#it's nothing novel or special. just a fun thing to ponder | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pinkliquorstyles · 4 years

Text

drunk voicemails and confessions.

Warnings: Smut and a whole lotta angst.

A/n: Buckle up, it’s a big one.

---------

You have one new voice message at: 3:37am. From: Unknown caller.

Harry’s cheerful yet slurred voice rang through the phone, “Y/n! It’s me! Harry. I just called to tell you I missed you at the listening party today.” He hiccuped lightly before continuing, “I think you were with that guy...” his voice faltered for a moment “What was his name? John? Don? Oh, no, it’s Dom, isn’t it? Mitch s’telling me, it’s Dominic.”

“I hope you had a fun night, although I wish we could’ve talked... ‘miss hearing your voice.” He paused, seeming to ponder over his thoughts.

Harry quickly pepped up. “Oh well, s’ok maybe next time then. I should probably go, m’not sure how much time I got left on this thing. Anyways, I love you princess-“ The message abruptly cut itself off.

“To delete; press 3. To save the message-“

“Message deleted.”

Eight months.

That’s how long it had been since Y/n last heard from Harry. But tonight that record was broken with something as small as just a drunk voicemail.

Harry couldn’t help himself, as soon as he saw Y/n’s familiar figure at his own listening party, he fell back into the infatuation that he spent months attempting to escape from.

He may have had his heart broken, but everyone deserves a second chance... right?

-------

It had been a few days since the voicemail.

Y/n attempted to avoid it. Erase it from her phone. Read his apology text over and over until it got through her head that he didn’t actually mean it.

Whatever she could do to forget, she tried it.

Yet it still was in the back of her mind, it was like an annoying itch that she couldn’t scratch.

His voice reverberated in her head, especially those three little words. The three little words she never thought she’d hear, “I love you.” Even now, as she stared at the apartment ceiling with her boyfriend that lay quietly next to her.

Despite the sound of the small breaths that escaped Dominic’s lips as he remained in a deep sleep, Y/n could only hear Harry’s slurred voice replaying over and over.

She felt restless, tossing and turning most of the night. With an annoyed sigh sat up slightly, her back pressed to the headboard as her head lazily rolled against it. She rubbed the back of her neck before allowing her fingers to slowly graze her skin. She didn’t intend for it to be sensual at first, but she couldn’t deny how pleasurable her soft touch felt against her chest.

And besides, perhaps it could help her fall asleep.

Y/n slowly moved down towards the band of her panties, torturously teasing herself before finally letting her fingers dip under the lace material. But she couldn’t help notice her mind float somewhere else, or perhaps, with somebody else as she tauntingly grazed her heat.

It was him, of course it was him. It was his hands taunting her body. It was his lips roughly tugging at her own and it was his name that teased the tip of her tongue, threatening to escape.

She felt her pulse quicken, dirty fantasies filling her mind as her fingers sped up, dancing in circles around her sweet spot. She covered her mouth with her other hand as she dared not to make a sound and risk waking Dominic up. It didn’t take long before her back began to arch and her head pressed back against the pillow, pleasure quickly sweeping over her body.

“Y/n?” The small murmur was enough to break her from her trance-like state, almost as if a piece of glass shattered right in front of her. With a shallow breath, she sunk down into the sheets, facing the man that slept next to her. “I’m right here baby.” She assured.

The word hesitantly rolled off her tongue. It seemed like everything she said reminded her of Harry. It was overwhelming. She thought Harry was gone for good, that she was finally over him and that he would merely be a distant memory.

And if it wasn’t for that voicemail, maybe he would’ve been just that. A distant memory.

Y/n observed Dominic as he slept. Their relationship; if you can even call it that, was nothing like her last. Although Harry preferred to keep his vulnerability locked away, Y/n always knew he was a romantic at heart. It was one reason she felt so smitten around him, Harry would always make her feel special, like she was the only girl in the world.

Once Y/n could tell Dominic finally fell back into a deep sleep. She softly climbed out of the bed, careful to not rustle the blankets too much to avoid waking him up again.

Although she had her own apartment, she preferred to stay with Dominic. Well, he preferred for her to stay with him. She didn’t understand why, but he seemed to be attached to Y/n’s hip, never wanting to leave her side.

Not that she minded, she enjoyed the company... enjoyed the distraction.

They both decided that Y/n would be better off just moving her belongings to his apartment, saving her the trip of constantly bringing a bag of her stuff every time she stayed the night.

She tiptoed over to the stack of drawers in the corner of the room, quietly rummaging through them to hopefully stumble upon some lavender scent that she used to help her sleep. But instead, she found something else, something a little more meaningful.

At first, she scoffed at the sight of it, thinking the universe was playing one big joke on her. But her gaze soon changed to one of admiration towards the object.

--------

“Definitely not a happily ever after in that one but still, a beautiful piece of writing.” The unfamiliar figure spoke, his tone playful as he made himself at home by taking the free seat across from Y/n.

Y/n’s expression ignited with curiosity as she looked up. The golden glow from the yellow-tinted lights hanging from the ceiling provided a dim cast on the man in front of her, highlighting his features and the low shine of the messy brown curls falling onto his face.

A small smile teased at Y/n’s lips. “Maybe so, but then again I haven’t quite finished it so I can’t really comment on the ending just yet.” She said, folding the edge of the page before closing the book, placing it onto the rustic bar’s table.

“Seen the movie?” He asked with a surprised expression.

She mouthed a small no, a ghost of a smile playing at her lips at the mysterious man’s reaction “But seeing as you seem to believe it doesn’t have a good ending, I may have to keep it aside for a later date.”

He rolled his eyes playfully. “What? You can’t read sad books?”

Y/n pondered his words for a small moment. “Well, I just prefer novels or films with a more... happier ending to them.”

He lightly shook his head with an amused smile as he took a small swig of the drink in front of him, the rings wrapped around his fingers shining brighter than before as they reflected under the lighting, before placing the glass down with a small thud.

“Don’t you think that’s unrealistic though? Isn’t life meant to have its trials and tribulations.”

Y/n shrugged lightly, “Yes, life is supposed to have its difficulties but this-“ Picking up the book, She lightly waved it around in her hands before passing it to the still no-named figure.

“This is a story, a simple means to escape those supposed ‘trials and tribulations’ as you so call them.” She mocked in a failed attempt to match his accent.

“Don’t you find that boring though, the same story over and over again, no surprises, no suspense?”

She sighed, “In a perfect world there would be no suspense, not a single problem or worried thought.”

“In a perfect world yes, but that, we aren’t love.” He states with conviction.

Y/n scoffed, shaking her head playfully. “You sure are the life of the party aren’t you.” She admired quietly and watched as he flipped mindlessly through the pages of her book, her gaze falling on the loose curl that fell from his disheveled hair as she fought the feeling to push it back into place.

He quickly closed the book, causing Y/n to break from her sudden daze “I’m just realistic. And these little happily ever afters you desire are far from it.”

She coughed lightly, regaining her composure. “Well, I definitely wouldn’t want to be with someone like you.” Y/n’s quick response caused his eyebrows to raise in surprise, almost as if he was hurt by the passing comment.

“You know, glass half empty and all.” She added just as fast, attempting to recover from her less than favorable quip.

Luckily for Y/n, he took it as a challenge.

“Well personally, I like to think I’m quite the romantic myself. In fact, I’m probably far better than the saps you read about.” He remarked.

“I’m sure you are.” A small chuckle escaped her lips at the sound of his frivolous tone.

“I am so, and I’ll even prove it to you.” He grinned, already confident.

Her eyes glimmered with excitement as she took ahold of her own drink that had been sitting at the edge of the booth “As intriguing as that is, I don’t even know your name.”

His lip quirked up into a small smirk, his gaze falling onto the plastic rose placed in the middle of their table, it was practically falling out of the tiny box it reside in, and whilst it was used for the decor of the bar, he decided to use it to his advantage.

“Harry.” He said simply, before offering the flimsy flower to Y/n.

“Y/n.” She responded with a laugh, accepting the rose. “Well go on then, give it your best shot.”

--------

A ghost of a smile teased her lips as her fingers traced the detailing of the hard-covered book. She told herself she would throw this away ages ago, along with other small objects that reminded her of Harry, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. It meant too much to her.

She took the book in her hands, flipping through the slightly damaged pages as she reminisced.

But her reminiscing was soon cut short as she felt a pair of heavy hands grip her waist from behind, her body erupting in goosebumps while a low voice spoke close to her ear. “What are you doing up this late?”

Her body quickly froze at the sudden weight pressed up against her. As realization struck, the quick rush of shock left her system. She placed on top of the set of drawers “I couldn’t sleep, sorry if I woke you.” She spoke, her voice was seemingly fragile.

“Late night reading hm? What is it this time, those little romance books you love to read?” He hummed teasingly. “Or maybe it’s a little dirtier than the average love story, I always knew you were a little minx.”

“You caught me.” She said breathlessly. Her eyes fluttered closed as he peppered wet kisses across her exposed shoulder, all the way up to her neck while softly tugging at the tortured skin as soft little moans escaped her.

He let out a taunting chuckle. “You should’ve told me how badly you needed to get off, you know I’m always happy to help.” He turned her around, gently pinning her against the wall whilst allowing his other hand to teasingly graze against her body.

She didn’t notice it at first; she was doing it again. Thinking of him, thinking of Harry when she should be fantasizing about the man right in front of her.

And with each demanding kiss that reached her lips, a wave of pleasure coursed through her. But with that, another wave of guilt, as if they both came hand in hand with one another.

It was a whirlwind of lust and shame. How could she let Harry get to her head like this? And more importantly why is she feeling this way in the first place? Y/n was confident that she was over him, especially after she found Dominic, he was the reason she was able to move on.

He made her realize Harry’s true intentions; she was only a doll to Harry. Someone to use for their own needs only to throw them away when they’re done.

So then why is she so unsure about it all now?

“St-stop.” She mumbled against his lips. Her hands gently pressed against his chest, a light push disconnecting the two.

“Please.” Y/n’s voice faltered as she silently wept. She attempted to keep her emotions at bay the past few days, but it appeared it all finally caught up with her. Even Dominic could sense it. After receiving Harry’s voicemail she seemed exhausted, not physically of course, but mentally.

His eyes scanned her features with confusion. “Y/n what’s wrong?” He asked with shallow breaths. She didn’t have to tell him, he already knew. The minute he saw the two of them reunited, Y/n hadn’t been the same.

He sighed disappointingly “This is about him...Isn’t it?” He accused as he began to feel his frustration build, and the deafening silence from Y/n only confirmed his suspicions.

His hands tightened around her waist. “Y/n do you not remember what he did to you?” He scoffed, his voice laced with pure amazement at her foolishness. “I mean- didn’t I already tell you how bad of a person he is?” His harsh words were like a slap across the face to Y/n, not understanding how far he was willing to go to keep her as his own little toy.

He took a deep breath, attempting to compose himself. “He only wanted you for sex Y/n. He doesn’t love you, he never will and I can bet money that he did the same thing to a hundred other girls.” He said calmly, almost as if he thought his words were comforting.

Y/n shook her head gently, her eyes welling up as she tried to not let him get to her head. Harry was a good man, and she knew that. He just made one bad choice, one that almost shattered her heart.

But everyone deserves a second chance... right?

“And what exactly do you want from me, Dominic?” Y/n uttered pathetically as she attempted to muster any confidence she had left in her. She scoffed with spite that covered her sad features. “I mean let’s be real here, I don’t even think we’ve actually been on a real date.”

It was true; they hadn’t. He would always say it was because he was unconventional when it came to dating and love. But even Y/n knew it was just a cover, Dominic never wanted anything serious with Y/n... Or any girl, for that matter.

His frustration evidently returned to his features “What? Do you want us to have candlelit dinners and have me shower you with flowers every night?” He argued.

“Well it’s certainly better than whatever this-” She gestures between the both of them “Is.”

That was the last straw for him, he knew he was losing her and yet instead of attempting to calm her down and get her on his side once again; he preferred to attack her where it hurt most.

“Look. I don’t know what sort of fairytale you were living in when you were with Harry, but you’re in the real world now, I’m doing the best I can.”

“And you’re not exactly making it easy for me.”

“Well, if that’s how you feel, allow me to make it easy for you.” It was only then when the tears that remained still in her glassy eyes escaped, falling down onto her cheek as she gently pushed him out of the hold he had on her, remembering to take the book she had left on the shelf behind her.

He watched her curiously as she began packing her belongings that were scattered around his apartment bedroom.

This wasn’t what Dominic wanted, he just needed her to realize that he was better than Harry. But it wasn’t because he loved her, no it was far from that. It was simply because Y/n was a possession; she was his and only his.

Y/n packed the last of her clothing in a duffle bag before moving towards the kitchen. “Wait- Y/n.” He hastily trailed behind her. “Please, don’t go, I’m sorry.”

His voice seemed faint to Y/n’s ears, almost as if her whole body was working to shut him out. “Look didn’t mean it, I just- I’m so frustrated.” He remarked, seemingly with remorse laced in his tone.

“Ignore him. Ignore him. Ignore him.” She chanted to herself in her head.

He eventually caught up to her. His hand wrapped around her wrist, pulling her back from the door. “Just please... don’t leave me alone.”

Her gaze found his, and although it sounded like he felt guilty, his eyes told a different story. There wasn’t an ounce of love or the least bit of regret that she could find.

It was just desperation.

She wriggled her arm out of his tight hold. “I’m sorry, I just... I need some air. I’ll call you tomorrow.” She quickly averted his gaze before making her way out the door, shutting it behind her with an exhausted huff.

--------

Soft water droplets hit against the car window as Y/n drove away from Dominic’s apartment. Her clouded gaze focused on the road in front of her as her hands tightly gripped the steering wheel.

She wasn’t sure where she was going. A part of her itched to leave, leave this town behind and start somewhere new.

Y/n couldn’t help the ghost of a smile that played at her lips. She knew it was unrealistic... and mostly dramatic, but it wasn’t exactly impossible. What was there to stop her?

As she reached a red light, the flimsy ring that wrapped around her finger caught her eye as it glowed underneath the reflection of the bright lights that cast through her car. She sighed, deciding to turn on the radio to comfort her rather than basking in the deafening silence.

Her ears quickly pricked up at the familiar voice that played through the radio as a wave of goosebumps filtered across her skin.

She read the small display on her radio, Now playing: Cherry by Harry Styles.

Y/n stared at her car radio for a few moments, purely dumbfounded as she let the song resound through her car. “Hilarious.” She remarked at the universe with spite.

She didn’t attempt to turn it off. It was as if something was keeping her from doing so. Maybe it was her own mind, hoping that the song would confirm how destructive of a person Harry truly was, and in doing so removing any remnant feelings that remained in her heart for him.

Or perhaps it was the opposite.

Perhaps she secretly wished for Harry to give her a glimmer of hope, a hidden message that he still yearned for her as she does for him.

And with that, she let the song ring out into the car, letting the harmonious sounds envelop her all the way until the very end.

It was only then, when she found exactly what she was looking for.

Hope.

--------

This was a bad idea.

An incredibly bad idea.

Y/n knew that.

She still had the chance to turn around, so why didn’t she?

Here Y/n was pacing up and down the front of Harry’s apartment contemplating what seemed to be the unthinkable in her eyes.

“He could be out of town, oh god please be out of town and save me the embarrassment.” She muttered to herself, her frustration and levels of doubt only building with every second that passed.

She stopped in her tracks, her hand landing on the cold door handle. “I can do this.” She chanted, taking a deep breath before feeling her fingers fall from the object. “I can’t do this.” She groaned.

She wanted so much to turn around and never look back, maybe even forget that she ever even attempted to do this in the first place. But she couldn’t ignore how she felt, how her body was reacting at the possibility that she could see Harry again.

Her fingertips itched for her to knock on the door. Her eyes squeezed shut as she fought the tears that threatened to cloud her vision. With that, she gave in to the overwhelming feeling. She reached up, knocking on the door with a soft thump as her heart wildly drummed against her chest. “it’s now or never Harry.”

A few moments passed, her mind already raced with worried thoughts and regret. “Turn around Y/n. Go home, this was a bad idea.” Just as she was about to turn back around, she heard it. The faintest click. Her heart dropped.

The door had been unlocked.

It was as if time stopped. The rest of the world quickly fading around her as she caught a glimpse of him.

She admired his disheveled state, no matter how much she still resented him, she couldn’t deny the attraction she had towards him. His soft features making her believe that he is still the same man he was when they were ‘together’. But it’s those features that allowed him to get whatever he wanted in life, Y/n figured that out the hard way.

Harry’s confused gaze fell on Y/n’s familiar figure. His eyes transfixed on hers, unable to speak as an overwhelming wave of memories flood his mind.

“Y/n?” Harry was speechless at the sight of her. He couldn’t believe that she was standing right in front of her. So much so, a part of him believed he might be hallucinating. “What-“

Y/n quickly cut him off, urgency clear in her voice “Did you mean it?” She questioned anxiously.

Harry scanned her features with disbelief. “What are you talking about?” He asked uncertainly, almost hurt by her accusing tone.

“The voicemail Harry.”

He groaned, hiding his embarrassment by averting his eyes. “You know how sorry I am for that, I was drunk if it wasn’t obvious already.”

She shook her head in disbelief. “So you didn’t mean any of it? At all?”

“I don’t understand-“

Y/n felt like she was hitting her head against a brick wall, not only was she stumbling over her words, unable to convey what she wanted Harry to tell her, but she knew he wasn't someone who showed their true feelings when asked, it had to come naturally. “Just tell me the truth, please, I need to hear it.”

“What do you want me to say Y/n.” His voice was low but remained soft. Although he still wasn’t sure of her intentions, he found himself more curious than anything.

No matter how much Harry denied it, a part of him knew that there were and still are feelings that are locked away for her. He just never dared to face it.

It was a constant conflict in his life. When he loved, he loved deeply. He was a romantic and Y/n knew that very well. But there was always constant doubt in his mind that Y/n didn’t understand. He feared losing the thing that he would spend so long trying to fall in love with and adore.

So instead, he tried to avoid it completely

But Y/n was the opposite, a hopeless romantic they call it, she was never afraid to share her feelings. But the trait was destructive, she wore her heart on her sleeve which caused her to be impulsive, and this was definitely one of those times.

“...Please Harry.”

He shook his head in an attempt to gather and process his erratic thoughts. “I just don’t get it love, I thought you moved on already.”

“This isn’t about him okay just please, tell me I’m not crazy, tell me you still care.” She pleaded with desperation that gleamed in her eyes.

He refused to let his guard down, refused to allow himself to fall back into another trap that ended in him with a broken heart... again. “And then what? M’not trying to be a prick, but you have a partner already.”

She pitifully rolled her eyes. “Oh please Harry, you and I both know he isn’t the type to settle, he was eyeing off at least three other girls at that listening party of yours.”

Harry felt his jaw clench at her words. His first instinct was to scold Y/n at her choice of partner. But he couldn’t. Both of them weren’t anything more than acquaintances at this point. “So then why bother if you already knew it was a waste of time.”

He knew that he couldn’t stop Y/n from getting with other people, but he also couldn’t resist the touch jealousy that ran through his body at the thought of Y/n being with another man, especially one that seemingly doesn’t even cherish her the way he had.

Y/n’s gaze averted Harry’s as she pondered his question for a small moment “I guess... I needed a distraction.” Her hurt eyes met with his, “From you.”

She let out a small scoff. It was as if she was opening Pandora’s box. All these unsaid thoughts and ignored feelings were hitting both of them all at once. “I mean for god sakes Harry, can you blame me? You hurt me.”

“But you were the one that left me Y/n.” He snapped, his voice raised slightly but he wasn’t angry. Harry had the ability to keep his composure no matter how stressful situations managed to become.

Her eyes instantly perked up at the accusation. “What?” After a small moment, she realized what Harry was talking about.

The night where everything ended.

Her expression quickly changed into one of resentment “I only left because you were an asshole, I mean I actually told you that I-” She caught herself mid-sentence, not allowing the rest of her words to fall from her lips.

But although the words weren’t said, Harry still managed to connect the dots.

“And then all of a sudden, you’re able to say it back. Through a drunk voicemail of all things.” She shook her head, her eyes averting from his, unable to meet his gaze anymore.

Her heart beat ten times faster than before as she thought about how crazy she must be to even begin to think what she was doing was even remotely a good idea. She should’ve just left it alone and not involved herself with the trouble that came with Harry, but she couldn’t help it, it was like a magnetic pull that kept bringing her back to him.

She inhaled a nervous breath. “I don’t know what it is about you Harry, no amount of distractions have been able to keep my mind from thinking about you. It’s like you still have this hold on me that I can’t explain.”

“Tell me what you want from me Y/n.” Harry didn’t want to fight with her, neither did he want to see her upset.

He was trying. Trying to reach out to Y/n in a way that felt safe enough for him. He knew what she wanted, he secretly wanted it to, he always has. He just didn’t exactly know how to express it.

“I already did.” She murmured quietly.

“No, you told me how you felt. Now tell me what you want.” He coaxed calmly.

Y/n took a small and hesitant breath to control her racing heart. “I just want you, Harry, that’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

She hated feeling as pathetic as she did. She felt like she was begging for his affection. Whilst Harry was in his own head, worrying if he even deserved Y/n’s affection in the first place or whether she deserved someone better. Someone that could shower her with the same amount of love Y/n would for him.

He sighed thoughtfully, admiring the pitiful girl in front of her for a few moments before moving over to the side of the doorway. “You should probably get inside y’know, wouldn’t want you to get a cold or something.”

He held the door open for her before nodding his head, gesturing for her to move into the apartment. A sad smile played at her lips as she heard the familiar and comforting sound of Harry’s usual amused tone. “Silly girl.” He mumbled quietly as she walked through the door, but just loud enough for Y/n to hear it.

Although tonight hadn’t been exactly the way that Y/n had pictured it, it was something. It was a small step in the right direction and she was grateful for it.

They spent the rest of the night just talking, catching up on everything they’ve missed for the last eight months without each other. Harry went on an endless rant about his many adventures in Japan whilst Y/n skimmed on the finer details of her ‘relationship’ with Dominic and chose to dive into the topic of her career instead.

“Enough about all that boring stuff though, can we talk about Fine Line please?” She teased.

Harry groaned, throwing his head back with embarrassment, as he pushed himself further into the couch in an attempt to hide from Y/n’s taunts. “I’d rather we didn’t.”

She chuckled with a mischievous glint in her eye. “Fine, fine, another day then. But I am going to need an explanation for Cherry.”

“Of course you do.” Harry mused, lightly shaking his head with a boyish smile. He stared at the ceiling for a moment, purely dumbfounded by the events that unfolded tonight. He turned his head, looking back at her. “Hey Y/n?” He questioned.

She simply hummed, waiting for him to continue.

“I don’t suppose you want to stay the night? I mean S’pretty late, wouldn’t feel good about you driving at this time anyways.”

Y/n gasped sarcastically. “Are you implying that I’m a bad driver?”

“Course not, just want you to be safe s’all.” He murmured.

Y/n smiled softly at his concern. “Only if I’m not intruding.” She answered, her fingers twirling a loose curl that had fallen in front of Harry’s tired face.

It felt peaceful, comforting, as the both of them sat there silently simply just appreciating each other’s company for a few, small moments. They needed those moments; it was a way for both of them to let their guard down and allow themselves to trust one another again.

Harry was the first to break the pleasant silence. “I assume you brought a bag with you? Not that it matters, if you need, you can dig through my clothes m’sure you’ll find something you could use.”

Y/n nodded. “Yeah, it’s just in the car I can go grab it.”

Harry quickly piped up before Y/n was able to move even an inch from her seat. “Not to worry princess, you get comfortable I’ll go instead.” He lightly tapped her thigh before pushing himself off the couch.

“Harry wait-“ She called out. Her hand managed to interlock with his fast enough before he could walk away. He looked back, watching curiously as Y/n also stood up from the couch.

“What’s wrong?” Harry asked, his features instantly filled with concern. His hand fell from hers but instead, was protectively wrapped around her waist. The rings around his fingers slightly dug into her skin, the cold metal seeped through the thin material of her shirt causing a wave of goosebumps to wash over her. He gently used his other hand to grasp her chin between his fingers, lifting her head just enough for her gaze to meet his. “Y/n?” He began to worry at the sight of her glassy eyes.

“Don’t go just yet.” Y/n pleaded quietly. Her hands nervously toying with the hem of his shirt. “Please.” Her arms gently wrapped around the back of his neck as she pulled him closer towards her. Her lips brushed against his, “Can I... can I kiss you?”

No matter how much she wanted to give into the urge to kiss him right then and there, Y/n held consent at such a high regard, as did Harry. He always wanted Y/n to feel comfortable and most importantly, safe. He playfully tilted his head with a teasing grin “Of course y’can princess.”

The feeling of hesitation no longer reside in either of them and with one swift movement, Harry’s lips firmly pressed against hers. It only took a small moment before the both of them began to move in perfect sync. Although It was only a kiss, it seemed to make every thought that worried Y/n’s head dissipate as Harry reassuringly ran his fingers up and down her back. The kiss itself was slow, soft but comforting in ways that words would never be.

Y/n noticed a new sense of lust overpower her senses. She continued, kissing him more hungrily as time passed, and even Harry noticed her newfound pushiness as she roughly deepened the kiss which caused a gruff and low groan to escape from the back of his throat.

She breathlessly pulled away from him, bringing him back towards the couch and disconnecting the kiss as she gently pushed him down on the seat. She couldn’t help herself as she flung her leg over his lap to straddle him. He raised a taunting brow “Quite a needy little thing aren’t you?” He quipped, watching as her arms wrapped around his shoulder, resting on the back of his neck.

Her fingers interlaced with a short strand of his hair, twirling it around as she attempted to taunt him. Her innocent eyes failed to leave his as his concentration remained fixated on her plump lips. “Only for you, baby.” She leaned in, reconnecting their kiss. It was filled with more urgency than the last. The familiar taste of peppermint lingering as he moved his lips roughly against hers.

The rough feeling of denim grazed her legs as she grinded her hips into his. Her hands remained entangled in his hair while she tugged on the loose strands, earning a low yet encouraging groan to escape from Harry.

She felt his hands travel across her collarbone, tracing the material of her blouse before toying with the buttons that kept her precious body hidden away from him. Y/n felt the material fall from her shoulders, leaving her exposed and vulnerable to Harry. She pulled away from him as the cold air hit her chest. “We can’t do this here.” She murmured almost breathlessly, biting her lip to suppress the moan that threatened to fall as he planted gentle kisses along her neck, softly nipping at the delicate skin.

“As you wish princess.” He said tauntingly. Y/n could practically feel his smile against her body as his arms roughly gripped her lower back, pulling her up from the seat whilst her legs remained wrapped around his waist.

Y/n was in a fit of giggles as he carried her to his bedroom, mainly because he still managed to pepper kisses across her chest. “I swear to god Styles, if you drop me-“ He shushed her, continuing his torturous yet pleasurable assault on her body before gently placing her down on the bed. “That wasn’t so bad now was it?” He tutted playfully as he made his way to the other side of the bed, his body pressing against hers. “And all that complaining for nothing.”

Y/n hummed thoughtfully. “Are you going to punish me now, baby?” She asked with a sweet smile, wrapping her hands around the back of his neck as she pulled him closer towards her, their faces only inches apart from each other.

“Are y’sure you want to do this? He murmured lowly which earned an excited nod from Y/n.

“Gonna have t’use your words princess. Wanna hear you say it.” He hovered over her body, pressing featherlight kisses down her chest, all the way to her stomach while he teased traced the band of her jeans.

His dominating tone definitely had its way with Y/n. It was difficult not to resist him as the words sat on the tip of her tongue, waiting to escape. “...Please Harry, I want you.”

Harry let out a low chuckle at her pleading. “If I’d have known you were this desperate for me, I would’ve drunk called you a long time ago.”

--------

They both were messily wrapped up in a mountain of clean sheets. Harry leaned against the cotton headboard whilst Y/n remained on his lap. His hands delicately toyed with hers, his gaze thoughtfully looked over the ring that reside on her index finger. “You kept this?” He gestured towards the small object.

But it wasn’t just any old ring, it had the detailing of a rose whilst the rest of the band was covered in small diamonds. The small and dainty rose happened to be the same shade of red as the one Harry had offered Y/n on the day they met.

She hummed approvingly before her eyes lit up in excitement. A teasing smile played at her lips, “I also kept...” She gleefully jumped off the bed, grabbing something from her bag.

“This.” Harry curiously eyed the possession in her hands as she jumped back onto the bed, flinging her legs over Harry’s body, straddling him before she revealed the object. Harry’s features instantly ignited at the realization of what it was.

It was their book.

Harry immediately flicked through the fragile pages, skimming over the words with reminiscence evident in his eyes. But there was something different he noticed about it. Tiny little annotations were done with red ink across certain sentences and significant quotes were highlighted in different colours.

“I was going to give it to you before we...” Her voice trailed off, causing Harry’s chest to ache with guilt. “It was supposed to be as if you were reading it along with me, see?” She explained sheepishly.

Her heart rate quickened as doubts floated through her mind. “I know it’s silly.”

He flicked through all the way to the end of the book, noticing the red ink fly through each of the pages. “You wrote all this for me?” He asked with complete amazement in his tone.

“Maybe... but I understand if it’s too much you don’t have to read it-“ Y/n’s words were interrupted by a small and chaste kiss. “I love it, thank you princess.” He murmured softly. A faint blush ran across Y/n’s face. She could practically feel the low vibration of his voice as his lips hovered below hers.

Harry playfully shook his head, pulling away from her and instead returned to the book with a teasing smile. “Do you mind if I keep it for a bit?” He asked, noticing the nerves that fluttered through Y/n. She mumbled a small ‘I don’t mind’ before Harry closed the book and placed it on the bedside table.

“So, that means you did end up reading the whole story.” He quipped. She laughed lightly, falling back onto her side of the bed. The sound of her laughs were music to Harry’s ears, almost as if it were angelic. It was something he missed most about her.

“Every last page.” Y/n said approvingly. She reached towards the switch, turning off the lights as they sorted themselves for bed.

Y/n was the small spoon, of course.

The deafening silence filled the room. You could almost hear their racing heartbeats as they comfortingly lay in each other’s arms. “Hey Y/n.” He murmured, his voice evidently laced with exhaustion.

She didn’t bother opening her eyes, “Yes baby?” She asked curiously. A boyish smile teased his lips. Another thing he missed whilst Y/n wasn’t around. The pet names.

He couldn’t describe the emotions he was feeling. It was as if he never felt this way before about anyone or anything and frankly; it scared him. It was the same way he felt before Y/n had left him those many months ago.

But this time he swore he would not let his fears get to him. He knew this was right where he needed to be.

People always talk as of waiting until the right or perfect moment to express their affection, but Harry came to realize that the right moment doesn’t exist.

It was now or never.

He planted a small kiss on the back of her head. A hesitant sigh escaped from him as he attempted to push away his unease, giving into his vulnerability.

“...I love you.”

#harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles #harry styles smut #harry styles x reader #harry styles one shot #harry styles one shots #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles blurb #harry styles angst #harry styles au #harry styles fic

4K notes · View notes

chairismaticchair · 3 years

Text

And Everything was Perfect

Happy Holidays @royal-arts! @sanderssidesgiftxchange

Summary: Roman flirts with all his roommates on a bet, but the tables turn when one of them actually flirt back.

Prinxiety, and some swears. Hope you enjoy! This was so fun to write!

Roman knew bets were stupid. He knew they were kind of like a dumb fraternity thing. Honestly, they were a dumb fraternity thing. However, as he stared across their dining room table, over to his lanky smirking purple haired roommate, he couldn’t stop the loud fast beating of his heart. Perhaps it was fear, and perhaps it was excitement, but watching Virgil Teo ponder over his fate made his heart pump like he had just run a marathon.

"Tell you what, Roman." Virgil had a big smirk on his face, and he cupped his chin with his hand. “You can flirt right? What with all your many, many dates?”

Roman felt that blow in his soul. Sure, he used to flirt tons in college, what with all the cute guys and girls there. But now, he hadn’t been on any dates for the longest time, let alone be able to flirt during said dates. “Fuck off.”

Virgil waved a hand dismissively. “Whatever. Anyways, my bet is for you to flirt with all our roommates. If you can fluster all of them by the end of the week, I’ll give you 10 bucks.”

“All of them?” Roman couldn’t hide his shock, despite his job as an actor.

Sipping his coffee mug, Virgil’s smug smirk widened. “Yep. All of them.” All Roman could do was flip Virgil off.

He smirked. “Aw, don’t give me attitude, Santos.”

“I’ll give you all the attitude I want, Teo.”

---

Roman wasn't particularly sure on where to start, or how to start. He had 3 roommates in total, including Virgil. Patton Charan was the bubbliest and probably the easiest to fluster. Logan Williams was colder and more studious, so he'd probably flirt with him afterwards.

So Roman ambushed Patton in the kitchen, Virgil quietly sitting at the dining table. They had decided that in order for this to be fair, Virgil would try his best to watch Roman's flirting attempts.

"Oh, hey Ro! I just finished baking these cookies. They're really hot though, so you probably have to wait a bit before eating." Patton smiled, large round wire rimmed glasses framing his bright brown eyes. He was wearing a light blue sweater, the reindeer in the middle staring up at Roman cheerfully.

Where to start? Roman shoved his hands awkwardly into his sweatpants pockets, then, after a moment's hesitation, pulled them out again. His stomach was churning, and his palms had a thin layer of sweat on them. Think, think, think, what type of flirting would work on Patton? He likes puns, right? Maybe a pick up line would do the trick.

"Hey Patton, are you a kitten? Because you're pawsitively adorable." Roman leaned against the kitchen counter, and gave Patton finger guns.

Patton just looked amused. "I'm glad you think so, kiddo! You're pretty a-meow-zing yourself."

Shit. It didn't work. Roman shot a glance at Virgil, who had his head buried in a copy of some book about bands, probably his new hyperfixation, a bad attempt of hiding his soft snorts and giggles. Roman inwardly scoffed. As if he could flirt any better.

He tried again, picking up a cookie and taking a bite. It was, undeniably, a good cookie. "This tastes amazing, Patton. You should try it."

Roman held the bitten cookie in front of Patton's mouth, offering to him. Whether this would fluster Patton was hard to tell. He smiled, his pearly white teeth biting into the cookie without much hesitation.

"It does taste good!" Patton declared.

Urgh, Patton! He was supposed to be the easiest to fluster, but he seemed immune to all the techniques Roman threw at him. Okay. Calm down. He grabbed another cookie (they really were very delicious) and using his mouth, offered it to Patton. "Want a bite? " He asked, muffled by the cookie between his teeth. This felt incredibly awkward. Patton really was just a friend to him and he was pretty sure he had a thing for Logan.

Patton must have felt the same way. His eyes widened in surprise. Running a nervous hand through his curly black hair, he managed to sputter out a couple words, a blush spreading on his face. "I, er, what?"

Roman glanced over at Virgil, who shot him a thumbs up. He did it. He felt terribly uncomfortable, but nonetheless, he did it. "Sorry Patton, I don't know what came over me." He apologised profusely.

Patton laughed, his good nature and cheery attitude returning back as though nothing had happened. "It must have been the cookies," he joked.

"Yeah." Roman shot a glance at Virgil. "It must have been that."

--- The next target was Logan. He was sitting in the living room, legs crossed and a book in his hand. Roman was pretty sure how to flirt properly with Logan. The poor dude was probably touch starved or something. Roman certainly was.

Everyone in the house was single, surprisingly, despite them all being objectively very attractive in their own right. Patton had an air of innocence in front of his strong emotional maturity and, accompanied with his dark brown eyes that shined with cheer, it made him extremely cute. Logan was more of the sensible, silent sort, with mystery that surrounded him. Later revealing him not really giving a shit. And Virgil - well, Virgil was special. His purple hair, dark clothes and eyeliner made him an emo, he supposed. But the light in his eyes, the way he bounced when he talked about his latest hyperfixation, literally everything about him, made Virgil Teo by far the most attractive person, not just in the house, but in the world - no, universe.

Anyways, he was getting off track. Roman stood in front of Logan, and was unnoticed by him till he tapped him gently on the shoulder, and said, “Oh Logan, your eyes are absolutely enthralling in the light. And your smile, why, it brightens the room and casts a brilliant beam of happiness on everyone in the surrounding proximity. And your mere presence makes my heart sing and my mind weep, at the thought of us not being together.”

Logan ignored him.

Meanwhile, Virgil was about to pass out on the dining room table, the stupidity of the situation drowning him in laughter.

Roman sighed inwardly. Guess he had to flirt the nerdy way. “Logan, you must be the square root of negative 1, because there is no way you are real.”

No response.

Roman persevered, he memorised almost 50 of these. “Do you have 11 protons, because you’re sodium fine.”

A vague blush was visible on Logan’s face.

“You must be a red blood cell because you take the oxygen out of my lungs and bring it right to my heart.”

The blush seemed to spread, and Logan hid his face in his book.

“You must be the acid to my litmus paper because every time I meet you I turn bright red.” The pickup lines were incredibly dumb, but they seemed to work. Turns out being prepared does pay off. Watching Logan embarrassedly flip Roman off was somehow the pinnacle of his existence.

--- “Hey Virgil.” Roman had a good grasp on what Virgil liked and disliked, and what kind of flirting would probably work on him. After all, he did say to flirt with all his roommates. He slid into Virgil’s room and shot him a charming smile. At least, he hoped it was charming.

“Yeah? Are you here to collect your winnings?” Virgil was typing furiously on his keyboard. “Can’t help you now, man. I have a sudden brainwave for the next chapter in my novel.” The clickity clack of his mechanical keyboard washed over Roman and surrounded him, and he suddenly realised his palms were sweaty. He continued on, regardless.

“I don’t want my winnings, at least not now.” Roman tapped Virgil’s shoulder and when he turned to look at him, he used a finger to lightly push up Virgil’s chin so that he was looking at Roman. Virgil’s eyes widened a little, but he didn’t flinch. “Because, you know … I haven’t flirted with all my roommates.”

He leaned in, close enough that his nose would have brushed against Virgil’s if he was an inch closer. Virgil’s warm breath, blew gently across his face and Roman had to try his hardest not to blush as he gazed at his dark brown eyes. He gave Virgil a small smile, one that succeeded in pinkening Virgil’s cheeks. “You look really good in black and purple.” Still smiling, he watched as the light pink darkened into a bright red. Roman could hear his heart pounding in his chest, pure adrenaline rushing through his veins.

“Absolutely ador-” Roman stopped his comment mid sentence, distracted by the sudden smirk that seemed to grow on his face, lighting it up with an air of mischief that he had constantly seen before. However, the seemingly familiar look felt different. It was the look Virgil gave whenever Roman had just been a victim of one of Virgil’s latest sarcastic quips, or one of Virgil’s dares he had too much pride to reject. But, it felt - it felt flirtatious. Suddenly, it was as if Virgil did a swift roundhouse kick at Roman, and now he was lying flat on the floor, vulnerable.

Virgil stood up and Roman was reminded how tall Virgil was, at 179cm. His hair was a dark purple, and the sparkling eyes underneath it managed to trigger a shocking red to decorate Roman's face. "You can't fluster me that easily, Princey. Try harder."

There were many, many butterflies in his stomach, and all of them decided this was the perfect time to fly around rapidly. "I ... I …" Roman couldn't find anything he could say. Virgil's presence, flirtatious, had him spluttering and blushing, all his smoothness lost.

He found himself against Virgil's bedroom wall, Virgil himself head cocked to the side and a smirk on his face. How had Roman never noticed how hot he was, with his beautiful almond eyes and the gentle curve of a smile dancing on his lips. They looked so so…

Kissable.

"Kiss me?" Roman said suddenly, and he could see Virgil's eyes widen in surprise. A wave of pink washed over his face and he laughed.

"Of course, Princey." And suddenly, Virgil was kissing Roman and Roman was kissing Virgil. One hand behind Virgil's neck and another in his fluffy purple hair. He was intoxicated by the faint strawberry scent that must have been from Virgil's body soap, and the coarseness from his chapped lips, and everything else and more, all of the tiny details that managed to form his handsome Virgil. He was only truly realizing this now, as Virgil wrapped his arms around his waist.

Memories, old and new, all the way from their highschool days to now, managed to stream towards Roman simultaneously from where they once lay forgotten. Virgil was shooting middle fingers while yelling at his highschool bullies. Virgil was laughing and jumping up and down in joy, happiness glowing from his face, from when he found out they were going to the same college. Virgil was sleeping, head collapsed over textbooks and lecture notes. Virgil was graduating, side by side with Roman. Virgil was amazing.

And Roman loved Virgil.

--- Months past, and in those eventful months, Logan and Patton moved out together and it was just Roman and Virgil left. They started having movie nights, and with both their busy schedules, it was nice to just take a break and relax with their partner.

One night, as Roman sat next to Virgil on the couch, a big bowl of popcorn on the coffee table in front of them, a question suddenly popped into his head.

"Hey, Virgil." He started, popping popcorn into his mouth.

Virgil had his eyes on the screen, but he tore them away and looked over at him. "Yeah?"

"You know that bet you made that ended up in us making out?"

Smirking, Virgil leaned closer. "What about it? You want to recreate it or something?"

Pink dusted Roman's cheeks. "Er, not yet. But, did you bet me to flirt with all our roommates on purpose?"

"I-" It was Virgil's turn to blush. "Maybe?"

"Huh." Roman looked thoughtful, and then pouted. "So I wasn't being clever for flirting with you?"

Virgil smirked. "Pretty much."

"You could have just asked." He laughed.

"Well," Virgil teased, "could you kiss me now?"

Roman did. And everything was perfect.

#prinxiety #sanders sides #secret santa #roman sanders #virgil ts #ts #thomas sanders

77 notes · View notes

x0401x · 4 years

Text

Jeweler Richard Cobalt Short Story

The Checkered Half of Edward Baxter’s Life

Feel free to message me about possible corrections, and please consider supporting the creators by purchasing digital copies of the official releases: Novel || Manga || Fanbook. In case anyone is feeling generous: Ko-fi | PayPal. ( ╹◡╹)っ’･*

Raw || Index

He met him for the first time when attending a boarding school in Switzerland.

He had no plans for homecoming even as summer vacation came about. It was better to stay in Switzerland as things were noisy at home, his father had told him on the phone, and he was not a fourteen-year-old innocent enough not to catch onto the meaning of “I’ll have to look after you if you come back and this would reduce the time I have for my research” that lay underneath.

There was no helping it, so he secluded himself in the library. However, the library was full of children like him, with no place to return to. He gradually started feeling depressed.

Switzerland, which Queen Elizabeth also loved, had many picturesque tourist attractions. There was no lack of places to have a fun time from dawn to dusk and a pipe organ concert was being held at a church in town, which was quite close to the school, so he imprudently thought that it would be safe even at night.

Since he had an unnecessarily exemplary daily conduct, it was easy to earn permission for exiting the campus. The question of where he was going was disregarded, and it was hard for him when a nuance drifted about, saying that he should go play around a little, if anything. He already knew by then that he was most likely a child who did not specialize much at behaving like a child.

The summer city was brimming with sightseers. Made of brown bricks, the cityscape that looked like those from fairy tales was decorated everywhere with pink and white potted flowers. The city seemed to have many watersides, with restaurants lined up by the river shores, a big black dog that was probably someone’s pet dragging its leash around and waggling, looking like it wanted him to play with it. Just when he thought of playing a little, its owner apparently called for it from afar, so the dog turned its body around and rushed away.

The city was fun at night. Being able to get the feeling that he was with someone even without being accompanied was just what he needed.

He only realized that he was lost long after he had started losing his way. He was certain there was a church in that area where a concert was taking place, but while roaming around, what came into his field of vision was nothing but apartment complexes, garbage dumps and tunnels with no signs of life. He had apparently entered a residential area where the public order was not too good, but did not know how to get out. As he decided to just go back the way he had come from, there were people standing behind him once he turned on his heels.

“Yo.”

He was able to tell right away that they were around seventeen to eighteen years old because the boys were wearing parkas and baseball caps. With such looks that one would not see so often in a waterside of bustling terrace cafés, they spoke while chewing gums. Just as an earl would sometimes do, he pretended not to have heard them.

“Shortie, what’cha doin’ out here? Where yer papa and mama?”

“They not around? You alone?”

“Then don’tcha have a wallet with ya?”

“You’re as pretty as a doll, huh. Can’t talk?”

“Young Master, could you please spare us a blessing?”

Cold sweat beaded on his back as he wondered what would happen if he refused. He had begun having boxing lessons, but the classes were strictly separated by age and body weight, so he could not think of it as training for fighting opponents who were clearly older than him.

Just when unpleasant memories started whirling in his head as he pondered what he should do, what he had to do, what he was supposed to do to cut his way through a time like this all by himself, someone most certainly grabbed his arm from the side.

“Hey, Edward! Edward, isn’t that you?”

For a second, he did not know who the owner of that familiar voice was.

Brownish blond hair and light blue eyes, a knit vest and black slacks. Shiny leather shoes and an armor-like smile.

“Je... Jay!”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s me, Jay. I’m happy you remembered.”

The one who went around the boy from behind and hugged him from the shoulder was his cousin, Jeffrey, who was two years older than him. Even as the boy stared at him with eyes that asked why he was in a place like this and how he had gotten here, Jeffrey maintained the same-old theatrical face that he pulled off so well and hid behind his back the one who had the status of a younger brother to him.

“What’re you doing in this place? You’ll be late for the meeting if you don’t hurry. Won’t your uncle be mad if you make him wait any longer? He’s a really scary person.”

“I-I’m sorry. I will be going right away.”

“That’s it, so bye!”

Tightly hugging the shoulder of the one that he was supposed to protect, Jeffrey left the scene. Perhaps due to him handling the matter with such a lighthearted and loud voice, there were no signs of the two chasing after them.

“That was terrifying.”

“We’re leaving this place.”

“All right.”

Jeffrey walked in long strides from the semi-darkness where a fishy smell drifted about to the main street lined with the glow of light poles. The boy walked keeping his body close to Jeffrey’s, as it did not seem like the latter intended to let go of the shoulder that he was firmly holding onto otherwise.

“Honestly, good thing I was around.”

“How...?”

“‘How’, you ask? I’m your super hero, so isn’t it obvious that I’d rush to you when you’re in trouble?”

“Not that; what is the truth?”

“I meant it as the truth, though... Kidding. It was just a coincidence. If I’m not wrong, today’s the day that summer vacation started for you, right? My school was a bit faster to give us leisure time, so I planned to ambush you and make a surprise. But when I visited your school, they said you’d gone out all by yourself, so I was the surprised one,” the older cousin said cheerfully.

He was a man with a big heart, the kind that constantly changed his voice tone and facial expression as he spoke, who was always smiling and accepted first-thing the evaluation that he was charismatic yet shady. Moreover, he continuously took his little brother, who had been born to free-spirited parents and was younger than him, under his feathers. For the boy, his existence was much more than that of an older brother.

At the words “I’m the only one here”, the boy realized that he was relieved. The earl and the even older cousin from whom he would have to conceal this were not there.

“You okay?”

“Yes, but the earl and Brother Henry are not here.”

“Father was in Cannes, I guess. Henry is following him to make appearances. Looks like it’s a busy season for the high society.”

“How awful.”

“I wonder if they’re getting caught up with playing around. Aah, but Henry is a serious guy. Piano practice might be more fun to him than a casino.”

“I think I understand how he feels.”

“That’s right. Let’s go to Cannes with him someday too. Let’s live it up in a casino or something.”

“If I become penniless from buying too many books by then, what will we do?”

“Leave it to me. I might be like this, but I’m hoping to enter the financial business. I’ll lend you as much money as you want. With damn high interest.”

“You little—”

They shoved each other around as if to hug one another, and by the time they had all but arrived at the main street, filled as it was with human presence, the boy finally released a sigh. That was dreadful. He was not very used to being threatened. At school, he had already grown somewhat used to having his appearance mocked or people using the words “I’ll throw the trash away for you” as an excuse to touch his body, and had come up with countermeasures to some extent, but troubles outside the school were always beyond hypothesis.

As he gave an abrupt shudder upon recalling being sandwiched from front and back by two older boys, something landed on top of his head with a tap. It was Jeffrey’s hand.

Patting his golden-haired head in light rolls with the palm of his hand, the boy who was two years older grinned at him. “Well, first things first, you should start with not getting lost.”

“You were watching me?”

“I wasn’t. I ran around here and there because of that. It had me out of breath, but I was a prize-worthy elite actor for not letting it show, huh? I want a trophy.”

“Then how did you know I was lost?”

“You’re not the kind of kid who’d go to a place like that on purpose, Ricky.”

At that moment, the boy had the sudden realization that his cousin was a child merely two years above him, and so he was supposed to be protected, not to be protecting someone else. Fearing kidnappings, everyone in the earl’s estate had an enormous amount of money on insurance payouts. The fact that he would rather be someone who had next to no worries in going outside of school than have the presence of the bodyguards who would be tagging along with him in normal circumstances made the boy shiver again.

“Hum... Jeff, is everything all right for you? My apologies for that. Your guards—”

“You’re still on about that? Y’know, you could just leave it as ‘that was terrifying’. I lost my guards. I mean, it’s no fun with them. I think I’ll get a call from Father lecturing me again, but isn’t it kinda disturbing to have two old men in suits clinging to my back even when I go see my dear little brother’s face?”

He had probably taken that measure due to foreseeing that the bodyguards would scary his cousin, the boy realized. Before he sank into an apologetic sea once more, Jeffrey found a random shop at the side of the road and took a seat in the quiet interior. He ordered two lemonades. As he was striking a lighthearted talk about how they were perfect for Switzerland in the summer...

“Hum.”

“What?”

“Who was that Edward from just now?”

“Uh? Aah, no one. I let it out of my mouth without much thought.”

Jeffrey did not say, “It’s because they might memorize your name if I were so stupidly honest to call you Richard”. His consideration from not wanting to say it and expressly scare his cousin, as well as his carefreeness of not deeming it necessary to be said, were comfortable for the boy.

Edward, Edward, he repeated in his heart the unfamiliar name, and after drinking just a little bit of the lemonade, the boy whispered intermittently, “It’d be good if you had a name like that too.”

“Uh?”

As he said, “Like Edward”, Jeffrey laughed.

“Isn’t that ‘Jay’?”

“That was just because I didn’t manage to say ‘Jeffrey’...”

“Hmm,” Jeffrey interjected with an indifferent attitude, sucking onto the straw of his lemonade.

Aah, it’s the face of someone who’s planning something fun, the boy noted, and as he laughed a little, his older cousin showed a smile three times happier than that.

“Then give me one.”

“Uh?”

“You can give me a name like that too. Let’s make them secret names between us.”

“For Brother Henry too?”

“Keep it a secret from Henry.”

The smile of his cousin, who laughed without any maliciousness, was as sweet as nectar. The boy displayed a facial expression of sincere reassurance, then began turning over the name dictionary inside his head with “not this, not that either”. No matter what, his favorite names either were related to individuals from classic literature or leaned towards Japanese people, but none of them suited Jeffrey’s face.

The boy made up his mind about the fact that a basic name would be best and raised his head, peeking at his cousin’s eyes. “James.”

“‘James’?”

“James.”

“Huhu, roger that, Edward. I’m James, yeah? Aah, what’s my family name? Anything but ‘Bones’, ‘kay? I don’t like martini that much.”

“Jeff, you already drink?”

“We’re talking about James now and Jeff has nothing to do with it.”

While he jokingly raised the lemonade’s straw, spinning it in twirls like a magic wand, the boy observed him as if looking at a gemstone that emanated a dazzling shine. He was a wonderful person who could do anything and who showed concern for the boy – more than that, the boy considered him someone special and could not come home to anyone else in the world, no matter where he searched. He was a treasure that the boy most definitely could not exchange for anything, not even if an ancient king came up to him with an elephant loaded to the brim with pearls, rubies and emeralds on its back, and whenever the boy was in bad health, he would always think that, if they were ever pulled apart to places where they could never see each other again, he would cry profusely.

He was the one who promptly contacted the boy whenever anything happened in general, driving away the latter’s nightmares, so the honor of granting a name to someone like that gradual and silently filled the boy’s heart, turned into a word and overflowed, “Ya’aburnee.”

“Hm?”

As Jeffrey had apparently not heard it well, the boy repeated the word for him, “Ya’aburnee. The word is cut between the ‘ya’ and the ‘aburnee’. The accent is on the first vowel.”

“‘Ya’aburnee’, huh? It’s pretty yet has a mysterious ring to it.”

“It is Arabic.”

“Learned a new word again, huh, you damn prodigy?”

“I am no prodigy.”

“I meant an ‘effort prodigy’. ‘Cause you’re a hardworker. Okay, my secret name is James Ya’aburnee. Edward, what about you?”

“Uh?”

“What’s Edward’s family name?”

Taken aback, the boy hung his head after a moment of indecision, looking depressed. When Jeffrey asked what happened, the boy timidly raised his face. “Hum... The two are real brothers, so they have the same family name.”

As he said so with a voice that sounded like it was fading, Jeffrey’s eyes widened just slightly, and after nodding with a “hun-hun”, he grinned. That smile of Jeffrey’s was even now said to be difficult for his parents to distinguish whether it was fake or not, but the boy was able to tell the difference. If a dimple appeared on his left cheek, it was not a fake smile. Jeffrey himself had told him that.

There was a dimple on his elder cousin’s left cheek.

“Heeh~! That so?”

“It is so.”

“Then James and Edward are really just like us.”

“Uh?”

“I mean, we’re real brothers, right? That’s how I think.”

As Jeffrey ill-manneredly drank the remaining part of his lemonade in slurps, the clerk made a disgusted face at him. The headline on the magazine that she had in hands read, “How to Date Rich Men”, and so the boy felt like saying something rude to her, such as, “I think the person you just glared at is probably richer than the ones in that magazine”. It felt like he could do anything that the boy usually was unable to. He was cheerful, bright and warm at heart.

As he sat quietly without saying anything, Jeffrey smiled subtly and gently rested his hand on the boy’s golden-haired head. “Wanna go back to school? Or not?”

“I want to be together for a bit longer.”

“Okay. Then let’s do that.”

Holding hands with his “little brother” of two years bellow him, Jeffrey escorted him to a hotel near his dormitory, converting into a parent and calling the boy’s school to request permission for him to spend the night out, and after checking into one of those cheap inns that was would be crammed with skiers in the winter, the two immersed themselves in conversation on their bed the all night long.

Jeffrey talked about their homes and families. About his friends. About financing, which he was studying. About drama theory. About how he felt like throwing up from agony when preparing for an assignment where he completely slipped into the role of a prime minister who had only managed to rescue 150 civilians alive out of 300 that had been taken hostage by terrorists. About how he cracked up when he was told, “Everyone will stop trusting you” after he showed off too much the chameleon acting that he had mastered in drama class.

Jeffrey’s talks were not tiring – all topics were interesting, adding gemstones of lustrous gleam to the boy’s heart one after another. In return, the boy talked about the satisfying life he led in at the Swiss lodging house. About the bright sunlight, the climate that was warmer than England’s, the ever-white snowy peaks overlooked in the distance, the lively teachers who were like sportsmen. About how he not have many friends, but believed that it was due to him not conducting himself like a child, so there was no helping it, and how he would not mind it much if he did not have anyone, as long as he had Jeffrey.

As he was sprawled on the bed while resting his cheek on one hand, Jeffrey tipped Richard’s head back down. “You shouldn’t please me so much. Or else we won’t be able to stay away from each other.”

“What is so bad about that?”

“When you start hating me, I don’t want you to think, ‘I hate him but I can’t let go of him’.”

“I believe something like that will never happen. So that is okay.”

“There you go again saying something that makes me happy... Y’know, Ricky, people have this thing called a ‘rebellious phase’.”

“It seems I do not.”

“Plus, it’s pretty scary afterwards; I read a paper that said reactions also happen.”

“I do not have that, but thanks.”

After rubbing each other’s heads into a mess, they resumed the talk about Edward and James. Where the two of them lived, if their relationship was a favorable one, if they had any other acquaintances and what they usually did to pass the time. Dreams and jokes mixed up with the human drama built up amidst their sleepiness, and so they became yakuza, lived in Japan and fought over whether or not to put wasabi on sushi, but were the good-natured kind of duo that would always make up immediately. They did not endeavor illegal activities and instead were yakuza who respected the old-fashioned thinking of “humanity and justice”, of lending a helping hand to people in trouble, and did not bear tattoos as they were a little scary. Amongst the yakuza, there was a pledge called sworn siblinghood, but since they were blood-related siblings, so there was no need for such a thing.

By the time they had started to doze off, the boy woke up with a start. Jeffrey was not making a drowsy face. His bottomless eyes, which appeared to be looking into somewhere far away, even so maintained their focus immersed on Richard’s face.

“Hey, Ricky, what’s the continuation to that story?”

“Hueh?”

“What happens to Edward and James in the distant future?”

Amidst the sensation that he seemed to be airily drifting towards the world of dreams, the boy tilted his neck. He had no idea why Jeffrey was asking something so obvious. His mouth moved in a natural manner, “They continue getting along forever.”

“I see. Go rest already,” Jeffrey said, getting up from the single-person bed, giving him a pillow and putting a blanket over him, then tucked himself into his own bed and attempted to sleep.

He did try to fall into slumber, but upon noticing his small cousin staring at him with eyes that seemed to be imploring for something, he took his pillow and went back to the boy’s side. Like two hatchlings huddling their feathers onto each other, the two children slept while dreaming about the future.

The next morning, Jeffrey took a still sleepy-looking Richard back to school, scattering an amiable “I’m leaving him in your care” all over the place, shaking people’s hands here and there and returning to his angry-faced bodyguards’ side. Gossip ran about like gale amongst students with time to spare, saying that the second son of an earldom – a brilliant honors student even within a famous public school from England – had apparently come to see a sibling of his who was in this school, which became a rumor in the whole school at one point, but said rumor, like a mirage faintly surfacing over a lake in the summer, was gone before autumn came around.

“Let’s decide on your name.”

“Eh?”

“Calling you ‘Seigi’ would have a bad effect in a situation where there are only enemies. If I call you by a completely different name, there is the possibility that you would not be able to react, so I believe a name somewhat similar to your own is safer.”

“Then, ‘Seigi’, ‘Seigi’, ‘Seigi’... Make it ‘Seiji’.”

“Too close. Some people might mishear it as ‘Seigi’ instead. Think of a surname. I will call you by that.”

Richard had started saying odd things about perhaps having to throw fists at an accessories shop that was disseminating fake turquoises. For me to come up with a fake name. Indeed, revealing our true names even if by accident could be a dangerous situation.

I squeezed up a knowledge that I didn’t have, deep in thought. Something that sounded kind of similar to my real name. Yet was a different name. Hmm.

“‘Nakata’, ‘Nakata’, ‘Nakata’... ‘Yamada’, Yamada? No, ‘Tanaka’ is also... Ah~, I wonder which. Yamada or Tanaka?”

“Then let’s make it Yamada. Yamada Seiji-san. I will be counting on you. I am Edward Baxter.”

“Where’s ‘Richard’ as the base for that?”

“I will be in your care.”

“My pleasu~re.”

Wearing a red open-necked shirt that looked like it could show up in contests for rare clothing articles, I sat on the Jaguar’s passenger seat. However, in terms of outfit eccentricity, I didn’t feel like I could beat the man sitting next to me. White, white, white. It was thoroughly white from top to bottom, the hairstyle pulled all the way back. It was a bit of an underground person look.

“I’m checking just in case, but what kind of setting is this Edward Baxter-sensei from?”

“A messenger from the Great Universe who miraculously predicts fortunes and foresees the fate of gems.”

“Uh. Got it. I’ll do my best not to laugh.”

“Obviously. Laughing at a messenger of the Great Universe is insolence.”

“Hahaa~”

The Jaguar sped up like always. If this car had a voice, it felt like it would frantically cause a stir, asking, “Mister, aren’t you too different from usual?” but the Jaguar was reticent and loyal.

As the vehicle kept running, my nervousness increased a little. I wanted to say something, but Richard’s profile was rock-hard. It would feel awkward if I discussed about tea and snacks that had nothing to do with it here and now. But I wanted to talk. I was able to come up with just one thing when wondering what I should say.

“Is there... a family in the setting of that Baxter-sensei? Or does he not have any, since he’s a messenger of the Great Universe? Sorry. You didn’t think that far, did you?”

When I asked that, Richard briefly made a strange face. Unlike his usual refreshing smile, that expression could only be described as a “suggestive grin”, with a gaze that didn’t appear to be looking at me but at something in the distance.

Then he stated, “He has no relatives whosoever.”

“Roger that.”

And so, the two of us headed to the shop of shady history. Edward Baxter-shi, who claimed to have not a single relative, seemed to be making a just slightly sad-looking face within the glass of the windshield. However, Yamada Seiji courteously pretended that he was not at all seeing the weakness of a messenger of the Great Universe.

He had no idea what Nakata Seigi made of it, though.

#housekishou richard shi no nazo kantei #the case files of jeweler richard #jeweler richard #richard ranashinha de vulpian #nakata seigi #tsujimura nanako #jeffrey claremont #novel #web short stories #richard #WOW THIS HURT #THANKS I HATE IT #my translation

104 notes · View notes

inkdemonapologist · 4 years

Note

Okay but I do actually want to know both the things you love and the things you could rant about from DCTL?

OH BOY UHHHHHH okay lets see, I'm gonna see if I can do the "add a readmore after you post it" thing and see if that'll keep it stable.......

But also, much like Sammy, I am incapable of shutting up unless you strike me in the head with a blunt object, so uh, forgive my wordiness:

THINGS I ENJOY:

- DCTL gave us Sammy's ink addiction and like, if you had asked me before all this "what would you most like to see in a franchise?" I would not have answered "one of the characters drinks ink accidentally and then discovers that he can't stop" but boy that sure is my favourite concept that I LOVE to see handled literally any other way than how the book handled it!!!

- I like what it added to Tom and Allison and Norman!! Like, it's not big twists on their characters or anything -- we already knew Tom felt he was doing the wrong thing, so getting to see his CRUSHING GUILT over creating the machine isn't New Information, but it's nice to see and understand more of him; for all of them I feel a lot more attached to them after getting to see more of them as people.

- Like 90% of the "I LOVE IT" category for me is how the book handled Joey, and Buddy's relationship with Joey. The way Joey isn't a Sinister Mastermind Who’s Just Screwing With Everyone but just manipulative in a more mundane way -- someone who thinks of himself as just the guy with the vision to call the shots; he wants what he wants and this is how he's learned to get it; he exploits people not through devious schemes, but just by offering them something that they want or need and asking too much in return, expecting their loyalty for his favours. And the way he interacts with Buddy, making Buddy complicit with him and keeping Buddy off-balance and insecure while making him a favourite and treating him as Special is just PERFECT -- gives a lot of content to kind of extrapolate off of when pondering what must've drawn the others in and convinced them to ignore the red flags. I was initially frustrated with the idea of Buddy not being an artist and jUST DECIDING TO LEARN TO ANIMATE ON THE SPOT ("I've never done this before but I'm sure I can just do an artist's job" is a weirdly common throwaway thing in media and as an artist iTS A PET PEEVE) but actually the way they use his plagiarism to make him trapped in a lie in ways Joey doesn't even realise ends up being a neat echo of other employees (coughTOMcough), who were involved in much graver sins but suddenly felt they couldn't object or they'd lose their one chance, just like Buddy. There's a lot here that I think is really great.

OKAY THATS THE GOOD STUFF, LET'S COMPLAIN ABOUT SAMMY:

- Uncomfortable Bigotry Vagueness that we all knew was gonna be in this list -- I dunno man, a guy committing a microaggression and getting startled and defensive when he's called out for it doesn't necessarily completely ruin his character I GUESS, but the way this was handled is just SO WEIRD AND VAGUE that it's uncomfortable and it doesn't seem to serve any real purpose. "Is Tom black?" is a question I actually have to ask because the text sort of implies he is while also dancing around it and apparently Word of God said he's not??? which makes Buddy's comment nonsensical???? And I mean, you could go that route, since Buddy wonders to himself if Sammy talks to everyone like this -- HE ACTUALLY DOES!! Even within the text of the novel, he uses "Joey" instead of Mr. Drew, which is consistent with his audiologs in the game -- but that makes the writing suggest "this character THINKS this guy might be racist but actually they're reading too much into it and it wasn't racially motivated at all, he's just a jerk!!" wHICH IS SOMEHOW EVEN MORE ICKY??? Anyway like yeah I guess it's not inconsistent with his character that while Sammy Lawrence may not have any specific grudge against minorities he has probably not checked his privilege or done the work to challenge his own internal biases, but “Your Fav Probably Contributes To Systemic Racism In Ways He Hasn’t Considered, As Do We All When Our Assumptions Go Unchecked” is still a wild thing to wade through in a fun story about demonic cartoons

- but yknow so is T H E H O L O C A U S T

- Sammy's voice is wrong. I'm actually okay with him being a weird awkward asshole, I already kind of assumed he was and that's part of why I like him!! but there's so many places he doesn't quite... talk like himself? And not just in terms of word choice, like -- so in his monologue at the end, he's described as talking so quickly that his words are "tumbling out faster than he can speak them," which initially seems fine; like yeah, that's a Standard Scene we're familiar with, the person who's been Driven Mad With Insight becoming more and more manic as they try to convey it -- until I tried to imagine it and realised that Sammy doesn't talk like this. That's a really consistent quality I always notice about his voice; whether he's almost giddily excited in prophet mode, or he’s his irritated and overworked human self, or he's violently angry and his voice has that echo effect -- he always speaks very deliberately. He enunciates carefully. There's some circumstances where I'd buy this as showing that he's Not Himself, but I feel like those would kind of need to be in the middle of his transformation, not at the end of it.

- In fact a lot of the scenes with Sammy kind of have this feeling -- that it's not necessarily an exploration of Sammy as a character, but that he is filling a trope or archetype role here. Once he's fully transformed he excitedly describes the process as more of a mental compulsion, which is in contrast to his weird yeerk-infected behaviour when trying to get ink from Miss Lambert. Both of those scenes don't seem wrong on their own because they fit tropes we know -- but they feel weird when you try to fit them together.

- I also just in general am not a fan of the ink acting like a weird yeerk. It can be a parasite I guess but when it starts overwriting and puppeting people and crawling around to enter their body that's just a completely DIFFERENT kind of supernatural story and it’s not what im here for!!!

- THE FREAKIN!!! HE WILL SET US FREE!!!! WHY????????? SAMUEL LAWRENCE WHAT IS HE SETTING YOU FREE FROM??????? Sammy has No Motive for any of what he's doing, other than just Ink Made Me Do It. The whole thing that was INTERESTING about Sammy as a character is the contrast between this frustrated, ornery musician with no specific love for the cartoons he works on, and the manically devoted cultist he becomes. What happened in the middle there? What made him desperate enough to shift his mindset so much? "Something supernatural made him do things that don't benefit him in any way" is a very boring answer to this question!!! Susie was a victim who implies that her transformation has forced her to do things she didn't want to do, but we can still see her motive -- she wanted to be Alice, so she took a sketchy offer to try to get what she wanted. Even now, her violence echoes that goal -- to be a more perfect Alice. What did Sammy want? WHO KNOWS. Even in his ink-addled state at the end, we don't understand what he hopes the Ink Demon will even do for him, and in fact he seems to be responsible for creating the very scenario he's begging Bendy to reverse in the game.

- [sighs loudly into my hands]

- Overall I'm left wondering if the author just..... didn't like Sammy Lawrence? And I don't mean that in the sense of him being a rude jerk -- like, Joey is not a good person, but the author seems to be interested in him and in what makes him tick. There doesn't seem to be that same interest in Sammy. Sammy's role in the story is that of a monster, transformed into something murderous, unable to prevent or choose it. He's not a victim of anyone but the ink, no one had to manipulate him or figure out how his brain worked or what he wanted or what he feared or give him any reason to do the things he does -- ink got in his mouth and overwrote his personality. And we don't even get to see that change, not really. He starts out angry and defensive and continues being angry and defensive up until his very last scene, denying his ink-stealing but not really much else. We see all his prophetic sketches but we never see hints of this in him, we never see him start to act more excited and hopeful, we never see him seek out the demon he desires to please. Why do we never see Sammy struggling between his dismissive angry front and a building religious fervour he can't quite suppress? We don't get to see any of the in-between. There's no interest at all in why or even what it looked like as Sammy became what he became, when, to be honest, I suspect interest in precisely that is one reason he's such a big fav.

- It's funny, in a "cries into my hands" kind of way, when Sammy is just knocked in the head while monologuing and immediately removed from the story without further mention, like...... that sure is the pattern with him, isn't it, he just tries very very hard and never actually gets to matter, but it also fits right in here, too, in this book that doesn't want to think about his motives -- he rambles nonsensically, explaining nothing, gets one trademark phrase, and then is hastily removed so the story doesn't have to think about him anymore.

...................I think that's most of it.

...

Y'all............ I'm not ready for Sent From Above.......... I'm just not.... I'm not emotionally ready...... like..... Sammy has to be in that right..... he’s Susie’s boss and she has that big crush on him..................................... I’m not ready

#i know you have questions you always do #we all write on the walls #hopefully I have not gotten completely confused on any of these points but LMAO ITS POSSIBLE

74 notes · View notes

the-ineffable-demon-crowley · 4 years

Text

The Sweetest Wrath

Your romantic dinner with Crowley goes pear-shaped when Aziraphale unceremoniously interrupts. As your attention is captured by the angel, Crowley finds he has to use more creative means to remind the two of you just who you belong to.

Pairing: Anthony J. Crowley x reader (ft. Aziraphale)

Warnings: Exhibitionism, little bit of voyeurism, praise kink, fingering, rough sex, dirty talk, hair pulling, car sex

Length: 4.2k

Cross-posted to AO3 here

This work is a commission for @mollyplier

⋘ ⋙

Despite what you might think, demons had very busy schedules. Well, someone had to go around tempting people into their insidious desires, spreading hate and unrest within the population. Whether that be by blocking off all the main roads with untimely construction work that never seemed to be completed, pulling down all the major phone networks on a Friday evening, or by crashing the entirety of the public library’s database during finals season, Crowley had a long to-do list. Never mind the collection of souls for the Dark Lord, a back-breaking tasks in of itself.

Of course, that never stopped him from using his tempting charms as a means for his own good. There were a few souls that had caught his eye over the centuries, but they were far too special to be sacrificed to the Dark Lord. No, these were just for him. You were one of his finest achievements, but it didn’t take much to ensnare you. His charming walk, his easy grin, and his simple one-liners. Who could resist? It’d almost felt like you knew him for centuries, but that was just how comfortable you were with Crowley, and how much of an old soul he really was beyond the sarcastic, sniggering snake he could be sometimes.

Still, he worked hard, even if he didn’t want to. Which is why you loved Aziraphale, a cheeky but posh cherubic principality who was Crowley’s colleague, friend, confidante, everything. Though Aziraphale didn’t like it, he understood how useless it was to cancel each other’s work out, and would sometimes come to an agreement with Crowley over the heavenly state of the souls of some town’s population. Usually, Crowley won the coin-toss. Aziraphale never thought to ponder how Crowley was always so lucky.

But on the off-chance that Crowley lost, Aziraphale would keep you company. He was a delightful companion, and the two of you always spent your time talking books, plants, and the bureaucracy of Heaven. Aziraphale had much to say regarding that. But now, with Crowley off unveiling the worst in people, you were sat at home alone, planning. Conniving, he would call it, and then boast about how he had done well in corrupting you. If only he knew.

You’d made a reservation for two at the RItz for you and Crowley for that very evening. It was technically Aziraphale’s favourite place, but you knew Crowley was fond of it as well, having been dragged there for drinks and crêpes since its inception in 1906. You planned the whole thing out; for dinner, a sumptuous 4-course feast, and for dessert, well... You had several decadent selections in mind, each sure to make him more insatiable than the last.

Your instructions to Crowley were simple as you typed them out on your phone. Dinner, tonight. Pick me up at 8. Stay hungry, my demon.

His reply was swift. Ravenous already. See you tonight.

Crowley wasn’t often known for punctuality, but because you hadn’t been able to spend much time together since he was busy at... work, you supposed it was, he was outside your flat, leaning against his Bentley waiting for you at 8 on the dot. You smirked at the sight of him, black blazer, black trousers, per usual. Red hair swiped upwards, black sunglasses framing his sharp features. He was angular, positively fiendish, and he was here for your soul.

⋘ ⋙

As expected, the Ritz was beautiful, the vintage building’s peaks soaring into the backdrop of the starry night sky, and its patrons dripping in glamour. Guests came dressed with their savings on their sleeves, with even the most casually dressed of diners boasting expensive loungewear. You thought you fit right in on the arm of your demon, bedecked in black, and you, clad in a tasteful dress that brought out your eyes. As you made your way up towards the entrance, your arm brushed against Crowley’s, and you nearly flushed, as though this was your first date all over again. He just had that kind of effect on you.

Despite the fact that Crowley wasn’t often one for affection, you could feel his long, strong arm slipping around your waist as he escorted you into the dining room, a quiet din of the other diners filling your ears. You sat down onto the white upholstered chair, and smiled at Crowley as a waiter came to take preliminary drink orders. Minutes later, drinks and the first course had arrived.

“This is absolutely glorious, angel, thank you.” Crowley murmured as he tipped the mixed alcoholic concoction into his mouth. His tongue darted out to collect a stray droplet, and you watched it with fascination at its snapping movement.

“It’ll get even better once you start eating instead of just drinking.” You quipped, lifting a forkful of your dinner to your mouth. Crowley grinned.

“All in good time.” He raised his hand, fingers long and neatly manicured, and gestured to the waiter for another round.

“Have Hastur and Ligur been giving you much trouble?”

“Ngk.” Crowley responded, this time taking your advice and swallowing whole his bites of dinner. However, he remained a perfect gentleman, and you couldn’t help but stare at him outfitted in his jacket and trousers. He didn’t necessarily fit in among the glitzy crowd of the Ritz dining room, but damn if he didn’t look every bit as expensive as everybody else in there, right down to the shining black gunmetal of his sunglasses. “Nothing I can’t handle. They’re attempting to delegate the planning of the next recession and stock-market crash to me, but I told them they can stick it right-”

“Oh!” A sudden soft gasp, otherwise masked by the din of the room, caught Crowley’s ear. Mostly because he’d heard it for centuries; mainly when a particularly cute creature was in view. His partner in.... something, Aziraphale. You noticed him noticing it, and turned your head to see what had caught his attention.

“Crowley! Y/N! How lovely to see you both here!” Aziraphale was positively gleaming as he approached the dinner table, a ray of sunshine in direct opposition to Crowley’s black void. You couldn’t help but smile at the angel, appreciative at his endless enthusiasm.

“Aziraphale, what a surprise!” You returned.

“Oh, my dear, I have been holed up in my shop for what feels like hours. I had to get out and have a nice cuppa. Speaking of which, have you read that novel I gave you yet? You simply must, I could not put it down for the life of me.”

“Oh, I’ve gotten about halfway, and I was so shocked when one of the twins died, and- oh, please, sit down.” You hadn’t expected this interruption, but now that he was here, you simply couldn’t resist a quick chat. You were about to ask a nearby diner if you could borrow one of the chairs at their table, but one miracled itself right in front of your eyes. You glanced around at the others, the magical appearance of the chair apparently unnoticed, then at Crowley, seemingly as indifferent as ever, continuing to sip at his drink.

“Thank you, Y/N. Now, tell me what you think of the heroine.” Aziraphale happily on the chair.

You gushed about the novel with Aziraphale for a few more minutes, admittedly completely neglecting Crowley during that time. But every time you glanced at him, he seemed to at least be paying attention, albeit drinking all the while. You had counted three or four empty glasses before the waiter came to collect them, bringing a fresh one shortly afterwards. A demon’s tolerance was essentially bottomless, so Crowley wouldn’t be anywhere near drunk yet, but it could be soon at the rate Aziraphale was talking, and Crowley with no other way to entertain himself.

“Oh, have you finished eating? Then I believe it’s time for dessert- garçon! Three of your finest strawberry crêpes, s’il vous plaît.”

“Oh, angel, I think Y/N had planned for-” but Crowley was quickly cut off, and he sat back in the chair, raising a brow to you. You signalled to give it another minute, and you would start to shoo Aziraphale off.

“Don’t be silly, Crowley, company as lovely as YN here deserves nothing but the best- and the crêpes here are the best.” This seemed to shut Crowley up for the moment, but you could tell he was getting a little territorial over your attention, with his boot beginning to slowly trace itself against your ankle. You cleared your throat to focus, but your leg did not move, eager for a piece of Crowley during this interrupted dinner. Still, it was simply impossible to be rude to the angel, and Crowley, for whom it was somehow an endearing trait, was seemingly refusing to help. “Oh, Y/N, that reminds me, I have taken your advice and have taken up a spot of painting.”

“Oh, that’ll be fun. What medium?”

“Oil paints, I should think. I dabbled in it before, of course, tried a hand at some neoimpressionism, but I should think the classical styles are more my type, the nude portraits and the like. Positively divine.” Crowley snorted, the first indication that he hadn’t petrified and turned to stone since Aziraphale’s arrival.

“Bit biased there, aren’t you?” He drawled smugly.

Aziraphale glanced at Crowley from the corner of his eye pettily, then looked back at you. Then as if to spite him, or perhaps out of a naive desire to simply catch your beauty on canvas, he blurted out, “You’d pose for me, wouldn’t you, Y/N? You’d make a beautiful model for a nude study.”

Your eyes flashed and your mouth fell open slightly, lips parting in surprise. It wasn’t necessarily the request, but the fact that Crowley was right there-

“Oh, yes, I could see it now. Bedecked in honeysuckle and lavender, in your hair, against your lovely skin, you’d be heavenly. What do you think, Crowley?”

You laughed, a bit taken aback. “I’m flattered, really! But I-”

“Oh, I should think she would be- Y/N.” Crowley leaned forward, placing his elbows onto the table. “Get your coat, sweet.”

Aziraphale seemed genuinely confused, bless him, turning to look at the demon. In the meantime, you stood from your chair and scooped up your jacket, trying not to think about how Crowley’s darkened voice sent shivers up your spine. You knew this was coming from the moment Aziraphale even mentioned nude portraits, could almost see how his features were shadowed by lust at the thought of you. Aziraphale’s voice remained strong, but innocent. “But the crêpes haven’t arrived yet-”

“Oh, come on, Aziraphale.” He cajoled. “Let’s have a bit of a walk, hm?” Crowley inclined his head towards the exit, his red hair catching the light of the chandeliers. You smirked as the angel, still babbling, stood up and reluctantly agreed, leaving the promise of his dessert behind.

With Aziraphale in front of you, Crowley’s arm slid possessively around your waist a little tighter this time, pulling you to him, against him as you walked between the tables. You could feel the power in his body with every step, and though you knew you were in for it now, the thought of Crowley claiming you as his was as delicious a dessert as you could ever have suggested. Despite his intimidation, you knew he was secretly enjoying this; he had found the perfect excuse to shut Aziraphale up, and finish the the night off exactly the way he wanted to- with your legs spread.

The night air was cool but not unpleasant as a breeze traced across your skin. Your senses felt sharpened, each of his touches sending you into a frenzy as he led you towards the car. Aziraphale followed behind, one of his hands holding the other in front of him like a poised debutante.

“Y/N, sit in the back for a moment, please.” You heard the subtle growl in his voice, and you obliged, popping open the door of the big, black Bentley and slipping inside onto the cool leather. The angel and the demon got in in front of you, and you stared at their beautiful silhouettes. Crowley, a lean, shadowy, sinful figure, and Aziraphale, a vision of purity and light even in the nighttime, even in the face of Crowley’s wrath.

The car was silent for a beat before anybody spoke.

“My two angels,” Crowley murmured, turning back to look at you in the backseat. “You’ve both been naughty, haven’t you?” His gaze turned to Aziraphale with a slight turn of his head. Even behind the impenetrable sunglasses that perched on his nose, his gaze was heavy, dangerous. You scarcely felt yourself breathe. You were in trouble now.

“Crowley, it’s my fault, Aziraphale was just-” You began to reach forward for him. He turned his head towards you, and your mouth closed. You sat back against the backseat of the Bentley quietly, the leather creaking underneath you. It was the only noise in the car for a long moment.

“I know what he was doing, love. Like to have a bit of a look? Bit of a flirt?” He looked at Aziraphale. “And you-” You bit your lip, eyes lifting slowly to look at him. “You know.”

God, did you ever. Crowley had never been that much of the jealous type, but for you to have been fawning over Aziraphale like that, during a dinner meant for him to relax? It was enough to trigger the most hellish side of the demon, and you were in for it now. Heat flooded your core, and you pressed your knees together. You saw Crowley raise a brow behind his glasses, a smirk adorning his lips. He saw.

“You’re enjoying this. Would you enjoy bouncing on my cock while Aziraphale watches, then? I think it’s what you both deserve after tonight.” He inclined his head towards the angel, who began sputtering in shock.

“Crowley, I say!” But you saw his cheeks flush pink, painting the perfect picture of a cherub. You weren’t going to lie, making Aziraphale watch was one of the hottest things you’d ever heard, and you had never expected Crowley to go that far. It was clear things were going to be played by his rules tonight.

“What d’ya say, angel?” His smirk grew wicked, and you grew hot beneath your clothing. Your reply was a whisper, but you knew he heard it, and he knew you meant it.

“Yes, Crowley.”

It took him precisely half a second to materialize in the backseat with you. It was a mess of limbs, his long and lean, and yours tangled up with him. His hands gripped your hips, and his lips found yours in a searing kiss. You moaned into his mouth at the feeling of his strong, nimble fingers beginning to trail up and down your sides, one slipping underneath your shirt to palm at your breast. His thumb rolled circles over your nipple, and you groaned your pleasure against him.

“Eyes on me, angel.” He growled in your ear. You blinked, and looked up at the man overing over you. His sharp features were illuminated only by the orange glow of the streetlights outside, and whatever scarce cars drove by. You knew they couldn’t see anything; the car was probably magicked to invisibility. Crowley wouldn’t be that careless. He was lithe, but heavy, a comforting weight between your legs, and his hair already a mess from the way your fingers had been running through it. He stared down at you with black eyes, his sunglasses still on his face. “Both of you.” He barked, lifting his head to look at Aziraphale. The angel, looking quite unsettled, turned his head to look at you. Crowley’s hands made quick work of your shirt and your bra, exposing your breasts to the night air.

You felt like you were being ravished in front of God himself, a demon laying snugly between your thighs. Crowley seemed to agree, as he bucked his hips against you, his hard erection pressing into your clothed centre.

“Fuck, Crowley, please.”

“So needy, angel, even with an audience. You’re greedy, little one.”

His large hand snaked down to between your thighs, his fingers beginning to rub you against your trousers. You keened at the feeling, head rolling against the car door, hips squirming. He held you fast, his weight keeping you pinned down beneath him. You felt absolutely at his mercy, without even Aziraphale to dare help you now. Crowley’s fingers then found the button and zipper of your jeans, at which point he began to yank them down.

“Crowley, is this really-” You heard him start, but your moan swallowed his words in the darkness of the car.

“That feel good? My long fingers inside of you?”

Precisely two of his long fingers were now buried deep inside of you, thumb on your lit, and palm slapping against your pussy. Your hands snapped forward, gripping his forearms. You felt the power beneath the corded muscles that flexed underneath his thin black blazer. The smell of smoke and leather overwhelmed you, eyes shutting tightly as his fingers increased their pace.

“Look at me. Look at me, or I won’t let you cum.” He hissed, and your eyes popped open, so desperate were you for release.

“-Yes, Aziraphale,” He addressed the angel calmly, though his eyes remained on you. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it? To see her splayed out, desperate, needy, begging? ‘Cept of course, it’s my cock that she’ll be bouncing on, isn’t it, love?” His thumb rolled over your clit harshly, and your hips bucked. Aziraphale couldn’t help but keep his eyes trained on you, so clearly in the throes of pleasure. He wasn’t proud of himself, and yet...

“Yes! God, yes...”

“You like him watching, don’t you?” He purred in your ear, and your ankles hooked around his hips, an attempt to bring him closer. No part of him touched you except his hand, buried in your soaking cunt. “Say it.”

“I-I... I like it! I like it- please, let me... cum.”

“Alright, I’ll allow it. Cum.”

Stars sparked behind your eyelids, and fire tore through your insides. Your juices soaked his hand, fingers still fucking in and out of you, and you heard him groan at the sight of it. You could also feel him rubbing against your thigh in search of a bit of friction, but still, he kept his composure. A sheen of sweat covered your forehead, hair sticking to your cheeks. Aziraphale cleared his throat quietly; you’d nearly forgotten he was there at all.

“Are you satisfied, Crowley?” He muttered.

Crowley grinned. “Not nearly.”

In the blink of eye, you were on top of the demon, jeans abandoned, and his cock free of his tight leather trousers. He folded his hands behind his head, mirroring your previous position, and yet it was clear he was the one in charge here. His sunglasses were also gone at this point, and the sight of his snake eyes filled you with desire. There was something so wrong about it all, being fucked by a demon with an angel staring right at you. You had no hopes of explaining this one to the Almighty.

You could barely keep yourself upright as you straddled him, limbs still weak from your orgasm. Crowley did not care.

“Turn around, Y/N.”

You raised a brow, and his eyes narrowed, challenging you. You quickly changed positions, with the help of Crowley sitting up a bit in the back. You were now sitting atop of him, staring directly in the face of Aziraphale, sitting in the passenger seat. If he had looked uncomfortable before, he was positively faint at this point. It was clear he wanted to look away, and yet, if either by some wicked temptation or by Crowley’s clear commands, he did not. Not for a second.

Not even when your eyes rolled to the back of your head as the tip of Crowley’s cock rubbed against your folds. Instantly, you felt desire electrify your insides, and you wanted nothing more than to sink down onto him. But you needed his permission first. He rubbed the pre-cum against you, and you felt your juices slowly dripping down your thighs. You shuddered, hips bowing down to try to take him in. He chuckled.

“You still want my cock, love? Right in front of Aziraphale?”

You lifted your eyes to the actual angel’s, and he gave you a slight smile as if to assure you. Angel or not, he couldn’t have not been enjoying this display.

“Yes, I want your cock always, Crowley, please, please fuck me.”

“Whatever my angel so desires. Keep your eyes on him and I might let you cum again.”

With one hand on your hip pulling you towards him, he used the other to guide himself into you. Thick, long, and hard, he filled you entirely, and you felt stuffed as you seated him inside of you right to the hilt. You heard Crowley growl underneath you, the only time he had lost his composure during this entire affair. His hand pushed against your hip, encouraging you- pushing you to build up your rhythm. You gyrated your hips against him as hard and fast as you could, but it didn’t feel like enough to Crowley.

You bounced against his cock, tits bouncing in front of Aziraphale, hands reaching for the headrest to steady yourself. Crowley’s hips, powerful and strong, fucked up into you as his cock filled your walls. You felt him shift slightly, and the instant he hit that special spot, your back arched.

“There, is it?” Crowley’s voice was rough, and his grip, his pace, was rougher. “Look at you, being fucked right here in the backseat, absolutely soaking wet for my cock, even with someone watching. You are a little minx, aren’t you?”

His dirty words spurred you on, bouncing as quick as you could, chasing your high. You knew Crowley’s permission wouldn’t come easily this time, and you had to make it count.

“Aziraphale, isn’t she lovely?”

Your eyes flitted to the angel’s, then fell, and he swallowed, clearly affected by the sight of you. “Positively decadent.”

“And she belongs to me.”

His fingers wrapped around a handful of your hair, bending your neck back. You felt his teeth scrape against the exposed skin, and you cried out at the feeling of the pleasure and pain mixing. “Look at him while you try to cum.”

One of his hands traveled between your legs, and his fingers pinched your clit. You nearly sobbed, and you wanted nothing more than to collapse, but still, he kept you going. Your release was coming, and coming hard. Crowley could feel it by the way your hips began to stutter, your pace slowing as your limbs grew weak from the exhaustion.

“Don’t you stop.” He yanked your hair harder, and you moaned in response, the stinging sensation in your scalp a delicious addition to the pounding between your legs. His cock, hot and hard, was hitting you over and over again in the your most sensitive of places. But you were so close, so close.

“Please le-let... me cum!” You begged, his fingers gripping your hair and your neck bending as you stared into Aziraphale’s eyes. Crowley’s fingers began to tweak at your clit, but his permission didn’t come. You cried at the feeling, continuing to fuck yourself against his cock without any sign of release in sight.

“Tell me who you belong to.” You could hear his voice becoming ragged as he fought the urge to cum himself, eyes fixated on the way your ass bounced against his hips, his cock disappearing in and out of you.

“You! You, Crowley, only you... Please!”

“Cum.”

With one single word, you fell to pieces. You fell forward as his hand released your hair, his hands now gripping your hips harshly as he sought his own release. You moaned at the feeling of letting him use you for his own pleasure as your cum soaked his cock, your thighs, and the leather of the Bentley beneath you. Your fingers slipped against the plastic interior of the car door, trying to no avail to get a grip on your surroundings. He thrusted in and out of you a handful of times again before cumming, hot spurts of cum filling you up inside, then slowly beginning to trickle out.

Crowley’s hands, no longer harsh, but strong, moved to disengage himself from you, and reached for some napkins to help you clean up. You reached for your shirt and jeans, and began to dress yourself as awkwardly as you could in the small space. Crowley’s hair was mussed, and his perfect skin glowed with sweat. You felt your hair sticking to you, and the heat of Crowley’s cum still inside you. Limbs weak, you allowed yourself to be collected in Crowley’s arms.

Aziraphale cleared his throat quietly.

“Yes, well... that was-”

“Divine? Tempting enough to immortalize on canvas?” Crowley finished with a grin. You felt him chuckle beneath you, and you snuggled in close to his chest.

“No! Goodness, no, I, uh... get the message.”

“Glad to hear it. You alright, love?”

“Yes, Crowley.”

“Good. Shall we get some dessert?”

You saw Aziraphale’s gaze light up, and you knew that his eyes were never meant for you. Only Crowley’s.

#Anthony Crowley #anthony j crowley #anthony j crowley x reader #anthony crowley x reader #anthony j crowley smut #good omens smut #good omens au #good omens smut au #good omens fanfiction #good omens fanfic #commission #fanfic commission #mollyplier

179 notes · View notes

stones-x-bones · 3 years

Text

Bare Bones || Morgan and Bex

TIMING: Last weekend PARTIES: @mor-beck-more-problems and @inbextween SUMMARY: Bex comes to Morgan’s to see her library collection, but books aren’t the only things that open up. CONTENT: Homophobia mentions, Transphobia mentions, Child/Domestic abuse mentions

Morgan fiddled with the books on the shelf yet again and ran her duster over the spines, the crisp pages, and Squirrely and Possum’s always-friendly faces. “We’ve got this, you guys,” she whispered under her breath. “Bex is going to love you, and the library, and the bones, and maybe we can bullshit some anthropology reasons for her to look at some real magic books, and wait for…” She wasn’t sure what. The weight of the truth to crack her denial open like an egg? For her divine intuition to kick in? Did non pegan spellcasters have divine intuition? She hadn’t met any; she

The doorbell rang, somehow sounding nervous to Morgan despite knowing it was automated.

She gave one last look around the room. She had spread some of the books out and accented empty shelves with some displays from the bone room: some framed fossils, a few skulls she had managed to collect on her own, and an articulated raccoon she and Deirdre had assembled over the course of a weekend in the peaceful days of summer. There was a little of everything, including some magic books she had hauled out of her studio just for Bex to see. It wasn’t exactly a neon light saying ‘something witchy this way comes,’ but it was better than indulging too much in her denial, right?

Right. Totally.

Morgan jogged to the storage closet and chucked the duster inside, not caring if it landed in its bucket or not. She half slid, half ran to the door. She checked her ponytail and the amber pendant Deirdre had given her and opened the door. She wasn’t so image conscious at home, but some of Bex’s excitable energy felt contagious. She wanted to do her best, to make this as okay for her as possible. Smiling warmly, she beckoned the girl inside. “Hey, Bex. Thanks for deciding to come by. Come on in and make yourself cozy, okay? There’s plenty of snacks in the kitchen, if you want any, and tea and coffee, if the cold’s gotten to you on the way over.”

Okay, she could do this. Bex flattened out the front of her skirt as if that would help her calm down, but all it did was make her a little more nervous. She was excited to see Professor Beck, er, Morgan and all that her library had to offer. And the fossils Deirdre had! It was supposed to be a relaxing day, but lunch was also supposed to have been relaxing and easy and that had not turned out well. Bex could only hope nothing would explode today, or if it did, it wouldn’t be her fault. Not that she had any control over it, or that it was, you know, her. She still hadn’t let herself accept that, despite what had happened with Mina and what she’d said to Nell. Magic just couldn’t be real. It had to be something else.

Swallowing, she pushed the doorbell.

It took a moment, and Bex was just rocking back on her heels when the door opened. “Hi, Professor!” she chimed, smiling bright. It was such a reflex now, making herself seem happy, excited, okay, that she couldn’t help it. “Yeah, okay. Um--” she stepped inside after Morgan and looked around, arms still pressed tightly to herself in front of her, clutching her small purse, “--I-I’m okay for now, thank you.” She looked around, eyes tracing over the walls and decor, just like she had when she’d gone to meet Nell for the ice cream they’d never gotten. The house was almost just like Nell’s, except the walls were a brighter color, and the hallways much larger. She understood, now, what Morgan meant by hallways full of empty rooms. Her eyes landed back on the older woman. “Thank you for having me,” she said with a small nod, “I’m excited to see your collection. And, of course, the fossils.” Formal, put together, polite-- all things Bex was sure she wouldn’t be if she had the wherewithal to choose. “Is Deirdre home?”

“Oh, please, I’m happy to,” Morgan replied. “Deirdre’s at work right now, but she finishes in a couple of hours, if you want to meet her in person. Go ahead and throw your stuff wherever, and I’ll show you where everything is!” She flexed her fingers, fighting the urge to take the girl's hand to make sure she didn’t get lost, and settled for waiting in the entryway off the foyer. “The kitchen is just off to the right and through here is the great room where we spend most of our time. If you’re cold, I can get the heat or a fire going. Neither of us feel the cold much, so it’s always hard to tell what guests need.”

Morgan walked a little further, pointing out a series of bathrooms and storage closets and double checking on the snack situation. There was some leftover veggie and bone broth soup and cranberry muffins that had been baked just earlier that day, and were currently in want of a taste tester since Morgan’s tastebuds had stopped working right after ‘an illness.’ “Also, let me know if this is overkill, okay? Besides, we’ve made it to the room you’re actually here to see!” Smiling bright with expectation, Morgan flung open the library doors and stood aside for Bex to enter. It was another white, overcast day, the kind where it was safe to part the many curtains that lined the windows without fear of fading Deirdre’s antique first editions, kept behind glass and lovingly tended to often. “Was there something you wanted to look at first in particular?” She asked.

Bex looked around in wonderment as she followed Morgan through the house. It was almost as big as her own, but somehow it felt so much more...like a home. There were things about the place that made it feel lived in, made it feel like people lived here, and not portraits and ghosts of the past. She reached out idly and ran her fingers along a table that had photos-- mostly of cats-- on it and tried not to look at too many or pry too hard into who they were. “I’m fine,” she said when Morgan offered to heat up the place, though Bex did feel a slight chill in the house she hadn’t felt before. “I have my jacket, anyway,” she said with a nod, trying to do away with the nervous smile. Her last conversation with Morgan had gotten...not fun, but Morgan didn’t know the safe word, so Bex couldn’t really blame her for the things she’d said. But they weren’t things Bex wanted to think about right now-- or ever, really-- and so she hoped they wouldn’t come up again today.

“Your house is so...homey,” she finally said when they came to a stop at the library finally. Her eyes were still wandering the halls and she nearly ran into Morgan, stopping herself just in time as she pointed out the room. “Oh! No, this is fine, really! My parents’ house is a little bigger than this, so I’m used to places with lots of rooms and stuff.” She blinked and let her gaze fall to the room in question, eyes lighting up instantly when she saw the shelves lined with books, old, probably valuable ones tucked behind glass in special cases. It was so colorful, compared to the dull greys and blues of the law library her parents kept. And so much larger than the bookshelf in Bex’s room that was lined with sci-fi and fantasy novels, tucked behind textbooks and history books. She took a moment to graze the spines of some nearby botanical looking texts before turning back to Morgan. “Oh, um--” pondered a moment-- “not to be predictable but-- anything about history? Whatever you’ve got!”

Morgan couldn’t help but beam with pride at Bex’s assessment of her place. “You really think so? It’s come a long way since I first visited, I think. I made most of the re-decorating choices, but some of the artwork prints are Deirdre’s work and um--” She gestured to a painting on the wall and beckoned Bex to follow. If Deirdre hadn’t told Morgan it was meant to be her, she wouldn’t have known. Only one large vaguely eye-looking shape indicated that the figure was meant to be a person at all. But there was affection in the brush strokes, in the time spent working at the little craft store canvas. Morgan touched the elaborate frame tenderly. “Some original work. Doesn’t happen everyday, as you might be able to guess, but that’s just what makes it special.” She laughed, full of warmth and fondness. She didn’t have to think it was pretty to love it.

“Anyways, this shelf is where the history stuff is.” She tapped her fingers down the shelf next to the painting. “Ireland, England, Norway and Germany up there. Then Mexico, Honduras, Venezuela, and Cuba in the middle. Then Egypt, Greece, and Rome. And my local, personal treasures are at the bottom. Texas, at the bottom. Maine, second to bottom. There’s only a couple of proper books, and then folders of many, many print outs and scans. And--” she pointed to one of the glass cases next to them. “A few old books, from back then. Ledgers, journals, a uh...grimoire. Family recipes, notes, old 19th century solutions to ailments, and some rituals and so one.” She flitted her gaze back to Bex. She didn’t seem so uptight as she had in the doorway, but after one of their recent conversations, Morgan couldn’t help but worry. “You can look at anything you want, okay?” And then, because she couldn’t help it. “How are you doing anyways?”

Bex was immediately intrigued by the books, ready to shovel a few of them off the shelf and pry them open. But she figured she ought to listen to Morgan first, it was the least she could do as thanks for letting her come over and explore her library. Her eyes fell to the paintings Morgan was gesturing to, and she was surprised to find out some of them were made by Deirdre herself. “Oh? She-- she made those?” she asked, then realized that she knew very little about Deirdre, except that she was Morgan’s partner and that she was incredibly pushy about people finding her attractive. Oh, and that she somehow understood Bex’s struggle better than anyone she’d ever talked to before, but she wasn’t about to think too hard about that one. “That’s incredible,” she said, once she’d had a chance to fully take in what she was looking at. Art was as much a part of history as wars and hunting, and those were, technically, very small parts of history.

Her attention, however, was lost when Morgan started listing off all the records and books and ledgers they had in their collection. Her eyes lit up with a renewed sense of wonder as she followed Morgan over to the shelves with her desired sources on it, and reached out for her first pick-- Egypt, of course-- when the question came. Her hand froze, midway through pulling a book out, but she didn’t move and she didn’t dare look at Morgan. Online, it was so easy to delete something you didn’t mean to type. Or to take your time in replying, to really think about what you were saying. To lie. But in person, the scrutiny of the other person, standing right near by, made it so much more difficult to do any of those things. And once they were said, you couldn’t take them back. There was no delete key for spoken words.

And so, Bex would have to choose her words carefully. She was studying to be a lawyer, after all, it should’ve been easy. “I’m doing okay,” she finally answered, finishing plucking the book out, albeit much slower than previous. “No more weird bird attacks or bloodied clothes since we last talked.” Interjecting jokes usually helped diffuse a situation, right? She pulled out another book before turning to look at Morgan. Maybe she could just change the subject. “You know, most history books were actually written using old records and ledgers. A lot of history actually comes from personally written accounts, and family records. So, really, be keeping your family’s, your helping history.”

“She made this one; I made that one.” Morgan pointed behind her at the messy painting on the wall. She couldn’t stand to look at it for very long. The memory of painting it at Lydia’s was too vivid; if Deirdre didn’t like it so much, Morgan would have taken it down already. “It’s an ‘in the eye of the beholder’ thing,” she said, waving the subject away.

She laughed alongside Bex as she quipped about her cockatrice run in and went over to the long coffee table to pick up the book she’d last been working on. “That isn’t what I meant, though.” she said. “I’m not asking for details, I just want to know…” If you’re okay. If you need help. Urgent, non-magical help because you were afraid of what would happen if you came home with bloody clothes and you keep talking about your family with the same kind of beholden fear Deirdre used to speak about hers with. I want to know that. But Morgan couldn’t say any of that if she wanted the girl to stay. “...how you’re really doing. I know when you’re applying yourself really hard in a lot of stressful environments or in stuff that feels high stakes, it can sometimes feel like you need to be fine all the time. But that’s just not the case. But, we don’t have to get into it, if it makes you uncomfortable.” Or more uncomfortable than she was all the time, at least.

“They’re pretty,” Bex said, looking over at Morgan’s as well. She could appreciate most art as well, even the kind that you had to squint at to see anything from it. But like most other things in history, art had its place, and therefore it held a place in Bex’s heart as well. “I think all art is in the eye of the beholder, that’s sort of what makes it art, right? I took an art history class once, I think that was the lesson. That, and that white men rule that world, too,” she said, with a roll of her eyes.

Bex adjusted the books in her arms and shuffled in her spot. She didn’t want to answer any of those questions, because the answers weren’t good ones. And because there was nothing anyone could do about them. She bit her lip. “When I talked to Deirdre online, she kept asking me some pretty heavy things. I tried to tell her I wasn’t comfortable with a lot of it, and she suggested we come up with a safe word, for when things get too hard or confusing. So I suggested the word ‘tomato’, because I don’t like tomatoes so I never really talk about them. But-- that’s not the important thing. The important thing is-- I don’t want to answer your question, but if I tell you that, you’ll already know an answer anyway, because it’s usually pretty telling when people say they don’t wanna talk about how they are. So, instead, I’m just gonna say tomato and ask that maybe we just...don’t talk about that yet. Okay?”

Morgan’s features softened. She’d known Deirdre would be kind, and that with enough time, it would even be for Bex’s own sake and not just because she’d asked. But the conversational safeword hit with a particular kind of compassion, one that understood Bex’s fear more than Morgan, because it was closer to her own. Morgan smiled softly. “Okay. Tomato. I can remember that,” she said. She took her book and went to her usual spot on the couch and curled up and put in a single earbud and began to read. There was more, much more, that she wanted to show the girl today, but after how badly their coffee outing had gone after she’d pushed too hard and too fast it made more sense to let her come down from whatever stress had just spiked.

Morgan read and turned the page and tried to read some more. She was half tempted to show Bex the guest rooms in detail and throw in a free decoration job, or offer to just put up a bed in the library, if that would make the idea more appealing. ‘Tomato’ was almost as telling as the words Bex didn’t want to say and Morgan couldn’t help but weave through the silence in her mind, searching in vain for some clue that would tell her just how worried she should be.

After a while, Morgan paused her playlist and took out her earbud. She got up and passed by Bex on her way to the door. “I’m going to heat up some water for coffee. Holler if you want anything, okay? I’ll be right back.” She pressed the girl’s shoulder, unthinking, too used to being at ease in her home to think of how her skin felt to others, and drifted away without thinking anything of it.

“Thank you.” The relief felt large and consuming when Morgan agreed to tomato. Bex was grateful, and she shifted her books once more before going over to sit on the couch opposite Morgan, propping open her first book and perusing the table of contents. She couldn’t help the excitement that rose back up in her chest as she flipped through and started reading, already half forgetting that there was someone else in the room with her. She could always so easily fall into a good book, especially a good history book. And these ones were new to her! She hadn’t read them before, and even through that excitement, she was eager to get to the books on the town’s history-- and to forget the things Morgan said to her and asked about her.

She was enraptured in her book when Morgan got up. So much so that she didn’t even notice until the older woman was next to her, patting her on the shoulder. Bex jumped slightly, closing the book on reflex. Hands splayed over the title as if trying to hide it before she remembered where she was and that she didn’t need to do that here. She nodded stiffly. “Right, thank you,” she said, clearing her throat. Her eyes drifted to her shoulder where Morgan had touched her and the ice cold sensation that had come from her hand. Strange. Gripping the books tightly, Bex leaned out of her couch as if to follow Morgan with her gaze, before slipping from the chair and going back over to the cabinets full of books. Her eyes scanned the titles of the ones behind glass, and she wanted so bad to touch, to look-- but didn’t. She was sure with time and trust, one day she would be able to see them. Instead, she put back the two books she’d found and slipped out the Bachman ledger. Sat on the floor in front of the shelf, folding it open tenderly and exploring the pages with her own eyes. Curious, perhaps, beyond reason when she didn’t believe in the things that were written in the texts.

Morgan froze in front of the door, watching Bex. “S-sorry,” she muttered, cradling her hand to her chest. “I forgot. I should probably wear gloves or something, honestly. It’s um, a chronic thing…” But Bex had done more than just flinch. Morgan took in her closed book, her clenched posture, and catalogued the away for later.

She took her time in the kitchen, making a rich cup of espresso that filled her with a nice tingle of earthy flavor and coming back after she’d made another cup and run to her bedroom to borrow a pair of Deirdre’s gloves. When she returned, she froze in the entrance again, taking in Bex looking over her family’s old books. “Hey,” she called softly. “Find anything good? I know some of that stuff can be uh...a little confusing. If you have any questions, um…” She approached slowly, trying to get a peek at what she was looking at. There were lots of ways to explain witchcraft in a cultural context, dimly, Morgan even wondered if she could sneak in a lesson under the pretense of historical recreation or anthropology exploration. But one thing at a time. “Well, I’m sure you’re gonna have questions, but just let me know, okay? I’m an open book too.” At least as much as she could be without scaring the girl.

Bex devoured most of the ledger by the time Morgan had come back. Speed reading was a necessary skill when you had to memorize tomes that were thousands of pages long full of legal jargon and so on and such forth. She startled slightly, blinking as she looked up at Morgan, a little embarrassed she was still on the floor, dress splayed out around her. Cheeks flushing, she ran her hands over the pages of the parchment and bit her lip. Her curiosity was easily spotted in her eyes, as she stared down the words. “Oh, lots of good stuff, that’s for sure,” she answered, giving a smile. She glanced up to Morgan. “Lots of questions, too, like--” she looked around, then back-- “did your family really think they were cursed? Is that what you were talking about, too, when you said you thought you’d cursed your family because you were--” the word stuck in her throat. She hadn’t said it outloud in so long. It almost felt wrong, but she knew it wasn’t. She knew she didn’t have to be afraid here. And yet, the fear remained. She folded back into herself, fingers pressing gently against the edges of the book.

“What’s it like being back here?” she asked, moving on, and hoping Morgan wouldn’t stick on it, either. “Knowing your family has history here? Did you expect that? Did you know that when you came here? Do you have more stuff about your family history? I only saw this one--” gestured to the ledger-- “and I wasn’t sure what else I could, um....look at.”

Morgan sipped her coffee and came down to sit next to Bex, peering over the pages. She’d never known how to feel about most of her ancestors. The pieces of them preserved on paper were so distant and impersonal. She couldn’t tell if they were sarcastic, or moody, or sweet, or boisterous. Everything was so restrained, or fragmented, they were less than ghosts. And then there were the secrets they’d kept, the lies they’d told themselves. They hadn’t deserved to suffer so badly, but stars above…

“Yes,” Morgan said carefully. “The curse is real. Or, I mean…” She took another sip of coffee, fingers tapping and fidgeting around the mug as she tried to figure out how to thread this needle. “It was certainly real to them, all of them, right up to my mother. And there really was a girl who used to work for the Bachmans, and she was a self-proclaimed witch. The family cast her out when she was nineteen and she died horribly and alone and when they finally found her body, she was bent over a cauldron, surrounded by rune stones and crystal stones and other stuff you’d expect of a witch. And then, there were the things that happened to the family. Those were real too.” She got up and took out her pink plastic file folder to offer to the girl. “There’s prescriptions, doctor notes, death certificates, shopping lists for medical supplies, and so on, that corroborate the stories of the terrible things that happened to the family. Every three years, there uh, just so happened to be a spike in these rather unfortunate, often tragic events. And while the family was by no means protected from the world’s chaos before, the severity and frequency of peril was at least somewhat noteworthy on these ‘cursed’ years.” Morgan could barely keep the edge out of her voice. She felt ill and hollow playing pretend, throwing questions over these people who knew only too well what was happening to them. She cleared her throat and smiled bravely. “You can see why they would maintain a belief like that. Obviously. But that’s not why I thought I was a curse for being a lesbian. My mother chose not to pass on that particular lore until I came out to her. That was definitely just some really awful timing with the AIDS epidemic and the Satanic Panic and living in Suburban Texas. I’m not really sure how much of a chance I stood at having a healthy relationship with my sexuality straight out the gate.” She laughed, rueful with the safety of distance and better days.

“But it’s fine. I did come up here for the history. I wanted to get the truth about all those awful scary stories and try to make sense of my life through that. And there’s more things in the glass cabinets and there’s...well, I guess they’re antiques now. There’s a chest upstairs of things Agnes…” she sighed sadly, thinking of the woman, of her pain. “...My great-great grandmother Agnes buried before she emigrated to Texas.” She looked sidelong at the girl, her fear and anxiety coiling her like a spring just as much as her excitement. She hated lying to her, dressing up the truth in cute little rational outfits. It felt patronizing, even morbid in some odd, diminishing way she couldn’t articulate. Patting the girl’s fingers with her now gloved hand, she said, “I would be astonished if you didn’t see everything in my collection at least once eventually. But you can go through that folder and…” She shrugged haplessly. “Anything else you’re curious about. I don’t see much point in keeping knowledge locked up.” She normally didn’t see much point in keeping secrets either, and she let out a long sigh in a vain effort to relieve the tension holding so many caused her.

Bex watched Morgan closely as she came to sit next to her, and she scooped up the books she’d had propped around her to set them aside. She was never the best at reading people’s faces, except for when they were mad or angry or irritated-- those looks she knew well, and she knew well how to calm them. But Morgan’s face showed none of those, only a sort of quiet contemplation and perhaps a weariness Bex didn’t quite understand yet.

When Morgan began to speak, she listened as intently as possible. Bad luck was often a curse people talked about-- she’d read books about people cursed with bad luck or families cursed with it, too. Somehow, the way Morgan described it seemed different from those, seemed...harder. Bex tried to get herself to understand, how an entire family lineage, written and recorded, could be cursed, believe they were all cursed. And it didn’t entirely fall short on her-- her inherent curiosity let her believe in many things. Ghosts, monsters, spirits-- the concept of energy and feeling it through the Earth and its elements. But witchcraft, curses, spellcasting-- the way her parents had talked to her about it, about what people in this town might say-- felt wrong. It felt almost...dirty. She took the folder Morgan handed her and glanced at it, closing up the ledger and flitting through the records. And after everything Morgan said and all the information that was now stuffed in her head, Bex really only had one question.

She turned to look at Morgan, eyes full of curiosity, and understanding, for the sorrow she obviously held for her family and the torture they’d been through. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

Morgan sat further back in her seat, her gaze drifting out to the window, where she could see the pool and the shed where she had spent so many weeks in grief. She had found out the truth, and she’d tracked down the witch who had cursed her, she had made her suffer, and she had escaped the perpetual grip of suffering that had ground her existence down to little more than fear and avoidance. She sipped her coffee slowly, thinking still. Nothing she had explicitly set out to accomplish had done her any good, and yet she wouldn’t have her good if she hadn’t bothered trying at all. How did you weigh that against everything else?

“I just came here looking for a way to find out what really happened to my family. To make all the pieces fit and get out from under thirty-nine years plus four generations of trauma. That first part was relatively easy, and I don’t, strictly speaking, regret it, even if that search came with some really, really high costs I’m still figuring out how to reckon with.” She swallowed thickly. “Before I came here, the wildest, most painfully impossible dream I had for my life--and I mean so painful I tried to think about it as little as possible--was to live in a house big enough to have people over in at a moment’s notice, with a fancy bathroom, and a room just for books, and another one just for cats. A woman to come home to, who would hold me at night, who would love me, even after knowing all of my mess and my past.” She gestured around them and looked about the room herself, trying to take in the place like it was new. “Even if I’ll never get to appreciate all of this in exactly the way I used to, wanted to, it’s still here. And it’s mine. And I wouldn’t have any of it if I’d given up or stayed home. And it’s uh...I don’t know if anything ‘worth’ some of the stuff I have to carry with me for the rest of my life, but if it was always going to be a package deal, if it would always mean a little suffering and struggle, so I could have all this, I’d do everything the same. To know what it feels like to be home, the way home is supposed to be, I’d do it.” Finally, she turned her gaze to Bex, her smile turning watery. “So I guess I did, but I found something better too.”

The contemplative silence that fell over Morgan after Bex’s question gave her enough of an answer to know what might be coming once she spoke. It wasn’t exactly a common story, but it was close enough to one that Bex understood what Morgan meant, how going through all of the pain, slogging through the hard part, was worth it in the end because she got to find a place that was better and happy and worth more. She hadn’t noticed herself tearing up while she listened until she looked up at Morgan and found a watery smile wavering back at her. She wiped them away quickly and turned her head away, fiddling with the folder she’d been handed. “So it was worth it? Coming here? Going through-- all of that?” Fighting for something she wanted and something she needed. Bex didn’t know if she had that much fight in her, she didn’t know if what Morgan was talking about was something she’d ever get to have, to try. She sniffled a little and leaned back against one of the shelves. “For what it’s worth,” she said quietly, “I’m glad you’re here.”

Morgan wiped at her own eyes and nodded. “I guess if I’d do it twice or three times over the same way, it must be.” She laughed softly, swallowing back the rest of her tears. “Uh, don’t really recommend doing everything that I did on the way to get..this. Or whatever it is you really want for yourself, Bex. It is worth it, even if it’s hard, and I do know hard, but I hope for something to be easy for you. Easy and right. Not many things are, and I feel like...I just have a feeling that you’ve already had a bit of hard.” She met the girl’s eyes, trying to gauge how close she was to the truth, how much deeper Bex would let her look. “Thank you, for saying that,” she said quietly. “I wasn’t always. Glad to be here, I mean. But I am now. I hope you’re glad to be here too. Because you really are something special, Bex…”

At that, Bex felt her heart squeeze. Morgan was always so honest and open with her, she’d let her ask crazy questions that got way more than personal. She let her sit in the back of the class and didn’t call on her unless she wanted. She let her go through her family’s entire library of books-- and all Bex had given back to her was the word tomato and an inkling of what she might want out of life. Her body drooped and she plucked at a seam on her dress. “I haven’t seen as many hard times as you,” she murmured, “that’s for sure…” Even those words said enough about the truth. She bit the inside of her cheek. “I’m happy I have a home, and I’m happy there’s so many people here that seem to care about me being happy,” she started out slowly, “but...I don’t know if I’m happy to be here, you know, at the moment.” She sighed and leaned back. “I was happy to be out. I was happy to have found a place where I might fit in better. I-- it was strange, but I liked Penn State. Even after the incident, I--” she clicked her jaw, “--don’t know. It was just nice, to have my own place…”

“Out?” It took Morgan a second to catch up to Bex’s train of thought. But there were only so many things a kid could come out as, and with the way Bex felt she owed her parents for ‘letting her’ be herself, the pieces finally clicked into place. Oh, Bexley. “Hey. It’s not a contest. And you don’t have to be happy to be here right now. Sometimes it’s better to say that, than to pretend. Pretending can be exhausting, right?” She leaned back against the pillows, curling herself up as she angled toward Bex. “I have two questions, and you can answer both, or just one, or neither, but… What happened in the um, ‘incident’? And, also, if you could have your own place, an apartment or even just a few rooms to yourself, what would it be like? What would you put in it?”

Bex gave a little snort as she suppressed a chuckle. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry-- I didn’t mean-- it’s just that-- all I do is pretend.” She shook her head. “At least it feels that way.” She sniffled a little, tried not to play all of her hand at once. She knew Morgan could see straight through her, though, so what was the point? “It um--” Bex sat back against the books, pulling her knees up to her chest, “rumors spread so quickly around campuses, you know? It’s crazy. I’d never expected anything like that. I went to private boarding school and any rumors there were just about who’s dad made more money or whatever. Anything with substance was hushed quickly.” She breathed in deep, biting her lip. “But public school is a whole other playing field, isn’t it? In private school, if you had shit to say, you said it to their face, consequences be damned because mommy and daddy would just pay it off. Anyway…someone um-- started a rumor about me and I guess this uh-- this girl, wanted to know for herself. So she asked me out and then afterwards we went back to her room and things got--” Hesitating, Bex felt her hands begin to shake. She smoothed her palms down her legs. “The point is that, she posted photos of us online and my parents found out and they really didn’t like it because you know what you can’t pay off? Teenagers with Facebook and Twitter.”

Morgan’s hand twitched, itching to reach out for Bex. “No, it’s okay, you can laugh,” she said, smiling wryly. “If you’re gonna be miserable, you may as well appreciate whatever humor you can. Even if that’s no way to live your life, especially not all the time.” She listened, trying and failing to keep her expression neutral. In the end, she stopped trying. “Bex…” she whispered. “Is it okay if I get closer to you?” She held up her hands, showing off the thin leather gloves. “I won’t feel so...cold. But…” Some traumatized kids don’t like to be touched. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, if you don’t like being touched.” She scanned her face, searching for an answer in her expression. “I’m so sorry, Bex. That anyone would treat you so cruel. You do know it wasn’t your fault, right? The horrible things people do aren’t a value or a judgement on you. You should get to be loved, Bex.”

“Who says I’m miserable!?” Bex said loudly, but it echoed in the library between them and she realized how stupid that sounded. She wrapped her arms around her knees and drew them even closer. Blinked away some hot tears building in her eyes and drew in a breath, holding it a moment. Logically, she had no real reason to dislike the touch of others so intimately-- but she knew why she did. “Um-- a little closer is fine,” she said with a short nod. Eyes couldn’t be found anymore, staring hard at her tights covered knees. “I mean-- I should’ve known, though!” she argued, “I should’ve known. No one would just like me. And I wasn’t even sure--” well, that was a blatant lie. Bex had been sure about it since she was in elementary school, and she’d only questioned herself once her parents had found out-- “that I liked-- that I was--” and she couldn’t even say the words anymore. “I should’ve known, because all people have done, all my life, is use me to get what they want. And I…” started, stopped. She didn’t know what to say anymore. “I guess that’s just my life.”

Morgan inched closer. Slowly, she feathered one finger along the girl’s temple, brushing away her tears. “There’s nothing you should’ve known. There’s no reason why you should think that anyone who says they like you isn’t being honest. There’s no good reason anyone has to be cruel like that. Whatever you’re used to, whatever people have done, that’s not your worth, or the meaning of what you can have, Bex.” She dropped her voice even softer and hovered her hand above the girl’s, which dug deep into her body. “You are such a gift, Bex. Just the way you are. You don’t have to be afraid of liking girls, or anything else about yourself. There’s nothing about who you are that isn’t wonderful, even though it doesn’t feel that way right now. Even though it feels easier to pretend to be different. You’re okay just like this.” Slower still, her hand settled on Bex’s. “Do you want me to come closer?” She asked.

Bex listened to Morgan talk but none of the words stuck. They slammed against her, pressing against old wounds that had never closed, and made her hurt. Reminded her of why they hurt. She screwed her eyes shut and put her head on her knees. She wanted to believe her, she wanted so bad to let herself believe Morgan-- but giving herself that hope would just hurt more in the end. If she let herself believe that maybe she was okay like this, her parents would just rip it away again. All she had was her ability to pretend. She’d accepted that long ago. “Tomato,” was all she said, not moving when Morgan rested a hand on hers. She was quiet for a long moment before she lifted her head again, eyes unable to meet Morgan’s. “Can we go see the bone room now?”

Morgan’s heart sank. She couldn’t stop trying any more than Bex could stop from hiding herself. It was too important. And with every opportunity she got, she thought, maybe this time, or maybe this time, or this time, or this time, or this time...it would stick. And everything would be okay. But not today.

Morgan gave the girl’s fingers a light squeeze. “Okay. Of course we can,” she said. “Come here with me, honey, I’ll show you.” She released her fingers reluctantly and stood, trying not to watch Bex too closely as she led the way out the room and down the hall. The girl would want to compose herself, or decide how she wanted to shield herself. They had that much in common, much as it pained Morgan to recognize.

The bone room was down at the end, mostly gallery, with tall display cases that housed articulated minks, foxes, squirrels, chipmunks, rats, and the like. Rows of skulls looked down from the topmost shelves, delighted in their grim, lifeless way. To the right was a case of fossils of all sorts, mostly in little chunks of ammonite and sandstone, with a few precious pieces of amber that made Morgan touch the one that hung around her neck with affection. At the end was an antique worktable with a stool, currently draped with canvas, but usually spotted with dust and tools for Deirdre to work with. Nearby, two armchairs and an end table were crammed together, Morgan’s attempt at extending quality time. She went to her spot now and sat, cozying up again.

“This one’s mine,” she said, tapping gently on the display shelf next to her. “Most are from since Deirdre came here, but I think there’s a few favorites she brought with her. She told me you could take one of the fossils with you, if you like. Just let me know which.”

Bex understood that Morgan just wanted to help, she really did-- but how was she supposed to when Bex didn’t even understand what she needed help with? The situation with her parents was difficult, she knew it wasn’t the best place for her, but she had nowhere else to go. No guarantee that she would have anything if she acted out. No guarantee that they would let her go. Her obedience stemmed from fear and she understood that, on some level, but she also just wanted her parents to tell her they loved her. Tell her they were proud of her. That was an achievable goal, she knew it, she just needed to tough it out for a little bit, be the daughter they wanted. She could do that, really, she could.

Still, she felt the disappointment in Morgan’s words when she closed up, and Bex couldn’t lift her eyes from the floor. Even the small squeeze of her fingers made her muscles tighten. She wasn’t used to affectionate touches, to those small, reassuring ones that were meant to comfort, not hurt. Swallowing, she stood up with her and shuffled behind her towards the bone room. It was as wonderful and amazing as she thought it might be, old fossils and bones lining the wall, history written forever in the DNA of living beings-- but she couldn’t find the words to voice her feelings. Silently, she walked over to the work table and ran her fingers over the cloth, wondering what it looked like underneath. Imagining what it might feel like to sit in the stool herself and work away at restoring some old fossil or artifact she’d found while exploring.

At Morgan’s words, she turned back to look at her. “It’s-- that’s okay,” she said, turning her attention to the display case Morgan had motioned to as hers. “I don’t have a spot for it yet.” A spot to hide it, as it were. She paused in front of the case. “You made all of these?”

Morgan turned around in her seat and peered over at the shelf Bex was standing by. She didn’t try to stifle the fondness at seeing her handiwork: articulated squirrels and birds, the bone crown that had won first place at the town craft fair, some jewelry she had gifted or made just for practice, and lots of partial limbs, paws, wings, and skulls carefully cleaned and polished. “We articulated the skeletons together, and that doe, hanging up there,” she pointed to the wall. “I brought the pieces to her as a birthday present. I really don’t know enough about anatomy in order to be able to tell what goes where on my own. But I like them. And the things I get to make, obviously. I like how, even if their old selves aren’t really here, something is still left behind. Something even beautiful. Death doesn’t always have to be grotesque. There can still be change, and beauty. And that’s just...something that is really important for me to remember right now.” She laughed, self-deprecating, at some of her rougher practice pieces. “I’m getting better, by the way. Not great, but, uh.” She shrugged.

Bex could understand that. A skeleton of what they used to be, still here, just different. Even after death, something remained. Maybe there was more than one kind of death. Her eyes traveled the skeletons, the articulated squirrel, the birds, with their fragile, delicate wing bones; the bone crown, decorated with moss and flowers and jewels. There was a deep sense of longing Bex felt looking at them. It wasn’t the same, the thing she craved, but it was close enough to make her feel a deep envy for what Morgan had. A loving girlfriend, a home that felt real, a hobby that satisfied her, and confidence to be herself. Bex’s hands wrung together and she stole a small glance over at Morgan in her chair. “I think it’s incredible,” she said quietly, “and so beautiful.” Suddenly, she turned to fully face Morgan, eyes more steady than they had been most of the afternoon. “Can you teach me how to do it?”

Morgan didn’t say anything at first. She was hoping to get Bex to take a piece, something discreet, to remind her that she wasn’t alone, as close to an enchantment as a mundane object could get. She hadn’t expected Bex (or anyone besides Erin and Gabe, really) to care about the work she did with her hands. But she couldn’t deny how it had helped her, and she did want Bex to come by more often. At this point, her magic barely factored into the picture at all. It was this cage she carried around herself, this thing her parents had built. Morgan’s features softened and she climbed out of the chair, coming as close to the girl as she dared. “If that’s what you want, Bex, I’d like nothing more.”

“I think it’d be nice,” Bex said, “to learn how to do something with my hands. To...make and not break.” LIke the pot, like the sidewalk, like the windows. Like everything. She idled, hands wringing together again. “I’ve watched videos of people doing this kind of work, like um-- cleaning bones, and fossils and putting them back together. Making something new out of something most people would think is lifeless. I guess I don’t really seem like the type of person to like this kind of thing, right?” But that was just it, wasn’t it? She was the kind of person that liked those things. The persona she played wasn’t real. Her hands begged to build and touch and feel and create. Discover. Her demeanor changed quickly and her body tightened again. “Just don’t...you can’t tell anyone.”

“Oh, and I look like someone who does?” Morgan balked, laughing. She gestured to her rose-pink skirt, her periwinkle blue sweater. Maybe the skull on her pendant was a little bit of a hint, or the bone ring on her middle finger, but a lot of people couldn’t tell it apart from plastic, they’d seen so little of it before. However much she’d changed, Morgan still clung to life, and sometimes she even let it show. “The last thing I would ever presume, Bex, is a limit on what you’re capable of. But I won’t tell anyone. Except for Deirdre. Because I tell her everything, and she’s going to be so excited, but other than that: no one outside this home needs to know. And!” She left the room and beckoned for Bex to follow her. “It just so happens that I do my work in my own little hidey-hole. We’ll be working there when you come to visit. Or we can set up a temporary workstation in the kitchen, if you prefer.” She stopped short of the back door, which led onto the patio, the garden, the pool, and Morgan’s little gray studio. “And you can turn up whenever you want for a lesson, though I won’t lie, it’d be nice to see you once a week. You’re pretty great to be around, and it’s not an easy thing to get the hang of.”

Bex gave a tiny smile at that. It was true, Morgan didn’t seem like the kind of person to like working with dead things or bones, but Bex couldn’t be too surprised, since she liked those things, too. Maybe they weren’t so different after all. Maybe there was hope for Bex to have something like Morgan did. She blinked, following Morgan through the house towards the back door. “That’s okay, you can tell her,” she said with a small nod, “I trust her, too.” And maybe there were only a few of those people around, but Bex’s group of people she trusted was slowly expanding. Now, she’d just have to come up with a way to explain to her parents where she was going so often. She could probably get away with a half lie-- they’d be thrilled if they knew she was working extra with a professor from the school. They just didn’t need to know which professor and what they were doing. She could have this one thing. “Is that the shed you told me about? The one in the backyard?” she asked, curious. “I think that’d be fine. I wouldn’t mind working there.” Her eyes came up to look at Morgan finally, a bit of hope twinkling in them. “I think I can do that. Once a week…” It was a wild concept, to have something to look forward to each week-- but she was sure she’d get used to it. “I can do that.”

Morgan beamed. “You can just tell your parents you’re taking on an independent study, or a research assistantship! I don’t actually have those at my pay grade, but--” She shrugged, signaling shh. It wouldn’t matter, in the end. As long as Bex could get here without invoking their ire, as long as she could find a space to grow a little piece of happiness, the details didn’t matter. Morgan led the way out the back and through the freshly paved path that lead to her studio. She opened the door for them and switched on the lights, then the overhead for the table she worked at. Schoolwork mingled with glue and thread and wire and half a dozen animal vertebrae scattered before and armature that needed to be assembled and deer horns in need of cutting, skulls that only been freshly skinned and still had to be polished. Her tool cabinet hung half open from when she’d abandoned work in the morning. It was a whole world of knowledge waiting to be understood. Morgan grinned and gestured for Bex to join her. “What do you say we get started now?”

#chatzy #chatzy: morgan #wickedswriting #bare bones #morgan #tw homophobia mention #tw transphobia mention #tw child abuse mention

8 notes · View notes

thepatricktreestump · 5 years

Text

You’re Okay: MCU imagine

Tony Stark (dad) x Reader (daughter) x Peter Parker (boyfriend) x Quentin Beck (villain)

A/N: after seeing Spider-Man far from home i definitely needed a breather of fluff to get over it, but not gonna lie, this includes some angst too. also sorry for the random uploads, i’ve been working and running errands constantly but writing when i can, usually on my novel, but sometimes on fanfics. love you all.

this is part 2 of Anyone Else: which you can find here

Closing the algebra textbook on your bed, you sighed heavily, glad you were finally done with your homework for the night. Thankfully Tony had allowed you to drag your textbooks to the dinner table so you could study while you ate, and that had allowed you to get to bed at a halfway decent time. You shoved the textbook and notebook off of your bed into your bookbag, making a mental note that you’d clean it up in the morning, then shrugged off your shorts, tossed them in the hamper, and rolled over in your sheets. With the snap of your fingers, your lights turned off, and you smiled a bit to yourself, glad that the work for the day was done and you could finally relax. Your brain was exhausted, mind filled up with different equations and theorems, and as you closed your eyes, you wanted nothing more than peace and quiet until tomorrow’s sunrise. That was, until you heard a knock. You groaned, sitting up, wiping the grogginess out of your eyes. “Tony? Seriously?” you whined. “I was already half asleep.” That’s when the knock came again, and you snapped the lights on, confused as to why the door hadn’t opened. “Dad?” You whipped your head to the window, eyes widening at the masked boy on the other side of the glass.

“Hey!” he waved to you, glad to see you were awake and attentive, but you were ever the latter.

“Peter?” you hissed, flinging off your sheets and racing to the window. “What the hell?” You unlatched the sill and slid it up, staring at him, still bewildered and frustrated. “Peter, it’s a school night! God, school night? Forget that, that doesn’t even matter right now.” You shook your head, staring at him once again. “My dad is literally going to kill you!”

“And lose one of his best avengers?” he teased. “Nah, don’t think so, y/n.”

“Oh shut up,” you rolled your eyes, allowing him to climb into your bedroom, still donned in his suit. “So what’s the special occasion, Spider-Man?” You folded your arms, looking him up and down, trying not to blush. You had been dating Peter Parker for almost two weeks now, but still, every time you saw him in his red suit, you couldn’t help but try to hide a squeal. It was sometimes hard to picture the ever amazing Spider-Man and your nerdy dork of a boyfriend Peter as the same person.

“I wanted to visit you,” he shrugged, sitting on the edge of your bed. “It’s been a while since we’ve seen each other outside of school.”

“It’s cause you work all the time,” you frowned, poking a playful finger into his chest. “With your superhero adventures and all of that.” You huffed. “Honestly sometimes I think you spend more time around my dad than you do me.”

“Not my choice,” he put his hands up in surrender. “Trust me.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you sighed, finding yourself crawling up into his lap, linking your arms around his neck, smiling. “You should take your mask off so you can kiss me.”

“Hmm?” he tilted his head to the side, making you giggle.

“You heard me,” you told him shyly and he laughed a bit too before reaching up to tug his mask off of his head, exposing his messy brown curls and his tired eyes. “Aw baby, you look exhausted.”

“I’m fine, really,” he reassured, shaking his head. “Just a late night mission, that’s all.”

“I’m sorry,” you looked down, feeling guilty. “You probably don’t have time for me, you know. You’re already busy with school and the whole Spider-Man thing…”

“Hey,” Peter lifted your chin to look at him, saddened. “Don’t say that, y/n. I love you. I will always have time for you. Even though it might not be as much time as I want, there will be time. I’ll make time. Anything for you.”

“Okay,” you managed a small smile. “I love you too.”

He leaned in for a kiss and you melted into him, letting yourself relax, his hands pressing into your back. He was right. You hadn’t seen him outside of school for a couple days now, and it was eating at you alive. Much less, most of the time he was around, Tony was watching both of you like a hawk. “I can’t stay long,” he apologized. “I still need to finish my homework.”

“Just stay here,” you begged, wrapping your arms around him tight, burying your face in the crook of his neck. “Forget the homework.”

“I know. I wish I could, love,” he hushed. “But Aunt May is waiting for me and she still thinks I’m over at Ned’s.”

“Alright,” you sighed in defeat. “Well… promise to visit me like this sometime again?”

“Promise,” he nodded.

Peter gave you one last kiss before you slid off of his lap and handed him his mask, watching as he fixed it on and climbed out the window, then shot a web and swung away. You watched half in awe and half in longing, wishing he could’ve stayed even maybe just a minute more. He started to disappear into the distance of skyscrapers and towers, and you slid down the window, crawling back into your bed and resting your eyes, ready for school tomorrow.

“You’re not going to school,” is the very first thing that comes out of Tony’s mouth when you arrive downstairs the next morning.

“What?” you stare at him blinking, still clutching the straps of your bookbag. “Seriously? Do you know how late I stayed up last night working on those math problems?”

“We’ve got a mission and I don’t feel comfortable leaving you home alone, so I’m taking you with us,” he stated. “Get packed. We leave in two hours.”

“Is Peter coming?” you asked eagerly and he looked at you, disappointed.

“It’s not a family vacation with your boyfriend, alright kiddo? It’s a serious situation we need to take care of,” he scolded. “Go up and get your bags. I’m taking you with us for safety reasons.”

“Safety reasons,” you mocked under your breath as you walked away and you could practically envision him scowl.

“You better behave young lady or someone’s going to get their window privileges taken away,” he warned and you stopped dead in your tracks, eyes wide.

“Excuse me?” you turned around, shocked.

“What?” he stared back at you, a bit prideful in himself. “You didn’t think I’d catch little Spidey-Boy crawling through your window last night?”

“Dad,” you groaned, frustrated. “What did I say about invading my privacy?”

“What did I say about the rules?” he cocked his head to the side, obviously annoyed. “I told you no seeing the Parker kid after midnight. And he’s definitely not allowed in your room.”

“He wasn’t in my room!” you tried to protest with a lie and he narrowed his eyes.

“Your window is part of your room,” he argued. “And last I checked, two in the morning is past midnight.”

“Fine,” you grumbled, turning on your heels and walking back towards the elevator to go upstairs and pack.

To be completely honest, you weren’t really sure where you were going, but from what Tony had told you, it seemed like the rest of the Avengers would be there. You’ve met them on a couple occasions, but Tony highly discouraged getting too involved. You understood to an extent, but you didn’t see what was so harmful about having a little fun. You were already dating one of them, and the daughter of another, why couldn’t you just be friends with the Hulk or Black Widow? What was so wrong about that? You sighed, pondering about it as you flung open your suitcase and looked for a couple good outfits to bring along. You didn’t know whether it would be warm or cold, so you decided to pack for both just to be safe.

That’s when there was a knock on your door and you sighed once again, trudging to go open it. “Who are you?” you stared at the two men donned in suits strangely, seeing as you didn’t recognize them from anywhere before.

“Come with us,” they simply stated, and you raised an eyebrow, twice as confused.

“Did Tony send you? Are you going to take my bags?” you inquired.

They shared a look, then nodded, going back to facing you. “Uh yeah, Tony told us to take your bags. You’re coming with us,” the first one announced, holding out a hand to grab your suitcase.

“Oh,” you gave a second look, unsure at first, but noted the professionalism and the suits. “Alright.” You handed over your luggage and stepped out the door with them, wondering where Tony or Happy would be. They usually were right by your side during these types of excursions.

“Keep up,” the second suited man encouraged, noting the way you seemed to be distracted as you followed them down the hall.

Before you knew it, they were escorting you into the back of a limousine, then to a building. “Soooo…” you drew out the word as they took you down a series of hallways. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see soon enough,” one of them mumbled.

“The way my dad made it out to be I thought we’d be going to London or Tokyo or something,” you laughed and they paused, turning around.

“Your dad?” they asked at the same time.

“Well yeah, Tony,” you clarified. “Uh, you know. I’m y/n. Y/n Stark.”

“Right,” the first one nodded carefully, although looked surprised at the information. “Just down this hall, it’s the last door.”

“You all keep acting strange,” you hummed. “Something doesn’t seem right.”

“Just go through the door,” the second one groaned, opening it up and shoving you through. The doors clicked locked behind you and your eyes widened, seeming to realize this was probably a trap. Goddamn it, y/n, you were so oblivious sometimes. You instantly turned around, miserably trying to flail open the door, fingers gripped tightly at the handles, but you heard a tsk, tsk noise from behind and you rescinded, facing another suited man across a desk, this one with an aftershave and slicked back hair, looking particularly smug.

“Ms. Stark now, is it?” he smirked, making you feel particularly uneasy. “Well, I thought you were just Spider-Man’s girlfriend, but now, what’s this? Iron Man’s daughter? How riveting.” He gestures to the chairs gathered around the conference table. “Why don’t you have a seat?”

Panic seized your body at the realization and you instantly pressed the charm on the bracelet Tony had gifted you, the one he had urged you to wear in case of any emergency. He had crafted it himself with a tracker and alert system in case you ever were in a time like this. You clicked the button three times, expecting it to light up like it usually would, but nothing happened. You cursed, shaking and sweating, clicking it wildly, but the man just threw his head back in a laugh. You paused, looking at him, disgusted and terrified all at the same time.

“That pretty little technology won’t work here,” he chuckled. “Give up already, there’s no escape. Nobody’s coming to save you, princess. Not your Spider-man boyfriend, and definitely not your Iron Man dad. It’s just you and me now. So why don’t you have a seat and let’s talk this one out?”

“What do you want?” you scowled, crossing your arms, refusing to sit down.

“Let’s be civil now,” he narrowed his eyes. “Wouldn’t want things to get ugly.”

“Who are you?” you pestered him with another question, sick to your stomach that you were stupid enough to find yourself in such a shitty situation. Tony would be so disappointed.

“Quentin,” he gave a sinister smile. “Quentin Beck.”

“Am I supposed to know who you are or something?” you tilted your head to the side, clearly unimpressed. “Because I really don’t.”

“I used to work for your daddy’s company,” he teased. “Stark Industries? Ring a bell?”

“Yeah I’m not a dumbass,” you argued. “I know his company. But what does that have to do with me being here?”

“You, my darling,” he begins, hardening his expression and pulling out his wrist, staring at it as if to check the time, but that’s when you realize the contraption fixed to his arm. “You are my chess piece.” He clicks a button and the entire scenery shifts, conference tables and seats fading away, making you scream and curse in confusion, until you focus upon a new scene with a dark sky. You’re in an alleyway. Alone. “You didn’t want to take the easy route, so I guess you’ll have to play my little game, hmm?” His voice echoed in your ears, but you didn’t know where it was coming from. He was nowhere to be found.

Surveying the area, you began to notice someone at the very end of the alley, a small boy with messy brown hair carrying a bookbag. As you approached, he looked familiar, and you began to run to him, eyes widening at the connection. “Peter!” you called his name, running faster towards him. “Peter!” But no matter how fast it seemed you ran, you were getting nowhere, the distance between you refusing to lessen. You called his name louder, hoping he would hear you, but a dark shadowy figure came into view at the end of the alley, pulling some sort of weapon out of his pocket, pointing it at the boy. “No! Fuck, Peter- no!” You ran as fast as you can, your lungs seeming to collapse and your legs burning with exhaustion, but it happened before your eyes. A zap of blue lightning seemed to shoot out of the weapon, causing the boy to tumble to the ground clutching his chest, then crumble to the gravel motionless while the shadowy figure walked away. Tears formed in your eyes, you screaming out, still trying to run towards him, but it was no use. He slowly closed his eyes, lips parted open, still. Was he-? No. He couldn’t be.

As you ran faster you found the scene changing, and you were atop a glass bridge, high above a city full of lights, stomach feeling queasy. “What?” you looked around, panicked, wondering what had happened to Peter and the alleyway. You stared down the side of the bridge, head spinning. You must have been at least several miles up, everything was so small. You took a step back from the railing and felt the brittle glass underneath you crack, your heartbeat pounding in your chest. “No, no, no, no-” the glass shattered and you felt yourself falling down below, shutting your eyes tight, screaming as you fell, until you opened your eyes, the dropping sensation stopped all of a sudden.

Everything was gone. You were in your bed. “Huh,” you laughed a bit to yourself. “God, I’m glad that was just a weird ass dream.” You sat up from where you were laying down, looking around to make sure, and you saw everything in place like usual. You sighed of relief, then heard a tapping at the glass, raising an eyebrow and going to check. It was Peter. Your eyes lit up and you raced towards the window, opening it up and greeting him with a smile, tugging him into your room. “God, I’m so glad you’re here,” you practically cried from happiness, embracing him tightly. “I was so confused, and I thought you were hurt, but I guess-” Suddenly he shoved you back and you paused, offended and scared, looking at the masked boy you loved. “Peter what are you doing?” He shot a web straight at you, pinning you the wall, practically suffocating. “Peter! What the fuck?” He shot another web. And another. And another. Each one suffocating you more and more. You felt like you might pass out each minute. Why was he doing this? That’s when he reached up to pull down his mask and you saw a ghastly face, skin peeled off, eyes bleeding, jagged teeth, a monstrous sight. You screamed and closed your eyes but when you woke up…. You were back where you began.

You struggled to catch your breath, staring at the man who had caused you such worry, Quentin Beck. “You fucking prick!” you shouted, clutching your chest, trying to keep calm. Your head still felt like it was spinning, a dizzying sensation coursing through your body as you tried to reel back into reality. “Why would you do that? Why would you mess with my head like that? Why would you-”

“Oh Ms. Stark,” he simply chuckled, shaking his head. “Don’t you know? The game has just begun.”

“Stop!” you raced towards him but it was no use, his fingers already tapping at the device on his wrist, scenery changing.

Though this time, it was at an incredible pace. There was Tony, screaming at you, telling you he hated you, that he wished you had never come crawling back to him. There was your childhood bedroom, the screaming from your mother and stepfather being heard echoing down the halls. There was your school, bullies pushing you into lockers and tugging at your hair, laughing at you and calling you names. There were monsters from your nightmares, your worst fears come to life, visions so terrifying you felt as if paralyzed. One after another, small snippets crushed your soul, making you feel overwhelmed, scared, alone, questioning one after another. They all felt so real. Despite Beck’s machine and the conference room and the memory of being kidnapped, you felt each and every scene. Frustrated and confused, tears began to stream down your face, you screaming for him to stop.

This time when you returned to the conference room you barely even had enough energy or willpower to stand, instead tumbling towards the floor, a sobbing mess, trying to form a coherent sentence. He had ruined you, messed with your mind, made you question everything. You just wanted to disappear. “Oh, sweetheart,” he teased in a patronizing tone, walking over to you, staring down at where you had collapsed. “What happened to that spitfire stubbornness you inherited from your daddy? It’s gone all of a sudden? What a shame.”

“Fuck you!” you spat, still crying, eyes stinging from tears, heart racing, body aching. “Fuck you and your games! What do you want?”

He knelt down beside you, clutching your face and tugging up your chin to look at him, making you feel helpless. “I want you to give me access to the room,” he whispered and your heart sank in your chest. “You know which one.”

“N-no,” you sputtered out. “I can’t, I’m sorry, I really can’t do that-”

“I know you can,” he insisted. “I know you and your little Spidey-boyfriend broke in once. You can break in again.”

“That’s for the Avengers, that’s not for me, it was an accident the first time, I couldn’t have possibly done it on my own,” you rambled but he pressed a finger to your mouth to hush you.

“Enough talking,” he silenced. “Take me there.”

You bit down on your bottom lip, staring at him, trying to think of something, anything, but he was right. You were out of options. Defenseless. There wasn’t any other way. “Okay,” you surrendered.

“Affirmative,” Beck spoke into an earpiece you just now realized he was wearing. “Task accomplished, voluntary captive, proceed.”

He let go of your face, forcefully tossing you back to the ground, standing back and smirking, making you hate him even more. The conference doors swung open and the two suited men marched in, collecting you up from the ground, and you gave in.

“Drive faster,” Beck snarled as the two suited men occupied the front seats of the limousine and he accompanied you in the back.

“We’re driving as fast as we can, boss,” the one in the passenger seat reassured. “We don’t want to draw unnecessary attention towards ourselves.”

“If Tin Man or Tarantula Boy comes crashing down on top of this limousine, I swear to god I’m going to wring your throats,” he threatened. “Drive faster!”

You looked out the window as the skyscrapers and towers passed, wondering and hoping and praying that it would happen. That your dad would swoop in and scoop you right out of this limo, blast Beck in his stupid sorry face, and then beat the suited guys to a pulp. You had never seen him in action before. He had strictly kept you away from his whole superhero persona and business. But you secretly always dreamt of what it would be like to watch him save you from danger. You had only seen him wear the suit and use his powers in YouTube videos or on news snippets. If you weren’t so winded yourself, you’d try to unlock the door and tumble out onto the street and then race towards the nearest help. That was, if Beck didn’t catch you and strangle you to death beforehand. Instead you sighed, slumping down in your seat, defeated. The evil man sitting beside you failed to hide a slight smile upon noting your negative tone before gazing out his own window.

That was, until the entire car jostled and both of you stared at each other for a second, the tires screeching and everyone in the vehicle shouting, jerking to the left. You crashed into the nearest parked car, your eyes readjusting as the broken glass collected in your lap and the airbags went off at the front. You tried to catch your breath before the car jerked towards the right, signaling this was only the beginning of the attack. “Who the fuck?” Beck cursed beside you, holding his hand to his forehead that was now bleeding, unbuckling and jerking open his car door. You watched carefully, then came to your own senses, crawling out of the car and looking out.

“Y/n?” Spider-Man stood in the middle of the street, staring at you, head tilted. “Oh god. No, you were in that car, you could’ve been hurt, shit, I didn’t know-”

Caught off guard, he was tossed to the ground with a single blast of Beck’s device, skidding across the asphalt of the street. “I am Mysterio!” Beck roared, shooting another blast, causing Spider-Man to come tumbling down once again, this time into traffic. “Fear me!”

Cars swerved, a couple honked, others turned around, some parked and people got out to record the chaos on their phones. You stood in shock, scared he would be hurt by this maniac. “No!” you raced towards him before Beck got in your way, shouting out his ridiculous villain name before shooting another blast as your boyfriend got up, slinging a web up towards a street light and swinging away.

“Come back here, you stupid insect!” Beck roared.

“I’m actually an arachnid,” Spidey shrugged, shooting at web towards his arm only to miss, catching the wall beside him. He was such a fucking dork. You couldn’t help but giggle to yourself despite the stress of the situation. That was, until you felt two arms come up behind you and put you in a headlock.

“Hey!” you screamed, causing your boy to whip his head around to stare at the scene.

“Y/n, no!” Spider-Man’s eyes went wide and as you began to choke you watched as he was swept off his feet from distraction once again, Beck stepping on his chest, pointing the weapon to his face.

“S-stop! D-don’t h-hurt him!” you shouted out a strangled cry, but the arms squeezed harder. It was the henchmen, the suited ones, they must’ve gotten out of the car. You eyes teared up and you began to feel lightheaded, trashing and kicking about as much as you could, blurry vision watching as Beck kicked Spider-Man in the face, making your chest heave up with emotion.

“Hey asshole!” you heard a familiar voice and instantly the arms dropped you, causing you to collapse to the ground. You groaned to yourself, realizing you had found yourself suffocating on the floor far too many times in the past three hours, before looking up, coming face to face with your father, fully suited. Your frown broke out into a grin.

“Iron Man?” you raised an eyebrow, a bit eager to see how this would play out.

“Hey Princess Peach,” he gave you a nod before extending his palm and blasting the suited man in the chest, sending him skidding down the asphalt. “You alright?”

“Y-yeah I’m fine,” you replied, a bit shocked at the brutal violence and crazy technology, but amazed all the same. Also, a bit annoyed at the nickname, but your clapback could wait for later.

“Good, cause I’ve got to go save your fool of a boyfriend,” he responded. “I’ll be back. You wait somewhere safe.” He zoomed off, rocket blasters lifting him up off the ground and soaring into the sky, then crashing down on top of Mysterio or Beck or whoever the lunatic was, sending Spidey free.

“Hell yes!” you did a fist pump before racing towards the nearest awning.

“Douchebag, why don’t you learn to leave my kids alone, huh?” Iron Man blasted him in the chest again, sending him towards the nearest building, but not nearly done with him yet. You almost wanted a bag of popcorn to munch on while watching the battle. Your eyes were fixated on the robot suit and the crazy screaming man until something out of the corner of your eye caught your attention. Fuck.

“Pe- I mean, Spider-Man!” you caught yourself, looking around, realizing you couldn’t shout his name, swallowing down the rest of your words before racing towards him.

The poor kid was sprawled out on the concrete, hacking up blood, and you raced faster, kneeling down beside him, gasping when you saw his suit. “Fuck, Peter-” you could barely breathe or speak. “A-Are you okay?”

“Hey…” he weakly responded, barely even able to lift his head.

“Jesus,” your face fell. His suit was torn in some places, blood stained in others, sticky webs tangled in other parts, and even some fabric singed. “Are you bleeding? Is that your blood?”

“I’m fine, y/n,” he whispered but he clearly wasn’t. Sounds of screams, blasts, and crumbling buildings surrounded you, but you didn’t care. You needed to make sure he was okay.

“Come on, we’re getting you out of here,” you insisted, trying to pick him up, but unable to do much but lift his torso. “I’m sorry, I’m going to have to drag you.”

Struggling but persistent, you took him to the nearest building, thankful most people had already evacuated due to the violence in the streets. “Let’s go to the back,” Peter suggested. “I can’t have anyone see me.”

“Right, right,” you nodded, helping him towards the back of the store, helping him sit up behind a couple aisles before rushing to the front door and locking it for your own privacy, then racing back to him. “Come on baby, let’s take off your mask.” You carefully helped pry the fabric of the suit off of him, letting him gasp for air, but frowned upon the sight of the gashes on his jaw and the already forming bruise on his cheek. “Shit Pete, it’s so bad-”

“I-I’m okay,” he insisted, still coughing up a lung, clutching his side.

“I’m so sorry,” you apologized. “I didn’t mean for this to happen, I should’ve been smarter, I didn’t know…”

“I’m just glad you’re alright,” he reassured, putting a hand up to your face, holding your cheek softly. “As soon as Mr. Stark and I realized you were missing, we rushed out to find you. We didn’t know that you were with Mysterio, I would have never crashed the car, I didn’t know you were in there-”

“I’m fine, really,” you gave a soft smile. “It’s you I’m worried about.”

“I’ll be okay,” he smiled back. “I’m Spider-Man.”

“Yeah,” you grinned. “I know.” You pressed a soft kiss to his forehead and sighed, hugging him gently towards you, letting him lean his weight onto your shoulder.

“Y/n, c-can you maybe get m-me some water? Is that okay?” he stuttered out and you nodded quickly.

“Of course,” you replied. “God, I should’ve thought of that. Yeah, one second.” You slowly got up and looked for the nearest fridge and then pulled out a couple bottles, taking it back to him, uncapping one before handing it off. “It’s really important you hydrate.”

In that moment it was quiet. Silence. Peter leaning on you, occasionally coughing, slowly sipping on water, you playing with his hair while staring at his mask on the ground. This is what Tony meant when he told you that knowing was dangerous. When he had said that there were people who wanted to hurt you, to hurt Peter, to hurt him. You were part of this now, like it or not, and it was part of your responsibility, as well as his, that nothing happened to you. And you just went and ruined it. You pressed your lips together, feeling slightly guilty about it all, hating yourself. Not only were they constantly chasing after villains and going out on missions, they were now cleaning up after your mess. You lowered your head, feeling down, and Peter looked at you, concerned.

“It’s not your fault,” he whispered. “You didn’t know.”

“Yeah but I should’ve been smarter,” you mumbled. “I should’ve been better.”

“Hey,” Peter frowned. “Don’t say that. Anyone else would’ve done the same. I’m just proud you didn’t give up. You kept fighting.”

“Y-yeah,” you nodded, thinking back to when you had given up, when you surrendered, when you agreed to take Beck back to the tower. You were weak.

“I’m just glad you’re okay,” he gave you a soft hug, smiling, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “That’s what’s important, alright? Not what happened, not who was involved, just that everything’s better now. Okay?”

“Mhmm,” you replied, starting to get his point. “I guess you’re right.”

“Hey Romeo and Juliet!” you heard a knocking at the storefront window and you both groaned. “You gonna thank Prince Charming, or what?”

“I’ll get it,” you rolled your eyes, giving Peter another kiss on the cheek before heading to the door. “Yeah, yeah, thanks.”

“We are going to have a talk, young lady,” he pointed at you, and even in the Iron Man suit, you could envision him narrowing his eyes.

“I know,” you sighed. “I know.”

“Where’s Spidey-Boy?” he asked, looking around.

“In the back,” you motioned. “Gave him some water and let him take off the mask so he can breathe.”

“That’s good,” he nodded. “I called Happy, he’ll be here any minute now to come pick us up.”

“What about the mission?” you asked, a bit panicked as you walked with him to the back of the store.

“Honey, that was the mission,” he explained. “We were supposed to track down Mysterio because he had stolen some high tech advanced weapons from me and was planning on stealing even more. Apparently we got the location wrong because, well hell, he was here with you instead of where we were headed in Berlin. Strangely enough, you getting captured was helpful, in a weird twisted way. Uh, anyways.” He clears his throat. “Don’t worry about the mission, we got it covered.” He pauses. “You okay, kiddo?”

“I will be,” you reassured.

“Good,” he put a hand on your shoulder. “Let’s patch up your boyfriend and then we can get home and talk.”

The lecture Tony gave you was not nearly as bad as you thought it would be. Rather than scolding you for irresponsibility and stupidity, he reprimanded you for giving him a whole ass heart attack and a half. He reinstated just how important you were to him, and Peter too, saying that he’d do anything to keep you two safe or if need be, save you. He also explained a couple more things about the case, detailing his past with Quentin Beck, who had coined the name Mysterio and foiled several of the Avengers’ and Tony’s plans in the past, as well as stolen his achievements and inventions. He gave you a big hug and then promised to update your emergency bracelet before giving you permission to hang out with Peter Parker, although a bit hesitant. Honestly, he wasn’t half that bad as a father after all.

“Hey,” you gave a half smile as you noticed Peter enter the lounge, holding a cold pack to his face. “How’s it going?”

“Got a lengthy talk from your dad,” he laughed, shrugging his bookbag off his shoulder and sitting down on the couch next to you, stretching an arm around your waist and planting a kiss on your forehead, tossing the cold pack to the side.

“Oh god,” you rolled your eyes and groaned. “I’m so sorry. What about?”

“He said I can’t let you and my emotions get in the way of my work,” he chewed on his lower lip. “He noticed how I would get distracted whenever you were involved. With the car and then with the suited guys, I was always knocked to the ground whenever I was vulnerable. He said it wasn’t acceptable, no matter who was on the other end of the line, that I had to keep my head straight. Because in the process of saving you, I might lose you, and I might end up dead myself.” He shakes his head, clearing his thoughts. “It’s ridiculous, seeing as I’d do just about anything for you, but… yeah. I guess he does have a point. People need me.”

“Of course,” you agreed, although warm hearted at his reflection. “There’s a world that needs saving.”

“That job’s for your dad,” he chuckled. “Me? I’m more of your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.”

“Sure…” you replied sarcastically. “As if you’re not a web slinging Avenger in your spare time.”

“Shhh!” he tickled your side playfully. “That’s a secret! How do you know?”

“Peter! Peter!” you laughed, pushing him away until he rescinded. “Don’t you know my weakness? How dare you defeat me with your tickles!”

“My bad,” he raised his hands in surrender, laughing a bit himself. He slowly trails off, staring at you, pressing his lips together. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

“Same,” you whispered. “And for you too.”

“No matter what happens, we’ll get through this,” Peter promised, smiling at you. “Together.”

“Absolutely,” you nodded, breaking out into a grin. “It’s not like I’m dating a superhero for nothing.”

183 notes · View notes

italkaboutbooks · 4 years

Text

An in depth analysis of Aurora Rising//Part 3

Read part one here

Here we are my fellow humans. Part three of my incoherent ramblings about Aurora Rising. This shall be the final instalment of the trilogy. Hopefully. I really hope so.

Worldbuilding

Seeing how it’s a sci-fi novel of course we need to talk about world building.

The Worldbuilding is mainly alright. It’s believable for me for the most part. I like the fold, and think it’s a cool way to explain fast space travel. I also like how they used Auri’s phone thing to explain everything in an entertaining way. Are they info dumps? Yes, absolutely. But it’s told in an unconventional fun way, so you’re not as pissed off about it. At least I wasn’t.

However like almost everything else, I have complaints. First off, there’s the mention of one world faith, basically meaning that there’s one religion, and everybody seems okay with this. How unrealistic is that? You cannot sit here and tell me that an entire galaxy agreed to believe in the exact same god, even going as far to leave their own religions. I can’t believe that, and I refuse to believe that. Give me Muslims in space, and actual religions in sci-fi because that sounds much more interesting to me.

Speaking of unoriginality, I hate the way aliens look. Every alien species in this book are like humans in some way. They walk on two legs, have humanoid faces (especially Kal,) and are just extremely uninspired to me.

These are aliens! Aliens are probably the creature with the most creative freedom because we have no idea what they look like! They can look like anything you want! And yet, you choose to make them all look like us humans? Unacceptable. I hate it so much.

I’ll cut some slack on the authors, because the aliens culture are very fascinating to learn about. Confusing, but fascinating, and so I think that they did a good job at that aspect of the Worldbuilding.

All in all, they could’ve done much more cool stuff with the world, but it was still fairly solid to me.

Themes/Intentions Again

If you somehow remember the beginning of part one, then you’ll remember me saying that this book was intended to be fun. You can tell by the synopsis that it’s supposed to be a fun space story. So themes don’t seem to be an important aspect of Aurora Rising.

But I think themes and messages always somehow make their way into stories whether you like it or not. A part of me feels that I should read the entire series before I talk about the theme of the book. But, I’ll have to make do with book 1.

The theme for Aurora Rising seems to be a fairly basic one. It’s that you can make friends in the most unexpected of places, and that you can do great things despite your reputation or past. Fairly basic, but it’s shown through different aliens and humans with different personalities all becoming “friends” and trying to stop a hive mind from taking over the universe.

As you can tell from my use of quotations over friends, I personally think that they could’ve done a better job of showing them actually hating each other and then learning to care about each other, because it would have made the story just a little extra special.

And I don’t think that every story needs to be profound or revolutionary, in fact I don’t want every story to have to make me think and ponder over certain topics. Those kinds of stories are great, but I can view/read those when I’m interested.

However, it feels like the authors were too focused on making the story fun. Remember when I mentioned that it was compared to Guardians of the Galaxy? And then I compared to to GotG myself? Yeah, well one of the main key differences in these two stories I think was that it let GotG be meaningful. It let the characters open up about their pasts, learn more about each other and their motivations, and actually had them form a bond that began with them trying to get the other arrested and such. I feel like the authors of Aurora Rising were too focused on making a fun story, that any meaningful substance was forced out.

I think that’s what most people’s biggest complaint was. Was that these characters weren’t really allowed to be people, only characters, and that spoils the real fun for some readers.

So...what are my thoughts on this book? Judging by the fact that I spent the majority of this 3-part review criticizing a lot of aspects, one would think that I hate it. But the truth is, I don’t. I can’t hate Aurora Rising, and I don’t think I can fully explain why to you.

The characters are a pretty big part of why I loved this book so much. The authors did a pretty solid job of making me care about most of the characters enough that I have to know what happens to them in the sequel. Other than that, I’m not really sure. I think it’s mainly because I still enjoyed it. I see a lot of flaws, but it was still enjoyable. And I think it’s okay to like objectively bad books. There’s nothing wrong with it. Unless you’re me, and you cannot go through your life until you make sure everyone on the Internet aware of your minute thoughts on that book.

But that concludes my “analysis.” Honestly, I’m sorry if the title was misleading. I tried to do analysis stuff at the end with themes, but this was really just an in-depth review.

However, if you actually read to the very end of this post, thank you. It means a lot to see that you actually cared about my thoughts on this book. You should probably follow me, as that will tell me that maybe I should post more on this blog. (And also because if you liked this, then I feel like we will get along very well.)

However if following me doesn’t seem that great, that’s okay. Have a slice of cake. I’m sure you’re hungry after all of that reading. 🍰

#bookblr #book reader #bookblogger #book review #ya book review #books #books on tumblr #bookish #ya books

3 notes · View notes

fireleaptfromhousetohouse · 4 years

Text

Howcumzit?: Dracula

How come the show never followed up on the idea that Jonathan Harker had fucked Dracula?

They pretty much opened the show by bringing up the idea, after all, which lent an unpleasantly '80s frisson to Jonathan's emaciated appearance - one thinks of Garth Marenghi's Darkplace, and that immortal line "the cosmic spores, of course, represented AIDS". But then Jonathan's interactions with the Count end up playing out, if not exactly like the novel, then more or less played straight - you'll pardon the pun, I'm sure.

Dracula does of course go on to gin up sexual tension with pretty much everyone else he meets, no matter their gender or religious leaning, but what makes it particularly surprising here is that in the first episode he's actively becoming sexier in every scene. Yet even when Jonathan is completely in his power, it all seems quite innocent and chaste. Perhaps those aren't quite the right words for being held captive, but nonetheless it doesn't seem to have any particular undercurrent of sauciness. Stephen Moffatt has been quoted as saying that rather than bisexual, this incarnation of Dracula is "bi-homicidal...he's killing people, not dating them". Which would seem to put a pin in the thrust of my complaint here, until you recall - as Moffatt really should have - that the show ended with Dracula banging Van Helsing.

How come Gatiss and Moffat couldn't resist slipping in that painfully clunky reference to Sherlock Holmes? And by Sherlock Holmes, what they really mean is their BAFTA-award winning series Sherlock®.

What makes it so obviously shoehorned in is the much better reference to 'Inside No. 9' in the following episode. Inside No. 9 is of course the comedy-horror anthology series made by the non-Mark Gatiss parts of the League of Gentlemen, which has, so far, not needed nearly as many frantic, flailing fan interpretations to make its plots make sense.

How come Dracula's meant to pick up traits from the people he feeds on, but doesn't start speaking in Sister Agatha's silly Dutch accent?

How come in episode two, the little mute girl didn't immediately tell her dad that Dracula was the killer?

This is more a straightforward plot hole than a wider point of pondering, but it's one that will probably occur to even the most casual viewer. The show's clearly hoping there's enough other stuff going on that nobody will notice, which is obviously a misstep when what's going on all revolves around there being a killer at large.

Now, there's an obvious fan interpretation to be made here that the little girl - angry with the world - simply wanted to see them all die horribly. I'd watch that, and so, I suspect, would most right-thinking people. It would certainly have made for a better episode three than the one we got.

How come the snobby twink's boyfriend spends most of the time resenting the guy's sham marriage, then doesn't seem to care when Dracula feels him up in front of everyone? Come to think of it, why doesn't anybody else care about that?

How come Gatiss and Moffat couldn't resist leaping into a contemporary setting?

And why, if they wanted to do it so much, did they have to do it so poorly? Thanks to some confusing editing and omissions, it came off looking like Dracula had been struggling along the sea bed for 123 years.

This is a recurring feature of their work - Sherlock, too, was taking a classic bit of Victoriana and transplanting it into the modern day. The Sherlock Christmas special, though, did put it in its natural setting, which if nothing else worked as a fun, campy thing - and that, despite what Gatfat might think their work is, is the tone that runs right through it like a stick of Brighton rock.

Episode two took a part of Stoker's book, stitched it onto a familiar Murder On The Orient Express-style setup, and then turned Claes Bang's Dracula loose to bounce around in that framework - and it worked beautifully. This could have been a winning formula for any number more episodes, but instead they pissed it all away in favour of a tired Hollyoaks-style relationship drama and a secret institute which definitely isn't Torchwood.

How come modern-day Van Helsing didn't have the same silly Dutch accent?

Just to harp on a point, this makes the problem with the time jump quite clear. Van Helsing is pretty much the same character even before they literally inject the original Van Helsing into her - which makes it seem oddly like the sexual tension between her and the Count was somehow heritable. And having already demanded that willing suspension of disbelief, why not go the whole hog, and have Jonathan and Mina's identical great-great-great-descendants turn up too?

How come they thought putting a bit of off-coloured prosthetic on the incredibly attractive Lydia West would put anyone off?

The TV and film industry in general has an issue with this, fumbling to present unattractive people while staunchly refusing to even think about casting anyone less than conventionally beautiful. Dracula, however, had already presented some suitably ghastly ghouls, and here went through an overlong sequence of coyly refusing to show us what the post-cremation Lucy Westenra looked like - then the shocking reveal was that, uh-oh, she's got a bit of latex on her face. I'm a man of the world and let me tell you, it would take more than that to change my mind.

How come Mark Gatiss didn't stay behind the camera where he belongs?

This isn't to say he's a bad actor, but if he wanted to do Renfield, he should have done it properly. A show that's already had Dracula dressing up in another guy's face before tearing it off (for my money, one of the funniest things on TV in some time) doesn't need wacky comic relief.

How come everything about the conclusion?

Okay, that may be a little vague. Let me rephrase it to at least be making a point, rather than inarticulately shaking my fist in the general direction of the TV screen - why'd they even need to have a conclusion?

Gatiss and Moffat are not good at overarching storylines, yet they will keep using them, and I simply don't understand why. The appeal of Sherlock Holmes is to see the guy solving mysteries - so Sherlock had the mysteries take a back seat in favour of examining the ever-more-complicated relationships of the Holmes family.

The last five minutes or so of Dracula's third episode crumble when exposed to the light, which is ironic, because this Dracula doesn't. Given any thought at all, it's clear that the inspiration here was that Gatiss/Moffat thought 'oh shit, we need to wrap this up'. It tries gamely to tie everything together, which is somewhat undermined by at least one dangling plot thread - which the writers have openly admitted was left there in the hopes of getting a second season.

Bram Stoker's novel, spoiler alert, ends with the Count getting staked - but this adaptation went off those rails long ago. The central charm of it is the battle of wits between Dracula and Van Helsing, seeing them try and one-up each other while trading sexually charged barbs in much the same way as Sherlock and Moriarty (or at least the Sherlock and Moriarty that Gatfat gave us). This is a dynamic which could carry on indefinitely, and would have done better if it had, rather than been sidetracked into an unnatural-seeming ending.

#dracula #claes bang #stephen moffat #mark gatiss

16 notes · View notes

zorarpg · 4 years

Photo

“Some people think that life is about lying all the time, and some think it’s about being truthful all the time, but really it’s a very mundane matter of knowing when to do which.”

- Ned Vizzini

NAME: Benjamin Stacy BIRTHDAY: March 14, 1871 GENDER: Cisgender Male SPECIES: Witch OCCUPATION: Bootlegger YEAR THEY JOINED ZORA: 1918 FACECLAIM: Timothy Olyphant

HISTORY

TW: Mention of homophobia

There’s power in names. Especially when it comes to magic. Benjamin, Benny to his friends; of which they numbered in few, was born the second child–only son–to a powerful magic family; rich in wealth and rich in power. Their name meant much, it was draped in gold and silk. It afforded him a great many luxuries, luxuries that came with strings. While their family, kept mum, was matriarchal and before his third birthday, dear Benjamin already had an arranged marriage in mind. In the works. They met, in passing, sweet girl. That’s what he was told to say. She was powerful, she was perfect–another branch to add to the family tree with oomph.

What a shame he felt nothing. He could blame it on her wits, on her sharp tongue; on any number of things–even if the girl had earned every right. Her ego was not overblown, it was matter of fact. Then again, it wasn’t meant to be a marriage of love such things were not done. “You’ll come to love each other, and if not–what does it matter? The heirs you produce will be fantastical. Powerful. And in the end, power is all that matters.”

Did he want to find someone to love? Even if a red string tied them so close together? It was more a noose around his neck. Not even ten and he couldn’t breath. Boarding school was a paradise, the private lessons to supplement the ordinary. After all, magic was far greater a secret than any other to be had. Even if he had one he held closer to his breast.

His first kiss was at fourteen. Stolen in the vast campus library between rows upon rows of books; with another boy. Another secret kept, further avenues explored. His family’s coin may have bought him every luxury here but this was something that could not be bought. This was a secret greater than his gift of magic, the illusions and wonders he could spin. The way fire could dance at his fingertips. Men fancying men was an illness, and while the odd casual touch–a kiss, a brush of hands; nothing more, the terribly, terribly human boy who was his world yearned to be ‘normal’ to be rid of his sickness but outside of their whispered romance, kept a friendship; just as dear. It was almost as sweet to have a friendship with someone so separate from his own world. So sad it could not last.

Graduation came and went, wedding bells lingered on the horizon and he hightailed it as far as far could be. Cowardly? Maybe. But he was tired of playing pretend. He took odd jobs, drifting from place to place; ‘call me Benny’ said with a crooked grin and a shake of the hand. At first, he sticks out like a sore thumb; it’s obvious in a way that he’s not like the rest. Educated. An accent of wealth, of status. Too clean, not enough sharp edges despite the bite of his too-perfect teeth. They wonder if he bleeds blue. But, he’s a fast learner. He adapts. Evolves. A proper scoundrel. ‘I prefer puckish rogue’ he drifts right and proper. A few close calls with family sniffing round. Locator spells. Tracking. Hunters. The good and the bad, sometimes he slips up with his magic; can’t let it bottle up too long and turn potent. Rotten. He puts on odd shows, a proper criminal; all flash and awe. There’s regular human magic men, pulling rabbits out of hats but he goes the extra mile. The only extra mile a witch can.

It earns him attention, both good and bad. Continuing to swallow back his other wants in favour of this; filling the hole with grandeur. Doesn’t stop him from wanting. Another charade, another boy–this time a man, he’s sweet and kind and terribly human. In awe of the small tricks and sleight of hand, at first he thought he’d struck gold (as what runs in his veins) no strings attached. No judgement. What once was physical became softer still. And more. The distances he traveled became smaller, shorter stints away from what he found himself calling home. The man, sweet Samuel opened his door and arms every time with a sweet kiss to his lips and a smile as he said ‘Welcome home.’. His fear is rank, ice cold in his vein. There’s no point in love his parent’s voice says to him, but the way Samuel looks at him, touches him…sure as hell feels like love. And Samuel tells him such one morning over breakfast, his cup of coffee halfway to his lips. And he freezes.

He runs the numbers, the details between their worlds; the thin line he’d been toeing. Was this just another illusion he’d been spinning subconsciously? A reality he desired so much he’d played the ultimate trick with himself as the sole audience member? He’s gone the next morning. Drifting–no, running. But, his pride won’t let him call it that. How arrogant of him to still cling to such. He’s between one scam and the next, though he’d not call it that–funny how he dances around the truth (and what a smooth dancer he is), when he cons the wrong mark. Picks the wrong pocket with a quick magical touch. The man catches him two blocks over, somewhere between annoyed and impressed. Snatches his wallet back, triple checks the contents and though doubt must arrest his tongue he asks outright “Are you a witch?”

He’s been called worse. No manner of bullshit keeps the hound off his tail and soon, in one gentlemen’s club while other men talk of war he stews on the possibility of…more. What was he running from? How long could he keep up the charade? Cigar between his teeth as he chews on the end, the other asks him his thoughts, wondering if it would come to America’s shores. And Benjamin considers letting his accent slip, letting the blue slip free. The crisp cut. Wouldn’t that be funny, the ultimate little jest. He laughs to himself and helps himself to a glass of something impossibly aged. War plagues his homeland. He wonders if his family has suffered any losses.

Or perhaps they bought their golden ticket towards paradise. A safe haven away from the violence. Of war. Soon, America joins the fight–to show them how to do it right, some claim with arrogance form their plush chairs and clean hands–while men below them, any man but they; are sent to the trenches. Benjamin is the same, he keeps clean; polished loafers kept shiny and new. Belly full and every inch of him kept sated, less so horizontal and carnal–that’s a deed, almost a sin kept close to heart (Samuel’s warm smile) and he becomes a regular at that club. Beating the wealthy at their own game, what do you hope to gain? How much gold will it take to satisfy you? When will the void be full?

He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know. But, the emptiness is less noticeable when he’s winning. When he’s another dollar richer. It’s been years, nearly a decade really since he’s last seen Samuel–funny that, he’s not the last man he’s kissed. Nor laid with, but it’s been hollow. And chases every lick of self-hatred with a stiff drink. It’s just an itch to scratch. Better than being his family’s bitch back home. If he even had a family left to call his own. Then again, they never were bonded in more than blood and even that he’d diluted with a poison of his own making. It’s been fun. The war ends. The people celebrate in the streets and he lets himself celebrate with them, in his expensive suit and polished loafers. He dances with a beautiful woman whose name he does not know, he doesn’t stop to taste–indulges in revelry almost as sweet as memories past. And then a man finds him again months later, kindred spirit; almost. Magic at his fingertips, a wry smile–all knowing. “Aren’t you tired of running?”

He’s been doing alright, he almost says. But the man speaks of sanctuary of a town filled with people like him. He grew up around witches, can’t say he’s a fan. What of the others? And whose to say it had to be a forever thing? Zora he says. Needs new blood, needs smart men who know their way around the world. He knows a great many things, a great many people. More connections than he knows what to do with. Nets himself a tidy profit day in and day out; wouldn’t it be nice to have a safe place he could lay his head with not a single question asked? No more pretend? Benjamin couldn’t fathom such a thing.

But the idea was a novel one, and he pondered it some time further. Like a new puzzle. He gets an interview, not unlike the sorts he’s exchanged prior. Benjamin Stacy, Call me Benny. He’s provided money, he’s supplies-where needed. Spends his time while in Zora as a general layabout. Why bother? He’s got the wealth to avoid such thing, he dabbles when needed but when 1920 rolls around brings a new avenue of wonder. Bootlegging. It scratches the itch and serves a purpose. Sometimes he can be found around The Royal Flush when it’s in full swing. Dressed to the nines perched on a stool drinking scotch from the stash kept private purchased separately and shared with a special few. The people are kinder here, women lay with women and men with men; they do not judge. Why stoop to human levels when you’re anything but? It leaves a sour note that no top shelf hooch will chase away.

For the most part, he’s an odd staple around town. Drifting with the wind, rolling in with one shipment or another–expertly hidden with layers weaved of illusion and a little human ingenuity. Best of both worlds. He can get you what you need, what you want, whatever it may be–for a price. Like a human tumbleweed, he hardly remains stationary but…he has something akin to a home. A charming brownstone in which he lives alone. It’s a far cry from the grand manors he grew up in, or the smattering of cramped quarters in between, from Samuel’s cozy loft, or the penthouses of the rich and powerful. But, it’s something. Something almost nice. If he doesn’t think about it too much. He’s almost happy to call himself a citizen of Zora, separate from it’s complicated history as he’s woefully fresh meat. But that’s okay, when the going gets tough; the tough get going. He has sworn no fealty to them, and he certainly won’t die for them. Let alone bleed for them. He’s good at keeping secrets and he doesn’t intend to spill but…as the clock ticks forward he finds himself fond, housing less of a desire to run. And that scares the daylights out of him.

CONNECTIONS

N/A

STATUS

Benjamin Stacy is taken.

#lsrp #oc rp #skeleton rp #town rp #literate rp #taken m #witch #taken #benjamin stacy #timothy olyphant

2 notes · View notes

tydy-the-megnet · 5 years

Text

Actual Human, 19

Based on @queenbrickisinariver's high quality meme. This is an AU, clearly

...

Callum sighed as he scrolled aimlessly through profile after profile of horny women on his Look Forum app. "You can find that special someone if you just 'look forum.'" he said, reveling in his own mocking voice. Why he had let Ezran make him a dating profile, he'd never know.

His little brother could be scarily persuasive at times.

"Because you need to find a girlfriend. You need to get over Claudia already."

It helped, of course, that Ezran was right. He usually was, in fact.

But still, to be put on the Look Forum seemed almost pathetic.

"Why would I even want to be with anyone from--?" Callum froze, his thumb hovering over yet another profile.

Rayla, Actual Human, 19.

70 miles away.

Hello I am real human. I enjoy activities such as discussing money and eating unhealthy amounts of bad food.

Accompanying the odd bio was a picture of a cute young woman with hair white as snow and skin so pale it appeared almost purple in whatever lightning she was under. Upon further inspection, two pieces of wood seemed to jut out of her hair like horns, and two deep purple marks were painted on her cheeks.

In other words, Callum realized, she looked like an elf. And well, he thought, what more did he need than an actual human with a sense of humor?

...

It had been a stupid bet. If it hadn't been for that pesky squirrel, she wouldn't be in this mess. But she lost, fair and square, and now Rayla was stuck with a profile on an online dating app.

A human dating app. She just hoped Runaan didn't find out. He would definitely take it the wrong way.

Oh well. She'd leave it up for a few days and then delete it once the others forgot about it. Or at least, that had been the plan.

But then she got a message from someone named Callum.

"Hello, fellow human. I also enjoy eating bad food. Shall we discuss which bad foods are the worst?"

Despite herself, Rayla quirked a smile. She couldn't believe her half-baked profile had gotten a hit, but it was pretty clear that this guy was also an elf. A skywing elf, if his looks were anything to go by. He could probably pass as human -- or perhaps he just worked on a disguise for his dating profile.

She responded after pondering the man, "Nice, did you lose a bet, too?"

...

She had lost a bet. Callum wasn't surprised. From what he could tell from the picture on Rayla's profile, she was stunningly beautiful. Why would she be on such a lame site other than a bet?

"No," he answered, "My brother talked me into trying to find a girlfriend."

"Well you haven't got a very good selection on here, have ya?"

Callum laughed out loud, a snort escaping him as he leaned back in his chair. It was true, too many of the people on Look Forum we're weirdos. But then, trying to flirt, Callum replied, "Well I found you. That's a plus."

...

Rayla couldn't stop heat from getting in her cheeks. He was right. While the rest of his options were rotten humans, he had managed to stumble upon her temporary joke profile.

Maybe- maybe this was destiny? The idea that some random event could lead to her meeting her true love was a bit far-fetched, and she was loathe to believe it, but--

Well, he was cute. She might as well give him a shot. But she wouldn't be hasty either, she decided. Stowing away her fleeting thoughts, she settled into her seat and sent her next reply.

"Oh you’re a charmer.” she typed.

"Heh, I try. So, I like to draw. What do you like to do?"

"Well," she sent, wondering what to put. She liked training to be an assassin, but she didn't want to say that, obviously, "I'm pretty athletic, and I like to do parkour."

"Oh, that's cool. It'd be fun to draw you flipping through the air." He replied, and moments later, "Wait, that sounded weird. I JUST MEANT IF YOU WERE OK WITH IT."

It was weird, Rayla thought, but as more heat pooled in her face, she figured she didn't mind. No one had ever wanted to draw her before, after all.

She typed an answer after a moment, hesitating before sending the message. Her thumb hovered over that blue arrow, and she clenched her eyes shut as she forced the finger down, heartbeat going wild.

...

"I mean if you really want to we can meet up sometime and you can draw me?"

Callum stared at the message.

No matter how long he started, it didn't vanish, so he stared some more. After a couple of minutes, dancing dots showed up under them, showing Rayla was typing again, but the words still didn't disappear.

Then the dots did vanish, and reappear, and vanish again. Callum realized with a start that he hadn't replied.

"Oh! Um okay. That sounds like fun. When and where?"

The boy gulped, disbelieving that he was setting up a date with a random girl from Look Forum. He was similarly awestruck through the rest of the conversation, barely processing the plans the girl was making.

Next Sunday? That small village near the Xadian border? There was a clearing near there with some rock faces that were good for her sort of thing, and a nice little shop in town to dine that day as well.

Huh, "I have a date. I have a date!" Callum jumped up, "I HAVE A DATE!"

"I glad it worked out for you, but can you be quiet, Callum?" Ezran said, glaring at him from where he poked his head through the doorway, "Nobody likes a loud dork."

"Sorry, Ez."

...

Sunday came too quickly, Rayla decided. She never came up with a good excuse for Runaan and the others, so she just told them she'd be back later and bolted from the campsite.

The outcropping -- the site of her date -- was a nice little spot she had found a couple days ago as her group was travelling through. It was fun to jump around rocks and pretend like she was fighting humans atop them.

What wasn't fun, however, was seeing a human looking at his phone on those rocks when she needed to get ready.

Silently, she sneaked up behind the oblivious human, a young male by the looks. Bringing her swords up, she quickly swiping forwards, bringing the twin blades up to his neck and readying herself to intimidate him into leaving.

"Ah sorry please don't kill me I have a date today!" The boy's arms jolted upward, the phone coming clearly into view at her eye level, where she could easily spot...

... herself?

"Where did ya get tha' photo?"

His head tilted upward, and Rayla almost caught a glimpse of his face, "Oh, that's Rayla. She's my date today. She told me to meet her here, so I'm sorry if this is private property or-"

"Callum?"

The world froze around them, and Callum slowly -- cautiously, minding the swords -- turned to look at her.

"Rayla?"

"Yer a human?"

"You-you're an elf?"

They stared blankly at each other as moments passed by. The world slowly started moving again, and Rayla was reminded of those scenes in romance novels where two soulmates meet and the world falls into place.

This felt nothing like that.

"Why were you on a human dating app?" Callum asked, his accusing tone biting through their close proximity.

"Ah, I, uh, lost a bet." Rayla stammered, "Why did you talk to me?"

"I thought you were a human."

"Do I look like a human?" She snapped.

"I thought you were being funny, like with your bio."

"What do-"

"Look," He said, and Rayla was tempted to keep talking through his interruption as an unholy fury began to roar in her heart, "Can-can you put the swords down? They're really unnerving."

"What-why-why didja think it was supposed ta be funny!?" She glared at the boy in lieu of lowering her weapons, "And why wasn't it obvious that I was an elf?"

"I figured an elf wouldn't use a human dating service!"

That--that was a fair point, Rayla decided, as her anger befan to fade. She nodded slowly, her hard stare still piercing Callum's presence.

"Can-can you lower the swords now?"

Almost unwillingly, she did so.

"And, uh, you're not gonna drink my blood or anything, are you?"

"Wha? No! What do you think elves are? Bloodthirsty monsters!?"

"I don't know! I've never met an elf before! I don't really know anything about them!" He raised his hands in surrender when the swords came up to his neck again.

"Well, lesson one: we don't drink blood."

"I, uh, got it. No blood. Taste bad."

She nodded sternly, lowering her blades again and finally stowing them away. She stared at Callum for another tense moment, before turning to leave.

Runaan would definitely never hear of this.

...

Rayla wasn't entirely sure how she got here.

It seemed obvious, she had walked here with Callum, into the small village to get something to eat. She just didn't really know how that happened.

As she scarfed down her own meal, silently sneaking glances to observe Callum's impeccable manners, she thought back to his words.

"Are you still interested in eating and talking about bad food?"

She just didn't know how she got here, sitting with him in a booth and eating a meal that honestly wasn't terrible.

She had been leaving, walking away from the unfortunate encounter with the rotten human. But a nervous smile and simple question later, and here she was.

"Wow," Callum said finally, his voice cutting through the tension like a sunforged blade through butter, "I guess you don't think it's that bad, huh?" He set down his utensils and dabbed his lips with a cloth, "You got a little something... everywhere."

Rayla blushed, taking her own cloth and wiping her entire face from the top down while he chuckled.

"It's not the worst," she mumbled.

"Well, humans have plenty of much better food, if you ever want to try it."

His smile seemed to thread lightning through her veins -- not an unpleasant sort of lightning, though -- and she nearly choked on her bread.

"Maybe."

"And if you're still interested," He added hesitantly, his words trailing off into oblivion as he raised his book to the table.

He opened to a middle page and showed her a sketch -- a remarkable likeness of her from the photo she used on Look Forum, though she noticed she looked human on the paper.

"I'd love to draw you," he said, and suddenly the lightning was very pleasant.

#callum #rayla #rayllum #raylum #the dragon prince #tdp #fanfiction #actual human 19 #human #elf #online dating #au #look forum #a brilliant pun by megan #thanks darling youre the best

74 notes · View notes