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smells-like-mettaton · 3 years

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soriel, 1 (chocolate) for the ask game?

Like a Box of Chocolates

Rating: G Word Count: 2734 Read on AO3: here

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"Ok. I brought a few choices," Sans said while sitting with his back to the door. He pulled a plastic sack full of chocolate and chocolate-adjacent treats out from under his shirt.

"Oh, you did not have to do that." The voice behind the door sounded embarrassed.

"It's no big deal." He shrugged instinctively, though she wouldn't be able to see it. "Not like I candy things like this for you very often."

The lady laughed, even though the pun was a stretch. She was a great audience like that.

"I cannot argue with that. After all, it is the choco-thought that counts."

Sans let out a wheeze. Man, she had him beat in the bad jokes department. He needed to up his game.

"What can I say, I'm a sweet guy." That joke would work better if she could see his wink.

"You certainly are, my friend."

Sans blinked. He hadn't been prepared for the genuine warmth in her voice. Now he felt something like a melted chocolate himself.

"Uh. You'd better wait and make sure I didn't pick out garbage before you say that." He chuckled nervously and spread out the chocolates in the snow.

"Alright. Hit me with your best choco-shot."

He laughed out loud at that one too. She could really squeeze some mileage out of chocolate puns.

"First off we have the MTT-Brand Chocolate Mettaton. Which is exactly what it sounds like. Chocolate in the shape of everyone's favorite robot superstar." He scanned the back of the wrapper. "Contains sequins and glitter, but it's still monster food, so probably won't cause any more indigestion than Temmie Flakes. Still, wouldn't blame ya if you passed on that."

The lady laughed. "I do not know this 'Mettaton,' but he sounds like someone…"

Her voice trailed off, the way it always did when she neared a personal topic. It seemed to be happening more and more often lately. Sans didn't know if that was a good sign, or if he needed to do a better job of distracting her.

"Someone I know would have liked that," she finished clumsily.

"Welp. It's yours, then." He attempted to slide it under the door.

Attempted. The thick block of chocolate wouldn't fit through the narrow space.

"What are my other options?" The lady asked, not seeming to hear his failure.

(Or just ignoring it. The way they always ignored things they didn't want to acknowledge.)

Oh well. He'd deal with that later, if she wanted to.

He picked up the next box and rattled it. It looked thin enough to fit under the door.

"I think this one's called, uh, pocket?” He couldn’t tell for sure, since the box was labeled in a language he didn’t recognize. Where did Alphys get this stuff? “A pal gave it to me. They’re like chocolate-covered sticks, I think."

"Not precisely what I was looking for, but I would love to try it regardless," she said. "If I am allowed to have both options, I mean. If not, I should probably stick with the Em-Tee-Tee."

Sans bit back a snort. So she hadn't heard after all. That made this a lot more awkward.

"Do you wanna hear the other options first? Wouldn't want ya to have any regrets."

"Oh! There are more?"

She sounded as surprised as a kid finding an extra fry in the bottom of their Grillby's bag. He couldn't help grinning.

"Yup. Next up is a chocolate spider donut—”

“Made by spiders, for spiders, of spiders?” The voice seemed on the verge of laughter again.

His eyesockets widened. “Uh… welp. Guess you don’t need the whole spiel, huh?”

“There is a spider bakesale right around the corner from my home,” the lady explained. “I believe they are saving for a… ‘heated limo’? To travel safely through Snowdin. I wish I could help them, but I did not think to take much gold when I…”

Another dead end. That was fine, Sans could piece together enough. Not that her personal life was any of his business, anyway.

“If it makes ya feel any better, they really raked me over the coals for this one.”

“It does not!” came her quick reply. “I only asked for a chocolate bar. Not for you to spend money that you need on me.”

Geez, this lady was too good for him. As if Sans ever really went out of his way for anyone.

Except Papyrus, but he was family. And sometimes Grillby, if he felt bad about failing to pay his tab for too long. And Alphys, but he owed her for screwing off after space-time blew up in their faces.

And now, the lady behind the door. The lady he didn’t owe anything to, except a few good laughs.

Who was he kidding? Those laughs were more important to him than anything.

“Eh, it just cost me one day of selling ‘dogs. Donut worry about it.”

“Very well. Since it was for a good cause, I will not grill you any further. But please tell me that was the last chocolate you purchased for me.”

“It’s the last one I purchased.” He grinned. While she couldn’t see his expression, she must have heard the but in his voice.

“Please tell me you did not steal any chocolate for me.”

“Geez, lady, what do you take me for? I’d never commit petty thievery.”

“Well, that is reassuring.”

“Yep. Gotta save room for the real high-dollar crimes. Like the illegal hot dog stand.”

The voice behind the door went silent. He wished he could see her face now more than ever. His own grin slowly slid from his skull.

“Everyone knows about it,” he reassured her. “If the King really wanted to shut me down, he’d have done it a long time ago.”

“Oh, I am not judging you for that. I am sure the law is rigged against you if the King has any say in it.” Her voice was surprisingly bitter.

His real problem was that he couldn’t ever find the necessary documents to get licensed in food preparation. His birth certificate was presumably in whatever alternate dimension his old man had blasted them out of.

“You are judging me for something, though,” he realized. The chill of the snow seeped into his bones, but he didn’t dare adjust his position. Somehow he felt that if he moved, she would disappear.

“I am not. I was only thinking about…” She sighed. “It is complicated. There was a time when I could have helped you, but it is long past.”

“Help me? Look, lady, the ‘dog stand is fine. Promise. Better than fine, since I don’t gotta pay taxes on it.”

She chuckled at that.

“Very well. Forgive a silly old lady for worrying.”

“Done.” He smiled, settling back against the door more comfortably.

He should’ve known she’d have a problem with his illegal activities, though. She was a classy lady, and he was… him. Why had he even brought it up? It wasn’t a great joke. Did he really just want her to know?

Eh, whatever. She wasn’t mad, so no harm done, right?

“I would like to know how you acquired this other chocolate, if it was not through your sticky fingers.” She sounded like she was grinning.

“Huh? Oh.” He blinked and dug out the last chocolate of the bunch. Blue dusted his cheeks. “QC—that’s the lady who runs the shop in town—gave ‘em to me for free. They’re called, uh, kisses.”

QC had a knowing look in her eyes when she’d offered the bag of chocolates to him. It was his own fault for implying they were for a girl. Everyone already thought he screwed around in the woods on his shifts, and with the way gossip travelled in a small town, everyone at Grillby’s would be asking about his girlfriend tonight.

“Kisses,” the lady behind the door echoed. “This is not one of your jokes, is it?”

“Not this time. Sorry to disappoint.” His grin felt too tight. “They’re, uh, tiny chocolates. Kinda cone-shaped? QC makes ‘em herself, so they’ve gotta be good.”

“Oh.” Oddly, the voice did sound disappointed. Sans couldn’t imagine why. Not like he could kiss her through the door, even if he had lips. And even if there was some unlikely timeline where she wanted a kiss from him.

He wanted to thump his skull back against the door, but there was no point in worrying her like that.

“In that case, I will take the kisses. They will be perfect for…”

He was sure she would leave it at that. Cover up with some non sequitur.

So his eyesockets went wide when she said, “for the anniversary of my child’s passing.”

“Oh.” He let out a strangled little laugh. “I—geez, I’m sorry. If I’d known—”

“You would have what? Spent even more money on this silly old lady, who cannot even leave to buy her child’s favorite chocolate?” Her voice was firm. “No. I thought you deserved to know, after the trouble you went to, and because you shared your own secret with me today.”

“My ‘dog stand is hardly a secret,” he said, still feeling a little shaky. She had a kid? A dead kid?

Well, who in the Underground didn’t have skeletons in their closet? Metaphorically or literally. She was still his best friend. If she wanted his pity, she would’ve said something sooner.

“Regardless,” she said. “It is in the past. Forget it, if you wish. But please do not treat me any differently.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said sincerely. If there was one thing he was good at, it was maintaining the status quo. “So, uh. These chocolates. I kind of wanted you to have all of ‘em, if that’s alright with you.”

“It would be rude to refuse a gift, would it not?” She sounded like she was smiling again, to his relief.

“There’s just one problem. Uh. Don’t think they’re all gonna fit under the door.” He rapped on the stone surface with his knuckle for emphasis.

“I did not assume they would. The recipe I gave you before hardly passed through.”

Sans blinked. “Then you—huh?”

“I will open the door just a fraction. It can only be done from the inside.” She paused, like she was gathering a breath. “I would ask that you do not look. I promise I will not peek, either.”

Sans’s ribcage tightened. She was going to open the door. She would be right there, with no stone between them.

The thought opened a desperate floodgate within him. He hadn’t realized just how badly he wanted to see her, to know her, to live off of more than just scraps and unfinished sentences.

She once had a child. She had some kind of beef against the King. She wanted to give charity to spiders, but didn’t have enough money. All these facts he filed away, tucking them into the grooves in his ribcage.

It would be enough. He’d duct tape those gates shut again, if he had to. He wasn’t going to betray the trust she’d shown him.

“Got it. You don’t wanna be smitten by my good looks, I understand,” he joked.

(He had a feeling it would be the other way around, if anything. Not that quality of jokes translated to quality of appearance—he would know. If it did, he’d have biceps like his brother.)

“It would be tragic. Much too high a price for you to handsome chocolate to me.”

“Heh, I’m sure you’re a door-able too. But I’ll keep my sockets shut, since our friendship hinges on it.”

That got a raucous laugh out of her, the kind that started off high-pitched and quickly became something of a snorting bleat. That sound was sweeter than chocolate to him.

...Man, his pals at Grilby’s would be right to dunk on him. He was a massive dork.

“Alright,” she said once she caught her breath, “if you are ready, my friend…”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “Better choco-late than never, huh?”

That one only got a snort, but he wasn’t sure if that was because the pun fell flat, or because she was nervous. As far as he knew, she hadn’t been outside of the Ruins in years. And here she was, trusting a sentry—someone whose job it was to keep a look out—to turn a blind eye.

It was a good thing he’d never been good at his job.

Stone ground against stone with a dramatic rumble. His eyesockets stayed shut. Warmth emanated from somewhere near his shoulder, and he lifted the bag of chocolates.

His small hand brushed a large fur-covered one. A shiver trailed down his spine. One small touch shouldn’t have done so much to him, but—but she was real. She was more than just a voice behind a door. Which he knew, but knowing and feeling could be worlds apart at times.

She took the bag, and the moment was over. But the door didn’t close.

“My dear friend,” she whispered, her voice sounding closer than ever. “Would it be presumptuous to ask another favor of you?”

“‘Course not. Glad to do a favor for my favor-ite person.” He kept his tone light, unaffected by the swirling emotions inside him.

“If I could… oh, dear, this is embarrassing.”

He resisted the urge to open his eyes, to see what look might be on her face.

“It has simply been so long… may I hold your hand a moment longer?”

He felt the marrow heating within his bones.

“That all? I gotta hand it to ya, you made me think you needed an arm and a leg.”

She chuckled before awkwardly fumbling to grasp his hand again.

Heat poured from her palm into his phalanges. Aside from the fur, there were several spots of soft skin—probably paw pads. Was she a dog monster, like the Canine Unit in town? She didn’t make nearly enough dog jokes for that to be the case. Her laugh sounded more like a goat’s, but she obviously didn’t have hooves. Maybe she was some kind of chimera? You didn’t see those often nowadays, but then again, no one saw monsters from the Ruins, either.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice as soft as the snow that began to drift around him.

“Not disappointed?” He asked, only half-joking. “My hand can’t be as comfy as yours.”

“Ah, but it is all your bone. And that is wonderful to me.”

“Geez, old lady.” He was grateful she couldn’t see his blush. “You’re pretty fur-fect yourself.”

When she laughed, her body shook all the way down to her hand. The feeling more than made up for all the G he’d spent on chocolate and donuts.

Suddenly his hand was being lifted up, and then something soft pressed against his knuckles. His soul flared erratically, and his eyes nearly flew open. If they had, he was sure his left eyelight would have been blue from shock.

“A kiss for a kiss,” she said slyly. “It is only fair.”

“Heh heh…” His voice shook with more than laughter. “Technically, that was one kiss for a bag of kisses. Pretty sure that math doesn’t square up.”

“Oh, you are quite right! One day we will have to circle back and rectify that.”

He practically had to cast gravity magic on himself to keep his eyes from flying open.

“You—huh?” He said intelligently.

“Perhaps not soon,” she clarified. “This has all been… a lot, for me. But thanks to you, my dear friend, this day has not been so bitter as I am used to.”

“Uh, no problem, then. With all that chocolate, I hope it’s sweet.”

Sweet as the anniversary of a death could be, anyway. He grimaced. Maybe that joke was too soon, but she just squeezed his hand before finally letting go.

“I do think it will be,” she said softly. “I will look forward to hearing more of your punny jokes tomorrow.”

The door scraped shut, and he hesitantly opened his eyes. He couldn't help inspecting the door to see if anything changed. Pressing his still-warm hand against the smooth stone.

“Heh. Good luck getting rid of me now.” He grinned.

Then he tucked his hands in his pockets, where her kiss remained like a tattoo on his bone.

#tali writes #safeutdr #soriel #sans #toriel #fic tag #very happy with how this one turned out :D #hope you like it and thanks for the request!#prompt requests

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welllpthisishappening · 3 years

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You talking about shatter me made me pick up my iPad yesterday and just skim through them. Like god, those books are just Hot Garbage, but good garbage, you know? The Dramatics in this series was on a whole other level. I genuinely enjoyed the original trilogy and was content with the ending we got but won't lie I was excited when she made the announcement for more. But holy hell were they bad. I was rolling my eyes so much I was surprised I was able to read the books. Like what even was happening!?? THE FORCEFUL TROPES!!! OH MY GOD! When she wrote them as childhood friends, I about threw my iPad across the room. Like the fifth book had no right to exist. I remember being so bored reading that and it finished so quickly too! Anyways, I'm not gonna sit here and lie and say I still didn't enjoy it lmao. They were fun to read as long as you don't take it seriously and think about the plot (what plot?) And I'm actually excited for the new novella. No expectations for it though lol. Lastly, shout out to Juliette (Ella????) and Kenji for having the best friendship. Love that there was never any indication of romantic feelings. One of the best things done right in this series

THESE ARE NOT WELL-WRITTEN BOOKS ANON. They're just—they're not. And yet! I kept finding myself wondering WHAT COULD POSSIBLY HAPPEN NEXT? HOW COULD THEY ALL BE TORTURED SOME MORE??? And then, like, clockwork! They were! Somehow! Often in ways that only passably made sense! I think part of my enjoyment (???) of the second trio of books was because I knew they were coming, so, like I was expecting more drama and angst.

If that makes sense. Who knows. Nothing makes sense. Certainly not the plots of these books.

I just—stolen memories is so...easy? Like as an escape from your own plot holes? (But also, it should be stated that I am TRASH™ for they fall in love in every scenario. I am who I am, anon. And I am into that God awful trope.) Part of my main issue with it was that it kept happening so much! Every time something didn't go the way the bad guys® wanted it to, they were like OK TIME TO MIND WIPE. It was absurd! A B S U R D.

Which, speaking of! She'd met Adam before, too? And then that was never mentioned again! No one thought it once? Ella-Juliette, whatever? Not once. And no mention of Adam being a monumental BASTARD for most of the second trilogy or any discussion about him giving up his powers and how that came to absolutely nothing? Nothing happened with that, right? Like, I didn't miss that.

And, I am sorry, but the whole lost sister and everything was an illusion, I—I CANNOT. She had webbed hands? At one point Juliette (Ella???) said she was more amphibian than person? I know she'd been tortured. Her life was horrendous beyond imagining. But that was such a ridiculous sentence. The whole thing was so ridiculous!

AND--wait, wait, I have more to say. OH MY GOD. Speaking of ridiculous. When Warner found her and was running away so she'd run after him and they started making out and he had to take his shirt off so she'd FEEL HIM and remember who she was???? What the shit, anon? What. The. Shit. TRUE LOVE CONQUERS ALL.

Also, was I supposed to believe that she was sort of attracted to Anderson because he reminded her of Warner and she was so in love with her boyfriend (fiance!) that her attraction could not be held back by mind control and therefore she was quasi-attracted to his dad? That's a real thing I was supposed to read.

All that aside, one-hundred percent agree, on the platonic friendship. My jam. My absolute jam. When Nazeera thought Kenji was secretly in love with Juliette I nearly threw my Kindle across the room. I'm glad that didn't play out. (Although. To nitpick, they did become best friends, like, overnight, huh?)

These were badly written books with insane plots and I am very glad to have read all of them. I hope Warner and Juliette spend most of the novella making out.

#laura reads books #in case you guys were wondering #no i probably won't stop talking about these books for awhile #everyone should read them #they're so ridiculous #also surprise everyone #i loved kenji #laura rambles #anonymous

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tonyglowheart · 3 years

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This entire thing is a rant, feel free to ignore it, but I saw your post about how destiel fans can’t win in this context, and yeah. So have some rambles.

I’ve been thinking about the fact we (current spn/destiel fans) can’t win all night... I’ve seen so many people talking about how homophobic it is - and while I would very much like to argue, as every point I’ve seen made by a non-spn fan has been wrong so far, if I did everyone inside the fandom would agree and everyone outside would either call me straight or pity me for believing it’s okay.

(Cas wasn’t even sent to hell lmao. He was sent to angel death (the empty), a place he has escaped in the past. Other points, like that meta about spn has been predicting exactly this for months, that Dean ended up sobbing on the floor because he was so upset, like that death means next to nothing on spn, like that there is two episodes left, etc etc. you feel me right? I just don’t want to post wank to other spn blogs atm, we’re getting enough frustration as it is, no need to add to it.

It’s also worth pointing out that the bar is very, very low. Spn is a prominent TV show - not a Netflix show, or indie, or whatever - and it just said “main character in gay love saved the world”. [insert gif of ghostfacers dude saying that gay love can pierce through the veil of death and save the day here]

I just saw someone saying that spn having Naomi try to brainwash Cas out of loving dean makes spn homophobic (it is a conversion therapy parallel). My first response to that is that Naomi was the villain lmao? I guess we can’t write villains doing anything homophobic because having villains do homophobic things makes, uh - checks notes - villains look homophobic, and clearly we can’t have that.

There certainly are legitimate things to criticise spn about, but this isn’t it lol.

Also now some people are unironically trying to cancel Jensen because “his acting was homophobic, and so he’s clearly homophobic”, nevermind that he’s an actor and his character struggles with understanding his emotions (which I think he played excellently, myself. That scene had a very Dean delayed emotional response), nevermind the support he’s given to us queers in the past. Like. Idek man.

We would have been laughed at if we got no destiel, too.

It would have been worse, had the writers pulled a dumbledore. At this point I also trust the writers not to pull a GoT - they have explicitly criticised that ending in spn’s canon.

Spn’s writers did that by making the main villain of this season, Chuck / God, say GoT had a good ending. To reiterate a previous point I had: villains do bad things because they’re bad. And the bad things they do make them bad. For the people out there not still following, if someone does something in a story and it makes them a villain, that is explicitly telling you the story (and probably the writers) thinks that thing is bad. In this case, Chuck likes to write things for him, and we the audience have been shown and told that is bad.

Apparently thinking a gay confession is good in 2020 makes me straight. Seems unlikely, but whatever. Sorry for the length, I guess I went overboard, I’ve been holding it in lol. Anyway, DESTIEL IS CANON 💚💙 hope you have a good night

Helloo supernatural anon I hope you are living your best life right now. Yeah I’m like..... skeptical and leery myself but having lived through some absolute garbage discourse that is general purity wank, as well as the C/QL greater fandom here and on Twitter I find myself... much more wanting to question the “general wisdom” of things esp in terms of negativity, bc a lot of the time I find.... it’s wrong? Like so wrong. Or at least presents such an incomplete picture of the whole situation and also presents it in such a removed context that words that have meaning and are operationalized in a certain way for a reason, no longer have meaningful usage.

Anyway I don’t... know too much about the specifics of Spn but someone I follow is into it and talks a lot about the Gnostic stuff and that all was very fascinating to me, and I also have been grappling a lot with cultural Christianity bc of cmedia and the way ppl just *clenches fist* unthinkingly or uncritically slap some Christian norms on it and call it a day 😩 help I’m Tired. My thing here being... I actually got tired of the uncritical “superhell”s at some pt bc I am, in fact, incredibly exhausted with cultural Christianity, and because it does seem like, even possibly(?) without the Gnostic stuff it’s different from a “hell” or other Protestant-derived afterlife concept, and also yeah that it wasn’t seeded out of nowhere, it was set up to happen, which then... lends credence to the idea that whatever the current era of Spn is doing, the current showrunners are doing it with purpose.

And idk I just... refuse to believe the concept that ALL of the fans of Spn - esp the ones who have been following it still, or got back into it and are following it currently, are acting under delusion or are fooling themselves into liking it or thinking it’s good or whatever. I personally find that kinda infantilizing and patronizing and playing into issues of dismissing things women and/or other marginalized identities like.

Plus I find the concept that (from what I think I’ve been seeing Spn fans say) that the current era of the show is quite actively grappling with itself, its past, its legacy. to be very interesting and compelling; it hearkens back to like an old lore kind of feeling, of a thing that has grown into a nigh undefeatable monster and realizing that, also realizing that the only way to defeat itself is through grappling with its own nature and transforming and transmuting itself into something else. I personally find that more plausible and compelling than “Supernatural has been actively and continuously queerbaiting for 15 homophobic homophobic years., so right now we’re all very sorry for you because this maybe is no longer queerbaiting but it’s still homophobic and it can never be anything different ever.” I’ve been sort of tangentially aware of Spn thru the years and didn’t we agree, around the time of that in-universe play about Spn and with the lil Destiel shoutout, that Spn has come a ways as far as coming to terms with its fandom and working to treat its fans better? Why the sudden regression into “oh no, Supernatural is and forever will be homophobic and a hate crime”? 🤔

The rest under a cut bc the ask is already long and then my rambling will get longer-

But yeah I mean..... I get that the legacy of Supernatural has been certifiably Rough, but I think people also forget how different of a time 2005 was? Hell, how different of a time 2015 was, even, prior to, say, Obergefell v. Hodges. Now I’m not saying that to blanket-excuse Supernatural, but like, you look at mainstream shows from the era and... there’s a lot of shit lmao. The fact that Supernatural has existed this long seems to me like.... maybe we CAN look at how it’s developed through the years vs just insisting it is what it was 15, 10, hell, 5 years ago. Especially since, to my knowledge, there’s been showrunner changes? Which seems to me like it would... affect things? I mean honestly, I remember back when I got into Spn for a hot second because of Castiel, I remember watching panel, Q&A, etc vids thru the years, and like... I thought we agreed that... it was the fans who were going a bit far pushing the shipping question like literally ALL the time to the actors, who are not in control of the show and.... like at the time.... that could have had personal implications for them? And yes homophobia bad, and people can still be allies despite that, but again like.... I do feel like - from what I’ve seen - that these guys were NOT ready to deal with a lot of that but they’ve (okay Jensen I’m talking about Jensen here) genuinely grown and learned? Also how many years ago was the essay autograph thing that people keep trotting out, like what year was it in and what year of spn was it, and what were the prevailing opinions on LGBT issues and bisexuality then.

I’ve been seeing some murmurings of identity politicsing surrounding ppl who enjoy Supernatural, and I’m sorry that that’s happening to you, it really fucking sucks and it’s also the dumbest way to “make” or “win” an argument because it shouldn’t ever be a final determiner, just factors to consider when considering what life experiences might have informed someone else’s PoV and views as well as maybe how you can better communicate with them. Instead of it being a “weapon” or “tool” to either dismiss someone or de facto validate an argument.

Also yeah I get it that you don’t want to send discourse to spn blogs bc I imagine you guys ARE actively grappling with all the bs rn and it’s a lot. Even just from like, the stuff I see around, I’m like tired of it. I’m genuinely having more fun with ppl who are having a good time with Supernatural than the ppl who are hating on it, even in this sort of backhanded “oh we’re not clowning YOU we’re clowning the writers and showrunners who think you should be satisfied with this,” when... yeah? the people who HAVE been watching the show and therefore... know what’s up.. DO seem to be? And all this based on *fake gasp* context. And that’s where the backhandedness becomes kind of poisonous to me, because it implies that it IS bad, and that you SHOULDN’T be satisfied, but poor little you are but don’t worry, we’re not making fun of YOU for liking garbage, you’re just the hapless victim who is consuming the garbage bc... idk, whatever reasons ppl are coming up with ig.

idk man it’s 2020. Fandom isn’t activism, performative or otherwise, it’s okay to let people enjoy things even if you think they’re “objectively” bad, and like... I don’t know if people can call something bad when they’re not even working with the whole context and instead are dealing with rumor and reputation.

#supernatural cw #I tag this for ppl who I know want nothing to do with spn rn and are blacklisting and so it doesn't end up in main tag #Anonymous #asks answered #long post

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littlemissgot7 · 5 years

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fever

Youngjae | 1800 words requested by @septetoile: you’re sick and youngjae cooks for you and does all he can to cheer you up

Being this sick was the absolute worst, but having a cute boyfriend to take care of you would make it better. Right?

Your day hadn’t started out that badly. You’d felt a little off when you woke up, but nothing that you couldn’t explain away with your record of sleep deprivation and stress, so you didn’t think much of it.

Cut to an hour later when you found yourself dry heaving into your toilet and wondering what you could have possibly done to deserve this.

You leaned back against the wall, eyes closed, as you tried to steady your breathing. Your throat hurt, your stomach hurt (in addition to feeling nauseous), your head hurt. Everything hurt and everything was terrible and you were pretty sure you were going to perish there on the floor of your bathroom in one of Youngjae’s old t-shirts.

Ah. Youngjae.

You clenched your jaw. Time to stop being melodramatic and get up. There had to be something in your apartment that you could keep down.

You made it all the way to your living room before you gave up, dropping down onto the couch and curling into as much of a ball as you could manage, groaning loudly. “I hate everything,” you mumbled to no one in particular, shaking slightly from the physical effort it had taken to get this far. This was the absolute worst.

---

You lifted your head when you heard the keypad sometime later, trying to decide if you should get up and fight the intruder or just let them finish you off. You hadn’t quite made up your mind when a face appeared above you.

Ah. Right. Youngjae.

You’d forgotten to text him to let him know you Felt Like Death and wouldn’t be able to meet him for your date that day. Right. Apparently he took matters into his own hands. Okay.

He wrinkled up his nose, staring down at you as he leaned over the back of the couch. “You don’t look so good.”

You reached up, the tips of your fingers brushing his cheek in the weakest possible attempt at a play-slap. “Ya jerk.”

He reached down, pressing his palm firmly against your forehead. “You’re really hot.”

This time, you gave him the best smirk you could manage and a sloppy wink. “You bet your ass I am.”

He laughed, leaning down further to press his lips to your too-warm forehead before his face broke into a smile. “I’ll make you something to eat! That’ll help you feel better! Have you taken any medicine? You stay here, I’ll get you some!”

Before you could protest (yes, you’d tried medicine, and no, it didn’t help, not when you’d just thrown it up barely five minutes later), Youngjae had disappeared from view, shedding his thick winter jacket. You thought about yelling after him but decided that would do more harm than good, and nestled back into the couch cushions.

You were asleep before he came back.

---

The loud clanging of a pot hitting tile floor ripped you from a fitful sleep. You stayed completely still, wishing you’d misheard, but more clanging followed and you grudgingly pulled yourself to your feet. You stopped when you were upright, clinging onto the back of the sofa until the nausea passed. When you were fairly certain you were able to walk, you straightened. Time to go see what Youngjae was up to.

---

“Youngjae.”

He looked up, a wave of guilt flashing over his face for just a second before he frowned. “Why are you up? You’re supposed to be resting!”

You were standing in the doorway, eyebrow raised.

There were noodles all over the floor, some half cooked and some raw. Sloppily-cut pieces of raw chicken were spread out across half of the counter, and he’d just dumped the largest chunks of carrots you’d ever seen anyone attempt to put in soup in the pot he’d retrieved from the floor. Your carefully-arranged spice cabinet was open and had been torn through; spice bottles littered the counter, one tipped over and spilled out everywhere.

“What’re you doing?”

Youngjae blinked. He gestured lamely at the mess around him. “Making you chicken soup.”

It was sweet. It was so sweet that he wanted to go through the trouble to try to make you soup from scratch when you were sick, but your head was still pounding and the state of your kitchen was definitely not helping you feel a whole lot better. You shuffled to the pantry, yanking out a can of chicken soup and shoving it into his hands.

“Please,” you mumbled. “Just canned soup is good.”

All the tension fell out of his shoulders and he beamed, carefully steering you back to the living room. “I’ll fix it up real quick, you wait on the couch!”

“I can–”

“No, I got it!” He pressed on your shoulders until you gave in and sat back down. “It’ll just be a second!”

“Don’t–Youngjae–you can microwave–take it out of the can first please–”

You groaned, dropping your face into a pillow. Death truly was determined to come for you this day.

---

It took longer than it should have for Youngjae to open a can of soup, dump it in a bowl, and microwave it, but he got it eventually. He attempted to feed it to you and you did your best to keep it down, stubbornly ignoring the way your stomach was twisting itself in a million directions while he went back to clean up the mess he’d made. You’d offered to help (though you weren’t sure if you actually could) but he refused, demanding that you stay on the couch until you felt better.

You whined.

You didn’t want to stay on the couch. You were tired of the couch. You wanted to go hide under blankets on your bed, which was infinitely more comfortable and further away from the noise coming from the hallway (seriously what the fuck were your neighbors even doing–oh, right, the new people were moving in). But every time you tried to get up, Youngjae would cheerfully push you back down before dashing off to scrub the chicken goop off your counter.

You finally saw your chance when he left for a couple minutes to take out the garbage. Fighting down the ever-present nausea, you shuffled to your bedroom and collapsed on your bed, a contented sigh escaping your lips. So much better than the couch.

A second later, you felt something heavy and soft fall over your body; you blinked open your eyes to find Youngjae pouting over you as he tugged your favorite blanket up to your chin.

“I was gonna carry you back here when I got done,” he mumbled dejectedly in response to your confused glance.

A genuine smile blossomed over your lips and you grabbed his hand. “I’m sorry I beat you to it.”

He sighed dramatically, sitting on the edge of your bed and carefully brushing your hair out of your face. “How could you?” He tried his best to sound hurt.

You laughed, but it dissolved into a cough and you groaned instead. “Sorry about our date too.”

He shrugged lightly. “S’not your fault you got sick.”

“Yeah, but…”

He patted the top of your head. “You know how you can make it up to me?”

You shook your head slowly.

“Letting me kiss you senseless!”

You immediately burst into laughter – he sounded so ridiculous – but honestly the playful banter was making you feel better than you had all day. “First of all, that wouldn’t take an awful lot right now–”

“Meh, I still–”

“–And second of all,” you cut him off, shaking your head, “you’re already in enough danger of catching whatever I’ve got. Kissing me certainly wouldn’t help your chances.”

And he was pouting again, looking far too much like his cute puppy. “I don’t caaare.”

“Yeah, but I think your company might.”

“But I wanna kiss you!”

“Well, I wanna kiss you too, but I don’t want you to get sick!”

“But if I don’t care then it’s not a problem!”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “Youngjae!”

He wrinkled his nose, obviously more than a little frustrated at your protests. He just wanted to kiss you, dammit!

It only took a second for him to hatch what he thought was a truly brilliant plan.

“Hey, babe?”

“I’m not gonna be responsible for getting you sick, Youngjae!” Your voice was muffled behind your hands and you squeezed your eyes shut for extra protection against his puppy dog eyes.

He sighed, standing up and tapping his foot. “No, I just thought of something else that might make you feel better.”

“Not kisses?”

“Mmmm, that’s not what I was thinking of at the moment.”

Very hesitantly, you peeked through your fingers.

The second he saw you looking, he tugged off his t-shirt and threw it unceremoniously on the floor. Suddenly you felt way too warm.

Every thought you’d ever had melted away into the deep corners of your brain. “I think you’re the one who’s real hot,” you mumbled, distracted by staring at his toned chest.

He wiggled his eyebrows, grinning teasingly, and slid around to the other side of your bed, dropping onto it and grabbing the edge of your blanket. “You gotta share.”

“Huh?” You tore your eyes away from him, finally realizing that he wanted under the blanket, but he’d yanked it out of your hands and snuggled up next to you before you had a chance to, once again, reiterate how terrible of an idea this actually was. Honestly, you weren’t sure you wanted to reiterate how terrible of an idea it was because he wrapped his arms around your waist and tucked his face in your shoulder and, god, if that wasn’t the best possible feeling in the entire world.

“And does this make you feel better?”

It was your turn to pout, this time at the unmistakable laughter in his voice because he knew for a fact that you could never say no to snuggles.

“...Yeah,” you admitted grudgingly. “And I guess–”

Before you could stop him, he’d pulled himself up just enough to steal a quick kiss.

“Youngjae!!”

He smiled innocently. “Just the one!”

You sighed, rolling your eyes as you wiggled slightly to get comfortable in his arms. “Fine. But just the one!”

He raised an eyebrow playfully. He had you and he knew it.

“...For now. Maybe...maybe more. Later. Shut up, quit staring at me like that, this isn’t fair!”

He tightened his grip around your waist, looking all too proud of himself.

“I’m the best nurse.”

You deadpanned, which he took as an opportunity for another peck before bursting into laughter.

“You’re an idiot, Choi Youngjae.”

“Yeah, but I’m your idiot.”

Despite the fact that you knew you were supposed to be mad at him, you smiled.

Yeah.

He was yours.

#youngjae #choi youngjae #youngjae scenarios #got7 #got7 scenarios #a fluff! a youngjae fluff!#from my requests list from LAST YEAR pls help me #but yes i hope y'all enjoyyyy!!!

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sweetalnazar · 5 years

Text

I Won’t Forget

Just another day in Muriel's life, watching over the shop and the energetic airhead apprentice living there while Asra's away. As usual. At least it was supposed to be just the usual...

4.5k words. Pre-canon. Fluff (can be read as romantic or platonic). My apprentice, Mine/Muriel/Asra.

It was a warm night, too warm for Muriel. It was still early into summer, which meant the heat would only worsen in the coming days.

The forest was always cool, shielding him from the sun’s harsh rays, but the city seemed to absorb the heat into its very stone. Even after sunset, everything felt hot and sticky. He almost wanted to take off his cloak.

But he didn’t.

People didn’t like it when Muriel took off his cloak or even just pulled down the hood. They didn’t like him much when he was wearing the cloak either, but it wasn’t as bad. Not as bad as when their eyes dropped to the mess of scars across his body or locked onto his face, their expressions pale and fearful.

At least there weren’t many people coming this way after dark.

If only the person he was waiting for would hurry up and pass through, then he could finally , finally get home to a nice, quiet evening by the fire with Inanna.

He glanced at the door of the magic shop, almost as if it would make the apprentice living there appear. He knew staring at the door and thinking hard had never made Asra appear; Mine would certainly be no different.

He drummed his fingers against his thigh. Where in the world were they? It had been hours since they’d left the shop, hours since Muriel had tried and failed to keep up with them through Vesuvia’s crowds.

In the end, he had returned to the alley and waited.

True, Mine was often out running errands– and generally running around the place– when Asra was not around, but….had they ever been out this long? This late?

His throat tightened.

Were they alright?

No, it was Mine, sunny and careless and a little too loud, but always pulling through, regardless of the odds.

But what if, tonight was the night they couldn’t beat the odds?

No, no, it couldn’t be.

And yet...this was Mine, the one who got into bar fights and fist fights and verbal fights, all kinds of fights really. The one who came back bleeding and bruised more often than anyone liked. The one who always came back with a smile and their head held high, no matter how badly they were beaten up.

Yes, they would come back. Of course they would. Of course...

With an irritated sigh, Muriel slipped out of the alley into the street and began casting a search spell. He thought of Mine, that soft, chubby figure that could never keep still; those big brown eyes that always seemed to be laughing; that loud, clear voice that he could pick out anywhere.

He felt a twinge, a tug at the edge of his consciousness, and he let it pull him to where Mine was.

As the pull grew stronger, his worry grew deeper.

He was making his way to a dangerous part of town. It had been old and poor even before Lucio had come along. After the plague, it was nothing but crumbling brick and garbage, most of its inhabitants had either fled or died.

Now the most desperate lived here, trying to take what little shelter the ruined buildings had to offer.

Of course, Mine would end up somewhere here. Where else would they be?

Certainly not somewhere safe.

Sensible was not a word Muriel would use to describe Mine.

He stopped in front of what was maybe a government building at some point, or possibly an apartment many years ago. Much of the building was exposed, the walls falling apart. All of the windows had been smashed in, one of the frames sticking haphazardly out, threatening to fall on any passerbys. Weeds sprung out from numerous corners.

There was a brick staircase at the side leading to the roof. Well, almost, if some of the brick hadn’t collapsed partway.

Sitting some ways up the staircase was a lone, familiar figure.

“Mine!”

“Yes?” They stared down at him, a dreamy vacant expression on their face.

He opened his mouth to scold them, before realizing what he was doing. He wasn’t supposed to be here, in front of them, talking to them. He should, he should be in the shadows, watching and waiting like he always did.

He took a deep breath. It didn’t matter they were seeing him now, they’d forget soon enough.

In a calmer voice, he said, “What are you doing here?”

They shrugged. “Looking at the stars, I guess.”

“You couldn’t do that at the shop?”

“I could.” They looked back towards the sky and Muriel came closer until one foot rested on the first step. “It’s so calm, isn’t it?”

“.....It, is.” He supposed it was, for a place like this.

They closed their eyes and sighed, sounding content. “It’s times like this, y’know, when everything is quiet and slow, it feels like, like you could stop and take a breath. Like the whole world is slowing down.”

Their expression was almost serene, and their entire posture was relaxed. He’d never seen them so calm and peaceful.

All of a sudden, they turned to him, as if seeing him for the first time. “Sorry, who are you again?”

“Uh….” They couldn’t have already forgotten him. They hadn’t even looked at him properly to begin with!

“Are you lost too?”

Oh. That explained, a lot.

Mine patted the spot beside them. “Do you want to join me?”

He pulled back for a moment, but thought better of it. He trudged up the stairs before plopping himself next to them.

They gave him a smile before their attention went back to the sky. Looking closer, they did seem to be tired.

“Do you…. want to sleep?” he asked. He didn’t mind watching over them, and he could carry them back to the shop if they were really tired.

Mine shook their head. “Asra said it’s dangerous to sleep outside. In Vesuvia, at least.”

Muriel nodded. Previous experience had proven that to be true.

“I tried looking for the way home earlier. I ended up here, and I was too tired to look anymore. I’ll wait until the sun comes up.”

“Why?”

“Maybe it’ll be easier in the daylight. It’s definitely easier to ask for directions in the morning.”

“.....OK.” That didn’t make much sense, but Mine didn’t seem to mind.

He leaned back and tilted his head upwards. In this area with its poor lighting, it became much easier to see the mass of stars above.

“Look.” Mine lifted a hand and started to make shapes in the air. “If you connect the dots– stars I mean– you can get shapes.”

Like constellations.

“See, that’s a narwhal, not a whale ‘cuz it’s got a horn like a unicorn. Over there’s a frog and it’s got raindrops floating around it– wait, no, they’re bubbles! Hah, that fits much better.” They nodded, looking satisfied.

He stared at them in disbelief. “Those aren’t constellations!”

“Oh, I don’t really know those. Isn’t it kinda hard to tell? My thing’s way more fun.”

“It’s not about fun.”

“It isn’t?”

He pointed to a group of stars. As he made out the shape with his finger, he said, “That, is Ursa Major. If you follow it…”

“Ooo, hey, that star over there is really bright, huh? Is it a part of a constellation too?”

He nodded. “It’s part of...mine.”

“Yours?”

“My sign... Virgo...” He faltered, feeling embarrassed.

“Virgo, eh? How do you make that shape?” They waved their finger wildly. “Hey, I think I can make a face out of them, look, it’s a granny. And she’s smiling!” They laughed, their teeth flashing.

“You’re silly.”

“Yeah, I am.” Mine grinned. “And you’re smiling.”

“No, I’m not,” he mumbled, his face burning. It was a good thing it was so dark. “I’m not going to show you Virgo.”

“What? Nooo, don’t be like that. Please? I’ll listen properly, promise.”

“O-OK. As, as long as you’re not noisy.”

“Zipping my lips.” They made a zipping gesture, looking at him earnestly.

Somehow, his face felt even hotter.

“Uh, then... here’s how you find Virgo.”

“Is it supposed to be a horse? No, a bird?”

“It’s….a person.”

“Ohh. Huh?” They scrunched their face at the stars. “Constellations are so weird.”

“They’re not.”

“You’re cool though, knowing all this stuff.”

“W-what?? You, you don’t know what you’re saying!”

“Yes I do. Betcha know a ton more, clever clogs.” Their grin was a lot like Asra’s, mischievous and teasing. If it was a little brighter, it would be very easy to tell Muriel had turned the shade of a tomato.

“I don’t. Go home already.”

They pulled back, and for a moment, Muriel worried they were upset.

“Can’t, dawn’s still far away.” Their tone remained unchanged, which made him relax. “Speaking of home, don’t you need to head back to your place too?”

“No.”

“So you were lost!”

He really wasn’t.

“That’s fine, we can just stay here together. You and me, watching the stars and stuff. Hmm, maybe we should talk about other things–hey, do you like magic?”

Muriel knew very well about Mine’s deep obsession over magic, and he wasn’t about to give them a chance to launch into a spiel about the syntax of magical incantations. Asra’s stories had told him all he needed to know.

“Let’s...not. Uh, I could show you the way back. If you want.”

“Really?” They perked up. So they had wanted to return after all. They stood up, bouncing on the balls of their feet. “Lead the way, friend.”

Friend. Did they only know how to say embarrassing things?

“We’re not friends,” he mumbled.

“We’re not??” While the exclamation was loud, it also sounded genuinely hurt. They deflated, looking disappointed.

“Because you don’t know my name,” he said quickly.

“Oh.” They brightened. That was easy. “What’s your name then?” This was not.

He paused. “....Muriel.”

“Muriel, what a lovely name.” They giggled. “Y’know, I’m so bad with remembering names. It’s sooo embarrassing to ask, especially when the other person knows your name. I’m glad you figured me out.”

He hadn’t.

“Sure,” he said, starting to walk in the direction of the shop, while Mine took hurried strides to catch up.

“I won’t forget your name this time. I’ll write it down!” They paused, rummaging through their bag, then their pockets. “When I get home.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want to forget you. My, my memory’s pretty bad as it is. I, I...I don’t want to lose anything else important.”

His heart ached, to his surprise.

Mine had lost almost everything during the plague. Their family, their loved ones, their magic, and it wasn’t sure if they’d be able to return to their life from before. Not with the way things were currently going.

What could he say? What could Muriel say that Asra hadn’t tried already, always with disastrous consequences? What could be said that wouldn’t end up hurting Mine?

“....I’m sorry, Mine.”

“Eh? What for? Seriously, you have nothing to apologize for. If anything, I should be saying sorry, forgetting your name and all. Oh, I should thank you too! Since you’ve helped me so much today.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“You did. You hung out with me and showed me constellations. You’re helping me get home. And we’re friends now too. You’ve given me a lot, I’d say.”

He grunted. Even if he said no, they would barrel on ahead.

But… it wasn’t unpleasant, to be liked by someone like this.

“Hey, are you gonna be around tomorrow?”

If Asra was still away, he would. “....Maybe”

“If you are, drop by my shop. I’ll treat you to a loaf of pumpkin bread. The one at the market’s really good.”

“...I don’t like crowds.”

“Oh, well, I’ll just buy the loaves and we can eat them at my shop. I’ll make tea too.”

He didn’t respond, still thinking of a reply–excuse– in his head.

“Or do you not like pumpkin bread? I love it, but to each their own I suppose. Hmm, what else could we get– ooo, what about–”

“Pumpkin bread is fine.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

“OK! I’ll buy the bread tomorrow and we’ll enjoy them together.” They were close to the shop now, their surroundings more brightly lit. That also meant Mine’s bright smile was much clearer as well.

Muriel didn’t want to make a promise he couldn’t keep. He didn’t want to lie to them, not when they seemed so excited at the prospect of the two of them meeting again.

But he knew things would end the way they always did. Mine would forget and go about their life, and he would always be watching from afar.

“I don’t know if I can come,” he managed at last.

“You’re not gonna be here tomorrow? When will you be here then? I’ll mark down the date.”

“That’s, that’s not what I–” He sighed. “I don’t know if we can meet again.”

They frowned. “Why not?”

He stopped and jerked his head in the shop’s direction. “Here we are.”

Mine turned back. “That was faster than I thought– wait, wait, no, don’t distract me. Why can’t we meet again, Muriel?”

“It’s….hard to explain.”

“Try then.”

He sighed. “I can’t.”

“You don’t like me? You, you–” They continued in a quieter voice, “don’t want to be friends?” They looked like they might cry.

“No, it’s not that… I…” He threw them a pleading glance, hoping they would understand his inner turmoil, somehow. “I can’t. I’m sorry, Mine.”

They looked away, their trembling lips pursed together. Their eyes started to glisten.

He twiddled his fingers nervously. One second passed, and another, and another, and another, and then it seemed like too much time had passed for him to say anything.

Should he just leave now?

“I’m still going to do it,” Mine said firmly, breaking the silence. “Tomorrow, I’ll buy an extra loaf and I’ll wait right here.”

“But–”

“It doesn’t matter if you come or not. I’m going to be here anyway.” A tear escaped their eye and they wiped it away with their finger. “I want to be your friend, Muriel. Please.”

“...You already are.”

They immediately turned to look at him, eyes wide and hopeful. They whispered, “Really?”

He nodded.

Their entire face lit up. At the same time, tears started rolling down their cheeks.

Muriel gaped, internally panicking.

“It’s fine, it’s fine, I’m just really happy! Well, I’m happy now. I was upset earlier, but it’s fine, really. I get like this a lot.” They rubbed their eyes with their sleeve, before giving a wide smile. “See? Totally fine.”

“OK…” he said, unconvinced.

“I really am happy.”

“Just from that?”

“Yup!” Their smile wavered. “You, you meant it, right? That we were friends.”

“...Yes.”

“Then I’m definitely happy.” They reached out their hands, only for Muriel to flinch back. “Sorry, sorry, I’ll keep my hands to myself. Are you OK? Sorry, Muriel.”

“‘S fine. Just... no sudden movements.”

“Got it.”

He nodded. “I’ll be… going now. I guess.”

“OK. Thanks again, Muriel, for everything.”

“It was nothing.”

“It wasn’t.” They unlocked the door and the wards. “I’ll still be here tomorrow.”

“You don’t–”

“Well, we never know what might happen. Just in case your plans change or something, I’ll have an extra loaf ready for you.”

Nothing would change. He knew that, he did, and yet…

“We’ll see,” he said gruffly. “Don’t get your hopes up.”

They beamed. “I’m looking forward to it!”

“I said not to get your hopes up.”

“OK, OK.” They pulled the door open and took one last look at him. “I hope I’ll see you again though.”

“Goodbye, Mine.”

“Goodbye, Muriel.”

The door shut with a click, and only after he heard the sounds of the locks being turned did Muriel leave.

When he reached the alley, he turned back to gaze at the shop, and a small part of him couldn’t help but hope too, that maybe tomorrow would be different.

When Mine came downstairs the next day, they weren’t alone.

“Faust!” they exclaimed, running towards the snake. They lifted up their arm and Faust happily coiled around it. “And hello to you too, master. Welcome back.”

“Good morning, Mine,” Asra said, planting a kiss on top of their head. “How were things while I was away?”

“Pretty good. I delivered all the orders, found out what aquaculture was–it’s not about underwater societies so that was disappointing–, and um, what else...oh I got lost yesterday.”

“Did you get into any trouble?”

“Nope. I took the wrong turn or something, and basically spent hours wandering the city until I got tired. I almost gave up y’know. I found a nice staircase to rest on, see, and I was gonna stay there until dawn, and then…” Their voice trailed off, and they frowned.

“Then what?”

“I don’t... know. I’m sure I must have moved at some point because I woke up in bed, in my pyjamas, and, and I remember coming in through the door, and telling myself over and over to write this reminder–” They looked down at one of the cloth knots around the base of their finger. On it was scrawled ‘ Extra Loaf’ . In a quiet voice, they said, “Why did I write this?”

“Mine.” Asra grasped their shoulders, his touch firm but gentle. “Deep breaths.”

They did as they were told, inhaling and exhaling a few times. They placed a hand on his. “I’m, I’m OK, nothing...hurts, but why don’t I remember what happened last night?” Brown darted up to meet amethyst. “Did something happen?”

“It’s nothing,” Asra assured. He shifted his hands to pull them into a hug. “You, you just had a little episode yesterday. A headache. It wasn’t anything big.”

“Then, then you brought me home?”

“Yes. I’m glad you’re feeling better now.”

“I, am.” They slowly rested their head on Asra’s shoulder, their free arm wrapping around his waist.

That was a plausible story. They’d had a headache on their way home, Asra just happened to arrive that same night and he had saved them. Like he always did.

But why had they entered the shop alone last night? What about the new cloth knot on their finger?

“Do you want me to get breakfast? I can get your favorite bread.”

“No.” They pushed him off gently, while Faust slithered away to curl around his shoulders. “I want to do that myself today. You just came back, right? You should take a break, master.”

Secrets. There were always going to be secrets between them, hanging unspoken and heavy in the gaps.

The two of them had agreed to trust the other, and Mine did trust him, always. It’s just, it was times like this that he felt very, very far away, despite being so close.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, worry flashing in his expressions.

“I just missed you. I always do. Please rest, master, and let me take care of everything.”

Before Asra could say anything, Mine was already out the door.

“It’s OK,” they said to themself. The how and what of last night’s events didn’t really matter. Mine had returned home safe and sound, and Asra was here with them. They would just have to forget all their questions for now.

Mine trusted Asra, and they had to trust that he was keeping those secrets for a reason.

He trusts me too. Maybe not enough to tell them everything, but enough so they knew he believed in them.

And I believe in him.

That was the most important thing, wasn’t it? That the two of them had faith in each other.

“Alright, let’s go get that bread!” they exclaimed loudly, causing a few stares. Ducking their head, they rushed in the direction of the marketplace.

Despite Mine’s requests, Asra did not take a rest.

Instead, he had found out exactly what happened last night. There was no scent of myrrh but his magic traced a familiar aura that had been present at the shop last night.

“No wonder Mine forgot everything.” Maybe Muriel had been the one to guide Mine home, and as usual, all memory of him disappeared the moment the door closed. “How did they write the reminder then?”

He shook his head, and went about preparing the table for breakfast. Summer meant cold lychee, and for an added twist, Asra added a few drops of color to the drinks. A bit of berry juice, some crushed leaves, all edible.

The drink looked magical as wisps of orange, green and pink made paths in the colorless liquid. “Perfect.”

He heard the door open and shut, then, “Master, I’m home.”

“Upstairs,” he called back.

Mine appeared at the doorway, two– three loaves in hand.

“Lychee!” Their face lit up with delight. They came closer, cooing at the colors. “You made it all pretty too.”

“A little treat for you. I brought back some more lychees, they’re in the kitchen. They’ll last a few days, and a few more drinks.”

“Does that mean we could drink lychee every day?” they asked, their voice hushed and filled with wonder.

“Naturally, Mine.”

“Yay! Thank you!” They threw their arms around him, pressing the fresh loaves against his skin.

He squeaked in surprise at the sensation.

“Oops, sorry.” They backed away. “But thank you so much, master! You’re my best magic teacher ever.”

His lips quirked upwards. “I’m your only magic teacher.”

“And that makes you the best.”

“I see.”

Both of them sat down and Mine placed two loaves on the table, leaving one in their hand.

“Hungry?”

“It’s not for me.”

He raised his eyebrows. “For me?”

“If you want. It’s just, I kept thinking about that reminder, and I thought why not, y’know. It was obviously important enough that I kept repeating ‘write extra loaf reminder’ until I wrote it down.”

“You did? How does that work?”

“My memory’s bad, right? Like, sometimes, I’ll go into a room and immediately forget what I came in for.”

He nodded. That did happen a lot.

“So if I want to remember something, sometimes I’ll keep repeating the thing I wanted to do until I do it. It works, more or less. Like even if my mind can’t remember, my mouth does.”

That’s how they had written down the reminder. “That’s a pretty good trick.”

“Hehe, thanks. Let’s dig in. Jemput makan.”

“Jemput makan, Mine.”

“Hey, you said it right this time!”

“You’re not the only one who’s been practicing their Balayu.” He winked, and Mine giggled.

Without another word, they dug into their meal with great gusto, spending the rest of the morning talking and exchanging stories.

The afternoon sun beat down on the forest, but the canopy filtered out the heat so only tiny rays of sunshine got through. Just how Muriel liked it.

“Muriel~” a familiar voice called out.

He turned, and gave a small smile to the person running over to him. “What are you doing here, Asra?”

“Came to see you, of course. How’s my best friend doing?”

“Fine. What do you want?”

Asra burst into laughter, lightly slapping Muriel’s arm. “I can’t visit my best and oldest friend out of the goodness of my heart?”

“...Have you ever done that?”

He guffawed some more, and Muriel felt his smile widen.

“I’m actually here to give you a little something.”

Had he gotten something strange again on one of his trips? “I don’t need–”

“It’s not a trinket or a decoration, even if your house could use it.”

Muriel huffed.

“A splash of color wouldn’t be bad once in a while,” Asra said in a singsong voice.

“So is walking through poison ivy. What did you want to give me?”

“Here.” Asra reached inside the bag and pulled out a still-warm loaf.

A jolt of surprise went through Muriel.

“Mine bought an extra loaf today, and I thought you might like it.”

“What about you?”

Asra smiled. “The thing is, Mine bought three loaves today. I was there when they woke up so they were already going to get my share.”

He blinked, words failing him for a moment. His voice dropped to barely a whisper, “....why?”

“Apparently, after Mine came home last night, they wrote down a reminder telling them to buy an extra loaf. They didn’t know why or who it was for.” He glanced up slyly at Muriel. “But I can guess.”

“That’s…” It was a lot of things, to be honest. “Impossible.”

“They were very insistent on getting this loaf. It felt important, they said.��

Muriel hesitated, but with Asra’s gentle, encouraging gaze, he managed to accept the loaf, his hands shaking. “...thank you.”

“You shouldn’t be thanking me. I should be thanking you really, for bringing Mine home last night.”

“It was nothing.”

“It wasn’t.”

Muriel snorted. “They said the same thing last night.”

“You two had a good night then.”

His cheeks flushed and his eyes darted away. “We...sat on some stairs. Looked at the stars.”

“Sounds like a lovely date to me.”

“It wasn’t. ”

“Whatever you say, Muri. Did you, like it?”

Muriel was silent. He pinched a piece of bread off, rubbing it into a ball between his fingers. “...I think so.”

“That’s great.”

“They forgot me, didn’t they?”

A shadow passed over Asra’s face.

Muriel popped the piece into his mouth. He already knew this would happen; there was no reason to feel disappointed.

“They didn’t want to. They tried to remember.”

“It doesn’t work like that.”

“They managed to write down a reminder this time! You, you could–”

“No. It’s...better this way. It’s what we’ve been doing for years.”

“Muri…”

“You didn’t teach them constellations properly,” he interrupted.

“Excuse me?”

“Last night...they were just making up shapes with the stars. It was, silly.”

“Was it now? That must have been fun.”

Without realizing it, Muriel had been smiling again. He turned his face away, covering the lower half with his hand.

Asra chuckled. “Just be honest, Muri. Come on.”

“No. Go away, Asra.”

“Do you really want me to go away? Hmmm?”

Muriel rolled his eyes. “You’re annoying.”

“But you love me.” Asra wrapped his arms around Muriel’s arm and squeezed it to his body.

“Wrong. Go home to Mine already. Clingy.”

“I’ll go after you’re done with the bread~ Let’s talk for a while. Hasn’t it been ages since we’ve just hung out and talked?”

“...I don’t want to.”

“Awww, Muri, please? Pretty, pretty please? Pretty just like your eyes?”

He could feel the blush creeping up his neck. “...Fine. Just, be quieter.”

“I’ll try~”

He sighed, shaking his head, and started trudging on the path to his hut, with Asra on his arm filling the silence with chatter.

Muriel glanced down at the bread, before bringing it up to his mouth and taking a large bite.

It was warm and sweet, too much like Mine for his taste. But for a heartbeat, with Asra talking, and the wind making music amongst the leaves overhead, it was almost like the three of them were all together.

Even if everyone else forgot this moment, Muriel never would.

Notes: - 'Jemput makan' is a Malay phrase commonly uttered before/during meals. The literal meaning is 'let's eat' and can also mean an invitation to a meal

- Cold lychee refers to this

#the arcana game #the arcana #the arcana fanfic #the arcana fan apprentice #asra alnazar #muriel (the arcana)#shippy stuff #asmine #mineriel #asmineriel #it got really long somehow??#but i needed to write muriel/mine #this started out as purely mineriel #but the moment i included asra. it was like #'damn. i cant just leave asra hanging'#so yeah its an ot3 now #mimi's originals #writing by the mims

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lalainajanes · 6 years

Text

Not from one of my prompts but based on a conversation @thetourguidebarbie and I had about sketchy online dating profiles and pick up artists the other day. AH ridiculousness!

“Is this seat taken?” Klaus asks, and the blonde he’s been speaking to jerks to attention, her head snapping up from where it had been bent over her phone. Her eyes narrow and she gives him a very thorough once over.

Klaus is a little offended when she blows out an unimpressed breath and turns away, “Another one? Dear god I need to get out of this city.”

It’s not the warmest invitation he’s ever received but it’s enough to further pique his interest. He slides on to the stool, returns the bartender’s nod and scans the televisions over the bar. They’re unfortunately all set to American football, which doesn’t interest Klaus in the least. He glances at his neighbor, finds she’s once again oblivious to anything but her phone. He leans over slightly, “I’m Klaus,” he offers. “Can I buy you a drink? Or an appetizer, maybe. As thanks for your hospitality.”

Her spine straightens, and she tosses her hair back, crossing her legs as she turns to face him. The smile she shoots his way lacks any warmth, sickly sweet and venomous. “Listen, Klaus. If that’s your real name.”

He’s about to interrupt, offer to produce his driver’s license (and perhaps a supporting document or two, just to be on the safe side) but the woman plows ahead. “I’m so not in the mood to be picked up. I don’t know what it is about me that says ‘Hey, garbage men, try your sketchy mind game-y lines on me’ but I will figure it out. And you will all be sorry.”

He finds himself blinking at her, his mouth open as he tries to decide exactly how to respond. With the not entirely incorrect assumption that he was looking to chat her up? Or perhaps with the ominous bit at the end? Klaus settles on something neutral, “You’ve obviously had a rough night.”

He’s assumed as much before he’d approached – she’d made something of an entrance. In a clingy blue dress and heels that made her legs something to marvel at she was overdressed for the quiet bar. She’d stomped in a half an hour ago with a storm cloud over her head, made a beeline to the bar, and had downed a shot as soon as it had been set in front of her. A second had quickly followed, a third waved away in favor of a glass of the glass of wine she’s been nursing.

She huffs out an aggrieved breath, “Look, in case you’re totally missing the vibes here you have zero chance of getting into my pants. Or, up my skirt, I guess. If you wanna get technical.”

“I’d gathered,” Klaus answers blandly. “But I’m invested now, you see.”

She rolls her eyes but takes another sip of wine, her eyes sharp and critical. Klaus suspects she’s itching to talk out whatever’s bothering her and he’s her only convenient, in person, option at the moment. “I had a third date.”

He props his elbow on the bar, turning to give her his full attention. “Oh?”

She relaxes slightly, her features growing less guarded. “And the first two were pretty good. He was hot, apparently not a serial killer, practiced good hygiene. A little obsessed with classic cars and pomade but I figured I’d chalk it up to his being Italian, you know?”

He does his best not to smile, certain her prickliness would return if she suspected he was mocking her. “Clearly, you had an intense connection. Why, you were practically soulmates.”

Her eyes narrow and she he’d bet the contents of his savings account that she’d just considered to shoving him off his stool. “Listen, do you know how much dating sucks in this town? Sometimes a girl has to make concessions when she’s sick of staying at home alone and overindulging in Halo Top on Friday nights. I wasn’t going to marry the guy.”

“I just moved here,” Klaus tells her. “I do hope your exaggerating. I’m not entirely sure what Halo Top is but the rest of it sounds bleak.”

“Sure, you just moved here,” the woman drawls, her tone heavy with skepticism. She adopts a truly atrocious approximation of his accent, “Just hopped across the pond, did you?”

Klaus is finding this conversation, her jabs, more and more mystifying. But he can’t say he’s not having fun. “I’d offer to prove it to you, my flat is more boxes than furniture at the moment, but I suspect you’d take such an invitation the wrong way.”

“Damn right I would. Will you just drop the accent already?”

His mouth falls open again, a surprised laugh coming from him. “I suppose I could try. Did you have one you’d like me to attempt?”

She slams her hand on the bar top, leaning into his space, “Pop quiz time, which royal baby is the cutest?”

He’s beginning to wonder if she’d had a few more drinks than he was aware of. Perhaps she’d been drunk when she’d arrived?

Evidently he’s taken too long to reply because she shakes her head sadly. She makes a harsh noise, “Ehhhh! Too slow. It was a trick question by the way. They’re equally adorable with ridiculously squishable faces.”

“I’m quite certain squishing the air to the throne would be frowned upon.”

She throws her hands up in frustration. “Ugh. I almost admire the commitment.”

“What is it that you think I’m doing, love?”

“Oh, a pet name. Sure, that’ll convince me.”

“If you’d like to supply your real name, feel free.”

“Nope,” she denies immediately. “Not going to make anything easy for you. I’ve been doing some research.”

Ah, that explained the laser focus on her phone. “On what subject?”

“Reasons why a guy would fake an accent. It’s called peacocking and it is icky.”

Klaus has rarely been at a loss for words. He’s certain it’s happened more over the course of this very odd conversation than ever before in his life. Still, he finds he has no desire to excuse himself. He’d been joking earlier, about being invested, but if he left now he’d wonder about this woman for days to come. Best to solve the mystery. “Peacocking,” re repeats slowly. “I’m afraid I’m lost once more.”

“Some showy, flashy thing to trick women into thinking your interesting. Because apparently teeny tiny lady brains are attracted to novelty or something? Honestly, all the justification I read was evo psych bullshit. Most dudes have cottoned on to the fact that fedoras are a douche signal nowadays so they’ve gotten sneakier.”

“With fake accents,” Klaus says dubiously, just to be sure he understands things correctly.

She nods vigorously, her blonde curls swaying wildly. “We went for pizza. He ordered pineapple. No actual Italian person would do that. Also, I might have misjudged his personality a bit. He’s probably also evil.”

“Because of the pineapple.” This time he’s not especially successful in trying to hide that he’s having difficulty not laughing. Luckily, his fascinating new friend doesn’t seem to notice.

“Exactly. I totally dodged a bullet.”

Klaus shakes his head, his laughter spilling out. She looks peeved but he fishes out his cell phone, tapping in his passcode before he hands it to her. Her brows creep up in surprise, “What am I supposed to do with this?”

“Up to you. I’d be happy to produce any number of pieces of government issued identification proving my nationality. And my name, since you were so skeptical. Klaus is technically a nickname but everyone who’s not directly related to me uses it these days.”

“Fake ID’s are a thing.”

She certainly was an insistent little thing. “I thought you’d say that. Which is why I gave you my phone. Feel free to call anyone you’d like. Most will confirm my identity. Not happily, since it’s near 4 AM in England right now. And, word of warning, if you select my brother Kol I insist you not hold whatever undoubtedly crass offer he makes you against me.”

She glances down at his phone, then at him once more, surprise etched plainly across her face. “You’re serious? I can call anyone I want?”

“As long as you agree to endure me saying ‘I told you so’ afterwards. Over dinner. I find myself craving Italian.”

She finally cracks a genuine smile, “Wow. You really want to go out with me even after I just poured out buckets of crazy?”

Klaus shrugs, “Apparently my options are rather limited in this city. And this is the most entertaining conversation I’ve had since moving.”

She stares at him for a long moment, still assessing but in a way that’s far warmer than her earlier evaluations. Klaus takes it as a win. She hands him his phone back, “I’m Caroline. How about I buy you a drink?”

Klaus agrees immediately, of course.

#klaroline #klaroline drabbles

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eremji · 6 years

Text

Thoughts on Infinity War, and Thanos' Motivation

Disclaimer: I'm not a Marvel expert. Some of my information on comic plots was collected from wikis and secondary articles, due to a lack of access to a primary source or the simple inaccuracy of my own memory. I also mostly enjoyed Infinity War, and any criticism herein should not be taken as decrying the whole.

Spoilers behind the cut. Please close your eyes and scroll super fast, block tags, duck and cover, etc. if you’re on mobile, because, seriously, spoilers.

An extremely simplified version of movie production:

From a production standpoint, Iron Man was a huge risk for the studios fronting the money for it. After critical and box office flops from 90s Batman films and other various superhero action flicks, studios typically found comic book movies to underperform in comparison to budgetary requirements for good visuals, making them unattractive. Marvel has taken a large step away from making comic book movies, to making comic book adaptations, because what works on the page doesn’t work in a moving picture.

Marvel Studios’ cinematic success has almost nothing to do with how compelling the source material is – because some of Marvel’s library is pretty much slush pile garbage. This was before your average artist or consumer realized you can get pretty literary while still having cool pictures on a page. They’re valuable because they propelled the comic industry to widespread success, but the source is best examined with a critical eye towards tone deaf and anachronistic viewpoints on race, sexuality, gender, and pretty much everything else. Marvel Studios has done a fairly consistent job of divorcing the cinematic canon from the original medium’s baggage, to which I attribute a large portion of the films’ success in comparison to very lukewarm iterations of DC or X-Men.

As media consumers, we’re accustomed to having a finished product to hold and analyze. When considering story, in terms of plotting and pacing, I personally believe it’s most helpful to compare the scope of the MCU production to be similar to that of a television show, rather than a traditional movie or movie series. It may be startling to know that even very successful television shows, like Breaking Bad or Stranger Things, often don’t even have all the episodes completely written out prior to beginning filming of a season.

Marvel Studios’ movies have been in production for ten years, with many, many different hands in the pot, and earlier scripts don’t always set up the best planting and payoff of character or plot elements later in the continuity. (For visual learners, Lindsay Ellis has a very layman-friendly example using clips from Mad Max: Fury Road.)

You can see where this might start to cause some consistency issues.

Crossover event comics and the necessary sacrifice of emotional development:

For anyone walking in to expecting Avengers: Infinity War to have a lot of character development, I’m very sorry for your loss.

There was never going to be a grand emotional reunion for Steve and Bucky, and there was never going to be whole hours dedicated to bonding and witty bickering and new friendships that weren’t absolutely vital to the plot. That we got things like the Steve-and-Bucky hug, the jealous Star-Lord vs. Thor moments, and Steve introducing himself politely to Groot were for the benefit of the audience more than advancing the plot, which is a huge victory in terms of crushing as much as possible into a theatrical cut.

A film production has a finite amount of screen time to allocate before a movie becomes bloated. When people joke about Infinity War being the most ambitious crossover event, I don’t think some of them realize how on the mark that is from a production standpoint. Hard decisions have to be made between what isn’t vital to advancing plot in a compelling way and what was retained to meet audience expectations. Infinity War often felt like it tried to recapture that Joss Whedon-ish sassy-but-kinda-flat comedy from the first Avengers, and that meant punchlines for jokes sometimes land at emotionally inappropriate times because characters just don’t have cinematic space for witty banter between shooting aliens and losing everyone they ever cared about.

There’s a difference in author-audience expectations of what’s important in these team-up movies, and also gaps between fans actively participating in fandom because they love the characters and casual moviegoers looking for a blockbuster. It all comes down to how much each party in the creative transaction is willing to settle for. Traditionally, Marvel has set up the character-driven plots and subplots in individual comics with occasional crossover cameos for a few issues when another character or baddie is relevant to the plot. The large crossover events, like Civil War, Contest of Champions, or Infinity are almost always plot-heavy and character-light.

This is so much easier in comic book format, where multiple series can be coordinated in regular, paced releases, and different comic issues may happen parallel or directly before/after the event crossovers. Movies take a significantly larger amount of time to produce, through pre-production, filming, post-production, marketing, and distribution.

A brief (I’m serious, they’ve been making comics since the 1939) explication of source material:

One of the largest disconnects for me, as a fan of both the comics and the movies, was the change in Thanos’ motivation, but not his mission. For those who aren't aware of the origins of his character, he essentially wants to murder people to impress a girl – Mistress Death, to be specific. He wants to kill half of all life in the universe so that he can be her equal and win her affection.

Dorkly did a pretty solid breakdown of some of Thanos’ Infinity Gauntlet story and the innate misogynistic slant of his character, including comic panels from the original source material, that paints comic!Thanos an internet Nice Guy™. (Feel free to skim the article; it's a bit slow to get to the point.) Perusing the comic panels, you can see Thanos is hella into negging and is spiteful when Mistress Death shows interest in another dude (spoilers: it’s Deadpool). He clearly believes love is possession, and if he can’t have what he wants, then, good golly, no one can.

He’s also really off the rails – dubbed the Mad Titan even before his objectification mega crush on a badass corpse with a wicked bod – and is personally responsible for destroying Titan. He’s not a villain that believes he’s the hero, and this shift away from his motivation being dangerous-and-horrible to dangerous-and-misguided casts the first shadow on the premise.

My (very personal) opinion on the execution:

MCU essentially played keep away with some of the more supernatural elements of the source material, at least until introducing Dr. Strange. In doing so they had to construct Thanos’ motivation for a comic-book-inspired task out of whole cloth. There is no Mistress Death. Secondary characters that were discrete entities are often pulling double duty*.

(*Or triple. See also: Bucky Barnes, who is wearing the backstory of Captain America's gay best friend Arnie Roth and now White Wolf. If you were previously unaware of this factoid, please enjoy the irony that Marvel’s biggest pro-American propaganda piece had an openly gay best friend circa early 80s but Civil War ham-fistedly had to work in that awkward-as-fuck smooch between Steve and Peggy Carter’s hot young romantic surrogate niece.)

So, okay, they have to reinvent Thanos, who we've only seen in a handful of post-credit scenes and vicariously learned, through Loki in the first Avengers movie and then Gamora in Guardians, is a conqueror and also really Bad News™.

I buy everything so far. And why not? Black Panther made me love Killmonger and his rage, and the parallels to contemporary issues made him fairly empathetic without highlighting that his perspective was necessarily the ‘correct’ one. Similarly, Spider-Man: Homecoming’s villain, Vulture, was believable in the sort of suffering everyman-turned-desperate way, highlighting the fallout of the Space Invaders vs. Avengers destruction without suggesting the audience should root for Vulture.

In general, I am on board for these movies going straight for the throat on the big baddies of the comic universe because movie production is lengthy, expensive, and time-consuming. Dear Marvel Studios, Give me Avengers vs. Dr. Doom. Love, Me.

A villain can be built up over the course of a single movie (or two). Armed with this optimism, and heartened by recent Marvel Studios successes in characterization, I walked into Infinity War expecting as much gratuitous violence, universe-cleansing genocide, and genuine fear of Thanos as I could possibly expect from something Disney-adjacent.

I knew people were going to die. Let me say – there was no way to spoil this for me. The Infinity Gauntlet comic series starts with half the universe dying. I expected there to be ‘casualties’ and even though the Russo bros said that this wasn’t two parts of the same movie, it’s certainly serial. At minimum, I was expecting Thanos bent on conquering the cosmos, worshiping at the altar of death in the abstract, if not groveling for an inevitable-cosmic-force-turned unattainable woman.

And yet. And yet.

We got the purple version of the Kool-Aid man with some seriously unaddressed parent-child issues (mirrored in Tony Stark’s loss of Peter Parker) and a wholly unimaginative motivation. I won’t go too far much into the movie’s alarming efforts at framing Thanos as a sympathetic character despite his genocidal and horribly abusive tendencies, because I am A) not an expert at identifying film technique and B) the push for Thanos to be an empathetic villain has been analyzed elsewhere.

Phenomenal, limitless cosmic power and all you want to do is break shit? For all the immaturity of it, Thanos’ comic book motivation was more believable.

To those arguing that the his motivations in the movie are predicated off of him being the Mad Titan and therefore not rooted in logic: The film did not explicitly plant the idea – except in the way that we know genocide is bad due to an innate sense of morality – that he was unhinged and power-mad, nor did they really give the audience any payoff.

Instead, we get, ‘I don’t really want to do this, but I must.’

There was a point where I started wondering why the hell he wasn’t just being steadily roasted by the Avengers for not receiving some sort of basic education in the evils of wealth disparity and resource distribution.

As an audience member, was I meant to believe this incredibly powerful entity at the center of a massive fleet, accompanied by a group of talented and sycophantic followers, couldn’t think of a better way to bring ‘balance’ to the universe?

Perhaps Thanos’ justification is simply the conceit of the way the universe operates, required to propel a plot forward. However, this is also poorly explained. There are many unanswered questions: Why is it a given that killing half the universe will create balance? What does balance look like? Is this state permanent or is it a routine, necessary evil in order to stop entropy? Is balance a socioeconomic state, or does it have some greater cosmological significance? We know that Titan fell after rejecting Thanos’ extreme solution, but would the population have actually endured and flourished if his plan had been carried out?

For a movie that did so well at handling a cast so phenomenally large as the one involved in its production, Infinity War really didn’t go in very hard on selling Thanos. I would have been perfectly happy if Marvel Studios had taken the risk to lean in hard on making the movie Thanos-centric, given Thanos even more screen time to develop his character, motives, and the rules of the universe – and then make Avengers 4 about, you know, the actual avenging.

Parting notes:

What are we left with?

Infinity War gifted us with some badass action clips, a fairly jarring death performance by Tom Holland, Cheerful Goatherd Bucky Barnes, and emotionally traumatizing bubbles. It never really sells the conundrum it sets up via Thanos. You'll never hear me insist a peice of art or entertainment is required to carry some sort of social commentary or moral message, but I feel like this could have been, tonally, a vastly different film had it considered the core of Thanos' motivations the same way it considered Vulture's or Killmonger's.

Also, where the hell is Adam Warlock (set up at the end of GotG: Vol. 2; revisit planting and payoff) to shit talk Thanos’ lack of villainous veracity when we need him?

#infinity war spoilers #infinity war #thanos #spoilers #seriously hella spoilers #mcu #marvel comics #infinity gauntlet #there was whiskey involved in writing this #so many links #thanos' motives #review #explication #meta

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harrystyleswriter · 7 years

Note

I would love to read something about 13

Okay so I didn’tread this over or do any kind of editing. If this is complete garbage, I’msorry!! Also I was getting tired and I rushed the ending, so I’m sorry if itfeels like it doesn’t really wrap up and it’s just kind of over!! But, pleaseenjoy!!

Saturday morninghad always been your favourite time of the week. You were never the type ofperson who spent their Friday night partying, maybe on occasion, but for themost part you were in bed and sleeping long before midnight. You liked to startyour Saturday morning pretty early, usually before eight, with a cup of coffeeand the newspaper. You knew that people reading an actual newspaper was ararity these days, but it was one of those sacred things that you saved forSaturday.

You were halfwaythrough your cup of coffee when there was a knock at your door, and you weregenuinely surprised. It was barely 7:30, and you knew none of your friends weregoing to be awake, let alone out of bed and at your door. You pulled thestrings of your silky black robe in a knot as you made your way to the door,making sure that everything was covered before you opened it. The last personyou expected to see at your door this morning was your neighbour..

“Please hide me!”

Harry was a goodneighbour. He never played his music loud early in the morning or late atnight. You didn’t know what to say about Harry, because the two of you hadnever had a real conversation. You made small talk when you ended up in theelevator together said hello when you were unlocking your door and he waslocking his up, and he borrowed a cup of milk or sugar on occasion. You knewthat Harry was nice, or he presented himself that way, but you didn’t knowanything else about him. “I’m sorry, what?”You didn’t know Harry, but you knew what desperation looked like, and Harrylooked desperate. “Okay this is really embarrassing, but there’s kind of a girlin my apartment,” Harry admitted. He was looking over his shoulder at his door,and it was clear he was scared that the girl was going to come out of hisapartment while he was standing in the hallway. “I know that we’ve never had areal conversation, but I’m begging you, please let me into your apartment. Youcan ignore me, I’ll keep to myself, but please don’t make me go back in there.”

You wereshocked, and that was probably an understatement. The fact that he had been sohonest with you was surprising. If the tables were turned, and you were the onetrying to escape a one-night stand, you’d want Harry to let you in. You openedthe door a little more, “would you like a cup of coffee?” You had spentSaturday mornings alone for so long, and you thought the least you could do wasgive him a cup of coffee; he looked like he could really use one.

He gave you a thankful smile as he took a stepinto your apartment, and you couldn’t help but wonder how long he planned onstaying. It wasn’t like you had anything to do today, but the idea of spendinghours with someone you barely knew with no way to escape, was a little much. “Iwould absolutely love one, thank you!”

Harry came intoyour apartment, and after you shut the door, you made your way to the kitchen.You told him to take a seat as you made your way to the coffee maker, grabbinga new mug and filling it. “Do you take anything in your coffee?”

“Just a splashof milk, but if you don’t have any that’s fine, I can drink it black.”Truthfully, Harry hated black coffee, if he couldn’t have a little bit of milk,he didn’t want it at all. But this girl had let him into her apartment withoutso much as a second thought, and he wasn’t going to tell her that.

You opened yourfridge to grab the carton of milk, pouring in a little bit of milk, the sameway you liked your coffee. Until this moment, you didn’t think about the factthat you were in your pyjamas still, your hair was a mess, and you didn’t haveany makeup on your face. You didn’t have a problem with him seeing you likethis, you just felt a little bit awkward. You made your way to the table,setting the hot mug of coffee in front of Harry with a smile. “So, I have toask, what’s the deal with the girl in your apartment? Is she crazy orsomething?” You were completely joking around with him, if he didn’t want totell you anything you didn’t expect him to; you were just trying to makeconversation.

“It’s kind of along story, to be completely honest with you. I don’t want to say crazy, that’sa little bit mean, but she’s pretty close to it,” Harry chuckled. One-nightstands were a rarity for Harry, but when they happened, it was typical for thegirl to sneak out in the middle of the night. It was an unofficial rule,spending the night made things awkward, and when he woke up to see another bodyin his bed, he freaked out a little bit. “I just didn’t expect her to be therewhen I woke up! I mean, what do you think? Am I making too big a deal of this?”

You took a sipof your coffee, shrugging a little bit. “I mean, I’m going to be honest here,I’m with you on this one. It makes things way less awkward when you leave inthe middle of the night.” This was a conversation you didn’t think you’d behaving in a million years, especially with your neighbour, at 7:30 in themorning. “But I’m sure she’ll wake up in a couple of hours, see that you’regone, and rush out of there. I wouldn’t worry about it too much.”

Harry nodded,“I’m sure that you’re right, you seem pretty smart.” He didn’t seem insincere,and you couldn’t help but smile. This was crazy, you had lived next door toHarry for at least a year, how had you never had a real conversation with him?

The conversationhad come to that point where it didn’t feel like there was anything that couldbe said. You weren’t uncomfortable with Harry in your apartment, you understoodwhy he was here, and you were happy to help him out. You just didn’t know whatto say to him. How were you supposed to, the longest conversation that you hadever had was two minutes. The two of you got on the elevator together, and itstopped on three different floors on the way down, but besides that you hadnever had never conversed for very long. You didn’t mind that Harry was here,but you certainly weren’t pleased. Saturday morning was the time you set asidefor yourself. Once a week, you spent time on your own, reflecting on the eventsand how they made you feel, simply put, it was relaxing. You didn’t know how torelax when there was another person, a person who truthfully you didn’t knowthat well, sitting three feet away from you. You didn’t want to make Harryuncomfortable, so you felt the need to host, which was why there was anewspaper sitting in front of you that you hadn’t even opened. At this point,it was only 8:00, and you knew there was no chance the girl in Harry’sapartment was gone. If she was drunk enough to go home with Harry last night,she was too drunk to be awake at 8:00. “Okay, I’m not trying to be rude, I’mreally not. But do you mind if I read my paper? It’s just; I kind of have thisthing I do on Saturday mornings and-

-Oh my god, Ifeel like an idiot. I stormed in here without even considering that you mighthave something going on.” Harry looked like he sincerely apologetic. He hadn’tthought his plan out; before he knew it he was knocking on your door. “If youwant, I can go. I could just head down the street to a coffee shop or something.I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“No, no youdon’t have to go. I just want to read my paper, so how about this. I’ll giveyou half of the paper, and then we switch when we’re finished?” You felt badlythat you said anything; you didn’t want to make him feel like he was intruding.

Harry nodded inagreement, taking the back half of the newspaper that you handed to him. Hecouldn’t remember the last time he read a newspaper, and he had to admit thatit was kind of nice. Was this where he wanted to be right now? Not really, ifhe was being honest. In an ideal world, he would still be in his bed, sleepingoff the night that he had last night. But he was here, and in this situation,it couldn’t be better. So for three hours, the two of you sat at your kitchen table,sipping on coffee, and reading the newspaper. Every once in a while, the two ofyou had a bit of a conversation about an article, or one of you got up torefill your mugs, but it was nice.

Before you knewit, it was noon. Harry had been here for four and a half hours, but it didn’tfeel nearly that long. You never thought that you would enjoy spending yourSaturday any other way than you had for years, but it turned out that Harryknocking on your door was a good thing. You had read both halves of thenewspaper, and the pot of coffee that you had brewed was long gone. “You know,I’m sure the girl in your apartment is gone by now. If she’s still there, she’sactually crazy. Waking up to see that someone left their own apartment to getaway from you should be a red flag,” you said with a laugh.

“Well, I guess Ibetter make my way back to my place then. But I just want to say thank youagain, for saving my ass this morning, and for sharing your coffee and paperwith me. I’ll admit to you, I had a pretty good time this morning.”

You were happythat Harry had a good time, because you enjoyed yourself as well. You had beensitting at this table for years alone on Saturday morning, and it made youhappy, but maybe it was time for a change? Maybe you were meant to sit herewith someone every Saturday. “I’m glad, I had a good time too! I’m not surewhat you’re doing next Saturday, but if you want, I’m going to be right here.”

Harry wasshocked at your invitation, the entire time he was here he felt like he wasinterrupting and intruding. He thought that he had barged his way into yourhome, and he disrupted your day; he didn’t think that you would ever want totalk to him again.

After oneSaturday night, and a one night stand that didn’t know when it was time for herto leave, Harry and you started spending Saturday mornings together. Saturdaymornings soon became Friday night and all day Saturday. Your friendshipblossomed, and before the two of you knew what was happening, you were spendingall of your time together. But one thing that didn’t happen anymore was Harryknocking on your door to escape a girl who overstayed her welcome in hisapartment. Now the only girl that Harry woke up beside was you, and he didn’t wantto go back to being just your friend.

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