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yehet-me-up · 4 years

Text

Fractions of Tomorrow

Pairing: Zitao/Reader (female)

Word Count: 10,249

Rating/Warnings: PG13

Summary: They always say opposites attract but you and Tao are putting that theory to the test. He works nights at Flanagan’s, you work the crack of dawn shift at Starbucks. He wears leather jackets, sings in a rock band, and drives a motorcycle. You prefer Keds to Chucks, study poetry at UW, and ride a pastel purple bike across town. Luckily, he’s not someone who’s afraid of a challenge.

When Baekhyun dares you and Tao to test the idea that two people can fall in love in one night you don’t expect to care so much, so fast. And when the sun rises all you can hope is that he feels the same.

Part seven of the Exodus Mall series (Can be read independently, but you’ll get some extra backstory if you read the other parts first!)

February 28, 1997

His head aches, body still reeling from the alcohol he drank far too much of the night before. The line at Starbucks is endlessly long and he groans. If he was responsible he’d go to the grocery across the street and get a decent breakfast. But his brain needs a substitute for the gin he was coerced into last night by his friends and it will only accept caffeine as an offering.

A saccharine song pours in from the speakers and people around him clear their throats or rustle in their pockets and the sheer noise of the morning grates against him. He’s a creature of the night; he finds other humans far more tolerable without the sun beating down on him. Only desperation pulled him from his hangover to acquire the nectar of the gods. He taps his foot and shrugs his jacket further up his body, hoping the collar will keep the bright light pouring in from the tall windows from reaching him.

A sweet voice breaks through the din and he turns to watch you, drawn by the warmth of the sound. It’s not his first time here, but it’s his first time paying attention. In the thriving ecosystem of the Exodus Mall everyone’s a friend of a friend of a cousin of someone and he distantly remembers you’re related to one of Baekhyun’s friends.

Maybe it’s the way early mornings after late nights distort the world, making everything feel hazy like a dream. Maybe it’s the fact that he went home alone last night, yet again. Maybe it’s the bright, energetic shine in your eyes, astounding for the pre-eight-am time. Or maybe it’s the dimple in your cheek when you smile at the customer, writing his name on the cup and passing it to your co-workers.

When the man moves aside and you turn your focus on Tao, for whatever reason, his intuition tells him to notice. Maybe it’s an illusion, but today feels different. You feel different.

‘Hi, welcome to Starbucks. What can I get you?’

He opens his mouth, unsure what to say. For a long beat he simply observes you. The little hearts drawn around your name on your name tag. He rolls it around in his mind, matching your face with the word, almost saying it aloud. A dangerous proposition. A door he should leave shut.

Someone coughs behind him and he shakes his head, stepping forward. ‘Just a big Americano please. As big as possible.’ His voice is thick and his throat dry. One day he’ll remember to drink a glass of water before bed after getting drunk.

You nod, reaching to the stack of cups. ‘A grande?’

He swallows to wet his throat. ‘Sure.’

‘Name?’

With a deep inhale he smells last night’s cologne still clinging to his skin. God he needs to get his shit together, he thinks with a sigh. His general state of dishevelment is even more noticeable next to you. He wonders if you ironed the collar of your shirt to be that precise or if you simply move through the world without acquiring any wrinkles.

‘Zitao,’ he says finally.

‘Cute.’ You say it under your breath but he still hears. His eyes go wide, his sluggish mind coming awake. After handing the cup to your co-worker you say the total. ‘That’ll be four oh two please.’

Automatically he reaches into his pocket for his wallet and pulls out the five dollar bill. He knows he’s staring like an idiot but he can’t help it. You hand him his change and on reflex he drops it into the tip jar. Service industry solidarity, he thinks with a half-smile.

The smile on your face blossoms; tentative at first, it grows when his eyes meet yours again. ‘Thank you!’ You pull a small coffee can out from beside the register and hold it out to him. ‘Anyone who tips gets a poem.’

He stares at the can and the slips of paper neatly folded within. Amusement fills him and he reaches for one at random, his fingers brushing yours as he pulls back. The sensation makes him want to linger. How long has it been since he touched someone, in the daylight? Since he wanted to hold and be held? Tao tells himself it doesn’t matter. It can’t. He’s got plans to leave Seattle and he doesn’t need anything tethering him here.

Before he embarasses himself he slides the paper into his pocket with a nod and moves on down the line. As he waits for his drink he keeps his focus on you. The efficiency of your motions and the genuine happiness on your face as you take order after order on the busy Friday morning. People come and go around him but he leans against the wall, waiting, thinking.

Finally his drink is done and the cup spreads heat along his chilled palms. The world is too sharp and demanding and the thought of a day full of errands on too little sleep followed by a full shift at the bar drags at him. But the smell of coffee and your smile and the mystery poem in his pocket are life preservers thrown to him today. He clings to them with both hands to keep himself afloat.

On his way out he finally reads the poem you’ve gifted to him. The writing is done with small, neat lettering and he knows it’s yours.

There is a candle in your heart, ready to be kindled.

There is a void in your soul, ready to be filled.

You feel it, don’t you?

- Rumi

With a groan he pushes out the door with his shoulder, blinking on the too-bright sidewalk. It’s too early to feel so raw and exposed, he decides.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Friday July 18, 1997

You trail into Flanagan’s Pub after Baekhyun and your sister, Hitchcock. It’s not her real name, but she’s had the nickname so long it might as well be. As always, they argue about movies. As always, you’re the third wheel. Not that they’re actually dating. But everyone agrees they should.

‘Come on, it was brilliant.’ Baekhyun waves his hands dramatically as you wind your way around the crowded bar after them.

‘I’m not saying it wasn’t,’ she responds. They slide into a booth opposite each other and you follow after your sister. ‘All I’m saying is it’s unrealistic, that’s all.’

Baekhyun scoffs, offended. ‘As if realism was the point here.’ You unfold the drink menu while he carries on, undeterred. ‘I know you’re not a hopeless romantic like myself, but are you honestly telling me that you don’t think it’s possible?’

Tonight’s Friday-movie-night tradition was your first viewing of The Fifth Element and Korben and Leeloo’s instant connection has revived their years-long argument about love at first sight. You roll your eyes when your sister shakes her head, leaning forward to tease him. She’s told you about her crush on Baekhyun, her best friend. For someone who’s been in love for as long as you can remember she fights awfully hard against Baekhyun’s romantic nature. Methinks the lady doth protest too much…

‘Look at Before Sunrise,’ Baekhyun says with a click of his tongue. ‘One night and they fell in love.’

She hums and scans the menu. ‘So what? It’s just one night. Show me what happens ten years later. After they see each other with messy morning hair and when he leaves dishes in the sink or, I don’t know, when she bites her nails.’ Baekhyun huffs and she smothers a laugh. ‘Let’s see how that instant love does after it’s put to the test. I’m not saying it isn’t possible, I’m just saying one night doesn’t mean it will stand the test of time, that’s all.’ She folds her menu and rests her elbows on the table, looking incredibly smug.

Baekhyun opens his mouth to argue but the server arrives and interrupts his tirade. ‘What can I get for you?’

The gravelly voice is familiar and your eyes widen in surprise when you see Tao towering over the table. Quickly you look away, back to the dark wood table.

You’ve noticed him before - at Starbucks, at parties at Baek’s from a distance, at Moe’s ages ago - but tonight he’s so cleaned up you hardly recognize him. Gone are the bags under his eyes and the nervous, jittery, curmudgeon energy that seemed to hang over him like a dark cloud. Tonight his eyes are alert and crinkle at the corner when he smiles broadly and you can’t help but notice. A very bad idea.

‘Hey man, how’s it going?’ Baekhyun reaches out and does a complex handshake with the man before you.

‘Oh, you know. Just working at the salt mines,’ Tao says with a laugh. ‘Are you coming to Chan and Soo’s party tomorrow night?’

‘You know it. I wouldn’t miss your big send off. My man here is taking off on a national tour on Sunday. Local boy making it big!’ Baekhyun gives Tao a friendly punch on the arm before drumming his fingers on the table and raising a brow. ‘Since you’re here, maybe you can settle an argument for us.’

Tao darts a look to you and clears his throat. ‘Sure thing. Lay it on me.’

‘Do you believe you can fall in love with someone in one night?’ Baekhyun waggles his brows at your sister and she groans. ‘Like, soulmates burning-down-the world you’re the person I’ve waited for always Blockbuster kind of love.’

He tilts his head to the side, considering. After a moment he shrugs. ‘I’m not sure.’ For a flash Tao’s eyes linger on you once more. ‘I think it would depend on the person.’ And then the bastard goes and winks at you.

Baekhyun snorts and lounges back in the booth, resting his arm on the back of the seat. 'Good luck, buddy. You'd have better luck charming a brick wall. She only reads about love these days, Double Shot here is a bit gun-shy at putting it into practice again.’

You glare at Baekhyun, body going rigid at being called out. For as long as he's been your sister's best friend he's acted like a surrogate older brother to you. He vacillates between telling you it’s good you’re so focused on your studies and telling you that you're too serious, too focused on school and work. Since you got broken up with Baekhyun seems focused on the latter, always needling you to go out and have fun. But, as they say, once burned twice shy.

You focus intently on your hands resting on the table and absolutely avoid looking at Tao. From the first time you rang him up at Starbucks you knew his gaze would see more than you'd like. He's the type to see through every bullshit line you give about how you’re fine being alone, fine with how things ended, fine fine fine.

If life was kind the three of you would order and Tao would leave and that would be the end of it. You could safely stay in your cocoon and hide. But of course, life doesn't play fair.

Tao sticks the pen behind his ear and folds his arms. ‘Is that a bet?’

Your cheeks warm and your heart races. Finally, you look up to him fully. 'Excuse me?'

He shrugs and gives you a lopsided smile. 'If you're game, of course. What do you say, shall we put this to the test?'

'You want to see if we'd fall in love in a night?' You're certain you look like a terrified animal. In a vain attempt to fold yourself back into someone confident you lean against the booth, pressing your feet to the ground and making your spine tall and straight. 'What makes you think you're even my type?'

‘Sweetheart, I’m everyone’s type.’

God knows he probably is. Tall, handsome bad boy who sings like an angel, drives a stupidly hot motorcycle, and looks like he knows the fastest way to make you come undone with just a look. But charming is only skin deep and in return you want to see if there’s anything underneath it that would keep your interest.

‘Fine, then.’ You hold out your hand. ‘I’ll take your bet.’ Stubborn, always so stubborn. Baekhyun giggles and claps excitedly as you grip Tao’s rough, much larger hand.

Your sister leans across you to stare Tao down. 'Hang on. I'm not about to let her go off with some random dude. How do we know you're trustworthy?' Hitchcock has turned her interrogation mode on. ‘I’ve seen you around, but I don’t know you from Bruce Willis.’

He must have other tables to attend to, other things to do, but he rests his palms on the table and leans down to meet her glare. 'I'm an open book. Ask me anything.' The move brings him inches from you. He smells like whisky, the kind that burns, and you swallow instinctively in response.

She narrows her eyes and hums. 'How old are you?'

'Twenty three.'

'Did you go to school?'

He chuckles. 'High school. No need for college.'

'Why not?' You speak up, preparing for an argument. He looks like he could actually keep up with you and a spark of excitement grows low in your body.

'Between singing and bartending I make plenty of money.’ He answers you, not your sister. ‘Don't get me wrong, I respect an education. But I get far more inspiration from living life than from just reading about it.'

You bristle. As a poetry major this feels like a personal attack. ‘Are you telling me you’ve never read anything that made you feel - I don’t know - inspired. Magical. Exposed?' You press your lips together, wishing you could gather the words back.

Tao looks at you through his lashes, bending close enough that you can feel his breath on your lips when he speaks. ‘Words are just the appetizer, darling. I prefer to have an entire feast.’

His dancing eyes dart down to your lips. But then he straightens, pulling the pen out and readying it on the pad. You grip the table to avoid swaying towards him and almost hate him for how much of a magnetic pull he seems to have over you. 'Any other questions or can I grab your orders?'

Baekhyun orders a Smirnoff Ice, delight pouring off him. Your sister narrows her eyes at Tao for a moment. Finally, she relents and orders a sex on the beach. You stare at the red plaid shirt tied around Tao’s hips and order something. An Appletini maybe? Your mind seems to have abandoned you but thankfully Tao nods and winds his way back through the crowd to the bar. In his absence you can breathe fully and look up to see Baekhyun smirking.

‘What?’ you practically groan at him.

‘Oh, nothing.’ He looks like the cat that caught the canary. ‘I just love being right.’

Hitchcock kicks him under the table and he winces, reaching for his shin. They resume their discussion, transitioning to talking about their opening shifts at the theater tomorrow and how much they can reasonably drink tonight and still be functional in the morning. You drum your nails on the lacquered wood table and wonder if your heart is racing from the heat of the packed bar or from the prospect of Tao holding you to your bargain.

The man himself comes back with drinks a moment later. When he slides the light green concoction across the table to you he tilts his head in question. ‘So, how about tonight?’

You choke on your sip and fight the burn in your throat. ‘Are you serious? So soon?’

He grins. ‘Why, did you want time to get ready? I think if we’re going to put it to the test it would have to be tonight. Also, I leave on Sunday morning, so the clock is ticking so to speak.’

‘But I work tomorrow at Starbucks. At the crack of dawn.’ You sputter, waving your hand in front of you. ‘I didn’t think you-’

‘Guess we should get started soon, then.' He winks again and you're tempted to throw your drink at him, just to get the upper hand. ‘I get off at nine.’ Without another word he puts the serving tray under his arm and leaves.

Your sister rolls her eyes. ‘You’re such a bad influence, Baek.’

He throws his arms out wide. ‘I can’t help it baby, I’m a lover. What can I say?’

She snorts and pats you on the back sympathetically. You down your drink in two swallows and absolutely refuse to look at Tao, Baekhyun, or your sister. Instead you pull some bills from your purse and push your way out of the bar before anyone can suggest anything else insane.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It takes you several tries to find a presentable outfit. It's been more than six months since that last fateful date and in the time between you’ve built a literal barrier around yourself, bundling up in sweaters and blankets at home, only emerging for work and class and Friday movie nights.

Baekhyun's words come back to you as you frown and throw yet another outfit on the bed. Are you really a brick wall, impenetrable and cold? You weren't always, surely. Byron's 'and thus, the heart will break, yet brokenly live on' swims in your mind, still fresh from the finals you took just a few weeks ago.

You don't feel broken, just stuck. Numb. Waiting. You hold a dress up to your body and wonder if your ex feels the same or if he, as the one who did the dumping, moved on instantly, and it's just the broken-up-with half that flails around trying to find new footing.

With an defiant press of your lips you sigh and settle on your favorite black and white checkered dress and white Keds. It’s a declaration of intent in a peter pan collar. Your ex always hated your clothes, what you chose to study, your music; everything about you screamed soft and he tried so hard to bend and form you into someone he wanted.

But you are as you are - romantic and idealistic and sweet. You roll your eyes. It’s the truth, and you remind yourself that just because you didn’t match him doesn’t mean you have to change just to make someone else happy. The outfit screams innocence it dares Tao to judge you tonight. As if you care what he thinks. Which you definitely do not.

You barely make it back in time to Flanagan’s. When you rush up Tao is pushing out of the bar onto the street. A thrill runs down your spine at his smile when he sees you. Your ex doesn't control you anymore, you remind yourself. You get to decide when you move on; when you stop mourning something that's dead and over and find something new. Even if it's not with Tao, tonight is an experiment. To see if you can handle a fresh start.

‘Hi,’ you start, breathless from your hurrying.

'Hi yourself. You still game?' he asks, mischief in his eyes and hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. 'If you want an out I won't hold it against you.' He looks you up and down and smirks, but doesn’t comment on your appearance.

In return you scan him as well. His hair is mussed just-so and his earrings match too well to be an accident. He’s trying too, even if his devil-may-care attitude would make others think he’s not. Everyone has an image they present to the world, tonight you’ll find if there’s substance behind Tao’s.

You press your tongue between your teeth and tilt your head at him. 'I'm ready to be surprised.'

He barks out a laugh. ‘Fair enough. I’ll see what I can do’

Tao starts to move towards you across the sidewalk, but you hold out a hand at the level of his chest, stopping his movement. 'So, love, huh? There's not some girlfriend or boyfriend of yours waiting for you at home?'

‘I belong only to myself. For now, at least.' He smiles and holds his arms out wide. His brows tug together suddenly. For a moment he looks unsure. Vulnerable. But the look is gone so fast you wonder if you imagined it. ‘What about you?’

You want to fold in on yourself and turn away, hiding. As if the stain of failure is written across your face. The words that were thrown your way like scarlet letters on your skin for him to see. Prude. Uptight. Tease. Your stomach churns and you’re glad you only had the one drink tonight.

‘Single.’ You suck in a breath after you get the word out, like it stole all the air from your lungs in speaking it.

He nods, holding your gaze for a moment. Those eyes of his drink you in and you’re sure he can see it - the hesitation and the fear. But once more he simply stands tall and gives you space to think. ‘Shall we head towards the waterfront?’

A public place, lively and full of people on a Friday night. Safe, reassuring. He didn’t suggest a club or somewhere heavy with expectation and you like him better for it. Tao waves an arm out in front of you, inviting you to go first and you start walking, clutching your purse under your arm.

He falls into step beside you. 'So I guess if we're going big or going home, shall we start with our dating history?'

You should have expected this level of inquisition, especially from someone who is friends with Baekhyun. ‘Jesus, you don’t pull any punches.’ But against your will you let out a laugh.

There’s something refreshing about someone who seems like, for all his mystery, he doesn’t hold any secrets. Everything out in the cool night air and you wonder if it would be freeing, to let it all go. To not question the words you say. To trust that the person you’re speaking them to will hold them without judgement.

‘Never have, never will,’ he reassures you. The cat-like grin on his lips is teasing. ‘That I can guarantee you. I’m happy to go first, if you’d like?’

You nod, and he sighs, looking through the clouds to the moon that peeks through. The streets are dry for once, a brief respite after the wet Seattle spring. Everyone around you takes in the night with gleeful laughter, on the search for music and connection and entertainment. But even with the full sidewalks around you all you feel compelled to do, inexplicably, is lean in closer to hear Tao.

A group of women brush by you, giggling, forcing you into Tao to avoid them. On instinct he reaches out an arm to keep you both from being overrun. You turn into him and end up meeting his eyes. In the night they’re so dark they look almost black, with flashes of light from passing cars.

The moment stretches around you and irrationally you want to stop him before he says anything else. No stories of the people he’s been with or kissed or loved or wrote songs about. Maybe that’s the appeal of one night love stories, you think. The beginning of love is always a lightning bolt. If that’s all it ever is you never have to deal with being knocked on your ass by the resulting thunderstorm.

The women pass and Tao respectfully brings his hand back to his pocket and time carries on. But the look on his face remains as you both start walking towards the Market again.

‘I should say up front, I uhh - I guess that I’ve never been in a relationship. Actually.’ He runs a hand through his hair and winces like he’s ashamed of it. ‘I came close a few times. But it’s just never worked out.’

You open your mouth but aren’t sure what to say. Do you make fun of him for clearly being a playboy, not wanting to be tied down, fitting the stereotype of the rockstar he’s on a path to becoming? Do you play coy, asking him if you might fit the bill? Or do you reassure him?

The latter feels the most natural. ‘You’re young. It’s the nineties. I don’t think it’s unusual to be playing the field right now.’ You lift a shoulder and shrug, the edge of your black denim jacket slipping down your back a bit with the motion. It exposes the skin of your collarbone above the strap of your dress, where your neck meets your chest.

Tao licks his lips and drags his eyes away from your shoulder to meet yours with a nod. ‘That’s true. I guess most of my friends are single. Sehun is. Jongin is. Baekhyun is, for sure. Even if he is in love with your sister.’ Your jaw drops and Tao bites his lip. ‘Shit, I shouldn’t have said anything. Please don’t tell her I -’

He looks genuinely panicked and you laugh, waving a hand. ‘Trust me, she’s in love with him too. They’re both too stubborn to admit it though. So your secret is safe with me.’

Tao sighs, relaxing, and gives you a half smile. ‘Thank you, I appreciate that.’ The neon lights from the bars and clubs along Pike street pass over his face, painting him dozens of bright colors. ‘So, that’s my story. Too busy working and writing lyrics and singing to be tied down. What’s yours?’

‘That’s hardly a story,’ you challenge, raising a brow. ‘More like the cover of a book.’

‘It’s plenty!’ he laughs. ‘I’ve exposed myself as a perpetually single man. I think that tells you tons about me.’ At your pursed lips he continues. ‘Fine. I’ve been chasing music for so long that I have avoided getting serious with anyone, lest it keep me from my dreams of stardom. I crave that intensity between me and an audience when I sing, but I’m afraid to let myself have something real. Something intimate, that expects more of me past one performance. I’m afraid that off-stage I’m more disappointing than on et cetera et cetera.’

He cuts off his rambling monologue, his eyes widening as he stops in his tracks for a moment, like he can’t believe he just said so much. But you stand next to him without judgement. Something about his disarming honesty and expressiveness makes you want to tell him the truth, ugly that it might be.

While you stand on the corner and wait for the light to change you look at the zipper of his leather jacket to avoid his eyes and spit it out. ‘I got dumped six months ago.’ You lift your hands and drop them uselessly to your side.

He tilts his head back in appraisal. Blessedly the teasing is gone from his face. He doesn’t offer sympathy, cloying and patronizing words about how you’ll find someone else. He doesn’t flirt with you, even though that seems to be his nature.

‘I don’t know the circumstances, and you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but all I can say is - it’s his loss.’ He gives you a slight smile, not moving even when the light changes, and you can’t help but return it.

It’s strange that it could be so simple. Perhaps if you do carry on something with Tao you’ll tell him more. But for tonight it can be that easy. The pain and doubt and shame can fade into a pinprick of light heading off into the distance and get swallowed up by the night. Like you can just wipe the slate clean and start over. You inhale a deep breath of cool, salty air and look up at Tao, your smile growing, becoming more genuine and whole.

A lightness fills you and you wind your arm through his, pulling him into the crosswalk just as the last few seconds show on the countdown. He lets you guide him easily and you come to rest on the concrete looking down at the Pike Place Market. The bright neon red sign reflects against the dark night and the inky blue waters of the Bay beyond it. In the twilight ships move back and forth through the port, full of tiny lights of their own.

He drops his hand a little, running over the clothed skin of your arm until he reaches your palm. The contact of his hand on yours makes you jolt. ‘Is this okay?’

Without thinking you nod, twining your fingers with his, savoring the heat as he presses against you. Your ex hated holding hands in public, hated any kind of PDA, calling it childish. But Tao stands by your side, hand in hand, as though it’s the most natural thing in the world.

People mill about you, heading to the endless restaurants and food stands that line the Market. In summer it’s in full bloom, crowded every night, and after a long winter and spring holed up in your apartment it’s disorienting to be out in the world again.

You start walking together, without a plan. It’s far more comfortable than you’d expected, the companionable silence with him. Everyone in your life talks a mile a minute - Baekhyun and your sister, your co-workers at the busy coffee shop, your classmates, hungry for discussion - but Tao seems content to just hold your hand and admire the rows of vendors you pass. The lack of pressure from him eases something that had drawn tight and anxious in your chest over the last few months.

Before you is a maze of stalls. Tables full of tulips in bright yellows and pinks, bouquets wrapped in brown paper, that you stop to smell. Screen printed tee shirts with the Sonics logo or photos of the Space Needle or trendy political puns that Tao points out with a laugh. People sell everything from watercolor paintings to homemade honey to snow globes. As a recent college grad, you’re saving all your money, but everything is still fascinating to look at.

The two of you settle on a kebab place for dinner after a long debate about the merits of the taco cart and the hole-in-the-wall seafood stop. The steam brings the rich smell of meat and vegetables to you. Against your protests to split the bill, Tao insists on buying dinner.

‘If this is an official date I have to follow the guidelines,’ he winks.

You roll your eyes and defiantly go to the next stall to order two Jones sodas from the seller. When you hold them up he laughs and inclines his head. ‘Alright, that’s fair.’

When you’re settled on the narrow rock wall beyond the far edge of the market, balancing Jones sodas on the uneven stones with a warm kebab resting on your knees, he carries on.

'So, poetry. What made you choose that?' He asks around a bite.

After a sip of soda you tilt your head at him. ‘You can't laugh, okay?'

'Why would I laugh?’ His brows furrow like it’s the furthest thing from his mind. ‘I'm a singer, sweetheart. I don't take the arts lightly and anyone who does is an asshole.' He narrows his eyes at you in mock seriousness but the way his mouth fights a smile is endearing.

You snort, liking him yet again without planning on it. ‘I don’t know. I’ve always loved it and sometimes I try to write it. I’ve had some job or another since high school, so I’m confident I can always get a job if I need it but - there’s something so - so delicious about poetry.’ You swallow another drink of your soda and Tao’s eyes flick to the motion of your throat. ‘If I was going to go to college, and our parents kind of insisted on it, I wanted to study something I loved.’

Tao lifts his own soda and clinks it to yours in solidarity. ‘I can respect that. What’s your favorite poem?’

Suddenly shy you turn to set your soda down on the stone beside you, letting your hair fall over your face while you think. It’s not that you don’t know, but that it feels too close, too personal to tell him just yet. ‘That’s very private.’

When you look back to him he holds your gaze for a moment. ‘Hmm. Okay I can respect that. Favorite songs are pretty personal too so I’ll let you hold onto it, for now.’ With a movement as casual as breathing he tucks your hair behind your ear, as though he does it twenty times day, and resumes his eating.

Poems run through your head as you chew, heart racing. You’d thought this was an experiment that would quickly go south. A quick walk to prove that you’re not compatible. A smug ‘I told you so’ to Baekhyun. And then a return to the comfort of your bed to read for the night. You didn’t expect to want him. Words, endless remembered words filter across your consciousness, ones of love and lust and death and the exhilaration of life.

Normally your own creative voice is quiet, too afraid to give permanence to the ideas, the words, that live inside you. But as you watch the gentle night breeze ruffle his dark hair you think you could write some tonight, if you had pen and paper. Instead you shove an enormous bite in your mouth and chew, afraid of the attraction you have to him.

When you’re both done eating he holds his hand out for your trash and you wad up the wrapper and hand it to him along with the empty bottle. He walks over to the trash and dutifully puts the bottles in the recycle, like any good Seattle boy. Dusting off his hands he turns back towards you, approaching slowly and holding out his hands.

After a moment’s hesitation you reach for him, allowing him to help you stand. Continuing the night’s adventure. When you’re on your feet he releases one of your hands, keeping the other one tucked in his as the two of you wind your way back through the crowds. Both of you stop to pat the bronze pig at the crux of the Market for good luck.

He leads the way down the narrow stairs to Post Alley and the line outside the comedy club at its base winds around in a long chain. It’s funny, normally you’d want to know The Plan. Baekhyun calls you anal retentive, but you just consider yourself organized. You like knowing what’s coming. But tonight you consent to following him without knowing the destination. You bite back a smile - it’s exciting and terrifying all at once.

A group of people tries to come up the stairs as you’re going down and you are pressed against the rail, trying not to slip. It definitely isn’t meant to be wide enough for both directions of people at the same time. As if sensing your predicament Tao presses his broad back into the rowdy man behind you, ignoring his grumbles of annoyance, making space so you can descend the last few steps onto the courtyard.

Out front of the Market Theater you thank him and wonder what exactly his plan is. Is he taking you to an improv show? A concert? Drinks? With your hand still in his he gently moves to the left, under the archway and in front of the long gum wall. You raise a brow at him but he merely smiles and shrugs.

‘I didn’t peg you for someone who likes tourist attractions.’

His eyes dance with amusement. ‘Oh yeah? What kind of person did you imagine me to be?’

You purse your lips and try to figure out how to answer him. ‘I’m not sure, actually. Normally I can read people pretty easily, but I can’t pin you down.’

‘Me?’ He presses his hand that holds yours to his chest. ‘Baby, I’m an open book.’

The gum wall around you smells sickly sweet and you can almost taste it on your tongue. Everyone around you is taking polaroids in front of the wall or chewing their own gum in preparation to add to it.

You wonder what the two of you look like from an outsider’s perspective. Tao, tall and imposing with his thick motorcycle boots. You with your white Keds and sweet, checkered dress and headband. It might seem like you’re an odd couple, but the heartbeat in his chest against your hand is strong and underneath it all perhaps you’re not so different.

With a breathy laugh and a roll of your eyes you grip his hand and pull him further along the alley beside the gum walls, towards the water. Nearby one of the many buskers permitted to perform along Pike Place starts signing a loud and heartfelt, if slightly off-key, rendition of ‘Sweet Caroline,’ drawing the cheers of the onlookers.

Away from the crowd in Post Alley you emerge onto a side street a block or so from the water. Tilting your head back you watch as everyone sings along. Tao’s free arm suddenly comes around your waist and dramatically he starts swaying you back and forth, crooning along to the Neil Diamond song far better than the busker. A few other people on the street around you smile or laugh, making their way to the pier up ahead.

Instead of asking him what on earth he’s doing or feeling embarrassed about dancing in the middle of the sidewalk you just cling to him and try to keep up. His voice is rich and soothing, his hand holding you against him is sturdy and comforting. You can’t help but giggle and roll with it, holding onto his jacket and watching his jaw move as he sings.

All too soon the performance back at the Market behind you ends and the last lyrics are drowned out by applause. Tao takes a step back and the night is cold without his warm embrace. You long to step forward and close the distance once more. Instead you brush your hair back and compose yourself.

‘What kind of music do you like to sing?’ you ask as the two of you resume your progress towards the pier.

‘All kinds.’ He shrugs. ‘But mostly love songs.’

‘Really?’ The light before you changes and ahead the aquarium looms in the night. To your left is the Kingdome waits, past the long stretch of the boardwalk. Without waiting for Tao you head that direction, the briny ocean air filling your lungs.

He easily comes to your side. ‘Of course. Everything’s about love I think, when you get down to it.’

‘You weren’t singing love songs when I saw you perform.’

You answer without thinking, remembering the concert a few months ago that you and your sister went to. Baekhyun had invited you both to see Chanyeol’s band - Yeol and the Salty Wolves - and Tao was performing with the opening group.

‘You’ve seen me on stage?’ His proud grin is teasing and playful and damned if you don’t want to kiss him.

‘Yeah. It - my sister dragged me out of the house. She thought getting outside would do me some good.’ You focus on picking off a section of your pink nail polish that’s started to chip. ‘You guys were great. But you were definitely yelling about anarchy, not love.’

The imagine of him in his tank top, wide slits cut under the arms revealing a broad swath of his tanned skin, singing passionately, makes you suddenly very aware of him. Tonight he’s composed, a rebel in street clothes. But that night his face was slicked with sweat from his intensity, red in the cheeks and headbanging along with the crowd and the rest of the band. Even that night, so close after your recent break up, you wanted him. It was a dangerous idea then and it’s a dangerous idea now.

He hums and veers to the right, heading down one of the longer piers. ‘I could argue that anarchy still is love. Love of your beliefs and love of a person or a place or a thing so much that you’re willing to fight for it, to go to war for what you care about.’

To that you don’t argue. ‘That’s true. I guess anything could be love when you get down to it. There’s so many poems about sadness - missing love or rejected love. Anger. Bitterness.’

The wooden boards of the pier below you give a gentle thunk with each heavy step of Tao’s huge boots. Below you the water sloshes against the planks. Now at the end you lean forward, resting your elbows on the railing, before turning back to Tao.

‘I guess this is a day to be debating love,’ you smirk, thinking back to the conversation that got you into this. In the wind off the Bay you shiver.

Like a reflex Tao shrugs out of his jacket and holds it out to you. But you lean over and wave your hand at him. ‘No it’s okay, I’m fine. Please, you don’t have to -’

But he drops it over you anyways, the warm weight of his jacket settling on your shoulders and insulating you from the wind. In his black, long-sleeve shirt he doesn’t even seem cold. With a sigh you pull it more fully onto you and bend upright again, inches from him.

‘Debating love indeed. See I think love and intimacy is made far too complex by a lot of people.’ He slowly rubs his hands together, forearms resting on the railing as he leans over, looking at the waves. ‘I think it comes from knowing someone. Really knowing them. Hopes and fears and memories and all of that. and choosing to be with them. Simple and complicated as that.’

‘Simple as that?’ you gape at him, holding your wind-tousled hair out of the way with one hand so you can look at him. ‘There's no way to truly know someone in one night, though. There's too much nuance for love in such a short time.’ The beating of your heart in your palms when you look at him would argue otherwise and you inhale deeply, trying to keep your center.

‘Hence why I also said complicated. But now we’re debating what love itself means.’ His gaze darts down to your lips before he meets your eyes. ‘I know plenty about you.’

You open your mouth to argue but he carries on. ‘I know you’re stubborn, given the soda earlier and the coat just now. I know you’re practical and competent - I’ve seen you at your job. I know you’re a romantic at heart, you have to be to study poetry, and even if some asshole temporarily doused that fire you look for evidence that love is real everywhere.’

Feeling raw and exposed you try to find anything to say to brush off the way his statements cut to the heart of you. ‘That doesn’t mean you - uhm - that you know me.’

The word you almost said in your haste was love and the thought makes your palms sweat. Irrational. Impossible. Everyone always says your emotions are easy to read, that they’re written all over your face, and you wonder what he sees as he watches you. The moment you said it you could see the slow smile start on his lips. At the very least he knows you’re not arguing with him as much as arguing with yourself, against what you feel.

He leans in closer so that his forehead touches yours, low voice almost a murmur. ‘But I want to know you more. I want to do a lot of things. Does that count?’

‘Count?’ If you wanted to you could press up on your toes and kiss him. The thought is intoxicating and you close your eyes, heaving a breath into your lungs.

After a long moment of thinking and waiting and wondering you finally open them again. Tao looks just as conflicted as you are - his brows tug together and the casual flirtation is gone. He holds himself still before you and something far more serious crosses his face. Though he doesn’t answer with words the look in his eyes telegraphs his feelings for you.

With a sigh he pulls back, reaching to the railing with both hands to steady himself, and you sway in his absence. He looks up at the night sky, at the moon through the clouds, and smiles. The stars peek through here and there. It’s not a cold night, just a breeze across the water to relieve the heat from the long summer day. Distantly a line of poetry comes to you, about being thirsty, parched almost, and wanting to drink him in to quench it.

Rather than indulge the dangerous impulse to touch him again you take off back down the boardwalk. Back to the city and the lights and far away from the closeness of being with him in the dark. The pressure of his thick jacket will have to be enough, for now.

‘So, where do you want to go next?’ You’re impressed you manage to sound steady.

He sticks his hands in his pockets once more and ambles after you, a small smile gracing his lips. ‘I know a place.’

As you make your way along the waterfront he turns the conversation to safer territory. You fill each other in on your jobs - how they started and what you like and don’t like. Co-workers who are dating, friends you have in common at the mall. Notorious customers. Tao has dozens of stories and his laugh is easy, his eyes bright with flirtation now that you’re both on safer ground.

Through the night you meander around the city in a vague Northward direction. Past the Science Center, it’s great white sculptures lit up. Around the Space Needle and the fountain. Another city and the streets would be deserted this late. But here there’s groups of people, laughing and splashing each other at the base of the enormous bowl that forms the center of it. You pass the occasional jogger or couple holding hands, walking home.

The two of you stop to use the restroom and get a drink of water at a 24 hour grocery store. Tao also insists on buying some snacks, chocolate and a bag of chips that you keep in the large pockets of his jacket as you progress to the edges of Lake Union.

It’s easy, being with him. His energy is calm, reassuring. He’s got a wicked and witty sense of humor you wouldn’t have expected and you easily spend half an hour looking out at the boats, making up other, naughtier names for them.

It turns out he likes X-Files just as much as you and your sister do. As you stroll along the Fremont bridge you end up taking his hand once more. The snacks are gone and you can’t resist touching him again. It must be well after midnight, but he doesn’t mention going home. Strangely, you don’t want to either. For someone who’s life has become so habitual you’re surprized you’ve not even spared a thought for your nightly routine of reading in bed with a glass of wine and a candle burning on the windowsill.

There will be other nights for that, but for tonight you let the momentum of the evening carry you along with him. You both decide to skip a visit to the Troll, not wanting to tempt any disasters. The Keds on your feet hold up well and you give a thanks to your past self for not wearing heels or sandals.

Eventually his destination becomes clear. The gates to the park are closed for the night. ‘Gas Works? This is your plan - breaking and entering?’

He nods, biting his lip. ‘Yep. I know a way in. The nighttime view is unbeatable.’

You hold out your hands, gesturing to the enormous PARK HOURS: DAWN TIL DUSK sign.

‘Afraid of being caught?’

You roll your eyes. ‘Yes, actually. I don’t think getting arrested for trespassing would be a great thing for my resume.’

Tao considers before backing towards the edge of the fence with a smirk. ‘Come on. How about a little mischief here ‘upon the honey’d middle of the night’?’

‘You know Keats?’ It leaves you breathless, rooted to the ground. It’s not from your favorite poem, but he is your favorite poet. A good guess or has he been doing his research?

‘Of course. Don’t you?’ Tao teases, folding back a corner of the fence and easing himself through.

You scoff and charge after him. The smug bastard can’t just quote Keats and then run away from you. Once again you want to kiss the proud look off his face, to rattle him the way he seems so capable of rattling you, getting underneath your surface. With a last thought to your reputation you step through after him and a thrill runs down your spine.

The rusted red containers and machines that form the center of the park are tall ghosts in the night, rising from the grass and casting long shadows around you in the distant light from the city. He holds out his hand and you easily catch it, both of you winding your way carefully around the gentle hills to make your way to the view.

You find a suitable spot and sit down on the grass. ‘You’re right,’ you tell him reluctantly.

‘About what?’ Tao sits beside you, linking his hands over his knees. He sits near enough you can feel his thigh pressing against yours. Close, always so close, but not as close as you want him.

‘About this.’ You gesture to the Seattle skyline in front of you.

Sure you’ve been in the daytime, watching the boats sail on Lake Union and the groups of yoga practitioners and families with young kids fill the grassy slopes down to the water. But by night the lights of the city look like a painting. Skyscrapers touching the clouds as the first hints of sun are lightening the horizon.

‘I thought you’d enjoy it.’ He nudges you with his shoulder and smiles at you.

The gentle sounds of the water below is relaxing. Even as you lift your hand to cover a yawn you don’t truly feel tired, like the night and closeness to him could keep you awake forever, if you let them. But even so, dawn is coming and you think back to the reason that you’re both here.

‘So. About that bet?’ Your words are a sigh and somewhere between the late hours and the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles you don’t second guess the question.

He side eyes you and can’t smother the grin on his face. ‘You mean the one about if we can fall in love in one night?’

‘Yes, that.’ It must be the lack of sleep causing the giddiness you feel, you tell yourself, as you lean back against the grass and cover your face with your hands.

His own hands find yours and you turn to see him on his side next to you. Gently he pulls them down, holding them to his chest, so he can look you in the eyes. ‘Hmm, I don’t know about love, but I feel a whole hell of a lot right now. We never came up with an objective definition of it, anyways.’

You snort. ‘Did you honestly just say ‘objective definition?’’

‘Yes, I think if we’re going to agree here, we need to be on the same page.’ With his intense focus on yours he brushes a kiss against the backs of your hands. ‘If we say love is a feeling, who’s to say that we aren’t in love? If we decide it’s an action then which one is it? A kiss or a commitment or - maybe it’s nothing more complicated than putting words to the way I feel when you look at me?’

The smile blooms across your face and right then you’re tempted to say it’s all of them. How much you want his mouth on yours and his hands all over you. How you’re not quite sure you know how to have a relationship with a man anymore, after your ex, but that you want to try with him. How wild and free you feel being next to him.

‘I don’t know about -’ you whisper. You let the truth fall out, not bothering to think about what it might mean. ‘Long term or after tonight. But I’d say, much that I hate to admit Baekhyun could be right, I’d say… uhm, he could be right.’

You avoid Tao’s eyes, focusing on his jaw or the fabric of his shirt or the way his hands hold yours. But still you see how he smiles, almost glowing in the light of the moon and the barest reflection of the sun coloring the skyline to your left.

He clears his throat, pressing another kiss to your hand. ‘Well, I'd look at it this way. Let's say we do get together. Maybe we last a month or maybe we last for the rest of our lives. Another fifty or sixty years. In either of those cases tonight would be just a fraction of the relationship. A small sliver. Important when looking at the broad view of a life together, but not crucial by itself.’

With a nod you look at him and the heat in his eyes makes you gasp. He moves over you, releasing your hands to brace himself on the ground behind your head. The sturdy press of his body reminds you this isn’t a movie or a dream, it’s something real that’s happening to you. The cool grass sinks into your dress at your back and brushes against your thighs.

'Or.' His hot breath cascades across your lips. 'If all we have is tonight.' Moving himself to the side he runs his nose along your jaw, mouth teasing the skin of your neck with barely there kisses. 'One night would be everything. For all the marbles, as they say.' He pulls back and looks at you with a lopsided grin.

You huff out a breath, blowing your bangs out of your eyes, absently running your hands across his shoulders, along his chest. 'I don't know. I like knowing there's always time for more. Like - what if I was tired tonight or hungry or cranky and I messed it up? The thought of just one night still makes me nervous.’

He kisses your forehead and the words come faster, as if hurried along by the morning. ‘If we're a forever thing, then it's okay, because there will be a thousand more chances to get it right. But just once? How can it be perfect if it's so brief?'

'Well, even if we do get together we'd still only have one first kiss.' He rests on one elbow and uses his free hand to cup your jaw, clearing his throat around the roughness of his voice. 'Do you want to wait or shall we attempt perfection tonight?'

The thought of waiting any longer makes you far sadder and you nod. ‘Screw it - kiss me. Please?’

Instead of answering he simply drops his head, closing the distance and sealing his mouth over yours. He groans at the contact, the sound vibrating in his chest where it rests against yours. You grip his neck, winding your fingers through the strands of his hair and hold on, to ground yourself, between him and the grass as he slowly, hungrily, kisses you.

Your eyes flutter for a moment as he sucks on your lower lip. Behind him the sky is bright, the rays of light spilling through the clouds and rendering him art himself. The arch of his brows, full of emotion. You squeeze your eyes closed and hold him tight, grazing his neck with your nails and sighing into his open mouth. Before you can kiss him again he pulls back, his cheeks flushed and his eyes full of delight.

‘That was pretty damn good.’ He huffs out a laugh, running his tongue along his lower lip like he’s trying to keep the taste of you close. ‘Are you sure you want to risk another one? It could be -’

‘Yes,’ you answer immediately. ‘Again.’

He grins and buries his face in your neck, his hot breath falling on your sensitive skin. ‘I think we’ve found the crucial difference between us.’ At your hum he carries on. ‘I can take one moment and hold onto it forever, perpetually living off the way it felt. You want to have it over and over again. And here I thought you were the poet.’

Rolling onto his back he pulls you on top of him with a squeal as you right yourself, bracing hands on his shoulders for balance. His hand rests against your cheek. ‘But if it helps. I - feel the same way.’

‘Oh.’ To keep your surprise and delight from exploding all over your face you bite your lip. ‘Alright then.’ You trace patterns in the fabric covering his chest.

It’s as simple and as complicated as that, just like he said, hours ago.

As the day rises full and bright with the heat of the sun you do indeed kiss again. Several more times. When you’re both red lipped and thirsty and covered in wrinkled clothes you head back to your apartment by UW. He gives you a piggy back ride when your feet start to hurt and helps you make breakfast with a sleepy smile and runs his fingers over the covers of the numerous books stacked on every surface of your apartment and all the while the feeling in your chest grows, not diminishes.

You hurry through a shower and getting dressed for work while he patiently waits on the couch. His eyes are closed when you emerge, putting your hair back in a ponytail. Leaning against the door frame you watch the gentle rise and fall of his chest. You stifle a yawn and think of how not twelve hours ago you didn’t know what his skin felt like beneath your palms or what he’d be like to kiss or how perfectly your bodies seem to line up.

Tomorrow, or perhaps later tonight, you’ll have to report back to Baekhyun and your sister. Though you still have no idea what you’ll say when he asks if the two of you fell in love in one night, you know that, at the very least, it was the start of something.

You leave Tao a note with instructions to sleep as long as he wants and a spare copy of your keys. He works his own shift tonight at Flanagan’s at two, his last one before he leaves on tour. Reassured that at least you’ll see him once more tonight at the party, before he’s gone for - well, you suppose you didn’t ask the specifics yet. You laugh at the thought and quietly shut the door and sprint down the steps to work.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s hardly after nine in the morning when Tao arrives. Far earlier than you were expecting, but you’ve learned that he likes to surprise you. When you see him standing in line you bite your lip, tilting your head and giving him a sleepy smile.

‘A bit early for you, isn’t it?’ You ask, friendly and professional. ‘You look like you had a long night.’

He laughs, shaking his head and resting his palms on the counter. ‘I did indeed. But it’s been over two hours since I last saw you.’

‘Oh yeah? Is that a long time, then?’ you tease him.

He whistles and leans in to whisper so only you can hear. ‘Far too long for someone in love.’

‘Love?’ The word thunders in your chest.

‘Maybe it’s too soon to know,’ he says, not backing up at all. ‘Maybe love is confirmed by time. But what I feel, whatever this is the start of, I’m greatly looking forward to.’

‘Are you sure you want to start this? You’re leaving, like, tomorrow.’ Suddenly in the light of day the reality of the situation makes your stomach flip.

He clutches his chest dramatically. ‘Don’t sound so sad, love. Please. You say that like I won’t come back.’ He reaches for your hand across the counter. ‘At least we'll have tonight. Tonight or forever, right?’

‘Exactly.’ Unable to resist you lift your hand to hold his cheek and kiss him. It was killing you not to and why not? He’s right. If it’s just one more night, you’re going to make it count.

You pull back and fill out his cup, insisting it’s your treat. Before he leaves you hold out the jar of poems. When he reads the line he laughs, holding it out to you.

“And one by one the nights between our separated cities are joined to the night that unites us.”

― Pablo Neruda

#exowritersnet #tao x reader #zitao x reader #tao scenario #tao fanfic #exo x reader #exo au #exo fanfic #exo scenario #exo imagine #exodus mall

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dolokhoded · 2 years

Note

TWO!!! THINGS !!!!! maybe three ill see as i go

1. im currently reading war and peace and i am Enjoing it and i love your blog you seem like a cool person with whom id enjoy being friends

2. for the chARACTER GAME if you're still doing that could you please do either andrej because i despise him (affectionate) or denisov because i love him ??

i hope you have the most beautiful day keep on being Cool and Amazing

also last thing as an aroace i LOVE your headcanons and i want to say that andrej is aroace as well methinks

farewELLLLL

1) that is so sweet of u ty you also seem real cool !!!!!!

(also aroace andrei methinks yes.........)

2) I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS ONE I HAVE SO MUCH IN MY HEAD ABOUT THEM LETS FUCKING GOOOOO ok let's do BOTH also this prob has 534967569 typos because i didn't spellcheck it because im lazy

andrei

Sexuality Headcanon: oh i never thought of it actually? i mean i ship him with women and men so def not straight lol. bi? bi. bi. on the aro spectrum definitely but not strictly aromantic.

Gender Headcanon: idk probably like,,, man. he seems like man. cis or trans idc he is man.

A ship I have with said character: andrasha his one redeeming trait (always keeping in mind i have mentally aged most women in the book by five years and aged down most men by five years) and then andrierre,,,,,, g ar b a g e. i love them.

A BROTP I have with said character: i guess i can say pierre although they were very clearly gay,,,, his relationship with marya is something i'd like to see more i like sibling dynamics and i got really hyped whenever they had like a Sibling Moment.

A NOTP I have with said character: andrei/lise i suppose, he just treated her like shit and she deserved better

A random headcanon: very touch starved. extremely so. will not initiate any physical contact himself because y'know he is Strong and Manly and thinks we're all stupid and worthless but if you touch his hair he will literally be at your mercy.

General Opinion over said character: bastard man fuckin IDIOT literally did not deserve a single good thing that happened to him. but also he's just like me fr. also i like to talk about this, but andrei was DEFINITELY a character written to die. from the moment he appeared in the story i was like yeah this bitch is dying. i genuinely think that he wouldn't be as good (and good i mean like well structured) of a character if he had lived. and then i also have a LOT to say about how SHIT his death was written but,,, anyways !

denisov

Sexuality Headcanon: idk. def likes men. maybe women too? definitely fruity that he never got married. idk i'm not good at,, labelling people as you may have noticed.

Gender Headcanon: NONBINARY VASKA DENISOV HAVE I NOT TALKED ENOUGH ABOUT THIS???? DO I NEED TO TALK ABOUT IT MORE BECAUSE I WILL !!!!!!!!

A ship I have with said character: denisov/nikolai,,,, denisov/nikolai. there is a bit of a power imbalance at the start i'm not gonna lie to you but i feel like it,, kind of evens out throughout the story.

A BROTP I have with said character: once again the denisov/dolokhov/nikolai friendship is a real fun one. denisov as petya's cool mentor was rlly cute as well "where WERE you i've been worried SICK omg petya". he's so funny.

A NOTP I have with said character: denisov/natasha i guess idk

A random headcanon: denisov definitely knows music. i don't know what he plays but he plays something. also a sad one lol, AND BOOK SPOILERS BC YOU MENTIONED YOU'RE CURRENTLY READING THE BOOK AND IDK WHERE YOU ARE EXACTLY THAT'S A PRETTY BIG SPOILER, when petya died he avoided nikolai and the rostovs for so long because he just felt so guilty that he couldn't keep him safe. at some point he found himself in the same place as nikolai and that's when it becamse really clear that he was avoiding him and nikolai was like ayo what the fuck, and they had a nice talk about it, and eventually it all went well.

General Opinion over said character: he is my FAVORITE he is the BEST i love him,,, so so much. such a good little guy.

#asks #andrei bolkonsky #vaska denisov #war and peace

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hello-robin-goodfellow · 3 years

Text

SHAKESPEARE AND THE PRETTY SPEECHES OF A KING

@ardenrosegarden @amalthea9 @lioness--hart @princesssarisa @hmmm-what-am-i-doing @suits-of-woe @malvoliowithin @noshitshakespeare

I was once watching Brows Held High review of Laurence Olivier’s Henry V (1944), where the reviewer, Kyle Kalgreen, analized how it faired in the context of British World War II Propaganda Machine, as a Shakespeare film adaptation and in comparison to the Kenneth Branagh 1989 Film Adaptation.

There is a moment he pauses to analyze the most popular speech of the play, wich is the Saint Crispin’s Day Speech:

What’s he that wishes so?

My cousin Westmoreland?

No, my fair cousin.

If we are marked to die, we are enough

To do our country loss; and if to live,

The fewer men, the greater share of honor.

God’s will, I pray thee wish not one man more.

By Jove, I am not covetous for gold

Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost;

It yearns me not if men my garments wear;

Such outward things dwell not in my desires.

But if it be a sin to covet honor,

I am the most offending soul alive.

No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from England.

God’s peace, I would not lose so great an honor

As one man more, methinks, would share from me,

For the best hope I have.

Oh, do not wish one more!

Rather proclaim it,

Westmoreland, through my host,

That he which hath no stomach to this fight,

Let him depart.

His passport shall be made,

And crowns for convoy put into his purse.

We would not die in that man’s company

That fears his fellowship to die with us.

This day is called the feast of Crispian.

He that outlives this day and comes safe home,

Will stand o' tiptoe when the day is named

And rouse him at the name of Crispian.

He that shall see this day, and live old age,

Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbors

And say, “Tomorrow is Saint Crispian.”

Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars,

And say, “These wounds I had on Crispin’s day.”

Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot

But he’ll remember with advantages

What feats he did that day.

Then shall our names,

Familiar in his mouth as household words,

Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter,Warwick and Talbot,

Salisbury and Gloucester,

Be in their flowing cups freshly remembered.

This story shall the good man teach his son,

And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,

From this day to the ending of the world,

But we in it shall be rememberèd—

We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;

For he today that sheds his blood with me

Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,

This day shall gentle his condition;

And gentlemen in England now abed

Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,

And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks

That fought with us upon Saint Crispin’s day.

(William Shakespeare. Henry V: Act IV, Scene III)

Beautifull. Powerfull. Lie.

Because, as Kyle Kalgreen apoints, while the Laurence Olivier had to cut it to make Henry V more simpathetic, the original Shakespeare text and the Kenneth Branagh Film Adaptation have this scene following the Saint Crispin’s day speech, where the young king reads a list of the english man who died in battle:

Edward the duke of York, the earl of Suffolk,

Sir Richard Ketly, Davy Gam, esquire;

None else of name, and of all other men

But five and twenty. O God, thy arm was here,

And not to us but to thy arm alone

Ascribe we all! When, without stratagem,

But in plain shock and even play of battle,

Was ever known so great and little loss

On one part and on th' other?

Take it, God,For it is none but thine.

(William Shakespeare, Henry V: Act IV, Scene VIII)

The death nobleman are named, while the death common soldier is just ‘None else of name’. The death nobleman is ‘so great loss’. The death common soldier is ‘so little loss’. Contrary to what King Henry V promissed, not everybody who died fighting on his name in France will be considered his brother, remembered and mourned by him.

And them later, we watch the consequences of the reign of his son in the Henry VI trilogy of plays, and in Henry VI Part III, our new protagonist gives this beautifull speech about the blessing of a commoner’s life while sitting over a molehill:

This battle fares like to the morning’s war,

When dying clouds contend with growing light,

What time the shepherd, blowing of his nails,

Can neither call it perfect day nor night.

Now sways it this way, like a mighty sea

Forced by the tide to combat with the wind;

Now sways it that way, like the selfsame sea

Forced to retire by fury of the wind:

Sometime the flood prevails, and then the wind;

Now one the better, then another best;

Both tugging to be victors, breast to breast,

Yet neither conqueror nor conquered:

So is the equal of this fell war.

Here on this molehill will I sit me down.

To whom God will, there be the victory!

For Margaret my queen, and Clifford too,

Have chid me from the battle; swearing both

They prosper best of all when I am thence.

Would I were dead! if God’s good will were so;

For what is in this world but grief and woe?

O God! methinks it were a happy life,

To be no better than a homely swain;

To sit upon a hill, as I do now,

To carve out dials quaintly, point by point,

Thereby to see the minutes how they run,

How many make the hour full complete;

How many hours bring about the day;

How many days will finish up the year;

How many years a mortal man may live.

When this is known, then to divide the times:

So many hours must I tend my flock;

So many hours must I take my rest;

So many hours must I contemplate;

So many hours must I sport myself;

So many days my ewes have been with young;

So many weeks ere the poor fools will ean:

So many years ere I shall shear the fleece:

So minutes, hours, days, months, and years,

Pass’d over to the end they were created,

Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave.

Ah, what a life were this! how sweet! how lovely!

Gives not the hawthorn-bush a sweeter shade

To shepherds looking on their silly sheep,

Than doth a rich embroider’d canopy

To kings that fear their subjects’ treachery?

O, yes, it doth; a thousand-fold it doth.

And to conclude, the shepherd’s homely curds,

His cold thin drink out of his leather bottle.

His wonted sleep under a fresh tree’s shade,

All which secure and sweetly he enjoys,

Is far beyond a prince’s delicates,

His viands sparkling in a golden cup,

His body couched in a curious bed,

When care, mistrust, and treason waits on him.

(William Shakespeare. Henry VI Part III: Act II, Scene V)

Also a beautifull and powerfull speech, if a bit revealing of a romanticized view of the poverty that Henry VI never lived. And also a lie, or, at least, a half truth for Henry VI himself.

By contrast to the Molehill Speech, here is the dialogue exchange between him and two keepers, in the next act:

Second Keeper

Say, what art thou that talk'st of kings and queens?

Henry VI

More than I seem, and less than I was born to: A man at least, for less I should not be; And men may talk of kings, and why not I?

Second Keeper

Ay, but thou talk'st as if thou wert a king.

Henry VI

Why, so I am, in mind; and that's enough.

Second Keeper

But, if thou be a king, where is thy crown?

Henry VI

My crown is in my heart, not on my head; Not decked with diamonds and Indian stones, Nor to be seen: my crown is called content: A crown it is that seldom kings enjoy.

Second Keeper

Well, if you be a king crown'd with content, Your crown content and you must be contented To go along with us; for as we think, You are the king King Edward hath deposed; And we his subjects sworn in all allegiance Will apprehend you as his enemy.

Henry VI

But did you never swear, and break an oath?

Second Keeper

No, never such an oath; nor will not now.

Henry VI

Where did you dwell when I was King of England?

Second Keeper

Here in this country, where we now remain.

Henry VI

I was anointed king at nine months old; My father and my grandfather were kings, And you were sworn true subjects unto me: And tell me, then, have you not broke your oaths?

First Keeper.

No; For we were subjects but while you were king.

Henry VI

Why, am I dead? do I not breathe a man Ah, simple men, you know not what you swear! Look, as I blow this feather from my face, And as the air blows it to me again, Obeying with my wind when I do blow, And yielding to another when it blows, Commanded always by the greater gust; Such is the lightness of you common men.

(William Shakespeare. Henry VI Part III: Act III, Scene I)

We can perceive here a condescending tone that King Henry VI has when he talks with two members of the people. He is surprised to see that they don’t believe in a divine right that gives him a “natural kingly aura”. They don’t see him as a superior, wise and benevolent saviour, but only as a man who once weared a crown, but now, without the crown, they don’t have any obligation to obey him.

And Henry VI can’t accept that.

Later, he is rescued by Clifford, Warwick and Clarence from imprisoment under King Edward IV’s rule. And when those three man offer him back the crown and title of king, he don’t refuse it to live the simple commoner life he described as more beautifull in the Molehill Speech. He accepts it. Even if he intends to let the actual work of ruling to Warwick, Clarence and Queen Margaret, he still wants the sense of superiority, the privileges and the confortable life offered by the title of king that he grew accustomed to since he was nine months old.

By justaposing those speeches and scenes, Shakespeare pulls us of the rug in our view of those two characters, who want the people to believe they are good, heroic and chivalrous kings, anointed by God himself, when in reality what anoints them is their money and their armies.

Intentionally or not, with those plays, Shakespeare was at the same being a precursor and subvertor of the Relatable Royal Trope, showing that those people with the title of kings are like us... but not really.

They feel sadness, fear, anger, love, envy and jealousie like us, but they are more rich, powerfull and privileged then us.And they don’t really want to renounce that power, because it will take away their sense of being superior to us.

To paraphrase Kyle Kalgreen:

Beware pretty speeches

(Kyle Kalgreen. Brows Held High: This Day is Called the Feast of Crispian, a review of Laurence Olivier’s Henry V. October 26th, 2018)

Specially if they come from a person that wears the crown of a king.

#history plays #theater #literature #tragedies #shakespeare #william shakespeare #will shakespeare #henry v #henry vi #the wars of the roses #bardolatry #brows held high #kyle kalgreen #cinema #laurence olivier

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ad1thi · 4 years

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for the otp asks! Alex and Henry!!!

1. Coffee shop AU: Who is the barista, and who frequents the coffee shop?

oh, oh, oh, 10000% Alex is the barista who’s working there part-time to keep up expenses during college and Henry is the customer who has a massive crush on Alex but doesn’t know how to ask him out because he’s worried asking him when he’s working might be insensitive (since it’s like, his place of work, and he doesn’t want Alex to be obligated to say yes just because he doesn’t want to lose a customer)

Alex just thinks that Henry is weirdly attached to the coffee (and honestly, it’s a bit pretentious of him I mean he comes in like 4 times a day, why doesn’t the guy just invest in a coffee machine if he likes coffee that much?)

2. Highschool/College AU: Who is the straight-A student, and who’s the back-row slacker?

i know like canonically Alex is a very hard worker but i just rly like the idea of Henry being a transfer student (because his father wants him to see other countries when he still has the chance, and he gets a layer of anonymity in the US that he doesn’t get in England),,,a babie gay who’s trying to figure out his way in the world and doesn’t understand how Alex Diaz is so laid back,,,because he keeps himself up at night trying to maintain his 4.0 GPA and Alex doesn’t even care??

(why does Henry care so much about a classmate he barely talks to? that’s a story for later)

anyway Henry spends a lot of his time trying to figure out what Alex’s deal is,,,and his A.P Chem suffers for it - so his teacher (who’s just looking out for him) assigns Henry a tutor. He shows up at the library as promised, and sitting at the desk three steps from the back shelf,,, where’s he’s supposed to meet his tutor, is Alexander Diaz.

No royal training prepared Henry for this

3. Rivals to loves AU: Who takes their rivalry seriously, and who is half in it just to push the other’s buttons?

i think canonically Alex is the one who takes the rivalry seriously while Henry is just trying to be friends with him 🥺

4. Enemies to lovers AU: Which one switches sides?

hmm methinks that i like the idea of Henry switching sides for Alex 👀

5. Soulmate AU: Who is eager to meet their soulmate? Who absolutely does not want to meet their soulmate?

Princes of England don’t get soulmates. Princes of England get introduced to the beauty of makeup at the tender age of six and grow up to marry equally grab princesses who have bags under their eyes before the age of 25.

Too bad Henry’s soulmate didn’t get the memo.

6. Single parent AU: Which one is the single parent? (Alt. if they’re both single parents: Which one is open to starting a new relationship from the start? Which one is never planning on finding love again… Until they meet the other and are instantly smitten?)

ooh i like the idea of Henry as a single father? Maybe an ill advised one night stand when he was still figuring out his sexuality?? and he refuses to give up his child, not when he knows what the loss of a father can do to one - and as punishment, his grandmother banishes him to the US because if he insists on raising the bastard (her words, not his), then it certainly won’t be in Buckingham Palace.

7. Doctor AU: Which one is the long-suffering doctor? Which one is the patient?

OH OH HENRY AS THE DOCTOR I MEAN WHO ELSE COULD THE DOCTOR BE and Alex is just,,,,clumsy okay it’s not his fault

8. Bodyguard AU: Who is the bodyguard? Who are they protecting? Which one is secretly pining for the other?

okay so this could go either way tbh but what im thinking is: British Royal Men are expected to sign up for the Military. I’m not sure if it’s necessary, but it’s definitely like the done thing. So obviously, Henry signs up, but he finds he likes it. Like really likes it. Like he’s found his calling type likes it. So he renounces his title, and does another before he injures himself and has to be honourably discharged.

His grandmother might not like it, but his mother and sister always made it clear that his title was waiting for him, should he want it. But he doesn’t want it. He’s itching to serve and protect, even if he can’t serve in the military anymore. Pez, who was an eternal godsend during his years in the military, mentions that he’s setting up a private security firm with some of the other men that they served with and does Henry want to join?

Henry jumps at the opportunity, even though it takes him to the United States, and away from everything familiar. He’s used to being away from his family. Business is good, if not a little slow - but Pez assures him that’s just because they’re recently established. Then, there’s an attack on the President’s life and Pez and Henry find themselves with the contract of a century: tasked with protecting the First Family.

(Henry would be happier if Alex Diaz, member of said First Family, hadn’t been the reason for his sexuality crisis)

9. Pirate AU: Who is the pirate? Who is the member of the royal family who did not sign up for this?

hmm methinks Alex would make a good pirate (as First Mate, Nora is obviously Captain) and Henry is the butthurt prince

10. Childhood best friends AU: Which one was super obviously in love with the other the whole time? Who was oblivious until they were older?

shshshsh LITERALLY HENRY DO BE THE ONE PINING WHILE ALEX IS LIKE “hmm we’re just good FRIENDS yes FRIENDS who sometimes exchange blowjobs he’s such a good FRIEND” sjsjsjsj

send me a ship for OTP asks

#questions for your otp asks #my writing #firstprince #alexhenry #rwrb #alex diaz #henry windsor #red white and royal blue #anon ty so much for sending this in 🥺#anon ask #adi answers asks

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stoicbreviary · 3 years

Text

"The Last Words of Cleanthes"

Richard Henry Horne (1802-1884) 'Here do I take my seat, Great Element! And for the last time listen to thy voice, Which now methinks hath a more lulling tone, E'en as of sympathy: but that's a dream. 'Many great spirits dwell in other worlds, And some are here, who live, like me, alone, But with a recognized influence of good, Rewarded by self-consciousness of power, Which is the Stoic's well-sufficing law; It is his law unto himself, comprising All kinds of labour; water, food, and space Of ground sufficient where to rest the head, Being his right in common with the herds, And all dumb fellow-creatures of the earth. 'Zeno is gone; and I have taught his School, With pride I yet may pardon in myself, Knowing how much of his great soul, outpoured For all throughout my being was transfused. Zeno hath passed to higher learning now, And thence to higher teachings will attain, Proportion'd to his spirit towering still; While I have linger'd here, and day and night Striven to be worthy of his great bequest.' The sage was seated on a lone sea-coast, And while the sun slow sank 'midst solemn smiles, As of paternal sadness, touch'd with hope, The sea came flowing up, still murmuring Its ever-fresh yet ancient harmonies. Near him there stands a Thracian youth, whose head And limbs elastic had enchain'd the gaze, But for the anxious chisellings o'er his face, As he beholds a man of massive brow, O'ersnow'd by four score years, who like a rock Placed on a rock, sits there, self-doom'd to die. 'Young man, thou pray'st me to recount my life— New comer from the Thracian Chersonese, Not knowing of my labours, or my thoughts, Nor why I sit here with intent to end A long life, every day whereof hath wrought The utmost work my faculties could achieve; Here, where the bright waves hasten tow'rds my feet, Not like fierce rows of fangs, but gracious friends Who bring to me my flowing funeral rites, Murmuring their deep hymns to eternity. 'I was a rough-bred and unletter'd man, Born to great strength of sinew and of bone, With that endurance which outlives defeat; And as a cestus-bearing athlete fought, Gaining some batter'd victories, with the applause Of brutal natures, and of spirits refined, Needing reaction after mental toil. With heavy ox-thonged cestus, newly stained From smashing contest, craving rest and shade, The grove I pass'd where Zeno held his School. The vision of that grand head floats before me, As then it loom'd above the shoulders bare, And grape-like curls of many a lovely youth Whose soaring spirit stood with folded wings. 'The hush'd repose—the shadows,—and the rhythm Of Zeno's eloquent cadences—a flow Of harmony as of the confluence sweet When Simoïs and Xanthus murmur'd through Some temple in the groves of vanish'd Troy, Melted my nerves, and overcame my heart, Till a new life-spring gushed into my brain, Flooding my thoughts, and forcing o'er each sense A change, which all my bodily strength transformed. More than a child's within a giant's grasp, Or clay beneath the statuary's hand, Softly I laid me listening on the grass,— And year by year, ne'er absent, day by day, Save for deep study in my lone abode, As one of Zeno's flock I fed and thought. 'Now while the days roll'd o'er my bowed-down head, My corporal needs—how few—were well supplied By labours of the night, wherein my strength Served well my higher craving; and for hinds On gardens, farms, or cattle far a-field, Water I drew from wells, or when the springs Sparkled in frosty silver 'neath the moon. 'Thus through my mind were melted twenty years, And Zeno left us—on life's pilgrimage Tow'rds higher knowledge,—and his Chair devolved On me, though others to that lofty seat Held worthier claim. As Polygnotus' hand In paintings illustrated godlike forms, And acts of heroes, so did I but teach, With humbler, but not less devoted powers, What godlike minds had imaged. Let that pass From me, the medium of those truths sublime, To rest as crowns for their diviner brows. 'And yet, young man, I have not lived in vain In mine own person, since examples weighty Rank with best teachings. Now, brief words paint years:— The tide rolls inward, and thou must depart, And leave me here to close my mortal hour. Through a long life I have thoroughly wrought my will, From nature's hand refusing all rich fruits, As from my labours, or man's kindliness, Receiving but the means for innocent food, Thus following Crates' and great Zeno's course, As rigidly as link doth follow link, When seamen raise an anchor to the prow; Or as the shadow of the hero's spear Beneath its singing, flies to the same mark. To man's best knowledge, and highest good Myself have I devoted evermore, With no weak murmurings o'er the poverty Which was my choice. And if my chief return From man were scoffs, cold pity, or neglect, As I for social life were all unfit— No business had on earth—let man progress The better for my life; I, none the worse For his contempt, but more content and glad In that my labours have been more removed From personal profit. My pure 'vantage rests On its negation and its nullity, Which is the Stoic's true—his best reward, Save in the satisfaction of his soul. It may be that some balance here is lost, Since Nature bids each seek his proper good. Every devotion hath inspiring madness— Oft madness of the loftiest, purest scope; But 'tis poor earthliness large gains to crave, Thanks, and prompt recognition from the world Of service and self-sacrifice. Enough— Man knows his own acts, his own secret mind,— Evades, or all the mingled truths confronts. 'Leave me, young man; the tide is rising fast! Good youth, retire—'tis now my will to die. Studies and hardships on extreme age piling Weight upon weight, life's arches are borne down; And as nought useless can, or should exist, I have for days, all sustenance refused, Press'd to my hands, but thankfully laid down, And now sit here, beside my sand-scoop'd grave, Waiting majestic burial from the sea. 'Nor are tombs wanting. Lo, yon marble rocks!— The architecture of some hand Divine! Intaglios fretted by a thousand years— Inscriptions motto'd by the unseen Powers That guide earth's great mutations, while around me The symbols both of present and of past— Enormous sea-weeds, strombites, and whitening bones, Submarine flowers that lift their welcoming heads, And wail of starv'd birds echoing to the moon, Now slowly rising from her daily grave, Profusely furnish funeral honours due To those whose life-lamps burnt in caves, like mine. Young man! forbear thy touch!—thy tearful voice— Begone at once! behold the waves flow near, And soon will kiss these pale and paralyzed feet. The crescent points creep round with gushing gleams, And now they eddying meet, and deepening flow! 'Covering his face, with smother'd sobs he goes— Farewell!—nay, boy!—he weeps, but he is gone. Ever-young World! I have well loved thy youth, And thought for me thou hadst no heart at all; But 'twas not so. I ne'er had sought to gain That sympathy which yet, like unplucked fruit, Is ready for the worthy traveller's hand. Absorb'd in work for man, men I forgot, With all their cherished trivialities. Wherefore they viewed me as a thing apart. I. 'O Zeus! I bless thee for the life thou gavest, So full of bodily strength, and health, and years; I bless thee for the mind that hath no fears Of death, whereby our atoms thou still savest, Till some fine consciousness again appears. II. O Zeus! I have doubted further gifts of Gods— Doubted futurity for each special mind; The soul, like music, dying on the wind; The body merging in earth's sands and sods;— But to thy Ruling evermore resigned. III. O Zeus! no claim have we to aught beyond! We bless thee for the life we have enjoyed; We hope our spirit shall not be destroyed: Thy waters to my dying Hymn respond In harmonies that change, ere rapture-cloyed. IV. O Zeus! I hear the broad waves gently flowing Over my feet, and nestling round my knees! My senses melt away by soft degrees! My thoughts, like seeds, thy hand afar is sowing! Sweet songs are in my brain—sweet birds in trees! V. O Zeus! at all-devouring Time I smile; For he is but Heaven's little playful son, Toying, or teasing, while we graveward run: Flow then, ye waves!—our mingling sands beguile! Flow on, divine Maternity, flow on!'

#stoicism #cleanthes #richard henry horne

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hyperfixateandchill · 3 years

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aaand because I can’t stop thinking about it i’ve written down my ranking of post-finale deancas scenarios including a non-exhaustive list of pros and cons for each. read on at your own discretion.

1st place: Deancas open up the new Roadhouse. My personal favorite because, again, Dean’s canon dream. I think Dean would LOVE running his own bar and playing host and serving people food and drinks is basically his love language. Cas isn’t as into the bar vibe specifically but he enjoys seeing people come and go and getting to know the locals who come by and just being with Dean. They get to stay connected to the hunting world without being actual hunters which is probably the perfect win win situation for them.

Other Pros of the Bar scenario (i’ve thought about this a lot): Claire and Kaia come by increasingly often to visit until eventually Claire basically works part-time at the Roadhouse when she’s not off hunting and Dean starts only semi-ironically calling it the “family business.” Claire puts up pride flag stickers on the front door and Dean makes a thing of it at first but then warms up to the idea. People start catching on and now local queer people will come from several towns over to visit the bar because there aren’t exactly that many queer friendly spaces in their corner of Kansas. Then it’s pride month and Claire and Kaia secretly update the bar’s online info to explicitly draw in queer customers and on the evening of the nearest pride march the bar is PACKED with all the local gays and Cas has the pop music blaring and he will NOT let Dean change it but it’s ok because Dean’s made friends with a drag queen who’s a professional comedian and now they’re comparing calendars to see when she might be able to come do a set at the Roadhouse and basically their bar is now a gay bar. “LGBT friendly”, Dean insists, because 1. he’s not gay and 2. he still caters to the local straights and the hunters. but now hunters come in and end up sitting 2 stools away from a flamboyant!gay and some are slightly weirded out but most don’t care at all and all of them end up making some kind of comment about how they’d heard about Dean Winchester and his angel... guess it’s true huh? And Dean shoots them a cocky grin and says ‘yep’ but he still holds to the rule that pop music is only allowed on tuesdays and thursdays and maybe very late at night on the weekends when everybody’s drunk and dancing. The Roadhouse is a second home to Dean and it’s the perfect mix of middle american dive, hunter’s hangout and lgbt space, and that’s literally DEAN so it’s perfect and he gets to work with his family by his side and be a part of a community (or several) and he feels useful and happy.

Cons of the Bar scenario: Doesn’t work great with having a small child or hobbies. very long hours and unusual work schedule. would encourage Dean’s drinking habit. I.e. it might be more intense than some alternatives (unless the bar is more cafe/diner during the day and Claire/Kaia/whatever other youngins can mind the place on their own if deancas aren’t in and the bar is located quite close to their house to they can come and go).

Overall works pretty well for a more active/energetic take on deancas’s lives post-finale. 8/10

2nd place: Mix of mechanic!Dean and retired!deancas. Dean’s never had a proper job before or much of a social circle who aren’t hunters, so I find it hard to imagine Dean working at an autoshop and playing mr. normie with his coworkers. Same with Cas and a regular job.

What I can imagine, however, is Dean having his own small business where he fixes up old cars (for like, vintage car enthusiasts). It starts as a hobby but then he realizes people would pay him to do it so now it’s a business. Deancas obviously have a a house on a big plot of land near the woods and a lakeside, so there’s plenty of outdoor space for him to set up a small shop and most of his customers call ahead so he doesn’t have people just coming in anyway. The work is not quite enough to pay all the bills but again, Charlie’s magic credit card, so who cares. Cas gardens and beekeeps and occasionally sells the extras at the local farmer’s market. Dean cooks and fishes and uses Cas’s ingredients whenever possible. They spend their days on their own property, doing their hobbies on their own time and making enough money from them that they don’t feel useless and still have plenty of time left to get over-involved in Jack’s pta. It’s a very calm, contented life. the millennial hipster dream, fulfilled by two 40-some year old dads.

Pros: deancas getting to spend their days doing what they love, being ridiculously domestic and married (even if they’re not officially married), both being absolute malewives in their own ways and it’s disgustingly sweet.

Cons: this scenario doesn’t have quite as much excitement and opportunity for shenanigans as the bar scenario. Less connection to a community, more living like hermits. Dean might appreciate the more social atmosphere of a bar. Cas might be equally happy either way, but he’d probably like having Claire help them out at the bar so that’s a plus for him.

Overall a good scenario for a more placid semi-retired life. 7/10

3rd place: a bait and switch. Cas is the one who ends up still having something you could call a ‘job’, Dean is the househusband. It starts with deancas still helping saileen with HOL (hunters of letters) stuff but eventually Dean is very decided that he wants out now that things are in good hands. Cas agrees with him but still consults with the hol network since he’s got all that lore knowledge. Dean very occasionally helps with research/strategy for a hunt but that’s IT no more hunting for him, and so it ends up that Cas still comes by the bunker fairly often and works from home the rest of the time on research and translations etc and Dean’s 100% amateur chef-in-training and papa bear because now nobody can look down on him for being a housewife (or nobody he gives a shit about anyway) so he’s gone all in. and whenever he comes by the bunker these days is after he’s picked up Jack from school and he comes to join their family to cook them all dinner while they finish up the work.

Pros: love me a Dean who’s gotten over his hypermasculinity and is now comfortable with doing whatever he likes even if (sometimes specially if) that thing is considered stereotypically feminine. It’s his big fuck you to his dad and it’s the life mary had wanted when she was young and dean is mary and therefore he’s honoring her memory when he spends his days on a bright airy kitchen making lunch for his 4 year old and waiting for his ex-soldier husband he adores to come home and doing not one bit of hunting. except dean never had to lie about his past and cut ties with his hunter family to get this. which is why this time for him it works, when it didn’t for mary or sam. love that energy.

Cons: Dean is not in fact just a malewife and would probably still want some more action in his life. might feel kinda useless with Cas having a ‘thing’ to do when he doesn’t. Cas would be perfectly happy regardless though.

Overall heartwarming and sweet but not as realistic: 6/10

4th: Disheveled-magic-shop-owner!Cas (+ Sam and Dean). Just thought of this. Cas knows his shit about spell ingredients and magical objects and supernatural weapons, probably more than even Sam. And Cas gardens. And Cas most likely enjoys pinterest and mom blogs and finds out about etsy... So Cas may or may not start growing/hoarding specific goods he knows are useful in the hunting world. at first it’s just to help HOL out but eventually Dean realizes like... we could profit off of this? And Cas eye-rolls because he doesn’t care but then again he knows his shit so he sets up a poorly-designed website to sell hunting stuff. and maybe Sam goes in on it with him because Sam also knows his shit and it’s kind of cute because they work together and Dean probably does the mechanic/barkeep/househusband thing though he does help with making the special bullets and dropping off parcels at the post office and so on. And maybe eventually they open up a small magic shop where they sell their shit. And maybe the shop is next door to the Roadhouse and it’s all become ‘your one-stop shop for everything a hunter might need’ (and you know the gays like their new age shit too so it all works), and the bunker isn’t even far away either and all three business are interconnected, the ‘family business’ that AU John Winchester of Hunter Corp wished he’d created.

Pros: Cas gets to do a thing he’s knowledgeable and passionate about and Deancas get to leave hunting while staying adjacent to the community. Cas as a disheveled shopkeep who’s not particularly nice to customers but who provides them with insights and mysterious comments that make people certain he must be legit.

Cons: Cas using his knowledge of the supernatural to profit off of hunters sounds too capitalist and not very Cas-like. He would be the type to gladly give people stuff for free and methinks that Dean and Sam would feel that way too. Cas helping with HOL stuff is basically established in options 1-3 already and so is him gardening for potentially useful ingredients. He doesn’t need to sell this stuff in a shop.

Overall makes sense theoretically but doesn’t vibe well for me. 5/10

5th: full on retirees, doing basically the same things as no 2 except with maybe some more travelling and less caring about making money from any of it.

Pros: the “and they lived happily ever after” they deserve after all the shit they’ve been through.

Cons: boring. uneventful. Dean and Cas are still quite young and neither’s had a chance at something even resembling a normal life for more than a couple of months at a time. They should get more of a middle aged married life experience before moving on to full retirement.

Overall valid but less interesting: 4/10

6th: Cas gets a job at a local library or shop, Dean is either a mechanic or a househusband. To preface, if Cas were to get a job out there in the world, my favorite would be like a magic shop or a bookshop with *unique* books. But I find that unlikely unless Cas is running his own shop (see 4th place for that). So here we’re talking about a regular normie shop.

Pros: Cas has a job he likes and feels useful in? And he’s not completely tied down to Dean all the time (though not sure that counts as a pro). More of the ‘normal life’ vibes.

Cons: Cas working at a random bookstore or library or shop or whatever would be passably interesting but not as fulfilling or useful or fun as any of the other options.

Overall valid but not interesting or all that heartwarming. 2/10

6th: deancas don’t know any life outside of hunting so they keep on doing it, except now with lower stakes than before and they go on less actual hunts.

pros: umm... consistency? they keep working closely with saileen and the new hunters who start coming by/moving into the bunker.

cons: everything. Dean’s wanted out and he should get it. Cas literally died several times over and he should get to experience a human life with the man he loves and not just do more dangerous shit.

Overall a terrible idea. 1/10 (because 0/10 would be the Cas never comes back and Dean dies and goes to heaven scenario)

#spn #supernatural #deancas #destiel #dean winchester #and #castiel #deserve a happy life

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catsafarithewriter · 4 years

Text

Day 1: Free Day

A/N: Whoop whoop! Let’s get this party started!

Today, I am cheating (already) and using a scene from a WIP that’s inspired by “The Ordinary Princess”. The concept is about a princess who is ‘cursed’ to be ordinary, much to the chagrin of the royal court and the disinterest of visiting princes. The original source is light-hearted and written very much tongue-in-cheek, and I’ve tried to mirror some of that humour here. (We could all do with some light-hearted humour, methinks.)

(Also, the Lord High Chamberlain is Natori, and the Minister of Administrative Affairs is Natoru. Kudos to anyone who guesses where Natoru’s title comes from.)

“The Princess must marry,” announced the Lord High Chamberlain to the royal court. His was tall and thin and the sleeves of his official robes of state had the unfortunate side effect of rolling past his hands. Today, the aforementioned sleeves were being wrung together. “Aurelia is a small kingdom – we need a strong alliance with a powerful lord or prince, and everyone knows that a marriage is the only way to secure it. I propose we find a suitor for Princess Haru immediately.”

“One with good coffers,” said the Minister of Finance.

“And sustainable farming practices,” offered the Minister of Agriculture.

“And strong relationships with other kingdoms,” supplied the Minister of Foreign Affairs.

“But not too strong,” added the Minister of Family Trees.

“I think we’re aiming a little high, aren’t we?” asked the King, who was very aware that Aurelia wasn’t particularly strong in any of those departments. “Anyway,” he continued, “even if we did find someone of royal blood who fulfilled all the… requirements, we’d still have to achieve the actual marriage.”

“I don’t know,” grumbled a backseat minister. His nametag had fallen off several years back, and no one wanted to admit they couldn’t remember what he was the minister of. But he had been part of the royal court since the King’s childhood, and removing him would have been as fruitful as removing the gargoyles from the palace’s gutters. “Young folk these days, wanting to get married for true love, instead of convenience. It’s all those stories of dashing princes and knights in shining white armour that’s corrupted the youth of today. Back in my day, you married whichever dowry had the most sheep, and you were happy about it,” he ranted, with a great deal of confidence for someone who, as far as anyone could make out, had never wedded.

The rest of the court waited several moments following what appeared to be the tail end of the rant and then, when the snoring continued, dubiously picked up the conversation again.

“Maybe he’s right though,” the Queen mused. “Maybe a dose of romance would spice things up.”

“And what are you suggesting?” asked the King.

“I don’t know. A bit of adventure. Some magic. Maybe a quest.”

The Minister of Questing perked up.

“I’m not sure about a quest,” the King replied. “They usually require asking for dogs that fit inside acorns, or linen fine enough to be threaded through a needle, or apples from the ends of the earth, and I don’t need any of those.”

The Queen nodded. “True. You’d be constantly losing the dog.”

“I would!”

“And fine linen is all very good, but it would be tear at the slightest graze.”

“I do keep catching my robe on suits of armour.”

“And apples from the ends of the earth would be rotten by the time the prince brings them back.”

“Exactly.”

“So I don’t think a quest is quite the right thing.”

The Minister of Questing deflated and went back to playing Go Fish with the Minister of Potholes.

“What about locking her up with a dragon?” a nasal voice piqued up.

All heads turned to the Minister of Administrative Affairs. The Minister of Administrative Affairs was a man of shortness – short stature, short of several marbles, but never short of smiles. He wore one such smile now as the rest of the court gaped at him.

“You want to what?” the King asked eventually, forgetting the entirety of his elocution education in that moment.

“Lock her up in a dragon-guarded tower,” the Minister of Administrative Affairs repeated, still smiling. “Everyone knows that princes are foolish, romantic things and will leap at the chance to rescue a damsel in distress, even if it is an ordinary princess. All we need to do is place a proclamation that anyone who rescues the Princess will be rewarded with her hand in marriage and she’ll be wed before the year is out.”

There was a rumbling of agreement as the other ministers considered this.

The King (who had once been a prince and remembered his princely days with considerable fondness) coughed rather loudly. “Now, see here,” he said, “we can’t be sure that such a thing will work. After all, not all princes are foolish, romantic things–”

“We don’t need all princes,” the Minister said. “Just one.”

“It could work,” the Queen murmured. “Princes do like rescuing damsels in distress.”

The rumbling of agreement rose.

“But having her kidnapped by a dragon?” the King asked. “Doesn’t that seem a little drastic?”

The Queen patted his hand. “Oh no, dear, we’ll simply hire one out,” she assured. “Strict terms and conditions. She’ll be quite safe.”

“It’s not just that,” the King said. “Think of the paperwork. The cost!”

The rumbling stopped. Paperwork and cost were not things that mixed well with ministers.

“But she’s already well into her twenties,” the Minister of Administrative Affairs supplied. “And everyone knows what comes after.”

“Her thirties?” the King suggest dryly.

“Spinsterhood!”

“Oh, she can always adopt the next heir, if need be,” the Queen said.

“That’s not it,” the Minister of Administrative Affairs stressed. He gestured as grandly as he could with his short arms. “Ladies who reach spinsterhood are highly likely to become witches! Just this year, 70% of ladies over the age of 70 filed their occupation as ‘witch’ for the census.”

The King and Queen paused to digest this thought.

“Yeeeees,” the King said slowly, “but that doesn’t usually happen to royalty, does it?”

“Not crown royalty,” the Queen added.

“She’ll be too busy ruling to be thinking about sitting under bridges and eating goats.”

The Queen patted the King’s hand. “You’re thinking of trolls, dear.”

“Am I? What is it that witches do?”

“Mostly brewing potions and dancing in the forest at midnight, I think.”

“There we go then,” the King said. “She can use the palace kitchens for her potions, and as for the dancing in the forest part, everyone needs a hobby. At least if she does dance at midnight, she’ll never have to worry about missing a meeting for it. It sounds like very clever time management to me.” He faltered as a fresh vein of thought was mined into, and glanced over at his wife. “It’s not the naked-beneath-the-full-moon type of dancing, is it?”

“I think it depends on the kind of witch.”

“Only, you can’t be doing with a future Queen who keeps catching colds from improper nocturnal woodland attire. If she does become a witch, she’ll have to dress properly.” He motioned to the nearest minister. “Someone make that official. Any crown royals who pick up witching hobbies must dress accordingly for midnight forest dances. Someone make it so. What was I talking about?”

“Securing a strong alliance for Aurelia,” the Lord High Chamberlain supplied, who had been patiently waiting for the royal train of thought to crash back somewhere in the vicinity of relevance. “As I was saying, Aurelia is a small kingdom and the marriage of Princess Haru to a suitable suitor would benefit its future greatly.”

The King and Queen both considered the unhelpful disinterest of the princes and lords who had passed through.

“And you’re sure we can’t just send our neighbours a Yuletide card and be done with it?” the King asked.

“Fairly certain, Your Majesty.”

The King and Queen exchanged glances.

The Queen shrugged. “Haru could do with a gap year away. It might be educational. After all, she’ll have to travel.”

“Which’ll be good for her geography,” the King agreed.

“And dragons are part of natural history.”

“True, very true.”

“I think,” the Queen said, “that we might look into this dragon business after all.”

Trumpets blared. Somewhere beyond the palace walls, royal fanfare deafened servants who were regretting coming into work today, and when the last echoes faded away, there was the sound of scurrying feet.

The court curiously waited while the owner of the feet skidded to a halt outside the hall, and then spent several audibly laborious moments regaining their breath. There was quite a lot of wheezing, a gasp, and then finally a cough, and when the butler eventually opened the door he looked like you could stack cards on his bald head without a quiver.

“Your Majesties,” he intoned. “We’ve just received a surprise visit from Prince Machida of the Sakura Kingdom.”

“I think,” the Queen said, “that we might look into this dragon business after Prince Machida’s visit.”

#tcr birthday bash #tcr birthday bash 2020 #the cat returns #the cat queues #day 1 free day #the refuge for reluctant royalty #the ordinary princess au #also baron's a dragon in this au #I don't know how long this story will be #shorter than average due to the style #but also chaotic enough to go off the rails at any time #anyway this is an excerpt from an early chapter #one of the few scenes that's complete #yeah for those of you from discord #you'll recognise dragon baron when he turns up #I think we discussed it there but haven't posted anything about it on tumblr yet

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fairiesherefairiesthere · 4 years

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(Fraxus) The Duel-ity of man

Title’s a pun, not a misspelling :D

This was a request by @useless-slytherclaw, who requested Laxus realising he’s in love with Freed! Thank you for the request! Fic under the cut

Maybe, just maybe, the reason Laxus hasn't thought of Freed as dating material up till now because the man gives him so much more to think about, although he's never able to dwell upon those thoughts for very long because the man is a whirlwind of brilliant activity. If Laxus' thought were a neat pile of papers (a very hypothetical situation), then Freed is a cheeky spring breeze, luring those papers outside, scattering them in every direction that man wants them to go.

Perhaps Freed is more like a matchstick, inconspicuously landing on those imaginary papers and setting them ablaze without being conscious of the furnace he's created. One of the things Laxus is sure of, is that he's no good at neither analogies nor poetry and that he should stop trying to encapsulate the essence of his best friend in one image, because no image he could possibly conjure could live up to the man himself.

Said man is currently distracting him from trying to form coherent thoughts. Nothing new there and as the truly wise people say, thinking is overrated anyway. "What's got you thinking so hard?" Freed asks, tone teasing as he places himself on Laxus' desk, legs crossed. Effortlessly, he paints a picture of elegance that Laxus would never dare to attempt to try himself. "I don't think", he answers.

Dignity. A gift that isn't bestowed upon any member of the Dreyar family, but Laxus hopes that at least his pokerface can save him from selfinflicted embarrassment.

His pokerface doesn't stand a chance against Freed's ages of knowing and the other man raises a brow in retalation. Granting him some mercy, Freed shakes his head with a little smile. "Apparently so", he grins and Laxus thinks about throwing him off his desk. It wouldn't be that hard, Freed isn't that heavy. He knows because he's carried him before, which was all in all a nice experience.

"You're really out of it today, what's up?" There's no escaping Freed's perceptiveness and knowing this like no other, Laxus doesn't even attempt to. "I am having thoughts." Seeing the grin reappear on Freed's face, Laxus throws a paper ball in his direction. "Asshole", he mutters and the bastard has the nerve to shoot him a wink. "I'm having a crisis, but I don't know about what. Not yet, really."

Freed hums at that and gives Laxus a once over, lingering at his eyes. As they wordlessly gaze at each other, Laxus swallows dryly. He thinks he can take this tension, until Freed reaches out and tilts his chin up. Involuntarily, he shivers and his eyes quickly flits from Freed eyes to his lips and back.

Just when he's about to ask what Freed is doing, the man lets go and jumps from his desk. "Being cooped up in here isn't going to help you methinks. Darling, will you join me for a walk? Or are you gonna stay in this musty ass place, bitch?"

The difference in tone and wordchoice kicks Laxus in the teeth and damn it, he doesn't like to be on the receiving end of Freed's verbal whiplashes. "Yeah, I'm coming", he says and follows the man outside.

Freed is first and foremost, a trickster. A conman, if he must, a charming piece of man only following his own rules. Without a doubt, Laxus can say that he knows no one quite as wellspoken as Freed Justine. Without a doubt, he also knows that no one can even try to compare to Freed when it comes to cursing someone to hell and back. The man is a master of language and applies it however he wishes, pulling people in with pretty words or provoking them with vicious insults.

Whatever he wants, he will get and Laxus finds it a fascinating process to watch. (Or sometimes, plain disturbing. Once, Bickslow had been showcasing the language of the youth these days he learned while getting kidnapped by a travelling circus and Freed and him had talked in this foreign language for three whole weeks. It was awful.)

Most of the time, Laxus is merely a witness of Freed's sharptongued, quickwitted vocal charm. Whenever he's subjected to it, it leaves him a bit stumped. It probably paints him as a dim fool in Freed's mind. Sure, he isn't the brightest mind around here (how can he be when Freed's walking right next to him), but he'd like to be a tad bit better than that. He resolves to not let himself be played with that easily next time.

"Here." With a careful gesture, Freed hands him an icecream. "You're spacing off again and since you didn't answer when I oh so considerately asked you if you wanted some icecream, I took it upon myself to get you some anyway."

"Oh. Thanks." Awkwardly Laxus takes it. "Strawberry, because you have the taste of a first grader on a schooltrip", Freed smirks, sticking his tongue out like an actual first grader. "Put that tongue back or I'll give you something to do with it."

"Oh yeah?" Freed asks, voice teasing with a hint of breathlessness, lips slightly parted. Unceremoniously, Laxus shoves Freed's own icecream into the man's mouth. As the man sputters and coughs, Laxus pats him on the back.

After the coughing fit, Laxus, feeling a bit bad, finds them a scenic place in the park to sit. The trees grand them some relief from the sweltering sun and Freed ignores the perfectly fine bench to spread his jacket underneath him and lay down on the grass. His long green hair is arranges itself like a halo around his head and Laxus twirls a few strands of it between his fingers as he sits down next to him. Looking at Freed, he gives the other man a barely there smile (he's been told he's not that good at smiling).

"Camouflage", he jokes and Freed rolls his eyes. "Whatever", he says and puts a few strands of gras between his lips, like some sort of really white cowboy. "Cannibalism", Laxus whispers obnoxiously close to his ears. Freed's brows twitch in irritation and the man opens his mouth. Nothing comes out and he purses his lips together instead. With a huff, he lays his head down in Laxus' lap and closes his eyes. "I'm not acknowledging that, I'm going to take a nap instead."

"You do that captain", Laxus snorts and moves Freed's a bit, so it's more comfortable for both of them. Although he's using the title mostly jokingly in the moment, Laxus truly respects the work Freed does for their little ragtag group of friends. All of them are powerhouses in their own right, but Freed's the mastermind behind their teamwork. Laxus doesn't think that anybody in the whole world could juggle their personalities and abilities as well as he can.

For someone who looks so unassuming, Freed is a beast of a man. Most of the time, he puts his effort in making sure their team works efficiently together, disappearing in the background. It's whatever Freed in the shadows that makes them able to pull through. But on the few occassions that Laxus has seen him showcasing his strength, he's been left astounded.

Freed's an allrounder in more ways than one. On the battlefield, he's their biggest defense player, one of the best closerangers and he can take care of longer ranges too. Often he doesn't need to, because his strategic mind allows him and his team to win battles without too much trouble. He's a menace and often more brutal than Laxus dares to be.

Off the battlefield, he's the only reason none of them have died of food poisoning. Basically, Freed's what keeps them going.

With soft gestures, Laxus takes it upon himself to decorate Freed's hair with nearby flowers. As he places white and pink flowers in green tresses, he can't help but note how handsome the man in his lap is. The serenity of his expression brings out his youthfullness and as Laxus stares at this accumulation of grace, strength, beauty, competence, brilliance and so much more, Laxus finds his mind to be completely peaceful.

Although they both are men of action, Laxus wishes that moments like these wouls occur more often. A flash of Freed in a fight, deadly power contained in a smirking man, is always enjoyable but such moments are too short to truly relish in. Right now, he can breathe peacefully and stare at Freed as long as he wants. The man's not doing anything special right now and yet Laxus still feels a thrilling admiration when he looks at him. All Freed's competences and abilities are neat, but they are not the core of his being, not the exact thing Laxus is attracted to.

"Hey Freed?" he murmurs, as he feels like speaking in a louder tone will shatter this picture perfect moment. "What would you do if you liked someone?" Without opening his eyes, Freed answers, a dramatic tone colouring his voice.

"Why my dear Laxus, I would challenge them to a duel. They would accept the challenge, but little do they know, it's not a fight in an arena. Nay, we fight in the streets of the city that has seen us grow together and as we give each other little nicks with our knives, we come to the conclusion that we are deeply and madly in love. We will elope and become pirates and as the sun sets above our ship, we kiss, because we waited untill marriage for any kind of physical contact."

His gorgeous blue eyes snap open and Laxus feels pinned into place. "Then the kraken will drag our ship down and eat us alive. Reverse sannakji."

"That's awful."

"Thanks, it was pure improvisation."

Laxus sighs a bit disappointedly and Freed closes his eyes again. "I don't know. Probably ask him out for icecream." There's no misunderstanding his smile and Laxus rushes to get the words out. "I love you", he nearly spits out and Freed smiles a little wider. "I know", he says and the calm, warm tone settles any restlessness that might've still been in Laxus' body. Softly, he presses a kiss to the back of Laxus' hand. "I love you too."

He says the words like they're the easiest in the world. Laxus can't wait till he can say them that naturally as well. For now, he puts a few more flowers in his lover's hair, hoping that actions speak louder than clumsy words, although he's got a feeling that Freed will get the message nonetheless.

#fraxus #Freed Justine #Laxus Dreyar #freedxlaxus #fairy tail #TheFairyWrites #i love these geebers

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mobius-prime · 4 years

Text

189. Sonic the Hedgehog #121

The Prince & the Revolution

Writer: Benny Lee Pencils: Ron Lim Colors: Jensen

Geoffrey and Hershey have managed to track down a lead on Elias' location, and the king asks Sonic and Sally to meet the two in Feral Forest to find him and bring him home. Geoffrey and Hershey, both sporting new superspy looks complete with cool black sunglasses and fancy suits, are flying above said forest when an attack by some of Eggman's drones brings their plane down, attracting the attention of the various denizens of the area, who are astonished to see a plane crash in the vicinity of their homes. One of the people who goes to investigate is the father of a young pregnant woman named Megan, who decides to go find her husband to let him know what's going on.

E-Elias? You're married?

So actually, I feel I should point out that while this issue seems to want to imply that Meg's baby is his, later issues retcon that into Meg having already been pregnant by a different man who had died by the time she and Elias met. There's just no way, given a similar gestational period to humans, that Elias could have left home, found a nice place to settle, fallen in love with a local woman, and gotten her pregnant nine whole months ago in the period of time he's been gone.

Anyway, Elias leaves his backyard to investigate, finding Geoffrey and Hershey giving the citizenry of the forest a pep talk about banding together and defeating Eggman as he tries to invade their homes. While everyone else is pumped up by the talk, Elias is less than pleased, and stomps back home to start packing his bags, leaving a confused Meg to wonder if all this has something to do with his past that he's always refused to tell her about - yeah, she lost the biological father of her baby, and then immediately jumped into marrying a mystery man who won't tell her anything about himself. I gotta say, Meg, you got lucky this time that you happened to marry someone as nice as Elias, but that stinks of bad decision-making skills…

Geoffrey tries to reason with Elias as he furiously packs his bags, but Elias lashes out in anger, insisting that he'll never again listen to another word Geoffrey has to say. However, at that moment a bunch of E-105 bots burst in through the wall and round up the four occupants, bringing them before Eggman, who has personally arrived to oversee operations. He's delighted to have captured not just two high-level Knothole agents, and not just the prince himself, but also his unborn child (again, clearly unaware that there's no way it's Elias' biological kid). Of course, at that moment Sonic and Sally show up - along with every other inhabitant of the forest, who are itching for a fight after their pep talk from earlier.

Honestly, this is a way better life for Elias than a life as a prince. The poor guy was just never cut out to live as royalty, and now he has a loving wife and a chance at raising his own happy family away from all the political drama that he hates so much. Good for you, Elias!

Afterlife (Part One)

Writer: Ken Penders Pencils: Art Mawhinney Colors: J. Jensen

It is a sad day. Today is the day… of Knuckles' funeral. His body is laid out on a table, arranged with flowers, for all attending to see as a Mitre presides over the event and gives a stock "this guy died" speech for him. All his friends and family mourn, crying over the loss of their loved one and saying things like "I can't believe he's gone" and all that… but someone else is in attendance that no one probably suspected.

It's time for Knuckles to learn about what the title mentions - the Mobian afterlife! While he tries to wrap his head around the concept of being a ghost, all the dead Guardians from ages past - Moonwatcher, Tobor (the real one), Harlan, and so on - explain that when a Guardian dies they don't just pass on like other Mobians. Instead, they just sort of hang around the planet in spirit form until Aurora comes to summon them into the Chaos Force. Hey, remember the occasional references to Aurora here and there throughout basically everything Penders put his hands on? Yeah, turns out she's basically God, and oh, yeah, she's here for Knuckles now!

This golden light, unseen to all the living attendees but blinding to the dead, engulfs Knuckles' body in a blaze of luminosity, and the, uh, "heralds" that just look like dark chao beckon him into the sky…

Song Bird

Writer: Romy Chacon Pencils: Steven Butler Colors: Jensen

Sonic has managed to talk Mina into her most terrifying venture yet - singing on stage in front of a crowd. She sweats nervously in front of her waiting audience, none of whom know what she's about to do. Tails notes that she appears downright terrified, but Sonic is quietly confident, watching from the back.

Oho, look at that sudden confidence! Mina begins to sing, and the crowd gets into it, pleasantly surprised at how good of a singer she is. After a few lines, her nervousness disappears and she starts tearing up the stage, captivating everyone listening to her. Even Sally, who is in the castle working on some paperwork with Nicole, overhears the music and goes to the window to listen, amazed to see that the source of the music is Mina. As her song concludes, the crowd goes wild, and her confidence in herself is restored as she takes a bow.

Ooh, Sally, is that some jealousy I see? Well, we don't need to worry too much about it, methinks. She's shown herself to be very mature about these things before now, but it's still sad to see her feeling insecure like this.

#nala reads archie sonic preboot #archie sonic #archie sonic preboot #sonic the hedgehog #sth 121 #writer: benny lee #writer: ken penders #writer: romy chacon #pencils: ron lim #pencils: art mawhinney #pencils: steven butler #colors: jason jensen

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internetexplorersclub · 5 years

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if I only I could send this via carrier pigeon from Catalina

At LACMA, a conservator named Kamila Korbela is dedicated to restoring Day-Glo paintings from the 1960s that have begun to fade. I did not fully realize that the reason Day-Glo looks like it does is because it’s shifting on the electron level, which creates that shimmer effect and makes it difficult to look at—which is of course, why it was used in certain paintings. The difficulty in restoring it comes from the fact that it’s fading, but not traditionally:

The first problem is that Saturn Yellow is a mix of both conventional color and fluorescent dye. Both types of pigment lose their brightness, but in different ways. While color fades, fluorescence is more correctly said to “extinguish” — its ability to transform invisible energy to visible light exhausted through prolonged exposure.

Day-Glo also refuses to give out the formula (!) to conservators, but modern fluorescent paint ages differently, so Korbela is finding ways to artificially age the pigment to match.

A friend of mine visited Catalina, and sent back snapshots from a museum there that talked about the history of carrier pigeons on the island. Apparently it was earlier to train a pigeon to fly to Los Angeles from Catalina than it was to run underground telegraph cable or whatnot, and the LA Times had a section of news from Catalina, specifically delivered by pigeon.

The New York Times wrote about white barn owls hunting voles, and how they fare better hunting in moonlight, which is fascinating, but the real MVP is this tweet:

Three pieces about myths, folklore and legend. The first, about Max Rockatansky (the eponymous Mad Max) as folkloric and mythic hero, appearing in “times of crisis” à la King Arthur. The second, about the myth of the iceman as lothario, seducing women in their homes when he came to deliver ice, which inspired multiple songs in the 1890s - aughts.

I just learned about THE CANADIAN POTATO MUSEUM on Prince Edward Island and I cannot wait to visit (it has been added to the list along with the CUPNOODLES museum which I realized I have not discussed On Here, but contains a place where you can make your own custom ramen, and the CUPNOODLES Drama Theatre, shaped like a CUPNOODLES where you can watch films about the company’s history)

Wondered why the Soviets sent dogs to space while American sent chimps? Me too, honestly, but wonder no more. (Obligatory note that this does talk about which animals didn’t make it, which is more than a little heartbreaking!)

Soviet space dog names are also my favorites, Laika literally means “Barker”:

Bobik (Бобик) ran away just days before his flight in September 1951. A replacement named ZIB (a Russian acronym for "Substitute for Missing Bobik”…an untrained street dog found running around the barracks, was quickly located and made a successful flight

I love these billboards that are photographs of the mountains behind them:

Finally, a dive into Ursula K. Le Guin’s storytelling, which thanks to my friend Door (who has a great newsletter), introduced me to her “carrier bag theory”— the idea that the first human tool wasn’t a spear, but likely something to carry other things.

If it is a human thing to do to put something you want, because it’s useful, edible, or beautiful, into a bag, or a basket, or a bit of rolled bark or leaf, or a net woven of your own hair, or what have you, and then take it home with you, home being another, larger kind of pouch or bag, a container for people, and then later on you take it out and eat it or share it or store it up for winter in a solider container or put it in the medicine bundle or the shrine or the museum, the holy place, the area that contains what is sacred, and then next day you probably do much the same again—if to do that is human, if that's what it takes, then I am a human being after all. Fully, freely, gladly, for the first time

She then takes it a step further talking about how this works in science fiction:

If, however, one…redefines technology and science as primarily cultural carrier bag rather than weapon of domination, one pleasant side effect is that science fiction can be seen as a far less rigid, narrow field, not necessarily Promethean or apocalyptic at all, and in fact less a mythological genre than a realistic one.

A good note to end on, methinks.

etcetera: The NYT looks into if a supposed cell phone ringing during a production of Sea Wall/A Life was actually staged—despite the production denying it (!). In Corning, N.Y., a steam whistle still blows marking time for factory workers to start work, stop for lunch, and more (though they have modern clocks in the facility now). Want to play a video game where you’re a goose terrorizing a village? Untitled Goose Game is for you

#carrier pigeons #carrier bag theory #the icemen cometh #day-glo #internet explorers club #asshole geese

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orwocolor · 5 years

Text

Love Thy Neighbour - Chapter Two

Pairing: Gwilym Lee x Reader

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: Nothing.

Summary: Party time! Gwilym hosts a housewarming party and you’re one of the guests.

Author’s Note: Feedback is always appreciated :) Check my masterlist to find the preceding parts. As always, this fic is dedicated to @justgwilym.

“So, I thought that we should surprise Charlotte and throw her a birthday party,” Jane announces as soon as you pick up your phone.

“Yeah, that sounds great! Is it gonna be just an ordinary birthday party or something themed?” You hitch your bag up your shoulder and take three grocery bags into a hand while pressing the phone to your ear so that you can hear Jane. The traffic around you is crazy today. Honking of horns and a swear word here and there from nervous drivers create a cacophony of sounds in which those you wish to hear die down.

“I beg your pardon, my dear, but no celebration I hold is ordinary,” Jane scoffs and you roll your eyes.

“Ok, but is it going to be themed or not? If you want to force me into a disco-themed outfit like the last time, I wanna know beforehand, so I can pretend illness.”

“Hush, you loved it.”

You chuckle into your phone while you wait for the green light.

“But no, I plan on–” Jane’s words on the other end are drowned by the roar of a passing motorcycle.

“Sorry, what?” you shout. Your bag keeps sliding down your shoulder and you huff as you fail to hoist it up, with one hand grasping your phone and the other full as well, as the handles of the plastic bags dig into your skin.

“I said,” Jane raises her voice to the maximum and you jerk your head away from the phone. You pity everyone who’s standing right next to her when the volume is enough for your ear to start ringing, “I plan on throwing a themed party, however, there are no costumes required.”

“Oh, thank God!” You push your way through a group of teenagers and reach your home. “Hang on, I just…” You’re trying to figure out how to unlock and open the main door with all the stuff that you’re carrying and the phone in your hands. Jane continues in her monologue as if you didn’t say anything, but you pay her little attention. You squeeze the mobile in between your ear and shoulder, twisting your neck in a most uncomfortable angle. While the grocery bags form deep dark red lines on your right hand, you unzip the bag on your shoulder with the left, but as you dig down to fish your keys, the bag skids down the smooth material of your jacket and you barely catch it before it drops down.

You see a movement on the other side of the door through a long glass windowpane, but your own reflection blocks out the view. Suddenly, the door opens as if on its own accord.

“Hello,” Gwil greets you with a wide smile on his face and holds the door for you to come in.

“Thanks,” you mouth as Jane continues to list all perks of the last birthday party you organised for Charlotte.

“And what was so bad about your outfit? It was perfect!” she argues, quite poorly, in your opinion.

“Let’s just say that the days of me wearing spandex bell-bottoms are long gone.”

Gwilym snorts and gives you an amused look, his eyes sparkling with mirth.

“What? Why?”

“Look, I gotta go, I’ll call you later and we’ll plan everything, okay?”

Placing the bags on the floor, you say your goodbye and hang up the phone.

“Hi,” you greet Gwil properly, tossing your phone into your bag and finally digging out the keys.

“I’ll help you,” he says as you move to lift the plastic bags, but Gwil beats you to it and grasps the handles easily in his large hand.

“Thanks! And thanks for the door, too, you’re a lifesaver.” Your eyes skim over your mailbox, but there are no mails poking out of it. Good.

“You’re welcome,” he says as you begin to climb the stairs, side by side, and his lips curve in a smile matching your own. “I would just like to clarify that I was just collecting my mail when I saw you struggling out there,” he shows you the envelopes in his grasp, “I wasn’t lurking in the shadows, waiting for your arrival or anything.”

“Well, but now it sounds like you did exactly that,” you dead-pan and enjoy the way his eyebrows raise in shock.

“I really didn’t, I swear,” he protests with vigour and you can’t resist a grin.

“The lady doth protest too much, methinks,” you laugh as you reach the second floor. “I’m only teasing you,” you smirk, and he breathes a sigh of relief, a light shade of pink gracing his cheeks.

“So,” you start, “is tomorrow still on?”

“Yes, absolutely! There’ll be a few of my friends and colleagues, but nothing too big.”

“Should I bring something? A housewarming gift? What do you even like?” Damn it, you probably should, right? It would be rude to attend a party and give nothing to the host.

“Just bring your lovely self and I’ll be happy,” he flashes you a smile.

“Pff, please! That’s so cheesy! But okay, if you don’t wanna tell, I’ll figure it out myself.”

Reaching your floor, he hands you the bags and pulls out his keys.

“See you tomorrow, then.”

“At seven?”

“At seven,” he confirms.

“Bye,” you smile and turn the key in the door.

“Just one question,” Gwilym says in a suddenly very serious tone, which makes you expect the worst, “spandex bell-bottoms?”

You laugh out loud. “Don’t ask!”

It’s a quarter to eight when you finally get out of your apartment and ring the doorbell at Gwil’s. You didn’t want to arrive among the first guests; you wanted to be fashionably late. Okay, okay, forty-five minutes is hardly fashionable, but who could blame you? You did not dare to come when there were only a few of his friends. The only person, except for Gwil, that you know is Ben and you had to make sure that he would be there by the time you appeared. But you didn’t wish to watch the party guests heading to the flat 3C through a peephole like some kind of a pervert. So, while you were waiting, you busied yourself around your apartment, tidied up the kitchen, organised the one shelf in the hall which had been driving you up the wall every time you saw the mess inside, and watered your plants.

“You’re late,” are the first words that leave Gwil’s mouth the moment he opens the door and music reaches your ears.

You squint your eyes and nod your head. “I know, I’m sorry. There’s been a traffic jam.”

“A traffic jam. Between your flat and mine.” A small smile is playing on his lips and you catch yourself staring at his mouth. Blinking, you snap out of your daydreaming and focus on the conversation at hand.

“Uh-huh. It was awful! You should have seen it.”

“Right,” he chuckles and makes a motion for you to come in.

“Y/N!”

“Ben! Good to see you!” The blonde man wraps you in a bear hug and sways with you from side to side. It’s a bit unexpected, but once he lets go of you, you notice the bottle of beer and you guess it’s probably not his first this evening.

(What you miss, however, is the silent conversation Ben and Gwil have over your shoulder. Gwil’s eyes widen as Ben throws himself at you, and he gives him a confused, what-are-you-doing look. But all Ben does in response is raise his eyebrows in a manner that could only be translated as and-what-are-you-gonna-do-about-it.)

“I think we haven’t been introduced yet,” an unknown voice says, and you turn after the sound. You’re met with a sweet smile, kind eyes, a pointy nose, and a tuft of auburn hair. “I’m Joe, pleasure to meet you.” He squeezes your offered hand and his thumb gently strokes your inner wrist.

“Hi, I’m Y/N, Gwil’s neighbour.”

“Now, you seem like a really nice girl,” he begins and you’re listening intently, curious where this is going, “I’ve known you for only a few seconds but I can tell that you’re a good person and I don’t want you to come to harm. So, please, please, do not eat the salmon canapés. Instead, try the bruschetta, which is, in my humble opinion, far more superior. Trust me, I know what I’m talking about.” He puts a hand on your shoulder, nodding solemnly.

“Nah, someone’s just a sore loser and can’t accept that people prefer my delicious canapés,” Ben explains, “because the bruschetta he talks about? It’s inedible and guess who made it.”

“How dare you, inedible?” Joe puts his hand on his chest in faking a heart attack, “you’re gonna pay for that, Hardy!”

“I forgot to order some food that the guests could nibble on, so I asked these two idiots to bring something. Should have known that this was going to change into a pissing contest,” Gwilym whispers into your ear, leaning down to you while Ben and Joe keep bickering.

“Well, I’m having fun,” you admit, and he gives you an appreciative smile. “By the way, here’s something for you.”

You pull two gift bags from behind your back and pass them to him.

“I told you not to,” he says but quickly opens them to see what’s inside.

“I wasn’t sure whether you preferred red or white, so I’ve brought both,” you tell him, all of a sudden unsure and nervous.

“I love red, but I’ve never turned down any wine. Thank you. And what’s in this?”

He takes out a neatly wrapped parcel with a dark green ribbon tied around. Delicately unsticking the tapes that hold the cardboard-brown paper together, he unwraps it without tearing it and inspects the front cover of a book. You bite your lower lip and hold your breath, waiting for his reaction.

“The Invoice by Jonas Karlsson. Wait, isn’t he the one who wrote The Room?”

“Yes! You know him?” Your heart is pounding and you can’t believe your ears. What are the odds that Gwil would know one of your most favourite authors?

“Of course, he’s excellent! Thank you so much, I’ve been meaning to buy it for ages now!” He leafs through it briefly and almost starts bouncing on the balls of his feet. “It would probably be rude to just disappear and go read it, huh? Don’t answer,” he chuckles and turns around to put the book into his bookshelf. “Come, I’ll introduce you to my friends.”

He walks you around his living room, always stopping by small groups of people. Their names are forgotten the moment they utter them as it usually is in gatherings like these when you’re met with a lot of people in a short span of time. One of the few who catches your attention is Gwil’s brother Geraint, who, according to Gwil, wasn’t invited and decided to stop by anyway.

“Can you believe that my little brother did not send me an invite to his housewarming party? Me, who actually helped him to move in? The audacity.” He shakes his head at Gwil and gives him a playful shove. What you can’t believe is someone describing Gwilym as ‘little’, since he’s anything but that. Truth be told, Geraint is probably an inch taller than his brother, but still.

“I thought you were gonna be home with the kids?”

“Shannon’s with them. I wouldn’t have missed this,” he winks.

Eventually, you end up with Ben and Joe while Gwilym tends his other guests. With a glass of wine in your hand, you look around his flat. It’s identical to yours in terms of the room arrangement, the only exception the wall that separates the living room space from the kitchen. It’s not exactly what you imagined, though. You don’t know why, but you expected a lot of grayscale tones and minimalism. Probably because Gwil looks like he’s a model who just stopped posing for a photoshoot, even whilst wearing a plain white t-shirt and jeans. No, his living room is decorated in brown, gold and green hues with a lot of knick-knacks on every flat surface. Postcards that his friends have sent from all over the world, playbills from plays he’s been in, small clay figures and drawings that his nephews and nieces have made for him, and all sorts of keepsakes.

Even though he’s been living in this flat for only a fortnight, it is apparent that he’s taken great care to make the place his home. Yes, there are still some unopened boxes hidden from prying eyes of his guests, but the flat is already homely. (Look, it was an accident that you caught a glimpse of them when you were passing his bedroom and he had forgotten to close the door.)

“So, you’re leaving in two days?”

“Yeah, need to head back home,” Joe replies, “but first, these two are going to do a pub crawl with me!” He slings his arm around Ben’s shoulder and kisses him on a cheek, “wanna join us?” His words are slightly slurred and he shifts his weight so that he basically leans against Ben.

“Sorry, I can’t. I’ve got a movie night with my friends.”

“Really? What are you guys going to watch?” Ben asks as he pushes Joe to a nearby chair.

“Don’t know yet. We’re coming over to Charlotte’s place so she’s the one who has the right to pick something.”

“Okay guys, screw you, I’m gonna watch something with Charlotte,” Joe howls from the chair.

“Nobody’s invited you, mate,” Ben chuckles and notices Gwil watching you three intently from the other side of the room. Now or never. “Erm, Y/N?” he asks and leans closer to you, “can I ask you something?” he whispers and you involuntarily shorten the distance between you, so that you can hear him.

“Yeah, sure, what is it?” you frown, finding the shift in the mood weird.

He puts his warm palm on your bare arm and starts stroking it slowly.

“I need you to do something for me.”

“Y/N! I think you haven’t tasted the cake, yet!” You and Ben jump away from each other as Gwilym suddenly materialises right next to you.

“There’s a cake?”

“Yes, there is, come on,” he insists and leads you far away from Ben.

“What are you doing?” Joe asks, confused.

“Trust me,” Ben answers, mischief sparkling in his eyes and a delighted smile on his face.

“Wow, Gwil, it looks amazing!” you say when you enter the kitchen and spot the cake on the counter, ready to be cut. It’s a naked chocolate cake with mascarpone, blueberries and raspberries. Gwilym has also put several edible flowers to create a delicate look.

“Thanks,” he blushes and rubs the back of his neck.

“And you made it?” He says yes and you’re astonished. “You need to give me the recipe. It’s incredible! My friend’s gonna have a birthday soon and I would love to make something like that for her.”

“Sure,” he smiles and after a few minutes of contemplation he adds, “or I could help you make it if you want.”

“Yes! You’re the best. Thank you.”

He pulls out a sharp knife out of the knife holder. “Would you do the honours?”

“See, it’s clear you don’t know me that much otherwise you wouldn’t trust me with sharp objects,” you laugh, taking the knife from his hand.

“I’ll take my chances,” he chuckles and lays out a bunch of dessert plates.

Working side by side, you cut the cake and place each piece on one of the plates. Every time a blueberry falls of and rolls on the counter, you play a game of catching it and promptly eating it. The first time your fingers brush Gwil’s, you’re quick to draw your hand away and let him win that round. There are no electric shocks or sparks, but the mere touch of his skin makes your breath hitch and your hands slightly tremble. But then it happens again, and again, and soon you’re grinning and nudging each other’s shoulders.

“Here, have a bite.” Gwil pushes a fork of cake towards your face and you willingly open your mouth.

The soft texture of the sponge perfectly combines with the mascarpone and the fruit provides a tang of sourness, complementing the sweetness of the chocolate cake. You catch yourself moaning involuntarily around the fork, which makes you absolutely thunderstruck, your eyes snapped wide and a shock written in your face.

“You have a bit of mascarpone…” Gwilym says and brings his thumb to a corner of your lips. However, he stops immediately, only a few millimetres away from your skin.

The door swings open out of nowhere and the bubble you have created around yourselves pops.

“Hey guys, how are you?” Joe’s smiling face pokes out of the living room, his cheeks flushed.

Gwilym clears his throat and withdraws his hand, passing you a stack of napkins. “We’re good, just about to serve the cake.” Gwilym points to the plates in front of him and Joe immediately pushes a chair to the counter, takes one plate and starts shovelling down the piece of cake.

Wiping your mouth clean, you look at the clock. “Actually, I have to go. I work weekends and I’ve got an early shift tomorrow.”

“What? I thought…” Gwilym begins to say when Ben bursts into the kitchen.

“Joe, what the hell? What were you thinking?”

“Look, Ben, I’m going home. Hopefully, we’ll see each other again soon, okay?” You give him a hug. “And Joe, don’t get too drunk tomorrow. Travelling by plane when hungover is no walk in the park.” You turn to Gwilym and clasp your hands, tugging at your fingers in a jittery manner. “I guess we’ll run into each other soon again. See you, guys!”

And with that, you leave the kitchen and head towards the door, waving at Geraint, who reciprocates the gesture with a smile.

“Y/N, wait!” Gwil rushes after you and catches up with you right at the moment you open the door. “I just wanted to thank you, for everything. It was really nice to have you here.” He takes you by surprise when he gives you a quick hug and presses a light kiss on your cheek.

“Yeah, I had the time of my life, really,” you smile when he lets go of you, hoping that the butterflies you feel in your stomach are invisible to everyone else, “love what you’ve done with the place.”

“Thanks,” he says sheepishly. “I would love to be a gentleman and walk you home, but…” he points to the few feet between your flats.

“Yeah, I think I’ll manage,” you chuckle and move to your door, “goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

Shutting the door behind you, your fingers touch your cheek as the ghost of the kiss makes your skin tingle with excitement.

#gwilym lee x reader #gwilym lee imagine #gwilym lee fic #gwilym lee fluff #multichapter #fluff #vee writes #*mine

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cabbagebender · 4 years

Text

excerpts from unfinished fics #3

Legally Speaking, It’s My Birthday (voltron: legendary defender)

Major Alcohol Warning - This is a fic about alcohol. Discussion of underage drinking as a concept, multiple 18+ characters shown being drunk, one 21+ character shown being extremely drunk, dialogue mention of a drunk minor. Set: Between S7 and S8 Relationships: Gen, with mild canon-compliant levels of Hunay and pre-Allurance. *inhales deeply* The K&S stuff is platonic. Words: 2283 Likelihood of Writing More: Middle to High (especially if requested)

It’s April 3rd, the first April 3rd since the paladins returned to Earth, and in grand Garrison tradition, the cafeteria is serving cake.

“I can’t believe this,” Pidge says, digging into her slice. “Usually they only do this for the really important people.”

“You’re pretty important,” Shiro says. “You’re a paladin of Voltron. You’re a war hero.”

“I mean, yeah,” Pidge says with her mouth full. “But I’m also still a cadet.”

“For some reason,” Keith grumbles.

“I mean, she is still a kid,” Lance says, and grins as he ducks away from Pidge’s angry swipe.

“You’re not even two full years older than me.”

“How old are you today?” Allura asks.

Pidge shoots Lance another glare, without much heat, and turns back across the table towards Allura. “Honestly, I don’t know. We missed a couple years after the explosion, and even before that, we weren’t always keeping track as well as we should have been. But according to my best calculations based on recovered data from the Castle, I’m still sixteen. I’ll actually turn seventeen, like… sometime this summer.”

“Oh, man,” Hunk says. “We have new birthdays to worry about?”

Keith’s forehead scrunches up. “It’s still technically her birthday. It’s just not her… age… changing day.”

“Well, that’s got a ring to it,” Lance deadpans.

Keith makes a face at him.

“Happy age-changing day to you…” Shiro sings quietly. Keith elbows him in the side, and Shiro breaks off, chuckling.

“Okay,” Hunk says, “but I still need to know how many candles to put on the actual, non-cardboard cake I’m gonna make you later. Sixteen? Seventeen? Or, what is it, nineteen–”

“Twenty-one,” Pidge says nonchalantly.

“What?” Lance exclaims.

Pidge stares up at the others’ wide-eyed expressions, her fork halfway to her open mouth. “It’s been twenty-one years since I was born,” she says, like it’s not that big a deal. “We missed almost four years.”

“Okay, wow.” Lance drops his fork and leans back in his chair, processing. “A decaphoeb is longer than I thought it was.”

Hunk shakes his head. “Twenty-one? That’s so old.”

Keith crosses his arms. “Gee, thanks.”

“Yeah,” Shiro says, pointing his fork at Hunk, though his eyes are twinkling. “Have a little respect for us old-timers.”

“Wow, so that makes me…” Lance holds his fingers up, counting off.

“Twenty-two,” Pidge says. “Twenty-three,” she continues, gesturing towards first Hunk and then Keith. “Thirty-one,” she finishes, nodding at Shiro.

Shiro chokes on his cake and drops his fork. “I’m what?” he says weakly.

“Oh yeah,” Hunk laughs, “definitely an old-timer.”

“I’m ten thousand and twenty two decaphoebs old,” Allura says wryly, “so I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”

“Yeah, Allura’s definitely the oldest,” Hunk concedes.

“It’s just legally,” Pidge says to Shiro. “We all know that on the inside, you’re, like, eighty.”

“No, that’s on the outside, too,” Keith says, grinning at Shiro’s white hair.

Shiro rolls his eyes with fond exasperation as Pidge cackles. “Alright, I get it, I’m gray, I’m old.”

“Well, hang on,” Allura protests. “White hair is not old.”

“For humans it is,” Pidge says.

“And to be fair,” Keith points out, “you did just say that you’re over ten thousand.”

“Yeah,” Hunk says, “how do we know your hair didn’t turn white while you were in the cryopods?”

“It didn’t!”

“You sure?”

“This is my natural colour!”

“Wait, guys,” Lance interrupts, and the others turn to look at him. He’s grinning so widely his face seems about to split open, and Keith and Hunk exchange a nervous glance. “Pidge just said legally. You know what this means, right?”

“No,” Keith says, “but I’m pretty sure you’re about to tell us.”

“It means,” Lance continues, “that, as of today, all of us are legal to drink in the U.S.”

Pidge’s eyebrows shoot up, and she turns to look at Lance speculatively. “You’re… not wrong,” she says. Then she chuckles. “They probably wouldn’t actually serve me, though.”

Lance smirks back at her. “Only one way to find out.”.

“Oh no.” Hunk lifts his hands. “No, no, no, no, no, bad idea.”

“Wait, excuse me,” Allura says, accidentally cutting off Lance as he begins to fire back at Hunk. “Did you just say, legal to drink? As in, consume liquid?”

“They mean alcohol,” Keith says. “It's… slang, I guess. You have to be 21 here.”

“And alcohol is…”

“It’s like fermented nunville,” Hunk explains, and Allura’s expression shoots through a rapid sequence of clarity, mild alarm, and then amusement.

“Oh. I see.”

With one fluid motion, Lance slips off the bench and circles around Pidge to throw his arms over her and Hunk’s shoulders. “Come on, it’ll be like old times,” he wheedles, leaning towards Hunk. “We’ll hit the town, see the sights, check up on the rebuilding efforts–”

“Drink poison we’re not developmentally equipped for,” Hunk counters.

“It would be an interesting sociological experiment,” Pidge says slowly, pushing her glasses up her nose. “You know,” she adds, with a grin. “For science.”

“Pidge,” Hunk groans.

“All right!” Lance whoops, swivelling forward to face Keith across the table. “What do you say, team leader?”

Keith scowls. “We have to stay sharp,” he says. “Waking up with hangovers would be nothing but self-sabotage.”

“Keith,” Allura says, “you know I’d usually be on your side about this, but it’s not as if we have training in the morning.”

“Yeah,” Pidge says. “You and Hunk haven’t even been cleared for combat yet.”

“All the more reason to try to maintain good habits!”

“Yes,” Hunk pipes up at the same moment, “that is a good point. Should we really be drinking with concussions? Methinks no.”

“No one’s telling you two to drink,” Lance says, “we just want you to come with us.”

“Well, I think it sounds like fun.” Allura exchanges a warm look with Pidge. “We could all use a night off.”

“Right on,” Pidge laughs, and Lance lifts his hand from Hunk’s shoulder to high five a grinning Allura. Keith shoots Allura a look of total betrayal, and then turns to Shiro, silently pleading for backup.

“I’m with Hunk and Keith,” Shiro agrees. “I really can’t encourage underage drinking.”

Lance waves his hand, brushing that aside. “Good, good, you’ve gotten the whole ‘responsible adult’ thing out of your system. Are you coming with us or not?”

Shiro opens his mouth and glances back and forth between the four teenagers and Keith. Finally, he sighs and shrugs helplessly at Keith. “I can’t let them go unsupervised,” he says apologetically.

“Oh, come, on, seriously?” Keith yells, while Pidge and Lance cheer. “We shouldn’t be letting them go at all!”

Shiro lifts an eyebrow. “You really think we can stop them?”

“I–” Keith pauses, then slumps forward with a resigned groan. “No,” he admits.

“I, for one, am totally ready to be stopped,” Hunk supplies. “I would much rather stay here and drink water.”

“But, Hunk,” Pidge says, her voice going quiet as she looks up at him with wide eyes, “you’ll be missing my birthday party.”

“Oh come on, that’s not fair,” Hunk complains. “Don’t give me the puppy dog eyes. Don’t do this to me, Pidge.”

Pidge’s eyes grow wider, her lower lip trembling slightly. Hunk cringes, trying to tear his eyes away, but seemingly unable. Then, finally, after a few long seconds–

“Oh, all right,” he concedes.

“YES!” Pidge shouts, jumping up and pumping her fist in the air.

“So, what’s it gonna be?” Lance says to Keith, as Hunk starts grumbling beside him. “You gonna stay here and brood, or are you gonna join us for Pidge’s 21st birthday party?”

There’s a long moment as Keith’s jaw ticks. Then:

“Fine. I’ll come.”

Ten minutes later, Lance, Allura, Hunk, and Keith are packed into the back of a Garrison van, with Shiro at the wheel and birthday girl Pidge riding shotgun. Pidge is tapping away at her phone, and Lance’s leg is bouncing rapidly as he stares out the window, clenching his jeans tightly.

Allura puts a hand on his knee, and Lance startles, snapping his head around to meet her gaze a bit wildly.

“This won’t be like last time,” she says quietly. “No one’s attacking, and Shiro is a steady driver.”

Lance swallows, glancing out the window again. “Right,” he says. “I know that.”

But it isn’t until Allura’s hand finds his and gives it a squeeze that his body relaxes and his leg goes still. Hunk glances down sideways, his eyebrow lifting slightly, but says nothing.

“Coran, Matt, and Shay are gonna meet us downtown,” Pidge announces.

“Oh, nice,” Hunk grins. “Shay’s coming?”

“I thought you might like that,” Pidge says slyly.

“I texted Romelle,” Keith adds, sticking his head out from the sliver of space between Hunk and the window, “but she’s not answering. I think she might be asleep.”

“That might be for the better,” Lance says. “I don’t know if any of us could handle Romelle drunk.”

“Okay, remember,” Pidge says, “the goal is not to get drunk. It’s just to find out whether or not bartenders will actually serve us.”

“Don’t bartenders let people in with fake IDs all the time?” Keith asks, maybe a little too casually.

Shiro makes an odd choked noise from the driver’s seat and everyone turns to stare at him.

“Uh, sorry,” he says, as if feeling all their eyes on him, and especially Keith’s, burning directly into the back of his skull. “Hiccup.”

“Gesundheit,” Hunk says.

“I mean, yeah, people sneak in all the time,” Pidge says, turning back to Keith. “But this is different. We’re not gonna pretend to be older than we are.”

“Wait,” Lance says, “we’re not?”

“No! We’re gonna walk in, tell them exactly what happened, and see how they react. Our situation is completely unprecedented; they’re gonna have to figure out fast whether they think they can get in trouble for serving self-professed minors with legal birthdates.”

“Well, what about me?” Allura asks. “I don’t have any identification.”

“That’s the second experiment,” Pidge says, her voice picking up speed with her excitement. “How do they react to aliens without identification? Will they react to you and Coran differently, since you look so young, or will they require ID from Coran as well? What about Shay, who doesn’t appear human at all? All important questions for a changing world like ours.”

“This is actually really cool,” Hunk says. “I’m sorry I doubted you.”

“But also,” Lance says, “we’re gonna get drunk.”

“Yeah, see, you, I don’t regret doubting.”

Shay is waiting for them outside the first bar.

“The guard would not let me in. He said I lacked identification.”

Pidge pulls out her phone and starts tapping notes.

[…]

“Ay,” Lance mutters, almost to himself, “of course el flaco’s a lightweight.”

"You guys… are the best.” Keith throws one arm over Lance’s shoulder and the other over Shay’s. “Lance… you’re, you’re my right hand man, buddy, I d'know what I’d do without you, and Shay… I d'know you that well, but Hunk thinks you’re amazing, and Hunk’s amazing–”

“Are you getting this on camera?” Pidge mutters.

“Oh, yeah,” Hunk grins. “I want to remember this forever.”

“You okay there, man?” Lance laughs, and turns to the camera. “Are we sure this is Keith, and not some weird alien parasite?“

At that point, Shiro returns from the bathroom. Keith immediately launches himself off of Lance and Shay and directly into Shiro’s path.

"Shiro! Shir, Shiro.”

Shiro reels back to avoid walking into Keith and blinks. “Hi, there.”

Keith grabs Shiro’s cheeks and stares him down, like it’s absolutely vital that he hear whatever comes next.

“Shiro.”

“Uh-huh?”

“You’re the most important person in the universe.”

“Yeah, that’s Keith,” Pidge says, and everyone laughs.

Shiro pries Keith’s hands off his face and holds them between his own to soften the gesture. “Hey, Keith, you wanna have some water, maybe?”

Keith nods, and Shiro (literally) hands him over to Allura, who wraps her own hands firmly around Keith’s wrists like a tether.

Keith stares down. “Are you arresting me? Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Lance very nearly does a spit take, but luckily his mouth is empty.

“You’ve been arrested?” Pidge asks.

Keith nods. “Loooootta juvi.” He twists his hands around and grabs the inside of Allura’s wrists. “Arrested you back.”

Allura looks up at the others, utterly nonplussed. “I don’t think that’s something you can do.”

“Dare to dream the impossible.”

“Oh, god, this is art,” Hunk whispers, still holding up the camera.

“I am confused,” Shay announces.

“You don’t seem phased by this,” Lance says, when Shiro returns with a water glass.

Keith tilts his head backwards to look at Lance, his hair falling backwards off his forehead. “He’s seen me like this before.”

“I thought you said you don’t usually drink alcohol,” Allura says.

He rolls his head back forward. “Not anymore. Snuck into a bar once, Shiro hadda get me out.”

“He was fifteen,” Shiro supplies. “Keith, water."

Keith extricates his hands from Allura’s and takes the glass.

Pidge whacks Keith’s arm. "You hypocrite!”

Keith just grins.

[…]

“Uh, guys,” Pidge interrupts. “Allura’s crying.”

They all stop and turn, following Pidge’s extended hand to the couch in the corner. Allura is hunched in on herself, her arms wrapped tightly around her stomach like she’s barely holding herself together, tears tumbling from her screwed-tight eyes. Lance leaps to his feet immediately, but sways dangerously; Shiro hops up and catches him.

“I’ll go talk to her,” Shiro says, and then glances back at the others. “Um.” He hands Lance towards Hunk. “Here.”

“I’m fi- I’m fiiiiiiiiiine,” Lance protests, but he lets Hunk guide him back to a seated position once he sees that Shiro is heading in Allura’s direction.

Author’s Note: I only vaguely remember what came next, but I think Allura was going to be upset about how utterly displaced she felt from her home and her people - finally letting it get to her that she found out about an Altean colony, and then they lost it again.

I don’t know where Matt and Coran went when I was writing, but I imagine they’re probably having a drinking contest a few seats down the bar and teaching each other drinking songs.

The main reason this fic didn’t get finished is because I don’t drink or go to bars, and my creativity ran out of juice.

#voltron: legendary defender #pidge holt #lance (vld)#keith #takashi shirogane #allura #hunk #fanfiction #the disaster writes #excerpts from unfinished fics #shay #tag later #cw alcohol #vld s7 #the funny part is i don't drink #but this fic idea just grabbed me and would not let go

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