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rachelandfinn · 2 years

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🧜‍♀️ one yes 🧜‍♀️

a gLee fanfic about love at first sound

Maria in West Side Story was one of the three roles she needed to play before she died, and she never really had any stipulations as to how she ended up playing those roles, did she? ghost singer!rachel AU.

fandom: gLee characters: rachel berry, finn hudson, tina kurt mercedes sam blaine frida ryder in supporting roles ship: finchel, finn/frida (temporary), klaine (background) genre: romance themes: may possibly be funny?, fluff, slice of life-ish, canon-typical finn falling in love with rachel’s voice first and the rest of her second, rachel-centric, alternating povs, mistaken identities, first meetings, pre-relationship, getting together word count: 14.4k rating: T+

read it on ffnet, ao3, wattpad, or below!

~~~

A/N: This fic was inspired by my research into West Side Story. I never much liked the movie, but there’s no denying its iconic status; with such status comes intrigue. Natalie Wood may have played Maria on screen, but she certainly didn’t sing for her. Wouldn’t Rachel know that?

I came up with this idea in 2018, wrote a little bit of it in 2019, and didn’t pick it up again until April this year. (Why am I publishing it so late? Because I am a sucky beta, even to myself.) I’m happy to finally finish and share it! It was originally almost entirely in Finn’s pov, but Rachel is such an attention hog. I think the story is stronger for it in any case; and hey, now I’ve developed a voice for Rachel! I love the idea that she constantly has song lyrics in her head or that she supplies background music to her own life events.

~~~

Rachel saw how her best friend/agent’s face fell as she walked towards the outdoor seating of the trendy Amsterdam Ave cafe where Tina was waiting for her. She was planning on hiding the fact her latest audition failed for as long as possible, but if Tina could tell just from one look at her… No wonder she couldn’t book a role.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Rachel said in lieu of a greeting.

The thing she liked about Tina was that she was effortlessly supportive. It did not occur to a person like Tina Cohen-Chang to press a topic immediately after the other person said ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

The thing she didn’t like about Tina was that she did not let something go either. It’s what made her a fantastic agent and an even better best friend, but Rachel won’t let herself think that until after her customary three-day-long post-failure funk.

“I know you have your heart set on the stage, but how about the screen instead? Word on the street is that they’re trying to cast a modern remake of West Side Story. That could be perfect for you, Rachel!” Tina encouraged in that sweet voice of hers, mindful enough of Rachel’s mood to at least wait until after the check had been paid to bring up the idea.

Rachel took a breath, ready to wholeheartedly refute, but on second thought: Maria in West Side Story was one of the three roles she needed to play before she died. It might not have been under the bright lights of Broadway, but she never really had any stipulations as to how she ended up playing those roles, did she?

“Why do I have the feeling you’ve already signed me up for an audition time?” she asked with put-upon acrimony.

Tina smiled as she handed over a business card with a DTL written on the back in her neat, curlicue handwriting.

That was how Rachel found herself with swallowed pride and dry tongue, watching with anxious eyes as her competition got called in to audition while waiting for her turn in the dingy hallway of some random office building just off of Columbus Circle.

(All my life is just despair…)

“Rachel Berry?” someone called out at last.

“That's me!” Rachel gave herself a second to breathe before going up to the audition room. She offered a grin to the overworked assistant before stepping in.

A panel of people talked amongst themselves at the far end of the room, and they looked unimpressed with her as soon as she walked in. Unfortunately, that was something to which she was accustomed.

“Hello,” she began bravely anyway as she stepped onto the marked spot in front of their table. “My name is Rachel Berry, and I will be auditioning for the role of Maria.” They nodded politely and asked her to begin.

Rachel’s strategy was to always begin with her song, and she never auditioned with a song her character actually sang. Instead, she chose songs that could reasonably have been in her character’s playlist. It gave her more flexibility to show off her range while demonstrating she understood the character’s heart. That latter point was important because for all of the singing and dancing and breath control lessons her fathers paid for her in her youth, not one of those ever included an acting class. (She was working on it!)

The former was important because Rachel was playing a long con. Regardless of how an audition ended, they might think of her again for future works if she impressed them enough. She had to believe they’d remember her voice if she sang a song where she sounded best.

For once, it seemed to work. After her sixteen bars of My Man were up, one of them asked “Do you know Tonight?”

What kind of aspiring Maria would she be if she didn’t? She turned to the pianist. “A flat, please.”

They even asked her to read for them afterward—a huge deal. In most auditions, she didn’t even get that far; and even if she did, they settled for hearing her monologue instead of the character’s own words. The fact that she got a chance to actually act as Maria in front of them? Something like optimism dared to bloom in her chest.

She was bid adieu with an ‘Expect to hear from us in two weeks.’

Still, she refused to get her hopes up. All she told Tina at brunch the next morning was that she actually managed to finish the audition. (That didn’t always happen.) Even when she did end up hearing from them two weeks later (that didn’t always happen either), she reminded herself of all the times she wished the director would tell just her ‘no’ in person.

“We like your sound,” the director said on the phone, “but not your look.”

“Pardon me?” It always came down to her looks, to her immense chagrin.

“Here's what we propose,” he said as though she didn’t speak at all. “How about you come in and dub over the singing voice of the actress we cast? She’s actually Hispanic—you know how being PC is important for PR these days—but she just doesn’t have the voice you do.”

Well of course she didn’t, but the compliment didn’t hold any weight compared to everything else he said. “Dub over the singing voice? What, like a ghost singer?”

“Don’t sound so shocked, kid. Natalie Wood didn’t do her own singing in the 1961 film either. So, what do you say?” he asked as though he hadn’t revealed the steadfast foundations of Rachel’s entire personality were actually built on sand.

Her first instinct told her to reject the offer on principle. Rachel Berry did not ghost sing. It was all of her or none at all.

(What’s the difference if I say…)

… But this was the closest she’s ever been to a successful audition, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Tina's said in her head. The gradually cheaper and less-vegan food items in her fridge were a testament to that, and she found herself asking for some time to think about it.

“We don’t normally do this, but we really like your sound… How’s about you let us know by the end of the week? If we don’t hear from you then, we’ll move on to our second choice.”

Rachel agreed, and Tina did not appreciate it. “Rachel!” the agent exclaimed when Rachel told her the news the next morning. “This is the closest you’ve ever been to a successful audition!”

“That’s exactly what I thought you’d say,” Rachel muttered to herself.

(I’ll go away…)

“Rachel,” Tina admonished. “You’re always complaining about how you can’t get a break. Here it is! In fact, I'd call it your big break. It doesn’t matter how many no’s you hear…”

“... All I need is one yes,” Rachel finished despondently, very familiar with Tina's pep talk. She received them often.

Tina smiled as though she already successfully convinced Rachel. The only thing Rachel was convinced about was that Tina must be delusional if she thought Rachel was going to take this job.

That night, she called the director back, thinking she was the truly delusional one. “I’ll do it.”

(When I know I’ll come back on my knees one day…)

~~~

Once the movie’s production team emailed Rachel the contract, she and Tina made a wine night out of signing and faxing it back. Her studio apartment in Washington Heights was barely big enough for her; but having two extra people inside it, happily celebrating her milestone success, made the space feel filled with love instead of overly cramped. Their mutual friend Mercedes may have shown up just for the wine, but she actually ended up being the most lucid and helpful.

“Am I drunk, or does this say Rachel won’t get credit for her work?”

“WHAT?!” “Where???”

Mercedes pointed out a clause in the contract that Rachel and Tina stopped poring over ages ago in favour of painting each other’s toenails. They awkwardly crawled over to where Mercedes was sitting on the floor even as she read aloud, “By signing this contract, bla bla bla, the TALENT agrees to waive their right to nominal album accreditation. ‘Talent’ is in all caps. Why do contracts do that?”

“Tina!” Rachel despaired, looking over to her friend demanding some sort of explanation and ignoring Mercedes’ drunken ramblings. The theme song to Jaws was ringing in her ears.

Tina took the copy from Mercedes’ grasp and looked over it for a moment. “You’d also be paid 75 dollars an hour on top of the industry standard 0.3% of album royalties. Rachel, most session musicians only make 30.”

Being treated like a session musician was such a far cry from the top billing status she dreamed of, even when she agreed to this lip-sync farce in the first place.

“Tina, we can’t let this happen. I need the credit, on both the album and the movie! How can I put this on my resume if they don’t credit me?! I’d be laughed out of every audition room I ever enter if I have a stupid ‘(uncredited)’ qualifier next to West Side Story, and then I’ll never be able to become a Broadway actress, and then—”

“—I’ll call them tomorrow,” Tina assured, if only to stop her friend and client from devolving into a full-blown Rachel Berry Meltdown™, which wouldn’t have been helped by four glasses of wine.

In the end, she and the management team agreed to movie credits in exchange for giving up album royalties, contrary to Tina’s advice. Rachel was perfectly fine with this trade-off. Nowadays, being anonymous was worse than being poor.

~~~

A few weeks later, Rachel had the opportunity to go to the filming site, which she took because she clearly loved to torture herself. (She wasn’t just talking about the ghost singing business either. Why else would she willingly suffer through the MTA’s weekend schedule and make two transfers just to end up in Long Island City?)

The Broadway stage may have been her ultimate dream, but a sound stage was nothing to scoff at either. After security at Silvercup Studios let her through, she easily wandered through the single-floor until she found the sets for Anita’s apartment and the bridal shop. They were back-to-back on a big, raised platform that spanned the width of the studio, connected by a single door in the shared wall. Through the magic of editing, no one would ever be able to glimpse into the yonder set if a character had to make an exit through that door. Rachel made her way around the setup, letting herself imagine what it would have been like to work here and mourn the lost opportunity.

Just when it began to hurt just a bit too much and she thought should continue nursing her wounds back home, she heard someone rehearsing lines she’s known by heart since she was 7 years old.

“‘One month have I been in this country.’ No… ‘One month have I been in this country!’ Yeah, let’s do that. ‘One month have I been in this country! Do I ever even touch excitement?’”

Following the voice led Rachel to a corner of the studio the farthest from the entrance. She found a round-faced girl seated on heavy-duty storage boxes, a sheaf of papers in hand and outfitted in a springy, floral dress. She looked to be a few years younger than Rachel and so obviously slimmer, the kind of genetic thin that no amount of healthy eating and cardio can achieve.

Having a big mouth must be a more forgivable sin than a big nose.

Rachel continued to listen to her rehearse her lines. Her voice was deeper with a slight urban accent, and Rachel could guess why the production team was going through the lengths they were. Maria needed to sound like lightness and innocence, and this girl must not be able to affect those qualities when she sang.

Rachel had been standing still for so long, sizing up the wench that stole her chance for fame, and got caught.

“Oh, is it my turn at hair and makeup?” the girl asked, hopping off of the crate once she noticed Rachel and scrambling to grab the things she left scattered at her feet.

“No! No,” Rachel hurried to stop her, stalling to give herself time to figure out what to say. “Hi, my name is Rachel Berry. I’m just… touring the set for the day,” she fibbed.

Just as her brain was conjuring up her backstory—she’s an apprentice to a woman named Ida who worked in risk management—the girl’s eyes lit up in recognition. Her friendly smile froze a little, but she still shook Rachel’s hand. “Rachel! Hi, yeah, the music director mentioned you. I didn’t think we’d get to meet, much more so soon! I’m Frida, Frida Romero.”

She didn’t expect that Frida had even heard of her, but her surprise was quickly overtaken by the sadistic pleasure that came from ascertaining that this Frida Romero girl wasn’t pleased to meet the person who’ll be dubbing over her singing voice. Her lips curled into a satisfied smirk; but before she could challenge Frida into an impromptu singing showdown to the tune of Anything You Can Do (I Can Do Better), a rude and impatient voice called out to them.

“Pinoy Pacman, Kelley wanted you in the hair and make-up trailer, like, ten minutes ago—wait a minute, did you bring a friend onto set?! The director told me yesterday I couldn’t bring my girlfriend onto set yet, but you’re allowed to have Manhands here visit from wherever your hobbit hole hometown is? This is homophobic!”

Rachel instinctively and self-consciously looked down at her hands as Frida sighed with barely concealed annoyance. “Santana, this isn’t a friend. Rachel works on the movie,” she corrects the newcomer.

Santana’s ire seemed to evaporate on the spot, but her generally disagreeable disposition did not follow. “Oh, good. I’m pretty sure my rider said I needed freshly baked breadsticks in my trailer at all times, and I haven’t even seen dollar-store animal crackers in there since filming started. Go do something about that, will you?”

Rachel opened her mouth, ready to vehemently dispel the offensive notion that she was hired help, but Santana was already sauntering somewhere else.

“That was Anita.”

Rachel whirled on Frida. “That was Anita?!” If Rachel were cast in the film, that was the person she was supposed to consider her best friend, her greatest source of comfort, the closest thing she had to family in this brand new country?! For a split second, Rachel felt vindicated that Frida was the one who had to work with such a disagreeable person. It was almost enough to make her feel grateful she didn’t get the part.

Almost.

Frida only sighed in response as she gathered her things so she could continue to get ready for shooting. “Well, I better go. It was nice to meet you, Rachel. Hope you have fun on set today,” she said, giving a small wave before departing, not stopping to hear whether Rachel would respond.

Once Frida was out of sight, Rachel looked around at the sound stage one last time and took active note of the fact that as exciting as it would have been to work here, there simply was nothing in her chest stirring the way there was when she imagined standing on a stage before a crowd.

It was definitely time to go home.

~~~

Rachel didn’t hear about the movie in an official capacity again until principal photography was close to wrapping up a few months later. Now that Frida was done filming her singing scenes, Rachel was called in for soundtrack recording.

She resolved not to let her frustration with her circumstances prevent her from learning as much as she could from the experience. Recording for the soundtrack would put her in an actual, professional recording studio. Broadway casts recorded in those all of the time!

The pep in her step as she commuted to Hell’s Kitchen lasted into the building, up the elevator, and through the studio space where the music director met her. They talked shop for the first hour, asking if Rachel had ever sung in a studio before and working with her to set up a recording schedule for the next week. Apparently the producers elected to dub over Tony’s voice as well, so the MD wanted to record them together to help with the mixing process.

“He’s coming in today; you’ll get a chance to meet him. The name’s Blaine Anderson, and he makes for a really good Tony,” the music director commented.

Strangely, hearing about another ghost singer made Rachel feel relieved. She didn’t realise it before then, but she felt rather stranded the past few weeks, like no one could understand just how hard it was for her to take this job. But this Blaine person? He might get it.

Before going into the recording booth, the MD explained how they wanted to spend the rest of the day. “I’m not the kind of person that knows what I want without hearing it first, so all I’m gonna ask you to do today is sing and try your best to match Frida’s videography. I’ll give you more direction after I hear what I’m working with.”

Rachel would love to leave the studio today without giving the MD any reason to correct her singing, but she reminded herself of her intention to learn. Even if she disagreed with anything, she would take it with grace and perform as requested.

Easier said than done.

Rachel has had the West Side Story soundtrack memorised since she was 7. As she grew up, she had a very specific idea of how she would perform Maria’s duets once she was able to realise her childhood dream. It would perfectly blend the intentions of the original score and the movie version most people would be familiar with while showing off her own technical prowess. It would be epic, powerful, EGOT-worthy.

Frida clearly had no such designs.

The music director asked Rachel to sing along to Frida’s video once through without stopping just so that they both could see how much is different between the two performances—and Frida had sung it all wrong.

She took her breaths at the worst moments. Her face portrayed longing when she should have sounded hopeful. Why was she trying to belt there!?

Rachel hadn’t been so frustrated at participating in a performance since her high school show choir director tried to win Regionals with a performance of Sing! from A Chorus Line led by the tone-deaf dancer kid and his girlfriend.

(It’s a terrifying thing…)

If all of Frida’s takes were like this, Rachel would be in the studio a lot longer than the producers probably anticipated. A quick glance out of the soundbooth showed her the MD was having similar thoughts.

After an hour, they took a break so that Rachel could drink water and sit down for a bit. She went out to the main receiving area of the studio to sit on the couches there instead of the ones behind the mixing station of her recording booth, thinking it would do her some good to minimise the amount of time spent in the room that would be her personal torture chamber for the foreseeable future. She made a mental note to wear her sneakers next time she came in so that all the standing around would be easier on her back.

Then, a neatly-dressed man on the shorter side exited the elevators by the reception desk. He took a seat a few cushions away from Rachel on the couch, and Rachel’s sixth sense was tingling.

She shifted closer and asked, “Excuse me, are you Blaine Anderson?”

Blaine snapped his head up in shock from where he was perusing his phone, confirming Rachel’s suspicion before he offered an eager hand in greeting and a, “Yes! Hi… Have we met?”

“I’m Rachel Berry. I’m singing for Maria.”

She meant to sound confident and excited, but the way the politeness on Blaine’s face instantaneously smoothed into sympathy left Rachel feeling like she needed to cry.

“It’s a little unfair, isn’t it?” he asked. No clarification needed.

He understood it too.

“It’s more than a little unfair,” she admitted, throat closing up in reflex as she tried to blink away the pressure behind her eyes.

He put a comforting hand on her shoulder and gave a wan smile, which she returned with appreciation.

It helped, to have someone to commiserate with.

~~~

Rachel attended the premiere. Of course she did. Even though it was not her name on all of the promotional materials, even though she didn’t get to walk the red carpet, even though no one would care to know who she was, she intended to revel in the fact that this night was hers as much as it was everyone else’s. More importantly, whatever success this movie saw would be hers as much as everyone else’s, too.

Who knew how long it would be until the night she first performed on a Broadway stage or got invited to the Tony’s? (Not long, she hoped.) Until then, this was the biggest night of her life, and she intended to treat it as such. She invited Tina as her plus-one; and together they agonised for weeks over what to wear and how to do their hair, they practised their smiles in the mirror, they role-played how they would react if they got to meet any of their celebrity crushes or Broadway idols.

Closer to the date, the nightmares began.

Some were of her being turned away at the door because her name wasn’t on the list, and she’d scream her voice hoarse as she demanded to be let in and be recognised, and her voice never recovered so she was forced to live out the rest of her life mute and miserable. Other ones featured attendants booing as soon as her voice pumped through the speakers instead of Frida’s, and somehow all of them knew a) that it was her and b) where she sat in the theatre, and they all threw their drinks and food and playbills at her with basketball-star-level accuracy. One time, Rachel even dreamed she was a teenaged mermaid that traded her voice for legs so that she could attempt to romance a handsome land-dweller, and the sea witch that brokered the deal had stolen her voice and tried to move in on her guy and also looked a lot like Frida.

The actual night, of course, was not as eventful.

She wasn’t shuffled in through a back door like she thought she might have been as a low-ranked member of the crew. Instead, she and Tina got to walk right through the main doors; they just had to circumvent the glitz and excitement of the red carpet, which started at Columbus Avenue, half-circled the fountain in Josie Robertson Plaza, and led to the Metropolitan Opera House.

They arrived a cool thirty minutes before the movie was set to begin, giving them enough time to take selfies within the Opera House’s iconic atrium and order drinks and snacks to enjoy while they watched.

As the movie progressed, Rachel scooted further and further to the edge of her seat. There was still a chance for the second-most common of her nightmares to come true.

On screen, Tony snuck onto Maria’s fireplace in that adorably rogue way of his, and they flirted as they reaffirmed their star-crossed love for each other, and then…

Only you. You’re the only thing I see, forever…

The cheering shocked her with its immediacy. The crowd quieted down just as quickly, and Tina held her hand tight, and she was crying. She kept crying for the entire duration of the song, and she was brave enough to let out a little hiccup when the applause and whistles and shouts of encouragement filled the theatre during the final note.

They loved her.

The stress melted out of her along with her tears, and only a giddy happiness was left to fill her body. She looked over at Tina and couldn’t help the relieved laughter at the sight of twin streaks of wet flowing down her friend’s own cheeks. She squeezed Tina’s hand, grateful for her best friend’s presence and her agent’s guidance. From the way she squeezed back, Rachel could tell Tina could tell.

When the movie ended, there was more raucous applause, but there was just as much activity as well. Many of the people around them began leaving for home or for the reception party in the opera house’s atrium, the hall buzzing with conversation and praise.

The two of them eagerly waited in their seats for the credits to roll through. Her name may not have been on any of the promotion materials, her name may not have been the one called out on the red carpet, but her name would be forever immortalised in the credits. It was the only public validation she’d get, and she couldn’t wait.

Ravhel took her phone out of her purse, excited to take a picture of the screen, and she could see Tina do the same by her side. They both figured that her name would appear in the musicians’ section, but then those names came and went without comment. A quick glance to her left showed that Tina was just as confused as she was, but she couldn’t afford to get distracted. Her name should appear any second now.

And finally, it did. Alphabetised by first name in the fucking Special Thanks To section.

…

Patty Simcox

Rachel Berry

Tyrone Griffiths

…

She stood up from her seat, chest and eyes burning with indignation.

“Rachel!” Tina called out after her as she stormed out of her row. “Rachel, where are you going?” Tina hurried after her, getting close enough to reach out for Rachel’s arm, but Rachel shrugged her off immediately.

“Home!” Her voice broke on the shouted syllable. “I’m going home, Tina. No one cares that I’m here or about what I did. They made that very, very clear.” Rachel gestured pathetically to the screen while sniffling and trying to stymie her tears. She was crying so much tonight. “My name is all the way at the end with the miscellaneous help. Like, who the hell is Patty Simcox?!”

Rachel’s cries were getting the attention of the venue staff and the handful of others that remained for the credits, so Tina rushed them out the closest exit and into the hallway where she remembered the bathroom being.

“It was a mistake to come here,” Rachel wailed as she let Tina drag her along.

Once safely sequestered away in the bathroom, Tina shook her friend by the shoulders. “Rachel Barbra Berry, were we in the same movie theatre just now? Didn’t you hear that applause when Tonight started? They loved you.”

Of course she did, as fleeting as the applause was, but did that matter? Rachel only shrugged in response.

“No, seriously, listen to me. They loved you. The applause at the beginning and end of the film? That was for everyone else: Frida, the guy who played Tony, the movie people who agreed to fund a remake. But the cheering for Tonight? That was for you and you alone, Rachel. Couldn’t you tell? They started freaking out as soon as the song started! The entire audience was just waiting to hear Maria sing, and it was your voice that played through the speakers. That applause was for you. They care, Rachel; they just don’t know it yet.”

She was still in Tina’s hold, but her mind went back to just an hour ago. She remembered the joy that came with being celebrated, but she remembered relief, too. Whatever fears Rachel had about not being enough dissipated with the first clap of hands. She struggled to hold onto that feeling while the disappointment threatened to crush her spirit.

“When?” she murmured.

Tina’s grasp on her shoulders softened. “Huh?”

Rachel pulled her attention from middle distance and looked into Tina’s eyes. “When will they know that they care?”

Tina smiled at her, equal parts confident and comforting. “You’ll get a chance to tell them. You’ll say it at every audition; you’ll tell your future coworkers during a break in rehearsals; and when you finally get nominated for leading a Broadway show, you’ll tell everyone at Radio City Music Hall, too. I’m sure of it.”

Rachel huffed out air in something approximating a laugh. “That sounded good. How long have you been practising that?” she asked with a congested accent.

Tina reached behind her to get a paper towel for Rachel to blow her nose into. “A few days, admittedly. I had some variations prepared, just in case.”

Rachel nodded distractedly, embarrassment starting to flood in now that she was coming back into awareness of herself. “Can you help me clean myself up? It’ll be hard enough going back out there having just made a spectacle of myself without also looking like an extra from Rocky Horror.”

Tina beamed at her. “So, we’re staying?” she asked as she spilled the contents of her clutch onto the bathroom counter to get the emergency make-up stashed away there. Beside her, Rachel did the same.

“It would be a waste of perfectly free champagne if we didn’t,” she said with a grateful smile.

~~~

“What do you mean you’re not going to the premiere?!” Kurt screeched into his ear.

Finn annoyedly shifted the phone to his other shoulder, scrubbing the remnants of oil off his hands as he made his way out of the autogarage where he worked. He signaled to his roommate and coworker that he was taking five, and Sam waved him off.

“Exactly what you just said: I’m not going. What’s the point?”

“I go through all that effort to get you work on this movie, and this is how you thank me? By abandoning me on the biggest night of my career thus far?!”

“Kurt, you did costuming on the movie! That’s a big deal, and I would never try to pretend it’s not… But all I did was play the drums for a little extra cash because their orchestra guy picked the wrong week to go on vacation. It was nice of them to invite me just because I helped out, but this was just another job to me. If you really don’t want to go alone… it can’t be that hard to find a date.”

“This is not an I-need-an-emergency-plus-one-to-my-ex’s-wedding situation, Finn! I will not rely on Grindr to find me a date for West Side Story’s world premiere!!!”

“I’m pretty sure I’m working that night anyway.”

“I can’t believe you would think that I wouldn’t have already checked your work schedule with Sam before I called you.” Dammit, Sam.

“We don’t even get to walk the red carpet! I don’t understand why I have to go just because you’re going.”

“Finn Hudson, if you don’t go with me, I’m telling Carole that you’ve been dating someone and that that’s why you haven’t gone back home to visit yet this year.”

Finn reactively broke out into a sweat. His mother was not a demanding woman, which made it all the harder to deny her the two things she’s ever asked for: a steady girlfriend and a visit home, neither of which have interested him lately. “That’s not even remotely true! You wouldn’t.”

“Do not try me.”

“Fine. Fine! I’ll go to the stupid premiere, god.”

Kurt cheered on the other end, and Finn wished they were still living together so that he could sneak a red sock into the washing machine next time Kurt tried to wash his white clothes.

“If you check your email, you will see that I’ve already sent you a list of links so that you can buy an appropriate outfit for the evening. Do not order anything in a colour that was not linked to you, or I will make you regret it. Have a good day at work, big brother!” Kurt ended the call in that cheeky way he’d been doing since high school even though his birthday was three months before Finn’s.

And that was how Finn found himself in one of the plush, leather-upholstered seats of the Metropolitan Opera House at Lincoln Center watching the remake of a movie of a Broadway show he didn’t even like. Why would anyone base a musical on Shakespeare’s worst play?

He didn’t even bother fighting sleep once the overture stopped playing and the movie began in earnest. He’d seen the 1961 movie; he knew how it went. Sometime later, in his hazy consciousness, he recognised that Tony managed to stalk Maria home, and they were fighting against their ill-advised lust for each other, and then…

Only you. You’re the only thing I see, forever…

Finn’s eyes shot awake, and it wasn’t because of the sudden cheers from the audience.

In my eyes, in my world, and in everything I do... Nothing else but you, ever.

Whoever played Maria knows how to sing. This movie just got a lot more interesting.

If there was yet another thing he could begrudge West Side Story, it was that Maria didn’t get her own solo. Everytime she sang, her voice would inevitably be cut off by someone else’s. If these production people were thinking with their brains at all, they would have created a whole new song for Maria as soon as they heard the actress’ voice. That’s what he would have done.

Finally, the film ended in its tragic way, but Finn didn’t join everyone else in their tears or their excitement for the after-party. His butt remained seated, and his eyes tracked on the screen, desperately waiting for the credits to roll.

The first two names that appeared in the stylised credit sequence were Ryder Lynn and Frida Romero, and he had a good feeling that Ryder wasn’t the one who played Maria.

Frida Romero.

He sank back in his seat and turned the name over in his head, tuning out Kurt’s blubbering about how fantastic the movie was and how pretty the costumes looked on screen and how proud he is of everyone.

As far as celebrity crushes went, it could honestly be worse. At least she wasn’t playing in an animated movie when he heard her sing. A sudden obsession with West Side Story’s soundtrack would be much easier to explain.

It wasn’t until a girl and her friend started making a ruckus a few rows ahead of him that Kurt and Finn decided it was time to join everyone else at the afterparty, exchanging weirded out looks as they left the theatre.

The lobby wasn’t as decked out as Finn expected it to be, but perhaps one of the benefits of holding a film premiere at such a historic and famous venue was that the event organisers didn’t have to try too hard to decorate the space. The location was the decoration.

Waitstaff kept hors d'oeuvres and drinks in a constant flow, but Finn couldn’t wait to get out of there and get a real meal. Forget balsamic-drizzled caprese on a stick and flutes of too-bitter champagne; he wanted a medium rare burger and a light beer.

His dinner would have to wait, unfortunately. He was Kurt’s ride back to Queens, but Kurt had wandered off fifteen minutes ago when he saw some coworkers from costuming. With no chance that Kurt would pick up if Finn called, he resigned himself to biding his time in an out-of-the-way alcove on the less-crowded third floor until Kurt decided they could go home.

It would be a lot worse if he didn’t have something to look forward to.

The grand staircase in the atrium that allowed patrons who weren’t rich enough to afford first-floor seating was made up of two curved staircases that met at a platform midway between the ground floor and the second floor. From that platform, a single, shorter staircase connected to the above level.

Though the view from the midway platform was limited, anyone anywhere in the multi-leveled lobby had an unobstructed view of the platform itself, which made it the perfect location for speeches, toasts, and planned performances of duet medleys from a film everyone in attendance had just finished watching.

He could definitely stand to wait a bit if it meant getting to hear Frida’s voice live.

He bided his time with some rounds of Angry Birds until feedback echoed through the antechamber. It was time.

Frida Romero and Ryder Lynn walked up to the midway platform on opposite staircases, a move that was obviously staged but nevertheless dramatically and visually impactful. Once in front of the microphones on the landing, the two bowed before the gathered crowd and began singing.

The eager smile on Finn’s face froze a bit, but he recovered quickly. Frida sounded pretty different from what she sounded like on the film, but he reasoned it was because she was singing live and because the atrium was still buzzing with conversation. It wasn’t as completely quiet as it should have been out of respect for what he confidently would say was the greatest voice of their generation.

The duet ended to earnest applause, and Finn tried not to be too disappointed. He decided to look for Kurt instead. Surely, he was done gushing about sequins or gossipping about red carpet looks or whatever it was people who worked in fashion talked about when they were together.

The third floor was a bust, so he descended to the second floor to continue this search. As he walked through the crowd, Finn reached out for a champagne flute from a passing waiter, but someone else’s hand touched the stem at the same time.

“Shit!” “Oh my god!” the two parties cried out as both hands abruptly let go of the glass, letting it break and spill sticky, fizzy drink on the marble flooring.

“I’m so sorry! Can I help you clean it up?” the other person asked, and holy shit that was Frida Romero.

The waiter had on their best customer service smile, but the annoyance was clear in their voice when they asked the two of them to step back and allow someone to clean up the spill. Finn didn’t need to be told twice, so he gently took Frida’s arm by the elbow and encouraged her to back up and away from the scene of the crime along with him.

“We’d better do as they ask,” he recommended gently as he tried to shield her from the attention of nosy passers-by. He brought them to the quieter hallway where the elevator banks were before he remembered himself and let the poor girl go. He whirled to face her, apology at the ready, but then he noticed she barely reached his shoulders even in heels. He was so doomed.

“Ah, sorry,” he said while nervously rubbing at his neck. “I didn’t mean to manhandle you there. I was just focused on getting us away from the waiter who looked ready to stab us in the eye with shards of champagne glass.”

Frida chuckled a little, and Finn couldn’t help but smile at the sound. “No, it’s okay,” she assured. “Honestly, I was having a bit of an out-of-body experience all night. The last few minutes were really helping me come back to myself.”

Finn furrowed his eyebrows. “Did something go wrong?”

“No! Nothing’s wrong!” Frida denied vehemently. “This is a dream come true, honestly! … It’s just all happening so fast. In the span of two minutes, I met Vanessa Hudgens, Annaleigh Ashford, and Rita Moreno. I didn’t get to even process one famous person before meeting the next. I only get this night once, and I wanted to savour it, but… Ugh. Oh my god, sorry. I should not be telling you this stuff. Not only do I sound totally out-of-touch, but this is so not your problem.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Finn hurried to assure her. “You definitely sound like you need a breather. Do you want me to get you some water or something? I promise not to drop the glass this time.”

Frida huffed out a laugh. “That’s nice of you, but no thanks. I should really be getting back out there…”

“Oh, yeah, of course. I totally get it. You’re the main attraction.”

To his surprise, Frida snorted. “Am I, really?”

“Uh, yeah. I heard you sing tonight… Not Tonight the song, I meant this evening… But obviously you performed Tonight tonight, you’re in the show… What I’m trying to say here is I think you’re really talented.”

Back in high school, Finn’s relationships wouldn’t last long because he had serious foot-in-mouth syndrome. He thought he got over that in the years since then, but apparently all it took was one pretty girl to reinfect him.

Said pretty girl faced him with an appraising gaze, but her fingers were nervously playing with the straps of her purse. “You really think so?”

Finn nodded emphatically, hoping she could tell he was being earnest. “And I’m not the only one. They chose you to headline the movie, didn’t they?”

Frida didn’t look wholly convinced, but the air around her changed. She twisted her mouth into a sarcastic smile, and the serious tone of the conversation shifted. “That they did. Not doing too bad for a Hoosier, huh?”

Finn brightened. “You’re from Indiana? I’m from Ohio!”

“No way? And we met here, in New York City?”

“I know, right?” Finn was going to launch into how much he missed the county fair back home, which just happened this past weekend and was fresh on his mind still, but he was interrupted.

“Frida, there you are! We’ve been looking all over for you. I know they told us we wouldn’t have to do interviews at the party, but the director owed somebody a favour, I guess? I don’t know, but we’re needed down on the main level.”

“Gotcha. Thanks, Ryder. Give me a second? I’ll be right there.”

Before he left, Ryder Lynn gave Finn a judgemental look that he couldn’t help but return. To his satisfaction, Finn had a few good inches and maybe twenty pounds on the guy. (Not that he actually planned on fighting him for Frida's affections, but he was just pointing out that he could if he needed to.)

“So, uh, I gotta go.” Frida gestured needlessly to where Ryder had just been standing. Finn smiled as he stamped down his disappointment. He was lucky enough to have monopolised so much of her time, and he knew it. “Totally. It was nice meeting you, Frida.”

She tilted her head at him. “I never caught your name.”

“Ah, right. Finn Hudson. I actually played percussion in the orchestra for the soundtrack; that’s how I got invited.”

“‘Finn Hudson,’” she repeated. “Ugh, I’m never gonna remember that. Write it down for me?”

She fished in her purse for her phone and handed it over. He didn’t think much of her request, but then he looked down to see an open contact form on her phone. He snapped his focus back up and was greeted with a decidedly flirtatious gaze. He smirked at her, a look he knew made him particularly attractive, and input his information.

“See you later,” he said as he handed her phone back.

Frida left with a wave and a wink. “Sooner than you think.”

~~~

As much as she had hoped for the opposite, Rachel’s life didn’t get a whole lot better after the movie came out.

It was, as expected, a smashing success. Everyone thought it was high-time for a West Side Story remake, and the numbers showed. $67 million on opening weekend alone; #1 movie in America for three weeks in a row; 8.7 on Metacritic and 84% on Rotten Tomatoes.

Overheard conversations on the subway featured plans to watch the movie that weekend; the high school down the block began advertising West Side Story as their spring musical; Frida and whoever played Tony got invited to be presenters at the Tonys. The Tonys!

And there Rachel was, sitting in her shoebox Washington Heights apartment with the radio unplugged and blinds drawn, watching only pre-recorded TV shows or movies on DVD. It was the only way to avoid hearing a peep of the commercials or avoid catching a glimpse of the billboard on the apartment complex a few blocks down from hers.

It was all so unfair.

Tina told her that this movie could be the cause of her big break. As it currently stood, it looked more like the cause of her big breakdown.

She had been ignoring any and all attempts of contact from her friends. Mercedes’ offers to go to brunch were ignored; Tina’s emails containing her recommendations to Rachel for potential casting calls were unopened. Her precious iPod mini was stored in her safe along with her birth certificate and passport so that she wouldn’t accidentally hear the 1961 soundtrack on shuffle.

It was an exhausting and depressive lifestyle that she maintained steadfastly for weeks… then she got her first paycheck.

“Rachel?” Tina answered the phone in bewilderment.

“Tina, call Mercedes right now. We’re going out.”

“What!?”

“Yep, and I’m buying us a round!”

“Hold on. I don’t hear from you in almost a month, and you just invite me out on a weeknight out of the blue? I feel like I deserve more of an explanation.”

“I got my first paycheck from West Side Story, Tina, and there is a comma in the number.”

“... We’ll meet you at Ellie’s in an hour.”

As melodramatic as the musical theatre community was known to be, they also knew how to take a joke. Ellie’s Starlite Dinner was one such joke. A flagrant rip-off of the famous diner with the singing waiters just off of Time Square, Ellie’s was a karaoke bar that stripped the original concept of everything except the main draw: singing on furniture.

They had a limited menu but a fully-stocked bar. Guests sat in diner booths to enjoy that evening’s entertainment, and performers only had to stand up on their own tables or chairs when it was their turn to sing. It was a genius idea that allowed them to fit more seating into the space. Singers had to sign a waiver absolving the establishment of responsibility if they drunkenly fell and had to pay a whopping $15 per song, but any given night was still a lively and fully-booked affair.

Rachel desperately wanted to sing, a feeling that had abandoned her for a while. The first thing she, Tina, and Mercedes did once they met up was join the line for the request DJ. Unfortunately, they were informed of the 100 minute wait time and decided to simply sit back and vibe for the evening.

It was a good time nevertheless. She was in such a good mood that when she stood up to fetch another round, she didn’t even mind when a tall, slim man around her age knocked into her and spilled his cocktail on her dress.

“I’m sorry for bumping into you, but I’m not sorry for your outfit. Please tell me you’re dressed like that because you lost a bet,” he said in lieu of an introduction.

“I like it! It has pockets!” Rachel defended over the noise of someone trying to sing both parts of My Boo.

The man tutted as he shook his head. “The things women will suffer through for pockets.”

“Rachel?” someone’s surprised voice cut in.

“Blaine!” Rachel squealed when she recognized him, pulling him in for a sloppy hug and forgetting to care about her dress.

“You two know each other?” Slim Jim questioned with a raised eyebrow.

“Remember how I told you I’m the voice of Tony? You’re looking at the voice of Maria.”

“Small world,” Blaine’s companion commented with a considering frown. There was something weird in his voice, but Rachel was not sober enough to figure out what or even remember such a minute detail come morning.

By the time Rachel came back from the bathroom, bladder empty and dress halfway-salvaged, Tina and Mercedes had invited the two men to share their booth for the evening. They learned the new party was Blaine’s boyfriend, Kurt. They were casually-yet-enthusiastically talking on a dating app and decided to take it seriously when they learned they both worked on the same movie. (“Almost like fate!” Blaine commented, prompting collective aw’s from the girls.)

The five became fast friends that night, and Rachel considered it a good omen. First the paycheck, then new friends? What was gonna happen next, another successful audition?

The next morning, Tina emailed her with a new casting opportunity happening that day, another movie-musical adaptation, and Rachel felt like the universe was trying to tell her something.

She drank her tea, did her scales, and corralled her headshot and resume from where they were hidden underneath take-out menus and weeks-old coupon flyers addressed to ‘Current Resident’ before heading out the door.

Rachel’s good mood lasted until she walked into the audition room, where she was hit with the familiar and unwelcome feeling that it would end before it began.

“Hello,” she began bravely anyway as she stepped onto the marked spot in front of the panel of directors. “My name is Rachel Berry, and I will be auditioning for the role of Anastasia.”

Someone moved their wrist in a gesture she understood to mean ‘You can begin now,’ so she started with It’s All Coming Back to Me Now for her first—and likely last—song, based on the fact that the panel of directors barely glanced at her even while she sang.

Her final note echoed a bit when she concluded, then one director raised his head to look at her. She reminded herself of all the times she wished the director would tell just her ‘no’ in person.

“Were you really the voice of Maria in the West Side Story movie?”

“Pardon me?” she asked, surprised to hear more than one syllable coming out of his mouth.

He gestured to her resume in front of him, and his peers furrowed their brows and began reviewing their own copies in earnest. At least someone here bothered to read her resume. “It says here you provided the singing voice for Maria in the West Side Story remake. Is that true?”

Finally understanding the question, she smirked. “Tonight, A flat please,” she directed to the pianist in lieu of a response.

She still got rejected at the end of the audition, but it felt different this time. She could see in their faces that they’d take note of her, that they’d remember her voice. It wasn’t the answer she wanted, but it would be a lie to say this audition wasn’t a success either.

Like Tina said, all it took was one yes.

~~~

“Hey, Huddy, going out for lunch?” Sam asked as Finn exited the locker room, having changed out of his work overalls and into not-smelly, not-oily attire.

“Yeah, I have plans with Frida. Tell the boss I’m taking a long lunch for me?” Finn said as he walked into the customer bathroom. He left the door open so his voice could carry while he checked his reflection in the mirror.

Finn could hear Sam pull himself out from under the 2017 Ford Focus that a customer was scheduled to pick up later today. “So things are getting better then?”

Finn sighed.

He and Frida started dating less than a week after the West Side Story premiere. In those first few weeks, it felt really good to have someone else around who understood why he loved living in New York City but would always miss home just a little bit. Frida still had all of the small-town charm with none of the small-mindedness, and she loved to poke fun at the fact that she did end up dating the high school quarterback, albeit not the one from her own high school. “If only the cheer team could see me now,” she would say.

It was nice, really… for the times they were able to be together.

The movie just got more and more famous as their relationship went on. Frida ended up being so busy that if he wanted to see her lately, he’d have to watch an interview where she’d flirt with the Ryder guy for the course of the video.

Not to say that he’d actively ruin her momentum just to get to spend some time with her—he’s not selfish enough to ask that of her—but he’s an actions guy, man. The fact that there’s not really anything he can do to achieve his desired goal, more time with Frida, left him undeniably frustrated. The emotion unfortunately coloured more of what little time he did get with her than he’d like, so they’ve been a little strained lately.

On top of that, there’s the thing he kept holding himself back from bringing up: she didn’t sound anything like her singing voice. He sorta figured it was like when British people lost their accents when they sang; but even when she sings live, why didn’t she sound the way she did in the movie? He could tell the audio wasn’t touched-up at all, so what was the disconnect?

He wasn’t going to ask her any of that, of course. They’ve only hit the three month mark just last week. It was still kinda early for confrontations like that according to the unwritten dating playbook he’s been following since college.

“They are,” he lied with a small smile, meeting Sam’s eyes through the mirror before grabbing his stuff from his locker.

He plugged his earphones in, left the autogarage, and took the subway from Pelham Parkway to Central Park North. When he got to the non-chain, fast-food restaurant (his request since he’d already spend most of his lunch break commuting) and noticed she hadn’t arrived yet, he sent off a quick text and waited outside.

Before long, Frida was waving a hand in his face to catch his attention without startling him too much. “Hey, whatcha listening to?” she greeted with a smile.

He pulled his iPod out of his pocket and turned the screen towards her. “I’ll be honest: One Hand, One Heart isn’t my favourite, but you sound too good not to have it in my library.” He swooped down to peck her on the cheek, a plausibly deniable expression of endearment in case there were any paparazzi around. They walked into the restaurant and waited in line.

“How long have you been practising that?”

“Practising what?” he asked distractedly as he perused the snacks shelf behind the cashier. He wondered if they had Sour Patch Kids.

“You know, the whole ‘pulling up my girlfriend’s movie’s soundtrack on my iPod so that when she asks me what I’m listening to, I look supportive’ trick.”

He tore his attention back towards Frida in alarm. “Oh my god, no! It’s not a trick. I legitimately listen to the West Side Story soundtrack all the time. Ask Sam!”

She froze in what he thought was embarrassment. “You do?”

He chewed on his bottom lip for a second. He had to make her believe him, so now was as good of a time as any to admit, “I never told you this before, but when I attended the premiere, when I first heard you sing, that’s the moment I… well, I started falling for you.”

Frida didn’t blush or even smile. Actually, she looked pretty stricken, so he backpedaled. “Ah, that might seem like a lot, and it might have been too soon to say that. It’s not any less true, but don’t worry there’s no pressure here. And not in the way guys usually mean you-have-like-a-week-to-say-it-back-or-else-I’m-dumping-you when they say ‘no pressure,’ haha,” he babbled.

The smile she tried to give him was as strained as her impassive face, and he wished more than anything that he could redo the last five minutes of his life.

Blessedly their turn to order came next, which gave them a chance to break the awkward atmosphere. After they collected their drinks and picked a place to sit and wait for their food, Frida finally looked at him.

Her face looked serious, determined, resigned. For a split second, he even thought she might break up with him, and he knew the first emotion he felt wouldn’t have been heartbreak.

“Finn, that isn’t me singing on the soundtrack.”

His heart may not have broken, but his world sure did shatter.

~~~

Sam smacked him upside the head as they walked home from work. “So you broke up with Hollywood's sweetheart because she can’t sing? Are you actually the dumbest person alive?”

Sam raised his hand intending to hit him again, and Finn tried to fend him off. “No. I never thought that; it wasn’t like that! Besides, she broke up with me! Stop hitting me, oh my god.”

When he was sure Sam would keep his hands to himself, he continued, “I wasn’t gonna let that ruin what we had, honestly, but… like, what did we have? I approached her under a misunderstanding, she liked me because I was the first person who ‘understood’ that about her… Too much about our first impressions was wrong.”

“You were three months into the relationship. First impressions shouldn’t even matter at this point!” Sam argued.

“Come on, man. You knew we were already on the rocks. It’s not really a surprise we didn’t last after that came to light.”

Sam didn’t have a way to respond to that, so Finn let them lapse into silence. A choice snippet of the conversation from earlier in the day played in his mind.

(“When you said I sounded great that night, you weren’t talking about mine and Ryder’s duet, huh?” It didn’t sound like a question, but he answered it anyway.

“No,” he said with a shake of his head. There was no point in lying.

“I thought you were talking about the duet.” Frida sniffed, and he could see the rims of her eyes were getting pink, but there were no tears yet. He’d only ever seen her cry on screen. “Right up until we performed, there were so. many. people telling me how great I sounded in the movie. No one had—” She swallowed. “—No one said it again, not afterwards, not until you did… I should have known. I think… I think I did know, but I wanted to believe.”

He had kept quiet while she vented, not knowing what to say so choosing to say nothing at all, but here his words came easily. “I meant what I said that night. You’re really talented. I still think so.”

“More talented than the girl who was actually singing?”

There was no point in lying, but there was no point in being mean either. “They chose you to headline the movie, didn’t they?” he said instead.

Frida shut her eyes and breathed deep. When she looked up at him again, he knew it was goodbye. “That they did. Not doing too bad for a Hoosier, huh?”)

Sam’s sudden question startled him out of the memory. “So, what? You stay celibate until you find your Ariel?”

“... What?” Was Sam talking all this time, and Finn just happened to tune in at the most out-of-context part?

“You know, like in The Little Mermaid? Frida was Vanessa a.k.a. Ursula who stole Ariel’s voice to—don’t give me that look, you know I have a little sister!”

He couldn’t be sure Sam did this on purpose, but it felt good to laugh right now. “Did you just compare my ex to a sea witch from a Disney movie?”

Sam slugged him in the shoulder good-naturedly. “Whatever. So, what are you gonna do now?”

Finn just shrugged. “There’s nothing to do. I go back to how it was before. Meeting Frida was a fun and unexpected surprise, but it’s not like I was actively looking for a girlfriend or anything. I wasn’t lonely or anything, and I don’t feel lonely now either.”

When they made it back to their East Tremont apartment, the conversation naturally dropped. Finn grabbed them some beers, Sam turned the tv on, and they settled in to watch the Braves play the Nationals even though neither of them were big on baseball.

At the next commercial break, Sam said, “If it were me, I'd be begging for Frida back.”

Finn took a sip from his beer. “Hey, she’s single now, and you’re both from Indiana. Worth a shot.”

~~~

As soon as Rachel walked out of the building, the call was already going through. She impatiently paced to the closest Starbucks as she waited for the other end of the line to pick up.

Finally, “Rachel?”

She didn’t waste a second. “Tina, I got it!”

A gasp. “No way?!”

“Yes, way!” Even after walking two long city blocks, she still had the energy to dance a celebratory shimmy on the street. There was no need for embarrassment in New York; Rachel hardly counted as the most memorable sight any of the passers-by would see that day.

“Oh my god!? Rachel?!?! I am so happy for you! I told you! All you needed was one yes!”

Rachel couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled out of her.

(Hearts leap in a giddy whirl…)

“As always, you were right,” Rachel teased, but she abandoned that quickly. “Oh my god, I’m so happy, too; I’m so excited! I don’t even know what to say right now!!”

“When do you start?”

Rachel struggled to sort her emotions out enough to access her recent memories. “I’m gonna get an email today with the words and the information, then I’m meeting the director tomorrow. Oh my god, should you be coming with me to that?”

“I can if you want me to!” Tina probably meant to sound supportive; but even as preoccupied as Rachel right now, she could tell Tina was excited to do more as an agent than direct Rachel to auditions that turned out to be duds. “That’s kinda fast; that’s so exciting!”

Rachel was gonna give her the biggest hug ever the next time she saw Tina. “Thank you! Thank you, thank you. Not just for coming with me tomorrow, but for everything. I really needed someone like you in my corner.”

“Of course, Rachel! I absolutely live for the moment one of my clients gets some good professional news. Wanna go out tonight to celebrate? You get Mercedes; I’ll ask Kurt and Blaine?”

As if she needed the reminder Tina was the best friend on top of being the best agent. “Oh my god, yes! Ellie’s at 8?”

“Sounds good to me!”

“Yes! Yay!” Rachel just needed to scream, so she did. “Ahhh!! I still can’t believe I got it!”

“It was a matter of time, Rachel.” Tina said it so matter-of-factly; Rachel loved this girl. But then, “… Uh, by the way. What is it that you got?”

~~~

“Thanks, but no thanks.” Finn held back a sigh. He wondered why he let Kurt talk him into weekly phone calls even though they live in the same city and see each other a totally respectable amount of times.

“Finn! Come on, it’ll be fun,” Kurt nagged in his ear.

“Sure, maybe, but who goes to karaoke on a weeknight? I have a session tomorrow.” Not a lie this time. The studio that normally booked him for session drumming was recording a demo for someone who won a sponsored singing contest from one of the radio stations. He’d be listening to this singer cover songs for hours tomorrow; he didn’t need to pay to go to karaoke tonight for the same experience.

“Sure, at ten. Honestly, I'm surprised to hear excuses like that from McKinley High’s biggest advocate of the boot and rally methodology.”

Finn allowed himself to smile at the memories of the Friday football game tailgates that turned into weekend-long house parties. “Listen, I'm really just not interested,” he maintained.

Kurt got quiet on the other end, and Finn wondered if maybe this was his chance to hang up. Then, “Is this about Frida?”

Finn groaned.

“Finn, it’s been two weeks already… Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it? Maybe if you finally tell me what happened—you know, if you lean on me, your brother—I can help you get over her!”

Finn wasn’t avoiding talking about it necessarily, but he never brought it up either because he really didn’t think it was a big deal. The relationship was relatively short, Finn held no lingering resentment, and it was a clean break. Besides, Frida was famous. If anyone were winning the post-break up game, it was her.

He sighed. “Kurt, I am only telling you the story so that you believe me when I say: there is nothing to get over.”

He gave Kurt the same spiel he told Sam. If Kurt became as indignant over the break-up as his roommate had been… well, it wasn’t like he could reach through the phone and smack Finn. When he wrapped up, he was expecting some platitudes, maybe an admonishment. Instead, Kurt said, “Finn. I promise you, you want to go to karaoke tonight.”

Finn was poised to reject again, but something about the serious way Kurt said it, like he knew something Finn didn’t, made Finn agree against his better judgement.

~~~

Whoever this guy is, he must be cute, Rachel thought to herself while she watched Tina and Mercedes giggle and text.

She and Mercedes had arrived at Ellie’s before everyone else did and paid for several songs at once. Since they were buying in bulk, their slots would be spread out throughout the next 60 minutes, and they would just have to be surprised when it was their turn. Songs and drinks ordered, they claimed a booth and made small talk about Mercedes’ most recent personal styling client and the karaokers while they waited. It was the early crowd, so the energy was balanced by people going up to sing who were sober enough to actually think they’re good and people in the booths who were sober enough to recognise the singers were just okay.

In the middle of someone’s performance of Call Me Maybe, Tina texted Mercedes saying Kurt would be bringing his brother along, and then Mercedes became buried in her phone.

Luckily Tina arrived not long after. To their credit, they really tried their best to pay attention to her; but they were way more preoccupied with texting Kurt to find out more about his brother. It didn’t take a genius to figure out they were looking forward to meeting him, and she'd be lying if she said she wasn't curious. She even considered asking to join the group chat they had going just so she could be in the loop too, but Kurt wasn’t really her type even if he weren’t gay. She didn’t want to get anyone’s hopes up in case the family resemblance was strong.

"How much longer until they get here?" Rachel asked just to break up the routine.

Mercedes' phone lit up before Tina's did, and they giggled again. "They just got off the subway!”

“Since you’re going to see him soon anyway, how about you put your phones away and buy me a drink? We are here to celebrate my new gig tonight.”

“If you’re the one with the job, shouldn’t you be the one paying?” Mercedes teased.

“Tina gets a cut, too!”

“Way to throw me under the bus.”

“I’ll buy a drink for whoever wants to duet Dog Days Are Over with me,” Mercedes offered.

“Me!” Tina shouted before Rachel could, and she slapped her hand on the table in complaint. “But my dog days are the ones that are over!”

Tina laughed as she handed Mercedes her credit card. “Don’t worry, Florence. Mercedes will open a tab under my name, and I’ll get your drinks.”

“Not if I get them first! What are we having?” a new voice piped up from behind Rachel.

“Blaine!” Tina cheered, flying out of her seat to give him a hug.

Rachel turned in her seat to face with her Meeting New People Smile #2 at the ready…

… Which dropped as soon as she caught sight of the newcomer accompanying Kurt and Blaine. He was tall—taller than Kurt—with his hair gelled up in a way that showed he cared enough to style it but without trying too hard to be neat. His hands were in his vest pockets, and one corner of his lips was quirked up in a boyish smile.

(I took no time with the fall…)

“Ladies, meet my brother, Finn,” Kurt introduced, and Rachel knew she was doomed.

She should have asked the join the group chat when she had the chance.

~~~

Finn had the feeling that tonight was supposed to be a set-up, and he still wasn’t interested, but Kurt had sounded so serious earlier. As in, he seriously thought that one of the girls he’d meet tonight would be perfect for Finn.

On the subway ride over, he told himself he was just curious. Surely in the decade since they’ve become brothers, Kurt would know his type by now, right? But as he settled into the booth with the people he’d be spending the rest of his evening with, he really wondered what the hell Kurt was thinking.

Sure, the Asian girl had a sweet smile, and the Black girl ended up being hilarious, but the last one…

Whenever someone wasn’t talking to her, she was staring at him like she was auditioning for the lead role in Swimfan, and she had been ever since she first saw him. If he’s being honest with himself, her body was smokin’ (if you're not into boobs), but the intensity of her aura was enough to cancel that out. Besides, he’s very into boobs.

He spent the near-term doing his best to interact with the other two normal-seeming girls, but they kept finding ways to loop in the last girl—ugh, he wished he weren’t so weirded out that he missed Kurt’s introductions—into the conversation.

He knew he shouldn’t have come tonight.

“Next on the mic, give it up for Booth #5 with Take Me or Leave Me!”

“That’s us!” the Asian girl cheered while Swimfan accepted the microphones from the staff.

“Just like high school?” she offered to the Black girl, and they climbed onto the benches with matching smirks, obviously remembering some inside joke Finn didn’t care to get introduced to.

For a split second, he was genuinely confused at the song choice—if Finn was remembering Kurt’s movie-musical lessons correctly, wasn’t this originally sung between a lesbian couple in a fight?—but then he felt relief. He wouldn’t be expected to participate in conversation for the next three-ish minutes. He excused himself to get another beer, seeing that the bar was crowded enough that it could easily be prolonged to six or seven.

The song’s opening piano played, and then he stopped mid-step.

Every single day, I walk down the street…

Just like the first time, just like it did every time he pressed play on his iPod, a singer’s voice made his heart twinge. Sure, this girl was just dueting with her friend, exaggeratedly playing the role of Maureen, singing with a playful overtone to her voice… But there was an undeniable joy of performing underlining her stage presence. She sang the way playing the drums made him feel.

What were the odds that there were two people out there who had this effect on him? And one of them was barely 10 meters away.

The duo finished, but he was still in so much shock that he didn’t notice their other friend had joined him near the bar. "So what do you think?"

Finn didn’t know what part of his emotions he could verbalise first, so he blurted out the only coherent thought he had. "She sounds like Maria."

Tina smirked, not that Finn noticed because he was still staring at a certain happy occupant of Booth #5. "I would hope so. She is Maria.”

He snapped his head to look at her so hard his neck cracked. "What."

~~~

Finn hadn’t stopped looking at her since he came back from the bar, and she was glad for the constantly shifting, multicoloured lights at Ellie’s to help hide how flustered she was. Despite her status as an eligible bachelorette, she’d never had someone return her interest in him before. Not like this, and definitely not this quickly.

“If you're not going to talk to him, I'm going to make you talk to him.” So Tina had noticed, too.

She snuck a glance across the booth and saw that the ‘him’ in question was engrossed in conversation with Blaine, so she felt confident she could respond to Tina without getting caught. “I’m talking to him! Earlier I asked him to pass me my purse so I could get the next songs.”

“Rachel!” And yeah, she knew that wouldn’t count, too.

“What do I even say, Tina?”

“Better figure it out soon because I have a fashion emergency!!” She raised her voice during the second half of her statement so that she could be heard above the noise of the other patrons and the person on stage butchering Girls Just Wanna Have Fun.

“Did somebody say ‘fashion emergency’? Mercedes, we need a girl’s room, stat,” Kurt announced melodramatically.

Mercedes grabbed Tina, who grinned at Rachel with something approximating evil in her eyes. “I got her! Let’s go,” Mercedes directed.

The threesome hurried off in the opposite direction of the bathroom. For his part, Blaine didn’t have a shtick, or maybe he didn’t think it was worth it. He just shook his head and said, “Sorry, Rachel,” with a shrug before making himself scarce.

Rachel turned around in her seat to gape at her quickly-retreating so-called friends. “I can’t believe they have the gall to abandon me when we’re supposed to be out tonight celebrating me!” she exclaimed aloud.

“What are we celebrating?” Finn asked from her side.

Rachel whirled in her seat to find that Finn moved to her side of the booth just to talk to her, and she didn’t fight the warmth that spread in her chest. He was direct but not in a demanding way, and she liked it a lot. “I landed a commercial today. I'll be singing a jingle for a second hand car chain up in Westchester.” Pride, understated but evident, coloured her voice.

“No way! That’s so awesome. Congrats… Rachel, right?”

“Yes! Rachel Berry, nice to meet you. And you’re Kurt's brother, Finn Hummel.”

Finn grinned. “Actually, Finn Hudson. We’ve been step brothers since high school, but we’re as good as blood-related by this point.”

Rachel perked up, her earlier annoyance completely forgotten in favour of a conversation with a cute boy and being semi-right. A blood-related sibling of Kurt would not have caught her attention, as she suspected. “That makes sense! I was wondering why you two didn’t look alike, but I wasn’t going to ask.”

“Nah, we’re used to it. Plus, we’ve definitely taken advantage of that before. The mall back home used to host a tonne of sweepstakes, but they always limited one entry per household. What we’d do is just use our actual address but add different apartment numbers to it so that we wouldn’t get caught. No one ever checks! Between our different last names and the fact we barely look alike, we doubled our chances at, like, at least a hundred sweepstakes.”

“Did you end up winning anything?” Rachel asked amusedly.

Finn puffed out his chest with pride. “We won a one-hundred dollar Visa gift card once, and I’ve been chasing that high ever since.”

“A hundred dollars can get you far when you’re in high school,” she agreed with a teasing grin.

“Hey, I wouldn’t say no to a hundred dollars right now either.”

Rachel snorted. “No kidding. I think I spent a hundred just booking our songs for tonight.”

“Passing the mic back to Booth #5, here’s You’re the One That I Want!” the MC conveniently announced.

Finn looked over at her with a smirk. “Ready to get your money’s worth?”

“You sing?” Rachel asked, bewildered and delighted, as she accepted the microphones from the staff. In response, Finn merely plucked one of the mics from her hand and stood up.

I got chills! They’re multiplying…

He didn’t miss a beat. He didn’t even glance at the tv screens positioned on the walls so that patrons could read the lyrics no matter which direction they turned. Instead, his focus was directed downwards, entirely on her. From her vantage point, he looked like a rock star who came to the edge of the stage to interact with the audience, and she was definitely a fan.

He raised his eyebrows at her as his verse drew to a close, and she rose to the challenge.

You better step up! she sang as she hopped up onto the bench. Even with the boost, she was only a few inches taller than him.

Rachel loved performing. She knew it was what she was meant to do ever since her dads took her to watch Annie on Broadway when she was four. When she sang in front of a crowd, it was exhilarating, like Elphaba finding out she might meet The Wizard one day.

Though never once did it feel like this: raw, unfiltered, connective, and yes, electrifying. His voice was untrained, but it suited him. He could clearly do so much more than carry a tune in a bucket, and his power and confidence went a long way in making up for the rest.

His smirk made her smile wider. Was she imagining things, or were they flirting? Sure, there was the teasing push and pull of the lyrics, and then there was the way she caught Finn’s gaze at her hips when she danced. It felt like the end of Act 1 to a show written exactly for her. Maybe it was the song, maybe it was the atmosphere, maybe it was just Finn.

You’re the one that I want!

The song ended to resounding cheers; but for once, the applause of the crowd meant nothing, not when Finn looked at her like he was doing. It seemed like it should be so familiar. She took a step, unsure what she was walking towards but bolstered by the fact Finn did the same…

And the moment was broken.

“Oh my god, we leave you alone for five minutes and come back to the two of you going at it like teenagers at Rydell High?”

The staff took back the microphones; the next song started up; and with one last glance to Finn, she let herself get swept up in their friends’ return.

Despite their obvious scheme to give the two of them some quality time, no one let them have a chance to talk alone again for the rest of the evening. It was almost frustrating, but she was still having the night of her life.

Besides, she had a commercial to sing for tomorrow! Anything else is really just a cherry on top.

It wasn’t until after eleven that they finally left Ellie’s in search of some food. They rowdily descended upon the closest Duane Reade for snacks and sandwiches before exiting back out to the mild Manhattan night, laughing and walking and chewing. The entire night kind of felt like something she could have done in high school (like, if she had more friends and if she actually allowed herself to drink before she graduated), but this was so much more fun anyway.

During a natural lull in conversation, Finn announced, “Ah, I should head back now. I have a long commute to the Bronx and a gig in the morning,” with a check to his phone’s clock.

“Noooo!” Blaine whined, drunkenly koala-ing onto Finn’s arm in protest.

“Stay out a little longer and take a cab!” Tina suggested from Finn’s other arm.

Rachel watched with amusement as Finn gently extricated himself from their grasps, and their eyes met. Her smile turned shy as she averted her gaze… just to catch Tina’s.

She smirked, and Rachel knew she was either going to hate or love whatever came out of that girl’s mouth next.

“Well, we can’t let you go home alone. Girl code, you understand,” Tina explained very seriously. “Rachel, you’re heading uptown, too, aren’t you? You can go together!”

Even as her gut reaction was to decline as politely as possible, Rachel reminded herself that a chance to talk alone with Finn was what she’d been wanting all night. Tina was literally pushing Finn and her together, and all she had to do was agree.

She peered up at Finn and basfully offered, “I can take the 1, 2, or 3.”

He smiled at her, a thin, genuine curve that softened his sharp face into something boyish, and that was it. She was officially in love with Finn Hudson. “I live on the 2.”

They bade the rest of their party goodbye and walked in mutual silence to the subway station, but her anxious heart wouldn’t let her stay quiet for long.

“So, you said you had a gig in the morning? What do you do?”

Finn’s movements took on a noticeable energy from the new topic, and she congratulated herself for choosing so well. “I play the drums! Well, actually, I work in an autogarage full time, but the hours are flexible enough to let me pick up some session work whenever a studio needs a drummer.”

He was musically inclined! She should have known. An image flashed through her mind of a sweaty Finn Hudson with his t-shirt sleeves rolled up to his shoulders, rhythmically beating on the drums in a soundproofed room. “That’s amazing! How long have you been playing?”

“Forever, really. My mom got me a kit when I was, like, seven just so that I’d have something to do at home while she was at work. It was cheaper than a babysitter: if the neighbours could hear me playing—and they could,” he interjected with a sardonic smile, “I obviously wasn’t in any harm.”

She wanted to ask more about his time growing up—based on the stories he told, she had an inkling he and Kurt were also Midwestern, and her sixth sense was never wrong about things like this—but Finn spoke up again. “Actually, uh, I worked on the West Side Story soundtrack.”

She almost tripped. “You did!?” What were the odds?

Finn nodded, and she finally noticed his excitement was more akin to anxiousness. “And, you know, because I worked on the movie, I was able to go to the premiere a few months back, at the Metropolitan Opera House. I wasn’t going to originally, but, of course, Kurt forced me. I, uh… I actually fell asleep,” he admitted.

She wanted to laugh, to be offended, to react at all; but there was something to his voice, like he was walking off a plank towards certain doom. It was only because they had stopped that she could recognise she was holding her breath.

He turned in his spot and faced her straight on, steeling himself to confess whatever it was this conversation was leading to. Rachel offhandedly noticed that she had yet to see Finn’s eyes clearly tonight, always tinted as they were by the party lights of Ellie’s or the penumbra of a nearby streetlamp. They should have spent more time in the clinical lighting of the Duane Reade.

“And then I heard you sing.”

She inhaled sharply.

“I don’t know how to say this, but you touched something in me. Right here.”

Perhaps because of the seriousness of the previous moment, it took Rachel all that she had not to laugh at the poor, earnest, embarrassed boy who put his hand on the left side of his chest. Without really thinking about it, she stepped forward and reached for his wrist. “Your heart’s on the other side of your chest,” she corrected, gentle and amused.

“Oh.” Is this her type? Boys who didn’t pass biology? “It’s beating really hard.”

The longer her hand stayed on his against his chest, the more his words sunk in. “How did you know it was me?” she asked, voice no louder than a distant radio and eyes trained on their hands.

“Tina told me,” he admitted, and she should have known that too. This whole saga from beginning to end had Tina written all over it.

He adjusted his hand to hold hers, and that’s when she raised her attention upwards. “But I heard it myself tonight, when you sang with Mercedes. I would know that voice anywhere, and now I know it’s you.”

He was looking at her again, the same way he did in the bar after their duet. She felt brave enough now, and less inebriated too, to recognise what it was. “Do you want to kiss me?”

Finn seemed to freeze, and she berated herself for being so stupid. She’d always been too much, too fast. Sure, he seemed interested in her tonight; and yeah, they had amazing musical chemistry; but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. What if he didn’t want it to mean anything? He’d try to let her down gently, which would of course just make her fall for him more, before offering to set her up with his friend who would probably be just as handsome but lacking that certain je ne sais quois that made Finn so attractive to her. But Rachel would be too embarrassed to say no, so she’d end up dating his friend, which meant spending more time with Finn but not with Finn, and that would hurt too much. No, she should not date Finn’s friend, even if he offered to set him up with her. There are other guys, Rachel Berry, she told herself, willing herself to cut this shame spiral short. She would find someone else to get over her crush on Finn; she promised herself. Just like Tina always said: It didn’t matter how many no's she heard, all she needed was one—

“Yes.”

~~~

A/N (10.22.2022): Sheeeeeesh, I haven’t written prose in past tense in a long time. It was a good challenge!

I know, I know. We Finchel fans love the “You can kiss me if you want to.” / “I want to.” exchange. A classic! I hope you can forgive me for giving it a facelift for the purposes of this fanfic though, haha. By the way, do we actually know where Sam transferred from aside from ‘some all-boys school’??? For the purposes of this fanfic (Part 2), he’s from Indiana lol.

Thanks for reading; hope you guys enjoyed!

#glee #glee fanfiction #finchel #finn hudson #rachel berry #rach*

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gulyas069 · 2 years

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I also watched the Ghost in the Shell live action remake today. I was actually somewhat positively surprised, but it's not really an achievement considering my expectations were quite literally on the floor. The acting and the dialogue were godawful, as expected, shitty one liners and action hero yelling most of the time. And the story, while not bad per se was just super basic and said absolutely nothing about the topics it pretended to touch on, mainly the whole "what makes us human" question the original poses. It gets mentioned in the beginning and is never expanded upon later. I'm still not sure why they needed a new story at all but it was probably on purpose barebones in order to dumb the movie down for large audiences. Which is weird, because then you've also had all of the recreated scenes from the original Ghost in the Shell movie: the creation of the Major's body, the rooftop drop, the Major alone in her apartment in front of the window, the chase etc. And visually they weren't even executed badly most of the time, I actually thought they did a fairly good job at translating the animated visuals to live action there. In fact if they had wanted to i think they could've made a pretty good shot by shot remake of the original (unlike what I've seen from other anime live action adaption like the cowboy bebop movie). But at the end of the day all the scenes were completely ripped out of context and ended up not achieving what they did in the originals. Most of the time they felt like their only purpose was a "hey remember this scene? yeah its in this movie" nod to fans of the original, which would fly in the face of making it dumber for large audiences. Noticeably missing is the section that's just shots of the city set to music for 3 minutes. The visuals were definitely the best part about the movie though, a lot of the shots were quite beautiful or at least had good ideas. The CGI could've been better but it also could've been worse, so it's whatever I guess. But on the other hand they also depicted the "cyberpunk dystopia" setting fairly differently from the original. The remake has tons of fancy glass buildings with overbearing holographic advertisements and neon signs everywhere, and that's a stereotypical cyberpunk visual of course, but the original doesn't actually use that so much; most of the city shots are actually quite sober. This shot here from the end of the chase scene is a decent example of the more muted cyberpunk of the original:

The difference in the depiction of urban decay is really the most striking; the original shows tiny apartments, dirty streets, dirty rivers, dirty concrete, unsafe living conditions and blown out neon signs, whereas the remake just shows skyscrapers with holographic advertisements. And in doing so the original also gives a look into the poverty of this Tokyo of the future. The only real depiction of poverty in the remake is the nightclub scene, and I suppose it says something about the intended audience when you only portray poverty in the form of sexual violence and none of what I mentioned earlier.

And lastly, the language thing and white washing. There are a lot of white characters in the remake. This has been talked a lot about already, especially in the controversy regarding Scarlett Johanssons casting as the Major (and my god she can't fucking act). But there's a lot more white characters too. And there's the language thing: for some reason the movie with its use of both English and Japanese made it seem like a lot of the dialogue would in fact happen in English and Japanese is only spoken in the background by actual Japanese characters. And it's weird because it makes it seem like in this setting Japan has economically and politically been entirely absorbed by the west and is basically a colony (even more than the client state it is now), which is kind of the opposite of what's happening in the original, where Japan has become a large global player again after another world war. I suppose it's not that important to the original movie or the remake and only becomes relevant in the Stand Alone Complex series, but nevertheless, it's noticeable when you've seen SAC imo.

All in all, some weird choices were made and the end result was a basic dumbed down action movie with some great visuals here and there and if theres a movie to look to for a good translation of animation to live action it would be this one, even if it doesn't work 100% of the time and occasionally looked a little goofy, more often than not at least that seemed to work.

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kenyizsuartblog · 2 years

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He-Man 2002 - Favorite Evil Warriors

Man, I regret dearly not making a recording of this one.

I finished the 2002 remake, and it hurts there is no more of it. I want to see the Snakemen nuked out of existence (although King Hiss eating his own head was... not something I was expecting...), hopefully Skeletor and the gang taking a part in that, and I want to see the entire series cast finally kicking Hordak's face in. And I'm talking the whole damn cast, "Everyone is Here Super Smash Brothers Ultimate" style.

But that will never happen, and it hurts.

So to numb the pain, and just unwind after this terrible week at work, I decided to draw my favorite Evil Warriors, in no particular order, because then it would be Mer-Man 5 times and that's not fair. And yes, he is still super adorable. Fight me.

"Hey, Zsu, but where's Evil-Lyn?"

Three meters under solid concrete, I sure damn hope so. I legitimately hate her. Not like, "oh I love to hate her, like with Skeletor", nah nah nah. I just hate her.

At first she was okay, even interesting when it turned out her father was some kind of weird cursed phantom magician guy. That did not go much farther unfortunately, but hey, she was still okay. After Skeletor's betrayal, I was even fine with her selling everyone out to the Snakemen... until those bastards turned Mer-Man into stone and broke him to pieces. I cannot tell you how much legitimate dread I spent the following episode in, thinking they had murked my top favorite character. I took that shit personally, you have no damn idea. Thankfully, Skeletor manages to reverse the stone curse and puts Mer-Man back together (the weight of the goddamn Himalayas fell off of my shoulders at that scene). And after that, after damn near getting eaten by King Hiss instead of being rewarded, Evil-Lyn turns around and goes "Hm, okay, so Snake Satan tried to kill me after I helped him get back on stage. BUUUUUT if I help ACTUAL SATAN come back, whom literally everybody hates, Snakemen included, he will CERTAINLY reward me and I will be his right-hand!" YUP. PERFECT. 10/10 LOGIC RIGHT THERE, WOMAN!

Dear god.

So yeah, to hell with Evil-Lyn.

Am I taking this cartoon for kids far too seriously? Yes. Absolutely. But hey, I made an entire career out of constantly falling for the most obscure background characters, and acting out the "if anything would happen to him, I would kill everyone in this room and then myself" meme with them. Just look at my Megaman fanarts on this site for proof.

So, bottom line. Nobody touches Precious Baby Mer-Man. The Snakeman turning him into stone (Snake Face, was it?) got permanently turned to stone, thank god, and King Hiss ate his own head. Now I only need to blow up Kobra Khan, General Rattlor and Evil-Lyn and we will be good.

I might draw Mer-Man more down the line. Apologies in advance.

2021.12.19.

#he man and the masters of the universe #he-man 2002 #favorite evil warriors #skeletor #mer-man #beast man #trap jaw #tri-klops #kenyizsu art #fanart

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shitpissboi · 3 years

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Alone Together

Summary- The holidays are always hell, and sometimes you just need to be alone together with your boyfriends and your dumbass friends.

Word Count- 3476

Pairing- Katuski Bakugou x Reader x Hitoshi Shinsou

Warnings- Swearing, detailed use of marijuana, stalker behavior (kinda, just given as a backstory at the very beginning), aged up characters.

A/N- Hello everybody! This is actually the first fic that i’ve written in well over a year, so forgive me if my writing is still a little rusty! I hope you like this fic, and thank you for taking the time to read it! :) (Edit: Honeslty thank you so much to everyone that’s interacted with this post! I did not expect it too get so many notes, so thank you all!🥺🖤)

You sighed as you walked into your apartment, the stress of the past week weighing heavily on your shoulders. This entire week had been awful, not only had you been made to work over time almost every day this week at the cafe, a new regular has apparently made it his sole mission in life to make your life hell after you rejected his advances. He had asked for your number last week and you politely declined, telling him that you already had two wonderful boyfriends that made you extremely happy.

Ever since then, he had made sure to come into the cafe every time you worked just to make your job as hard as possible. Calling you names, commenting about your appearance, making you remake every single thing he ordered several times, just to name a few things. Coupling all of that with everything else that happened this week, it would be safe to say that it was one of the worst weeks you’ve had this year. All you wanted to do now was curl up with your boyfriends, smoke, and watch trashy television.

Said boyfriends were already on the couch as you walked into the living room, lavender locks leaning against the back of the couch, one hand using the remote to look for something to watch, the other hand running through the messy blonde hair that was sitting in his lap. Your other boyfriend was sprawled out across the couch, laying his head in sleep deprived man's lap as he was texting away on his phone, only the former noticing your quiet entrance.

“Hey Kitten, how was work today?” The former asked, altering Katsuki to presence. He looked up from his phone the same time Hitoshi looked away from the TV, both of them noticing something was wrong right away. Katsuki immediately sat up and moved to the other end of the couch, leaving just enough room for you to sit comfortably in between the two men. You plopped onto the couch and threw your head back and just groaned, earning a small chuckle from the two.

“That bad Teddy Bear?” Katsuki asked, repositioning you so your head was laying on his lap and your legs were on Hitoshis. You just nodded your head and pushed your face into his abdomen, trying not to cry out of frustration.He ran his fingers through your hair as Hitoshi started to rub your sore feet, helping you to relax.

“I don’t really want to talk about it.. Can we just smoke and watch shitty TV please..?” The lavender haired man smiled softly at the pout in your voice, carefully moving your legs to get up before you could even finish what you were saying.

“Of course we can baby. We're gonna have to call Tape Face though, your shitty boyfriend smoked the rest of it last night.” The pomeranian growled out teasingly, effectively bringing a laugh out of you.

“He’s your boyfriend too Katsuki.” You laughed, sitting up straight and stretching. You watched as Hitoshi walked back into the living room, carrying all the things you would need for the nights sesh. You smiled up at him gratefully and pulled out your phone, quickly texting Sero and asking if he was busy. Hitoshi set up the items on the table then sat down on the chaise part of the couch, pulling you to sit in between his legs. Katsuki had gotten up to get drinks and snacks for the three of you, making sure to also grab your favorite. Hitoshi started to scroll through Hulu, settling on My Strange Addiction for now, when your phone started ringing. Sero’s name flashed on your phone, answering it immediately.

“Hey mami! What’s up beautiful?” You laughed as you felt Hitoshis grip tighten around you, Sero has been your friend since you were little kids, growing up in the same neighborhood. If he wasn’t dating Denki when he first introduced you to the Bakusquad then they would’ve thought you guys were together with how much you two flirt.

“Hey Sero. I know it’s late notice but could you make a delivery tonight, preferably soon?”

“Of course (Y/NN), your week not getting any better?” He asked, genuine worry seeping into his voice.

“No, it hasn’t. And a certain SOMEONE,” You looked up at Hitoshi and nudged him with your elbow. “Smoked the rest of what we had this morning and didn’t bother to restock.” He simply rolled his eyes at you.

“You know, if you keep being a brat, then i’m gonna have to teach you a lesson, Kitten.” Hitoshi teased.

“Shinsou Hitoshi! You can’t say things like that on call!” You pouted, hitting him lightly in the chest. You could hear Sero, and Denki since they were always together, losing their shit over the phone. You growled and put the phone back to your ear.

“You know I was gonna invite you guys to smoke with us but I don’t like to hang out with fucking bullies!” You growled into the phone, but started laughing as Kaminari immediately started to back track and apologize, making Sero laugh even harder.

“Just your ass over here already, and bring Kiri and Mina too if they want, we haven’t hung out as a group in forever.” You rolled your eyes as you heard Denki runoff in the background, yelling at Kiri and Mina to get their asses ready, then hearing a loud thud, making your and Hitoshi look at each other curiously.

“We’ll be over in 20 minutes babes... God dammit Denks how many times do I have to tell you not to ru-” The phone quickly hung, making you two roll your eyes yet again, you swear that over excited dumbass is one of the only things that can make Sero lose his never ending patience. You gently threw your phone onto the coffee table and relaxed back into the purple haired man. He kissed your forehead and wrapped himself around you tightly, allowing you to fully relax into his embrace.

About 25 minutes later, a knock startles you from your happy daze. Seeing as Katsuki had taken Hitoshi’s previous position, Hitoshi your position against Katsuki, and you snuggled into Katsuki’s side, you got up to answer the door. As soon as you opened the door you were trapped by a hug from Sero. You relished in the hug for a couple seconds before pulling back and letting him, followed by Denki, Mina, and Kiri. Denki and Kiri immediately made a bee line for the couch, fighting over who would get a hug from their best friend first. (Hitoshi and Katsuki respectively.)

“Well it’s nice to see you guys too, damn.” You mumbled, laughing a little at the end as you see your boyfriends immediately get annoyed with the two loud intrusions.

“How much you wanna bet they’ll be dead within 30 mintues?” Mina said, pulling you into a side hug.

“I give it 20. Tops.” Sero stated as you hug Mina back, leaning into the peck she gave you on the cheek before going to wrangle Kiri in before Katsuki tried to blow him up.

“How’re you doing babes?” Sero asked, turning toward you while he slid his backpack off.

“I’m okay right now, a lot better than earlier. I’m so fuckin ready to get stoned though.” You chuckled, rubbing the back of your neck with your hand.

“I’m just glad that you're feeling better. I swear the next time that bastardo shows his face i’m gonna beat his ass.” He growled, cracking his knuckles to try to be intimidating.

“Get in line Tape Face! Now get the fuck over here so we can get this started!” Katsuki yelled, making you let out a small giggle. Sero followed you into the living room where the chaos had already started. Denki was being half heartedly being consoled by Mina as he cried at Hitoshi for cuddling Katsuki and not him. Meanwhile Hitoshi was glaring daggers and Kiri, who was sitting in your previous spot, and addimently talking to Katsuki.

You simply rolled your eyes and sat at the end of the chaise, Sero sitting in between your legs on the floor. He pulled a ziplock bag out of his backpack and grabbed the grinder off the table, promptly starting to break up the bigger nugs and put them into the grinder. You reached around him and grabbed your bong and a water bottle, pouring some water into the bong. Hitoshi had noticed you guys sit down and grabbed the bottle out of your hand when you were done, trading it with a lighter. Not even a couple minutes later Sero was handing you the grinder and you opened it, starting to pack a bowl while he got the stuff ready to roll a blunt.

You packed the bowl as full as you could and held the lighter to the bowl, starting to inhale. About 10 seconds later, when the chamber was sufficiently filled with smoke, you pulled the bowl out and inhaled again, relishing the feeling of the smoke settling into your lungs as you passed the bong and lighter to Sero. You held it for a couple more seconds before slowly letting the smoke out, feeling yourself relax with the exhale. You took the bag sitting next to Sero and continued to grind for him as he took a hit before passing it to Hitoshi.

You watched Hitoshi take a hit as you continued to twist the grinder back and forth, smiling when he grabbed Katsuki by the collar and exhaled the smoke into his mouth. Katsuki blushed furiously, always being caught off guard when the younger man did things like that, and angrily buried his face into his neck. Hitoshi smirked as he looked down, handing the bong off to an unsuspecting Kiri. (Kiri, Denki, and Mina seriously didn’t realize you guys started until they were dead ass handed the bong-)

Pulling your attention away from your lovers, you handed the full grinder to the man below you, seeing that he already had a blunt wrap split and emptied out. However he just handed the grinder and the tray to Hitoshi, knowing the exhausted man can roll a much prettier blunt than he can. Your head snapped up as you heard Denki start coughing and watched as Mina ripped the bong out of his hands.

“How many times do I have to tell you not to cough into the bong Denki! I swear every time you hit a bong you cough into it!” She yelled, using the sleeve of her shirt to wipe the water off the outside of the glass instrument.

“You're still coughing into the damn bong Kaminari?!” You exasperated, staring at him bewildered. It’s been a good couple months since you had all been able to get together, and in that time he had finally decided to move in with Sero. Sero was the second biggest stoner you’ve ever met, just being beat by Hitoshi, and his favorite thing to use was a bong, you would’ve thought he had taught him by now.

“No matter how many times I tell him he still does it, so now I make him roll a blunt or use a pipe.” Sero shrugged, moving so he could sit between his boyfriend’s legs instead.

“It’s not my fault my lungs are so bad! Whenever I fry myself it fucks up my lungs!” He whined, leaning forward and draping himself of the latino dramatically.

“Which is exactly why you should learn how to use the fucking bong, idiot.” Katsuki spoke up, seemingly over his flustered state for the moment. Denki just whined dramatically, causing you all to sigh in irritation. Mina rolled her eyes and took her hit before passing it off to you. You gripped it tightly and stood up on the couch, very carefully going over to Katsuki and sitting in his lap, his arms immediately wrapping around you and his chin resting on your shoulder.

You held the bong against your lips and went to light the bowl only for Katsuki to snatch it from you, making your lean away and glare at him. He smirked at you and flicked the lighter on, bringing it to the bowl. You rolled your eyes and smirked, putting your mouth back to the bong and inhaling as he lit it for you. You inhaled for a good 15 seconds before he pulled the bowl away, allowing you to inhale the smoke into your lungs. You handed the bong off to him and watched as he leaned it, very clearly wanting you to share the hit with him.

You smiled at the secretly needy man holding you, softly tangling your hand with the hair at the base of his neck and gently pushing him forward. You tilted your head and let the smoke flow from your parted lips into his open mouth before sealing your lips together. Your lips molded together perfectly with his, the rest of the smoke seeping through your nose before you pulled away, still smiling.

You looked on as he opened his eyes, a soft smile settling onto his features before he exhaled fully. You closed your eyes and leaned against him, contentment washing over your body for the first time during this hell week. He chuckled and leaned back against the couch again, taking you with him. You listened to him take another hit and felt as he inhaled and exhaled, feeling the smoke blow across your head as he blew you. He handed the bong off and let his head rest on the back of the couch, slightly tightening his hold on you.

You heard Kiri take another hit as Mina, Sero, and Denki started another fight, letting out a giggle and Katsuki and Hitoshi let out a groan at the same time. You felt Katsuki reach up but paid it no mind until Hitoshi spoke up.

“Hey! That’s no fuckin fair Katsu! You can’t just turn off your hearing aids and leave us to suffer!” Hitoshi let out, holding the frash blunt in the side of his mouth while he signed for Katsuki. Your eyes snapped open and you sat up, giving the blonde your own glare, starting to sign for him.

“Suki! You said you were going to leave them on this time!” You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest when you were done using your hands.

“I’m not gonna listen to these shitty extras fight the whole time, so until they shut the fuck up, i’m leaving them off.” He signed, a satisfied smirk on his face.

“You’re such a fukin asshole suki!” You grumbled, making sure to not sign to him. He just stuck his middle finger up at you and laughed. You just turned away and looked to Hitoshi, taking the blunt out of his mouth and grabbing the lighter. He tried to grab it back but stopped when he saw the mischief in your eyes, sitting back to watch you. You lit the blunt and took a long drag, passing it to Sero on the ground before climbing on Hitoshis’s lap. You gently grabbed his face and opened his mouth slightly with your thumb.

You let the smoke fall from your lips and past his, watching as he sucked in the hit before dipping down to kiss him, raking your right hand through his hair. He pushed up into the kiss, making sure to make a show of grabbing your ass, opening his eyes slightly to lazily glance over at Katsuki, smirking to find him growling at you two.

“Oh come on, get a room you horny lil freaky fucks.” Denki called out, making you burst everyone but Katsuki and Hitoshi burst out into laughter, the latter just deadpanning. You fell too the side to the side of Hitoshi, bumping into Katsuki’s still crossed legs, pulling yourself up when you calmed yourself down.

“What in the fuck did you just call us?!” You asked, noting that Katsuki was signing to Hitoshi and asking what in the hell Denki just said. Said man just shrugged, leaning back against the couch.

“A horny little freaky fuck.” He stated as if it was the most normal thing in the world, causing Mina, Kiri, and Sero to start laughing again. Katsuki had turned his hearing aids on again at this point and had heard what he said.

“If you call my boyfriend and girlfriend that again i’m gonna kick your fucking ass dunce face.” Katsuki rumbled, grabbing his friend by the collar. You just laughed and reached over to his arm, lacing your hand with his and pulling it back to you, kissing the back of it and wrapping it around yourself. He tightened his grip on you and used his other hand to hold Hitoshi’s, growling at Denki.

Denki yelped and jumped off the couch, lowering himself and trying to hide behind Sero, crying Katsuki not to hurt him. Sero just mumbled a “Fucking idiot”, and pulled the yellow haired man against him, leaving his arm around his waist. By this time the blunt had gotten back around to Katsuki and he took his arm off you to take a big hit, moving to lean against the arm of the couch so he could continue holding his boyfriend's hand.

The blond passed the blunt to you when he was done, and you quickly started to inhale, smiling at the familiar burn in the back of your throat. You inhaled for a good while before passing it over to Hitoshi, laying back so your head was now in your other lovers lap. He automatically brought a hand up to your head and raked it through your hair a couple times before simply resting it on top.

You closed your eyes as it finally started to hit you, allowing you to fully relax into your lover. You tuned out the rest of the conversations and background noise easily, focusing on the feeling of Katsuki’s hand on your head and Hitoshi moving so he was laying on your lap while still holding Katsuki’s hand. The blunt got passed around a couple more times before it was finally done, the bong getting thrown in here and there. You had ended up in a position where sitting up against the back of the couch and his legs apart as you sat between them and leaned against him and the arm of the couch. Hitoshi had crawled between the older man's legs and laid his head in your lap, practically purring as you pet his hair.

You were brought back down to reality when Hitoshi got up to grab a drink and change the TV, putting on something funny and didn’t need to be thought about too much. You sat up to, much to your blonde lovers grievance, and reached toward Hitoshi with a pout. He just let out a chuckle and grabbed your favorite drink and snack off the table, handing them to you as he got comfortable in your lap again. You happily took a sip of your drink and set it next to you, making sure to screw the cap tight, before opening your snack.

You munched it absentmindedly and leaned back against the arm of the couch, smiling up at the blonde and offering one to him. He looked around before begrudgingly opening his mouth, allowing you to place the tasty treat inside. You giggled as he grumbled and looked away, still not used to his friends seeing him act “soft”. You heard your other boyfriend let out a laugh at the explosive hero, genuinely happy that he still continues to try and open up to those close to him, especially after the last couple being rough on everyone.

The holidays brought stress to everyone, the spike in crime making the heros (Kirishima, Denki, Katsuki, and Hitoshi.) over work themselves more than usual and become even more exhausted. While you, Mina, and Sero all had to deal with the wonders of working retail and food service during this time, always seeming to get stuck with the absolute worst customers that would threaten your job and life.

The last month has clearly taken a chunk out of everyone, and the almost always rowdy group was just thankful to finally get a restful and relaxing night. Even if the group was full of impulsive ideas and even more impulsive decisions, they never felt more safe than when in each other's company, mastering the art of being alone together when it was truly needed. You smiled as you came to this realisation, knowing that no matter what happened or what obstacles would be thrown your way, as long as you had your boyfriends and your friends, everything was going to be alright. You are going to be alright.

Masterlist

Posted 12/19/2020

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just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi · 3 years

Text

The Auction - Tool

Inspired by this prompt by @justplainwhump .

Tool uses he/they pronouns and shout out to the amazing people who beta read this for me! @haro-whumps @walkingchemicalfire @unicornscotty @much-ado-about-whumping @valkyrie-whump Thank you all for your help!

(also @whump-it named Cog and I do plan to do a little more with him.)

CW: human trafficking/slavery, dehumanization (not pet whump, just "less than"), physical abuse, creepy whumper, conditioned mindest, references to the Machine, diss//ociation, loss of control, broken whumpee, manhandling.

[Tool Masterlist]

Tool stood perfectly straight, hands clasped behind his back against the wall. The guests milled around the room, crystal glasses clinking and low refined music drifting over the crowd. The latest stock was ready, and the Mechanic had invited people to the manor to view. There would be an auction later, in which Tool was supposed to keep things running smoothly behind the scenes. He was to take care of everything behind the scenes.

They had been working non-stop to get the ballroom ready for the auction. They had sent one of the little cleaning robots – the one they had affectionately named Engelberger – to make sure the floor was clean and prepared. Engelberger was in the ballroom, Nobel was in the hallways, and Tesla was in the parlor. Tool let them work in the background, then hurried the bots away back to the charging stations. The Mechanic wouldn’t care if the bots were out and about, but Tool didn’t like the idea of them getting stepped on.

It was easier to care about them than the stock kept in the back bays. Tool never heard Tesla crying when he walked by the station, never saw Engelberger tremble in fear when he approached or watched the light fade from Nobel’s eyes.

No, Tool preferred the litter of robots. Besides, they would be the only ones left after tonight.

So Tool stood back, dressed in the black slacks and black button-up shirt that the Mechanic had given them. Waiting, savoring the simple act of breathing.

The stock was lined up against the other wall, available for appraisal and perusing. Heads down, hands hanging loosely by their sides. Tool had promised, promised, himself that he wasn’t going to get attached. No point. There was nothing that he could offer besides gentle movement or the rare soft word. Nothing could be done, nothing at all.

The one at the end of the line caught his eye again. Cog.

The man was utterly crushed at this point. Worse than the others, even worse than Tool. Their heart ached for him, for the empty way that he moved. Tool had tried to help, really tried, but Cog still ended up hollow. But he was supposed to be hollow – right?

Tool was too deep in thought, too distracted to notice the man that was quickly approaching. Before they knew it, he was up close, inspecting them.

“Is it true? That you’re all submissive and shit?”

Light blue-green eyes skated across the man’s face, desperately trying to figure out what to do. In the end, they did nothing. The man leaned forward, measuring Tool against some invisible standard only he knew. Tool’s brow’s furrowed, subconsciously leaning away with shallow breaths.

“He’s not just, like, paying you to act like this?”

Their face must have conveyed their confusion, because the man grinned.

A slap. Open handed, holding nothing back. Tool’s head snapped to the side, disoriented by the sudden strike. They looked back, only to be struck again. After the fourth they stumbled, hand reaching out to the wall for balance. Their cheek stung sharply and they had accidently bitten their tongue, eyes watering. What had they done wrong to deserve this?

A few others had gathered behind the aggressor, sipping from their champagne flutes and observing. Tool didn’t look to them for help, didn’t expect it.

“Oh my god, you really don’t do anything, do you?”

Tool nodded along, hand coming up to gently cup their cheek. It was hot to the touch. Skin sensitive.

“He said you were top of the class before; is that true? Biomedical whatever.”

He kept his eyes down, finally balanced enough to let go of the wall and stand straight. Yes, biomedical engineering – not that it mattered anymore. Tool didn’t really like to think about before. He could never go back there, never fit back in. Graduate school was for whole people, for those who had a future and ambitions. He didn’t have those anymore; didn’t need them. No, Tool was just that; a tool for others to use. He had a specific skillset, but so did the Mechanic’s rachet set and no one would send that to school.

“Where?”

“Ralford, Sir.”

The man whistled. “Damn. From Ivy League to cowering in the corner.” He paused. “Wait, wait wait wait – you’re that kid that disappeared last year. Yeah, I saw something about it in the papers when I was up there. J-something-or-other. He really took a student government president and turned them into a puppet, didn’t he?”

Tool nodded again, wanting the man to stop talking. He wanted this night to be over, to go back to the cot in the corner and sleep until the next day came. Go back to the menial tasks with no bodies to take care of.

The man grabbed Tool’s jaw, forcing eye contact.

“I want you.”

Tool blanched, not sure what to do. They, they weren’t part of the auction – right? They hadn’t even considered it until this very moment, and now they were torn. Farther away from the Machine, but at what cost? What would this man use them for?

The man spun them around, looking at their back as if searching for something. “What’s your number thing-“

“Problem, Mr. Elks?”

Tool swallowed, freezing in place at the sound of the Mechanic’s voice. Were they glad he had come? Or disappointed?

“Oh, nothing Nigel. Just taking a look at your fine stock.” The man smiled, rubbing his knuckles into Tool’s skull. They winced, still overly-sensitive from the strikes.

The Mechanic’s gaze hovered over the red marks on Tool’s face before he smiled diplomatically and grabbed their shirt, dragging them away. “Apologies, but my assistant is not part of tonight’s auction.”

Tool stood closer to the Mechanic, slightly behind him. Their legs felt weak, and they told themself it was from relief. The small group of other attendees still invested in the scene unfolding before them.

Mr. Elks put his hands in his pocket, grinning casually. “Come on Nigel, everything’s got a price. Besides, can’t you just make another – or are you lying? Tricking us with grandiose promises?”

Tool was trembling. A trick? A lie? No, no the Machine was so very very real. The door at the end of the east hall hung over the entire manor, thoughts of it creeping down Tool’s spine at even the thought of disobedience. Their heart was beating faster by the moment.

The Mechanic smiled, nearly inhumanly sensing Tool’s panic. He reached back and grabbed their forearm, dragging them back into the fray.

“Does this look like a lie? Like a trick? Kneel.”

Knees hit the hardwood without hesitation. Tool’s clasped hands hung in front of him, head down and respectful. The situation was perilous; one word and he could be shoved back into the Machine. Not for some act of disobedience or misconduct, but simply as an example. To show the lasting terror the experience left on the minds that experienced it.

“If it’s real, then I’m sold.” Mr. Elks paused, “And you say this can be done to anyone?”

“Anyone. You bring them to me and I will make them obedient.” Tool’s chin was lifted, and those light blue-green eyes met the Mechanic’s steely gray.

“I still want this one. A compromise, perhaps?”

Tool watched, gaze still locked on the Mechanic’s face, as one of the man’s brows rose, a silent go on.

“One week. A trial period. Then I’ll bring in my own for you to remake.” The Mechanic looked as if he was considering it, and Tool’s heart was in their throat. The Mechanic must have been able to feel it from his grasp on their chin, and he grinned subtly.

“I believe that may be possible-“

“I would also be interested in that deal.” Another voice, a female one. Tool stayed perfectly still, never looking away even as their hands started to shake. Their helplessness was choking them, laying like a heavy fog. They took a deep breath, reminding themself they had no control, no authority, no choice when it came to these matters. The mindset calmed them, in the blank, disconnected way that it always did. What happened around them would just happen, regardless of their input. So Tool waited for someone else to make a decision for them.

A few more scattered voices chimed in, and the Mechanic straightened.

“Then I shall add them to the auction list. One-time offer, one week.” He motioned for Tool to follow and strode over to the other stock. Tool did as he was told and stood next to the others.

They kept their eyes down, letting the invasive looks slide off.

Just let it happen.

@unicornscotty @as-a-matter-of-whump @starnight-whump @whump-me-all-night-long @whump-it @rippedjeansandfadeddreams @valkyrie-whump @cupcakes-and-pain

(pls let me know if you want to be added or removed from the taglist)

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petrichoravellichor · 3 years

Text

Begin and End There (Part 2)

For Day 6 of the Supernatural Deserved Better Creative Challenge (prompt: Destiel).

Note: This is Chapter 2 of 2; you can find the post with Chapter 1 here, or you can read the entire work on Ao3.

Rating: T

Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, minor Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, minor Castiel & Sam Winchester, background Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester

Warnings: Brief, non-graphic mentions of canon violence; reference to Dean’s suicidal ideation/decision to temporarily kill himself in 13x05; references to repeated major character death that didn’t stick - to be clear, this fic has a happy ending and is basically everything Dean needed to say and Cas needed to hear.

Summary: After the Empty takes him, Castiel wakes up in the last place he expected (Chapter 1), with a second chance at happiness when he reunites with Dean and the latter finally gets to speak his truth (Chapter 2).

-----------------------------------------------------------------

“Love him, and let him love you. Do you think anything else under heaven really matters?” —James Baldwin, Giovanni’s Room

********************

“Dean.” Sam’s voice was imploring, gentle, just like it had been the first two times he’d tried. “Come on, sit down.”

Dean ignored him and continued pacing, the cramped stillness of the motel room a vicious sounding board for his thoughts. Among them all, he clung to one thought in particular, the only one keeping him sane: Jack’s gonna get him back. He said he would. He has to...

He could feel Sam’s worried gaze on him from where his brother sat in a chair by the door. It had been Sam who had insisted they grab the motel room after Jack had gone, having intuited, rightly, that Dean was a mess even if he was trying to hide it and that he needed somewhere private where he didn’t have to. The only problem was that, for Dean, privacy in the sense of space to break down meant an audience of zero, not one, and Dean didn’t know how much longer he could hold himself together.

“Damn it, Sam,” he growled a minute later, “don’t you and Eileen have stuff to talk about? You don’t gotta hang around like a damn babysitter.”

If Sam was annoyed by Dean’s tone, he didn’t show it; instead, he just leaned forward, folding his hands in his lap. “We do, but it can wait,” he said calmly. "Besides, you heard her: someone had to go back to the silo and make sure all the Apocalypse-world hunters made it back okay. She said she’d text me when she got there.”

Dean huffed out a sigh. “Yeah, well...Still. You could’ve gone with her, is all I’m sayin’.”

“No. Not until I know you’re okay.”

“I’m fine.”

“Dean, enough.” Sam was frowning now, and there was an edge to his voice that hadn’t been there a moment ago. “You think I don’t know what Cas means to you?” He scoffed and shook his head. “Because if so, I’m sorry, but you’re not as hard to read as you think you are, not for me.”

Dean stopped dead in his tracks, stunned, and as he wilted under Sam’s knowing gaze, the full force of his exhaustion hit him all at once and damn near brought him to his knees. “I can’t lose him,” he heard himself admit in a hoarse whisper. He swallowed and shook his head. “Not again.”

Sam’s expression softened. “I know. We’ll get him back; if Jack can’t save him, we’ll find another way. We always do.”

Dean sighed, then nodded. Sam was right; of course he was. They’d get Cas back even if Dean had to storm into the Empty and grab him himself, grip Cas’s formerly feathered ass and raise him from perdition for a change. Cas, you idiot, what the hell’s the matter with you? he imagined himself demanding. You don’t think you deserve to be saved?

Suddenly, there was a shuffling sound outside, and before Sam could even begin to stand, Dean had bolted across the room and yanked open the door, determined to hear whatever news Jack was bringing them so that he could actually do something instead of just waiting, only...only it wasn’t Jack standing on the other side of the threshold.

Cas gazed back at him as though in a daze, hand raised in an aborted knock; after a beat, he lowered it and cleared his throat. “I—Hello, Dean.” He nodded past Dean toward the interior of the room. “May I come in?”

Dean nodded wordlessly, feet suddenly like lead as he stepped aside so Cas could brush past him. He closed the door and sank down on the edge of the nearest bed as Sam let out an exclamation of relief and stood to pull Cas into a hug.

“It’s good to have you back, man,” Sam said warmly, clapping Cas on the back. As they drew apart, he added, “How’s Jack? Did you have a chance to talk with him?”

Cas nodded, smiling. “I did. He told me everything that’s happened since…” Cas’s smile faltered, and his eyes darted over to land on Dean, who suddenly felt as though his face were on fire. Before Dean could say anything, though, Cas looked away, as though he were the one who’d been burned. “He told me everything,” he said instead. “He also said that he’ll be home as soon as he’s able, once he and Amara have finished remaking Heaven.”

Sam raised a brow, glancing curiously from Cas to Dean and back again; clearly, he’d clearly picked up on the weirdness between them. For a moment, Dean thought he was going to call them out on it and started casting about for something innocuous to say; however, Sam just smiled and nodded. “That’s great, Cas. Thanks for the update. And for saving Dean. If you hadn’t gone with him…” Sam swallowed, a more sober expression settling on his face. He reached out and clasped Cas’s shoulder. “Just...thank you. For everything.”

The genuineness of Sam’s words seemed to catch Cas off guard; then, after a moment, his lips quirked in a timid sort of smile, and he nodded. “Of course.”

Sam beamed at him, then took a step back and gestured toward the door. “Okay, I’m gonna go grab lunch while I wait to hear from Eileen, so I’ll see you guys later.” Then, with a poorly concealed smirk, he looked over at Dean and added, “Text me if I should steer clear of the Bunker for a few days.”

Dean glared daggers at him. Sammy, I swear to our kid who is now God...“How ’bout you just get a move on before I kick your ass? Bitch.”

But Sam just chuckled. “Good luck, jerk,” he replied, fondly; then, with a wave, he turned and headed for the door.

A moment later, he was gone, and the room was unbearably silent. Dean glanced up at Cas to find the latter regarding him almost shyly, as though any words uttered between them would bring the walls crashing down. For his part, Dean would have almost welcomed it. A quick death sounded pretty good right about now; at the very least, it’d absolve him from having to speak.

In the end, it was Cas who cleared his throat and broke the silence. “Jack said you wanted to see me?”

“Uh.” Dean sucked in a shaky breath, then nodded. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, I did.” Then, feeling his face grow warm at Cas’s continued stare, he coughed and looked away. “Cas, have a seat. We, uh, we need to talk.”

He’d expected Cas to sit opposite him, in the chair Sam had vacated; but before he realized what was going on, Cas had crossed over to sit next to him on the edge of the bed, less than a foot of mattress between their thighs. The heat on Dean’s face licked down his neck and back, almost overwhelming him, and if his legs hadn’t suddenly turned to jelly, he probably would have bolted.

Instead, he just blurted out the first thing that came to mind: “So...Jack was able to get you back, huh?” He immediately wanted to kick himself, because of course Jack had been able to get Cas back, that much was obvious. Way to go, dumbass...

Thankfully, Cas just nodded. “He promised the Empty a future of noninterference within Its realm in exchange for my life, and It accepted.”

“Huh.” Dean chewed his tongue thoughtfully. “Sounds like one of us actually made a good deal for a change.”

Cas gave him a tentative smile. “I hope so.” A pause; then: “Dean, I need you to know that I don’t regret my choice, because that’s what it was: my choice; and there’s nothing you could have said or done that would have made me choose differently.” Cas was speaking quickly, urgently, looking at Dean as though afraid Dean would interrupt. “And I also need you to know that I meant every word that I said about how I see you. Now that Chuck is gone, you can finally be happy, and...if it’s possible, I would like to be part of that happiness.” He looked up at Dean sadly, adding, “but if that’s not what you want, if you want me to leave, I promise I understand.”

Dean, who up to this point had only been able to listen in stunned silence, finally managed to unstick his voice. “If that’s not what I...What are you...You think I don’t want you to be a part of it?”

“I...” Cas looked down at his hands. “I’m aware that my connection to Heaven is no longer of particular value, and more than that, I don’t wish the knowledge of what you mean to me to make you uncomfortable.” He smiled sadly. “You don’t owe me anything, Dean; I recognize that. I—”

“Stop,” Dean interrupted, because every word out of Cas’s mouth was landing like a knife in his heart. He reached out and gripped Cas’s shoulder tightly, causing the latter to look up in startled surprise. “Damn it, Cas, stop talking like I’d only want you in my life if you were a goddamn tool I could use. You’re not a hammer, remember? Not mine or anyone else’s.”

Cas’s stunned expression melted into one of soft wonder. He nodded slowly, gazing back at Dean with eyes so earnest and hopeful that Dean had to look away lest he fall right into them. With a nervous swallow, Dean licked his lips and dropped his hand from Cas’s shoulder, determined to keep going now that he’d gotten started. “And..and about me not owing you anything...Cas, I owe you everything.” He made himself meet Cas’s gaze again, because damn it, this was apparently something Cas had doubts on, and Dean needed him to understand. “You pulled me out of Hell, and you helped me and Sam stop the Apocalypse and saved both our asses more times than I can count, and Jack’s alive because of you and so is everyone else in the world. And you think what, that I’m just gonna forget about all that?” he demanded, just barely managing to keep his voice from breaking. He shook his head. “Fuck that, Cas; you’re not disposable.”

Cas, whose expression had become increasingly anguished the longer Dean spoke, now looked dangerously close to tears. “Then what am I, Dean? I...please, I need to know, I need you to tell me, because I don’t...I can’t...”

Everything, Dean thought fiercely; you’re everything. Fuck, he just needed to find some way to actually say it…

Suddenly, a thought occurred to him: maybe, if saying it out loud was too much...He closed his eyes and started praying. Cas?

He felt a slight shift of the mattress as Cas stiffened in attention. “Dean?” he asked, hesitantly.

Yeah. Yeah, I can hear you. Dean kept his eyes closed, responding in his head. Question is, can you hear me?

A beat of silence; then: “Yes. I can hear you.”

Dean let out a steady breath. Okay. Okay, good. ’Cause there’s something I need you know, but...He tried to finish the thought; damn it, he tried, but even like this, he just couldn’t fucking seem to—

Suddenly, he felt a hand on his shoulder; his eyes fluttered open to see Cas leaning forward into his space, looking at him with soft understanding. “There’s something you need me to know,” Cas repeated slowly, “but you’re not sure how to say it.”

Dean blinked in surprise. “You...you got that part, too?”

Cas nodded. “The way it works...It’s difficult to explain in human terms. Prayers are something I hear and see and feel, all at once, and they don’t have to be words. They can be feelings or images or—”

“Memories?” Dean sat up straight, an idea forming. “Does it work with memories?”

Cas’s brow furrowed in apparent confusion, but eventually, he nodded. “Yes. If you show them to me.”

Dean didn’t waste another moment—he couldn’t, or he might lose his nerve. He closed his eyes and resumed his prayer. Okay, Cas, listen up...

He was pulling Cas’s trench coat out of the reservoir after the Leviathans had walked Cas into it, and the feeling in his gut...Dean knew it was grief. He’d lost friends before; hell, he’d lost Sam before, but this...this felt different...

But the Leviathans were on the loose, and the wall blocking out Sam’s Hell trauma had crumbled, and Dean didn’t have time to let himself stop and think. He folded the trench coat and stowed it in Baby’s trunk.

Months later, he was talking to Cas in an abandoned hangar the night before they stormed Sucrocorp and went after Dick Roman. Cas was saying he should stay behind, told Dean he wasn’t good luck and would just get in the way, but Dean wasn't having it. He’d done life without Cas, and it had sucked. Now, he knew he’d rather have him, cursed or not, friend or...He’d rather have him.

He only told Cas the first part, though.

Then, after, when he was tearing through Purgatory for over a year, Dean realized it wasn’t that he’d rather have Cas—it was that he couldn’t imagine not having him. He was going to find Cas no matter the cost, wasn’t leaving Purgatory without him. Cas was...he wasn’t something Dean couldn’t stand to lose.

And then Dean lost him anyway.

Dean was back topside, and Cas was still in Purgatory because Dean had failed to save him. The knowledge haunted Dean; he saw Cas everywhere, was sure he was hallucinating...until it turned out he wasn’t. And then he learned that Cas had made the conscious choice to stay behind, because apparently, Dean was something he could stand to lose, and that knowledge hurt in a way Dean didn’t have words for.

So they didn’t talk about it.

Then Dean was kneeling, bloodied, in Lucifer’s crypt, Cas standing over him with his angel blade raised. And Dean didn’t know what was going on, but he knew, he knew, that this wasn’t his Cas. His Cas. The words were loud in his mind, and he was both awed and terrified of how right they felt. He needed Cas, and he told him so...and Cas’s angel blade fell to the floor.

They didn’t talk about that much, either.

Years went by, and now Dean was the one standing over a bloodied, crumpled Cas, the Mark of Cain burning on his arm and Cas’s stolen blade in hand. He needed to hurt Cas, or for Cas to hurt him, to fight back and end the goddamn constant screaming in Dean’s head that was all blood and rage and hate and—Cas’s hand came up to gently clasp Dean’s wrist. “No, Dean...please.” And for a second, just a second, the hate in Dean’s mind was quiet, and in its place, strong, surging, and undeniable, was—

Dean stabbed the book next to Cas’s head and walked away.

Next, he was standing in a barn with his mom and Sam and Crowley, watching in terrified helplessness as Cas writhed in agony on an old couch. Ramiel could come for them at any moment, and yet all Dean could think about was the intensity in Cas’s eyes as Cas told him, told all of them, that he loved them, and fuck, Dean loved him, too, but not the familial sort of love that Cas seemed to be getting at, no. Dean loved him in a raw, real sense that he felt in his bones and that scared him half out of his mind, and he wanted to say it; but then Cas was convulsing, and it was too late…

Then Crowley snapped Ramiel’s spear, and Cas was saved, and Dean told himself that enough was enough, he needed to get his shit together and find some way to tell Cas what he felt before—

He was kneeling, silent, on the shore of a lake. The sky was starless overhead, and Cas was dead on the ground in front of him, wings scorched against the sand. And Dean was aching and empty, hollowed out by grief and regret, because he’d waited too long, and now it was too late…

And then he was dead, or something like it. He was in Death’s library and Billie was showing him the shelf of books with his name on the cover, detailing all the possible ways he could die, and Dean should have felt fear, should have felt fight, but instead, all he felt was finally. He hadn’t been able to save the people he loved, hadn’t been able to save Cas, so what was the point of going back? Sam would be better off without him, would get a shot at the normal life he’d always wanted. Billie could toss Dean in the Empty; he didn’t care anymore. Hell, he wanted it, anything to end all his goddamn regret—

But Billie sent him back anyway, and later that night, Dean’s phone rang.

Cas was back. He was alive and he was back, and fuck, he was so much more than Dean deserved. And Dean told himself that he was okay with that, with not having Cas in the way that he wanted, as long as he had him in some way, shape, or form. But then Jack killed Mary, and Dean...he was so angry and hurt that he lashed out at Cas, said horrible things he didn’t mean but didn’t know how to take back once they were out, and he couldn’t even look at Cas without wanting to scream and break and beg for forgiveness. He watched as Cas left him after they fought, left him like everyone else did, and Dean let him, because he knew now that needing someone wasn’t the same as deserving them.

Then they were back in Purgatory after a botched attempt at securing a Leviathan Blossom. They’d been ambushed, and Dean had been knocked out, had woken up alone with Cas nowhere in sight and limited time to make it back. And Dean knew he still didn’t deserve Cas, but he prayed to him anyway. He told Cas about the hurt and the anger and the helplessness he felt when it took hold of him, and he was sorry, God, he was so fucking sorry…

When he found Cas at the last moment at the base of a tree, he wanted...he needed to tell Cas what he hadn’t had the nerve to say in his prayer, because it was so much more than of course I forgive you; it was please forgive me, I know I don’t fucking deserve you but I want you, I need you, I love you…

But they had to go, because as always, there was never enough fucking time.

And then they were trapped in the Bunker’s interrogation room as Billie pounded on the door. Cas was going to die, and it was Dean’s fault, again it was his fault, because he’d screwed up, because he’d been stupid and angry and that was all he knew how to be—

But then Cas was talking with tears in his eyes, and each word was its own revelation, because Cas was looking at him the way Dean had never in a million years thought to be worthy of. And Dean forgot how to breathe, because suddenly, Cas was saying it, he said it: “I love you…”

And then the Empty took him, and Billie, and Dean was left alone on the floor. He was dimly aware of the way Sam’s name flashed on his phone, but he couldn’t answer, because then he’d have to explain, and…and...

Dean cradled his head in his hands and sobbed. He felt like his entire soul had been lit on fire and that every word he’d ever known had been ripped out of him by the roots, all except for the two he murmured, strangled and broken, into the silence: “Me too...”

Dean gasped and ended the prayer. He opened his eyes and felt tears roll down his cheeks; he hadn’t noticed them forming while he’d been praying, and he was about to reach up to dash them away when he saw that Cas’s face was wet with tears of his own; he looked more wrecked than Dean had ever seen him, and the hand he’d kept on Dean’s shoulder throughout the prayer had started to tremble. “Dean, I—”

“Look,” Dean said shakily, because if he didn’t say this now, he didn’t know if he ever could. “I...I know you said happiness isn't really in the having and all that, but...well, I think maybe it is. For me, anyway. Because Cas, if there’s one thing I’ve learned after all the crap we’ve been through, it’s that my life ain’t happy if it doesn’t have you in it.” He swallowed a lump in his throat and pushed on: “You said you thought you couldn’t have me, but the thing is, you’ve had me for years. And I just...I need you to hear me, I need you to know…” He almost stopped then, almost couldn’t go on, because the look of absolute love in Cas’s eyes was overwhelming, and Dean could no more deny it than he could give up breathing. He raised his hand, placed it firmly on top of the one on his shoulder, and squeezed. “You changed me too, Cas.”

Then Cas was kissing him, and Dean let out a muffled sob of relief as he felt Cas’s hands wrap around his middle and pull them flush against one another. His grip was hot and desperate on Dean’s back, and the way his mouth moved against Dean’s made Dean feel as though he were going to burst into millions of joyous pieces. He tangled his hands in Cas’s hair and kissed him hard, tugging him backward until Cas was straddling him on the mattress, his solid, unyielding weight a blissful, dizzying contrast to the lightness Dean felt in his mind as Cas’s tongue slid surely over his own, ravishing and reverent and real. They were real, and they always had been.

And Dean would never, ever doubt that again.

#destiel #deancas #spndbcc #spn #spn spoilers #my writing #begin and end there #fanfiction #if the network won't give them this then i will do it myself!

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thepoppypress · 3 years

Text

An Apple A Day Keeps The Doctor Away (If Thrown Hard Enough)

Synopsis:

Alternatively,

5 times Dr. Peter Parker took care of the Bat Family.

+1 time they took care of him.

Peter rued the day he became a doctor. He should’ve listened to Mr. Stark and went to MIT like the genius had wanted him to. No. No, instead, he had to go to medical school. He wanted to ‘help people’ and ‘heal them,’ like Dr. Strange. What a fucking joke.

(On the other hand, Dr. Strange was near tears when Peter told him he had gotten accepted into medical school.)

And then, he gets hired by one of the richest, if not the most wealthy bachelor in Gotham City (a city that Mr. Stark hadn’t wanted him to move to in the first place) and his multiple children (most of whom are not related to him) through a mutual acquaintance, Dr. Leslie Thompkins, to be their in-home family doctor. He was on top of the world. If only he knew it was all downhill from there.

-----

1) Bruce:

Peter stared at the handsome man sitting atop the bed in incredulity. Everyone else in the room was silent. Very much so silent. Even Alfred kept himself out of this. He knew better.

‘They should all know better by now,’ Peter thought bitterly.

“So let me get this straight,” Peter said, breaking out of his disbelieving stare and pinching the bridge of his nose. Bruce cut in before the doctor could continue.

“There’s not much to get straight, Dr. Parker.” Peter gave his boss a deadpan stare.

“So you’re saying that you currently have three, three holes in you because of a horseback riding incident?”

“Exactly, Doctor.” Bruce nodded sagely, completely serious. Well, at least that’s what he seemed like. Peter’s expression did not change.

“And that I had to dig the bullets of said three holes because yOU WERE SHOT DURING A HORSEBACK RIDING INCIDENT?! DO YOU KNOW HOW RIDICULOUS YOU SOUND?!” The five other men in the background winced as the doctor started chewing out the head of the household, boss or not.

‘Master Bruce, you loveable and absolute moron,’ Alfred thought while Peter was still flailing his arms about, lecturing Bruce Wayne like it was his place. And Bruce was letting him.

“IS THERE ANYTHING YOU HAVE TO SAY FOR YOURSELF?!” A beat of silence dropped before Bruce’s deep baritone said something, eyes entirely too innocent.

“It was an accident?” It was said as a question. Peter stared in absolute mortification. Slowly, the pale skin of his face turned a lovely shade of pink as a flush of anger slowly made its way towards the roots of his hair.

‘Bruce,’ his sons collectively thought with a flinch. The doctor would not like that answer.

“ARE YOU FU-” Peter seemed to burst outward like an explosion.

‘Oh dear,’ Alfred thought while sweating lightly, ‘it looks as though we’ll be there for a while.’ Afterall, it was an official rule. No one interrupted when the good doctor was lecturing.

(It also seemed like Dr. Parker knew. Oh damn it all to hell.)

-----

2) Dick:

“I want you to stay off of that for a few weeks Dick. I know it’s a sprain but I don’t want any lasting damage. Promise me you will.” It was a demand, plain and simple.

“I promise.” The statement was said with a beaming smile. Peter gave a terse one back and sent the first son on his way. After he was gone, Peter thought a bit.

It was entirely too innocent and convincing enough, he supposed. But he knew better. Dr. Peter Parker sighed in frustration.

‘Like father, like son, it seems.’

------

Dick collapsed onto the couch, Damian grunting as he drops his eldest brother unceremoniously. He then slumped down next to his brother as they groaned in unison. The Riddler. Again.

Bruce, Tim, and Jason were also in the room, slouching in their own chairs, licking their own wounds that really shouldn’t have gotten. If only they hadn’t started playing that damn game in the middle of the battle, despite Bruce’s good efforts to stop it halfway through once he realized what his sons were doing.

The oldest Wayne son fidgeted a bit before hissing in pain, clutching his leg. The same one that was injured about a week ago. Damian’s eyes lit up in mild alarm.

“Grayson, is that not the leg that Dr. Parker told you to stay off?” Cobalt blue eyes swiveled to meet jade green before a sheepish smile filled out Dick’s face. Three other sets of eyes came to stare at their oldest brother expectedly.

“Well-” A voice seemed to come from nowhere.

“Why yes it is, Damian. How keen of you to notice.” Said doctor melted out of the shadows. The sons startled and even Bruce seemed to be slightly panicked. Sometimes, it was as if he was better than them at going places undetected.

“P-Peter.” Dick was the first to snap out of it and instantly knew what position he was put in. “Look, I-I know I shouldn’t have-” Dick stopped mid-sentence, realizing his mistake.

“Shouldn’t have what, Dick?” Peter waited for his patient to self incriminate himself. “It’s okay, I’m not mad. I just want to know what you shouldn’t have done.” It was a siren’s croon, lulling them into a false sense of security. It was dangerous, they all knew. Oh, did they know. Dick gulped.

“I actually have no idea what you’re talking about.” The others seemed to shrink back into their chairs as the dark aura around the doctor grew.

‘Oh shit,’ they all thought.

“Oh,” it was said mildly enough, but the murderous intent behind it was obvious. “Is that so?” Dick pressed closer to Damian as Peter stalked forward, procuring a wheelchair from seemingly nowhere.

Positioning it in front of the couch, Peter reached forward and lifted Dick like he weighed nothing (as if he didn’t have five inches and about 40 pounds on him) and deposited him onto the seat. Before the acrobat could wriggle and squirm about, Peter pressed a button that released restraints on the oldest, holding him in place. Horror was evident on Dick’s face.

“B! B! Help me!” He pleaded to his adoptive father as he sat at the desk. Bruce only stared at the wood beneath his elbows, back and shoulders tense. It seemed that he would not be helping him tonight.

“Shall we go now? It seems we need to revisit some old lessons.” The smile on Peter’s face was sweet, but his teeth gleamed white and sharp, eyes even sharper. Dick wailed as Peter forcibly removed him from the room. They were gone all of three seconds before Jason burst out laughing.

“Oh shit! May he rest in peace! Good luck Dickiebird! You’re gonna need it!” The man convulsed with laughter, a sentiment neither of his other brother’s shared for they both felt the dark aura moving towards the room once again.

Peter poked his head back in, Dick still struggling against the restraints with the force of a wildman. Jason, once he caught sight of the good doctor, stopped laughing immediately.

“Don’t think you guys are off the hook.” There it was. That entirely too-sweet smile. “I’m coming back for you all. We’ll be talking about that game of Hide-And-Go-Seek-Tag in the middle of a mission..”

He disappeared again, dragging Dick off to his quarters, leaving the remaining brothers and their father with one thought in their heads, and while they would’ve escaped while they could if it was someone else, they knew better than that. It was Peter after all.

‘Fuck,’ was the collective thought.

-----

3) Jason:

Alfred sipped his tea quietly, content to the core as Bruce read the weekly newspaper and Damian buttered some toast for himself. It was a beautiful Monday morning in the Wayne Manor in the middle of May. The butler’s expression didn’t change one bit as a resounding crash was heard above them.

“GET BACK IN THE BED, JASON PETER TODD!”

“NO, FUCK YOU!” More thumps occurred as Alfred continued to drink his hot beverage. There was a struggle before Dr. Peter Parker’s strangled voice demanded,

“DICK! GO GET THE TRANQUILIZER!”

“YESSIR!” Loud footsteps trailed away. The three in the dining room did not pause in their activities. Alfred continued to sip, Bruce continued to read, and Damian bit into the toast.

“TIM! THE ROPES!” More footsteps amongst the loud struggle.

“FUCK OFF! YOU’RE NOT MY MOM!”

“I’M YOUR DOCTOR. I’M WORSE!”

“HERE’S THE TRANQ! AND THE ROPES!”

“WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?! AN INVITATION?! FUCKING SHOOT HIM ALREADY!” Another struggle on the floor before a loud thump and the mansion quieted. Bruce paused in reading, looking up to the ceiling.

“Seems like they finally got Jason back into bed.”

“It would seem that way, sir.”

“Tt.”

‘How peaceful,’ Alfred thinks.

-----

4) Tim:

Paranoia swept through Tim as the family doctor watched him bring his coffee to his lips. Said doctor had brought said coffee and said doctor’s eyes were on said coffee. Tim’s eyes widened. There was something wrong with the coffee. Hurriedly, he brought his favorite drink the whole wide world into the nearest bathroom to pour it out, tears in his eyes as he did so.

‘Such a waste,’ he bemoaned. Tim trudged back into the hallway, bypassing Peter who had followed him to make another cup of coffee, on his own so he was sure there was nothing in it. Like prescribed sleeping pills.

Even as he did make it, Peter’s doe brown eyes never left him. More waves of paranoia crashed into Tim, even more than the tiredness. Peter’s eyes were still on the cup. Tim’s mental voice was screaming with outrage and loss.

There must’ve been something in the coffee beans. Tim took a sip and instantly spit it back out. It tasted fine but there must be something wrong. There had to be.

The process repeated five more times. Each time Tim remade the coffee, Peter eyed it and it made Tim spit it back out and remake another one, insisting within his own mind that there was something wrong with it.

Eventually, Tim gave up on coffee for the day and went back up to his office, coffee-less. Peter followed him there too.

Thirty minutes later, Tim could barely keep his eyes open. Squinting up at the figure leaning against the doorway, he screeched out.

“Why?! What did I do to you?!” The figure said nothing. They only waved. Two larger figures joined the lone one. “WHY?!” A deep voice shushed him.

“Relax, Replacement. This was a long time coming. You’re lucky the doc held out until now.” Tim dry-heaved, head dizzy with the need to sleep.

But Tim couldn’t sleep.

“I have work to do!” He wailed desperately.

“We know, babybird. That’s why Damian’s going to help out.” The second youngest son sobbed at the name.

“He’s going to ruin everything!” A voice scoffed.

“I appreciate your faith in me, Drake.”

“Alright,” Peter’s voice cut through, and was soft but no less commanding, “take him away, boys. Do whatever it takes to keep him in bed.” Tim could hear the smirk in Jason’s voice as he turned to plead helplessly at Peter’s kind, beautiful face. If only that face matched the personality.

“Will do, doc.” With that, Dick and Jason dragged their little brother away for some much needed sleep.

Tim’s screams echoed through the mansion.

(Frankly, Damian thought they were a rather beautiful sound. One he could definitely fall asleep to.)

-----

5) Damian:

Jason waited with an evil grin on his face, waiting for his youngest brother to get out of the operation room. Damian Al Ghul-Wayne, Ibn al Xu Ffasch, had just gotten his wisdom teeth removed. Already 18 years old, Damian had insisted that he not needed them taken out but was left in pain for the past few days. It turns out that one of them had gotten infected somehow and they needed to be removed post-haste.

Peter waited with the rest of the Wayne family (being a doctor, he didn’t know the first thing about teeth. He was no expert in that field. But when Damian had insisted that he get them out himself, he suddenly became an expert at wrestling a scalpel away from a trained child-assassin while simultaneously holding a conversation with a colleague of his on rushing the surgery. Thank God for rich people.) while Damian was in surgery.

About an hour later, they had successfully removed the abscess and Damian’s wisdom teeth while doping him on a lot of anesthesia. Jason rubbed his hands together gleefully, itching to get to his phone to start recording. Blondie would love this one.

-----

By the time they got home, Damian was still asleep. Dick and Bruce carried Damian (for an 18 year old, he sure was large) into Peter’s office, laying him down on the bed for monitoring. While it was only wisdom teeth removal, Peter had to make sure the stitches were cleaned thoroughly and rinsed out with salt water.

Only thirty minutes had passed when Damian groggily woke and evidently, high on the anesthesia. Tim, who was sitting right next to the bed, quietly engaging Peter in an interesting conversation about the theory of time and relativity, was instantly at attention.

“Damian?” Tim whispered and Damian’s eyes popped right open, staring up at Tim in disbelief. “Damian?”

“Oh my God.” Tim glanced at Peter, who was also slightly confused and a bit amused. “This is Heaven. Hi Dr. Parker.” Peter chuckled.

“Hello Damian.” Said man smiled dopily (at which point Tim started recording), before turning back to his brother with puzzlement.

“Wait, if this is Heaven, why are you here?” A moment of silence passed before Tim’s expression became deadpan and Peter’s shoulders shook with laughter.

“It’s part of an exchange program. Gandhi’s down there at a strip club with Mussolini.” That made Peter laugh outright. It wasn’t much longer before Damian went back to sleep.

-----

“Hey Jason.”

“Hmm?”

“Wake up your brother so I can take care of his gums.”

“Okay.”

“...”

“I SWEAR TO GOD, IF YOU HIT HIM-”

“Okay, okay! Jeez!”

-----

+1) Peter:

“ACHOO!” Dick winced as the doctor of the house sniffled into the tissue. Warm temperature, runny nose, and bad cough meant a sick Dr. Peter Parker.

“You need to relax, Pete.” Dick’s tone was pleading. For someone who took such good care of others, he was a bad patient when it came to himself.

“Ugh,” Peter’s nasally tone broke through, obviously horribly congested. “I’m fine, Dick. I just need to walk it off.” Disbelief showed on the eldest Wayne sibling’s face as Peter attempted to get out of his bed. A calloused hand pushed him back down and even while sitting on the bed, he swayed dangerously. Dick was very concerned.

“Nope. I can’t do this alone. I’m getting Alfred.”

Not five minutes later, Alfred arrived with warm, spicy soup (cooked about an hour ago when Alfred had heard the telltale signs of a cold), a damp rag, and some medicine.

“Here, Dr. Parker. Eat some soup before drinking the medicine.” The spice cleared his sinuses well and the medicine made him very sleepy. It wasn’t long before he was out like a light, unaware of the adoring looks sent his way.

-----

Come early morning, Peter woke up well rested and feeling better than ever. The only problem was he couldn’t move. Turning his head to his right, he found Damian, in his tall and well muscled form clinging to his arm like a child.

It made Peter coo internally.

Dick was on his left, cradling Peter to his side and Tim snuggled on Dick’s chest, a blanket draped over all four of them.

All three brothers were positioned so that the doctor wouldn’t be able to escape without alerting any of the others.

He couldn’t move his legs either, Peter realized. Looking down, he noticed Jason’s head pillowed on the meat of his calf, arresting his movement and trapping him in a very comfortable and warm prison.

Bruce was beside the bed, sitting in a chair in an uncomfortable looking position that would surely put a crick in his neck.

‘Oh well,’ Peter thinks with a smile on his face, halfway back to sleep already, ‘it’s not like I can move any time soon.’

The ‘just the way I like it,’ was unsaid but unconsciously there.

#Peter Parker #Batfam #Bruce Wayne #Damian Wayne #Dick Grayson #Tim Drake #Jason Todd #Alfred Pennyworth #Dr. Peter Parker #Doctor AU #Batfam Drabble

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dweemeister · 3 years

Photo

Jungle Book (1942)

For a few years in the early 1940s, a young actor of Indian descent was a household name among America moviegoers. His name was Sabu Dastagir (better known as simply “Sabu”), and he debuted in Robert Flaherty’s The Elephant Boy (1937). Sabu’s performance in The Elephant Boy was enough to convince Hungarian-British producer Alexander Korda to have the young Indian actor star in the 1940 remake of The Thief of Bagdad and, two years later, Jungle Book. Sabu did find film work after his two most iconic motion pictures, but these opportunities proved harder to find in the United States than in Britain. Almost eighty years later, Sabu remains only one of a handful of actors of South Asian descent to achieve even the briefest Hollywood stardom.

As an adaptation of Rudyard Kipling’s The Jungle Book, this is a Korda brothers’ production – eldest brother Alexander produces, middle brother Zoltan directs, and youngest brother Vincent is the art director. Many readers’ point of reference to Kipling’s work is most likely Disney’s animated musical from 1967. Compared to the Disney animated feature, the Korda Jungle Book, distributed by United Artists, is more interested in Mowgli’s interactions with humans, rather than the animals of the jungle. In a time when Technicolor was still relatively new, this Jungle Book contains some of the best use of color in an early 1940s movie. Beyond than the eye-catching palette and then-innovative visual effects, this Jungle Book loses its way anytime Sabu or the wildlife are not on-screen. The original source material, a reflection of Kipling’s imperialist and racist attitudes, also transfers some of those values to this screen adaptation (not related to the plot but in a similarly concerning development, Sabu is the only actor of South Asian descent in a cast almost entirely donning brownface).

In the prologue, an elderly Indian man named Buldeo (Joseph Calleia) regales his fellow villagers and anyone else in the area with tales of the past. When a British woman stop to listen, Buldeo begins the story of Mowgli and how the young boy, raised by wolves and a product of the jungle, came to reintegrate into human society. Unlike Disney’s two Jungle Book adaptations, the Korda Jungle Book cares more for Mowgli’s relationships with humans as opposed to that of the jungle animals. The tiger Shere Khan and the snake Kaa (voiced acted by Mel Blanc) garner plenty of screentime in the film’s closing scenes. But fans of Mowgli’s closest friends – the bear Baloo and the black panther Bagheera – might be disappointed, as they only have glorified cameos. In place of this focus on animals, this film spends ample time on Mowgli’s developing relationships with his mother Messua (Rosemary DeCamp), Buldeo, and Buldeo’s daughter Mahala (Patricia O’Rourke).

The exotified rural India that appears in Jungle Book overshadows most everything about this adaptation, including Sabu’s starring role. That Zoltan Korda, United Artists, and London Films felt no need to cast any other actors of South Asian descent for Jungle Book exemplifies the casual racism that permeates the narrative. The all-white cast playing noble half-savages or passive women is off-putting, fracturing one’s ability to feel as if the events on-screen are not taking place somewhere in sunny Southern California.

Jungle Book’s Indian setting came together at Lake Sherwood near Thousand Oaks, California and what is now known as Sunset Las Palmas Studios in Hollywood, which was then (and still remains) an independent production lot that hosts shoots for various television and cinematic works. Flown onto the sets were hundreds of fauna rented from local farms and zoos and tons of foliage (natural and synthetic), making the jungle scenes – despite the noticeable background or matte painting at times – feel vast and enclosing. And even though it is difficult to distinguish which scenes were shot indoors or outdoors, the amount of water, however improbably still it is in some parts, appearing in the film assists in immersing the audience into this dense environment. For all of the human settlements – in ruins or otherwise – production designers Vincent Korda and Julia Heron (1943’s Hangmen Also Die!, set decorator on 1960’s Spartacus) are not appealing to any sense of cultural understanding appropriateness. Yet the scope of their village and abandoned temple sets are tremendous, with an assist from the incredible matte paintings.

Cinematographers Lee Garmes (1933’s Shanghai Express, 1944’s Since You Went Away) and W. Howard Greene (1937’s A Star is Born, 1951’s When Worlds Collide) use of highly-saturated Technicolor features eye-catching images perfect for this unrealistic reality. Even in the darkest parts of the jungle, the explosion of emerald greens, cool blues, and other earthy colors feels anything but mute, a fantastical version of a rainforest brought to life. The jungle, despite the obvious artificialities in some of the foliage and fauna, almost becomes a character in the Korda Jungle Book. Other artificialities are a shade more convincing, most notably some of the effects required to capture animal movements. Using footage of both mechanical and actual animals alike, Garmes and Greene do their best to hide some strings and wires pulling along stunning mechanical snakes or to allow Bagheera and Shere Khan’s animal actors appear as if they are interacting with the events in the film. For the most dangerous animals that this production features, the black panther and tiger that played Bagheera and Shere Khan, respectively, were separated from the cameras by a glass barrier. This is immaculate visual effects footage, perhaps the film’s saving grace.

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Contrast this with Laurence Stallings’ (1925’s The Big Parade, 1949’s She Wore a Yellow Ribbon) clunker of a screenplay. An inordinate amount of the dialogue is expository and declarative, and too many supporting characters speak in formalities with nary a shred of humor. Jungle Book’s narrative thus feels too formulaic, uptight, and unimaginative. When anyone other than Mowgli or the animals are on-screen, the film is a slog. Kipling’s literary influence on the film might not be apparent in how the humans speak, but it certainly comes through in the most perilous sequences in this movie – and that includes a scene of a forest fire that has to raise questions about animal endangerment on-set at a time with almost no laws against animal mistreatment on film shoots. The Kordas’ Jungle Book works best if seen as an extravagant picture book, but one wishes for Sabu, in a decent performance chockfull of glee, to talk a tad more to the animals.

Hungarian-American composer Miklós Rózsa (1940’s The Thief of Bagdad, 1959’s Ben-Hur) scores perhaps his best body of work owing to elements outside Western classical music. Rózsa’s score to Jungle Book is bolstered by the composer’s detailed research into Hindu music’s chord progressions and modes. His compositions and the orchestration come as close as possible to capturing the harmonic developments of Hindu music as one can while using a Western orchestra. Thus, one can imagine that the music for Jungle Book might be difficult for Indian and non-Indian audiences to appreciate. But as a harmonically complex take on Mowgli’s adventures in the jungle and among humans, this is a bold sound – occupying a space between the melodic demands and orchestration of the West and the wide-ranging tempo and virtuosic harmonic swirls found in classical Hindu music.

The closest analogue to the Kordas’ Jungle Book in this era of Hollywood history must have been the Tarzan series (1932-1948) starring Johnny Weissmuller as the character created by Edgar Rice Burroughs. That, however, is a fraught comparison to make. The Weissmuller Tarzan films were modestly-budgeted and its numerous sequels relied on increasingly laughable contrivances. The Kordas’ Jungle Book is an expensive motion picture leaning on its special effects wizardry while its narrative scarcely makes much of an impression. The premise of Weissmuller and Sabu’s legacies are upon a particular set of roles. By choice, Weissmuller took the roles of jungle-dwelling strongmen. The major Hollywood studios typecasted Sabu – against his wishes – as the urchin, usually a jungle-dweller, from an exotic Asian locale.

This Jungle Book is, for an older generation, a foundational film of their childhood (although I reject any attempts to label this as a children’s film) and an unmitigated technical achievement. In numerous ways, it is also a prime example of how Hollywood viewed Asian influences and actors of Asian descent for decades to come.

My rating: 6/10

^ Based on my personal imdb rating. My interpretation of that ratings system can be found in the “Ratings system” page on my blog (as of July 1, 2020, tumblr is not permitting certain posts with links to appear on tag pages, so I cannot provide the URL).

For more of my reviews tagged “My Movie Odyssey”, check out the tag of the same name on my blog.

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inkandpen22 · 3 years

Text

Shared Minds and Shared Souls (2/?)

Pairing: Spike x Female!Reader

Warnings: Angst, swearing, fighting, mentions of violence

Word Count: ~2.6k

Part Summary: Y/N is starting to get used to her role in the Summers’ house and with the Scoobies in the days following her arrival in Sunnydale. Much to her surprise, she enjoys predictability of her new routine and the normalcy of it. That is until a troublesome figure in Sunnydale makes his acquaintance and knocks Y/N through an unforeseen loop.

Masterlist

Aunt Joyce being surprised to see me is an understatement. It took Buffy and I both pressing her back down on the hospital bed to keep her from leaping up. Then, she thanked me up and down for coming. Which lead to her insisting she’s fine. She’s been covering at the hospital the last few days, but now she’s finally home. Her surgery went well, thank God! With everything going on, Joyce needs to be well. I don’t think Buffy could take another blow and poor Dawnie needs her mom. I know what it’s like to lose a mother, not fun. It’s Buffy and I’s goal to keep life as normal as possible for Dawn. The routine is I drop Dawnie off at school while Buffy plays Slayer. Then, I come back here and take care of Joyce. From there, I pick up Dawnie and prep dinner. In truth, I’m liking the predictable schedule. It’s odd, I thought I’d hate it here. I’ve never been the sort for the mundane lifestyle, but I haven’t been around family in years and it’s nice.

While I prepare lunch for Joyce, I listen to the rock station through the boombox they keep on the counter. The house has been rather quiet since Buffy and the other Scoobies have been out doing researching Glory. Giles’s Magic-Box shop is their headquarters. Well, here and there, sort of double at meeting spots. Whenever the house is this quiet, I have to have music or the tv playing in the background. Otherwise, everything gets all noisy. Sunnydale has so much pent up energy, both good and evil, that it messes with my head. All I hear are the voices in the silence, so many voices that it starts to sound like static. I have mentioned this Buffy, I wouldn’t want to stress her anymore.

My peace is abruptly disturbed as the kitchen door swings open and someone flies in hiding under a blanket. I jump, dropping my knife on Joyce’s sandwich. Smoke radiates from the figure like they’re a walking fire pit. Tilting my head, I watch in awe as a bleached haired man struggles to shut the door, knocking around the blinds. Who the hell is he? He dramatically flails his arms around to get the blanket off with a huff. Instantly, I see the green aura glowing around him. His eyes meet mine with a tilt of the head like a confused puppy dog, granted I did it too.

“Who in the bloody hell are you?” He curses sassily.

His accent is enough information to tell me who he is, Spike. So, this is the pain in the ass, psychotic vampy who is tangled up in a love-hate relationship with my cousin. She’s all caught up on Riley, Mr. G.I. Joe, when she has this dude pining after her? Boy, Buffy needs my guidance in more than one department.

“Good afternoon to you too, Spike,” I greet him by name, much to his surprise.

Cautiously, he moves into the kitchen as I continue about my business. “How do you know my name? Where’s Buffy?” He asks, peaking around the house for her.

“Don’t worry,” I assure him calmly. “Army Barbie is with her team of misfit toys working on Glory stuff.”

Before I have the chance to blink, Spike is across the room has me pinned against the fridge. His face scrunched and his fangs daunting. While gripping my neck until I can hardly breathe, he leans forward and presses his body to mine to keep in place. I struggle in his grip, clawing as his hands. “You’re Glory, aren’t you?! Hm?! Messing with me?! What did you do to Buffy?!” He shouts.

“Spike,” I choke. “You have to-” I gasp for air as he squeezes tighter.

As a psychic, every time I have skin to skin contact with someone I can enter their mind and memories. It’s like watching a montage of someone’s entire existence. The recipient relives the memories too at the same pace as me. This allows them to kick me out if they so wish, all they have to do is realize what’s going on. However, like being in a dream, it’s rare that they do. I have little control when it comes to entering, it’s like falling. If I wish to leave, it takes a kick, like waking up from a dream. I have to be terrified by a memory or experience immense pain, those are the usual triggers.

The moment Spike touched me, he opened the gate for me to see, feel, and hear everything he ever has in the form of visions. I can feel my mind slipping and images begin to flash before my eyes like bursts of light. Then, my vision goes black...

A woman in 19th century clothing stands before with big eyes and brown hair. She’s so beautiful.... Suddenly, a pain pierces my neck.

Next thing I know, I’m sat on an old blood soaked sofa with a dead woman in my lap, bleeding from the neck. I feel hungry for more.

“My wicked, wicked, Willy,” Dru purrs, peering up at me from her position on the floor with longing eyes. I shove the body off of me and crawl to her. God, I love her.

I jump through time, landing in the middle of a fight with a young Chinese woman who I recognize as the Slayer. I manage to grab her and bite her viciously. She mutters something in Chinese to me.

“Sorry Love, I don’t speak Chinese,” I state, tossing her to the side.

Then, on a subway trained with a later slayer. I’m on top of her, gripping her neck as I twist it, killing her. For good measure, I steal her leather coat. I’m quite fond of it.

I hover over the most recent Slayer, and perhaps the most annoying one, Buffy Summers. I raise the plank of wood in my hands to kill her. Suddenly, I’m hit over the head and fall to the floor.

With a jolt, I’m back in the present moment. “Jesus and Mary!” I yelp, the back of my head throbbing. What the hell did Joyce wack me with? Or should I say Spike.

The vampire stands before me wide-eyed, confused by what just happened. Having had enough reminiscing, I press my hands around his that grip my neck and send a powerful shock, causing him to drop me to the floor. I cough as I catch my breath. God, I can see why Buffy doesn’t like him! Spike recovers quickly and picks me up by my hair. I scream at the surge of pain and dig my nails in his hands. Soon, I’m against the wall and I bump my head.

“Where are they?!” He barks in my face. “Tell me or I’ll kill you!”

“If I were Glory and I had taken Buffy, how would killing me help you find her?” I question his logic amongst the fighting. For being over a hundred years old, he’s not exactly wise.

Spike growls, not finding humor in my mockery. I’m not exactly threatened by the big-bad-bleach-crazy ole chap with the winkley-vampy face. I could have him on his undead ass in two seconds if I wanted.

“Spike!” Joyce’s voice interrupts our altercation. Both of us turn our attention to the archway to see my aunt standing there in horror. She wraps her robe around herself tightly. “Let Y/N down! She’s my niece!”

“Oh bollocks!” Spike swears, releasing me instantly.

I fall to the floor on my knees again. Well, this fun- what’s wrong with people in this town?!

“I… uh…” Spike stumbles over his words as he helps me up by the bicep. He brushes down my shirt and hair nervously. “Sorry about that. I thought-”

“You thought I was Glory,” I finish for him, slapping his hands off of me.

“Are you okay, Y/N?!” Joyce checks worriedly, staying cautiously in the archway between here and the living room.

I hum, reaching up and running my fingers through the back of my head for any bumps or bleeding. Whatever she hit Spike with it fucking hurt!

“Did I hurt you?” Spike asks, sounding genuinely concerned.

“Not really,” I admit quietly and look to my aunt who’s the real reason my head is pounding. “If you ever hearing banging like that, never come downstairs! You hide!” I command of her. “Even if it did sound like I was getting murdered,” I grumble, glaring at Spike.

“Well, as long as you’re alright. I’ll head back up,” she complies quietly. “But only if you’re sure!” She checks.

“I’m fine, really!” I try to ease her nerves. It’s not good for her to worry. I shove Spike out of the way to approach her. “I’ll bring your food up soon. I might have to remake it,” I tell her as I spot her sandwich on the floor behind Spike.

“You don’t have to do that,” she insists.

“It’s okay! If you can wait one moment, I’ll just use some magic,” I announce, holding out my hand toward the counter. I conjure up a turkey sandwich just like I created before. I could’ve whipped one up this way earlier, but I was enjoying the task. “There you go!” I hand the plate over to my aunt.

Spike blinks rapidly, stepping forward to stand beside my aunt. He stares at me in astonishment, “you’re a witch?!”

“No, that shock you felt earlier was all in your head,” I sass, looking at him like an idiot.

“You didn’t tell me there were witches in your family,” he says to Joyce, sounding offended.

“We didn’t know ourselves until Y/N arrived a few days ago. She’s here to help out until I’m all better and… well…” Joyce shifts on her feet uncomfortably. “That Glory girl is gone.”

On that note, Joyce thanks me one last time and heads back upstairs. I relax once I hear her shuffling upstairs in her room. Taking a scan around the kitchen, there are broken plates and food scattered across the floor. I was so far into Spike’s head that I missed the reality and all the ruckus. Of course, I felt his hands around my neck, but my vision was impaired with his memories.

“Let me clean up,” Spike requests, already squatting to pick up the bits of broken porcelain on the tile.

“No need,” I state with a flick of the wrist. Within seconds, all the broken plates and scattered food is gone. The boombox that we’d knocked on the floor and caused to skip is now all fixed neatly on the counter. Soon, Nirvana is coming out of it without a problem.

Spike rises from his position quietly starring at the perfectly spotless kitchen. I move around him toward the living room, already thinking of the next item on my agenda. I still have a few loads of laundry to go through and there’s cleaning that needs to be done. If I set those going with some magic before I head out everything will be done before Buffy’s birthday party tonight. Except, one issue, in this town, I don’t feel comfortable dividing up my power in case of an emergency. I could be attacked on the way to Dawnie’s school with the track record of this town. Plus, I’m Joyce’s sole bodyguard during the day, I need all my energy.

“Hey wait,” Spike calls as he jogs to block my path. He holds up his hands as if that’s going to keeping me from walking away.

With raised brows, I wait for the important reason he must have to be interrupting my to-do list.

Wait... ew, I hate that! I have a to-do list! What am I, a 1950’s housewife?

“Are you honestly Buffy and Dawn’s cousin?” He asks, still not convinced that it’s possible for the Summers’ to have family other than each other.

“No,” I answer calmly, causing him to perk up. “I’m really Dolly Parton in a disguise!” He rolls his eyes, muttering curses under his breath. “You know, the rumor is the blonde hair is a wig,” I ramble to add more spice to the sarcasm. “And she just walks around Tennessee without anyone noticing her!”

“Yep, you’re definitely related,” he determines unenthused, stepping aside.

“I’m glad I’ve convinced you. Now if you don’t mind, I have stuff I need to do!” I step around him to head out and pick up Dawn.

“I’m coming too,” he declares, following on my heels.

I snicker, stopping in my tracks. “You’re coming with me to pick up Dawn from school? In the daylight... ” I add.

“Yeah uh… just meet me at the crypt,” he decides, already heading back to the kitchen.

“Wait, what?” I blurt out as I grab his wrist. “Why would I do that?”

He glances over his shoulder, “I came to show Buffy something, but you’ll do I guess.”

“I’m not Buffy though, I’m no Slayer,” I laugh lightly. “If it’s important I’d show it to her.”

“You’re a witch, aren’t you?” He asks the obvious.

“Well yeah,” I shrug.

“Can you fight?” He continues, clearly leading somewhere.

I stutter, “I mean I know spells and-”

“Then you’ll do,” he declares. “We can tell Buffy about it later,” he adds, walking away.

Buffy is made for this, literally! Unsure of myself, I shake my head. “Spike, I-”

The vampire rolls his head back with a huff of annoyance. “All you God-forsaken women!” He groans under his breath. “I swear, one of these days I’m just going to lose my patience and kill all of you,” he sasses, facing me. “Except Joyce... and maybe Nibblet,” he determines as if that’s generous of him. “But definitely Harmony and that bloody annoying Cordelia if she ever comes back from LA!” He points at me sharply. “And you missy are testing me too!”

Um, excuse him! He didn’t not just say that to me! “Oh buddy, you’re testing me!” I laugh mockingly. Little vampy here has another thing coming if he thinks he can threaten me.

Spike chuckles wickedly and his face changes back to vampy style. He growls to reveal his fangs. I step back cautiously. I didn’t mean for him to take me literally! Abruptly, he comes charging at me. Oh great, not again!

_____________________________________________

Masterlist

Tags: @it-was-all-a-beautiful-dream

#spike #btvs #fanfic #spikexreader #dawn summers #buffy #buffy summers #buffy s5 #spike fanfic #spuffy #spike x buffy #spike x reader #btvs imagine #btvs fanfic

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aitaikimochi · 4 years

Photo

Here is the full translation of Nomura, Kitase, and Toriyama, and Hamaguchi’s interview from the FF7R Famitsu feature! Nomura talks about Jessie's popularity, the decision to include the Masssage Parlour scene, comments about the next installment's release, and more! Kitase discusses how it’s like working with a new generation of game developers, explains a bit more about the scene with Sephiroth and Cloud at the Edge of Creation, and refers to the Remake as the “New FFVII Story.” Toriyama mentions that the staff who worked on the original game wanted to create a completely new game while younger staff wanted to stay true to the original. Hamaguchi explains more about the development process as well as how they came up with the battle system, what type of system they have planned for Part 2, and more!

DIRECTOR TETSUYA NOMURA INTERVIEW —Now that the game has been released, how are you feeling?

Nomura: Well first off, I feel very relieved. Although there’s still a long way to go on the road to completing the entire story, we are now able to see exactly which direction we will be heading.

—From the game’s battle system to its story to the elaborate details of Midgar’s various environments, including songs that sometimes only play in one scene, the game is full of a richness that has been carefully crafted, which shows that a lot of time and effort was spent creating this game. The staff must have been very enthusiastic, right?

Nomura: I think it’s due to the staff’s love for FFVII. The enthusiasm from the fans also helped propel us forward.

—Are there any elements from either the Original game or part of the compilation that you wanted to make a reality or something that you wanted to have in the past game that then added into this game?

Nomura: Definitely the world itself as well as how richly the people are portrayed. With all the different compilations gathered, it was rather easy to create the world. I think we were able to convey the importance of the areas seamlessly.

—FF7R really digs deep into the Original Game’s story, but there is a surprising development towards the end of the game. With Remakes, there’s always a faction of people who don’t want anything changed, but there are also those who actually want things to be changed. Were there discussions among the creators on whether or not you should change things?

Nomura: Since the concept of FF7R was already decided from the beginning, there wasn’t that much discussion. However, since each individual had different ways of perceiving things, we did discuss exactly how far we will change the story. I believe that I was the one who actually put a stop on several ideas towards the latter half of development (laughs).

—The Remake contains the “Whispers of Fate” that are not present in the original story, but what was the intent of having this presence? In English, they’re called the Whispers, but in Japanese they’re called the “Feelers.” Is there a specific reason for this difference, for example if the word “Feeler” was the origin of the name?

Nomura: Nojima-san actually requested us to give the Whispers an eerie aura. Initially, the Whispers were designed to be made out of small particles of sand that crumbled while still maintaining its shape, but also unclear in form. We then created an image of them wearing a robe, but more so than that, when we had to make a lot of them appear together, that’s when their form took a clear shape. The word “feeler” means to sense and to touch, but at the moment I cannot say anymore than that.

—Those who come into contact with Aerith can see the Whispers, right? Also, was Aerith able to see them from the beginning?

Nomura: People can see the Whispers when they come into contact with Aerith. However, at the moment I am unable to tell you when Aerith started seeing them.

—Instead of always being on edge, Cloud seems to behave more cooly but instead comes off as uncool to those around him. Aerith also seems a bit more mature than the original’s portrayal of her, and Barret seems a more unhinged and tense. The characters all seem to have a new side of them now. What kind of concepts did you use to add to the characters in this game?

Nomura: I personally think that the characters still have the same image as they did before, but with much more expressions now, and adding voices also created a large impact. This was my interpretation of the characters at the start, but since the original game required the player to imagine the type of reactions the characters would have, I think that this caused there to be different images of the characters. As time passed, I’m sure that those images of the characters had changed as well. I think that the errors in each individual player’s interpretation is in itself an interesting part of the game.

—Jessie has a lot of scenes in the Remake and has become quite a popular character. Were her scenes planned from the beginning, or were they something that was added midway through development?

Nomura: It was planned from the beginning. However, I did not expect her to be this popular though!

—The three new characters in Wall Market, Andrea Rhodea, Madam M, and Chocobo Sam, left quite an impression. What was created first, the characters’ personalities or their designs? Also, how did the concept of the Massage Parlour come about?

Nomura: At first, the characters’ personalities weren’t that detailed. We didn’t plan for their designs to be that rich either. However, I think that the voices and acting played a great role for them. In regards to the hand massage, in a city like that, well, the maturity rating would probably go up, so we couldn’t go further with what we had.

—Characters such as Leslie and Kyrie appeared in the light novels, but what was the background on bringing them into the Remake? For example, was it for fan service or something else?

Nomura: Since the stories are part of the Compilation, Nojima-san and myself had plans for them to be included from the beginning. We thought that it would be natural for them to appear in that time and place within the story, so we decided to leave them there. In regards to what happens to them after the events in the Remake, I recommend that players read the light novel “Final Fantasy 7 TURKS: The Kids Are All Right.”

—In regards to the battle system, it contains a fusion of both command and action elements, and each character has a different fighting style. By choosing different character moves, players are able to form various effective strategies, making for a very refreshing experience. Also, the acting and conversations that the characters have during battle also gives a fresh spin on each battle. I’m sure that this was made possible by trial and error, but what was the most difficult part in doing all of this?

Nomura: A real time action battle requires a sense of nervousness and realism, but we couldn’t discard the form and battle of the original game’s command RPG style. As a result, we went through a lot of trial and error to find a perfect harmony for the two. We decided early on to allow for a slow motion sequence to take place to allow players the advantage of being able to select their actions, but there was a long period of time that we couldn’t do it properly. It was largely thanks to the staff for tying in the ATB system to perfect this as well.

—Lastly, is there anything you would like to say to the readers?

Nomura: We know that everyone wants the next installment to be released quickly. We would also like to deliver it as soon as possible. Since we were able to see the line of quality from the first installment, we hope to make the next installment even better in quality that will make for an even greater experience. We hope to release it as soon as possible, so please wait a bit more. I think we can clearly convey the direction when we officially announce the next installment, so we hope you can look forward to it!

---------

PRODUCER YOSHINORI KITASE INTERVIEW

—From the time that the game was announced at E3 during 2015, the world focused their attention on the game, and after releasing footage of the game’s progress through a promotional video at E3 during 2019, the expectations from the fans has only increased. I’m sure you felt quite a lot of pressure at that time, but now that the game is finally released, how do you feel?

Kitase: I feel relieved that we were able to successfully approach both veteran fans who have been there since the beginning as well as new fans. I feel like right now, the expectations are even higher than before the game was released, and that gives us a lot of motivation to develop the next installment.

—Before the game was released, you mentioned that the hurdle that you needed to overcome was that of the player’s imagination that they have constructed in their minds for the Remake. After seeing the reception from the players post-release, do you feel that you have overcome that hurdle?

Kitase: Well, not just for me, but the power of the entire development staff combined was great. Most of them were fans from the beginning who also played the original game when it first came out. Thanks to that, they knew what kind of image fans probably had for the Remake, and I think we were able to overcome the hurdles that way.

—The game was released worldwide during a time when COVID-19 was affecting the entire world, but did that have any impacts on the game’s development? Also, before the game was released, promotional events were cancelled and the distribution of the game was also shipped ahead of schedule. There seemed to have been a lot of hard decisions to make depending on the situation…

Kitase: In terms of development, we only had the debugging phase left, which meant that the game was pretty much already complete, so there was not much impact from the virus. However, it was a pity that many promotional events were cancelled, and people were not able to really celebrate the release of the game. Luckily, through the means of the downloadable version, we were able to deliver some fun during a very stressful time where it was hard for people to even leave their homes. I hope that we were able to give them at least a moment of reprieve through the game.

—In regards to the FFVII Remake production, was there anything you were particular about?

Kitase: In the latter half of the story, there’s a scene where Cloud and Sephiroth have a confrontation. I wanted the scenery of that segment to show a starry sky that represents the overall themes of FFVII, and the art design team was able to bring that image to life.

Kitase: That’s all thanks to the careful attention that the Co-Directors Hamaguchi and Toriyama as well as the development staff put in making this game. I started game development ever since the Super Famicom console, so I’m used to the type of “cut” and “reuse” way of production. However, the new generation of games require a sense of reality, so that former way of developing games has become obsolete. The current generation of game development staff have that new type of conscience when creating games, so it’s thanks to their enthusiasm that we were able to make this possible.

—I’m sure that there are several younger development staff who never played the original FFVII, so were there any instances where there was a bit of a generation gap?

Kitase: Not really. But I guess when we wanted to give an example from a movie or something, we wouldn’t bring up a reference from an old movie that they probably wouldn’t know (laughs).

—Are there any elements from either the Original game or part of the Compilation that you wanted to make a reality or something that you wanted to have in the past game that was then added into this game?

Kitase: I suppose that would be making everything in 3D with a 360 degree scope of the world. Especially when you’re looking up into the sky of Midgar or looking down towards the slums, I’m really glad that we were able to give the city a sense of realism.

—As a gamer, was there anything in particular from FF7R that surprised or impressed you?

Kitase: This is connected with my answer to the previous question, but yes, being able to look above towards the sky from the slums, thinking “wow, you can see the sky after all!” For 23 years, I imagined the slums to be under a lot of pressure and cloaked in darkness. In the Remake, you can see a different side of the city during the day that you could not see in the original game, and I thought that was really fun.

—You were involved with the initial level design of the Sector 5 Mako Reactor from when the characters infiltrate the reactor to their escape, but were there any other parts that you also were involved in?

Kitase: I was also in charge of the initial stage level design for the scene at the top of the Shinra Building. The scene where Cloud is about to fall off the rooftop but is saved by Tifa is a callback and answer to the Sector 5 Mako Reactor scene where Tifa couldn’t save Cloud from falling.

Kitase: Director Nomura as well as Co-Director Hamaguchi and Toriyama hoped to be able to keep all the parts of the original that fans have come to love. However, we also wanted to add several surprises that would balance out the story too. I’m sure there are people who wish to experience the exact same story and relive memories. However, if we were to do that, then all we would be doing is just adding to the original experience, which would cause the Remake to lose its significance. I think that we were able to successfully revive the story by adding new elements for the new generation of a “New FFVII.”

—Lastly, is there anything you would like to say to the readers?

Kitase: The new FFVII’s story has only just begun. Please look forward to the story from here on out! --------- CO-DIRECTOR TORIYAMA MOTOMU INTERVIEW

—Now that the game has been released, how are you feeling?

Toriyama: I’m really glad that despite the abrupt change in lifestyle [due to COVID-19], this game is able to deliver entertainment to people around the world in the comfort of their own homes. There was some skeptism from fans when we announced before the release of the game that the FF7 Remake will only take place in Midgar, but because the game dug so deeply into the world of FF7, I was relieved to hear that a lot of people were extremely satisfied with the game.

Toriyama: We thought about how we can revive the entity of FFVII using the latest technology as well as capturing the richness of the original. The time it took to oversee one scene or area was great, and in order to do so, we needed much more staff than what we had back in the day. Each and every staff had their own things they were particular about, and we were able to find a balance and successfully craft this game.

—Since you were involved with the development of the game, was there anything you were concerned about?

Toriyama: Since we had to replace many things with a new portrayal, I was quite particular that the essence of FFVII still remained true throughout. I think that if you had played the original game too, you would know which parts were changed and which parts were left in. However, I wanted to make sure that the events of the Remake flowed in a natural way with both new and familiar elements that you can enjoy. I’m happy to know that the Remake is able to add an even more vivid experience to go along with your memories of FFVII.

—I’m sure that there are several younger development staff who never played the original FFVII, so were there any instances where there was a bit of a generation gap?

Toriyama: There are actually a lot of staff who have played the original FFVII and got the opportunity to work in this industry. There are also staff who are more versed in the original game than even the members of staff who worked on the original game, and many of those staff wanted to make an adaptation that kept faithful to the original. In terms of keeping things as traditional as possible, the staff who worked on the original game, myself included, had the notion of “making a new game that no one has ever seen before.” With that conscience in mind, we were able to decide the type of direction we wanted to go in the Remake.

Toriyama: In terms of music, FFVII is a rather cinematic series, but in the original game due to disc space and time restraints, we weren’t able to include a movie-worthy soundtrack. However, we were able to challenge ourselves with the Remake. We wanted to have specific songs that played throughout the entire game that would also go along with the scenes, so the Remake gave us a chance to be able to try this out. With this type of composing, we didn’t really have a specific detailed list, so we didn’t count exactly how many songs we created until we realized that the soundtrack itself would span to seven discs, making it a huge volume of songs (laughs).

—As a gamer, was there anything in particular from FF7R that surprised or impressed you?

Toriyama: After the game was released, I saw a gaming review website capture all the little details of various landscapes in the game, from the posters and billboards to the train time schedules, close inspections of the buildings, pretty much everything that showed the lifestyles of people living in Midgar. Although I’m glad that people were able to deeply observe the details we put in, I can’t help but see some flaws, so it kind of gives me pressure to make sure that the next installment will have even more perfected details (laughs).

—Compared to 23 years ago, from the addition of voices in conversations to a change of design, trends have changed. Was it difficult to achieve a balance of retaining the essence of the original game but still representing it for a new generation?

Toriyama: We wanted to have the game be fully voiced including the NPC within the city, so we were careful when putting in dialogue that would sound natural. We left in some funny lines spoken from the original game’s NPC too, but since there were way more NPCs in the Remake compared to the original, we made sure to find a good balance where those lines wouldn’t be buried among the other spoken dialogue.

Toriyama: For the Remake, the voice acting was added after we had finished creating the cutscenes, and I think that the character’s performance really shined through from the work that the actors and actresses have done that brought out each character’s charm. During recording, Barret had an unexpected continuity that we pushed further, and the results really brought out his character very well.

—In regards to seeing a brand new side of Cloud, the peak of it would probably be the dance sequence at the Honey Bee Inn. Was this scene planned from the beginning?

Toriyama: We strongly did not want to leave out Cloud’s crossdressing scene but instead wanted to create a concept that would make it stand out even more in the Remake. We decided to make Wall Market a huge entertainment district, and we were very enthusiastic in making the Honey Bee Inn even more of an entertainment hotspot in the Remake. I actually helped create the Honey Bee Inn for the original game, so it was easy for me to reimagine the place for the Remake. While still retaining some elements from the original, we were able to give it a huge makeover.

—The Shinra Mascot dog “Stamp” appears in various locations, even on a snack package blowing in the wind in towards the ending with Zack. Was the character of Stamp originally created in the beginning stages of development?

Toriyama: The dog Stamp is a very important symbol that was planned since the beginning. Stamp’s use was determined along with the game design. AVALANCHE also uses him as their symbol, so there is a good meaning to him that we included to have him stand out. However, the Stamp that appears in the scene with Zack is a different breed, so please pay attention to that.

—I was quite surprised that Chadley turned out to be what he was in the story, but who’s idea was it to create this character?

Toriyama: Chadley is a new character that was not in the original game, so it was the scenario team who decided on creating this character. There are a lot of contents regarding the game’s difficulty levels and clearing the battle reports, so we decided to have Cloud be able to encounter Chadley throughout the entire game. I haven’t finished clearing the HARD mode yet, but I hope that those who haven’t cleared everything yet can challenge themselves with this!

—The new character Roche left quite an impact, but he’s an eccentric one that only appears in Chapter 4 and nowhere else. What was the purpose of his character, and will he appear in the next installment?

Toriyama: We had initially drawn up a concept of having Roche appear at the last battle on the Midgar Highway, but we thought that he might ruin the serious mood of the ending sequence, so we scrapped that idea. We also thought to put him in as a boss battle in the Chapter 14 slums, but since you can’t really race around on a motorbike in the slums, we unfortunately could not make it work. Roche’s spontaneity is one of his character traits that stands out though, so there’s a high chance that he’ll appear in the next installment (laughs).

—In the Remake, the characters have a lot of banter when they’re walking around or fighting battles, and the dialogue is not always the same either. Did you oversee the types of conversations that were put in?

Toriyama: All scenarios were checked and supervised by me and Nojima-san. We actually had a lot more lines prepared in the script for dialogue spoken by characters in boss battles, but somewhere around the middle of production, we eventually cut out the frequency of giving out hints and instead left it to the players to think about what to do. This in turn caused us to cut a lot of dialogue out.

—Are there any specific episodes, scenes, or dialogue that you were interested in or wanted to include?

Toriyama: The AVALANCHE base at the bottom of Seventh Heaven in the original game was an interesting area that left an impression on me, but since Cloud is not very close with AVALANCHE in the Remake, we wanted to show that distance between them, which made us leave out that scene. Although I really wanted to have Barret punching that sandbag in the Remake, I had to restrain myself (laughs).

—Lastly, is there anything you would like to say to the readers?

Toriyama: Even though the first installment of the “FFVII Remake” has ended, the story has only just begun. While listening to the voices of the fans, we also hope to make the next installments something that would exceed your expectations. I personally also played the original game again after finishing the Remake. While waiting for the next installment, I hope you can enjoy the differences in the Remake’s portrayal of Midgar and also have fun imagining what kinds of things lie ahead in the next game too!

---------

CO-DIRECTOR HAMAGUCHI NAOKI INTERVIEW

—Now that the game has been released, how are you feeling?

Hamaguchi: I felt very relieved after seeing the user feedback after the game was released. I fully joined the development team for FF7R in 2017 when the fans had been waiting for this game for quite some time already. So I made it my mission to ensure that fans do not wait longer than 3 years for the completion of the game. FF7 is a game that many people have come to love, so there was a real sense of responsibility to carry, but even so, the development team staff is composed of people who are extremely passionate about FF7, so we were able to enjoy making this game while progressing on its development.

—Since you were involved with the development of the game, was there anything you were concerned about?

Hamaguchi: What was constantly said to the team was that we must “respect the original game.” We were not creating a new game that is only inspired by the characters and world of FFVII, but we strove to create a game where the elements of the original are remade using the latest game design and graphics, making it feel “nostalgic yet new.” If we were to stray far away from the source material, then people might think “this is not the FFVII that I know,” so we tried to follow the original story but added details that we could not add 20 years ago using the latest technology. With that, we were able to focus on enriching the story to create an experience that is still “the FFVII that l know, but with a lot more new things waiting to be discovered.”

Hamaguchi: The Remake was made possible by the enthusiasm from the entire staff. During the production of this game, the task division between the development staff was even more than another Final Fantasy numbered game. For example, a person in charge of location would usually be a level designer that would spend 2-3 years on a single location’s design, execution, and then implementation, and we had specific staff designated to work on all the locations as well. For battle parts, we had a single person in charge of 2-3 bosses at a time, and a level designers also oversaw everything from design to implementation. With this scheme, we were able to have each game designer focus on only the parts that they are designated with, which allowed them to be enthusiastic and particular with the production of their areas. However, because of this, each game designer felt very strongly of their work that they poured their all into, so in order to not lose satisfaction, wemade it a priority to view the contents as a whole within the team. By doing this, we were able to combine everyone’s vision into the end product.

—Without having the battle system be solely either a Command RPG or Action style, it must have been challenging to fuse the two together. During development, there must have been some trial and error to get it right, but was there any part that was specifically concerning or challenging?

Hamaguchi: One of the most particular parts was how we were going to incorporate the ATB Battle System. We didn’t want to incorporate a completely new battle style that was different than the original, so we were inspired by the original FF7’s ATB battle system to create a new and improved one that also works in real time. Of course, I’m sure that the action elements we added gives off a very fresh impression, but the root of the system is from the ATB battle system, allowing us to incorporate a sense of nostalgia to the battle system. The part we worked extremely hard on was how to fuse together action and command style elements. Many of the development team staff including myself have a long history working with command RPGs, so we are very confident with that type of battle style in that field. However, when we tried adding action elements in, there was a sense of discord within the battle system we had.

The part we were stuck on was that implementing a command system will cause the the user to have too much information in regards to fighting strategy, and that would only cause issues if we were also going to add real time action options too. When we were doing trial and error to figure out how to draw the line between how many action and command elements we could add, Battle Director Endou Teruki was able to join our team. He is extremely versed with action battle systems and how to develop them, so as soon as he saw what we had created, he immediately pointed out that we were lacking features in regards to the action elements of the battle system. Since we were having trouble figuring out a balance between the action and command elements, we couldn’t really answer what we were lacking since we just simply added in action elements, so we were not able to create a very refreshing experience. Luckily, Endou was able to concentrate on the action parts and balanced out the battle system with fast paced command RPG strategy as well as action elements, which is what you see in the finished product.

—In terms of creating an action battle system, I’m sure there were concerns about the increasing difficulty of that fighting style. For those who are not fond of action battle systems, there’s also the option of “CLASSIC Mode,” but was there anything else you were particularly conscious about?

Hamaguchi: For those who only wanted to enjoy the game’s story, we implemented EASY Mode, for those who wanted to enjoy the command RPG style of fighting, we also created the CLASSIC mode, so there are different play styles you can choose from. Since the “CLASSIC mode” was something we tried for the first time, we were excited to hear the reactions of the players, and I think the reviews have been favorable. We heard comments from users who enjoyed the Normal mode’s difficulty level but in the CLASSIC mode style, so we will refer to their feedback in the future as well.

—Since the game’s release, I’m sure that most people have viewed the battle system in a very favorable light. What do you think about the reactions that you have seen thus far?

Hamaguchi: We feel that we have delivered the exact type of battle experience that users can accept. I think this is thanks to the way we were able to create a system that not only reimagines the ATB battle system in real time form, but we also pays homage to the Command RPG style, which leaves a sense of nostalgia while giving a fresh new experience to the battle style. I’m sure there are a lot of people who are interested in what kind of battle system we have in store for the next installment too. We would like the battle system to be even more customizable with more action and command strategies that users can curate into their own playing style, giving an even newer experience, so please look forward to that!

—It seems that the level cap at 50 has some limitations in regards to your status attributes and range, and since various weapons have their own strengths, it seems like you put thought into balancing out battles. In regular RPGs, characters grow and their weapons become stronger, but it feels like this was done in moderation. Was this balance something that the development team had planned from the beginning?

Hamaguchi: When we were stuck on how to create the battle system, we made changes to optimize the balance of the battle system. We wanted a balance that also incorporated the original FF7’s customizable options with materia, and Battle Director Endou also had the same thoughts. However, if we allowed players to get as many materia as they would like, then they could technically give the same set of materia to each character, which would defeat the purpose of giving each character their own unique abilities. Thus, we decided to put limits on the amount of attributes you can have. Moreso than putting a moderation on gaining strength, we wanted players to have fun with the strategies that they could incorporate by using different materia or weapons. If you were to redo a battle, you could try other ways of setting up your weapons and materia to create a stress free battle, and I thought that was an important function to have.

—Boss battles within the game have different stages where the attacks or field changes, such as the Sword Dance battle that splits between two parties during the fight. Was this concept of having battles be set up in different stages as the fight progressed something that was decided during the beginning of production?

Hamaguchi: That’s right. I told the team during the beginning that boss battles would be executed out in phases. Many of the bosses within each chapter contain some of the most exciting reveals, so we wanted players to be able to feel immersed within the story even through the boss battles. In order to do that, we constructed each boss battle to have several different phases where the battle strategy changes and also focuses on the story at the same time. We also paid attention to the party structure. In particular, we spent a lot of time and effort to solidify the party structure during the battle with Sephiroth. The battle with the Whisper Harbinger that leads to the climax fight with Sephiroth is one that changes automatically as does the structure of the party you are fighting with, so the protagonists need to work together in order to challenge their own fate.

However, we felt that if we were to do the same type of structure during Sephiroth’s battle, then it might become tedious to the player. For example, if we were to take away one of the protagonists out of the four, then the fans of that protagonist might feel let down. Because of that, we decided that the characters who join you during the Sephiroth battle will depend on how you fought during the Whisper Harbinger battle. However, in order to do this, we would have to create a ton of cutscenes depending on the order that the characters appear in, and even now I remember the look on the cutscene team member’s faces when I proposed the idea and the blank stares that I received (laughs). Because the Final Fantasy Series is one that is known for having a large amount of cutscenes, I am really grateful for the cutscene team member’s assistance in not just the Sephiroth battle scene, but for working so hard on all cutscenes within the series too.

—There are weapons, accessories, materia, and items that were added into the Remake that were not present in the original game, but was there any particular reason for doing this?

Hamaguchi: Right before the game went gold, I actually made an absurd request to the team to add the “Pedometer” materia. You get this materia at the start of Chapter 14, and since you’re there to help people out with odds and ends within the Sector 5 and Sector 6 slums, you would need to walk around the areas a lot. Since you had visited these areas within Chapter 8 and Chapter 9 already, there wouldn’t be many changes, so I thought to give players a reason for walking around these places again by adding in this materia. I actually originally called the materia the “Step” materia, but I noticed that Toriyama changed the name to the “Pedometer” materia instead (laughs). I was reminded of it again when I saw the strategy book refer to that name.

—Is there any specific monster enemy or battle (whether it be within the Colosseum or Battle Simulator) that piqued your interest?

Hamaguchi: The “Level 7 Top Secret Battle” has quite a shock factor. The person in charge of battle planning asked me, “Does it make sense for Bahamut to summon Ifrit?” Since they are fighting in a virtual reality, it wouldn’t be a problem, so I answered “Yeah, go for it!” without thinking too much about it. However, when I was doing a play check for the difficulty level of the battle, I remember being shocked (laughs). When that happens, you’d probably panic and think that you should defeat Ifrit first, but it’s actually more advantageous to focus on attacking Bahamut instead. This battle was the most difficult one for me and left quite an impression.

—I’m sure that there are several younger development staff who never played the original FFVII, so were there any instances where there was a bit of a generation gap?

Hamaguchi: Since the original game was so widely loved by fans everywhere, there were a lot of younger staff members who were scared of making changes. On the other hand, Producer Kitase wanted big changes (laughs). Nomura and I saw the Remake as an homage to the original game, so if we were to change anything, we made sure that it would be something planned with a specific reason that fans could accept.

—Did you have any ideas or wishes that you were entertaining by yourself that was then made a reality in this game?

Hamaguchi: It’s not something I was entertaining for a while, but having an automatic weapon growth system was something that I focused on before working on FF7R since I was on the development team for the “Mobius Final Fantasy” game, which left a strong impression on me. Since a smartphone game operates in a way that you return to it on a daily basis, lots of things are automated as much as possible to create a smooth experience. There’s also a card synthesis system within the game that allows for an automated way to synthesize your cards, so that was a point that I thought would be nice to have in FF7R where weapons could automatically level up as well. I’m always thinking about the consumer side when developing games, and being able to see customer reactions in real time, such as when I was developing smartphone games, gave me an environment to try out a lot of ideas I had. I think that was a great experience for me.

—As a gamer, was there anything in particular from FF7R that surprised or impressed you?

Hamaguchi: Although I myself was involved too, I’m still very impressed that we were able to successfully create a game from start to finish without making compromises to any of the large amount of data we had. This is all thanks to not only Nomura, Toriyama, and other directors such as me, but also to the game designers, graphics team, sound team, system staff, and more. All of us had various responsibilities as creators, and it’s because of the best efforts of everyone that we were able to make this game possible. I’m personally very excited to make the next game with the same team members again!

—FFVII Remake is highly praised as a game with amazing quality with the latest technology, but was there anything that was challenging or something that you did not personally oversee but was still impressed with the outcome?

Hamaguchi: Seeing the world of FFVII open up through its story is one of the highlights that makes the game so enjoyable, but the user experience and story immersion could be greatly impacted with too many loading screens and wait times. We therefore kept a technical eye on the loading system since the beginning. In order to do this, we aligned the data with each situation so that it could simultaneously load, which allowed us to not have the loading screen appear during the middle of the chapter. During the last cutscene of each chapter, the next chapter’s data would already be loading in the background, which allowed for the load screen between chapters to also be as short as possible. We also added tips to read on the load screen, but because the loading times are so short, it’s also difficult to read all of them. It made me cry out with joy!

—Lastly, is there anything you would like to say to the readers?

Hamaguchi: The first installment of the “FFVII Remake Project” was centered around Midgar, and we strived to recreate a Midgar that you could not experience in the original story, showcasing the hustle and bustle of the lives of the people there as well as the environment. The next installment will then shift to the other parts of the world since the characters have escaped from Midgar in the story. We hope to create a game that allows you to experience the charm and allure of the world of FFVII from the various lives of the people as well as the environments that will be present. Production for the next installment is already under way, and our team is putting their all into the advancement of the game. Although there is still a wait, we hope that you can look forward to what we have in store!

#final fantasy 7 #ff7r #final fantasy 7 remake #ff7 #final fantasy vii remake #ffvii #final fantasy #cloud #aerith #tifa #barret #red xiii #reno #rude #tseng #rufus #my translations

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vanchlo · 4 years

Text

Green Eyes

*Thanks so much for reading! c: There are now several parts you can read here: 2 3 4

I’m so happy to share that I won a fiction writing award for this short story through my college’s art journal! c:

Blurb Synopsis: You had been subbing for Mr. Styles for the last couple of months, but you’ve yet to meet him. The notes you leave for each other have sparked a friendship, leading you to want more, and you wonder if he does too.

Genre: Teacher Harry, lots of fluff, friendship, and maybe even some romance? ;)

Warnings: None

Word Count: 5.5k words

Pairing: Harry x Reader

Music Inspo: Green Eyes by Coldplay (click to listen)

His shelves were full of F. Scott Fitzgerald, Rumi, and Charles Bukowski. His desk was covered in scribbled Post-It notes, Bit-O-Honey wrappers, and empty mugs of tea.

This is what you noticed the first few times you subbed in his classroom.

These were the only details you knew about the man whose face you’ve never seen. As you gradually began to substitute for his high school English classes more and more, you learned about him more. This was due to his students, and his personal belongings.

What he didn’t and didn’t like: all the way from no fringes on a notebook paper, no red pen ever because that was his grading color, no using the word ‘can’t’ in his class, and students can eat all the snacks they want as long as the trash goes in the bin where it belongs.

The CDs in a stack on the shelf told you which ones he actually listened to because they were the ones that were on top and without dust.

You learned that the pristine book on his desk was never the one he was reading. No, it was the weathered and used copy beside his mug with dog-eared pages and penciled notes.

His drawers told you another story with their contents: boxes of teas ranging from peach to vanilla macaron, journals filled to the brim with words, adult coloring books with tv show themes, and books on Van Gogh and Monet hinting at his artsy background. His students slowly warmed up to you, and through them, so did he.

At this point, you’d only been subbing for Mr. Styles the last five months, racking up around two and a half weeks worth of subbed days. He always left precise and concise lesson plans for you. The books were where he said they’d be. The webpages he mentioned were bookmarked on his desktop. The teacher copy of the textbook and current group book were on his desk. At the beginning, his desk looked like a professional organizer had gotten their hands on it. Slowly, as you came to sub more for him, it grew messier, albeit you kept it tidy during your appearances. As the first few months passed and you became one of the few subs in his room, you started to find notes. They weren’t just any notes. They were more than the straight forward sub notes for the day’s agenda. No, they weren’t that simple. You can still remember the first one you found on a Post-It note - it went like this:

Y/N, peanut butter on your waffles or syrup?

It took you by surprise, but nonetheless, you answered his call. Each time, you’d find a contrasting pen color and scrawl your answer underneath his. Then leaving it somewhere he would find it the next day. They were one-liners at the beginning, and always interesting. Walking to his classroom from your car on those mornings, you’d fill with excitement at the anticipation of finding the next one. Sometimes it took you the entire day to find where he had hidden them.

In the closet.

In a nook in a drawer.

Under the chair.

On the backside of one of his books.

Hidden in plain sight amongst his current choice of notes and lists.

They never failed to spark a smile on your lips, whether it was quirky, confused, astounded or humored.

Guitar or piano?

FRIENDS or The Simpsons?

Vanilla or Chocolate?

Would you rather become a superhero or a wizard?

The Beatles or the Rolling Stones?

Slowly, the questions became more personal, and more than just ‘this or that.’ His questions became longer, and so did your answers.

What was the moment that made you decide to become a teacher?

Is Donny a good student for you, or is he lying to me about that?

What color are your eyes?

What book/film do you believe had the largest impact on you while growing up?

What is the one meal you always order at a restaurant?

Do you have a family?

Should I splurge and buy a new desk chair?

What book should I buy for my classroom you think I need to have? Why?

Why don’t you have a classroom of your own?

When is your birthday?

Star Wars or Lord of the Rings?

They were never a chore for you, or tedious. No, they were fun and you felt as if you saw a little sliver of who he really was with each note. After a while, you started to write and leave your own notes for him to answer. At first, many of them were similar to ones he had left you, because you wanted to hear his responses, too.

The newest one stares back at you, his half-cursive registering in your eyes.

What’s your favorite part about subbing in my classroom? Don’t say the students, that’s what everybody says.

Giggling to yourself, you reach over to his Pink Floyd mug to pull out a green pen. You take a moment to think of your answer. This time you found the note peeking out from behind the smart whiteboard. The sounds of the end of a school day tickle at your ears as you scribble down your answer. Pressing it to an open square of wood on his desk, you turn back to the royal blue pad of Post-Its. Peeling one off, the green pen hovers over the paper, but you can’t get yourself to write the question you’ve been wanting to know all along.

He didn’t have a Facebook, or an Instagram.

The high school doesn’t have a wall of staff pictures like others you’ve subbed at do.

It’s late winter, so yearbooks are still a ways off.

For all you know, you could have seen him here before in the halls when you subbed in another classroom.

Exhaling, you press the pen to the paper before you can convince yourself to stop. Unlike the many times before when your fears got the best of you.

What do you look like?

With a proud but nervous smile you stick it to the desk, layering the first note on top. It sticks to your lips as you bend down to reach your hand into your bag. The glossy bag greets your hand, and you pull it out to set down beside the note.

A small bag of Bit-O-Honeys.

Looking up, your eyes scan the empty classroom. Few footsteps, voices, and lockers slamming trickle in from the halls. You suddenly realize that this is the same view he sees, these are the same sounds he hears, and the same place he sits in every day. Well, when he’s not away on personal days, sick days, on holiday, and at workshops, hence your appearances. The thought knits something together inside of you, making you feel just that bit more closer to him. Something that’s been slowly happening over time since you first stepped foot in his classroom.

One of the first things that did this was the posters scattered across his walls. A poster from the 2013 remake of The Great Gatsby, The Beatles’ Abbey Road album cover, a cartoon of William Shakespeare, a unifying print of Keith Haring’s art, and several posters of quotes from famous books - To Kill A Mockingbird, the Kite Runner, Of Mice and Men, The Life of Pi, and even The Hunger Games. It delighted you watching him add some of them to the walls since your time here, and you’ve been itching to purchase him one as a gift. You’re unsure of what he would like though, and the fear of failure has held you back from doing so.

A bleep! catches your attention. Casting your eyes to the dormant desktop screen, you wiggle the mouse. A red circle has appeared on the title of a tab opened to your professional email. Clicking over to it from a YouTube video he had you show the class, you find you have a new message. At the sight of who sent it, your heart skips a beat: harry.styles@isd . . . . . . .

Hi. I reckon you’re still sitting at my desk this moment, now that’s a funny thought. I wanted to ask you a question while I remembered. I have to go out of town on Friday for a funeral. Believe me, I wouldn’t go if I didn’t have to, but these things are a must. I apologize for it being short notice, but I thought I’d ask you if you would like to take it before I posted it to the sub database. Please let me know either way by tonight, so it has a few days to sit on the website to be claimed. Also, I wanted to say thanks for everything you do. My students really love you, and it makes me wonder what I’m missing. Enjoy your night!

Sincerely,

Harry Styles

“Keep your face always toward the sunshine - and shadows will fall behind you. - WW”

A smile warms your cheeks as you finish reading his words, and the familiar poem that ends every email of his. You quickly type up a response to him, agreeing to take the job on Friday, thanking him for thinking of you. A new email appears in your inbox shortly after from another colleague, which occupies you before you lose yourself in your thoughts again.

Perhaps your favorite addition in his classroom is the Fender acoustic sitting on a stand in the corner. Of course, you’ve yet to see it move in the last five months. The stories his students have told you in a way have given it legs of its own in your mind. Much like the little notes you’ve been leaving for each other, something you dread ever ending.

It was a Wednesday. You’re convinced that Mrs. Watson’s Pre-Calc class is surely the bane of your existence. You keep cursing yourself for taking sub assignments for math classes. Seeing that you’re terrible at the subject, you vowed you’d never take one of her assignments again, but you have to pay the bills somehow. You found your respite in the cozy staff lounge. Couches lined two of the walls, along with an arrangement of tables on the other side of the room.

As you walk in, you see that one of the ancient history teachers has nodded off again on the plaid couch. Otherwise, the room is empty, and all to yourself. If that didn’t make you happy before, the assortment of food on the counter definitely does.

Voices float in through the open door as the plastic lid to the cupcakes opens with a pop!

“Ah, looks like ya got tha last chocolate one. I was savin’ that one fer me,” a voice comments from behind you. Turning, you find a tall man in his late 20’s walking towards you.

“Oh, I’m sorry, you can have it,” you volunteer, holding the blue-iced cupcake out for his taking.

His blush lips curl up with an amused smile. Dimples fall neatly into his cheeks covered with thick stubble. Its deep brown color matches that of the short quiffed curls atop his head. Misty green eyes stare back at you in the middle of his round, but sharp face. “‘m only joking. Go ahead and have it. I already had one earlier. They’re quite good actually, but I dunno ‘bout tha vanilla. Never really cared fer tha flavoir when it comes t’ cake and ice cream,” he comments, passing you to stop at the nearby sink.

“Yeah, I like to forget vanilla exists half of the time,” you remark, peeling away the paper liner of the cupcake.

Leaning against the counter, you watch as his ringed hand grabs a red coffee mug from the cabinet. “So do I. ‘s ratha boring, if I do say so meself.”

Nodding to yourself, a silence follows your words. The sweetness of the cupcake is shocking when you take a bite. It makes you wonder how you devoured these sugar bombs as a child. A few beeps and a hum from the microwave echo throughout the room as you check your phone.

“Y’know, I haven’t seen ya here at tha school befo’. Are ya new dis year or a sub?” he asks, bringing your eyes back to his lean figure. He pulls a yellow square packet from his tight-fitting black slats, a blush button-down tucked into its waist.

“I started subbing here this year,” you answer before taking another bite of the cupcake. Half of it consists of the sickeningly sweet frosting that makes your teeth ache.

“Mmmm I see. How d’ya like it so far? Are ya a new teacher, ‘s that why yer subbin’?”

“Yeah, I went back to school kinda late in the game after doing something else. I figure I’d sub for a little bit for some experience, because what’s another year of waiting by this time?” you comment, observing how he fiddles with his black tie while searching in the refrigerator.

“Well, congratulations. ‘s a big step t’ go back t’ school fer sumthin’ ya love. ‘s a good profession, I reckon. I’ve been teaching fer 7 years, and here at dis school fer 5. Sumtimes schools even hire subs they’ve had when a position opens, so keep yer eyes open,” he tells you, turning to you with a smile, a yogurt in his hand.

“Thank you,” you say sincerely, returning the smile. “I appreciate the vote of confidence.”

“Sure thing. I know it helped loads when I was a newbie. ‘ll see ya around, I gotta get back t’ class befo’ me students do first. Have a good one!”

Walking towards you with the steaming cup of tea in his hands, he pats your arm with his other hand on the way out. Nodding at your ‘thank you’, a small ‘you’re welcome’ falls from his lips before the door closes behind him. Eating the last bite you can muster of the cupcake, you toss its remains in the bin. A thought worms its way into your mind as you sit down at the table.

Wow, I wonder who that guy was? And is he married, because shit, he was handsome.

The smell of orange essential oil greets you when you stepped foot into his classroom the next time. The state of his desk made you frown, and made you want to scratch the itch to clean it. You resisted it and didn’t, and that thought was taken away when his students began to find their desks.

Another day of 7 classes came and went. 2 classes of Introduction to Creative Writing. 3 classes of American Literature. 2 classes of World Literature. Amusing YouTube videos broke up the monotony of your day, and those of his students. The lesson notes he left for you had become more concise as the months have passed, and as you learned from each other. The same couldn’t be said for the dish of Bit-O-Honeys on his desk that he’s kept stocked for your appearances. You’re just glad he’s put the bag you left for him to good use. All throughout your day you had been looking for his newest note, but this time it wasn’t in any of his usual spots. After correcting some quizzes from today, you finally found it in the bottom left-hand drawer of his mahogany desk. Stuck to a tall can of Coke, your favorite drink of choice.

I’m sorry it’s warm, although I’m not sure how you like to drink it. I just find warm soda to be rather nasty. The answer to your question is I have green eyes, brown hair, I’m rather tall, and I like to dress up. Is that good enough for you? Now, what do you look like, love?

Your insides melt at the sight of his answer, but then you groan at the vagueness of it. Off the top of your head, you know there are at least 10 male teachers here at this school with brown hair, maybe more. Maybe even with green eyes, too, and you know that because you’ve seen them in the staff lounge or in the halls. The thought only grows worse when you lose count of how many teachers there are here at this school. Let’s just say, there’s a lot. Yeah, that sure helps a whole lot. Annoyed, you pluck a pen from the green mug and answer his question with as little detail as possible. Two can play at this game, you think to yourself as you sigh.

If you could have a jam session with any musician, dead or alive, who would it be?

Sticking the new note where its corner peeks out from under his tabletop calendar, your eyes return to the Coke. It’s undeniable, you feel a little less perturbed at him just at the sight of it. Only a little bit, that is. Sure, you’ve subbed for a countless number of teachers at this school, and more so in this school district. A few of them are even friends or relatives of yours, but you’d never connected with one before like you have with Harry. You just wish more than anything you could find out what he looks like and what he’s really like. Continuing to take his sub jobs doesn’t really help with that. It only drives you crazier wanting to know the other side of this fascinating human being.

There he was, snoring on the couch again, tv remote in hand. The weather channel is playing, surprising you very little. Snickering, you yank open the door to the black refrigerator. After retrieving your striped black and blue lunchbox, you place the container of leftovers in the microwave. A laugh is heard over your shoulder, and when you turn, you find Green Eyes from the other day.

Tittering as the door closes behind him, he says, “No fail, John ‘s always passed out on dat couch, I swear.”

“I know, it’s every time I’m here. Maybe he should just retire already so he can take his naps at home. Then maybe we could watch something on the tv for once,” you comment, shaking your head. Unpacking your lunch box, you take out a clementine, vanilla yogurt, and silverware.

“Nah, he loves it too much. I don’t see him leavin’ anytime soon,” he remarks, walking past you to search the shelves of the fridge. “What’re we having’ t’day? Couldn’t find any cupcakes dis time?”

“No, those ones were too sweet anyways. They gave me a stomachache,” you complain with a grimace. The beeeeep! of the microwave interrupts your thoughts.

“Mmmm, I dunno, I thought they were pretty good.” Rubbing his tummy, he pulls a breathy laugh from your lips.

Your steaming container of leftovers almost burns your hands, and you dread trying to eat it within the next 10 minutes. Setting up for a lesson in Mr. Harrison’s classroom was a pain, making you wonder why you take any sub jobs besides Harry’s anymore.

“No free food fer us t’day,” he pouts beside you, closing the fridge door before venturing to the vending machine in the corner. Your eyes drift to his outfit choice today - a white button-down topped with a buttoned vest the shade of ochre, all tucked into brown slacks.

“That’s why you pack a lunch. I thought you’d know the drill by now, since you said you’ve been teaching for a while.”

“I do, but sumtimes I forget. Yer already ahead o’ me with dat part, love,” he who doesn’t have a name answers with a short laugh. Sliding a leather wallet from his pocket, you see him type in a number before you sit down at the table. “Who are ya subbin’ fer t’day then?”

“I’m on the west side in the Science wing for Harrison. Bloody Bio.”

“Ugh, I neva cared fer science. Where were ya a few weeks ago when I last saw ya?” he questions, sliding out a chair across from you. An assortment of vending machine food hits the table with a slap - peanut M&M’s, a nutrigrain bar, and a bag of Sun Chips.

“Upstairs in Watson’s Maths class. Remind me to never sub for her again, because I can’t understand Pre-Calc for the life of me. I never could in high school so I don’t know why I thought I could know,” you chuckle. A warmth fills your cheeks at the sight of his lips spreading into an amused smile.

“Yeah, I neva cared fer Maths meself eitha. Numbas neva made a bit o’ sense t’ me, words were always betta,” he explains. You nod along with his words, your mouth occupied with a bite of spaghetti and meatballs. “What subject would ya like t’ teach once tha year’s ova an’ ya go searchin’ fer a job o’ yer own?”

“Um, probably something in English since that’s my focus area. Dabbling in History has been fun, though. I enjoy learning about it myself, and I always have a better time subbing in either of those classes,” you reveal.

“I see,” he replies, his head going up and down. The crinkling of the granola bar wrapper fills the silence between you before he takes a bite. Crumbs pepper his chin, but he wipes them away from his thin beard. “How often d’ya sub here then?”

“I’d say probably 3 days a week typically, but some weeks are 4. Otherwise, I sometimes sub for a friend or somebody I know over at the middle school.”

“Ah, so yer license is sumthin’ like 8 - 12, ‘s it?” he inquires, picking up the black mug you hadn’t noticed he had.

“Yeah, I thought that would give me a good range for those grades. With my experience now, I think I’d like to stay at the high school level though,” you continue, twirling you fork around in the noodles covered in tomato sauce. Crossing your legs, the satiny fabric of your black dress pants moves with you.

“We could always use anotha good teacher here. Ya neva know what’ll happen,” he smiles, standing to his feet with his snacks held in his large hand. Returning his smile, he adds his mug to that hand, patting your back once on his way out. “See ya next time, love. Keep yer head up, it’ll get betta.”

“Thanks,” you automatically respond with. When you go to say his name, you’re lost for words, because you suddenly remember you’ve never gotten it. Now, he’s already too far away to ask for it.

Shrugging your shoulders, you stab a meatball with your fork, wondering when the next time will be that you’ll see him again. Because, he sure is nice to look at, and he’s nicer to you than anybody else here.

Stevie Nicks or John Lennon, it’s a tough call. Okay, I’m doing two questions from now on, because you ask such good ones :( Who would you jam with then? Question #2: What was the last concert you went to?

This time, you found the Post-It before the school day even started. It was on the seat of his chair, making you think he wanted you to find it right away. You’re thinking maybe he remembered one of the last times you complained about how hard he had made it. Sometimes you worry about how excited you get to look for these each time you sub in his classroom, but then you remember it’s only once every few weeks.

That can’t hurt, can it?

That day the hallways were louder than they usually were after school. You attributed that to the boys’ semifinals basketball game set to be played tonight in the gymnasium. The school’s home team against a nearby rival school. Students couldn’t stop talking about it all day, and many of them shared they’d be sticking around after school to attend. Checking your watch, you note that you should have enough time to stop at home to eat dinner before coming back for it. Even though you hadn’t even known about it before today.

The Sufjan Stevens song floating from his desktop fills the room as you get out books for tomorrow. Your hands are full with copies of The Kite Runner, making you feel grateful again to Harry- Mr. Styles for picking a decent classic for the class to read. Although you’d only read it a few years ago yourself, and it broke your heart, you’re excited to sub next time to help his World Lit class with it.

“Oh hey, be careful there, yer gonna slip and fall with all o’ those,” somebody says from behind you, distracting you from your mission of bringing the pile of books from the closet to a desk.

Don’t I know that voice? Turning your eyes to the doorway, you find Green Eyes walk in with a coat slung over his arm. Wait a second.

“I-I’m fine,” you stutter, but your actions that follow negate your words. Your eyes run over his familiar features, and slowly the puzzle pieces start to click in your head. Harry? A thought bomb explodes in your head, and the books tumble from your arms. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

“Yer okay,” he murmurs, stopping in front of you. Kneeling down, you both begin to pick up the books, stacking them on top of each other. “Thanks for gettin’ me set up fer t’morrow though. I appreciate it.”

“Mmmhmm,” is all you can say, because any words that want to come out can’t get past the lump in your throat. One that’s there because of the realization you just had.

Green Eyes and Harry are the same person.

How did I not figure this out sooner?

“So, ya must be Y/N, huh?” he giggles, his head bent down as he helps you pick up the books.

“Y-Yeah, surprise,” you admit, and your laugh soon joins his. Before you know it, the both of you can’t stop laughing.

“Here,” you hear him say. Looking up, you find him standing in front of you holding his hand out for you to take. A cozy looking maroon sweater covers his upper half, and blue jeans don the rest. “Fancy meetin’ you here,” he jokes in between laughs.

“You’re right about that,” you answer, taking his hand. He helps you to your feet where you smooth down the violet skirt of your dress. “I can’t believe I didn’t connect the dots.”

“Yer not tha only one, love,” Harry comments, bending over to grab a stack of books. He begins to set one on each desk as he walks down the aisles of them. “But I s’pose there wasn’t any way t’ know.”

“Yeah, I couldn’t find you on Facebook,” you confess, cursing yourself for the slip up a few seconds later. Lifting your head from the book you just set on a desk, you find his amused eyes on you across the room.

“Ah, so ya were stalkin’ me, were ya?” he smirks, his delightful laugh following his words.

“No, I wasn’t! You’re just one of the only colleagues I’ve subbed for who I’ve never met, or like don’t know what they look like.”

Your small stack soon disappears and when you return to the pile at the back of the room, he does too.

“So, what d’ya think? Are ya disappointed then?”

“No,” you say automatically, lifting your eyes to his green ones that land on you. His cheeks lined with a thick, neat beard crease with dimples as he smiles at you.

“Neither am I . . . . Ms. Vance Joy fan,” he returns, holding your gaze. The sincerity in his words gets under your skin, going straight to your heart. The sarcastic joke inside of them makes you giggle.

Clearing your throat, you look away with what you’re sure are blushing cheeks. Most likely, an entire blushing face. “What are you doing here, anyways, if you were gone for the day?”

“I can’t miss me boys’ big game, a few o’ me students are on tha team. I thought I’d catch up on sum emails and grading befo’hand, but didn’t know ya’d still be here.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I was just leaving, anyways,” you mutter, your movements stilling.

“I didn’t mean it dat way, love. ‘m glad we finally met, it was about time, anyways,” Harry insists, and you nod before continuing to place a book at each desk. “Hey wait, you said you were short and all plain in yer note. No, yer not, ya fibber.”

“Oh like your description was any more accurate,” you scoff lightheartedly, setting down a book before grabbing another from your dwindling stack.

His rich laugh meets your ears, and you can’t resist looking over to him. “Ya didn’t give yerself enough credit, ya know,” he almost coos, and you swear your heart melted into a puddle right then and there. That’s if it hadn’t done so already when you realized he’s Green Eyes. Swoon.

It’s hard to hold back the excitement curling at the edge of your lips. Soon, you run out of books again and when you take a peek at him, so has he.

“Were ya gonna go?” he questions, and you deal him one when you look at him confused. “T’ tha game, I mean.”

Your body feels like jello, and that any move you make would be sloppy. Embarrassing. That’s the last thing you want to look like in front of him. With his dazzling smile, adorably dimpled cheeks, and the cozy vibes he’s giving off. Not to mention, the clean citrus scent wafting off of him. A smell you certainly would be okay with smelling for hours on end. If only.

“Well bloody Rob around tha corner bailed on me, so I have an extra ticket now. Would ya like t’ join me? I was thinkin’ o’ grabbin’ a sub from ‘round tha corner befo’. Concession food ‘s always too expensive, and never worth tha lines at halftime,” Harry suggests, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jeans. One corner of his mouth climbs up his cheek, making you feel like maybe you’re not alone in these jumbled feelings. Or in the fun you’ve had carrying on this blind relationship with him.

“Yeah, that sounds like fun. Maybe we could get to know each other a little better than the few words Post-It notes can hold.”

Slowly, the other corner of his lips curls upwards, making the dimple fall into his cheek once again. Nodding, his lips split into a full-fledged smile, singing with a chuckle. “I’d really like that,” he reveals before venturing to the door and shutting off the light. Extending an arm, he waves a hand towards himself.

“Hold on, let me get my things.”

“No rush. ’s not like ‘ve waited seven months fer dis or anythin’,” he quips. By now, you’re certain your face resembles a tomato. You hope that in the muted light, perhaps he won’t notice.

Hurriedly, you slip on your light coat and drape your bag over your shoulder. Your eyes catch something as you’re tucking your phone in your pocket. Grabbing one last thing, you turn to find him watching you from the lit doorway.

“What?” he wonders aloud, still with that smile etched onto his face. One you’re fairly sure you could get used to seeing.

“Here,” you tell him, placing the Post-It note in his palm. His fingers dotted with dark hairs brush against you, just for a second longer than need be.

“Ah, can’t forget dis now. Important stuff here.”

“Indeed,” you note, stifling a laugh as the sarcasm floats in the air.

You observe his eyes flit across the paper holding your cursive as your steps echo down the empty hallway.

“Hmmm, funny. It says ‘would you like to meet up sometime’ on here,” Harry reads, casting his twinkling eyes to you. Green eyes. “I was jus’ ‘bout t’ ask ya tha same thing on me next note. But I had sumthin’ that woulda took tha cake fer sure.”

“What’s that?” you remark, wondering how that could be. Those thoughts fly out the window when you feel his arm come around your shoulder. A squeal sounds inside of your head, but hey, at least that’s far less embarrassing than doing it out loud.

“I was gonna tell ya dat Tracy across tha hall from me ‘s leavin’ afta dis year, and I may have recommended a certain sumbody t’ tha principal t’ replace her,” Harry hums, a knowing glint dancing in his eyes as they hover over you. “What d’ya say t’ bein’ colleagues instead o’ bein’ me sub?”

“I think I could get used to that,” you answer, letting your smile take over your entire face.

“So could I, love. So could I.”

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