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leximicham · 8 months

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Friendship as a Force Multiplier

I wrote a preface (read: rant) about this but I want the methods below to stand on their own. Feel free to read it. Or not. I'm not a cop.

The below terms are meant to be ways that you can help others or ask for help from others with increasing productivity. These are execution skills as in they allow you to execute on tasks and get shit done. Skills; not crutches, not cheats or hacks, and not anything else which you might feel ashamed of. People want to help you and you probably want to help people get more done so let's build these skills together.

Task Activation

Sitting down with someone for 5-10 minutes to help one of you focus on a task long enough to build momentum or "flow state". Go to a designated workspace together, clear and otherwise prepare said workspace, pull out/open the tool of choice for this task, talk about the goals of the current big thing, start working for 5 minutes. Task Activation complete! The helper can go back to whatever they were doing. The tasker can either continue working if the activation has put them in flow state or they can go back to the drawing board because there may be unforeseen roadblocks or this may just have been the wrong day to do work or the wrong task to work on. Cost of this Task Activation? 5-10 minutes from 2 people and hanging out with a cool person. Cost of trying again if the first activation failed? The exact same.

Rubber Ducking

An intimate (/s) roleplay experience where one person plays the role of an expert trying to suss out a path through a complicated problem and the other person roleplays an inanimate object. Maybe the first player drops the mask and steps away to search for something on the internet because they need more expertise than they're ready to act out. Maybe the second player breaks character by asking helpful questions to set the first player back on track through their musings. Or maybe the forget that rubber ducks can't play Pokemon on their Switch while someone is talking at them. This is a safe space, there are no judgements if everyone's having a good time.

Body Doubling

Very similar to Rubber Ducking but with structure and tomato shaped egg timers. And less talking. Read up on the Pomodoro Technique if you're not familiar. One person (at least) gathers one other person (at least) to sit in a room with a timer and strict expectations about how long productivity periods and break periods last. I like 25 minutes of working and 10 minutes of break. Don't let productivity spill into breaks. Don't forget to keep planning your tasks and future working cycles. Don't shame anyone for playing Pokemon on their Switch during productivity cycles - rest can be productive, too. Avoid disturbing other people during productivity periods except with time checks, cries of victory, or reminders to not beat heads against walls or keyboards. Task Activation can lead into Body Doubling. Body Doubling can be paused for Rubber Ducking. All bodies involved should be breathing.

Paired Productivity

This is just Pair Programming but with a conjugation and more generalized activity term change. Two people enter (a prepared and organized workspace), they have a task or two which they've both agreed to work on, one has the tools to perform the task, the other has a device which can search the internet, they do work, two people leave. Tomato shaped egg timers are encouraged. Rubber Ducking may occur. One person attempts to do the task while discussing the steps, actions, and open questions with the other. The other person checks work, researches particularly difficult questions, and does not touch the tool for this task. Trading roles at predetermined times is fine. I recommend that the more experienced person give the less experienced person more time working with the tool. Take breaks if either the task or other person wears you out.

Task Dump

Giving someone a pen and paper and making them write out every worry, chore, deliverable, past due library book, and passion project idea they have until they start remembering missed homework assignments from the last school they graduated from. Alternatively: be the person who has a pen and paper thrust upon them. Getting Things Done (this is a book and paid coaching program but the link gives a good synopsis) teaches that the worst place to store information and to-dos is your brain. We forget things and we worry about forgetting things. We feel pressure when tasks are a cloud of associations and worries about missed deadline repercussions or would've, could've, should'ves for how our life might have been if we'd done this important task yesterday instead of playing Pokemon on our Switch. We must always forgive our past selves, accept our present selves, and be kind to our future selves. Once a task is on that list it's a future item and past us is off the hook. Having everything listed in front of us helps us figure out and accept the current state of the world. Determining next steps gives our future self the best chance of being proud of themself for accomplishing cool and important stuff. It's hard to say what to do with the big list of tasks from your brain once you have it. This isn't a planning or project management guide and I haven't written one (yet). It's up to you what you do with the list but I guarantee that you'll be in a healthier place when you can see everything on paper instead of listening to the tasks and worries buzz angrily around your head. Here's some suggestions to get you started:

Separate the hastily scrawled list into several lists based on themes:

work

hobbies

errands

passion projects

gifts for the wonderful friend helping you with this

Stack rank things based on a combination of urgency and importance:

Capture the bug which just landed on the corner of your desk?

High urgency (it's gonna fly away!)

Low importance (unless you eat bugs?)

Figuring out where to send humanity in the cosmos when our sun inevitably expands?

Very high importance (we need to live somewhere not inside the sun)

Very low urgency (we hope...)

Figuring out what you're going to eat for your next meal?

Medium-high importance (don't forget to eat!)

Medium-high urgency (you've forgotten to eat while reading this post, haven't you?)

Do this one!

My main suggestion is just to learn to do this Task Dump regularly. This is a tool which you can use in response to "oh no, my head is full of things to do and I don't like it!" You can cross things off the old list or add them to another system but at the end of the day writing things down helps. Keep your old lists around and rewrite them but skip things which are done or that you've decided you don't need to worry about anymore. Add new things. Observing and measuring your task load like this will eventually get you taking on more manageable loads and prioritizing things (with your Task Dump buddy) and feeling really accomplished.

Kind Interrupt

This is not a planned event. If you see someone you care about is hyper fixating on something but making no progress because they're just spinning their wheels and banging their head against a wall then there's actions you can take to help. Breaks are important so you want them to step away at least for a little bit. It's important to be careful not to force someone away from something that they're stuck on, though. You also want to avoid guilting them; they probably already know if they're running late or not making a lot of progress. Try replacements and simple choices: "Would you like to go for a walk or would you rather get a snack and something to drink with me?" Don't shy away from sharing your needs, though. If you need this person to do something else for you then don't shy away from that. Focus on the help, "Can you help me get ready to go?" or "Can I get your help with this task?" Helping people is stimulating and you shouldn't underestimate how much people in your life want to help you.

This list was originally 5 skills until my "15 minute blogpost" became 3 hours and my wives had to rescue me to work on other things.

That's it for now. Read this with someone who you want to unblock or who you know is willing to help unblock you. Become force multipliers together. Keep this in your back pocket for a bad executive function day. Steal it for your own blogpost or website but please give credit to the trans and ungovernable catgirl, Lexi Micham. Have a nice day!

#executive dysfunction #soft skills #productivityboost #productivity #adhd #audhd #A Civil Dawn #neurodivergent #career advice #Lexi Micham

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pen-and-umbra · 7 months

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sephiroth in first soldier ec blew up a few fan boards. ppl are so divided and raging, like jesus HAVENT y'all see the compilation??

To be fair, I have reservations about Sephiroth's portrayal in Ever Crisis, but my dissatisfaction stems from how it is presented rather than what is presented.

Having said that, I can see why EC Sephiroth could have ruffled many feathers. There is a subset of fans who are... Let's say conservative and OG-oriented, why don't we. These people had grown accustomed to seeing Sephiroth as the original FFVII depicted him: aloof, cold, and arrogant, far above the player's level. And why not, post-Nibelheim Sephiroth essentially merges with Jenova and aspires to rule the world, becoming less human and more of an alien demigod.

However, EC rips that mold to shreds. Suddenly, young Sephiroth isn't the arrogant, too-good-to-talk-to-you edgelord that many assumed he was. Sephiroth is sheltered and inexperienced with other people! Sephiroth is modest! Sephiroth expresses regret! Sephiroth does not cling to his heroic legend; instead, he admits that it is a deliberate fabrication. He laughs! He cracks a joke! He doesn't scream "How dare you touch me?!" and instead lets people comfort him! He's suddenly much more than a kid who thought he was better than everyone else. He's a kid who, like any other orphan, wants to find his family. All of this brings him down from the demigod realm, and he's no longer the figure older fans remember from the original.

You could argue that FFVII had numerous sequels, including Crisis Core, and I would agree. EC does not add anything new to the table; rather, it expands on the ideas presented in CC. Sephiroth in Crisis Core has a similar vibe: he's a little awkward, isn't particularly excited about killing, and isn't conceited about his fame. However, in my anecdotal experience, there were people who either skipped CC entirely or thought Sephiroth was prideful due to how the English localization misconstrued certain lines from the game. Last but not least, some people mistake emotional detachment for snobbishness or callousness; a sad but true fact. They consider characters cold if they do not make an overt emotional display, whether it is concern or support.

Then there are those who simply want villains to be villains. And I can understand such a viewpoint, even if I do not personally share it. An explicit, unsympathetic personification of evil is an ideal foundation to bounce off; it makes it easy for the heroes to juxtapose themselves against. It establishes clear objectives and instills a sense of moral superiority in both characters and the audience, and sets up a clear distinction between what is fair and unfair. Finally, it's easier to fight and kill something you don't recognize as a human being. However, by humanizing Sephiroth EC has effectively removed that option from the players and long-standing fans. It's no longer black and white. It's no longer as simple as "Cloud wins because he's always been a better person" and "Sephiroth loses because he's always been a self-important jerk who deserves it." It's in various shades of gray. Sure, there will be those who despise the game for making the villain sympathetic. It takes away our easy sense of moral superiority by asking us:

would we feel/act any different in villain's shoes?

Ultimately, it could be argued that it is an exercise in empathy. Human beings simply dislike being reminded that the bad guys aren't all that different from us.

#sephiroth #ever crisis #tbh haven't seen much of the raging but thanks for the heads up #words are cheap.#ffvii@luv fandoms #ffvii ever crisis #ff7 ever crisis

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professor-doctor-doctor · 10 months

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Smee my beloved

I want to talk about perhaps the most under appreciated character of the Peter Pan franchise—Mr. Smee. Other than Captain Hook, he is the most fleshed out pirate, and honestly does not get enough love for the brilliance of his character because he’s often dulled down to a bumbling sidekick, when he is truly much more.

In the original Peter Pan 1904 play (and 1911 novel) :

Smee is described as the only non-conformist and Irishman aboard the Jolly Roger.

Though in most adaptations he takes the role of the first mate, originally he was the boatswain, but his relationship to Hook nonetheless remained quite strong, implying that it was each other they sought companionship in rather than a relationship based purely around their stations.

Instead of wiping his sword clean of blood after a battle, he is said to clean his spectacles.

Described as oddly genial for a pirate, but make no mistake that he DOES kill people. In fact, he has a curved sword which he nicknamed ‘Johnny Corkscrew’ for the way he twists it into his enemies guts. Pretty gruesome.

Despite being described as ‘stupid’ and ‘pathetic’, he’s often the only one Hook can have intelligent conversation with. In fact, it is Smee who points out that when the clock in the crocodile runs out, Hook will no longer hear it coming and thus be at risk of death.

He sows, dances, and even sings! He also evidently collects trinkets and gives silly little names to things.

He is the only pirate other than Starkey to survive the end battle, and whereas Starkey is captured by the Natives, Smee goes on to explore the world and sell the trinkets he gathered from piracy. He even claims that he was the ‘only man Hook ever feared.’

He is the only person Hook expresses admiration for, and too is one of the few pirates who is not berated or harmed by him.

Hook sees him as the only man with legitimately good form, which is peak levels of respect from Hook.

In Hook 1991

Smee takes on a more domestic role in caring for his Captain, and evidently Dustin Hoffman and Bob Hoskins both agreed to play Hook and Smee as a married couple!

Shown to be the only pirate other than Hook capable of reading, writing, and understanding more complex language (he makes a joke to the pirates in the first scene he’s in, in which he refers to Hook as ‘unfathomable’, and when the pirates don’t react, he realizes he has to dumb down his vocabulary for them.)

Jovial and quite silly, always knows what is best for Hook, and it is evident they’ve been with each other so long that they know each ones quirks.

Reminder that SMEE is the person to suggest the plan of turning Peter’s kids against Pan by making them like Hook, meaning he is the one who came up with the evil plot, once again proving that he’s not some bumbling idiot.

Actually so sweet I love him I heart him did you see the scene where he plays baseball? Husband.

In Peter and the Starcatcher (the play by Rick Elice)

Shown to be a really good actor, good enough to fool Aster into believing he’s a legitimate navy Lieutenant.

Once again surprisingly literate, having quite a few boasting lines for Stache before the Captain comes on board. He even is shown to correct Stache every now and again when his Captain mixes up words.

Seems to speak a tiny bit of French, as he refers to Stache’s style as ‘comme il faut’, though he could also just be using the phrase itself.

Frequently comes up with the plans Stache uses in his plots, even suggests the idea that the trunks were swapped. He doubts himself on his own ideas, frequently referring to his ideas as ‘stupid’, but nonetheless Stache accepts them wholeheartedly.

Is the only character other than Stache to break the fourth wall.

Pretty much the only reason Stache is still alive.

He’s also a ukulele player and a decent singer—and apparently, like all of the pirates, a drag Queen!

I don’t have much to say on the Disney version because they really butchered his character there, but I think it’s important to note that once again, he often suggests the plots that Hook later uses for his evil schemes, such as when he mentioned the drama between Wendy and Tinkerbell. This could be just him gossiping, but it might be more interesting to imagine that he came up with the plot, but wanted to quietly suggest it to Hook in a way that would make Hook think that he himself came up with the idea, so as to save his Captain’s already tainted pride. He’s the ultimate hypeman/husband.

TLDR; Mr. Smee is awesome and I love him and media should do him better. Here’s my version of him as well. Toodle-oo!

#mr smee #neverland #peter and the starcatcher #hook 1991 #peter pan #captain hook #disney villains #hook x smee #I’m telling you he has immense untapped potential #give me a love story between him and hook and how they met and and and #theyre gay and in love #my husband #mini rant #he’s a socks with sandals kind of guy

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i-love-you-all · 7 months

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For the valorant hc game could you do sova please?

Of course! Sova, my love <333

Also realizing how long these posts get so I've put the keep reading line in.

5 things they usually see:

A practice target (often those poor bots). His greatest fear is failure - a missed shot. It could determine the fate of his teammates or the world, so it cannot happen (again). As a result, he spends ungodly amounts of time training and working out. No mistake will be repeated on his watch.

Wildlife! It's already established that he enjoys photographing nature, so I imagine that he see trees, flowers and animals quite often.

Chess boards and pieces. He's a pretty avid chess players (same with Cypher so I imagine those two compete as often as Sova can stand the information broker).

Guns and other weapons. I HC him as being military/special ops then onto whatever the Brotherhood is. And before then I HC his family to be a military family so he's grown up seeing guns, learning how to use them... and using them himself.

Various shades of blue. I think it's a top 3 favourite colour of his (looking at the clothes he wears outside his armour). But I like to think that he got his walls painted blue at the protocol. And that he got some say in what he would wear out on his missions and whatnot. (because if we're being honest, if he does work up north in snow and stuff as shown in his card, he should be wearing arctic camo).

4 things they usually feel:

The cold. He grew up in a cold place and like his voiceline on icebox, he enjoys the cold as well. For the most part, he doesn't mind it, but when he's out for a long time, he does enjoy the warmth of a fire, or just a heated room.

The calluses on his hands and the weight of his bow. He's been trained since young with the bow and arrow, so his skin is not soft, and it's not perfect. However, it is who he is, so when he makes a fist or absentmindedly rubs his hands together, he feels them quite often. It's a permanent reminder of who he is.

His wet hair as he leaves the shower + all the cleaning and brushing he does for it. I think that he takes special care of his hair because it's like the one part of him that "stayed the same" throughout his life, or that it's the only thing that can't be scarred. He must have so many scars around his body (though I sometimes write him to have none bc he's that OP :p) and then he lost his eye, so the fact that his hair can still stay nice and soft must be something to treasure :))

The sore feeling you get after a workout. Whether he was injured on a mission or just after a hard day, he can feel that stiffness. Maybe there are days he wishes he was a radiant. Maybe then, all the physical strains he takes on wouldn't hurt as much. He knows the soreness will only get worse, no matter how great he is at keeping in shape. And that's when his admiration for Brimstone gets stronger because that man has been working through this for decades longer than he has.

3 things they usually hear:

His electro music. I'd like to think that maybe, the reason why he likes that genre more (from what you can hear on the playlist for him) is because the drums are softer/rounder. A loud hit on a snare might make him tense up a little too much because it can sound like a gunshot.

His breathing, and his efforts to control it. Snipers have to work to control how they breathe, so as he settles down into a sniper's position, he needs to be extra aware of his breath. Also, in worse times, he needs to calm himself down when he has a nightmare intense enough to make him jolt upright in the middle of the night. Thoughts of losing his eye again, or a mission that was failed because of his action - or lack of action, sometimes plague him, and he hates how he loses control for those few moments.

A cold wind/nature. I've already talked about him being out in the world and enjoying cold weather, but he likes to be closely attuned with all the possible and plausible sounds of nature. Not only is it a good way to calm himself down, but it's also great training. When he's alone out on a mission, he needs to know what are normal sounds and what could be an enemy trying to sneak up on him.

2 things they usually smell:

Nice, warm, tea in the morning. He would never admit it, and Cypher has no proof, but it is him that sometimes takes Cypher's teas. Especially when he doesn't have any of his own available at that moment.

Metal/nothing. Not metallic as in blood, but as in the general iron smell of a gun or his bow. It's clean and isn't really reflective of the scents in his everyday surroundings, which is what I mean by nothing. He can smell food, gas, or whiffs of perfume as he travels around cities. He can smell flowers, trees, and nature when he's outdoors. He can't smell anything in that armoury as he prepares to leave on a mission.

1 thing they usually taste:

Blood. I know it's kind of a cop out for any agent, but I think Sova more than most (maybe not deadlock or brimstone) just due to his history in this line of work. He has lived through war, assassinations, and straight fist and knife fights. He has hit others, and inadvertently tasted a bit of blood splatter, or he has been hard enough to taste some of his own blood in his mouth. I think he might be a medium steak kinda guy if he does go out because he doesn't want to be reminded of anything while enjoying a meal. Though, there are times where he's in that sort of mood and will order something medium rare and let himself taste just that little bit of blood.

#yay my fave :))#valorant #sova #valorant sova #hc game #requested #answered asks

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twogeeseinatrenchcoat · 2 months

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Spiritfarer Rant (It's Long)

Yeah. It's what the title says. I've been playing Spiritfarer a lot more recently, just wanted to share some shit my brain thought of. As a reminder, this is random shit I think of as I'm writing it and essentially rambling. Take all of my game analysis with a grain of salt. That said, play the game and be absolutely destroyed emotionally by the frog uncle.

(Putting the tldr here so people don't have to scroll)

Tldr: Spiritfarer is an excellent game that you should absolutely play. It pays attention to detail, has amazing characters and storylines, and is never boring for more than a few minutes (in my experience).

Holy shit this game is good. If you haven't played it yet (and don't mind getting absolutely destroyed emotionally by a cozy game) absolutely recommend. Absolutely. Play it. And face the consequences dear god this game is sad.

And that's coming from a person who is just so emotionally detached to media. I cannot remember the last time I cried over a book. (it was years ago, I remember exactly, I'm just a liar. Long story short, Xan from She Who Drank the Moon) The only spirits I cried over were Gwen and Stanley. (I think I cried over Stanley? Not sure.) But if the standard of the game is "I only cried twice playing this," you know that's sad. And honestly, It's kinda expected, what else can you really expect with a game about ferring spirits to their death while simultaneously being their therapist and friend?

But it's done so well. So well. I think this concept is so hard to pull off, and to pull it off to the degree that Spiritfarer does is insane. The attention to detail, the meticulous story-crafting, the way they made sure that every single character gets a backstory---even Stella's (the player) backstory is played out so well.

MINOR SPOILERS

Like, who came up with the genius idea of her sister coming on board and them traveling around and going through a photo album of Stella's life? Give that person a raise. And the way that the backstory isn't even revealed until relatively late in the game? I loved that. It's not thrown in your face, it plays out at your pace, and the whole shit with the owl and Lily and just ahhhh I loved it! Play the game.

SPOILERS OVER

Also, the way the game is interesting even when you aren't actively doing anything? There's almost always something to do. If there isn't, they give you something to do. You can always redo your boat design to eliminate those gaps again. You can always build more farms, you can always fish more, you can always do more.

And yes, it could get repetitive after a while, but they have quests! They have so many different and unique storylines for each spirit! And there's unique houses and flowers and likes and dislikes and preferences and personalities and gifts and emotions and moods and they even have different fucking hug animations! It's not just "oh there are people on the boat but they're just kinda there." NO. They are present at all times!

You'll be flying by and see someone call out to you. You'll be on your way to grab some crops and Beverly will give you some fireglow and tell you to make something spicy for her! You go onto an island and you see Atul picking berries! You go talk to Gustav, give him some food because he's hungry, hug him, talk to him and he gives you a vase! They are present, at every moment. Even with a large ship, an endgame ship with only a few spirits on it, it still feels full because you talk to them. You interact with them. You give them food---and you better not give Buck milk, because he's lactose intolerant, or Bruce and Mickey, well anything aside from junk food really, or Elana fine dining food---and you talk with them, and you share moments with them, you bond with them, and then suddenly they're gone.

Suddenly they're asking to be taken to the Everdoor because their time has come and you're devastated. Because now the character that you've spent so much time talking with, bonding with, enjoying talking to and interacting with, whoever it may be, is gone. And holy shit if that isn't one of the best representations of grief and loss that I've ever fucking seen I don't know what is. This game knows what it is, it knows what it wants to do, and it does it so fucking well. It lets you bond with these spirits, let's you get to care about them, learn their backstories, see how it affects them, how they change, and then you have to lead them to the afterlife, where you'll never see them again.

When playing the game, it really feels like every single detail is thought out, planned, cared about. The islands are amazing, the scenery is beautiful, have I mentioned the art style? It's amazing. I think the only game that could really beat it in terms of stunning art is Gris, but Gris belongs in a fucking museum sooooooo...

One big reason that I stopped playing Animal Crossing was because I felt like I was progressing too slow, wasn't getting enough done, or there wasn't enough to do. (Not saying Animal Crossing isn't a great game, just that it's not for me) Spiritfarer never has that problem. If a character storyline isn't progressing, work on another one! Stuck making a material? Move onto another project. Have too much time on your hands because your boat moves too slow? Gather more materials, talk with the spirits, make sure to stock up on their favourite foods so they're happy, or even take a break. There's never much of a lull, and while there are moments---mainly when sailing between islands---in which you can be bored, log off! Or just wait it out, it's never really more than a few minutes. For every quest that wants you to go somewhere and do something, there'll probably be one that wants you to make something: make a house, upgrade a house, make a production building, make this or that for one of Francis's errands, the list goes on.

And if you ever get bored with the main quests, or they're too complicated, or you can't find something (Henry the Acetate, I'm looking at you) (but I googled it for that), then there's civilian errands! You can do shit for the people in the towns if you want. Deliver records to these places, go through this mine, deliver a letter from Hummingberg to Nordsee. One of my favourite pastimes is cooking. I don't know why, but I just love cooking in this game. So, I've been trying to completionist it. (I won't, I'll give up 3/4 the way through and call it good enough) But even so, it just goes to show. There's really never a long period with something to do. The game stroked just the right balance between giving you things to do and giving you free time to do what you want.

I think I should end it here before this gets too much longer. But yeah! That's pretty much all of my thoughts on Spiritfarer. (Not really, but all of the ones for now) Amazing game, 5/5, absolutely recommend.

#spiritfarer #cozy games #indie games #Holy shit this game #its amazing #Play it #5/5 stars #This holds the record (with Gris I think) for the only game(s) that have made me cry #Play it play it play it #i love it #It's so sad but it's so good #spiritfarer game #Atul #Stanley #No but it's so sad when you've gotten to be friends with these guys and then they're dead #I know that's probably the worst way to have said that but eh #its fineeeee #But really #it's so good

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grayblacklight · 4 months

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So, minor spoiler for the scar and violent dlc-

Did Geeta seriously show up once, basically admit that her league is useless in any serious situation, force a child to relive a traumatic experience, and contribute absolutely nothing else to the plot? Because that's what it looked like to me.

Screw it, I was gonna do this eventually, here's every problem I have with the not-so-grand champion of Paldea/ school chairwoman, major spoilers for the game under the readmore:

1. Absolutely botched the entire team star situation, and PROBABLY also partially responsible for it. Remember, the Clavel was going to be forced to expel every member of Team Star despite clearly wanting to take some other form of action, or at the very least have more information on them - yet only after overhearing Penny did he step in, and by sending Clive in his place at that. If his hands were tied, that implies that Geeta didn't authorize any other forms of action. We also find that the bases are NOT difficult to raid- so it begs the question. Why didn't she even send any of the gym leaders? At the absolute least, the bases were close enough to a gym that the nearest leader would have noticed on their own. Hell, the bug and ghost gyms are close to a star base they would have a type advantage against (dark and fighting, respectively), and they had roadblocks that were likely causing problems for said gym leaders. It's almost like she WANTS to just expel them... Well, here's the thing.

Two years earlier, the school faculty had all resigned out of shame (or fired, in the VP's case), all the bullies fled by either dropping out or transferring, but nothing was said about the school board. Moreover, no effort was made to replace the records after the vice principal erased them.

Maybe I'm overthinking this, but it does seem like Geeta was trying to sweep the situation under the rug herself - I mean, it certainly wouldn't be a good look for school she is in charge of, and all remaining witnesses are now loyal to one conveniently troublesome group. All she had to do was wait just long enough that this mass expulsion wouldn't seem related to the previous incident, and bam! No more loose ends that could be followed back to her own failures. Granted, if someone did the math and saw that every student and faculty from that year had left in one way or another it might have come back to bite her, but considering that she can't even count how many of her pokemon have fainted I doubt that math is something she considers very often.

Theorizing aside, she then proceeded to punish Penny for cleaning up the mess. Oh, sure, it's phrased to sound like she's letting her off easy, but think about for 3 seconds and you get child labor, and Penny was already helping with the community service anyways-and saving area zero, for that matter. Speaking of...

2. (The rest of these won't be as long or crazy as my first point I promise) Geeta sure does talk about dealing with the area zero situation not ever take any actual action, huh. Closest she gets is sending the player character back in for another round - against their will, if need be- and I'm pretty sure that just ended up causing everything that went wrong in the first place.

3. Also, the water gym was literally right next to the rampaging, titan paradox version exclusive ground type, and apparently doesn't even know about it. Reminder in gen 5 when the gym leaders said they OBVIOUSLY couldn't stand by while Team Plasma was causing trouble? Honestly, the pokémon league getting involved in the plot has been a thing since GEN 2, was retconned into Kanto, even Stick and Stone does it. This is basically the first time the local pokemon league wasn't involved with the plot in a substantial way since GEN 6, but kalos only has a plot in anime anyway (Plus, Malva gives them a potential excuse).

4. Geeta suck at pokemon, actually. She doesn't figure her team order OR a good use for her terra until the dlc, and even then she's still using avalugg. Rika says you won't find a mightier champion, but she's clearly just saying that because she has too because she knows that everyone knows that's a lie. We already found a mightier champion and her name is Nemona/ Cynthia/ Iris/ ECT.

5. And yes, of course, Geeta is a terrible boss. Even outside of her being a little too willing to use child labor, the majority of the gym leaders paint her in a bad light, Grusha goes so far as to call her cruel and fears for his job. She forced Larry to use flying types, and made Katy go super easy on every challenger (she SHOULD have implemented level scaling). And let me be clear, she has a TODDLER in the elite four, she can barely throw a PokeBall. Granted, that toddler is a better trainer than Geeta, but that's still a TON of responsibility to put on a four-year-old that's going to have a negative impact on her in the long run.

Geeta is the true villain of Scar and Violent that we never get to stop.

#pokemon scarlet and violet #pokemon scar and violent #champion geeta #you don't deserve context #rant

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the-fiction-witch · 2 years

Text

Mrs Watts P2

Media: The Queen's Gambit (Netflix 2020)

Character: Benny Watts (Thomas Brodie Sangster)

Couple: Benny Watts X Reader

Rating: Flirty

Concept: 'Future Mrs Watts’

I finished up the press stuff I had to do and headed to the bar and restaurant to get something to eat, once inside I spotted y/n sitting in the hotel restaurant out on the porch looking over the pool so I smiled and headed over.

"Evening"

"Evening" she smiled back

"May I?" I asked to the open chair across from her

"Sure. Why not" she shrugged so I took a seat

"You did well today"

"Umm sixteenth"

"Still top twenty."

"How does it feel? To be a champion again?"

"The joy wears off I can tell you that much"

"I imagine so. Drink?"

"Alright nothing too strong in driving home in the morning"

"Driving? You nut"

"Why?"

"From Nevada to New York? Are you trying to give yourself a heart attack? Why not just fly?"

"I don't do flying. Except when I absolutely have to. And even then I'm not thrilled about it"

"That a joke or-"

"No that's serious I don't like planes"

"Yeah me either. I drive but it's not far back home"

We ordered our drinks and our dinner for the evening, they arrived fairly quicklyand just sat Chatting forever about chess, about life I don't think I'd ever had a conversation with a girl this long and been so happy about it. Typically of chat chess with some and they'd get board or is chat with a girl and I'd be very board but it was so easy to talk to her we never even had a moment of awkward silence between us and I had to admit I did really like spending time with her.

"On Your arm. What is it?" I spoke up fiddling with my glass

"Oh. Desert roses. My mother loved them"

"Is she?"

"Yeah. It was a long time ago"

"I know how you feel. I lost my mother when I was young too"

"How young?"

"Four," I told her "when did you -"

"Six" she smiled "I don't remember much of her but still" she shrugs

"Your a very fascinating girl y/n"

"That's certainly a new one" she giggled "o get sexy. I get headstrong. I get crazy" she smiled making me laugh a little "never fascinating." She says "it's an honour to be deemed fascinating by a man such as yourself, so highly in your field"

I couldn't help but smirk a little at her "so your not just a little cowgirl. Clever too"

"Would think you'd get that from the chess"

"Being good at chess and being clever are two very different things" I explained "Harry beltix can move well on a chessboard but he can't ask a girl out to dinner. Being a chess player takes intelligence and a mindset that's hard to come by, being smart, clever with knowledge how the world works and why it works is different. I think you and I may be some of the only people around here who understand that"

"Maybe" she smiled "one more"

"No. No. I've got to drive home in the morning"

"Come on. I'll buy to celebrate your victory"

"One more." I warn her she smiled and got us each a blue ribbon still in its bottle

"Huuummmm" she thought "to chess. And cleverness" she offered

"I'll drink to that" I smiled tapping the neck of my bottle with her's before we each had a sip

"Do you want to get better? At chess I mean?"

"Why?"

"Maybe you need to train. With someone better."

"Who did you have in mind?"

"Can you come to New York?"

"Bit short notice. And you barely know me I could be a bloodthirsty murderer"

"I've seen your knife. I'll take my chances"

"Mines bigger then yours" she reminds

"I thought we weren't going to her into that" I laughed "besides It's not what you've got its how you use it" I told her having another sip

"That the excuse you use on all the girls?" She smirked making me coak a little

"What would happen in new York then?"

"We can do some training. Maybe see a sight or two"

"Okay"

"Okay?"

"Sure. Why not" she smiled finishing her drink "I'll get packed, what time?"

"Shall we say, seven tomorrow morning?"

"Cool" she smiled "see you in the morning then benny" she smiled giving my cheek a kiss and heading off to her room for the night.

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falselyprofound · 3 years

Text

The Neopets NFT Debacle: A Summary Somehow Not The First Time This Has Happened!

So. Neopets recently announced its latest merchandising venture: Non-Fungible Tokens (NFTs). Without getting into the nitty-gritty technical details, these tokens are a digital collector’s item - a randomly-generated string of letters and numbers (’token’), with a unique picture of a customized Neopet that represents it. Kind of like a digital trading card.

No, you don’t get to choose what species of pet. No, you don’t get to choose what it’s wearing. No, you don’t get the pet on the main website. And no, you don’t even really own the artwork. Just the token.

Given that Neopets has continued to advertise itself as a children’s petsite, players have understandably been confused by the very non-kiddy merch move. And - more importantly - pissed.

It’s been a mess of a month so here’s a (not-so) quick recap of both the details and drama.

September 22nd:

Neopets Metaverse tweets for the first time, announcing that it will be creating a new line of official, Neopets-themed Non-Fungible Tokens.

A member of the Neopets Nation Facebook fan page notes that the twitter account is not being followed by the official Neopets twitter, nor has it received any public endorsement from the company. (x)

A Neopets Nation member sends a direct message to the Neopets twitter account, asking about the partnership. The staff member in charge of social media responds “I believe that is a scam.” (x)

Some hours later, the official Neopets twitter retweets the announcement, clarifying that it is indeed an official partnership. (x)

People are pissed.

September 23rd:

The Neopets team posts the announcement on the site’s New Features page, spreading the news to the playerbase at large. (x)

Users start voicing their concerns on the site’s forums (NeoBoards). Among the complaints are environmental concerns, the lack of site integration, the ugly RNG artwork, and Neopets’s long history of not delivering on merchandise. (Remind me to make a separate post on that last part because it’s a whole thing.)

Neopets responds by reassuring players that the partnership is legitimate and not a scam. ...That’s it. (x)

Fansite JellyNeo echoes the announcement to their homepage, with an added warning; “As a reminder, the last foray into Neopet crypto collectibles ended with the cards being largely worthless and unsellable. (The marketplace to sell/trade the cards was also shut down.)” (x)

The official NeopetsMeta discord server is reportedly a complete mess.

“...ever since this went up all I've seen in NFT spaces is talk of literally buying [Neopets] accounts on the black market to get a 'head start on the competition', so it's good to see that the rules of the website only apply to the long-time users and not the people wanting to pump and dump this community." (comment in ”love the new audience the NFTs are attracting!!”, 24 Sep 2021 - 5:09 am) “I don't know what NFT chats you mean but in the one specifically for Neopets Metaverse people are being overt about their motives.” (herdygerdy, JellyNeo staff, confirming the above)

No sign of any Neopets staff members. (x)

Also, one of the lead admins is called Jizz. Family friendly. (x)

September 24th:

A Neopets user does some digging into the partnership company, taking screenshots and documenting results on a petpage (originally NetDragon69, currently NFTurd. Mirror here). They note the following:

Moonvault, the company behind the NFTs, has existed for roughly a month. It's a shell company with little-to-no information on its homepage. A homepage which is mostly stock assets, anyhow.

Moonvault’s partner companies are both owned by NetDragon (which owns Neopets) and are most likely money laundering schemes.

One of said partner companies will write positive news articles about your company if you pay them. Hmm.

A disgruntled player posts the full names of JumpStart’s upper management to the boards. Players track down their LinkedIn profiles and start sending messages directly to the CEO, en masse. While this is public information and not considered doxxing, it is against site policy. Curiously, the thread remained up for at least twelve hours. Mods asleep, post their boss’s contact details.

Solana, the crypto-company powering the technology used for the NFTs, claims to be better for the environment than other methods of making crypto-merch. Heated arguments over whether or not NFTs can be environmentally friendly ensue. 2am rolls around, and I bail on the conversation after a crypto-bro unironically calls me sheeple.

At least one Neopets user is accused of being JumpStart staff in disguise, as their account is less than a month old and they seem to be the one (1) person on the boards defending the NFTs. This is likely untrue but it was very, very funny to read.

NeopetsMeta retweets an advertisement for, uh... Horny Hedgehogs. It’s nothing particularly graphic but sure, link to cartoon hedgehogs humping each other from your kids site merch page, why dont’cha. (x)

China declares all crypto-currency transactions illegal. Not because of TNT, obviously, but the timing is again very, very funny. This includes NFTs. Given that NetDragon is a Chinese company, this now means they’re also in some legal deep shit. (x)

September 25th:

JellyNeo staff member Herdy recaps and further explains the above happenings on a pet page. He also notes the following:

The artwork being used for the Dimensional Kougra NFT is not the official artwork, but rather an image unique to the Neopets fansite Dress To Impress. When this mistake is pointed out, the promotional artwork that included the Kougra is replaced with a Chocolate Kougra without comment. It’s currently unknown if the stolen asset is still in the system, but it does confirm that NeopetsMeta has no access to the site’s image databases. (x) (mirror) (archive of original page)

JellyNeo publicly criticized NeopetsMeta for tweeting a link to literal horny hedgehogs. Rather than taking the tweet down, NeopetsMeta instead accused JellyNeo of spreading misinformation. ...Even though their original tweet is still up. (x) (mirror)

He also speculates from past NFT endeavors that the starting price for one Neopets NFT is somewhere in the ballpark of $450 USD.

September 26 ~ 28:

No additional statements are made by TNT, and things on the NeoBoards begin to die down in lieu of new things to discuss. Less threads being made, but the ones that remained stayed active.

(Most of the drama around this time targeted a few specific players, particularly one who works in the Crypto industry. While it was certainly a thing to read, I won’t recap it here.)

JellyNeo reports that members of the NeopetsMeta Discord server have been receiving direct messages from bot accounts, attempting to trick new NFT-buyers into scams disguised as freebie giveaways. (x)

...An issue that is somewhat magnified by the fact that the Discord server is doing a recruitment leaderboard-based giveaway around the same time. (Can you say ‘MLM’?) (x)

September 29:

Homophobic language is used in the NeopetsMeta Discord server (specifically the f-slur), and is not filtered out by its moderation bot. When this is brought to the attention of the actual human mod, he chucks a shitfit. It’s three hours before the offending message is deleted. (x) (x) Bonus points: “gay” is automatically filtered out. (x)

Side-tangent: it’s only been nine months since Neopets began allowing users to use terms such as “lesbian” and “transgender” on the site itself (”gay” is allowed by site rules, but still filtered out). Pride-themed merchandise is available in their store year-round. This is who they wanna partner with, huh. (x) (x)

September 30:

Continuing the streak of Discord drama, an admin channel on NeopetsMeta is accidentally made public. “Included in this channel was curated feedback gathered in private by mods from members of the community they valued. [...Regarding] suggestions for the future direction of Neopets Metaverse.”

The list of suggestions includes pushing TNT to release extra pet slots and release new UC (”Unconverted”/extremely rare) pets ahead of schedule, in order to “distract” players. (x) (x)

Entrants to Neopets’s weekly Beauty Contest (art competition) submit anti-NFT protest artwork. The winning entry is deleted from the listings, presumably for being a part of the protest. It is restored after users complain, but the New Features page notably does not list the winners and instead showcases the 2nd place artwork instead. (Quote 2nd place: “I'm really disappointed that they would use my art to censor the real winner. First place won fair and square.”) (x) (x) (x)

October:

The NeopetsMeta Discord moderator responsible for the aforementioned shitfit is kicked, with the staff issuing an apology... and he is replaced with a brand new discord account that definitely isn’t just him on a side account.

Neopets Metaverse releases their roadmap (plan for the future of the project). The roadmap lacks any dates or technical details and can thus be read more as a wishlist than an actual, tangible project.

Tl;dr - their ultimate intention is to fork (duplicate) the main site and make it entirely operate on blockchain items. ...So you’ll have to pay for literally everything. (x) (x)

Neopets Fansites organize a two-day blackout in protest, altering their homepages and encouraging players not to log into the main site. Participating fansites include JellyNeo, Dress To Impress, the Neopian Writer’s Forum, The Daily Neo, Reddit community r/Neopets, Lost And Pound, and more. (x)

Neopets fan artists get more subtle with their protest artwork, and a No-NFT image makes the site’s front page. (x)

@NeopetsMeta on twitter creates and posts a Soyjack meme calling people against the project “Hateooooors”. I took actual psychic damage from typing that. (x)

The tweet is deleted by NeopetsMeta after considerable backlash. The Wayback Machine archive is also deleted, though QRTs responding to the original (14-tweet long) thread remain. (x) (x) (x)

NeopetsMeta issues an official apology for the tweet. (x) The response from the community boils down to “get bent”. (x) (x)

A Reddit user who works in the NFT industry makes a post on r/Neopets explaining that what the team is doing can’t even properly be called a ‘Metaverse’. I’ll be honest, I didn’t understand a word of it, but here’s the link if you’re interested. (x)

The Neopets Team posts an official apology for this ongoing PR disaster to the NeoBoards. They assert that JumpStart does not support the bigoted beliefs held by the Metaverse staff, that JumpStart will start moderating the discord server, and that protest entries will now be permitted in the Beauty Contest. There are no plans to cancel the project. (Also, not really relevant but kinda funny - TNT member Petrichor is shuffled away from working on the site. She was Neopets’ community manager for a grand total of... three weeks. Hoooly shit.) (x)

The Neopets Metaverse discord server is raided (spammed) by protestors. The moderators respond by publicly doxxing one spammer’s instagram account. The ensuing harassment forces the spammer to delete their social media accounts, and two moderators involved in the incident are later booted from the server. (x)

Crypto-merch company Quidd announces it will be releasing its own line of Neopets-themed “digital collectibles”. While not necessarily NFTs, buyers have the option to mint them into Etherium-powered NFTs. (Aka, the crypto-service that’s most garbage for the environment.)

Just to be clear, JumpStart didn’t change companies. They’re now multi-track NFT drifting. ok. (x)

Quidd retracts its announcement of the project from both its social media and discord server within 24 hours: “In the case of the new [Neopets] channel, our partners wanted to put a little more time between another project that they dropped and our project. So, it's a delay, not a cancellation.” We’ll see, Quidd. We’ll see. (x)

Another protest image wins the Beauty Contest. Normally I wouldn’t consider this noteworthy but it is, as the kids say, rather sussy. (x) (x)

November (Pre-Sale):

An official price point for Metaverse NFTs is set - or rather, prices. The more that are sold, the more expensive future ones will become, until eventually they cap out at a whopping 4 SOL (approx $1000 usd). What’s more, the number of NFTs being sold is cut in half in order to promote a fear of missing out. (x)

It’s worth noting that even NFT buyers are unhappy with this plan, as it encourages bots to buy up the cheapest ones and discourages legitimate collectors. (x)(x)

9 hours prior to the NFTs going on sale, scam twitter account @NeopetMeta (singular ‘Neopet’) posts their own version of the site. At the time of writing, the dupe account has reportedly stolen 243 SOL (approx $55066 usd). (x)(x)(x)

Launch goes as expected, by which I mean “bots buy all the cheap stuff and hobbyists decide not to bother”. (x)

Legitimate buyers report being banned from the Discord for asking which account is the real account. (x) The invite link to the Discord channel is removed from the official twitter, possibly due to the scam account swarming them with bots.

November (Post-Sale):

The sale period ends. 42% of the stock is sold (approx. 8,707.5 SOL, or $2.1 million USD). The rest are “burnt” - made permanently unavailable. (x)

Obligatory right-clicking ensues. (x)

Post-sale statistics indicate that 1,000 NFTs were apparently sold before the sale went live - meaning that only 246 could be purchased at the base price by outsiders. (x)

A good number of images were generated incorrectly - fur clips through clothing, Transparent and Eventide pets are completely opaque, Wraith pets are missing their smoke effects, some only have one piece of clothing. Also, there’s only ten species, and 50% of pets have the Sad expression. (x) (x)

Fansite Dress To Impress openly questions how the images were generated and officially revokes any permissions the Metaverse team may have had to use their (pet image-generating) service. (x)

NetDragon issues a press release that goes over the details of the sale, believing it to be a “success” that garnered “strong interest” from the community. (x) (x)

Neopets gets a new marketing employee who is Pro-NFT. She is doxxed by angry players within the week. (x)

...So yeah, that’s where we are in this on-going shitfest. Will add new developments as they come!

#pointless post #neopets #neopets blogging #1k

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leggerefiore · 2 years

Note

Have you done anything for grimsley yet 👀 the submas jealousy drabble reminded me that he exists I love that weird gambling man…maybe some general romantic headcanons for him? Thank you!

i have not anon, my gambling husband has been ignored in favour of the train husbands... let's amend that.

♠Grimsley♥

♤ He's a strange guy to date, for sure. Occasionally, he feels like a glorified roommate than a lover. He's like a cat when it comes to affection. Sometimes, he's all over you and literally will not leave you alone, while at others he's full on 'do not touch me'. (Like an affectionate cat, he also bites. It's never anything mean, though. )

♡ He's busy with league work often, and usually disappears without warning. You have to call him multiple times just to get an answer, and he apologises for it. He gets so caught up in his work that he forgets about you. You'll either grow used to it or talk to him about. If you do talk to him about, he's better about leaving notes or texts. It was never his intention to cause you any emotional turmoil.

◇ He knows he looks pretty frightening and uses it to his advantage to scare off anyone who's interested. No one gets too flirty with you before they deal with his leering and unsettling smirk. He is the jealous type, as he knows how beautiful you are. Anyone would be stupid to not gamble for your attention. A bit possessive, watch out for his teeth.

♧ Indifferent to PDA for the most part, and it plays back inconsistency with affection in general. Sometimes, he's glued to your side with an arm around your waist, while at others you seem like complete strangers. Don't think for a second he doesn't love you, he's just feeling detached for now. It will eventually go away, and he's back to acting like he'll die if he doesn't have a hand on you.

♤ He shows his love with gift giving and time together. He's a busy guy, so him slowing down and giving you hit time means he likes you a lot. Whenever he's out and sees something that he knows you'll like, he'll buy it without hesitation and bring it home to you. You're on his mind constantly, as much as he hates to admit it. It's a bit terrifying that he has someone so important to him. (Someone could use his affections toward you to hurt him. What if they hurt you? The thought haunts him.)

♡ Teaches you card games! You quickly become convinced he's cheating, but he assures you he's not. He proceeds to put down a royal flush during your poker game, and you do not believe him one bit. Grimsley is a nice guy; however, he lets you win a few times (so you don't stop playing with him). Also, definitely, cheated at Monopoly. You have no idea why you let him be the banker. (Also, play board games with him. He's pretty good at them and gets overly competitive. Never will you see a more passionate scrabble player.)

◇ You've 100% been to a casino (as his arm candy basically) and seeing him active in his secondary profession is unbelievable. His calls are quick, he determines bluffs with ease, probabilities are broken down in his head frighteningly fast. You begin to think he might not have been cheating. His concentrated face is entrancing, you'll find yourself hypnotised should you stare too long.

♧ If you were a trainer, he demands at least one battle out of you. It's a wonderful way to read somebody and see unexpected sides of people. The Elite Four member does not go easy on you. He's bitter, yet amused if you win. You're a better trainer than he first expected, and now he has to know more about your style. If you lose, he has his signature smug smirk but offers to train you. Your potential is unmistakable to him, and he wants to see you grow.

♤ Overall, he's a strange guy who sends mixed signals, but does actually love and care for you. Grimsley just had odd quirks and ways of showing it. Communication is important with him, but you'll be left wondering if he'll listen. (He brings you an expensive gift if you tell him that. It's something that you had only mentioned in passing, so it proves he is listening. At least, a little.)

#grimsley x reader #pokemon grimsley x reader #grimsley/reader #pokemon x reader #he is my favourite sync pair in masters #sorry emmet until you stop marching around in the clown shoes gambling man has my heart

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ptergwen · 3 years

Text

only you and me

w/c: 6.7k

warnings: angst, mentions of weed, and some swearing

summary: whenever peter tries to tell you how he feels, harry gets in the way

a/n: ahhhh hi my loves! my mini writing break is over :,) life has been just a mess for me and i’ve been way more critical than usual about my work but i’m doing a little better and ready to get back into everything! this helped me a lot so i’m excited to share it with y’all <3 it’s also my first time writing harry osborn so lmk how i did lmaooofwfjj but yeah pls enjoy

“dude, she’s right there! just tell her!” ned whisper yells to peter, elbowing him for emphasis. they’re hidden behind a wall to watch you at your locker. you’re grabbing books while betty rants to you and mj rolls her eyes. “not now. she looks... busy,” peter gulps, gaze trailing down your body. he always finds excuses to put off telling you how he feels.

or rather, excuses find him. something comes up every time he gets the courage to do it. he has no idea why he’s so scared because he’s pretty sure you like him back. pretty sure. there are a few reasons why you might not. also, plenty why you might. you stay up late texting most nights, and you’ve even flirted a couple of times. it never fails to make peter blush. he trips over his words whenever he tries to flirt back.

he’s had feelings for you since the first time you two hung out alone. none of your other friends could make it, but you happily took him up on his offer to come over. you grinned through his whole apartment tour, asked about may and what she does. when peter showed you his room, you even complimented his movie posters, much to his surprise.

“really? you don’t think they’re, like, dorky?”

“no, peter. your interests aren’t dorky. everyone likes what they like.”

and, he liked you. he knew it from that point on. you’d know it too if the universe wouldn’t keep stopping him from saying that.

“she’s so...” peter pauses for a second. him and ned watch you pull betty in by her shoulders as if you’re going to kiss her. she dodges you, mj pushing her back, all three of you giggling about it before you grab betty’s hands and give her words of encouragement. “cool,” peter finishes, turning back to ned. “i mean, how she puts herself out there like that.”

“what’s stopping you from doing the same thing?” ned points out with a knowing smile that peter returns. you make it look so easy. whenever you’re comfortable around people, you can let go of any doubts you have. you stop worrying about what they might think and instead do what you want. it’s inspiring to peter, and heart warming getting to be one of the people you’re fully you with.

he wishes he could apply your wisdom himself.

peter shakes his head, staring down at the floor. “oh, you know. anxiety, fear of rejection. that fun stuff.” “so, yourself,” ned concludes, clapping peter’s backpack so hard it makes him stumble forward. betty and mj wave goodbye to you before heading to their first class. you’re still getting your things together at your locker. this is peter’s moment.

“come on, dude! y/n’s not busy anymore. you got this.” ned keeps his hand on peter’s back, adding on, “it’s been a year already.” “half a year,” peter corrects him in a mumble. he’s liked you for a really long time. “ok, i’m going. wish me luck.” he takes a deep breath and focuses in on you. “aw, dude. you don’t need it.” ned gives him one last pat on the back. “good luck, though.” “thanks, man. see you in trig.”

right as peter starts heading over, harry comes up behind you and covers your eyes. you squeal, jumping up and turning to him, laughing as you playfully hit at his chest. he brings you into a hug where your face is buried in his sweater and probably inhaling his super strong, super expensive cologne.

that’s what’s stopping peter, harry freaking osborn. his own friend.

peter quickly loses the tiny bit of confidence ned gave him. he figures it might be better to hold off on his confession and get an early start to class. unfortunately, it doesn’t seem like that’s going to happen. harry has already spotted him and calls him over.

“hey, pete! come give us some love, eh?” harry beams, an arm slung around your shoulders and you smiling up at him. you direct your smile to peter when he slumps his way to your locker. his lips pull into a barely noticeable frown. you notice. “there’s my guy. why so down, sunshine?” harry offers his fist for a fist bump. peter gives it to him, eyes staying on you.

harry osborn. where to begin with such a specimen? he’s the perfect combination of everything you’d want in a guy. he gets good grades, he’s a star player on on the basketball team, nice to everyone and makes you laugh, popular yet fits right into your small group.

he was friends with you before the popular thing. what kicked it off was him making varsity basketball while only being a sophomore. yep, he’s unreal. since then, he’s been balancing his cool life and also hanging with “the nerds,” as he likes to call you. he got his own feelings for you along the way. peter can tell.

he’ll give you rides home, compliment how you look, basically act like your boyfriend without really being it. it absolutely infuriates peter because he doesn’t compare to harry in the slightest. if he were you and had the choice between himself or harry, he would pick harry.

it’s been a factor in why he hasn’t come clean about how he feels yet. he’s not trying to create a love triangle that he doesn’t stand a chance surviving in.

“for real, peter. you good?” you ask him, eyebrows knitted together in concern. “fine,” peter lies and musters up a smile. “i’m just tired. didn’t sleep too good last night.” you’re only more concerned now. this has been happening to him a lot lately. you search for his eyes. “again?”

“aw, man. you need something for it?” harry punches peter’s shoulder and lowers his voice. “i know this kid who-“ “harry, stop.” your words are serious, tone lighthearted. you throw your head back on his arm. “do you really know a kid?” “i’m not telling you,” he says in an overly happy voice, you humming the same way. peter feels like he’s third wheeling.

“i was telling pete.” harry looks at him expectantly, peter’s mouth dropping open while he thinks of what to say. harry likes to mess around. this is a different level, though. “no thanks. i- i shouldn’t. i’m-“ “relax, i don’t know a kid,” harry chuckles and points at peter. “your face right now.” it’s completely flushed. you knock into harry’s side.

“ok, well literally no one laughed. you’re scaring him,” you tell harry sternly. peter tugs tight on one of his backpack straps. he doesn’t feel like he’s third wheeling you two now. he feels like your kid. he’ll never let ned mettle in his love life ever again if this is where it gets him. “he knows i’m kidding, y/n/n. right?” harry checks with peter. you make a face at him that says you aren’t convinced.

he switches his arm from you to peter, drawing him into his side. “look, pete. i’m sorry. the only kid i know who’s selling is chocolates for his band trip.” you’re satisfied with that, grinning at both of them. peter forces a laugh and nods. “no worries, man. i gotta get to class.” “good boy,” harry lets him go. “bye, pete. we’ll see you at lunch,” you remind him. he gives you a tight lipped smile. “see you, y/n/n.”

you and harry continue practically spooning each other as soon as peter is out of sight.

what the hell is going on?

peter is back to being grumpy, plopping down in his seat next to ned. their teacher has the lesson plan pulled up on the smart board. ned looks from it to peter, almost jumping in his seat. “oh, you’re back already? how’d it go?” “it didn’t go,” peter huffs, copying down the aim. he’s only doing it so he doesn’t have to look ned in the eyes while telling him he bailed. again.

“you didn’t do it?” ned repeats, peter writing something about pi and a unit circle in his notebook. he bites the inside of his cheek. “you have to do it at some point,” ned sighs out and picks up his pencil. even he’s getting tired of this, and ned never gets tired of a good friends to lovers moment. “i think she likes harry,” peter says under his breath. “huh?” ned gasps.

peter doesn’t feel like explaining the extremely awkward moment he just finished living. although, it wouldn’t hurt to get a second opinion. “y/n. he came over, and they kept hugging and whatever.” “they always do that,” ned almost scoffs, their trigonometry teacher moving to stand in front of the class. “yeah, but he had his arm around her the whole time we-“

the bell rings and cuts their conversation short. peter struggles to label the unit circle they learn about when his mind is filled to its capacity with images of you and harry all over each other. it’s not daydreaming. this is a nightmare. maybe, he actually will be having sleep problems.

peter’s morning is relatively decent after that. he gets to do an experiment with mj in chemistry, and she lets him take the lead for once. spanish is easy, health is okay, then he has a free period, then it’s lunch. things can only go downhill from here.

he thinks about hiding in the library until it’s over, but it’s the thought of harry eating your face that gets him to drag himself to the cafeteria.

flash is at the head of your table talking to harry when peter gets there. great, now he can’t eat his soggy chicken fingers in peace. “sounds dope. let’s go on the-“ flash stops saying what he was saying and nods at peter. “penis parker, you’re late.” peter takes his seat on your left, harry on your right. you glance over at him to make sure he’s okay. he acts like he doesn’t care, peeling open his milk carton.

“just text me later, man. get outta here,” harry dismisses flash, the two of them doing a bro handshake before he leaves. he’s well aware of his and peter’s history. he keeps them separate for the obvious reasons. peter appreciates it because saying no to flash is nearly impossible. he shouldn’t be so mad at harry, should he? he’s a good friend.

harry’s arm snakes around your waist and brings you closer to him. never mind.

“who’s up for sushi later?” he asks the table, everyone agreeing and saying how awesome that sounds. everyone except peter. you tap his shoulder with a small smile. “what about you, peter? you coming?” he realizes you’re all waiting for him to respond and puts down his milk. “uh, i can’t. homework,” he lamely answers.

“dude, we have homework, too. just do it a little later,” ned suggests, betty laying her head on his shoulder. you share a look with her, your eyes wide and a grin on your lips. that must have been what you were talking about this morning. she asked for boy advice. ned advice. why can’t this crap work out for peter?

“i really can’t. sorry, guys,” peter half heartedly apologizes.

he misses the disappointment that crosses your features because he’s pouting at his lunch again.

“homework, huh?” mj tests him, squinting as she takes a sip of apple juice. harry nudges peter’s side with two fingers. “you still mad about the sleeping thing?” “sleeping thing? what sleeping thing?” betty wonders while ned rests his head against hers. a quiet laugh slips out of you as you lean in to tell her.

“peter said he couldn’t sleep last night, so harry offered him...” you mime rolling a joint. “i said no,” peter clarifies, rolling his eyes at the inevitable teasing he’s about to get. none of you have even smoked besides harry. you’re being annoying about it. “of course you did,” mj sighs and kicks her feet up on the table. “unrelated to what y/n just said... harry, i have insomnia.”

everyone bursts into laughter at that, betty shoving her side and you pulling harry by his torso as he pretends to go into his backpack. peter wants nothing to do with any of this. he usually enjoys joking around with the group, even if it’s at his expense because it’s from a place of love.

today feels like you’re straight up making fun of him. harry might as well invite flash to join in.

“alright, alright, alright. enough of the weed talk,” harry decides, you removing your arms from him and grabbing your coffee. “you’re such a bad influence.” your voice drips with sarcasm. you bend the straw and take a sip while scooting closer to peter. “you really can’t come later? i feel like i’ve barely seen you today.” that’s on harry. “i wish i could, y/n/n,” peter exhales. “i’ll text you later, okay?”

you don’t get to answer because mj tugs on your arm, distracting you from peter. she explains how she has to do an art project on what it means to be a woman and needs help brainstorming ideas. you’re full of them, offering up an interesting perspective for her to use. peter smiles to himself as he listens in. you find a new way to impress him every day.

he should tell you that.

“hey, y/n?” “listen to her! you’re seriously my idol,” betty gushes, so loudly you don’t hear peter. not a single thing has gone in his favor at this table. he gives up.

peter locks himself in his room when he gets home from his overall terrible day. he does homework like he said he would, only taking a break for dinner, giving one word replies to may’s questions about school. he’d much rather be having sushi with you. he would’ve gone if the others didn’t.

after dinner, it’s back to grumbling and scribbling down answers. there’s a knock at peter’s door around ten o’clock, which he assumes is may saying goodnight. “i’ll be done in a few minutes, may! love you.” “it’s y/n,” you reply, the smile clear in your voice. his eyes go comically wide. that’s the last thing he expected to hear. “oh. uh, come in.”

you’re holding a small takeout bag, shutting the door behind you and walking over to his desk. you meet his twinkling eyes in the dim light that hits off his walls. from his open window, you faintly hear cars as they rush by and honk their horns in the distance, accompanied by a fresh breeze. it’s cozy, safe. it’s peter.

“hey. what’re you doing here?” peter questions, leaving his pencil in his binder and shutting it. you shake around the plastic bag. “i saved you a roll.” he bites back a smile, getting up from his chair. “may let me in. she was really chill about it,” you continue and hold out the sushi for him. “it’s a california roll. i wasn’t sure what you wanted, and everyone likes those.”

peter lets his smile spread out and takes the bag from you. “thanks, y/n/n. i was honestly hoping one of you would have leftovers.” you laugh softly, peter setting the bag down on his desk. he scratches the back of his neck. “did you guys have fun?” “yeah. i missed you, though.” you clasp your hands behind your back. “everyone did.”

“i feel bad i didn’t go. just... things felt off today,” peter admits the real reason he stayed home, you letting out a breath. “it was harry, wasn’t it? god, he was being so weird.” your arms drop back to your sides. “there’s a difference between playing around and actually upsetting people.” by people, you mean peter. no one else seemed too bothered by him. “i’m sorry, peter. i tried to make him stop.”

“no, you don’t have to apologize,” peter assures you sweetly, grabbing one of your hands. “it’s not your fault, okay? he probably didn’t realize what he was doing. the jokes landed.” he’s referring to ned, mj, and betty finding harry’s comments hilarious. you lace your fingers with peter’s and frown. “this isn’t like him. maybe he’s stressed about a game.” your gaze drifts off to the side, what you see getting you to perk up.

“is that new?” you ask peter, leading him by his hand over to a poster he put up recently. it’s for 13 going on 30. you showed it to him a couple of weeks ago, and he clearly liked it a lot. any movie that makes it to peter’s wall is a special one. “mhm. i got it literally right after you went home the night we watched,” he chuckles and looks over at you while you study the poster.

you turn to face peter again, keeping your hand tight in his. “were you gonna tell me something earlier? at lunch?” he’s confused for a second, then he remembers your ideas for mj’s art project. the fact that you cared enough to bring it up after all these hours makes his stomach do summersaults in the best way. he shrugs and gives you a smile.

“the stuff you were saying about femininity and how there are so many ways to define it,” peter starts, you grinning back at him, at how he took an interest in what you were saying. “you’re so smart, y/n. you make me wanna be better.” a light pink dusts his cheeks. “peter, you’re a feminist?” you coo, joking but genuinely wondering at the same time. he squeezes your hand. “duh.”

“i thought so,” you nod, taking in the rest of what he said. “you think i’m smart? i trust you because you’re way smarter.” peter pffts in response. “i’m only good at, like, physics. you’re good at things that really matter. smart in that way.” you’re feeling your own face get hot. you swing yours and peter’s hands back and forth. “why are you the nicest person ever?”

the answer to that, may, peeks her head into the room. “hey, kids. it’s getting late.” she notices your intertwined hands and shoots peter a smirk. “i thought you were a cool aunt,” he teases, you sadly letting go of him. “she is. thanks for having me over so late,” you tell may on your way to the door. “oh, stop it. you can come over any time.” she puts a hand on your arm. “thank you so much,” you murmur back.

you walk backwards to the doorway, may leaving you two to say your goodbyes. “wanna hang out only you and me? on friday maybe?” that should make up for everything earlier. “yeah, of course. friday is perfect,” peter agrees and bounces on his feet as excitement takes over him. “thanks again for the sushi.”

“no problem. goodnight.” it’s taking every last bit of power in you to not freak out. “night. text me when you get home.” he presses his tongue into his cheek. you slowly pull the door shut. “ok, i will. bye!” it closes, leaving peter skipping across his room to his bed on one side and you doing a little happy dance on the other.

the next day at school, everything is back to normal. honestly, better than normal. your hangout with peter is tomorrow, and he’s planning on telling he likes you then. he already talked it over with ned. he’s relieved it’s finally happening, especially since him and betty have their own thing. she’ll be taking up most of his free time from here.

your group is spending lunch outside today, lounging across a picnic table, surrounded by trees and the shining sun in a bright blue sky. mj sits on the table and has her feet on the bench, which would usually bug peter to no end. he doesn’t mind this time because it takes up enough room that harry has to sit with ned and betty instead of you. you lean into peter’s side and stab a piece of lettuce from your salad.

“it’s so nice out,” betty sighs, ripping off half her cookie and giving it to ned. “we should ditch.” “oh my god, you sound like harry,” you groan between bites of salad. peter lets out a breathy laugh, you looping your arm through his. he grins down at where you’re linked. harry crosses his own arms over his chest. “she wishes.” betty only nods because her mouth is full of m&m’s.

“nah, seriously. i’d take us out somewhere, but i have practice after school.” he speaks quieter than he normally does, less confident. your theory about him having basketball drama was right. “what did we tell you? talk about the sports shit with your sports friends,” mj complains, sitting back on her hands. she glances at harry over her shoulder and catches ned mouthing you can’t say that.

sitting criss cross, she spins around to face harry, unenthusiastically saying, “what i meant was, you sound upset. what’s wrong?” harry gets into it right away, like he’s been waiting for someone to ask. “coach says there might be a scout at the next game. it’s a really good opportunity even though i don’t have to worry about... college yet.” the word makes him cringe.

“oh, damn. that’s a big deal. scary,” mj snorts, turning back to you and peter. her behavior makes ned internally face palm. “that’s awesome, dude. you’re gonna play amazing like always.” he gives harry a high five, who smiles nervously in response. he’s never nervous. “thanks, bro. you guys wanna come and watch?” he’s never invited you to one of his games before either.

this isn’t a group of friends that likes to spend their weekends in bleachers while angry teens shout around them.

“definitely. we’ll be there to support you, harry,” betty answers for everyone, ned pecking her cheek in satisfaction. mj cusses to herself before replying. “if i absolutely must, sure.” only you and peter haven’t said anything yet. he’s been chewing his lower lip, and you your salad. harry looks between you two hopefully. it’s more so at you, which peter doesn’t like.

“y/n? pete? it would help a lot, i’m serious.” he taps his fingers on the table until one of you speaks up. you’re the one who does. “i’ll go. this is pretty huge, right? congrats.” you reach across the table and squeeze his shoulder while simultaneously tightening your arm around peter’s. he takes that as a cue. “i’ll go, too. happy for you, man.”

though peter isn’t currently in the best place with harry, he should show his support by showing up. it can’t be too bad since the rest of you will be there.

a loud, long chuckle leaves harry as he hops up from his bench and comes to yours and peter’s. he bends over and wraps both of you in a hug from behind at the same time. his arms are around each of your shoulders, holding you so close his cheeks are squished against either of your heads. you giggle at that, peter finding himself laughing along and reaching back to ruffle harry’s hair.

staying mad at him is one of the world’s greatest challenges.

“you’re saints, both of you. my angels.” he kisses the back of your head, then lays one right on peter’s cheek, leaving him blushing red and grinning. “what about the rest of us? i never go to shit like this,” mj huffs and seems genuinely offended. harry wiggles his eyebrows. “you want a kiss?” his offer gets her flustered, which she can’t manage to hide. that’s a first.

“shut up. i’m just saying... never mind.” mj glares at you and peter, ned and betty making kissing noises behind her. “someone change the subject.” peter steps in. “when’s the game, harry?” he asks, harry snapping and waving his finger. “tomorrow! cancel your plans, kiddos.” “like we had any,” betty retorts.

some of you did. that was going to be peter’s hangout with you.

ned smiles sympathetically at peter before betty is getting his attention. you‘re unfazed and rambling to harry how proud you are of him.

did last night mean nothing? was it an empty gesture? were you only doing it out of guilt? peter must have read your visit wrong. he’s been wrong the whole time he’s liked you. you don’t like him back, you pity him. harry is who you’re really interested in.

may always says he should trust his instincts.

peter pulls his arm from yours suddenly, swinging his backpack onto his shoulders. you’re taken back because it’s so out of no where. you stop talking to harry so you can figure out his deal. “where are you going?” “bell’s gonna ring,” peter mumbles and picks up his lunch tray. he heads to the garbage can without another word or goodbye to anyone.

“i’m gonna go check on him,” you tell harry, already getting up from the bench. “you do that,” he acknowledges and calls mj’s name again.

peter tosses his mostly untouched food in the trash, seeing you make your way over from the corner of his eye. he tries to speed walk inside so he doesn’t have to talk to you. you’re too quick, cornering him between the door and brick wall.

“we still have ten minutes,” you state, worry flashing across your face. he’s avoiding you. well, attempting to. “what’s wrong?” peter gulps before saying anything. “my next class is on the other side of the-“ “no,” you cut him off. “what’s really wrong?”

he doesn’t feel like having this discussion. it’s bad enough he came to the realization his feelings are one sided. must he break that down for you so soon?

you toy with your sleeve while you speak because peter doesn’t. “i thought you and harry were fine again. i mean, he kissed you.” peter clenches his jaw so hard he can imagine the sound of it cracking. “it’s not about harry.” “what, then? what the fuck happened?” your sleeves are now balled in your fists. you hate it when peter does this angsty routine.

he keeps his voice low and calm so he doesn’t come off as jealous or hurt. he’s both of those things. “the game is tomorrow. friday. when we were supposed to hang out.” you meet peter’s eyes with nothing but remorse in yours. “i... i forgot,” is all you have to say.

you feel awful. he’s had a tough couple of days, and you fell through on your promise to cheer him up.

“clearly,” peter remarks, voice sharp. the way you’re looking at him makes him think he won’t like what’s coming. “peter, we have to go,” you almost whine. “i’m really sorry, i am, but this is a big night for harry. he needs us there.” peter stays silent. you’re twisting the knife deeper into him with every word. “i wouldn’t be cancelling if this wasn’t important.”

now you’re cancelling?

you reach for peter’s hand, but he shoves it into his pocket. that stings for you and him. “please, peter. we’ll hang out at the game, i swear.” this is the last chance you’ve got, so you pile it on. “harry won’t even be there, technically. he’ll... he’ll be on the court.” peter hadn’t thought about that. he lets himself unclench, starting to see the appeal. you add one more thing to lighten the mood and persuade him.

“i’ll buy you popcorn, all you can eat.” it’s that easy. cracking a smile, peter accepts. he’ll deal with his unresolved, unreciprocated feelings after he stuffs his face, courtesy of you. “you better. i’m gonna need it for this long ass game.” your face lights up, grabbing his wrist in both hands.

“so, you’ll come?” “i’ll be there,” he confirms. you throw your arms around his neck. he laughs into the hug and holds you by your middle. “i promise this’ll be the first and last game we ever go to,” you say and mean it. harry is lucky you’re even suffering through this a first time. “thank god,” peter exhales, resting his chin on your head.

that interaction leaves peter confused as hell. you’re crushing his mind and soul one minute, then hugging him the next. you were making him feel so special lasts night, and treating harry the same way today. it’s so jumbled that he isn’t sure if he’s in the friend zone or something more zone.

there are a ton of mixed signals coming his way, and he sucks at reading people as is.

he can’t take another second of this. he’d rather you come out and say you like harry already because it’s torture. knowing you don’t want him in that way would at least eliminate the possibility of anything happening between you two, and allow him to stop driving himself insane.

he’d be able to stop taking it out on harry, too.

the hold you have on peter, that you’re oblivious to, rules his every thought and decision. he’s constantly analyzing what you say to him, debating whether or not your affection is simply platonic. it’s been half a year of this madness, the night of harry’s game blurring every line so much more.

your group arrives a bit early to find seats and hype harry up before he plays. peter gets there after all of you because he’s not exactly in a rush to watch sweaty guys be aggressive. there’s only one upside, which is spending the night with you... and everyone else.

he steps into the gym that’s filling up fast with family members, friends, and the college scout harry was talking about. midtown has a different feeling to it at night. the smell of pencils is oddly stronger, and it’s a lot less intimidating.

cheerleaders are huddled in a circle while the team supervisor has them run their chants. the “leading official,” who peter thought was called a referee, takes his place off to the side. coaches give their players last minute instructions, players fool around with each other, a lot is going on.

peter scans the room for you, and grins a toothy grin when you catch his eyes. you’re sitting by yourself in one of the middle bleachers, only a bag of skinny pop in your lap. you return the smile once you spot him and wave him over.

“i don’t know why, but i thought they’d have an actual concession stand,” you explain the lack of fresh, buttery popcorn as peter takes a seat next to you. he catches the prepackaged bag you toss him. “it’s just a snack table.” “works either way,” peter hums and pokes the bag. “i’m not sure skinny pop is all i can eat, though.” “it’s good!” you defend the snack you chose for him.

“i’m kidding! you’re right, it’s kind of addicting.” he puts it by his feet for now and gives you a half smile. “you’re welcome,” you deadpan in a playful tone. “thanks.” he narrows his eyes. “where’s everyone else?” “right,” you twist around and gesture to the bleacher above you. mj is gloomily seated near the back. ned and betty are a few behind you.

“i told them to find their own seats so we can sit together, alone.” you look over at peter and move ever so slightly closer. “welcome to our friday hangout. just the two of us.” “aw, you didn’t have to do that,” peter laughs out, his knee bumping yours. “but, i’m happy you did.” he goes to put an arm around you, then harry comes racing up the stairs.

just the two of you didn’t last so long.

“y/n, i’m freaking out,” harry announces, zooming through your row to get over to you. he stops once he’s standing in front of peter and shakes him by his shoulder. “hey, pete. you made it.” “yup,” peter replies, pressing his lips together. you wince at his reaction, then quirk an eyebrow at harry. “you’re freaking out? why?”

harry sits down between you and peter, blissfully unaware of the moment he interrupted.

“i found the scout. he’s fucking terrifying as fuck. this super ripped guy, looks like he’d rather be anywhere else,” he talks quietly, like the man will hear him. “he’s not the only one,” peter says to himself, kicking around his bag of popcorn to pass time. you ignore him and grimace.

“shit. wait, how do you know it’s him? did they tell you?” you’re not sure how these things go. harry casually shrugs a shoulder. “dude has a clipboard. seems legit to me.” he gives you a cocky smile. “he’s also in the row before mj. that’s how i noticed. um...” his back now facing peter, he whispers something in your ear that makes you giggle.

peter’s face scrunches up as the spark of anger the past few days have lit reignites itself.

when harry pulls away, you motion for him to come closer with your index finger, cupping your hand around his ear and speaking into it.

nope, no more. peter is entirely about to explode. you cancelled your plans so you can force him to watch basketball, you sweet talk him so he’ll let it go, and you’re running right back to harry after all of that? what the hell does that mean?

peter stands up from his seat. “y/n, we need to talk,” he demands, you moving away from harry to respond. “ok, gimme a minute. we’re-“ “no, we need to talk now.” you don’t have time to refute because he’s taking your arm and dragging you away. harry squints at you in utter confusion.

“um, have a good game! we’ll talk later,” you call back to him, walking with peter even though you have no idea what his issue is and aren’t a fan of how he’s acting.

he releases you once you’re in the hallway. you make a point of harshly yanking your arm back, a scowl painting your lips. “jesus, peter. i was having a conversation.” “do you like harry?” peter blurts out. you’re so shocked at his abruptness that you don’t give him much to work with, only, “what?” “do you like harry?” he asks you again, this time less accusing and more curious.

“do i like...” you’re too aware of the seemingly hundreds of people surrounding you to answer comfortably. “can we talk about this somewhere else?” “sure,” peter nods, letting you lead the way since he did to get out here. you two go down the hall and choose the first room you see, which happens to be the custodian’s closet. it’s thankfully unlocked.

things were tense between you and peter on the way over, and it’s physically mirrored when you step into the room, air thick and smelling of lemon cleaning supplies. you tug on the string hanging down to turn on the light. it casts a faded glow, leaving you in mostly darkness. you sort of like it. this feels more intimate, which is fitting for what you’re both about to say.

neither one of you knows where to begin. peter’s question is ringing in the back of your mind, and you could touch on that, but there’s more to it than a simple yes or no. you don’t have to worry about it because peter gets his words out first.

“i think harry likes you, and i think you like him back,” peter restarts, already sounding deflated by what he came up with. “he doesn’t, and i don’t.” you take a step towards him. “he likes mj.” it’s peter’s turn to be shocked. the hint of a smile sets on your lips. “that’s what we were talking about. harry asked if he should take her to dinner after the game, and i said yes.”

this is going better than he expected.

“mj is the one who likes him, not me,” you reiterate and watch some life enter peter again, a tiny bit. he’s coming around, and he wants to believe you. his trust issues don’t. “but, you’re so... touchy with each other. the hugging the other day?” he mentions. you tilt your head to the side in amusement. “friends can’t hug?”

to be fair, you hugged peter yesterday. that’s a point rightfully shut down.

“he calls you pretty,” peter tries, raising both eyebrows. you have to laugh at this one. “you call may pretty.”

obviously, peter’s analysis skills could use some serious improvements. it sounds like he had the right idea, wrong person. your relationship with harry is platonic. hell, he’s crushing on a whole different person. this actually opens up the possibility of you liking peter in the romantic way, of him being in the something more zone. he had it backwards.

in case peter isn’t convinced yet, and because you really want to, you use one more trick to prove to him you don’t like harry.

“do me and harry do this?” your lips speak for you, colliding with peter’s unexpectedly yet easily. he feels like he’s floating, like he’s in some sort of magical wonderland until it hits him that this is real, and he should probably kiss you back. he does so softly and tangles his fingers in your locks. his hand supports the back of your head as the kiss goes on.

you push forward so your bodies are almost fused together, the closest you can be while you hold his jaw. peter breaks the kiss for a short breather, going back in without more than a moment passing. this one is feverish, his free arm looping around your lower back, hand resting on the small of it. you let out a giggle against his swollen lips and stroke your thumb over his jawline.

he’s been waiting to do this for the longest time, but he doesn’t have to tell you that. it shows in how eager he was to reciprocate, his shyness blossoming into passion. you feel yourself melting under his touch, the kiss eventually becoming a series of short pecks. peter gives you the final one. his pink lips form a grin when you pull apart. your hands stay on each other, not in a rush to go anywhere.

“woah, i like you so much,” peter laughs out. the words roll off his tongue naturally. “you know i like you,” you drawl, smiling at him, a full body smile while you caress his skin. he winds both arms around you and dips his head down to steal another kiss. you’re loving what’s happening. however, you don’t feel like making out while dirty brooms stare at you. you should take this back home.

“wanna get out of here? i do,” you suggest, voice muffled from his lips. they detach from yours and brush your cheek gently. peter makes a funny face. “hm, i thought we had to come. harry needs us,” he says what you did yesterday, earning a groan back. “you’re joking.” “i’m not. what kind of friends would we be, ditching him like that?”

he’s going to end you one day.

“yeah, no. i have no idea how basketball works, and i’d like to keep it that way,” peter drops the act, pressing his fingers into your sides. “i’ve been so mean to harry. i was...” “a dick?” you finish for him. it’s more of a statement than a question. to soften the blow, you rub his cheek with the tips of your fingers. “yup. he’s gonna think i hate him or something if we don’t stay.” his formerly smiley face is frowning.

“harry of all people will understand after we tell him our reasons,” you reassure him, nudging under his chin with your nose. “besides, he has other things to worry about. mj, the scout. it’s fine.” peter considers it, ultimately giving in to you like he always does, resting his forehead on yours. “i guess so. less distractions for him, yeah.” “exactly. that’s what i wanna hear.”

having his approval, you unwind yourself from him and head to the door. his fingers wrap around your wrist gently. “what about my popcorn?” a giggle escapes your lips. “you’re still on that?” “you said all i can eat!” his voice comes out high pitched, adorably high pitched.

“fine. i might have those bags you put in the microwave.” you smile when his fingers lock with yours, peter kissing the side of your head.

“even better. let’s go home.”

#peter parker #peter parker fluff #peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker smut #peter parker fic #peter parker fanfiction #tom holland #tom holland fluff #tom holland smut #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland fic #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland imagine

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ahtsumu · 4 years

Text

目送 ; oikawa tooru

「alt. title: five times oikawa didn’t look back and the one time he did」

↳ pairing: oikawa tooru x f!reader

↳ synopsis: you spend a lifetime watching him go, sometimes with your stomach tied in knots, sometimes with tears in your eyes, but always with love.

↳ genre(s): angst, fluff, basically an emotional rollercoaster, non-linear storyline

↳ warning(s): profanity, depiction of a panic attack, suggestive themes

↳ length: 5.4k words

↳ a/n: hq fam how we doing after 402 ?? LOL anyway this is my birthday gift to oikawa tooru: my sun, moon, and stars, second to none, yadda yadda. the title is taken from a book with the same name, in case you were wondering. please pay attention to the roman numerals ahead of each section!! enjoy!

“This is the last call for Japan Airlines flight 717 to Buenos Aires, now boarding at gate number twelve. This is the last call…”

Goodbyes are hard when you know they’re forever. Or at least a while.

The clamour of Haneda airport dims to a faint buzz as the two of you continue standing with touching shoulders–– facing the jetliner instead of each other–– in futile hopes of delaying the inevitable.

Oikawa knows that you’re holding in your tears by the light tremors running through your body. Permitting himself to steal a look at your side profile, he notices the familiar tensing of your jaw and hard-set look in your red-rimmed eyes.

Tch. You said you wouldn’t cry.

Impulsively, he unzips his backpack and pulls out a familiar turquoise banner. It feels like just yesterday the team handed him the silk fabric with everyone’s farewell gifts wrapped inside.

Out-of-sequence memories of the Spring High qualifiers flash through your mind. The orange-haired Karasuno player’s spike ricochets off Oikawa’s forearms. The numbers on both sides of the scoreboard slowly inch up like they’re taking turns. Oikawa’s white knuckles against the metal basin. Red eyes. Heaving chest. Something soft against your skin. Rule the Court.

And just like the last time, he gently drapes it over your shoulders, brushing his fingers against your neck as he does so. God, how he wants to kiss you.

“But it’s yours,” you protest weakly, making no move to give it back.

“It won’t be for a while.” His voice cracks when he speaks. But it will be mine again when I come back for it.

He wants to kiss you. One last time.

He wants your mouth against his like absolution to a sinner because he knows that what he’s done to you, what he’s doing to you right now, is comparable to desecration. But he remembers the look on your face that night he broke the news to you. How your megawatt grin caved into a wince when the length of his contract with Club Athletico San Juan finally registered in your mind.

You swallow your feelings of betrayal. You knew what you were getting yourself into.

“Five years is an awfully long time to be apart,” you say after a while.

Oikawa bites his lip. He doesn’t have the heart to say that five was just the starting number. If he does well there, he’ll probably stay longer. He’ll probably do well there. “You don’t have to wait for me.”

Seconds drag into minutes. The cavity in his stomach festers as he waits for your response, but he has a feeling that he already knows your answer.

So instead, all he can do when your floodgates finally burst open is cup your face in his calloused palms and wipe away some of your tears before offering you his own watery smile.

Through your blurred vision, you watch as the boy in front of you steels his resolve and disappears from your life through the jet bridge, ignoring his heart as it begs for one last look over his shoulder.

Oikawa nods numbly when the old man sitting beside him asks if he’s leaving home for the first time. Home, he realises, isn’t anywhere with walls, isn’t an address, isn’t even a person. When someone says they want to go home, it’s not a space that they yearn for, but rather, a time.

He watches Japan grow smaller through the window and feels himself yearn for the time he still had your heart in his hands. It felt like he was holding the sun.

You wouldn’t consider July 21st to be a special day. Nothing special happened earlier that morning when you woke up without your usual alarm. Nothing special happened when your friends texted you four simple words–– come to Azukihana beach!–– during breakfast. But (and this will come to you much, much later) something special happened when said friends left you to guard their things as they dashed to the supermarket for more snacks.

For now, it’s just July 21st, and you’re lying with your back against a towel on the first day of summer break, soaking in the sun, peacefully flipping through a book.

“DON’T FUCKING DO IT, YOU COLOSSAL PIECE OF SHIT!” The familiar voice tears through the beach. Was that Iwaizumi? You set the book down and sit up to check.

And suddenly, the yellow and blue volleyball that had been leisurely rolling your way halts perfectly before your toes. Behind it jogs a shirtless brunet you’ve definitely seen around school.

Oikawa Tooru stops right behind the runaway volleyball and peers at you through half-lidded eyes. “Sorry about that,” he says, flashing you a charming smile.

After casually picking up the ball with one hand, he flexes his abdominal muscles as he straightens back up. Chestnut irises attempt to discreetly sweep over your features but you catch his gaze in the act, quirking an unamused brow. You also catch the intrigued twitch of his lips that follow.

You’re not stupid. Despite having never met him, you know a lot about the Grand King (as many call him). He’s the constant subject of Iwaizumi’s ire and you’ve heard a lifetime’s complaints about him at joint-family luncheons.

But here’s what’s important: you know that he tears himself apart to be the player his team needs him to be, that he sometimes makes Iwaizumi wish he’d passed the Shiratorizawa entrance exam, and that he fiddles with hearts like origami and sets fire to those beautiful fragile trinkets right after.

And in the interest of self-defence (but against what the devil on your shoulder begs), you choose to not place your most prized possession on the table.

A simple “no worries” passes through your lips. You return to your book. A page turns.

Oikawa Tooru is dismissed.

Though your gaze is trained on the page, you can feel his presence at your feet for a few seconds longer. You wonder what his next move is. Much to your surprise, instead of trying to strike up another conversation, he simply lets out an airy hum and strolls back to the sand court where he came from without a second glance.

Iwaizumi wonders why Oikawa is smiling so victoriously after watching the whole ordeal, but your tan family friend has, unlike the calculating Grand King, failed to notice one important detail:

your book is upside down.

And, as if in a trance, your eyes have followed Oikawa all the way back to his sandy kingdom.

Once the sun has set, Iwaizumi checks his phone and notices a text he’d missed in the afternoon. It’s from Y/N. Unease digs itself in his chest when he realises it can’t possibly be for anything except…

hey what was that about?

This can’t be good. Thumbs rapidly typing a response, he races to quash any interest you may have budding in Oikawa. You… you’re good. Nice. Smart enough for UTokyo. A bit naive, but he’s been around your overbearing parents long enough to see it’s not entirely your fault. And even though you run in different circles at school, he feels obligated to protect you from monsters that hide beneath pretty surfaces. He’s known you since the two of you were in diapers.

just trash being what it is

Iwaizumi watches the three grey dots on your side appear, disappear, reappear, and disappear again. And that’s when he realises that he cannot help you. The villain in this arc of your story has already sunken his teeth in your tender, unsullied flesh.

trash?

He sighs.

oikawa

It isn’t a surprise to Iwaizumi when summer break ends and Oikawa’s chestnut eyes start hunting for someone in the cafeteria during lunch. He doesn’t raise a brow when he hears that the second-year captain has been sneaking into Class 7, sometimes with flowers in his hands, and strolling out with a dazed look on his face. He slaps his teammates out of shock when Oikawa mentions his troubles with pursuing some girl–– but not before slapping himself first. Because the Oikawa he knows is not a chaser.

“Her name’s Y/N,” the brunet says, suddenly realising that he has never introduced any of his temporary interests to the team. But it’s been well over two months and he’s starting to think he’s been friend-zoned. Or worse. “I think she hates me.” He laughs melodically, then cocks his head in contemplation. “Is it weird that I kinda like that?”

Iwaizumi hides a satisfied smile behind a sip of water. Oikawa’s revelation has cleared the unease your name brought to his chest. Just a little. Perhaps he’d misread you. You have a bite of your own.

iii.

It’s routine for Oikawa to slink into Class 7 with a dazzling grin during morning break, but he’ll sometimes show up with flowers instead just to remind you that his affections, along with his modus operandi–– haven’t changed since he first started visiting you in September.

The girls in your homeroom have grown used to seeing the six-foot-tall volleyball captain hovering around your desk like a butterfly. Most treat him as part of the scenery nowadays. To them, Oikawa Tooru is no longer the mysterious, out-of-reach deity the rest of the school still paints him to be.

So when he strolls into class on a chilly January afternoon with your name a tune on his lips, they leave him be. Recently, the ladies of Seijoh have focused their attentions on some fellow on the swim team, anyway. Oikawa doesn’t feel as upset as he thinks he should about his shrinking fan club, but when his gaze finds yours already steady, expectant, utterly adoring on him, he understands why.

“For the lady,” he says like he does every time. A cluster of yellow flowers wrapped in brown kraft paper plop onto your desk. He pulls a chair up to your side, purposely ignoring, again, how two certain grooves in the wooden floor keep growing deeper with his visits.

You remember the first time he started bringing you flowers.

A posy of pink flowers sits awkwardly on your desk, untouched.

“I tell you I’d rather take your serve to my face than attend the bunkasai with you and your response is to give me weeds?” you reply with your chin in the palm of your hands, amusement blossoming over your features.

“Stop being a tease, Y/N-chan, they’re flowers,” he huffs, crossing his arms on your desk. “And I know you want to take them. The florist even said I have immaculate taste.”

“Really? Then what do these mean?”

Oikawa falters.

“Hmm?”

“Pink camellias,” he finally says, carefully enunciating the flower's name, “means that you’re a fucking tease. And that you should come to the bunkasai with me.” You snort and tell him to quit volleyball and join comedy club, feeling a strange warmth in your chest when he laughs.

The two of you fall into the same rhythm as always, talking a little bit about this and that, throwing in witty remarks where they belong, never passing up the chance to make fun of each other’s little idiosyncrasies. He’s enraptured by the way you string words together to describe the story behind your class’s bunkasai performance and all the gears in your brain whirr when he explains the strategy he’s using against the team Seijoh’s playing later that day.

When the bell rings, he reluctantly drags his chair back to the desk he stole it from. Just before he slinks back out the door, though, you tell him with a stern gaze that the Ushiwaka from Shiratorizawa he just spent the break shit-talking doesn’t hold a candle to Seijoh’s Grand King.

It’s like you had just stepped under a new light. Oikawa pauses in front of the doorway, trying to decipher what it is that’s different about you. And suddenly, the roses in his cheeks are in full bloom. Delighted and puzzled at his own realisation, he turns around without a second glance your way and strides back to Class 5. Oh, man, he muses as he passes through the emptying corridor. Oh, man. Iwa-chan is going to love this.

Your phone buzzes later that evening.

seijoh v. shiratorizawa 1-2, the text reads, quickly followed by, GAH.

Your lips twitch, though it doesn’t reach your eyes. Tapping your fingers against your phone screen for a response that’ll cheer him up, you suddenly remember a phrase Oikawa said earlier that day. It drew a laugh from you when it came out his contorted face. He was obviously still hung up over with the words of the opposing team’s ace. Hopefully, it makes him feel something else coming from you.

you should’ve come to shiratorizawa, you send, grinning.

His response is immediate.

l m f A O

what flowers would you like at your funeral?

And then you’re reminded of his petalled gift on your desk, now comfortably sitting in a glass vase at your bedside. Pink camellias, he said? Curious, you open your laptop and type in the name for its meaning.

Longing, you remember, watching your boyfriend chatter about something–– probably aliens–– animatedly. The yellow flowers on your desk, you realise, are ones you’ve never seen before.

“Oikawa, what’s the name of these?” you suddenly ask. He stops in the middle of his sentence (he was definitely talking about aliens, by the way), and grins smugly.

“Jonquils,” he says with a mischievous glint in his eyes, “spelt J-O-N-Q-U-I-L-S, means that your boyfriend’s going to colonise Mars one day. And if you’re lucky, you can be the first queen of Mars. How ‘bout that?”

It doesn’t mean what he says it does, by the way.

ii.

Splashes of pink and orange have already settled into the blue sky above when you step onto the rooftop of Seijoh’s humanities building. Despite the breeze that has swept through the air, the flame of curiosity in your stomach burns just enough for you to turn a cheek to the cold.

Come to the rooftop at 6 PM.

It’s 5:59. Impatient, you study the note in your hand again. Maybe you’ll be able to glean something from the laconic letter this time.

Much to your irritation, no one had seen the author of this note. They had expertly placed the unsigned card on your desk with a single rose and Hershey’s chocolate kiss on top during lunch. Elegantly scrawled, their seven words have had your brain running circles all day around their identity. Could it be…? No–– he seemed completely normal earlier today. Still, you can’t shake your suspicions. They borderline hope.

Who else…

You inhale the cool air deeply and lean back against the rooftop railing, eyes burning a hole into the metal entrance. The door swings open with a high-pitched groan. Your breath catches in your throat.

… if not him?

Time briefly stops when Oikawa Tooru steps through the entrance, still in his volleyball uniform, sweaty from practice, cheeks the same colour as the setting sun. There’s an unusually tentative look on his face, though it’s immediately wiped off and replaced with the realisation that this is real when he sees you slightly slack-jawed, blinking once, twice, three times before letting out a breath.

“You look surprised. Expecting someone else to confess today?” he asks, crossing his arms in front of his uniformed chest. Despite how his features are contorted by his poorly hidden jealousy, you can’t help but feel a flood of blood rush through your veins, lighting every inch of your skin on fire.

Because whether he knows it or not, Oikawa, the Grand King of the Court, prettiest boy in all of Miyagi, has skipped the table and placed his heart straight into your hands.

“Of course not,” you retort. “I just didn’t think you’d… well, do something like this.” And I didn’t want to get my hopes up. Iwaizumi’s words still find their way into your mind sometimes. I didn’t want origami made from my heartstrings.

Oikawa’s demeanour changes and his eyes dart away from your face. Shoving his hands into his windbreaker’s pockets, he admits, “I’ve honestly never done something like this before.” A faint blush spreads across his cheeks.

“Really? You’ve never stepped foot in the fourteenth shrine of Sendai?” you tease, referring to how Seijoh students have claimed this very rooftop as one of the God of Love’s many temples. You both know he holds the school record for the number of visits to this rooftop. At this rate, he could be one of its caretakers.

“That’s not what I meant,” he replies with a scowl, though the awkward tension between you two dissipates. And it feels like the two of you are back at your desk in Class 7, snickering uncontrollably while throwing playful jabs at each other. Sensing the change in atmosphere, Oikawa finally steps forward to join you by the railing.

Humming softly, he rests his elbows on the metal bar, props his head up with his hands, and sets his gaze on the lowering sun.

It’d be unfair to say that you didn’t at least try to enjoy the moment of peace with the boy beside you. But there’s a burning question on your mind that you can’t put off asking any longer.

“Why me?” you finally blurt out. “You could have any girl in this school. What made you choose me?”

The brunet whips his head around, disbelief written all over his face. “You think I chose to chase after the most annoying girl in all of Miyagi?” He laughs. “Ridiculous. I’d never willingly put myself through that unnecessary angst.”

You scoff and cross your arms.

“I think that when you like someone, it’s harder to explain why,” he quickly adds. “‘Cause it’s not supposed to make sense. I bet that the inability to explain your feelings is a prerequisite for true feelings, actually. It’s logical to say that you’d date Person A because they’re smart, or Person B because they’re hot, or Person C because they’re rich. But I’m pretty sure that that’s not… that’s not falling for someone. When you fall for someone… you just do. No logic required. You weren’t an option I ultimately settled on, Y/N. One day I just woke up and thought, if not you, then no one else.”

A beat passes. A flurry of words floods through your brain, only to evaporate when the devil on your shoulder decides that words aren’t quite adequate for what you want Oikawa to hear.

So instead, your feet take you one step closer into his space. Impulsively, your fingers find their way to his nape and your eyes flutter shut and suddenly–– suddenly, your parted lips brush against Oikawa’s. Instantly, he deepens the kiss, soft lips surging against yours like a pulse under pressure. You barely register his arms snaking around your waist, tighter and tighter until the space between your bodies is completely closed off.

Breathless, you finally detach your lips from his. Oikawa, who still has you encircled in his arms, pouts at the loss of contact, though he sulky façade only lasts a second before it gives way to a grin that stretches from ear to ear. He looks magnificent. Cheeks red, lips flushed, chest heaving, eyes wide with excitement. You want to kiss him again.

“One more.” It’s as if he read your mind. “To celebrate that last one.”

When Oikawa finally detaches himself from your lips, it’s to respond to the buzzing in his pocket. Noticing your raised brows, he explains that it’s an alarm for practice. The Spring High Prelims are just around the corner and he doesn’t plan on graduating without never having taken his team to Nationals.

“That’s my cue,” he states with a warm–– read: not apologetic–– smile. He doesn’t grab your hand or look imploringly into your eyes in hopes that you understand, never mind that you just shared your first kiss, never mind that you just became his girlfriend.

If Oikawa’s looking for any sign of your objection, he won’t find any. Instead, you step out of his space with an acquiescent nod. You knew what you were getting yourself into.

“Play well,” you say softly.

But before he heads for the creaky rooftop door, he presses one last kiss to your lips. And then he turns around, whistling as he goes, leaving you beaming behind his back with the light of a thousand suns.

iv.

When Matsukawa hands you the turquoise “Rule the Court” banner after the team lunch with a shit-eating grin on his face, the only resistance you offer is a resigned sigh.

“I’ve been dating Oikawa since we were second years,” you say flatly.

“Sorry, Y/N-san, but it’s the team’s hazing ritual,” he replies, not appearing sorry at all. “And you’re the only one who hasn’t done it.” He jerks his head at the blonde girl standing a little farther from the group with Hanamaki. “Emiko-san did it at the last game.”

“Plus, it’s the Spring High qualifier semifinals!” Kindaichi adds. “It’s an even bigger deal for you to do it now, especially since you had to miss our games on the first two days for school.” The team murmurs in agreement.

You shudder at the thought of your impending distress. Sit in the front row of the cheer squad and raise the banner with a scream every time your boyfriend serves? Fleeing from the Sendai City Gymnasium back home in an expensive taxi suddenly becomes very appealing.

Seeing the expectant and hopeful looks on the rest of the team’s faces, however, you begrudgingly place the banner in your backpack, signalling your acceptance of the horrible, cringe-worthy tradition.

“Where is Oikawa-san?” Kindaichi asks, rotating his turnip-shaped head around rapidly. “He was just at the team lunch. Iwaizumi-san’s missing too…”

Kunimi shrugs, pulling out his copy of the team schedule. He starts herding the team towards one of the courts. “Our game against Karasuno starts about an hour, so we should start warm-ups in around fifteen minutes.”

Worry creeps up your spine. For the past few days, all Oikawa has talked about is this match against his bratty kouhai’s team. And in the past two weeks leading up to today, you haven’t been able to even catch a glimpse of his face outside of break or lunch. To suddenly go missing before warm-ups doesn’t seem like Oikawa. You’re about to ask the team if he’s ever done this before, but your phone starts ringing a familiar tune and the question is set aside.

“Iwai––”

“Third-floor bathroom by the orange pillar. Come alone. Don’t tell anyone. Emergency.” Through his harsh and abrupt tone, you pick up traces of fear.

“What––”

“It’s Oikawa.” The call is cut before you can ask any more questions. Heart suddenly racing, you tell the team that your mother just called with questions about your new smart blender and excuse yourself to “explain what the manufacturers mean by salsify”. No one sees you bolt towards the nearest set of staircases with Oikawa the only thought on your mind.

There are very few things in this world that scare you. Stray hairs in the bathroom, the dark, essays longer than three pages… but the terror that short-circuits your brain when you find your boyfriend in the bathroom–– knuckles white around the sink, chest heaving violently, frenzied pupils surrounded by broken blood vessels–– trumps any fear you’ve faced before.

Iwaizumi stands helplessly beside him.

“Is he having a panic attack?” you question, still unable to move your feet. You’ve never seen Oikawa like this before. He’s the Grand King who hums while he walks, who spams your phone’s camera roll with peace-signs and funny faces, who winks and flirts and teases without regard. But watching the long-deified setter crumble like a measly human before you, you realise that Oikawa is also the guy who tore his meniscus from overexertion, who trades sleep to study his opponents play, who works his body to the bone just to stay a hairline above a certain Karasuno setter.

“A scout for the Schweiden Adlers said that Kageyama will soon surpass Oikawa in skill.” Iwaizumi explains how they had overheard the conversation lowly in your ear. “I got us into this bathroom just before he completely lost it. 5-4-3-2-1 isn’t working. And he won’t listen to a word I say.” What’s 5-4-3-2-1? Well, if it isn’t working then don’t focus on that right now.

Your eyes dart to Oikawa’s quivering body again. “I don’t know how to pull someone out of a panic attack.”

“The goal is to ground him. So use physical touch, make him feel something with texture, and get him to talk,” he responds instantly. Mechanically. Like he’s all-too-familiar with this set of instructions. A heaviness grows in the pit of your stomach when you realise what that means for Oikawa. And yet, from that very dread sprouts strength.

Slowly, you tread over to Oikawa and place a hand on his arm. His muscles tense under your touch but when you murmur over and over that it’s “Y/N, your girlfriend, the most annoying girl in Miyagi”, his fingers loosen ever-so-slightly from the metal basin. He lets you lead him to the bench by the door. He lets you drape the Seijoh banner over his shoulders like it’s armour and wrap your arms around his waist. He lets you press your cheek to his sweat-drenched back.

Get him to talk.

“Remember that quote you showed me from that interview of yours? What was it again?” you question softly.

No response.

“If you’re going to hit it, hit it until it breaks,” you say into his ear.

Through the mirror, you see his eyes widen with recognition. In the brief moment of lucidity that washes over Oikawa’s glistening face, you repeat the original question again, followed by his own quote.

Again and again.

And Oikawa finally says back.

“If you’re going to hit it, hit it until it breaks.” Focus re-enters his gaze. He blinks as if just waking from a spell.

“That’s right,” you say as firmly as possible. “So don’t you dare break first, Tooru.”

An unreadable blend of emotions scrawls itself over his features. While Oikawa washes his face with cold water, you remember rumination and resolve but can’t decipher the rest, giving up anyway when Iwaizumi pushes open the bathroom door. When the light washes over Oikawa, his face shows no signs of the episode he just had. It’s just like how the sky moves on after a storm, how the sun beams to say, “I’m here now. The rain has gone.”

But sometimes it still rains in spite of the sun.

A sunshower. It sounds so beautiful. But it’s wonderfully sad.

The three of you wordlessly make your way to the court where the rest of Seijoh is likely getting ready to warm up. What are you supposed to say after that? What can you say?

Once the smell of air salonpas and sweat finally greets your nose, Oikawa slips the Seijoh banner off his back and hands it over to you. Guessing that’s your cue to leave, you tell him to play well like you always do before starting to head for the upper deck. Softly, Oikawa asks you to wait.

“Stay for warm-ups,” he adds. “Please.”

From your spot behind the Seijoh divider, you carefully watch for any signs of another breakdown. To your relief, he goes the entire half-hour without a single crack in his disposition, exchanging laidback grins with the team, bantering with Iwaizumi. At one point he even has the audacity to taunt the Karasuno setter Tobio-chan, as Oikawa often says with a sneer.

Sunshowers, Y/N. Sunshowers.

Just before the referees call for the teams to line up at their ends of the court, Oikawa jogs over to you, eyes folding into thin crescents when he smiles.

He pulls the Seijoh banner out from your hands and gingerly cloaks it around your shoulders. Oikawa presses a quick kiss to your lips and murmurs, “Thank you.” Something in face tells you that it’s supposed to mean more than gratitude. Before you can read more into it, he turns back around and jogs to the line where his team awaits. Oikawa grins ferally.

Knowing that your luminous eyes are fixed to his back like his own set of wings, the monster crows on the other side suddenly look more like humans.

vi.

Oikawa isn’t surprised that his text is still unopened. At twenty-seven years old, he’s had his fair share of dead-ends when it comes to love. But he hadn’t expected radio silence from you of all people.

After closing all the tabs of Team Japan’s latest matches, he powers off his laptop and checks his phone again to reread what he wrote to your old number one last time. Still nothing. It’s highly probable you’ve changed phone numbers at least once in the last nine years, but the disappointment’s still there after he powers his phone off for the night. Tomorrow’s a big day and he’s not the same victim of self-destruction he had been in high school.

Or so he thinks, realising that texting the last person he loved the night before the 2021 Olympics volleyball finals might have been slightly irresponsible on his part. A thought arises in his head, though he quickly quashes it. Asking Iwaizumi to pass the message along would be a little overboard, wouldn’t it? Oikawa chuckles, imagining he response he’d get from his best friend (and Team Japan’s team trainer, that traitor).

“Go the fuck to sleep or I’ll put you to sleep, you dumbass simp,” he hears in Iwaizumi’s gruff voice.

He convinces himself that you’ll be there like you’ve always been. After all, he’s spent a lifetime with your pair of watchful eyes on his back. Satisfied, he drifts into a dreamless sleep.

The volume in the Ariake Arena is astronomical. Blood pounds against his ears as he sets the ball in the air, a monstrous grin carving into his face when his teammate José spikes the set straight down the net, drawing a wave of oohs and aahs from spectators on both sides.

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes at the flashy Team Argentina setter and finishes taping up Ushijima’s arm.

Oikawa turns haughtily towards the opposite team, gaze zeroing in on Team Japan’s raven-haired setter and the shrimpy ginger beside him. It’s been a while since he last saw them this close in person–– the chance encounter with Hinata in Brazil happened well over three years ago and he hadn’t had the time earlier in the tournament to say hello. Of course they’re the final boss in this arc, he muses, though the thought is void of vexation. Instead, begrudging pride blossoms in his chest. Truthfully, he had expected nothing less from his kouhai.

And he expects nothing less than finally tasting the ambrosia of victory against that monster–– no, an entire generation of monsters–– today. Monsters who happen to be the kids he grew up beside.

He wonders what you’d say at the sight of Japan’s greatest players all gathered on one court. On instinct, his eyes dive into the bleachers, searching for your face. Knowing he’s not likely to find you like this, he tsks, deciding to look for Iwaizumi instead. Maybe he knows where you are.

The referees signal for both teams to line up at their ends of the court. As he steps onto the white boundary line, he notices Iwaizumi’s gaze transfixed on someone in the upper deck on Team Argentina’s side. The neutral expression on his face morphs into shock, then recognition. And then he glances at Oikawa.

The latter’s brows furrow before everything clicks in place.

Who else…

All your memories together hit him at full force–– your face shimmering with tears in front of gate twelve in Haneda Airport, the feeling of your shallow breaths against his neck, the savvy lilt to your voice as you speak.

… if not her?

For the first time in his life, Oikawa Tooru looks behind his shoulder.

And there you are, leaning against the railing with the old Seijoh flag draped over your shoulders, a tender, splendid smile on your lips.

“Play well,” you mouth.

And Oikawa feels the sun rise back into his hands.

3K notes · View notes

the-scarlet-witch-22 · 3 years

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Chaconne: Part 2 (Agatha Harkness x Fem!Reader)

Summary: After auditioning for who is often considered to be the world’s scariest conductor, you begin working for Agatha Harkness and the Manhattan Symphony Orchestra.

Word Count: 4.9K

Link: Dvorak’s New World Symphony: Movement 4 (Performed by the Vienna Philharmonic)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pGdtkUiKaA8

A/N: Hi everyone! I’m back with part two of Chaconne. I’ve included another link to the fourth movement of Dvorak in case anyone would like to listen, (it’s one of my favorite recordings and I definitely recommend it) but if classical music isn’t your jam I understand. Also, I would like to warn this is going to be major slow burn, but I promise there is a light at the end of the tunnel...eventually. Part 3 should be uploaded in a few days! I hope all of you enjoy it, and as always please feel free to leave a comment :) Oh! Also I think I’m going to make a taglist for this story, so if you would like to be added just comment or send me a message.

A week later marked the first symphony rehearsal of the season. You had barely seen Agatha all day. The woman was running from meeting to meeting with investors and the board so she had given you small tasks to complete in her absence. You were busy rearranging the small personal music library she kept in her office when there was a knock on the door.

“Come in,” You called out as you began sorting through the Baroque Era.

The door opened a moment later and you were glancing at a few different scores when you heard someone clear their throat. Looking up, you saw Wanda Maximoff standing in the doorway.

“Well hello there,” Wanda drawled out, clearly looking surprised. It took you a second to wonder why until you realized you were in Agatha’s office. “You’re not Agatha.”

You let out a nervous laugh. “No...um, no I’m not. I’m Agatha’s new assistant, Y/N.”

Wanda gave you a curious glance. “Her assistant,” she mused, taking a step further into the office. “Does she treat you well?”

You shrugged. “She feeds me a few times a day, buys me coffee. It could be a lot worse.”

Wanda chuckled. “Well it is very nice to meet you. I’m Wanda Maximoff.”

“I know who you are,” You blurted out before realizing how creepy that may have sounded. Glancing at Wanda, you were relieved that she seemed more amused than anything else. “I mean, it’s such a pleasure to meet you, Miss Maximoff. I’m a huge fan of yours.”

“Call me Wanda,” The pianist insisted. “You’re sweet. I’m surprised Agatha hasn’t had you running for the hills.”

You felt strangely defensive over the criticism regarding Agatha. “She really isn’t bad. I’m learning so much from her.”

Wanda looked surprised but smiled nonetheless. “You’re a very sweet girl, aren’t you? Do you know when Agatha will be back?”

“Um...” You trailed off and tried to remember when Agatha said she would be done. “It might be a while.”

“I don’t mind waiting,” Wanda said confidently, taking a seat in a leather chair. “I can keep you company.”

So you spent the next half hour sorting through music. At some point Wanda had offered to assist you, and although you assured her you were fine, she insisted. Which is how you found yourself discussing your favorite eras of music with one of your favorite musicians.

“Well isn’t this cozy,” Agatha’s voice rang out from the doorway causing you to jump.

The conductor had a scowl on her face and you could practically see the anger seething out of her. Wanda, on the other hand, smiled brightly at Agatha. “Agatha, so lovely to see you again. I was just getting to know your assistant. She’s a delight.”

Agatha glared at the woman, before giving you a quick once over. “Of course she is. What are you doing in my office, Maximoff? We aren’t rehearsing with you until next week.”

Wanda shrugged, not phased by the other woman’s attitude. “I thought I would stop by to catch up. It’s been a while since we’ve worked together.”

Your eyebrows furrowed at that. When did Agatha and Wanda work together? Agatha certainly had a lot of negative thoughts regarding the younger woman, so it would make sense that they had worked together at some point. You were just surprised Agatha never brought it up during one of her many long ‘Maximoff Rants.’

“I’m very busy,” Agatha replied, appearing to grow angrier with every word that came out of the red head’s mouth. “Right, dear?”

At first you wondered who she was talking to, until you noticed the pointed look she was giving you. You offered Wanda a polite smile before slowly heading over towards your boss. “Of course, Miss Harkness. You have to leave for your meeting with potential new investors and then we have to discuss new programs and publicity posters before rehearsal this evening.”

“I see,” Wanda was giving both of you a look that suggested she knew you were lying. “Well I should be on my way then. Lovely seeing you again Agatha, and it was a pleasure to meet you, Y/N,” she said sweetly as she gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze on her way out of the office.

Once she was gone, Agatha all but slammed the door shut and your eyes widened at how angry she appeared.

“What did she say to you?” Agatha asked curiously eyeing you.

You shrugged, because Wanda didn’t really say anything to you. At least not anything important. “Nothing really. She asked who I was, insisted she wanted to wait for you to come back, and then she offered to help me sort through the music.”

“I didn’t realize the work I gave you was so complex it required a second set of hands,” Agatha spat out as she slowly moved closer to you, and you wondered what you said to get that reaction.

“It wasn’t,” you argued, feeling your temper grow and getting more flustered as Agatha moved even closer to you. “She was just being nice.”

Agatha huffed and stalked back to her desk. “Fine. She was just being nice. Now no more talk of Maximoff. I’m starting to get a migraine.”

“I’ll go get you some tea,” You offered, as you had become more familiar with the conductor’s frequent stress migraines.

Agatha merely nodded and began sorting through her scores for rehearsal and you set off to brew some tea in the kitchen. You brushed off her strange behavior as the anger that came with seeing Wanda Maximoff.

The rest of the afternoon passed by smoothly. Agatha eventually told you to go home for a few hours despite your protests to stay. She was still a tad bit grumpy from her run in with Wanda, so she all but shoved you out the door and said if she saw you back here before 6:00 that she would make sure it would be your last time attending rehearsal.

Finding yourself back at the concert hall an hour before rehearsal started, you made your way to Agatha’s office and used the key she had given you to let yourself in. You had to grab the boxes filled with folders of music, as well as Agatha’s scores and her favorite baton. Your eyes scanned the dozens of identical batons that the older woman had before you found the one she requested you grab.

There weren’t many personal items in Agatha’s office. Granted she had only been here for around a month, but still. It was basically bare, save for a few photos of her pet bunny, Señor Scratchy. You had often wondered what the conductor did when she wasn’t here, but you had never felt comfortable enough to ask. Agatha was...private, and while you respected her privacy a part of you wondered what she was like when she wasn’t in scary conductor mode.

A quick glance at the clock alerted you to head to the hall before the players started to arrive. You quickly locked up the office before hurrying through the building, arms filled with boxes.

“I should’ve brought these in before I left,” You mumbled out loud as you balanced the boxes in one hand to unlock the stage door with your other hand.

“Well yes dear, but that would’ve required thought,” Agatha said with a smirk as she came up from behind you.

You cursed and jumped, glaring at the woman who scared you half to death. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

Agatha held the door open for you and shrugged in response as you passed her. “It’s not my fault you’re so easy to scare.”

“You’re evil,” You told her, but your tone was teasing. “And you’re early.”

“It’s my first rehearsal, I want to be prepared,” Agatha explained but you knew her well enough to know what that meant.

“It’s okay to be nervous, you know,” You said reassuringly as she grabbed one of the boxes from you to set on the stage.

Agatha scowled and gave you a dirty look. “I am not nervous. I’m Agatha Harkness. I don’t get nervous.”

“Right and you’re also nothing like Wanda Maximoff, right?” You fired back, enjoying the glower she gave you.

Agatha huffed. “I liked it better when you were afraid of me.”

You laughed as you began placing the folders on their respective stands. “I was never afraid of you. I was afraid of disappointing you.” And you were still afraid of disappointing her, but you would never vocalize that.

Agatha gave you a look you couldn’t decipher before she helped you with the folders. “Where’s your violin?”

“In your office,” You reminded her. “Remember, I told you I was leaving it there until after rehearsal?”

“Well how are you going to play in,” She checked her watch, “Fourty-five minutes without an instrument?”

You stared at her in shock. “But...but I thought I didn’t get the first violin spot?”

“You didn’t,” Agatha admitted. “But I haven’t hired anyone else and I still need to update our sub list. So there will be an empty chair for rehearsal.”

“Which means?” You pressed, needing to hear the words from her.

Agatha rolled her eyes. “Needy as ever for the praise I see. Grab your instrument and get your ass on stage in ten minutes before I change my mind.”

You practically skipped off stage, not believing what you were hearing. You were going to perform with the Manhattan Symphony! Sure it was just a rehearsal, and the first rehearsal at that, but you didn’t care. You were on cloud nine and nothing could bring you down.

By the time you returned with your instrument, some of the players had started to arrive. You recognized a few of the violinists from different gigs you had played over the past couple of years. Scanning the stage, you spotted Agatha in one of the first rows in the audience, drinking a bottle of water. She noticed you staring and motioned for you to come join her.

You set your case down next to her bag. “Thank you for letting me play in rehearsal today.”

“Why are you thanking me?” Agatha questioned, looking at you with curiosity. “I need a violinist for today’s rehearsal. You’re my assistant who will do whatever you can to please me. It’s common sense.”

You rolled your eyes at her but smiled nonetheless. “You really can’t let me be nice, can you?”

Agatha laughed and patted you on the arm. “You’re finally catching on, dear. Now get on stage and warm up. I can’t have my assistant embarrassing me in front of the entire ensemble.”

You did as you were told and sat in the last chair of the first violin section. The other members of the ensemble gradually made their way to their respective seats to begin warming up, and Agatha stayed at her spot still drinking her water. Your stand partner eventually made their way over to you and smiled.

“Hi, I’m Monica,” the woman said politely as she sat in the chair next to yours.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Y/N,” you replied with a small smile. “Have you been with the symphony for a while?”

“This is my fifth season,” Monica replied with a shrug. “Should be a little more interesting with Harkness in charge at least.”

You vaguely remembered the rumors that the last music director had been voted off by the board due to his age, but you couldn’t remember his name.

“Yeah, she’s really great,” You said happily. Monica gave you a curious glance. “I’m actually her assistant.”

Monica raised her eyebrows at that revelation. “Oh, wow. What’s that like?”

You shrugged, and noted that was the second time someone had that reaction. “Pretty standard I guess.”

“I was wondering who she hired for the section after cancelling the blind auditions,” Monica admitted. “She gave those violinists quite a scare.”

“Well I’m not hired for this,” You quickly backtracked. “She just hadn’t filled the seat and she needed a sub for today so-“

Monica laughed. “Hey, it’s okay. I get it. It’s nice to have you here. I’m sure you’ll do great.”

A few minutes later, the chatter and warming up abruptly stopped when Agatha took the podium. The ensemble stared at their new conductor, curious as to how she would start their first rehearsal. Instead, Agatha raised her baton and the ensemble lifted their instruments in preparation.

“Movement four of Dvorak,” Agatha said and allowed everyone a moment to flip to the respective movement.

She raised her baton again and you felt a rush of adrenaline as you waited in anticipation for her to begin. Over the past few weeks you had studied Agatha’s conducting technique. Watching her move her hands in formation was so beautiful, she was easily the most skilled conductor you had ever observed. Her eyes raked over the ensemble and landed on yours, and with a smirk she gave the upbeat to begin.

Dvorak’s New World Symphony was one of the first full symphonies you remembered playing back in your high school youth symphony. It was breathtaking, full of colorful phrases and swirling melodies in every movement that left both the player and listener eager for more. The fourth movement seemed to tie it all together.

Despite it being the first rehearsal, the ensemble played relatively well. Agatha was mindlessly conducting, her gaze fixated on different ensemble members, and you knew she probably had so many quick witted insults stewing in her brain. You meanwhile couldn’t keep your eyes from watching her conduct. Sure, watching old videos of her conducting different orchestras was great, your personal favorite was of her performance conducting Tchaikovsky’s 4th Symphony with The Chicago Symphony. You also loved sitting in her office and watching her get lost in her scores, seemingly oblivious to your gaze locked on her baton and the way her fingers seemed to have a mind of their own.

But this...this was pure beauty. It was like she was painting a canvas using her baton as a paint brush. Even with her gaze focused elsewhere, she knew the score backwards and forwards and you saw her give every cue without even taking a second to glance down at the music. It was magical; she was magical.

The movement progressed and you had reached one of you favorite spots. There was a phrase transition that featured a slow and melodic theme that was passed throughout the orchestra. It started in the winds and you smiled at the serene sounds of the oboe that featured accompaniment from the strings before the melody was eventually passed to the violin section. While most violinists enjoyed playing fast and thrilling passages that left their fingers aching and bow arm sore, you had always secretly preferred the sweeter themes, the soaring melodies that kept growing and filled your heart with so much warmth.

Closing your eyes to play a passage you had long ago memorized, Dvorak had always been a favorite, you took a second to enjoy the unique feeling that every musician shared. Making music was an intimate experience. The ability to bring together dozens of people from different walks of life. To put aside any problems from everyday life and just take those brief moments to focus on nothing but their craft. Your happiest memories were of the time you spent in orchestra rehearsals. All of the hard, and sometimes grueling, work that went into perfecting each measure and making sure each section played as one giant instrument. All of it was worth it once you made it to the performance, and you swore there was nothing that could bring you more bliss than a live performance.

The movement progressed and Agatha was fully in her element. The woman was the most confident conductor you had ever encountered. Sure, she was a bit...cocky...but she had every right to be. This was the only first rehearsal you had ever attended where the conductor had effortlessly led the ensemble through tempo changes and cues without any faults.

With a whirlwind of fast passages and high notes that had you breathless, you reached the grand finale. You would occasionally glance up to check you were following Agatha’s tempo, and it took everything in you to not keep your gaze entirely fixated on her.

Agatha left her baton raised for a moment before finally lowering it, and you could tell by the passive look on her face that she was not pleased. “Well that was disappointing. Have any of you played in an ensemble before today?”

Directing her gaze to the principal flutist, she waved her hand. “And don’t even get me started on the mess over here. Are you trying to make my ears bleed? I’ve heard first graders who have a better tone than you.”

The principal flutist frowned. “With all due respect Maestra, it’s our first rehearsal and we’re a little rusty.”

“Did I ask for excuses?” Agatha questioned, and you knew the rest of rehearsal would only be downhill from there. If there was one thing Agatha Harkness hated it was excuses. “What’s your name?”

“Dottie Jones.”

“Well, Dottie,” Agatha sneered. “Since you apparently know more than I do, why don’t you come up here and conduct?”

Well shit. You didn’t see that coming. You glanced over to Monica and found she had the same shocked expression on her face as you did.

“Maestra I don’t-“ Dottie tried to argue, and you couldn’t help but feel a small amount of pity for the woman because you knew Agatha always got what she wanted.

“Now!” Agatha yelled and threw her baton on the stand. “Let’s see what you can do.”

“Is she always like this?” Monica whispered to you and you shrugged.

That was a good question. In the few weeks you worked for Agatha, you had grown used to her intense presence and ever changing mood swings. You would never admit it to her face, but you actually found it kind of charming in a weird and twisted sort of way, because you knew Agatha only acted this way to assert her dominance. The music world had predominantly been led by men. The vast majority of the most famous and beloved composers were men. For the majority of your playing career the conductors you encountered were men. Hell, even the majority of symphony orchestras had male concert masters.

“She likes to keep things interesting,” You whispered back while keeping your gaze locked on the scene occurring on the podium.

Dottie had reluctantly made her way through the ensemble to stand on the podium where Agatha stood to the side with her arms folded across her chest.

“Any day now, Dottie,” Agatha mocked and you grimaced. Not even a half hour in and she had already lost her temper.

To Dottie’s credit she appeared relatively calm as she picked up the baton Agatha threw on the stand. The orchestra readied themselves to begin, but you kept your gaze locked on Agatha. What was she playing at?

Dottie gave the upbeat and the opening notes of Dvorak rang out. The flutist was a decent conductor, but you knew it was a losing battle. Her technique was nowhere as refined as Agatha’s and you could tell she was trying her best to keep the ensemble from falling apart. You made it through ten bars before Agatha made her way to the podium and raised one hand, and everyone immediately stopped.

“Well Dottie what do you think?”

“I think I should go back to my seat and leave the conducting to you,” Dottie offered weakly.

Agatha arched an eyebrow. “Ah. I see.” She waited for Dottie to sit back down before continuing. “Some of you may find my methods crazy. Some of you may say that I’m too mean, that I’m pushing you too hard. However, there is a reason for all of this.”

She pointed her baton at the principal oboe. “You? What’s your name?”

“Oh, um...” The man stammered and Agatha rolled her eyes.

“Name!”

“Jimmy Woo.”

“Jimmy Woo,” Agatha repeated with a frown on her face. “How long have you been with the symphony?”

“This is my third season, Maestra,” Jimmy said with a smile.

Agatha nodded. “I need to hear more of you. We need to work on your projection to come over the strings without making it too nasally. Not bad for the first rehearsal, Woo.”

“Thank you, Maestra.”

“Now Woo, how would you say the past three seasons have gone?” Agatha prompted.

“Maestra?” Jimmy asked, appearing confused by the question.

Agatha let out a huff. “How have you felt the orchestra has performed for the past three seasons, Woo?”

“You want my honest opinion, Maestra?”

You watched Agatha tense up and you internally sighed. Another thing Agatha hated was pointless questions.

“No, Woo, I want you to change into a tutu and do pliés,” Agatha dryly commented.

Jimmy let out a bit of nervous laughter which quickly ended when Agatha glared at him. “Right. Well, I guess I feel like we’re losing our touch.”

“That’s putting it lightly. Thank you, Woo,” Agatha said before turning her attention to the rest of the ensemble. “The Manhattan Symphony was once the world’s finest orchestra. But all of you have gotten too comfortable. You’ve stopped making music and now are simply playing notes on a page. You’ve gotten lazy.”

There we go. The third thing Agatha hated. Laziness. You swore the woman was constantly on the move. There was one Friday afternoon where you had suggested taking a half day to enjoy the sunshine, which led Agatha to go on a twenty minute long rant (you timed it) that you could enjoy the sunshine when you were dead in a grave. Needless to say, you never asked to leave work early again.

You watched the conductor place her baton on the stand and wave her arms around. “I want this orchestra to regain its rightful place on top of the musical community. But this is going to require work from every single individual in this room. So, this is your first and only warning. If you are not going to put your entire soul into this orchestra, consider this your last rehearsal. Everyone is replaceable and I promise you will not be missed.”

You raised your bow to signal you had a question. Agatha’s head whipped around to look at you, and you could practically see the gears turning in her head. “Something you wish to add?”

“And if we stay?” You asked, thinking back to the very same question you asked her the day of the audition.

That earned you a smile so small it was almost impossible to see, and it went away as quickly as it appeared. “If you choose to stay, I am going to work you hard. I don’t want to hear any whining or complaints, only promises to do better. Are we clear?”

Silence from the room was taken as a yes. Agatha raised her baton. “Good. Flip to measure 21. Woo I want to work on your entrance. First violins, I know you love being the center of attention but you need to follow the dynamics on the page, circle them if you must. Flutes please try to not to fuck up your eighth notes otherwise I will make sure the only orchestra you play for is in the middle of Antartica.”

The rest of rehearsal went better than it started. Agatha was her usual slightly snarky self, and the rest of the ensemble was learning not to question her. You went to pack up your instrument when Monica motioned for you to come join her.

“I’m not sure if you have any plans but a few of us are going to get drinks if you want to join,” Monica offered and you were touched by her kindness.

“That’s so sweet but I’m actually pretty tired,” You said apologetically. Which was partially true, but you also wanted to make sure Agatha went home and didn’t stay cooped up in her office all night.

“Well if you change your mind, shoot me a text,” Monica insisted as she handed you her phone to put in your contact information. She took the phone back and sent you a message. “There’s my number.”

You thanked her again before heading over to where Agatha was silently stewing. A quick glance at her confirmed that she was still in a bad mood and you chose to silently pack up your instrument while shooting her quick and cautious glances.

“I can feel you staring,” Agatha finally looked up at you. “I want to redo the string parts for Maximoff’s piece. We need to fix a few of the bowings. I want everything to be set for our first rehearsal with her.” She noticed your hesitation. “Unless you have other plans.”

“Oh no, my dream Friday night is being holed up in your office marking Rachmaninoff,” You joked and grinned when she rolled her eyes.

“Funny, dear. Very funny,” Agatha deadpanned, motioning for you to follow her. “But I don’t pay you to make jokes.”

An hour later you were done with the bowings while Agatha had spent the time reading a book. She had a pair of glasses on and her feet were up on her desk, it was the most relaxed you had ever seen her.

“You’re finished?” Agatha asked, not looking up from her book. “Good,” she said and slammed the book closed. “Now, we didn’t get a chance to do this earlier due to my Maximoff induced migraine, so grab that violin and come with me. I want to see how relaxed your bow hold is after rehearsing.”

“Actually, I was going to suggest that we call it a night?” You asked tentatively, gauging her reaction. “You’ve had a long day and-“

“And what? I’m so old I need to be in bed before ten?” Agatha inquired, slowly taking off her glasses.

“You’re not old,” You blurted out and Agatha smirked at you. Blushing, you looked at the floor. “But maybe it would do you good to get some rest?”

“Trying to give me orders again, darling?” Agatha teased and even though you weren’t looking at her, you knew she was still smirking. “I’m not so sure I like that.”

“You really shouldn’t say things like that,” You mumbled whilst Agatha laughed.

“Whatever you say, dear,” Agatha said. “If it will get you to shut up, I’ll call it a night and go home. But I expect you back here tomorrow morning so we can make up our session. We’re finally starting to crack the surface of your true potential and I won’t have you wasting it because you need to sleep.”

You had waited for Agatha to pack up her bag and followed her out of the building. This was the first time you had left at the same time as the older woman. She usually sent you on your way long before she was ready to head out for the evening. She had her town car waiting for her out front, and she frowned as she watched you prepare to walk home.

“You’re not planning on walking alone at this hour are you?” Agatha questioned and looked at you like you were an idiot.

You shrugged. “I only live a few blocks away.” Which was a bit of a lie, but she didn’t have to know that. “And if anyone gives me a hard time I can just whack them with this.” You motioned to your hard case violin.

“You’re an idiot if you think I’ll allow you to wander the streets like a lost little puppy,” Agatha reprimanded you. “Get in the car.”

“I’m not getting in your car,” You argued. “I’ll be fine.”

“Darling I’m not going to tell you again. Get in the car,” Agatha repeated and then smirked. “Unless you’d rather I drag you kicking and screaming.”

You glared at her. Damn her for making everything sound so...suggestive. “Fine.”

“Good girl,” Agatha said as you followed her in the car, and she patted the seat next to hers. “Now where do you live?”

You gave her driver the instructions to your apartment and then made yourself comfortable in the car. There was a few minutes of awkward silence which you spent staring out the window, and Agatha spent staring at you.

“Ya know, you usually call me out for staring at you,” You finally spoke up, the silence starting to eat away at you.

“I am not staring at you,” Agatha lightly argued before changing the subject. “I never asked how you thought I did tonight.”

“What?”

Agatha frowned at you. “How do you think I led the rehearsal?”

That was new. Over the past few weeks Agatha had never asked you for your opinion on anything regarding her conducting, because why would she? Agatha was the most confident person you had ever met, and a part of you was envious at how she presented herself to the world.

You took a moment to glance over at her and found yourself staring into bright blue eyes. “I...I thought you were brilliant. But, you were a little too nice. I don’t think I saw anyone cry.”

Agatha’s expression lightened and you felt your heartbeat grow rapid at the sight of her smile. “Still making jokes, darling? Perhaps I’m going too easy on you.”

The rest of the car ride fell back into a more comfortable silence, and before long Agatha’s driver pulled up to your modest but nice apartment building.

You grabbed your violin case and offered Agatha a small smile. “Thank you for giving me a ride home.”

“Thank Hank, he did the driving.”

“Right,” You frowned. “Well, goodnight.”

Agatha briefly touched your arm as you went to exit the car, and you felt goosebumps at the sensation. “Goodnight, dear. I’ll see you in the morning.”

#agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness #agatha wandavision #wandavision au #wandavision #marvel au #agnes x reader #agatha harkness x you

243 notes · View notes

shipwreck-letters · 2 years

Text

[Chess] (Casimir x Finch) Monster Manor Ficlet

Summary; Finch and Casimir play chess, and Casimir is hit with a wave of nostalgia circa 1750

Read it on AO3!

Reblogs appreciated!

Abzu's Notes: It's missing Casimir hours; I've been wanting to do something like this for weeks, but I was afraid of being cringe; I still am, but I'm kinda happy with this fic! So I hope you'll find it cute too!

****

Holding onto memories was like trying to hold ice; Melting, with only the sting of the cold biting your hands. And Casimir's hands were frozen as he grasped snow, trying so hard to hold onto it. So much, that he forgot to notice how beautiful the snow really was.

Finch's face morphed from confusion to straight horror as Casimir calmly set forth a chess piece, and they slouched back into their chair while he chuckled.

"I do believe that's check-mate, Finch." He said with a grin.

"Best of...Seven?"

"Hah!" Casimir actually laughed, and Finch's face lit up in dark red while he reset the table. "Are you prepared to lose that many times now?"

"I think I got the hang of it this time!" Finch pouted, kicking their feet idly. "Hard to learn if I don't lose a few times, right?"

"But...Five in a row-"

"Does not make you the chess master! I'll get my day, one of these days."

Casimir hummed, shaking his head softly. "I would not consider myself a master of anything. But a board like this, I have a lingering memory of from my childhood."

"This exact one?"

"Heavens, no- I was not able to move here with more than the clothes on my back. But-" Casimir set forward his pawn. "This design, the stars and decor in the wood, reminds me of home, is all."

Finch thought for a long while, and slowly prodded forward their piece. Casimir played immediately after. "Who would you play with? Do you remember? Were they as terrible a player as me?"

"Mm..." Casimir trailed off into silence, but still played with ease. He frowned down at the table in deep thought, trying very hard to remember.

"My brothers, when the time allowed. My mother, occasionally. And...Someone else... who I cannot recall so well anymore."

"Oh?" Finch tilted their head. "Were they a friend?"

"Perhaps, yes." Casimir mumbled, frustrated that he couldn't remember. Admittedly, memories came and went like phases of the moon, but--

"I played with them frequently, is all I remember. They were a jovial presence, kind. But I'm afraid I lost the rest of their details over time."

"Maybe they'll come back around, now that you're playing again. I'd love to hear more about them." Finch played, and grinned when they moved.

"Oh--I got one!"

"You'll need a few more than that to win, Finch."

Casimir reached over and moved, taking Finch's knight with him. "Many, many more."

Finch deflated, groaning. "Damn it."

The more they played, the more restless Finch became, until Casimir was leaned over staring down at the board, and Finch was lying nearly upside down in the chair.

"Where are all your pieces going??" Casimir blinked owlishly. "It's--They're disappearing."

"That must mean I'm winning, right?" Finch flashed a toothy grin, and Casimir glanced up to meet their eyes.

"Hey, Casimir!"

A much younger, human nobleman glanced up from the table, still wondering just how in the hell half his chess pieces had just...Vanished.

And they pointed over his shoulder quickly. "Look! It's a hawk about to eat that rabbit! Hurry and look!"

When Casimir spun around, scanning the garden, all he saw was visitors touring the bright green topiary, the exotic flowers thriving in the Summer weather.

"Keep looking! Definitely don't turn around right now-"

And then he heard a clatter--Casimir whipped around to catch dozens of knights, rooks and pawns tumbling out of their pockets, and a sheepish look on their frozen face.

"Ahah- You, uh, you saw the bird, right?"

Casimir shook his head with a sigh. "I saw a finch. I also saw someone failing terribly, desperately even, to win."

They pointed a finger, and with their gestures another piece rolled off with a thud. "Hate the game, not the player."

"You're not even playing!"

"This is playing! It's a new version--And that means I'm winning, right?"

The House rattled Finch's chair, and all the pawns tumbled out of their jacket, much to their disapproval.

"Aw, come on! Whose side are you on, anyway?"

Casimir laughed, reaching out to steady their chair with a hand on its armrest; Hovering just a few inches away from them.

"The justice of the winning side, I believe. It's alright," He chuckled, sitting back. "Perhaps you'll have to teach me this version of your game."

Finch smiled, reaching across the board to capture Casimir's king. "Did anyone ever play with those game changing moves?"

Casimir blinked, and when he looked at Finch, their sweet grin, and the way they flicked the king across the tiles...

"It...does sound familiar." He admitted quieter, feeling a dull, throbbing ache in his chest.

"It does?" Finch said in surprise, picking up the pieces to set them again. "Great minds think alike, then."

They finally sat back, and noticed the growing, forlorn expression on his face. "Is everything okay? Should we take a break?"

"N-No! No, I- My apologies, I was only lost in thought again. I, ah..." He blushed, running a hand through his hair, at a loss for words.

"Hey, don't worry!" Finch shrugged, nudging Casimir's foot with their own. "Let's play one more time. I think I'm coming around to this game. I might even beat you this time!"

"Oh, really now?" Casimir raised an eyebrow, but he couldn't hold back an amused smile. "Best of seven, then."

They picked up a chess piece, and with a last remaining king, hopped across the square tiles to check-mate it.

"I can't believe I'm allowing this."

"But you are because you love me."

Casimir sat back and looked over them with a fond gleam in his eye, as they smiled and picked up the pieces. He was pretty certain that he truly did love them, but for some reason, the confession never came. It seemed like it would be a lifetime waiting for the perfect moment to whisper it to them.

A lifetime it would seem, or perhaps two hundred years.

#monster manor #fictif monster manor #casimir gevaudan #fictif #fictif games #fanfiction #abzu's writing #i also know next to nothing about chess so i really tried to keep it vague #can you tell lol

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extratragic · 3 years

Text

birthday girl

warning: blood, mentions of an injury. nothing graphic but the mc gets injured.

summary: Joel ends up taking care of you on your birthday

word count: 2.5k

a/n: i felt like i needed to post a sweet joel fic after the not so sweet thots i’ve had today :) anyway this is my first hockey fic so pls don’t be mean lol i’m sensitive. also i went through like six gifs cause i couldn’t decide on one lolol

Being with Joel was weird. Not a bad weird, but your relationship was difficult to explain. The quick version was that you were dating without the labels. That was your choice, though, not Joel's. If he had it his way, the two of you would be coming up on your eight-month anniversary.

You were the massage therapist for the Flyers. Well, the assistant massage therapist. It was more like being an intern, but you got paid. Becoming certified wasn't hard and it didn't take long, and it really did help that Martin Roza, the Flyers massage therapist, was a family friend. You’d been with the Flyers longer than Joel had been in the NHL, and you didn’t want a relationship to mess with your reputation. You were older than Joel by four months. Today was actually your twenty-second birthday, and Martin, along with the training staff, decided that your present was going to be you staying with them on the bench that night.

Everything was going great until halfway through the second period.

Travis was a few feet in front of the boards separating the guys from the ice, and one of the Buffalo players skated up to him. You couldn't tell who had the puck or where it was going until it hit you.

You didn't even process it until your hand was on your jaw and you were facing Martin. You could feel the blood on your palm.

"Tunnel, tunnel!" You said, stumbling over your feet as you tried getting away from the bench.

Raffa quickly put his arm around your shoulders and helped you walk away. You had to get out of Joel's sight, at least. He worried about you a lot and he wasn't shy about letting you know how much he hated seeing you hurt. When the two of you were out one night, someone bumped into you and made you fall, ending up with you scraping your knee. You were almost certain that if Claude wasn't there, Joel would've gone after the guy who accidentally caused the cut. As soon as you knew you were out of sight from fans and cameras, you stopped walking and took your hand off of your face.

"Oh my god, I'm bleeding!" You exclaimed, looking up at Raffa.

"Hold this to the cut, okay? That's a pretty good gash," he said, putting a towel on your face. You whined and held the towel, walking with him until the two of you were in the trainer's office.

“How bad does it hurt?” He asked.

“It hurts. Like, I can feel it but it’s not processing yet,” you told him.

The actual pain didn’t hit until you were sitting down.

“Fuck!” You yelled, pulling the towel away from your face.

"No, no. Keep the towel on your face until I'm ready to clean it. Do you wanna get blood all over your shirt?" He asked as he moved around, grabbing a few things from the cabinets and drawers.

"No," you whined, holding the towel to your jaw again. The white Gatorade towel was slowly being stained with your blood the longer you held it to your face. "Can you hurry up? This hurts," you snapped.

"Well, yeah. A puck hit your face at a high speed. It’s gonna hurt, but I’m gonna help,” he said.

You glared at him and he turned to face you, setting a few things on the table next to you. The next few minutes were silent as he cleaned your jaw and neck, eventually stitching the gash.

"How are you this bad with pain?" He asked.

"I message people. I don't do the whole injury thing," you sighed.

He hummed and nodded, feeling around your jaw, neck, and cheek. “I think you're good, just pretty bruised. Does it hurt to talk?” He asked.

“A little bit,” you answered. “I’m just happy you can move your jaw. And I don’t think you have a concussion. You can go to the hospital if you want to, but you seem okay,” he said once he took his hands away from your jaw.

“Thank you,” you mumbled.

“Of course. You wanna go back out or do you wanna stay in here?” He asked, taking his gloves off and throwing them away. “How much time is left?” You asked.

He held up his finger and walked out of the room, looking at one of the televisions in the hallway. “Three minutes until intermission,” he answered once he was back in the room.

“I’ll go out next period. I’m gonna stay here until then if that’s fine,” you said.

He nodded and grabbed a new pair of gloves, slipping them on. He left after telling you that he was going back to the bench. You leaned back in the padded chair and sighed, closing your eyes. You had no clue how the hell the guys went back to playing when they got a puck to the face. This hurt like hell.

Halfway through intermission, the door swung open and hit the wall loudly. The noise made you jump and nearly drop your phone. You looked at the door with wide eyes, seeing Joel looking at you.

“Oh. Hey, Bee,” you said nervously.

“‘Hey, Bee?’ Your face is bruised and that’s all you say?” He asked.

“Hey, Bee. I got hit in the face with a puck. I left 'cause I knew you’d freak out like you are right now. I’m fine, though. Nothing but a bruise, according to Raffa,” you told him.

After the last fifteen minutes of sitting by yourself and scrolling through social media, the pain had gone down some with the help of the pain pill Raffa gave you, and you were feeling pretty calm about the whole thing.

He huffed and walked over to you, getting down on his knees to cup the uninjured side of your jaw. “I didn’t think it hit anyone. But then I saw that you were gone and then Raffa was gone, and I was so fucking worried. I’m gonna beat the hell out of whoever did this,” he said and you gave him a small smile.

“Raffa said it was Teeks. you can’t beat up a dad-to-be,” you giggled.

Joel groaned and stood up, kissing your head before walking out. “Konecny!” he shouted. You stood up and walked out, watching as he walked over to Travis.

“Holy shit,” Nolan said.

“Shh. Joel’s attempting to be intimidating,” you told him.

The two of you, along with half of the locker room, watched as Joel scolded Travis for a few seconds until he started talking.

“You-- watch where you swing your stupid stick. That flying puck? It hit y/n,” he said.

Travis’s eyes went wide and he looked around the room until he saw you standing across from him.

“I’m fine,” you said, waving your hand to the side.

“You sure? That thing’s huge,” Nolan said and you glared at him.

"I’m fully aware. Thank you for pointing it out, Patty,” you said.

He cracked a smile and shrugged. While Nolan was smiling at you and you were glaring at him, Travis walked over to the two of you.

"I'm sorry, y/n. Is it bad? Like, did it do more damage than that?" He asked.

“It’s fine, Teeks. Seriously. It’s just a bruise and a few stitches. You didn’t mean to hit me,” you told him.

“It’s fine? Just like that?” Joel asked, looking at you with wide eyes.

You raised your eyebrows and looked up at him. “I told you that I’m fine, J. I need you to chill out. Travis would never purposely hurt me,” you told him.

He scrunched up his face and you grabbed his hand, pulling him closer to you to put your hands behind your back. Everyone knew about your relationship, and they stopped questioning it and giving the two of you looks after a few months.

"I’m good. Travis is fine,” you said quietly. He nodded and you looked at Travis. “I’m fine, I swear. Raffa said it’s just a bruise. No concussion, nothing broken. You don’t have to apologize,” you told him.

Nolan and Travis left you with Joel, but Claude and Kevin were quick to take their spots in front of you. They were both there to check on you and make sure you were okay, but Kevin was also there so he could talk shit on Travis. Joel went along with the shit-talking and you rolled your eyes, tugging on his hand. Once Kevin and Claude walked away, you pulled Joel out of the locker room so the two of you were alone.

“You’re sure that you’re fine?” He asked, gently holding your face in his hands.

You closed your eyes and smiled softly, nodding. "I’m okay, J. You have another 20 minutes of hockey to focus on, though,” you reminded him.

“You won’t be out there, right?” He asked.

“Of course I’ll be out there. You’re gonna kick ass and I gotta watch,” you told him.

Joel argued with you, of course, but he gave in when you pulled the birthday card on him. He loved spoiling you and hated telling you no, so it was easy to make him accept that you were going to watch the game from the bench. This time, though, you wouldn't be the one closest to the ice.

The Flyers ended up winning 4-1, and now Joel could finally get you to his apartment so he could be the one taking care of you.

"How about a bath?" Joel asked, rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand as he drove towards his apartment.

"That sounds amazing. You have the stuff that I like, right?" You asked.

He smiled and nodded, making you smile. "Do you wanna eat?" He asked.

"Nothing that I have to chew a lot. I'll just snack on things, but you can make whatever," you told him.

Joel scoffed softly and squeezed your hand. As if he'd let you snack on things alone. Sure, he was hungry, but he would just snack on whatever he had in his apartment with you.

"I'm not eating a whole meal without you on your birthday. I'll snack with you. At least we had breakfast together," he said.

"Thank you, J," you said softly, bringing your hands to your lips and kissing the back of his hand.

"Always, baby," he said, kissing your knuckles.

When the two of you got to his apartment, Joel went straight to the bathroom to get the bath ready while you made smoothies for now and snacks for later.

"What are we eating?" Joel asked, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind.

"We're having smoothies while we're in the bath. You know that I hate eating in the bath," you said.

He chuckled and kissed your shoulder, watching as you put together two plates full of fruit and whatever food you felt like you could eat on one plate, putting the fruits and some different snacks on the other plate. It was obvious that Joel's plate was the second and he smiled when he realized that you weren't going to let him eat the same thing as you. If you were at Joel's place, he was never hungry. You even bought groceries sometimes since you were over there so much, and he eventually caught on to everything that you bought for him and for you, and he'd do the grocery runs when food was running low.

Once you finished making the plates, you put them in the fridge and went to the bathroom with Joel. While you stripped and got into the tub, Joel only took his shirt off.

"Aren't you getting in?" You asked, pouting at Joel when he turned to walk out.

"Give me a few minutes, okay? I'll be right back," he said, softly pecking your lips before leaving the bathroom.

He was gone for about five minutes before he walked into the bathroom and got into the bath with you. He sat behind you, happily letting you rest against his chest. The two of you sat in silence for a little bit, just soaking in the hot water together.

"Thanks for winning, by the way," you mumbled, playing with his fingers.

He kissed the crown of your head and hummed. "Good birthday?" He asked.

"Top five, easily. Would be top three but I got a puck to the face," you said and he chuckled.

You grinned and tilted your head back, puckering your lips. Joel leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. He kissed your cheek next, placing multiple kisses on your skin and over your bruise, careful to avoid the stitches. You giggled when he nuzzled his face in your neck and placed a few kisses there.

"Want me to wash your body?" He asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

You rolled your eyes and scoffed. "I did that while you were gone. But I could wash yours," you offered.

"Oh, for sure. Switch me," he said, putting his hands on the sides of the tub.

You laughed and slid back, taking his spot after he got out of the tub and quickly climbed back in, laying back against your chest. You grabbed the soap and one of the washcloths, washing his upper body.

"Didn't you do this at the rink?" You asked.

"Like, a basic shower. This is so much better," he said.

You smiled and shook your head, kissing his shoulder when the soap was rinsed off. "Can I lay on you?" He asked. You didn't answer him verbally, choosing to pull him back instead. He sighed when he laid back on you, closing his eyes once his head was on your shoulder.

Once the smoothies were gone, the two of you got out of the bath. You went to get the plates from the fridge while Joel drained the water. You got to his room right before him, your eyes lighting up when you saw what he had done.

"Joel," you said softly, looking around his bedroom.

The soft blanket that was usually on his couch was on the side of the bed that you slept on, along with a heating pad and one of his many extremely soft pillows. Your pajamas- one of his shirts and a pair of boxers- were laid out on your side of the bed. There were two candles, ones that weren't usually in his room, on his nightstand and dresser. All of your skincare products were sitting in front of the mirror. Once you started spending more time at his place, he went out and bought everything that you had in your bathroom so you could have everything at his place, too.

Joel wrapped his arms around your waist, careful to not let your towel fall, and kissed your jaw, the side that wasn't bruised.

"Happy birthday, princess," he mumbled against your skin.

"I'm about to get down on one knee and propose," you said, making him laugh.

“You'd have to be my girlfriend first, y/n," he said.

You leaned back against his chest and he kissed your cheek. "Will you be my boyfriend, Bee?" You asked. You could feel him grin against your skin.

"Always, y/n/n," he said softly.

“Good, now let’s eat. I’m starving.”

#joel farabee x reader #joel farabee imagine #joel farabee #nhl imagine #hockey imagine

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