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#and watch all the icons chase each other across the screen
sagau-fruit-bowl · 2 years
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Chapter 19? Within the month? Go Fruit! Go Fruit! Show your brain who is boss!
Tw: Graphic description of violence
Masterlist
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Previously. After berating their followers of their abusive religious practices, [Name] has reached a Hilichurl camp and received a basic rundown on the types of control they can use from Paimon and is now preparing to drag Razor and Kaeya into battle, no matter if they're willing participants or not.
They turned to Kaeya and allowed their mind to take complete note of his appearance, hoping to all that was holy that this would work, and gave a sharp order in their mind. Move two steps to the right. 
[Name] was far too deep in their mind to take note of Kaeya's shift in disposition, but the others in their little team were not.
The haughty smirk on his face melted away to a gentle smile and a far off look entered his eyes, his shoulders loosened as his feet moved a somewhat clumsy and quick way to what was his left and Their Grace's right.
[Name] looked upon him with a sense of pride. "Perfect… you're doing absolutely perfectly." 
With a turn towards the camp, they smiled towards the others. "Are you ready? Goddess knows I am."
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[Name] didn't allow themselves the chance to over think their actions, knowing that stalling would only result in their feet refusing to move from their place.
As they approached the monsters in front of them, they decided to issue another set of commands. Kaeya, follow me. 
The blue haired man's body moved faster than his brain, but it didn't bother him very much, the disconnected feeling being so wonderfully familiar.
They also spoke out a verbal command to get Razor's attention. "Razor, please keep me safe."
The only response they saw was his movement and the now distant look in his eyes but it was better than nothing. Razor joined the other man's side as they approached [Name] in very different ways.
Kaeya's steps seemed fumbling, almost as if it manifested [Name]'s own feeling of tripping over their feet as they gave him each order while Razor's stride on the other hand was very deliberate and harsh, different from his usual soft and quiet footsteps.
[Name] winced while watching and hoped that they would still be able to instruct the two safely.
They exhaled to chase that thought from their mind before turning back around to the monster camp in front of them… Wow Oh wow is that a mental sentence they never thought they'd say.
Regardless they walked forward anyway, eyes landing on a nearby Hilichurl digging at the ground and a smirk falling upon their face.
Kaeya, attack it. Start with your elemental skill.
It was seconds after when he sprung to life, [Name] was never sure where the weapons came from and seeing it in person didn't answer any of their most pressing questions on the topic. 
The finely cared for blade appeared in the knights hand as his arm moved into place for a strike and an iconic voiceline left his mouth.
"Cool it!"
[Name] resisted the urge to behave like the excitable fan they knew they were and instead let their sight rest upon the monsters.
The green display bar was visible and [Name] questioned in their own mind if they had a health bar? It didn't matter regardless. [Name] watched the health of the first enemy fade into the red and then empty itself fully.
They took a step back upon looking at the enemy itself. The cuts and blood were never seen through the screen but in person it made their stomach twist.
The fur of the poor thing was bare in some locations and most obvious was a gnash across its abdomen. Dark red blood seeped   the wound both onto the sword in their friend's hand and onto the creature's arm that was now wrapped around the injury.
Flecks of ice were scattered on the dark fur but most horrifying were the icy shards burrowed into it's eye.
Another swipe of Kaeya's sword and the Hilichurl gave a pained cry of anger before falling dead.
[Name] didn't have time to worry over the morality of their actions, instead the sound of metal against metal pulled their mind away from the scene in front of them and instead to their side which sent them stumbling away from Razor and the metachurl whose strike he had just stopped in its tracks.
It didn't take long for Kaeya and Razor to both team up on the enemy in front of them, the sight of a super conduct upclose sent shivers up [Name]'s spine as they watched the creature scream in pain and flail wildly.
They quickly scrambled up from the ground and forced their mind to relax, instead of fixating on the enemy's that were being fought and instead focusing on the status of their friends.
Surprisingly enough, they didn't note anything beyond a handful of scraps and maybe a spot or two that would potentially bruise on Kaeya's person.
However [Name]'s focus was redirected from the duo to an archer readying an arrow crackling and popping with electricity.
They didn't trust their voice to move but it didn't take them long to figure out how long the shot would take.
Without a second thought, [Name] lunged in the beasts direction, tackling it to the ground and throwing off the shot, leaving it to hit a wall useless and fizzle out.
The claws of a Hilichurl dug into their skin as the back of their head hit the ground, the world around them started to spin and [Name] wrapped their hands around its neck as their thoughts filled with only one idea. STAY STILL AND DIE ALREADY.
They watched a strange look come into its eye and each movement from those sharp stinging claws stilled, only staring into [Name]'s eyes before it's flesh began to feel weak, disintegrating under [Name]'s grasp. 
They sat up quickly and felt the world around them spin. A few sounds of pain left their mouth but it was overshadowed by inhuman screams of horror before rough hands grasped onto their shoulder causing a hiss to leave them. The harsh contact sending shudders of pain down their arms and into their cuts.
They looked around the battlefield slowly, gentle on their now aching skull, only to make eye contact with a very worried looking Paimon and catching sight of Diluc's worried face with his hand on their shoulder.
"What were you doing?!" Paimon cried "Your control isn't meant to be used on those things! Just trust your vessels!"
[Name] let out a groan of frustration, realizing their rush into violence likely gave the group a heart attack. "Look, look, I'm okay.. Mostly. I'm sorry."
Diluc shook his head. "Fine is the wrong word. I should have never trusted them with your safety."
They rolled their eyes in response. "They did everything I told them to, I'm the one who made a mistake. Insult my mains again and I'll drop kick you all the way to the Jade Chamber."
Kaeya chuckled, the control having faded away after your focus left him, and he simply gave a soft smile. "Really care that much about us, Your Grace?"
[Name] glared at the ground and muttered angrily. "Obviously enough to stop you from getting shot and even that didn't work… all I got from that was causing panic. Stupid attempted main character moment."
Kaeya chuckled once more and shook his head. "We couldn't be more grateful, really and truly. Why would we not feel honored that our patron themselves threw their way into harm's way for us?"
Diluc's grip on [Name]'s shoulder tightened, causing them to wince and twist away as Diluc began to speak. "You were supposed to serve them but instead all you've done is result in their injury. Some vessels you are."
[Name] looked up to glare into his eyes and spoke two words. "Jade Chamber."
Diluc's face fell as he let go of them gently and stepped away. "Of course, my apologies, My Grace. Your wish is my command."
[Name] leaned their head back to the clear sky. "I wish to go back to Mondstadt? Can you worrywarts make that happen?"
Jean stepped forward to replace Diluc's now empty spot and nodded. "Of course. We'll bring you home immediately and get you treated to the best of our abilities, should you desire to rest, we'll give you that capability as well."
[Name] raised an eyebrow before laying down gently onto the rock below them. "If you plan on getting me back to Mondstadt within the next hour, you'll have to carry me somehow. I am not walking any further."
Aether shook his head. "I'll handle it. Trust me, My Guide.. you'll be home soon." 
The thought of a teleport waypoint entered their mind as they closed their eyes. Whatever, the group could use whatever methods they wanted, right now [Name]'s head hurt and they wanted a nap.
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Well, another chapter and surprisingly enough, I actually like this one. Rare? Yes, but happily accepted.
Tag list! (Closed for the foreseeable future.)
@chihawari @samuelftm @mizuistrying @karylles-world @isaywhatiwant @multifandomvoyage @sayomiikaye @peacesong02 @chie-san @magica-ren @willburzone @harmonbrooke @sadlonelybagel @well-excuse-me-player @rizakari @eccedentesiast-sapphic @nasidibakar @@yue-caelum @irisxiel @detectivexheizou @ello-its-me-ya-boi @nin3ss @uh-kay-shuh @campanula-rotundifolia @whispereons
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ionasadventures · 5 months
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LA Adventure- Day 2! (Part 2)
We got to briefly stop and see around a real live sound stage! We weren’t allowed to take any photos of the inside as the show was still filming (they’d stopped for lunch!) but it was so fascinating seeing how they make these 3 camera sitcoms. The set was made up for “Bob <3 Abishola” (spelt with a heart symbol I’m not just being lazy haha) which is a typical sitcom like Big Bang Theory or Young Sheldon or Friends. They’re called 3 camera sitcoms because typically they only use 3 camera angles! One on the character speaking, one on whomever they’re speaking to, and then one for the wide shots with everything in it. The sound stage is laid out in a grid fashion, with 4 sets on each side of a narrow passageway. This passageway is referred to as camera alley because this is where the cameras will be! As with before, the sets don’t have ceilings on them to allow for lighting and the cameras are in a fixed position so as to not see the lights. It takes about 5 days to film one episode, and the sets are left as they are throughout the whole filming season as most of that time is dedicated to set up! After this the tour of the backlot continued, we drove past a few more famous locations! They have a massive jungle area with real plants from the jungle (as the climate will allow for it!). This was ESPECIALLY of interest to me as this was the area where they filmed the iconic T-Rex chase scene from Jurassic Park!! Warner Bros. let’s other studios use their facilities too, which is why some of the locations seem above are used in things like Breaking Bad, Jurassic Park and Spider-Man. They also have a big pit which can be filled with water to create a lagoon, or with dirt to create a graveyard. Versatile! After the outside lots - which were MASSIVE - we navigated to a warehouse area of the tour which had costumes and props on display. It was very cool to see! Costumes from Interview with the Vampire, Batman, Crazy Rich Asians, Space Jam, and of course a whole host of DC superheroes. They even had some from Game of Thrones/House of the Dragon. The costumers were intricately made, the detail was outstanding! For example on Aquaman’s suit there’s tiny iridescent scales all over. The props were cool too as they were primarily the Batmobile and other Bat-items from across the Batman movies. They had this cool area from The Hobbit which showed how they did the forced perspective trickery to make the Hobbits look small and Gandalf look big! The studio tour really made a point to showcase every aspect of the filmmaking process, detailing how costumes and props and sets were made. The amount of afford put in to each and every part of filmmaking is insane, no wonder it takes so long to make because so much detail is included, things you may not even see or notice unless you’re looking really close! Sam Warner (one of the Warner Brothers) advocated for the use of Vitaphone, the process of using sound in cinema, and it was fascinating to see how they would make the sounds for shows. For example, in the Spider-Man kiss scene, to prevent the fake rainwater from going up Tobey McGuire’s nose, they used a combination of cotton wool and Vaseline to plug up his nose! However this meant that he couldn’t speak properly, so he re-recorded his lines using the sound system to make himself sound clearer over the rain. If you go back and watch the film, you’ll notice that Kirsten Dunst as Mary-Jane only lifts the mask up to below Spider-Man’s nose, to prevent the cameras from picking up on the cotton wool! They also had things such as wooden boards and fake shoes to amplify the sound of actors walking on set, as typically the sets would have plastic floors to prevent the actors’ footsteps from drowning out their lines. Thus by dubbing over the footsteps, the sound department can control how loud they are and change the volume depending on the scene. Such cool stuff!! From storyboards to green screens to motion capture to physical makeup, it was incredibly to see behind the scenes and had given me an even greater appreciation for all those involved!
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thebooktopus · 2 years
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Sixteen Sentence Sunday
thanks for the tags @academicdisasterfic, @rainbees, @teacup-tai, & @ghaniblue! you four posted snippets that I am very much looking forward to! everything I’m working on at the moment is anon except for the fic I threw together this weekend for @jeddyfest. I’ll be posting the full thing sometime this week! quidditch player James is on the clock app, and Teddy is here for it.
Sighing, Teddy clicked on the icon. Music blared from his iPhone, and he fumbled with the buttons, scrambling to lower the volume. He dragged the screen down, starting the video again from the beginning. 
James’ freckled face filled the screen, sweat slicking his fringe against his forehead. Teddy recognised the streak of mud on his left cheek from that afternoon and groaned, imagining James editing the video together and posting it just before he texted Teddy.
“It’s all in the way she moves,” came the song again from the beginning. James started out in his full match kit in the mirror, but as the song went on, with each new “What she do?” James appeared with less and less clothing, losing his Quidditch leathers and his vest, each transition featuring James’ cheekiest grin and more and more of his skin. 
The last pane showed him freshly showered, a white, fluffy towel slung low on his hips, water still beaded on his chest. His newest tattoo, a horse and a stag, galloped across his chest, seeming to chase each other playfully. Teddy wondered if everyone else watching knew it was for his parents. 
The arsehole on his screen smirked and raised an eyebrow, as if to say “I know you’re going to watch this again,” just before the video looped back around to post-match James: muddy, sweaty, gorgeous.
Tagging some friends who I haven't seen tagged yet: @aqua-myosotis, @nv-md, @phoebe-delia, @pennygalleon, and @tackytigerfic. I love reading these so if you haven't been tagged yet, consider this your tag and show me what you got! (yes that's a rick and morty reference; no I will not be rescinding it.)
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richmindlifenews · 9 months
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Traders Domain top MLM recruiters named & shamed
Traders Domain was a Ponzi scheme run by Canadian national Ted Safranko.
An estimated $500 million is believed to have passed through Traders Domain in crypto alone.
ROI liabilities at the time of Traders Domain’s collapse in late 2022 have been pegged at around $3.3 billion.
While Traders Domain itself wasn’t an MLM Ponzi scheme, several well-known MLM industry figures invested into and stole through it.
Worse still they promoted Traders Domain to others, irrevocably tarnishing their reputations, careers and the trust given to them by their victims.
Today we name and shame the top MLM industry figures in Traders Domain.
Back in February I put together an extensive list of MLM Ponzi schemes that were or were believed to be feeding funds into Traders Domain.
This in turn provided a list of scammers running and/or promoting the attached MLM Ponzis, so I wasn’t completely unaware of Traders Domain’s MLM connection.
What I didn’t know was how much those named had invested into Traders Domain. This information was partially made public by the YouTuber Coffeezilla on June 22nd.
Over the course of three weeks, Coffeezilla ran a three-part series on Traders Domain.
The series differed from my own research in that I’d only focused on the MLM connections to Traders Domain.
If you haven’t seen the series, it’s worth a watch for a look into how Traders Domain operated.
I should point out that Coffeezilla did reach out to me during the course of his research. I wasn’t able to provide anything helpful, beyond what I’d already published.
At [34:39] in Part 3 of Coffeezilla’s series, a partial list “of the top 500 players in Traders Domain” runs across the screen.
Several of the names I recognized, prompting me to publish this followup to provide context to the list.
Note that I did reach out to Coffeezilla to request the full “top 500 players” list. That was a few days ago and I haven’t yet heard back.
If I do wind up in possession of the top 500 list, I’ll either publish a separate article or make an update below.
Finally, note that the amounts in brackets below are the balances the named scammers had in Traders Domain at time of its collapse.
This is a combination of personal investment and recruitment commissions reinvested into the scheme. The amount each of the named scammers stole through Traders Domain has not been made public.
With all that out of the way, here are the top MLM recruiters for Traders Domain named & shamed.
1. Holton Buggs ($125,289,105)
Holton Buggs has been in the MLM industry for over 30 years. There is absolutely no excuse for him promoting and profiting off of Ponzi schemes.
Yet here we are.
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Before he began chasing crypto riches, Buggs was best known as a top earner within Organo Gold.
Buggs sabotaged his position in Organo Gold in 2018, by attempting to funnel distributors into the Ormeus Global Ponzi scheme.
That idea fell apart and Buggs went on to launch iBuumerang in 2019.
iBuumerang web traffic began tanking towards the end of 2021. This prompted Buggs to team up with Travis Bott and launch his own MLM crypto Ponzi schemes.
Meta Bounty Hunters launched in early 2022 and was followed up by Meta Bounty Huntresses later in the year.
Both of Buggs’ Meta Bounty Hunters Ponzi schemes collapsed after Traders Domain collapsed in late 2022.
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In addition to funneling his own Ponzi schemes into Traders Domain, Buggs also directly recruited into it.
I believe the bulk of these efforts saw Buggs pillage iBuumerang distributors through its Ellev8 platform.
Additional Traders Domain accounts believed to be attached to Buggs include:
MBH Iconics – $10,595,368
Buggs Legacy – $5,129,358
MBH Reserves – $4,874,961
Meta Bounty – $4,569,703
MBH Escrow – $4,360,654
Buggs was approached by Coffeezilla for comment but did not respond.
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themovieblogonline · 6 months
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Totally Killer Review: A Time-Travel Slasher Extravaganza
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Totally Killer, directed by Nahnatchka Khan and crafted from the imaginative minds of screenwriters David Matalon, Sasha Perl-Raver, and Jen D'Angelo, is an enthralling, suspenseful, and shockingly wholesome film that seamlessly melds elements of thriller, horror, and time-travel genres. Set against the backdrop of 1987, this film takes audiences on a roller-coaster ride through time, weaving a tale of suspense, nostalgia, and the unbreakable bond between a mother and daughter. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vNm3VPPKEQI The Good: At its core, Totally Killer revolves around a haunting premise: after witnessing her mother’s friends fall victim to the Sweet Sixteen Killer on Halloween night, Jamie, portrayed with exceptional depth by Kiernan Shipka, embarks on a journey back in time to 1987. This daring venture thrusts her into a race against time, forcing her to confront the killer before he can unleash his reign of terror, all while attempting to find her way back to her own timeline. One of the film's strongest points is its impeccable casting. Kiernan Shipka delivers a stellar performance as Jamie, capturing the character’s determination, vulnerability, and resilience with remarkable finesse. Julie Bowen, as Pam, the adult version of Jamie's mother, exudes a mix of strength and vulnerability, anchoring the film emotionally. The seamless transition between Olivia Holt and Bowen as the teenage and adult Pam, respectively, adds a layer of authenticity to their shared role, highlighting the subtle nuances of their performances. The screenplay, crafted by Matalon, Perl-Raver, and D'Angelo, masterfully navigates the complexities of time travel. The narrative is meticulously woven, incorporating intricate details and clever plot twists that keep the audience on the edge of their seats. The dialogues are sharp, poignant, and laden with underlying tension, adding depth to the characters and their relationships. To be honest, it's hard to find another film that traverses the subject of time travel as beautifully as this movie does. It's extremely similar in tone to Christopher Landon's Freaky - a movie that's most definitely a slasher at heart, but is also filled to the brim with wholesome vibes. It's quite random, sure, but can we please see a crossover with this and Happy Death Day and Freaky? Director Nahnatchka Khan deserves accolades for her exceptional vision and execution. She skillfully captures the essence of the 1980s, immersing the audience in a vibrant world of neon lights, retro fashion, and iconic music. The meticulous attention to period-specific details lends authenticity to the film, invoking a sense of nostalgia for viewers who lived through that era while providing younger audiences with a captivating glimpse into the past. The film's cinematography, helmed by Judd Overton, is visually striking. The juxtaposition of eerie, dimly lit scenes with the neon-drenched landscapes of 1987 creates a visually dynamic experience. The use of suspenseful camera angles and innovative visual effects intensifies the film's overall impact, heightening the sense of dread and anticipation. Additionally, the film's score, composed by Michael Andrews, perfectly complements the on-screen action. The haunting melodies and pulse-pounding beats enhance the atmosphere, eliciting a range of emotions from the audience. From heart-pounding chase sequences to poignant moments of introspection, the music serves as a powerful narrative tool, elevating the film to greater heights. Totally Killer is not merely a thrilling time-travel escapade; it delves deep into the themes of family, love, and the resilience of the human spirit. Through Jamie and Pam’s poignant relationship, the film explores the lengths a mother and daughter would go to protect each other, even across the barriers of time. This emotional core adds a layer of depth to the narrative, resonating with audiences on a profound level. The Bad: However, the film is not without its minor flaws. At certain points, the pacing feels slightly uneven, with moments of intense action giving way to slower, contemplative scenes. While these moments contribute to character development, a tighter grip on pacing could have elevated the film's overall intensity. Overall: Totally Killer stands as a testament to the power of compelling storytelling and exceptional filmmaking. Its gripping plot, stellar performances, meticulous attention to detail, wholesome undertones, and emotional resonance make it a standout entry in the time-travel subgenre. The film's ability to transport audiences to a different era while unraveling a riveting mystery is a testament to the talent and creativity of its creators. It's also a great film to watch if you want to be put in a great mood, even with all the killings on-screen. This is sure to be a sleeper hit, so make sure to go check it out right away. Read the full article
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artfully-wayward · 3 years
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The newest update of Tumblr mobile has taken away that feature where you could drag the create-a-post icon across the screen.
Why.
Why.
Why.
Why.
Why.
@staff
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I Dare You to Tell Me How You Feel
How on earth had it come to this?
As Marinette sprawled out on her bed, her face flush and her heart thrumming against her chest, she wondered how she’d gotten to such a point.
Here they were, months after Hawkmoth’s defeat, identities revealed, and what were she and Adrien doing?
“I can’t believe I’m here,” Marinette dropped the phone onto her face with a little yelp. She let it roll to the side and ran her now free hands down her face instead. “What is my problem?! Why am I such a chicken?”
“You’re not chickens. You’ve both been through a lot, and sometimes it's safer to let the dust settle on huge life events before jumping into the next round of changes. Especially as Hawkmoth turned out to be Adrien’s father,” Tikki, ever the optimist, piped up by her side.
“I guess!” Marinette flailed her arms before letting them rest beside her like a corpse. “But honestly, not even a confession? Not one of us hast spoken of feelings, nor have we kissed! Was it all for nought? Would thou expect me NOT to lay my heart of hearts bare for him? Yet the words die like ash on my tongue. And what of hand holding sessions?! NARY A ONE, TIKKI, NARY A ONE!”
“You have to stop watching those old Shakespeare inspired movies,” Tikki chuckled. “You sound like a crazy knight!”
“Well I’m sorry if I sound like a crazy knight,” Marinette’s pouted, “But talking like Shakespeare makes it sound a lot less pathetic than WAH WHY WON’T HE LOVE-”  
Her phone buzzed.
Marinette’s impassioned speech halted dead in its tracks. Like a lion pouncing on its prey, she launched herself forward and snatched her phone from its resting place. All former thoughts were forgotten as a message from Adrien popped up on her screen. She didn’t even hear Tikki wander off with an exasperated mutter of “teenagers.”
Because, the reason why Marinette was so upset, the reason why she wondered how they’d got to that point, was that in public Marinette and Adrien were...different. It wasn’t a bad thing, Marinette didn’t stutter around Adrien anymore, now that she knew him as the loveable goofball he was. Chat Noir didn’t flirt with her at every available opportunity, no matter how inappropriate. The pair were calmer, more at ease with each other. In fact, she’d never felt closer to him, more in sync.
But with that, came an element of being so close yet so far. The lingering tension, the many things unsaid, the shared memories they’d yet to discuss (the horrible, the funny, even the romantic).
It was like they were both afraid to make the next step. Whatever that could be.
And a part of Marinette was afraid. Maybe it was too late, maybe they’d missed the boat, maybe he didn’t feel that way about her anymore...
Adrien had skipped school for a while after Gabriel’s arrest and his mother’s awakening from her coma. Since he’d come back to school, everyone had been so kind to him, sympathising with their longtime friend and chasing away anyone who dared try and put the blame of Gabriel Agreste’s actions onto his unsuspecting child. Luckily, the rest of Paris felt the same, and both Emilie and Adrien were seen as his greatest victims.
Whilst he was away from school, he’d been texting Marinette though. They would share silly memes, and talk to each other the way Ladybug and Chat Noir always did, with an added layer of excitement because now they were using each other's civilian names too. It was free. Easy. Fun. Like the world outside them didn’t exist. 
When they were around each other in school, or out with their friends, caution stifled their every movement.
But when they texted, the caution was hardly there at all. Tension replaced it, but a good kind, the kind that made Marinette’s heart flutter.
Adrien: Truth or dare?
They’d been playing this game all day, with hilarious and silly results. Marinette had dared Adrien to put a whoopee cushion on the Principal's chair. Adrien had dared Marinette to ask Chloe for fashion advice. Marinette had then dared him dance like a robot every time a lesson finished. Adrien dared Marinette to sing as he played the piano during their music lesson. Back and forth they went, daring each other over and over again.
Neither of them had selected the Truth option.
But now, in the safety of her bedroom, Marinette decided that it was time to change that.
Marinette: Truth.
The typing icon showed up almost immediately. It stopped and started several times, which did nothing for Marinette’s poor nerves. What was he going to ask her?
Adrien: Has knowing each other’s identities, finding out I’m Chat Noir, finding out who my father is… has it changed how you feel about me?
When the text finally popped up onto the screen, Marinette audibly gasped sitting upright and almost dropping her phone again.
She read Adrien’s words over and over again, trying to think of what to say. Had finding out Chat Noir and Adrien were the same changed her feelings? Yes. But she wasn’t sure how to articulate it in a way that made sense. She could barely understand it herself.
One thing, however, was crystal clear.
Marinette: Finding out that your father was Hawkmoth hasn’t changed my feelings about you. It’s changed how I feel about your father. You had nothing to do with that. I’ve said it before and I will say it again, you were never to blame for his actions. Ever. He kept it secret from everyone, including you. If anything, I’m amazed at how strong you are, how you were able to face him, how you chose the city of Paris over him.
Adrien’s reply was instantaneous.
Adrien: Choosing my father over Paris was NEVER an option. It would’ve meant turning my back on you.
Biting her lip to stop herself from screaming, Marinette flopped back on her pillows, landing on them with a sigh.
Marinette: Well then… in that case I guess finding out Hawkmoth is your father HAS changed my feelings for you a bit. I admire you even more now.
Marinette: And I don’t know how to explain my feelings really. But one thing I can say is that knowing you’re Chat Noir too? That’s made me happy. Like insanely happy. I think it’s one of the best things to ever happen to me.
Adrien was already typing but Marinette cut across him, feeling a sense of regret at being too forward. She wondered if this was too much too soon, worried that she was beginning to crack under the weight of all the things she’d yet to say. She was a dam and if she revealed one one thing, took away one more stone, she would burst. The words and feelings would come pouring out of her and there would be no way back.
And there was that bone-crushing fear of rejection hanging over her head. She couldn’t handle rejection from Chat and Adrien both at the same time. Her heart would never recover.
Marinette: Sorry. That sounded dumb.
Adrien: It didn’t. I agree. It’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me too.
Marinette smiled, sending a little heart emoji. He sent one back straight away and Marinette flailed on the bed, squealing. They’d only ever sent silly emojis to each other. But a heart? That was new.
And it was reciprocated. Reciprocated heart emojis! Marinette felt like floating.
She stared at it for at least half a minute before snapping out of it and finally responding.
Marinette: Ok! I think I answered your question, Kitty. Now it’s your turn! Truth or dare?
She hoped he would say truth, she had a burning question she needed to know.
Adrien: Truth
Marinette: Same question.
The speed of her response would normally embarrass her but he was answering just as fast.
Adrien: Do I feel differently about you now I know your identity?
Marinette: Yeah…
He was typing for a long time. Stopping and starting. Minutes passed and she wondered if she’d messed up, if she’d crossed a line he wasn’t ready to cross. But hadn’t he started it? He’d asked the question first, after all.
She tried to distract herself with other social media sites, messaging in the girls group chat, clicking through her notifications, but she kept coming back to that pesky typing icon. Once again, the fluttering started in her stomach and Marinette rolled over, burying her face into her pillows and shoving her phone underneath. 
Eventually she went downstairs for a late night drink of water, bringing her phone along with her and placing it on the kitchen counter.
Of course she’d messed up. Of course she’d gone and ruined everything.
Buzz. Buzz.
Pressing her lips together, Marinette let out a long, high-pitched whine. She didn’t want to look, she wanted to look, she had to look.
“Oh for the love of-” she chastised herself. With trembling hands, she placed the glass of water down on the counter, almost spilling half of it in the process, and picked up her phone once more.
Her heart nearly leapt out of her throat.
Adrien: I didn’t think it was possible for my feelings for you to grow stronger than they already were, My Lady. But to find out that, underneath the mask, you were one of the people I admire most in the whole world too? The fact that you’re my amazing, talented, brave friend? I almost couldn’t believe how lucky I am. I look at everything that’s happened to me recently, my dad getting arrested, my mum struggling with her recovery, the world knowing I’m the son of a supervillain…when I look at you it’s like it all goes away. It really does feel like it’s you and me against the world. But in the best way. In a fun way as well as a big battle-superheroes kind of way.
Adrien: You inspire me. Every day. Even on the days where the world feels heavy, it’s your courage that reminds me that even small steps matter. But more than that, to me, it just makes sense. Of course you’re Ladybug, of course you are. Have you met you? It’s so obvious I must have been crazy not to see it!
Adrien: So yeah I guess my feelings have stayed the same, but more. Deeper. From the moment I met you, I knew that whoever the girl under the mask was, that I would love her.
Adrien: I was right.
Tears fell on the screen. Only then did Marinette realise she was crying. She wiped both the screen and her eyes, laughing at herself, feeling such a colossal sense of relief that she couldn’t contain it. The tears wouldn’t stop, nor would the soft chuckles.
He loved her. He’d said so a long time ago, but she hadn’t wanted to believe it then. But she did now. She believed him with her whole heart.
Marinette: Truth or dare.
Adrien: ???
Adrien: Isn’t it my turn to ask, My Lady?
Marinette: Adrien. Trust me. Truth or dare.
Adrien: Alright… dare.
Marinette: I dare you to come here right now and tell me all of that again to my face. I dare you to come here so you can hear me tell you how much I love you right back.
Marinette: I dare you to come here and kiss me.
There was a brief pause. Marinette stood there, in the kitchen, long past her bedtime. It was a strange phenomenon, knowing her life was about to change forever with the reply he gave. Outside the windows, Paris was silent. Not even the sounds of traffic passing by met her ears. Even the world seemed to hold its breath in solidarity. 
Adrien: I’m on my way.
And just like that, the world un-paused. Suddenly, there wasn’t a second left to lose. As quietly as she could, so as not to disturb her parents, Marinette rushed up the stairs to check herself in the mirror, quickly brushing her hair and adjusting her pyjamas to look a little bit more flattering. Should she put on makeup? Would that be trying too hard?
She began to pace, wondering what she should say when he got here, re-reading their conversation over and over again.
Finally, a gentle thud interrupted her pacing. A knock at her balcony door and she all but threw herself up the ladder to the opening.
There he was. Her Chat Noir, standing in a halo of moonlight, staring down at her with a look Marinette could barely begin to process.
“Hi,” she breathed, but it was the only thing she would say.
Chat’s wrist closed on her outstretched arm. He pulled her upwards, quickly wrapping his free arm around to support her waist as he lifted her into his arms. Without another word, he brought his lips to hers.
All the air disappeared from her lungs but she recovered and quickly settled into returning the embrace. The years of pining, of missed opportunities, of what ifs and why nots, it all melted away.
It was perfect. As it always should have been; a pair of superhero lovers under a moonlit sky.
“Hey,” he replied, resting his forehead on hers and settling her back on the ground. Her hands wrapped around his shoulders and she rubbed her nose against his. “Sorry if that was too much. I just couldn’t stand another second not kissing the girl I love.”
Marinette closed her eyes, smiling. A green flash lit up the balcony and when she opened her eyes, Adrien was standing there.
“Ugh, if you’re going to be all mushy, I’m going to go raid your fridge,” Plagg grumbled and disappeared, unaware that neither Adrien nor Marinette had heard him.
Marinette reached up, playing idly with his hair, and he leaned into her touch, holding her wrist and kissing the palm of her hand. Even though he’d put her back on the ground, she still felt like she was floating.
“It’s alright,” she replied, “I couldn’t stand another moment not kissing the guy I love either. It balances out. Which reminds me-”
And with that, Marinette pulled Adrien into another kiss. Their second kiss of the night.
Many, many more were to be had.
“Best. Game. Ever,” Adrien chuckled as they made their way back into her bedroom.
~~~~
For @adrinetteapril day 11: Truth or Dare! 
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Text
Warm (Revenant x Reader)
Theme: Reader comforts Revenant after a somewhat brutal loss in a duos match as Revenant becomes concerned with his image.
Warnings: Mentions of mania, mentions of depression, mentions of suicide, threats of violence, graphically described violence, pain, sharp objects, borderline sexual fluff.
Reader's Notes: Revenant (Apex Legends) x Reader, reader is non-gendered in this chapter, this is getting romantic but hasn't crossed the line quite yet, reader will eventually have to be gendered (but I'll hold off as long as possible).
Writing Notes: Compliments give me fuel. Lot of development this chapter, more characters. I feel like this is increasingly revealing of who I am as a person, so I'm glad I'm anonymous.
Navigation:
First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter
The Apex Games are brutal. It's a miracle these people can be suspended in death boxes and sewn or pieced back together after what happens to them. You've heard murmurs that some of the visual brutality is simulated by an AI for the cameras while the much less damaged person is imprisoned in a deathbox, but you are not so sure of that. It looks too real, and the Legends seem way too accustomed to pain and morbid destruction for it not to be. You are desensitized to a lot of gore and snuff yourself, but you've come to know the Legends just well enough to shudder when they are disemboweled in front of you. When you first started volunteering to help, you remembered being endlessly relieved the first time you saw them all return from the medical ward.
Even though you know they will likely be fine, you whimper as Bloodhound takes an apparently fatal blow from the favorites for this duos match: Loba and Bangalore. It isn't very often that random chance creates such an iconic duos pair, but it's happening today and the cameras are loving it. The cameras have been so fixated on these two that you haven't seen night or day out of Revenant. According to the trackers on the screen, Revenant is still in the game, but his teammate--Fuse--was knocked out of the match early on. Knowing those two, they likely agreed to drop hot--in an area with lots of combatants. While it's a good way to get kills, it's also an ideal way to get killed. From previous matches, you have the impression Revenant will drop hot if his teammate or teammates agree, but he won't do so otherwise. Fuse is absolutely the type to agree to dropping hot. You worry for Fuse even though you are certain he will be back tomorrow or soon thereafter, ready for more.
Loba and Bangalore have used their combined skills to gather long-range sniper weapons and considerable kills so far this match. Bangalore is able to use her abilities to create confusion and draw combatants out from cover, and Loba could create or close distances with her warp band while also gathering excessive amounts of high-level weaponry, mods, and armor to make them all the more terrifying. They pulled ahead early in the game, and now they feel unstoppable. The cameras watch as they run across Olympus' beautifully groomed grass towards the next team to victimize.
You feel like you're not doing what you should be doing. Did Revenant really just want you to watch the match today? Shouldn't you do something helpful?
You get yourself to the edge of the bed, hop up, and start to make it. It was so perfect when you hopped in yesterday, you want to try to make it equally as perfect. Your legs no longer hurt, and you feel well-rested despite Revenant's creepily watchful eyes. You take a deep breath, stretch backwards, and get to making the bed. You will have to go to your volunteer bunk and change soon. You wonder if you will have to move out of the volunteer area--even though it's small and cramped, it's been your home for a few years now. Your coworkers feel more like roommates, varying from cool but introverted to outgoing but overbearing. You like all of them, and you have the unusual standing as one of the longest-running volunteers, staying through off and on seasons to keep things functioning. You don't want to lose them, or the only home you've known for a few years.
Gunshots ring out on the television, Loba and Bangalore are taking shots at another team fight from afar. You see the symbol for Lifeline pop up as knocked, then eliminated. Caustic's name pops up next. Finally, Revenant came up as knocked, but not eliminated. You can't help but panic just a little, but Revenant apparently had a self-revive and is moving again, fleeing the area as Loba gives vicious chase trying to make up the distance from sniping. Revenant is in bad shape, he has been fighting solo for a while, and Loba knows he is practically a free kill at this point. You're afraid this is going to turn into another Loba versus Revenant fight, a favorite of the audience due to how ruthless they both are with each other. You don't like them fighting. You don't like seeing Loba be nearly beheaded or gutted, and you don't like seeing Revenant be slowly but surely tortured to death. There is no alternative ending with those two. It's always violent, and Revenant doesn't stand much of a chance at this rate. He clearly knows that.
You stare at the television breathlessly, trying to make the bed without looking away. Loba is hunting, and Revenant is unable to keep enough distance. In a last gambit, Revenant manages to break line of sight, launching his silencer into the doorway of a bunker and then intentionally running into the opposing bunker. Loba falls for it, as she makes an immediate path for the bunker with the silencer, opting to take the back door. It buys Revenant enough time to use a Pheonix Kit, a piece of equipment that restores his shields and health completely for a much fairer fight.
Hell is about to break loose.
You plop down on the bench having finished the bed, unable to look away. Loba and Revenant meet eyes from within each bunker through the small windows on each side. Loba looks infuriated at his newly rejuvenated state. Revenant's look is too intense to be smug, it truly is a mechanical malice undescribable by any other terminology. These two loathe each other. The spectators roar in excitement at another bloodbath between the lovely but deadly master thief and her mechanical antagonist, the commentators giving a short review of the last time these two met on the battlefield.
Revenant, now unafraid of the odds, immediately dashes to close the gap between their bunkers. Loba flings her warp band in his direction, landing behind him, and immediately getting two Mastiff slugs in his back. You cringe at the sight. Revenant turns to meet her fire with his Volt, but Bangalore's lobbed smokescreen fills the area before his shots meet. Bangalore had been lagging behind Loba, but she was close enough now to take shots again. You hear Loba's Mastiff take a number of more shots in the smokescreen, the Volt returning fire. Bangalore calls in her Rolling Thunder, cascading aerial bombardment all throughout the smokescreen. Revenant manages to break free of the now-fading smokescreen, trying to escape the explosives, but it was clearly Bangalore's intent for him to do so. With her well-equipped Longbow, she manages to snipe Revenant, knocking him to his knees.
Loba was soon looming over him, waiting for the camera to catch up. The crowd chants and screeches waiting for the gore. There are no microphones on the Legends themselves, but you can tell that Revenant is cursing her as she comes over to finish him. You wince, you don't want to watch this, but you feel you have to.
Loba kicks his head hard enough to knock out any human opponent, sending him to the ground. His mask is cracked open, revealing the copper lining underneath and the wiring for his optics. He stays grounded, glaring at her with an unspeakably vicious hatred. He faces his demise with just as much malice as he had moments earlier, perhaps even more. She goes in for a direct stomp, plunging the five-inch tall heel of her shoe into and through Revenant's left optic. You grimace at the horror of it, wanting to cover your face to escape the imagery. Revenant's body lurches backwards and writhes in pain, grabbing aimlessly at his face, screaming so loudly that the drone camera picks it up as his vocalizations crack and become inundated with static.
Revenant isn't eliminated. Revenant is treated differently than the human and more finite combatants. His deaths are of no consequence, so he isn't protected from them. He can just come back, over and over. So the cameras roll and he's left to suffer whenever it makes for better television. The most bloodthirsty fans have always loved this double-standard, but you are beginning to revile it more by the moment.
Loba spits on him, taking a moment to parade to the crowd her triumphant moment. Revenant's last remaining optic is dimming uncontrollably, but is still locked on her when she returns to finish the job. They lock eyes for a moment. You don't know the details--nobody does--but it's clear they have some kind of history where all the hatred stems from. Revenant looks away in acceptance of his defeat, and his neck is immediately clamped down on by her heels. With a single twist of her leg, the cracking noise of his head being forcibly freed from his torso rings out. You want to vomit.
Revenant is only now considered eliminated, his husk of a chassis lying nearly in two pieces, his head twisted perpendicular to his torso. The crowd is absolutely ablaze. Loba reaches down, tearing the scarf off his head and holding it triumphantly in the air, looking as if she just scalped her kill. Bangalore shies away from the cameras herself, she's clearly ready to move on. Loba revels in the violence, just like Revenant does, but there is something especially malicious between them.
You feel the nausea taking hold even stronger. Revenant is someone you know now. He's shown you kindness, and you've become very fond of him. You can't say you know him extremely well, granted, but well enough to feel empathy for his pain. Watching him essentially have his skull broken, eye gouged, and neck severed is a lot to take. You could literally see the excruciating pain in his body language when his eye was stomped out. They shouldn't allow it. The moment a human life is in danger they get deathboxed. Only now that Revenant's body is dead and vacated of all living code, as well as the audience thoroughly satiated, does Revenant's corpse get deathboxed. He managed to fight his team all the way to seventh place alone. Loba and Bangalore continue on, the cameras lovingly cataloging their sweep.
You get up and turn off the television, sheepishly use your new ID to leave the room, and head to the volunteer bunks. It's the middle of the day, so nobody is around. A note on your bunk reads "Worried about you! Let me know when you get back. -Sherry". You scribble back, "Sorry Sherry, had a special request I had to run, need to talk later. Text me." and place it on her bunk. Sherry is the de facto leader of the volunteers, here since day one of season one. You know each other well. She doesn't pry often, but disappearing for a night is really out of character for you, so you don't mind it this once. She will know if you're allowed to stay in the volunteer bunks or not. You gather your things, just in case, and haul them to Revenant's room. You only have a single duffel bag of clothes and toiletries to your name. It has been that way since you found yourself on the streets years ago. It's easy enough to carry, but some amount of sadness still lingers in you as you haul your only worldly possessions in a single bag. The Apex Games gives you year-round work in exchange for a place to live rent-free. The Legends who tip well basically keep you at a decent wage for the hours. So despite not having much to your name in terms of assets, you now have a bank account with enough value to move on if absolutely necessary.
You use the badge to open Revenant's door. It dings satisfactorily, and you dump your bag on the floor. You're not leaving the area until he's back. You already decided. You're in some stage of denial after watching him die, but simultaneously you cannot be in denial if he always comes back. You shake your head, the nausea fights for its throne in your gut. You grab a change of clothes out of the bag and head to the bathroom in the far left corner of the room.
As you enter, you see a mostly untouched bathroom, spare for a strangely out-of-place comb, shaving cream, an old-fashioned razor blade, and the mirror smeared opaque with dried suds--likely from the shaving cream. None of those items make sense. Not a single one. Why was the mirror so filthy? Why did a simulacrum have shaving or hair brushing tools? You consider that it might be a coping mechanism, but that doesn't explain the mirror. Whatever, you'll clean it in a second. No need to make a big deal out of it all.
Halfway through changing, you lose your battle with nausea. You don't have anything in your stomach, a fact you quickly realize as you lurch over the toilet. Just stomach acid. What a violent and terrible death. You know he feels just as a human does, it's not his fault he isn't as fragile. It's so unfair. You stand tall, having expelled the worst of it. You finish putting on your "I'm not feeling it" shirt, and make a quick orbit to the duffel and back, picking up your toothbrush, toothpaste, and mouthwash. You clean out your mouth thoroughly, trying to fight off the taste of acid.
You finish up, leaving your oral care items behind to take your dirty clothes to the laundry room and grab some mirror cleaning supplies while there. Since you know how to fully clean down a room, you figure it is within your ability to completely clean Revenant's room. Maybe Fuse's too, these cleans tend to be quick and efficient when you perform them.
• • • •
"Hey, oh my gosh, where were you last night?" The text comes in as you're hauling the cleaning supplies to Fuse's room. It's early afternoon, you'll be done with this before it even begins to get dark.
"Hey, sorry, I had a special request. I didn't mean to worry anyone. I'm cleaning Fuse's room now." You text back, hoping Sherry will meet you here and help wrap up even faster.
"OMW" The text comes in only moments after.
After a few minutes, you hear Fuse's door open. Sherry is a petite blonde woman in her early twenties. Despite her longer, curly hair, she is otherwise not too dissimilar looking from Wattson, her favorite Legend. They have a good relationship apparently, Wattson regularly jokingly adding "request for mon Sherry" to her requests, a play on "mon cherie" in French.
"I didn't see a request for Fuse to have his room cleaned, did you delete it from the system?" Sherry was always on-task.
"Oh, sorry, no, I kinda needed something to do." You look up from changing the bed sheets, "Do you mind giving me a hand?"
"Sure, but there are tons of requests you could have taken, why make one up?" She walks to the opposite side of the bed, nabs the sheet, and looks up, locking sights on your ID.
Her shock is immediate and silent. You notice that she has noticed.
"How did you get that..." She trails off, her head clearly running at max capacity with various theories.
"Revenant gave it to me." You answer blankly. "I don't know what to do."
Sherry stares, her expression becoming increasingly appalled and concerned.
"What... what happened last night? You didn't like... "earn" that, right? I mean, you didn't trade for it, did you?" Her expression grimaces further. "Does he even have the parts for that...?"
You suddenly realize what she's saying, and wave your hands to snap her attention.
"No! Nothing like that! He sees me so often he wanted a personal lackey instead." You see her expression soften for a moment before it snaps back.
"Then where were you last night?"
"Wha--?"
"You heard me, where were you then?"
You stare at the floor, unsure if you can lie so blatantly to her. She stares at you for a moment.
"One moment you're depressed, then next thing I know you're manic, then you disappear for a day and a half. Is this some kind of new suicide plot you have? Seduce a murder robot?" She seems genuinely worried.
"I promise it's not like that! I was exhausted! I accidentally fell asleep when I brought him water--"
"Why did nobody call the paramedics? If you passed out, you should have been given a health check! Why didn't that robot call anyone?" She genuinely cared about you, she was a good friend, through and through.
"Uh, well, I kinda slept in his bed."
Her face went from worry to one of shock and morbid concern. Her knees buckled for a moment and rectified themselves as she cartoon-ishly tried to process her thoughts.
"You see, I guess he's taken a liking to me, and he saw how tired I was, so--"
"So you slept with him just so you could get a break? You should have just asked for time off! You never take it! I would have given it to you!" She was clearly upset.
"It didn't happen like that!" She had a tendency to catastrophically think, so her mind was already five steps ahead of you in the worst possible timeline. If you could stop it now, hopefully it wouldn't continue.
"Wait, why are we changing Fuse's sheets? How many robots and people have you slept with?!" she dropped the sheets at a complete loss. Too late to stop her mental train, it was already off the rails and burning in a ditch.
"Sherry! Pay attention! I didn't do anything with anybody. I just passed out in Revenant's bed, and he decided not to kill me but promote me instead because he's Revenant and he does what he wants, even when it makes no sense to anybody. I didn't even see Fuse yesterday, I just figured I'd clean his room since both him and Revenant took a heck of a loss today." You didn't often get loud, so when you did it tended to garner attention.
Sherry sighed.
"Yeah, that sounds more like the truth than my insane theory." She rests her face in her palms for a moment. "So, uh, I guess you and Revenant are friends now?"
"Subordinate or lackey is probably a better term, but he actually is nice to me! Aside from all the threats..." You trail off, wondering if he means it or if he simply is keeping up his persona.
"Well, congratulations on becoming the homicidal robot's plaything?" She wasn't wrong. Actually, her term was probably more accurate. "Please don't get murdered. I didn't get you out of that homeless shelter just to deliver you into the hands of a bloodthirsty robot with a fascination for evisceration. I'll feel so bad if you die..." She trails off, catastrophic thoughts ablaze. "Just quit!" She perks up with her solution.
"He's not going to kill me, and if he does, it's not your fault. I'm choosing to do this."
She sighs, and starts making the bed with clean sheets, unsure of how to argue, or if the argument is worthwhile.
Sherry was the one you reached out to when you heard that you could work for the Apex Games in return for a bed, bathroom, food, and basic healthcare. She picked you up at the homeless shelter, and helped forge some fake credentials on your resumé at the time. She cleared you herself, pretending as if she never met you before and calling your previous "boss" who was actually just a very confused telemarketer, resulting in getting you the place and position you have now. You've always thought she's an upstanding person; her maternal instincts sometimes getting in the way of her letting people make their own choices freely though. She felt like an older sister to you.
"Please tell me you're at least getting paid. Without the tips from the other Legends, how are you going to keep saving up?" She asked weakly, finishing up by fluffing the pillows.
"Uh, well, I haven't asked yet... I actually meant to ask if I have a room still." You answered, a bit dumbfounded you hadn't considered that before.
"What?! Did you think this through at all?" She burst, but quickly softened, "Of course you still have a room, there should be a door in the back of every Legend's room with the same kind of bunks as we have. Those are for you special folks. It has a bathroom and everything."
"Ah, good, I kinda wish I could stay with you guys, but..."
"...but your new robot-boyfriend is calling you?" She breaks her melancholy with ruthless teasing, just like an older sister. "Yeah, I'll need the space for a new volunteer, definitely."
"I figured as much. Always running on short-handed here." You're a little relieved the choice is made for you.
"So, I'm guessing you now have all Revenant requests, now and forever?" She chuckles a bit. "You somehow take the biggest demotion and consider it a promotion. I can't believe you like dealing with that guy."
You banter back and fourth, finishing up Fuse's room. It'll be nice for him to come back to a clean room, especially considering how his match went that morning. Sherry promises to come around this part of the building more to keep an eye on you, swearing she will kick Revenant's ass if he does "whatever murder-bots do". You go your separate ways, laughing at each other's stupid quips.
• • • •
There is a door at the back of the room. Sherry was right. It is intentionally made to camouflage into the wall, as well as the scanner that opens it. You hold your ID up to it, hear the positive chirp, and the door slides open to reveal a nice small room and bathroom. It's a private bedroom embedded within Revenant's. The door now freely slides like a pocket door to open and close, apparently you only need to activate it once to get access. A nice little bed, a nice little dresser, and a nice little bathroom! It reminds you of a super tiny hotel room, everything is compact but still a notable step up from shared bunks. You breathe deeply, inhaling the smell of a fresh new room. You haul your duffel bag in and toss it into a little cubby under the mattress, and boom, you're moved in! So easy!
Revenant still isn't back yet though. You wonder how long it will take for his new chassis to activate and return here. You wish so badly to know how he is doing, but it is impossible to know. You grabbed some snacks from the kitchen alongside dinner with Sherry, so you have food to stress-binge on if necessary. You figure laying down for the night can't hurt. So you hit the lights in Revenant's room, leaving it to only be lit by the rising moonlight overhead through the skylight. You sneak into your little cubby of a room, flipping the lights off as you slide the door shut behind you. You don't have any skylight, in fact, your ceiling was about 6 feet or so shorter than his, making it much more average. Granted, his room is massive, but you are happy with your tiny private closet. It is so cool.
You fall back in the bed. Soft as can be. Same as his.
Sleep takes you very quickly.
• • • •
You wake up to an inhuman screeching. You jolt up, making yourself panic further as you check your surroundings and recall where you are. You're alone in the little bedroom, the screaming is from the other side of the door, in Revenant's main room. It echoes in a uncanny valley between human despair and mechanical detune. You leap out of bed and rush to open the door to see what is wrong.
The door slides open and you see Revenant, his mask and jaw tilting in opposite directions to replicate an open mouth, revealing a disturbingly black void where his mouth would be, no headscarf, howling in some kind of agony under the moonlight. It sounds so sad, so sorrowful. The pocket door clicks as it reaches its full open position, and Revenant's eyes lock on as soon as the sound is registered. His instincts are instantaneous. His howl slowly fades as he uses up what's left in his artificial lungs, his eyes never breaking from yours. The sorrow leaves him, his jaw slowly closes, and his stature returns for a moment.
"Are you okay?!" You ask him.
He hides is face and his body motions like a person who is sobbing for a few moments, but he doesn't. He couldn't even if he wanted. He regains himself quickly, walking up to you blankly.
"Hey, uh, are you oka--?"
"Keep me warm, skinsuit." His voice shakes as he pulls you into him in an embrace.
He is extremely cold, but his metal parts start to sap your body heat immediately. He is alive. He is new, but alive. You wrap your arms around his small abdomen, slipping under the pistons that hold up his large torso. You squeeze harder than you mean to, giving away that you are genuinely worried about him.
"I thought you left." He admits shakily, still not wholly able to hide his emotions. "I didn't..." He trails off. He places his hand on your head, messing with your hair a bit, until you gaze up at him. He looks down at you in the eye and you see something familiar. Disbelief. "You stayed."
You don't have words. Words mean nothing anyway in moments like this. You squeeze him tighter and he winces a little. You realize his abdomen is probably the least protected area of his body, and even you might be able to hurt him with the wrong touch. You lean forward and bury your face into it anyway, you're pretty sure you can feel a pouch through the leather skin that acts as a stomach receptacle, but you're not sure.
Revenant's body shakes a little like he cannot hold back tears, but as a simulacrum, he has none. You hear a sorrowful moan instead that is quickly stifled. Despite his persona, he has a very human personality.
"Come, keep me warm." He pulls you away for a moment so he can move again, then grabs your wrist and pulls you to the bed. The bed he never used. "It's easier with insulation." He rips the blanket off of it, wrapping it around you both in one sweeping movement, and sitting on the edge, pulling you down with him.
Your face flushes hot red. This is unlike him. He notices, and you swear you see a little bit of a pink glow on him too. He definitely had been flush during his stunt on live TV before joining the games. Insane to think they built that functionality into a mask. He grunts and breaks eye contact.
"Don't look at me like that, I'm just cold." He pulls you into his lap before you can say anything in response. "I have an easier time cooling down with fans than I do heating up. I'd have to run really stressful code to do that and using you is so much easier."
He redirects you to face away from him, and as soon as you do he sucks you in as close to him as you can. You're practically inside of his giant, looming frame. His breath rattles a little in his artificial lung pumps. His hands grapple around your hands while holding the blanket taut, holding them in balled fists and trading his cold for your heat. His vocalizer sounds as if it's giving a deep growl, closer to a purr, almost too soft to be heard, but not quite.
His new chassis smells a little more like plastics, metal shavings, and leather than the previous one, which had been muddled with the scent of dirt, grass, and polish. It's so cold, he must have only just made it inside. You wonder how far he had to run to get back here.
His head lowers to rest his face into your shoulder. You rest your head back on his. For a moment, this creature is just the same as you. Human.
He stays there, humming and purring and enjoying the moment. His body is no longer cold at all, he is now reflecting your heat back at you and feels warm himself. You carefully turn your head and push your face into the side of his mask where his ears would be. His head perks up a little for a moment, just long enough to catch his dumbfounded expression and pinkening cheekbones before his face retreats into your shoulder again. He squeezes you close, grappling your fists as if to never let go.
You sit there for a while, until finally you feel his cooling fans click to life. He lifts his head off your shoulder.
"Thank you." He says as he releases you. He looks away, clearly trying to hide from your gaze. You don't get up. You keep staring in his direction, hoping he will give in and turn to you. But you are both stubborn.
After a long while, you stand up in surrender, but place your hand on his unclothed head, petting it once, just for good measure. His hand rises to cover his face.
"Please go back to bed, I'm sorry for scaring you." He says in an abnormally low baritone, trying to hide himself further.
You surrender. It isn't worth prying away his façade when he isn't ready. He had already shown different colors than he did most of the time. This was scary, but in an unexplored territory sort of way. You weren't giving this exploration up after a single expedition. So it is best to rest up and not overextend.
You retreat into your little closet of a room, sliding the door gently shut. The moment it shuts completely, you hear Revenant move around rapidly. He's normally so silent. You recline into your bed, happy to be as warm as you are. You fall asleep almost instantly.
• • • •
You wake up, no idea what time it is. The room doesn't have a clock, maybe a bit of an oversight on the decorator's part. You get up, lurk over to the bathroom, and start performing your daily routine. Brush the teeth immediately, get the gross overnight flavor out of it. Strip and shower, thankfully there are already towels in the bathroom. Brush your hair while still damp after trying to get it as dry as possible with your towel. Deodorant. Grab your clothes. You put on something a bit nicer than yesterday. Finally, you're ready for whatever.
You waltz over, and knock on the door to make sure he won't be startled.
Instead, you hear a surprised grunt, scraping metal, and hushed curses against the door. You quickly go to open it, thinking he may be hurt, but the door is locked. You hesitate, dumbfounded. The Legends can lock people in like prisoners if they want to. Your attention snaps back as you hear the lock disengage, and the door flies open before you can move it. Revenant faces you, somehow looking a little disheveled.
"Were you outside my door the entire night...?" You ask, still fairly shocked.
"Doesn't matter." He absolutely was. He spoke hurriedly, potentially a little embarrassed. But he recovers his slow speaking pace quickly. "I should have just let myself in, I feel like I missed a great episode. Do you know what you said last night? Some pretty exciting gibberish."
"So you were against the door all night."
"Dammit, skinsuit!" He throws his arms up and turns away from you, towering over the doorway too short for him to enter comfortably. "You should have just slept out here. You know I get bored."
"I didn't think you wanted me to, you acted like you didn't."
"Well, I didn't really care!" He cared immensely, apparently. "I just needed something entertaining to keep my mind off yesterday." He crossed his arms, and began to meander over to the computer desk.
"I'm sorry, I wish you had told me."
"I was in a bad mood, just forget about it. It's fine." He tapped away at the computer, letting out a depressed sigh. "That scene from yesterday has all of Loba's fans riled up. They're posting it everywhere." He covers his face with his hands for a moment, motioning in embarrassment. "I can't believe I let that happen. I would have been better off letting Caustic gas me earlier."
"You were outnumbered, you did the best--"
"I'm getting my damn scarf back." He refused your comforting words, flinging himself to his feet and trudging out the door in a huff. You go to follow, but he whirls around, pointing straight to you, locking you in a glare. "You stay away from Loba, understand?"
He pauses, waiting to hear your reply.
"Uh, okay, I'll try to stay away from her."
While not an entirely satisfactory answer, Revenant whips back and disappears from sight. You sigh aloud. If those two have some kind of long-running hatred for each other, it would probably be best if you didn't get in the middle of it.
You peer over to the computer. He's right, Loba standing over his dead chassis holding up the scarf is everywhere. Loba fans are absolutely enamored by the triumphant image. Revenant fans openly mourn, swearing revenge. Loba and Bangalore apparently took the win, finally fighting down the second place team of Wattson and Rampart. Sherry will be miffed that Wattson had the spotlight and win taken from her. Although, now knowing you're on team Revenant, she probably will spare you any of her rants.
You stare at the image. It makes you overwhelmingly sad. Right before that snapshot was taken, Revenant was in unspeakable pain. The scream you heard on the broadcast echos in your head. It was one born of pain: strong, violent, and sharp until the static began to overwhelm it. The screeches you woke up to last night were not the same. They were mournful: hollow, airy, and almost melodic in their melancholy. Revenant can feel great pain, but clearly has some kind of appreciation for warmth and a kindly embrace. Why didn't others see that? Why does he have to suffer so much more, just because he is a simulacrum?
You close the browser. It messes with you. The imagery makes you upset. You feel you might vomit again if you're not careful.
You're snap back to attention at a commotion outside in the hallway. You peer out in the general direction of the other Legends' rooms.
"Fuck. You." Revenant's voice is so low it could rattle someone's bones. Fuse is standing in front of him, but Revenant is speaking beyond him to Loba, holding the scarf.
"It's my trophy. I'm a master thief, I don't just give things back." Loba proudly holds it in front of her face.
Fuse tries to keep Revenant at a fair distance from her, but Loba is standing her ground, completely unafraid.
"Woah now, come on, we don't need to settle this here and now." Fuse is attempting to keep the peace.
Revenant's growls can be heard from down the hallway, a number of volunteers have stopped to avoid getting too close, and a couple Legends are peering out their doors. The extra attention is displeasing to Revenant.
"Fine, but you will regret this." He starts to back off, prepared to fight another day, but Loba is relentless.
"Not if you want anything from me. Including that source code." Only now is she content to click her heels and turn away, Revenant suddenly looking like he lost the fight.
"Geeze, mate, do you really have to be so aggressive all the time?" Fuse gasps in a sigh of relief, addressing Revenant. "And I think I come on strong--you're a whole 'nother level!" He is already beaming a smile from under his moustache again, chuckling at his own joke.
Revenant shoots him a scowl for a moment, then turns back to you and begins to come back to the room, scarfless.
Fuse keeps pace with him as you retreat back inside, not sure if you should stay out of their way or not. You instinctively dive in behind the bed, staying low as not to be seen. You hear them come around the corner.
"Wait a minute, mate, I wanted to apologize." Revenant is already in the room, turning around to face Fuse who is standing in the doorway. You stay hidden behind the bed, nearly on the floor, listening in on their conversation. "That wasn't my best work out there yesterday. I feel like if I had been there, maybe you wouldn't have, uh..." He trailed off, his point was clear. "Listen, I'll talk to her, see if I can get 'yer scarf back. I don't want there to be any hard feelings."
Revenant's breathing pattern and low growl sounds like he is about to explode, and Fuse knows it too.
"Oh hey! They cleaned your room too!" His diffuses can be surprisingly effective. "Heh, I didn't even ask and apparently they decided to be like mum and make sure it got done whether I liked it or not."
Revenant hadn't actually noticed until now. He turns to look into the room. He peers across the way, seeing the bathroom mirror is reflective again.
"You're right." He sounds surprised. You swear you can hear another sigh of relief from Fuse now that the anger is gone.
"I was told it was that runner who seems to have a bit of a thing for 'ya did it. Seen 'em around lately?" Fuse asked. "I like to tip everyone, they do such a great job and they're not getting paid."
Revenant ignores him, walking into the middle of the room, peering around. To your recollection, he had never asked for his room to be cleaned as long as you have been volunteering. His room was very dusty. Now light is shining through all the windows, the television is clear, the bed sheets fresh, the carpet vacuumed...
"Yeah, where are they?" Revenant finally asks aloud. Is that your invitation to reveal yourself?
"Um, hi, sorry." You slowly pull yourself up from the floor, revealing your truly mediocre hiding spot.
Fuse gives a surprised stare, clearly catching a glimpse of your red badge, then laughs it off.
"You picked a cute one, didn't 'cha Rev?"
Revenant turns to face him in an absolute fury.
"Listen, I'm just telling ya to play nice." Revenant gets in Fuse's face immediately, but Fuse doesn't budge and meets him eye-to-eye for his next words. "You seem pretty defensive of 'em. Keep it that way."
Those words take Revenant aback just long enough for Fuse to break away and waltz up to you.
"Cheers, thanks for bein' my mum for me." He hands you enough money for a month of groceries, so generous!
"Thank you! That's very kind of you!" You chirp back, very happy to have more for your savings. Revenant seems shocked by the genuine joy in your voice.
As Fuse walks by Revenant to leave, you hear a short exchange:
"I'll try to get the scarf. Don't go killing anybody, and I didn't see anything out of the ordinary." Fuse murmurs.
"...thanks." Revenant sounds genuine.
Fuse gives him a side-hug on the way out, Revenant leaning away to escape it, but failing. Fuse laughs at Revenant's bashfulness. Getting a thanks from Revenant is a miracle unto itself, worthy of such a small celebration. Fuse is a genuinely good person. He is universally loved by the volunteers for his generosity and positivity. A lot of people have crushes on him, and you can understand why. One swift set of finger guns at each of you and Fuse is gone out the door, closing it behind himself.
"He's nice!" You say very matter-of-factly to Revenant.
"Sure, whatever you say, little skinsuit." He mumbles, seeming a bit exhausted by all the exchanges this morning. "What did he give you?"
"Money!" You hold out quite the wad of cash. Revenant chuckles a little under his breath at your happiness.
"What are you saving up for, anyway?"
"Well, for when this gig ends, I guess." You think aloud. "I just never want to be homeless again."
"Homeless?" Revenant looks at you with concern, "You were homeless before the Games?"
"Yeah, it's terrible out there..." You trail off your own words a bit sadly, but in seeing his concern for you, you decide to end on a high note. "With everything I save, I'll make sure I always have enough to live off of, and with the experience I'll have an easier time finding a job."
"Would it help if I paid you?" Revenant asks, plainly.
"Well, yes, but you don't need to."
"You should have told me." He almost whispers. He sounds a little sorrowful again.
You walk up and give him a quick hug.
"Sorry, I didn't know you would want to."
"If you keep getting too close to me, one of these days you're going to end up in a body bag." He sneers, trying to regain his vicious demeanor.
"Sorry, just keeping you warm, boss!" You play along, for now. You release him. "I have to actually get some food, go by the medical ward for some medicine, and then I need to leave the facility to pick up some new clothes. Do you need anything?"
Revenant stares for a moment.
"I'll be here when you return, bring me something alcoholic though." He answers, studying your eyes.
"Yes sir!" You rush out the door.
• • • •
When you return in the evening, you find Revenant's chassis laying like a corpse on the bed, his headscarf back on his head. His eyes are glowing dimly, staring at the ceiling with little interest.
"Oh hey." You address him.
"Oh, hey." He addresses you back, but slower. He keeps his eyes on the ceiling.
"You okay? You got your scarf back." You acknowledge, hoping he will perk up.
"Yeah." He sounds... depressed?
You put the bag of medicine on his computer desk, along with your bag of new clothes. You walk over with the remaining bag, which has the largest bottles of rum, whisky, and vodka the store sells. It is heavy and expensive, so you carefully place it on the end table next to his bed.
"I got you a ton of alcohol. It was kinda expensive, I'll probably need to be paid back." You carefully request, unsure how he will react. He gives you a thumbs up before his arm collapses onto the bed again. "What happened while I was gone?"
"Nothing much, I just got my scarf back." He sighs.
"Well, how did you get it?"
He moans audibly.
"Fuse got Mirage and Caustic to help him. Apparently it was an absolute mess. Mirage had to make tons of fakes to play keep away with my scarf, and Caustic gassed Loba's room with... zinc chlorides...? Something like that. It set off the fire alarms, everyone had to evacuate--"
"You didn't evacuate, did you?"
"Absolutely not. Anyways, in the chaos my scarf somehow ended up with Artur and Bloodhound."
"Oh geeze, what happened then?"
"They cleaned it, brought it to me, and gave it to me folded up neatly."
"Oh. Well... that last part isn't so bad."
"They were kind." His eyes tightened with discomfort, "And they left me with this." He holds up a single crow feather, perfectly dainty and undamaged.
"Aw, Artur!" You chirped; Artur was the sweetest bird you have met, not that you have met many.
Revenant sat up suddenly, his eyes getting bright again.
"Why would they do that?" He studied the feather in his hands, like he is completely bewildered with the concept of kindness. "They didn't owe me anything." He puts the feather down in front of him on the bed, pulling his hands up to hold his scarf in his grip on the two sides of his head. "They don't owe me this."
"Are you alright? You seem to not want to accept that Bloodhound is a nice person." You wanted to feed him the answer inside the question.
He stays silent for a while, taking the feather and handing it to you.
"Artur said this was for you, specifically."
"Wait, what do you me--"
"It's Bloodhound. It's in their name." He sighs, as you recognize concern in his tone, "They know who you are, they know you're here, and they recognized your scent on me." He lays down on his back, exasperated. "I can't let more people know." You hold Artur's feather, twirling it in your fingers. "They can't know. I am not like this." He seems genuinely upset.
"You seem cold." You prompted.
"I am very cold." He responds, overanalyzing each word for their deeper meaning.
"Do you want to be warm?" You put the feather down next to the bag of alcohol.
He pauses to sit back up before answering.
"Yes, but I can never let any of them know that." He answers plainly, but seriously.
You sit down next to him and are quickly grabbed and enveloped in his cold body, pulling you deeper onto the bed and directly under him. He almost instantly rests his head on your shoulder. His breath slows to a relaxed pace, rattling a little in his chest. His vocalizer hums at a low purr, and he moves his hands to feel your pulse, one at your chest and one to your jugular. He presses in, studying your inherent tick.
The television is on in front of you, but you haven't noticed it until now. The commentators are going over the edits of the "Loba the Scalper" image they found on social media, having nothing more important to talk about before the upcoming trios match. Revenant sighs a bit in your ear, still clearly bothered by his very public execution. You wrap your arms behind you to hug his waist. He holds you tighter for a moment, clearly understanding your intent is to comfort him.
You begin to massage the leather and the mechanisms underneath, unsure of how he will react; but he almost instantly squeezes you again, endorsing your idea. As you work into his back, his eyes dim and his breath quickens and deepens at strange intervals, relating to each long, deep stroke you perform. He slowly but surely relaxes his grip on you, potentially not realizing it. His mask digs into your shoulder, possibly trying to stifle his abnormal breathing. You keep at it for a few minutes, revelling in how sensitive his chassis is. Simulacrums were truly amazing.
Revenant's body melts under your touch, his chassis making odd movements clearly out of pure enjoyment. He's completely warm now, actually turning a bit hot as his code runs trying to keep up with your inputs. You worry that perhaps his circuits are being stressed too hard, but he also seems to be enjoying it so much.
He suddenly seems to shut down. His eyes go black, his weight falls on your shoulders, and his arms dislocate and slump out of his shoulder armor. You struggle to hold up his weight, his torso must be nearly two hundred pounds alone. No wonder he needs pistons to hold it up with his skinny waist.
He roars back to life, literally growling like a beast. His hands open and stretch like talons, the tips sharpening into claws. His legs cross in front of you, and his arms cross in front of you, and they pull you up against him in a nearly-crushing manner. His talons press into your flesh where they land, causing you a minor amount of pain. More concerningly, his jaw pulls open and he immediately goes as if to bite you, pushing your neck into the void of his mouth. He doesn't bite down though. His eyes are needle-thin, and brightened to a nearly red color. You gasp for breath in complete shock.
"You're mine!-Mine!-Mine!" His vocals are skipping as his hoarse, aggressive voice practically screams. "You belong to me!" He falls silent for a few moments. His shoulders refit themselves into their sockets as he slowly relaxes and retracts his claws from you. His softer voice returns. "Mine..." he calmly finishes. His jaw removes itself from your neck and closes. "I'm sorry. Emotions load faster than logic. It's hard to control myself after a reboot."
You had been holding your breath, and finally exhale and inhale, feeling faint with fear and deoxygenated blood. You slump back in his grip, putting your hands on your diaphragm to steady your breathing. You let yourself completely melt onto the bed, allowing yourself to look up at his face, gazing down at you.
"So, that's how you really feel then?" You pant, still catching your breath.
"Only a bit." He tries to comfort you, taking your hands in his. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to scare you. Being a simulacrum is complicated. Even more complicated if you don't learn humanity while you're still human." He looks away, apparently not necessarily sure what he is missing in himself. "But I cannot deny there is truth in that emotion."
"It sounds like 'if I can't have you, nobody can' isn't off the table yet." You are slowly catching your breath.
"I would be very upset. I don't handle being upset well." His words are foreboding, but you're unsure if he is uncertain himself or trying to hide the truth. You want to sleep; you feel like you're going to have a heart attack. He squeezes your hands, noticing your weariness. "Sleep out here tonight."
You give him a weak thumbs up, fully expecting to just sleep right where you are. Revenant releases your hands, throws a blanket over you, and pulls you by your torso into a better sleeping position, up against a pillow. You throw out another thumbs up in approval. He snickers in response.
"I'm getting drunk. So sick of today. I'm going to create a scene so gruesome next game that everyone forgets about this little fiasco." He grumbles. You hear him cork something as you drift to sleep. "Have a good night, little skinsuit." Sleep was taking you rapidly.
"Thank you for the warmth." is the last thing you hear.
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kuroopaisen · 3 years
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tiny love || 13
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➵ as tooru’s younger sister, falling in love with iwaizumi hajime is easy. your feelings aren’t ignored, either. this time, you both decided to tell your brother the truth. 
warnings: f!reader
wc: 2.8k
m.list | ch. 12 ↞ ch. 13 ↠ ch. 14
Tooru’s beaming face stared up at you from your phone as you get through to voicemail for the seventh time today.
He smiled at you from the walls, a whole range of Tooru of all different ages – all Tooru’s who hadn’t shouted at you for sleeping with his best friend.
You’d come to your room in the hopes that it might bring you some comfort. Stupid decision, really. There was so much of him here, grinning at you from your walls, from your desk. You hadn’t even realised how many damn photos you had of him until today. And he’s in everything; photos with your friends, photos with your family, nice shots of Miyagi that he’s managed to ruin with half his forehead.
God, if Tooru wouldn’t forgive you for this…
No. He’d have to.
Your brother was going to hear you out, and he wasn’t going to speak over or belittle you. He had to recognise you as an independent adult.
You hadn’t told Iwaizumi you were planning on doing this. He’d bore enough of Tooru’s rage today. And besides, this was a conversation you wanted – no, needed – to have on your own.
If only your stupid brother would answer his damn phone.
What’s the bet he’s practicing his serves with all the aggression he’d cultivated in high school? Or maybe he was just watching his own phone ring, staring at it with derision as your name glowed on his screen. Or maybe he wasn’t doing anything, simply passed out on his bed, tuckered out from all the rage.
You took a deep breath as your thumb hovered over the call button. One last try. Just one.
The phone rung once more. You were starting to get sick of the sound – the same number of trills, the same mechanical rhythm.
One more time. If he didn’t pick up now, then—
“What do you want?” Tooru’s voice was sharp, with far more aggression than necessary.
“I need to speak with you,” you said, as much confidence in your voice as you could muster.
“Go away,” Tooru hissed.
“No!”
You didn’t mean to shout. It just came out of you, as if it had been dog rattling at the gates, begging to be let out for the hunt.
“You’re not going to run away from this, Tooru!” You could already feel the corners of your eyes burning, your throat starting to constrict, that awful knot in your stomach reforming.
You didn’t want to do this. But you had to.
Tooru said nothing in response. But the white noise coming through the receiver let you know that he hadn’t hung up.
“What is your problem?”
It was a plea more than a question.
“My best friend is fooling around with my sister,” he hissed.
“Look,” you breathed, your chest so tight it felt like was going to crack your ribs, “you don’t get to dictate who I do and don’t date.”
“That’s my best friend.” Tooru didn’t miss a beat. But part of you is relieved to hear that he still referred to Hajime that way. Maybe all was not lost.
“I know,” you replied, clenching your fist in your lap. “I don’t see what the problem is.”
Tooru scoffed. Every petty argument you’d had over the years comes back to you – Tooru’s dismissive, obnoxious tone, the ache of not being listened to, the frustration at being treated like a little kid.
“What if you break up?” Tooru said, as condescending as if he was explaining how the sun rose and fell. “What if something goes wrong?”
“We’re adults, Tooru,” you rolled your eyes despite the circumstances. “We’re not going to be petty about it if that happens.”
And we’ve already managed to let you live a cushy life after a breakup, you thought to yourself. Though you knew better than to tell Tooru that.
“An adult wouldn’t go behind her brother’s back,” he seethed.
It was really all about him, huh? Your relationship, how much you and Iwaizumi cared about each other… Tooru wasn’t even thinking about that. It was just his perspective, his wants, his needs.
It’s just like it was back in high school. The only difference is that this time, Tooru was articulating these thoughts. Knowing the assumptions, you made all that time ago, in your hormonal, addled teenage brains…
“Look,” you snapped. “I’m sick of losing to you.” They’re words you should’ve said ages ago. Or maybe you shouldn’t have said them at all.
But they were out now, no longer a dirty little secret held close to your chest for who knew how long.
You weren’t just talking about Iwaizumi, either. You’d always felt second to Tooru – second to his fire, second to his passions. Always second over the finish line. Always second best. Always less important.
Fuck, you’d even moved halfway across the world just to live up to his ‘legacy’. How were you supposed to just go to a Japanese university after Tooru had moved to fucking Argentina? No, you’d wanted to prove yourself. To show that you, too, were worth something.
But even after all of that, you’re still just ‘Tooru’s little sister.’
And poor Iwaizumi was all this converged; poor Iwaizumi, stuck between two hearts and shackled by his sense of propriety.
Iwaizumi, who could easily be part of both of you, weaved through both your souls by calloused hands.
“I’m not losing him again just because you don’t like the idea of us being in a relationship.”
Maybe it was an irresponsible thing to say. There’s too much truth in it, too many years of bitterness stored and cultivated in your gut.
But too much has already been said. Nothing could be taken back. And if life wasn’t going to let you have anything of your own, anything you could be proud of, then you sure as hell weren’t letting it take Iwaizumi away from you, too.
You jerked the phone away from your ear and jabbed the ‘END CALL’ icon with more force than necessary.
That… could’ve gone better. Did you even achieve anything? Or had you just added to the clusterfuck? But there was nothing to be done now.
Hajime said he’d stick by you this time. That meant there was no backing out now. Not that you wanted to – not after all of this.
✧ ✧ ✧
I’ll go for a run, Hajime had thought. It’ll help calm me down.
Wrong.
He’d made the stupid mistake of bringing his phone with him.
Oikawa’s unique ringtone blared in his pocket; a little jingle of Oikawa singing ‘Iwa-chan!’ Oikawa had created it one day in their final year of high school when Iwaizumi was taking a toilet break.
Iwaizumi had never had the heart to change it, irritating as it was.
Slowing to a stop, he slipped his phone out of his pocket and brought it to his ear reluctantly.
But this was a new kind of reticence. This isn’t the everyday annoyance he’d felt in high school whenever Oikawa stroked his own ego, or when Oikawa refused to do the bare minimum of looking after himself.
This was something else entirely. Something Iwaizumi loathed.
“Hello?” He answered gruffly, voice terse with both anxiety and exertion.
“What the fuck is going on, dude?”
Cutting right to the chase, then.
“We told you,” Iwaizumi swallowed. “We’re dating.”
“That’s not what I mean,” Oikawa snapped.
“What do you mean, then?” Iwaizumi bit back his temper.
Shouting at Oikawa wouldn’t get him anywhere. That’d just make everything worse; and he didn’t want to do that to you or your brother.
Oikawa was silent for a moment – quiet enough for Iwaizumi to check the connection.
“She said ‘again,’” Tooru murmured.
Iwaizumi didn’t have the space in his heart to get mad at you. Not after years of keeping your feelings locked in your heart, trying to do the right thing by your brother, trying to make all of this work despite the discomfort it brought you.
He took a deep breath. “This isn’t the first time something’s happened.”
A confession. One he should’ve made years ago.
But God, did his soul feel lighter for it.
“Wait, what?” The tone of Oikawa’s voice was unplaceable.
“I kissed her at the beginning of our third year.” The words were out before he could doubt them. Now wasn’t the time to be delicate, to be cautious. If Oikawa was going to respond like this, then you both have to return in full force.
“What the fuck?” Oikawa’s an emotional guy. But those three words had more rage and vitriol in them than Iwaizumi had ever heard before.
“She wasn’t exactly subtle about the fact something was happening,” Iwaizumi grumbled. Looking back on it, he really had been cold. You’d just been reaching out to him, hoping that he’d give you the affirmation you craved. He’d avoided you in the hopes that you’d forget all about it.
God, it had all been very ‘teenage’. Part of him felt like he couldn’t blame either of you for that – you were teenagers at the time, after all – but another part of his heart couldn’t quite forgive himself for what he did.
To you, and to Tooru.
“Was this before summer break?” Oikawa spoke after a long moment, a quietude in his voice that even Iwaizumi wasn’t familiar with.
Iwaizumi swallowed roughly. “Yeah.”
Another silence. But this time, it’s hostile. It felt like the silence before a huge wave crashed, the air thrumming with the tension of what was about to come. It didn’t feel like Oikawa was about to shout; no, it’d be worse than that.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” There’s hurt in Oikawa’s voice, but not the same kind of before.
“Because I knew you’d be mad,” Iwaizumi admitted. And I was scared.
“That’s no excuse.”
It never was.
“I know,” Iwiazumi sighed. “I was a coward.”
“What, so you decided that you’d just go behind my back now?” Oikawa scoffed.
“I didn’t plan for this to happen,” Iwaizumi said, biting back a snarl.
“This didn’t cross your mind at all when I asked you to live with her?”
Iwaizumi remembered that conversation well. The doubt, the fear, the apprehension. He hadn’t wanted to do it – didn’t want to put himself in that situation again. But Tooru had been persistent; kept talking about how someone needed to keep an eye on you.
“I decided to share an apartment with her for you, Oikawa,” Iwaizumi said, voice surprisingly firm and steady. “Because you were the one who wanted me to keep an eye on her.”
“But—”
“I care about her,” Iwaizumi swallowed. “This isn’t all about you.”
“I never said it was ‘all about me,’” Oikawa fumed, “you guys just obviously didn’t think about me at all.”
Iwaizumi took a deep breath, the knot in his forehead getting deeper. Ignorance must be bliss. But Oikawa had no right to think like that, no right to make such accusations.
“We both put you first, you know?” Iwaizumi said, voice tight. “I dumped her in high school because of you. And I bet that she moved in with me because you asked her to.”
“What, so this is my fault?” He sounded bewildered more than anything else.
“Of course not,” Iwaizumi huffed, “but don’t think for a second that nobody in this ever gave a shit about you and your feelings.”
“Well you could’ve asked me—”
“It’s not just about you!”
Iwaizumi didn’t mean to shout. It just came out of you, as if it had been dog rattling at the gates, begging to be let out for the hunt.
He didn’t mean to repeat himself, either. Oh well.
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. Some sweat still lingered on his forehead – a damp reminder that a few minutes ago, he’d been on a run. To relieve tension.
Funny, that.
“Look, I know I should’ve told you about it in high school,” he mumbled. “And I shouldn’t have kept it a secret for so long. But you don’t have a right to say that we can and can’t be together.”
Their words he didn’t know he had, solid and strong and steady.
“We’re not doing this to spite you, Oikawa,” he said. “I know she’d want your approval more than anything. But your feelings aren’t going to stop any of this from happening.”
Oikawa was silent. Iwaizumi didn’t need to see him to know the look on his face; pouty, with all the air of a petulant child despite his age.
“Why do you even have such a problem with it, anyway?”
It’s the question. The one that all this mess boiled down to. Part of Iwaizumi felt betrayed; did Oikawa not trust him? Did he not deem him ‘worthy’ of his little sister?
But another part of him understood the anxiety. That’s why he asked gently, with as little antagonism as possible.
It was hard. Much harder than he’d anticipated. But it was necessary.
“That’s my little sister. And you’re… you’re my best friend. If you two broke up, where does that leave me? And I’m sure that neither of you would rely on me if you did break up, and—”
“Why are you so certain we’ll break up?” Iwaizumi nearly laughed.
“It could happen!” Oikawa whined. “Nothing’s set in stone!”
“Exactly,” Iwaizumi nodded. “So, there’s no reason for you to be so concerned about whether or not we’ll break up. It’s just as likely that we won’t.”
Another silence.
“What, are you planning to marry her or something?”
Iwaizumi’s cheeks flared and his stomach swelled. “Wh—I—Don’t get ahead of yourself!”
“Oh my God… you’re planning on marrying my sister…”
“I didn’t say that!”
“But you implied it.”
“No, I didn’t!”
Of course Oikawa would jump to conclusions like this. Shittykawa and—
“Do you love her?”
Iwaizumi was struck dumb by the question.
Does he love you? Well, yes. There’s a space in his heart specifically carved out for you, in your shape. Honestly, it’s been there so long he’s not sure if it could ever go away. Not truly.
But he wasn’t sure if that’s what Oikawa was asking. He meant love in a distinctly romantic way; the sort of love they show in movies and play on the radio. The sort of love that specifically drove romantic relationships.
Somehow, that’s what made him nervous. Iwaizumi knew he loved you – saying it out loud, to your brother of all people, was an entirely different ball game. Different meanings, different layers of love, and you intersecting all of them.
God, he’s got it bad.
He swallowed roughly, clenching his fist at his side. “It’s too early to say, but…”
“But?”
“I… I think I could.”
“God, you’re taking this too seriously…”
“I’m taking this too seriously!? You’re the one who—”
“’It’s too early to say but… I think I could,’” Oikawa parroted in his best Iwaizumi impression. Iwaizumi would’ve given it a six out of ten at best; he’s pretty sure his voice wasn’t that deep.
“You’re a piece of shit,” Iwaizumi grumbled.
“As you like to remind me,” Oikawa hummed in a sing-song voice.
It was strange. Talking in those voices. Saying those words.
It was almost like things were normal.
“Anyway,” Oikawa cleared his throat, snapping Iwaizumi out of his disorientation. “I’ve got to get back to practice. So…”
“Yeah,” Iwaizumi nodded. “Good luck. But don’t overwork yourself.”
Oikawa chuckled with a tsk. “Now, now, Iwa, I’m not the boy I was in high school.”
Iwaizumi could only hope that was really the case.
✧ ✧ ✧
“Hey.”
You were sprawled out on the couch, staring at the living room ceiling. You’d quickly deemed your bedroom far too precarious of a place to be, but that didn’t leave you with much.
And you couldn’t even call Amaya – she’d be (or, at least, should be) asleep right now.
But Iwaizumi was back, appearing in the front home with his hair all ruffled and his cheeks flushed. Of course he made coming back from a run look good. ��It’s really not fair.
You sat up, offering him a weak smile.
He returned it gently, making a direct beeline for you.
“Did you have a good run?” You asked.
“Mm.”
You blinked at him.
Iwaizumi looked at you with a certain cautiousness. “He called me.”
Shit.
Tooru must’ve… you must’ve said something that…
“How did it go?” You asked. No point jumping to conclusions.
“I don’t know,” Iwaizumi sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It could’ve gone worse?”
You don’t know what to do with that knowledge. “That’s… good?”
Iwaizumi chuckled, shaking his head.
It was nice, seeing him smile. It felt like he hadn’t done that all day.
“Are you okay?” He asked, a big hand coming to caress your cheek.
You leant into it, pouting. “No.”
He sighed, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Anything I could do to make it better?”
You pondered it for a moment. “You could make us lunch?”
He smiled. “If that’s what you want.”
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plsimsuchasimp · 3 years
Text
being followed
ft: Oikawa x fem!reader
warnings: being followed, sexual harassment, catcalling, cursing, fear
genre: fear to fluff
wc: 1800+
side note: you’re aobajohsai’s manager
You hurried along the sidewalk after school, hugging your book bag to your chest as your knuckles whitened slightly. You were still twenty minutes away from home, and the three guys that were following you were getting closer.
Trying not to panic, you pulled out your phone, scrolling down the list of contacts. You couldn't call your parents- you knew they were both working right now, and they were both too far to come pick you up anyways. None of your friends saw your texts, and you were forced to turn to the volleyball team you managed, Aobajohsai's male team. You had their numbers, of course- when you were watching recorded tapes, you'd often call them to discuss their skills and actions in the match. 
You were tempted to call Iwaizumi, knowing that he would come pick you up without a moment's hesitation, but he lived across town and probably wouldn't get there in time. There. Oikawa Tooru, the captain of the team and their cocky, handsome setter. You sighed, not wanting to call him of all people, but you had no choice. He was the closest. 
As you forced yourself to keep looking straight forward, attempting to ignore the approaching footsteps and raucous voices of the men behind you who had been following you for the last five blocks, you began to shake. This was the worst thing that could happen right now, when you were already on the verge of an anxiety attack. Your eyes were blurring with tears, hands shaking so violently that it was difficult to see the screen of your mobile phone. Struggling to maintain steady breathing, you tapped on the icon next to his name in your phone, waiting for him to pick up as the phone's dial tone played.
***Oikawa's POV***
When he slumped onto his bed, opening his laptop to start on late schoolwork, he was distracted by his phone buzzing beside him. Looking over, he was startled to find your name on the screen, two buttons telling him to accept or decline the call. You rarely called him, despite the obvious crush he had on you (although you were too oblivious to see it, and he was too oblivious to notice that you might, just maybe, feel the same way), and he eagerly accepted the call.
"Hey, (y/n)-chan, how's it going?"
"Oikawa, I wouldn't normally call you on this, but I need you to come pick me up." Your breathing was clearly faster than normal, signifying there was something off. 
On the other end of the phone, you were speeding up your pace, trying to hold back the sniffles that threatened to reveal themselves. "Um, I'll explain why when you get here. I'm at the corner of (street name) and (street name.)"
"How soon can you get here?"
He was already heading down the stairs, slipping on his shoes and grabbing his car keys before starting the engine and beginning to drive to where you were. "I'll be there in three minutes. Is that okay?"
"Y-yeah." He heard muffled voices coming from your end of the phone as well as some noise as it slipped out of your hand, landing in the grass by the sidewalk. Unknown by him, the chase was about to come to an ultimatum.
***(Y/n's POV)***"
Hey girl!" called a voice from behind you, followed by laughter and remarks about your body. You tried to keep walking, tuning out their voices as the pattern of your feet became rougher. Your stomach was clenching harder now, breathing coming in short, unsteady gasps, barely hearing what Oikawa was saying on the other end of the phone. "I'll be there in three minutes. Is that okay?"
"Y-yeah," you muttered. 
"Hey, I'm talking to you!" yelled the voice, a bit louder and more aggressive this time. Your phone fell from your grasp, landing in the grass, and you slowly turned around to face the group. They were all tall- they towered above you, malicious grins on their faces as they walked closer. "Turn around so we can see that ass!" You stood your ground, staring defiantly back at them, even though you were shaking so hard you could barely stay upright. 
"Leave me alone," your voice rang out, catching them surprised by the tone of it.
"Ooh, girl's got some spice to her, eh boys?" the middle one smirked, clearly enjoying your discomfort. He moved to put a hand on your waist and you flinched, moving backwards only to realize that another man was already behind you. Shit. Hoping against hope that Oikawa would arrive soon, you hugged your sides and looked at the floor, hoping that they'd leave you alone if you acted helpless. You didn't want to fight against three of them at once. Of course, you knew they would continue harassing you, but you were trying to buy time.One of them put a hand on your back, causing you to immediately shrink away. "I said leave me alone." 
"What are you going to do about it anyways?" taunted the third boy, reveling in the power of harassing an innocent girl. Just as he was reaching for you and you prepared to punch him in the face, you heard a car door slam, startling all of you. 
"Hey!" said the voice of Oikawa Tooru, something which you'd never been so happy to hear in your life, "Leave her alone or I'll break your arms." Clearly they weren't impressed, looking him up and down before judging he wasn't a threat. They just started chuckling, backing away from you with their hands raised mockingly to reveal tears streaming down your face and you hunched in the middle. 
"Protecting your girlfriend now are you, pretty boy?" The tallest one glanced at you, still smirking, and said, "A girl like you deserves better than this loser. Spend the night with me sometime," eliciting wolf whistles and laughs from his friends. After this, they retreated down the block, sneaking glances back at you a couple of times. 
Oikawa was standing there, murder in his gaze as he glared after them. You picked up your phone and bag, gathering the books that had spilled in the conflict. Oikawa tried to help, but you were already done by the time he came over to you.
"Shit, (y/n), are you okay?" 
In response, you just sniffled and went over to the passenger side of the car, opening the door and getting in. He followed your lead, getting into the driver's seat. He noticed you shaking, trying and failing to wipe the tear marks from your cheeks as you sat hugging your book bag in the seat. He'd never seen this side of you before- you were always the confident girl who could stand up for yourself. He had never seen you act like this before, which told him that something was really wrong. 
Oikawa drove in silence until you reached his house, where he unlocked the door and brought you in. Sneaking worried glances at you, he led you up the stairs to his bedroom.It was nice in there, cleaner than you had expected, with a gray down comforter on his bed. He motioned for you to sit down, and you did, eyes glued to the floor. He leaned against the door, closing it in the process. 
"(Y/n). Talk to me." Although he didn't dare to touch you yet, he came closer, sitting on the floor in front of you and trying to catch your eye. 
When you lifted your gaze to meet him, he was surprised by the intensity and darkness in your gaze. You couldn't stop it now- the sobs were escaping, your shoulders shaking silently as your intakes of breath were the only noise in the room. You were still shaking, harder than before, which prompted Oikawa to take a seat next to you. Hesitantly, he put his arms around you, drawing you into a hug. Surprisingly, you didn't stop him. 
You let him hold you until the shuddering subsided, raindrops beginning to patter on his roof as you melted in his touch. You buried your face in his chest, not wanting him to stop holding you this close. His eyes were wide, staring over your shoulder, as he realized what it was like to have you in his arms. Slowly and reluctantly he pulled away, leaving you instantly missing his warmth and tilting your head ever so gently to face him with his index finger. His eyes were heavy with concern, examining your face and staring deep into your eyes.
"Did they hurt you?" Oikawa uttered, voice barely above a whisper. "If they did, I'll kill them with my bare hands."
"N-no," you replied, voice raspy, "I'm okay."
"Thank god," he sighed, "You scared the shit out of me." Staring at your face and noticing how your eyes curved away from his, he quickly deduced there was something more going on. Almost unconsciously, he reached up to trace your face, cupping your chin in his large hand and running a finger along your cheekbones. His touch was light as a feather. 
Opening your mouth, you struggled to get the words out. "It's one of my biggest fears, being followed," you said, and he sensed there was more to come. "It happened when I was ten. I had no one to help me, and I almost got kidnapped. I'm always so scared of walking alone now- I thought I'd gotten over it, but I definitely haven't." 
You can't look at him anymore, your voice dropping to a whisper. Oikawa feels your pain so acutely it's like he was in your body. His hand finds its way to your shoulder, asking permission to pull you into another hug. You nod a little, and he hugs you, resting his head on yours and drinking in your scent. He pulls you close, and you let him, seeking the affection you never knew you needed. Your head is against his chest, so you feel the vibrations when he speaks.
"I'm so sorry." 
"Yeah, well, there's not much to be done about it now." You let out a half-hearted laugh into his chest, causing his heart to twinge at the sound of the bitterness it carries. 
He never lets go of you through the whole time you talk, later into the afternoon and into the evening. Eventually, you both end up lying on his bed, facing each other with your body close to his. It's not sexual, this thing you have- it's something both of you needed: comfort. When you fall asleep in his arms, Oikawa just cuddles you closer. 
When you wake up later, entangled in each other's arms, to Iwaizumi standing awkwardly at the foot of the bed, nonplussed, you spring out of Oikawa's arms and hurriedly say, "It's not what it looks like!" 
Meanwhile, Oikawa wishes you had stayed cuddling him, close to him forever. That's when he realized he was truly in love with you. 
a/n: the being followed when you were ten thing is actually a true story, and i kind of wanted to build off of some trauma. (writer shit)
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Text
Ryuu to Sobakasu no Hime (Belle) Novel | English Translation | Chapter 2
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**This is a machine translation. I put it together by extracting text page-by-page from a .pdf version of the Japanese novel, and running it through Google translate. I have only minorly edited some of the more confusing lines to make it more read-able. It is still a very rough translation, but it’s good enough to understand what’s going on. If there is anyone out there who wants to properly translate the novel, I am more than happy to edit it, if you’ll contact me.**
———————————————
Chapter 2: Suzu
"Buhaa!"
I got up from a thin futon and took a big breath.
That made me almost hit my head against the low ceiling. This is a shabby attic in the countryside, with rafters supporting the roof approaching just above the bed. "Ah, ah .... ah ..."
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It's morning. The sunlight is dazzling. The feeling of the glittering world up to that point remains. I close my eyelids because I want to reach for the residue. Certainly I was standing at the tip of the whale's nose and singing. Wearing gorgeous costumes, singing freely. When I open my eyelids, in front of me is a smartphone on the sheets with the display turned off. On the dark surface, you can see yourself illuminated by the sun. The faded pajamas I've been wearing since I was in junior high school. Messy hair from sleeping. Half-open eyes.
And the freckles scattered on my cheeks. It makes me very depressed. I sigh. Then, I heard my father's voice from the first floor, "Suzu? What's wrong?" I feel impatient. Of course, this isn't a soundproof room, it's just a miserable 7-year-old girl's room. The only way to prevent the sound from leaking out is to wrap it in a futon. Was my voice louder than usual? If so ... The cold sweat of regret floats on my back. "No, it’s nothing ...!"
I hurriedly reply that while crawling on all fours off the bed. What if he’s suspicious and comes upstairs? No, I don't think he’ll come. I changed into my uniform and went downstairs. I didn't see my father. He may be preparing to go to work. He opened the porch and left the window down to let in the cool morning air. He lightly cleaned the living room and dining room and cleaned up the magazines left on the table. While boiling the water, I put the flowers in the garden in a vase and placed it next to the photo frame in the kitchen. He puts a tea bag in a mug and pours hot water. Steam with the scent of black tea boils. My mother is still smiling in the picture frame today.
I'm eating rice. I was sitting on the porch, drinking tea. Dad, who wore a dark blue T-shirt on his tanned skin, came out to the garage with a backpack containing work tools on his shoulders. "Suzu, I’m leaving." I replied, keeping my mouth on the mug. "... Okay" "What about dinner?" "... I’m fine."
"... I see. Then, I'll go." Dad must have been in trouble. I could understand without looking. The engine of a four-wheel drive vehicle starts. After backing up, it turns back and goes down the slope. The sound of the tires travelling across the pebbles slowly drifts away.
I wonder how long I will not make eye contact with him. How long has it been since I stopped talking properly? I wonder how much time has passed since we stopped eating together. There was a notification sound. A balloon pops up on the screen of the smartphone. "Belle is the best beauty created by the virtual world "U." Languages ​​around the world are translated instantly.
"Very unique and rare song" "Belle's song is full of self-confidence" "The most notable presence in 3 billion accounts"
The text balloons went up one after another, competing for the lead, and in a blink of an eye filled the area around the bell icon. But I have no joy, no sense of accomplishment, no sense of exhilaration. No matter how much attention Belle gets, it doesn't matter. With my mouth in my rimmed mug, I shut myself in my shell. The balloon with one comment swells up significantly. It is one of the functions of balloons to enlarge and display the comments that attract the most attention.
Of the tremendous number of comments, the one that attracted the most attention was "Who is she?" I don't think most people in the world know about it, but Shikoku and Kochi are proud of their rich climate, where the steep mountains that cover them, and of the beautiful blue shining clear streams that flow through the valleys. More than 150 years ago, we produced a number of people who dramatically reformed the long-standing feudal society of Japan, which is also one of our prides. The daylight hours are top class in Japan. Alcohol consumption is also top class. Perhaps because of that, my city’s personality is clear, and is said to be friendly and cheerful. But even in such a situation, some people are dark and are always looking down. One of them is me. My house is in the corner of a village with about 30 houses on the slope of a mountain.
A river called the Niyodo River runs ahead of me, and is connected to the opposite bank by a subsidence bridge. A subsidence bridge is a bridge without balustrades, and is designed so that it will not be washed away even if the river rises and the bridge sinks. I cross it every day unless this bridge sinks. The flow of the Niyodo River is still quiet and blue today. Occasionally tourists come by rental car and take a number of pictures on the subsidence bridge, saying that it's beautiful. It's a nice village, isn't it? They do not know the truth of the area. With the school bag on my side, I go down the stone steps and walk on a steep slope. A neighbor's grandmother who was sweeping and cleaning used to call out to me, "Oh, Suzu-chan, good morning," and so on. But not now. The shutters of many homes are tightly closed.
The number of people who live here gradually decreased as they died or moved to the city. There are many such settlements in the Niyodo River basin. It is said that it is near here that a sociologist coined the term "marginal village" long ago. I've been told many times since I was little that adults say that the number of people has decreased surprisingly compared to the village’s peak population. It is at the forefront of a declining population, declining birthrate and aging society, faster than anywhere else in Japan. That is an unmistakable fact. There is a stop at the end of the national highway after going up the slope. The rusty timetable at the bus stop only shows times in the morning and evening.
It's not yet time. After a while, the bus came. I sit in the usual seat at the back of the bus. No one else is in the bus. Passing through the stops one after another. No one is on board. While the bus is shaking, I dimly look at the bulletin board near the driver's seat.
"This bus route will be discontinued at the end of September.”
I live in a place where no one wants to live. It stands right next to a steep cliff approaching the rough sea. I reach the end of the bus route and transfer on to a train.
High school and junior high school students in uniforms from other schools come in little by little at each station. The closer you get to the center of the city, the less visible the floor is, and the two-car train fills up with customers. An announcement in the car tells me the name of the station I should get off at. I see many students of the same uniforms on the way to school. Together we climb a gentle slope. I am one of them. That gives me a lot of peace of mind, maybe.
The summer sunshine is dazzling. Last fall, the brass band was playing in front of the symbol tree in the courtyard. Many students surround it and listen to it. The announcement of the brass band is always popular. It's not just about playing. All players take steps as they perform. It's a lively and fun dance. All the instruments have the steps perfectly matched, yet the performance does not get twisted or shaken. I and Hiro-chan (short for Hiroka) also listened to it from the veranda on the 2nd floor of the gymnasium. When the first song ended and the second song started, a slender tall, beautiful girl was holding the alto saxophone in front of her. She came out. She shook her long, loosely waved hair and played her solo without any disturbance, taking attractive steps from side to side.
"……Cute."
I instinctively say it aloud. Luca-chan - her full name is Ruka Watanabe – I am sighingly fascinated by the lively beauty of her. I can hear the voices of other girls watching on the same balcony.
"Luka-chan is the princess of our school, isn't she?"
"She’s slim and has long legs.”
"Even if she wears a uniform, she look like a model."
They nodded together, saying, "Right~?”
Hiro-chan has a voice that only I can hear next to me, "The jealousy of kids who are neither thin nor slender...,” turning the pages of her book. The girls' voices can be heard continuously.
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"Luka-chan naturally acts as a coordinator for everyone."
"I'm sure everyone will come together like Ohisama," Hiro-chan frowned at the back of her silver-rimmed glasses. "They’re annoying. In that respect, Suzu is like the opposite of Luka, so it's easy for no one to come near us."
"Hi- Hiro-chan…"
"Hmm?"
"You have a poisonous tongue, I wonder if you can be a little kinder....."
"A poisonous tongue? Who?" At that time, a loud voice that interrupted the performance echoed in the courtyard. "Why don't you join the canoe club?" Everyone looks back. "It's Kamishin!" "Kamishin has arrived!"
Kamishin – full name Shinjiro Senzu - has a canoe paddle in his hand and a banner with "CANOE" written on his back, and appears randomly.
"Oh, senpai. What about the canoe club?"
"Wow! Stop, Kamishin!"
"Don't enter, that's it." He chased the boys, and then laughed and ran away. Then, he turned around and headed for the group of girls.
"Hey, why don't you do canoeing?"
"Kya ~~~!" The girls scream seriously and run away.
"Oh, hey, let's do some canoeing!"
"Dangerous, run away~"
He is serious, but the reaction around him makes the Kamishin look like a weirdo. He’s like a beast that jumps into beautiful women and rampages.
"Hey, canoe ..."
Watching the girls run away, I feel like defending the hard work of Kamishin.
"It's amazing to start a canoe club by yourself, isn't it?"
"But he's the only one in it."
"I wonder why.”
"I wonder~”
Hiro turned her eyes to Luka, who seemed to be anxious about the hustle and bustle while playing. Luka stiffened and turned her back to Kamishin as if she didn't want to see him. Hiro-chan does not overlook the gesture. She closed her book and turned her stern eyes to Luka. “You’re being looked down on.”
We left the gymnasium and wandered around the school. Chorus club, biology club, light music club, dance club. Various club activities. The activity was appealing to each. As I crossed the glass-walled corridor, I heard the cheers and applause of the girls from somewhere.
10N1 was held at the one-on-one outdoor basketball court. It is a solicitation performance of the men's basketball club. A ball is thrown into the court for the next game. You can see a boy in a hoodie who catches it with a lean hand.
"Ah ..." The game starts. Shinobu-kun, full name Shinobu Kutake, slowly dribbles and watches the situation. The opponent's senpai is raising his right hand as a checker, being wary of the jump shot. Shinobu lowers his hips. Shinobu tries to pull out with a low dribble, but the opponent's guard is tight and he withdraws. When he thinks he has stopped Shibobu, he suddenly shoots a jump shot from a short motion.
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He’s fast. The senior hurriedly reached out with his fingers spread out, but he couldn't reach Shinobu. The previous move was a feint. The ball drew a beautiful arc and passed through the goal net. The girls lined up in the corridor on the 3rd floor gave an enthusiastic applause. But Shinobu doesn't even smile. His coolness is attracting attention from girls in school. Before the applause stopped, the court had already moved on to the next game. Shinobu-kun, while measuring the timing, dribbles low to push the defense away. As if to say that you can't win even with power. If you forcibly cut in and pull out the senior in a blink of an eye, you will definitely go to the layup. There is a pleasant sound of the ball slipping through the goal net. Again, the girls' applause echoed on the walls of the school building. I told Hiro-chan,
"........ Shinobu-kun, I didn't think he would be that tall."
He’s my childhood friend.
"He was your childhood friend?"
"Ohon. Actually, I've been proposed to by Shinobu-kun."
"Seriously? What?"
"[Suzu, I'll protect you], he said.”
"When was that?"
"When we were 6 years old."
"....... Even if such an ancient story is spoken…"
Astonished, Hiro sighed. Another goal was scored. In the applause, Shinobu-kun, who finished the game, went out of the court alongside his senior without even smiling. Shinobu-kun, my childhood friend. He’s no longer within my reach.
I came back from school and crossed the subsidence bridge. I was with Shinobu from kindergarten through the lower grades of elementary school. After that, Shinobu moved to the city and we were separated. He was in my high school and we became classmates again. But it isn’t like it used to be. At that time, I didn't expect to become a child who is always looking down like I am now. There is a reason why this happened. I saw the quiet stream of the Niyodo River. Yes. That is an ancient story. A white bird passed low on the surface of the water.
-------------------
https://docs.google.com/document/d/1Dcx2NedPVBEdbfQaU-WC0pJMRmn20ASn7HSC0KY9R7E/edit?usp=sharing ~ Google Doc of the English-translated novel.
ryuutosobakasuhime.wordpress.com ~ English fan-site for Ryuu to Sobakasu no Hime where translations, scans, and other content is posted.
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zackcollins · 3 years
Text
i can’t sleep without you || penny oleksiak
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Author’s Note: Look... She’s the Canadian record holder for most medals at the Summer Olympics. My brain decided that warranted a little piece of writing. I hope I did it and her justice because she truly is an icon. Both for the sport of swimming and for the Oleksiak family. GIF credit to maljic!
Warnings: I don’t think there’s anything! Feel free to let me know if anything should be warned about though. I’ll gladly add a warning for you.
Word Count: 1.5k+
Title: Sleep Without You by Brett Young
Additional: The reader should be gender-neutral. They’re implied to be a swimmer, so I did the best I could. Anyways! I hope everyone enjoys this! Feedback is always welcomed!!
You were humming along to the music filtering through your headphones. On the tray in front of you, you were tapping a pencil against your crossword book. You only had a few words filled in and it was driving you bonkers not being able to figure out some of them. Shifting your attention from the music to the crossword puzzle, you scanned the clues again to see if there were any easy ones that you missed.
 5 Down: Layman’s oesophagus
 Bopping your head along to the music, you smiled as you wrote ‘throat’ in the appropriate squares. You were grateful that you had found at least one easy clue. Filling out a few more answers that you had somehow missed, you tapped his pencil against the book a second time when you reached a stalemate at one of the remaining clues.
 13 Across: Town at Eighth Mile of Boston Marathon
 You paused your music, slid your headphones around your neck, turning to your best friend, Penny, beside you. You put the crossword book on the tray in front of her, pointing at the clue.
 “You’re a trove of useless knowledge,” You said, “do you know the answer to that?”
Instead of answering, Penny grabbed the pencil and wrote Natick across the correct squares. Smiling, you slid the crossword book back in front of yourself. Penny handed you the pencil, turning back to the movie she was watching on the seat display; it looked like Finding Nemo or Finding Dory if you were to guess.
 “Thanks, Penny,” you said, punching her playfully in the shoulder.
 Humming, Penny smiled without looking away from her movie. “You’re welcome, babe.”
 Leaning over, Penny checked her shoulder against yours. Your mouth went dry, face heating up both from the contact and the fact that Penny had called you what she had called you. Despite yourself, your traitorous body felt gooey and fuzzy. You quickly slid your headphones on, restarting the music. The last thing you needed was Penny to figure out how you felt.
 For the rest of the flight to Calgary, you tried to focus on your crossword puzzle and the music you were listening to. You tried not to focus on the lingering gooey and fuzzy feelings the shoulder check and pet name from Penny had caused. Keyword: tried. Even with your music blasted as loud as was safe, you could still hear Penny laughing along to the movie. Every time Penny laughed, the gooey and fuzzy feelings bubbled back up deep within your gut.
 When the plane finally landed about an hour later and everyone was disembarking, you kept to yourself. You knew your face was burning as bright as the morning sun after everything that had happened. The last thing you needed was someone to question you about it.
 Thankfully, the bus ride to the hotel was without incident. You were also able to finish your crossword. Seeing as Penny was the last person you wanted to interact with right now, you went to Maggie for help. Maggie was concerned as to why you weren't asking Penny because she knew the two of you did everything together but she ultimately helped you when you said that Penny just wanted to rest after the long flight. Though, you were fairly certain you saw Maggie give you a sideways glance once or twice as she was giving you the answers to some of the clues. You couldn't be sure if it was because she didn't believe your story about Penny, or because she thought you were an idiot for not knowing the answers. Either way, you kept quiet and thanked her when the crossword was finished.
 When everyone was assigned their rooms, you and Penny were paired together to the surprise of absolutely no one. Penny was talking to you about ways to refine your butterfly stroke when you put the keycard in the door. Walking into the room, you both froze as you dropped your suitcases beside each other.
 Looking at each other after a moment, Penny cursed while you ran your hand down your face and around to the back of your neck, sighing.
 “One bed,” you said, swallowing thickly. “There must’ve been a mix-up with the room assignments.”
 Penny sighed, turning to you. “I’m alright with it as long as you are.”
 You noticed something strange beyond the surface of Penny’s eyes; it looked like hope.
 Feeling yourself short circuit, you nodded quickly. “Yeah, it’s fine.” Your words felt heavy, nervous. If Penny noticed, she didn’t acknowledge it.
 Motioning to the bathroom, Penny began unzipping her suitcase. “I’m gonna take a quick shower. It helps me sleep.”
 Feeling your mouth go dry for the second time that night, you nodded. You had seen Penny after a shower plenty of times; this time though, this time felt personal. Intimate. You would be sharing a bed, something that you had dreamt about for a while.
 As Penny went to shower, you changed into your pyjamas. Swallowing thickly, you wanted to kick himself for packing nothing more than a pair of loose boxers and a skin-tight undershirt to wear to bed. Normally, that would be sufficient; you always had your bed. Today though, some power that existed made it happenstance that you would share a bed with the woman you had a lunar-sized crush on. In other words, loose boxers and a skin-tight undershirt felt insufficient.
 When the bathroom door opened and Penny emerged wearing only sleep shorts and a sports bra, you felt less psychotic for wearing what you were wearing. Shimmying over toward the window, you allowed room for Penny on the side of the nightstand. Penny hummed in appreciation, slipping under the covers. Flicking on the lamp, she rolled over to face you.
 “I hope you don’t mind that the lamp is on,” she said, motioning behind her. “Leaving a light on helps me sleep more soundly.”
 You could see a blush rising on Penny’s face. Smiling softly, you slid under the cover and fluffed your pillow to get comfortable.
 “No,” you said, “I don’t mind.”
 You felt your heartstrings tug in different directions when Penny lit up with a genuine smile.
 “Night, babe,” Penny yawned, closing her eyes. A few moments later, Penny’s breathing evened out.
 “Night, Penny,” you mumbled, rolling over. You closed your eyes, drifting off to sleep after a few minutes. Your mind was transfixed on the fact that Penny had called you a pet name again.
 In the morning, you felt warm. Too warm. Your first thought was that you had a fever. You grumbled and shifted around, trying to get comfortable in your newfound heat. That caused another grumble that you decidedly did not utter.
 “Stay still, babe,” Penny mumbled, “cuddling you is no fun if you move.”
 You sprung up as if you were on fire, looking down at Penny. Penny grumbled leaning on her elbow to look at you.
 “Everything okay?” she asked, sounding concerned.
 You swallowed, nodding haphazardly. “I’m sorry for invading your space like that.”
 Penny ran a hand along your bicep. You shivered, leaning into the touch.
 “You didn’t invade anything. I would’ve stopped you if I didn’t like it,” Penny paused.
 “You mean...” the cogs started to turn in your head.
 Nodding, Penny smiled. “Yes. I have feelings for you. Have had feelings for you for a long time.”
 Sitting up properly, Penny cupped your face. On instinct, you brought your hands to Penny's ribcage. Shivering at the contact, Penny leaned in and ghosted her lips over yours. You felt your lips tremble at the feather-light sensation. You leaned in to chase the feeling, lips making contact with Penny's.
 You kissed each other for a moment, pulling back when you nibbled on Penny's lower lip. Penny looked blissed and content when you looked into her eyes. She caught you staring and smirked.
 Ducking your head, you placed it on Penny’s shoulder. Grabbing your chin, Penny pulled your head up. Looking into Penny's eyes, you could see nothing but tenderness and care staring back at you.
 “You have pretty eyes,” you blurted.
 Penny's face turned a soft shade of pink as she leaned in, kissing you. The kiss was soft, sweet, and the most meaningful kiss you had ever experienced. Unlike the kisses you had had with people in the past, this kiss with Penny felt like it mattered in the grand scheme of things. It felt right.
 Laying down to cuddle some more before practice, you heard one of the phones vibrate on the nightstand. It was Penny's phone that had vibrated but when you went to give it to her, she had already fallen back asleep. You looked at the phone screen and saw that the notification was a text from her brother, Jamie. You knew what Penny's password was because she had trusted you with it ages ago. Sighing, you entered the 6 digits and opened up the text thread to see what Jamie had wanted this early in the morning.
After reading the message, you placed Penny's phone on the nightstand. You kissed her on the forehead before curling around her and drifting off to sleep. The only thing on your mind was that you were grateful that Penny had a brother like Jamie.
 To: Coin
From: Giraffe
You're welcome for getting you two a room with one bed. All it cost me was a signed jersey. Now, it better have worked or else I'm flying up to Calgary myself to get you two fools together. Do you understand?
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xbunnybunz · 3 years
Text
in the city of wyndon [hop x reader]
Summary: Hop is your best friend, and there's absolutely nothing you wouldn't give him.
Genres: Angst, Fluff, Friends to lovers
Date: May 2, 2020
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The bright lights of the stadium shone directly onto you, blinding in their intensity. The sands in the field shifted under your feet, the cascade of silky sand contrasting sharply with your pounding heart and blood-rushed ears. Each time your pokemon lands a hit, you take a step back in what you could only describe as sinking dread.
What were you doing here?
The crowd screams loudly, pulsing, alive- and you feel like you’ve been boxed into a death match, again.
You can’t look up into the audience without their faces blending together, their roars sounding monstrous and heavy with bloodlust. Dozens of drones hum loudly and sail above your head like war planes, reminding you of the world’s scrutiny. Millions of eyes all bearing down on you and all your pokemon, and Hop. Your best friend.
Dust rises from the stadium like storm clouds as he calls out attacks, and each blow sends a gust of warm air into your face.
You feel like a monster.                                                      
Does he, too?
The only thing you can see clearly are his golden eyes. You can see the air of confidence and unwavering strength weighing on him like heavy robes, that same façade he slips into every morning in the wake of the rising sun, quietly, fearfully, shamefully.
The audience loves the story of underdog trainers becoming heroes. It reminds them of themselves, Sonia had once told you. Everybody wanted to be somebody.
Strangers live vicariously through you two. Stories of two friends, both meek trainers from the same nowhere town, were whispered wherever you traveled. You and Hop found it somewhat novel to be icons in the beginning, though the retellings of each battle you and him fought began to sound foreign, and barren on the tongues of strangers far and wide.
The scrutiny had worn the both of you down. You had both shifted from being icons to becoming spectacles for entertainment.
The public glorification of the winner and shunning of the defeated sat lumbering in your minds whenever battle was mentioned, and the rumbling of your pokeballs eager to fight acted as a harbinger of worse to come. The chat of savagery owed to your battles with Hop dragged at your feet day by day, like shackles weighing you down resolutely.
The tale of two old friends turned to gut each other in battle was far more interesting than the underdog story, and broadcasts were all too quick to pick up on the reception. And so that’s what you two had become in the eyes of the public, half of them cheering you on while the rest sought to tear you down.
Both your names were all over the news, your characters brandished so thoroughly that you could no longer recognize yourself on the screen. Your story had been written for you before you had the chance to live through it. Every step you took was only to fulfill the forecast the media had championed you to become, and just like everyone watching you, you sought to chase unattainable perfection.
Slowly, the sound of you and Hop’s names on wagging tongues began to haunt you like a dreary nightmare you could not awaken from.
Debate of who was stronger, who was the fan favorite, who would win, and who had wasted their time seeped into the edges of your lives- staining it dark with the desire to come out victorious, along with the shameful urge to escape from the ever-smoldering spotlight.
Even your moments of strength were overturned and exploited. As you and Hop scaled the ladder to become stronger trainers and pursue your dreams, each reel released to television showed only the strongest and weakest moments you both dared to display, turning the two of you into husks of legends so mammoth you could only hide behind them. And so you hid.
This was never what you wanted.
Though everyone seemed to think you and Hop were superhuman, looking at him, you could only see your dearest friend and his little Wooloo guiding you through thick grass years ago, before you had your own pokemon. Maybe even more than just a friend, you had sometimes dared to think. His earnest drive was so strong you felt it resonate in your heart, thrumming painfully at the inability to express itself despite proximity.
But it wasn’t possible, you had thought to yourself one late and somber night, the dim glow of the television casting soft shadows in your room.
It was selfish, you thought as you embraced Hop, who was crying silently into your arms, every sob shaking his frame chipping away at your heart.
The news reporter replayed a clip of Hop’s earlier battle with Bede, never failing to capture every flash of frustration and disappointment on Hop’s face as Bede triumphed, broadcasting his human shame for all to see.
“Will Challenger Hop ever live up to his brother and crowned Champion, Leon’s name? Or will he prove once and for all that skill requires work and not just family? Stay tuned to watch Challenger Hop face off against his friend-”
The TV screen blackened, and a seal of silence draped across the room.  You quietly put down the remote and rest a hand on Hop’s head, combing through his dark, disheveled hair with cold fingers.
You feel him tremble and close your eyes, exhaling softly into the expanse of the night.
From then on, camera crew who flock to you asking about your victory were met only with an icy wall of silence and blank looks. Fans who cheered for you and implored you to win the next match were also ignored. How could you?  How could you feed yourself into this endless cycle that served only to fuel the egos of strangers, and add to the insecurity that only you had seen Hop buckle to behind closed doors?
You shut people out, and fans were quick to speculate on this. Word went around quickly that fame had changed you, and you had a good bitter laugh at the idea that they ever knew who you were.
Hop offered comfort in the night, a weary hand placed on your shoulder, whispering warm words as you stared out the hotel window bleakly, peering sadly into the city alight with life and bustle that echoed deafeningly in the dim hotel room.
In the day, Hop had taken to the light and shouldered the role you refused to uphold. He had become the young and voracious trainer everyone yearned for, and you quickly fell out of favor. Fansigns with your name were turned over and used to display Hop’s name instead, crowds surging with energy and disagreement whenever you took him down in another match.
Uneasiness wasn’t easy to read in his eyes, as he had learned well from his brother how to shine in the limelight. But you knew from the way his eyebrows drew together slightly, how his shoulders pulled into his body- you knew that his worries were reaching its peak. After all, how could the trainer who had fallen out of favor be the one to win the challenge?
News anchors made room for programs every morning to discuss the latest pokemon matches between the four up-and-coming trainers, you, Hop, Beedee, and Marnie, and there would only ever be discourse about whether or not you had deserved to win.
Leon and Chairman Rose sympathized with you, knowing that the scrutiny and gossip that came with fame was eating you away. Leon called after a particularly bad case of media thrashing, and recommended you try to work on public appearance by showing audiences what good friends with Hop you were.
You thanked him, but didn’t plan on taking him up on the offer. You and Hop both knew you were friends, and that should’ve been enough. You didn’t want to ruin the sanctity of your friendship with him by allowing the public to exploit it, even if it meant having a little bit of peace.
Chairman Rose summoned you a few days later and though Hop had wished to accompany you, you had to decline as per the Chairman’s orders.
In that large, white and sparkling office, he told you with a smile that the public eye was trained on you, and was extremely unhappy. You had known that for a long time now, but in that moment, you felt small in the red leather chair in the office that overlooked the world. The chairman shook his head, and for a glimmer of a second you might have imagined pity in his strange eyes.
“The people are cruel.” He said, turning to look down upon the city of Wyndon. “They only know how to take sides.”
You watch him fold his arms behind his back, a flashy designer watch catching the light offensively. “I’m sure you know who they’re cheering for.”
You realize then why Chairman Rose asked you to come alone, and feel weaker than ever when you catch yourself wishing Hop was here to defend you.
The days drag on.
Each battle you have with Hop ends the same, but you feel no satisfaction from beating him like you used to. When he congratulates you now, he makes sure to monologue about how important it is to not give up on his dreams, but you’re not sure if he’s even talking about himself anymore.
The night before the big tournament, you lock your hotel room door and pretend to not hear him when he knocks.  You lie still in your bed and listen to him tossing and turning in the bed next door, not sleeping even after he stops rolling around daybreak.
But the both of you have finally made it this far. You had beat Marnie and Hop had finally beat Beedee, making you the last two challengers standing in the stadium the size of your humble hometown, down to both your last pokemon.
The battle had been arduous and tiring, considering neither of you had a good night’s sleep yesterday. The bright lights bounced off the sand on the floor and stung your eyes. The unforgiving chanting coming from the stadium booths reverberated in your head and made your temples pound painfully.
Hop recalled his pokemon and activated his dynamax band, the cheers of his fans exponentially rising and shaking the court in their fervor. You follow in suit, withdrawing your very first pokemon and remembering how much it had grown since Leon had introduced you in the courtyard. With a hefty throw, your pokemon is released from the confines of the large pokeball, landing heavily on its feet and shattering the gravel underfoot.  Debris flies haphazardly and a large gust of wind charged with power blows past you. It screeches a monstrous battle cry at Hop’s gigantamaxed pokemon, who returns the sentiment and bellows throatily.
Hop’s last pokemon was also the one Leon had given him, and though it was strong, you had a huge advantage over him because of types.  You catch his eye from across the battlefield and he gives you a smile and a wink of reassurance. You shake your head, and wonder why he never learns from his past mistakes.
He orders an attack on your pokemon, and when the blow lands, It’s powerful enough to kick sand up off the floor to whisk into a storm in the air. You know your pokemon has enough stamina to survive one more hit- this was your chance to take him down with your signature move.
When the clamor from the attack dies down, you can hear the crowd chanting Hop’s name. Even he looks surprised, glancing at them with his mouth agape.
The world seems to stop moving for a second, even the sandstorm grinding to a halt as you watch Hop turn to smile at you, honey eyes gleaming with pride and more genuine happiness than you’ve seen from him in a long time. You can’t hear him, but you see his mouth move to form the words.
They’re finally cheering for me.
You feel a lump rise in your throat and bow your head and stare at your shoes, your heartbeat slow and loud in your ears. If you thought you had it bad, then what about poor Hop, who had been in his brother-the Champion's- shadow for all of his life? To be compared to not only your rivals, but your very own flesh and blood? You think back to all the nights he blinked back tears when talking about his own future compared to his brother's, and wonder how he hadn't crumbled under the pressure years ago.
You try to calm yourself, but realize you were never nervous. You can hear the crowd murmuring, wondering why you hadn’t called out a move yet.
You think about what the Chairman’s words, and they bounce back and forth in your head as you stare at all the pokeballs on your belt- all your pokemon that have worked so hard to get you here, all the training that you had put them through to be the best of the best. The cheering of the crowd ebbs into your thoughts, and you look skyward, the sun beaming down and into the stadium and warming your cold face.
You turn to your pokemon and call a move that immediately sends the crowd reeling. Hop looks confused too, dry lips parted and not daring to exhale for fear this is a dream. His hazel eyes shone with disbelief, flooded with relief and complete and utter betrayal.
Your pokemon turns to you with an expression that mirrors gentle disappointment, and you turn away, heart aching. You close your eyes as you hear it soaring into the air, far beyond sight. As soon as it had disappeared, it remerges from the clouds, roaring through the air like a jet plane and colliding violently with Hop’s pokemon.
The announcer’s words sound distant despite being blasted over the speakers- “That wasn’t a very effective move! Oh, what was Challenger (Y/n) thinking?!”
Your pokemon stumbles backward, each fluttering step shaking your soul and the ground below you tremendously.  Hop’s pokemon stands tall and sturdy, barely hurt enough to have a scratch. Recoil hits your pokemon, and it crumples onto its knees. Gravel flies into you but you do nothing to avoid it. It cries out one last time, loud, pathetic and pained. You feel tears pricking your eyes at the sound. The sound of it falling to the side, body slapping onto the concrete listlessly, makes you flinch.
You can feel your hair waving in the breeze caused by the sheer weight of your pokemon collapsing, but you only raise your eyes to lock with Hop’s. You told yourself when you did this you would smile, but you’re finding it hard to move the corners of your lips upwards without letting them quiver.
You can hear the announcer expressing his surprise at your carelessness before gregariously declaring Hop the brand new Pokemon Challenge Finalist. The surging applause from the audience thunders so loudly it almost shadows the throbbing pain you feel in your chest. The colorful confetti popping from all angles of the stadium rained down between you and him, seeming almost comedic given the heartbreak you could see in each other's eyes.
You take a shaky step forward to finalize the end of the challenge with a handshake, but before you can take another wobbling step forward, Hop charges at you with a running start and engulfs you in a choking hug, throwing the both of you onto the hard floor and tumbling a few feet.
He's warm and large as he envelopes your body with his, and his smile is wide and cheerful. He speaks, and his words cut you open like a knife.
“What did you do?” He asked, his voice hushed and warm against your ear. “How could you?”
The wetness in your eyes pools over. Hot, burning tears run down your face, and you can’t seem to stop them.
How couldn't you?
Hop presses your head into his shoulder, hiding your face from the drones and reporters snapping pictures. He curses under his breath and clenches a fist.
“It seems Finalist Hop is so overtaken by his happiness, he’s tackled his very own rival and enemy in a hug fit for a Bewear! Ladies and gentlemen, our Enigmatic Finalist, Hop!”
You feel him pull you closer, hands cold and clammy. A grin is still plastered on his face, strained only to you.
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readbyred · 3 years
Text
Ted Spankoffski x Reader
a gender neutral, self insert-ish fluff; a bit of a crack fic
warnings: cursing, more well rested but still very dyslectic author
Missing work was not something (Y/n) did often and some of their coworkers began to worry a bit. Soon however, Melissa stopped by their floor to inform that they needed a free day to ‘sort some stuff out’ and that they were going to return to work the next day so there was no need to worry. No one was very interested in any further information and so the day went on.
Around his lunch break, however, Ted decided to call them to check on them. It was something they did often when he was gone, a nice routine he’d grown to enjoy. He wasn’t all that eager to do so, it wasn’t his thing, but he was quite bored and didn’t really have anyone to talk to or grab a lunch with so he decided to return the favour. He felt kind of weird about it but reminded himself that it’s completely normal now that they are ‘sort of seeing each other’.
Not long after he pressed the telephone icon on his screen (Y/n) picked up.
“Hey, what’s up?” they asked not really expecting to be called by Ted of all people “Is something wrong?”
“Why aren’t you at work?”
“Oh, that! I’m having” they must have put down the phone for a moment as Ted heard a few muffled sounds on their end before the sound came back clear “a bit of an emmergency here. Nothing bad I swear! It’s just,, remember when I showed you that cat i found recently?”
How could Ted forget? Patas was to (Y/n) like a child and they loved him dearly but it was certainly not the case for Ted. The thing was huge and loud, with a clear dislike for the man. The first (and only so far) time when Ted was spending the night he found his shoes soaked in cat piss and Patas the cat looking at him with those malicious yellow eyes. So it was safe to say the resentment was pretty mutual hence Ted’s response:
“Yeah, that fuckin’ cat” the clear dislike in his voice made (Y/n) giggle “what’s with him?”
“It’s our first spring together and I’m having a bit of a problem here making him leave Poppy alone” they chuckled.
Poppy was their cousin’s cat, Ted was pretty sure they told him something about taking her in for a few days. Finally it clicked.
“You really missed work to cockblock your cat?” he asked a bit too loudly and very amused making Sylvia, who just entered his office holding the doorknob by a tissue, sigh deeply.  But Ted didn’t care. All he knew was that he needed to see that.
(Y/n) answered the door letting Ted in, holding a small cat he had never seen before. He went over to their place as soon as work ended, a bit motivated by the scene he’d see there but mostly by the perspective of possibly getting to stay over again.
“You’re really that curious, huh?” they watched as Ted took off his shoes and hung them up on the hanger before turning back to them.
“I just want to see him suffer” he responded looking around their small flat. And there he was, a big black and white cat with his eyes glued to the small thing in (Y/n) arms. As they sat on the couch Poppy wiggled her way out from (Y/n) light embrace sitting by her feet. Next thing they knew a big shape dashed across the room.
“dON’T YOU EVEN DARE!” (Y/n) sprung to their feet pointing their finger at the cat who, holding eye contact, took a few steps in their direction before lamenting loudly.
Ted had way too much fun watching the battle (Y/n) had with their pupil, observing very amused as his tired partner chased their cats around the main and only room of the apartment.
“Come on, (Y/n)” as time passed he started to sympathise with the cat a bit “can’t you just let him have fun?”
“I really don’t have the energy to explain why making my cousin deal with kittens she did not want is a bad idea” they sighed drinking their coffee and moving Patas away with one foot from the counter where the other cat sat.
“Maybe he’ll pull out on time! Right?” the cat meowed loudly as if in agreement, making (Y/n) chuckle at their solidarity.
Checking their phone, clearly waiting for a text they set down the empty cup positioning themselves between the cat and the counter where Poppy slept, so that they could also face Ted. He was still on the couch, smoking, since (Y/n) didn’t really mind it.
“Ted, that’s not how cats work...” to be honest they also found the situation to be quite amusing considering that their partner had a known dislike towards their ‘furry child’ as they called their cat.
“Look” he started, speaking with his hands, waving the cigarette around. (Y/n) noticed he did that a lot “If it were me I’d go nuts! Lock him in the bathroom at least, why torture the poor guy and show him what he can’t have?”
“Ted, he’s a cat” they let out a little laugh shaking their head at his antics “And besides I had that idea this morning. But I just couldn't do that to him, you know? And even when I tried he yelled so much I was scared my neighbours would think I'm torturing someone in here”
They held Patas in their arms, rocking him like a big, very horny baby, completely ignoring the hypocrisy of them of all people, reminding Ted that it was just a cat.
“So you’re going to use all your sick days on this or?” he said putting the cigarette butt in the ashtray nearby.
“Of course not! It's only for today” they responded making Ted a bit less worried for their sanity (which, again was pretty hypocritical for someone who tried to play a wingman for a cat) “plus I already set him up for neutering this evening”
Ted's head snapped towards them momentarily as he gave his partner the most offended look they’ve ever seen him have.
“Jesus Christ leave his balls alone!”
tag list:
@stopgettingonmynerves
@joeycupcakerichter
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Text
Anonymous asked: I really enjoy your erudite and literary posts about James Bond in your blog very much. Your most recent post about Connery as best cinematic Bond and Dalton as the best literary Bond was brilliant. Although the PC brigade have been inching towards making Bond a woman or even non-white, Ian Fleming’s legacy of a suave but cold hearted English gentleman spy hasn’t been completely trashed. As someone familiar with Fleming literary lore can you also tell me where was James Bond educated? Was it Oxford or Cambridge? I was having a discussion over Zoom with friends and the Oxonians like myself thought it was Oxford because in Casino Royale with Daniel Craig it’s made very plain it was Oxford. Your thoughts?
I appreciate your kind words about my posts on James Bond and his creator Ian Fleming. It’s very hard to ignore the cinematic James Bond because he is very much an icon of our modern culture that needs no translation to transcend across cultures. Alongside Sherlock Holmes, another British literary and cinematic export, the name alone speak for itself.
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James Bond appeals to both genders very well.
For the men, Bond dresses well and lives in a care free way. He is both ferociously intelligent and resourceful to get out of any tight corner. He drives incredible cars (from the incredibly stylish Aston Martin DB5 to the incredibly awful AMC Hornet) and uses awesome technology (he is the archetypal boy with toys). He's not afraid to get down in the dirt to fight or engage in lethal gun-play and spectacular car chases. He sleeps with beautiful women, regardless how strong and independent they are (or even lesbian if we’re being honest about Pussy Galore).
For us ladies, while he's not averse to action, he's also a cultured gentleman with suave and sophisticated manners. He's also a generally pretty good looking guy. In many ways, he's a conventional male ideal. So while his conventional good looks and manners aren't for everyone, they hit right the sweet spot of what women like. For everyone, he's a spy! Not at a grey real world nondescript spy, but a cool spy fighting larger than life bad guys whose bland sartorial choices scream mad super villain. It's a very black and white world that James Bond lives in. These bad guys truly are villainous in the desire to re-order humanity, and we need a debonair British MI6 agent to save us from these mad men who want to harm us by laying waste to a bonkers Armageddon.
When all is said and done I think that what makes James Bond so iconic across gender and generations is what Raymond Chandler wrote back in 1959, “every man wants to be James Bond and every woman wants to be with him”.
That sounds about right. Men want to be him, women want to be with him.
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I know my first introduction to James Bond was through my grandfather on my  Anglo-Scots father’s side who was a dashing gentleman in his day with a long rumoured hush hush work for Her Majesty’s government firmly shoved under the carpet to avoid further discussion that he - being self-effacing and humble - would find embarrassing that would paint him in any heroic light. Years later he had bought his Bahamas beach pile in Harbour Island out in the Caribbean for the family to rest up from cold winters in Britain. Amongst his immense stack of books dotted around the place were (and still are) first editions of Flemings novels which a few were signed by the author as he on occasion met Ian Fleming when he would sail over to Jamaica (they were also OEs which helped). We were not allowed to touch these but instead picked up the dog earred paperbacks that still retained their 60s musty smell.
On my teen sojourns there I would spend time along with my siblings just reading anything we could find to take to the beach or lounge around in a hammock or a chaise longue. That’s how I came to read the Fleming books - really out of necessity to avoid boredom on a beach (which isn’t really my thing as I prefer the rugged outdoors). But I was pleasantly surprised how well written the books were and I actually enjoyed the stories; it was a refreshing change from the more heavy literary tomes I was trying hard to wade through. As for the Bond films, I watched them on film nights at boarding school; I remember having a school girl crush on Connery, Dalton, and Brosnan.
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There are many reasons for the successful longevity of James Bond in popular culture and literature but perhaps one of the most pertinent to our discussion is that James Bond is actually a blank slate and therefore malleable as a character and so he can capture the current zeitgeist in time.
This ability of the film to adapt to different generations while remaining relevant is an important factor for its longevity. For example, the early James Bond films were unashamedly sexist with characters using women as objects and discarding them. In the most recent James Bond films, certainly starting with Timothy Dalton, there is a subtle change in attitude with a few chauvinist attitudes.
James Bond today is more serious, seduces fewer women, and is more respectful towards women in his life, including his boss. This shows how the film changes concerning the rise of feminism in the West. For example, Miss Moneypenny used to be a minor character in the very first James Bond films. Today, she is more formidable and doesn’t tolerate sexist remarks.
Perhaps it is precisely because of this blank slate malleability that has allowed different actors that have been cast to play James Bond their own way - rather than get a straight like for like Scottish sounding actor to replacing Connery for example the film producers went across to Moore via Lazenby for example  - and letting each actor imbue the super spy with different moods. They each added their own colour from the same broad palate to create different tones. However, each of these characters maintained the essential character that defines James Bond. The actors have broadly stayed true to the inherent mix of character and class associated with James Bond.
For this reason I have some empathy towards your concern that Bond would be held hostage to the current zeitgeist of white washing or genderising everything so as to avoid being a victim of cancel culture. But it’s only empathy because I feel there is a danger of misunderstanding just who James Bond is and what he represents.
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What do I mean by this?
I mentioned James Bond is a malleable character to the point he’s presented as a blank slate. This is ‘literally’ true - certainly as far as the books go. Ian Fleming doesn’t tell us much about Bond other than his appearance in his books. Indeed - as I mentioned in my past blog post on Connery as the best Bond - Fleming wasn’t convinced by Connery as Bond. He was reported to have said, ‘I’m looking for Commander Bond and not an overgrown stuntman’ and even dismissed Connery as “that fucking truck driver”. Fleming has good reason to rage. His Bond as written in the books was someone like him.
Like Fleming, Bond was an Eton educated Englishman; an officer and a (rogue) gentleman who was a lieutenant-commander in Naval Intelligence. As Connery began to wow and win over Fleming as Bond, Fleming had a change of heart. Fleming in his later Bond books re-wrote a half-Scottish ancestry for Bond as a tribute to Connery’s portrayal. Bond’s Scottish father was a Royal Navy captain and later an arms dealer, Andrew Bond from Glencoe; and his mother, Monique Delacroix, was Swiss from an industrial family. Bond himself was born in Zurich. Bond isn’t English at all but half-Scots and half-Swiss according to literary canon.
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So I mention this because the question who can play James Bond is not as straight forward as it might seem.
But clearly we now have a canon of work, both cinematically and in the literature, where we have base line of who Bond is - or what audiences could possibly suspend their disbelief and go with what is presented to them as James Bond.
I do vaguely remember the hullabaloo and hand wringing around Daniel Craig playing Bond because he didn’t conform to the traditional tall, dark, and handsome trope of James Bond super suave spy. People couldn’t get past his blond hair. Some still can’t. But in my humble opinion he has been an outstanding James Bond and has reimagined Bond in a fresh and exciting way. Craig is in fact mining the Fleming books for his characterisation of Bond as a suave, gritty, humourless killer of the books. Dalton got there before him but that’s a moot point. To our current generation Craig has modernised Bond and dusted 007 down from being a relic of the Cold War to being a relevant 21st Century super spy.
Can anyone play James Bond OO7? Yes and no. It’s arguing that two different things are one and the same. They are not. James Bond is separate from OO7.  
Can a woman play Jane Bond or a black woman or non-white man play Black Bond? Respectfully, no. That’s not who James Bond is.
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James Bond is a flesh and blood character with a specific genealogical history - whether in the books or on the screen. This Bond has literary back story that is canon and makes him who he is. Bond does transcend time - he can’t be 38 years old for over 75 years in the real world - but at the same time his character only makes sense when rooted in a specific historic context we know existed (and still exists) and not some wishy washy make believe fantasy of British society. He’s an Old Etonian and therefore an upper middle class male product of the British establishment that is identifiable in a very British cultural context.
Jane Bond would have to have gone to Cheltenham Ladies College, Benneden, or Roedean I suppose if we are talking about equivalence - but such girls’ boarding schools were not the breeding ground for future spies (more likely they married them or became trusted secretaries in the intelligence services as well as flower arranging in their Anglican parish church).
I believe they are letting in black pupils on bursaries at Eton these days to be more inclusive but again it’s an an exception not the rule and Eton doesn’t even get public credit for the inclusive work they try to do because it’s not well known.
Moreover we know Bond loses his Scottish-Swiss parents in a skiing accident. I don’t mean to sound racist but I ski a lot in Switzerland and I can say you don’t really find droves of non-white skiers on the slopes of Verbier or Zermatt. Of course there are a few but it’s the exception and not the norm. Again, I’m not trying to be racist but just point out some obvious things when it pertains to the credibility of character that underlines who Bond is. You pull one thread out of the literary biography and the danger is the rest of the tapestry will unravel.
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Of course one could try and go for a Black Bond on screen and then hope there is a huge suspension of belief on the part of the audience. But I suspect it’s a bridge too far. It just doesn’t fit. Audiences around the world have an image of who Bond is - British at the very least but also male (damaged and flawed in many ways) and coming from a specific British social class background that serves as an entree to a closed world of English gentleman clubs, Savile Row, English sports cars, and the hushed corridors of Whitehall.
Any woke film maker with an ounce of creative vision and talent and one who is invested in this would be better off creating a new character entirely - with their own specific biography that is both believable and relatable. Can you imagine an American James Bond? What a ghastly thought. Or worse a Canadian one? Canadians are far too nice and far too apologetic to produce a cruel cold eyed killer. But look what clever film makers like Spielberg and Lucas did with Indiana Jones and even later Doug Liman did with Jason Bourne - both fantastic creations that are part of the cultural zeitgeist now.
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Or look at Charlize Theron who plays a MI6/CIA/KGB triple agent in Atomic Blonde or Rebecca Ferguson as Ilsa Faust in any of the Mission Impossible movies. I would eagerly watch any movies with these two badass women on the screen. All this talk about making Bond a woman or even coloured is just lazy thinking at best and at worst kow towing to the populist tides of PC brigade.
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But I firmly believe one can have a female and a person of colour portraying 007. This is because James Bond and OO7 are two different things entirely. Many mistakenly believe 007 is Bond’s own code name and specific alias to him alone.  
007 is a license to kill for a very specialised kind of intelligence officer. Bond has that privilege for as long as he serves at the service of Her Majesty’s pleasure. His 007 license can be revoked - and it has been in the past Bond films - and he’s back to being a just another desk jockey civil servant in Whitehall. So my point is OO7 is not sacred to Bond’s identity. Bond could continue to be Bond even if M took away his 007 license to kill.
The origins of the Double O title may date to Fleming's wartime service in Naval Intelligence. According to World War Two historian Damien Lewis in his book Churchill's Secret Warriors, agents of the Special Operations Executive (SOE) were given a “0” prefix when they became "zero-rated" upon completion of training in how to kill. As part of his role as assistant to the head of naval intelligence, Rear Admiral John Godfrey (himself the inspiration for M), Fleming acted as liaison to the SOE.
In the novel Moonraker it’s established that the section routinely has three agents concurrently; the film series, beginning with Thunderball, establishes the number of OO agents at a minimum of 9. Fleming himself only mentions five OO agents in all. According to Moonraker, James Bond is the most senior of three OO agents; the two others were OO8 and OO11. The three men share an office and a secretary named Loelia Ponsonby. Later novels feature two more OO agents; OO9 is mentioned in Thunderball and OO6 is mentioned in On Her Majesty's Secret Service.
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Other authors have elaborated and expanded upon the OO agents. While they presumably have been sent on dangerous missions as Bond has, little has been revealed about most of them. Several have been named, both by Fleming and other authors, along with passing references to their service records, which suggest that agents are largely recruited (as Bond was) from the British military's special forces.
Interestingly, In the novel You Only Live Twice, Bond was transferred into another branch and given the number 7777, suggesting there was no active agent 007 in that time; he is later reinstated as 007 in the novel The Man with the Golden Gun. As an aside, in Fleming's Moonraker, OO agents face mandatory retirement at 45 years old. However Sebastian Faulks's Devil May Care (an authorised Bond adventure from the Fleming estate and therefore arguably could be considered canon) features M giving Bond a choice of when to retire - which explains why Roger Moore (God bless) went past his sell by date.
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In the films the OO section is a discrete area of MI6, whose agents report directly to M, and tend to be sent on special assignments and troubleshooting missions, often involving rogue agents (from Britain or other countries) or situations where an "ordinary" intelligence operation uncovers or reveals terrorist or criminal activity too sensitive to be dealt with using ordinary procedural or legal measures, and where the aforementioned discretionary "licence to kill" is deemed necessary or useful in rectifying the situation.
The World is Not Enough introduces a special insignia for the 00 Section. Bond's fellow OO agents appear receiving briefings in Thunderball and The World Is Not Enough. The latter film shows a woman in one of the 00 chairs. In Thunderball, there are nine chairs for the OO agents; Moneypenny says every 00 agent in Europe has been recalled, not every OO agent in the world. Behind the scenes photos of the film reveal that one of the agents in the chairs is female as well. As with the books, other writers have elaborated and expanded upon the OO agents in the films and in other media.
In GoldenEye, 006 is an alias for Alec Trevelyan; as of 2019, Trevelyan is the only OO agent other than Bond to play a major role in an EON Productions film, with all other appearances either being brief or dialogue references only.
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In Casino Royale with Daniel Craig’s first outing as Bond, we see in the introduction the tense exchange between Bond and Dryden, a section chief whom Bond has been sent to kill for selling secrets.  
James Bond: M really doesn't mind you earning a little money on the side, Dryden. She'd just prefer it if it wasn't selling secrets. Dryden: If the theatrics are supposed to scare me, you have the wrong man Bond. If M was so sure I was bent...she'd have sent a Double-O. Benefits of being Section Chief...I would know of anyone being promoted to Double-O status, wouldn't I? Your file shows no kills...and it takes - James Bond: - two. (flashback of Bond fighting Dryden's contact in a bathroom.)
The OO is just a coveted position and nothing to do with who occupies it. Ito use a topical comparative example it’s like a football team in which a new star player would be given an ex-player’s shirt number e.g. Messi wears Number 10 for Argentina which is heavily identified with the late great Maradona. So conceivably there would be no problem having a woman or anyone else play 007. I think it would be an interesting creative choice to have a woman or someone else play OO7 and Bond is out of the service and yet he has to work together with this new OO7 - the creative tension would be a refreshing twist on the canon. 
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Your question about James Bond’s Oxford or Cambridge education is more easier to answer.
It really depends again which Bond one is talking about. The literary James Bond or the cinematic Bond.
In the Fleming books, James Bond’s didn’t go to Oxford or Cambridge or any of the other great universities of Britain. In the books Bond’s education is not gone into much detail. We know he was raised overseas until he was orphaned at the age of 11 when his parents died in a mountaineering accident near Chamonix in the Alps. He is home schooled for a time by an aunt, Charmain Bond, in the English village of Pett Bottom before being packed off to boarding school at Eton around 12 years old. Bond doesn’t stay long as he gets expelled for playing around with a maid. He is then sent to his father’s boarding school in Scotland, Fettes College.
Bond is then briefly attends the University of Geneva - as Ian Fleming did - before being taught to ski in Kitzbühel. In 1941 Bond joins a branch of what was to become the Ministry of Defence and becomes a lieutenant in the Royal Naval Volunteer Reserve, ending the war as a commander. Bond applies to M for a position within the "Secret Service", part of the HM Civil Service, and rises to the rank of principal officer. And that’s it.
In the cinematic Bond universe things get more complicated and even contentious as you alluded to in your question. It’s never made quite clear which of the two - Oxford or Cambridge - Bond attended because it depends on how much weight you attach to the lines being spoken in each of the films where it is raised.
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In Tomorrow Never Dies, Bond is up at Oxford (New College to be exact since his Aston Martin DB5 was parked in the courtyard at the entrance). He is seen bedding a sexy Danish professor, Inga Bergstrom, to brush up on his Danish (to which Moneypenny on the phone retorts ‘You always were a cunning linguist’). But it’s definitely doesn’t mean Bond studied there as an undergraduate. 
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Casino Royale is the film many think yes, James Bond went to Oxford because it is mentioned by Vesper Lynd (Eva Green) as she sizes up Daniel Craig’s Bond on the train. Here is the full quote as said by Vesper Lynd, “All right... by the cut of your suit, you went to Oxford or wherever. Naturally you think human beings dress like that. But you wear it with such disdain, my guess is you didn't come from money, and your school friends never let you forget it. Which means you were at that school by the grace of someone else's charity - hence that chip on your shoulder. And since your first thought about me ran to "orphan," that's what I'd say you are.”
The thing to note is that it’s Vesper Lynd taunting Bond and even then she takes a wide stab by saying ‘Oxford or wherever’ because she doesn’t really know and Bond doesn’t oblige her with an answer.
That whole scene struck me as strange because she’s guessing by the cut of the suit it must be Oxford (or Cambridge). Bond is wearing an Italian suit (Brioni to be specific) and not and English Savile Row one that presumably someone of Bond’s taste and background would be sporting.
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A more plausible answer if we are going by the cinematic Bond universe is Cambridge. Indeed it is stated explicitly by Bond himself. Can you guess?
You Only Live Twice which is has the distinction of being the only Bond film (as far as I can tell) from being set in just one country - Japan.
You remember the scene. Lieutenant commander James Bond has just had a briefing with M on board a submarine and is naturally flirting with Moneypenny on his way out. Moneypenny playfully tosses him a Japanese phrase book, saying he might need it.
“You forget,” Bond responds with an expression just short of a smirk as he tosses it back to her, “I took a first in oriental languages at Cambridge.”
So it seems James Bond is a Cambridge man.
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A first means - as any British university student would know - first class honours. It’s the highest classification grade one can get in their undergraduate degree ie a ‘first’. Although at Cambridge, like Oxford, you can also get a double first in the part I and part II of the Tripos. Both universities also award first-class honours with distinction, informally known as a ‘Starred First’ (Cambridge) or a ‘Congratulatory First’ (Oxford).
Another oddity is he says ‘oriental languages’ when one got a degree in ‘oriental studies’ at the Oriental Faculty at Cambridge. That is until 2007 when Cambridge bowed to public and student pressure and chose to drop its Oriental Faculty label and instead adopted the name the Faculty of Asian and Middle Eastern Studies. Oxford still hangs on to its name the Faculty of Oriental Studies.
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My only reservation about crowing over an Oxonian is how truthful was Bond being with Moneypenny in this scene?
Is this line meant to be taken seriously or ironically? Most people seem to take it seriously, despite much of Connery's dialogue being obviously ironic and playful. Certainly, Bond is shown to have never been to Japan before and is incapable of saying anything in Japanese other than the odd "sayonara" and "arigato." But then again Bond does know the correct temperature sake is meant to be served at. So there’s that.
Or it could be Bond was speaking a half-truth. I know speaking from experience as someone who very nearly read asian languages instead of my eventual choice of Classics that ‘Oriental languages’ at the ex-Oriental faculty in Cambridge can mean many other languages e.g. Sanskrit, Hindi, Farsi, Hebrew, Arabic as well as Korean, Japanese and Chinese. It opens up so many other delicious possibilities for Bond. If he read Arabic then perhaps he’s being deeply ironic with Moneypenny (after all she would have drooled over read his MI6 personnel file).
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If you think I’m losing my mind then ponder on the fact it was Roald Dahl who penned the screenplay of You Only Live Twice. Dahl was not above snark. Indeed pretty sure he would have got a starred first in snark at any university.
Of course the most obvious explanation is that it’s plot armour as a way for Bond to just get on with the story by suspending the audience belief. Why wouldn’t Bond know Japanese? He seems to know everything else imaginable.
However if it ever was it’s now become canon as EON - the production company behind the Bond films - have stated officially for the fandom that Bond’s official bio has it that he went to Eton and Cambridge, where he got a first in oriental languages. So that seems settled then.
In hindsight it makes perfect sense that Bond went to Cambridge since historically Cambridge has provided the bulk of the spies not just for Her Majesty’s service but also for the other side, the Russians - the so-called Cambridge Spies of Philby, Maclean, Burgess, Blunt, and Cairncross, and a host of other traitors. We seem to be an equal opportunities employment service.
I’m sorry to disappoint you and other Oxonians that despite what you might think James Bond didn’t attend Oxford. Believe me as a Cantabrigian it gives me no pleasure to say this…..too much.
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Thanks for your question.
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unholyhelbig · 3 years
Text
Title: Centerfold [Pt.2]
Ship: Beca Mitchell/ Chloe Beale
(Read Part one here)
Beca Mitchell’s phone was a box of constant communication. She had her emails redirected so that she could feel every single time she needed to address something at the office, even if she was there and the soft pinging culminated in the very screen she stared at. She had a multitude of contacts and would video chat with the team in Italy, and sometimes L.A.
So, what she knew deep down, was that it was impossible for her not to look at her phone all day. Physically she had to check the notifications to keep her world running. Emily intercepted most of them, keeping her deep stare on her own screen before glancing up at her boss every couple of minutes. They were both on edge and Beca didn’t much appreciate the tension that sparked between them.
She held her breathe each time a new ping sounded off until eventually that lull of anxiety was hushed to a dull ache in the pit of her chest. She went through her morning meets and a new presentation to her team about how their coding for a new watch wasn’t up to parr- they had a few days to fix it before it dropped, and the CEO made sure she knew that.
When the notification from Chloe did finally come through, Beca almost didn’t’ notice. She registered the pink of the logo that slowly shifted to a deep purple. But the name? Oh, the name she hadn’t clocked for a few seconds after that. And even then, Chloe Beale? Her Chloe, actually responded.
Beca lilted the computer screen and frantically looked up at Emily, who was already at her door. She didn’t bother to knock. Instead, she situated the office and closed the blinds and very coolly, but not so coolly, pressed her back against the wood and breathed.
“Dude,” Beca said.
“I know,” Emily said “Did you read it?”
She hadn’t read it. She hadn’t even thought to read it because her mind got stuck behind the massive roadblock that was Chloe Beale and her stupid pun username. She opened the application and hesitated over the message icon. She was supposed to be playing it hard to get like she didn’t’ care if she even got a response. But she did care and apparently so did her assistant because she was right behind her, blindly gawking like her halo fell into her eyes and blinded her from right and wrong.
“If I click this she’ll see that I read it and then there’s no going back.”
“You don’t want to go back, do you?”
“You told me to keep her guessing,”
“Truthfully, I didn’t think you’d even get a response.” Emily shrugged sheepishly “Figured you would forget about it in a few days and… open it.”
Beca frowned but hovered the mouse over the message. She wanted to close her eyes but felt like she was watching a car accident, complete with the red and blue flashing lights and the metallic crunch of metal. Either way, she couldn't avert her stare. She didn’t want to.
Chloe: Hey stranger. I must admit that I was never expecting to hear from you again, big shot manager. I’ve kept my tabs on you… New York is my home, so if you’re serious about coffee, so am I.
Her breath caught in her throat. Chloe Fucking Beale had said yes. Her childhood love had agreed to coffee that neither of them could probably stomach. Chloe Fucking Beale who was a playboy model with more than a million Instagram followers, and Chloe Fucking Beale who she was pretty sure she still loved.
There had been other people, men, and women that she had thought she fell for. She folded into soft touches and stronger commands. She was happy for months at a time and on one rare occasion a full year with a man who ran his own tours of the city. But none of those relationships had ever been like the one she had with Chloe.
Beca pulled in a long breath that filled her lungs with stale coffee and copy paper. She tilted her lid and looked to Emily because she was the expert. And Beca was frozen. That same cold excitement filled her and it also rocked her ever-loving shit. She couldn’t move, she couldn’t think.
Emily looked at the darkened screen, then at her boss, then back at the screen before lunging forward and typing back a reply. Perfect. Are you free this Saturday?
It turns out that Chloe was free that Saturday and if she wasn’t, she didn’t’ say a word and quietly cleared her schedule. The day was quickly approaching and Beca really wanted to know why the New York Branch put her in charge of everything when she could barely figure out what to wear to a simple cup of coffee.
This felt more like a simple cup of coffee.
Emily eventually got tired of the barrage of pictures she was getting and took a cab to Beca’s apartment an hour before the actual date. They settled on black jeans and a blue button-down that Emily pulled closer to her chest for extra measure because according to her “You look good in anything and Chloe won’t be able to make eye contact with you.”
Then she was on a subway that smelled like stale snow and hot morning breath. They picked a small shop downtown that not many people knew about. It was a feat in the city to find a place that wasn’t packed like a sardine can and Beca trusted Chloe’s judgment tenfold.
Beca got there first, and her palms were sweating despite the cool atmosphere that swept through the little shop each time the door opened. It was a meta cross between a thrifted bookstore and a café. People sat and ate and read and the scent of what Beca imagined old magic to be, mingled well with coffee grinds and fresh pastries.
She ordered a simple black americano and settled by the front window, the glass fogged from a warm contrast with the cold of the busy street and curved lettering faced the patrons. There was a simple logo and one barista behind the counter. She chose a random book and pretended to read, but only skimmed the same paragraph over and over again.
Her main focus was on the door and the bell that chimed each time it was opened. One of those times, after a businessman and a hipster kid hugging his laptop close to his chest, it was Chloe. Soft and vibrant compared to the rest of the dim academic setting.
Her hair was pulled behind her ears and a pair of golden framed glasses rested on her nose. She had aged like wine and the wind that blew in behind her carried the sweet scent of southern peaches through the front door. She wore a white sweater with a plaid peacoat and high wasted jeans, and Beca knew she was staring.
Everyone was, they couldn’t’ help it. She overtook the room with a warm and sparked presence. If anyone recognized her they didn’t’ say a thing, out of saving their own face or because the girl in the centerfold of the latest playboy was wildly different than the one standing in front of her. This… this was her Chloe.
She didn’t’ know if she could hug Chloe, if touching was okay, but as she stood to greet her, she was pulled into the warmth of the woman. She was wrapped in overwhelming touch and emotion and she buried her nose into Chloe’s hair as they held onto each other, not quite willing to let go of the familiarity before realizing that it was inappropriate not to.
“Wow,” Chloe ran her hands down Beca’s arms, stopping at her elbows “You haven’t aged a day, have you?”
“It’s the lighting in here, I think it’s one step up from basement overhead.”
Chloe laughed and it was a magical sound. The only thing more intoxicating was her smile, which never seemed to leave her lips as she ordered her own drink, something loaded with sugar and caramel, and leaned forward across the table to get a better look at her date.
Beca sipped her coffee and quirked an eyebrow “What?”
“I haven’t seen you in ten years, I think it’s perfectly acceptable for me to study you.”
“There’ll be plenty of time for that,” She tested “What have you been up to all these years?”
Chloe leaned back in her seat and cupped her mug. It was a russet red and steam rose from the pale liquid that soaked inside. There was a sickeningly sweet odor to it and part of Beca regretted ordering nothing but a black coffee. It seemed like a disservice to the atmosphere of the shop.
“Oh, a bunch of stuff here and there. I used to be based out of LA, I did a lot of acting there. Little stuff like soap operas and a couple of commercials. It wasn’t for me, though so I moved here to pursue modeling and it’s been going well. Really well.”
Beca didn’t’ want to mention the playboy magazine or the curve of Chloe’s legs and the way her skin shown under the bright summer sun. She never returned it to Jason because he never asked for it back. It was an unspoken solidarity between the two.
“That’s amazing,” Beca smiled, feeling excitement in her chest “Anything I would recognize?”
Chloe hummed into her drink “Mm, maybe a few things. It depends on how you feel about Playboy. I never thought you were much of a reader.”
Beca looked down dejectedly at the old spined book to her right. It was true, she hadn’t read the Catcher in the Rye and she barely got through the introduction paragraph because of the nerves and the heartbeat that beat so strongly against the inside of her wrist right now.
“I’m not usually. But I do enjoy looking at the pictures.” Beca flicked her stare back towards the woman across from her “Though, that’s not the reason I reached out to you.”
“Truth is, I’ve always wanted to message you, but you looked like you were doing so well. Like you were so happy. I didn’t want to throw you off or seem like I was chasing something that we used to have.” She said, “So I waited.”
It was Beca’s turn to laugh, “I felt the same exact way. We’re both pretty stupid, then huh? Waiting like this for something we knew… for something we knew we wanted.”
Chloe smiled wider and clinked her mug against Beca’s yellow one, not spilling any of the mostly full drink. “To being stupid. And getting to know each other all over again.”
And that’s exactly what they did. They sat and talked until they were the only two in the coffee shop and Beca even dared to kiss Chloe when they got to the subway platform.  She tasted like caramel and sunshine if such a thing was even possible.
But it was because she had found Chloe. Centerfold Chloe. High school Chloe, and most importantly, her Chloe.
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