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smoooothoperator · 1 month

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untouchable

19: Beautiful Things

Lando Norris x OC (Violet Sinclair)

same group friend, unrequited love, acquittances to lovers, ski trip, love triangle, life as lovers

Words: 5.6k (oooops)

Warnings: fluff (a little), angst, drama, crash, hopital

a/n: THE chapter!!!!!!! Let me know what were your theories about this chapter!

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The last few years I wasn't the best version of myself. I barely recognized myself when I looked at the mirror, not knowing what I did to look like that. It was like I couldn't control myself, being the victim of unfair and unjustified critics and hate, and making them get into my mind and believe every word they said about me.

For years I was under a fog that made my mind not perform well, and even if I had people that could help me, I never knew how to get rid of it.

Until I met her.

She was like a breath of fresh air every time she walked into a room. Her golden hair was the reminder of the sunlight as well as her blue eyes that stared deep into my soul whenever she looked at me. She was the pure incarnation of an angel.

I tried to be better. I tried to make her look at me, to have her attention and be the cause of her smile and happiness.

But she was always with someone else. She was out of reach. Untouchable.

For four years I dreamed of having her, I imagined a life with her next to me. Four warm summers and four cold winters.

Until it happened.

She looked at me. I had her attention. I was the reason behind her smile. I was the person that could hold her.

Thanks to her I freed myself from my tormenting, from my negative thoughts. She was the reason why I wanted to be better every morning. Thanks to her, I could face everything with a smile, I could go to my family and talk with them about myself without avoiding questions about work. And the best is that my parents loved Violet as a daughter.

“Lando!”

Would she like it big? Or maybe small? There are many sizes and forms. And what would she like more. Silver? Gold? Rose gold?

“Hey, you deaf muppet!”

I look up from my phone, finding Violet running towards me with her hand in a fist holding something.

“What is it?” I laughed looking at her, watching her sit on the sun bed.

“I just found this conch shell, look!” she smiled, placing it in the palm of my hand, making me smile when I felt her cold fingers from the water.

After the triple header, Violet and I decided to spend the first week of the summer break on our own, staying in Monaco for some days to relax before going with my family to Greece.

“It's so beautiful” I smiled looking at her, holding her hand and kissing her wrist. “How is the water?”

“Really nice” she nodded. “Come on, come with me”

I smiled and nodded, leaving my phone in the backpack and holding her hand while we walked towards the water.

When I started going out with her, I discovered that her love language was the same as mine, but she struggled to show it. Maybe it was because of her previous relationship, that made her be cautious about touching another man, but once I earned her trust, I discovered a whole new world with her.

Violet is a woman that loves talking about what she likes. Thanks to her I learned so many things about culture and different languages, and discovered new things and places I never imagined I would love.

“Come here” I smile, opening my arms while floating so she could come close to me and wrap her legs around my hips.

She smiled and rested her head on my shoulder, floating together. This was our first summer together, completely alone.

“What were you looking at on your phone earlier? You were really focused on it and barely heard me calling you from the water” she whispered softly.

“Oh, I just read the contract for the reservation of the yacht for Greece” I lied, smiling, hoping she would believe it.

“Is the same one from last summer?” she gasped, excited.

“Yeah” I laughed.

“God, I loved that yacht! It's so big and spacious!” she smiled. “Well, except the bed I had last year, but it was fine”

“Well, you are lucky to share a bed with me now, huh?” I smirked.

“I repeat. I won't do anything if your family is around, you perv” she laughed, splashing water on my face.

Violet is a blessing. She is the type of person that when you meet her for the first time, she always tries to stay distant and quiet. I still can remember the first time I met her, sitting on the couch of my house and looking at everyone while we talked, like analyzing us and trying to read us. But since I started dating her, I discovered a new side of her and why she was like that with us.

And like with everything bad that has been happening lately, the answer to that behavior was Harry.

“A thought for a thought?” she whispered against my neck. “I can hear your mind working”

“It's just…” I sighed, holding her closer to me. “I'm so grateful for these six months with you. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night thinking that everything was a dream, but then I look at my side and you are there, sleeping tenderly like a baby. And I swear I thank God every day for sending you my way that day four years ago”

I felt her move her face and look at me, leaning closer until our lips melted on a kiss. It was salty, but that didn't stop me from smiling and kissing her back when she held me closer too.

“This is not a dream” she whispered before pulling away. “This is real. My love for you is real”

I smile and kiss her lips again and again, not getting tired of the feeling of her lips on mine.

“And what were you thinking?” I asked her, kissing her cheek.

“Promise me you won't laugh” she smiled, poking my cheek.

“Is it funny?” I laughed looking at her, watching her shake her head with her cheeks tinted in red.

“No, no, it's…” she smiled, taking a deep breath. “Well, I was thinking about stopping the rent of my apartment ”

“What? Why? You love that apartment” I frown, tilting my head to the side.

“Yeah, but… I think I want to take the next step with you” she smiled looking into my eyes. “You've been living with me since you asked me six months ago, and even if you come on go, your things are still in the wardrobe and your toothbrush is still next to mine. I just think that the next natural step for us is having our names in a contract of owners of a property and living together… What do you think?”

I looked at her surprised. I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her, living together in a house and hopefully having kids around, maybe a dog too.

“Remember what we talked about the day after Christmas?” I said, smiling.

“That hypothetical question?” she laughed softly, nodding. “Yeah, I remember”

“That they I asked you, hypothetically, if you wanted a house like the one my parents own. With enough space for kids and lots of rooms” I said, cupping her cheek and feeling how she rested her head on my hand. “I told you that day I said that we were in the perfect age to settle down…”

“And you said that you wanted to think about the future” she ended for me, nodding. “And I do. I do want to think about the future with you. I want to settle down with you. I do want to look at houses in our free time and plan things with you”

I smiled looking at and nodded, happily. This is getting so real, so true.

And for once, I prayed to every God that exists to never take her away from me, never. I would rather die than lose her.

“My only condition is to have a room for my books” she smiled, biting her lip.

“Anything you want, babe” I smiled, kissing her.

Back in my apartment here in Monaco I went to my setup room, sitting on the chair and looking at the screen of my phone, going through the same website I was looking at on the beach.

Some people might say that it's too soon, that we are young and have a long life ahead of us. But what is always in my mind is the thought of a forever with her, of taking every step of a relationship that leads to the next stages. Why wouldn't I look for something like this when I know that she is the one for me? Why would I have to wait when the answer is right in front of me?

“Love, are you going to stream?” I heard her ask, making me turn around and see her leaning against the door frame.

“No, why?” I said smiling, getting out the website from my phone and locking it.

“Oh, well, I was just wondering if you wanted to look for houses now. Just for fun, of course” she said, coming towards me and standing between my legs.

“Why don't we make some snacks before that, hm?” I smiled, placing my hands on the back of her legs, looking up at her.

She smiled and nodded, leaning to press a tender kiss on my forehead before she took a step back while I got up from the chair.

Violet and I move in a perfect synchrony when we are in the kitchen, or when we work. We know what we have to do, where we have to stand so we don't disturb the other. It's like I can hear her voice in my mind telling me what to do, where to go.

Once the plates with our snacks were ready, we walked to the streaming room, sitting on the chairs. While I searched on the internet some websites that had houses to sell, I saw her getting up and going to get the backpack she left in the living room, coming back with her notebook and a pen.

“First we should write what we want in a house, right?” she said, smiling.

“Wait” I said, placing my hand on her knee. “Like… are you being completely serious about this? Like, for real? You really really want to buy a house? I mean, we can look for an apartment until we think that it's not enough…”

“Lando, I want a house” she said. “With you. I guess if we are going to go through this we have to talk about, well… more mature things”

I took a deep breath and nodded, turning the chair to face her, holding both of her hands. I smiled looking at them, looking at the ring with our stones placed in her right middle finger, the wrist watch that matches mine after a sponsor sent them for us, the bracelet that is the twin of the one I have and a bracelet Eloise gifted her some years ago and she wanted to put it again. I rubbed her knuckles and looked into her eyes, searching for the courage to ask what was on the tip of my tongue.

“You want kids?” I asked her.

“I think so, yeah” she nodded, blushing. “I mean… I see the way you are with Mila and Athena, or with Magnussen’s daughter. And I have these dreams at night when I can see you holding her, holding a little girl with your curls and my blonde hair”

“Why did you never tell me that?” I smile softly, squeezing her hands. “That's so beautiful, Violet”

“Because I didn't know how you would react” she said, shrugging her shoulders. “Like, what if you don't want kids? What if you are comfortable with just the two of us? Less people to worry about, you know?”

“Well, I do want kids” I smiled. “God, I want it all, Violet. I want to get married with you, I want to have kids with you. Can we have a dog? Or maybe a cat. Or both! But, the thing is… I want everything”

“Then the mature talk is done” she smiled. “We are in the same page”

I bit my lip and nodded, pulling her hands to my lips and kissing her fingers one by one, smiling.

Is this what it feels like to have a soulmate? To have someone you are in complete synchrony, not only with how you coexist but with the way you think. We know what we want, and it feels amazingly beautiful.

But somehow this makes my fear of losing her even bigger. The thought of losing all it's inevitable.

The day we came back to London was sunny. Max and Pietra came to pick us up at the airport because we wanted to have dinner together, ordering some takeout.

Lando wanted to make a stream with Max in the improvised setup he made in my office, so while they stayed in that room, Pietra and I were on the couch talking.

“I told him about the house subject” I said smiling, looking at how Pietra opened her eyes with a big smile.

“No way! That's amazing!” she smiled. “So are you two for real? Like, forever?”

“I guess so, we had that talk too. The kids and marriage one” I said blushing. “It went really good”

“God, I'm so proud of you two” she said, hugging me.

“It has only been half a year, but I swear it feels more than that” I sighed.

“Yeah, that happens when you are with the right person” she nodded. “You feel that you know him since forever and that you were together for longer because all the experiences and memories”

I smile and nod, taking a deep breath. We talked about some more things until I received a call from the restaurant where we ordered our dinner.

“God damn it, they don't have enough drivers to deliver it at time” I sighed, rubbing my temple. “I guess I have to go pick it up myself”

“Oh, I can go with you if you want to?” Pietra said, standing up.

“No, don't worry” I smiled, shaking my hands. “I’ll be fast”

I sighed and walked with her towards my office, opening the door a little and walking towards the setup, placing my hand on Lando's shoulder.

“I have to go pick up the dinner” I sighed.

“Oh? It happened again?” he frowned, wrapping his hand around my leg.

“Unfortunately” I groaned. “Remind me to never order at that restaurant at this hour. It seems that everyone had the same idea of us”

“Yeah” he sighed. “You can take my car, it's parked in front of the building”

“You are the best” I smiled, leaning on him and kissing his cheek.

I walked out of the room and grabbed my bag, putting my wallet on it and grabbing the keys of his Audi. I always loved this car, how comfortable it is and easy to drive, and even if it was big and hard to find a parking spot for it, I wouldn't care.

I put music on the Bluetooth, listening to my playlist and singing along with it. The restaurant is not too far, only fifteen minutes away with traffic, and since it was late and the people that got out of work were already at home, the road was pretty empty.

So I let the engine roar a little, speeding on empty roads and feeling the adrenaline of hearing it mixed with the music of the speakers.

But silly me, I didn't notice the brakes starting to fail.

I hummed softly the music, watching how the traffic light went red so I pressed the foot on the brake pedal.

But the car wasn't stopping. The brakes weren't working.

“What the…” I frown, pressing again, feeling a shiver running up my back and already feeling cold sweat. “No, no, no!”

It happened so fast. My brain was working too fast and before I knew it I was jumping the red light, praying that the path ahead was clear and any car came into the intersection.

But my dose of luck was empty. I have had too many good things lately.

Before I could understand what was happening, a white light blinded me as well as the sound of a horn coming closer to me.

I felt the hit on my side and after that everything started to go slower, making me not hear the metal and glass of the car breaking. I felt my whole body in pain, the cuts of the glass in my face as well as in my arms, my side was terribly in pain. And what was worse, the pain in my nape and head.

Before I noticed the car stopping, I slowly passed out, nauseous because of the pain all over my body.

I didn't look at the time, not knowing how much it was taking Violet to come back. I knew she loved the Audi, so she was probably driving around to have fun and spend time alone with her music.

“Lando, you know where Violet is?”

I frowned and turned the chair, looking at Pietra. She was looking at her phone with worry in her eyes.

“She said she went to pick up the dinner” I said, looking at my phone, swallowing thickly when I saw that it was already half an hour ago.

“Maybe she went for a ride” Max said chuckling, looking at me and then at the camera of the stream. “This man made Violet a fan of speed”

“Hey, no” I laughed, hitting his arm. “She always loved to drive, and thanks to me she had the chance of driving my McLaren”

“No way! Did you let her drive it before me?” Max gasped, making me laugh harder. “How dare you?!”

“She's my girlfriend and I trust her with my own life” I said.

“Unfair”

I laugh and shake my head. We kept streaming a little longer until I received a call from Violet's phone.

“Violet! I know you love the Audi but we are really hungry” I smiled, looking at Max and Pietra.

“Are you related to Violet Sinclair?”

I frown, somehow feeling a shiver when I heard the voice of a stranger through my phone.

“Y-yeah” I mumbled, ignoring the fact that I was on a stream when my whole face went pale.

“I’m Captain Garrick from London's Fire Department. We found Miss Sinclair's phone and wallet in the ruins of a car crash. She was sent with urgency to the Royal London Hospital due to the critical conditions after the crash”

I just couldn't understand what I was hearing. Violet? In a crash? What?

“Lando?”

I swallow thickly, looking at Max. He frowned looking at me, worried. We were still in the stream, and I could hear the notifications mixed with a whistle that was making me feel nauseous.

“End the stream” I mumbled, getting up and pacing around the room.

Violet. Car crash. Critical conditions.

Those were the words that kept flying in my mind like a mantra.

Violet. Car crash. Critical conditions. Violet. Car crash. Critical conditions. Violet. Car crash. Critical conditions.

“Lando!”

When I felt Max’s hand on my shoulder I flinched, gasping.

“She…”

“Who called? It was Violet? Your face changed when you answered the call” Max sighed, looking at me.

“Car crash” I said, feeling a knot in my throat and my vision getting blurry as seconds passed. “She was… she is in critical conditions, they said”

“What?!” Max and Pietra gasped.

“I need to go” I said, burying my fingers in my hair. “I have to go”

“We are going” Pietra said quickly, grabbing her things and looking at us. “We won't leave you alone like this. Where did they take her?”

“Royal London Hospital” I mumbled, watching them walk around me, grabbing things.

I felt the panic coming to my system. The fear I tried to fight over the last months, I could feel it coming closer, like a predator breathing in my nap. My chest was heavy, I could barely breathe.

Max sighed, wrapping his hand around my wrist, making me come back to Earth and walk behind him, following him to his car.

“She will be okay” Pietra said, looking back at me with a sad and nervous smile. “Violet is strong, and stubborn. It's not easy to get rid of her, huh?”

I couldn't answer, my eyes were fixed in my hands, looking at the bracelet of my wrist and feeling how the metal of it burned my skin.

I can't lose her. There's no way this is real. This can't be happening.

Why? Why are they doing this to me? I prayed to every God, I promised to every one of them that I would love her with all my heart, that I would never hurt her, and this is how they answered me? By making her be on a limbo between life and death? Why is this so unfair?

“We arrived” I heard Max say, stopping the car after finding a parking lot.

I took a deep breath and pressed my hands on my eyes, trying to calm down. I won't help Violet by feeling this way. I have to be strong for her.

I got out of the car and ran following them, going through the door of the emergency department and stopping in front of the receptionist table.

“V-Violer Sinclair?” I asked, trying to calm down my breathing and heartbeat. “Did she arrive? Where is she?”

“Are you related to her?” the woman behind the desk asked calmly, making my blood boil because of how disinterested she sounded. “Only familiars can have the information of her state”

“I'm her emergency contact. Of course I'm fucking related to her!” I exclaimed. “Where is she?!”

“Lando…” Pietra sighed, placing her hand on my arm. “He is her boyfriend, we are her friends. Her family is not in London, we are the only people she has. We need to know where she is, please”

I saw the woman look at us, scanning every one of us with her eyes as she chewed a gum and then her eyes scanned the screen of her computer while pressing keys on the keyboard.

“For Gods sake!” I exclaimed, taking a step back.

“Lando, calm down, please” Max sighed.

“She's in the surgery room” the woman said. “Third floor”

I swallow thickly and look around, searching for an elevator and going to it with Max and Pietra. When we got inside of it, I could hear my heartbeat inside of my ears.

“She's going to be okay, don't worry” Pietra said.

“She's in surgery, Pietra… This is not okay. I know what a crash is. I know when a crash is safe and when it's not. I had plenty of them and never ended up at the surgery table” I mumble with a thin voice.

“She wasn't driving at 300 km per hour, mate. I'm sure it's nothing, okay? Maybe a few cuts or broken ribs… The normal after a crash” he said, trying to calm me.

I just nodded, letting out a long, trembling sigh.

She has to be okay. I need her to be okay. We talked about many things about our future, we have to make them come true.

When the doors opened we rushed out of it, walking fast through the corridors as we found the waiting room from the surgery department. I took a deep breath and looked around, finding another reception desk.

“I'll go” Pietra said, walking away from us.

“This can't be happening” I whisper, looking at how she talked with the receptionist. “This is not real”

“I'm sorry, Lando…” Max sighed, placing his hand on my back, guiding me to sit on the free chairs.

“I… God. We even talked about buying a house together” I said, laughing sadly and resting my head in my hands. “About marriage and kids. The other was looking for an engagement ring for her before she smsiad she wanted to.move in with me. God damn it!”

Max sighed and rubbed my back, resting his back on the chair.

“She will get through this, Lando. I swear” he whispered. “She loves you, she has a strong soul. She will fight”

I closed my eyes when I felt the tears burning them, letting them flow. I can't lose her.

“She’s in the surgery room number 5” Pietra said, sitting next to me and placing her hand next to Max's in my back. “A doctor will come to talk with you soon, the surgery is close to finishing”

I nodded and rubbed my face, sniffling.

I waited and waited. It was an eternal wait, looking up every time I heard the doors opening and a doctor calling the family of their patient. It was a torture, hearing people sighing relieved after receiving good news and others crying in agony after receiving bad news. And I couldn't help but wonder what would be mine. Good news or bad ones? If I receive bad news, what should I do? What is the process? I should call her family, right? What are they going to do then? What am I going to do?

“Family of Violet Sinclair?”

I looked up gasping, getting up fast and walking towards the man that called me. He is young, probably just the extra help or a resident of surgery that takes care of talking with the family.

“I'm her boyfriend” I mumbled, nervously. “H-how is she?” Is she…?”

“She's alive” he said, nodding. “When she came, she had multiple broken ribs and some of them punctured her right lung. Thankfully, we managed to fix it as well as the dislocated shoulder” he explained, making me sigh relieved and feeling a weight leaving my shoulders. “She's stable, but we had to induce her on a coma due to the damage in her head, so we expect her to heal on her own but she will wake up probably in a week”

A week. A whole week.

“Thank you” I nodded, swallowing the sob that wanted to escape. “Thank you so much, doctor. I owe you everything”

“We will send her to the ICU, you can visit her as soon as she's installed there” he said.

“What… What can I do to help her heal? Is there a way?” I asked.

“Talk with her” he smiled weakly. “They say that patients in coma can hear us. Talking with her and making her know that you are there with her will make her heal, I'm sure”

I swallow thickly and nod, feeling a wave of so many emotions hitting me. Relief, happiness, nervousness. I took a deep breath and walked away towards Max and Pietra, but looking at the family that received bad news recently.

“Well? How did it go?” Max asked worriedly.

“She's alive” I whisper, sighing with relief. “But in a coma”

“Oh, fuck…” Pietra sighed, biting her nails. “And then? What are you going to do?”

“Well, I'm going to stay with her” I said without doubting it. “I have to call my parents and tell them to go on the trip without us. And I have to grab some clean clothes for her… Oh, and reserve her a VIP, I really don't want fans around if there are rumors”

“I'll go grab her clothes” Pietra said. *Don't worry about it. Stay with her”

“I highly doubt that your family will go on the trip knowing what happened, Lando” Max sighed.

“I know” I sighed. “I know, I know…”

I took a deep breath and closed. For a moment I thought I lost her forever. For a moment I thought I lost everything before even having it. And this made me realize how much Violet means to me, more than I thought. She is my present and my future, the person that owes my heart, the one that is my other half. And I can't live without it, I can't live without Violet.

“Look, they are taking her to the ICU” Max said, patting my knee and making me look up. “Go with her, okay?”

I nodded and stood up, taking a deep breath and looking at them. I immediately hugged them tightly, taking a deep breath, and both of them hugged me even more tightly.

“Everything is going to be okay, yeah?” Max whispered. “Be strong for her, she will need it”

I took a deep breath and nodded, hiding my face on his neck and then I pulled away. They looked at me with a sad smile and red eyes filled with tears. Never in my life I imagined we could experience something like this.

“Give me the key to her apartment” Pietra said. “I’ll grab clothes for her and then we'll come back, okay?”

“You don't have to” I sighed. “Come tomorrow morning, yeah? You don't have to spend the night here, I'll do it”

They smiled weakly and nodded. I grabbed the keys from the pocket of my hoodie and handed them to Pietra. I don't even remember when I put them in there, probably it was without knowing it.

I watched them walk away, Max wrapping his arm around Pietra while they talked in whispers. I owe them everything for taking me here, for making sure I didn't break down.

“We took Miss Sinclair to the ICU” the doctor that talked with me earlier said behind me. “You can go with her. This way”

I looked at the young man, walking behind him as he guided me to the ICU. But before he opened the doors, he turned around and looked at me.

“I have to warn you” he said, smiling weakly. “What you will see might scare you. The ICU is not quiet at all, there are machines making sounds all the time. She has wires on her chest so we can rate her heartbeat, so you'll hear it. There's a tube in her mouth so the machine can breathe for her while she's unconscious. We put a cervical collar around her neck because of the hit she had in the crash. Her face is bruised and with cuts. But the most important thing is that she is alright, okay?”

“Y-yeah” I nodded, swallowing thickly and feeling how every word he said about her condition made my heart break more and more. “Thank you”

He smiled weakly and nodded, opening the door and guiding me to the box where she stays.

I tried to not gasp, to not scream broken when I saw her. This was something I never wanted to see before. And unfortunately here I am, watching the love of my life connected to machines that are keeping her alive while I hear her heartbeat and her breathing.

“I'll leave you two alone” the doctor said. “If you want, I can ask the nurses to bring you a blanket so you can stay the night with her”

I couldn't talk, so I nodded. He walked out of the box, leaving us alone.

“Oh, Violet…” I mumble, grabbing the chair and placing it next to her bed. “My beautiful, beautiful Violet…”

I tried so hard to not let the need to cry win. I tried so hard on keeping the tears back in my eyes. But it's so hard, and I’m so tired.

“How” I whisper, feeling my voice cracking as I speak, barely watching my hand holding hers because of the tears blurring my eyes. “How could something like this happen to you? Who did this to you, love… Why you?”

I took a deep breath and brought her hand to my lips, letting the tears flow.

I promised her I would always come back after every race, that I would be safe and go back to her. But karma is so unfair and what she was scared of what could happen to me, it happened to her.

“I'm here now, baby” I whisper, pressing soft kisses on her hand. “If you hear me, don’t be afriad, okay? I'm here. Everything is okay, we can get through this. I will stay here, waiting to see your beautiful eyes opening again and then after that I will take care of you, I don't care if I have to miss some races. I will never leave your side, you come first, always. You are my first priority”

What should I do now? I have to call my family and tell them what happened… Would Violet want me to call her family? She told me they only care about her when they need her… Should I call Zak and tell him that I doubt I'll be ready for the first race after the summer break? And the fans… I'm sure they made edits if the stream, of how I answered the call and how I ended it abruptly.

“God… I think we are going to be trending topic” I sighed rubbing my forehead. “What should I do? I'm sure there are going to be news of the crash and they would recognize my car, should I tsay something about it? I'm so lost without you, Violet… You are the brain of the two of us. The smart one.”

Someone, help me get out of this nightmare.

taglist

@elisysd @racinggirl @ninifee1802 @kakorrhaphiphobia @landoyesrizz @lorarri @bellwhysomean @leptitlu @aphroditeisamilf @brekkers-whore @copper-boom @sideboobrry11 @alltoomaples @f1madison @elijahslover @silkenthusiasts @chonkybonky @summerslike11 @randomgirlnumber-13 @is-just-a @whentheautumnleavesfall @malynn @mycenterfold @barackosteaa @izzy-marvel @ssprayberrythings @ophcelia @traveling-inspiration

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spencers-dria · 3 years

Text

Lost at Sea

Single Dad Spencer x fem reader

Summary: This is kind of a little Christmas-adjacent fluff peice where Spencer is a single dad, completely clueless while Christmas shopping for his daughter. Reader sees him struggling and decides to help, completely unaware of where it will lead them. I imagined him sometime after the show ended, kinda with his somewhat longer curly hair and glasses. This story is completely fluff and I make no apologies.

Well, that was about the third loud huff from the man standing down the isle from me. This one was so loud it blew his hair around a bit, making it even messier. I try to focus on the task at hand, finding the perfect gift for my best friend’s little girl.

Diana was the closest thing I had to a daughter of my own. Despite Anne’s protesting, I took every opportunity to spoil her daughter rotten. The adorable and precocious little girl had me absolutely wrapped around her finger. I have to fight the urge to buy everything I thought would put a smile on her face, my favorite sight in the world.

But now, I was repeatedly distracted by the clearly frustrated man standing next to me, eyeing the girls toy section like it was an enigma. I decide to approach him, but he’s still to lost in his thoughts to notice.

I clear my throat while giving him a light tap on the shoulder.

“Can I help you with anything?”

“Oh I didn’t realized you worked here.”

“I don’t.” I smile sweetly at him. “You just look like you’re trying to solve the worlds most challenging puzzle over here.”

He meets my eyes with a sheepish smile, nervously rubbing the back of his neck. I try my best to ignore just how attractive this man is. He’s definitely not available.

“I guess in a way I am. I’m trying to buy a Christmas gift for my daughter. It’s safe to say that I know absolutely nothing about girls. I want it to be absolutely perfect, and I just know whatever I get won’t be half of what she deserves.”

“Well I can help with that. How old is she and what does she like?”

He pushes his glasses up his nose, giving me a moment to ogle just how attractive his hands are.

“Her name is Alice, she’s 5. I know she loves Disney princesses. Ariel is her favorite I think... but even once I narrow it down to that, there is still just so much. Who knew shopping for little girls could be so overwhelming.”

I can’t help but giggle a bit at his helplessness. He starts to laugh along with me.

“I’m Spencer by the way.” I see him hesitate a moment before slowly extending a hand. I look at his extended hand with a slight feeling of guilt, knowing he’ll most likely judge me based on my response.

“Oh I’m sorry I hope you don’t think I’m rude but... I don’t really shake hands. It’s not personal it’s just all the germs. I don’t deal so well with them.”

He lets out a soft chuckle, but I can’t imagine why. Is he actually laughing at me? Seems a bit rude.

“You know I used to be the exact same way. I suppose having a kid has changed me more than I realize sometimes.”

I nod, quietly, knowing I can’t really relate.

“I’m sorry you’re probably really busy. Are you shopping for your daughter too?”

Unsure as to the reason why, I’m suddenly embarrassed to admit that I’m not actually a parent. Just a single loner in their mid-thirties, living vicariously through their best friend and their.

“Oh no, just a friend. I’m more than happy to help you out with Alice. If you want my best ideas though, I’ve got to be honest, a lot of it is online. I can show you the links real quick, I’d you’d like?”

“I feel like this would be easier if we just... Would you like to grab coffee? I know a great place just around the corner. You can show me all your ideas and hopefully we can pick out something for her together.”

Up until this point I didn’t want to make assumptions, but it’s becoming more clear that Spencer is most likely a single dad. I don’t want pry, but I can’t help but wonder what happened to her mom.

I try to hide my excitement at his offer.

“You had me at coffee. And I almost forgot, I’m Y/N!”

————————————————

Three hours and several cups of coffee later, I knew a small part of the life story belonging to Spencer Reid. He was an FBI agent, part of a team who hunts down serial killers. A profiler. Or former profiler? He used to work in the field, until he had to raise his daughter alone. He had been fallen hard and fast for someone who left him as soon as another opportunity, or person rather, had presented themselves. They left him a single dad, all alone with his 2 year old daughter, Alice.

Being a single parent, he knew he couldn’t continue a job that put him in harms way on a regular basis. He never had a problem putting his life on the line for others, but Alice had become his number one priority, without question. Switching to a desk job had allowed him to continue as a consult for the team while also teaching at the University.

As I looked over his attire, I couldn’t help but notice that he didn’t quite give off professor vibes at first glance. His cozy maroon sweater and glasses, perhaps. But his curly mop of disheveled hair and goofy grin made him look more like a cuddly muppet character. The more I listen to him talk the more I notice his intelligence. I should have known, given his professions. It didn’t take long to realize he was well out of my league, but he was kind enough to give me the time of day for whatever reason.

I keep drowining in his eyes or getting pulled in by the movement of his hands as he speaks. Listening to his voice is like gently floating down like a river. I don’t even notice when he’s stopped talking.

“What about you?”

“Hmm?” I pull myself out of my daze, trying not to look as enchanted by him as I feel.

“Oh uhh, nothing to tell really.” I shrug, picking up my coffe, hoping he’ll change the subject while I sip on my caramel latte.

“I find that hard to believe. What do you do?”

“I just run a small cafe in town.”

I feel as though hearing about my life is about as interesting as watching water boil, but Spencer could have fooled me. He looks genuinely invested as I tell him about how I earned my bachelors and masters in business management, eventually opening up The Cottage. I didn’t have any experience in the food industry, but my friend Nicole had immediately been on board with the idea of coming on as my cook.

“It sounds wonderful. I’ll definitely have to stop by sometime.” He smiles at me before sipping on the last of his second cup of coffee.

“You’re welcome to bring Alice, only if you want to. And Nicole makes a killer risotto!”

“Of course! ...Oh! I knew we were forgetting something. Alice!”

“The entire reason you asked me here, just a minor detail.” I can’t help but snicker at our absent mindedness, how easy it was to be completely swept away in the tide that was Spencer Reid.

His face fades a bit, though I’m not sure why. He simply nods, folding his hands in his lap.

“Sorry if this is weird but umm... can I see a picture of her? It’s just, well, it might help me to get a better idea. You don’t have to, if it makes you uncomfortable.”

“Oh yeah!”He pulls out his wallet, unfolding a long strand of small photos, most of just his daughter, a few featuring him as well.

She was beautiful, brown eyed girl with soft, brown locks. She clearly had her fathers curly hair and soft, doe eyes. If it wasn’t obvious from the way he spoke about her, the pictures made it incredibly apparent that this girl was his whole world. Pure joy radiated from the photo of the two of them. I look up to to see the exact same look on his face, with a smile so big that his eyes crinkle.

That is the moment I knew he had me. I would follow this man anywhere, this adorable dad I had met on the toy isle only hours ago. The photos made it evident that she was just as crazy about him. It was almost too adorable for my heart to handle.

I take a deep breath before meeting his gaze, which is much closer now as we lean in over the table to look at the pictures.

“She’s beautiful.”

He looks down at the photos again with glassy eyes. “I know.”

He clears his throat and scoots back into his seat.

“So what did you have in mind?”

“Well, I have seen this online story that makes really pretty hand-made dresses that mimic the ones of each Disney Princess. Maybe a couple of her favorites? They also make knit blankets that look like mermaid tales. Or maybe a stuffed animal of one of her favorite characters? What little kid doesn’t like stuffed animals, right?”

Spencer nods along, absorbing all the suggestions I throw his way. After awhile, I help him settle on ordering a few we both like.

“I can’t wait to give these to her! She always loves Christmas morning. We open presents together and eat the cookies we made the night before while binging as many Christmas movies as possible.”

There was that smile again, the one he got when he talked about her. I wonder if she knows how lucky she is to have a dad that cares so much.

I can’t help but smile as well at the thought, which he quickly interrupted with “So what are your Christmas plans?”

I feel myself turning slightly red at the embarrassment of having to admit that I have none. Nothing much that is.

I shrug, hoping he won’t ask any more about it.

“Do you get to see your family?”

And there it was. The question I was desperately hoping to avoid. I know my inability to meet his gaze and consistent pulling at my fingers would be a dead give away of my uncertainty about speaking on the subject. I search for the best way to answer without seeming like I’m overcome with self pity. To be fair, I wasn’t. I didn’t mind spending the holidays alone. Not anymore. I had grown comfortable with the silence and comfort that comes from living alone.

The soft crackling of the fire, a fuzzy blanket, and a warm cup of hot chocolate had become my closest companions of each winter season. I spent many evenings curled up by the window, watching the snow dust the city as soft music flowed through my drafty, top floor apartment. Sometimes I’d dance and twirl around in my pajamas and socks, slipping and sliding on the wood floors. So yes, it was safe to say I truly enjoyed the time I spent getting to know myself.

“I uh, they’re not really around anymore. I was adopted by my parents when I was still a baby. They didn’t have any family but each other and then, well, me. I lost them to a car crash a few years back.”

I can tell he’s listening, but the one thing I always expect to see isn’t there. Pity. Instead I see kindness and understanding, and my heart welcomes it fully.

“Nicole is on vacation with her family for the holidays so it’s just me. I’m pretty used to it though, I make my own fun.” I give him smile to reinforce my point.

His eyes glaze over and I can tell I’ve lost him to a deep thought, as I see the gears turning in his head. He opens his mouth to speak before closing it again, and finally spouting out: “Come have dinner with us. On Christmas Eve.”

I had half expected a pity invite. A “why don’t you”. A “would you like to”. But Spencer hadn’t asked me. He had told me, in a way that left no room for arguing. I could tell he wasn’t going to budge on the matter. Whether it was the insistent but kind tone or the seriousness in his eyes, I don’t know. But I knew there was no use in fighting it. Not just the invitation, but the feelings quickly flooding my heart. Spencer Reid was like a fast approaching storm, but I didn’t want to outrun the rain. I wanted to dance in it, drenched in the downpour.

And that’s exactly what I did. As soon as I saw the look on his face when I said yes, it crashed over me like a wave, leaving me breathless and lost in the sea of my emotions.

#dr spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer x reader #original story #spencer reid x y/n #writing #Christmas #single dad #dad Spencer #Spencer and daughter #Spencer #Spencer Reid #spencer x y/n #Spencer x gn #Christmas shopping #fluff

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starktonyx · 4 years

Text

Heal (Peter Parker x Reader)

Word count: 3.5k

Description: On a mission with the team, reader is mind controlled by HYDRA and attacks Peter.

Requested by anon: I wanted to request something really angsty with Peter like the reader is being controlled by someone and is sent to kill peter and she’s succeeding because peter refuses to hurt her and in the last minute when she snaps out of it because she thinks she actually killed him and yeah.

Note: Out of all of the angst I’ve written this is the most dramatic one (I think) so enjoy the heartbreak!. Also this is the first time I post in a while and I’m really really happy about it.

Masterlist

•

You had one mission, and it was the only thing repeating over and over again in your head.

Kill spiderman Kill spiderman Kill spiderman

A wave of coldness ran through your body, your hands slightly trembled. You didn't remember your name, or why you were in that military base in the first place. The only thing you knew was you were suited up and you had a mission, the small white 'A' embroidered in the side of your suit caught your attention, but you couldn't figure out what it stood for.

You couldn't hear anything other than a raspy voice with an accent ordering you to kill the man in a red and blue suit. Sometimes a faint desperate voice told you to stop, the voice sounded familiar but you pushed it back, there was no time for distractions.

You had to kill spiderman.

It didn't take long before you found the infamous man, although when you approached him and he spoke his voice sounded very teenager like. What was your age again? You couldn't figure that out either. That didn't matter anyways, you were on a mission.

The whole thing was almost blurry and too quick, one second you were in front of him and the other you already had the upper hand on the fight. You noticed your strength matched his, so you took advantage of that. He wasn't really fighting back though, he was pulling his punches and holding back. You didn't understand why.

"What the hell are you doing Y/n?" He desperately asked, but you just punched him again.

His voice was extremely familiar, and who the hell was Y/n? The raspy voice in your head quickly blocked further thoughts, so you kicked the guy this time.

He tried to defend himself with some sort of web fluid, but you were quick to crush the devices on his wrist with your own hands.

"You need to stop, I don't know what's wrong with you" He said, trying to evade your hits, but you were quick.

You suddenly remembered a move and jumped on his shoulders, wrapping your legs around his neck and hitting his head with your elbows. You were sure someone had taught you that but couldn't remember who.

"Stop this! I don't want to hurt you" He begged, why didn't he just shut up?

He held up quite well to your attacks, but since he wasn't exactly defending himself his body was slowly giving up.

The rest of the fight was quick, the more you hit him the more the raspy voice repeated itself in your head. You felt high, your vision was blurry yet you kept fighting, as if you were a muppet and someone else was controlling your movements, punches and kicks.

You couldn't stop until you killed him.

"Y/n stop! please. You know who I am ... love please don't do this" The guy kept begging, was he crying? You couldn't tell since the mask covered his face.

Love? The more familiar the voice sounded, the more you pushed it to the back of your head. Couldn't he shut up? You sure as hell couldn't stop yourself.

You were sure you shot him at least once, or perhaps stabbed him? Maybe both. You didn't even know where the blood was coming from.

"This is not you" He panted, spitting blood on the floor and clutching his side. "I'm not gonna fight you"

"As you wish" You replies, your low voice gave him chills.

You finally threw him to the ground, his head hitting the floor with a loud thud. He was so weak, he could barely lift his arms to stop you from choking him.

Peter didn't even know how he got into this position, everything happened so quickly. Of course you had been on his lap before, but this time wasn't like the others.

This time you were choking the life out of him.

He was terrified, he could look straight into your eyes for the first time in the fight. They were void, angry, a red cast covered them as if you were some kind of murder machine.

What have they done to you, he thought.

If you had been a mere human with no superpowers he would've been fine, he would've been able to stop you the moment you threw your first punch at him. But you weren't just a human, you had super soldier serum running through your veins.

His arms ached, and even though he pushed you with all the strength he had left it wasn't enough to stop you. Getting up wasn't even an option, the fractures you had caused with your kicks made it impossible.

Peter was slowly losing consciousness, and for a second he regretted not defending himself. But he couldn't hurt you, ever. He knew he would die first before lifting a hand to hurt you.

He suddenly had an idea, his last hope to bring you back to your senses.

He took his mask off.

It seemed to work, you instantly let go of his neck, he coughed until he was able to breathe again. You lifted your fist as an instinct, but before you could do anything he spoke.

"Yo–you know who I am" His voice was raspy from the trauma on his throat. "Come on love, it's me Peter ... your Peter"

You held your fist in the air, panting heavily as you analyzed the details of his face. You were no longer seeing spiderman, the man you were sent to kill. He was just a boy.

And you knew him.

You slowly lowered your fist as your mind adjusted back to reality, your head began to hurt when racing thoughts and memories came back. You could finally remember your name, you realized who was your actual team, and who was the person you almost killed.

Peter Parker.

He watched your thought process carefully, he finally let out a sigh of relief when he saw your face change from I'm going to murder you to what the hell is going on, and felt a wash of relief when your eyes softened and the red disappeared. The raspy voice inside your head was finally gone now.

However, the relief only lasted a few seconds, as he saw your face ultimately change to what the fuck did I just do.

Peter wished one day he can forget this moment, right when he saw the life leave your eyes, even when you weren't the one bleeding out on the floor, even when you weren't the one dying.

At least not on the outside.

As you snapped back to reality you got up from his lap and walked a few steps back from his body, unconsciously lifting a hand to cover your mouth but stopped when you realized thick blood covered it.

"Oh my god" You sobbed quietly, the weak sound of your voice was hidden behind your own heart beat stumping in your ears.

Peter tried to speak, he wanted to say something to assure you it wasn't your fault but breathing was becoming a harder task, let alone getting words out of his mouth. He used what was left of his strength to barely lift his head to look at you. He tried his best to give you a tiny smile, one you almost confused as a sign of pain from how weak it was.

You weren't able to keep eye contact with him, your eyes darted through the room but soon realized you couldn't keep looking at the place covered in blood and destruction either. When you looked Peter again you noticed he wasn't conscious anymore, and finally came back to your senses as if someone had slapped you in the face.

You needed to get help.

You realized how your comms had been deactivated, and as soon as you turned them on again you heard your teammates casually banter as they kicked ass like they used to every mission, completely oblivious to what happened.

"To–Tony" You called out, but your raspy voice wasn't loud enough and they kept bickering. You cleared your throat, taking a big breath to prevent your voice from shaking again. "Tony I need help, Peter is— Peter is down"

The whole team fell in silence, some punches and grunts could still be heard but even though the comms you could feel the tension building.

"I'm on my way" Tony's low tone made you shiver.

You walked further from Peter and waited in a corner of the room, looking expectantly at the window for Tony's arrival. A part of you wanted to hold Peter in your arms, but you were stuck on your feet as you were afraid to hurt him even more.

You couldn't get close to him, what if you hurt him again? The only thing that kept you from completely losing it was FRIDAY's reassurance that Peter's heart was still beating.

It didn't take long before Tony reached your location, the sound of his repulsors landing harshly next to Peter's body startled you, and he wasted no time in making questions as FRIDAY scanned him.

"What the hell happened here?" He asked, but you stayed silent in your position.

He was worried, how could he not be? His pupil was dying in his arms and his girlfriend was paralyzed in the other side of the room. He couldn't even understand why the hell were you standing so far away.

Before he could ask you Natasha made her appearance in the room, eyes quickly scanning the situation until they landed on your shaking figure.

You nervously hid your hands behind your back, you were scared to face the consequences of your actions.

You were ashamed.

"I'm so sorry" You couldn't contain the sobs anymore, shaking your head in denial like a terrified child waiting for punishment.

Tony was overwhelmed by how hurt Peter was and trying to patch him up before he bled out, so he couldn't understand why you would apologize for something like this.

But Natasha paid more attention, she noticed how you kept your bloody hands hidden, yet you forgot about the blood that stained your face. Of course she noticed Peter's wounds were common injuries in enemies you confronted, and even those never ended as badly because you tended to have mercy.

Yet none of that was enough to keep Peter safe.

It took only a matter of seconds for the trained spy to realize what happened, and she was a master in masking her reactions and emotions, but this time she couldn't keep herself from gasping in shock.

She took a step towards you, but she quickly was stopped by Wanda's hand. The latter had just arrived with Steve, and she didn't only know what happened.

She could see the images replaying over and over again in your head. So she walked towards you instead of Natasha, and only shushed you when you tried to explain yourself.

She has never been mind controlled, but she had been the one controlling other people, and she understood how vile and destructive it could be. So she could only hold your weak body breaking down in her arms, trying to block herself from the horrible images in your head.

As she walked with you to the jet she felt almost tired from the energy irradiating your body, as hard as she tried to not lurk through your thoughts she couldn't help but feel how miserable you felt.

You wished it was you dying instead of Peter.

So she knew it was best to send you to sleep through the whole ride home, and made sure you had only good dreams.

At least you could be happy in your sleep.

The ride home was silent, apart from the sudden noises the machine that registered Peter's heartbeat made every once in a while. The avengers were shocked, HYDRA had hurt the youngest members of the team, the purest and whatnot, and it happened right under their noses.

Tony beat himself up the whole trip, he had failed both of you, all his fancy systems and technology couldn't keep you safe.

The next days in the compound were hell to everyone. Even though Peter was having an excellent recovery due to his healing abilities, the progress was only physical.

He wanted to see you from the moment he woke up surrounded by doctors. He knew it wasn't your fault, he didn't blame you. He could never.

So he cried and begged to see you, but Tony wouldn't allow him. He knew you needed space, he knew how bad it would affect you to see Peter's injures. So he made him wait, at least until the the fractures healed and the bruises faded from purple to a faint yellow.

Until he didn't limp anymore.

And you? You were a mess. From the moment you arrived the compound you were put through multiple tests to find out what was wrong with you, but nothing showed up. Whatever HYDRA had done to you was momentarily, it left no traces and you were "fine".

Except nothing was fine, you couldn't trust yourself, not after what you did. So you isolated yourself, moved to a room as far away from everyone as possible. And they all knew not to bother you.

Almost the whole team had been through mind control at one point, they knew it took time to heal.

After a few days – that felt like eternity – Peter was finally allowed to go see you, although Tony made sure to warn him there was no guarantees you would even open the door to him.

Peter was more than nervous, his fingers fiddled together as he waited outside your isolation room. It took him time to gather up the courage and a big breath before knocking the door.

You knew Peter was outside from the moment he arrived, his hesitation made you wish he would just turn around and leave, but the knock on the door told you otherwise. You sat down in your bed and hugged your legs, laying your head on your knees.

"Y/n, it's me" He said softly, you just listened carefully on the other side of the door. "Can –can I come in? Please, I need to see you" He sighed deeply when he got no answer, but he wasn't doing to leave.

His voice was brittle, weak. Just like that day when he took off his mask and told you to stop. You shook your head in an attempt to keep the haunted memories away, and buried yourself more in your position.

You heard shuffling on the outside but he didn't leave, you guessed he sat down on the floor. You could almost picture him in your head, almost in the same position you were except he was probably messing up his hair, a habit he had when stressed.

Peter replayed the events over and over in his head. As much as he hated to admit it, you had been starring every nightmare he had since that day. He felt extremely guilty as well, he knew it was wrong to leave you alone in that hydra building. In every mission he was always by your side, but this time you insisted you were fine and you would collect the data yourself. You should've never parted ways.

You sighed, you knew he wasn't going to leave any time soon and you were just prolonging your suffering. Maybe if you just let him in for a moment and avoided him he would leave sooner.

Peter quickly got up after hearing you tell FRIDAY to open the door, and he took a deep breath before entering the room. The first thing he saw was you sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at your hands to avoid eye contact with him.

Of course you couldn't look at him, you were afraid to see him laying on the floor bleeding out just like you did days ago.

He stood by the door, afraid to come closer without your approval.

"How are you?" He mentally slapped himself as soon as the words came out, it was stupid question. He was just eager to talk to you. "I ... I'm fine– I mean, everything has almost healed" He felt stupid once again, he wasn't sure if what he was saying was what you wanted to hear.

And it apparently wasn't since you didn't answer, you just kept staring at your hands motionless.

"Love please, I need you to talk to me" He pleaded, his eyes starting to water. He unconsciously stepped forward to reach you but was instantly stopped by your harsh voice.

"Don't come closer, please" You pleaded too, fixing your eyes on the floor.

When Peter heard your voice he felt like a bucket of cold water was thrown over him. There was no warmth, no emotion, no love.

Just like your eyes that day.

"Alright, I want you to listen to me then" He said firmly this time, he was exasperated. "You know it wasn't your fault, whatever they did to you, you're not responsible for that" He began, softer tone this time. "I wish I could make you understand I don't blame you for this, I love you. I still do, I promise"

You finally lifted your head for your bloodshot eyes to meet his. Your heart skipped a beat when you saw his appearance. He did look better than that day, not as swollen and certainly not covered in blood anymore. But there were still bruises scattered through his body, faded out but you could only imagine how they looked before they did. And his eyes? You had never seen him so heartbroken before.

"How could you let me do something like this?" You finally broke the silence, biting the inside of your cheeks to keep you from sobbing.

You didn't mean to blame him, that wasn't your intention even though your words came out harsher than you wished.

But he could've done something. Anything.

"What?" He frowned, that wasn't the response he was expecting from you.

"You could've stopped me, you are strong enough to do it" You said getting up from the bed, all the anger and pain you kept inside was finally coming out. "Why didn't you stop me!?"

"I–I tried, but you wouldn't listen to me" Peter couldn't help but get defensive too. "If I tried any harder I would've hurt you"

"I wouldn't have cared even if you killed me!" Your voice finally gave up and you broke down in sobs, covering your face in your hands.

Your yell startled Peter, and as much as he wanted to hug you he still respected the boundaries you had given him when you let him in. He took a deep breath and exasperatedly ran a hand though his hair, he didn't want to fight you, that's the last thing he wanted.

So instead of yelling back he softened his voice. "I would. I would have cared as much as you care about almost killing me"

You wiped your eyes to look at him again, and you noticed how bad he was restraining himself in his position.

"You can't say shit like that" He continued, trying control his brittle voice. "What happened to you is not fair, for any of us. I'm so sorry I didn't try harder to stop you, but I can't even bring myself to playfully hit your arm, let alone fighting you. Why do you think we never train together? I can't hurt you, I would never want that" He explained himself, sniffling after finishing his sentence.

"But I hurt you"

"You could never hurt me, not on purpose, I know that" He sighed shaking his head, there was only one way to change your mind.

He stepped forward once again, and even though you put your hands in front of your body to stop him, he kept walking this time.

"No no Peter– please don't" You stepped back but stumbled with the bed and couldn't back off anymore.

He gently took your hands and softly caressed them with his thumbs, trying his best to give you a smile.

"Hey hey, it's okay" He reassured you as if he was talking to a baby. "See? Your hands are not hurting me love, I know they won't" He said, you hesitated for a second but you had missed him more than anything, so you couldn't help yourself from jumping into his arms.

"I'm so sorry Peter" You sobbed in his chest as he finally engulfed you into a hug, his warm torso somehow bringing you the comfort you've needed the past days.

"I know" He sobbed too, and planted a kiss on your head. "I'm sorry too"

You broke the distance from the hug just enough to look at him. As he stared back at your teary eyes, he could finally see how broken your soul was.

"Do you really still love me? After what I did I–" You were interrupted by his lips on yours.

The kiss was salty, desperate. Filled with emotion and pain from two broken souls that deserved better. When the kiss was over you genuinely smiled for the first time again, and Peter couldn't help but giggle too.

"Come on, let's heal together love"

Tags (if you want to be added/removed let me know)

@geeksareunique @princessdancingonthesunshine @lyrxbz @spideygirl2003 @parkerpeter24 @calledthechildanya

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and-justice-for-zoisite · 5 years

Text

~Ocean Eyes~ (Benny Weir x Reader) Part 3

Series Masterlist // Official Masterlist

Summary: After you all catch a movie, you decide to spend a few hours at the mall since, according to Erica and Sarah, it’s the best time to be there. But, your suspicions of believing that Benny knew something that you wish he didn’t are confirmed when he confronts you about it...

Surprisingly to you, the movie was great! You weren’t sure if you were going to enjoy it considering you couldn’t sit through much of the Star Trek series when it was presented to you, but you were glad you were able to watch Star wars because you enjoyed it very much.

Exiting the cinema with a goofy smile, you had almost completely forgotten about your eyes when you turned to Benny. “Wowie! That was great! I’m so glad I watched that, who knew sci-fi could be so amazing?” You gushed, probably a little too excited over such a small thing. The sparkle in your Ocean eyes caused Benny to smile. Maybe you weren’t so bad after all, but he wasn’t just gonna count on the good feeling he got from seeing you happy for his judgement, he knew he was gonna need a little more proof. “I’m really glad you enjoyed it, you looked like you needed a friend at lunch yesterday. We’re not to weird for you...are we?” He asked, yourself shaking your head rapidly. “I’ll admit, Rory could use a lesson on personal space, but otherwise, you guys are perfect.” You giggled, causing the green eyed boy to copy the contagious action as you all walked out of the theaters.

“Hey, we should all go to the mall!” Sarah suggested, yourself cocking a brow at the statement. “..But it’s six o’clock.” You pointed out. “Yeah, that’s the best time to be out shopping! Unless you have better things to do.” Erica said. “O-of course I don’t, it’d be fun anyways.” You said as you smiled nervously. “Alrighty then, let’s go!” Rory said excitedly, everyone nodding in agreement as you all began on your way.

As you entered the automatic sliding doors which led to the interior of the mall, you took in the rather unfamiliar surroundings like a small fish in a big sea. Before this you had only ever been twice, and that was to buy your favorite snacks until they had started stocking them in the main grocery store in town. It made you feel so small being there, especially since you were still up for hiding your eyes as best you could under the circumstances.

“Ok, Sarah and I are gonna go look at shoes and dresses, would you like to join us (Y/N)?” Erica asked. You blushed in embarrassment as you hid your hands behind your back. “W-well...I-I’m more into uhh...v...video games...” You said quietly, Rory pumping his fist as he cheered. “Yes!! She’s hot, AND a geek! Score!!” You blushed even more as you giggled at his behavior, it was obvious you were becoming infatuated by the energetic blonde, something everyone around you found quite hard to believe since he was so immature. “Alright, you can go geek it up with the boys (*insert “me and The boys” meme*) and we’ll meet at the food court in half an hour for dinner.” Sarah said, the two groups splitting off and heading in separate directions.

The first place you headed off to was the game-stop, quite an obvious choice considering all of your interests. As soon as you had made it, all four of you went of running around the store like sugar-high kids.

Since you were honestly more of a movie nerd than a game nerd, you decided to browse through the vinyl pop figurines, hoping to find any which belonged to classics. That was when you spotted a collection that you favored out of all of them. Sitting upon the shelf was all six figurines made for the film “The Dark Crystal”, the best movie of them all next to “The Exorcist” and “Labyrinth” in your opinion. It was as if they were calling your name, begging to be bought and placed on the already quite crowded pop culture shelf you had at home. It was a good thing you inherited quite a lot of money from your family when they passed, all those valuable demon euros converted into human money made you much more money than you knew what to do with. This was a perfect excuse to spend it.

Carefully, you pulled each box off the shelf one by one, making sure to balance them all before you took any steps. That was when Benny rolled around the corner, raising a brow at all the figurines you were holding. “Woah, why so many?” He asked. “These are all the Pop Vinyl figurines made for one of my favorite movies, The Dark Crystal. I really just couldn’t resist.” You said happily as you began your way to the counter. “The...Dark Crystal?” Benny asked. “Yeah, it’s a classic movie, made in 1982. It was made by the same guy who made The Muppets. It delves into more of a Fantasy genre so I wouldn’t expect you to ever watch it considering you seem a lot more into Sci-fi.” You explained as you placed your desired purchases onto the counter for the clerk to scan. “Well, I mean, sure, Sci-fi is my favorite. But, I do tend to indulge in a bit of fantasy every now and then.” He said as a matter of factually, yourself giggling as you handed the man behind the counter your credit card. “Well, I suppose you might end up enjoying it if you were to watch it. But I’ll tell you now, there ain’t no Jedi's or Space ships in it.” You joked, the boy laughing as the two of you began walking out of the shop, completely forgetting that you guys had two other friends you were supposed to be waiting for.

Benny didn’t see it. After getting to know you a little, he didn’t at all understand how you could’ve been a pure blooded demon. You had normal interests, normal hobbies, and surprisingly good social skills. However, he was aware that if Ethan really did have that vision, and if there was really oceans in your eyes, then he’d have to hinge off of that and figure everything out.

After a bit of strolling, you two reached an area which seemed deserted, no one around to witness what was about to go down. He walked you into a little lounge area, where shoppers would usually sit to sort their shopping, where there was no exit beside the one behind Benny.

In confusion, you turned around to face Benny, about to ask him a question when he pulled out a book. The symbol placed on the cover caused a terrified gasp to escape your lips as you backed yourself against the wall and held your right hand up. “Stay back! Stay away from me you horrid Wiccan!” You shouted as a ball of bright blue glowing energy formed in your hand, Benny opening his book. “I’ve known, ever since I saw your eyes, what you are...I never thought I’d see a pure-blood demon in my lifetime.” He said, causing you to growl lowly as you felt your ears begin to point through your beanie and your canine teeth grow to meet your bottom lip. “I was so stupid to let myself be manipulated by a dirty wiccan...and to think I thought I’d started to make friends. I bet you have the others in on exterminating me as well!” You shouted. “Look, only Sarah and Ethan know...Ethan found out because he’s a seer, he had a vision when he touched your books, a vision you need to see.” He explained, making you scoff as you shook your head. “How do I know that you’re not just gonna freeze me? Your people are dirty and I wouldn’t be surprised.” Benny sighed as he looked into your ocean eyes, watching as the waves overlapped each other in a violent way to indicate the anger circulating through your body. Slowly, he raised his hand. “posuit animam suam in corpus illius....” He mumbled before a beam of light shot through his palm and into your head. You stumbled back from the sudden force, and you felt your vision go blurry until everything went black for a moment.

You fluttered your eyelids open and almost instantly felt the unease in the air as you looked around. The place you were in was unfamiliar, it was a small, dark room, nothing but the mysterious blue glow which centered the room. Upon further investigation, you realized that it was a person sitting in a chair, tied up and bound by chains. But to your horror, it was you, your glowing blue tears as the only light and your whimpers the only sound bouncing off the walls. That was when a sickeningly familiar face entered the scene, her face still as twisted as you remembered. “It’s time, you foul scum.” She seethed, the you which was sitting in the chair lifting your head fast and shaking your head. “obsecro...” she pleaded in Latin, yourself instantly being able to translate. “...please?” You asked yourself, even though she couldn’t hear you. “Don’t even bother, I have no mercy for you.” The old hag growled as she picked up an all too familiar tool from a table to the side. “nihil...obsecro!!” the other you screamed, squirming desperately. “Shut up and stay...still.” The woman said as she grabbed the girl’s face roughly and slowly began etching the tool under her left eye. “Nihil!! prohibere!!!!” she screamed. But it was too late, the other you’s eye had cleaning popped out of it’s socket. You felt as though you were going to be sick, but unconsciousness beat that feeling as you passed out and fell to the ground.

You screamed as your eyes shot open, panic completely numbing your senses as you found it difficult to find yourself again. “Woah woah woah, it’s ok (Y/n), calm down.” You heard a slightly comforting voice try to reason with you, calming your screams to panicked gasps as you felt tears well up in your eyes. Upon regaining consciousness of where you were, you saw a very worried looking Benny kneeling down in front of you while you were sat on the floor and against the wall. Taking in a shaky breath, you let go of your tears and began sobbing loudly, completely horrified by the awfully real feeling vision. Benny carefully placed a hand on your shoulder as he managed to look into your eyes. “(Y/n)...I know what happened with your family...my grandma, she was the one who saved you. Look, I know you’ve had bad experiences with people like me..uh, ‘wiccan’s’, as you call us, but I promise you, my intentions are good, and we’re gonna make sure nothing bad happens to you.” He said softly. Without thinking, you threw your arms around the boy and buried your face into his shoulder, the fabric of his shirt muffling your loud cries. Benny didn’t seem at all surprised when you did this as he slowly wrapped his arms around you and rested his chin atop your head. He figured you needed a loving hug, he didn’t think you had ever had one since your family, that would’ve been for a good fifty years you were hug deprived. The two of you stayed like that until you were calmed enough, Benny pulling away slightly so he could look you in the eyes again. Not to be cliche, but He couldn’t help but notice how pretty the tears which had stained your cheeks were, they made your face glow and sparkle, and they almost made him forget all the nasty things he had heard about your species as he cupped your cheek and used his thumb to wipe away a tear which was still falling. “Alright, so there’s this little ice-cream parlor just outside the mall that we could maybe go to. Y’know, ice-cream always makes me feel better.” The brunette said softly, making you sniffle and giggle as you wiped more of your tears away. “Are you asking me on a date?” You asked jokingly. “Will you punch me if it is?” He asked, causing a small fit of laughter to erupt from your lips as you hit him gently. “Just take me out already lover-boy.” You said, the two of you laughing before he helped you up and you both began your way to where the boy had spoken of, even though that meant leaving your friends behind.

It didn’t take you very long to arrive at the little ice-cream parlor, and surprisingly there were still people sitting at some tables, none of which you knew however. The two of you took a seat in a booth and eventually a waiter came by, pen in one hand, notepad in the other and his hair neatly slicked back. “May I take your order?” He asked in a friendly tone. “Two chocolate sundaes and lemonades please.” Benny ordered, the man nodding as he wrote it down. “We’ll get you your order in just a few moments.” And with that, he left to the counter.

In that moment, you turned to Benny with a curious look in your eyes. “So, what exactly are you?” You asked. “A Spell-caster, I don’t know if there’s much more to it. I mean, anyone could be a spell-caster if they had a book, so it’s not that exciting.” The brunette explained. “No, it is. I often dream of having hands which can give me anything I please with some form of words.” You sighed, Benny cocking a brow at this. “But I thought Pure-blood demons had that sort of power.” He said. “Did your granny tell you that?” You asked with a small laugh as Benny nodded. “No, no no no...there’s a lot told about us that’s incorrect. Pure-bloods are only allowed to conjure things which are direly needed, not things we desire. If we were to act on a selfish want, then we’d be transformed into an impure-blood for the rest of eternity.” You explained. “Wait...then that means...” Benny began. “That a lot of the legends told about us are untrue? I’m aware. About Half the facts in any book written on my species are false, like that we crave anything greed driven and that we’re violent creatures. We aren’t, we really aren’t.” You sighed, resting your cheek in your palm. “Then...what is true about you?” Benny asked. “Well, tell me any facts you’re unsure of and I’ll tell you truth from lie.” you suggested, the boy tilting his head in a thoughtful manner. “Alright, I’ve got quite a few I’m curious about...”

And with that, the two of you talked the night away, receiving your orders at least 5 minutes after the interrogation began. Within the hours Benny had spent with you, he learned so much about who you really were and how your species worked. A lot of it was quite shocking to hear, many legends about you he had been raised with were in fact false, and quite a few facts had also been lies. But on the other hand, it was fascinating to learn of your culture and customs.

The time was now 10:30 pm. Everyone else who had occupied some of the other chairs in the shop were now gone, leaving only the two of you plus a few of the late night employees to finish their shifts. You and Benny were quite tired, and so were the employees who’d usually finish early, but the brunette boy was too intrigued to finish the conversation.

“So...witches don’t use your blood as perfume?” He asked, yourself laughing as you shook your head. “Of course not doof. The healing and anti-aging properties would turn them into a baby again.” You explained. “Well, if that’s the case, you could get a pint of your blood, put it in a spray bottle, and use it against any witches that try to murder you! After all, they can’t fight you if they’re babies.” He joked, only causing more fits of laughter to escape your lips. “You’re such a dork.” You teased, the boy chuckling as he looked down with that adorable smile of his.

There was a small silence as you looked up at the little clock which hung on the wall, your eyes widening at the time you had seen.

“God Benny! It’s 10:30 ! We’ve been here for 4 hours!” You exclaimed, the boy seemingly also quite shock. “Damn it! Grandma isn’t gonna come out and pick me up this late.” He sighed. “Y’know, my house isn’t that far from here, it’s only a 10 minute walk. You could stay the night if you’d like.”

“Are you sure that’d be ok? I wouldn’t wanna be intruding or anything.” He said as he cocked a brow.

“Trust me, you wouldn’t be intruding, I’m the only one who lives there.” You sighed, the boy giving you a sympathetic look before he touched your arm softly.

“Alright then, let’s go.”

A/n: FINALLY I DID IT. Sorry for the wait y’all, but here you go. Just so y’all know I’m working on a NSFW Sub!Benny x Reader Headcannon thingy so if you’re into that shit then keep a lookout!

Taglist:

@southsideprinxexx @realityshifter111

#benny weir #benny weir x reader #benny weir imagine #benny x reader #mbav #mbav benny #my babysitters a vampire #benny weir imagines #benny weir fluff #fluff

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thelittleredheadedmusician · 5 years

Text

Three Card Draw

For @leonine-eagle as part of the Les Mis Halloween Exchange 2019! Your trick for the prompts mythology au and modern au! I know you asked for pining too and I tried, honest, but I don't think it landed which is why I labelled it gen. Though hopefully I fit in enough friendship feels for you! Regardless I hope you like it and Happy Halloween! Words: 11,617 Rating: T AO3

Being stuck in Limbo for a few centuries was boring. A few thousand years just made him angry.

Zeus had said that he was “a radical even your lauded Prometheus wouldn’t associate with” before chucking him in here. Enjolras was fairly certain he’d been forgotten about by this point.

Not that it made Enjolras any more remorseful. Especially seeing as he wasn’t remorseful to begin with. This just further proved his point that Zeus was a self-important asshat who disrespected women and took advantage of the mortals. It would seem the other gods still wouldn’t listen to him though, if they did maybe he wouldn’t still be in this plane of literal nothing. Or maybe they just couldn’t find him. Or maybe they were too afraid to share his fate.

Regardless, Enjolras wasn’t happy and was getting tired with just arguing with the version of Zeus in his head. Besides, he was a minor god anyway. And the god of freedom. Why was he being punished so severely? What did Zeus expect?

It would have taken him hundreds of years longer before he’d have been even the slightest bit of a threat. At the very least a century. Enjolras had a small following in the northern wilds outside a growing city called Rome; the group was expanding steadily but never at an alarming rate. Or, well, he’d assisted a bit in the Romans establishing a republic and that may have bolstered his following and increased his power. But still not enough to catch the attention of the Greek Pantheon.

Except, some of the Greeks’ followers had come to Rome and as a rapidly expanding city it caught their attention. Enjolras with it. So, he said some things, Zeus was awful, and he was thrown here. The last thing Enjolras heard as the portal closed was Zeus telling his son, Dionysus, that he could have Enjolras’s followers since “intoxication is just a variation on his theme.” That last bit was something that especially pressed on his nerves.

For the umpteenth time Enjolras was finessing the finer points of his argument that freedom did not equate rampancy and debauchery when there was a break in the nothingness. A rectangle had appeared to his right. He couldn’t exactly describe what it looked like beyond the fact that it was something in the nothing. Enjolras didn’t know what this meant or if it might be a trap or a punishment even more severe, but he knew he might not get another chance to leave Limbo. He walked toward it and then through it.

He’d walked right into a room with strips of light coming through window coverings and landing on two sofas, some small tables – all of which were strewn with books both open and closed – and two very shocked young men.

“Holy shit. Ferre, it worked,” the one said in a hushed tone.

“I’ll admit that I’m just as surprised as you are,” his companion replied.

“Are you- are you really a god?” The first asked, eyeing Enjolras suspiciously. Or, more accurately, shifting his suspicious gaze from the book open between them up to Enjolras before going back to the book.

It was quickly dawning on Enjolras that these two men had released him from his prison. Realizing the intelligence, compassion, and will needed to accomplish that quickly endeared the mortals to Enjolras. Besides, the answer was obvious. “What year is it?”

The second man blinked at him from behind two small panes of glass enclosed in some type of dark metal. “2019,” he answered quickly, and added almost as an afterthought, “AD.”

Enjolras frowned and raised his head to the sky, only to be met with a low white ceiling. It was close enough, if Zeus were listening he’d get the point. “Fuck.”

“Sometimes I forget that you’re a god,” Courfeyrac remarked from where he was sprawled across the couch in Enjolras and Combeferre’s small apartment. His presence meant there weren’t currently books sprawled there, rather they were piled haphazardly onto the end table by his feet. “But,” he continued, “then you do something like this and I’m abruptly reminded.”

Enjolras glanced down at the bucket of cleaning supplies in his hand before throwing a look to Combeferre who seemed just as confused. Ferre lowered his book to better examine Courfeyrac as he asked, “You mean voluntarily clean the bathroom?”

“Yes!” Courf cried, swooning further into the sofa and making Enjolras roll his eyes to hide his smile. “Marius would never!”

Enjolras snorted. “Well it is Marius.”

Courf scrambled to escape the sofa. Enjolras had learned quickly that it had a tendency to absorb you if you sat there too long and it seemed as though Courfeyrac was the current victim. He’d looked into whose domain crappy apartment furniture fell under and while Combeferre insisted that it was Hestia Enjolras wasn’t too sure, there was no way she’d associate with the abomination that was Ikea. Enjolras was convinced that it was Loki. It was an ongoing debate.

“He is not that bad!” Courfeyrac insisted. Combeferre made a face before going back to his book, leaving Courf to give Enjolras a pleading look. “Really, he’s not.”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow, shifting the bucket to his other hand. “The first time I met him he told me that the gods were long dead and that if you were going to waste your time with religion it should at least be to the Catholic Church because at least they did good as an organization.”

Courf winced. Marius’s first impression had not been a good one and he knew. “That was his family talking, not him. You know that.”

Sighing, Enjolras turned to go scrub the toilet. “I do. I just have a tendency to hold a grudge. That happens when you spend thousands of years stuck in literal nothing.”

Following him to the bathroom Courfeyrac snorted and leaned against the doorjamb. “He’s harmless.”

“I know,” Enjolras admitted. “He’s like the thing from the flim with the singing frog.” He disliked not being able to recall the word. In a matter of months he’d managed to catch up on all the history and culture that he missed, with Courfeyrac and Combeferre as diligent and kind teachers, but there was still a steep learning curve and sometimes things escaped him.

Courfeyrac hadn’t responded so Enjolras stopped his scrubbing to look at him. Courf had tilted his head to the side and drawn his brows together in confusion. “Meet the Robinsons?” he asked slowly.

“No,” Combeferre appeared behind Courf, looking amused but benign. “The Muppets. He’s calling Marius a muppet.”

Courfeyrac looked between them, a pouty frown firmly in place. “Marius is…” he stopped, sighed, and continued, “Marius really is a muppet.”

Combeferre looked smug before turning to go back to the living room. Enjolras just snorted and made to keep cleaning. He’d thought that Courfeyrac had left too until he heard him speak again.

“If you don’t like Marius why are you friends with him? Is it just because you need the followers?”

Enjolras let the brush rest in the toilet and turned to look up at Courf. He understood why the question was asked but it still hurt a bit. Enjolras had quickly grown exceptionally close with Courfeyrac and Combeferre and enjoyed being folded easily into their loose group of friends. They were smart, passionate, and believed in everything that Enjolras had been working for before Zeus had exiled him. Courfeyrac and Combeferre were his brothers. And their other friends were just that, friends.

“No. Marius may be a bit misguided but he’s not the only one. Knowledge about the gods is lacking and something happened and no one seems to know what. It’s not his fault that this lack of knowledge impacted him. He’s a good person and seems to genuinely want to learn. He’s my friend and I want to help him,” Enjolras assured Courfeyrac.

Courf nodded, he sank so that he too was sitting on the cold tile of the bathroom floor. “It’s just… I know that you need followers or worshipers or whatever to regain your power and like the twitter thing isn’t going as well as we thought.”

Enjolras shrugged, he wanted to reach out and put a hand on Courf’s shoulder but seeing as how he was still in the middle of cleaning the toilet thought better of it. “It’s gaining traction faster than anything I used to do and I am getting stronger every day. What’s important though is that there are mortals who want to make the world better for each other because it just proves my point: you never needed gods to begin with, just each other. And you and Combeferre and Feuilly and Joly and Bossuet and yes even Marius are proof of that.”

Courfeyrac seemed to be in better spirits as he leveled a searching look at Enjolras. “How do you do that?”

“What?”

“Say just the right thing?”

Enjolras smirked. “I am a god.”

Courfeyrac laughed and they could hear Combeferre booing the joke from down the hall, making Courf just laugh harder.

The weekly meetings at the Musain, a café near Courfeyrac and Combeferre’s university, reminded Enjolras of the rituals that his followers used to conduct. Though these he found much more enjoyable. There was a strident attempt at democracy and even though they all knew Enjolras was a god they never treated him as such. He reveled the egalitarianism of it.

Jehan still insisted that they open every meeting with a poem. Their compositions were far superior to any that Enjolras used to hear though and ranged in topics from soap bubbles to deforestation. Sometimes within the same poem.

It was during Jehan’s reading of a piece on feminism in the film industry that Bahorel ducked into the backroom late, another man on his heels. They settled into seats in the corner, as to not cause a disruption. Enjolras studied the new man as Jehan recited. There was something about the flash of his eyes under his messy curls and the twitch of his mouth that spoke mischief to Enjolras. The same look he’d seen about Hermes, Loki, and Sun Wukong.

Jehan sat down, finished, and rather than snap politely like the others all did the newcomer clapped loudly. He earned a startled look from Jehan and a glare from Enjolras. Bahorel winced and clapped him on the shoulder.

The newcomer looked at Bahorel in confusion. “What? It was good. I’m showing my appreciation.”

Bahorel sighed and made a face at Enjolras that clearly said, “What’re you gonna do?” Enjolras waved it off in favor of looking to Jehan to see what they thought of the whole situation.

They were grinning broadly. “You really enjoyed it?”

“Oh, very much yes,” came the reply. It was enthusiastic and warm but felt like it was the build up to something else and Enjolras was unsurprised as he continued. “The rhythm and cadence? The way you made the syllables fall just so! And-”

“R,” Bahorel interrupted, “why don’t you let me introduce you before you overwhelm Jehan by presenting an impromptu dissertation on their poetry.”

The man called R stopped and grinned. It was lazy and self-deprecating and that mischief was back. Something about it bothered Enjolras but he didn’t know what and he didn’t know why.

“I’m Grantaire,” he said with a sweeping wave of his hand.

Jehan beamed. “R!” they laughed and once it was pointed out Enjolras got the joke too. It was clever and he smiled at it.

“Bahorel beats me up once a week,” Grantaire continued after flashing a warm smile to Jehan.

“I do not!” Bahorel scoffed. He looked like Jason Mamoa’s little brother. Two inches littler and that was it. Compared to Grantaire who, from what Enjolras could tell, was stocky but not tall it wasn’t hard to believe Grantaire.

Grantaire rolled his eyes but his smile never faltered. “’Rel and I box at the same gym and for reasons lost to both of us became sparring partners. He invited me to save the world club and I got tired of saying no.”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow at Bahorel, why would he keep inviting someone who didn’t want to come? Bahorel pointedly ignored him.

Bossuet leaned across the table and immediately swept Grantaire into a discussion with Musichetta and Joly. Enjolras knew he was frowning and was relieved to notice that Eponine was too.

Eponine was suspicious of everyone and it came in handy, she could normally tell how trustworthy a person was within a matter of minutes. Since no one seemed to know what had happened to the other gods, or if Zeus would track Enjolras down should he discover he’d been freed, it meant that keeping Enjolras’s identity as a god a secret was imperative. No one was allowed to know until Eponine gave her nod of approval. Enjolras could have easily confirmed their loyalties himself but he hated doing that, feeling that it was an intrusion of privacy and to ask someone to consent would tip his hand. Besides, Eponine hadn’t been wrong yet.

She glanced back at Enjolras and nodded. It seemed her frown was just mild annoyance and initial distrust. Eponine was settling back into her chair and turning back to listen to something Combeferre was saying. Something about Grantaire still seemed off to Enjolras though so he texted Musichetta quickly.

Enjolras: Do you have your tarot cards?

Musichetta: Never leave home w/out em! Why?

Enjolras: Can you do a reading on Grantaire? Can we trust him?

Musichetta: One sec.

Enjolras pretended to listen to Courfeyrac and Feuilly talk about the essay they were doing for the international relations class they were in together. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Musichetta excuse herself from the table, grabbing her bag and slipping it on. She pressed a hand to Grantaire’s shoulder as she passed, saying something likely along the lines of “be right back” and heading towards the bathrooms. About a minute later Enjolras’s phone lit up with a text from her.

Musichetta: Hanged Man, Wheel of Fortune, and Knight of Cups

Enjolras frowned at the screen. Tarot wasn’t in use before but picking it up was almost intuitive for him, though he did much better when the cards were in front of him. As such, it was taking him a second to recall the meanings of the ones Musichetta texted she’d drawn. For Musichetta it was a second language and she would often have entire conversations with her deck, to the delight and amusement of their friends.

She must have known that he was still working it out because another text appeared.

Musichetta: He has a past he’s not sharing and may not want to share with us. Something happened and I think it still is but ultimately we can trust him. He’s good people Enj.

Enjolras typed out a quick “Thanks” before flipping his phone so it was facedown on the table. He’d wait until she got back to really start but in the meantime he could get everyone’s attention.

“Alright,” he said, just loud enough to be heard over the low rumble of conversation. People quieted and the room’s attention turned towards him. Musichetta slipped back into her seat and gave him a nod. “Since this is Grantaire’s first time joining us and I think we could all do with a bit of a refresher on the twitter front let’s start there. Courfeyrac? Combeferre?”

“Right,” Courf shuffled his chair back so he could stand, “so we set Enjolras up with a twitter because this is the twenty-first century, I’ve read way too much The Wicked and The Divine, and his witty comebacks translate well into two hundred eighty characters or less.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes but didn’t interrupt Courfeyrac.

“So far we’re at a little over a thousand followers and growing steadily. Um, we do need to work on your hashtag game.” He gave Enjolras a serious look and it was all Enjolras could do to not start talking about how he thought they broke up the flow and Courf would fire back about SEO and all sorts of terms Enjolras realized were important for social media but he was only just beginning to understand.

“The testing of followers to power has been… tricky,” Combeferre winced and Enjolras knew he was thinking of the other day in the kitchen. Enjolras used to be able to just will a flame into existence. He’d managed to light a candle and then Courfeyrac and Marius walked in and he’d nearly set the curtains on fire. “It seems that the physical presence of people who believe in Enjolras make him more powerful but that has also made gathering empirical data difficult.”

There was a laugh from the corner of the room and Enjolras turned to see Grantaire looking at them all incredulously. “You do know you sound like you’re talking about a cult? I mean, I told ‘Rel I thought he’d joined a cult but like I wasn’t serious. Look, nobody should be striving to be Jared Leto dude.”

“It’s not a cult,” Enjolras heard himself say flatly. “We’re trying to make the world better.”

“You know that’s exactly what someone leading a cult might say,” Grantaire still smiled but it was sharp and there was a little bit of mania in his expression now. Enjolras watched as he pulled a flask from somewhere in his coat and took a swig. “Or, you know, a new religion. Which is kinda like a cult. Now fuck Zeus, guy’s a dick who can’t keep his dick in his pants, but like I doubt that any of the gods are gonna go in for you trying to turn yourself into one. Believe me, it doesn’t work like that.”

Enjolras was instantly impressed and just as quickly furious. It was brave to speak so glibly about any of the gods and especially Zeus. Then again, what did this man know? No one knew anything about the gods except the gods themselves and as far as they could tell Enjolras was the only god around.

“Oh, and you’ve tried?” Enjolras heard himself saying before he could stop.

Grantaire just raised his brows and took another long pull from his flask. Enjolras knew what Dionysus looked like and it wasn’t the man at the other end of the table. Something about the angle of the brows and the mocking tilt of the lips and the flask in hand reminded Enjolras of him though and that made him see red.

“There’s no need to become a god when you already are one!” Enjolras threw his hands onto the table, pushing himself to his feet. He could feel his palms getting hot and his chest heaving as he breathed.

Grantaire just stared back from across the table. Enjolras saw there was satisfaction in his expression, Enjolras having confirmed his suspicions and risen to the challenge.

Someone was tugging on the sleeve of his sweater and Enjolras turned to see Combeferre giving him a look. It was part reprimand, part warning and Enjolras knew he needed to heed it. Combeferre was wise beyond his years and much smarter than Enjolras, which they both knew. He also had a much cooler head and was able to direct Enjolras’s anger much better than Enjolras himself was.

He returned to his seat, avoiding his other friends’ eyes and the smug look Grantaire seemed to be sending his way. The spot on the table where his hands had pressed smoked slightly and the plastic had warped. Enjolras felt himself flush as he examined it.

“Yeah,” Courfeyrac said, naturally filling in the awkward silence. He tried to catch Enjolras’s eye but quickly realized that was futile and stopped. “So, like I was, um, explaining? Since the gods draw power from their followers, we’re trying to get Enjolras social media followers and hope the sentiment transfers!”

Where Combeferre took Enjolras’s anger and pointed it at a target, Courfeyrac was able to shape it. Not blunt it, though sometimes he was able to do that too, but turn it into something that was wieldy. Focused. The easy cadence of his voice even now was helping to pull Enjolras back to the present. Not the past, where he was trapped and powerless. Or to the future he dreamt of and longed for and knew with enough help he could achieve. But the present where he was surrounded by his friends who believed in that future and wanted to do what they could to make it a reality.

Courf’s voice had been working, centering Enjolras in the here and now, until Grantaire interrupted. Again.

“Ho-ly fuck,” Grantaire laughed. Enjolras whipped his head up to look at him and this time he really did look manic. “You really are a cult!”

There was some general sputtering and cries of outrage and Courfeyrac was saying “What? No. What? No! We- we- we don’t even have water!”

Enjolras found himself taking a deep breath, closing his eyes, and opening them to focus on Grantaire. “You came because you were curious, for one reason or another, about what we do. We’re trying to help people and it just so happens that I have the ability to do a little more than the average. The gods have mistreated mortals for eons, using them as playthings and pawns. Then, leaving them to be crushed under the rubble of the wars the gods have wrought. We’re saying no more. No more fate or interference, just the freedom to live as you want without dealing with the fallout of beings too powerful and arrogant to give a shit.”

The room had gone silent; if he tried Enjolras was sure he might be able to hear breathing and heartbeats but even that seemed like a stretch in the hush that had fallen.

For the first time all evening Grantaire’s face had gone blank. “You want a revolution,” he said flatly.

Enjolras opened his mouth to contradict but Grantaire had cut him off.

“You want a revolution. Never mind the fact that the gods have fucked off ages ago. Never mind the fact that in a fight with a god all your so-called friends would die and you would be the lone martyr left standing. Who can’t be killed but certainly wouldn’t be allowed to just walk free. No, that wouldn’t matter because you have justice and righteous fury on your side. But wait, I don’t see Forseti or Sekhmet here? Oh, right. Because the gods have all fucked off and left the mortals to rot. How can you fight something that’s not even there?”

“I’m here,” Enjolras said with certainty.

“Good for you! I’ve spent half my life cursing Zeus and you know what? He still hasn’t shown. I feel like my evidence is more damning.” At that Grantaire stood, stuffing his flask back into one of the many pockets on his jacket. “Well ‘Rel, this was fun. Or something. Bossuet, Joly, give me a call and we’ll put a D&D game together.” He walked out the door saying, “I’ll just go, figure you don’t want non-believers in your little cult.”

Nobody moved in the wake of Grantaire’s leaving. Enjolras just blinked at the door, upset and hurt but he didn’t understand why. Not Grantaire’s words, but his leaving was certainly the cause. But why would that upset Enjolras?

Bahorel finally broke the tension. “Dude, I am so sorry. I didn’t- He’s not- I thought he’d be cool, y’know?”

Enjolras nodded. He felt himself relax as everyone seemed to refocus. Grantaire wasn’t the first naysayer Enjolras had met and he wouldn’t be the last. So why did he bother him so much?

Enjolras was shocked then when Grantaire appeared at the Musain the next week. He walked in late and carrying a bottle of wine but he didn’t interrupt, just sat in the back drinking and occasionally scoffing at something that had been said. He’d left as soon as the official meeting ended and took his bottle with him.

The next week the scene repeated itself. Again and again, week after week.

Finally, Enjolras was so infuriated by his own inability to work out Grantaire’s motivations he just asked. Breaking off in the middle of speaking he turned slightly to better address Grantaire, “What are you doing here?”

“Not being disruptive?” Grantaire hazarded, confusion plain on his face. “Or would you rather I be disruptive? Because I can be, don’t think I can’t.”

Enjolras huffed. “Oh, I am abundantly aware.”

Grantaire smiled, the expression what Courfeyrac would have called shit eating. “Well,” Grantaire said with sickening sweetness, “then the choice is yours.”

Enjolras felt his face heat. He turned and continued to address his friends. He could see Grantaire drinking from the bottle out of the corner of his eye.

The rest of the night was no different than any other, except that Grantaire stayed until the end. Enjolras was talking with Feuilly about an upcoming protest they were planning to attend when he saw that Grantaire was still there, helping Bossuet move one of the tables back to its place against the wall.

As everyone else filed out Enjolras lingered, noticing that Grantaire did too. Soon the other man was ducking out after Marius and Cosette, leaving Enjolras with Courfeyrac and Combeferre.

“That was odd,” Combeferre commented, nodding after Grantaire.

“Aw, R’s harmless,” Courfeyrac waved it off, shrugging on his jacket. “He drinks too much and runs his mouth but he’s not a bad guy. If you don’t believe me use your weird godly powers to check for yourself.”

Enjolras made a noncommittal noise to that. “I just, I don’t understand why he keeps coming if he doesn’t believe in us.”

“He’s a skeptic.” Combeferre said it like it was a fact. Sunlight reflecting off gases in the atmosphere made the sky blue. Enjolras was a god in exile. Society benefits when women are given opportunities. Grantaire was a skeptic. “He wants to see if we can actually prove him wrong.”

Enjolras scoffed at that. He flipped the lights off as he closed the door to the back room behind them. Courfeyrac patted both Enjolras and Combeferre on the back before going to flirt with the baristas, who were definitely trying to see which one he’d ask out on a date first.

“Look, you’re going to think what you want and I won’t stop you. Just, that’s my opinion on the matter,” Combeferre gave him a level look. “If you don’t believe me you can always ask him yourself. And not in the middle of a meeting leaving him open to public embarrassment.”

Enjolras widened his eyes. “That’s not-”

“I know. He might not have.”

Enjolras cursed. It was ancient and long and his friends always begged him to tell them what it meant but it didn’t translate well so he never did.

Combeferre just smiled, shrugging. He gave a little two finger salute off the corner of his glasses before turning and weaving his way towards the door. He was heading back to the university to get some work done, meaning Enjolras had hours of an empty apartment ahead of himself to stew on the evening.

Enjolras took one last glance to the counter where Courfeyrac was fluttering his eyelashes at the girl with the pixie cut and glasses. She seemed unimpressed which was a far cry from her coworkers. There was no way Courf would be joining him to walk to the metro station anytime soon. Enjolras stuffed his hands in his coat pockets and headed towards the door.

He shouldered the door open and immediately flinched at the shock of the drizzle. Enjolras grumbled at the weather and everyone he could think of who might be responsible for it as he turned to walk down the sidewalk. He was brought up short though by the figure leaning against the wall just under the awning and sipping a cup of coffee.

“Grantaire?” Enjolras asked incredulously.

“Knew you’d be the last one out.”

It was all the confirmation Enjolras needed. “I’m not. Courfeyrac is still in there,” he huffed.

Grantaire laughed, but it didn’t sound mocking. It sounded genuinely amused. Enjolras frowned, suddenly off balance.

“You know I never thought the god of poetry would be so fucking literal.”

“What?” Enjolras felt like he was getting whiplash, so thrown and unsure of what was currently happening.

Grantaire gave him an incredulous look. “Oh, come off it. You’re obviously Apollo, god of the sun and poetry and healing and music and a million other things.”

There was a lot wrong with that sentence but Enjolras managed to zero in on the most minor thing in his shock.

“Apollo isn’t the sun god, Helios is.”

Grantaire looked at him like he was crazy as he sipped from the cup. “Where have you been? They gave Apollo and Artemis the sun and moon ages ago.”

Enjolras frowned. “I was exiled.”

“No shit,” Grantaire laughed. “I mean, it was kinda obvious you weren’t in good standing.” He gestured with a nod back towards the café.

“No.” Enjolras squeezed his eyes shut as he shook his head. “No, I mean I was literally thrown into limbo.”

When he looked back at Grantaire he’d frozen and there was an undecipherable look on his face. But just for a second before it had flashed back to some color of amusement.

“You’re saying Dante actually got that bit right?” He teased.

Enjolras responded with a flat expression.

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “Go on, tell me how wrong I am.”

“It’s a term that is used to describe a pocket dimension wherein nothing exists, not even time.”

“Hmm. Fascinating.” Grantaire raised his eyebrows over the rim of his cup.

“You’re enjoying this,” Enjolras accused.

“Only minimally.”

“Why?”

“It’s amusing? You’re very easy to rile.”

Enjolras huffed, crossing his arms. He assumed that Grantaire chuckled but Enjolras was trying too hard to ignore the other man to tell for sure. He was stubborn but his curiosity won out and his mind had circled back to the beginning of their conversation in the silence.

“Did you really think I was Apollo?”

Grantaire spluttered a bit on his drink, coughing before he answered. “Well yeah. I mean, the whole blonde halo of hair kinda implies it as did the grand speeches and well it wasn’t a perfect fit, but it was a damn good guess.”

Enjolras hummed. He stared out at the street were a car passed, mist making swirling clouds in its lights.

“So I was wrong, I’m used to that. Do I get another guess or would you be so kind as to enlighten an unworthy creature like myself?” The delivery was dry but the bite of acid was still audible in Grantaire’s words.

Enjolras’s brows furrowed and he turned to look at Grantaire again.

Grantaire blinked and took another sip. “We can make it an exchange if you’d rather. You ask me a question and I give you an answer. In fact, you ask me two questions and I’ll answer both.”

Enjolras didn’t see the point or really follow what exactly Grantaire meant but this had been the longest interaction they’d had and so far it wasn’t crashing and burning. Which was exciting if only for the novelty. So, he did as Grantaire had said.

“What’s in the cup?” It was a genuine curiosity because Enjolras had never seen him drink anything that didn’t contain alcohol.

Grantaire gave a slow smile and swirled the cup once. It made Enjolras note the hand warmers he wore, knit from dark purple yarn they looked remarkably similar to the ones that Feuilly had made for him a few weeks before, in fact the only difference that he could see were that his own were gold. It made Enjolras wonder when the two had become friends and how he had not noticed. In fact, the longer that he thought about it the longer Enjolras realized that Grantaire had befriended all of Enjolras’s friends over the past few weeks, gestures and snatches of conversation and off-handed mentions all suddenly righting themselves in his memory.

He was pulled from his musings as Grantaire answered. “Mulled wine.”

Enjolras sighed. Right, most of those memories had something or other to do with nights out on the town and most, if not all, included heavy drinking.

“And where did you get mulled wine?”

“Uh, uh, uh,” Grantaire tutted, waggling a finger. “That’s your second question, you sure you want to waste it?”

Rolling his eyes was Enjolras’s only response. He couldn’t see anything else about Grantaire that could possibly interest him.

“Alright,” Grantaire shrugged. “Suit yourself. I made it.”

Now Enjolras was surprised and genuinely curious. He studied Grantaire to see if he might be teasing him in some way. Grantaire raised his eyebrows and tugged the corner of his lip up in a smirk.

“I bet now you wished you had asked a different question. Or had the ability to ask a third.”

Enjolras glared. Now Grantaire was teasing him.

Grantaire’s smirk turned into a smile. “Fine, I’ll take pity on the poor god and tell you one way you can make mulled wine. Granted, this would be for some shit mulled wine but still drinkable.”

“How kind,” Enjolras said dryly.

“Hmm, yes, thank you,” Grantaire preened. “You order a cup of hot apple cider, but you ask them to only fill it halfway. Then you go to the little bar with the creamers and what not and add extra cinnamon and sugar and steal a stirrer. Then, you fill the cup with your own wine and stir.”

He wasn’t able to help himself, Enjolras wrinkled his nose and took a half step back in mild revulsion. “That sounds disgusting.”

“I did warn you it wouldn’t be great.”

“Still.”

“You asked and I went above and beyond the call of duty to tell you about that. Now, I believe you owe me something?”

Enjolras sighed. He glanced over his shoulder, making sure no one was leaving the Musain before he spoke. “Liber.”

“No shit,” Grantaire whispered as his eyes widened. “No shit. You’re literally liberty leading the people.” He laughed and that hint of mania was back. Enjolras stepped towards Grantaire, reaching out to steady him if he had to. Grantaire jumped back as though Enjolras’s touch would burn him as he kept laughing and muttering “no shit.”

“Yes,” Enjolras hissed. He was hurt by Grantaire’s reaction. It made no sense for him to be and yet he was. “Now can you stop that?”

“Sorry, sorry. It explains so much though. Wow.”

Grantaire’s response was getting excessive. A sudden flare of annoyance flashed through Enjolras and he curled his hands into fists, feeling his nails bite into his palms as they heated up.

“You wanted to know,” he bit out.

Finally, Grantaire caught on to Enjolras’s mood and pressed his lips into a thin line, obviously trying to sober up. However, Enjolras bitterly thought that sober was not something applicable to Grantaire.

“My curiosity has been sated,” Grantaire said, holding up his hands in an attempt to dissuade or perhaps ease Enjolras’s temper.

“Yes,” Enjolras replied shortly. “Now, I really have been standing out in the rain long enough. Goodnight Grantaire.”

“I thought that the gods weren’t bothered by little things like weather?”

Enjolras had turned to stride off but now he pulled up short, glancing back at Grantaire over his shoulder. “Some have gone numb to the mundane, I hope to never do that. Especially after knowing only nothing for so long. Besides, why should the gods not experience life the same as the mortals they seek to rule?”

Grantaire didn’t answer and Enjolras didn’t expect him to as he continued once more towards the metro.

During the next meeting Grantaire came in late and sat in his usual corner. Enjolras ignored him as Cosette went over the process they would need to complete for a permit if they wanted to host a rally. When she finished Enjolras thanked her and stood to continue, except he couldn’t ignore Grantaire anymore because Grantaire was loudly questioning why they were having the rally in the first place. Enjolras explained but Grantaire continued to question until it had dissolved into little more than a heated debate, their friends observing it as one might a particularly interesting tennis match. And it did resemble one, with the speed of their volleys back and forth.

And so it went. Every meeting Grantaire would interrupt Enjolras, sometimes with rants and others pointed questions, picking apart whatever he’d been saying. It frustrated and infuriated Enjolras.

“I hate him,” Enjolras said after one meeting, flopping facedown onto his couch. That was one thing he liked about the twenty-first century: the couches were comfortable yet sturdy enough for the perfect melodramatic sulk.

“No, you don’t,” Courfeyrac called from where he was raiding their kitchen, Enjolras could hear the cabinets being opened and closed.

“I do,” Enjolras insisted. Except he said it into the cushions, so it came out as a muffled garble.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that,” Combeferre teased. Enjolras could hear him smirking. “Maybe if the immortal being wasn’t pouting like a toddler, we’d be able to hear what he’s whining about.”

Enjolras pushed himself upright and threw a withering glare at Combeferre where he’d settled into the armchair.

“Well fuck. It actually worked,” Courfeyrac looked as shocked as he sounded, a corn chip frozen halfway between the bag and his mouth.

Rolling onto his back Enjolras huffed out a sigh. “Why does he bother? He obviously doesn’t care about what we’re trying to do!”

He felt his feet being lifted and raised his head to see Courfeyrac holding them so he could settle on the couch and let Enjolras’s feet rest in his lap. “You could always ask him?” Courf suggested now that he was comfortable.

“But why would Enjolras do that? When he’s obviously perfectly content to just complain about it on end instead,” Combeferre said dryly.

He didn’t deem that worthy of a verbal response so Enjolras just stretched out his arm and flicked his middle finger up instead.

“Every day I understand Zeus’s reasoning for sticking you in Limbo a little bit better,” Combeferre told him mildly. Courfeyrac snorted and then nearly choked on a corn chip. Enjolras rushed to sit up so he could make sure that Courf didn’t actually choke on a corn chip but thankfully he was already coughing and waiving off any assistance.

“This is what comes of you trying to make a joke,” Enjolras said darkly, flicking a hand towards Courfeyrac.

That time Courfeyrac did choke on a corn chip while laughing and Enjolras had to divine him better.

As Courfeyrac gulped down water in the kitchen Combeferre raised an eyebrow at Enjolras.

“Touché.”

“And just fucking talk to Grantaire before one of you gets me killed!” Courfeyrac called from the other room.

“Wait!” Joly called as people started to set the backroom back to rights. “Before you go! Halloween party! Two weeks! At our apartment! You must wear a costume but need not bring anything. That is all.”

“I thought that Samhain was a Celtic holiday,” Enjolras said to Combeferre.

“Yes, but like most everything else in the past three thousand years it’s changed,” Combeferre joked.

Enjolras made a face.

“R,” he overheard Bossuet lament, “you have to come. It’s mandatory.”

“And if you don’t I’ll be cross and you’ll be sorry,” Musichetta added. Enjolras was trying not to listen in but the room was small and they were loud and there wasn’t currently anything else to distract him.

“I don’t have a costume so really I can’t,” Grantaire was insisting.

Enjolras couldn’t help but raise his eyebrows and open his mouth. “It doesn’t seem in character for you to turn down such bacchanalia.”

Grantaire sputtered and it turned into a coughing fit. Bossuet clapped him on the back and Joly seemed to procure a cup of water from somewhere and pushed it into Grantaire’s hands. “I’m fine, fine,” he said as he got his breath back, waving off their help.

“Are you sure?” Enjolras asked. He might not get along with Grantaire, but he didn’t dislike the man. Besides, it was in his nature to care for all people.

“Yeah, you, uh, surprised me.”

Joly and Enjolras exchanged a look and Joly once again pressed the cup of water into Grantaire’s hands. This time he accepted, taking a drink before turning back to Enjolras with a challenging expression on his face.

“Are you going, oh fearless leader?” he asked.

Joly and Bossuet both turned expectant eyes on him while Musichetta raised her brows in a subtle but noted threat. “I had no intentions of not.”

“D’you have any ideas for your costume? I mean, you have time obviously, that’s why I wanted to say something tonight, but I was just curious,” Joly said excitedly.

Enjolras couldn’t help but smile at his friend’s enthusiasm. “Not yet, but I’m open to suggestions.”

He caught the look Grantaire gave him. It was somewhat quizzical and something else that wasn’t quite decipherable.

Enjolras left the Musain with Musichetta, Bossuet, and Joly tossing different ideas around, their voices overlapping and echoing out into the night. But, Enjolras couldn’t focus on anything but the memory of Grantaire, who had disappeared off into the night.

Enjolras adjusted his hat again, for probably the hundredth time in the last hour. Courfeyrac had talked him into dressing as a pirate for the party, arguing that they lived a life of freedom and fought against societal constraints and so Enjolras should be able to relate to pirates if only in an abstract way.

Lacking any better ideas and being presented with the poofy white shirt, foam sword, and oversized hat by Courfeyrac made Enjolras agree to the costume. He’d added his own black vest and skinny jeans. Combeferre had pointed out that a real pirate would be wearing tall leather boots rather than the Doc Martens Enjolras had gone with but he’d responded to that comment by flipping Ferre off.

He’d resolved to wear it with all the dignity he could muster, resulting in more than one compliment from his friends. “You’re like a blonde Will Turner,” Jehan had told him solemnly.

Enjolras wasn’t positive who that was but when he’d asked Courfeyrac he was given an appraising look and a “You know you kinda are?” Then Bahorel had snuck up behind Courfeyrac and thrown him over his shoulder and the two spun away laughing.

Musichetta had appeared then, sweeping over and trying not to hit anyone with her butterfly wings. She hugged him before holding at arm’s length to examine him. “I told R you’d show but he didn’t believe me. And he laughed at me when I said you’d even scrounged up a costume and yet here you are, looking wonderfully ridiculous.” She smiled brilliantly and the glitter on her cheeks sparkled in the purple fairy lights.

“I haven’t seen Grantaire, is he here?” Enjolras asked. He’d been trying to spot him since they’d arrived but hadn’t seen so much as his shadow among his friends.

Musichetta frowned, just slightly with her pink painted lips turning down and her brow wrinkling. “He’s been hiding in the kitchen all night. I don’t know why, he loves parties.”

Enjolras found that odd too. He’d admit that he didn’t know Grantaire very well at all but from what he did know he could tell that was out of character.

He made to say something to Musichetta about it, but she’d turned away to talk to Bossuet whose costume seemed to just be a blanket slung over his shoulders. Enjolras took the opportunity to slip away, heading towards the kitchen.

It was a long and narrow room tucked just off the side of the living room. While the rest of the apartment had been strung in fairy lights and was dark and loud with the sound of music, the kitchen was bright and quiet. Enjolras blinked at the sudden change. He turned to see Grantaire standing at the stove, stirring an overlarge pot.

“What are you supposed to be?” He asked before he could stop himself. From hear it looked as though Grantaire was wearing his normal jeans and flannel.

Enjolras had caught Grantaire by surprise and he startled, dropping the wooden spoon so that it clattered against the side of the pot.

“Fuck. Warn a guy?”

“Sorry,” Enjolras winced, stepping further into the kitchen.

Grantaire closed his eyes and took a breath, likely trying to slow his heart back down. “Hello Enjolras, happy Halloween. So good to see you too,” he said sarcastically with his eyes still closed. When Grantaire opened them he raised an eyebrow and Enjolras felt himself flush.

“Er, right. Happy Halloween.”

That made Grantaire’s lips twitch up into a grin. He nodded, satisfied. “I’m the fourth part of Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta’s lifecycle of a butterfly.”

Enjolras raised an inquisitive eyebrow. Joly had clearly been the caterpillar, he now understood that Bossuet was supposed to be the cocoon, and Musichetta was the butterfly but he still couldn’t tell what Grantaire was supposed to be.

With a snort Grantaire reached towards the other side of the stove and grabbed something that was leaning against the counter. When he held it up Enjolras could see that it was an overlarge flyswatter. “I’m The End.”

It was terrible, Enjolras couldn’t help but groan at how truly awful it was. Grantaire smiled and laughed happily. Enjolras couldn’t remember ever making Grantaire laugh before, or it least not like that. Normally if he was laughing it was because he thought Enjolras was stupid. This felt more like he was laughing with Enjolras rather than at him.

He went back to stirring whatever it was in the pot and Enjolras couldn’t stop his curiosity. “What’s that?”

“Mulled wine.”

Enjolras flashed back to the first night they spoke and felt his nose wrinkle at the mulled wine Grantaire had talked about then.

Grantaire must have remembered it too. He shook his head, “No this is the real thing. It’s nearly ready, do you want some?” Grantaire had grabbed a mug and a ladle and began to serve it.

Accepting it caused Enjolras’s fingers to brush against Grantaire’s. Grantaire jerked his hand back and Enjolras felt something sink in the pit of his stomach. He ignored it and took a sip of the wine, it was warm and sweet with just the slightest kick.

“This is really good!”

“Don’t sound so shocked,” Grantaire said lightly but there was an edge to it.

“No, really. This is fantastic.”

“You don’t have to fawn over it, it’s just wine.”

“Why must you contradict everything I say?” Enjolras asked, frustrated.

“Because you’re not always right! You act like you know everything and can just show up out of nowhere and save the world! Well you haven’t been here and you haven’t seen the things I have and you’re just so naïve!”

Enjolras stopped. He didn’t know how to respond to Grantaire’s outburst. Grantaire himself even looked as though he didn’t know how to respond to the outburst.

“I am so sorry,” he whispered quickly, staring wide-eyed at the stove and refusing to look up.

Enjolras shook his head. “No,” he said softly, “it’s ok. It makes sense that you would feel that way.”

Grantaire gulped. The silence that stretched between them was excruciating. From the other room floated the sounds of their friends laughing and the thump of the music. Enjolras finally set his mug on the counter and turned to leave. Grantaire still hadn’t moved.

For the first time Enjolras was nervous when he saw Grantaire slip in during the meeting after the party. He had no idea what the other man might do or say and, well it didn’t scare him exactly, but he was anxious.

Yet, nothing happened. Much like the meetings following the first that Grantaire had attended he sat and drank, saying nothing. He didn’t even so much as react to Enjolras. It was odd and more than once Enjolras found himself waiting to be interrupted and nearly stumbling when he wasn’t.

They ended earlier than normal and Enjolras couldn’t help but think it was because he and Grantaire hadn’t argued.

As everyone else started talking and stacking chairs Grantaire made to leave. Enjolras ran after him.

He caught Grantaire just as he was exiting the Musain, his breath coming out in a cloud in the chilly night air as he said “Wait!”

Grantaire stopped, then slowly turned around. He had his hands stuffed into the pockets of his coat and his shoulders hunched. Grantaire didn’t say anything, just stood there looking at Enjolras expectantly.

Honestly, Enjolras hadn’t planned this far ahead.

He froze as he mentally floundered. He normally was so careful and proud of his organizational skills. Even if Combeferre now refused to go shopping with him because Enjolras was too anal retentive. It was the one thing the other gods had actually liked about him.

Grantaire just stood there, waiting. Enjolras had to say or do something or else he might just walk away and he couldn’t let that happen.

“Why do you think that the social media follower idea isn’t working? Or at least it’s not working on the scale we expected. I have thousands of followers, but I don’t feel any stronger than I did a few months ago. Though a few months ago I suddenly felt stronger than I ever have.”

“What?” Grantaire blinked. Enjolras opened his mouth to keep trying to explain but Grantaire shook his head. “No, I mean, why are you asking me?”

“Because you’re smart and everyone else has given their ideas but you haven’t and I’m curious.”

“No.” Grantaire shook his head. “You don’t like when I share my opinions because they contradict yours. Why?”

Enjolras couldn’t name it. He just knew he needed Grantaire to tell him. He grumbled in frustration. “Because! Because you make me think! And you make my arguments stronger and remind me why I have to do this and you make me better!”

That at least got a reaction from Grantaire other than blank staring. He chuckled darkly instead. “You don’t really believe that.”

“I do!” Enjolras insisted and he realized he did. Grantaire’s apathy and cynicism pissed him off but it did make him think harder and fight more and he appreciated that. Right now though, in the face of it, Enjolras was just pissed. “Unlike you who doesn’t believe in anything!”

Grantaire’s face had gone blank again, but this time there was something cold behind his eyes. No, not cold, missing. There was something missing from behind Grantaire’s eyes as he stood there starring back at Enjolras. “Wrong as usual,” he finally said softly, devoid of any emotion.

Enjolras frowned and stepped towards Grantaire, expecting the other man to move he was surprised when instead Grantaire just ducked his head. Enjolras was so close to Grantaire and yet it wasn’t close enough. Testing his luck, he continued to walk forward until they were standing right in front of each other in the cold night air.

Finally, finally Grantaire did more than stare at his scuffed-up converse. He raised his head and met Enjolras’s gaze with a never before seen ferocity. This close he had to tilt his head up and Enjolras ducked his own in order to accomplish it.

He watched and tensed as Grantaire took a deep breath. A car passed and the door to the Musain opened and closed a few feet behind them but Enjolras was entirely focused on Grantaire, curiosity and anger still warring in his veins.

“I believe in you.” Grantaire said it with such weight that Enjolras actually took a step back. That wasn’t the only reason he’d stumbled though, Enjolras had been suddenly overcome with such a surge in his power that he was physically thrown off balance.

Grantaire caught him, shooting a hand out to grab his elbow and steady him.

Enjolras could do little more than stand there blinking at Grantaire as he tried to process the events of the last thirty seconds. A warm gratitude was spreading through his stomach mixed with an excited twinge of anxiety, curiosity and thrill raged at the amount of power he now felt he had, and over laying it all was layers and layers of shock. Shock for the power. Shock at Grantaire. Shock at himself for the relief he felt to know that Grantaire didn’t really hate him like he’d thought for months now.

“Are you ok?” Grantaire asked, he was studying Enjolras with concern and had managed to guide them from out of the middle of the sidewalk to the Musain’s brick wall.

“I- Yeah- I- Headrush,” Enjolras breathed out as he looked at Grantaire with wide eyes.

Grantaire looked back at him with entirely too much worry and Enjolras felt surprise wash over him again. “Do you want to sit down?”

“I- No- I- I’m good,” Enjolras said. He knew it’d be more convincing if he could actually speak but he now had a full grasp of the ‘speechless’ and ‘dumbstruck’ idioms.

They stood there studying each other, Grantaire with a frown pulling at his brow and Enjolras knew he was gaping like a fish but he felt that was excusable.

Seemingly satisfied that whatever danger Enjolras may or may not have been in had passed Grantaire began talking. Well, began cracking jokes that Enjolras quickly realized had always been his way of deflecting or processing.

“Now I know my having personhood can’t come as that much of a shock; Combeferre is the philosopher, I’m sure he’s talked to you about James,” Grantaire said wryly. It wasn’t effective at hiding his feelings though because Enjolras could still clearly see the frown at his brow.

“You don’t believe in what I’m trying to do,” Enjolras stated. It was a fact. He was still processing and he needed to know what of his impressions of Grantaire were right and which were wrong and where that growing anxiety was coming from.

“I don’t believe that we’re actually able of accomplishing the sweeping change you’re calling for.”

Now Enjolras was frowning and Grantaire was blinking. It was subtle but the way Grantaire said it was very specific. The stared at each other, a silent challenge to see who would explain first.

It was Grantaire. “I don’t think that it’s possible, I don’t believe it will actually work. But,” Grantaire took a deep breath and closed his eyes, almost like he couldn’t bear to look at Enjolras as he spoke, “I believe in you. I believe that you can and will accomplish anything that you put your mind too. I believe that you can change the world.”

Again, Enjolras felt like he was being hit with a wave as his powers surged. His knees buckled and he flung an arm out to hold himself up against the brick. Carefully, he lowered himself to the ground until he was sitting on the gum-stained sidewalk.

Crouching in front of him Grantaire hovered and his mild panic was now palpable. “Are you ok? Seriously Enjolras, are you ok? You’re a god, you can’t get sick. Please tell me you’re ok.”

Taking a shuddering breath Enjolras nodded. “I- it’s- I don’t know,” he admitted.

Grantaire frowned and made to stand, obviously going to fetch Joly or Combeferre who would do little good – not for their still incomplete medical training but for the fact that they did not treat gods. And while Combeferre had stumbled across the spell that had released Enjolras from Limbo and he and Courfeyrac had successfully completed it that was the beginning and end of his magic dabbling. Jehan, who hosted seances and monitored corpse roads, or Musichetta, with her tarot cards and uncanny ability to know the next song before it was played, would probably be more help.

Quickly, Enjolras snatched Grantaire by the sleeve and held him in place. “I’m fine, just need to get my bearings.”

He looked skeptical, but when did Grantaire not look skeptical? He stayed though, lowering himself to sit cross-legged on the freezing cement too.

As they sat there Enjolras’s heart slowed, which had been beating hard enough that it was only now that it wasn’t pounding did he even realize it had been. His breathing returned to normal. His palms still tingled but he knew that would settle eventually.

Grantaire sat watching him with quiet curiosity. His lower lip had been pulled between his teeth to worry. It slipped free as Grantaire gave him a shaky smile. “You sure you’re ok?”

Enjolras nodded. He was still collecting himself and part of that meant that he was trying to parse out how much of what just happened he felt he should share with Grantaire. Much like his earlier revelation, Enjolras suddenly knew that not only could he trust Grantaire, but he had trusted Grantaire for a long time now. If he hadn’t he never would have let his friends share so much of their plans during meetings. More importantly, he’d trusted Grantaire the very first time he’d followed him out of the Musain. He could trust him now.

“I’m fine,” Enjolras assured him. He relaxed, the rough edges of the bricks catching on the shoulders of his jacket. Grantaire seemed to relax at this too, settling more on the concrete. “I’ve been slowly rebuilding my power as I gain followers, right?”

Grantaire’s expression darkened but he nodded.

“Just now I had a surge of power. Twice. I- I’m better than I’ve been in a long time. It just, it wasn’t something I was prepared for and it hit me hard.”

This didn’t seem to put Grantaire at ease. A couple was walking down the street towards them so Grantaire skootched himself so they were sitting next to each other with their backs to the wall.

“What?” Enjolras asked once they’d finally passed.

“Nothing.”

“I thought we’d established that I do genuinely want and care about your opinion,” Enjolras said with only mild exasperation.

He earned an eyeroll.

“Seriously, R.”

That got his attention. Grantaire blinked at him and the surprise was so obvious it was almost comical. Enjolras couldn’t help the self-satisfied smirk at Grantaire’s reaction.

Grantaire made a face. “You were just talking about how you didn’t feel as though you were gaining the same power to person ratio or whatever and then you’re brushing this off as a coincidence.” The words were mean, they were meant to be said mockingly, but they came out flat. Like Grantaire was simply going through the motions.

“I’ve noticed,” Enjolras tried to tease. Grantaire just glanced at him from the corner of his eye. “I want to know if you have any theories why because all I can come up with is a delay. You always seem to think I’m wrong so…”

That made Grantaire’s lip curl in distaste. He turned his head so that he was starring out into the street. Enjolras let him as emotions flickered across his face. When it became clear that Grantaire had retreated deep inside to wage war with himself Enjolras bumped their shoulders together. Grantaire jolted before settling with a pained sigh, tilting his head back and closing his eyes.

“Because,” he groaned, “it’s not ‘followers’ from which you derive your power. The gods are given power so long as people believe in them. It’s why the old gods have died out, passing on their realms to others either by choice or by force or without meaning to at all. It’s how new gods have risen, and what cold cruel gods they are. You only have power so long as people believe you have power. Or whoever they think you are.”

Grantaire’s words explained a lot, why he got stronger with each new friend and yet stagnated despite growing numbers. Why Zeus had forgotten and forsaken and seemingly ignored him. Why no one could explain the gods’ disappearance. Why Grantaire’s confession of belief had resulted in their current positions slumped against the wall. Well, maybe not. That was much more power than Enjolras had ever experienced and Grantaire knew more of the gods than Enjolras himself did.

“Then why did your belief affect me so strongly?” Enjolras asked softly.

He’d turned to look at Grantaire, leaning forward and pinning his gaze.

Grantaire blinked once. Twice. Swallowed, and spoke.

“That’s what happens when you win the belief of another god.”

Over the course of the following weeks Grantaire shared his secrets with Enjolras. It started on the sidewalk outside the Musain with a confession of faith. It continued inside the café and at one or another’s apartment, over food or coffee or a movie Grantaire insisted Enjolras just had to see.

“The 1830s were a sucky time to be a young adult,” Grantaire had started his tale. “I’d left my family and found myself in an alcohol fueled haze, stumbling from dance hall to pub to café to dance hall. I bumped into him somewhere in there.”

Enjolras took some sickly sense of vindictive justice to know that Dionysus had aged poorly in the wakes of capitalism. He’d been unable to adjust to the enlightenment and was preserving his power wherever he could.

“He just couldn’t go on. He was too weak,” Grantaire had frowned at the memory but Enjolras felt no sympathy for the old god. “So, he pulled me aside and told me everything, about the gods dying and needing to pass on his realms lest one of the new gods snatch it. He liked me, I was always kind to him, and I had amassed my own small group of fellow revelers that he seemed to think would keep me afloat.”

That had sparked a conversation about power and belief and together they managed to puzzle most of it out. The discussion – which alternated between a true discussion, a debate, and blatant bickering – lasted well into the night and they were swiftly kicked out of the Musain by the barista that Courf never seemed able to work his charms on. She’d seemed apologetic but also annoyed and the hour was so late that they both felt guilty and left a small pile of bills to try and make up for it.

“So you’re the god of wine?” Enjolras asked at the opening of one of their meetings, Grantaire quite literally having just opened his apartment door.

“Good afternoon, Enjolras. You’re really bad at greetings,” Grantaire said sarcastically. Enjolras grumbled as Grantaire stepped aside to let him in. “Less so wine and more general god of alcohol?”

This made them circle back to the power and belief equation. Enjolras was desperately curious to know what exactly fell under Grantaire’s domain. He hadn’t been too positive as Dionysus had simply passed on his divinity, essentially said that Grantaire had to fulfill his responsibilities, and then died. Through a lot of questions – Enjolras’s – and sighs – Grantaire’s – they worked out what did and did not fall under Grantaire’s control.

“I feel like Combeferre would be helpful in this conversation. Or Jehan or Musichetta.” Enjolras frowned down at his empty mug. He got up to make another cup of coffee and stopped in shock at how late it had gotten, the clock on Grantaire’s microwave blinking that it was 3:00 a.m.

“Yeah, I’ve been meaning to ask: did you have Chetta do a reading on me?” Grantaire called, he was still sprawled on the floor where he’d moved to lay down about a half hour ago though maybe it was longer.

“I wanted to know if we could trust you,” Enjolras admitted. He’d forgone the coffee and just poured milk into his mug.

Grantaire snorted, he sat up so he could shoot Enjolras a look. He didn’t say anything just laid back down.

“I trust Eponine’s judgement, but you can never be too careful.”

That made Grantaire snort again and rather than returning to his place on the couch Enjolras sat cross-legged on floor next to him. Rolling his head so he could look at Enjolras, Grantaire raised a curious eyebrow. “And? What’d they say?”

“That we could.”

Grantaire laughed. “No shit, Sherlock.”

Enjolras couldn’t stop his smile, not that he wanted to anyway. “Fuck you, Watson.”

Another laugh came from Grantaire, loud and deep and warm. It made Enjolras feel warm too, with pride at being responsible for it and from listening to it.

“I might still have the text?” he offered, already reaching for his phone.

“Why not.”

“She did a three-card draw: Hanged Man, Wheel of Fortune, and Knight of Cups.”

Grantaire scoffed. “Well fuck. I feel intensely seen.”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow but Grantaire didn’t elaborate. He’d looked up the meanings behind the cards after that first meeting, but he couldn’t derive anything more and trusted Musichetta. That Grantaire seemed to agree so succinctly was interesting though.

“She ever do a reading for you?” Grantaire asked, genuine curiosity in his tone.

He shook his head before shrugging and making a noncommittal noise. Grantaire raised a brow. “She taught me about tarot and we did readings and all but never on me.”

With a nod Grantaire pushed himself so he was sitting upright. “I’ve found that they help just for like self-reflection.” Grantaire cleared his throat and Enjolras could tell it was because he was suddenly, overwhelming self-conscious. He charged onward though, pushing himself to his feet and moving towards the overfull bookshelves in the corner of the room. “But it’s also an easy way to, uh, assess? Your domain? Power? Whatever. It’s a useful tool for a god.”

Enjolras nodded. He’d realized that but even with Musichetta’s help he was still remedial.

“Here,” Grantaire handed him a small velvet bag and took a seat across the small coffee table from him. “If you want, I can do you. Um, do a reading for you.” Grantaire flushed and Enjolras felt his own cheeks heating up.

“Um, sure?”

“Just shuffle the cards,” Grantaire instructed.

Enjolras pulled the deck out. Like Musichetta’s and the one that he’d seen Jehan pull out every once in a while, they were larger than playing cards, tall and broad. Grantaire’s were decorated with an intricate pattern of vines on the backs. They were cool and slippery as he cut the deck and passed chunks of it from hand to hand. Some cards stuck together, and others moved easily as he shuffled. Once he was satisfied Enjolras set them on the table between himself and Grantaire.

Grantaire picked up the cards and carefully pulled the first three, placing them face up in a neat row between them. Normally that’s all that he and Musichetta would do, quick and messy she’d call it and then add on “but effective.” Grantaire kept going, two more cards were placed below them and then a final one at the bottom creating an inverted pyramid on the table in front of him. Grantaire set the rest of the deck aside and frowned down at them.

“That’s a lot of the Major Arcana,” Enjolras observed.

Grantaire hummed. “Yeah, that happens with gods. Not sure why, besides the fact that we kinda exist on a larger scale? Or something. It’s just a theory.”

Enjolras nodded and began to study the cards with Grantaire. He was too distracted by the artwork though, bold paint strokes and bright colors tempered with thick, dark lines.

“Ok,” Grantaire said and startled Enjolras. He’d zoned out trying to make out the shadowed face of the Magician. “The top row is past and obviously represents you: rebellious, driven, focused, leader, with an innate sense of fairness and responsibility. Seven of wands, Magician, Justice.”

Enjolras nodded and Grantaire continued. “The next row is meant to be present, or the events that have led to your present. The Tower is destruction and downfall and well it’s obviously you getting your ass thrown in Limbo.”

“Gee, thanks,” Enjolras said sarcastically.

Grantaire held his hands up placatingly but gave a wicked grin. “Just saying. Wheel of Fortune is change so being freed but also your little save the world club and your desire to make change.”

“Those I could follow,” Enjolras said dryly.

Grantaire shot him a glare. “You agreed to this.”

Enjolras shrugged and this time it was his turn to spread his hands in a placating gesture.

“Right,” Grantaire narrowed his eyes at him before returning to the final card. “Future, Two of Cups. Truce.” Grantaire frowned.

“Truce?” Enjolras asked, realizing that just sitting here, on Grantaire’s living room floor, was its own truce.

“Um, also connection and…” Grantaire’s ears turned red again. “Uh, attraction.”

Enjolras nodded. He reached towards the deck and drew the top card, placing it over the Two of Cups. The Knight of Cups looked up at them.

The Knight had his armor stacked at his feet and stood in his tunic and leggings. His hair was the same curls as Grantaire’s, and his eyes held the same mischief.

He’d never admit it, but Grantaire had been right. The cards were good for self-reflection and looking at them, hearing Grantaire explain them, the months since he’d met the other man all suddenly fell into place. When he looked up to meet Grantaire’s shocked eyes he could see that they had for the other man as well.

“Truce?” Enjolras asked again, unable to stop himself from smiling.

Grantaire grinned back. “Truce.”

#les mis halloween exchange 2019 #les mis #enjolras #grantaire #les amis #les amis de l'abc #mythology #my fic #writing #own writing

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amplesalty · 4 years

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Christmas 2019: Day 7 - A Christmas Carol: The Musical (2004)

On the seventh day of Christmas, my true love gave to me...

Seven dancing bankers!

This has always stood out as something of a sore thumb amongst the prospective Christmas Carol choices I could watch and, given some of other films on this year’s list, this is as good a time as any to look at it.

Directly comparing it to those, it doesn’t get close to that same feeling of a total tonal shift. But, it’s perhaps not massively out of place anyway given that there are moments of song and dance in a traditional Christmas Carol, be it Fezziwigg’s Christmas Ball or the fun and games at Fred’s house.

For a story all about instilling the Christmas spirit in one person in particular, it’s not just Scrooge lacking in it as the film begins; street urchins are pickpocketing the wealthy, kids are stealing from the cart of the rag and bone man and blind beggars are wilfully ignored.

Well, the joys of Christmas might be lost on the filthy but at least the filthy rich at the exchange are celebrating and enjoying the season. That is until that miserly old Scrooge turns up.

Whilst the casting of Kelsey Grammer as Scrooge is a good one, especially when it comes to the singing parts, it almost feels like his performance early on is bordering on parody. He just has this permanent sneer and eyes that seem to be welded nearly completely shut like this is Mr Magoo’s Christmas Carol. Yeah, that’s still on the list somewhere...

Still, that sneer lends an extra layer to his interaction with the charity collectors who catch up with him much earlier in this version. Rather than just talk to him normally, they sing their intentions to collect for the needy and it makes me interpret his contemptuous look less as him not wanting to be philanthropic and more that he’s confused as to why these weirdoes are singing to him. No one in musicals ever seems aware that all their conversations seem to take place melodically.

It does take a bit of the sting out of some of Scrooge’s wicked remarks to hear him speak in rhyme. “I abhor how they whine, how they want whatever’s mine. Why should I give a thing for free? Let them beg til they’re blue, it has nothing to do with me. I say, let them die and decrease the surplus population.”

On the reverse though, the Marley scene is really strange and takes what is usually dramatic and adds some humour, mostly from the casting of Jason Alexander who brings comedic tone to the whole thing through his delivery and physical performance. There’s a degree of comic mischief going on as he summons these other spirits to scare Scrooge and the odd lyric that seem to poke fun at his fettered situation:

Stacking up my silver and my bits of gold, filling up my vault when day was done! Well, vaults are made of lead and cash is very cold! And around your neck they weigh a bloody ton!

Still, there’s some sense of humanity to it I’ve not seen in other versions. For instance, I think it’s the first time I think I’ve seen Marley actually hug Scrooge even if Scrooge isn’t receptive to it. It speaks to the friendship they had before and the relief that Marley must feel now that he’s been able to finally appear to Scrooge after his many attempts before.

It’s a fun song and perhaps one of the few standouts throughout the whole film. Maybe that’s just my tastes or maybe it’s that most of the other songs feel really generic talking about your standard happiness and festive cheer type of stuff.

Or, in the case of the Cratchit’s, a number about how Bob doesn’t need a fortune, all he needs is his family. Looking at Tiny Tim makes him feel as rich as a king and he means more to him than anything. And he sings this in front of his whole family! It’s like Bob Cratchit is just destined to say well intentioned things but ultimately demean the rest of his family.

I didn’t think it was possible to make Tiny Tim any more sympathetic but adding a leg brace manages to do the job.

They show him and his father head out to buy the bird for Christmas dinner, not the prize turkey in the poulterer’s window and not the traditional goose. Just a chicken, a small one. There’s something amusing about the fact that they actually took the time to foreshadow the turkey as if it’s not surprising enough just that Scrooge buys it for the Cratchit family come the end of the movie. They have to be teased by it first, shown what they could have had if only things were different before having to settle.

Jane Krakowski shows up as the Ghost of Christmas Past, I didn’t touch on this but she played the teacher in the Christmas Story musical so that’s just another link.

She’s really good and looks very glamorous here but is it weird that I find her more attractive in the newsie look she has when she shows up earlier in the movie, filling in for her sick husband in his job lighting all the street lamps in town? Maybe it’s the sense of coyness with her slightly obscured behind the brim of the cap or that whole women in men’s shirts sorta thing.

The gimmick here is that Scrooge runs into the spirits at the start of the movie in the everyday world, Present is advertising a show and Yet to Come is a blind beggar woman. To me, this throws in this shade of grey element to proceedings. It’s a very fantastical idea for some other worldly power to send these three spirits to help Scrooge redeem himself but having the three spirits be entirely different actors locks them into being that. But, Scrooge has always talked about how his run in with Marley might just be a trick of the mind; a crumb of mouldy cheese or an underdone turnip. Maybe the negative run ins Scrooge had with these three earlier in the day triggered something in his mind and it’s projecting their images in order to help him process these feelings of wanting to better himself.

For all the sweetness and light on the exterior of Past, she really goes in on showing Scrooge the trauma of his earlier life. It’s like an origin story of his miserly ways as we go all the way back to his childhood and a day in court as his father is sentenced to prison for failing to pay his debts. As he’s ushered away, he urges Scrooge to learn from his mistakes, to earn his fortune and to keep it.

Plus we actually get to see the death of Marley who complains of feeling faint and needing to retire early for the day but not even managing to make it to the front door of their offices before collapsing. Again, even in this morbid way, it brings some tenderness to see Scrooge’s sadness at having to relive the passing of who he describes as his only friend. Plus we can’t forget the one constant of these flashbacks, his fiancé calls off their impeding nuptuals due to him becoming obsessed only with money, a fiancé played by Jennifer Love Hewitt no less. Combine all these together and maybe Scrooge isn’t the way he is because he thinks only of himself and his own wealth, maybe he’s just scared to let anyone is because everyone he ever loves seems to leave him. Father in prison, Mother dies shortly after, separated from his sister and she dies too, fiancé ditches him and his only friend dies as well.

I always saw Present as the more uncharacteristically mean spirited one but Past is pretty cold here to show him all these things. But, as she points out as Scrooge extinguishes her light, these are only the shadows of things that once were, they are what they are, don’t blame her. Aside from his usual rant at the end, Present is a little more mischevious here, his links with the Christmas show coming into play as she shoves a hapless Scrooge on stage amongst a bunch of dancing nutcrackers.

Casting a black actor in this role is a bit of a departure from the norm though. Part of me kept thought it was someone in blackface at first.

Yet to Come is a strange one as well, seemingly playing against the usual shadowy, cloaked figure you normally see. If anything, that’s what she looks like normally before she transforms into some sort of white, raggedy affair. It’s like if you were dressing someone as a snowflake or something.

We go into a graveyard scene where a number of grave diggers are singing a warning of Scrooge’s future; the sounds of hammers on his coffin, the voices of the people he never tried to save and the footsteps of them dancing on his grave. Quite chilling lyrics combined with an almost ritualistic scene of all these gravediggers working in rhythm and hooded figures leading the coffin procession. Along with Marley’s song, it’s a highlight of the soundtrack but they’re both well staged as well with lots of interesting imagery.

That whole shared misery thing at the start comes back with a vengeance when Old Joe shows up to buy Scrooge’s bed curtains. Scrooge’s house keeper promptly has her earnings wrenched from her hand, truly there is no honour amongst thieves.

Not quite as miserable as seeing the whole Cratchit family around Tiny Tim’s freshly made grave. The Muppets version with Piggy and Kermit mourning their dead son is pretty grim but this might potentially top it. I don’t think I’ve ever seen this portrayed in any of the other versions, you normally get Bob returning from visiting the grave himself.

Poor family can’t even afford the T on the cross marking his grave. Or is that just the name of the impeding Christmas Carol shared universe origin story of Bob Cratchit; I’m Cratchit.

And whilst it lacks the out of body experiences what Patrick Stewart and Alistair Sim went through upon awaking back in the real world, the lack of dancing can perhaps be forgiven in the face of what has been an hour and a half of singing and dancing. Instead, we reflect back on the start of the movie as Scrooge has now learned to keep Christmas in his heart and that ‘it all has to do with me!’. Having experienced similar in the Christmas Story musical, I guess this is traditional to reprise certain songs throughout the show but at times it gets a little tedious to me. That might just be some bad examples here though because in Christmas Story it was just adding to the feeling of it dragging and here it’s using songs that aren’t the best. This specific example I liked though, it wraps up the arc that Scrooge has gone through and underlines the change in his character.

With the musical aspect being it’s selling point and most of its musical numbers not being very entertaining, this probably ranks amongst the weaker of the Christmas Carol adaptations I’ve seen but as these things often do, it’s added its own little elements to the story that have made me look at Scrooge in a different way.

#Christmas 2019 #A Christmas Carol #A Christmas Carol: The Musical

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kootenaygoon · 5 years

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So,

Election night was all hands on deck — Tamara was with Pat Severyn, I was with Deb Kozak, Calvin was with John Dooley and Greg was back at the Nelson Star office, watching the results come in and getting ready to post everything online. Over the summer our Facebook audience had ballooned, and we were starting to use Twitter a little as well. Calvin wanted us to compose multiple stories, not all of them destined for print, as the night progressed. Obviously the mayoral results were the main concern, but we’d also have six new council candidates all eager for their limelight as well. We huddled in the newsroom beforehand and went through our game plan. It was maybe 4 or 5 p.m., and we were planning to be there until long after midnight.

“So all of us, throughout the night, need to keep Greg updated by text message. When the results come in, get some quick audio and a few photos, then head back here right away,” Calvin said.

“This is going to be hectic, but if we keep things coordinated we can be constantly posting and updating all evening, in real time. We’re going to plaster this all over Facebook and Twitter, okay? This is the biggest story of the year right here.”

After we talked through some more of the logistics, I headed over to the Legion Hall, just three blocks away, where Kozak was hosting her supporters. As I came in I spotted Cass and Elliot, who had been on her campaign team. There was a lavish spread with brownies and cookies and veggie platters, so like any good journalist I headed straight there.

“How’s she feeling?” I asked Cass. “Stressed?”

“Nah, Deb’s got this. I don’t think anyone’s voting for Severyn.”

“But what about Dooley? Tons of people love him, it seems. Like his people are devoted acolytes.”

“It’s just time for something better. He’s the old-school boys’ club candidate, and that was never the right fit for Nelson.”

Deb was being swarmed by her supporters, but I shouldered through to say hi. She introduced me to her family, and I took some photos. By this point the other female councillors had arrived—Donna Macdonald, Paula Kiss, Candace Batycki—and I spotted a number of familiar faces from the arts scene. People milled around uncomfortably, making small talk and glancing at their phones to check the time.

Anything yet? Greg texted.

Nothing. Lots of people here but no news.

Polls are closed now so it should be soon.

I didn’t have to wait much longer to find out what would happen. Within an hour of my arrival the final numbers were in, way ahead of schedule. A giddy-looking dude came striding into the hall and tapped Kozak on the shoulder, whispering in her ear conspiratorially. Cass and I were both watching, food trays in our hands, as I realized I was going to need my camera out quick. I fumbled with the bag, pulled off my lens cap, then weaved through the crowd as the celebratory murmuring got louder around me. Deb threw her arms up in the air, laughing, while around her people started to clap.

Someone yelled “it’s official!”

I saw a flash of movement as a small woman darted in Kozak’s direction. I didn’t realize it at the time, but it was Michelle Mungall, our MLA. I lifted my camera just in time to capture their fierce hug. Deb was still laughing, her eyes shimmering with happiness, when I snapped the shutter. It was a profound and intimate moment, one female trailblazer embracing another, and I’d captured it.

As people continued to celebrate, she followed me over to a quieter spot so I could record some quotes on my phone. She shook her head in disbelief, taking a moment to compose herself.

“I’m looking forward to the next evolution of who we can be. I don’t mean that in an airy-fairy way,” she said.

“I think that we’ve been resting on our laurels since the ’90s.”

Kozak said the first point of business was to speak with the new council and hear about the concerns raised by constituents while they were campaigning. That would set the priorities for the next four years to come.

“Elections are a great time of opening in the community, where we’re really engaged in the community and all of these people have been engaging with different people. I want to know what they heard with this election.”

And she made sure to say there were no hard feelings between her and Dooley. She said he chaired council for nine years and put in a “tremendous amount of work and effort”.

“He loves the community dearly. I respect the work that he did. I’m looking forward to his support for the initiatives that this new council will be taking forward.”

After our interview wrapped, I did a quick round of the room to get reaction quotes from the city councillors. As soon as I was finished I sprinted out of the Legion and back to the office to see what the photo looked like on the big screen. I was humming with energy as I uploaded, as I read quotes out loud for Greg to plug into the evolving main story: “Deb Kozak elected Nelson’s first female mayor”. Meanwhile Tamara and Calvin were processing their stuff from the other camps, both to contribute to the main story and to include in secondary pieces. I wrote and published a side-story quoting the female councillors congratulating Kozak and remarking on the significance of her accomplishment. I delighted in the wealth of social media engagements, the rolling list of comments.

“I still can’t believe John lost,” Calvin said, as things died down.

“I don’t think anybody in that bar had any idea that he was going to lose. They hadn’t even considered it as a possibility. And you should’ve seen the guy: he deflated like a balloon. I felt really bad for him.”

“You think it’s the split that did it?”

Greg piped in. “Well, if you were to take all of Severyn’s votes and give them to Dooley, then of course he would win by a wide margin. But most of the people voting for Severyn would be more likely to vote for Kozak, because they have more in common. The way I figure, even without Severyn in the race she would’ve still been ahead.”

Tamara laughed. “Severyn’s wife was dancing drunk in the streets. She was like ‘we did it!’, ‘we got him out!’ It was so inappropriate. No class.”

“Holy shit, really?”

“This was an ugly election,” Calvin said. “One of the ugliest I’ve ever worked. And I’ve worked a lot of elections. You guys did a really great job tonight, I mean it. It was nice working as a team like this.”

Around midnight I trudged home in the dark, slowly piecing together my thoughts and trying to translate them into a column. I’d successfully covered an election, now could I comment on it with authority? In the six months since I’d been hired I was averaging a Kootenay Goon column every two weeks, but so far they’d been mostly autobiographical and light. I wanted to continue to build my skill-set, and I felt like I had some unique insights to share with the community. My lede was half-composed as I pushed through the front door of my house and clumped upstairs.

I crawled into bed with Paisley and the dogs for a while, but eventually went out to sit on the back porch in my robe. The moon was bathing Elephant Mountain in a silvery glow, and I was still buzzing from all the action. This was my life now, being a reporter, and I was getting addicted to it. How had I ever tolerated being a lowly lifeguard? A gas station attendant? I felt like what I was doing mattered. This wasn’t a vocation so much as a calling, and I felt like a true convert. Like I could work at the Star for the remainder of my life and never get bored. It was an excuse, every day, to go out into the world and ask “what don’t I know about yet?” And it gave me access to people and experiences that I never would’ve had access to otherwise. I thought about my family on the coast, who I had barely seen for the past six months, and the friends I was slowly forgetting about. It was true, what people said: Nelson really did feel like a different type of reality. Paisley and I had found ourselves in a magical little enclave, now we just had to make it work. While I pondered this with my chin on my chest, I heard scratching at the door and turned to open it for Muppet. She had trouble sleeping without her Dad. I pulled her on to my lap and listened to the night wind rustling through the trees.

The Kootenay Goon

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cucinacarmela-blog · 6 years

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Our Favorite Breakfast Cereals | Serious Eats

New Post has been published on https://cucinacarmela.com/our-favorite-breakfast-cereals-serious-eats/

Our Favorite Breakfast Cereals | Serious Eats

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[Photograph: Vicky Wasik]

Breakfast

Everything you need to make the most important meal of the day delicious.

There’s nothing inherently child-specific about a bowl of cold toasted grains soaked in milk, yet breakfast cereal seems to be inextricably associated with kids in the American imagination. Sure, it helps that most boxed cereals you’ll finding lining your supermarket aisles today come liberally infused with sugar (quite a turnabout for a food category that started with Seventh-Day Adventist health nuts, who would probably be pretty horrified if they could get a glimpse of the industry today), but there are other reasons.

You could begin, for instance, with the unchallenging flavors of corn and wheat combined with milk, making cereal an easy sell for the harried parents, usually moms, raising fussy eaters, who saw themselves reflected in generations of harried parents raising fussy eaters on TV. There’s the minimal preparation required, obviously, which made cereal the first meal many of us learned to fix for ourselves.

Add to that relentless marketing featuring every kind of kid bait you can think of—bright colors; unshakable jingles; talking animals (and cartoon chefs, and a leprechaun, and a captain of some never-seen navy); the promise of strength and coolness and superpowers; the insider-y nod to your membership in a special club that adults can’t infiltrate; and the lure of sugar sugar sugar—and it’s not hard to see how the cereals that accompanied us throughout our youth became a days-long conversation topic among the Serious Eats staff.

We’ve learned that few childhood cereals are cherished only on their own merits: The rituals that we created for eating them, the manic mascots that charmed us, and the cartoons that we ate them by on Saturdays were just as important. And we’ve learned that you can make nearly 50% of the SE staff happy by sitting them down in front of a bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch. Here are the cereals that we still dream of forming our own secret kids’ club around, even as grown-ups.

Alpha-Bits Cereal

After an unfortunate incident wherein three-year-old Stella was left alone with Rainbow Brite cereal long enough to eat an entire box, my parents tried to steer me away from cereals with artificial coloring. That still left me with a number of excellent options—Pops, Honey Nut Cheerios, Cinnamon Toast Crunch, et cetera—the best of which was Alpha-Bits Cereal. They taste about like Lucky Charms sans the Styrofoam marshmallow bits, which was fine by me, and I’d like to think my love for a frosted alphabet helped steer me toward the baker/writer life I lead now. A-B-C-Delicious! (This bonus commercial is before my time, but everyone deserves to hear MJ singing about Alpha-Bits, especially in a video that includes The Jackson 5 sitting down for cereal around a $14,000 Eero Saarinen dining room set. Yes, I did the math.) —Stella Parks, pastry wizard

Fruit & Fibre

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I knew and loved many a cereal when I was a kid—the candy-sweet nonsense, like Cookie Crisp and Lucky Charms, that my grandmother plied us with when we came for visits, as well as the more quotidian and practical choices of my parents, like Kix and Life. (Thinking back on it, I’m not even sure they bought Life that often, which speaks to its outsize importance in my mind. Life gets soggy faster than almost anything else, and it’s still the best damn cereal on the planet.) I was even #blessed enough to be able to enjoy a bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch fairly regularly in front of Muppet Babies.

But my most steadfast breakfast companion, probably starting when I was about eight and continuing into my teenage years, was Fruit & Fibre (now apparently styled “Fruit ‘n Fibre”). Yep, I latched on to a sensible mixture of wheat flakes, nuts, and dried fruit, named after a dietary necessity and marketed at retirees, and I suppose Mom and Dad were only too happy to oblige this particular whimsy.

Fruit & Fibre was known in the ’80s and ’90s for the tagline “Tastes so good, you forget the fiber!”—which, again, doesn’t scream “youthful image”—and a series of commercials that poked self-deprecating fun at the inexplicably British spelling, in which one character would insist that the correct pronunciation was “fruit and fee-bray.” I don’t specifically remember this one, starring Tim Conway, but it’s representative and charmingly laid-back. I have been a very old person on the inside for a very long time. —Miranda Kaplan, senior editor

Frosted Flakes

I grew up in a pretty healthy household, and that meant hell no to the sugary cereals. We had a lot of puffed-millet, cardboard-like stuff that tasted like nothing, though I do suppose it was a bit healthier (except when I put a lot of Splenda on it, which, now that I think about it, is totally gross). The only time we ever got sugary cereal was when my dad went grocery shopping, and his all-time favorite is Frosted Flakes. When that bright-blue Kellogg’s box made it onto our cereal shelf, I went totally crazy with it—it was a classic kid-who-never-has-sugar scenario.

Recently I had brunch at MiMi’s Diner in Prospect Heights, where, as a little amuse-bouche, they give you a blissful mixture of colorful sugary cereals in a little bowl—all those classics, like Cap’n Crunch and Fruit Loops. It is such a treat. I guess I can thank all that cardboard of my youth for helping me appreciate it. —Ariel Kanter, marketing director

Cookie Crisp

I still have cereal for breakfast (and sometimes dinner) every day. These days I’m more of a Cheerios or Grape-Nuts eater, but as a kid, I definitely got hooked on the more sugar-oriented cereals, and Cookie Crisp was among the many options I rotated through. A bowl full of tiny chocolate chip cookies. Did I need more of a reason to like it as an eight-year old? Though perhaps the pair of cartoon crooks (including a dog) that served as the brand’s mascot had something to do with it…that “CooooOOOOOkie Crisp” jingle is pretty solid. —Vicky Wasik, visual director

Grape-Nuts

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The thing I remember most about my childhood trips to the grocery store is setting up camp in front of the wall of multicolored cereal boxes, wheedling and pleading with my parents as they shook their heads and jabbed their fingers at the panel of nutrition facts.

I mostly blame the ensuing tears on the astonishing effectiveness of cereal commercials—especially the kind that featured greedy adults with Peter Pan syndrome, trying to steal cereal from children who, in this gritty, high-stakes universe, went to great lengths to save their most treasured possession: brightly hued, sugar-saturated breakfast candy. Sweetened cereals, they proclaimed, were a child’s birthright, and if you weren’t getting your fill, it was almost certainly because some grown-up—like, say, your mom or dad—was an evil asshole.

Which is why my favorite breakfast cereal was virtually any breakfast cereal I wasn’t eating. For the most part, our pantry was limited to Cheerios or generic “health” flakes, with rare appearances from Raisin Bran and, on a good day, a box of Honey Nut Cheerios. Within the confines of those prison walls, I found myself with a particular affinity for Grape-Nuts, which would sink into a dense heap beneath my milk and form a gritty cement onto which I could project visions of overflowing bowls of Fruit Loops, Golden Grahams, and Cocoa Pebbles. Now that I’m a marginally health-conscious adult, I genuinely enjoy a bowl of Grape-Nuts. But back in ’93, they drew me in with their masochistic appeal: a meal that captured the true extent of my hardship, deprivation, and suffering. —Niki Achitoff-Gray, executive managing editor

Honey Nut Cheerios

I’ll happily eat Honey Nut Cheerios at any time of day or night, for any meal. They make an excellent appetizer, salad, entrée, or dessert; each little O possesses the perfect balance of sweet and savory (but mostly sweet). And, of course, as a kid growing up in a mostly sugar-free household in Berkeley, California, I could never eat them at home, which meant I searched frantically through cupboards and drawers whenever I was at a friend’s house, looking for that big red-and-yellow cardboard box. When I found it, I was in heaven. I still don’t buy them for my own pantry, but if I ever see that signature box tucked behind the grown-up food in a friend’s kitchen, I finish it off. —Elazar Sontag, intern

Corn Pops

Growing up in New Delhi, India, in the late 1980s and early 1990s, we couldn’t buy cereal, and there weren’t any cereal ads on TV. There was no joy in our house, and no pleasure in our home. I did pine after Corn Pops quite a bit, since I got a taste of some at my American friends’ houses, even though the Pops cut up the inside of my mouth. And, apropos of nothing at all, the guy who played Jesse Pinkman in Breaking Bad was in a Corn Pops commercial. —Sho Spaeth, features editor

Kashi Heart to Heart

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I have a confession to make: I did not eat cereal until I was 15 years old. Not because I was above consuming cleverly marketed sugar bombs for breakfast (because I ate plenty of Eggos), but because I’m lactose-intolerant. This was a time before I could eat my cereal with almond milk, as I do now, so it just wasn’t an option for me. Then, during my sophomore year of high school, I had a very bright idea: dry cereal with raspberries and blackberries. The juiciness of 10 or 12 berries bursting in every two to three bites would surely mimic the milk-and-cookies effect of cereal with milk, right? So I picked out a box of Kashi Heart to Heart cereal in Honey and Oat flavor, and a container each of raspberries and blackberries, and crunched my way through that for the rest of high school. I remember the pieces sometimes being so rough and scratchy that I’d scrape the roof of my mouth on them, but the flavor was good enough, and it allowed me to finally eat my cereal. Now that I’m talking about it, I think I may actually be sparking a craving. But this time, I just might add a splash of almond milk—because I can. —Kristina Bornholtz, social media editor

Golden Grahams and Cinnamon Toast Crunch

Junk foods were rarely an option in my home, and that meant no sugary cereals either. I tasted Lucky Charms only a few times, and that was at a friend’s house after a sleepover. Golden Grahams and Cinnamon Toast Crunch were as sweet as my mom was willing to allow, and those two, to this day, are among my favorites, especially when combined in the same bowl. They go together so well, the nut-and-honey notes of Golden Grahams and the sugar-and-spice in Cinnamon Toast Crunch, and they both create, whether together or alone, some of the most delicious cereal milk in existence. I don’t think I can pick between them, nor should I have to—I was cereal-deprived enough as a kid as it was. (Also, shout-out to Quaker Cracklin’ Oat Bran, which was a decently sweet cereal on regular rotation at my home until health-conscious parents got worried about all the coconut oil in it. My, how times have changed.) —Daniel Gritzer, managing culinary director

…and More Cinnamon Toast Crunch

As a kid I’d spend all week daydreaming about Saturday, when I would wake up at the butt-crack of dawn to get my fill of cartoons and sugar. I was allowed to eat foods repped by colorful characters only on these early weekend mornings—likely because Pop-Tarts and Eggo waffles were the only things that gave my parents a day to sleep in. I wanted to maximize my sugar intake during these precious unsupervised moments, so my breakfast of choice was always Cinnamon Toast Crunch. I mean, it’s so overloaded with cinnamon sugar that the slogan was “The taste you can see.” I still don’t understand how this stuff passes as children’s breakfast food, but I’ll never forget those mornings spent doing lines of cinnamon sugar with Hey, Arnold! in the background. —Sohla El-Waylly, assistant culinary editor

Trix

“Silly rabbit, Trix are for kids!” will forever be ingrained in my brain. I loved that this cereal was so colorful. I’m pretty sure none of the flavors actually differed from one another, but I do remember that at one point the original balls were replaced by actual fruit-shaped pieces, to try to convince you that there was real lemon, grape, lime, raspberry, and blueberry flavor in there. —Vicky Wasik, visual director

Rice Krispies Treats Cereal

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A cereal I remember being better in theory than in actuality. I’m assuming this commercial’s UFO references were crafted to piggyback on the paranormal-activity obsession that ran rampant throughout the late ’80s and ’90s, if kids’ television of the era is anything to go by. (See: Goosebumps, The Secret World of Alex Mack, Ghostwriter, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles…okay, that one might be a stretch.) The combo of sugary cereal plus thrills definitely hit the right note for me, and seeing a box of Rice Krispies Treats Cereal in the supermarket incited equal parts excitement and chills-creeping, sensation-laden terror, conjuring up late Saturday mornings glued to the tube over a bowl of (essentially) starchy candy that was “part of a complete breakfast.” Whoever said the ’50s and ’60s represented the golden age of advertising was clearly never a wide-eyed, impressionable child cruising the cereal aisle, visions of RKTC commercials dancing in their head. —Marissa Chen, office manager

Frosted Mini-Wheats

There were many long pit stops on my cereal journey growing up. Earlier on, there were the sweeter, more sugary stops, like Cap’n Crunch, Cinnamon Toast Crunch, and Lucky Charms. At summer camp I would add extra sugar to my Frosted Flakes, purposefully stir the cereal so the extra sugar sank all the way down, and eat the sugary milk goop at the bottom of the bowl with the spoon. Later on I became ever-so-slightly healthier with Honey Nut Cheerios, a very long stint on Honey Bunches of Oats (still a favorite), and a brief and shameful period on Raisin Bran. My final destination—and probably my all-time favorite to this day—was Frosted Mini-Wheats. Every bite has exactly the same ratio of ingredients, which I appreciate: just the right amount of fibrous (healthy!) and sugary. The texture is perfect, assuming you have the know-how to let the cereal soak up just the right amount of milk so it’s not dry and crunchy, then eat it quickly before it gets soggy. A seasoned veteran such as I am may even split the bowl into two or three rounds of cereal addition, thus ensuring that no piece gets too saturated before your spoon reaches it. —Tim Aikens, front-end developer

Wheat Chex

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I ate more than my fair share of cereal when I was a kid, usually while sprawled out on the living room floor watching reruns of Saved by the Bell or DuckTales. I reserved the more sugary cereals (Cookie Crisp, Cinnamon Toast Crunch, Cap’n Crunch, and probably some that start with other letters of the alphabet) to be eaten as a dry snack and primarily ate “healthier” cereals, like Wheat Chex, with milk. I was never a big fan of cereal milk, so as I emptied the bowl, I would repeatedly add more and more cereal, until most of the milk had been absorbed. —Paul Cline, developer

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jmuo-blog · 6 years

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New Post has been published on https://jmuo.com/our-favorite-breakfast-cereals-serious-eats/

Our Favorite Breakfast Cereals | Serious Eats

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[Photograph: Vicky Wasik]

Breakfast

Everything you need to make the most important meal of the day delicious.

Alpha-Bits Cereal

Fruit & Fibre

youtube

Frosted Flakes

Cookie Crisp

Grape-Nuts

youtube

Honey Nut Cheerios

Corn Pops

Kashi Heart to Heart

youtube

Golden Grahams and Cinnamon Toast Crunch

…and More Cinnamon Toast Crunch

Trix

Rice Krispies Treats Cereal

youtube

Frosted Mini-Wheats

Wheat Chex

youtube

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autotomise · 6 years

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HOW I RUN THIS SHITSHOW

SPEED

i am.... a giant forgetful idiot. im a student so that takes up some of my time and im also a total muppet which is a pretty lethal combo id say. all in all im so sorry if i respond at the pace of a geriatric snail moving across wet concrete on valium

REPLIES

i try to do quality over quantity but its just a matter of how much i feel like im able to write/what fits the sitch yknow? its pretty circumstance dependent really

if im feeling a bit stuck i tend to wait until im into the swing of something and then do a bunch of responses

STARTERS

have never really done starter calls because i get pretty easily stressed and overwhelmed by them, but im super happy to turn a sentence starter/ask meme thing to turn into a proper thread

INBOX

it’s open to pretty much anyone, both for ooc and ic stuff! if i cant answer an ask right away for whatever reason i stick it in my drafts or keep it in my inbox

SELECTIVITY

im a tiny bit selective but it mostly depends on my mental health and whether our muses rly gel or not? im up for pretty much any interactions though go nuts

WISHLIST

mmmmMMM many. Many. i have a couple of aus in the works as well as a bunch of stuff i wanna plot out. i wanna rly grow and develop mo’s character over time and interact w people that he wouldnt usually. some shippy garbage wouldnt be the worst either hsjdfhghj no pressure though

HONEST NOTE

im basically just a ball of anxiety so please dont feel intimidated by me or anything. please talk to me, both about ic and ooc stuff. i love u all. also if you want me to gift you some of my terrible terrible art then message me about commissions (im gonna make a proper post soon so bear with me)

Tagged by: pinched it from @sclxinvictus

Tagging: @ofbrokensoulsandsurvivors @zingzapped @magnetpulled @grimastor aaand anyone else who wants to do this

#✩ ooc - ᵒᵘᵗ ᵒᶠ ᵒᶠᶠᶦᶜᵉ

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harryslibra-blog · 7 years

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A Visit To The Past

(Y/N) and Harry broke up when he started his solo career three years ago.

What he finds the hardest is that the person he knew better than himself once is now sitting there and he has no idea what to say, he has no idea what’s going on in your life or what’s happened in the previous three years that you both spent separately.

Him calling you the way he did years ago is too much to handle for you, you buried those memories too deep inside now all off them suddenly floating on the surface is suffocating you.

Hope you enjoy it. xx

High heel boots are not made for days like this and you should always take your umbrella with you in fall just in case if it rains, like it does now. You are trying to make your way through the crowded street, as quick as possible but you’re already late. You should’ve been there half an hour ago and you hate it. You hate the feeling of something might go wrong anytime and being late doesn’t really make you feel better about it. Your hair gets all wet as the rain accelerates and you try to push it off your face, the drops making it almost impossible for you to see where you’re going. You can spot some umbrellas flying around like dementors in of the wind.

Almost there, only two more blocks and you’ll make it you think as you quicken your steps. After you run past a cafe just around the corner, with a loud ‘splosh’ you literally jump in a puddle and hear a “Wo-woah!” at the same time. Feeling the water leaking in through your boots to soak your freezing feet, you look around to see the person you splashed water with. “Oh god, I’m so sor- ” your words get stuck between your lips as your eyes meets with the young mans standing in front of you. He is holding a black umbrella, wearing pointed brown boots and a black, long overcoat that looks more expensive than a collage tuition.

"Y/N?“ His expression giving away the fact that he is as surprised as you.

"Harry…” you say almost too quiet you hardly hear your own voice and he smiles. You force to keep your eyes open as the rain starts beating your skin faster but you only vaguely feel it.

A couple seconds of awkward silence later he smiles and you can’t help but sigh as his smile is even better than you remember how it was. “(Y/N), you’re soaking wet,” he gestures the cafe you just run past, “Wanna wait somewhere until the rain calms down?”

You find yourself following Harry into the cafe, there’s not many people inside and you can already see some of them recognizing the popstar that’s walking in. Water dripping from the bottom of your coat, Harry walks towards a table. You take a seat, taking off your coat and trying not to avoid his gaze on you. “It’s so good to- I mean I’d never thought that I’d run into you.” He says and finally your eyes meets his once more.

“It’s good to see you too.” you say back. Waiter comes before he says anything else. He orders an Americano and you order just water, your stomach feels like anything other than water wouldn’t be welcomed in there. “So you live in New York now?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you say. “I was in Seattle for some time for work, I had to move in to New York two months ago.” Leaving the reason why you moved in blank. You take another sip from your bottle of water as you feel as if the diamond ring on your finger tightens. You can’t ignore the slight tremble of your hands and all of your memories of trying to forget the guy who’s sitting in front of you fills in your thoughts.

“You always loved New York.” he says with a genuine smile on his lips and you confirm with a nod. As a loud thunder makes you look out from the window, Harry takes a proper look on your diamond ring and his smile fades a little. What he finds the hardest is that the person he knew better than himself once is now sitting there and he has no idea what to say, he has no idea what’s going on in your life or what’s happened in the previous three years that you both spent separately. Hates that he has to act like he’s not the one who knows how you squeak whenever you see a kitten, how you can’t sleep with socks and without something covering your belly, how you never kiss only one cheek of a person because you believe it brings bad luck so you kiss them both, how you curl the toes on your right feet more than the left when your orgasm hits you and how you loved him leaving bruises on your skin where no one else can see. Most importantly, how you loved him and he loved you once. “So, you’re engaged.” he blurts out and mentally curses at himself for opening up a matter that he doesn’t want to hear anything about.

You look down at your ring like you see it for the first time too and force a smile that you feel ashamed of because you don’t feel happy at the moment. “Oh- yes.” you mumble. Harry still has the same effect on you, you feel a pulling force inviting you to be closer to him. His hair is shorter now but the small curls are still visible behind his ears, his jawline got even sharper it that’s possible and he still wears too many rings on his fingers. She recognizes the one with a rose carved on top and it was your birthday gift to him years ago. You want to tell him the first six month of your break up was the hardest time of your life, tell him that you still keep the necklace he bought to you locked in a box in her bedroom, how sometimes you find yourself thinking about him out of the blue, how the color yellow always reminds you of him and you listened both of his albums, every single song and knows some of them are about you and you’re truly proud of him for making it this far though you’re not surprised cause you always knew he would. But instead you say, “I was trying to get to my wedding dress rehearsal but…” You look out from the large window of the cafe once more. “It seems impossible.” Funny, how you were running in the streets only minutes ago like your life depended on it but now it seems like - just a rehearsal - nothing important.

Harry looks at her, his bottom lip between his thumb and forefinger. He feels guilty. Like her getting married is everything going wrong in this world and he is the reason she’s doing it. Because he gave up all those years ago. “Congrats.” he says in the most insincere way.

“Thanks. Well congrats on your two Grammys.” you smile, desperately trying to change the topic and he shows you a beautiful smile, dimples carving his cheeks and you want to put your fingertips on them, it used to make him smile every single time you did. Uncomfortable silence surrounds you as you spin your ring on your finger without noticing. You are thrilled about your wedding, really, going over every single detail again and again. Harry is the only person you wouldn’t want to talk about it. You hate to talk about it with him. “So how’s working with-” you start but don’t have a chance to finish.

“I always thought we’d end up together, Muppet.” he interrupts, realizing he didn’t use the pet name for years and how warm it makes him feel to say it again.

His words catching you off guard you almost drop the water bottle. “Harry…” you say before a loud sigh, you should not be sorry and definitely not feel like crying because of what he says. Him calling you the way he did years ago is too much to handle for you, you buried those memories too deep inside now all off them suddenly floating on the surface is suffocating you. “Please.” you whisper.

“I know,” he pulls on his hair and you remember doing it, how soft his brown curls felt between your fingers and how he liked it when you did it whilst he had you beneath him. “Fuck, I know this is selfish of me (Y/N)! But - but look at you, I mean you’re getting married.”

“Harry-”

“I always expected a call from you, every damn night for three days. I didn’t want to be the one to call because that much of a selfish twat I am.” His grip tightens around the coffee cup. “You were out there… I’d always hoped that you were happy but not…” happy with someone else. His voice trails of and your lips tremble as you try to let your breath go through the lump in your throat. You watched him hang out with women, have short term girlfriends throughout the previous years, saw photos of him hand in hand with other girls, smiling at the flashing lights. You’ve made yourself believe that he didn’t miss you, even though the last words you heard from him three years ago was “I love you, Muppet. I don’t think I’ll ever stop loving you.”. For years you imagined seeing him, talking to him, you fantasized about the ways he’d come running back to you but now it hurt so much to hear everything he said. With the way you two broke up, you never had a closure, always had that small thought of being back together with Harry leaking in through your head at the most inappropriate times of some nights. You wanted to keep him away and even hate him for a long time but you had no reason to do so. He is Harry, your Harry. At least he once was your Harry. The person who made you feel the most alive.

“I missed you.” you say after a moment. “Hell, I still miss you Harry.” Harry looks up at you like a three year old boy who’s just been told after a boring day at home he can finally go outside to play. “But sometimes two people are just not meant to happen.”

“So, you’re saying it’s faith.” he snorts a chuckle and shakes his head.

“What exactly do you expect me to say?” you whisper-shout at him and put your elbows on the hard wooden table. “You were the one to end it Harry, you said you were not ready and went to Jamaica-” just as your voice was getting louder and Harry’s widened eyes were looking sadder every passing second you stop yourself. “No, no. It’s too late to have this conversation.” you say, mostly to yourself as you look up to prevent your tears from falling down on your cheeks. “I’m getting married in three months.”

Harry looks at you as you look into your hands on the table and try to calm yourself down. You want to flip the table, slap him right in the face for leaving you and then slap yourself for giving up too easily, shout everything you felt and still feel about him, every heartbreak, every anger, everything. But it would get you nowhere, nothing could take back the time and undo all the things you both had done.

“Will I be invited to the wedding Muppet?” he asks and you can’t help but chuckle just before a tear drops on your hand, he reaches and wipes it off with his thumb.

“No.” You say and his smile grows bigger, a sad one though.

“I’d love to see you in a wedding dress.” he says truthfully. “But I don’t think you’d be able to say your 'I do’ with me around.”

You slap his hand playfully and he grimaces. “You ass!” you laugh but the possibility of what he said to be true is making your stomach turn. You realize the rain is slowing down outside and take a deep breath. “The rain…”

Harry looks out. “Yeah.” he mumbles. A part of him wishes the rain to turn into a blizzard and locking you two in for the rest of the eternity. He is not ready to let you go yet but the ring on your finger telling him you’re already gone. You are not his (Y/N), not his Muppet anymore. He bites the inside of his cheek with the thoughts he wouldn’t want to dig deeper. They look at each other, waiting for the other one to make a move. Harry takes a deep breath and opens his mouth to invite you to dinner but you’re quicker.

“So…” you say and force a smile. “I think I should get going. (Y/F/N) will be coming for dinner and- were you gunna say something?”

“No.” He quickly shakes his head and despises the faceless man who’s named (Y/F/N) with no right. “It’s alright. It was great, it is… I mean this-”

“I know Harry.” you say softly and slowly get up from your seat. “It was great for me too.”

You both stand up and look at each other and you realize he even got broader now and short hair suits him, but you miss the long waves. “Be happy Muppet.” he says.

“You too Harry.” you say and lean up to place a kiss on his cheek, than the other which makes him smile. He changed his perfume, you can tell but there is still something same about his smell. A faint smell it is and it’s still so familiar and leaving a tingling sensation in your stomach. You mean it though, you want him to be happy.

“Excuse me?” You both turn to look at the third person who get into the frame of two. “I’m sorry to interrupt but is it possible to- uhm-” She’s a young girl holding her phone in her hand timidly.

“Yeah,” Harry says understanding and smiles politely.

“Let me.” You say and take the phone from the girl, they stand next to each other and Harry kisses her on the cheek as you take the photo. She’s shaking you can tell and cheeks flushed with excitement.

“Thank you!” she says. “Thank you so much, it’s great to meet you Harry.” Just then she turns to you. “you too (Y/N).” You don’t know what to say for a moment, you almost forgot how it is to be around him and you’re his ex-girlfriend so most of his old fans know about you. You try to hide your nervousness and put a smile on your face as polite as Harry’s. “Are you- are you two back together?”

“Oh, no.” you say right away. “This is just…”

“A visit to the past.” Harry says. Such a true phrase it is, a passage, a window to the past. A loophole to bring her back in time, a needed one, she feels sad happy and relieved at the same time. She had many thoughts about seeing him again but it happening this spontaneous way is better than you imagined it would be.

The girl says her goodbyes and leaves, you watch her go before turning your gaze back yo Harry.

“It’s a goodbye then.” You say, it’s a closure. But it doesn’t feel like it, there is a voice telling her he will always be a part of her life.

“It is.” he says and smiles down at you. “I hope this is not the last time I see you, Muppet. Next time I want you to be pregnant to your fifth child and all happy and peachy.” he says. “Even if it kills me I want to see you happiest.”

You laugh at his words about being pregnant at her fifth child and nod. “Goodbye Harry.” You say.

“Goodbye Muppet.”

***

Ten minutes of walk after the farewells with Harry, you take your phone out and see (Y/F/N) called you a dozen times. “Shit!” you dial his number and the familiar voice speaks.

“(Y/N)! Thank god! Where were you, I’ve been calling you almost for an hour? I thought something bad happened since the last time I called you said the rainstorm was getting worse.” he says.

“I’m alright.” you say calmly. “I’m going home, I couldn’t make it to the dress rehearsal.”

“You didn’t?”

“Nope. I just… ran into an old friend and waited for the storm to end.” You will tell him about seeing Harry, when you’re face to face.

“Alright. Don’t walk home please just take a cab, your clothes must be soaking I don’t want you to get cold.” His voice is so soft you smile again.

“Okay, baby.”

“See you at home then, be careful. I love you.”

Your steps stop and you look up at the sky. Traveling back in time from three years before to reality. “I love you too, I really do.”

***

Harry sits alone in his hotel room, on the bed wearing only his boxers and a glass of red wine in his hand. “Yeah, for tomorrow.” He says to the phone and takes a sip from the glass. “Excellent. 2:30. Alright, thank you.” He hangs up and leans against the bed head, cold wood feeling odd against his skin but also soothing. There’s a feeling, an ache in his chest and he knows he’s ought to feel, so he doesn’t complain or try to numb it.

His phone vibrates, his sisters name popping up on the screen. “Hey Gem.”

“Just saw your message H, since it’s two in the morning there I’m assuming it really fucked you up.” Her voice hoarse with sleep.

“It did.” he admits and stares at the TV that is not even turned on. He hears his mothers voice behind Gemma’s and Anne wants to say hi to him so Gemma hands her the phone with a huff. “Hi mum.”

“Harry, why are you awake at this late dear?” Anne’s voice is sweet but concerned.

“I’m coming home tomorrow.” he says dryly.

“I thought you were going to be in New York for a few weeks at your break.” she says.

Harry shakes his head, he just wants to feel warm and home. He needs the comfort of his home to go through the heartbreak only he caused. “I miss home.” and her… “and you mum.”

“Oh, baby…”

***

PART II

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