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basicjetsetter · 3 years

Text

Part IV

♡ Pairing: Peter Parker x Black!FemaleReader

▹ Warnings: Little angst, Lot of anxiety, Fluff if you squint

▹ Words: 2.8k

▹ A/N: This chapter’s a bit on the short side, but it establishes a lot. Happy reading!

You’re not exactly sure how you pull it off, but you somehow manage to elude Peter for five straight days.

Playing the impromptu game of hide-and-not-be-seen was touch and go for the first two days, mainly because you weren’t sure what time you’d see Peter in the diner’s entrance. All you knew was that he’d show up early, whatever that meant. Almost every chiming bell sent your heart into overdrive, and whenever you thought you saw him, your stomach performed painful somersaults as you mapped out all likely escape routes.

No place in the diner was safe. Hal’s has a pretty simple layout: front entrance, booths to the immediate right, and bar with barstools to the immediate left, all in a shotgun fashion. If one were to try looking for someone, especially from the front entrance, all they’d have to do is marginally widen their field of vision, which is why the first two days were tricky.

The next day after the first run-in, about three hours earlier than his initial arrival, Peter came in through the front door, buddying up with Chris and asking for you.

You were clearing off an unoccupied table, piling dirty plates, when Chris called out, “Hey! How’s it hanging, Peter?” With the stack of dishes still clenched in your hands, you dropped down and crawled under the booth, coming face to face with an unsavory assortment of chewed-up gum underneath the table, holding your breath for dear life. Peter stayed for about ten agonizingly treacherous minutes as Chris failed to locate you.

On the second day, a sluggish Tuesday morning with only four regular patrons at the bar and no one in the booths, Peter had just walked through the entrance as you were coming out of the back, hand-carrying three of Hal’s famous Thin Mint Milkshakes. Without a thought, you spun right around and dashed in the opposite direction, busting through the employee door and colliding straight into Wendy. You’d never seen someone throw such a fit, but then again, you’d be pretty pissed too if someone coated you head-to-toe in milkshake.

That day was… eventful, to say the least, but it gifted you with the best estimate for Peter’s arrivals. Early meant 11:30 a.m. on the dot. Lunch. You tested out the time the next day, waiting behind the employee door and peering out the medium-sized port window. At 11:30 a.m., right on cue, was Peter, dapping Chris and ordering a slice of Banana Cream Pie to-go while also asking for your whereabouts, staying for only half an hour.

He left you a note each time he departed.

Can’t seem to catch you. I’ll try again tomorrow :) – Peter

Is this not a good time for you? I’ll stop by later if you want – Peter

Is everything alright? Text or call anytime you need me. I’ll be there – Peter

From the second note on, you found yourself captivated by his neat little scrawl and the way he always signed his name at the end, as if you’d forget it was him. You’d read them on your way home and right before falling asleep, trying and failing not to picture him smiling at you while you absent-mindedly smiled at his words.

Your friendly boy-next-door is so easy to fall for, but you just can’t do it. You can’t allow yourself to fall. Nobody would be there to pick you back up.

Some nights, you lied awake drafting a message that would effectively convince Peter that things wouldn’t work between you, that you’re a lost cause, and he should probably find some other connection if such a thing exists. But then, unfailingly, you’d think about his concerned little notes and sadly acknowledge that he deserves more than a measly text. After showing up to Hal’s for almost a whole week just to get to know you, Peter deserves the truth.

Your heart is not ready for a Soulmate, and it might not ever be.

By the fifth day, you spend a good chunk of time pondering over the right words to say to Peter while simultaneously hiding in the kitchen, pretending to prepare more fries. You never looked forward to hiding from him, but what other option did you have? Going out there and letting your coworkers and boss know he’s your Soulmate? They wouldn’t shut up about it, especially not Chris, the open romantic.

When your shift ended that day, and you walked up to Chris so he could hand you Peter’s fifth note, he emphatically shook his head.

“On behalf of my new friend, Peter, I can’t in good faith give this to you,” he stated, tucking the folded paper into his back pocket and crossing his arms. “Not until you tell me why you’re dodging him.”

You frowned, crossing your arms too. “It’s really none of your business, Chris.”

“True, but it’s his.” The little dig got to you, making you wince. Chris continued softly, “Look, he won’t tell me what’s up with you two, either. And, trust me, I've asked. It's just... I’m kinda involved now, being the messenger and all, so shouldn’t I know some of the situation?”

“No…?” you hedged.

Chris didn’t budge.

You couldn’t think of a lie on the spot, and a half-truth would only further complicate things. Treading the fine line of what’s too much information and what’s not enough left you frustratingly tongue-tied. What’s specific enough to still be vague? Chris stared at you expectantly with a petulant little lift in his brow, ignoring a customer’s disgruntled calls for a refill in the napkin dispenser.

In the end, you huffed out a resigned breath and hesitantly admitted, “Peter's someone I knew from high school—a really nice guy.” For Chris’s benefit, you added, “He just likes to check up on me every now and then. You know how I don’t get out that much…”

And in a heartbeat, Chris morphed from a tough enquirer to a softened pile of dough, sagely nodding his head as if he knew all too well how reserved you are and how much of a losing battle it is persuading you to venture out. Or maybe it was because he understood how difficult it is to reconnect with people you unwilfully lost touch with for five years.

How everything and everyone fell right back into step with everyday life, like five years was just five minutes, continues to boggle your mind. It’s not normal. You won’t ever pretend that it is.

The disgruntled man shouted, “Can I get any damn service around here?”

Chris immediately broke from the conversation and left you behind the bar, off to go charm the customer’s socks off and earn a nice $10 tip even though he clocked out ten minutes ago.

You went on your way home, the ever-present anxiety of confronting Peter growing by the second.

Hours later, dressed down to your pajamas and reading his words over again, you’re still thinking about it, dread now gnawing on your insides.

You couldn’t even enjoy your newfound peace of mind. Ever since the voice stopped, Peter twined into all of your thoughts: his notes, his visits, his smile, your connection to him. There had to be a reason why destiny paired you. Besides being your Soulmate, what is he to you? What are you to him?

Unrest barred you from sleep for most of the night, and when you woke up the next morning, showered and ready to tackle another day, it hit you.

It’s Saturday—your day off this week—and you’re not scheduled to go back to work until Monday.

You could put off telling him… but what would be the point? It’d only prolong the inevitable. You needed to come clean today.

Picking up your phone, you steadily tap in his memorized cell number, then type:

-Hey Peter, it’s Y/N. Can you come by my place? We need to talk.

Three minutes later, he texts back.

-On my way.

✦ ✧✦ ✧

A nice, early summer breeze billows around you, doing its best to calm down your erratic nerves as you wait for Peter on the roof.

Are you doing the right thing?

Will Peter be okay with this?

What if he isn’t?

You jump out of your skin at the muffled Thwip and sudden appearance of Peter standing a few feet away.

His chestnut hair is windswept, and he’s wearing regular clothes, a faded blue Midtown High hoodie and denim jeans. You weren’t sure why you expected him to come dressed in his suit. It could be because you heard the sound of his web-slinger first and immediately thought of Spider-Man, but it’s more likely that your brain hasn’t connected that they are one and the same. You don’t see Spider-Man when you see him. All you see is Peter.

He’s tense, not moving an inch closer and keeping his shoulders pinched up like he’s on the defense. You can’t guess why he would be.

Gulping down a hard lump lodged in your throat, you stutter, “H-hi.”

He gives you a polite smile that doesn’t reach his sullen eyes. “Hey”

You both begin at the same time.

“Peter, I—”

“Look, Y/N—”

Ice floods your stomach, freezing your veins and squeezing your pounding heart. He has something to say to you? About what? You subtly jerk your head up, signaling for him to speak first.

Peter clears his throat, looks down at his shoes, then back up at you. “I know you’ve been hiding from me.”

“You do?” you squeak, eyes wide.

“Yeah, and it’s okay.”

Your voice hikes an octave. “It is?”

He nods. “Yeah. It’s fine. I get it.” He stops to scratch the back of his neck and dejectedly rambles on, “I’m not the safest person to be around, and it’s all super weird and a lot to take in. Like, a lot. My Aunt May freaked out too when she found out. Anyway, I… I get it if you don’t, y’know, don’t want me.”

“Wait, hold on,” you interrupt, trying to wrap your head around what he said. “You think… you think I don’t want you because you’re Spider-Man?”

“Well, yeah.” He says it like there couldn’t be any other possible reason.

You lower your gaze to the ground, unable to meet his curious gaze. “No, Peter, that’s not it.” Tears prick your eyes, but you fight like hell to keep them from falling. Steeling yourself, you quietly confess, “It’s me. I can’t be your Soulmate because…” A rebellious tear rolls down your cheek. “Because I’m not ready.”

As soon as you spoke the truth out loud, laying yourself and your broken soul bare, you dimly sense the previously severed string quiver deep down inside your chest. It’s the first time you felt it in five years, and it’s not how you remember it. It’s not severed, but it’s not whole either. Its presence only reminds you of what you can’t have, what you aren’t ready for.

In the ensuing quiet, you swipe the tear off your cheek and look at everything except Peter. Yellow tulips are blooming on someone’s balcony in the neighboring apartment building. A handful of fluffy clouds float in the piercing blue sky. An orange tabby cat is sun-bathing in a window.

It’s such a beautiful day. Yet, here you are, struggling not to cry on a roof.

Peter breaks through the silence, murmuring, “To be honest, I’m not ready either.”

“Really?” You ask, a little too hopeful, bringing your eyes back to his. They look so weary yet resolute.

“Yeah. I was actually freaking out that night we met.” He timidly grins, and your heart flips. “I didn’t know what to say, then I screwed up and forgot to ask if you were okay after I had literally just saved you from falling. Not really a glowing first impression.”

Astonishing yourself, you laugh. You couldn’t help it. There was absolutely nothing remotely hilarious about that night, but the way Peter described it, as if it were a blunder solely on his part, was so ridiculous that it was funny. Peter joins in, too, his laugh coming out airy and wondrously addictive. That smile you couldn’t stop thinking about for a whole week brightens his face.

When the laughs fade, Peter soberly says, “Even if we aren’t ready, maybe we can try being friends, just to see where things go? I mean, we were meant to be together for a reason, right? This could be it.”

You unconsciously nibble on your lower lip, considering his proposal. It hadn’t occurred to you that he might want to be friends. Would you want to do that? These days, you aren’t really open to platonic relationships, and Soulmate or not, being in a friendship would require some sort of connection. You don’t like those much.

Be that as it may, Peter seems like the type to respect your many boundaries, and that’s exactly what you would prefer in a friend at the moment. Someone who doesn’t pry. Someone who doesn’t uphold generic expectations. You could go for a diner talk every once in a while.

Besides, it’s just a little friendship. Most are surface level, and some don’t even last a year. What’s the worst that could happen?

You sincerely smile at Peter, wondering about the last time your smiles were sincere, and say, “Okay. Let’s be friends.”

His face radiates joy. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, I think we can do that. But I have a few terms.”

Peter eagerly nods, waiting.

You try not to focus on how his happiness thrills you. “One, don’t tell anyone we’re Soulmates. I don’t really want any of my coworkers to know.”

His smile drops into a sheepish wince. “I kinda already told Ned. But he won’t tell anyone, I swear.”

“That’s okay. It’s mostly my coworkers I’m worried about,” you reassure. You weren’t going to berate him for telling his best friend. If things were different, you’d have done the same. “Two, don’t ask me to hang out with your other friends. I don’t do big friend circles.”

“Got it,” he militantly nods again. “It’s mostly just Ned and me anyway.”

“And three,” your grin broadens. “If Chris asks you what’s going on between us, be super vague.”

“Done.” He smirks back at you, then extends his hand. “Friends?”

When your hand touches his, and you shake on it, the warmth of his palm thaws out all your remaining anxiety. “Friends.”

✦ ✧✦ ✧

When Monday rolls around, a tiny ball of doubt weighs you down.

It’s not that you were afraid of talking to Peter. You were actually looking forward to getting to know him now that you officially became friends. It’s the future you’re stuck on. What happens if you get too attached to this friendship and want more? What if friendship is all he wants? What if it’s the other way around?

If you were honest with yourself, you’d know which way the gage is leaning, and it’s not in your favor.

You’re cleaning off the bar top when Peter comes in, doing his usual greeting with Chris before settling down on a barstool in front of you. He’s a little high strung, leaning his chin on his hand, then thinking against it, only to do it again. It was oddly comforting to know that he was overthinking too.

The corners of your lips tug up in a soft smile. “Hi, Peter.”

Your face warms as he smiles back. “Hey, Y/N.”

Chris barges in, leaning his elbows on the bar top and gaping incredulously at you and Peter. “Woah, woah, woah! Did I miss something? Since when are you two speaking in public?”

Peter checks his watch. “About thirty-seven seconds ago.”

“Oh, come on, dude. At least tell me what happened.”

You and Peter share a knowing look like two conniving co-conspirators sharing an inside joke, and you giggle as Chris huffs in annoyance. He glumly storms off when you two stay hushed, muttering, “Fine, next time you need a middle-man, count me out.”

“Does he hold grudges?” Peter asks after Chris walks out of earshot.

You’re still shaking with giggles. “Not at all. He’ll be back to his happy self in less than an hour.”

Peter only stays at Hal’s for twenty-five minutes, but they were the funniest and most intriguing twenty-five minutes you ever worked.

The conversation began slowly at first, but each question loosened the formalities. Peter asked about easy things: when did you get into art, when did you start working at Hal’s, and when was your birthday, all while digging into his slice of pie. He caught on fast enough to know the topic of parents was off-limits, and he thankfully chose to stay away from any talk of the blip.

When you asked him questions, he was open and responsive, jumping at the chance to talk about his passion for bio-sciences and Star Wars, sometimes covertly mentioning some of the duties he has a Spider-Man. Not a minute was wasted. You talked while serving customers and cleaning tables, keeping up the joke of staying quiet when Chris tried to meddle.

It all turned out smoother than you expected. Almost too smooth, and you’re not sure if that’s good or bad.

You are sure about one thing, though. You like having Peter as a friend.

...

Part V

#peter parker #peter parker x black!reader #peter parker x reader #spider-man x black!reader #spider-man x reader #soulmate au #post endgame #pre far from home #peter parker soulmate au #peter parker angst #peter parker fic #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker fanfic #marvel fanfic #black!reader #slow burn #how to trust a heart #peter parker fluff

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fortisfiliae · 6 years

Text

You’ve Changed - Chapter 3

Character involved: Sirius Black x Amy McConnell, Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew, Lily, James and Harry Potter

A/n: It’s getting personal

Find the other parts on my Masterlist linked in my bio!

Warnings: Alcohol, cigarettes, mentions of Sirius’ family problems, fluff, angst & drama

Word count: 2.2k

Chapter Three - Drinks on me

Two days have passed since the dinner-incident and Amy could still feel the uncomfortable feeling of embarrassment crawling up her stomach at the thought of it. None of her old schoolmates has tried to get in touch with her since then, so she figured it would be best to forget about the whole situation.

It was Friday, almost time for lunch, when she helped Mr Cavenar to rearrange the remedies and cosmetics in the shop window, already thinking of going home in the evening and running herself a hot bath to start the weekend right.

A scratching sound on the entrance door attracted her attention, so she left her boss for a minute, who was still pondering about the new presentation. Outside was an owl, carrying a medium-sized parcel, that looked far too big for it to carry, but was surprisingly light as she picked it up and offered a Sickle in return. Amy brought the box inside and asked: “Are you expecting a delivery, Leonard?”

“Hm? No, I don’t think so”, he mumbled while fumbling with the vials and bottles, trying to place them in the perfect position.

Amy put the box on the counter, unwrapped the yarn to open it and found a slice of cake, along with a letter inside. The cake appeared to be chocolate fudge and she could detect the letters H-A-P written on it in white tube icing. She took out the envelope, wiped away some bits of chocolate and opened it to read the letter.

“Dear Amy,

sorry again for the little scene on Wednesday - we all hope you’re not angry with us. I’m sending you a piece of my birthday cake as an apology. Peter made it and he’s the best baker I know. Don’t worry, it’s not poisoned. He apologizes as well and hopes you enjoy his creation.

Would you agree to join me for a drink at the Leaky Cauldron tonight, so I can apologize properly? If you don’t answer, I’ll await you there at 8. If you don’t want to come, please return the cake, so I know you’re not interested. (I know, that’s blackmailing, but some situations require enhanced measures.)

Hope to see you tonight,

Sirius”

She couldn’t help but chuckle - there went her bathtub plans.

It was two minutes to eight when Amy walked towards the Leaky Cauldron. Snow landed softly on her hair and her breath was visible in the cold air when she turned a corner and saw Sirius waiting in front of the pub.

She could see him smiling from afar when he looked down to the ground after spotting her and felt a spark in her chest as their eyes met again. Wasn’t it a little bit early for those kinds of feelings?

“My parcel convinced you, I see”, Sirius said and laid his arm around her shoulder to pull her towards him for a hug.

“Well, you didn’t really leave me a choice”, Amy grinned. “You didn’t include an address to return it to.”

“That was part of the plan”, he whispered as he opened the door for her.

They went in and sat down at a small table in the back of the pub, the toasty air warming up Amy’s icy fingertips.

After ordering drinks from the waiter, Sirius asked: “So, how was the cake?”

“Really good! Peter is a very talented baker”, she replied.

“No poison?”

“Well, I might have tested a little chunk of it, before I ate it”, she said, making both of them laugh. “Happy belated birthday by the way. I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

“Don’t worry. And thank you”, Sirius told her. “I don’t know when yours is either.”

“May 15th”, she said. “You’re 26 now, right?”

“I am. A weird age, isn’t it? Some people are already married with kids, others still live with their parents.”

“True. You’re not married with kids I assume, so do you live with your parents still?”, she asked sarcastically.

“No”, he said, his expression went blank for a split second, before the waiter brought their drinks and distracted him. “I’ve been living on my own for quite a while now.”

“Like me”, Amy said, clinked her glass with his and took a sip. “But sometimes I miss living with my parents. Them taking care of everything, no responsibilities. It was nice, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, I don’t know if I can agree actually”, Sirius said, smiled and looked down into his glass. “I didn’t have a good relationship with my parents back then.”

“Mind if I ask why?”

“Well, the biggest issue was their loyalty to the dark side. Stubbornness, vanity and feeling as if they were royals because of our family name and blood status”, he explained and rubbed his palm over his stubble. “They treated me and my brother like princes. Like we somehow were better, more valuable than others, just because we were Blacks. But they also expected us to behave like we were.”

“And then you got sorted into Gryffindor”, Amy concluded as she watched him.

“Correct. It was a perfect comeback actually. I always liked to piss them off, but I knew I belonged there anyway. I guess it went all downhill from there”, he said and exhaled a breathy laugh.

“Maybe they will change their minds someday. Maybe you can-”

“Uh-uh, impossible”, Sirius interrupted and took a big sip. “They’re dead. All three of them.”

Amy felt her face falling. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to... Fuck, I’m stupid.”

“You’re not. You didn’t know, that’s fine. Not your fault my life’s a mess”, he said and smiled at her. “It’s not quite the topic I imagined us talking about though, I’ll admit that.”

“What is it then?”, she asked before sipping from her glass.

“You know, the usual. Like how was work today?”

“Oh, it was fine. I got a package from some guy, trying to win me over with cake.”

“Wow, what an idea. Did it work?”

“You know, cake hardly ever disappoints. So yes, it worked”, she said, downed the rest of her drink and held the empty glass with both hands.

Sirius leant forward, wrapped his fingers around Amy’s and said: “Great. Another round on this guy’s wonderful ideas.”

They kept on chatting for countless further rounds, joking and laughing about old school stories, as well as funny moments from their current lives. Amy liked that they shared the same kind of humour, she was comfortable around him and it was easy to keep the conversation going.

It was past 2 a.m. when they decided it was time to go home. Sirius insisted on paying all of their drinks, it was part of his apology he said. When they went outside, the crisp air flushed Amy’s cheeks and she felt how tipsy she really was.

“How are you going to get home?”, Sirius asked, his words slurred as well and pulled out a pack of cigarettes.

“I walk. I never apparate after drinking that much, but my flat is only fifteen minutes from here. You can join me to sober up a bit”, she told him. “I can call you a cab from there if you don’t feel well enough to disapparate”, she added to make sure it didn’t sound too much like an invitation.

They started walking and bumped their shoulders against each other’s occasionally. After the fifth time, Amy linked her arm with Sirius’ and mumbled: “We’re both tipsy it seems.”

“We are”, he said and laughed quietly, pulling her in a bit further, while taking a drag from the cigarette. He offered her one too, like last time, but this night he brought his own hand to her mouth and let her take a pull. She giggled before her lips touched the inside of his fingertips and she started to inhale the smoke.

“I never would have thought that a good girl, a potions master, would enjoy smoking”, he said and shook his head grinning.

“Good girls can make bad life choices as well, you know”, she told him and pushed her shoulder against his, making them both stagger for a second.

When they reached her flat, Amy stood on the doorstep, equalizing their height-difference.

“I had a really good time tonight”, she said as she unhooked herself from him. “Thank you for the drinks.”

“Me too”, Sirius answered and closed the gap between them, holding her hands. “We could grab some lunch together next week if you want.”

“Sure”, she said and caught him staring at her lips.

His grip around her hands tightened a bit before he placed them on his shoulders and neared her face with his. Sirius’ mouth touched the right side of her upper lip, just once, slow and soft, before he pulled back and looked into her eyes again. Amy’s smile seemingly convinced him to go in again, now brushing over her lips with his. Her fingers dug into the fabric on his shoulders as they stood in front of her flat, kissing so slowly it felt like an eternity and she could feel her heart beat inside her head, a million sparks crackling all over her skin. He tasted like whiskey and cigarettes, his scent a mixture of leather and wood, his grip tight around her waist, when he started to place kisses on her neck, let his weight press her against the entrance door and his hands wandered downwards slowly.

That was when she froze for a moment. Did he want her to invite him inside? She pushed him off slowly and said: “I’m sorry, that’s a little fast for me.”

Sirius cleared his throat and took a step back. “Sorry, I got distracted. Didn’t want to overwhelm you.”

“Don’t worry”, she said and put a strand of hair behind her ear. “I tend to be cautious with guys like-” She interrupted herself. Did she really just say that?

“Guys like what? Like me?”, he asked and furrowed his brows.

“Sorry, no. I’m drunk, I don’t know what I’m saying.”

“No, no. Go on, let me know what you think of me”, he requested in a huff.

“Sirius, it’s not like that. It’s just... You had a reputation back in school.”

“Oh, so you think I’m the same person I was back then? And I would spend a whole night talking, telling you about my family, just to get into your pants?”

“No, I... I’m sorry Sirius, don’t get mad. I was with a guy once and it all went too fast. He didn’t care for me as much as I did for him and I don’t want to make the same mistakes. He was just -”

“Like me, wasn’t he?”

“No, I wanted to say-”

“You know what? Fuck that! Fuck people who thought I was racist for my heritage, fuck people who thought I was big headed for what my friends did and fuck people who think I’m still the same person I was at sixteen. So no Amy, I’m not mad, just fuck off and leave me be if you think I don’t care for anyone, cause maybe that makes you not worth being cared about.”

He turned around, too fast for her to hold him back, took a few steps on the pavement and disapparated, not able to hear any of Amy’s apologies.

Two weeks have passed and Amy still had got no sign of Sirius or any of his friends. She was at work again, trying to forget what happened, yet couldn’t help but think about her last encounter with him. She was still mad at herself for saying those stupid things, but got more angry with Sirius each day, for twisting things she didn’t mean and being overly dramatic about it. They were drunk, surely they both took things differently as intended. Was it her turn to send him a slice of cake now? Or would he hate her forever? She didn’t even know his address, so there went her possibility to apologize. The only way would be to send something to Lily and James, but that seemed pathetic. Maybe she could ask Remus about him when he would come and get his potion next month.

Just when she thought of Remus, the shop’s door slammed open and he stormed in, his chest heaving and shirt covered in red stains.

“Amy!”, Remus called. “I’m sorry, but you have to help us. We’ve been attacked. Most of us are alright, but Sirius is badly injured. We tried to help him as best as we could, but we need a professional.”

“What?”, she exclaimed and looked for her emergency bag. “Leonard, I-”

“It’s okay Amy”, Mr Cavenar said. “Go! Be quick!”

Find the other parts on my Masterlist linked in my bio!

Thank you for reading, it would mean the world if you let me know what you’re thinking so far. xoxo

Permanent tags: @geeksareunique @ren-ela @marauderskeeper @giggleberts @way-obsessed5 @oreofrappiewithblueberry @draqcnheartstrinq @dogfatherpads @whatisthisthingcalledlife @watching-the-tension-grow

You’ve Changed tags: @hogwarts-school @joelynnp

Let me know if you want to be tagged (permanently, or just in this series)!

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alchemine · 6 years

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the time travel saga continues

In which there is a failure to resolve anything, but at least Danny finally gets fed a proper meal.

previously on: part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5

Before Danny even opened his eyes, he knew that it was morning, and that Jo’s test hadn’t worked. The air around him smelt of wood and paint and carpeting instead of his discarded socks and those disgusting sausages Scott kept buying and cooking, and he could hear the faint hum of an industrial-strength ventilation system instead of the ordinary early-morning traffic in their road.

The good news was that the library staff hadn’t found him and handed him over to the police. The bad news was that he was still locked in a room deep in the underbelly of the library, that his neck and back hurt from sleeping stretched across two chairs, and that he desperately needed the toilet. On balance, it seemed bad news was winning over good for the second day in a row.

Groaning quietly, he unfolded himself from his torture rack, pressed the power button on his phone to check the time, and found that the library had opened ten minutes ago, which meant he could at least leave the room instead of pissing in a corner like some sort of wild animal. He stretched arms and legs as best he could, gathered up Jo’s books from the night before, and tried to smooth his sticking-up hair before unlocking the door and easing it open far enough to check the corridor. He had a brief vision of himself abruptly coming face to face with a floating, spectral librarian, but all was clear, and he made it up to the main floor without seeing anyone either living or dead.

There were already surprising numbers of people coming in through the doors where he’d entered the night before--mothers arriving with their toddlers for the morning rhyme time session, old men settling in to spend the day perusing the racks of newspapers, and grubby-looking students prepared to stake out the best seats in the study area. Danny merged with them as nonchalantly as he could, glad that the dark trousers, white shirt and tie he’d worn to work two days and twenty-three years before were nondescript enough to blend into almost any decade (although he had a nasty feeling they were beginning to smell less than fresh), and deposited the stack of books on an empty bit of shelf before escaping to the men’s toilets. With his most urgent need out of the way, he examined his dishevelled, red-eyed self in the mirror, then washed his face and hands and rinsed his mouth, which tasted as if something had prised it open and crawled inside to die in the night. Maybe Jo had a toothbrush he could use. And a razor. And a shower.

And a spare roast dinner wouldn’t go amiss, he thought. The hunger that had been an annoyance yesterday was a bottomless roaring pit today, and as he gulped down a double palmful of water from the sink to try to quiet it, he realised he felt dangerously shaky. He had better hurry up and get to Jo’s, or he’d fall over along the way.

The sky outside was still grim with clouds, but it wasn’t actively raining, which he decided to count as another tick in the “good news” column. He stood on the library’s steps for a moment to get his bearings, and noted that while no one passing by was on the phone, either talking or typing away madly with their thumbs, no one looked particularly interested in giving him directions either. They were a grim lot, these citizens of twenty years ago, tramping along in their ugly vintage jumpers and plastic rain bonnets and gigantic square-lensed specs, or sitting on benches and reading newspapers full of events he only remembered from modern history lessons at school. Well, he’d find his way without their help, the miserable beggars.

He’d never missed Google Maps more in his life, but he unfolded the paper map he’d acquired and from that, managed to locate the address Jo had given him, which was back in the direction from which they’d both come yesterday. It had been a five-minute bus ride, but it took nearly half an hour to walk, and he really was ready to fall over by the time he got there. Her house was a large, semi-detached one fronted by carefully tended shrubbery, in a road not unlike the one where she would eventually live with Iain, and he felt weak and bedraggled and unsightly as he pushed the bell and waited.

After a moment, Jo opened the door--not in school uniform today, thank God; being seen with her in it had made him feel pervier than he ever wanted to feel again--and greeted him with a disappointed expression.

“It didn’t work, then.”

“No,” Danny said, and she sighed.

“You’d better come in. Don’t worry, there’s no one else here.”

He followed her through the house to the kitchen, where she sat him at a cluttered breakfast bar covered with the detritus of the Rourkes’ daily family life.

“You’ve got to be starving,” she said, and he nodded, hoping he didn’t look too pathetic. “What do you want to eat?”

“Anything. Everything. If you’ve got a dog I’ll fight it for one of its biscuits.”

Jo snorted with laughter. “I don’t think you’ll have to go that far.” She turned away to open cupboards and peer into the fridge. “Cornflakes? Cold chicken? Leftover cake?”

“Yes please,” Danny said, and she banged a box of cornflakes, a jug of milk and a blue plastic bowl down in front of him.

“Here, start with these and we’ll see how you get on. Don’t make yourself sick, though. I don’t want to clear that up.”

He got through two bowls of cornflakes, three slices of buttered toast, a fist-size chunk of cake and a chicken leg before he admitted defeat and stopped, stuffed nearly to the point of pain, but finally able to think straight again. Jo had made them both a cup of tea while he was head down in the cereal bowl, and now she perched on the stool beside his, her cup wrapped in both her hands, and regarded him with curiosity. She’d put on pale-pink lipstick this morning, he saw: with Future Jo, that would mean she was girding herself up for some sort of battle, but this Jo was probably just taking advantage of a day out from under the nuns’ gimlet eyes.

“Well, Daniel,” she said.

“Well, Joanne.”

Jo scrunched her nose up at the sound of her full name. “All right, all right. Obviously what we hoped would happen didn’t happen, because here you are, but did anything happen at all? Did you have any prophetic dreams or mysterious flashes of insight in your sleep?”

“The only thing I got in my sleep was a sore neck.” Danny tilted his head gingerly from side to side, wincing. “I’ve still got no idea what happened, and I had lots of time to think about it, sitting there on my own in the dark. It really was a completely boring, ordinary Tuesday right up until the moment when I did my Marty McFly impression.”

“Your what?”

“Another film. It’ll be in the cinemas in a few more months. You should see it. Anyway, I honestly can’t remember anything weird happening, just going to work and then coming home in the rain.”

“It was raining here too,” Jo said thoughtfully. “I wonder--no, that couldn’t have anything to do with it. Was the date here the same as the one you left?”

Danny nodded. “Tuesday, the nineteenth of March, both places.”

“And there’s no significance to that date for you?”

“Not that I know of.”

“This is making my head hurt,” Jo said. She finished her tea and set her cup down. “Have you checked your pockets? Maybe someone did a reverse pickpocketing and slipped you some miniature time-travelling device disguised as a coin?”

“I showed you my coins yesterday, remember?”

“Still.”

Danny pushed aside his bowl and plate, empty now except for a few drops of milk and a gnawed chicken bone, and turned his pockets out on the worktop, trousers first and then coat. “Wallet, coins, mobile, map, that slip of paper you gave me--”

“No keys?”

“I put them down after I let myself into the flat,” Danny said, thinking back to his movements on that night. He’d been tired, running on autopilot, not thinking of much beyond whether he was going to have pickle on his sandwich or not.

Jo nodded. “Anything else?”

He dug deeper into his left coat pocket. “Notepad, gum--that’s for you, you’re always asking me for some--oh God, don’t look at that.” He grabbed for the bright foil condom packet he’d accidentally thrown down alongside everything else, but not fast enough to stop Jo shooting out a hand and picking it up.

“With ribs and dots,” she read aloud. “Designed to speed her up and slow him down. Really?”

“It’s not mine.”

“It’s not?” Jo looked up at him with raised eyebrows. “Don’t tell me this is the disguised time-travelling device.”

“It’s my brother thinking he’s funny.” He snatched the packet back from her and stuffed it down into his coat pocket again. “He’s always hiding them in my pockets, for good luck, he says.”

“Does it work?”

“Does what work?”

“Hiding them in your pockets,” Jo said. “Not the other it. I’m sure that works.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Danny said, exasperated. He could feel a slow burn starting in his face and knew it was only a matter of time until it became visible.“Look, can we not have this conversation? Let’s just go through the rest of these things and make certain there’s nothing strange about any of them.”

“Sorry,” Jo said, not sounding very sorry at all. She touched the spread-out items delicately, with the tips of her fingers, as if she were a medium trying to contact him through his possessions. “It all looks perfectly normal to me, but it’s not mine. Does anything look wrong to you?”

Danny stared down at the small, sad collection of objects that now represented the whole of his real life, searching for some sort of pattern or anomaly, and then slowly shook his head.

“No.”

#btw i'm not tagging these with actor names anymore because i don't want to clog up the tags #it's cracky crackfiiiiiic #party animals #jo porter #danny foster

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paulisweeabootrash · 4 years

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New Year’s Mini-Review Pack 2019

Another year is over and I want to make the mini-review pack from last year a yearly tradition to announce it.

Sometimes I watch shows that I have something to say about, but I don't feel like writing a real review of them. Here are the five I want to highlight this year.

Happy New Year, nerds!

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1. Food Wars (2015)

Episodes watched: 7

Platform: Hulu

Souma is in the family diner business, trained by his father on expert renditions of “low-class” foods. He expects to continue in the family business, and even rescues the diner (via cooking, naturally) from sabotage by a developer trying to pressure his father into selling the building so it can be replaced with high-rise apartments. But despite that, his father shuts down the restaurant “for a few years” to go abroad and sends Souma to a fancy boarding school for aspiring chefs. The school is sprawling and eclectic in a way only anime boarding schools can be. And, like any self-respecting anime boarding school, it naturally has three things: an absolutely nonsensical student government, an extraordinary level of old-school elitism, and most importantly, duels. Disputes can be settled through challenges of head-to-head Iron Chef-style cooking, with wagers riding on them ranging from "you have to join this club if you lose" to "you're expelled if you lose". As far as I’ve watched so far, there are a few episodes focused on setting up the premise and main characters and a few focused on these competitions between students. Although the latter concept can be tedious because I’m not much of a tournament show person, it is nevertheless fun because this show commits to its absurdity.

Classic W/A/S: 6 / 7 / 3

Weeb: Ludicrous school setups! The main character progressing through a series of duels! Tentacles! In-depth descriptions of Japanese food! It's not the kind of weeb that makes it incomprehensible to those not familiar with the tropes, but it's certainly very Japanese.

Ass: This show has been described to me by several people as "literal food porn", and... yeah. The cold open scene to the first episode contains... uh... basically tentacle porn. I'm sorry. The feelings of characters' pleasure (or revulsion) in food is depicted metaphorically and absolutely over-the-top, often with the pleasure of delicious food being heavily sexualized. And there's plenty of sexualization of both male and female characters even outside of these scenes, although it never crosses the line into full nudity.

Shit: Very well-drawn! The food is particularly gorgeous, as you'd expect, but the other imagery is creative, and the melodramatic writing and music are not bad, even fitting for so outlandish and cheesy a concept.

PS: I haven’t actually tried making it... yet... but the gag dish introduced in ep. 1, grilled squid with peanut butter, sounds good to me, despite the negative results you can easily find... and others seem to agree, since the concept predates the show. Just make a peanut-butter-based-sauce rather than just using peanut butter and it should be fine.

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2. Hinamatsuri (2018)

Episodes watched: 12

Platform: Crunchyroll

Hina, a time-traveling middle-school-aged psychic, arrives in our time, in the apartment of a very confused yakuza operative, Nitta Yoshifumi, who takes her in. Shenanigans ensue, mostly centering around hilarious misunderstandings and the dubious life lessons Yoshifumi and other mobsters impart. Mostly, the comedy and story are propelled by Hina and two other girls we meet early on: another time-traveler, Anzu, who is sent to retrieve her, fails, and gets stuck in our time, and Hitomi, whom Hina meets as a classmate when Yoshifumi enrolls Hina in school under the name Nitta Hina (claiming she is his daughter), and who gets intimidated into taking an after-school job as a bartender that she struggles to keep secret. The show's format is two segments per episode focusing on different slice of life-ish stories (though with solid continuity and more ongoing plot than you might expect for that characterization), and is usually comedic but also veers into drama and incredible sweetness. Hina is deadpan, bad at conversation, and unable to unable to understand the context or motives of what others are saying, in a way that honestly almost makes me think autism(?), but I'm guessing is probably supposed to just be "she was raised in the creepy time travel organization and they didn't train her to socialize". Anzu is a different outcome of the same deprivation: after not returning Hina to their own time, she moves into a homeless camp and quickly takes in the life lessons of the residents, becoming earnest, helpful, and incredibly resistant to spending money, but completely baffled and amazed at how our world works. Hitomi, the only "normal" one, is just... the best. The episode about her first becoming a bartender felt like a backdoor pilot, and if it were I would absolutely watch that spinoff. The first segment of ep. 10, also starring Hitomi, is the funniest "compounding misunderstandings"-style comedy I've seen in a while... and I'm a big Arrested Development fan, so that means something.

Classic W/A/S: 3 / 2 / 3

Weeb: There are some distinctly Japanese traditions depicted, but most elements of the show could be moved to a different setting and "reskinned" for different cultures' organized crime, foods, shopping options, homeless camps, etc., without sacrificing any of the plot or comedy. Mostly, its distinctly Japanese features are that it relies on imagery and exaggerations that absolutely scream "comedy anime".

Ass: Sexual humor and references, occasionally, but not going to far. Recurring nudity, but not full and not for fanservice. Actually, it seems as if they've taken a cue from Terminator and assumed that, for whatever reason, you have to time-travel naked.

Shit: This show is practically made of reaction images. Although it's not the best animated, it's very consistent, clean, and expressive. They do well with how they did it. The show practically demands a second season in its last episode, and I think it could make it all the way down to a score of 2 or even 1 on here if they do so and upgrade the animation a bit. The characters are distinctly and pleasantly designed and rarely does a scene go by that isn't hilarious not because of some kind of rapid-fire jokes thing but because each segment is set up so well and characters play off each other. Hina's lack of affect gets a little tiresome, but the other characters are great, and usually get a large chunk of an episode's screentime.

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3. Is It Wrong to Try to Pick Up Girls in a Dungeon? Arrow of the Orion (2019)

Episodes watched: n.a. — movie

Platform: in theater

Picking up sometime between the first and second seasons of the main series of Is It Wrong to Try to Pick Up Girls in a Dungeon (or Danmachi for short, derived from the Japanese title), this follows the main cast of Bell Cranel and his ragtag dungeon-crawling party on a new quest. Artemis, Greek goddess of chastity and hunting, is in search, via Hermes, of an adventurer who can wield "the Orion" (a drastically OP spear with the power to kill gods themselves) to destroy Antares, a monster who keeps wiping out adventuring parties and has become a threat to the entire world because [spoiler]. A love... square... ensues between Bell, Hestia, Lili, and Artemis, and other various shenanigans happen that will make much more sense if you've seen the main show and its companion/spinoff, Sword Oratoria. I personally didn't find the affection between Bell and Artemis particularly believable, and I didn't expect the ending to go quite the way it did, but I try not to complain about a story not being the story I wanted it to be. Watch it if you're already a Danmachi fan or really really like weird takes on classical mythology. Skip if not.

Classic W/A/S: 3 / 4 / 4

Weeb: Prior knowledge of Danmachi helps immensely, but is not strictly required as there is a and although the show is another "what if we just mix a bunch of mythologies together?" and "what if a real world functioned on RPG logic?" premise, it does occasionally have an idea thrown in that will be foreign to much of the American audience (even if not distinctly Japanese), such as the Buddhist idea of gods themselves being reincarnated (something that also came up in Noragami).

Ass: As the after-credits interview feature says, they wondered whether or not they should keep -sigh- the panty shot. And they went with "yes". Also, peeping on women bathing has, unfortunately, become a running joke whenever Hermes appears in Danmachi, so be prepared for that. Without giving spoilers, though, let me just say I hope not all of the nudity comes off as sexual.

Shit: The monsters are hit-or-miss CGI, sometimes blending with the 2D animation of the rest, sometimes looking so jarring it's actually funny. The 2D art is usually beautiful, though, and as much as I love the show, this is definitely an art upgrade overall. The plot has a few dumb elements, honestly, or at least not well-enough-developed ones, that make me wonder if it could have worked better as a story arc in the show itself (actually developing a relationship between Artemis and Bell). The score is a mix of reused tracks from the show plus some new stuff that sounds pretty Jurassic Park-era John Williams to me. A few subtitle choices are noticeably different from the show, but not consequential to understanding things. There were a lot of ugly audio glitches, especially early on, but I hope that's a problem with the equipment at the theater I went to and not the editing of the movie.

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4. Supernatural the Animation (2011)

Episodes watched: 1.

Platform: Hulu.

This show follows Sam and Dean Winchester, who -- yup, you're on the right blog, and yup, that's "Supernatural" as in the long-running American live action series. For those not familiar, the original is a sprawling drama set in basically "our world except all mythologies and folklores are true", and follows the aforementioned Winchester brothers, who hunt monsters in situations that range from their straightforward monster-of-the-week investigations to meta-humor to multi-season story arcs involving multiple trips to Hell itself. My wife is a huge fan, so I've seen a lot of episodes just incidentally, and enjoyed some of them, but haven't really followed the show. She assures me, though, that this anime adaptation is loosely based on the first two seasons. So loosely that at first she thought it was some sort of interquel or sidestory. The first episode comes off feeling like you're supposed to already be familiar with the main characters -- that they're brothers, that they're monster hunters, why they're looking for their missing father -- because not much actually gets explained. It’s unremarkable and badly-executed and ugh.

Classic W/A/S: 3 / 1? / 7

Weeb: Although the source material is American (and further back, European and Middle Eastern, given the influence of European folklore traditions and the Abrahamic religions on the choice and depiction of monsters), it's presented in a very Japanese style. This is especially true in reworking the original's horror tendencies -- the blood splatter from offscreen and the writhing, lurching body horror that is the shapeshifter seem much more like what little I've seen of Japanese horror than American.

Ass: I forgot to write anything for this immediately after I watched it and I don't care enough to go back and check but I don't remember anything that would fall under the headings of fanservice or general nudity.

Shit: Variable. There are occasional moments of bad CG, occasional low-frame-rate weirdness, and disjointed storytelling compared to what I've seen of the original. The art style is pretty interesting, though, because it's not something you see animated much -- its angular faces and stark shadows remind me of the darker end of American superhero comics. Although it's certainly not the technically worst show I've reviewed in either story or art, I find it extremely unpleasant and do not want to continue past one episode. If you feel like doing so, feel free to tell me if it gets any better.

Content: Violence and horror imagery is somehow both less extreme and more successfully unsettling (at least to me) than those in the original live-action show.

#Food Wars #Hinamatsuri #Danmachi #Arrow of the Orion #Supernatural #Supernatural the Animation #weeaboo trash #mini-reviews #happy new year

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