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theforgottenmcrmy · 2 years

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Not All Bets

Pairing: Riff X OC Jet Girl

Warnings: Explicit Language, References to Violence, Non-Explicit Sexual References, Non-Explicit Recreational Drug Use References, Underage Tobacco Consumption.

Summary: After all, risk taking and rising to challenges comprised large components of their individual personalities. Their respective upbringings had taught them each to be daring and relentless in their own ways. And when one found another in life who also had a predisposition to partaking in games of chance, proposing and engaging in some amiable bets became a natural way to evolve their friendship, and eventually, relationship.

Word Count: 10,000 ish. Y’all, this one really got away from me.

DISCLAIMER

Please note that this oneshot is directly related to the fic After All. The masterlist of said fic can be found here. Reading After All before reading this oneshot is not necessary, but doing so will provide a lot of background context for Riff and the OC.

Request from Anonymous (1): “Could you maybe do a oneshot on how did Roxie and Riff's first actual kiss (the pre- After All relationship) happen? (Also, I noticed that the title "after all" is in most of the chapter summary description and I just wanted to say that that was very clever)”

Request from Anonymous (2): ““Hello! Saw that you were doing oneshots and HCs, so I was wondering if you could write about Roxie and Riff meeting, or when they started dating, I’ve always wonder how their relationship began! Thanks and btw I’m obsessed with the history and your writing!!”

A/N : Hi everyone! 😊 Here’s another oneshot for you that will hopefully make the wait for the next part worth it. I hadn’t intended on this one being so long, but like I mentioned above, it got away from me. Writing awkward, young 15ish Tony, Riff, and Roxie was way more fun than I anticipated it to be. I’m planning on posting Part 20 of After All next Wednesday, 5/11. I’ve got it outlined, but have yet to actually start writing it, so... I know what I’ll be doing in my free time over the next week.😅

If you would like to submit a oneshot request, or if you just have questions/comments, please feel free to reach out.😊 My ask box is always open, and I love hearing from/chatting with you guys!

As always, thank you taking time out of your day to read my little works. I hope you all have a good rest of the week!😊💙

Gambling was supposed to have been a vice, but when it came to gambling with and on Roxie, it didn’t always feel like one to Riff.

Although, Riff had to admit that literal gambling in and of itself had rarely ever led to a positive outcome for either of them. Visits to secret gambling houses, pockets that were already sparse becoming even more empty, sentences in the county jail, and more than one run in with a member of the local mob were just a few of the problems they’d faced over the years as a result of their mutually enjoyed but illegal pastime.

However, many turning points in their relationship revolved around gambling’s more socially acceptable counterpart: betting.

Strangers may have frowned upon the notion, but it hardly came as a surprise to anyone who truly knew them. After all, risk taking and rising to challenges comprised large components of their individual personalities. Their respective upbringings had taught them each to be daring and relentless in their own ways. And when one found another in life who also had a predisposition to partaking in games of chance, proposing and engaging in some amiable bets became a natural way to evolve their friendship, and eventually, relationship.

And it was those moments Riff would recall fondly to himself when times were particularly tough. Whenever they were arguing, and especially after Riff decided to call things off with Roxie in the winter of 1955, Riff would allow himself to take a trip down memory lane and recall several instances where betting, along with a gentle kick from fate that nudged them in the right direction, played a pivotal role in them ending up together.

Though Riff supposed there were more, there were three specific bets he’d made with Roxie over the years that stuck out in his memory.

————————————————————————————

“Please?”

“No.”

“Tony?”

“... Sorry, Roxie. I gotta go with Riff on this one.”

Roxie crossed her arms and sighed frustratedly. Though she was clearly passionate about her stance, neither Riff nor Tony were likely to budge on theirs.

Riff eyed Tony suspiciously. Riff was certain he hadn’t let it slip to her what their plans for the upcoming weekend were. And since he and Tony were the only ones who knew about said plans, that only left one culprit who would have mentioned it to Roxie- accidentally or otherwise.

Riff had gotten an invite from an inside member, who also happened to be his go-to pot dealer for the past year, to a pop-up gambling house. Though it was an alluring offer, he wasn’t stupid. He was young, and even though he knew his way around a poker table, he also knew that he was extremely likely to be targeted by hustlers. And that would only happen if he would be able to schmooze his way inside.

Naturally, Riff recruited Tony to accompany him. Riff trusted Tony with his life, they were both always in need of cash, and Tony’s sheer size would at least deter some people from messing with them.

And now, Roxie had somehow gotten word of their plans. She had just cornered them just after the final school bell rang. Riff and Tony had barely made it through the front door of the school when they heard their names being called down the hallway.

As she attempted in vain to convince them to see her side, the three of them began the trek to their respective homes.

Roxie walking home with Tony and Riff wasn’t exactly a rare occurrence, but lately, she had been walking home with Velma more often than not. And that particular day, and given the specific circumstances, neither of the boys were super stoked that she was walking alongside them.

Though Tony was usually more patient with her, Riff hadn’t been able to tolerate Roxie’s presence much at all over the past few weeks. She seemed to always have an answer for everything, and she never hesitated to call Riff out when she thought she knew better than him. And while she did all of this, Roxie was almost always smiling, as if the shitty neighborhood they were tethered to contained anything or anyone worth smiling at.

To be fair, Riff supposed none of that wasn’t exactly new behavior for Roxie. The pair hadn’t always gotten along over the past five years, but they'd at least been entangled in what some would call a friendship.

It all left Riff figuratively scratching his head about why Roxie’s behavior now left him feeling irritated with no end in sight.

“Fine, don’t let me go with you. But you’re making a mistake,” Roxie declared.

Even though Riff couldn’t pinpoint exactly when Roxie had started to get on his nerves so much, he knew it with the utmost certainty whenever she opened her mouth that it was real.

Riff laughed to himself connivingly as he braced himself for Roxie’s explanation. This’ll be good.

“Oh, yeah?” Tony challenged her with a smirk. “Why’s that?”

“I know how to play poker.”

Riff and Tony looked at each other with neutral expressions for the briefest of moments, before both of them erupted into a fit of laughter.

Roxie frowned at their behavior. “Why are you laughing? I do!”

Riff threw his head back while Tony made a scene of gripping his side as the pair laughed even harder.

“Listen, Roxie,” Tony began after a few good moments of laughter, wiping an invisible tear from his eye as he calmed down, “that’s a good one.”

“But I really know how to play,” Roxie insisted, obviously not finding their amusement at her expense funny.

“Please,” Riff snickered, waving a dismissing hand in her direction. “This much laughter ain’t good for me, Roxie. It’s startin’ to hurt.”

Roxie narrowed her eyes at him. “I’ll give you something else that hurts to focus on instead.”

Riff’s laughter ceased abruptly at her threat. “The answer’s still no.”

“What if I can prove to you that I know how to play?” Roxie proposed. “Would you let me go with you then?”

Riff looked at Tony questioningly.

If, and that was a big if, Roxie knew how to play poker, she could be potentially an asset on their upcoming excursion to the gambling house. Riff already knew how to play poker- he’d known for years- and he’d taught Tony a few years back. But, having a third person to keep an eye out for them certainly wouldn’t hurt.

However, if Roxie tagged along, they were bound to have even more strangers’ eyes on them. Two young guys like Riff and Tony being in a place like a gambling house was questionable, sure… but Riff, Tony, and a young girl like Roxie? Pft, they’d be lucky if they weren’t pegged as possible narcs the very moment they stepped in the door. Not to mention the fact that Riff would likely be concerned about her wellbeing the whole night. Him and Tony could hold their own in a fight or other confrontation if need be, but as for Roxie? She was likely to be a liability.

Hell, if she’s gonna be this stubborn ‘bout it…

Tony merely shrugged in response to Roxie’s question, so Riff decided for the both of them.

“Ya know what? Fine. If you can prove ya know how to play, we’ll consider lettin’ ya tag along.”

Roxie beamed, as though that was exactly what wanted to hear. At her reaction Riff found himself questioning whether giving her an inch was the best move.

“Great,” Roxie enthused, clapping her hands together once. “How can I prove I know how to play?”

“Ya gotta play Riff in a few hands,” Tony said immediately, knowing that Riff was the stronger player of the two.

“Perfect,” Roxie agreed. She took a look around the block as they walked. “My aunt’s apartment is closest to here, and I’ve got a deck of cards… how about we go there?”

“Lead the way.”

Riff and Tony followed Roxie to her aunt’s apartment in silence for the rest of the way. Riff had no way of knowing what Tony’s thoughts were in those few minutes, but all Riff could think about was how satisfying it would be to beat Roxie at poker and prove that her little tale of hers was just that- a tale.

There was absolutely no way Roxie actually knew how to play the game. What had his father always said?

‘Poker’s a man’s game.’

Roxie pointed to a building up the street. “It’s this building right here.”

The two boys followed her inside the building and up the stairs until they reached the fourth floor. Roxie dug around in her school bag momentarily before withdrawing some keys. She unlocked the door, and gestured to them both to follow her inside.

Riff and Tony entered the apartment slowly, neither of them exactly sure what to expect.

“My aunt’s at work,” Roxie said from behind them, as if reading their minds and sensing their hesitancy. After closing and locking the door, Roxie walked past them, set her school bag down on the nearby couch, and disappeared into one of the two bedrooms.

Tony put his hands in his pockets and took a few steps further into the room.

Riff took the opportunity to glance around the room. After only a few seconds of looking around, it was clear that just two girls, and only two girls lived in the apartment. Although it was small, and a bit dated- like everything else in the neighborhood- it was still neat and tidy. Not a single dish was in the sink, and Riff knew that if he ran his fingers along any of the furniture, he wasn’t likely to find a single spec of dust on his fingers.

Roxie returned to the room with a deck of cards in her hands. She stopped and tilted her head in the direction of the kitchen. “Shall we?”

Riff nodded in response, and then he and Tony followed her into the kitchen area. Roxie placed the deck of cards upon the table and took a seat in one of the two chairs. She looked up at Riff, and then purposefully gestured towards the seat across the table from her.

“Let’s get this over with,” Riff said dramatically, although he took his seat quickly. As he settled into his seat, he looked up, and met Roxie’s challenging stare. Unfazed, Riff picked up the deck of cards, and blindly held them out in Tony’s general direction. “Tony, be a pal and check the cards, won’t ya?”

“Do you really think they’re fake?” Roxie asked with a half-smile and an amused twinkle in her eye.as Tony began to skim through the cards.

“Just wanna make sure.”

“Smart,” Roxie conceded, which surprised Riff. For how quick she usually was to call him out whenever she deemed him wrong about something, it was refreshing for her to admit that he was actually right for once.

Despite his surprise, Riff didn’t skip a beat. “Believe it or not, I have my moments.”

Roxie opened her mouth to retort, but was cut off by Tony placing the cards back onto the table. “They’re legit,” he confirmed.

“Let’s do best two out of three hands” Roxie suggested, dropping the previous subject. “If I win, you two will let me go with you to the gambling house on Saturday.”

“Best three out of five hands,” Riff countered. He was confident in his own ability to play the game, but just in case Roxie had a trick or two up her sleeve, he wanted to give himself a comfy cushion by which to secure his win.

“Fine,” Roxie agreed readily, unbothered. “Would you deal the cards, Tony?”

The stare down between Riff and Roxie promptly resumed. Tension filled the air around them as the only sound that could be heard for several moments was the small whooshing of the cards as Tony dealt them upon the table.

Riff’s first hand was crappy, but he couldn’t have helped that. Of course Roxie had won it.

“Beginner’s luck,” he chalked it up to. Tony nodded in agreement.

“I’ve actually known how to play for years,” Roxie informed him, “But if that’s your form of compliment, I’ll take it.”

Riff bit his tongue to prevent himself from saying anything further while Tony dealt the cards for the second hand.

Riff had a decent hand the second time around. But, to Roxie’s credit- and he really hated admitting it- he couldn’t get a read on how good she thought her own hand was. Instead, Riff settled with trying to get her to fold. Unfortunately, she simply wouldn’t budge.

Eventually, Riff went all in, but Roxie’s hand ended up being better than his own yet again.

Roxie tried to hide her smile as she processed her first two victories. Riff didn’t know why she bothered to hide it- he certainly wouldn’t be if he had been in her shoes. She had a hell of an advantage.

Roxie had won the first two hands. If she won the next one, she’d take the whole cake, and Riff wouldn’t be able to make a comeback.

“Come on, Buddy Boy,” Tony encouraged, though his reassuring words were tainted by slight nervousness Riff detected in his voice. “Ya fallin’ apart or somethin’?”

Riff shot him a stern look, immediately silencing him.

Tony took the hint and dealt the third hand.

After Tony finished disbursing the cards, Riff looked at what he’d been given. As soon as he saw the several groups of matching suits and numbers, he knew the universe had simply been testing him up until that point. He must have had to put up with Roxie’s insufferableness for the first two hands so that he could be given the third, damning, nail-in-the-coffin type hand he now had in his possession. The universe had a funny way of working sometimes.

The two went through the motions of debating whether the other would fold.

“Alright, you two,” Tony announced, “Let’s see what ya got.”

“I am so, so sorry about this, Roxie,” Riff swore, though in actuality, he was anything but. He couldn’t let her win that easily. Riff placed his cards down on the table face up with a sly smile, presenting them to Roxie and Tony with great ado. “Full house.”

Roxie’s eyes fell to his cards. She noted them, and nodded once. “It’s a good hand.”

What the-

Riff’s eyes narrowed. That was about the furthest thing from her reaction than anything he could’ve possibly guessed. Annoyance seeped back into Riff as the corners of Roxie’s mouth upturned slowly.

She placed her cards down on the table, face up.

Four of a kind.

Riff cursed under his breath.

“Wow,” Tony said plainly, stunned. “Would ya look at that?”

Riff nibbled on his thumb and bounced his right foot out of irritation to distract himself and to ensure he wouldn’t say something out of anger in the moment that he would later regret.

“So, you’ll let me go?” Roxie asked hopefully.

There’s that damn smile again.

Tony was smiling, too.

Despite that he had obviously been in agreement with Riff not even half an hour beforehand, Tony didn’t seem the least bit bothered by the larger implications of Roxie’s victory. In addition to making sure they didn’t get hustled, or got arrested, both he and Tony would now be responsible for chaperoning Roxie on their trip to the gambling house. Tony being flippant of that fact only fueled Riff’s annoyance more.

“A deal’s a deal,” Tony confirmed. He looked to Riff expectantly “Right, Riff?”

What else could Riff do at that moment? He didn’t like the results of the bet at all, but with Tony and Roxie staring at him, he was forced to accept his loss with a defeated sigh.

“Ya better be able to pull your weight, Roxanne.”

…

Riff lost that bet, but, God as his witness, he’d win the next one.

Even if it was only to see the look on Roxie’s face when he did so.

————————————————————————————

“Look at him go.”

Roxie and Riff were sitting in one of the booths at Doc’s, watching the scene before them unfold with great interest.

Across the store, Tony was leaning against the counter and trying to schmooze up some pretty blonde girl.

Graziella was the girl’s name. She was pretty, and from what Riff could tell, she seemed like a pleasant enough girl. A fun one, definitely.

Tony had first met her a few weeks back. As he recounted to Riff, Graziella had been in the neighborhood with her older cousin one weekend. The cousin had been visiting a boyfriend at the time, and Graziella must have decided to tag along. It had been a hot day, and naturally, the trio decided to swing by Doc’s for a cold Coke. Funny enough, Tony had had the same idea that day, and when he and Graziella both headed for the small fridge in the corner of Doc’s that contained Coke at the exact same moment, the rest of it was history.

Since that fateful day, Tony had made himself a presence in Doc’s each and every weekend like it was his job. Riff wasn’t sure how Valentina felt about that… but if it annoyed her, the better.

Tony had been nothing but hopeful, and he grabbed at any chance he could to see Graziella again. Sadly, he hadn’t been lucky the past few weekends, so Riff and Roxie decided to tag along for some moral support. Graziella had been all Tony had been able to talk about for weeks, and Riff and Roxie couldn’t resist the urge to possibly see the girl of Tony’s fascination with their own eyes.

Tony’s luck finally turned around when Graziella entered Doc’s that Saturday afternoon. This time, she was without the escort of her older cousin and said cousin’s boyfriend. The absence of the chaperones empowered Tony to try something truly bold, even for him. As soon as she entered the store, Tony greeted her with a smile and wave, as if she had been an old friend. Graziella greeted him back, and walked over to the counter. Tony shuffled out of the booth, where he had been sitting with Riff and Roxie, and followed Graziella across the store like a love-sick puppy dog.

“I don’t think she’s going to say yes,” Roxie stated, though she seemed to take no pleasure in her opinion.

Riff set his bottle of Coke down onto the table and tore his eyes away from Tony and Graziella. He turned to face Roxie with raised eyebrows. “Ya don’t think so?”

Roxie shrugged. “She’s not from around here.”

Though Tony was his oldest and bestest pal, Riff wouldn’t deny that perhaps the girl was a little bit out of his league. She clearly wasn’t from the neighborhood, and Riff could tell from the clothes she wore and the jewelry that adorned her neck and dangled from her ears that wherever she came from, her family was well off.

Roxie’s question was unspoken, but Riff heard it anyway: What would a girl like that want with a guy like Tony?

Perhaps Roxie had a point. But if Roxie wasn’t going to be the cheering section that Tony needed, Riff would. Plus, Riff would be damned if he told Roxie he actually agreed with her on something.

“I think she’ll say yes,” Riff disagreed calmly, though intentionally. He took another glance over his shoulder at the pair across the room. “She’s buyin’ what he’s sellin’.”

Roxie’s brows furrowed. “How do ya know?”

Riff smirked, and took another drink of Coke. “Ya just know. I mean, look at the way she’s standin’.”

Roxie leaned to the side slowly, so as to not to draw attention to herself, and looked around Riff’s head. Riff remained facing forward, watching her intriguingly as she analyzed the pair conversing behind him.

“What do you mean, ‘by the way she’s standing’?” Roxie questioned.

“She’s leanin’ towards him,” Riff clarified. “She’s practically eatin’ outta his hand.”

“... Maybe she is,” Roxie acknowledged. She frowned slightly and settled back into her seat. “So what? That doesn’t mean anything.”

Riff sighed, and began wondering to himself whether he really needed to explain his logic to her, or if Roxie was just testing his patience by feigning ignorance on the subject. “That’s how all ya girls act when you’re smitten with a fella.”

Roxie scoffed in disbelief. “We do not.”

Riff hummed, taking slight pleasure in the fact that she seemed to be getting frustrated. “Maybe not all of ya... But you do.”

“Excuse me?”

“Come on, Roxie. Lawrence Anderson?”

“What about him?”

“I seen the way ya get when ya talk to him.”

“You have not.”

“I just saw ya the other day- just one little gust of wind, and ya practically would’ve been in his arms!” Riff said, standing his ground. Then, in a sickeningly teasing tone, he added, “Admit it; you’re absolutely smitten with him.”

Riff could recall the scene in his mind perfectly. Earlier that week, on a day he’d actually gone to school, he passed Roxie in the hallway when he was headed to meet Tony for lunch in the cafeteria. Riff would’ve actually said hi to her, but Roxie was too busy talking to the Lawrence fella. Whatever he had to say, which Riff couldn’t imagine was very much, Roxie seemed highly intrigued by it. She had pushed a strand of hair behind her ear and leaned forward as she listened to him intently.

In fact, Roxie leaning towards Lawrence was almost exactly the same way Graziella was leaning towards Tony at that moment.

Roxie seemed highly displeased by Riff’s insinuation. If the glare wasn’t obvious enough, her fingers, which were starting to turn white, capturing her bottle of Coke in a death grip would have been more than sufficient of a hint.

“I am not smitten with Lawrence Anderson,” Roxie said in a low voice.

If Riff thought that there was even the smallest chance that she would lunge out at him, he might have been scared by her warning tone and the fuming look in her eyes. But he felt pretty confident that Roxie would never lay a finger on him, and Riff was having way too much fun riling her up.

“That’s not what your leanin’ said,” Riff replied with a smirk and nonchalant shrug.

Roxie glared at him for a few more seconds before breaking eye contact and letting out an angry huff of air. “Let’s get back to the issue at hand, okay? As nice as she seems, there is no way that girl is going to say yes to going to the dance with Tony.”

Riff had heard plenty about the upcoming dance.

Riff had been asked to the dance by Maggie Sanders, a senior at their school. Riff could tell by the way she’d talked to him that she was a bit smitten with him herself. They’d even gone together to the last dance. They had a nice time… and if Riff was one to kiss and tell, which he usually wasn’t, they may have indulged in a little bit of fun after... but nothing too scandalous, of course.

It wasn’t like Riff didn’t want to go to the upcoming dance with Maggie, but he had yet to give her an answer. He wanted to keep his options open.

The school put on a lot of dances, and they weren’t always limited to the high school students, either. Some of them were open to the public, just like the next one was. Graziella would be free to go with Tony, if she so desired.

Riff took another look over his shoulder at the referenced pair. As he suspected, Graziella was still leaning towards Tony, hanging on to his every word. Meanwhile, though Riff couldn’t see his face, Tony seemed cool, calm, and collected as he leaned against the counter in a relaxed stance.

Got this one in the bag.

“Tell ya what,” Riff said as he turned back around. “You don’t think she’ll say yes. I think she will. What do ya say ‘bout makin’ this interestin’?”

Roxie caught on to his subtle suggestion almost immediately, like Riff suspected she would. As she processed his words, she smiled for the first time in a few minutes. “I’d say that’s the best idea you’ve had in a while.”

Riff rolled his eyes at her back-handed compliment.

“What are the terms?” Roxie inquired.

Riff pursed his lips as he racked his brain for something enticing enough that would convince Roxie to agree to the bet. He glanced at the bottle of Coke that her fingers were still tightly wrapped around, and suddenly, it hit him.

“If this girl tells Tony to hit the road,” Riff proposed, “then I’ll buy ya a Coke whenever ya want for the next month.”

Roxie’s eyes widened in surprise at his offer. “Are you sure you’d be able to swing that?”

Riff probably wouldn’t, but he wasn’t going to tell her that. He’d find a way to keep his word if he lost, despite the financial implications. However, Riff had no intention of actually losing.

“That’s for me to worry ‘bout.”

Roxie still didn’t seem entirely convinced, but she dropped the subject. “And, if by some miracle this girl tells Tony she’ll go to the dance with him, what do you want?”

Riff was willing to take the win just for the sake of winning itself. He hadn’t thought far ahead enough to decide what else he wanted out of it. Besides the satisfaction of winning, what else did he actually want or need?

… Maybe to get even?

Roxie had ended up tagging along to the gambling house a few weeks back, and even though by the end of the night she had played a significant role in winning them all a little bit of cash, Riff could hardly relax the entire time. He kept looking over his shoulder, trying to pinpoint anyone who even looked at her in a questionable way. And, in all honesty, since they were a bunch of kids among adults, many people had looked oddly their way. Riff had been on edge the entire night. It was hardly the fun, albeit risky outing he had envisioned for the evening.

… Maybe it would be pouring salt in the wound after he won their bet, but Riff didn’t really care. Maggie Sanders would forgive him; Riff had just discovered another option that seemed far too entertaining to pass up.

“If I win, you have to go to the dance with me.“

In an instinctual reaction, Roxie’s jaw dropped. She shook her head once and recovered her composure. “I can’t go to the dance with you, Riff.”

“Why not?” Riff challenged playfully. “Got another date lined up?”

“No-”

“Lawrence didn’t ask ya the other day?”

Roxie deadpanned. “No. He didn’t ask me, and I don’t have another date.”

Her tone was firm, but was that disappointment Riff sensed in her tone as well? … The double take made Riff dare to wonder if Roxie had wanted Lawrence to ask her to the day Riff had seen them talking in the hallway… and if that was true, that bothered him.

On one hand, what business did Riff have with Roxie’s personal affairs? She was just a friend, and a bit of an annoying one at that. He certainly had no grounds on which to advise her on who she should and shouldn’t date. She’d only laugh at him and tell him to take his unwanted opinions elsewhere.

…

But on the other hand, how could Lawrence not have asked her to the dance? Riff had seen glimpses of Roxie at the last dance they all attended- he knew she could hold her own on the dance floor. And, if he had to admit it… Roxie had looked nice, too, and was no stick in the mud either. Despite the fact that they were qualities that seemed to annoy Riff on a near daily basis as of late, Roxie’s determination, resourcefulness, and willingness to not only speak her mind but put someone in their place would keep any guy on his toes. She’d be far from a boring date.

“I’m surprised you’re even going to the dance,” Roxie admitted. “You know, with everything going on.”

Riff knew exactly what Roxie was referring to. “Everything going on” meant the increasing heat between the Jets and the Bishops.

The Jets, which consisted of Riff, Tony, and a few of their closest pals, were relatively new in concept, but the crew was already beginning to feel like a band of brothers. They were quite an eccentric group of guys- Riff, Tony, Ice, Action, Diesel, and Gee-Tar, but they got by. They all had each other’s back, and everyone- including the Bishops- knew it.

The Bishops seemed to pop up out of nowhere over the summer. As soon as they got settled into the neighborhood, they’d proclaimed the streets as theirs. They started messing around with some local businesses, and causing some other general mischief. Though they had proclaimed their antics as pranks, to put it frankly, they were barking up the wrong tree.

And of course, the Jets weren’t willing to have any of it. It was their neighborhood, and no one else was going to simply move in and tell them otherwise. The neighborhood was their home. Since many of them had less than stellar upbringings, the literal neighborhood itself was just about the only thing they had left.

Hence, a growing history of skirmishes and fights in alleyways between the Bishops and the Jets had begun.

Even as recently as last week, Riff had gotten into it with the leader of the Bishops, despite the fact that he had yet to learn the guy’s name. It hadn’t exactly been Riff’s fault... Their leader must’ve lived near Riff’s uncle's auto shop, and the two passed each other on the sidewalk more often than Riff cared to admit. The guy had been eyeing Riff challengingly for the past month, and last week it had escalated into verbal taunts. When Riff got into his face and demanded he repeated his hateful words, things escalated quickly.

Another Bishop or two showed up out of nowhere, and quickly joined their leader in attempting to pummel Riff. Thankfully, Tony showed up and saved his neck before any of them could get any decent hits in.

Later, once it became apparent what had happened, Roxie berated him for his hot-headedness. But despite her apparent disapproval, she still looked him over briefly to make sure he was truly alright.

But the upcoming dance would offer a nice distraction and a way to de-stress from “everything going on” with the Bishops, and Riff found himself actually looking forward to it.

“A girl actually asked me to go with her,” Riff told Roxie matter of factly.

Roxie looked surprised. “And you’d rather go with me instead?”

… Maybe not so much that, but Riff couldn’t deny the idea of getting on Roxie’s nerves for an entire evening sounded like a fun way to pass the time. Plus, it would be more than an adequate payback for what he had been through for their night at the gambling house. And Riff got to fit in a little dancing here and there, it would be win-win-in in his book. Besides, if Lawrence wasn’t going to ask Roxie to the dance and show her a good time, Riff knew beyond a doubt that he was more than capable of doing so.

“Do ya agree to the terms of the bet, or not?” Riff asked, leaving her question unanswered. “… Nevermind, it’s fine. I can see it on your face- you’re gonna chicken out.. Acceptin’ defeat ain’t nothin’ to be ashamed of, Roxie.”

Of course, Roxie took the bait. Her brows furrowed and her lips pursed in a thin line. “I’m not going to chicken out. You’re on.”

The two lightly clinked their Coke bottles together in lieu of shaking hands in their own way of agreement.

The next few minutes passed slowly as Riff wondered whether he was about to be even more hard-strapped for cash than usual, or if he was going to have the pleasure of seeing Roxie’s aunt’s disapproving face when he dropped by the apartment to pick her up for the dance. The woman already had something out for Riff, and the two of them were just friends. What would she think if they actually went to a dance together?

Riff wasn’t sure, but he really, really wanted to find out.

“I’ll see you around,” Graziella said then, breaking Riff from his thoughts.

Riff and Roxie sat up to attention and watched as Graziella walked by Tony and headed towards the front door of Doc’s. As she passed by their table, she shot the pair a small smile.

Once she was out the door, their heads snapped back over to Tony, who was approaching them.

“Well, what happened?” Roxie inquired quickly.

“Spill it, pal,” Riff added, “Did she say she’d go with ya?”

Tony attempted to put on a poker face, trying to capitalize on his friend’s obvious interest in his predicament. However, his facade didn’t last for too long.

He smiled, and Riff instantly knew that victory was his.

“Let’s just say I ain’t goin’ stag to the dance,” Tony said.

Riff didn’t look at Roxie, but he could sense her disappointment from across the table without having to do so. Instead, he rose from his seat and clapped a hand on Tony’s shoulder.

“Good for you, Buddy Boy,” Riff praised genuinely. “Me and Roxie here will see you two there.”

Tony looked between the two of them in bewilderment. “Really?”

Riff nodded with a bright smile and Roxie covered her face with her hands.

“Serious as a heart attack,” Riff said. He looked back at Roxie with a smirk. “We’ll all have a great evenin’, won’t we, Roxie?”

Roxie dropped her hands from her face and sighed. “Oh, I’m sure we’ll have a splendid time…”

Though she sounded decently annoyed, the small smile playing on her lips betrayed her words.

…

Riff won that bet. Though he was satisfied with the victory, he wasn’t above being a gracious winner and making sure Roxie didn’t have too terrible of a time at the dance.

She probably wasn’t going to make that task easy for him, though.

————————————————————————————

Riff couldn’t believe it.

He was having true, honest to God fun with Roxie at the dance.

Fun. With Roxie.

… Do I got a fever or somethin’?

One could never be too sure. They’d been dancing up a storm, and had already visited the punch table twice to quench their thirst and attempt to cool down. It was quite possible that the heat was really starting to get to Riff.

However, the longer the night went on, the more that Riff began to believe that perhaps that wasn’t the case.

“Ready to get back out there?”

Roxie’s question pulled Riff from his thoughts.

Riff sat down his empty glass on the table behind him and immediately offered her an arm chivalrous arm to escort her back onto the dance floor.

Throughout the night, Tony and Graziella had never been too far away from them. In fact, Riff and Roxie had accidentally bumped into them a couple of times while dancing. They seemed extremely keen on each other, and from Riff’s point of view, they were getting along well… really well. Riff felt fairly confident that he would be seeing Graziella again.

Riff felt happy for Tony, but he was quickly learning, much to his surprise, that his date wasn’t too shabby either.

Roxie was able to keep up with him the entire evening, in both dancing and talking. Riff would twirl her one moment, and in the next she’d quip back something smart in response to a snide comment he’d made.

“Is he watching?” Roxie asked Riff quietly once the pair had begun dancing to the band’s lively song once again.

As Riff spun around in time to the music, his eyes scanned the periphery to the “he” Roxie was referring to.

“He”- Lawrence Anderson- was standing off to the side of the dance floor with his hands awkwardly shoved into the front pockets of his pants. His date, a girl Riff recognized from around school but did not know, sat on the bleachers nearby. Her elbow was propped up on her knee, and she rested her hand on her palm. She was clearly bored, despite all the flashy decorations and lively music. Lawrence, on the other hand, kept looking at Riff and Roxie with undeniable envy painted plainly across his face.

Riff could hardly blame the guy. In his most definitely un-biased opinion, Lawrence Anderson had made a huge mistake by not asking Roxie to the dance.

Her hair was starting to fall a bit, and there was a small sheen of perspiration over her face, but Roxie still looked stunning. Her royal blue dress made her stand out among the rest of the girls. She wasn’t the most graceful dancer, but she knew her right foot from her left, and the sparkling smile she wore on her face throughout would distract anyone watching from detecting any missteps. Even if Riff hadn’t immediately searched for her whenever they got separated for more than a few seconds throughout the night, he doubted he would’ve been able to keep his eyes off of her.

He could tell that a few of the other guys at the dance were thinking along the same lines. Every time they had taken a break to grab some punch, Riff could practically feel their anxious energy nearby, just itching for the chance to sneak in while Riff was distracted and ask Roxie if they could steal a dance with her. One guy had even been so bold as to ask her directly, but Roxie had come up with some excuse about powdering her nose. Once he had walked away, Roxie had turned to Riff expectantly and asked him whether he was ready to go out on to the dance floor again.

At least Riff hadn’t hogged her for the entire evening. He had happily stepped aside when Roxie decided to share a quick dance with Tony, and then Diesel. Graziella and Velma had been fine partners for a song or two.

Since Roxie had been willing to swap partners with certain people, but not others, and had yet to ask him, it seemed that Lawrence Anderson fell further into the clutches of the green-eyed monster.

“He is,” Riff confirmed, unable to keep himself from smirking at Lawrence’s jealousy.

Snooze, ya loose, pal.

Roxie laughed once, but whether it was from the speed with which Riff suddenly twirled her, or from Riff’s confirmation of her suspicions, he was unsure.

“I hope he eats his heart out,” Roxie replied half-seriously as she placed her hands on his shoulders.

Me too.

Riff smiled conspiratorially as he lifted her off the ground. As he gently set her back down on the wooden floor, he chuckled, mostly to himself. “Watch out, Roxie- them ain’t words for a proper young lady.”

“Please,” Roxie scoffed. “I’m far from a proper young lady, and I doubt you’d want to be seen with one.”

Riff wasn’t entirely sure what she meant by his words, and as such, he didn’t know how to respond. Instead, he changed the subject. “Ya know, I kinda like this side of Roxie.”

Roxie rolled her eyes, but the corners of her lips twitching suggested she wasn’t truly offended. “The vindictive one?”

“No- the feisty one.”

Roxie paused and dropped her hands from Riff’s as the song ended. She looked at him with an odd twinkle in her eye that Riff couldn’t quite pinpoint.

…

Had he been reading her thoughts and actions throughout the entire evening incorrectly? Though it was clear to Riff that he had been having a blast, perhaps Roxie had not been having nearly as much fun as him.

The beginning notes of a much slower song fluttered through the air. Riff looked away from Roxie and began to walk off the dance floor.

“Where are you going?” she called after him.

Riff froze in his tracks immediately, and turned to look at her with a sheepish look. “Thought ya might wanna take another break, since this song is… ya know.” His hands gestured to the air around them for emphasis.

Roxie looked at him oddly for a moment, before she smiled softly. “I don’t mind… if you don’t either, of course.”

“Who, me? Nah,” Riff replied quickly, trying to be as cool as a cucumber. Or, perhaps, at least as cool as Ice would have been in his shoes.

He walked back up to her, and forced himself not to pay any mind to the awkward moment that ensued as the pair silently tried to gauge what stance the other was comfortable with. Eventually, they wordlessly decided to take one hand in the others, with Roxie’s spare hand on Riff’s shoulder, and his spare hand on her waist.

The sweet, steady tune of the song coming from the band continued to weave through the air around the couples on the dance floor.

Riff tried to focus on the beat as he and Roxie gently swayed along. Roxie seemed a bit stiffer in her movements than she had been the entire night so far, which suggested to Riff that she was feeling at least a little bit awkward as well.

Suddenly, Roxie yawned.

Any and all uncomfortable tension was shattered immediately, and Riff barked out a laugh. A few couples nearby them gave them dirty looks, but neither paid them any mind.

“Sorry,” Roxie mumbled, her face growing slightly red. “I didn’t realize how tired I am.”

“It’s fine,” Riff assured her quickly and honestly.

Still, Roxie’s face was red. She leaned closer to him, and hid her face in his dress shirt and jacket.

Riff was initially taken aback by her action. He froze, and looked down at the top of her head. However, the more he thought about it, the more he realized he didn’t necessarily mind her forwardness. He relaxed, and moved his free hand from her waist to the small of the back, silently communicating that he did not find her gesture invasive.

Riff spotted Tony and Graziella out of the corner of his eye. He dared to look across the room, several yards away to meet Tony’s inquisitive gaze.

Tony and Graziella were swaying just as close, if not closer, than Riff and Roxie were at that moment. They seemed comfortable in each other’s presence. If Riff wasn’t feeling slightly in shock of the turn of events he had been experiencing with Roxie that evening, he most definitely would’ve teased Tony for getting mighty friendly with Graziella.

But since Tony was the one who was feeling relatively at ease, he beat Riff to the punch. He gave Riff a knowing smirk as his eyes flicked between him and Roxie.

Riff would’ve flipped him off good-heartedly, but he chose to let Tony’s non-verbal teasing slide. He leaned forward, and lightly rested his chin upon Roxie’s head, mindful to not actually let her bare any of the weight.

Once the dance had ended, and the gym began to clear out, Tony and Graziella bid them both a goodnight, before heading off to who knew where. But, if Riff had to guess, Tony’s apartment wouldn’t have been that far out of the realm of possibility.

Once the lovey-dovey couple was out of sight, Riff and Roxie turned to one another. The pair quickly and mutually decided that neither of them were quite ready to return to their respective homes.

Hand in hand, the pair made their way down the street lamp lit sidewalks until the abandoned pier came into view.

Tony had discovered the tear in the fence that surrounded the abandoned pier a few months back, and had since shown it to Riff, and then to Roxie. It was the first time that either of them had come to the condemned place without Tony, but if Riff had to guess, Tony wouldn’t be too upset with them in light of the circumstances.

Riff watched Roxie carefully as they stepped onto the old wooden planks. He readied himself to jump to action at a moment’s notice as he watched her take light, slow steps across the decaying wood. “Take it easy, now.”

Roxie snickered, turned, and looked down at Riff’s feet. “I could say the same for you.”

Riff looked down at his feet as well, and immediately spotted a large hole across several planks of wood right in front of him, just inches from his shoes. In his concern for Roxie, he’d almost walked right into it. Riff doubted he would’ve fallen into the water below- more than likely, he would’ve scraped up his legs a bit, but ultimately caught himself- but his near blunder was still one worth noting.

Riff sidestepped around the hole and took a few long strides to keep in pace with Roxie, who was making her way towards the edge of the pier. The closer she grew to the edge, the more anxious Riff became. Fortunately, before she reached the drop off, Roxie turned, and hopped up onto a nearby large crate to take a seat. Her legs swung lightly in the air as she patted the space on the crate beside her and beamed over at Riff invitingly.

Riff didn’t have to be told twice. He walked over, climbed up, and sat down slowly and carefully beside her. It was quiet for a few moments, and Riff looked down at his shoes as he pondered whether to say anything at all, or let the silence fester between them.

By the time he looked back up at Roxie, Riff realized she was no longer looking at him. Instead, her head was turned, and she was looking out over the water beside them. Riff could only catch a sliver of her face from his current angle, but what he could see was illuminated by the moon overhead.

Riff reached into his pockets to withdraw his box of cigarettes and lighter he’d grabbed on a hunch earlier that evening, right before he left his uncle’s apartment. In all honesty, Riff had grabbed the items in anticipation of having a stressful evening, and he had wanted a legitimate excuse to give himself a little break from Roxie if need be. But now, he was starting to feel relaxed for the first time in a few hours. And instead of needing a cigarette to calm his nerves, he simply wanted one to help keep him at ease and soothe his rapidly beating heart.

As the cigarette was lit, Roxie turned to him.

“What’re you doing?”

Even though Riff had yet to take a drag of the cigarette, he held it out to her. “Want a drag?”

Riff suspected that Roxie had never smoked before. Though she had been around him and Tony when they’d been smoking before, she had never partaken in the activity herself. And now, looking at Roxie’s uncertain eyes, Riff knew that his suspicions were confirmed.

In a move that surprised him, Roxie shrugged and took the cigarette from his hand gently.

Riff watched her amusedly as she looked at the cigarette, as if contemplating what to do with it, or whether to do anything with it at all. Finally, she put the cigarette to her lips hesitantly, before attempting to take a slow drag.

She grimaced, pulled the stick from between her lips, and launched herself into a coughing fit.

Despite the very small inkling of concern he had for her in that moment, Riff let out a few hearty laughs. His well-practiced hands lightly took the cigarette from her inexperienced ones so that no ash would inadvertently fall onto her dress.

He continued to hold the cigarette between his fingers as he watched her coughing fit sizzle out and eventually cease. “Ya good?” he asked, only half-jokingly.

Roxie nodded, but her eyes still looked a bit strained and watery. “How the hell do you and Tony smoke those things?” she asked incredulously, her voice still a bit hoarse.

“Ya get used to it,” Riff mumbled, shrugging nonchalantly as he finally put the cigarette to his lips and took a drag.

“Maybe that’s it… or maybe you and Tony are already so full of smoke, it doesn’t bother either of you.”

Riff smirked and watched her out of the corner of his eyes as he exhaled smoke.

“Can I tell you something?”

Riff flicked away some ash. “Shoot.”

“I’m glad I lost that bet.”

Riff’s head rolled from one shoulder to the other as he looked over at her. His eyes scanned her face, desperately searching for some sort of indication that she was joking or that her words were anything less than genuine.

He found nothing that indicated as such.

“Ya tellin’ me ya actually enjoyed goin’ to the dance with a Riff-raff like me?” Riff asked jokingly. “What’s your aunt gonna think when ya tell her ya didn’t have a terrible time?”

“I don’t care what she thinks,” Roxie snapped. She cleared her throat, and continued, much more quietly. “Sometimes I think she’d be happy locking me up in my room and never letting me leave again.”

Riff didn’t doubt that. Her aunt had never been fond of him, or Tony. Hell, from what Roxie had told him, the woman apparently didn’t even like Velma that much, and Velma was just about one of the nicest girls from the neighborhood. The mental image of her aunt’s concerned and almost disgusted look as she opened the door when he swung by the apartment to pick up Roxie earlier that evening would stick with Riff for quite a while.

The West Side wasn’t a playground by any means, but they were all getting to the age where being kept inside the house all day would be hindering their social skills, not to mention detrimental to any sort of social life they might hope to have. For Riff, Tony, and the rest of the Jets, that was hardly a concern. There was no one who could force them to stay inside against their will, and if there was, they weren’t worth listening to. But for Roxie, and for Velma, who still had involved parental figures in their lives, it could start to become a serious problem.

“I hope you didn’t take her comments about your jacket too seriously,” Roxie added after a few moments of quiet. “... I think you look really nice.”

Riff hadn’t let her aunt’s rude words bother him at all. In fact, he had forgotten that she had uttered such a thing that was meant to make him feel inferior until Roxie had brought it up. Riff was far more interested in Roxie’s compliment than he ever would be in her aunt’s insult.

“Thanks,” he replied, fighting through the awkwardness that was beginning to cloud over him. “... You look stunnin’ yourself.”

Riff quickly took another drag of his cigarette to give himself something else to focus on other than Roxie after his rushed admittance.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could’ve sworn he saw Roxie smile.

A comfortable silence fell over the pair as Riff continued to smoke his cigarette. In the silence, Riff’s thoughts had a mind of their own, and they dared to wonder…

How on earth could this be the same girl who had a habit of making him feel like hypothetically smacking his head against a wall?

Roxie had been getting on his nerves in general for several weeks now. But in the context of that evening, when Riff was actually open to the idea, he was beginning to find the qualities about her that had once used to infuriate him now made her all the more endearing to him.

He had yet to admit it, but her poker skills had impressed him. He’d been genuinely concerned for her wellbeing throughout their evening at the gambling house. And that night at the dance, he felt happy sharing in her the joy upon realizing that Lawrence Anderson had truly missed out on a great date, not to mention some one on one time with one of the best girls to ever come out of the West Side.

Somehow, someway, and definitely without Riff’s knowledge, Roxie had gone and found a way to get under Riff’s skin. That much he knew for certain, and it simply was not up for debate.

Riff wasn’t sure quite what that meant for him, or for the state of his friendship- relationship?- with Roxie, but he was willing to find out. Roxie was a challenge, and Riff had never been one to shy away from challenges.

Riff finished his cigarette, extinguished it, and flicked it away. He hopped down from the crate unceremoniously and turned back around to face Roxie. “It’s startin’ to get late…We oughta get goin’ before your aunt hunts us down.”

Roxie nodded, and glanced down at the floor of the pier below. It hadn’t been too far of a drop for Riff, but for Roxie, who was wearing heels, it very well may have been another story.

Riff noticed her reluctance, and slowly extended his hands out to her. “Come on- I’ll help ya down.”

Though she initially showed even more hesitance to his request, eventually Roxie placed two hands on his shoulders, and scooted closer to the edge of the crate. On the count of three, she hopped down, and with Riff’s hands on her waist, he caught her and gently placed her down onto the wooden floor.

Even though she was safely on her own two feet, Roxie’s hands remained on Riff’s shoulders.

“Ya alright?” Riff asked her, dropping his hands from her waist as he glanced her up and down and checked for any signs of injury.

Maybe I didn’t set her down as lightly as I thought…

Roxie merely nodded again, and her hands remained where they were. Riff looked back up at her face curiously, and was met with her piercing gaze. There was a look on her face that he couldn’t quite place, but the seriousness of whatever was on her mind captivated Riff nonetheless. Without realizing it, he leaned towards her as he waited for her next words.

“Wanna make a bet?”

“Absolutely,” Riff breathed, not missing a beat.

“I want to try something,” Roxie confessed, suddenly timid. “If you’re alright with what it is, you have to admit it.”

Riff blinked, not having a single clue about what Roxie was talking about. Still he nodded, clinging on to every single word she said, much like Graziella had done to Tony.

Oh, how the tables have turned…

“If you’re not alright with it, I’ll never do it or bring it up again.”

Despite being no clearer on what Roxie was planning to do in just a few seconds, Riff whispered, “Deal.”

The pair looked deep into each other’s eyes until Roxie’s trailed down to his lips. A wave of realization crashed over Riff as he realized what she was about to do as it was happening.

He remained still as Roxie stood up on her toes, and by using her hands that were still on his shoulders as a means of support, pressed a shy, light kiss to his lips. Her movements were slow and hesitant as she tested the waters. She was so gentle, it was almost as though she was afraid that any sudden or harsh movements would break him.

Instinctively, Riff’s eyes closed as he lost himself in the moment.

… Holy-

It wasn’t Riff’s first kiss, but the feeling that overcame him had him wishing that it was. It certainly felt like it.

Roxie pulled away, rolled back onto her heels a moment later - too soon- and looked at him apprehensively. She bit her lip before she asked, “... Was that okay?”

Though it wasn’t his, if Riff had to guess, it had been Roxie’s first kiss. And she had been the one to initiate it! It baffled him that this girl, who he could’ve sworn he knew all there was to be known about her, still found ways to completely throw him for a loop. Almost as much as it baffled him that she had wanted to kiss him. Him- of all people!

Though he was in a state of shock, Riff had enough milliseconds of clarity to know that there was no going back from that point… at least not for him. Even if Riff had told Roxie that he hadn’t been alright with her forwardness- which would’ve been a blatant lie- he knew he wouldn’t be able to forget the feeling of her lips on his. He didn’t want to forget it.

Her kiss changed everything. It put all of the mixed feelings that he’d been having about her over the past few weeks into an incredibly enlightened perspective. Suddenly, it all made sense- why Roxie’s behavior, which really wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, had been bothering him so much as of late.

Riff wasn’t used to having or wanting to have the patience to see girls who were able to go toe-to-toe, eye-to-eye with him in anything other than a platonic light.

… He hadn’t anticipated himself seeing Roxie in anything other than a platonic light.

But the feelings he felt brewing inside him at the thought of her, at the thought of them in that moment as they stood on the pier, alone, underneath the moonlight and the stars, so close that their noses nearly touched, were anything but platonic.

…

It was almost funny, in an ironic way- the answer to his source of frustration had been right there, in front of his face all along.

He’d met his match.

Throughout Riff’s epiphanic musings, he had neglected to acknowledge Roxie, who remained frozen in place, watching him with bated breath and constantly shifting, anxious eyes.

Misreading his lack of response as rejection, Roxie took her hands off his shoulders and turned away.

“Wait,” Riff whispered in a hushed tone, mentally kicking himself for not reacting soon.

Thankfully, Roxie stopped, although she slowly lifted her head to give him a look that made it clear to Riff that she had not ruled out possible rejection on his part. She looked downright fearful as she nervously waited for him to continue.

Unsure how else to convince Roxie that she had not crossed a line, Riff leaned down and kissed her again without a second thought.

This time, their kiss lasted longer as the two became entranced in one another. The pair only pulled away when the need for air outweighed their increasing desire to continue.

Riff looked down at Roxie, and gave her a giddy smile so wide that his cheeks protested at the unfamiliar expression. The kisses were a little awkward, and maybe even a little bit messy, but they’d left Riff breathless regardless. And, judging by Roxie’s wide eyes and slightly heaving chest, Roxie felt the same.

“That was more than okay,” Riff promised her, still a little winded. Once he could tell she was receptive and welcoming to his actions, he placed his hands on her waist once again for further emphasis of his point.

Filled with a new surge of confidence from his reassurance, Roxie smiled radiantly, and reached up over his shoulders to intertwine her fingers behind his head. Her fingers were cold on the back of his neck, but they offered a pleasant contrast to the heat quickly rising upon Riff’s face.

He silently thanked whoever was watching up above that it was dark out, and that Roxie wouldn’t see. However, had there been any light, Riff would’ve been surprised to learn that Roxie’s face was growing just as red as his own.

He slowly pulled her closer to him, and they kissed again, fueled by the excitement that seemed to accompany any new, young romantic pursuits.

They were equally determined to make the most of the quiet moments between them that followed, before reality came crashing down upon them and they each had to return home.

…

Technically, Riff lost the bet with Roxie that night. But, when all was said and done, he learned an important life lesson instead.

Not all bets were worth winning.

A/N: Thank you for reading! Please feel free to let me know what you think. If you would like to be added to the taglist, just reach out.😊

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msimsandstuff · 2 years

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Here, I have a note . . .

"Gentlemen, I have now sent you several notes of the most amiable nature, detailing how my theatre is to be run. You have not followed my instructions. I shall give you one last chance . . ."

#ts3 #thesims3 #thesims #sims3 #sims #sims photoshoot #sims photography #ts3 photography #poto #phantom of the opera #phantom #ts3 portraits

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bdbsvirtualjournal · 6 months

Text

24/10/2023 - Sleep Deprived Adventures Part 2

After I've captured the pipe in the most artistic way I could I actually went to that job fair I said I'll go. I went in the direction of the Complex, but didn't used any sort of maps, I just went where my eyes and my bike took me and vaguely in that direction. My mood was severely influenced by the movie like experience of chasing the Colterm pipe and I felt like I was in a film. The air had a different feel, the colors were more pronounced and my state of mind was very aware of every passing second. I wished I could've stopped and wrote something, but it wasn't the moment.

When I finally got in the front of the building that was hosting the job fair, I felt a deep and severe disgust about the whole thing. I was tired and I didn't want to talk about jobs and to ask about them to random people and I especially didn't want to deal with the false veil of amiability that hid the transactional nature of the whole deal. When I entered the building I was hit with a big wave of boredom and bitterness. I felt so uninterested by everything there. My inner radical marxist was in pure agony. "And I walked around town and felt like I was in Sodom", that's what was in my mind while I was walking in the big hall full of stands of different firms handling flyers and useless objects with their logo on them. The only place where I actually wanted to go was the Nokia stand. I always had a fascination with Nokia. In every stage of my life their products were present. The phones my parents had, how I mindlessly played with them and how step by step I learn their functions and secrets and how I found a game in every application built in them from Settings and Calculator to actually cool ones. Some old Nokia phones had an app in witch you could create ringtones. From 1 to 8 it was a note and '*' I think changed the tone of the note. Later in life when I owned phones, most of them were Nokia Phones. Some had access to internet. I didn't have cable internet until I was 12, so my gateway to the world wide web was on a 128x128 screen with 2G speeds. But it was enough for me, I manage it make it work. That's how my computer knowledge become fruitful I think. For me, my first experience with Java wasn't as a programing language, but as an OS. But I digress. When I entered the university, the Idea of working at Nokia seemed interesting since their buildings are the closest to me from every Multinational in my city. Later my hatred for cars and the automotive increased exponentially. Most of the companies that search for Polytechnic students are automotive firms. So Nokia is basically the only place that seems interesting to me.

Their stand had some cool stuff I guess, a robot that had a very small delay and worked with 5G technology. One thing that I liked, even thought it might be weird or rude, was their directness. They asked me what year I am and what Faculty, and based on my Answer they started to talk about some internship they have there. I liked this directness since it wasn't masked into any performative subtilty about the whole scenario. I'm interested in a job and they are interested in cheap labor. After I got the info about their job opportunities, I considered leaving. I really wasn't interested in any other stands from there, but because I met a colleague from my Summer Practice there, I decided to see what other firms had to offer. Atoss had a stupid spin the wheel game, ZF had a pretty cool break model and they explained it to me. I did understand most of it even thought I never pressed a break pedal in my life. At Huawei the people didn't know how to talk, they just gave me a flyer and that's it. I was also pissed at them because I wanted to root my P30 lite but I can't because they stopped giving the code for bootloaders or something like that. After that I decided to leave. Went to a store to buy something to eat, they didn't have anything that I want so I was pretty pissed (when I'm tired I get irritated easily), eat at my mother's workplace, talked with her about a book, and after that I went to gym. The traffic was abysmal and that made even more irritated. I felt a hatred for everything that was around me basically. I've calmed down after talking a little to a friend and seeing some info about Ciprian Porumbescu in the Bastion. The big poster that I read talked about the relationship between him and a woman whom he deeply loved, but they couldn't get married because their parents didn't approved of it. Even thought they didn't get married, he had a deep love for her his entire live, writing passionate letters to her. That dedication and the whole subject of impossible love is one that started to deeply fascinate me lately, for reasons I will discuss another time.

When I was close to the gym, on a public trash bin there was a book. Naturally, I stopped to investigate it. Every time I see a book or everything book shaped I stopped to look at it. It was an old white hardcover without anything on it. I opened it. The first page was a black page, but had a message:

Translation: "I hope that your life steps to be crowned only with success and happiness, and that on the last step you'll find the wonderful bouquet of accomplishments. Happy Birthday! With love P... 7.II.1969"

It hit me like a truck. My heart started to dismantle. Every cell of my blood was filled with sorrow. 'How could anyone throw this living piece of history away?' I get emotional when I see two things thrown away and / or abandoned. Teddy bears and books. The first one represents to me the loss of childhood. What's more sad than a child negating his innocence and its wonders by tossing aside his toys, action that they will most like it regret it later? And how can such a soft and pure object be treated like that? No filth or degradation should touch the cozy texture of a teddy bear in the same way trauma and hardship shouldn't corrupt the innocence of a child. So I've always imagine the loss of innocence as a teddy bear thrown away, tossed in the trash. The latter represent the beauty of life, the tool that gives meaning to existence. "The gateway to eternity, our bridges from past to future, from pain to joy", beautifully said by Anya's mother in The Orchard by Kristina Gorcheva-Newberry. Books are the strongest pieces that stand the test of time.

So why would someone commit such a heinous crime like that? That page alone deserves to be framed and put in a museum. That page alone holds the entire life of two persons. The reader and P. who are probably dead by now. Their spirits are forever linked with this book, by the unseen fingerprints, microscopic pieces of skin and the ink tattooed in the page.

That signature is older than my mother. And someone decided to throw it away.

I hoped it was a good book, so I could take, but I'm sure I would've take it just for that first page. Luckily (or bafflingly) for me, it was a copy of Wuthering Heights.

'And such a great book!' I thought.

I had to take it. Not only it's a great book and a living piece of history, a continuation of lives. Now the anonymous birthday haver and P. continue to live, in my brain and heart and in my library, until both of those turn to dust. I put the book in my backpack and went to gym.

The gym session was great. Worked my back and biceps. I felt really good after it. No more sings of mental irritation! My plan was to go home, do some chores, take a power nap in order to be fresh when I see my girlfriend. I had to buy something for my dad's chainsaw.

When I enter the front door, I see my dad in the yard, with a lot of logs cut. I already knew my nap plans were obliterated. I wasn't mad tho. I just helped him with them. He is in a wheelchair for a few months because he injured his heel heavily. I basically did another working out session but a vintage one. We finished with enough time for me to eat something and prepare to go.

While I wasn't annoyed or extremely sleepy, I was in a high state of euphoria, like I was drugged or something. I was high on tiredness. My mind jumped to silly thoughts a lot. I was a little scared that I will be moody and won't have a great date, but not so much to get affected. I waited for her in front of the Church from Balcescu Square, which was open and the evening Mass was held. I listened a little bit to it and admired the inside of the Church. I was surprised that it was in Romanian and not in Hungarian or Latin. The vibe was very somber. I think I'll go to a Ceremony there someday, to compare it to the Orthodox one.

After I met with my girlfriend we talked about our day and other stuff. It was an extremely pleasant talk. My tiredness didn't affect me in any way. We walked to her place, cuddles for a while and after that we prepared snacks and finished Arcane. We started it in September but only now we finished it. After that we laid in each other arms. The moment was enhanced by the tiredness we both felt.

But I had to go home. I was incredibly tired and didn't have the stuff that I needed for the next day of uni. Did I mention that I start at 8AM and that I have a lab, so I can't miss? The walk home was miserable. Delusional thoughts were boosted by my aggravated tiredness. I almost got myself to tears. I will analyze them another time.

#journal #journal entry #diary entry

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thomine · 7 months

Text

AUTHOR'S COMMENTARY; sincere sins & serious schemes

Index

basic stats

overall

world building note

title

pairing

deviation

final

⠀

Basic stats

time: 6 days

total word count: definitely more than 2k. i deleted the document so i can't check. potentially 3.5k - 4k words. not much drafts but i restarted the beginning at least once.

deviation: 3.5/5...???

*deviation from original is on a scale of 1-5, 1 being there was no change and 5 being it was completely changed.

⠀

Overall

wikipedia says that noir is “centered on protagonists that are either victims, suspects, or perpetrators—often self-destructive. a typical protagonist of noir fiction is forced to deal with a corrupt legal, political or other system, through which the protagonist is either victimised and/or has victimised others, leading to a lose-lose situation.”

i think those who’ve read my story can sort of see how i tried to stay true to the genre of noir. i didn’t want it to be an ordinary crime!au because, after reading what noir was, i thought it was ironic for thoma—a wholesome character—to exist in such circumstances. it was something i wanted to explore.

because i was insistent that the nature of the story captured the signature of noir, it took me several days to brainstorm the plot of the fic. i started brainstorming for it since day 10 as i thought it would be thoma's day, only to realise his was on 13th august, and then proceeded to not write it on 13th august, breaking my writing streak. so much for "preparing in advance" lol. but i only had one chance, and i wanted to ensure the story would be something i would look back upon and think "i really did try", so it took a while. eventually, i just sat down and wrote what i had in mind—i did not expect that ending. more on that later.

⠀

World Building

heizou is part of inazuma detective agency! although he doesn't appear in the fic, i did consider where he'll be in this whole au.

the detective agency is large, and it is probably the largest in inazuma, split into the 3 commissions we are familiar in the game, and then divided further into divisions. those are the 'clans' in-game.

⠀

the entire detective agency is corrupted, with the "head" of the detective agency only being a puppet and scapegoat.

ayato's division is anti-corruption except he doesn't outright say he's against those currently in power. although he might despise their practices and makes it clear he's against it by working harder to reveal the truth of the cases, he works amiably with them. those in power, at most, see him as a thorn to their side rather than an actual threat.

this is also part of ayato's plan. due to him being on their low radar, it allows him to do things quietly. for example, the shuumatsuban exists in this au, except they don't have a name. they're simply people who are hired under ayato with no relation to the detective agency. their identities are kept as a secret.

they are considered "cleaner" than those under his division, so he uses them a lot more, actually.

⠀

ayato is stringent with who he works with. he does extensive background checks to ensure those assigned to him via the agency are not spies. he's subtle about his "layoffs" as well, and his plots to "split" with them normally take about 4-6 months. after that, he puts them in probation for another 6-months. if you've been under ayato's division for more than that, then it's proof that you've passed his tests.

ayaka is not part of the detective agency. she is aware of their malpractices, but ayato does not share beyond that. although she has requested, multiple times, for her brother to share his burdens, ayato proposed that one way she can help is to keep her innocence.

as the protective brother that he is, he does not let anyone, other than thoma and those working under his secret organisation, get close to ayaka. reader is no exception, and reader is aware of that. anyways, they have other things to worry about than ayato's private life. ayato is also aware of reader's attitude towards his life outside of the agency and hence speaks about his sister in front of them without worry. of course he doesn't share details, but he's not as lip-tight either.

⠀⠀

the timeline of reader and thoma's partnership is like so:

reader joins the team and ayato is quick to point out how reader is a wildcard. they don't have relations to many people which might be to their advantage. however, they are close to their brother, but their brother might not be good company. thoma and ayato talk it out with ayato saying that he wants to observe reader for a few more months before concluding if they should be part of the team. thoma is therefore assigned as reader's partner.

reader passed the 1 year mark. throughout the year, reader has been extremely cautious of thoma, but only slowly got comfortable around him after they had to work together for tougher cases. reader thought the increased difficulty was simply because they got some kind of promotion, but it's really for ayato to push their limits and dig out more information on their brother.

ayato and thoma did have a talk about thoma "getting too carried away". i'll let your imagination fill up what happened, haha. thoma always reassures it's for the job, and ayato trust him, but that's also why when he wanted thoma to extract information, he planted the idea of thoma and reader going on a date.

⠀

reader's relationship with their family is... complicated. they're brother is the favoured child, but everyone in the family knew reader was the smarter one. they treated them unfairly because the family didn't want the unfavoured child to be more accomplished than their favoured. however, the brother accepted this, and used it for his own gain. as the fic said, he convinced reader to join the detective agency because he couldn't, and he hoped to pull strings such that reader could always bail him out of the situations he's in.

unfortunately, reader met thoma. the bubbly, friendly thoma. although thoma's intentions are questionable, reader truly believed he cared for them, which loosened the control the brother had on reader.

⠀

the worldbuilding for this fic feels rather immense... and as i was listing it down, i realised how central ayato was to this au, haha...

⠀

Title

sincere sins & serious schemes was my attempt at alliteration. the original title i was thinking of was sacrificial lamb, but i felt that was too... obvious and cliche.

i'm not going to explain it too much here since i believe the links i've made to the title and the scenes of this fic is rather.. ambiguious, and would need more time to think it through, but the only thing i can be sure of is that sincere sins is to describe's reader's pov while serious schemes is to describe thoma's.

i'm still not sure if sacrificial lamb, although cliche and lacking of alliteration, might have been a better title, but i did like my attempt.

⠀

Pairing

i will probably repeat this a million times but slash (/) is indicative of a romantic relationship with a cross (x) indicates a relationship that's ambiguous: you can read it as romantic or platonic. what brings a fic from (x) to (/) is often what the characters do, and in this fic, there is a kiss.

normally, i classify such stories as romantic, but i didn't want the implication of the kiss to be concrete. i wanted to leave room for a bit of interpretation, and leaving it as an act of uncertainty (i.e. we don't know if thoma likes reader that way) leaves the fic with a feeling of dread. we want to believe it's genuine, but there's possibility it's not. hence why even with a kiss scene, it's still marked as ambiguous (x).

⠀

Deviation

i didn't have a goal in mind when writing this story, but i knew i wanted it to end in a rather depressing state. however, when writing, it just felt wrong for reader to not stand up for themselves and leave the story with an opening of hope. that hope being they might return to the division and their relationship with thoma might be salvageable.

i remember how i said it was ironic for thoma to exist in such a dark genre. i guess in exploring the juxtaposition of his happy disposition with a grimmer reality, it just did not feel like thoma if he did not make an impact in this darker, corrupted world. even if his intentions are not as pure, i hope it is clear he does care for reader, and as that light of hope for reader, that knife that frays the tight strings of reader's brother, i'm sure reader would have been impacted by him. if thoma were to exist in noir, even if the situation might seem like a lose-lose situation, his presence will always squeeze in the possibility of a win-win situation. it's just who thoma is (to me anyways).

⠀

Final

i don't think i can perfectly summarise my thoughts about this fic, especially when that would require going in detail about some choices i made. there are some "parallels" or "symbolic actions" i would like to address, and i want to highlight a few scenes i think are significant.

because of that, i'll resort to my newer style of autcoms, and i hope reading those (not as long and more in-depth) commentaries can help this fic grow meaning.

#root branches #thoma x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #q ed

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bestfantasysports · 1 year

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What is OG Weed- The Best OG Weed Strains

OG is a significant term used in both recreational and medical marijuana communities. You'll find it matched toward the start or end of a strain name. Despite its appearance as a simple abbreviation, this two-letter term has a complicated and controversial history.

For some marijuana fans, OG Kush lives as the godfather parent of this family, since numerous OG strains are reproduced from its genetics. In any case, each strain deserves respect in its own right.

The term "OG" originates from many stories, one of which is Ocean Grown. It is a kind of marijuana strain that is supposed to be grown outdoors, with California coastal roots.

One more would be that it stemmed from the term "Original Gangster," advocated and achieved by Los Angeles hip-bounce specialists like Tupac, Snoop Dogg, Ice Cube, and more in the last part of the 1980s or mid-1990s.

Despite the numerous speculations, the top and best classification of this is, in fact, the OG Kush, which was first grown for quite some time during the 1990s.

OG strains are cannabis strains that originated in California. This Californian root gave OG strains the power, smell, and taste that are particular to different strains; thus the term "Ocean Grown."

From here, numerous cannabis strains have been carried to market with various mixes from various sativa and indica-dominant strain categories.

Top OG Strains

You'll come across a wide range of varieties in the cannabis neighborhood, and you may believe that separating these weed strains is difficult, if not impossible. Nonetheless, with regard to the best and most loved OG strains, these OG strains are what many think of as the best.

OG Kush

The OG Kush, known as one of the fathers of the OG strains, is one of our favorites. The explanations behind it being the best change, however, primarily highlight the high THC content of the strain and how it assists users and smokers with adapting to pressure and pain.

Its prevalence rose when its parents, the Chemdawg and the Hindu Kush, were crossed and consolidated. It has the equivalent of a natural scent with inconspicuous citrus notes that radiate a reviving sprinkle of pine and lemon. After use, individuals report feeling amiable, hungry, and giggly.

This strain is generally prescribed to medical users or to people who are encountering mild to severe pain, muscle spasms, and other comparable circumstances.

Tahoe OG

Tahoe OG is the most prominent OG Kush phenotype, meaning it came straight from the seeds of the parent strain; it's anything but a hybrid of OG Kush and something different.

It's treated by many individuals as one of the most mind-blowing since it acts quicker than most other OG strains. It will not only provide you with the calming and relaxing effects you seek, but it will also assist you in starting to sleep!

Thus, assuming you are a sleep-deprived person irritated by chronic pain and need to dispose of it, this strain can be the thing you've been searching for.

Larry OG

You could consider Larry OG odd as a result of its name, but it's really truly outstanding and the number-one choice for most recreational and medical users. Likewise alluded to as "Sour Larry" or "Lemon Larry," this Orange District creation will give you that profound body unwinding you're searching for, assuming you want a break from muscle spasms.

Larry OG is a one-of-a-kind and exceptional cross between the SFV OG Kush and the hybrid OG Kush, responsible for a soothing, quieting effect with an inventive twist.

One of the most incredible strains for stress relief and energizing effects. Furthermore, because it makes you feel hungry, this strain is beneficial for appetite loss.

Skywalker OG

Skywalker OG conveys a smooth high with high THC levels that will not totally knock you out. Both long-lasting users and novices partake in this strain.

This indica-dominant hybrid has around 85% indica and 15% sativa. The Skywalker OG's citrusy punch is delivered by combining and crossing Blueberry strains with Mazar.

This can give you the express high you're searching for. Having high THC levels is all that could possibly be needed to assist you with forestalling anxiety, stress, and apprehension. Others use Skywalker OG for their arthritis, muscle spasms, and PTSD. This strain is best appreciated at sleep time, as it is probably going to hush you to rest.

Ghost OG

The Ghost OG is an indica-dominant strain and one of the most remarkable and powerful OG strains you can find. Created by crossing OG Kush with Afghani landraces, this strain is ideal for your chronic pain.

It will give you that warm, fluffy body buzz along with a cerebral high to keep your faculties from shivering. As the primary effects of the Ghost OG, many users reported feeling inspired, blissful, and stress-free.

Ghost OG is one of a few OG strains that have been shown to be effective against fibromyalgia and autoimmune disorders.

#og #og strains #og cannabis #og kush #skywalker og #cannabis og strains

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supertrooperbyabba · 3 years

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ok but picture this: phantom of the taco bell

#bring back potatoes #don juan chalupa #poto #poto shitpost #i think i’m fucking hilarious #phantom of the opera #i have now sent you several notes of the most amiable nature

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alstroemeriadissonance · 2 years

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Hosanna (NSFW)

Sequel to Act of Contrition

Warning: NSFW, questionable, wrong, skewed views on religion, particularly Catholic beliefs. Please note that this is not indicative of author's POV on religion, but rather of the fictional characters in the story who are both portrayed as quite unhinged.

It is quite a sight to behold: All the parishioners inside the church hold out their palm branches towards the ethereal, silver-haired priest standing proudly upon the pulpit, celebrating the ‘victory’ that preceded, apparently, the defamation, destruction, and, ultimately, death of the very being he represented.

What kind of victory is that? It’s not even Pyrrhic. Just senseless.

A sharp twinge of misgiving pinches your heart–people have always lavished the beautiful, gentle-mannered Father Richter with such adoration, and now, even more so during Palm Sunday.

Crowds of people are literally waving their palm branches–decorated with ribbons, laces, even plastic flowers–with calls of Hosanna, and ‘glory to their savior’.

You cannot not help but feel a little jealousy even as you wave your own branch–decorated with teal and ivory ribbons–towards him. To celebrate him. Him. Father Richter himself, and not the being he represents.

You want him. Again.

But for several months after the last encounter, Father Richter of the moonlight silver hair and champagne gold eyes–and the demonic entity that he actually is–have not spared you even a single glance; and as the service ends, it seems that this time is no different.

Maybe he only comes for the worst offenders. The worst sinners, you think. If I have not sinned enough, he won’t even look my way.

And so you think of where–and how–to start sinning even more.

So that he finally looks at you again.

===

You are already almost out of the church grounds’ main gate when you hear someone call out your name.

No way.

You tighten the grip on the stalk of your own palm branch. That voice. That honeyed, gentle voice that you wouldn’t mistake for anything else.

And so you turn around with a polite smile on your face. “Good morning, Father Richter,” comes your greeting. Your breath stops as your brain registers the sight awaiting you.

Sunlight bounces off his hair like it would off a sharp, wicked silver blade. His gold irises belie a depth unfathomable to the human mind, if only one paid enough attention beyond how pretty his eyes are.

The priest–still in his pristine alb and purple stole signifying the period of Lent–returns your smile with his amiable own.

The sight of Father Richter up close is so unworldly you wonder if someone else has already picked out that he is not of this plane of existence.

“Hello, little one,” he says. “Have you made your preparations for the upcoming Lenten season?”

Preparations?

“By preparation, I mean if you have done some reflection and…confessed your sins to cleanse yourself before the coming of the Lord,” he answers, obviously still able to read your mind.

His smile gradually turns darker in nature.

“I suppose you have not. Come. I will hear your confession.” He holds out his hand to you, as if in a dangerous invitation.

And when you take his proffered hand in your own you start losing your grip on reality for one single moment that seems to stretch out into infinity…

…and at the same time, only lasted for a second.

When you come to, you find yourself sitting in a cramped, dark space; a small door by your right side, and a wall with a mesh grille immediately to your left. Your palm frond is propped up against your seat, beside you.

You know where you are–this has been a very regular sight for you, when you were younger.

You are in a dark box. A confessional.

This is the first time you have been in a confessional for months now; and this is also the first time, it seems, that you have been into this particular dark box: the lattice patchwork patterns on the wooden walls are new to you; the varnished wood covering most of the interior is so dark it is almost black; and the curtain shifted off the side to reveal the mesh grille is of a very bright, indecent, shade of crimson…

And the relief carvings that edge the low ceiling of the dark box…

Your eyes slightly widen. As you look closely on the small, almost unobtrusive carvings you are surprised to learn that they actually depict the many different sexual positions, some with more than two participants.

“I have been waiting, little pet,” comes the familiar dulcet voice, wafting through the mesh grille and pulling your attention away from the lewd display hidden in open view. “Do not keep me waiting even more. I may have all the time in the world,” he sighs, “But that does not mean I have the patience to go along with it.”

The speaker is completely hidden from your view; however you cannot mistake that voice for anyone else’s. It is him.

“Wait. You are–I am going to confess? To you?” comes your incredulous question.

Another sigh. “Well, if you do not feel like confessing, then I suppose this is pointless.” A pause. “I only heard your depraved little heart wondering what you needed to do so I can give you some…special attention. So here I am, thinking–”

“Yes, I will confess, Father Richter,” you interrupt him before he could say something to the effect of his good graces being wasted on you. You straighten up in the cramped seat, and waste no time in starting your prayer:

“Bless me, Vyn, for I have sinned.” You call him by his real name, to remind him that he never, ever left your thoughts ever since the last time. “It has been several months since my last confession.”

You do not bother making the sign of the Cross. At this point doing so is much too blasphemous, even for you.

“Mmm. A morsel, yet delicious all the same,” murmurs the voice behind the mesh grille. “About your conundrum, my dear, little pet, I do not come to someone based on how wretched their pitiful souls are,” he says. “I merely come and go whenever I feel like it. You saw the magnificent turn out of this parish; I have no real need to chase after food. You understand.”

“I…see,” you mumble. “So, you just want me to confess my sins…?”

A dark chuckle slips through the mesh grille. “I do not feel like going through that silly rigmarole,” Father Richter, or Vyn, says offhandedly. “Rather, I just want to have a little fun with you today. I also feed on things other than the flock’s prayers. Now,”

You gulp in anticipation. What can possibly happen in this cramped confessional booth?

“I want you to strip for me. Take off all your clothes, pet. Do it. Now.”

You blink at how blase he is in telling someone to outright strip in a confessional; then you remember just exactly where you are–no true confessional would have raunchy depictions of copulation, for one–and before you question his command you decide you do not want to risk getting his ire.

You proceed to strip off your layers: you slip out of your peach top and ruffled black skirt, folding them neatly and placing them on the floor of the booth. Then you reach to your back to unhook your bra, shrugging it off and letting it slip down your arms and onto your pile of clothes. After which you pull down your white, virginal-looking panties all the way down to your ankles, and step out of them.

Finally, for good measure and to comply with his order to remove all clothing, you kick off your mules.

“Very good. Some would question my order, but I am glad that you are a very, very good girl,” Vyn purrs. The fine hairs on your naked body stand on end; the voice from the other end of the mesh grille is undoubtedly one of a predator’s. You do not need to see Vyn to know that he is leering at you at this very moment.

“Ah, you look absolutely delicious, I could eat you all up,” he says, further confirming how much he is enjoying your nudity, offered solely for his pleasure.

Bereft of clothing, you shiver in the now palpable chill of the confessional’s interior. Unconsciously your hands rub the sides of your arms.

“It is rather cold, is it not?” Vyn’s voice is edged with a bit of derision. “Let us make it warm for you–touch yourself. Play with your breasts for me, will you?”

Your breath hitches at the false priest’s instruction.

Well, here goes. Shuddering and filled with a suicidal sort of bravado, you lick the index finger and thumb of both your hands, then–taking a deep breath before you proceed–your shaking fingers tentatively roll both your nipples, wondering if the being hidden beyond the mesh grille can see your lewd play.

You gasp in unexpected pleasure; your breathing erratic as you slowly give yourself into the heat of the moment; your sensitive nubs thrumming with such sweet stimulation your naked cunt is starting to moisten, probably dripping onto the wooden seat…

“Yess, just like that,” Vyn hisses, evidently turned on by your self-pleasuring. “Ah, I see you imagining me doing that to you, you little slut,” he goads.

And yes, you are. You have been imagining the fae-looking silver priest take one of your breasts with his lips usually reserved for his beatific smiles, sucking on your nipple. The imagined scene leaves you panting and begging silently, knowing that he beyond the mesh grille will see the debauchery in your mind.

“But not yet. I want to see you molest yourself first. I will just sit here, watching you.”

“Hahh–ah, so what else should I do?” Your thighs squirm; unconsciously you rock your hips back and forth on your seat, trying to relieve the rising heat in your loins. “Vyn?”

A quiet laughter laced with malice. Vyn is immensely enjoying the voluptuous torture. “Ah, your degenerate mind is a delicious catalog of vulgar obscenities,” he relishes every word. “Such a bewitching specimen, you are. Attending church, in all your Sunday dressed glory. Looking pious, obedient, behaved, the perfect little church going girl. The very girl a mother would want for their idiot, simpering, son.” A pause, then he continues his taunting. “But deep inside you are corrupt. Dirty. Based. Immoral.”

You cannot see him, but you are entirely sure Vyn is sporting a shit-eating grin by now. “When you die, I shall make sure your soul is mine. Mine!.”

The bastard. He’s digging through my mind!

“Of course! How else should I enjoy taking you apart, my depraved little pet?” Vyn chuckles, this time of utter, almost-childlike, delight.

“Let us see…Hmhmm,” he hums, as if idly perusing through pages of a shopping catalog instead of the thoughts inside your head. “Ah! This one is interesting,” he says, finally finding a fantasy that catches his attention. “Very well, let us go with this one, shall we?”

You hear an audible snapping of fingers.

The wooden chair you are sitting on suddenly becomes warmer; covered with soft, diaphanous fabric. The seat is firm, yet uneven; it is as if you are sitting on…

“Hello, pet,” comes Vyn’s voice, breathy and erotic, directly to your ears.

A jolt of surprise almost makes you fall off his lap–you are now sitting on Vyn’s lap–but he catches you by your waist. “Vyn?!” you exclaim, your heart rate shooting up so much you thought you’d seize up at that very moment.

“It was getting boring just watching you,” he says as his hands lazily roam your thighs. You feel gossamer fabric brush against your bare skin. No way, you think as you twist around just to see exactly whose lap you are sitting on.

It is of Father Richter’s. The sight of the exact same priest who celebrated Mass earlier, now lazily pawing your naked body, openly indulging his lecherous whims, is downright disconcerting. Vyn has not yet shed his priestly costume of awl and stole in favor of his true form; and so you are seeing a man of the cloth having his lascivious way with you.

“Stop complaining,” Vyn as Father Richter said languidly, still skimming off your surface thoughts. “You wanted this. You still want this. I am amused by the thought,” One of his hands flutter down to your wet cunt, inserting two fingers inside. “Deal with it.”

“Hahh–ahhn!” His fingers inside your now sopping wet sex sends you rolling your head backwards; moaning loudly as his digits thrust in and pull out of your heated flesh with a precise rhythm.

“This is not what I really intended to do, pet,” Vyn whispers by your ear. “Well then,”

He withdraws his sinful fingers out of you, and you wince in utter misgiving. Before you voice out your complaints he lifts you by the waist effortlessly with one arm, and then you hear the rustling of cloth; when he places you back down upon his lap you feel what is undeniably his stiff cock impale your wet cunt.

“Nggh–Vyn!” you cry out as his hard length intrudes into your drenched–yet still unprepared–sex. He is fully hilted once you settle in, but your pussy is yet to adjust around his considerable girth. “Oh god,” you moan. “God…!”

“God?” Vyn laughs. “There is no god to save you now.”

You move your hips to ride the false priest, but Vyn immediately stops you, both hands keeping an iron grip on your waist. “No, no my little impatient pet,” he tut-tuts. “Do not move.”

“Huh?!” You exclaim, again with incredulousness, and this time mixed with desperation.

Vyn nuzzles your neck, then says, “You will just sit there on my dick, like a good little girl, and not move your hips, nor touch your dirty, dirty, cunt. That is it. That is the game,” he says, and snakes his wet, teasing tongue into your ear, sending you squirming on his lap.

Unfortunately as you squirm, your hips move and your inner walls clamp around his shaft.

“Now, now, what did I say about you not moving?” Vyn mock sighs, then lifts you off his lap–off his stiff, delicious cock–and adjusts your position so that you are draped over his lap, belly down, and your pert ass exposed, turned upwards.

Then you hear a familiar rustling off to the side of your seat.

Vyn has taken hold of your Palm Sunday branch. The one with the teal and ivory ribbons.

“I shall take your penance,” he says, and then it happens: myriad sharp edges strike the flesh of your ass, accompanied by the all-too-familiar rustling of the palm branch.

You shriek–equal parts of pain and surprise overtake you–and the sharp edges of the cut palm leaves, while not drawing blood, leave several streaks of welts onto your poor, tender skin, with each and every welt throbbing with a stinging sensation.

But Vyn is not done yet. Once again, he whips your ass with your Palm Sunday branch. “I will not stop until you recite the prayer of penance,” he drawls. “If I were you, I would begin posthaste,” he says as his wrist snaps, lashing the palm branch upon your now-reddening skin.

“Nnh–Oh my god, I am heartily sorry–ahh!!” you cry out, having received another lashing. Yet you power through; you have to, lest the demon remains unsatisfied and will keep on whipping you until your buttocks are cut up to ribbons.

“--for having offended Thee,” you pause to take a breather, and of course you are rewarded with another lashing, stronger this time around.

“Who says you can rest, pet?” Vyn remarks, not amused. “Continue.”

“And I detest all my sins…”

Eventually you manage to finish the prayer, fast enough that you only endured four more lashings as you completed the Act of Contrition.

Your ass is practically burning at this point.

Once again Vyn impales you on his twitching cock, and this time around regardless of the stimulus you try your hardest not to move.

“Again, pet, do not move unless I say so. Do you understand?” comes Vyn’s saccharine voice right next to your ear.

You nod, careful not to jostle your hips on his lap. Careful not to move your swollen pussy around his cock.

“You should know how this goes, pet,” Vyn purrs as he tongues your earlobe. “After all, I took this directly from your own dirty fantasies. You little slattern.”

His hands now snake from your abdomen to the heft of your breasts; his fingers, peeking out of the voluminous sleeves of his white alb, lazily trace the swell of your mounds. “You want this, do you not?” comes his sweet temptation, before he tenderly bites your earlobe.

You let out a sharp hiss, as you endure through the pleasure coursing through your body. You cannot afford to move not even a centimeter–your ass is still burning with the stinging welts, and you are determined to see through the entire rendezvous without falling apart.

The tips of his fingers find your nipples, and he lightly strums them, sparking jolts of tiny little ecstasies, making your entire body thrum in delight. Your inner walls involuntarily clench, all too aroused, yet Vyn mercifully allows you this and lets it slide.

You deny yourself from fully experiencing the pleasure–instead you bite your lip to steel yourself, adamant not to lose in the demon’s little game.

“Good girl,” Vyn hums, his tongue tracing a line across the back of your shoulder blades. “But…what if I do this?”

One of his hands slide down your abdomen, eventually nestling between your tense thighs.

Your breath hitches, and you inwardly panic.

No. You know that if he does that, you’d lose. You’d most probably lose. And so you find your voice, finally, to say, “Please. Don’t,” you plead. “It’s like you’re forcing me to lose. Damn it.”

“Relax. It is but a game,” he drawls.

Then he does it anyway. His fingertips seek the long-neglected clit, and he rubs it, slowly at first. “There. I am sure you have been wanting some release,” he says as he gives your clit a light, teasing pinch.

Your inner walls flutter slightly, throbbing as you are aroused even further.

Your pussy creams and drips around his cock.

He laughs softly, yet cruelly, as he sees you almost arch backwards to lose yourself in the wave of erotic sensations, only to catch yourself and bite your cheek instead.

“Haah–Vyn, please,” you plead once more. “This is unfair!”

Your protestations only earn you more stimulation: As his fingertips of his one hand continue to rub your clit, he runs the other palm of his hand against a nipple, not letting up his sensory assault to push you into losing.

“Hmhmm, yes, you are keeping up so far, so good,” Vyn murmurs, pleased, as he watches you keep up a valiant struggle. “But, ah, if I do this…”

On top of his hands outright molesting you at this point, Vyn repeats what sent you over the edge earlier: he plants a kiss on your cheek, then his sinful tongue, probably the very same that sent Eve to eternal damnation with the promise of knowledge, swirls and snakes into your ear.

This sends you shuddering, and the demon in priest’s garb does not let up nor does he let you go; his wet tongue continues snaking inside, and your mind is starting to blank out from the resulting euphoria.

In the midst of the barrage of utter pleasure there is nothing else for you to do but let go of everything, losing the game be damned–you finally allow yourself to arch backwards, moaning loudly, and to your utter surprise Vyn assists your impending climax by finally pounding his cock inside you.

“Hahaha. You better get ready for your–hahh–punishment, pet,” he breathes as he rails you hard from underneath. “But for now, pleasure comes first.”

His words drive you over the edge, and, screaming Vyn’s name, you come undone–literally come undone–and once again you lose grip on reality…

===

…but you are not back to your reality yet. You are somewhere dark once again, but no longer in the cramped confines of the confessional; you are back in the dimly-lit room where you first had your taste of the demon, laid out on the cool sheets of his plain-looking, unassuming bed.

Still recovering from your orgasm you bury your face in the bedsheets, catching your breath.

“Was it good?” comes Vyn’s question from the other side of the bed.

Groaning, you pick yourself up from the sheets and look up at him; he now has completely shed his Father Richter persona, and is now wearing his tight-fitting black shirt and trousers; and his horns–reminiscent of a goat’s–are now prominently displayed on top of his silver haired-head.

His eyes, now shining a bright amber-gold in the dark.

In his hand, is your Palm Sunday branch.

You sigh, resigned. “Yes it was very good,” you murmur, while eyeing the palm frond in his hand warily. “I suppose I should roll over and receive my punishment.”

“No need to roll over, dear pet,” he says as he raises his palm branch-wielding arm over his shoulder, as if winding up for a particularly strong strike that would surely, surely hurt…

You close your eyes in reflex.

But all you feel is a light tap on your head, and a rustling of the palm branch.

Vyn is waving the palm branch at you.

When you open your eyes you are greeted with a sultry, yet sweet smile. “Hosanna,” Vyn says, with a cryptic smile on his face, as he waves the branch once again at you, making a rustling sound.

“...what happened to the punishment, Vyn?” you ask, still wary. “And um. Why are you waving the branch at me?”

“Oh, you just happened to receive the worst punishment ever, pet,” Vyn says, the smile still on his face. “Do you even know what it is?”

“Er. No.” You sit up on the bed, hugging your knees, now well and truly apprehensive. “What is this punishment? And what’s up with the palm waving again?”

Vyn crawls up closer to you on all fours, until his face is mere inches away from yours. “Your soul. It is no longer yours, I am afraid. It is now mine.” His smile spreads even wider. “And I did not even have to snatch it; you proffered your soul to me, willingly, and I accepted it.”

“Um…?” you blink, not fully understanding what he means by you giving your soul to him. “I don’t remember actually offering my soul to you. Did I accidentally perform some ritual?”

Vyn laughs, a laugh this time bereft of any cruelty nor malice.

“Well, pet,” he says, grinning. “When you came seeking me out, what did you exactly feel?”

“Huh?” you furrow your brows, seriously giving his question some thought.

What did he mean, what exactly did I feel? I only was looking for him, because I wanted to see him, I wanted to–

Oh shit.

A twisted look forms on your face, and you once again look up to the still grinning demon sitting so dangerously closely next to you.

“No way. That totally does not constitute giving my soul away.”

“Oh, but it does, little pet, just that, between humans, it is sadly being taken for granted,” Vyn blithely says as he gingerly tips your chin towards him. “Falling in love is tantamount to giving oneself away, and my kind takes soul-binding things rather seriously.”

Vyn leans forward, capturing your lips with his. His lips feel cool against yours, but as both your lips and tongue dance sweetly, intimately, his flesh gradually warms and feels like velvet upon yours.

“...and why are you waving that branch again?” you whisper as you briefly pull away from the kiss, looking at your demonic lover with hooded eyes.

“Nothing, just a whim,” Vyn says as he pulls you down with him onto the sheets. “A greeting, to my little savior from boredom. Who,” his hands slide sensuously across your back, sending you moaning, sighing once more in pleasure. “Have conquered me, yet will suffer an utter downfall in my hands, soon enough.”

“Just like his entrance to Jerusalem before he got royally betrayed,” you murmur as Vyn gently opens your thighs with his hands.

“Yes, just like that.”

And when he starts to make love to you, really make love to you, you decide that your little depraved soul is fine with that kind of fate awaiting you.

#tears of themis #tears of themis au #vyn richter #mo yi #vyn richter smut #mo yi smut #tot smut

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frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe · 1 year

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Pt. 1 | Pt. 2

Shorter Part 3, sorry y’all 😭

“Does this have to do with the rose?” Dustin asks them as soon as they are alone in the car. ‘Damn,’ Steve thinks, ‘I should’ve dropped you off first.’

“What do you know about the rose?” Steve asks, trying to sound nonchalant.

“I know it’s from his secret admirer.”

“You know about that?”

“Of course I do, Steve, he tells that story to everyone who will listen.” Dustin says as if it’s common knowledge.

“So who are your theories? I know you’ve got them.” Steve says

“I have no clue.” Steve looks at him confused “I really don’t. I even told Eddie that we could figure it out if we saw the note but he just shook his head and went back to grinning that goofy grin he had.”

“…And that’s bad?”

“Well no, I just figured he’d want help figuring it out, but that’s not the weird part about it all. He didn’t even have everything set up when we got there.”

Steve gives Dustin a confused glance, trying to keep his eyes on the road in front of him.

“Eddie normally gets there super early to set everything up, but even by time Lucas got there just before we were about to start, all of Eddie’s DM stuff was still in his bag. Literally only the tables and his throne were pulled out where they were supposed to be. He just kept staring at that damn rose with that lovestruck look on his face.”

“Hey, language! But yeah, that is weird? What? Don’t look at me like that, I’ve been around you all long enough to know that’s out of character for him..he loves that game.” Steve chuckles to himself, thinking about the party’s collective confused faces at Eddie’s soft one. “Alright, doofus, this is you. Tell your mom I say ‘Hi’.”

Dustin rolls his eyes and shuffles out the car door and up the drive.

Steve waits until he’s safely inside before backing out, and heading home.

‘holyshitholyshitholyshitholyshi—‘ Steve’s brain played on a loop, his face splitting into a grin.

——————

The (now) third time Eddie "hears" from his secret admirer is definitely not when he was expecting. It kind of makes sense, if his secret admirer really is into him still he'd know that Eddie plays at the Hideout on Tuesday nights. But if he's being honest with himself, the rose flung up on stage while they were still drowned in spotlight was the second most surprising thing of the night. Actually, make that third.

First was the size of the crowd. Being accused of a ritualistic murder does have one benefit then, it has a tendency to make you seem more metal than you might actually be (especially within the metal community). The dingy little bar was actually packed tonight. So many people were there to see Eddie and his bandmates that it was the start of his nervousness. And Eddie never gets nervous about playing, it’s like breathing to him.

Secondly (and the second reason for Eddie to be nervous that night) was that Steeeeve Harrington himself was there to see him play. Him along with Buckley AND Nancy Wheeler had even dressed up for the occasion, pulling out as much black and grungy looking pieces from the backs of their wardrobes as they could find. Eddie swears Wheeler is wearing one of the old band tees Robin stole from him and Steve is wear-holy fuck. HOLY FUCK. Steve Harrington is wearing his (His! Eddie Munson’s!) battle vest. How the fuck he managed to keep it is beyond him but…yep. Eddie’s vest looks just as good on Steve now than it did in that upside-down hellscape.

Only a second had gone by in the time it took Eddie to process all of this before the lights go down and the spotlight is blinding him to everything beyond the stage.

“Get your head in gear, Munson, you’ve got a whole bar full of people to blow away… shit” Eddie mumbles to himself before stepping up to the mic.

And of course, no matter his surprise or nervousness about anything (or anyone) in the crowd that night, the show goes off without a hitch. He’s saying his goodbyes to the crowd as they cheer, holler, and whistle for them, some people are even throwing things. A couple of coasters with phone numbers scrawled on them are frisbee’d onto the stage around him, one (1) singular pair of panties (wtf this is insane), and from his right, just before the lights come back up in the bar, a single red rose tied with a black ribbon.

Time slows down. That’s the only way he could’ve snatched it out of the air the way he did.

He catches it and the crowd lets loose a few wolf whistles. Eddie grins so wide his face hurts. “Thank you guys so much, we’ll be here next week!” he jeers and lifts the rose in his hand in the air like he’s showing it off. The lights finally come up, and Eddie looks directly toward where the rose came from, trying to see if he recognized any of the faces. The only face he recognizes is Steve’s, off a good bit to the left from where the rose came at him, and who is also looking around for who it would’ve come from. Steve looks up at Eddie, and shrugs, he didn’t see anything either.

‘Of course he’s going to act like he didn’t see anything if he’s the one who threw it.’ Eddie’s brain helpfully supplies.

Nope. NOPE. Not going there, that’s so impossible. Steve was a good friend, even if he was blissfully unaware of the affect he had on Eddie.

Eddie shrugs back at Steve before turning back to the guys and helping them pack up their stuff.

“What does this one say?” Gareth asks him when they’re lugging the last of the equipment off the stage.

“Ermph durnup.” Eddie mumbles around the rose stem in his mouth. He sets the amps he was carrying at the back door to be loaded into his van (Which Steve was so graciously helping with). Eddie spits the rose out into his hand as Steve comes back into the doorway. Now ALL of them waiting on Eddie to read out the note. Even Robin and Wheeler have come backstage to watch them work. “Haven’t read it yet.”

“What’s happening now?” Nancy asks, confused. ‘Was she really never around during any of the re-tellings of this story?’ Eddie thinks to himself

“My secret admirer threw this to me as we were wrapping up our set.” Eddie waggles his eyebrows at the older Wheeler “I tried to see who it was, but by the time the lights came back on and I could actually see past the stage, the crowd was already thinning out.”

“They probably didn’t want to be recognized just yet? Even I looked around as soon as I could see again, but yeah, everyone had started dispersing.” Steve chimed in from the doorway he was leaning against, arms crossed across his chest. Damn were his arms always that huge?

“Uh_uh yeah, I do love a guy with a flair for dramatics.” everyone chuckled at that

“Of course you do Munson” Steve smiled at him “Now hurry up and read it!”

“OK, OK, this one says ‘You alone can make my song take flight’.” Eddie sings the line softly, redness creeping up his cheeks as his friends react around him.

“Ew, that’s so gross I’m gonna barf.” - Robin

“That’s so sweet!” - Nancy

“You’re going to be talking about this for weeks aren’t you?” - Gareth

Various well-meaning eye rolls come from the rest of his bandmates as they take care of the amps Steve had been neglecting.

And Steve, Steve was looking at Eddie with the warmest, fondest smile he’d ever seen.

Hmm…

____________________________________________

Pt. 4 will be here! Thank you for reading!!

Now on AO3! Several Notes of the Most Amiable Nature

Tagging everyone I can!: @manda-panda-monium , @destielinimpala , @ilovecupcakesandtea , @maya-custodios-dionach , @thefreakandthehair , @youmakemyhearthowl , @phantypurple , @kerlypride , @hagbaby420 , @yes-im-your-mom , @tinydragonhuman , @beeing-stuupid , @ineffablecolors , @m00gl3ness , @background-noise-headache , @jojobeaner , @bitedownonmydestiel , @orangeandthefairroadkill , @llamaoftheinternet , @captain-daryn , @undreamingscatworld , @britishmysteries , @sharpbutsoft , @funnymagicman-named-dandy , @allbymyselfexceptformycactus , @wearelosersyoudumbfuck , @itsthebeckyzone , @thegingervulcan , @urmomification , @wonderingglances , @calciferousoai , @csinnamon-fox , @straight4joekeery , @alex-axolotl , @nitro502 , @whorenerdking , @skeletoneddie , @eddiehashands , @prosedumpofmaya , @werewolfpeterparker , @bigboyandmetalhead , @stevethescareington , @xxbottlecapx , @starkdusk , @legitcookie , @withacapitalp

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #mine #secret admirer au #secret admirer #phantom!eddie #phantom of the opera #stranger things #st #st s4 #st fillet #stranger things ficlet #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #pt 3 #1500 #several notes of the most amiable nature

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iamthenightcolormeblack · 3 years

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My Experience with Jane Austen Part 2: Reading the Books

In part one I laid out which books I read, which ones were my favorites and least favorites, and the adaptations I've seen. Now I'd like to talk about my reading experience.

Disclaimer: I’m not an expert, just a casual reader sharing some observations, feel free to correct me if I get some details wrong. Out of the books I’ve read I’m most familiar with Pride and Prejudice.

Let's face it. Reading Austen can be challenging and I understand why some people dislike Austen.

It's easy to perceive her novels as "boring" because on a surface level, not much happens. The characters are well-off people (in the upper half of society) who spend their time at home or traveling between social calls and it's easy to dismiss their conflicts as "first world issues." Settings are often indoors, reflecting how "confined and unvarying" the lives of the rich (especially women) were. The plots often move forward through dialogue or conversations rather than big dramatic events. The focus on marriage can also make the stories feel like antiquated relics of the past and can be hard to relate to.

The writing style is also different. There isn't much dialogue at times because Austen slips in lots of very subtle commentary or prefers to describe a character's external appearance or characteristics. Often big events like proposals are described briefly after they happen rather than during, which can make the story feel rather "dry." The books are narrated in third person and sometimes there is unreliable narration (Pride and Prejudice) where we get characters' multiple points of view, but all narrated in the third person as to give each one credibility and prove that it's hard to trust others. Austen's writing style means that readers have to fill in the blanks with their imagination. For example, she doesn't give exact physical descriptions of her characters, often relying on general characteristics like "tall," "handsome," or "amiable." In my previous reviews of Pride and Prejudice adaptations, I explored that intentional ambiguity as a big reason why the character of Mr. Darcy is alluring--because the reader forms a personal connection with the character by sketching his portrait alongside Elizabeth. The characters (their physical appearance and some of their motivations) are purposely mysterious and while it gives the reader lots of opportunities for engaging with the text, without historical/literary context for "filling in the blanks" it's easy to see the characters as stiff mannequins in strange clothing rather than human beings.

Austen as a romance writer: Her romances don't always match up with our perception of what a romance should be. Some people start Austen expecting intense emotions and outbursts of passion but become disappointed when presented with formal courting and stately dances instead. Emotions are often veiled behind dialogue and for a first-time reader it can be challenging to see a romance developing. Most of the time readers have to rely on the clues given by Austen (descriptions of characters "blushing," looking "pale," or losing their composure) to detect the stirrings of love, but on a first reading it's difficult to do so when one's trying to figure out the plot and the characters. Finally, the dialogue can't always be taken literally; lots of people, including me, were disturbed when Mr. Knightley said he loved Emma since she was 13, but it was actually a joke made in response to something she said.

Her books are products of their time, and I sure am not an expert in Regency era economics or social norms. Sometimes the implications of certain actions can be lost on a reader if they don't know about the social norms of the time (I had no idea that Darcy following Elizabeth around, alone, on her favorite walk at Rosings was a sign of his love for her). Differences in social class are also very subtle and while one can generalize the characters as all "well-off" people, they are separated by many levels of hierarchy and their ideas about social position and status affect how they interact with others outside of their station. Darcy looks down upon those whom he perceives to be below him, and while Emma wants to make an advantageous match for Harriet, Harriet's lower social position means that Emma's schemes are not likely to work.

Because of the unique quirks within the novels, the reader is required to go beyond the surface level of plot and appearance and read between the lines to understand character motivations and actions. Without historical context (Regency era society having little social mobility, women having few legal rights and needing to make good marriages to secure material comfort) or literary context (the Enlightenment, 18th century Gothic novels referred to in Northanger Abbey, the birth of the novel, early Romantic writers just to name a bit) reading between the lines is nearly impossible.

So why do we read Austen? Below are my personal reasons.

The novels feature female heroines that have dignity and self-respect. It's significant that the stories focus on women who are trying to live according to their own values and speaking their own minds rather than acquiescing to societal dictates. Elizabeth Bennet is revolutionary in part because she wants a marriage based on mutual admiration and respect between two partners who know each other well, rather than an economic arrangement for a home. One could go on forever about how Austen is a feminist, but, the characters don't act like modern day feminists--they are still people of their time. However, it's easy to assume "feminist" heroines have to have "aggressive" characteristics (rebelling, fighting, defiance) in order to be labeled as "feminist." Importantly, Austen's women are allowed to be vulnerable (they cry or struggle with their emotions) without that being a shameful thing. We also see different types of personalities celebrated: Jane Bennet, who is kind to everyone, is seen in a positive light rather than shamed for seeing good in everyone. Anne Elliot, who is regarded as "old," becomes more beautiful as she gets older and has a second chance of love. Emma Woodhouse is spoiled yet confident and assertive and "not likely to be well-loved" (paraphrase of Austen's commentary on Emma). Fanny Price is a shy person but still achieves her happy ending. Her heroines are real people who have flaws and get opportunities to learn and grow so that they can make their aspirations reality.

A unique take on the universal conflict of humans versus society: Austen's characters are bound by social norms of etiquette as well as a value system that idolizes wealth and connections above all else. Persuasion is a great story in part because it focuses on how Anne Elliot learns to follow her heart and avoid being "persuaded" by others (and by society) to follow a path that will not make her happy. She's had to live with the regret of following the well-intentioned but harmful advice of others (Austen notes that Lady Russell values social connections too highly) over her own feelings and judgment, nearly losing her chance to be with Wentworth. The romances are significant in that they reinforce the dignity and self-respect of the female heroines. To a certain extent, Austen's stories are realistic in that marriage is necessary for material well-being in a patriarchal society that provides few ways for women to provide for themselves. But most importantly, she also sees marriage as a means of affirming self-respect and dignity of the women. It's one of the few parts of their lives over which they have any control because they get to choose whom they marry (for the most part, unless the marriage is arranged). Their wish to marry for love is revolutionary because they dare to aspire for something more than wealth. They want their future partners to be their equals, someone who they can love and respect (or be totally honest with them) and who will provide the same in return. This line from Emma (the 2020 movie adaptation) sums it up: "I have none of the usual inducements of women to marry. Fame I do not want. Fortune I do not want. Consequence I do not want."

The difference between outward appearances and inner character is a fascinating theme that appears in several Austen novels, most notably Pride and Prejudice, where Wickham and Darcy are foils of each other ("one has got all the goodness, the other all the appearance of it"). A lot of the villains in Austen's novels are those who deceive others about their motivations or lie for their own advantage. A common trait these villains all have is that they have a charming outward appearance that masks their true natures; they don't look ugly nor are they unpleasant (ex. Wickham having great social skills, Willoughby following the trope of the knight rescuing Marianne as the damsel in distress but leaving behind many broken hearts, Mr. Elliott being charming and knowing exactly what to say and how to act but actually a swindler). In contrast, the "good" characters are honest, even at the cost of social displeasure, use manners/etiquette to show respect rather than deceive people, and act selflessly to prove their worth (actions speak louder than words). It can be summed up this way: "don't judge a book by its cover."

Psychology: Austen very effectively described hindsight bias when sarcastically commenting on how the village of Meryton turned on Wickham after the elopement with Lydia, when previously they regarded him as an "angel of light." She also understands how easy it is to manipulate peoples' minds through confirmation bias (Wickham telling Elizabeth all the dirt about Darcy, which she eagerly takes because she hates Darcy so much). She also knows that emotions can override people's judgment: "angry people are not always wise." It's fun seeing how her people are social animals who make flawed judgments based on first impressions/emotions.

The secondary characters: Mr. Collins the clergyman is the most famous and he's so funny because of his arrogance in spite of his low social position (he keeps worshiping Lady Catherine instead of respecting God). Another great one is Sir Walter Elliott, a nobleman who is vain and constantly checks himself in the mirror (the most obvious social criticism). Also Austen understood how women insult each other: through passive aggression (ex. Caroline Bingley and Louisa Hurst talking negatively about Elizabeth behind her back). Austen's female bullies use their talent and "good breeding" to intimidate or shame others.

The romance (no explanation needed): "You pierce my soul. I am half-agony, half-hope. I have loved none but you." I love how the couples learn about each other through many spirited conversations and become slowly fascinated with each other until they realize they are in love and then have a conflict between formality and their growing passion...or they fall back in love with each other...or they are friends who slowly realize that they are more than friends...okay I'll stop talking nonsense I've been trying so hard to be semi-scholarly

Tags: @talkaustentome @austengivesmeserotonin @austengeek @princesssarisa @appleinducedsleep @colonelfitzwilliams

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archduchessofnowhere · 2 years

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Some mentions of the Neapolitan Bourbons that I found in these letters from Queen Victoria and her daughter Vicky

Fragment of a letter from Queen Victoria to her daughter Victoria, Princess of Prussia:

WINDSOR CASTLE, NOVEMBER 28, 1860

(...) I send you (to look at only) a wonderful photo: of the Queen of Naples, which Countess Bernstorff gave me. It must be in her hunting costume—for she is a great sportswoman and an excellent shot. Pity she didn’t shoot Garibaldi —Papa says. She certainly smokes, but I don’t know about the Empress of Austria.

Queen Victoria of the United Kingdom. Dearest child; letters between Queen Victoria and the Princess Royal, 1858-1861

The book identifies the "Queen of Naples" that Victoria mentions as: "This is crearly the Queen Dowager. She was Theresa, daughter of an Austrian archduke and widow of King “Bomba” of Naples". Which is clearly wrong, because Victoria is obviously talking about Marie Sophie, the wife of King Francesco II; at the moment this letter was written she was leading the resistance at Gaeta, the last bastion of the Bourbons in Naples during the Unification of Italy - hence the "Pity she didn't shoot Garibaldi" comment that Prince Albert made. That's also why she next mentions Empress Elisabeth of Austria: she was Marie Sophie's elder sister (and in case you were wondering, yes she also smoked - allegedly her younger sister taught her).

Two years later Vicky and her husband Crown Prince Friedrich "Fritz" of Prussia were touring (?) in Italy and met some members of the now exiled Royal Family of Naples at Rome:

Fragments of letters from Victoria, Crown Princess of Prussia to her mother Queen Victoria:

ROME, NOVEMBER 15, 1862

(...) Fritz and I paid our visit to the Queen Dowager of Naples [Maria Theresa, neé Archduchess of Austria] today after Fritz had seen the King [Francesco II]. She is not attractive and was surrounded by pale, delicate-looking children of almost every age.

ROME, NOVEMBER 19, 1862

(...) You know we—that is Fritz and I—have seen the King of Naples. He is a wretched object I think, “il fait pitie”. He is too frightful, stammers when he speaks and twitches with his eyes. He tried to be as civil and amiable as he could—and has really a very good natured expression, but that is all I can say for him. The old Queen looks very cross indeed. The Count of Trani [Prince Luigi, the ex-King of Naples' brother] is the nicest and his wife [Mathilde in Bavaria, Queen Marie Sophie's sister] very pretty and showy-looking though not a real beauty. She must be very like her sister the Empress of Austria—though of course not to be compared to her in beauty. The Count and Countess of Trapani [Prince Francesco, the ex-King's uncle, who was married to his niece Maria Isabella of Tuscany] are quiet sort of people and their five children look very delicate.

Victoria, Crown Princess of Prussia. Dearest mama; letters between Queen Victoria and the Crown Princess of Prussia, 1861-1864

Vicky doesn't paint a great picture of King Francesco, and in this she's in line with most of his contemporaries; the guy was just really introverted (can relate). She had a better impression of the Count and Countess of Trani, which made me glad because it's hard to find information on Mathilde, so thanks Vick for acknowledging her existence.

During Vicky and Fritz' visit there was one person from the Neapolitan Royal Family absent: Queen Marie Sophie. She had left Rome in July, departing for her homeland Bavaria - officially for health reasons, but it seems that in fact she just could no longer stand her family by marriage. Tensions between Marie Sophie and her husband and step-mother-in-law were reported in several newspapers, although during this time there were also many malicious rumors spread to discredit the deposed Neapolitan royals, as the reports also note. One of these rumors was that she actually was pregnant by a lover, this being the real reason why she left in such a hurry. Allegedly, she gave birth to an illegitimate child on November 24 - only days after Vicky and Fritz met the ex-King.

The whole pregnancy and illegitimate child business it's something I've read as a fact in many books, and yet the concrete evidence of this is actually very dizzy; this however is a topic for another post. Whatever was the truth for Marie Sophie's absence she did finally came back to Rome next year and reconciled with her husband. I don't know if she ever met Vicky - I couldn't find any mention of it.

#today I offer you: crumbs of information about unpopular deposed royals #queen victoria of the united kingdom #empress victoria of germany #friedrich iii of germany #francesco ii of the two sicilies #queen marie sophie of the two sicilies #queen maria theresa of the two sicilies #mathilde in Bavaria countess of trani #Prince luigi of bourbon two sicilies count of trani #house of bourbon two sicilies

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buckyswheezes · 3 years

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Perfectly Fine (Pt. 3)

Premise: “You know why I don’t like you? It’s because you’re a natural. You’re naturally kind, naturally good-looking; you can wear trash bags and still look perfectly fine. You’re naturally intelligent and excellent in everything you do. It’s like you naturally get what you want, you don’t have to work hard for it. You don’t have to pretend because people naturally like you.”

Or Bucky found out that the new oh-so-perfect Junior Accountant of Stark Industries isn’t as perfect as everyone thinks.

Part 1 Part 2

You tried to keep a straight gaze, struggled to keep on sipping the cup of coffee in your hand, and struggled to focus panoramic view of the skyscrapers in the early morning. When James arrived early this morning - carrying with him two cups of coffee- he went straight to your work station and dragged your ass here.

Now you sat beside him on a bench on the Stark Industries rooftop. He said it’s time for one of your dates. One of your fucking dates. Jesus H. Christ!

You couldn’t take it anymore. You glared at him. “Stop it!”

“Stop what?”

“Stop staring at me! You’re creeping me out!” You hissed.

See, this was the reason why, even though he’s your boss, you avoid him as much as you can. The way he looks at you is unnerving. It was like he could see past you -even before the whole fiasco last Saturday morning. It was as if James could see past your pretenses. And you didn’t like it.

“Let’s just get this over with. Why drag me here, peasant? I have a lot of work to do.”

You agreed to date James, but it doesn’t mean that you’re going to act friendly and amiable because, after all, he knows about this side of yours, so there’s really no point in pretending when you’re with him.

“I told you I like you, so I want to know you more, the real you, that is.” He answered.

“Fine, you wanna know the real me. I’ll tell you that the real me hates taking a bath or shower. How about that?”

James choked on his coffee. “Excuse me?”

Where you got the courage to spew that out, you didn’t know but telling James one of your darkest secrets made you blush. Still, it didn’t stop you from talking.

“I could go for weeks without taking a bath, I used to do that when I was still studying, and it gets worse when vacation starts. Now, if I don’t have to go to work, then you bet I’m not stepping in the shower.”

You looked away from him, pinning your gaze at the sky above. And continued.

“I wear boots because I have wide and veiny feet, plus I hate pedicures cause I’m ticklish.”

Damn it all. You cursed in your head. You can visualize James’ disgusted face. You knew he’d be. Who wouldn’t? You mustered what courage you have left and sneaked a peek at him. The asshole was grinning like a Cheshire cat.

“So you hate baths and have big feet. What else?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, annoyed. “I drool when I sleep, and I sleep talk. Well, my father said so.”

James remained silent and took a sip of his coffee.

“You think I’m joking, don’t you?”

“Of course not.” He retorted indignantly.

You sighed then stood up. You’re done for today. You can’t take any more of him and his attention. “I have work to do.” You stated and walked away from him. You swore that if anyone ever found out about the things you shared with him, you were gonna kill him.

——

Several weeks later, Wanda, the company’s bookkeeper, sauntered over your workstation and tapped your shoulder.

“Hey, what’s up?” You asked.

“Are you and Bucky dating?”

You nearly fell off the swivel chair. You flashed her your best I’m innocent look. “What, where did you hear that?”

“Don’t deny it, I saw you two this morning; he gave you a ride. Plus, you always have lunch together. The whole department’s talking, you know. So, what’s the real score?” Wanda wriggled her eyebrows.

You chuckled and mentally slapped yourself. Damn, even your laugh sounded so fake.

Wanda stook akimbo. “Don’t think you can brush it off with your charming laugh. Come on, spill the tea.”

The tea? He’s blackmailing me with an ugly picture of mine because he wants to date me.

Your brain screamed, but you can’t really tell her that can you? The said picture -disheveled hair, baggy shirt, drool on your chin, and booger in your eyes- flashed in your mind, and your breath hitched.

Over my dead, sexy body, would I ever let them see that.

“Why don’t you ask James?” You suggested as you put on your most charmingly shy smile.

There’s no freaking way in hell, heaven, or earth that you’re going to tell her that you and James are indeed dating. What if the asshole denies it? Then you’ll look as if you’re desperately after that guy.

YOU? Desperate over a guy? The beautiful, kind, polite, well-mannered, and mature you desperate for a guy?

Thanks, but not a chance.

But you saw that Wanda wasn’t gonna let you off until you tell her the truth, so you changed tactics.

“Umm, Wanda, didn’t you say you have a three-day seminar in DC or something? What about William? Have you found a babysitter yet?”

You sighed in relief when you saw that Wanda immediately forgot about the dating thing. She furrowed her brows, worried at the mention of her 4-year-old son. Her husband, Vision, died two years ago. Now she’s left raising their son alone.

“Yeah, about that. Maybe I shouldn’t go. I don’t think I could be apart from him for three days. My brother also has things to do, so I can’t leave Will with him.”

“What, no!” You stood and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “You should go. It’s for your career. Don’t worry about William, he can stay with me while you’re away. I’ll look after him.”

You offered. You may be unhygienic and foul-mouthed, but you’ve always had a soft spot for kids. You would like to believe that there’s still good in you.

Wanda looked at you, grateful. “Really? You’ll look after him for me?”

“Of course! Anything for my pretty friend!”

“You’re really the best.”

You two were giggling and chatting when Wanda’s said brother came into the picture.

“What did I miss?” He casually asked.

Part 4

author's note: not exactly sure where I'm going with this story, I'm just throwing out all these ideas out. I hope you stay with me til' the end. Thanks for reading!

#bucky barnes #bucky #bucky fanfic #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #james buchanan barnes

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behindthemirrorofmusic · 3 years

Text

Santa, I have now sent you several notes of the most amiable nature, detailing which gifts I want you to bring. You have not followed my instructions...

#The Phantom of the Opera #Phantom of the Opera #Poto

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years

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She [1]

Warnings: non-consent sex (series)

This is dark! Steve and explicit. 18+ only.

Series Synopsis: Steve Rogers’ life is turned upside down by a reporter.

Chapter Summary: You meet Steve Rogers for an interview but he’s not what you expected.

Note: I’ve been trying to chill the last five days but I obviously got some writing in. It has resulted in this impromptu series and I hope you all like it. It’s looking like it will be about 10 chapters when all is said is done but that being said, I am still working on it.

Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Reader

Your left ankle bent as you leaned heavily on your heel. You stood before the thick walnut door, a round frosted window on its face. The townhouse stuck out on the old Brooklyn row and all knew its resident. It surprised many that he remained in the borough and he was cherished all the more for it. He was the golden boy of New York.

Well, that’s what people like to believe. You weren’t there to paint another flowery picture of the saviour. You were there to speak with the real man behind the plan. There was a story behind Steve Rogers that had yet to be told and when you were selected to tell it, you knew you had to do it right. The task was both daunting and humbling. It could be your big break.

You knocked and adjusted the bag that hung from your shoulder. You didn’t miss the group of kids at the end of the block gathered around for a glimpse of their hero. The door opened and you were greeted by the man himself. He smiled at you as his hand rested on the curled door handle.

“Hi,” He greeted you. “Thanks for coming. It saves me a lot of trouble.”

“Not at all,” You shook his hand.

You’d spoken to him briefly over the phone and negotiated the time and place for your interview. You agreed that him coming to the office would cause too much of a flurry. You were sure he was over that.

“Come in,” He stepped back and waved you through.

He closed the door as you looked around the entryway. A thick banister with the same dark wood as the walls led up to the second level and a finely carved archway peeked through to the next room. It was cozy and a lot quainter than you expected. The exposed brick above the panelling lent it a warmth.

“Shoes?” You stopped by the mat.

“Your call,” He said. “Can I offer you something to drink?”

“Thank you, Mr. Rogers, but I’m fine,” You assured him as you stepped out of your heels. You’d hate to scuff the hardwood. “I’m sure you're just as impatient as me to begin.”

“Steve. And yeah, I suppose. I don’t really do much more than pressers and usually, I don’t do much talking.” He confessed. “Just through here,” He pointed to the front room.

You nodded and stepped through. He directed you to the pair of armchairs before the artificial fireplace and you set your bag down as you sat. He lowered himself across from you as you reached into your bag and pulled out your phone and notebook. You swiped up and flicked your finger across the screen.

“Do you mind if I record you? It helps with editing and of course, accuracy,” You said.

He scratched his jaw and shrugged. “I don’t mind.”

“Great,” You hit the red dot and set the phone down on the small table with the mic facing him.

🖋️

You were a bit surprised by how it had all unfolded, but, you supposed, you were right when you said no one was ever exactly what they seemed. Steve was nice enough as he showed you the door but you could see the agitated impatience behind his eyes. You should’ve eased him into it more. Timing was everything.

Even so, you had promised your editor a story and if you didn’t deliver after being chosen for such a coveted one, well, you would never see its likes again.

So you sat at your desk in your small but comfortable city apartment. It was nothing compared to the star-spangled hero’s walk-up but it was home. If you could work the interview the right way, it might mean an upgrade, or at least a television that didn’t flicker.

You hit play on your phone for the third time that night. Steve Rogers’ voice was etched into your brain. And that tension in his forehead, the tic in his jaw. A thinly veiled wrath unexpected of the valiant soldier-turned-saviour. You shivered and paused the recording. It was almost startling how quickly he’d turned on you, but you weren’t entirely innocent.

You stretched your fingers over the keyboard and sighed as you stared at your blinking cursor. You couldn’t just sit on this forever. You had a deadline and an extension was an impossibility, if not a death warrant for your career.

So you hit play and began to type, pausing to play back snippets as you went.

🖋️

‘It’s early afternoon in the heart of Brooklyn. Amidst the old brick buildings that line the cracked sidewalks is a townhouse unlike any other. The home of a man born there over a century ago. A living ghost that haunts the block. Most would say he is a friendly spirit.

Steve Rogers answers the door as a boy lets his baseball roll under a car and his friends lower their mitts to watch. A teen on a bike, a ring in his nose, even slows to admire the hometown hero as he smiles; a beacon of the borough. A glimmer of hope for all to think that the block is not the whole world.

He greets me like an old friend. “Hi.” The same smile seen in newsprint. He thanks me for coming and ushers me inside. This is the first time I’ve met him in person. I can’t lie; I’m intimidated. I’m just another person in debt to this great veteran.

His house isn’t what you would expect from a man as prestigious as him. No medals hanging on the wall, no vainglorious cut-outs of his image, or pictures of him shaking hands with men in suits. Only framed baseball cards along freshly laid wood-panels. It’s like any other house in Brooklyn, just newer. An ancient skeleton revived.

We sit in the front room, he offers me a drink. I’m not very thirsty. I’m more anxious to start talking. I can see he is too though his facade is hard to crack. He tells me to call him Steve as my recitations of ‘Mr. Rogers’ become almost pathetic. We begin.

Interviewer: “Great.” I hit ‘record’. “I’ll start by saying you have a nice place.”

Steve: “Thanks.” He seems to relax as he leans back in the chair which is nearly too narrow for his broad shoulders. “It took a while but I think it’s coming together.”

Interviewer: “Can’t take the boy out of Brooklyn, I guess.”

Steve: “Wouldn’t leave it for the world.” He smiles again, though he never truly looks less than amiable.

I: “Only to save it,”

S: “I do what I can.

I: “More than most; New York, Sekovia, the world. You’ve done it all. Do you ever just take a break?”

S: “I try. And sometimes I get a chance to just… be here.”

He looks around, proud of himself, of his home.

I: “Any hobbies?”

S: “You know, I used to love to draw. Nothing special, you know. But I found it calming. I actually bought a bunch of pencils and a pad but I never touched them. I’m sure they're just sitting up in my closet, neglected.”

I listen intently, imagining this man bent over a notebook. It’s an absurd picture as my mind returns to the man in his cowl with shield in hand. The red, white, and blue bullseye is more suiting in my head than a pen.

I: “Anything else? Anything you actually do?”

S: “I like to run. Helps me get to know my neighbours, reconnect with my roots. I read… a little. I’m still not really into the whole internet thing but I try. I still get the newspaper just to read the strips and fill in the weekly crosswords.”

He confirms my suspicion. A man lost in time, but it seems he has found his place.

I: “A man for all times. And you work? I’m sure you get tired of talking about it but well, there’s been a lot of speculation about a possible retirement.”

He ‘s silent as he looks away and fidgets in his chair. He becomes the rehearsed hero at his podium.

S: “I’d hate to fan that fire but I think it’s only natural to consider it.”

I: “Thinking of settling down?”

S: “It’s always a thought but I’m not stupid. It’s not that simple. I’m not the type of man that gets to settle down.”

This remark might break the heart of every woman in Brooklyn and beyond but it seems to hurt him more. A grim truth for a man who many would say has the world in his hands.

I: “And if you did hang up the shield, is there anything you want to do? Anywhere you want to go?”

S: “I’d like to try fishing. I’ve heard it’s relaxing. I love the city but it’s nice to get away now and then.”

I: “Is there anything keeping you from retiring? Besides the obvious; we all know you’re a good man and a great hero. You’ve shown commitment to the city, the world, humanity.”

He looks to the artificial fireplace and shrugs. He’s thinking; perhaps censoring his response.

I: “Co-workers? The world is well aware of what you did for your old friend. And it has proven to be a point of contention, even after the pardon.”

He clears his throat and he’s no longer smiling.

S: “Bucky is an old friend and a commendable soldier. He does his job well. I wouldn’t take anything back. He has more than earned his place.”

I: “So, if you retired, you believe that he would retain his place among the team?”

He’s frowning now. He adjusts his posture so that he seems even bigger than before. A formidable opponent, if not an overwhelming one.

S: “He is not there because of me. He’s there because of himself. Because he is an asset to the world.”

His blue eyes are darker now. No longer the crystalline waves shining in the sun but those foreboding tides which crash together beneath the moonless sky. My ship has gone awry, carried by an errant wind.

I: “Well, I can’t help but point out that many wouldn’t agree. You put yourself and several of your associates on the line to save him. To bring him into your fold. To place a man who was once a national enemy beside you. I hate to say it but, frankly, even if he were pardoned on his own merit, I fail to imagine him being allowed the same access to confidential intelligence and tasked with the protection of civilian life.”

His hands are fists. I could put up a front and say I’m not nervous, but I am. I have done what I once thought impossible. I have angered Steve Rogers.

S: “He wasn’r Bucky, but he is now and he has been cleared. I’m sorry, but I thought you were here to talk about me.”

I: “Yes, I am, but the world is well aware of your friendship with Mr. Barnes and all its implications. It is hard to separate him from your life.”

S: “I agreed to talk about me.”

His tone is set in stone. I attempt to stay calm myself.

I: “We are talking about you, but we can move on. Now, even with its dissolution, there are still questions being asked about the Sokovia Accords and your opposition to it. While many can acknowledge the need for your team and their work, they can’t help but wonder at the lack of restraints placed upon it. There are regulations even for the FBI and CIA and other protective services. So why should you be exempt?”

He sniffs and stands up slowly. He retreats behind his chair and nears a table along the wall. He distracts himself with a signed baseball. I don’t have a chance to ask who scribbled along the stitches as he tosses it and finds his voice.

S: “I never disagreed with the sentiment of the Accords. As heroes, of course, we should have obligations. Our first and foremost being the protection of innocent lives. The hardest to uphold but we do it.”

He is ever the statesman but he isn’t finished and his voice gets low. Dangerous, even.

S: “At the same time, we put our own lives on the line and you come here and nag me about formalities? What is it you want? Paperwork? Reports on how I threw my shield to stop a bullet from striking an innocent bystander? How a piece of shrapnel nearly severed my tendon as I threw myself in front of a speeding vehicle?”

I: “With all due respect, I am only asking about transparency. People deserve to know more. They deserve the truth.”

S: “Is that what you’re looking for? The truth? You want to know what we don’t tell you and your readers?”

He puts the baseball down and his hand is on his hip, disapproving. I suspect his lecture will continue. He nears the chair and grips the back of it as he narrows his eyes at me. I fear he might throw it in my direction though for now, I hope it should act as my own shield against him.

S: “About how I have to lie about how many men I lose to keep this world safe. Because I can’t scare the people. Because I have to keep on this mask of the brave hero.”

His eyes go to the ceiling. He takes a breath to calm himself. I can tell he wants to continue. That he is holding back something which has brewed within him for a very long time. It is a moment before he speaks again.

S: “We’re done here. That’s it. Turn your phone off and go.”

The interview is over. What happens next will remain off the record. I leave with a mouth full of bile. My childlike wonder has been extinguished. I came to seek out the man behind the shield and I have done just that, but he is not who I expected.

I was ready for a humble man, a man like any of us; the same wants and desires. Still human despite his enhancements; despite his superhuman status. What I discovered was a man who’s exceptionality has nurtured a sense of entitlement.

And we do owe him our lives, our gratitude, we owe him the world. Yet I cannot dismiss the sense that he might regret his good deeds. That to him, it has become a thankless chore. That we are the needy children and he has been burdened with our cries for help.

So we should not be surprised or upset upon his retirement, not if, but when it comes. And we cannot fault him for his departure. It has been a long-time coming.’

🖋️

You took a breath and sat back in your chair. You rubbed your cheeks as the recording began to repeat itself. You stopped it and checked the time. You’d spend your morning editing and hope you would be ready for submission by the evening.

As you hit save, you felt an odd tremor deep inside. This could be it. Your big story. Or you could be tired and entirely up your own ass. You only hoped it was the former.

🖋️

You sat across from Poppy as she read your article through the glasses which sat low on her long nose. She was just past forty and wouldn’t look it if she didn’t wear the ridiculous half-circle spectacles. She wore a shade of red which paid homage to her name and her lipstick was just as bold. Her long lashes flicked up as she lowered the pages and her blonde hair fell behind her shoulder.

“Well…” She said carefully. “It is…interesting.”

You swallowed nervously as you teetered on the edge of the acrylic seat. Her long manicured nails played with the corner of the article.

“I had initially planned to have this in the back pages. No one really cares about the Avengers anymore.” She said. “But this is… I will discuss it with our marketing team but I know a feature when I see it.”

“A feature?” Your lips parted and you sat back as you gripped the thin arms of the chair.

“Oh, yes,” She said. “Another celebrity break-up is not exactly scandalous and to be frank, I do tire of that ridiculous narrative. But this… you will be hearing from me soon.”

“Uh,” You stood awkwardly at what you were sure was a dismissal. “Thank you.”

“For what? Doing my job? Should I thank you for doing yours?” She countered.

“N-no,” You stuttered.

“Go on then. I’m certain you have other work to do.” She tapped her long nails. “You certainly will once this is ready to print.”

You nodded and left her. She was already on her phone before the door closer behind you and you looked around the blindly bright office. It would be your first feature and it was the first article which had earned you more than a passive grumble from the woman. Perhaps you hadn’t been so foolish to think you had actually done something well.

#Steve Rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #dark steve rogers x reader #dark!steve rogers x reader #she #dark fic #dark!fic #au #series #fic #mcu #marvel #captain america

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