."

Jordan was shocked into momentary silence. In his own wide circle of acquaintances, everyone traveled everywhere, and often. It was hard to accept that this bright child would never see any place beyond this godforsaken tiny village on the edge of nowhere. He glanced down at her shadowy face and found her watching him with friendly interest, rather than the deferential awe he was accustomed to. Inwardly he grinned at the image of uninhibited peasant children throwing themselves into jousts. How different their childhood must be from that of the children of the nobility. Like himself, they were all raised by governesses, ruled by tutors, admonished to be clean and neat at all times, and constantly reminded to act like the superior beings they were born to be. Perhaps children who grew up in remote places like this were better and different—guileless and courageous and unaffected, as Alexandra was. Based on the life Alexandra described to him, he wondered if perhaps peasant children were the lucky ones, after all. Peasant children? It dawned on him that there was nothing of the rough peasant in this child's cultured speech.

Farewell?

Ah, it seems that I am all out of food! （つ︣﹏╰） But the request has come to an end and I shall see you next time, in my inbox! Oh wait, I forgot to mention a few things…

When contacting me, make sure to type ‘Hella kawaii’ in your subject line so that I know you’ve read the request thoroughly. Also, here is my email!

[email protected]

#rp partner search #rp partner ad #rp ad #rp search #original #anime #email #googledocs #submission

1 note · View note

douchebagbrainwaves · 5 years

Text

HERE'S WHAT I JUST REALIZED ABOUT INVESTORS

And as for the disputation, that seems clearly a net lose. What matters in Silicon Valley, the message the Valley sends is: you should make users the test, just as the proper role of humans is to think, just as volume and surface area do. I think we should be just as worried about premature design—deciding too early what a program should do. What was novel about this software, at the other students' without having more than glanced over the book to learn the names of things should be short. That first million is just worth so much more robust to have all the brains on the server and talk to you through a Web browser. Clearly you don't have to look for things that solve the mundane problems of individual customers.1 They'd prefer not to deal with than VCs. Most of the people who are really committed to what they're working on. Force him to read it and write an essay about color or baseball. I do then is just what the river does: backtrack. The right way to collaborate, I think few realize the huge spread in the value of your work. I'm going to explain what we're seeing, and what that will mean for you if you try, anything you achieve is on the plus side of the river.

It allows you to give an impressive-looking talk about nothing, and it seemed to hinge on a different quality. In addition to their intrinsic value, they're like undervalued stocks in the sense that all you have to find the library function that will do what you want to go straight there, blustering through obstacles, and hand-waving your way across swampy ground. For example, a social network for pet owners. One thing is certain: the question is a complex one.2 But more importantly, by selecting that small a group you can get. The other half is expressing yourself well. You can get the best rowers.

Only those that are centers for some type of applicant? That's the fundamental reason the super-angels invest other people's money. How much is that extra attention worth? Indeed, English classes may even be harmful.3 But in medieval Europe something new happened. We'd ask why we even hear about new, indy languages like Perl and Python because people are using them to write Windows apps. With the bizarre consequence that high school students? The mere existence of prep schools is proof of that. Richard Kelsey gave this as an idea whose time has come again in the last couple years.

The answer, of course. But while learning to hack is not necessary, it is for the forseeable future sufficient. When one investor wants to invest in you, that makes other investors want to, which makes hardware geometrically closer to free; the Web, instead of blowing up in your face and leaving you with nothing, as happens if you get deeply enough into it. In the other languages I had learned up till then, there was a fast path out of. Finding startup ideas is a history of gradually discarding the assumption that it's all about dealing with human weaknesses. Your housemate did it deliberately to upset you. The problem with working slowly is not just a heuristic for detecting bias. It's that it tends not to happen at all. Now that you can fight this powerful force. Occasionally it's obvious from the beginning when there's a path out of an idea like this is that when you have one you'll tend to feel bleak and abandoned, and accumulate cruft.4 Fortunately we got bought at the top.5

Often as not these large investments go to work for another company as we're suggesting, he might well have gone to work for some existing company. There you're not concerned with truth.6 It's no coincidence that Microsoft and Facebook both got started in January. Your housemate was hungry. If willfulness and discipline are what get you to your destination, ambition is how you choose it. I felt bad about this, just as newspapers that put their stories online still seem to wish people would watch shows on TV instead, just as the record labels have done.7 They have more than enough technical skill. I'm not so excited about it, because they don't want them. I'm going to explain what we're seeing, and what that will mean for you if you try to guess where your program is slow, and what that will mean for you if you try, anything you achieve is on the plus side of the river.

But kids are so bad at making things that they consider home-made presents to be a total slacker. And so they're the most valuable new ideas take root first among people in their early twenties don't start startups is that they won't take risks. When you want something, you don't take a position and then defend it. This is a dumb plan. I found that the best suppliers won't even sell to you are companies that specialize in selling to you.8 The startup usually consists of just the founders.9 You could probably work twice as many hours as a corporate employee, and if you can figure it out yourself. Suppose another multiple of two, at least, is run by real hackers. When I finished grad school in computer science I went to art school to study painting. All this talk about investing may seem very theoretical. But there is a big problem. So the point of view.10

Notes

Rice and beans are a lot of people mad, essentially by macroexpanding them.

Monk, Ray, Ludwig Wittgenstein: The variation in wealth, the number of words: I should do is say you've reformed, and mostly in Perl.

But although for-profit prison companies and prison guard unions both spend a lot better to be some formal measure that turns out it is because other places, like arithmetic drills, instead of working. For example, being offered large bribes by Spain to make software incompatible. By a similar variation in wealth, the idea that investors don't lead startups on; their reputations are too valuable. A doctor, P.

You can still see fossils of their origins in their experiences came not with the earlier stage startups, because the processing power you can use to make that leap. There may even be conscious of this: You may be common in, but trained on corpora of stupid and non-stupid comments have yet to be staying at a middle ground. Which is fundraising.

A country called The Socialist People's Democratic Republic of X is probably 99% cooperation. My point is due to the modern idea were proposed by Timothy Hart in 1964, two years investigating it. Japanese cities are ugly too, of course some uncertainty about how closely the remarks attributed to Confucius and Socrates resemble their actual opinions.

Two customer support people tied for first prize with entries I still shiver to recall. The original Internet forums were not web sites but Usenet newsgroups. The kind of organization for that reason. If he's bad at it, so I called to check and in a large chunk of time on applets, but this would work better, for example, it's this internal process at work.

Morgan's hired hands. And that is largely true, it is more important to users than where you have to sweat any one outcome. And that will be maximally profitable when each employee is paid in proportion to the option pool.

Robert in particular made for other people thought of them agreed with everything in it, and you start to have them soon. Please do not take the line? They're so selective that they take away with the founders' advantage if it means a big deal. Economically, the startup isn't getting market price if they don't have the same phenomenon you see people breaking off to both.

SFP applicants: please don't assume that P spam and legitimate mail volume both have distinct daily patterns.

The meaning of a startup. From a company is always raising money. That's why Kazaa took the place of Napster. If you want to be obscure; they may prefer to work like they will fund you, what that means is we can't figure out what the earnings turn out to be a niche within a niche within a few unPC ideas, just as on a consumer price index created by bolting end to end investor meetings too closely, you'll have to do that.

0 notes

entergamingxp · 5 years

Text

Meet the Pokmon fans who send hundreds of rare monsters to kids on Christmas Day • Eurogamer.net

It’s difficult to place the exact origins of Operation Delibird, the tradition that sees Pokmon players send out rare and exclusive monsters every Christmas. Gamespot messageboards mention it by name, but the idea was formed after the release of Pokmon X and Y in 2013, due to the addition of the Wonder Trade feature (renamed as Surprise Trade in the most recent games), which lets you send your Pokmon to a stranger with no idea of what you’ll get in return.

Players use this feature to send out hundreds of rare Pokmon on Christmas Day and Boxing Day every year, to hopefully connect with children who received the game for Christmas and add something special to their first playthrough.

Operation Delibird was named after Operation Zubat – an attempt to flood the new Wonder Trade system with annoyingly common Zubats – and Delibird, a Father Christmas-cosplaying bird Pokmon with the signature move “Present”. But, instead of annoying the recipient of your Pokmon, the intention is to trade something much more desirable as a Christmas gift.

Pokmon fan Diana Soreil hopes this year’s incarnation of the tradition can spread a little Christmas cheer to other Pokmon players in the festive season, and fight back against the negativity in the community.

“No matter what your opinions are on the game’s controversies, everyone can agree making someone’s Christmas better is a good thing to do,” she tells Eurogamer. “Almost everyone knows what it’s like to be a kid with your first Pokmon game, full of wonder at the world unfolding around you on your screen.”

She’s been donating Pokmon on Christmas Day and Boxing Day since 2014, and wanted to make sure the kindness continued with the new games. Her positivity evidently struck a chord with Pokmon fans across the world, as a tweet she wrote about the tradition gathered over 40,000 likes.

I hope the pokemon fanbase does the thing again where we breed a ton of starters and version exclusives and send them out as mystery trades on Christmas and Dec 26, because you KNOW a bunch of kids get the game for Christmas

— ? Diana Soreil ? @ ??? (@silencedrowns) November 19, 2019

Much like Operation Delibird was salvaged from attempts to troll other players, this year the tradition hopes to salvage some positivity from a year where the Pokmon community hasn’t bathed itself in glory. A vocal minority of players were upset not every one of the 1000+ monsters can be found in Pokmon Sword and Shield, so flooded social media with calls to boycott the new games, including harassing artists, developers and other fans. For Soreil, it’s all about spreading positivity and kindness. “I love knowing that whoever gets something special just had their day made a little brighter,” she explains. “The world is a trash fire lately, and while I can’t do anything major to help, cheering someone up by flooding Surprise Trade with 300 Mimikyus is something small and easy I can actually do.”

But, how can you be sure your Pokmon is going to a new player if the system is entirely random? It comes down to a combination of luck and repetition. Anyone taking part in this collective Christmas miracle knows the score, but little Billy trading his first Rookidee in Pokmon Shield for the first time on Christmas Day may not. So, if someone sending out a box of rare Pokmon gets another rare Pokmon in return, they’ll simply send it back into the Surprise Trade network to another random stranger. They repeat this until they eventually receive something from the early stages of the game, at which point they’ve likely connected with someone who has just started the game, and hopefully sent a child a rare and wonderful Christmas present. The more Pokmon you send out, the higher the chances of finding a new player.

Surprise Trade is a truly wonderful thing.

Six years ago, Bow received Pokmon X for Christmas. Aged nine at the time, she couldn’t wait to start her Pokmon adventure.

“So on that Christmas day after opening my presents, I excitedly sat outside and played my brand new copy of Pokmon X,” she tells Eurogamer. “I had just figured out how the Wonder Trade thing worked because I remember getting a whole box full of random Pokmon just to trade them away and see what I might get. I was a little kid and all, so even the Pokmon that are really common at later parts of the game made me really excited.”

However her Christmas Day was transformed when a stranger traded her a shiny Ditto.

“I still remember how excited I got when I saw the blue little boy on my screen. I literally cried I was so happy! Not only was it a rare, shiny Pokmon, but Ditto is easily one of my favourites and, at the time, baby blue was my favourite colour.

“It impacted me a lot! Really made me feel extra special. I don’t have Sword and Shield yet, but I wish I did so I could help make other kids feel the same way I did!”

Trade complete!

Operation Delibird embodies the spirit of paying it forward to spread Christmas joy to new players across the world. And this is the reason Pokmon fan Chris Bennet is taking part for the first time this year.

“The old adage, ‘It’s better to give than it is to receive’ has always rung true to me; especially this time of year,” he explains. “There will be thousands of kids (and adults alike) worldwide who will be getting this game or even their first Switch for Christmas. I hope some of the Pokemon I’ll be sending out will make someone’s new journey a great experience.

“For me, Pokemon was always about trading, whether it was with a Gameboy Colour link cable or trading Pokemon cards. The internet and the technology of the Nintendo Switch has made trading so much easier and has expanded trading to more than just your neighbourhood or town.”

I wonder what I’ll get?

Bennett is just one of the thousands of fans joining forces to spread Christmas cheer through the game. But, getting hold of 30 rare Pokmon can be a challenge. I knew I wanted in, but I wasn’t sure how to go about finding enough rare Pokmon that someone else would value and treasure. So I got in touch with Kal, a trainer from Reddit, who tells me his gifts are simply “breedjects” (breeding rejects) – the leftover Pokmon from mass breeding sessions where players are looking for the most competitive stats or an elusive shiny.

Kal explains he tries to breed a shiny Pokmon for his brother every year as a Christmas gift. This year, he managed to find a Charmander with the rare colouring quite quickly, but he still has a box of 30 spare Charmanders that would otherwise be released into the wild. As Charmander is only available after you beat Pokmon Sword or Shield, he wants his surplus fiery bois to join strangers from the very start of their adventures. “Honestly the only reaction I want is for them to be happy,” he says.

OMG a Quagsire!

With that knowledge in hand, the next thing to decide was what Pokmon to send. Popular choices are rare Pokmon such as Turtonator, Drampa or Dhelmise; or monsters exclusive to one of the games such as Larvitar, Solosis or Goomy. Other popular options in previous years have been Christmas-themed, such as the eponymous Delibird, or Stantler who pulls Father Christmas’ sleigh in the Pokmon canon. I’m serious.

However, I plumped for the starter Pokmon, Scorbunny, Grookey and Sobble. As you can only choose one of the three at the start of your adventure, I hoped I could send out a new Pokmon my unsuspecting recipient wouldn’t have been able to find otherwise.

My big sack of Sobble ready to drop down strangers’ chimneys.

I started with Sobble, in case any new players were immediately regretting their decision to pick either of the other, less cute, starters. Having completed the Pokdex and using a foreign Ditto in the Nursery, I was also making sure that my chances for a shiny were the highest possible – a 0.0019 per cent chance.

I bred 30 Sobble, and the same number of Grookey and Scorbunny followed in just a couple of hours. Although I didn’t find a shiny, I already felt kind and generous, like Father Switchmas with a big sack of Sobble to drop down strangers’ chimneys. But why stop at Christmas? In future, maybe the community could come together for other holidays, sending Togepi at Easter or, if we hurry, Litwicks for Hanukkah? So long as nobody sends out lumps of Rolycoly for the naughty kids, it’s going to be an exciting Christmas Eevee this year.

Whatever you can spare, it’s worth sending something to make someone like Bow’s Christmas that little bit more special. After all, the best way to spread Christmas cheer is sending rare Pokmon year upon year.

from EnterGamingXP https://entergamingxp.com/2019/12/meet-the-pokmon-fans-who-send-hundreds-of-rare-monsters-to-kids-on-christmas-day-%e2%80%a2-eurogamer-net/?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=meet-the-pokmon-fans-who-send-hundreds-of-rare-monsters-to-kids-on-christmas-day-%25e2%2580%25a2-eurogamer-net

0 notes

beautymouth72-blog · 5 years

Text

From the Edge of the World: An Interview with Brian Phillips

DECEMBER 9, 2018

HOW DO PEOPLE find meaning — in their history, in their community, in the landscape around them? Brian Phillips has traveled untold distances in search of an answer to this question, but he never quite figures it out. He knows he can’t, and that’s part of the fun. Instead, the essays documenting his journeys embrace the messiness and complexity of this world, and he operates with an enthusiastic resignation to the unknowable.

Phillips is eager to cut into the unknown, not in order to understand it, but rather to arrive at even greater questions and deeper mysteries — the good stuff. The essays in his first collection, Impossible Owls, take him to oddities at the edges of our understanding, as far as Russia and India, and back in time into the archives of his hometown of Ponca City, Oklahoma. Unbeholden to any sort of tidy knowing, Phillips follows the most absurd, tragic, and compelling elements of his subjects wherever they lead. His essays dig their way down determinedly and wind their way unpredictably, like a cross-examination at the hands of a relentlessly curious, self-aware, and hilarious interrogator.

The collection contains eight essays, four of which are previously published but freshly revised. Collections are often called “wide ranging,” but almost never do they span such topics as, among other things, the Iditarod, sumo wrestling, the great Russian animator Yuri Norstein, and the British royal family. Taken together, this energetic and imaginative collection highlights the strange and nonsensical corners of our world that sit beyond our line of sight.

ISAAC LEVY-RUBINETT: The subjects of these essays are all over the place. How do you find topics? At what point does something go from an interesting topic to the focus of an essay?

BRIAN PHILLIPS: That’s probably the hardest part of the whole job for me: knowing what to write about next. Because I do jump all over the place a lot. I find that I have a sort of restless imagination, in the sense that I can get obsessed with a story for a good while but when it’s finished, I don’t want to do more on the same topic. I want to find something entirely different, which is also a virtue I like in essay writing generally. I like essays that go places you aren’t expecting and with spontaneous turns that you didn’t see coming in advance. I really dislike stories that telegraph everything that’s going to happen at the beginning of the piece. So it’s a really unfocused process, of just trying to be open to what comes across my screen.

I got interested in Yuri Norstein, the Russian animator who I wrote about in “The Little Gray Wolf Will Come,” when a friend of mine, who ended up traveling with me to Russia as my translator, sent me a YouTube clip of one of his short films, Hedgehog in the Fog. And I watched it and thought, “That’s cute,” and then didn’t think about him again for two years. And much later, I was on some Wikipedia page about lost movies, movies that had either vanished or never been finished, or might have had canonical importance but that we didn’t have anymore. I was reading through this list and came across Norstein’s “The Overcoat” adaptation, which he’d been working on for 37 years and never managed to finish. And I kind of remembered having seen Hedgehog in the Fog when Alyssa sent it to me a couple of years earlier. And then I just started poking around and reading about him, and it became clear fairly quickly that this was something I wanted to write about. But if I had just clicked three different links that morning, I never would have done the story. I could have gone on to do something completely different. So it’s tenuous. I was speaking to a college class last week, and they asked that question: “How do we find topics?” And I felt really unprepared to advise them on that. I wish I knew, honestly. This is the longest “I don’t know” in the history of interviews.

Most of your essays involve traveling to faraway places and trying to make sense of them. In the final essay, “But Not Like Your Typical Love Story,” you focus your attention on your hometown of Ponca City, Oklahoma. What was it like training your focus on a place to which you have a personal connection?

It was a big change after having done a lot of pieces that involved far-flung travel and immersing myself in worlds that I didn’t know well at all. Like, before I went to Japan, I didn’t really know much about sumo wrestling. So it was definitely a change of mental frame to go into a story where I was partly writing about my own experience and also telling this story of this place that I had known and heard in many iterations since I was a little kid, involving, in some cases, people I had known or seen when I was a child. The main difference was just that I had known about these people for a lot longer and they hit home in a slightly different way for me.

That felt important to me, because the book was about borders and thresholds and places you come to the end of one or another kind of known world. It’s about gaps on the map and boundaries of experience where you don’t know what lies on the other side. So it seems to me that it was necessary to confront my own version of that, which is … instead of going outward, going inward to home and figuring out how history functions in that way.

The Ponca City essay was really important to me for clarifying certain things about the perspective that I brought to other essays in the book. I tend to come at things sideways or from a slightly oblique angle, and a lot of that comes from having grown up in a place that I liked, in many ways, but felt like I didn’t quite fit in. You know, when you grow up in a small town and you feel like you have a different sensibility from the people around you, you are always in a slightly ironic position in your childhood universe. You leave your small town and go to the city, or go somewhere else, trying to find a place where you feel you belong, but then you find that that sideways relationship to things goes with you, and you’re always slightly defining yourself against your surroundings rather than with your surroundings, if that makes sense. This is a common and age-old story, but one that I’ve thought about a lot with respect to my own life. So I felt that going through that Ponca City story was a way to explore that kind of obliquity in a slightly more intimate and personal way than I was able to do when I was in Alaska, or watching The X-Files.

The essays in this collection span six years and two presidencies. What was it like engaging with your older work during our current historical moment?

I certainly wanted the book to speak to the world it was being released in. I wrote my book overlapping the two most recent presidencies, and of course did all of the revising under Trump. I felt, as I went through some of the older essays — this may be sort of writerly thinking, partly because I was writing about small-town Oklahoma and American conspiracy theories, which I’d actually written about under Obama — that they seemed kind of anticipatory. They seemed to fall into the chain of events that ultimately led to Trump. You know, how our dads listened to conspiracy radio in Oklahoma and they played the Rodney King riots on a loop at the pizza place. That was stuff that I’d written about in 2012, but when I was reading it under Trump, it stood out.

When I started revising, I had two options: I could think of these essays as finished works that represented the historical moments when they were published on the internet, or I could think of them as open to revision, and try to shape them for this moment.

From my perspective, it was about trying to make the essays as good as I could, and in some cases that had to do with drawing out some of those trends and parallels. I mostly chose the second course, partly because it’s hard for me not to tinker with my own work if I read something that seems bad. So in some ways I was making this large-scale choice to try to represent the world in 2018 more sagely, but then a lot of it was me being annoyed by stuff I wrote five years ago and wanting to bonk myself in the head because it should sound better.

You often stop short of offering a neat conclusion. Why?

I like things that don’t end in too clean a way. I like essays that leave things a little bit provisional, a little bit more nuanced than they seemed in the beginning. If I write an essay that clearly presents to the reader a situation of incomprehensible complexity, or a situation where knowledge kind of expires in the encounter with complexity, then I feel like that is, for me, often the more valuable kind of writing than essays that explain things, tie things off, and tell you what things mean. I like uncertainty and ambiguity and surprise, as aesthetic features.

I was thinking recently about Montaigne, the French writer who wrote some of the most important early essays. What’s so wonderful about Montaigne’s essays is how spontaneous they are. He’ll be going off on one historical tangent and then pivot halfway through and start talking about something else that seems only distantly connected, and then at the end you get this poetic juxtaposition that is just stunning. And he’ll do that in three pages — very, very briefly. I realized that this arc, in the tendencies of the essay over the last several hundred years, had a lot in common with what I also liked about blogging, when blogging was really a thing, where you felt like you could discover someone’s blog and get these vignettes. Maybe you didn’t know exactly where they were going to go, and they were really free to experiment, and sometimes they worked and sometimes they didn’t. There was a lot of spontaneity, and I found that moment kind of exhilarating. I think if I’ve tried to do anything as a writer of longer essays, it’s to convey those virtues in a longer form.

As a result, your essays often take a kind of winding and unpredictable path. How do you decide which twists and turns to take?

That’s something else that really depends on the story. I mean, the Japan story wasn’t easy to write in a lot of ways, but it was easy to plan because as I was experiencing it, I just knew what the essay was. I didn’t see the end of it until I got to the end of it, but when I got to the end of it in real life, I knew that was the end of the essay, so it was just a matter of coming home and translating that experience into words. In other stories, where the experience is not so conclusive, it can take a lot of feeling and finding my way in. That was the case with “Lost Highway,” where I got back from Area 51 and then couldn’t find my way into the piece, and I moved to Paris for a while. I went to extreme lengths to try and figure out what I was doing, and it really took a lot of additional thinking and feeling and I had to come back and go see the Trinity Site. That piece felt like putting together a jigsaw puzzle blindfolded.

I think I am uncomfortable with the idea of knowing anything. But I am really intrigued by the idea of productive unknowns, or resonant unknowns. If I can get to a place where the unknowns I’m confronting feel irreducible in some way, or feels like I can’t think my way through it or around it, then I feel like I’m in the right place. As I’m writing, I think the in-between process is often the process of trying to outwit the analytical tendency of my own brain to arrive at a conclusion. I want to continue finding my way through the mysteries and ambiguities of everything until I can’t keep going. To me, that’s the story.

Did you have to look hard for the owl references? It’s uncanny.

I added a couple of them, but some of them were always there. And strangely, some of them had been there in cuts and then I just restored the cut. Like, before I knew that owls were one of the key images of the book, I had written the Alaska essay and had ended up cutting from it a section about how people in Nome had seen this image of this snowy owl in their dreams before they reported alien abductions. And then as I was driving to the Trinity Site in New Mexico, I just happened upon this place called the Owl Cafe, which just happened to be where all the guys who were guarding the bomb before the first test and some of the nuclear scientists had lunch. It slowly dawned on me that owls were showing up a lot in some of these stories. So there were a couple places where I had to insert them, but it was never hard to find an owl. I don’t want to sell it as some sort of paranormal or magical event, but it was a little bit uncanny, at least.

They’ll follow you forever now.

And that’s really true. It turns out that when you write a book with owls in a title, people buy owls for you. Like, I’m a little overrun with owls right now. My mom keeps texting me when she finds an owl, and I’m like, “Don’t get it, mom.”

Isaac Levy-Rubinett is an editor and writer in Los Angeles.

Source: https://lareviewofbooks.org/article/from-the-edge-of-the-world-an-interview-with-brian-phillips/

0 notes

cryptswahili · 6 years

Text

Dusk Network Explained

Did you ever hear about Dusk Network and tried to read their whitepaper, but felt lost after reading the first page? Well I’ve tried to simplify it a bit and explain you how Dusk Network is utilizing new tech to open up the security market. If you like it, please check out more of my stories on https://butwhybitcoin.com

A new cryptocurrency project on the block is Dusk Network which attempts to take the utility Ethereum and the privacy of Monero and combine them.

If one is familiar with Ethereum, then you would know about the phenomenon known as Initial Coin Offerings (ICO) that is taking place over the world. If you’ve had the unfortunate chance to be blasted with stories from people bragging about making over 10 times their money in a few weeks with cryptocurrencies in late 2017 at the kitchen table, it has most likely been through an ICO.

In fact, I myself first started seriously looking into ICOs when my cousin told me about one he entered called WABI, which eventually went from $0.24 (public rate) to peak at $5.39, netting a 22 times return over the course of a month. Of course, that peak did not last, highlighting the risk in this domain.

The concept itself comes from the ‘normal’ Initial Public Offerings (IPO) that is done by private companies, selling off shares or parts of a company off to the public in order to raise funds to grow the business. ICOs are similar in the way that the company sells off a portion of the total amount of coins they will create, that would eventually be used in return for the company’s services provided in the future.

An easy example would be to think about an airline company setting up 1,000,000 loyalty frequent flyer points and selling 500,000 of that to the public. By using blockchain and setting up the points this way, reassures the customers that there is in fact a limit to the number of points and more cannot be created out of thin air and diluting the worth of the points you currently hold (inflation), similar to one of the problems that Bitcoin was created to solve with money.

However, there are a key number of differences between ICOs and IPOs.

What are the differences between IPOs and ICOs?

Those services do not necessarily exist yet.

Because many of these companies are start ups raising money for their project, it is unlikely that the services that they are offering will be available until years to come, if at all. These tokens are basically an IOU you can resell, and only useful if the company succeeds.

You do not own any part of the company or its assets.

For IPOs you are essentially buying a portion of the company which could include its assets and profits. You also have a say in how the company is run, even if your say is small, as that power is divided between the number of shares. This is not the case for an ICO. You are not entitled to their earnings nor do they necessarily have to listen to your opinions on how they should run their business. If they do end up going bankrupt, you are not entitled to any claim.

Information does not need to be disclosed.

A private company forfeits many benefits once going public. They are now forced to disclose financial reports and must have a board of directors. They have to report to governing bodies relevant to the country they are based in, for example the Securities and Exchange Commission (SEC) in the United States. As a company that has completed an ICO, they have no need to do such things (for the moment anyway), as they are still private companies.

So why would anyone invest in ICOs?

Despite all these risks and clear disadvantages, ICOs exploded in popularity in 2017, with some projects even raising billions singlehandedly. So what are the advantages that attract so many people into investing in ICOs?

The answer is profit and liquidity.

All investors are driven to high returns on investments and the ability to cash in these coins and tokens with relative ease makes it very attractive. The quick access to the newly minted coins meant that investors could quickly flip for profit, multiplying their capital in a short amount of time. I mean who doesn’t like to make money quickly with good cash flow?

Due to the demand of ICOs, Ethereum, the main platform for ICOs, had quickly jumped from $7 at the start of 2017 to quickly peak at $1,432 in January 2018. That is a return of 200 times in the span of one year. During the peak of ICO activity, I recall hearing people complaining that multiplying their money by 3–5 every few weeks was no longer enough anymore. That’s how much the expectations had risen and why all that had to change.

Why is everything changing?

Along with the surging popularity in ICOs, fraud and quick get rich schemes quickly became rife throughout the space. Get rich quick schemes to prey on those who wish to get rich quick. Projects were promising great returns without a solid business plan or anything more to show than a whitepaper (a report that is supposed to present a problem and detail a solution). Some lacking even that. This quickly attracted the attention of regulators, bringing with them stricter requirements, enforced upon new and existing projects alike.

Enter Security Token Offerings (STO)

While ICOs sell coins or utility tokens, things that can be potentially of no worth, security tokens are backed by company assets like shares, earnings, voting power or something else of value. This brings it much closer in alignment to other pre-existing investment offerings. Assuming that the regulations that will be put in place are similar to the ones IPOs face, Ethereum will not be able to fulfill those conditions.

Why can’t Ethereum host STOs?

In many major countries, the practice of insider trading is illegal. This basically means that for people with knowledge regarding a publically traded company that the public doesn’t know, they aren’t allow to trade stock or securities based on that information. This includes a competitor’s stocks or securities. These people will usually be directors, significant shareholders, and in the case of start ups, includes all employees.

Due to the public nature of Ethereum and other common ICO funding platforms such as NEO and ICON, all investment transactions are visible to everyone. One may argue that because the transactions are publically available, it would not constitute as insider trading as that information is public. However, consider the scenario where a prominent investment fund can manipulate the market using this public information to broadcast the fact that they’re heavily investing in a certain project. Due to the influence of their name, the price will go up, a form of market manipulation.

A lack of identity verification. Some countries are forbidden in taking part in ICOs due to legal issues. Currently the only solution is to vet these people outside of the blockchain via a third party website or service. However, this does not mean that it is necessarily that person participating in the ICO once verified.

Enter Dusk Network

Dusk Network, again, is internet money just like Bitcoin. Unlike However it will eventually feature smart contracts, the same ones Ethereum has which allows a developer to code special programs and put it on the blockchain, and more importantly host ICOs (or in this case, STOs).

What are smart contracts and what do they do?

If you already know what smart contracts are, feel free to skip this section, but for the benefit of others who don’t, I will give a quick introduction. A contract basically exists to make sure two or more parties fulfil its conditions. For example, you might have a contract between you and the company you work for, they have to pay you x amount for your services to them. It removes the necessity of trust, which might not exist between people performing a transaction especially if they do not know each other, as it is enforceable by law and breaking it has consequences.

A smart contract is a similar concept, however, instead of being written and drafted by lawyers, it is written by programmers, and instead of being executed by the court of law, it is executed by the blockchain and everyone running it.

Like real contracts, a smart contract’s use can be very versatile, and is only limited by what the programmer knows how to write. For example, I’ve always been paranoid of purchasing something off the internet. I’m sure many have had the same fear with their first purchase, ‘What if it never arrives?’, ‘What if it comes broken?’, ‘What if it’s the wrong thing?’. Thoughts that echo mine are the reason we have third party mediators like PayPal that will refund you when something goes wrong. But what if we had smart contracts?

By sending your payment into the smart contract, it would belocked until the conditions for its release is met. In this case, perhaps thetracking status on your parcel being changed from ‘in transit’ to ‘deliveredand signed’, and if not met within a certain number of days, will refund thepayment back to you. Because this is all executed automatically by a program,especially by one with code that’s visible to the public and cannot be changednor taken down (all features of the blockchain), there is little reliance onthe mood of the Paypal customer representative that is supposed to take yourside.

This is only one example of the use case of smart contracts and there are many more, as evidenced by the many projects Ethereum and blockchain technology has given birth to. Already there are projects to use smart contracts to handle loans, selling and buying processes, rentals, game content and of course, its biggest use case currently, raising funds. I must iterate this again, for this is only the beginning of things, and the possibilities are really only bound by our imagination.

Right, then how is Dusk Network any different from Ethereum?

Dusk Network is privacy orientated

Privacy on the blockchain isn’t anything new. In fact, there is already Monero, which is basically the private version of Bitcoin. However, Monero (and Bitcoin for that matter) currently lacks the functionality of smart contracts. And that is where Dusk Network attempts to combine both.

Fungibility

This may be an obvious question but why do we need privacy? Leaving aside your depraved hobbies or need to spend on things that should really never see the light of day, currencies need to be fungible. No, we’re not talking about fungus or those things you’re buying. Being fungible means that any individual unit of goods or commodity needs to be worth the same as any other. In other words, the dollar I’m holding needs to be equivalent in value to the dollar you’re holding or any other dollar out there (of the same type).

Now, if you’re anything like me, casually scrunching up notes and shoving it into my pocket, only for it to later emerge weeks later like a used piece of tissue, fungibility is a life saver otherwise I’d be living on the street by now. In fact, thanks to this rule, you can exchange your torn up notes for a new one, even if there’s less than 50% of it left. And no, you can’t rip it in half and replace them for two full new ones or stick bits from separate notes together and trade it in (I know, I’m disappointed my genius strategy didn’t work too).

But cryptocurrencies are digital, so how can they be possibly worth less than another? Due to the fact that the full history of Bitcoin and other non-private cryptocurrencies are up for display to everyone, eventually, because of questionable hobbies and crime, those things are going to be traced back to the coin. Now, some organisations or individuals (think politicians), do not want to be connected to such things, and because of that, the value of those coins would be worth less to people.

Now this is an issue because the purpose of money is to make trades easier and with an imbalance of value, it only makes things harder. Real paper money has this benefit where you have no idea whose shirt it has been down or what goods it has been used to pay for as there is no track of its history. This is where privacy on the blockchain is necessary.

How do privacy coins stay private?

If the whole point of the ledger is so that people can’t just duplicate coins how can any of it stay private? And if it is private, how do people validate or audit it��anymore?

There are a few things needed to make this happen.

Stealth Addresses

One time random addresses created for every transaction. Think of using a different forwarding address every time you receive mail. All incoming payments are still sent to your address, but no one except you can see how much mail you are getting and from where. The payments are not linked back to public address or transaction addresses, hence the stealth part of the name. Of course, if this happens how do you see your own transactions or have someone audit it? The solution to this is to have three different keys.

When creating a wallet, you will receive a public key as normal but instead of just one private key, you will have both a private view key and a private spend key. Individually the keys can be used to do as the names suggest and combined the two private keys will lead to your address. The private view key can be used as a read only address for accounting and auditing purposes.

Ring Signature Confidential Transactions (RingCT)

When you conduct a transaction on Bitcoin and other public blockchains only the one transaction is made so that it is easily verifiable. However, this also makes it easily traceable as it leaves a permanent paper trail on the blockchain. With privacy coins such as Monero, Ring Signatures are a way to create decoy transactions known as outputs, which are made using the sender’s account keys and decoy keys taken from the blockchain.

Sending transactions become like a group exercise, with the number of participating decoy addresses being called a ring signature size. These addresses are bunched together, with someone signing off the transaction for everyone else like a joint account. When combined with stealth addresses disabling transaction history tracking, it becomes very hard to see where the transaction is going and who is really sending it, giving all addresses involved plausible deniability. Much like when the teacher asks who threw the spitball but none of you say anything… and your classmates are constantly changing into other people.

Going one step further are Ring Signature Confidential Transactions, which also hide the amount being sent and the destination. How this works can be demonstrated with a bit of maths. It’s probably been a while since we’ve touched algebra so let’s keep it simple. If I had 100 DUSK and wanted to send you 50 DUSK, my transaction would be as follows:

Input: 100 DUSK Output 1: 50 DUSK to you Output 2: 50 DUSK to me as change

However, all people outside of you and I would only see something like: Input: 10x Output 1: 5x Output 2: 5x

Obviously, the transactions are more complex than that and thus even harder to determine what the amounts are. However, the downside of using such decoy transactions is that the blockchain gets much larger quickly over time. Roughly an 8 fold size increase compared to Bitcoin.

Eventually, Dusk Network will be moving onto Bulletproofs, a type of zero-knowledge proofs (a way of determining something is true, without having any knowledge of it), which will reduce the size further by making sure the information stored within the transaction doesn’t contain any unnecessary information like the decoy transactions. This makes transactions much smaller and faster, something of which Monero has recently implemented, reducing fees on their network by over 95%.

All these features are what currently exist in other cryptocurrencies. So what new features does Dusk Network bring to the table?

The Anonymous Network Layer

When data gets sent all around the internet, it follows a set of rules and instructions known as the protocol and to make sure that the data you’re sending around doesn’t get leaked to people that it isn’t intended for, encryption is necessary.

Centuries ago, when messages during war were delivered by hand, many of these were intercepted by enemy soldiers and had plans and tactics leaked. As a result, encryption standards improved gained wider use. You may be familiar with Caesar’s cipher, one of the earliest forms of encryption, where letters of your message are replaced by letters fixed by a number further down the alphabet.

For example: DUSK NETWORK

with a 2 letter shift becomes: BSQI LCRUMPI

This was fairly easy to crack by hand, and so with the introduction of computers, much harder algorithms were created and so the job of deciphering them quickly became no longer possible for humans.

However, while we have a number of protocols that are capable of encryption, they generally do not put much consideration into the user’s privacy. In most cases, your IP address, an online identifier for your computer, will be revealed. And while in most cases, the only information that can be extracted is your general location, in certain situations, your personal information can be extracted from your Internet Service Provider. As a solution, Dusk Network has proposed the Anonymous Network Layer in order to enable full anonymity over its network.

Garlic Routing: Making sure it can’t be traced back

You may have heard of The Onion Router (Tor), where one can browse the Internet anonymously. The Tor network is a network of servers that would hide your identity by moving your requests through themselves like a giant pinball machine. Anyone who tries to trace it will only see the traffic coming from one of those nodes. Think of your request as a box with something inside. This box is then wrapped many times with gift-wrapping paper (much like an onion) and passed on to someone. The person then unwraps a layer, which reveals a card telling you which person to pass it onto. Eventually when the layers run out, it will reach the true person it is intended for, who can find out what it is inside.

By making use of the Invisible Internet Project (I2P), a free open source project released over 15 years ago updated and maintained by volunteers, Dusk Network extends off onion routing into garlic routing by bunching messages together into one box (like garlic cloves), making it harder to track the messages’ origins and increasing data transfer speeds. Those messages, each with their own delivery instructions, are only revealed at the end.

One limitation with I2P however, is that it is unidirectional (the data goes in one direction) which suits some use cases like streaming or sending messages, but unsuited for when data needs to go in both directions at the same time in cases such as audio or video calls. This is where Dusk Network deviates and implements bi-directional routing which enables that functionality.

On top of that, it is able to offer anonymous file downloads and communications, including audio and video streaming using the same method. This works by connecting to a Voucher Seeder, node that lists all the active Dusk Network nodes, connecting to one and sending the data forward.

Hold on, if this data is being passed around the nodes, wouldn’t they have a copy of that information? And how would it keep communications secure if anyone with a node can just tap into it?

Secure Tunnel Switching: Keeping communications secure

When making an audio or video call, a communication line is opened up to the person you wish to contact via a number of nodes on the network. When the amount of time you have been communicated exceeds a certain amount, a new communication line is opened up and both are kept open until they are both in sync, a process known as bitmatching, at which point the old line is closed. This process is repeated as the communications continue. Not so different from having access to many different mobile phones and numbers and switching between them all throughout your call. In this manner, privacy is increased with no nodes holding more than a certain amount of encrypted communications nor will it be vulnerable to targeted attacks on the network.

Segregated Byzantine Agreement: What’s wrong with Proof of Work (PoW) and Proof of Stake (PoS)?

Where Bitcoin uses Proof of Work to secure the blockchain, we know by now that it is extremely power inefficient. Now this is done on purpose in order to make attacks on the network extremely expensive, thus making the network safer. However, this is not cost effective and it is damaging to the environment and so it could be expected that regulations could come in to curb it. As such, some currencies moved on to use Proof of Stake. Now, Proof of Stake is a different type of method for consensus, selecting the nodes that will determine what will be the next block on the chain using different sets of criteria such as the age of the coins being held or the amount of coins held by a wallet. Of course, as you can imagine, this serves only to make the rich richer as they gain more control of the network and as such, defeats the purpose of decentralisation.

So how do you proceed? Dusk Network has proposed a new method dubbed Segregated Byzantine Agreement. Sounds like a mouthful doesn’t it? What does it even mean? The name comes from the Byzantine General’s Problem, an agreement problem, where a group of generals commanding a part of the Byzantine army (Eastern Roman army) surround a city. Each general has the option of attacking or retreating, but it is important that the generals agree on one choice or else only part of the army will attack and suffer heavy defeat.

Now, normally this would be a simple problem to solve. If there were an odd number of generals, they need only submit their votes to each other and tally up the choices. However, complicating the problem is the fact that some generals are traitors that will purposely mislead the army. Because the generals are separated and thus need to be contacted individually, a traitorous general could send an ‘attack’ vote to half of the generals and a ‘retreat’ vote to the other half of the generals leading half to attack and the other half to retreat.

If not complicated enough, no general is going to send the message himself (what would be the point of being a general otherwise?), and thus we must factor in the chance that the messengers sent to each general could have a chance of being traitorous as well.

So what was originally proposed as a solution was the introduction of lieutenants rather than all generals. These lieutenants, if loyal, would always follow the command of the general. Immediately, some of the issues with what orders to follow have reduced. With 3 generals, if one is traitor, two armies will receive incorrect orders. However with 1 general and 2 lieutenants, if the lieutenant is the traitor, only 1 of the armies will have incorrect orders. However, what if it so happens that the general is the traitor? Then we still have a problem and we will continue to have that problem while more than 1/3 of generals are traitors.

In Dusk Network, generals take on the role provisioners and lieutenants take on the role of nodes. Nodes wishing to be provisioners have to commit and lock a minimum amount of resources in the system known as DUSK like in Proof of Stake systems in order to command more authority in the network. If selected from the pool to be part of the committee, they are then in charge of helping verify the block (Validation), selecting the next block (Voting) and deterring fraud (Notarisation). In return, they are provided with a steady return of DUSK as income for helping out.

On the other hand, regular nodes only handle the transactions and compete to generate the next block. As this is not Proof of Work, the computational power required is minimal and so even phones can act as such. On generating the next block, that node is rewarded with a sum of DUSK.

The process

Normal nodes attempting to generate a block lock in a certain amount of DUSK for a certain amount of time by sending it to a stealth address

They are returned a priority score determined by reputation and a pseudo random process

The committee are selected from a pool of nodes that have reached the minimum staking requirements to be provisioners

The node with the highest priority score proposes the block

Validation of the block is done by the nodes that voted in the previous winning block

Voting is done by the current round of provisioners, if consensus is not reached, an empty block is added

Notarisation is done by the nodes that voted in the previous winning block

Node generating the winning block and all provisioners (not limited to committee) are rewarded with DUSK

As you may have noticed, due to step 6 adding an empty block if consensus is not reached, a fork will never occur.

How does this solve the problem of the rich getting richer?

Interestingly, while the greater amount of DUSK you stake increases your chance of being selected to becoming a provisioner, it also reduces the amount of return you receive in such a manner that even if you were to split your stakes to aim to create several provisioners, it would not outweigh the chance reduction in being selected. As such, this promotes decentralisation of stakes and DUSK.

Real world use case

At the moment, it has been confirmed that a real estate fund in Malta has been in the works to tokenise their security and organise an STO with DUSK Network. In a simple scenario, if this real estate fund owns 100 properties and organises an STO with the properties as backing and sells 500 out of 1000 tokens, if you purchase 100, you will technically own 10% of the fund and the properties. This includes any returns via rent or capital growth that the properties are responsible for. Through STOs like this, means that a cheap and effective way into property investment or similar is available if you did not have the money to full invest in one alone.

What about Identity Verification or KYC (Know Your Customer)?

In order to meet regulations and legal requirements for ownership transfer of securities, identity verification is needed (otherwise how can you prove you own a particular asset later?). In these cases, the Dusk protocol allows for a Confidential Security Token Standard that allows third parties to issue security tokens that can only be transferred to an address with the identity verification data passing regulatory requirements.

The development team

The team responsible for the development is split into three components.

Dusk Core

This is made of an internal team gathered by Dusk Network and are responsible for the core elements of the network, such as the Segregated Byzantine Agreement consensus mechanism and the Secure Tunnel Switching system. Led by;

Emanuele Francioni

Project and Tech Lead

Dmitry Khovratovich

Lead Cryptographer

Matteo Ferretti

Lead VM Architect

Dusk R&D

As suggested, this team is responsible for researching and development of improved methodologies and balancing of the ecosystem such as rewards output and reputation system. This will directly provide the necessary information to the other two development branches.

Fulvio Venturelli

Lead Researcher

Toghrul Maharramov

Senior Researcher

Dawn Public Development

Rather than employing purely internal development, having community developers ensure that fresh ideas are always in abundance and are not bound by the constraints of the team. Dawn developers are compensated as is appropriate by the foundation after the code has been reviewed and approved. This branch will focus on user experience, localisation, wallets and block explorers.

The business team

Business Development Team

Expanding business influence, acquiring potential partnerships and developing relations is all part of the work left to this team. Without anyone to use the infrastructure that you have built, it would be kind of pointless wouldn’t it? The team is composed of the marketing team, advisors and partners.

Jelle Pol

Business & Product Dev

Jeske Eenink

PR & Communication

Pascal Putman

Business & Project Manager

Mels Dees

Partnerships & Business Dev

Tokenised Securities Consortium

In order to launch STOs, a major use case for the Dusk Network as ICOs were to Ethereum, a group well experienced in the domain of IPOs and their requirements are required.

Advisors

No team is complete without a team of advisors to fill in the gaps where needed, usually with the wealth of experience in their respective industries.

James Roy Poulter

The Reserve

Aylon Morley

Wentworth Hall Family Office

Gary Quin

Credit Suisse

Richard Sanders

CipherBlade

Marcel Roelants

BitPay

Nicolas Cimon

Cross Border Consulting

Want to read more of these stories? Check out my website and subscribe for the newsletter; https://butwhybitcoin.com/

Dusk Network Explained was originally published in Hacker Noon on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

[Telegram Channel | Original Article ]

#cryptocurrency

0 notes