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mythandlaur · 3 years

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So I have this weird thing I like to do with characters who have magic. It’s a little hard to explain, but I like to describe a character’s magical “aura” in a very aesthetic and metaphorical sort of way, kind of how their power “feels” both to themself and to others who might try to sense that power, or describing stuff I think evokes those feelings.

As expected, I’ve done this with several Puyo characters. Some of my friends liked the ones I showed them so I figured I may as well share. Several more under the cut!

Amitie has difficulty with her magic not because she isn't powerful or capable, but because controlling her magic is like trying to grasp a wisp of flickering flame in your hand. In fact, her power resembles all of the kinder sides of fire; bright and warm and playfully dancing about, not intending to hurt but fully capable of doing a lot of harm if ignored--or desired. Eventually, this power will grow into a blaze, a beacon of light and comfort for others, but for now it shimmers, ephemeral, just out of her grasp, like the pale rays of sunrise and the dust motes that dance in them, tingling a little too brilliantly on her fingertips before fizzling out as if laughing at her attempts to contain it.

Sig's magic feels like water lazily flowing through a creek, or perhaps something thicker--honey? Either way, it moves slow, steady, eating away at the earth around it at its own pace. A cool breeze, like sitting under the shade of a tree, or running your hand through the stream. Soothing. Clear. Quiet. And yet...there's something more underneath it. Harsher currents run under the stream, the bottom solid and powerful and...oddly warm. There is something more there, a storm that can be whipped into a destructive frenzy, but...it really doesn't want to do that. It does not want to destroy. It would rather carry on slowly, a pleasant tenor hum over a much stronger, but quieter, indescribable bass that gives it substance.

Klug's magic feels the way fizzy candy or carbonation does on your tongue; bright and sharp and sparkling and tingly. Like the way the end of a sparkler showers both light and sound into a hot summer night, or how a bottle rocket cracks and explodes with a brilliant flash. It's high-energy, vivid colors, wanting to burst out--but it's restrained. Carefully contained, perhaps more than it should be, in sharp lines and harsh angles. A wood block shaped to perfectly fit in a hole, a logical pattern. But it still burns at the ends of his fingers, still wild and still new, seeking to zip around the room until it completely exhausts itself. There's always a feeling of waiting for something more.

Strange Klug is limited to what power is already in Klug's body, so their two magics have some similarities; both are bright and angular and sparkling. But when possessed, his power takes on a darker tinge, and there is a well of pure rage fueling it. It's overpowering, suffocating, liable to knock you flat, and that's by design; it's something that takes you by the shoulders and shakes you and screams alongside a wailing siren, long and loud, demanding to be witnessed. It has the foreboding of the proverbial red sky at morning, of smelling smoke and not knowing exactly where it's coming from, and it is a desperate thing that pushes far past reasonable limits, panic and flashing red light and barely controlled with fingers digging and scrambling for purchase and refusing to let go.

Through no fault of his own, Lemres' power has grown from a bed of gnarled roots and wicked thorns that do all they can to block out the light, and sometimes you can feel a biting edge in his magic; a prick, a sting of acid, of poison, deep under the surface, especially when he is trying to hide the thornier parts of himself. But with time and care, flowers have bloomed, floaty, carefree-seeming petals and a bright gold-green like summer light through spring leaves. Lemres' magic burns not like fire, but stubborn sunlight that grew something from the depths of the dark, seeking to warm others but still wise to have a healthy respect for. It is strong, steady, and above all determined to shine.

Ringo's magic is odd. It's new, curious, clear, the sound of a tinkling bell above a shop door. It's your hair standing on end and goosebumps racing across your skin. And it grows like a brewing storm, giving and taking away in equal measure, not to be trifled with or dismissed by those on either side of it. It's taking a deep breath of crisp air at the top of a rollercoaster before plunging down and screaming with excitement at the top of your lungs. It's the sound an apple makes when you bite into it, that clean and crunchy sort of sound where you can feel the juice spraying out. It's on your tiptoes, on the cusp of something great, on the precipice. It's waiting for the gun to go off signaling the start of the race. Where it ends up, who can say?

Ecolo's magic is unknowable, in as much as it well and truly defies all the rules and laws of the world. It's a non-Newtonian fluid, a huge orb of something thick and oozy but quick and bouncy at the same time. It commands attention, but not in the way someone like Satan might--it's a chaotic barrage, an absolute, overwhelming assault on all of the senses, seeking not awe and fear, but rather any reaction at all. It's large, and strong, and it's easy to tell that much, but it's harder to tell the more cunning edge that runs underneath. A gelatinous cube waiting to consume an unsuspecting target who mistakes its shape for weakness. It's captivating, in a way, because it's so incomprehensible; the mind struggles to make some sense out of it, but it's all bright light and keening sounds and the feeling of balloon skin and colorful little rubber bands--though the potential for the latter to snap back and sting like nothing else should not for a moment be forgotten.

Satan has magic that is steady and powerful, honed over thousands and thousands of years like ancient stone cliffs. It's half as subtle and twice as dense as a mountain, demanding awe at its majesty. He casts spells as if he were a master artisan carving a grand, perhaps somewhat overly ostentatious statue that may last almost as long as he has. Stone and earth, sturdy and precise, yet with the sense of being very, very overbearing, like you are terribly small and insignificant next to it. And yet, events he will not speak of that no one else remembers has left a bitter tinge to his power, like coffee taken death black and the burnt ends of toast. Perhaps that only adds to the aesthetic. Perhaps he will pretend that's all it is.

He may not have as much innate magic as the others, but Lagnus' (Madou Saturn ver.) power is gold-painted steel shimmering blue, strong and durable and almost too shiny, enough to blind someone if he's not careful with it. But it isn't just pomp and circumstance, either; it's the sound your feet make on a well-worn trail and it's a mess of callouses, and even after Satan wiped the slate clean, there are whispers of old darkness, of the endless curses Lagnus took, giving up parts of himself for others. Underneath all the gold, it's warm the way a fireplace in an inn is, or a noble horse's coat in the sun. It is good not because of naivete, it is good because its wielder is determined to keep it in that shape even in spite of all that has happened--determined to keep it a healing, guiding light.

Ajisai (my version of the original book demon) had a power that was methodical and playful in equal measure, burning majestic like crimson-violet sunsets. It’s like satin ribbon dancing about with a flourish of the hand, a seemingly errant shower of sparks that's actually choreographed in a careful display. It's crisp and sharp and full, but gives the impression of having more running underneath it than meets the eye. An elegant thing, rich mahogany and old leather, but with an undercurrent of mischief that keeps it from being too terribly intimidating. It's when that impish, whimsical quality is completely absent that one should fear for their life.

#puyo puyo #i can't tag everyone or it won't show up in any tags at all

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invisibleinorange · 3 years

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Chapters: 14/? Fandom: Bridgerton Rating: T Warnings: Presumed Character Death Relationships: Colin Bridgerton/Penelope Featherington, Eloise Bridgerton/Penelope Featherington(besties), Bridgerton Family Dynamics, Simon Hastings/Daphne Bridgerton Characters: Colin Bridgerton, Penelope Featherington, Eloise Bridgerton, Anthony Featherington, Benedict Bridgerton, Portia Featherington, Violet Bridgerton, Genevieve Delacroix Additional Tags: Bridgerton, Polin Summary: Unexpected bad news arrives for the Bridgerton Family (and friends) regarding Colin's travels. This will be a series that is set after "The Duke and I" or season one of the show. It is a companion piece to "Goodbyes".

It had come to pass that Portia Featherington hadn’t been wrong about everything. Penelope couldn’t help but begrudgingly give her mother some credit as she paced the small room she was waiting in for her wedding: the books had ruined her.

Everything that she knew about life and love came from the pages of the damn things. Even if she had always had her doubts whether she would actually get married, the small bit of her that held up hope had this foolish fantasy of what it was supposed to be.

When she’d pictured this day, Colin had always been her romantic lead. It had been that way even before she was old enough to fully understand her feelings. It felt a little bittersweet that he couldn’t at least be part of it.

If he couldn’t be her husband, she would have at least felt better having him there as her friend. Knowing that he fully endorsed her choice would have been important. All she could do now was assume that he would have be happy to see her well-matched with his brother.

She was still anxious about it, as fond as she had become of Benedict in recent weeks. She’d felt as if they’d made progress in transitioning from whatever they had been to what they were going to be. It was all tentative, a bit weird but it was no longer awkward to converse at length or hold hands.

They were both trying.

There was a lot more that would come after the wedding and that was what she was terrified of. Violet in her infinite wisdom had attempted to have an adult conversation with her about wifely duties when her own mother neglected to call on her for such a thing. Then Daphne had made an appearance and attempted her own conversation.

She wasn’t quite sure if she was supposed to be excited at the prospect of her wedding night or terrified.

Either way it went, she knew that there was no real pressure to do something that she didn’t feel comfortable with. Benedict might not have approached the subject but she knew he wasn’t the sort to demand anything.

They were going to do something different and it might take her time but she was going to be happy.

She just had to work past her nerves first.

She was mid-stride through her forty or fiftieth spin around the room when the door opened and in strode her mother.

Penelope had invited her (and her sisters) to the wedding. They were her family even if things had dysfunctional at times. That didn’t necessarily mean that she wanted to open herself to feedback or criticism for her choices or the timeline of them.

She also wasn’t quite sure her nerves could handle a third conversation about her duties as wife.

“Mother,” she said with a polite nod and bow.

Her mother seemed to stand there for a long moment, looking her over as if appraising the situation.

“This dress will do,” she said after a long moment.

Penelope’s dress was one of the new ones that had been purchased in recent weeks. It wasn’t white but it was a pale blue and had white lace over it. It wasn’t as extravagant as the dress she might have worn if it hadn’t burnt but she was pretty content with it. She’d even added little blue flowers to her red curls.

“I appreciate your approval,” Penelope offered after a moment, deciding that she should just be grateful that they decided to show and actively be a part of this. “You should probably find your seat. Anthony will be presenting me.”

It was a bit of a slap in the face. If her father had been alive, he would have been the one to do such a thing. He was long gone and Penelope hadn’t considered herself a member of her mother’s household since she’d left it. Anthony, as misguided and overprotective as he could be at times, was the only person deserving of such an honor.

Portia might have wished to object but she closed her mouth as soon as it opened. Instead she decided to proceed with her original mission for coming.

“I won’t trouble you for long,” she told before snapping her fingers and a servant came with a box. She opened it and inside was a beautiful, ornate veil. “This is a family heirloom of sorts. I’d thought to give it to one of your sisters but your father insisted it be put aside for you.”

Penelope could gloss over all the negative undertones to just see the fact that it was actually quite remarkable. She’d honestly not planned to wear a veil at all but it looked as if it belonged with the dress. Her mother would have sold it if she’d had the inkling. The fact that she was there at all with it said that somewhere she did actually care about her.

It was enough.

She turned to allow her mother to help her pin it properly in her red curls, a light smile playing on her features.

“Thank you for this,” she told her quietly.

Benedict was grateful for his mother because Violet had this strange way of making things always come together, even when there was a limited amount of time to do it. Weddings were relatively simple affairs in the great scheme of things. In a family like theirs, it was harder logistically to get everyone around.

As he gazed around the church, he was glad to have all of them. Violet was sitting up front with Gregory and Hyacinth on opposite sides. Eloise was to the right of Hyacinth which brought a smile to his face because she’d joked that she might sit on the other side of the aisle. Francesca was behind them with the Duke and a visibly pregnant Daphne. The only other people were those on the other side – Penelope’s mother and siblings.

The whole situation felt surreal to him. There was literally no scenario where he could imagine wedding Penelope Featherington before recent months. He had always felt like he’d known her but he hadn’t known her at all. He felt as if by getting to know her better, he’d seen her potential.

He could even imagine being happy which was more than he ever thought he could say about most of the other potential matches he could have had in the Ton. It was going to take them time but he liked where they were. There was no rush to become something that they weren’t.

He would be patient and a good husband to her.

He didn’t get married every day though so he did feel a little nervous about the whole situation. He’d definitely had to ease his nerves with a drink beforehand.

As he caught sight of Anthony at the entrance, making a gesture that things were to begin it all begin to set in.

Everyone sat quietly but they all sort of blurred out of space when he saw Penelope move into the entrance with him. He’d never quite had such a visceral reaction to her before but she really was vision.

She seemed nervous so he offered her a smile and she returned it as she approached on Anthony’s arm.

They were both shaking by the time her hand was in his and the clergyman began to speak.

The doors crashed open with a thud making such a disturbance that there was no way to ignore it.

Every single head turned including that of the bride and groom.

Colin Bridgerton was a dusty mess of a man but out of the darkness of the hallway, he appeared to the audible sound of gasps.

Everyone was so focused on his appearance that it was only Benedict and Colin who felt Penelope go limp. The shock had caused a fainting spell and it was any wonder that Benedict caught her. Colin couldn’t quite get to her at the moment.

“Colin!” Violet Bridgerton practically screamed, moving from her seat toward her wayward son. She didn’t stop until her arms were around him. He hugged his mother for a moment, shaking off his own disbelief at everything that was happening.

Concern washed over him at what was going on before him. He couldn’t properly even focus on the words that were coming at him from family members as they touched him and made sure that he wasn’t some apparition.

“Mother, I – please, I need to-“ he tried to explain, to get out of her grasp and direction the attention to the person maybe needed a little more attention at the moment.

For her credit, she did let him go long enough for her gaze to realize Penelope was still out cold. The fact her child was back from the dead was temporarily forgotten as the need to care for the problem at hand send her moving with him up toward the front pew, where Benedict has maneuvered the unconscious girl with a little help from Portia Featherington.

Her blue eyes began to flicker back open after a long, quiet moment. She came back to life in a minute, fully prepared to fight. Her body upright, terror on her face.

“I’m dead,” she said after a long moment when she caught sight of Colin and his concerned eyes. “I’m clearly dead because you are dead.”

If he hadn’t been so worried about her, he might have laughed. Instead Colin reached for her wrist, dipping enough for her hand to his chest so she might see that he wasn’t dead.

“I promise you that I’m here,” he told her, eyes finding hers. “I’m alive. I’m here and I’m never leaving again.”

There was clearly a lot that needed to be said. More than just to her but in that moment it was just nice to see her face, to know she was okay even if she’d gone from fainting to crying.

He didn’t quite know if what he wanted to do was appropriate at the moment. Whatever business he had with Benedict could wait, for now the urge for violence was low.

“…I wouldn’t miss your wedding,” he said after a long moment, trying to lighten the mood to make her stop crying. “I just had to be my dramatic flare to things.”

“Wedding?” she asked. Oh God, she’d completely forgotten she’d been in the middle of her own wedding. She shot an apologetic look to Benedict, biting her lip. Colin’s hand was still over her own and she didn’t want to let go of it but she wasn’t sure what was okay anymore. “I just can’t believe you’re actually here. I should have never encouraged you to go. I should have stopped you.”

“It’s okay,” Benedict said, giving her a quiet nod as if reading her thoughts. He turned to the clergyman and politely explained that there wouldn’t be need for his services after all. The wedding wouldn’t be happening today – if ever. As he completely made way for Colin to take back his place in life, Penelope couldn’t help but feel a little sad to lose something she didn’t really know that she wanted.

Whatever she felt about that didn’t lessen how she felt about the fact that Colin was home. He was real and he was there with her. The fact he was touching her and looking at her like that.

“You were only trying to encourage me to do what you thought I needed to be happy,” he told her with a nod. “I maybe could have done a better job communicating after I left.”

It was Daphne who interjected this time, socking him hard in the arm. Simon didn’t even try and stop her.

“You could have communicated with your family that you weren’t dead,” Daphne told him. “We’ve already replaced you with Penelope. We thought giving her your bedroom would be in bad taste though.”

“I don’t know that sorry is going to cut it. I was sort of out of commission for a lot of it – it’s a long story,” he tried to explain. “I am sorry though. Very sorry and – I don’t want to know how I’m going to make it up to all of you.”

Apparently something that had been said triggered something in Penelope because her response was to start looking around, “ANTHONY?” she practically screamed.

Anthony came darting at his name though based on the tone, he wasn’t sure that he wanted to be there.

“Colin sent the dress not some … scorned lover of Benedicts trying to kill me,” she said after a moment.

“Wait, what?” Colin couldn’t help but ask.

“He burnt the dress and everything else in my wardrobe,” Penelope informed Colin.

Colin’s murderous side turned on Anthony. If they hadn’t been in a church, there would have been blood.

“I was trying to protect her,” Anthony said in his defense.

Penelope apparently caught onto the fact, Colin’s ability to keep cool with fleeting because she felt her hand tighten in his and it did calm him down just a little bit.

“It was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever owned,” she told him honestly, kindly. “Can you please never have someone send a vague note with no signature again?”

“I promise,” he said after a long moment. “And I’ll buy you whatever your heart desires then keep it far, far away from my idiot brothers.”

Penelope smiled at that.

There was honestly so much to say and it was going to take time.

She definitely couldn’t talk as openly as she might wish with half the family still waiting on their opportunity to chat with the recently returned.

They exchanged an extended gaze that didn’t make giving them that space any easier.

An exaggerated, pained sound coming from Daphne was enough to pull them from their moment. She was too early in her pregnancy to be making any sounds like that but all the excitement couldn’t possibly have been good for her.

“Go be there for your sister,” she said after a long moment.

“We’ll take more later?” Colin asked.

She nodded and that was all he needed to run off to assist the Duke and everyone else in getting Daphne’s needs met.

#⚜ writings — polin #penelope featherington #colin bridgerton #bridgerton

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marril96 · 4 years

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Far From You

Pairing: Rowena x reader

Summary: With quarantine having taken its toll on your relationship, you decide to win Rowena back by all means necessary.

A/N: Huge thanks to my awesome friend @midnightsilver for the prompt.

Editor: @miss-moon-guardian

*****

Rowena was in a bad mood. Which wasn't a novelty; grumpiness seemed to be one of the woman's default settings, right alongside whining and attention-craving. However, the imposed quarantine seemed to have taken its toll on her, her regular irritation rising to levels that were, at best, barely tolerable, and, at worst, made you want to go outside and hug the sickest-looking stranger in order to get some time away from her.

It wasn't always that bad, though. For the most part, she just sat in silence and huffed and rolled her eyes at random things. That was, when she wasn't cursing out the politicians and the irresponsible people who'd made these safety measures necessary on the TV — a few times quite literally cursing them, eyes sparkling violet as she willed her magic to strike.

To say she was handling it badly would be an understatement.

Rowena was a social creature. As happy as being home with you made her, she loved to travel. Loved to explore different places, experience the world, get to know it. Being holed up in a house was worse than prison. At least prison could be escaped from without fear of catching a nasty disease.

It wasn't that she was afraid of dying. The devil himself hadn't managed to kill her, and neither would a measly virus. But she wasn't too thrilled about the possibility of getting sick. So she stayed home. Like a good little girl, she obeyed the officials' rules and holed up, leaving only when it was her turn to get the groceries.

Though she tried not to let it get to her, the changes in her temper made it clear she wasn't handling the situation well.

Not that you were any better. You weren't an adventurer like her, but you missed your freedom. Missed walking the streets, the sun bathing your hair, Rowena's hand in yours, a wordless but firm statement that she was yours. Missed heading to different restaurants, or ordering delicious food home. Missed Rowena randomly telling you to pack your bags, a promise of a new, exciting adventure sparkling in her eyes.

But, most of all, you missed Rowena. You were living in the same house, yet, as of late, it had started to feel like you were strangers. You still talked, but it was strained, distant. Like two random passengers on a plane discussing the weather to pass the time. You barely touched each other. When you kissed, it was pecks on the cheeks and mouth — solely initiated by you. An empty, passionless habit. A learned routine rather than a loving gesture. And sex… you'd engaged in it twice since the quarantine had taken place, and it, too, lacked its usual passion.

The quarantine had taken its toll on your relationship.

Today, sick of the distance, of the constant cold amidst the warm house, you decided to fight it. Decided to fight for your relationship. Things were horrible, not just in the United States but everywhere in the world, but that didn't mean your life had to be the same way. You could still live. You could still be the couple you'd worked hard to become.

What you had was worth fighting for.

So when Rowena went on another tirade against politicians as she watched the morning news (looking quite ready to throw her steaming mug of tea at the TV), you said in your most irritated tone, "Okay, I get it — you hate them. No need to get so worked up. It's not like they give a damn."

The look she shot you had to have killed before. You would have been frightened had you not known her the way you did. She might have been a serious threat, but when it came to you, she was a puppy. A cute, glare-y puppy who finally paid attention to you after days of nothing.

You plopped down next to her on the couch, set your mug next to hers, and shot her your brightest smile. "Hi!"

Rowena rolled her eyes in the fashion of a trained theater actress. Over the top, dramatic, her style to a T. She picked up a large grimoire that was resting next to her and spread it open on her lap. It was one of her newer books, acquired mere days before the quarantine had taken place. You'd looked forwards to exploring them with her, learning new things, asking questions she would pretend to be annoyed at but would answer with the ferocity of a teacher eager to spread her knowledge. Just like old times.

Instead, she'd taken to reading the books on her own. Using them as a distraction from the awful things happening in the world.

A distraction from you.

You tried not to let it get to you too much, but it stung. Your heart clenched with pain, with ache that ran deep to your core. Like poison coursing through your veins, burning you up from the inside one little bit at a time. It was as though she'd grown bored of you. As if being holed up with you inside a tiny house had made her resent you. As if it made her realize living with you wasn't the fairy tale you thought of it as and she couldn't wait to get away from you.

You're overreacting, you told yourself. But, even as you kept repeating to yourself that this was just a temporary thing, that it was stress, a sliver of a doubt still nibbled at you. What if Rowena didn't want you anymore? What if she'd had enough?

You still wanted her, you reminded yourself. You missed her. You loved her. And you would do anything to get things back to the way they used to be.

You leaned your head on her shoulder, which earned you another glare. You ignored it, eyes darting to the yellowed pages of the book that must have been older than the two of you combined. Intricate illustrations adorned the paper; those of flowers, of herbs you didn't recognize. They were surrounded by words in a foreign language. Written in an elegant handwriting, the writing gave off a feeling of class, of beauty. Whoever the witch that had written it was, she had obviously been a lady.

"What's it say?" you asked, feigning nonchalance. Heart, all the while, beating wildly, begging for a response.

Rowena eyed you for a few moments before turning her attention back to the book. "It's potion recipes." Matter-of-fact. Straight to the point. No trace of the warmth that usually accompanied her words.

On the bright side, she responded. It was something. Not much, but a start nonetheless.

"What language is it?"

"Italian."

"The book looks pretty old. When was it written?"

"The 1500s."

"Is the witch who wrote it still alive?"

"No."

"It's really cool that you can understand it."

No response. Not even the usual smile at the compliment. As if you hadn't said a word.

Your heart sank, but, insistent to complete this mission you'd tasked yourself with, you sucked in a breath and pecked her on the cheek.

Rowena flinched as if burned and shot you a startled glance. You smiled innocently. Sighing, she went back to her book.

Another failed attempt. Was there anything you could do to get her back? To get her out of her glum state? To make her your girl again for, as of late, it seemed she was distant from you?

To your knowledge, you hadn't done anything wrong. There had been no arguments — not even the pretend, teasy ones the two of you sometimes got into. You hadn't broken anything hers, or messed up any spells. It was as if she'd just decided she wasn't in the mood for you, that you were too much for her to handle. So she ignored you.

As much as it hurt, you weren't going to let her get away with it. You couldn't. Not after everything the two of you had gone through. You'd survived Lucifer. You'd survived her flashbacks and nightmares. And you would survive this.

Desperate, tears pricking at your eyes as pain squeezed at your heart, dove razor-sharp daggers into it over and over like a merciless killer, you leaned down to Rowena's shoulder and pressed a kiss into it. It was a small kiss, soft as silk, a swift, brief brush of lips against skin. A promise of more, so much more — all she had to do was want it.

Rowena stiffened. You laid another kiss to her shoulder, then another, trailing all the way up to her neck. Her skin was soft, incredibly tender; as expected, a small moan escaped her as soon as you reached her most sensitive place. She could be as mad as she wanted, as confused, as indifferent — the neck kiss always did her in.

Her greatest weakness, even in these difficult times.

"Y/N, what are you doing?" There was a hesitation in her voice, mixed in with the cold that coated her words.

"Having some fun," you said, then kissed her again. And again and again and again, and ran your tongue over a tiny spot just below her ear as if she were the most delicious meal, and then kissed it, and around it. A little game you couldn't get enough of.

"Why?"

Because she wasn't paying attention to you. Because you were lonely. Because she was grumpy. Because you both needed a little distraction from the horrors of the world, and what better way to get it than some intimate fun?

"Why not?" you countered. Dared her to defy you. To push you away as she had for days.

Your teeth grazed the sensitive skin, the milky white flushing red, soon to be a beautiful, rich purple. The kind of mark you hadn't left in what felt like ages. Rowena gasped at the sensation, satisfied despite pretending otherwise. Her vein throbbed underneath your mouth, heart racing, blood running hot.

You couldn't resist a smile. There we go. That was your girl! Goodness, you missed her!

The magic was short-lasted, though, as a moment later Rowena pulled away, looked you straight in the eyes, and, serious as a heart attack, said, "Have you gone bloody mental?"

You sighed. Inhaled. Exhaled. Did your best to remain calm because your thoughts were screaming and you wanted nothing more than to throw a tantrum and then curl up and cry your eyes out.

"Maybe I just wanna spend some time with my girlfriend!"

She looked at you as if you'd suddenly grown a second head. "We're together all the time!"

You used to be. Not lately.

"We would be if you weren't ignoring me." If she could play dirty, so could you.

"That's ridiculous!" she argued. Defensive. Second-guessing, but she wouldn't admit it. She was never one to admit she was wrong.

You'd expected it, really. Had prepared yourself for the blow. That didn't make it hurt any less. Throwing your arms up, you got to your feet and started pacing. Restless, nerves short circuiting, heart pounding like a hammer against your ribcage. Relax, you told yourself. Just relax. You'd wanted this fight. You couldn't give up now.

You looked her in the eyes with all the intensity, all the sincerity you could manage. Made sure she knew you meant business. "You barely even look at me. All you do is scream at the TV and read your books." Her outbursts were fun at first, entertaining. Now, they were exhausting. There were only so many times you could laugh at the very same curse words, even if they were Scottish. "It's like you're sick of living with me."

A tear slid down your cheek; you wiped it with the back of your hand and sniffled. Willed the rest of the tears to stay back, to not betray you at a time like this. You hated arguing with Rowena. You were used to peace in your relationship, to hugs and kisses and love and laughter and everything happy and bright. Whenever you argued, it felt like a piece of you was being torn apart. As if, if you went too far, if you pushed too many buttons, she would decide she'd had enough and, just like back in her wicked days, she would turn her back and leave.

You knew it was silly. Arguments were part of a relationship; they were healthy, so long as they were nuanced. But a part of you couldn't let go of the notion that fights would be the end of everything you knew and loved. It terrified you to the bone, and with the fear came more tears, and before you could try to stop them again, you were crying.

"Darling, that's not—I could never get sick of being with you," Rowena said. "I don't know what you think is happening, but, I can assure you, I've no ill feelings toward you." She flashed a smile, one of those bright, honest ones. "I promise."

You swallowed a lump that had popped in your throat. Gulped in a large breath. "You're always in a bad mood. And you never pay attention to me." You realized you come across as a needy, whiny child, but it was the truth. You felt ignored. You were ignored. Your usually attentive girlfriend had suddenly turned you a cold shoulder. "You don't kiss me back anymore. Don't even get me started on sex. Even when you sleep, you turn your back on me."

She pondered on your words. Twisted and turned them in her head, thought them through. When she spoke, her words were laced with regret, "Y/N, you've got this all wrong." She stood up and reached for your hand, tiny fingers wrapping around yours. The kind of touch you were yearning for, that you were missing. "I suppose I have been a tad distant these days. Not because of you. You haven't done anything wrong."

You allowed yourself to breathe out with ease.

"It's this house. I'm sick of being locked inside all the time," she elaborated. "It's starting to feel like a prison. I miss our wee trips." She pouted. "I miss dinners in my favourite restaurant."

You chuckled.

Rowena smiled. "I miss our walks. Going out for groceries hardly counts as going out."

"I miss it, too," you admitted. "All of it." But, most of all… "I miss you."

"I'm… sorry." It was hard for her to say the words. Two years into her redemption, and she still struggled with apologizing. "I shouldn't have taken it out on you. I love you, you silly girl. I could never tire of you. Even when you interrupt my reading."

She accompanied that with a small glare, a feigned one.

You rolled your eyes. "Gotta get your attention somehow."

"You've got my full attention now." Her eyes fell to your lips. Trailed down the length of your body. She was so close; you could smell her skin, almost taste her lips. "What is it you would like to do with it?"

"I can think of a few things."

You kissed her, deep and hard. She reciprocated instantly, drawing you in, arms snaking around you to pull you right where she wanted you. She tasted of promise and love and everything sweet, everything you were missing. You melted into her as she took lead, her tongue exploring your mouth, tasting it, marking it. Making it clear that it was her territory, her ownership.

Goodness, you missed this!

Parting for breath, you kissed her again, then pushed her on the couch a tad rougher than necessary and straddled her. Your mouth was back on her neck, kissing the previously marked spot. Licking and biting and sucking, leaving a trail of blossoming bruises in your wake.

"That's it, darling," Rowena moaned in her thick accent, which only made you got at it harder.

Maybe the quarantine wouldn't be so bad after all.

*****

Tags: @werewolfbarbie @oswinthestrange @songofthecagedmoose @apurdyfulmind @getthesalt-sam @metallihca @salembitchtrials @jay-eris @hellsmother @elizabeth-effie @shadowgirl-vsb @rowenaswife @wonderifshelikesroses @xfireandsin @liddell-alien @hotdiggitydammit @lae-lae @darkhumorsblog @angel7376 @cherrypierowena @evil-regal-vampiress @collectorofsecretsandsouls @angel-e-v-a @a-queen-and-her-throne @carryon-doctor-lock @fangirlxwritesx67 @rowenaslilwitch @midnight-lestrange

#rowena #rowena macleod #spn #supernatural #spn family #rowena x reader #fanfiction #my fics

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a-secondhand-sorrow · 4 years

Text

Dear Evan Hansen Gift Exchange!

This is my gift for the @sincerely-us DEH Gift Exchange for @thatfriendlyanon! Hey @thatfriendlyanon, hope you enjoy :D This is a bit of an amalgam of prompts that you offered but it’s mostly centered on Evan and Zoe a year later. Just for ease of timing/pop culture references it’s set in 2019/2020. Happy 2020! (here’s an ao3 link if you prefer)

Her first night back home, Zoe slips out the back door and just sits on the porch. It’s cold outside, like it always is in December, and it seeps through the old dollar store flip-flops she’d shoved her feet into on the way out the door. She shivers as a chilly gust of air bites through her purple and white sweatpants and old, graduating-class t-shirt. She’s like a collage of new and old school spirit, and some part of her hates it while the rest of her loves it. Sinking into one of the wicker chairs, she takes a breath for what feels like the first time since she stepped off the train in town, letting the hum of the cicadas drown out her other thoughts. She’s almost forgotten the different noise in the suburbs, the noises she was so used to in her first eighteen years of life. It feels disarming to be back in those noises after so long away.

Finally, once she’s sat in the feeling of the cold outdoors, her eyes drift up towards the sky. A smile picks at her lips, drawn by the faint points of light in the sky. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she registers names of a few, although had she tried to remember them consciously, she’s sure she wouldn’t be able to say them.

(Maybe it’s two memories, ripe with different kinds of nostalgia, that stop her from truly remembering. Maybe it’s the memory of two different hands in hers under the night sky. The memory of childhood, of wild giggles spilling from her lips, of another protective little hand in hers and speaking in what they thought were whispers but were more like normal volumes, sharing those names with her for the first time. And later, a later memory, of grass underneath her and a once-still hand in hers and warm lips pressed just right of her ear whispering the names he knew and asking her the ones he didn’t.)

She...likes school. She really does. It‘s felt like a fresh start in so many ways, with new people and new scenery and an easier way to breathe. Fewer shadows to haunt her from the corners of her eyes, drowned out by the constant lights of the city.

She just wishes she could see the stars there, that’s all.

Not that the stars at home are bright, exactly. They’re still dulled and hard to see, but they’re a world away from how they look at school. They are visible even if they’re not the strongest.

So Zoe smiles and looks at them, ignoring the lights that spill out from inside the house and the two figures they reveal inside.

After some time, she stands quietly, moving through the air as though it is nothing more than smoke and revelling in how silent she can be just before opening the door to the indoors.

“Everything alright?

Zoe’s head snaps up, locking onto where Larry is seated just beyond the kitchen and into the living room. She shakes her head at her own jumpiness, freeing her feet from the flip-flops. “Yeah, just catching some fresh air.”

Already, that almost-suffocating feeling is back. She can breath, but the air doesn’t seem to quite reach her lungs.

“Yeah, I just wanted some fresh air.” Her eyes scan the rooms. “Where’s mom?”

Larry’s lip quirks at the corner, but it doesn’t really seem happy. “She wanted to stay up to talk with you, but she was pretty tired so she turned in early.”

“Oh,” Zoe says, and for some reason it makes her feel kind of small. She crosses the house, letting her feet acclimate to the warmer temperature through her socks. She studies her father; he has dark circles of his own, and his hand seems to shake slightly where it holds the day’s newspaper. “I’m probably just gonna go to bed anyway, unless you…?”

“No, that’s fine, sweetheart,” he says, and for some reason Zoe’s heart feels heavy. Larry hasn’t called her sweetheart for a long time, and something in the word makes her feel like a little kid again. “I’m sure you’re tired.”

She nods and grabs her phone off of the small coffee table, turning towards the stairs. The light is already off upstairs, she can tell. “Well, ‘night.”

A sound that’s suspiciously like a yawn, and then a “‘night” back.

On the second step, her father’s voice stops her. “Zoe? We’re really glad you’re home.”

She ducks her head back down, forces a smile in his direction, and then continues to her room without looking up from her feet.

Evan’s still working at Pottery Barn.

He told himself, time and time again after senior year, that he’d be out of Pottery Barn in a year. Off to college full-time, maybe commuting or maybe even living on campus. But it’s six months past that year-long deadline, and here he is, on the first night of Hanukkah only just finishing the common app for next fall. Or trying to, rather, around his Pottery Barn shifts and his general fear of opening up to other people.

On one of his shifts, he scrolls through Instagram during a quiet spell, having accepted the fact that his application would not be worked on during work hours long ago. Just his average feed, a few former high school classmates posting holiday pictures (Alana Beck, unsurprisingly, has color-coordinated with her dads, sister, and grandma effortlessly for Christmas photos) and some of those Central Park nature shoots the pretentious photographers he follows are always posting. He’s about to click onto his Explore page when a recommended account catches his eye. His heart sinks as he recognizes the profile picture and the name, simply titled “zo + ev” in place of full names. And there she is, Zoe Murphy, smiling so wide that some of her freckles disappear behind the others and her eyes are smaller than usual. Another girl sits just behind her, her lips angled so her face comes across as more “funny” than “happy,” but that’s on purpose, he thinks. Before he can convince himself not to, he clicks into their account, and it’s revealed that the other girl in the picture must be ‘Ev,’ or Eva, if her main account’s handle is trustworthy. His pulse slowing slightly, his eyes skim their profile.

@stargirlzo_m and @evamillthegreat_ / NYU ‘23 / covers + general goofery / dm to req a song!

From a glance, it appears that they’re roommates. Not that he’s like, actively trying to figure that out, no, it’s just that all of the videos seem to be filmed in the same place, and the previews of the comments have a couple messages like “that’s our fav down the hall neighbors!” and such. Evan’s not even surprised to see that they have a couple hundred followers, since when one of their videos begins to auto play, they definitely sound really good. Zoe’s playing guitar, and something in the familiar curve of her fingers on the strings almost makes him turn his phone off and shove it away to get rid of the deep swell of emotion he feels just seeing her like that.

After...everything, he never really saw her play guitar again. While they were together, it was almost constant, because their coexistence was almost constant. But he couldn’t bring himself to go to the jazz band concerts for the rest of his senior year, and he certainly wasn’t hanging around her house while she figured out a new tune. Hearing her play is bittersweet and nostalgic and he feels...off. But he listens anyway.

Her roommate has a really great voice, and it’s clear that in their few months of knowing each other they’ve played together a lot. He keeps scrolling. Eva, or Ev, has a few videos up of her singing a cappella, or with a background, some kind of...TikTok riff challenge, maybe? Zoe, too, has a few where she strums some jazzy numbers by herself, that familiar old smile on her face in a whole new light. But then he finds one of her alone in a denim jacket and a flower-patterned dress, and she opens her mouth and begins to sing, and Evan swears he could cry. She always claimed she couldn’t sing, but of course he disagreed. He still does, and as she softly sings Dodie Clark and her fingers pluck at the strings in some complicated pattern, he could never disagree more. He hurriedly keeps scrolling, since if he were to continue listening he’s not sure if he’d be able to make it through his shift without crying.

She and her roommate are playing Crush by Tessa Violet, then, and it’s a little easier to hear.

A customer comes into his line of sight and he quickly shoves the phone under the counter before he can hear Zoe come in to harmonize in the background.

Sometime after Cynthia accepted the fact that Zoe wasn’t going to share every detail of her college life with her, she set her the task of going through her closet and cleaning up. She’d already done it before leaving in the fall, but Zoe agrees, mostly just to have something to do rather than thinking about the bedroom across from hers. She still hasn’t really breathed properly, but it’s a little easier when she’s alone.

When her trash garbage bag is already partially filled with old tops from high school, old Harry Potter and Brie Larson posters, and some guitar sheet music she doesn’t remember buying, she catches sight of an old plastic storage bin. Her hand brushes the unmistakable feel of dusty plastic, and her fingers search for purchase so she can drag the container out. It’s heavier than it looks, and the most she can do is drag it out. She falls back onto her heels as she does, eventually crossing her legs criss-cross under her. She pushes her hair away from her face and lets her eyes roam over the container. It looks like it’s filled with paper, and as she opens the lid there’s an overwhelming scent of school glue and cheap acrylic paint. There are old star stickers coming off everywhere.

“Oh, boy,” she mutters under her breath.

She considers just chucking it into the trash for a moment, but thinks the better of it. Tentatively, she plunges one hand into the pile of papers and promptly sneezes. Fucking dust allergies.

A few old math tests from elementary school are in the top pile, for some reason. She wastes no time in setting those into the garbage bag. She’ll sort the recycling out later, but for now she just wants to get the dust into one area. There’s an old, dried-up glue stick under the old tests and a couple of purple and blue markers with no caps. The faded yellow folder beneath them has clearly suffered for it, with big splotches of color on the thin paper. After tossing the markers in her normal trash, she picks the folder up. Immediately upon opening it, she’s hit by an image of herself as a little kid, her hand scribbling some crayon against printer paper with Connor at her side scribbling on the same paper. She lets out a sharp hiss of breath for nothing in particular. It turns out the folder is just full of old drawings, nothing special. Crayon stars on superhero capes, just about her and Connor’s combined interests. Seeing them on the same page feels like less of a gut punch after remembering them drawing together, but it still hurts all the same.

She knows her mom would want to keep the drawings, but she dumps them into the garbage bag before she can think to do otherwise.

The construction paper is surprisingly rough under her fingertips, but she smiles at the glue galaxies she’d created on the page, the letters of each star’s name written painstakingly next to them. She wonders where her good handwriting went and sets the page aside, figuring a little nostalgia won’t hurt.

There are several pages that just seem to be covered in glitter and star stickers, which immediately find themselves in the unforgiving cell that is her garbage bag. Some old book reports reach the same fate, as does a small journal that seems to be dedicated entirely to her writing with her left hand. If some of the handwriting looks like Connor’s, she chooses to ignore it.

“It’s weird,” Zoe says. “Who else writes with their left hand?”

Connor sniffs, looking indignant as he holds his pencil aloft in his hand. It’s held so gently and delicately in his artist’s hand, all long and thin fingers. “I think it’s cool. Right hand writing isn’t special.”

“And you smudge everything you write,” Zoe mutters under her breath. That didn’t stop her from trying to write like him, though. If he saw her, he ignored it.

It’s better to be rid of it, anyway.

The next item appears to be crudely bound by some old thread. It’s several sheets of printer paper bound together, and with a sinking heart Zoe sees the same crayon stars and superhero capes on the page. Monsieur Lumière. One of Connor’s pretentious French phases as a child, probably, fueled by the old English-French dictionary he found in his room.

She’d completely forgotten about the fake superhero they’d created, probably while huddled under one of their beds as their parents fought. A man to take away all their fear and sadness, who would bring the light of the stars wherever he was. Just a silly invention they’d dreamt up. A lot of good it did them.

This hurts more, this creation of their shared crayons on one page. There were probably hours spent on this, and she can’t even bring herself to open it and read a page.

She drops it suddenly as though the very touch of the paper to her fingers scalds her. She pushes it across the floor, away from her. She may leave it on some counter for her mother to find, rather than bringing herself to throw it away. She wants to get rid of it, but she can’t bring herself to pick it up again, not yet.

It’s only as she picks up the next glitter-coated paper that she realizes it gave her a paper cut.

“-right here—oh, isn’t this lovely?” Heidi says, her head turning back in Evan’s direction. She drops down onto the blanket she’s just finished spreading over the grass, crossing her legs under her.

Evan smiles. “It is, yeah, definitely.”

And maybe he’s just a little surprised by how much he means it. Because this is the first year in a very long time, too long a time, where January 6th has felt like something other than a slightly sadder mirror of every other day. When he woke up today, he didn’t feel that same hollow dissatisfaction on this birthday. He felt...excited.

It’s a nice feeling. Unusual, but nice.

He’d probably be excited even if he hadn’t woken up like that, however. Heidi had insisted she take the day off, and she herself was so excited to be off and to be with him that he couldn’t help but pick up on it. His mother was always like that - if she was excited, he was excited.

And she was definitely excited, given the honest-to-God picnic basket she’d packed for them and the new watch she’d given Evan just that morning “so he’d know when to look away from his inbox” (to which he’d feebly protested that it’s never too early to keep an eye out for forward movement, which she’d dismissed with a kiss on the cheek). As Evan carefully chooses a spot on the blanket where he is protected from the sun by the shade the tree branches above them throw, Heidi gets set unpacking everything, from small cans of sparkling water to grilled cheeses to bakery cookies to a bunch of grapes that looked like they’d had a fight with an anemic mouse and lost. Evan smiles as each item gets pulled out.

Almost automatically, his eyes start scanning over the park. It feels like it’s been a while since he’s been here, too, or at least since he’s taken a moment to sit back and observe the park in its entirety. In the time it takes Heidi to finish setting up, he’s not sure he’s discovered the source of the uneasiness deep in his stomach.

But Heidi is happy, and so he is, too. He turns back to her.

“I picked up this cheese from Shaw’s, it’s supposedly super sharp which I know you love, so it should turn out better than the Kraft Singles grilled cheese last week.”

Evan represses a shudder. “Oh, good.”

Heidi lies back slightly, smiling at him. “Here.” She holds out a plate full of food she’d just pulled out.

“Thanks,” Evan says, and when he smiles at her it's more genuine than most of the smiles he'd given her when he was younger.

She reached over and pats his cheek. “I like seeing you happy, you know that?”

“Yeah, I think I got that from the whole motherly affection thing.”

Heidi shakes her head. “I’d tell you to lay off the sass, but this is the one day I can’t, huh?”

“Oh, you love it.”

“Yeah,” Heidi says, picking up an apple and taking a bite out of it. “Yeah, I do.” She leans over, and with her free hand, she ruffles Evan’s hair.

“Hey!” He protests. “What was that for?” The action makes him feel like he’s a little kid again.

Heidi smiles at him again. He can’t remember the last time she smiled this much. “My little boy is all grown up. Twenty. Can you believe it?”

He shakes his head, looking up toward the trees. He really can’t believe it. Three years ago, he’d never have believed it. Seventeen was a bad year. But here he is, sitting in Ellison Park three years later, where he’d felt so helpless before. He’d be lying if he said there wasn’t an edge of that now, but it’s nowhere close to the wide expanse it had once been. He’s made it to twenty, and he knows he’ll make it longer. He smiles back at her. “Not really,” he says.

They eat in silence for a moment. Normally the presence of other people in the park besides them would make him anxious, but not today. He’s just another person, enjoying the afternoon sun with his mother. He blends in with everyone else. He feels like them. He wants to cork it up along with the feeling of the sun on his cheeks and the grass below him. With a start, he realizes his ache a little from the constant pull upwards his lips are engaged in. He’s smiling so much his cheeks hurt.

“I think you’re freckling again,” his mother mentions offhandedly. “I think you’re just about the only person who can’t freckle in the summer but can freckle just fine in January.”

“Maybe I am,” he says. “Like a superpower. Although it’s kind of a dumb superpower.”

“I don’t think so at all, sweetheart.” Heidi says.

He shakes his head, and as his mind fills with the image of someone else’s freckled cheeks, he may be inclined to agree.

“So you play a lot with Eva?”

Zoe looks up from her laptop, her brain unable to really understand the question. “What?”

Cynthia sits at the other end of the couch, and Zoe automatically tilts her screen in towards herself. “Aunt Christie mentioned it. She said that Sarah was talking about your...music Instagram at Christmas?”

Her cousin had ended up cornering her about her instagram account between dinner and desert. She was actually kind of happy to talk about it, since she and Eva do get along better than most roommates and it’s pretty cool to play with other people. She couldn’t really care about their followers, but they certainly had them, that’s for certain. Besides, it was a welcome reprieve from the dreaded “do you have a boyfriend?” questions, since she couldn’t exactly say no, i don’t have a boyfriend, since I’m still caught up on Evan, you know, the guy from junior year who lied about being friends with Connor and completely but accidentally fucked over the family in the public eye? But they didn’t know the half of that story, and she didn’t like to admit to herself how much she still cared for Evan, so the significant other area was a no-go and anything else was boring.

“Yeah, we have an account,” she says, shrugging. “It’s just a habit we’ve gotten into, playing together. It’s kind of fun to share it.”

“Ah,” Cynthia said, in that ‘I’m trying to understand but honestly have no idea what she’s talking about” tone of voice. “I’m glad, Zo’.”

Zoe smiles.

“But are you sure that’s the...best thing?”

The corners of her lips turn down, and she can feel her voice hardening a little. She doesn’t want to be defensive, but she is. “What?”

“Well, after everything that happened with your brother...with the Connor Project.” When she realized that wasn’t a sentence, she continued. “Are you sure the public eye is the best thing?”

She bristles. “It’s hardly the public eye, it’s just an Instagram account, and my full name isn’t on it. And honestly, mom, it couldn't get worse. No one cares anymore. It’s been years. Most of that was taken down. And I can take care of myself.”

“I know, Zoe,” her mother said, and maybe she’s just being placating, but the hand she reaches over and lays on her arm really does lessen her defenses. “I know. But you can’t control those people, and I just want you to be happy and safe.”

“I know,” Zoe says. “I know you do.”

She’s sure they both remember the endless days of calls, coming in a time of confusion and new grief she doesn’t know if they’ve really moved past, yet. Zoe knows that, if she tries, she can probably remember the exact words they said, the exact tone they said them in. It was only worse when she believed them.

Cynthia sits back again. They sit in silence for a little while.

“I’d love to hear some, though,” she says, in that classic mom voice.

“Why don’t you ask Sarah for a link?” Zoe says, sure to make her voice sarcastic.

“Why have a lousy link when I’ve got the rockstar right in front of me?”

Zoe rolls her eyes. “Sure, let me just summon my roommate. She’s not in Buffalo at all, she’s actually been tiny sized and in my suitcase this whole time, just waiting for my mother to ask about my music so she can belt her tiny heart out.”

“Ha, ha,” Cynthia says. “Good thing you can sing, missy. I know this is where you’re going with all of your university sarcasm.”

“I can’t, mom.”

“Don’t give me that.”

“What would you prefer I give you?”

“An accurate assessment of your talents.”

“Sure, I know I’ve got one in my coat pocket somewhere, right with my sky-high self esteem and my 4.0 GPA.”

“Your GPA is more than fine and if you keep talking like that I’m going to worry. Why don’t you go pick it up from your room along with your guitar? Then I can hear the famous musician’s liquid silver voice while she plucks away with the speed of a god at her strings.”

Zoe cringes. “Always so poetic.”

“It’s a gift,” Cynthia says airily, and the two smile at each other. “Go on. I’ll get your father.”

“I'm not a child at a recital.”

“Why couldn’t you be? We just want to hear you play, sweetheart. We barely see you now, and next time it’ll be Carnegie Hall.”

Somehow, Zoe ends up retrieving her guitar. True to her mother’s word, Larry was there when she came back downstairs. She’d never expected to actually play for them, but this is the first time Cynthia has really pushed her on something in a long time. It’s nice, quite honestly, that she feels that strongly about hearing her play guitar.

“I really normally don’t sing,” she protests mildly.

“Nonsense,” Larry says, and Zoe smiles. She shifts the guitar in her lap.

“Eva absolutely loves singing this,” she begins, her fingers seeking out the beginning chords to Crush, because quite honestly she can’t think of anything else to play. Her parents’ eyes on her make her feel nervous. “She’s made me play it a million times. She’d probably be mad if she knew I was singing it without her.”

It’s...nice to play for them. They smile and clap as she plays song after song for them. She can feel their happiness at something she’s accomplished, for the first time in her life. But for the first time since she’s been home, she thinks she can feel the weight of a third gaze on her. She knows it’s just in her mind, but all the same, she hoped she’d left that lurking guilt from Connor far away, in the orchard, at the end of senior year. She doesn’t know how she feels now that it’s back.

He always used to listen to her play. Maybe this is what she gets instead of him, now.

“Zoe?” Evan says.

She looks...small, is the first word that crosses his mind. Which is funny, because although Zoe Murphy isn’t the tallest person you’ll ever meet, she’s certainly got the confidence and gravitas to make up for it. Stage presence, as his mother would say.

Maybe he’s caught her between the first and second act, then.

She looks up at him, her hands practically drowning in her chunky-knit yellow sweater. It comes up to her chin, half-tucked into a denim skirt at her waist, and where the skirt ends a pair of high riding boots begin. Some part of his brain recognizes that she looks impeccable just as she always does, even when the look on her face is so unguarded and shaken that he’s half surprised she’s still standing. Something passes over her face, and in a second it rearranges into something a little happier than before. It’s not happy or okay, not by a long shot, but if he didn’t know her better he may think it was. Barely giving himself a moment to marvel at just how cool it is she does that, concern overrides every alarm bell going off in his brain about being around her and talking to her and hurting her again (not again, not again), because the most important thing is making sure she’s okay, the most important thing is her comfort. “What-” he breaks off, shakes his head. What does he want to say? What are you doing? What are you feeling? What do you need?

What could he possibly say?

(He knows it doesn’t matter what he wants, in the end. It doesn’t matter.)

“What’s...up?” he finishes a second later, cringing internally.

Zoe’s mouth twists and her nose scrunches, and for a second he thinks she’s going to cry, but a moment later she settles on a half smile, and she looks so much like Connor did that day in the computer lab that he feels winded, winded by an image he couldn’t have conjured consciously. At once the weight of where he is hits him squarely in the chest, and Zoe must sense it, because when she speaks it’s gentle, almost, even though every fiber of her being feels like it’s been shifted on its axis. “Well, uh. You know. Not a lot. And a lot, also, I guess.”

Evan nods, and for a second he feels seventeen again, fighting against a torrent of words, because Zoe never talked like that. She always selected every word carefully, and if she can’t, there’s no hope for Evan. “Yeah, no I, I definitely get it. That makes, that makes sense. You’re um, I guess you’re home for break? Winter break?”

Zoe nods once, and for once he detects a hint of ice in the gesture. “Yeah. And you’re…”

“Still home,” he supplements quickly. “I’m, uh, applying, actually, but, you know…”

“Yeah,” she says, and Evan privately thinks that this may be the most painful conversation they’ve had. There’s still a look in Zoe’s eyes, something a little unhinged and a lot hurt, and he wants more than anything to get rid of it. He knows that it’s not his job, but God, he wants to. He wants to grab her hand and press a kiss to her temple just like he used to, to slide his hand along the side of her jaw like he did whenever she was upset. He wants to remind her to breathe just like she used to remind him to do, wants to trace the freckles on her cheeks until she’s giggling and her eyes are dry.

“Are you here to see Connor?” she spits out, as though surprising herself, and Evan finds himself nodding, because oh yeah, they’re at a cemetery. He absolutely could not tell you why he chose to go down to the cemetery, rather than literally any other place. He just...felt like he had to. For some reason, he felt like he needed to go to Connor’s grave to say sorry and maybe thank you for something he couldn’t quite understand. He hadn’t planned on running into Zoe, though.

“You are too? I can...I can go,” he offers, and he’s surprised at how quickly Zoe shakes her head.

“No, I’d...I’d like someone else there.”

“Really?” he says, his voice soft.

“Yeah,” she says, offering him a quick ghost of a smile before steeling herself and turning.

He follows her in silence, choosing to focus on the sound of her shoes on the concrete and examining the back of her head and the trees lining the rows of graves and new clouds that have crossed the sun. They must reach Connor’s plot eventually, as Zoe turns sharply and leads him through the maze of stones until they stand in front of one that is simpler than its neighbors. Classic, he supposes, although he doesn’t know if that’s actually a thing, a ‘classic’ grave. Connor Murphy is cut into the stone, followed by a birth and death date and a short epitaph of beloved son, brother, and friend. He squashes down an unkind thought before it can really grow at all.

Zoe’s sat down on the grass, denim skirt and all. After hesitating, he follows.

“Would you like me to-”

“No,” Zoe says, but her eyes are focused on the grave, and Evan has the feeling she’s a million worlds away from him and it wouldn’t matter what he said. “You’re fine.”

So he sits quietly, and tries to think of something he’d like to say to Connor in the peace of his own head. What would he say, if given the chance? He doesn’t know if it would be worth anything. For him, he grew to learn that he was not who he thought he was on his worst days, no matter how many there were. But he doesn’t know if that’s worth saying to Connor. It wasn’t even really Connor who taught him that, in the end. He forced that message into his own brain, with the help of Dr. Sherman and his mother and even Zoe and the Murphy’s, in some roundabout way. He’s learned he can keep going.

Maybe Zoe still needs to learn that, he thinks, with a glance in her direction. She seems to be deteriorating, her hand absently twisting grass at her side, her face falling just a little more. She’s biting her lip and her brow is furrowing deeper. Or maybe this is just one of her bad days.

She stands up and sways on her feet. Evan clambers up after her, a hand reaching out to steady her almost unconsciously. “I’m sorry,” she says, and it’s only then that he notices the near-silent sobs coming from her, although there are not yet any tears. She just looks...sad. He hasn’t seen her look that sad in a while. Her non-grassy hand reaches up to her face. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“Hey,” Evan says, and he aches to reach out and touch her, to comfort her in some way, but he holds himself back. He attempts a joke. “You apologize too much.”

He sees tears on her cheeks, and one indents where he’s sure she’s biting the inside of her mouth.

“Please,” he says, and it’s only then that she seems further away than she was before. “Do you need a ride somewhere?”

She’s in no state to refuse, but she looks like she might anyway. He cuts her off with another ”please, let me do this” and she relents. She looks ready to collapse at any moment, and he’s terrified she will, so he keeps one hand hovering nervously hovering between her shoulder and back their whole walk as though he’s swatting invisible bugs away. He considers opening the door for her, but thinks the better of it and leaves her to fend for herself in that particular field. They’re silent as he gets into the car and shifts the key in the ignition, pulling out of the cemetery parking lot. They stay silent for a few minutes on the road as well, while Evan drives in the vague direction of her house.

“You’re driving,” Zoe says suddenly, and through the thickness of tears Evan thinks he can detect a hint of pride.

“Yeah, that I am,” he replies, shaking his head slightly.

He thinks Zoe may say something like “wow” under her breath, but a moment later she’s sniffling again and that’s all he can think about. “I have some tissues in the glove compartment.”

“Thanks,” she says softly, almost getting drowned out in the sound of tires on pavement, and the sound of her soft consonants breaks his heart. “I’m sorry,” she tries again, but Evan stops her.

“Don’t, Zoe. Don’t ever apologize. Really.” His hands tighten on the steering wheel. “Believe me. You have nothing to apologize for.”

There’s another silence. It seems like Zoe has stopped crying, although she still seems unsteady, albeit less all over the place than when he first saw her.

“I swear I’m doing better than this,” she says. “I really am. I don’t, I really don’t know why that happened. I wish I could explain to you why. Why it’s still happening now, honestly. I’m doing better. I am.”

“You don’t owe me any explanations, Zoe.”

“I know. I mean, I don’t, but. I want to give you one, anyway.”

He nods. “Where to?” He finally says, the words stiffer than he wanted them to be.

Her voice is small, almost fragile. “Could you...maybe go to the orchard?”

He nods again, feeling a bit like a bobble head. “Yeah, of course.” He doesn’t add the anything, anything at all for you, but he thinks she might hear it anyway.

Sitting in the orchard with Evan again, it’s almost...surreal.

Zoe hasn’t been back since she met him a week before graduation. Being in the orchard brings all kinds of feelings of melancholy for her, a tangle of guilt and longing and maybe a little bit of hope, too.

Because when she looks across from her, Evan is there, and her own emotions are reflected on his face. They’re both sitting in the grass under one of the trees. They’re no longer saplings, which in itself is weird. The year has brought a lot of growth for them. Looking at Evan, she can’t help but think that they’re not the only ones.

He’s so much more...something than he was before. Is it happy? Confident? Whatever it is, it fills him from the inside. Even in the orchard, where his brow is furrowed and his eyes are focused on some faraway point in the distance, he’s sitting taller and fidgeting less than before. He’s doing better.

And she meant what she said to him, how she’s doing better too. Getting out and away to the city had really done wonders for her, finally being away from all of the shit that happened in high school.

She pushes her foot out, nudging against his thigh. He angles his head to her, and suddenly she gets the same urge to cry again. Her vertigo has lessened significantly since arriving at the orchard and stumbling to sit, but she still feels unsteady even while sitting. The corner of his lip perks up a bit as his eyes meet hers.

“It’s been almost a year,” she says.

“I know.”

There’s a pause; she lets herself listen to the rustle of the no-longer-saplings.

“Do you ever wish you could go back?” she says, surprising herself.

He takes a moment to respond. “To when?”

“I don’t know,” she admits. Her eyes burn and she’s not quite sure why. “Last time we were here? Last year? The very first time we really talked? This morning?”

Evan shakes his head. “That’s, that’s a lot of times.”

“I know.”

“Maybe I’d go back to this morning,” he said. “So I could...prepare myself for this. So I’d be ready to see you.”

She snorts. “I’d like preparation to deal with me, too.”

“That’s not what I meant, Zoe.”

“Oh?” She doesn’t know where this challenge has come from in her tone. “What did you mean?”

“I meant—I meant that it’s...different seeing you now. Because of...everything. And I don’t want to hurt you more.”

At once, all the fight leaves her. She passes a hand over her face. “God, Evan. I don’t think that’s possible.”

If she had meant to hurt him-and she honestly doesn’t know herself if she did-she certainly succeeded. Evan seems to curl in on himself a bit.

“That’s not what I meant,” she adds belatedly. “I just-you make things difficult, you know? Because this entire—” and here she gestures emphatically to the orchard, “thing is so fucked, and I want to leave it all behind, since it makes me feel fucked. But then I see you, and it’s like…” she lets out a puff of air. “It’s like I’m back to being sixteen again. Which is terrible on so many levels but is really, really great on one.”

He doesn’t say anything.

Her hand picks at the hem of her skirt. “I had you, Evan. And that made everything else okay.” She blinks rapidly against her blurring vision. “And as much as I want to leave everything else behind, I don’t-I can’t leave you. And that.”

“I understand,” Evan says softly.

She doesn’t say the other part that keeps her from leaving, the total guilt that fills her mind every once in a while when she thinks about Connor. She had a feeling he may already know that part.

“And the stars are here, too. I can’t leave them.”

She can hear the smile in Evan’s voice. “No, I bet you can’t.”

She shakes her head, tears slipping from her eyes. As he leans over and swipes them away with his thumb, she represses a choking sob from somewhere deep inside her chest. “I couldn’t either,” he says, his smile morphing into something sadder and smaller. His fingertips brush against her cheeks one last time, and belatedly she remembers those nights spread out on the grass where he traced the stars from the sky on her freckles. His fingers feel just like they did then, almost reverent against her cheek, his feather-light touch sending shivers from where it lands. Her eyes close, and without the hard ground beneath her and the sunlight that’s bright on her eyelids, she can almost pretend no time has passed at all, that she can have this entirely and wholly and painlessly. But Evan’s hand, and then his whole being, moves away from her, and she is left with only the phantom of his touch and the quiet noise of the leaves behind her. She lets her eyes drift open again, once the tears have receded slightly.

Evan stands, maybe sensing that she needs to get away or maybe just wanting out himself. “C’mon,” he says, holding a hand out to her. “I’ll drive you home.”

She smiles, albeit a watery smile, and takes his hand, ignoring just how familiar and easy it feels to slip her hand into his. His palm is warm, and he hoists her up with only a little difficulty. She smiles as she rights herself, and he steps back quickly once he’s sure she won’t fall. The faint blush that steals across his cheeks only makes her vertigo worse, but she manages to walk anyways, the blurriness fading from her eyes.

Just before they get in the car, Zoe reaches out a grabs his sleeve, the fabric of it rough under her calloused fingertips. Time slows down for the barest second, and her world narrowed to the faint, warm brown of his eyes. But the moment passes, and she tugs him in closer to her, wrapping her other arm around his shoulder. She means to say thank you, but the words never pass her lips. Instead she pushes herself up until her mouth is right next to his ear. Zoe breathes, “Watch the stars for me, Evan. Please.”

She feels him nod against her shoulder, and finally his grip around her lower back feels like more than just dead weight. “I will, Zo.”

In a moment, she’ll reach for the car door and step away from him. In a moment he’ll do the same, and they’ll sit in an almost-comfortable silence for the ride home. In a while they will be at her house, and they will say goodbye, and Zoe will go back to NYU the next day and Evan will go to his shift at Pottery Barn. In a moment, this may be the last time they just exist like this with each other, or it may not be.

Either way, she holds him close in this moment and savors the feeling of his heart beating in tandem with hers.

#dear evan hansen #dear evan hansen fanfic #dear evan hansen fanfiction #dear Evan Hansen gift exchange #thatfriendlyanon #bandtrees #deh #deh angst #deh fanfic #evan hansen #zoe murphy #zoevan

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pasthegate · 6 years

Text

The Serpent man and The Fairy Godmother

The air tasted stale. Like a room untouched for many years. The rain had miraculously stopped, the sky overhead clear of clouds and stuck in blood red sunset. Oak folded away the umbrella and Tine squinted up at the building far ahead. The normal house that had been before him was gone, replaced by a tall hunching behemoth of a mansion. Four stories tall and stitched together with brick and wood, the shingles on the roof so thick the house looked like it was curving inward, with any of the massive chimneys atop ready to fall at any moment.

The garden was filled with trees bearing multitudes of fruit, their branches drooping with the weight and their roots entangled with garlands of flowers with spots of mushrooms peeking through the petals. Curious, Tine reached up to pick a pear off a tree as they walked up the winding pathway of black pebbles leading to the house. Bringing the fruit to his lips he sniffed it first and took a bite to examine its insides.

Black and rotting with millipedes and maggots squirming around each other within the fruits fleshy skin. Tine merely spat the piece from his teeth and tossed the pear away.

“Her sense of humour is much the same as ever.” A muttering under his breath. Appealing on the outside and toxic on the inside. If anyone who approached this house took a moment to check the delicious looking fruit they could save themselves. Yet so many literally walked away from salvation. A cruel joke.

Honestly he would like her if she weren’t such an unbearable cun-

“Good evening gentleman. How may I assist you?”

They had reached the door already and now stood before a figure wearing a purple and white striped suit, a cat mask with an ear to ear smile covering their face. Despite the mask covering the figure’s mouth their words were not muffled and they extended a a striped glove hand in greeting.

“I regret to inform you there is no party tonight. If you have come for a private show please-”

“Call the witch down.Tell her the shape shifter wants to make a trade.”

The cat masked figure pulled their hand back and nodded in understanding, taking a step back and stepping inside the house. Left to stand before the porch Tine removed his coat and hat to hand off to Oak and straightened out his vest.It was a rather strange situation he found himself in. While he had no qualms using any means to get what he wanted he usually held all the cards or at least had a hand he could bluff with. In this particular scenario he was yet to be dealt anything and the name of the game eluded him. The ace up his sleeves could be worthless or the key to his winning. All of it was up in the air.

Speaking of up.

Pale eyes flicking to above the porch Tine smirked with an amused chuckle.

Perched on the aged cherub statue was a creature of great size, human in shape but hunched and crouched like a beast. Covered in thick black latex from head to toe, the material pulled tight over solid muscle lined with protruding veins. Two glass half spheres bulged from where its eyes should be, a yellow glow dimly shining under them and a large zip running across the mouth from ear to ear.

The creature didn’t move until the door opened again, leaping from its perch and landing in front of Tine to block his view of the porch. It stood to its full height and came up only centimetres short of the twin giants own eye line. Tine continued to smile, cocking his head as he looked over the body builder physic and casually spoke up as thought it wasn’t there.

“Your guard dog is rather poorly trained. I must say I am taken aback my good lady.”

A dry soft laugh came from the doorway and a quiet frail voice replied.

“I must refute you on that. Atticus is merely ensuring his master’s safety.”

Slowly the beast slowly stepped out of the way and Tine’s gaze shifted to a small and thin elderly woman standing hunched with a welcoming smile. Silver hair tied back in a loose bun with a violet ribbon and a lavender dress buttoned up to the neck, hem brushing the ground and black slippers peeking out from under, she stood the picture of a kind elderly grandmother, a black velvet shawl draped over her shoulders to keep out the evening chill.

The cat masked figure carefully held the woman’s arm as she stepped onto the porch, her steps small and reinforcing the fragile appearance she gave off. Slowly she raised a thin wrinkled hand dotted with liver spots and cupped the underside of the black clad beast’s jaw.

“How curious to see you again shapeshifter, here I had thought you wished to wash your hands of us for good.” Faded red eyes, like those of a wilting rose bud stared from behind oval spectacles rimmed gold and resting on the bridge of her slim nose. In her youth she would be quite the beauty, sharp in chin and cheekbones. Old, she held a certain dignified beauty but her sharp features were rounded out with loose skin and bubbles of fat lingering over the aged muscles. “Time has been good to you shifter. Or should I say, ignorant, of you?”

“The latter I would concur. For you dear lady it has been most attentive.” Smirk slipping into a full smile Tine bowed at the waist. “Yet its efforts have stolen none of your splendour.”

The old woman laughed in her throat, a sound that could have been taken for a cough and took her hand back from the beast to wave at the air between them.

“Save your flattery for the fools shifter. Why have you come?”

“I wish to make a trade.”

“A trade of what?”

“I require a spell from you.”

“And your offer?”

��What do you desire?”

The old woman’s lips pursed in thought and red eyes looked over the gentleman in deep consideration.

“I want... your life.”

In a blur of black the beast swiped its paw out at Tine’s still bowed neck, aiming like a guillotine to sever his head from his shoulders. Its impact was cut short by a large hand grabbing the creature’s thick wrist and wrenching it back. Ash squeezed the wrist until he felt bone’s bend and Atticus dug his heels into the porch’s concrete to keep a steady foothold as he pulled for his arm’s release.

Tine straightened, Ash forcing the beast’s arm back further to keep it from his employer. Atticus struck out with his other hand and that too was caught by the giant, his own arms cris-crossed from where he stood. Shoulder’s hunching the beast’s skin tight clothing squeaked as he crouched and launched himself at Ash, a heavy knee connecting with the giant’s jaw. Ash took the blow and stumbled back, using his grip on the arms to throw the beast down towards the orchard of trees.

Atticus landed on his feet and flicked out his arms to regain the feeling, crouching to all fours and preparing for another lunge. Ash looked back to Tine for but a moment before removing his jacket and handing it to Oak. Cracking his neck and rolling his shoulders Ash began to walk towards Atticus .His walk growing to a run. Then sprint. Then a full on charge.

The crouched beast lunged at the charging giant and aimed an elbow for his temple. The blow connected but lost its impact as Ash’s own elbow struck out at its stomach and pushed it over head. Grabbing at Atticus’s ankle the giant swung the beast at the ground, the gravel jumping off the earth at the force of the slam. The attack did little to rattle the creature however as it kicked at Ash’s shoulder and dislocated the ball from its socket. Ash dropped the creature limply and grabbed his own arm to set the bone back in. Atticus rolled back to his feet and the flesh under the black spandex rippled with the resetting of bones and muscle.

Both beings stared each other down for several seconds before each launching into a second round of blows.

Back at the house Tine and Oak watched the fighters for a few more seconds before Tine turned back to the woman and cocked his head to the side.

“Well now, shall we begin negotiations?”

Another cough laugh and the woman waved a hand to the cat masked fellow, the servant stepping back and clapping their hands. From within the house two small creatures exited carrying a table. The first was a young harpy, her wings plucked and bound with thick chains around her wrists and neck. Patches of her skin were burned and stripped away, the flesh on her shoulder so thin the white of bone could be seen jutting against the skin.

The second was, difficult to discern what it could have been. There was fur. Feathers. Scales. Many different parts of different creatures sewn onto its body and obscuring its original form. The sewn on parts appeared to have no physical purpose either. No, they were merely woven in on whims, flights of fancy like adding new accessories to a handbag.

They set the table down between Tine and the woman and scurried back in to retrieve two chairs. As the malformed children prepared the furniture the cat masked figure set out a table cloth and retrieved a tea seat from inside.There was never a bad time for tea and negotiations went much smoother if you had something to occupy the silence in between contemplating deals. It was easy to lose your composure if all you can do is watch the other person sit silently for minutes on end, hence the refreshments and the little show going on behind them.

The mutilated harpy set his chair down behind him and Tine spared her any gawking or useless sympathy. He did not enjoy seeing children done harm, in fact he took a certain pleasure from the torture of paedophiles and child beaters that other offenders did not supply, but this child belonged to the old woman and her house and nothing he said or did now would change their fate. If anything he would make it worse.

Waiting for the woman to sit he took his seat after and watched in silence as tea and biscuits were set out on the table. At his side Oak took care to rearrange the tea set to his master’s taste so the table looked split in two, the porcelain and silver the same but the arrangements notably different.

“So.” Tine began “I fear I must reject your first offer given such a trade would make any benefits mute to I.”

“I suppose it would. Forgive an old lady her indulgences. Atticus hasn’t been getting near enough exercise as of late.”

“Big dogs are a chore to be certain.”

“But so loyal. You should look into getting one yourself.”

“I have my own preference of beast to keep as pets.”

“So I have heard.” If her tone didn’t make her displeasure clear the small pull down at the corner of her lips did. “But we are getting sidetracked. What spell are you after?”

“The Witch’s House spell.”

“That’s quite a heavy priced spell.”

“I reiterate, name your desire. Excluding my life of course.”

The cat masked fellow poured a cup of tea and the elderly woman took a thoughtful sip.As she considered her price Tine glanced back at the ongoing battle below.

Ash’s shirt had been torn apart, shreds of white fabric hanging off the belt around his waist. Atticus appeared unscratched but his movements had become more sluggish. The two were locked in grappling, each trying to push the other back as their feet crushed the earth beneath them.

In a sudden move Ash stopped pushing and allowed Atticus to lunge atop him, one foot lifting to kick against the dog’s stomach and launch him over head. Atticus tightened its grip on Ash’s hands and twisted its body to try and brace the impact but only half succeeded, striking the ground on its side and sweeping a leg out to try and claw across Ash’s head. Ash raised his head in time to avoid it but was slashed across his shoulder blades. The cuts were deep and the pain made the giant stagger and struggle to stand. Releasing his hands Atticus rolled onto all fours and lunged again, aiming for the jugular. Ash grabbed an extended black clad arm and flipped the dog over his shoulder, closing his legs around Atticus’s body and holding it down as he began pulling the captured arm away from its shoulder. Atticus clawed at Ash’s legs, tearing his pants below the knee to strands of bloodied fabric and flesh. The onslaught did not stop Ash from applying more and more strength to pull the arm free from its shoulder socket and snap the muscles holding it in place until-

Skin and latex tore with a flurry of blood spraying across the grass and ash’s face, the arm in his grip going limp as the last stretching pieces of muscles broke under the strain. Atticus made no sound of pain and only hesitated in its attack for a moment before continuing with renewed vigour. Ash, wishing to save his legs before the bone could be exposed dropped an elbow against Atticus’s temple and spread his legs to roll backwards to his feet, unable to stand on them and falling to his knees to ease off the pressure and pain it caused him. Atticus too rolled onto its feet, grabbing the shoulder that had lost its limb to try and stem the bleeding.

A quiet cough in her throat alerted the dog to its master, Atticus’s head snapping towards the porch where the elderly woman placed her cup down and adjusted her glasses to stare down at the two fighters. Another small show of displeasure crossed her face before she daintily touched wrinkled fingertips to her lips and gently blew a soft whistle between them. A high but short sound that made the dog look back to its enemy and reach up with its good hand to unzip the zip around its mouth.

Beneath the latex a strong dark skinned chin speckled with black hair along its jaw line could be briefly glimpsed. Brief, as the human feature quickly began to twist and contort into an elongated snout, black fur sprouting up in clumps and coming together to cover the brown skin beneath. There was no nose at the end of its snout, only two nostrils and a series of stitches that the fur quickly covered over. The latex around its body already pulled tight was stretched further as the form beneath it began to grow and pulse with a new raw energy.The beast grew in size, doubling its original height and width with a symphony of snapping and cracks within its body. The exposed shoulder shuddered and from its wound a bony hand burst forth , muscle, fat, flesh and skin coating it from its fingertips slowly. From the ivory wrist the beginning of an ulna and radius pushed the hand out further from the bleeding wound. Raising its head Atticus parted its jaws and revealed two sets of sharped elongated fangs with a mighty roar. Ash watched the transformation and discarded the lost arm, climbing to his feet in intense pain but the threat before him too great to ignore. In a moment of sympathy, or perhaps understanding, the giant noted the beast before him was missing its tongue. The moment quickly passed and digging his heels into the dirt he launched himself at the werewolf to do as much damage as possible before it could regrow its arm entirely.

“I want something of yours.”

The answer returned Tine’s gaze from the fight back to the table. Oak poured a cup of tea for him and added three sugar cubes, Tine taking the cup with a tilt of his head.

“Anything specific? If you are referring to my current companions I am afraid they come as something of a set and would prove less than efficient working for someone other than I.”

“No. I want your body.”

“....” Tine took a long sip. “In the literal sense I take it?”

The woman laughed dryly and touched a hand to her chest.

“Goodness me sir, do you think I so bold?” Lazily she moved the shawl aside and stroked over her covered bosom in a manner intended to be alluring. “Though if you were to insist.” Tine finished his cup and held it out for Oak to refill, his expression neutral even as he downed the second cup in a single gulp. That was a mental image he could have done without. The woman laughed again and fixed her shawl back in place. “I don’t recall hearing any complaints after the first time we had such an encounter but no, you are correct, I meant a piece of your body.”

Tine put the cup down and held a hand up to stop Oak refilling it again.

“And which piece has caught your eye?”

The woman smiled.

Left knee cap shattered. Three fingers broken on left hand and right thumb lost. Open wound between neck and shoulder, non-lethal but bleeding heavily. Vision impaired by blood loss and balance thrown off from damaged shins. Ash calculated the damage to his body as he ducked the snapping jaws aiming to take his head clean off. It was not often he fought a creature larger than himself and its regenerative abilities put him at a great disadvantage. If Oak was with him victory would be guaranteed regardless but he was on his own and rusty.

Claws swiped. Left shoulder caught and deeply scarred. Keep as much damage to non dominant side as much as possible. Aim for the solar plexus. Use the monster’s size against it.

Ash landed a punch in Atticus’s gut but the blow barely winded it, his own size a disadvantage as it made slipping between the beast’s limbs difficult. The punch was followed up with a kick to its knee but the impact was like hitting a thick tree.

Keep moving. Keep attacking. Avoid the teeth. Use its impaired sight to advantage. Don’t be deceived by its slower moments it moves swifter than appearances allow.

Yet even being careful Ash could not avoid the clawed paw that landed in his left shoulder and pulled him back, a second newly grown set claw landing in his right shoulder. The new arm was covered in thick black fur and twitched with the constant quick pulse of the creature’s heart. Watching the arm regrow had been something horrific and as Ash tried to pry the claws out of his shoulders they were no weaker from being new than their counterparts.

Atticus held oak out, yellow hues barely visible behind the glass circles that covered its eyes and regarded him a moment before beginning to pull at the shoulder blades connected to his collar bone. It was only fitting. It lost an arm to him so he should lose two to it. Digging the claws in deeper until the tips scratched bone it began applying more and more pressure until the first stretch of muscles rubbed against its claws.

A sudden poke to its back made the creature pause, turning its head to see the blond man and the second giant standing behind it, the man’s cane poking at its side.

“Our business is concluded. Drop him.”

Attitcus regarded the man a moment before looking to its master still sitting at the porch watching. No order came to stop and so it continued to pull apart the giant in hand.Yet as quickly as it decided to continue Atticus found itself freezing up, unable to move. There was a presence. A bigger animal. A bigger hunter watching and preparing to attack. Instincts told it of the threat and looming danger that was closing in on it.

Right behind it.

The presence eased off, still present but enough to let Atticus release the giant. The second one rushed to his twin’s aid and helped him toward their master. Without looking back Atticus hunched down and leaped to the top of the garden, landing in front of the porch.

“Run back to our bitch with tail between your legs... my dog is better. “ Even if the stubborn bastard wouldn’t wear a collar.

Ash found it difficult to stand even with aid from his twin and at his employer’s comment he looked up with blurred vision to a confusing and alarming sight. Part of Tine was missing. Gone and traded. In his hand clutched in gloved fingers was a small orb that swirled with a purple hue. The deal was done and he wanted out of this farce of a wonderland.

From the porch the old woman watched the shapeshifter and his goons pass through the gate to the other side, leaving her world and only a mess at the end of her garden and empty tea cup behind in their wake.

Oh and of course the piece of the shapeshifter she now had floating in her own tea cup. Such a proud and strong creature he was, so arrogant and self assured of his superiority. Now she had a part of him. Something no one else could ever have. Her sense of humour was indeed the same as it ever was.

Atticus turned its lumbering head towards her and with a scowl she promptly chucked the tea pot and the remaining scalding tea inside at it.

“Will you get out of that hideous form? You played too long and looked what happened. You are worthless. Useless! A stupid monstrous lumix of an existence! You-”

And she stops. And she turns her head.

And she stares at you.

Yes you.

She sees you now, spectators and peeping toms, voyeurs of the night’s sordid affairs. She looks to you and she smiles kindly.

And you are outside the house, staring at an ordinary house with dull cream bricks and a neatly trimmed lawn. She has pushed you from her realm. Did you enjoy it? The sights you saw? I should hope so!

What? You want to know who she is? Or is your concern what part of himself Tine traded off? Well you’ve come this far I could give you some reward.

She is The Fairy Godmother.

And the second answer is yet to come.

#drabble #dragoncanefangs

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immoralrpg-blog · 7 years

Photo

Congratulations, ANA, you have been accepted for the role of LILY EVANS, with the faceclaim of LUCA HOLLESTELLE. Your portrayal of Lily is whimsical and altruistic and not without her flaws, which helps her to stand out as a three dimensional character. You understood the importance of seeing that Lily isn’t as perfect as her sister believes, and her struggles with her own sense of morality make for an interesting arch. Nicely done! Please head along to the CHECKLIST for your next steps.

CHARACTER NAME:

lily marie evans, although her mother was incredibly keen on naming her lily kathleen, which her father wasn’t particularly happy about (as he’d had a neighbour called kathleen growing up, who wasn’t a very nice woman). after a lot of arguing, they settled on marie, as it was sweet and simple like their oldest daughter’s name: petunia jane.

lily \ lil·y \ as a girl’s name is pronounced li-lee. of old english origins, it was taken from the name of the plant having delicate, trumpet-shaped flowers regarded as a symbol of purity and perfection. while lily is most definitely a firecracker and won’t take no for an answer, i think her first name mirrors the hidden parts of her most people don’t see — there’s a childish innocence inside her, a purity that has yet to die. even as the war progresses and she sees more and more horrible things, lily still believes in the kindness and good in people; no matter how hard it is slowly becoming.

marie \ ma·rie \ as a girl’s name is pronounced mah-ree. of hebrew origin, it is a name of debated meaning. many believe it to mean “sea of bitterness” or “sea of sorrow.” however, some sources cite the alternative definitions of “rebellion,” “wished-for child,” and “mistress or lady of the sea.” the name is born in the bible by the mother of jesus, the son of god. as cliché as this might seem, i think that the fact that lily gave birth to harry is a good allusion to mary, mother of god — the woman who gave life to the savior. not to mention that marie has a sweetness to it that goes perfectly with the name lily — it’s delicate and simple, fitting my version of the character like a glove.

GENDER & PRONOUNS:

cisgender, she / her / hers.

FACECLAIM:

luca hollestelle

katie stevens

eleanor tomlinson

BIOGRAPHY:

born in the beginning of 1960, lily was welcomed into an average muggle family. the girl grew up alongside her big sister, petunia, her role-model and best friend, for the girls were truly inseparable — always walking hand-in-hand and laughing at jokes that violet, a primary school teacher, and harry, a writer, were not allowed to understand.there was never a flower without the other, they were merely an extension of the other, the year of difference they had from each other meant nothing. petunia and lily were two of a kind and they loved it.

enrolled at the school where her mother worked, lily’s life was a bed of roses — no worries or too much responsibility weighing the child down except for what she was going to play the following morning; a few worksheets worth of homework being the only thing that turned sunny days slightly grey. it was not until lily was nine years old that she learnt that, perhaps, her life was not as average as it appeared. ever since she could remember, she had done things that most children couldn’t but she hadn’t paid much attention to it — she couldn’t do a handstand like a girl in her grade, so why should she worry that other little girls did not know how to change the colour of flower petals? a dreamer, she never once questioned her abilities, often being too distracted to even bother to notice them: she’d always been different and being so didn’t scare her – lily was who she was and as long as she wasn’t deprived of her free afternoons, what was the problem is she could float right off her swing? it didn’t matter. until one day, as she was playing alone, changing a flower’s appearance, lily met a black-haired boy named severus who told her that she was a witch; that the things she could do were not simply skills — they were magic.

as any other little girl, she was ecstatic. magic. she had always believed in fairies and spells, in the tales her gran had told her about before she merrily drifted off to sleep, but being a witch had not once been something the redhead had considered and yet it made sense. severus fascinated her, taught her about a world she would someday be a part of, became a shoulder she could lean on and a friend she adored – petunia was pushed into the background, somewhat forgotten amongst afternoons of listening to the snape boy talk about spells, charms and potions, of castles and villages filled with wizards. it wasn’t her intention, lily never wanted to push her sister away, and when tuney began to grow cold and cruel, bitter even, the ginger didn’t understand nor accept her actions. a stubborn person by nature, lily too began to treat her sister as she was treated and all hell broke loose in the evans household.

the red-haired girl received her hogwarts acceptance letter mere months before her twelfth birthday and she was as excited to learn more about magic as she was to leave home — wanting to get away from tuney and her unjustified hatred. in her young mind, lily couldn’t possibly understand why her sister had so quickly grown to despise her and, stubborn as usual, she couldn’t bring herself to even ask why. so, come september 1st, the young miss evans was sorted into the house of one godric gryffindor and she soon forgot all about how great severus said that slytherin was.

in gryffindor, the girl felt at home; like she belonged but even though she made plenty of good friends, never once did she ignore sev in front of them — he knew her like no one else did. she was always loyal to the core, never wavering, never giving up, even when severus began getting involved with people she knew were no good, even when his “friends” whispered ‘mudblood’ as she walked by, it didn’t matter because it wasn’t sev – sure, she would have loved it if he hadn’t joined those aspiring death eaters, but she ignored the truth. it was unthinkable for her best friend to be one of them, to want to join voldemort in his fight for blood purity. it was hard for lily not to see the best in everyone. and that was her mistake.

fifth year proved to be a big one for the ginger. she was made prefect, something that made her as proud as anyone can be – she, a muggleborn, was granted such an honour, one she’d secretly wished for but never really voice out loud. a person fond of fairness and justice, nothing made lily happier than to be able to do what she believes is right: those who deserved to be punished, the people who insulted her under their breaths when she walked by and tormented first years, mere babies compared to their abusers, were soon given what they deserved; the people who helped the poor, scared children and respected the rules were rewarded, even if only with a warm smile and a nice conversation. order was always something the witch found most important and now she could make sure it was a constant in the halls of hogwarts. of course, she too enjoyed the power that came with it, the feeling that she was important, that she mattered. it helped her push away the emptiness that rolled over her unexpectedly— that feeling that made it hard to get up in the morning, the utter struggle that her days were more often than not. it kept her at bay, above water. it helped.

everything changed, however, when called lily a “mudblood”; showing the redhead just how much he’d changed since they were nine years old, how lost his soul had become. but more than that, it finally cracked the dam that had kept her controlled— suddenly, she was forced to hide behind a mask of perfection she couldn’t keep up straight anymore ; forced to pretend that she was fine, that she was still lily, when truly she felt like a shadow. her chest was numb, her thoughts slow and taunting, her body so heavy she wanted to cry at the sheer idea of crumbling under it. all that she’d worked for, all that she’d done suddenly was so meaningless when compared to the low buzz of the thoughts that consumed her— she was a shell, barely functioning behind closed doors when she allowed herself to feel the intensity of her new state of being.

the summer, more than anything, is bound to serve as a distraction from the loneliness that this year brought her, from the cold that’s lodged deep inside her bones. she’s trying to survive, trying not to crack, but with every day it gets harder to hide. to pretend. to smile. but she’ll do it, because lily evans does what needs to be done and she has no other choice.

QUESTIONAIRE

describe your secret in your own way.

“ it’s… ” a moment of pause, a wrinkle of brows and forehead. a breath. " it’s like… floating. you never really fall, you don’t do anything— you just float through every moment, every second of your day. nothing you do breaks your fall, nothing pushes you closer to the bottom ‘cause there’s no bottom. you kind'a wish there was, y'know? “ there was an empty, humourless chuckle that echoed in the room ; lily’s hands moved to tug at her sleeves in a poorly concealed attempt to calm her nerves. ” anything’s better than feeling like you’re floating through life. and yeah, you could hold onto someone but what if you end up draggin’ them down with you? it’s scary, so you don’t. you… float some more, until you can find a way to crash. the courage to crash, more like it. “ her shoulders shake as if she was trying to push the thoughts away, but her eyes remain solemn— dark against pale skin. ” and the really fucked up part is that when you float? you have a lot of time to think. and that’s what kills you. “

expand on one ( or more ) of your connections. tell us about them. your relationship with them.

” look, things with severus are complicated, yeah? “ the sigh that pushes past her throat is almost silent, soft in nature as if she’s done so often enough for sighs to hold no meaning. ” he’s a what if. lots of things are, i guess— you wonder what you could have done differently, what you could have changed if you’d been better, more supportive… if you could have changed anything at all. and you’ll never know, which makes what ifs the fucked up part of life— you’ll wonder until you can remember what happened. “ there’s a moment of quiet, as if the girl was bracing herself for something. wetting her lips, her grip on her sweater sleeves didn’t waver even as her voice did. ” i miss him. no—no, i miss what he means. that kind'a makes it worse, not missing him for himself. i miss what we used to be, i miss the way he made me feel— the way i was when we were kids. horrible, innit? i miss the lily that i was when things were okay. “

pick one word to describe yourself. why that word?

” brave. “ this time, the smile that tugs at the corners of pink lips is genuine and so is the spark in green eyes. it’s odd and it shouldn’t be there, not after the subjects you discussed— she knows that you know that it’s an abnormality. but it’s real. ” maybe 'cause i’m supposed to be, maybe 'cause i want to be. it’s one of those things— if you say it out loud often enough you might just make it happen. i might not be brave, i might not even know what being brave actually is but… i want to be it. weird, innit? “ her head shakes and a hand brushes red locks aside— the soft smile still sitting on her face. ” i guess brave just beats the alternative. who wants to think of themselves as weak? “

#accepted #lily evans

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artificialqueens · 7 years

Text

The Ballad of Violet and Pearl (Chapter 4) - Scarlet

A/N - set mostly in the 1950’s, the idea came from Jinkx’s song ‘The Ballad of Johnny and Jack’ and influenced the story. Also influenced by Thelma and Louise. ‘Ballad’ in the 50’s was a term used for a love letter.

TW - angsty, slightly angry smut, homophobic slurs.

Chapter 4

February 1949 - Florida

Matt flicked through the paper on his lap, more for something to do than actual interest in it. The machines hooked up to her were whirring and beeping so loudly he couldn’t concentrate on the words in front of him anyway. He’d been here with Jason for the best part of the last week. His mom was at deaths door and Jason obviously didn’t want to leave her side. And Matt, being his best friend, wouldn’t let Jason go through this alone. Of course he had Ru who came to visit and Katya and Kasha from the diner had been in with flowers. But Matt was vigil. Even if Mrs Dardo didn’t like him very much.

He’d never understood it himself. He was always polite to her, he always showed her the upmost respect. He was pretty much Jason’s only friend but that still didn’t garner him the woman’s affection. She never so much said she didn’t like Matt, he guessed it was more of a vibe. She was always short with him and always seemed fed up when he came to their apartment. It was like Matt was some kind of germ she couldn’t wait to get rid of.

Matt sighed and folded the paper back up. He was surprised to see Mrs Dardo’s large brown eyes looking right at him. He thought she’d been asleep.

‘Uhm…hi Mrs Dardo.’ Matt stood up from the chair. ‘Do you want me to get Jason? He just popped out, I’ll go and-’

‘No.’ she cut him off. Her breathing was low and raspy. She looked incredibly frail. ‘We need to talk. Sit Matthew.‘

Matt swallowed the lump in his throat and did as he was told. His hands were shaking a little.

‘What’s up Mrs Dardo?’ Never in the ten years he’d known her had she ever told Matt to call her by her first name.

'Matthew, I don’t have a lot of time left.’ She paused, practically panting as she talked. She must be in a lot of pain Matt thought. 'And I need to make sure Jason is going to be ok when I’m gone.’

'Ru’s going to take real good care of him Mrs Dardo, I swear.’

'It’s not Ru I’m worried about.’ Her tone was still pointed as it always was towards Matt. Matt swallowed again.

'What is it then?' Just spit it out.

'Jason’s very easily manipulated.’ She told Matt. Matt frowned. Jason, easily manipulated? That didn’t sound like the Jason that Matt knew.

'Uhm ok?’ He scratched the back of his head.

'I don’t want him turning out like you Matthew.'

'Like me?’ Matt bit his lip. Did she know about his past? Did she know about Violet and Pearl?

'Yes.’ She panted. 'I don’t want my son being…one of your kind.'

My kind? What the heck does that mean?

'Mrs Dardo, with all due respect I have no idea what you’re talking about.'

She sighed heavily, clearly frustrated.

'Do I have to spell it out for you?’ She grumbled. 'I’ve seen the way you look at my son. I don’t care what you want to get up to in your free time but my son will not be a…a…faggot.' She spat the last word as though it was poison in her tongue. Matt’s heart skipped a beat and he frowned. Is that why she didn’t like him? This whole time is that what she’d thought of him?

'I’m not…I think you’ve got this all wrong. Jason and I are just friends. I like girls.’ Where was she getting this from?

'Matthew I might be old but I’m not a fool.’ She sighed again. 'I just want you to promise me that you won’t drag Jason into your…nonsense. He’s going to meet a nice girl, he’s going to get married and have kids. I don’t want you getting in his head with all your ways.’

Matt’s head was spinning. Why did she think he was gay? Maybe it was the medication she was on? Clearly she wasn’t thinking straight.

'Mrs Dardo, I’m not-’

'Promise me Matthew.’ She cut him off. He sighed, he knew arguing with her was pointless. He didn’t want to argue with a dying woman. And also, there was a small part of Matt that knew if he’d tried to argue with her, he’d be lying to himself. But he ignored that, he’d done a really good job at ignoring that for a long time. It was different when they hooked up as Violet and Pearl, at least that’s what he kept telling himself. He wasn’t gay, absolutely no way.

'Fine.’ He gave in. 'I promise.' Think what you want you old bat.

'There’s a good boy.’ She smiled smugly at him. Just then the door opened and Jason walked in.

'Mom, you’re awake!’ He smiled brightly.

'Jason darling.’ She breathed. 'Come sit with me. Matthew was just leaving.’

'You were?’ Jason looked at Matt sadly. Matt clenched his jaw.

'I guess so.’ He shrugged and stood up from the chair. 'I’ll see you later yeah?’ He gave Jason a half-smile.

'Sure.’ Jason smiled back, his eyes sparkling a little.

'Bye Mrs Dardo.’ Matt said under his breath. He left them alone after that, her words buzzing around his head. Mrs Dardo passed away the next day. And years later her words would still haunt Matt.

————————————

July 1953 - Ontario

'What are you doing out here?’ The voice came from behind him. He ignored it and carried on sipping his beer. 'Don’t ignore me.’ The voice came again. 'I don’t particularly like coming out the bathroom to find you gone.'

Matt rolled his eyes, knowing he wouldn’t see because he had his back to him. He swigged the remains of the beer and tossed the bottle into the darkness of the trees. He quickly opened another one and started swigging it. Jason sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. He wrapped the robe tighter around his body and came and sat next to Matt on the grass. 'I thought things were getting better between us.'

Matt continued swigging the beer, he’d had a fair few tonight and was feeling a little tipsy. 'For god sakes Matt would you fucking look at me? Talk to me? Give me something!'

'What do you want me to say?’ Matt finally spoke and turned to look at Jason, although it wasn’t Jason he was looking at, not entirely. He only wore a robe and he had his natural hair but he was wearing Violet’s make-up.

'I want you to tell me what the heck is going on with you! I thought we moved passed Vegas months ago!’ Jason was exhausted with this. Things had been horrible between them since Jason had confessed to Matt that he thought he was gay. Matt barely spoke to him or barely looked at him for months. They hadn’t been Violet and Pearl since that night in Vegas and Matt never shared a bed with him anymore. They’d continued driving around the country, at more than one point Jason had thought about just going home but he knew he couldn’t. He was sure the cops would have figured out by now that Pearl and Violet were the ones responsible for Billy Ray’s death which would mean the heat would be up in their hometown. Not to mention the fact that Courtney probably wanted Jason’s head on a stick. So he was stuck with Matt, something that a little while ago wouldn’t have been a bad thing. But his best friend didn’t look at him the same anymore. But they were tied together in all of this, there was no way they could split up. They’d come to Ontario about a month ago. News of the shooting hadn’t seemed to reach the border so they felt safer here. They’d rented a cabin with some of the stolen Vegas money and had been staying here for some time. It had been nice being in one place for a while, things started to feel stable for a change. And since they’d been here they’d seemed to be getting along better. They slept in different rooms but Matt had been more willing to engage Jason in conversation and things felt like they were slowly getting better. Until now.

'It’s still weird for me ok? I’m still trying to process it Jason. And to top everything off, despite everything, I miss home ok? I miss my parents, I miss the diner. But there’s no way we can go back. When I decided to leave I didn’t really believe it would be forever but now…it has to be.’ He downed some more beer. Jason could hear the sadness in his voice.

'Why didn’t you talk to me about it?’ Jason put his hand on Matt’s leg but Matt pushed him away.

'I don’t know.’

'I do.’ Jason sighed. 'Because this thing, me being…you know…it’s changed the way you look at me. You don’t see me as your best friend anymore. You think I’m disgusting.’ Jason sniffed and he pushed himself up off the grass. Matt sighed and downed his beer. He tossed the bottle and stood up, feeling a little tipsy as he did so. He caught up to Jason as he was heading back up the driveway towards the cabin.

'Jason I don’t think your disgusting.’ He grabbed his wrist. Jason turned to look at him. It was the first time he’d touched him since Vegas.

'Really? It sure feels that way.'

'I’m just processing it ok? It scares me Jason.’

'Scares you? My sexuality scares you? Fucking ace.’ Jason snatched his arm back from Matt’s hold and stormed towards the cabin. Matt followed him.

'That’s not what I meant! Jason come back.’ Matt chased him inside. Jason came to a stop in the living room. The fire was lit and it was the only thing illuminating the room. 'It’s complicated ok?'

I just want you to promise me that you won’t drag Jason into you…nonsense. He’s going to meet a nice girl, he’s going to get married and have kids. I don’t want you getting in his head with all your ways.

Mrs Dardo’s words buzzed around his head. He’d managed to forget about them for a while but since Vegas they’d be at the forefront of his mind again.

'Complicated how? Just face it Matt, you’re disgusted by me now. I know we can’t go back to Florida but maybe it’s time we went our separate ways. I don’t want to be around you when you’re treating me like-’ Jason was cut off. Matt had come closer to him and grabbed him by his shoulders. And then Matt’s lips were on his. Matt had no idea where the kiss had come from, especially not with Mrs Dardo’s words in his head but he didn’t care anymore. He tasted Violet’s lipstick on Jason’s lips. He wrapped his arms tightly around him and they ended up on the floor in front of the fire, Matt straddling Jason. They messily made out for some time, panting and moaning softly as they rolled about on the floor. They were both hard and grinding their hips into each other. Suddenly Matt stopped kissing him and stood up. He looked down at Jason with eyes so dark, Jason couldn’t tell why though.

'With me.’ He nodded his head and turned around. Jason watched him from the floor as he left the room. Confused, he got up and followed Matt upstairs to the bedroom. Matt sat on the edge of the bed unbuttoning his pants. He nodded at Jason once more to come closer. As soon as he was in reach, Matt grabbed his arm roughly and forced Jason down onto his knees on the floor.

'Blow me you whore.’ He spat, his eyes even darker now. Jason bit his lip.

'Uhm, excuse me?'

'I said blow me, Violet.'

Jason was taken aback. Sure he had Violet’s make-up on but he was mostly Jason. And he’d managed to fool himself into thinking that Matt wanted Jason this time. Matt grabbed Jason by his hair and pulled him towards his crotch and the bulge in his underwear. 'You never normally have a problem getting down on your knees Vi, why so shy?’ Matt smirked. This was all so weird. For starters Matt was Matt and not Pearl and they never hooked up under these circumstances. Secondly, they never did foreplay, it was always a quick fuck, getting their rocks off and then it was over. Jason didn’t know what to make of this. He wanted to say no, he wanted to tell Matt where to go. But apparently Violet’s submissive personality was taking over. It seemed she wasn’t just a sucker for Pearl, she was for Matt as well. Matt freed his erection from his pants and tugged on Jason’s hair.

'Well? Don’t keep me waiting whore.'

For some reason, being called a whore made Jason’s already hard dick throb achingly. The way Matt said it made him feel dirty, but in an amazing way. So he found himself wrapping his lips around Matt’s swollen head and lapping his tongue over his slit. Matt hissed and tugged his hair again.

'There’s a good whore.'

Jason didn’t have to do a lot of work as Matt practically started fucking his mouth. He was thrusting in and out of Jason’s mouth so hard, it was a good job that Jason’s gag reflex was practically non-existent. He left behind a trail of red lipstick on Matt’s member and he found himself palming his own dick outside his pants. As Matt’s orgasm drew near he was muttering things about Violet being a dirty whore under his breath. He continued to tug on Jason’s hair, his thrusts getting a little lazy and Jason knew it meant he was close. It barely took any time at all for Jason to make Matt come with his mouth and when he did Jason swallowed every last drop. He got off Matt’s dick and Matt fell back to the bed.

'Jesus Vi.’ He panted. Jason clenched his jaw.

'What about me?’ He stood up and put his hands on his hips. Matt looked up at him through sleepy eyes.

'What about you?’ He grunted. Jason had a wave of dominance and anger surge through his body. Push over Violet was gone. He got on the bed and straddled Matt, grabbing his face hard.

'We ain’t finished here.’ Jason told him sternly. He kissed Matt roughly and managed to strip them both of them their clothes. He grabbed some lube and a condom and coated his fingers.

'What are you doing Vi?’ Matt panted, looking at him a little concerned.

'Not Violet.’ Jason shook his head. 'This is all Jason.'

Before Matt could say anymore Jason inserted a finger into Matt’s hole. Matt groaned and his eyes widened. They’d never done this before, Jason was always the one getting fucked. But Matt needed to know he couldn’t push him around anymore.

'Vi, what the heck?’ Matt practically growled. With his free hand, Jason grabbed his face again.

'Shut up and take it.’ He spat, inserting another finger. He started scissoring Matt, he couldn’t wait much longer. He needed to open him up as quickly as possible; he was desperate. Matt didn’t speak but he was looking at Jason in confusion the whole time. It kind of made Jason hornier. He inserted a third finger just to make sure Matt was going to be ready for him. Jason could already feel his own pre-cum leaking from his dick. He needed this and he needed this now. He removed his fingers and ripped open the condom packet with his teeth while Matt just watched. He rolled it over his aching dick and then coated some lube on. He smothered Matt’s hole in the stuff too.

'Violet, what’s going on?’ Matt spoke again, his eyes looked a little frightened. Jason grabbed Matt’s face again.

'I told you, it’s Jason.’ He grunted and grabbed Matt’s legs and wrapped them around his waist. He didn’t waste any more time, he edged his way inside Matt. Matt groaned and yelped a little at the sensation. Jason remembered the first time Pearl had fucked him all too well and he remembered it hurting. It soon goes though, Matt would just have to suck it up. It was a whole new experience for Jason as well, he’d never topped before, and with it came a whole new kind of pleasure. This wasn’t even comparable to sex with Courtney. He quickened his pace and Matt started making the most incredible moaning noises and Jason guessed that meant he found his prostate so he continued to aim there. Matt’s dick had hardened again and Jason took it in his hand and started pumping it in time with his thrusts. Matt was staring directly in his eyes, his forehead damp with sweat.

'Holy heck.’ He panted biting hard on his bottom lip. 'Oh my god…Jason! Oh god Jason!’ He moaned. Jason faltered a little hearing his own name leave Matt’s lips. It was never Jason. Always Violet.

'Say my name bitch.’ Jason slapped his ass and quickened his pace further.

'Jason fuck…fucking hell Jason.’ Matt was a complete mess, Jason had never seen him like this before. Hearing him moan his name was enough to take Jason over the edge and he came, digging his nails into the flesh of Matt’s thigh. He didn’t slide out, he just kept pumping Matt’s dick.

'Oh my god.’ Matt was panting really heavily now. 'Gonna…gonna come…’ he moaned deeply. As his orgasm hit for a second time and he spilled his load on Jason’s hand, a slightly incoherent babble of words left his lips. But Jason heard them. And his whole body froze. As Matt came he muttered under his breath, 'Jason…I love you.'

Jason pulled out finally and crawled backwards on the bed. Matt sat up looking just as shocked as Jason did.

'Jason I don’t know where that came from.’ Matt covered himself with the sheet. Jason stood up and turned his back on Matt. He stripped off the condom and started getting dressed again.

'You…uhm…I need to go.’ He quickly threw the robe back on.

'Jason, I didn’t mean to say that.’

'I’m tired.’ Jason croaked, feeling strangely numb. He went to leave the room and Matt jumped up from the bed. He threw his underwear on and followed Jason. He caught up to him in the hall and grabbed his arm.

'Jason, let me explain.'

'It’s fine.’ Jason looked confused, sad and scared all at once. 'It was just a thing that came out in the moment, that’s all. Nothing to explain.’ He shook Matt off his arm.

'I’m not sure it was. Jason I think that-’

'Don’t.’ Jason cut him off. 'Just don’t.’

'Why not? I think that’s why I’ve been this way since Vegas. I’ve been trying to hide from-’

'I said don’t!’ Jason yelled. 'We can’t. This…this…no.’ Jason shook his head.

'Jason.’ Matt’s eyes turned sad. 'Why are you being like this?'

'Because,’ Jason sniffed. 'I have to be. I’m going to bed and tomorrow we’re just going to forget all about this.'

'I don’t want to forget about it! Dammit Jason fucking talk to me!’

'No!’ Jason yelled again. 'Not now, not ever.’ He spat a little angrier than he’d meant to. 'Goodnight Matt.’ He bit his lipstick smeared lips feeling as though he might breakdown any second.

'Fuck you.’ Matt spat. Jason sighed and turned away. His heart ached as he turned his back on Matt. Every inch of Jason’s body was filled with love for that man. Every beat of his heart was for him. The blood pulsing through his veins pulsed for him. But he was a coward, he’d always been a coward. And he knew Matt was better off hating him, even if that broke Jason’s own heart it was worth it. He’d made him a promise, and he intended to keep it.

————————————

December 1948 - Florida

Jason stared down into the mug of coffee, watching aimlessly as the steam rose from it. He was mesmerised by it, hypnotised almost. He just needed to take his mind off the inevitable.

He heard him slide in opposite him in the booth. He knew who it was without having to look up from the mug. He heard him clear his throat.

'How’s your mom? I haven’t had a chance to see her this week.’

'She’s not good. She gets weaker every day. The doctors think she’ll need to be moved into hospital soon.’ Jason looked up his company, his large brown eyes were brimming with tears.

'Have they said how long?’ Ru asked him softly.

'A few months, tops.’ Jason wrapped his hands around the mug to soak up its warmth.

'You know you’ve always got me, don’t you Jason? No matter what happens, I’m always going to be here for you.’ He smiled at the younger boy. Jason nodded a little stiffly.

'Yeah I know. If you don’t mind, I don’t really want to talk about it.’ He looked away from Ru and his eyes ran over the faces in the diner.

'So where’s Matthew? He hasn’t been in for a while.’ Ru spoke again. Jason tore his eyes away from where Kasha was pouring someone a coffee and turned back to Ru. Ru saw Jason’s eyes light up a little at the mention of his friend’s name but the light quickly went out.

'I don’t know. I haven’t seen him in a while.’ Jason sighed again. Things with Matt since the whole Violet and Pearl thing had started had been a little weird. They’d only dressed up as them a couple of times, pulled off a couple of small robberies and afterwards they would hook up. A few weeks ago, on a high after a liquor store robbery, Matt had taken Jason’s virginity. Jason may well have taken Matt’s too, he wasn’t sure. They hadn’t talked about it and ever since Matt had been avoiding him.

'He’s not been at school?’ Ru raised an eyebrow.

'Not so much.’ Jason confessed.

'Has he been in trouble with the fuzz again?'

'I honestly don’t know Ru. He’s not speaking to me.'

'Why not?’

Jason finally lifted the mug to his lips and took a sip. It was more of a stalling tactic than anything.

'Just dumb teenage stuff. I’m sure he’ll get over it.' At least I hope he will.

'You like him don’t you?’

'Of course I like him, he’s my best friend.’ Jason frowned although he had a pretty good idea of what Ru meant. Ru half-smiled at him and reached his hand across the table and put it on top of Jason’s.

'That’s not what I mean.’ His voice was barely above a whisper now. 'I know exactly what it’s like to be your age and confused about your sexuality.’

'I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Jason scoffed and pulled his hand out from under Ru’s. Jason knew Ru was gay and had done for a while. He’d come back to the diner once after closing because he’d forgotten his jacket. He’d let himself in the back door with his key and he’d found Ru and some guy making out in the kitchen. They’d had a long talk about it and Jason didn’t care that Ru was into men. He did care that Ru thought he was.

'Jason, I went through the exact same thing. It’s hard to come to terms with I know. But no matter what people say, no matter what the law dictates, being gay is ok.'

'That’s nice but I’m not gay.’ Jason lowered his voice now too.

'Jason, I see the signs. I know what to look for. And I’ve seen the way you look at Matthew, the way you light up when he walks into a room. Heck, even when I mention his name your eyes sparkle a little.’

Jason bit his lip. All that stuff was true and he knew it. When Matt had taken his virginity it had been the most wonderful experience of his life. Getting to kiss Matt, getting to hold him, even if it was only when he was Pearl were the happiest moments of Jason’s life. He knew what that meant. He’d never been willing to admit it before. But if he were going to admit to anyone, it would be Ru.

'It wouldn’t matter anyway, Matt likes girls.’ He wrapped his hands around the mug again.

'I wouldn’t be so sure about that.’ Ru half-smiled making Jason frown.

'What do you mean?'

'Let’s just say, you’re not the only one that lights up when your best friend walks into a room.'

'Not true.’ Jason scoffed.

'I just need you to know that these feelings you have are ok Jason. But…’ he trailed off.

'But what?’ Jason frowned. Ru sighed and ran his hands over his bald head.

'I’m just not so sure Matthew is the person to be directing those feelings towards.'

'Why not?'

'He’s not good enough for you.’ Ru shrugged.

'You would say that.’ Jason rolled his eyes.

'Because it’s true. He’s a no good fink Jason. It’s all well and good you being friends but he is not the sort of guy you should be with. He’ll bring you down. He’ll put you in danger.'

Jason refrained from laughing. If only you knew. Of course he knew Jason wasn’t a saint and he’d been caught shop lifting before but if Ru knew what he and Matt had been up to the last few months he’d probably disown him.

'He’s not all bad Ru. He’s just…misunderstood I guess.’

'Look Jason, I know the appeal of a bad boy all too well. But guys like Matthew can’t be tamed, no matter how much you think he can. He’ll never change, so it’s best to just steer clear.’

'You’re the one that brought this all up! Why sit there and ask me if I like Matt and when I admit I do, you tell me not to?’ Jason was more confused than he normally was about his feelings. Ru softened and took hold of Jason’s hand again.

'I need you to promise me something.’ He told him, seemingly ignoring what Jason had said.

'What?’ Jason pulled a face, he wasn’t sure he liked where this was going.

'Promise me that friends is all you and Matthew will ever be. He’ll only bring you down.’

'I don’t need to promise you that.’ He snatched his hand back. 'I told you Matt doesn’t like guys so it doesn’t-’

'Just humour an old man and promise me Jason?’ Ru cut him off. Jason sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. He supposed it couldn’t hurt to just give Ru what he wanted because there was no way he and Matt ever stood a chance anyway.

'Ok, I promise.’ Jason told him. Ru smiled and got up from the booth.

'Good kid.’ He came around to Jason and placed a small kiss on his crown and then he was gone. Seconds later the bell above the door chimed. Jason looked up to see Matt stepping into the diner. His heart skipped a beat and he felt like his whole body was on fire as Matt looked over and half-smiled at him. He’d promised Ru they would never be more than friends. Chance would be a fine thing.

#pearlet #violet chachki #pearl liaison #angst #smut #angry smut #tw homophobic slurs #scarlet #rpdr fanfiction #submission #tbovap #queen au #1950s au #historical au

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