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#they are more structured than most ramblings I give
barbieaiden · 10 months
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hi! do you have any tips or insights into drawing/editing hair? the hair always looks great in your edits/renders and I have the worst time trying to do it myself lol. thanks for your time!
aww thank you!!<3
well first of all i use this brush and my drawing tablet, i'm sure you can use a mouse but it probably prolongs the process by. a lot lmao, and personally the pressure thingy is pretty essential to me but i guess you could get a similar result with opacity and stuff
my current process is basically using that brush on 8-15px (depending on the size of the image+how close to the camera the sim is) and switch between 100% (maybe lower it to 80% occasionally, especially around the ends) strength to kind of shape the hair the way i want it, it'll go from this to this:
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then i'll lower the strength to 80-85% and kind of blend things together a bit, usually not by drawing full strands but instead by going back and forth. i especially do this if the hair has some visible dark parts like aiden's+if the strands from the previous part looks too harsh:
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after that i draw some extra strands, usually at 100% if they're longer strands, and 80-90% at the very ends. depending on the size of the image and how close the sim is to the camera i'll lower the opacity on my extra strands. i also add highlights if needed+sometimes blend them in a little, and for certain hairs i like to brighten some of the shadows because they can become extra harsh in blender:
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+i go back and redo and paint over things as necessary. i work in way too many layers lmao and lower the opacity on them when it's needed. generally i think drawing hair is just something you need to practice, like i still have a lot of things i could improve in regards to it but i have learnt a lot from doing it for a while. drawing hair is very much one of those trust the process things too so don't give up after a few minutes!!
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prokopetz · 1 year
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One of the more frequent anecdotes you'll hear from Dungeons & Dragons podcasters is that any time they switch to a system other than D&D, even for a one-off arc, they immediately experience a large drop in listenership – sometimes up to eighty percent! – only to see most of those listeners come back once they switch back to D&D.
What's interesting about this is that the greater part of D&D podcast listeners do not play Dungeons & Dragons. They might have a general idea of what the game's rules look like based on what they've been able to passively absorb from listening to the podcast, but they don't have regular groups, they don't own the rulebooks or maintain subscriptions to the e-book service, and many of them have never rolled a d20 in their lives.
How, then, do we account for that sudden drop in listenership? Why does which system a tabletop roleplaying podcast is using matter so much if most listeners neither know nor care about the rules?
The answer is, unfortunately, quite simple.
In many ways, advocacy for indie RPGs has never moved past Ron Edwards' infamous argument that playing Dungeons & Dragons causes actual, physical brain damage. Deep down, a lot of indie RPG advocacy seems to believe there's something sinister in the structure of D&D that's responsible for what they regard as its unaccountable popularity. You can see this in everything from the casual assumption that D&D players aren't "really" having fun (and all that's needed to convert them to other systems is to show them they've been tricked into falsely believing they're enjoying an objectively un-fun activity), to the rambling thinkpieces that talk about getting folks to try other games like they're liberating people from the fucking Matrix.
Yet we come back to the same problem: how can the mechanical structure of D&D be implicated for its culturally dominant position in the minds of those who've never picked up a twenty-sided die?
The truth is that Dungeons & Dragons enjoys cultural dominance, both within the hobby and elsewhere, because it's owned by the same multinational corporation that owns Monopoly and My Little Pony, and benefits from all the marketing strength its owner can bring to bear. The problem, in brief, is brand loyalty. The aforementioned podcasts lose listeners in droves whenever they give a non-D&D system a spin because all most of those departing listeners care about is whether the thing that they're listening to is called "Dungeons & Dragons". The structural particulars of the mechanics are irrelevant.
The bitter pill we've got to swallow as indie RPG authors is that we can't fix brand loyalty in tabletop RPGs by fucking around with the shape of the dice. There are lots of productive causes we can support to help address the problem, but they mostly have do to with intellectual property and antitrust regulations and such, which are areas where our finely honed ability to debate the correct way to pretend to be an elf is of very limited utility.
Like, I enjoy an abstruse argument about the ideology of dice-rolling as much as the next nerd, but let's not fool ourselves that we're speaking truth to power here. The gamer who just wants to roll dice to hit the dragon with their sword is not your enemy.
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nyuuronfly · 5 months
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On Rain World lore and it's implementation within the game.
This is kindof a random ramble I went on in a Discord chat and just feel like sharing elsewhere. (also note this is all primarily in reference to the original game, Survivor's story.)
I honestly think too many miss the forest for the trees a bit with RW, in terms of how important the lore is, if that makes sense. I talked with somebody about first-time experiences with the game and they said they'd watched a number of lore explanation videos on YT before starting, because of some reason along the lines of "I didn't trust the game to deliver its own story properly." To me this is almost saddening to hear because I really feel that misses the point of why the game has it's lore to begin with.
To me, while playing, any tidbits i learned about history or other information contributed to a feeling like the world I was navigating had a very real history that saturated it, yet one that I would be unable to grasp fully. It is an illusory feeling of realness, given how it is experienced. The game is mechanically not designed to incentivize collecting many information pearls, especially when in the original game you can literally just drop them off a cliff and lose them forever. You get the feeling often like you are bound to never be able to get everything, nor would you even probably want to put in the effort, so the illusion actually stays stronger because of that. Your mind wanders speculating about every little detail, whether intention truly existed behind it or not, because it feels like it did. You learned that it might have. Maintaining that illusion while playing I think is the primary reason they were included, not actually the experience of "knowing" the history. Rain World in general seems to have a thematic fixation on the simple idea that individuals have limited perspectives. Joar Jakobsson has said that one of the core ideas behind Rain World was to recreate the life of a "rat in Manhattan." That is to say, a creature that understands how to find food, hide, and live in a complex man-made structure, that cannot understand it's structuring purpose or why it was built. The very core issue of the iterators, is that the solution to the "great problem" intrinsically has to lie with knowledge that could only be obtained from "the other side." They are corporeal beings trying to know something that pertains to something outside corporeal reality. Yet pursuit of knowledge is very important to creatures like ourselves. Collecting any individual pearl is mostly an exercise in doing a lot just for little bits of knowledge. There is a lot of understanding of just how significant wanting to know more is, even something unimportant, when you are left in the dark the way you are in the game. Most information pearls you deliver are literally completely useless to know about, but they feel personally important, especially in how finding them relates to your connection to the iterators. My primary motivation to find pearls in my first play was to spend more time with Moon. On a very real emotional level, Moon felt like my only friend in the world while I played. On a mechanical level, she does literally nothing. But Rain World manages to operate on a very emotional, even instinctual level with how it's designed. I wanted to be in her company and have something to give her. Because I am alone, and lost. So something along those lines is why I felt saddened to hear the sentiment like Rain World somehow "fails" to deliver it's "story." The purpose of the game is not to find pearls and hear about some grand narrative. At it's core, Rain World is a game that's design was inspired by nature, and it's use of history within the world relates to us as a player the way history relates to us as people. It is relayed through people reading from records created by parties with their own perspectives, and connects us abstractly to a sensation that there is more out there than our own lives. That is a feeling you have as a player, and ultimately the true story that Rain World tells is the memories you have playing it. What you did, saw, and felt. The same as how our story is that of our own lives. That is the purpose of the game.
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attyattlaw · 2 months
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cross posting yesterday's rambling thread for posterity and because tumblr lets me edit things. anyway this is a sorta long thing and i might add things i forgot to mention in the twt thread
i tend to draw on-model canon because im a coward + just personal preferences. but the way i convert the canon designs into my artstyle is that i take the distinct features oda gives them and then combine it with personal headcanons to complete what should look like a unique human. Starting with Trafalgar Law, who is unfortunately a bland-ass conventionally pretty boy
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someone commented a while ago the law hat drawing tutorial i made a while ago didn't make much sense and i realize its bc of the specific way i draw law's face: heart shaped (ba-dum-tss). That meaning, a narrow chin widening into a mild defined jaw, wide cheekbones, and up to his know-it-all brain dome.
given that, the pudgy guitar pick shape of his head i mentioned here should make a lot more sense.
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i don't think this design point is unique to me, as most conventional pretty anime boy gets given jaws like this. a lot of law artists tend to veer into this head shape. just how life be sometimes. other points: flat, thick eyebrows is bc im a hairy gal and i need to feel better about myself.
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Killer gets to be more interesting, because he shouldn't be considered conventionally attractive. my idea behind killer's is that those individual features is smth he would be insecure with enough to hide himself in a helmet but i draw him with all the love in the world actually. i'd like to think its how kid sees him or yknow, law, bc he's my kin assigned blorbo and maybe you ship lawkill as a guilty pleasure too i mentioned before (and ruined people's days) when i said whenever i draw killer he looks like griffith before i put on his goatee. the upper half of his face is distinctly feminine, with the lower half kinda over compensating. other than that uhh...idk. stan killer
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Kidd is the bane of my existence, i feel like i can never draw his face consistently. yet at the same time he's so damn fun to draw everyone gotta try it.
my problem with kidd is that this mf does have eyelids. most kidd painters out there interpret this as him having deep set eyes (think Matt Smith or jeffrey star) . and yeh skill issue on me i should practice that. other notes, i try to make him younger than canon makes him look. he is my babygirl and he deserves to look cuddly. my band au kidd version has the honor of being allowed some chubs. he's just tries to look older and more menacing with edgy makeup. also i try to give him dimples when i can because, well i can.
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Rosinante last bc i lost steam after kidd. the thing abt cora is that aside from not having eyebrows, everything is structured with the generic one piece man template. which means i gotta do everything myself doffy is there bc the way to figure out how to draw these two is to give them minor differences from each other, that being doffy gets slightly sharper features. in canon, these two are also rly wide boys (more of an oda style feat tbh) but i make them long. though bigger brained donquixote artists know that of these two brothers, doffy should be the wiry-er built. anyway that's it. in conclusion, i need to draw more girls actually i feel like im becoming misogynistic by osmosis from oda's style and now i draw girls all looking the same too.
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weirdmageddon · 7 months
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ok prev this is a huge part of why i love homestuck
aside from hussie’s use of platonic forms to construct the world which i think overlays everything basically
It's an approach that resonates with the rest of Homestuck's governing principles involving simple platonic concepts giving rise to greater complexity and chaos
there’s so much thematics and symbolism and symmetry that it’s so like, logically aesthetically pleasing to my brain. you could make a college course on homestuck’s integration of archetypes and typological symmetry (card suits, chess, DNA nucleotides ACGT, western zodiac, alchemy/elementals, the god tier classes and roles). lots of stuff that comes in pairs and even numbers, products of 2 so they can always be divided into halves. everything is symmetrical i swear the structure is so satisfying. it’s quite frankly impossible list it all since some of them encompass other elements within themselves, its like a fucking fractal of duality and 90 degree angle quartets of symbols
is there a name for this kind of symbolic symmetrical dichotomy elements….but not even “dichotomy” is necessarily correct since it often comes in a tetrachotomy too. twos, fours, eights, twelves, sixteens. and always mathematically relating to each other like folding over paper more than once and counting the folds on a single sheet of paper. folded in half once there’s two sides of the single paper. folded again the other way there’s four quarters of a single paper made by two halves (the halving folds themselves split the paper into two sides and there’s two of those folds). though that’s exponential the metaphor still applies
it’s definitely both mathematical and philosophical in nature. four seasons, four temperaments, four classical elements. its present in a lot of philosophy most prominently the yinyang concept and some jungian stuff has it too. like socionics model A also does that logically symmetrical structural relationships shit that i love. its sooo my jam i love you logical patterns and relationships i love you symbolism
idk what im saying or if there’s a term for this im just rambling. if you know what im saying or know of a term for this regarding what im getting at please tell me. im just spitballin whats im rotating in my mind but cant find the words for. fuck i need to talk about this. im not even really trying to make a point about these im just pointing them out
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the-trail-to-oregon · 9 months
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So I am aware that I am the only person making Edward II content as far as I can see, bUT if you are writing/drawing my guy then here is some advice from a MASSIVE Edward II nerd:
let's discuss Edward's appearance in excessive detail (yay)
Ok so. The basics: he had blond curly hair that reached his shoulders, parted in the middle in the style of the time. And a beard. Or at least he does in his effigy, in which we can imagine he is 43, his age at the time of death.
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I mean. Let's take a moment to appreciate his hair. It is A Look that I want to emulate with all my heart ands soul. Just me? Fine.
In earlier depictions of him he is clean shaven. For example, this drawing of him when he was accepting the title of Prince of Wales from his father
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look at my little guy (literally little, because the picture turned out tiddly and I don't know why). Lmao. Anyway, here are some more pictures of Edward II.
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I sometimes see people say that this is a young Edward III, but as this was produced in 1326 I doubt it. I rarely see drawings of royalty before they become active in politics, which Edward III at the tender age of 14 had not yet become. So it's more likely that this is just a very youthful looking Edward II.
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Again, this is probably Edward II. It's not specified, but it was produced during his reign so we can safely assume it's the man himself.
ok, so those are some drawings of him, what next?
unfortunately we don't know what his eye colour or complexion was. I'd imagine his eyes were probably blue or grey as it's quite rare to have blond hair and dark eyes. Also (and yes, I am looking too deeply into this, but shush), both his parents had dark hair, so for him to have lighter coloured hair would suggest a lack of pigmentation in hair and eyes, which would also lead to poor eyesight. (I can confirm this because I have the same problem. Both my parents have dark brown hair and dark eyes but I am blond and blue eyed as the pigmentation in my hair and eyes didn't develop as quickly as normal - it's common for white people to be blond when born and then for their hair to darken, but with me this is happening much more slowly than it did for my parents. As a result my eyesight is so bad that I can't buy glasses frames thick enough to contain the lenses lmao.)
here are what some of Edward's contemporaries had to say about him (quotes taken from Kathryn Warner's excellent blog)
"tall and strong, a fine figure of a handsome man"
"fair of body and great of strength"
"of a well-formed and a handsome person"
"one of the strongest men of his realm"
(To be honest the fact that he was super hot seems to be his only redeeming feature in the eyes of the monks.)
Edward enjoyed 'unkingly' activities such as digging ditches, thatching roofs and doing blacksmith work, so we can imagine that he was really strong (the quotes back this up). His father, Edward I, was six foot two so Edward II would have been pretty tall too.
So, in conclusion, if you're writing/drawing Edward II give him awesome hair. Give him dirt under his fingernails. Give him muscles. For the love of God don't turn him into the Braveheart version.
(also, when I look up references to the muscular structure most of the drawings that come up look like they're on steroids. don't put Edward on steroids. The strongest men in the world don't have ridiculously defined muscles. They just look 'bulky' or 'barrel chested'. So yeah :).)
Hope this helps!!! If not, at least this has been an excuse to ramble about Edward II.
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toournextadventure · 1 year
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I LOVE your Wednesday! I was wondering if you can write a Wednesday/gn!Reader where the reader writes to her a love letter and wants to give it to her with a black rose but they see Xavier give to her the cellphone so, thinking they're dating, Reader just throws away the letter and the rose.
Wednesday finds them..
Looky looky here, two fics in one day. This one was fun to write, I loved the idea!
im no poet
You were no writer. No amount of your rambling thoughts could compare to those of Shakespeare, Hemingway, or even Wednesday Addams. All those big emotions came out in actions, not words, and not even your mouth could keep up or properly convey all you wanted to. No, most of those big, bottled up feelings ended up left unspoken.
But for Wednesday, you gave it a try.
It had started with a very heated debate about the phrase “actions speak louder than words.” She, of course, had opted to disagree, claiming her words spoke pretty loud. They sure do, you thought as you shook your head and counter-argued. It was by no means an argument, much more of an actual debate with each side presenting their case.
You lost. Because, as you had previously pointed out, you were not good with your words.
Not a bad thing though, you realised once you sat down to try and write out how you felt. The first few paragraphs were messy; no structure, no reason, barely coherent. You crumpled the paper into a ball and tossed it into the corner of the room, not even attempting to hit the trash can. But you pulled out another piece of paper and started again.
It took half a notebook before you could even start making sense of your words. Even then, it wasn’t what you wanted to say. How could you even start to explain why you were writing such a letter? Should you start it off with “Hello, I think I’m in love with you?” Words wouldn’t work.
Words wouldn’t work.
You put your pen to paper - the third pen you had ruined so far - and started explaining your emotions the only way you knew how: with actions. The feelings she envoked in you couldn’t be put into words, not so simply. No, because she made you want to live, and living was such a beautiful thing. That rare smile of hers made you feel as if you were running through the farm of your childhood. Laughing as you ran up and down the crop rows until your bare feet were dirty and tired and you collapsed in the field with the feeling of utter peace that only a child could experience.
Being with her made you want to do every little thing she had never considered was important to her. It made you want to bring her coffee whenever she was writing, or turning the page of her music as she played. You would connect your headphones whenever she came in because you knew she liked the silence. Or grabbing all the songs she enjoyed and turning them into a personalised record that she could use without having to switch them out all the time.
When it was all said and done, you had exhausted five pens, half a notebook, and came out with three pages of a written confession.
You had asked Miss Thornhill if you could raid the greenhouse. It wasn’t that you were a teacher’s pet, but you knew how to kiss up when needed. She agreed quickly, and all you had to give up were a few Saturdays of your time to help clean up and organise. A fair trade, no consideration needed.
The Black Dahlias weren’t in bloom, so you hoped Wednesday would settle for a black rose. That was still romantic, right? It was black, at least, that had to count for something. A small envelope, a single black rose, your bright shining face. What more could she want?
“I already put my number in it,” Xavier’s voice rang out even though he was talking fairly quietly.
He bought her a phone. The very thing she had adamantly refused to become a slave to. Yet she took it from him anyway. Oh, you thought with a furrow of your brows. Suddenly the items in your hand felt like lead, weighing you down and you almost wished they would drag you under the ground to escape.
It had been a crapshoot to make a move, you knew that anyway, but it still hurt nonetheless. Wednesday gave the equivalent of a smile, and you nodded to yourself in silent acceptance. You wouldn’t ever wish to put her in a position to “choose” between two people. So instead you turned around and started walking off. You only paused at a trash can to drop the rose and letter inside, patting the cold silver can twice before walking away.
You didn’t see Wednesday watch you leave with worry in her eyes.
“Go see,” Xavier said with a gesture of his head.
Wednesday didn’t hesitate to walk over to the trash can and pick up the rose and envelope. The sight of the flower made her heart race; had you gotten that for her? What had possessed you to get her something like that? You knew she was difficult to get along with, why would you go out of your way to get her a rose in her favourite colour?
And the envelope. It had her name on it.
“What’s their number?” Wednesday asked Xavier. He gave her a smile and gestured for her to hand him her phone.
—---
You practically fell onto the bench in the lockerroom of your hometown gym. After getting out of school a few weeks ago, you had thrown yourself into helping out at the gym. The owner was a family friend and he had quickly accepted your offer. It was an added bonus that he gave you full access to the gym, too.
It was almost time to start closing up, but you had managed to get a good workout in once everyone was gone. Hell, you deserved it, the girl you were in love with was very clearly not in love with you. In fact, she was nice and happy, and even though that’s all you wanted, it still hurt. 
You never even told her, your mind thought.
“Oh shut up,” you mumbled as your head fell into your hands.
With a sigh, you pushed yourself up to your feet and grabbed your change of clothes from your bag. Maybe you just needed to change and get home so you could wallow in your self-pity and fall asleep with some Kitchen Nightmares on in the background. That would surely keep your mind busy. God, you were pathetic.
You were pulling your clean shirt back over your head when your phone vibrated against the bench. No one should have been texting you this late, everyone you talked to knew you were usually asleep. Besides, why would they be texting you this late? Didn’t they know you were in mourning?
The screen lit up when you held your face over it, still adjusting your clothes to fit properly.
Unknown Number: You forgot this. 1 Attachment.
“Oh fuck.” It was a photo of the rose and envelope with Wednesday’s name on it.
You: I’m sorry. You can toss it I didn’t know about Xavier
Oh god, why was this happening? Why did this have to happen? Getting silently rejected was hard enough, but now there was going to be humiliation too? You lifted your hands to grab the sides of your head as you started pacing, trying to keep yourself grounded. That’s it, you weren’t going back to Nevermore. Nope, you were going to run away, maybe live in the woods and find a Bigfoot family to take care of you.
The phone vibrated again and you rushed over.
Unknown: Did you mean it? What you wrote.
“Fuck!” You shouted. What did you say? There’s no way you could say “Yes, Wednesday, I meant every word of devotion that I wrote on that letter. Tell your boyfriend I said hi.” But if you didn’t let her know now, it was going to eat away at you until the day you died. Fuck fuck fuck!
You grabbed the phone and typed out the one word, but your thumbs stilled over the “send” button while your heart tried to beat out of your chest.
You pressed send.
You: Yes
“Oh shit,” you groaned. Your hands were getting clammy. “Why did I do that.” Oh god. Oh shit. Why wasn’t she answering? There goes any chance of even being friends again. You were going to have to change your name and run away. Surely your family would understand, right? Yeah, they could even help you come up with a new identity.
The vibration against the bench was about to send you into a frenzy.
Unknown: Call me tomorrow night. We can watch the new Scream movie.
You had never typed so fast in your life.
You: Is this a date?
The text couldn’t come quickly enough.
Unknown: Yes. But if you tell anyone, I will remove your tongue.
You stared at your phone in utter disbelief. A date. With Wednesday Addams. A real date with the girl you were highkey in love with. Your letter had worked. It had worked!
You: It’s a date
A smile took over your face as you put your phone back into your bag. You had a date.
“Fuck yes!” You shouted as you threw your fist in the air. You were definitely calling out of work tomorrow.
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novthewolf · 14 days
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Two’s company, three’s a family - Part seven
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Summary : As a cupid, an angel of love, your mission was to make sure everyone was paired up with the right person. Yet you couldn’t get your two most ancient clients to finally end up together. And despite the 6,000 years spent on the case, you couldn’t bring yourself to give them up, oblivious to the reason…
Pairing : Aziraphale x Crowley / GN!Reader x Crowley / GN!Reader x Aziraphale (polyamorous relationship).
Parts : First - Previous - Next
Masterlist : Here
Warnings : long, too long (someone stop me), animal corpse, implied child death, crucifixion, depiction of h0rnisness, mention of s3x, s3xual undertone, alcool, violence, blood, use of french, angst, nazis, anxiety panic, slow burn, english isn’t my first language.
Words : +19,3k (seriously, stop me)
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Love ? Have you ever really felt Love ?
3004 B.C., Mesopotamia
It might be a strange thing to say, but right now you are actually learning how to walk. Oh, you knew the basics, but you never tried to practice on real soil. It felt weird on your feet, gritty and dry; it kept scratching the skin. A mix of tickles and quite pleasant itches. The reason you decided to come down was not to experiment with new sensations but to actually see why you had to bind specific animals together.
You would have asked the other cupids assigned to the mission if they knew anything, but only the principalities were aware of the actual goal. So, as curiosity overtook you, you made your way to the open land once you reached the limits of the forest. You were taken aback by the seemingly huge boat sitting on the hilltop. There were a lot of people, nicely looking at the strange scene behind some wooden fences.
Your eyes followed the multiple coupled animals, and you smiled, recognising the ones you created. Apparently, humans were leading them to that structure, leaving you more confused than ever. Slowly, you ambled to join the crowd and catch glimpses of conversation to try and understand what was actually going on. You ended up resting your arms on the wood and lifting your feet off the ground to relieve the pressure. When you jumped on your other foot, you bumped your right elbow against someone else's left side.
"Ah, sorry! I didn't see you here." You hurried, turning around to meet the unfortunate human.
"Oh, it's really nothing." The person was reassured. You gulped when you recognised him. It was the guardian angel of the Eastern Gate who stopped you from reaching said gate in the Garden of Eden. "Did you hurt your foot? My, you certainly will without any shoes on." He rambled in a worried tone. You started to worry as well. Did you just permanently damage your ride? By ride, you meant your physical body.
"No, no! I'm fine." You backed out slightly when he reached down for your leg. "I'm an angel too. My feet aren't hurt, I hope, and I never heard of... shoes? Anyway, please don't mind me." You dismissed me, looking for a way out.
He didn't seem surprised that you were an angel too. But your shattered heart missed a beat. You didn't mean to confess that. Does he remember your status? If he is aware, is he informed enough about your kind? No walking on earth, no feelings, no meddling in other angels' business. But instead of accusing you of not obeying your superior, he just nodded and actually miracled you some'shoes'. It was a really sweet gesture; you didn't know how to react. You simply muttered a small and bashful thank you and watched him kneel down in front of you.
You squinted your eyes, distruting the gentle way he took your scratched foot and helped you slide it inside the unfamiliar fabric. Once you were equipped, you trampled on the soil, laughing incredulously. It didn't hurt anymore !
"Thank you !" You exclaimed, giddy. And you were grateful to find that your overexcitement didn't faze him; he smiled brightly and joined his hands.
"Oh, there is no problem at all !" He laughed in a breath. Seeing that he seemed open-minded, you yearned to ask him the questions that burned your lips. However, someone interrupted you.
"Hello Aziraphale." A demon greeted him, his yellow snake eyes fixed on the guardian angel's face. He took place on Aziraphale's right side. You audibly gasped out of fear and embarrassment. Those two were the ones you linked back in the garden ! Plus, having a demon so close was still overwhelming.
"Crawley..." Aziraphale smiled nervously, his eyes going back and forth between you and the demon. That was when the redhead spotted you and tilted his head to the side to see you better.
"Hello there." He grinned with all his teeth. Intimitated, you simply hummed as a hello. Crawley then turned to Aziraphale. "So giving the mortals a flaming sword, how did that work out for you ?" He teased.
"You gave your sword away ?" You blurred out.
The angel huffed, flustered, and took some time to figure out what to say next. "There were really dangerous creatures out of the garden; they needed some protection." He rambled your way, then turned to the demon. "And the Almighty has never actually mentioned it again."
Crawley shrugged. "Probably a good thing... What's all this about ?" He gestured at the whole commotion. You nodded in agreement.
"Did they have a sudden urge to build a floating zoo ? Is it a common occurrence for humans ?" You wondered, truly curious.
"Well, they do have particular little quirks, but I never saw it come to that extent." The demon trailed, not meeting your eyes.
"From what I hear, God's a bit techy. Wiping out the human race. Big storm." Aziraphale gestured, and you smelled moonflower and moss, which you learned to recognise as sadness, even if he didn't show it. While Crawley's scent made you crunch your nose, you turned to him and watched his expression swing from outrage to disbelief.
"All of them ?"
"Just the locals." He nodded with tight lips. "I don't believe the Almighty's upset with the Chinese. Or the Native Americans. Or the Australians."
"What about the animals ?" You asked deeply, worried as you grasped his white sleeve. There was limited contact between you and animals, but every time you spent time with them, you felt a strong pull towards them, and you couldn't help but coo and coddle them.
"Oh no, God's not actually going to wipe out every creature." He flinched at your touch and was slowly pulling away. Despite your need for reassurance, you knew none of your fellow angels liked to touch you, so you let go. You felt the demon's eyes on you.
"You see Noah up there ?" He pointed towards the hill, and both of you looked up. "His family, his sons, their wives, and every couple of animals they brought in, they're all going to be fine."
"But they are drowning everybody else." He sneered, truly peeved. Aziraphale couldn't even answer and rather preferred to nod in agreement with sealed lips. Goats bleated in the background, catching your attention, and you turned around. Kids came running along them, blissfully playing and laughing. You shuddered.
"Not the kids. You can't kill kids." Crawley argued. He felt more disgusted by it than he showed, and you tilted your head to get a better look at him. You didn't expect him to care. Aziraphale hummed, darting his eyes away. Your heart sank, and you gulped.
"Well, that's more the kind of thing you'd expect my lot to do."
Yeah, so why isn't that the case?
As if he sensed your doubt, the angel spoke up again. "Yes, but when it's done, the Almighty's going to put up a new thing called a 'rain bow'" He offered with a smile, but all he could muster was a brow raise. "As a promise not to drown everyone again."
You couldn't help but let out a mix of scoff and a grunt. Crawley shared your distaste for the whole idea and mocked it. "How kind."
"You can't judge the Almighty, Crawley. And mh..." He stopped and turned to you inquisitively. He wanted to know your name. The last time you heard out loud was when... You wanted to slap yourself. Come on, you couldn’t be afraid of your own name, now can you ?
"Y/N." You smiled; you were actually happy to introduce yourself. Aziraphale was very nice, and even if he didn't know who you were or what you were, he was treating you with kindness and respect. You weren't sure if you were happy to know that a demon had learned your name. Oh god, what if he told him ?
"Don't fret; I'm sure God got all of this figured out. God's plans are simply:
"Are you going to say 'ineffable'"? Aw, they end each other's sentences. You almost forgot they were bonded. You smiled at the thought before remembering that you were the cause of it and how forbidden it was. You looked slightly red as you rubbed the back of your neck.
And when you thought you couldn't be more flustered, you felt Crawley skip behind you, brush his body against yours, and settle by your side. You were now as red as whatever was the reddest on Earth, and you completely froze up too. He then proceeded to burst your ears by yelling.
"Oi, Shem ! That's unicorn's going to make a run for it." A unicorn was indeed running away from the gathering towards the forest, and you were deeply alert, as you were the one responsible for its bounds. "Oh, it's too late. It's too late !" Crawley howled again.
Tired of his loud voice, you decided to leave and run after the poor creature. "Thank you for everything! Mmh.." You rushed before turning around, not sure how to respond in a non-monotone voice. "Bye bye! Smooches !" Smooches ? Really ?
You heard the angel echoe "smooches ?" as you sprinted away. Even with shoes on, you had terrible coordination and fell a few times before entering the forest, while seemingly hallucinating hearing Aziraphale's voice call you in the distance. Despite trying your best to catch the unicorn in time, you couldn't reach it in time. Instead, rain caught up to you, and you also had to discover how to swim. It wasn't as much fun.
Thankfully, you were able to fly away and find shelter in a cave, cold gnawing at your fingers and feet. And in that moment, you were the loneliest you have ever been. You hugged your knees and stared at your dreadful-looking arm, but you couldn't help but hope the unicorn was safe on the ark.
The minute the level of the water lowered enough for you to search, you didn't waste a second. You roamed for hours, your hair and clothes muddy and wet, tangling around your face and body. A few branches scratch your skin, and pebbles disrupt your messy scout. The sun shone through the branches of the wrenching trees remaining on the land.
That was when you found it. Your breath hitched in your throat, considering the sight in front of you. The water had carried it to the canopy, where the remains of lilac bushes lay still. The long legs of the unicorn lay on the sludge-covered ground. Its beautiful long white mane is all tangled and scattered all across its face, its eyes still open and terrifyingly empty. You didn't even feel your feet move or the tears pouring down your cheeks—just crushing fatigue. It was dead. You were the one who paired it, and now it is gone. God, if you had been faster... Suddenly bursting with adrenaline, you ran and jumped at its side, like you wished you had before it was too late.
You hugged the unicorn's neck as tight as you could, holding on to the vain hope that a heartbeat would be heard. But all you could feel was the wet, cold white coat of the beautiful creature. You couldn't bear to let go; you didn't want to leave it alone. Curled up against its shoulder, you waited. The faint sound of thunder rang through the sky, urging you to look up to that shallow promise that would never make up for anything. Not for the losses, not for the pain. You wish you didn't feel the hurt, but you will be damned if you ever forget the cruelty of that moment.
Footsteps slowly made their way to your miserable form. Your eyes opened on their own, and you looked over to see who interrupted your grieving. And as you thought your heart couldn't be more broken, you let out a desperate cry. Crawley stood there, his golden eyes empty, but his face showed profound sorrow, looking as messed up as you did. A small body draped in a white-drenched sheet was held against his chest. The tightness of his hold reminded you of your own, but the delicacy of his touch made him look so vulnerable. He started walking once again, seeking your eyes, and you felt his misery, adding to your own.
Gently, he rested the small body against the side of the unicorn and patted its head.
"It's not fair." You sobbed, your heart clenching violently, the broken pieces piercing through your lungs.
He kneeled down, seemingly paying his respects like you've seen humans do. "God doesn't exactly do 'fair', if you hadn't noticed."
His red hair hid his face from you, but so did his distress and deep anger. It confused you. Of course you understood how he felt; you just didn't get why. Was it just because it was in his nature to thwart her wishes? But shouldn't he cheer on so many deaths and tragedies? Laugh at pain and suffering, like you have been used to.
"It's just... so cruel, and... I don't..." You couldn't finish the sentence before breaking down in tears. Crawley studied your face, followed the path of your tears, and finally focused on your clenched hands. He inhaled deeply, turned around, sat cross-legged, and gazed up at the sky.
"You might have too much of a sweet heart." In a cheerless joke.
You looked up and saw the majestic bow that adorned the clearing sky among the deadly clouds. It felt like a cynical joke played on you. Mocking you for the naive hope that justice was something God actually cared about.
But... as you peered over the furious demon grieving at your side, you felt less alone and strangely understood. Slowly, your hand went up and down his right arm to soothe his boiling heart, dusting off petals of lilac. He turned around, and you gave him a sad smile.
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33 A.D. Golgotha
It's safe to say you were heavily reprimanded for disappearing like that and letting a unicorn get away, because now, thanks to you, they were all extinct. Great job once again; you kept to yourself. Of course, you didn't mention your encounter to anyone.
And yet they didn't punish you; instead, they put you in charge of their new project, "Jesus." He was an incredible human; he was so full of love and kindness that you suspected they used the essence of the Bound itself. Those thirty-three years were fantastic, and you sure were able to stock up on love. You just wish it didn't have to end so soon.
Now here you were, completely defeated. They always had to do that, didn't they? Someone walked up to you and poked your right arm to get your attention. Surprised, you flinched and turned slowly with wide eyes.
"Oh, Aziraphale." You smiled, happy to see him here, since for some reason he was joyful, despite your circumstances. You had decided to give into your heart, only feeling what other people felt. And also, the filter might be broken; it seemed to work just fine with the guardian angel. He was certainly cheerful to be in the presence of the'son' of God, so it felt nice to feel the same.
Aziraphale smiled in return. "Hello Y/N." He then turned to the scene, and his brows frowned. You couldn't help but stare, like you did in the garden. What about him made you stare? You weren't sure, but you were dead set on noticing all the little details of his expressions. He was so expressive, whether it was through his mouth twitching, teeth gritting, or eyes glittering and squinting. The same goes for his smell; you were sure you could guess everything that was going on inside his head.
"Were you assigned to him ?" The gentle voice whispered, as if not to startle you. You thought about your answer. It wouldn't be logical if only cupids were to care for him, so it wouldn't blow your cover. But why did you want to keep lying so much? You slapped yourself mentally. Because he was a principality, because you showed too much emotion for a heartless being, and because you fricking bound him like a demon! But he was so nice, maybe he wouldn't mind... No.
"Yes, I followed him for most of his life." You smiled quickly but definitely stopped gawking his way. "He is a wonderful person." Tears welled up in your eyes, but you knew his existence was still worth it.
The disturbing sound of cracking bones, the hammer, and Jesus's words brought you back to reality, away from the memories. Why do humans never acknowledge good or beautiful things without having to break them? Love was a tricky concept to them, and they didn't really know when to let things be. Because, come on, he was betrayed by a kiss. They used love and trust as weapons. Humans would rather choose hatred and ignorance if it meant they were right and their pride would remain intact.
"Yes, humans can be dreadful creatures. sometimes." The angel nodded. You looked up, flustered. Being used to having yourself as your only companion made you forget to close your mouth and not get lost in your  reflection."
You flinched when he screamed, and you averted your eyes to the ground. A long black robe came into your view. Climbing up from the dry soil to the eyes of the newcomer, you smelled the spice of the naga viper. Crawley was indeed quite angry, alright ?
"Hi Crawley." You greeted me while taking a step closer to Aziraphale, away from the smell.
He acknowledged your presence with a smile and a nod, and you felt the angel stare behind you. You turned around to identify the emotion slithering from Aziraphale, but it was already gone. Still, he was fidgeting with his fingers and slowly backing away.
"Come to smirk at the poor bugger, have you ?" The demon inquired of Azirphale.
"Smirk ? Me ?"
"Well, your lot put him on there." He shrugged.
"What ?" Your incredulous voice resounded louder than you thought. "I thought it was the hate demons." You grasped Aziraphale's sleeve for support, and you fixed him. And he didn't pull away.
"Well, it was, but we, in a sense, let them put him there." He tried to explain the best he could while preserving Heaven's integrity. "And I'm not consulted on policy decisions, Crawley. Otherwise, it would have been a more merciful death." He finally assured you, and you let go, unsure and overall confused.
"Oh, I've changed it."
The two of you turned to Crawley. "Changed what ?" You asked.
"My name. ' Crawl-y' just wasn't really doing it for me. It's a bit too... squirming-at-your-feet-ish." You chuckled at his explanation.
"Well, you were a snake." Aziraphale smirked, and his brow ticked in a teasing manner.
He was? You gulped and bit your lower lip. Thoughts came in a whirlwind into your mind, and you certainly weren't listening to anything they were saying. God, how many mistakes have you committed? The unicorn, the forbidden bound, and letting the snake tempt Adam and Eve into eating the apple. You were a complete catastrophe.
"Did you ever meet him ?" You heard Aziraphale ask.
The step you tried to take back was stopped by confusion. They were supposed to be linked, and when that happens, the people involved spend a lot of time together, as one would expect. So logically, they would at least know if the other had met someone as important as Jesus. What if... You visualised the surrounding bounds, the complete, yet-to-be finalized and the multitude of possibilities. You darted down to observe the bound of the two and realised you were standing in the middle of it. And to add to your feeling of failure, you realised the bound was anything but completed.
You can't even get that right; you mocked yourself. Laughter and tears wanted to escape your throat. Maybe it was for the better, but still, you couldn't bear to be the reason two people couldn't be together, especially not with such a beautiful bond. Perphas, you could try to shoot them one last time. You considered the thought for a moment and slowly decided against it. That was until you heard Jesus cry in pain once again.
"Oh, that has got to hurt." Crawl—no, Crowley hissed. You sniffed, but a small smile settled on your lips. The sound alerted the angel that spined to see you.
"He'll be alright, dear." He reassured me while tilting his head to the side to get a better look at you.
"For sure. Like I said, he's a bright man who wouldn't even hurt a fly; he'll go right up there." Crowley assured me too, gazing up at the sky.
You scratched your arm and hummed in response. Jesus was being horribly tortured for the ideal that love was the best thing life had to offer, and he priotized beyond anything else. The feeling was mutual; you wanted to live by that, if only your peers didn't make it sound so out of place. But you thought the least you could do to honour your philanthropic companion was to respect his beliefs.
"I'll be heading home... I'm heading to heaven. Gotta prepare for his arrival." Your eyes were lost staring at some rock on the ground before retreating away and weaving. "Bye, bye."
"You're sure-" Aziraphale tried, but you were already gone, middling in the crowd where you belonged. A faceless stranger that no one recognised. You turned your blindness spell on and flew up in the sky. You glanced down on the pair and laughed to yourself while aiming. Hopefully you wouldn't have to shoot them again, but come on: how many more arrows would this bound need ?
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41 A.D. Rome
Your invisible form was flying through the streets of Rome at a daring speed. Footsteps running on stone pavers and clothing rubbing against the rough surfaces of the city walls rang in the air. The giggles of the youthful couple were mixing with your own as you twirled around in pure delight. Oh, the sheer happiness of being young and deeply believing that their first love story would last forever.
It might be surprising to hear for some, but cupids were not shooting at every couple. It is your principal job, but most importantly, you were supposed to make sure the world's boundaries were constantly supplied with love. Of course, bounds were the most secure way of ensuring it; not every love story was meant to last forever. And young love is one of the most powerful types, beside unconditional love, as it is filled with hope and innocence.
The young man suddenly grabbed his lover's hand and pulled him into a small, secluded alley. You clapped your hands and soared up in the sky to land on the rooftop of a house. You crawled your way to the hedge of it and gawked down on them with a wide smile. The smaller boy was backed against the wall while his partner was smothering him with kisses on her nose, cheeks, and throat. His arms were passed around his neck as he hugged him lovingly. You supported your head with your hands settled against your cheeks.
The taller boy separated himself from his neck, and he used this opportunity to kiss him passionately. A huge wave of love came rushing up to you, and you inhaled it with vigour, both with your nose and mouth. It raised you on your knees and made you fall down on your back. You basked in the reinvigorating feeling and strung out profusely. The cold stone made the exposed skin of your legs shudder, but the warmth you felt in your heart surpassed any other sensations. It filled your stomach, and you were completely sated.
You hummed deliciously and observed the sky. Now, you were thirsty and still riled up from the emotion, and as always, you didn't know how to manage the thrills coursing through your system. As you came to understand, humans had different ways of dealing with such stirs. The more your body experienced, the more you contemplated your options; you just didn't have the guts to try. Whether it was food, sleep, or sex, You didn't know why; you just had that urge to be human.
Of course, it was absolutely inconceivable for your fellow angels and certainly for the demons too, if you were honest. It was just a different side of yourself that you started to discover. As strange as it is to say, acknowledging to yourself that you made terrible mistakes on Earth made you feel wonderfully uninhibited. You just lack the courage and actual safety to try.
Being unable to talk to anyone about it made you feel so insecure and scared. What if something went wrong ? What if your gifted body wasn't made to experiment anything 'humanly'? Oh Jesus, what if you exploded?! Yes, you had an inexplicable fear of exploding, and you had no idea where it came from. You just needed someone to... Well, actually, you just needed someone.
You rolled to your side and listed all the endeavours you wanted to throw yourself into when you felt an oddly familiar presence. You were alone most of the time; no one was really 'homey' in your heart. So, you kept rolling towards the busiest street, forsaking the lovey-dovey couple. It was a restaurant, and a busy one at that. Still, you managed to spot a red-headed man with much shorter hair than you remembered.
You looked down at your hands, still doubting the choice you made eight years ago. To appease your mind, you slipped down and called off the spell. Maybe they were on a date. Did they eat food ? Yes, you had your priorities neatly organised.
You peeked the upper part of your head through the door frame and found Crowley sitting alone on a stool. Scanning around the restaurant, you were met with the queer sight of Aziraphale playing on his own. Well, maybe it was a tradition of theirs...
"What have you got? Give me a jug of whatever you think is drinkable." He leisured. It peaked your interest, but you didn't initiate any movements. You watched intently when you saw Aziraphale get up from his seat and go up to the demon.
"Crawley- Crowley ? Well, fancy running into you here." Damn, they are definitely the least communicative couple you have ever encountered! Certainly, a bound like that would make it so much harder for them to be apart. You flashed your eyes pink, and that was when you summoned your vision. And you felt like screaming. Their link was still incomplete !
"Y/N ? Golly, it's quite a reunion." Aziraphale chuckled, clapping his hands. He gestured for you to come to the counter too. Unsure, you tiptoed your way towards them. Your mouth opened slightly when you saw the two drinks lying there.
Aziraphale followed your eyes and chirped. "Oh, where are my manners? Would you like a drink too, dear ?"
You blushed and started playing with your fingers. "I never consumed anything from Earth." The stutters you let out doubled the intensity of your embarrassment.
"Anything ?" Crowley insinuated, even though you didn't catch what he meant. The angel did, though, and tsked in a reprimanding tone.
"Still a demon, then?" He gave him a side eye.
The redhead snarked in response. "What kind of stupid question is that,'still a demon?' What else am I going to be, an aardvark?" The angel didn't listen, however, and ordered a drink for you.
You looked down, feeling like you were overstepping a private discussion. Sheesh, your shot has been totally useless, heh? You were really good for nothing, cupid, now were you? "It's really nice of you, but..."
"Here you go, apple and pear juice." The bartender served you right before you could slip away. You eyed the goblet and sniffed the sweet smell of appel and pear, the scent of endermant.
"Don't worry, the taste is way sweeter than house brown; it'll be easier for a first try." His round hand was handing you the drink, and you gently grabbed it, brushing your fingers against his. Bubbles were twirling in your stomach at his consideration.
"Thanks." You mumbled. Crowley huffed with a smirk. When you met his gaze shyly, he winked and grabbed his own cup. A gentle and warm sensation envelopped your body, and you held your cup closer to yourself.
"Salutaria." Aziraphale cheered and went to clank both of your goblets. You and Crowley met him in the hallway, and the vibrations caused your skin to create goosebumps. You enjoyed the feeling, especially when you ran your fingers alongside the texture, like you were doing unconsciously on your right arm. Freezing mid-thought, you rushed to see that your heavily scarred forearm was exposed for anyone to see.
Hiding it in such a hurry caused the pair to study you. You forced out a laugh and raised your glass again. "Heh, a moment of hesitation." You said this before bringing the cup to your lips. In the corner of your sight, you saw the angel moisten his lips.
"So, why are you in Rome for?" Crowley wondered, not caring at all for your discovery, as he finished his drink. You hummed in delight; your taste buds felt like exploding. You darted your tongue out and rolled it around the bit of honeyed pear that couldn't quite enter your mouth. Crowley gulped audibly, as he apparently didn't finish his bevarage as you thought he did.
"Mmh... I thought I'd try Petronius' new restaurant." Adding to the fruity liquid, a heavy wave of macarons and rosé made its way to your nose. You laughed breathlessly, and you were brought back to the conversation. "I hear it does remarkable things to oysters."
"I've never eaten an oyster." Crowley confessed. Do people eat rocks? You tilted your head, confused.
"Oh, well, let me tempt you to..." Aziraphale started, making you gasp.
You weren't the only one spurred up by the vocabulary of the angel; Crowley suddenly turned around to meet his gaze. That is when you noticed he covered his eyes. Despite this, Crowley still looked somewhat exasperated for some reason but was giving hints of macarons as well. Perphas, they were so flustered because you caught them on their date.
"No, that's—that's your job, isn't it?" His expression was tight, laughing through his teeth, his eyes going back and forth between the two of you.
To make sure you weren't the problem, you tried to suggest you join them on their little trip. "I might try an oyster."
He sputtered, realising the mistake he had made. "Oh God... Mh, the taste might be a bit too rich for you." You licked your lips, chasing the saccharine flavour. Crowley looked etched and suggested something out of sympathy.
"They'll be simpler food..."
You put the goblet down and backed. "Don't mind me, I'll see myself out; I still have some, huh, miracles to do!" It was a lie, of course; your lot didn't perform miracles on a daily basis, but you didn't think much of it. Oddly enough, lying didn't bother you that much.
You were so ashamed. You didn't understand why your bow didn't work. Some couples weren't easy to finalise, but you had already shot them twice. Plus, their bound wasn't strained or weak; it wasn't a technical mistake. So why ? "Have fun." You hoped your smile would encourage them to dine together, in spite of your interruption.
"Y/N-" The crowd already covered your body, while you wasted no time scampering away. The moment you were out of breath, you had arrived at the market. Inhaling deeply, you straightened yourself up, trying to sort out your thoughts. Obviously, something was wrong, whether it had to do with you or with them. If it failed not only once but twice, it's because it wasn't meant to be at all. Continuing would be pointless; you had to give them up. You had to.
Why, in the name of love, could you not make up your mind around the idea? Why couldn't you shake off the feeling of excitement you felt when those two were together? Certainly, a bound that would send such love could not be a miscalculation. They made you feel so good, and the theory of your possible addiction is becoming much more plausible now. But you refused to get addicted to them. You had to leave them; if they were meant to end up together, they would eventually do it on their own.
"Would you like to try an oyster, dear customer ?" A merchant interpellated you, since you had stopped only a few steps away. You observed the display of rocks and took a curious look at the seller.
"How do you eat them?" You asked.
"It's easy; come see." He called you over. First, he held the head in a firm grip and brought a knife to the tail of the pebble. He then twisted the knife around and finally slipped it inside. You raised one brow at your own dirty mind and looked away. Finally, as you didn't watch the rest of the show, he levelled the now-open rock to your face. "And you eat what's inside."
You studied the bogger-like thing and sluppered the whole thing, afraid of the taste. And surprising enough, you loved the taste of it, even if the viscous consistency made it hard for you to properly touch it with your tongue. You wondered what it would have been like if you went with Aziraphale and Crowley.
Jesus, you wanted to slap yourself. Stop thinking about them; you couldn't break your new resolution so quickly. And still, the thoughts kept rushing in! How caring the angel had been when he offered you a gentler beverage. The strange device that rested on Crowley's nose, which hid his pretty yellow eyes, The visible fluffiness of Aziraphale's whole being. Or the sweet gesture Crowley had for you, even though you had imposed yourself between him and the white-haired man.
Ok, you are ceasing at all, Y/N; this is ridiculous. You just had to be a burden, now don't you? All of a sudden, a hand tapped on your shoulder, but you were too irritated to answer politely.
"What ?" You snapped and shook the hand right off your shoulder.
And you turned around. You were sadly met with a slack-jawed Mihael, a colleague and former friend of yours, before the war. She was walking—well, you thought she did—but she still floated a few inches above the ground. Her dark pink eyes scanned your face, your fully expressive face, and trailed down to where you lay. She saw you eating, walking, and feeling. Oh God, she saw you snap, broodi, and enjoy. Worst of all, she was, out of all the cupids, the most documented about your situation. Mihael knew. It made her terribly dangerous.
"Please..." You pleaded, reaching out to her, but it only made it worse. She pranced as if she had been burned by your aching hands. Wors couldn't align together.
"Mihael, wait !" You ran after her, but she had already taken off and activated her blindness spell. "No, for heaven's sake !" You then tried to scream your disapproval out of your heart. Running away was the first thing that popped into your mind. Maybe go to the bottom of the abyss to properly cool down. That's how Mihael would come back, or if you were summoned, you'd be perfectly capable of faking your emptiness.
You sighed and detected the scent of desire. It was a brothel—a fancy one. You contemplated the idea of entering and finally deciding to indulge in your sinful interests. Hey, you were about to spend a fair amount of time away from all civilization, not even having light as your company. It would just be another line you'd cross, but you stopped counting the moment you bound an angel and a demon together.Oh God, could you just stop thinking about it? Ugh...
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1354, Balkan merchant caravan, Greece
"We can't just keep every infant we find, Y/N. She's not our kin." Elif lectured you severely. Who was Elif, you may ask? He's the head of the merchant group you've been following for a couple of months. You had met him and his wife a few years ago, for obvious reasons, and now you travel with them in the hope of providing the parental love the two craved.
However, they were never able to conceive. So when you found this little baby girl, you knew she needed them as much as they needed her. Convincing Nazli was easy, Elif—eh, not so much. He wouldn't have an unknown baby as his child.
"We will give her to the next village with a stop-by, and that's final." He gave you a stern look and walked away to the group of men gathering around the fire.
It would have been easy to use an emotional orb to persuade him to keep her, but you knew their link would be hollow and fake; it would never last. You sighed and caressed the chubby face wrapped in a tight blanket, nested in the woman's arms. Her eyes pleaded your way, and you sent her a wave of reassurance.
"I'll take care of it, love. Don't worry." You smiled. You jumped out of the caravan and stretched your arms and back. The night sky was truly a beauty. On the day of your creation, though it's all a blur, you remember that it was also the same day all the stars were brought into existence. It was incredible, a majestic moment you wished you could recall more clearly, but your mind was funny like that.
You sighed, the memories of your last meeting with Mihael coming back to the surface, as you did four hundred years after you spent sleeping in the ocean. Honestly, you didn't mean to sleep; it was just all so peaceful, you couldn't help it. She hadn't said anything to Jophiel or Chamuel, not even her own linked! You were so thankful for that. Adriel was a real pain in the ass.
She came to you, more worried than anything else. I apologise until your ears bleed; you still didn't show the full spectrum of your emotions. You didn't trust her. All Mihael did was warn you, advise you to show minimal emotion, and keep better track of your environment.
Following her recommendation, you strayed from your kindness while still providing enough love so they would let you be. Through all your experiences, the distance between you and your peers grew larger, and even if you shared your emotional capacity, you knew you were a freak. It was all too strong. You felt alone in your emotions. Alone in the world. Under the vast canopy of the night sky, with stars twinkling like distant beacons of hope, you stood alone in the deserted land, your heart heavy with a profound sense of isolation. The world around her seemed to fade into insignificance as she gazed up at the infinite expanse above, feeling small and insignificant against the backdrop of the cosmos.
As you traced the patterns of constellations with your weary eyes, a wave of emptiness washed over you, engulfing you in a sea of solitude. Each glittering star seemed to mock you with its unreachable brilliance, a reminder of the vast distances that separated you from the rest of your kind. The soft breeze brushed your hair, bringing along a particular smell. Images of a certain red-haided demon flashed through your mind. A gasp fell out of your lips, and your heart swelled, beating wildly. You searched franticly, bouncing on your toes.
The moment you spot him, you want to rush and greet him, but his posture and behaviour stop you. Crowley is standing next to a caravan, seemingly hiding behind it. Confused, you take baby steps towards him and wait. Once you arrive near him, you get to see what he was watching.
Thieves and barbarians were steathly making their way down the hilltop to the merchants. They were barely visible to the eye; the bright glow of the campfire seemed to warn the good people, but no one seemed to notice. You bit down on your lip when you realised it was certainly your friend's work. Friend ? You meant the client. The anger you felt wasn't directed at him, and it surprised you.
Well, no, what surprised you the most was his next action. While you thought Crowley was here to supervise everything that went smoothly, he instead did something unexpected. He straightened up, raised his hand, and snapped his fingers. You frowned, completely lost. Now, you were standing right behind him, peeking to see the scene unfold.
A huge piece of marchandise rolled out of a cart, one facing the approaching criminals. Elif, who had been conversing with his men, snapped his eyes at the bag before scanning the area around it. Including the bushy hill. The man spotted the group and alerted the others to get ready to fight or hide. You gasped and glanced over Nazli and the baby, but they were far enough away and well hidden.
Your eyes soften at the realisation of what Crowley just did. He also seemed quite satisfied with his actions, and you knew he was congratulating himself. Yeah, you smelled the mix of whipped cream and blueberries. A smug smirk appeared on your face, and you decided to scare him just a bit.
"How much has changed since I left?" You spoke up playfully, making sure to be as sudden as possible. And your wish was answered when Crowley spun around violently, screaming and bolting away from you.
You laughed despite yourself, but the demon was too stunned to really care. "Y/N ?! You scared the hell out of me!" He crowed.
"It seems like you didn't need my help for that." You accused me teasingly, a brow raised.
His widened eyes finally shrank down, and he gulped. "It's not what it looks like." His voice sounded almost pleading, tugging at your heartstrings.
"Crowley, it's okay. I ain't going to denounce you." You took a step forward and tilted your head. "But I will ask you questions." The struggles of battle could be heard, with the thieves charging at the campers.
He groaned and ran a hand in his hair. It grew longer since the last time, probably multiple times since it had been centuries since you two encountered each other. It seemed to be tied into a low ponytail, and his clothes were still as black as the night, in comparison to yours, which were always colourful.
"So... why are you doing the angels work ?"
He sighed and took some time to respond, allowing the gooshing sound of blood hitting the ground to fill the air. "I guess I could tell you..." Crowley took off his glasses and searched into your eyes. In return, you offered him an encouraging smile.
"Me and Aziraphale made an arrangement... We stay out of each other's way and help when we can." He crossed his arm against his chest, leaning again against the caravan.
"Seem simple enough..." You shrugged before frowning. "Don't... don't Heaven and Hell suspect anything ?" Your voice reflects your concern.
A dagger was thrown your way. Crowley grabbed onto your sleeve and pulled you out of its trajectory, next to him. "Nah, they never suspect anything; you know how they are." He tried to act casual, but you did smell relieved that you didn't freak out.
You hummed and chuckled. "Yeah.." A kind of comfortable relationship settled between the two of you, but you couldn't shake the awakening remaining. Leaving abruptly and disaperating for centuries will do that for you.
"Where have you been ?" The redhead inquired.
You inhaled deeply before answering. "I visited the abyss for a while, and... I kind of fell asleep."
Crowley's impressed smile echoed your embarrassed one when he turned toward you. "You fell asleep ?" He nagged with a chuckle. "For how long ?"
"For about four centuries..." You rubbed the back of your head. The air abruptly carried the piercing cries of the infant, grabbing your attention and sending them right back to your clients. You gasped sharply and held your breath. Two barbarians were sprinting towards the poor woman and the baby. Nazli did her best at keeping them at bay, swinging her sabre around and cutting them off enough to prevent them from getting closer. But their patience was running thin.
"Nazli !" Alerted by gut-wrenching cries, Elif called out to his wife, his eyes widening with terror. But he had no time to think; no, he rushed into action. The chief slashed his way to his love, not stopping for anything. Not even the cart right in front of him, where you and Crowley were currently leaning against.
"Wow." The two of you mused in chorus as the chief jumped right over your heads and landed right behind the two men. He brought his long, curvy dagger to the first's throat and slit it wide open. The cries of the baby kept ranging through the air as you watched in awe and slight disgust as the crimson liquid poured down in a thick puddle on the soil.
"Ew." You murmured, earning a scoff from Crowley, who observed the scene with arms crossed over his chest. The other thief punched Elif in the face, but he couldn't care less. He spit out a mixture of blood and saliva and then plunged his dagger into the attacker's chest with all the rage he could muster.
"Mh, talk about killing for love." Crowley commented. But didn't answer. Instead, you looked at the scene tenderly. Elif helped his wife get out of the caravan, putting his hands around her and the baby. That's when the infant instinctively grabbed onto the man's finger. By the way his breath caught in his throat, you knew it pulled right at his heartstrings. You couldn't help but smile like a complete goof.
After what felt like hours, the marchants finally won their battle. Now was the time to mend wounds and sooth souls. Crowley stayed with you the entire night, giving you two hours to catch up. And despite how much you struggled to admit it, you did enjoy spending time with him. Not because he was a dreadful company, quite the opposite. But you knew you had to keep your distance.
Right now, you sat next to each other, watching the spouses cuddle the baby. In the soft glow of the rising dawn, Elif and Nazli sat side by side next to the fire, their hands clasped together in a silent gesture of love and solidarity. The room was bathed in the warm hues of sunrise, casting a soft, golden light upon their faces.
"Nazli." Her husband began, his voice filled with emotion, "I've been thinking a lot about what you said... Maybe we should take her in."
Nazli's eyes lit up with delight, her heart swelling with gratitude for the man she loved more than words could express. You swore in that instead, as you smelt the intoxicating scent of love, you could sink back into the deep abyss and leave solely on the memory of their love.
"Oh, Elif.." She exclaimed, her voice trembling with emotion. "Do you really mean it ?"
Elif nodded, a smile spreading across his face as he reached out to gently caress his wife's cheek. "Yes." He replied, his voice filled with conviction, "I mean it with all my heart. I want nothing more than to offer you the family you always wanted." His hand caressed the small baby's hair. "Offer her the family she needs. Little Qamirah." He smiled foundly.
Tears of joy welled in Nazli's eyes as she threw her right arm around her husband, pulling him into a tight embrace. "Thank you, my love," she whispered, her voice choked with emotion. You smiled tenderly and glanced towards Crowley, your hand gesturing to the couple. He smiled softly and rolled his eyes in anoyance, but you knew how he truly felt.
You retreated from the wholesome, resting your head back against the wooden cart. "Maybe this deal isn't such a bad idea after all."
Crowley mirrored your chuckle. "I guess you could be added to the contract." He jested teasingly.
You gasped happily and smiled. "Really ?"
"Sure, but it'd be best if you stayed on the surface of Earth for that." He nudged your elbow with his own.
"Don't worry." You streched your back and raised your covered arms high in the sky.
Crowley frowned as he took notice of the clothing. "Afraid you'll get a tan?" He teased.
You bit your lip and caressed your right arm. "Nah, more like a fashion choice." You winked. Crowley laughed hoarsely and then streched up his arm. You watched softly as he got up and dusted himself off.
"I'd love to stay, but I got some reel demonic work to do." He waved off and had already started to walk away. In a matter of seconds, you got up and followed after him. Somehow, you didn't want to let him leave, at least not this way.
"Wait !" You called, and Crowley stopped midstep.
"What ?" He turned softly.
Instead of answering, you sprinted towards your caravan and grabbed a plant you had snatched when you went to the other side of Earth and spent time with the Tupi-Guarani ivilization. They have wonderful, complex social structures, rich oral traditions, and extensive knowledge of the natural world. Ah, what a wonderful vacation !
You pulled out the plant; they called it the flower of the moon. It was a stunning plant, prized for its graceful, glossy foliage and elegant white flowers. With its lush, dark green leaves that arch gracefully from the base, the moon flower produces delicate, white flowers with a central spadix surrounded by a white, petal-like spathe. "There you go!" You handed it to him with a bright smile.
Crowley observed this little beauty of nature before looking up at you with an unimpressed expression. "A plant ?"
You rolled your eyes. "Not just a plant, a moon flower. But it's so great to have one of those! You never really feel alone."
His bright yellow eyes stared into your own before he smirked. "It was time for you to emmerge, sweetheart." He nagged.
You pouted and nudged his arm. "Shush. Take the plant, a gift for everything you taught me." He groaned and took it anyway.
"Just so you know, if it dies, it's not my fault." His warning made you chuckle.
"I'll keep that in mind." You winked. "Thank you for your help." He simply nodded as a goodbye before disappearing from thin air.
As you stood there, you felt loneliness crawling its way back onto your shoulders. All the while you stayed with the demon, you never once felt alone. And more than that, you truly experience true understanding, and it was so refreshing... The irony of the situation was truly oddly amusing to you. You didn't trust another cupid, one of your kind, to display every emotion you could have. But it felt so natural to do so with a guardian angel and a demon. Swallowing with difficulty, you observed the newly founded family and felt something echo deep into your soul.
You laughed—a mixture of disbelief and strange relief. Not only were you one of a kind, but you also found out that you weren't alone in this. Yep, maybe you could indulge yourself in their company... Just a tinsy bit...
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* 
1793, La Bastille, Paris
"Rattrapes la, bon sang!" You yelled at the young woman, hoping she would finally decide to run after her friend.
"Non, Y/N." She dismissed her sternly, though the tears threatened to leave her eyes. "Elle a fait son choix; c'est son problème." Turning away from you, she hid her feelings for her friend from you. At least she tried.
You groaned and added exasperation. "Elle a juste eu peur, Lucie. Robespierre est en train de couper des têtes à la volée; c'est tout à fait normal!" Lucie's 'roomate' Madeleine had joined her during the revolution, but the more the franzy took over, the more scared she became. People began beheading anyone who was against the Republic ideology, which included severing the heads of nicely dressed people.
Obviously, an argument ensued, and Madeleine decided to run away from Paris all together, to be safe from all the madness. Lucie wanted to stay, to continue the fight, but you knew she loved her more than anything. And here you were stuck between the two, trying desperately to smooth things over and reunite them. Which was insanely difficult.
"Alors quoi, tu vas la laisser partir? Ne plus jamais la revoir?" You tried to reason with her.
"Absolument !" She exclaimed and threw her hands in the air, acting like a spoiled brat. All of this was still too fresh. Lucie was immensly offended and hurt by her lover's words; there was no way to calm her down right this moment.
So you sighed and ruffled your hair. "D'accord, si c'est ce que tu veux..." Softly, you turned away from her. "Mais n'oublies pas qu'elle ne part que demain matin... agis avant que tu le regrettes." You threw her one last glance towards her, giving her time to pound.
As you made your way towards the square, you saw a couple young men tearing out pavers from the street and children gathering wood for their home. The city streets bustled with the fervour of revolution, while you kept seeking solace amidst the chaos that engulfed the lovely city. The distant echoes of revolutionary chants mingled with the clatter of horse-drawn carriages and the murmur of lively conversations, creating a symphony of sound that enveloped you in a cocoon of anonymity.
With each step you took, you felt the echo of Lucie's convictions pressing down on your stomach—the burden of long, agonising memories hanging over your heart, ready to come crashing down any second. The events of the day had left you shaken and unsettled, your mind swirling with thoughts of rebellion and resistance that once again didn't originate from you.
As you kept walking, you found yourself drawn towards the quieter corners of the city, away from the tumultuous crowds and swirling currents of political intrigue. Picking up a small yarrow, you softly palyed with it in between your fingers. As you wandered through narrow alleyways adorned with quaint cafes and bustling market stalls, your sensitive nose smelled of Parisian life and emotions.
With each passing moment, the rhythm of your footsteps became a mantra, a soothing cadence that calmed your racing thoughts and grounded her in the present moment. The cool night air brushed against your skin as you rolled up your sleeves, enjoying the relaxing wind on your scarred arm. The scent of freshly baked bread and aromatic spices was a comforting reminder of the simple pleasures that still existed amidst the turmoil of the revolution.
Slowly, you allowed yourself to be swept away by the beauty of your surroundings, finding solace in the timeless elegance of Parisian architecture and the soft glow of gas lamps that illuminated the streets like beacons of hope in the darkness. You brought the small white flower up to your nose and inhaled its scent deeply.
And as you flew up to a moonlight-bathed rooftop, you closed your eyes and took a deep breath, allowing yourself to bask in the stillness of the sky. Reajusting your red béret on your head correctly, your eyes suddenly snapped down to two guards guiding an overly dressed and white figure away towards the Place de la Révolution, where the crowd was gathered around the guillotine.
And you knew who he was, for sure. "Oh God, Aziraphale..." You sighed and shook your head. The angel had quite particular taste in clothing, so it wasn't really a surprise when you spot him parade in Paris with such expensive clothes. Yeah, he always had a way to miss social clues. So, you flew back, saying farewell to your newly found peace, and followed them from a safe distance.
For your part, you dressed as the typical revolutionary Parisian, while slightly more colourful, so you had no trouble sneaking inside the prison, dodging the aristocrats being taken away by the very clear slashing sounds and screams coming from the lace. You kept searching among the moist cobblestones until you heard Aziraphale's gentle voice.
"Look, this is all a terrible mistake." He assured me while you slowly peeked your head from behind the cold stone wall. "I don't think you understand."
"I have good news for you. You are the 999th aristocrat to die at the guillotine by my hand." The man affirmed himself cheerfully, like a proud collector. "But the first English." You rolled your eyes at the statement, still waiting for the right moment to interfere. Why did Aziraphale not consider using a miracle? Why risk discorporation, especially such a painful one ?
"Now..." The man started before you heard him move around.
Before you understood what he was doing, Aziraphale got up, his chains clanking on the ground. "Please ! No."
You frowned, anger bubbling in your stomach and your teeth gritting. No way I'm letting him hurt Aziraphale... A rush of adrenaline washed over you, but just before you could intervene, a voice spoke from behind you.
"How about we help our little friend, mh ?"
A loud, high-pitched yelp escaped from your throat, and you turned violently around. Crowley was looking at you through his sunglasses and mocking a smurk on his lips. You let out the breath you kept in your lungs and growled.
"Don't do that." You scowled.
He shrugged and leaned over the prison cell. "It's just payback, sweetheart." He mumbled in a low voice and snapped his fingers, causing your brow to raise.
"Animals." The angel grumbled, deeply reproachful. You smiled and pushed the cell door open.
"Animals don't kill each other with clever machines, angel." Crowley said before sitting down nonchalantly.
"I'm afraid only humans do that." You added, standing with your hands behind your back.
"You..." Aziraphale sighed, and you smelled utter relief emitting from him. "Good Lord..." He smiled, rolling his eyes. You close up to him and gently remove the chains from his wrists. Your eyes trailed on his clothes, and you scoffed. Long white coat, richly decorated vest, obviously tailored pants, gee... The only thing you missed was the way your friend looked down at your hands, his breathing picking up slightly.
"What the deuce are you doing locked up in the Bastille?" Crowley inquired from his corner. "I thought you were opening a book shop."
"In London, nontheless." You finally got rid of the metal and let it fall loudly to the ground. Stepping away from him, the angel had space to take a deep breath and explain himself.
"Well, I was. I got peckish." He pouted, rubbing his bruising wrists.
Crowley smirked. "Peckish ?"
Aziraphale couldn't meet your gaze as you tasted funnel cake in the air. He rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, if you must know, it was the crêpes." You chuckled in response.
"Crêpes ? Don't they make 'em in England?"
"Not as good as the ones you find in Paris, that's for sure. Oh, and the brioche." He assured me, filled with conviction. You shook your head and kept laughing.
"So you just popped across the channel during a revolution because you wanted something to nibble?" The demon almost, ironically, lectured.
You shrugged. "Meh, I could understand. But not dressed like that, Azy." A smirk took place on your face.
He eyed you two up and down and then stated: "I have standards." In all your responses, you stuck out your tongue. "I did hear they were getting a bit carried away over here, but..."
"Yeah, this is not getting carried away. This is cutting off lots of people's heads very efficiently with a big head-cutting machine." The red head pointed out his slight resentment.
You nodded in agreement, but tried to bring up the positive. "At least, they are quite creative." But all you earned in return were jaded looks from your two clients. You raised up your hands to plead your innocence. "But, why didn't you miracle your way out?"
An effective way to change the subject. Aziraphale looked down once again. "Oh, I was reprimanded last month." You glanced towards Crowley, and you shared a knowing look. "They said I'd performed too many frivolous miracles. I got a strongly worded note from Gabriel."
Your lips twitched in a contrite pout. Only imagining what Chamuel would do if you ever got reported didn't settle quite with you, and the last thing you wanted was to bring to yourself. In a way, you were envious of how Aziraphale had even the chance to make a mistake.
Crowley stood up and strolled towards you. "Well, you're lucky I was in the area."
"We." You wasted no time correcting him.
Aziraphale scoffed. "I suppose I am." A soft smile appeared on his face, and the faintest blush appeared as he gawked at the two of you. "Why are you here?" He frowned.
"My lot sent me a commendation for outstanding job performance." The demon answered first, waving off his own statement.
Aziraphale gasped and got agitated again. "So all this is your demonic work?" He gestured towards the raging crowd.
"No. The humans thought it up themselves. Nothing to do with me." Now it was Crowley's turn to clear his name. So, there is a chance for you to restore your image.
"Heh, I told you, creative." You chirped proudly. But the same silence welcomed your words. You sighed, and your shoulders fell. "Fine..."
"Well..." Azirphale talked up again after a few seconds of judging silence. "I suppose I should say thank you for the, uh, rescue." He swung his arms from either side of his body softly.
"Don't say that." Crowley suddenly surged forward and snarled, startling you slightly. "If my people hear I join forces with an angel to save another, I'll be the one in trouble."
You sighed and rolled your eyes, already starting to walk away. Over the centuries, you learned to leave these two whenever they started to have a moment. "And my lot, do not send rude notes." Crowley's voice was fading and was replaced by your own footsteps.
"Well, anyway, I'm very grateful. What about if I buy you lunch?" Aziraphale offered. You stopped in the middle of the hallway and, at a turn, smiled, melancolic, before foresaking their conversation. Even though it didn't stop there.
"What do you think, Y/N?" The red head stopped mid-sentence as he noticed you were gone. He sighed and rolled his eyes. "What do they always do?"
Once again, you didn't join them for lunch. Why would you? They were just clients. You repeated this to yourself all the time, hoping one day it would finally make its way to your brain. But this desire never went away, despite how many times you echoed your words over and over again.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm golden glow over the slowing city, you stepped out of a restaurant, crêpe in hand. Obviously, to avoid any unwanted attention, you made sure to pass by Lucie and, thank you enough, Madeleine. Quietly munching on your treat, you observed their bodies finally coming together. The tension that had lingered between them for so long seemed to melt away in the fading light, replaced by a tentative sense of reconciliation. They were a few feet away from each other, but still Lucie reached out tentatively, her hand trembling slightly as she touched the blonde's cheek, her eyes filled with regret and longing.
"Je suis désolée, Madeleine." She whispered softly, her voice barely audible above the gentle rustle of leaves. "Je n'ai jamais voulu te faire de mal." Tears softly formed in her eyes. "Je t'aime plus de tout au monde." She confessed, her voice breaking under the emotion.
Madeleine's eyes glistened with unshed tears as she reached out to clasp her lover's hand in her own, the relieving scent of forgiveness filling the air. "Je t'aime aussi, Lucie." She replied, her voice trembling with emotion. "J'ai juste eu tellement peur... tout ce qui passe en ce moment..." Her breath quickened once again through her fear.
"Je sais, je sais, et je m'en excuses. Mais je te promets qu'il ne t'arrivera jamais rien, jamais." She assured, so determined with the firm intention to protect Madeleine until her last breath.
And in that moment, as they sat together beneath the canopy of clouds, you felt a pang of longing tug at your heartstrings, a silent reminder of the feelings you had buried deep within your soul. It wasn't the first time you felt envious, but you would never let those feelings settle in your heart. The choice you made so many centuries ago will never change. However, as you watched from the sidelines, you were unable to recognise the truth that lay dormant within your own soul.
Lucie and Madeleine embraced, their love rekindled amidst the fragrant blooms and gentle whispers of the night, as they finally found solace in each other's arms. "Ça ira mon amour..." Lucie hugged Madeleine tightly against her chest as she continued to sob her relief and fear. "Ça ira pour toujours."
Yeah, it will be okay. You bit off a bit of your crêpe, the mixture of the taste of love and your little snack warming up your belly in the best way. You got up and stretched out your arm, bow in hand. And while you shot the two of them, you kept hoping that one day you would be at peace with your choice.
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*
 
1811, Windsor Caslte, London
The grand ballroom shimmered under the warm glow of candlelight, its walls adorned with opulent tapestries and gilded accents. As the musicians tuned their instruments, the air buzzed with anticipation. Ladies draped in silk and lace, gentlemen adorned in tailored coats, assembled in a choreographed display of social refinement. As the orchestra struck the first notes, couples gracefully glided across the polished floor, engaged in the intricate steps of the minuet. The scent of perfumed wigs mingled with the delicate fragrance of flowers scattered throughout the hall. Servants discreetly circulated, offering glasses of fine wine to the elegantly attired guests. You swiftly grasped a glass and nodded to the young woman, thankfully.
Amidst the rhythmic rustle of silk and the subdued murmur of conversations, the atmosphere exuded a sense of sophistication and regality. The ball at the court of George III unfolded as a spectacle of grace, where every movement and gesture spoke the language of grace and societal hierarchy. You strolled among the crowd to fade into the background while observing two enemies dancing together. The line between love and hate was so thin. You couldn't help but feel drawn to them, despising the risk of facing a hate demon. She was sent to kill him, a duke, but they've been dancing for hours now. The tension was there—the ballroom, the dancing—if you wanted to, you could just send a wave of temerity, and the deal would be sealed!
I continued to stroll in a circle around the couple, listening to the music softly. You enjoyed the sweet melodies and the frail details of each note; it made your heart react differently to every song. You hummed the languishing melody as you closed up to the buffet, where you were met with a familiar presence. Your head softly snapped to study the table covered with baked goods, and you smiled brightly as you recognised the person. Rushing to his side, you wasted no time greeting him.
"Aziraphale !" You chirped as you stood a few feet away from him. The white-haired angel was startled, as he didn't expect you here, even less to catch him with his mouth full. He let out a muffled exclamation before swallowing with difficulty.
He coughed a bit before greeting you back. "Y/N, hello!" Aziraphale smiled and closed up to you ever so slightly. "Golly, I haven't seen you since the bastille." His whole presence was so warm, and you couldn't help but bask in it.
You nodded, still smiling like an idiot, as you looked at him up and down. "I'm relieved to see you understood how to dress according to the situation." You teased him playfully and nudged him gently. Worry had eaten you up for a long time since the last time you saw the trusting angel almost getting disintegrated, so it was refreshing to see him well and still so fluffy-looking.
"O-Oh.." He smiled, embarrassed, while rubbing where you had touched his arm. He laughed softly. "Yes, I learned my lesson well enough."
You grinned gently before grabbing a small snack from the display of food. "So, what have you been doing here?" You munched softly on the little dish before looking back up at him.
"Oh, well, I've been sent here to perform some miracles, as always." Aziraphale explained. "But I must admit that I stayed for the music and the food." He hummed as he picked out something too. "Ah !"
You laughed softly at him and took in the ballroom once more. "I see. It's nice to see another angel enjoying music too."
His eyes seemed to sparkle when he nodded. "Indeed, it is." He smiled, his squishy cheekbones raising up. Despite yourself, you couldn't help but blush at his attention, though you would not admit it. To shake those ideas out of your head and tilt your head towards the intricate dancing. "Even danced before?" You wondered, taking the last sip of your wine.
"Oh, heavens no..." Aziraphale dismissed you, while you still caught his yearning gaze directed to the dance floor. "Angels don't dance."
You raised your brows, your lips pouting in an agreeable manner. "True, but we are one of a kind." The smirk on your face was nothing but devilish.
He exhaled deeply and shook his head. "You spend too much time with Crowley." The last dance came to an end, and the room roared with delicate applause. Aziraphale kept fidgeting with his fingers, longing to join in on the next dance.
"By the way, I know the steps of the minuet." You trailed off casually. "I could guide you." A small grin creeped into the corner of your mouth.
His chest swelled quickly at your words. "You do?"
twirledYou didn't ans;er him, instead, you giggled and led him to the dance floor. In the dimly lit ballroom, the strains of a delicate melody of the song 'St James' House' twirling in the air. With a gentle yet firm touch, you guided him through the intricate steps of the dance, your movements fluid and effortless. As you two glided across the polished floor, your poised demeanour contrasted with the angel's tentative strides, yet he followed your lead with a mixture of awe and determination. His steps faltered occasionally, but your encouraging smile and subtle corrections kept him in rhythm. With each turn and twirl, you conveyed a seemingly lifetime of experience, while Aziraphake, with his earnest enthusiasm, added a sense of freshness and spontaneity to your performance.
He had the happiest grin on his face while gracefully gravitating around one another. "You're doing great."
His cheeks were coloured a soft pink. "It's so much better than I could imagine."
"You shouldn't be afraid to do what your heart wants because you dread what others might think." You chuckled and squeezed his hand.
His brown eyes met yours, and you smelled cypress and pitaya. The words escaped your mouth before you could think; they shocked both of you but truly conflicted him. And you wanted to slap yourself with your own hyprocrisy. However, Aziraphale didn't give your dark thoughts enough time to form.
"Sometimes I wish..." He whispered, looking down at his feet. You gave him time to form his words correctly, gently leading the dance. "I wish I wasn't attached to Heaven." He was truthfully letting his vulnerability out, trusting you with ideas that could get him erased. "Not that I want to be a demon; far from that! But... at least not having so many restrictions and rules."
"I understand how you feel; it's the way Heaven does things. I find it odd and... cruel." Under the facade of elegance and refinement, a sense of unease hung heavy in the air, casting a shadow over the grandeur of the evening. You two kept twirling and spinning, your steps now synchronised in perfect harmony. With each turn and dip, no one could suspect how you spoke in hushed tones of the injustices and inequalities that plagued the very system they were sworn to uphold.
"It's unfathomable." Aziraphale murmured, his voice tinged with frustration, as he guided Amelia through a graceful turn. "How can we claim to be the arbiters of justice when we let incommensurable horrors happen on Earth ?"
Your brow furrowed in agreement as she met Aziraphale's gaze, a silent acknowledgment of the harsh realities they both faced. "Indeed," she replied, her voice tinged with sadness. "I also had been exposed to a certain... hypocrisy." You kept escaping his gaze. "But at least, I think we can find beauty in the fact that despite all the hate in the world..."
You trailed off your last words, preferring to watch over the angel's shoulder and see your two clients still dancing with ardor. Their movements were a silent protest against the injustices that permeated their world, a defiant assertion of their shared belief in a better, more equitable future. A hope that encouraged them to share a kiss instead of guiding each other to their deaths. You smiled softly and led Aziraphale towards the outlet of the dance floor, as you had an arrow to shoot. "Most humans choose love."
As you finished your sentence, you reached the rest of the ballroom. Aziraphale's mouth was slightly open, as if totally mismerized by words. On instinct, you chuckled and kissed his cheek. "Sorry, Az, I have to go, but it was so good to see you again!" You chirped and fantastically ignored the angel's blush. "Bye, bye! Smooches !"
And you left, bouncing up and down and disappearing in the crowd. But you couldn't resist a last little peek. As you did, you catched Aziraphale, pressing his hand to his cheek with eyes wide open. You giggled. Sometimes you forget how angels aren't used to being physical; you have to cut him some slack.
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* 
1862, St. James Park, London
In the tranquil setting of the park, you stood next to the serene pond where ducks paddled lazily through the shimmering waters. With each gentle toss of seeds, you watched as the ducks eagerly darted forward, their feathers ruffling with excitement as they pecked at the scattered treats. You were waiting near the Aziraphale and Crowley, discretely, of course, and waiting to see the result of your new attempt. You had tried a new technique and sincerly hoped it worked this time.
Lost in the soothing rhythm of your task, Sarah hardly noticed the passage of time as she waited for her friend, Alex, to arrive. But as the minutes stretched into hours, a frown creased her brow, and a sense of unease began to gnaw at her. Finally, you spotted Crowley alone, striding towards you, his brow furrowed and his expression clouded with frustration. Your heart sank as you recognised the telltale signs of a heated altercation, and you braced yourself for the storm that was about to come.
As he approached, he stomped his foot heavily on the ground beside you, his movements stiff and tense. Sensing the tension radiating from her friend, she hesitated for a moment before tentatively reaching out to lay a hand on his arm, a silent gesture of comfort and support.
He groaned loudly and kept fidgeting and squirming around; it was obvious he didn't handle frustration really well. "I can't believe him!"
You chuckled and turned back to the pound. "It's good to see you too, Crowley." You smirked.
"Yeah, yeah..." He dismissed me but didn't ask anything. Without another word, he reached into his pocket and withdrew a crumpled paper bag, tossing a handful of breadcrumbs into the pond with more force than necessary, causing the ducks to scatter.
"Don't feed them bread!" You slapped his hand to stop him, causing all the crumbs to fall to the ground.
He frowened and shook his hand to nub the pain. "Why ?"
"It's bad for them! There." You stood up and gave him your small bag. "Give them some cracked corn, or even peas is fine!"
Crowley nodded absently and started throwing the seeds inside the lake in a more calm manner now.
“So, what did Aziraphale do to piss you off this time?” You grinned softly. 
He didn't smirk like he used to. Nor even scoff. You turned to him and realised he was playing with the small, empty bag. You frowned slightly and inhaled deeply. Rusty metal and tuna filled up your nose, making you fully turn. Why was he feeling guilty?
“Was it something you did?” You guessed in a soft voice, trying to show him you wouldn't judge him if he made a mistake.
He groaned and took off his glasses to rub his face. His bright yellow eyes met yours, and you saw doubt. What wasn't he ready to tell you? After everything you had discussed.
“If it’s something you said, I'm sure it can be dealt with.” You smiled reassuringly.
He shook his head and faced you slowly. “It's something I asked.” His answer was evasive, but at least he was giving you hints.
You nodded absently, though you didn't know what Crowley could have possibly asked that Aziraphale wouldn't allow. “Did you ask to buy a book?” 
He scoffed out a laugh. “I wouldn't dare.” 
“Then what?” You pressed in a near whine. Crowley lost his smile and looked back ahead. 
His chest rose in a deep inhale, and he reached in his pocket for a piece of oddly wet paper. With a scrunched nose, you took the slimy paper and opened it. And what you read made you feel what other cupids thought you always did. Dead serious.
“What…w-what..” You coughed and blinked repeatedly. “Why would you need that?” 
He was fixed on your face, examining your reaction. “For insurance. In case the deal goes wrong." 
“It's too dangerous.” You took a step back. Anger started to bubble in your stomach. Why ? You couldn't exactly pinpoint it. Maybe it was against Crowley for ever considering such an idea. Or against yourself for participating in a deal that you knew could bring mountains of troubles. You squished the paper in your hand and miracled it away. The red-haired man sighed next to you.
"Fine, take his side; I don't. As I said to him, I got other people to 'fraternize with, some more open-minded people." He pestered you, but you didn't miss the smell of hurt. You huffed anyway and frowned.
"Yeah, right, go on then. Go tell your demon friends how eager you are to get your hands on this; I'm sure they'll be thrilled!" You snarled and threw the last bit of seed into the water, miraculously not hitting any ducks. Not wanting to stay any longer, you left, purposely stepping on the ground harder than necessary.
In an effort to clear your mind, you strolled through the park while the regular questions came running back to you. Why, when you shoot an arrow at them, it doesn't complete their bound but instead leads them apart even more? What were you doing wrong? It often confused you and kept gnawing at your brain, so very often. You entered a part of the park filled with roses of all sorts, similar to the different types of affection and love. Because flowers tend to represent the variety of loves that exist in the world. White roses for young love, pink roses for gentle love... And in the case of this one, you weren't sure.
While you observed this new rose, you failed to notice the angel's presence right at the angle. He was smelling the same flowers as you, Jack Roses, as they were called, to calm his nerves. As he gazed back up, he spotted you. A smile adorned his face, and he gently made his way to you. "Y/N ?" He gently called out. You looked up, too, and smiled. Yeah, you both knew you had the same conversation.
In a comfortable silence, you went to sit together on the worn park bench, the evening sun casting a warm glow over the tranquil scene. You noticed the furrowed brow and tense posture of your friend. He kept twirling the rose in between his fingers. Quietly, you grabbed it from his hand and attached it to his jacket as an ornament.
With this gentle touch, you offered a wordless gesture of support and solidarity. Aziraphale's gaze flickered towards yours, uncertainty etched in the lines of his face, but as he met your reassuring gaze, a flicker of relief crossed his features. In that moment, you felt the tension in his body begin to melt away, replaced by a sense of reassurance and, you’d call it, camaraderie. After a few minutes, you grinned slightly and joked. “Fraternising ?” 
He scoffed and closed his eyes. “You know what I meant.” 
The problem ism that you didn't. Through theMilanals,s you never understood the nature of their bon,orr your relationship with them. Are they friends,camarades, or, lovers ? It was so mess and confusing. Maybe it was because of your heart, but you were not capable of identifying the truth of it all. And solely about them,m which only made it worse ! But now, you couldn't leave Aziraphale alone, could you? It was your fault if they split up, the least you could do was, well, do the right thing. And you always, always do what you think is best.
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1941, London
In the heart of wartime London, amidst the chaos and clamor of air raid sirens and echoing footsteps, you raced through the bustling streets, your heart pounding with urgency. The cobblestones echoed the rhythm of your hurried steps as you darted past dimly lit alleyways and bustling market stalls,your breath coming in short, ragged gasps.
In the heart of wartime London, amidst the chaos and clamour of air raid sirens and echoing footsteps, you raced through the bustling streets, your heart pounding with urgency. The cobblestones echoed the rhythm of your hurried steps as you darted past dimly lit alleyways and bustling market stalls,your breath coming in short, ragged gasps.
You were frantancly looking for Aziraphale. The two of you had been hanging around each other, and you started to notice when he first had contact with the Nazis. And despite your anger, you knew he was putting himself in danger, and you couldn't help but come to his aid. The only problem was that you had no idea where he might be. With every passing moment, the weight of uncertainty pressed down on your shoulders, driving you forward with a relentless determination. Your senses were heightened, attuned to the cacophony of voices and the distant rumble of explosions that reverberated through the city like a symphony of chaos.
Through the haze of smoke and dust, your eyes kept flashing pink, searching frantically for his familiar aura, your aching heart hammering in your chest as she wove through the throngs of people who filled the streets like ants scurrying for cover. Each passing moment felt like an eternity as you raced against time, your mind consumed by the singular purpose of finding Aziraphale and avoiding a catastrophe.
As you turned a corner into a narrow alleyway, your breath caught in your throat as your eyes finally spotted Aziraphale's bound, guiding you to a nearby church. With a surge of hope, you quickened your pace, your heart pounding in anticipation as you drew closer to the familiar energy. In your haze of thoughts, you didn't realise you were standing right in front of the huge wooden door and had kicked it open. The noise the door made mimicked thunder, startling the three men, though your blazing gaze was focused on only one. Azirphale had his eyes wide in complete confusion and was surprised. But only after a few seconds of taking your messy appearance in did worry morph into his face.
"Y/N ? Oh, my dear Lord, what happened to you ?" Aziraphale rushed to you, totally abandoning the two men.
"War happened to me." You growled before shaking your head and strolling towards him. "I can't believe you're dealing with Nazis !"
Meanwhile, a thinner man packed up the books Aziraphale had brought. "I will pass it on to the Fuehrer."
"To Hitler ? The wost human ever ?!" You sighed then, completely dejected. Like every war, it took a real toll on you. Love was hard to come by, and you were famished, going as far as bounding rats together. Aziraphale stumbled on his words, wanting to explain everything to you, but stopped himself.
"These volumes of prophecy will be in Berlin by the end of the week. The Fuehrer will be most grateful." You glared the Nazi's way, your face utterly sullen.
"You have been exceedingly helpful, Mr. Fell." You sent a deadly look in the white head direction while he kept fixing ahead of him, lips drawn in a thin line. That's when the noise of a gun resonated inside the empty space of the church. "Such a pity you and your friend must be eliminated, but take heart, just another in the blitz."
A loud, exasperated sigh left your lips, and you commented. "Again ?"
He pouted apologies in response and then turned back to his little friends. "That's not very sporting." You frowned, intrigued, and crossed your arms in front of your chest.
The chubbier one copied your frown and observed. "You do not appear worried, my friend."
The sound of heels was accompanied by another cocking gun. You turn around, your eyes widening along with the two other men, while Aziraphale fakes nonchalance. Still, he reeked of arrogance.
A woman dressed in black was aiming her weapon at the Nazis. "He's not worried." She revealed. She didn't smell friendly, though, but surprising enough, some humans were more talented at hiding their real intentions than others. That's why you couldn't figure her out. Wary, you softly stepped back, in between her and your friend.
"Who is she?" The man asked, and Aziraphale wasted no time in answering. "She, my double-dealing Nazi acquaintance, is the reason why none of those books are going back to Berlin." He turned to you, bowing his head with pride at his own schemes. "And why your nasty little spy ring will be spending the rest of the war behind bars." The two men nicely raised their hands and dropped their guns.
Suddenly, malice hit your nostrils—a mix of sweetpea and the steathy scent of gunpowder—revealing itself when you least expected it. Oh, come on...
"Let me introduce you to Captain Rose Montgomery of British Military Intelligence." The way he talked truly felt like he was reliving a scene from a mystery book, and you could easily get distracted by how much you enjoyed his almost childish joy if you weren't busy eyeing the woman's swinging aim.
She stepped closer, but you stood your ground next to the angel. "Thank you for the introduction." Her smile was too fake, and her gun kept pointing in the wrong direction, and you didn't hesitate to constantly step in the way.
"Our side knows all about the two of you. She recruited me to work for you." He insisted on the word 'work' while glancing furtively at you. But you knew something was off. "Aziraphale..." You started with a meek voice.
"And now she is going to tell you this building is surrounded by..." Aziraphale continued to ramble but interrupted him firmly.
"Aziraphale." You grabbed onto his arm to ground him as a twisted smile diformed the man's features.
"I'm afraid she works for us, Mr. Fell." You held back and growled as the man spoke up.
"Allow me to introduce Fraulein Greta Kleinschmidt." The smaller man spoke slowly as the woman turned towards both of you, clearly aiming at you now. Aziraphale gasped, but you kept keeping him away from the weapon.
Greta kept stepping away and started to talk tenderly with one of the men. Gee, you couldn't believe that the most love you had felt in weeks was coming from the most terrible people God had ever created. You glanced back at Aziraphale, who was completely lost, and it pained your heart to see him like this. "Now, where were we? Oh yes." The gun was so close, you swore you could just knock it out of her hand. "Killing you."
"You can't kill us. There'll be paperwork." Azirphale almost pouted behind you, but you sensed him moving closer. But before anything could happen, the heavy wooden door slammed open once again.
And whoever had just entered seemed to have quite trouble breathing. Or maybe they were hurt. In the end, it was a mix of both. "Sorry, consecrated ground." It was Crowley, daring to walk into a church. His feet seemed to burn as he tried to spend minimal time on the ground. And you thought about how grateful you were that you had the ability to fly. "Oh ! It's like being at the beach in bare feet." His voice was so high-pitched that it almost made you laugh.
"Crowley ?" You mused, at a loss for words. It's been years since you've seen him—well,  since your argument in St. James—and it would be a lie if you said you hadn't missed him.
"Yep, the one and only, always there to save your butts." He teased while turning around in circles to avoid standing in one place.
"I should have known, of course. These people are working for you." Aziraphale accused you and finally stepped in front of you.
The demon seeked suppot in one of the dark benches as the floor kept burning him. "Nah, they're a bunch of half-witted Nazi spies running London, blackmailing and mudering people. I just didn't want to see you  embarrassed." He tried to nag but couldn't handle the pain. Instead, he waddled around like a duck.
"Indeed, I see you are covering for us both." Azirphaled mocked you in a hushed voice and smiled when he noticed the growing grin on your face, even if you tried to mask it.
"Mr. Anthony J. Crowley. Your fame precedes you." The man started, catching your attention, and you noticed the woman almost drooling over your friend. Well, it was a bit exaggerated, but it seemed like the best vocabulary to use in that moment.
"Anthony ?" Aziraphale wondered, unsure if he heard him right. "You don't like it ?" Crowley retored, and you smelled legit curiousity; the thought of him changing his name to suit the angel caused a cheeky smile.
"No, no, I didn't say that. I'll get used to it." The white head reassured me, though he kept frowning. And it raised a couple questions for you too.
"Wait, so what's your name ? Or do they call you Aziraphale Fell ?" You leaned in, tilting your head to the side. "Kinda redundant, don't you think ?" You jested with a smirk.
"Really not the place, dear." The angel lectured gently but didn't lean away.
"The famous Mr. Crowley ?" She kept eyeing him like a piece of meat, and you really didn't like that, and you unconsciously moved in front of the demon, but it was kind of useless considering he had to keep moving. "That's such a pity that the three of you must die."
Crowley tipped his hat, and you pouted. "What does the 'J' stand for ?" You continued, despite what Aziraphale had just said.
"It's just a 'J', really... Look at that !" You frowned, followed, and looked over where he was gawking. Holy water. You scowled. "A whole fontful of holy water doesn't even have guards !" The red head explained a mixture of pain and excitement.
"Enough babbling. Kill them both." The Nazi finally ordered, already grabbing the bag full of books.
However, Crowley had other plans. "In about a minute, a German bomber will release a bomb that will land right here." He gestured while dancing around. "If you all run away very, very fast, you might not die. You won't enjoy dying; you definitely won't enjoy what comes after." You nodded in agreement, almost mocking.
"You expect us to believe that ? The bombs tonight will fall on the East End." The chubbier man smirked.
"Yes. It would take a last-minute demonic intervention to throw them off course." Crowley confirmed, and you decided to play along.
"I think you're all wasting quite valuable time, dear fellows." You smirked; you couldn't admit it, but you truly hoped they wouldn't run away and would rot in Hell.
"And if, in 30 seconds, a bomb does land here, it would take a real miracle for my friends and I to survive it." He tilted his head to the side, towards Aziraphale.
"A real miracle?" The angel stammered in response, carefully moving closer to the two of you.
"Kill them. They are very irritating."
Crowley raised his hands and pointed at the ceiling, expectingly. Suddenly, a distant rumble echoed through the darkness, growing louder and more ominous with each passing second. The ground beneath your feet trembled as if in anticipation, sending shivers down her spine. The air crackled with electricity as the sound of rushing wind filled your ears, drowning out all other noise save for the rapid beat of your heart.
With a deafening roar, the bomb plummeted towards the earth like a deadly harbinger of destruction, its descent marked by a piercing shriek that cut through the silence like a knife. As the bomb crashed into the church with a thunderous explosion, the earth shook with the force of its impact, sending shockwaves rippling through the air like ripples on a pond. Glass shattered and metal groaned in protest as the building buckled under the sheer force of the blast, the sound of crumbling masonry echoing through the night like the tolling of a funeral bell.
At an agonisingly slow pace, things settled. Your eyes had started to water, and you had instinctively closed your eyes to shelter yourself away from the bright light, the noise, and the chaos. The fear inside you was growing exponentially. It all happened in seconds. Your heartbeat was racing wildly, and your breath was shallow and erratic when you felt a person's touch. You were confused, and the person kept calling your name, but you couldn't find the strength or courage to look up and see who it was.
"Y/N..." The voice sighed, saddened by your state. Ever so gently, you found yourself enveloped in a warm embrace. You inhaled deeply the scent of the coat in which your face was buried and recognised Aziraphale. His arms encircled you with a sense of unwavering comfort and solace. Your body trembled with the aftershocks of shock, and your mind was reeling from the turmoil of emotions that threatened to overwhelm her.
As the angel held you close, you could feel the steady rhythm of his pristine heartbeat echoing against your ear, which was so reassuring. Crowley came closer too, but kept a distance and slowly stroked your. You felt the tension in your muscles begin to ease, the tight knot of fear slowly unravelling under the soothing touch of your friends embrace. In this cocoon, you allowed yourself to take a deep breath and process everything. You weren't used to so much action, preferring to act from afar. With each passing moment, you felt a sense of tranquilly wash over you, like a gentle tide lulling her into a state of calm surrender.
Finally, you regain composure and separate yourself from Aziraphale, while Crowley backs away. "T-Thanks..." You sniffed. The angel simply smiled warmly and kept his hand on your right arm, as if to grant you at least a bit of contact.
He then turned to Crowley. "That was very kind of you." He smiled once more and nodded thankfully.
"Shut up..." He brushed off, putting back his sunglasses, despite the darkness of the night.
"It truly was." You thanked me too. And you saw Crowley lip twitch in an apologetic pout, but you weren't mad at him; you didn't even think you would react like that. "Hey, there'll be no paperwork !" You chuckled.
Aziraphale along with you too, until he realised something. "Oh, the books!" He quickly scanned over the debris but didn't see them. "Oh, I forgot all the books !" You tried to look for the bag too, and apparently so did Crowley. "Oh, they'll all be blown away."
The demon approached us once again, the bag full of books completely untouched. Your eyes widened, and you watched the interaction with a tender gaze.
"A little demonic miracle of my own." Crowley handed it back to Aziraphale, who simply watched, dumbfounded and so, so smitten. You grinned and blushed at the rush of love you felt deep in your heart. "Lift home ?" He offered as if nothing had happened and walked over a black Bentley.
After inhaling deeply and discretely fed on the love, you gasped at the sight of the machine. "You have a car ?!" You chirped and sprinted behind Crowley, while Aziraphale stayed behind. Though the night was far from over, it started incredibly well, 'cause tonight, you'll be able to feast on a whole lot of love!
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1967, Soho, London
In the smoky haze of the dimly lit bar, you sat perched on a bar stool, a tumbler of whisky cradled in her hand. The amber liquid glinted in the soft glow of the overhead lights, casting a warm, comforting glow over your features as you took a slow sip, savouring the burn that spread through your chest. You truly enjoyed this new pub, and particularly its name, 'The Dirty Donkey'. Yeah, it always makes your drunken laugh out loud every time you think about it.
For a fleeting moment, you felt a sense of contentment wash over her, the familiar rhythms of the bar providing a sanctuary from the chaos of the outside world. But as you glanced across the room, your gaze fell upon your dear client, Crowley, engaged in a conversation with two humans, causing you to cock a brow. They were moving to a private room, much to your surprise and honest annoyance. Thankfuly, not all your clients were desperatly trying to get themselves in trouble; expect two very specific men.
Groaning, you abandoned your glass on the counter and followed them. And yes, you had no shame in eavesdropping on people. Crowley hunched over the table, his voice low and calm as he exchanged words with the shady couple. Your brows furrowed with concern as you watched the exchange unfold, a sense of unease settling like a stone in the pit of your stomach.
"So, Spike, you're the muscles; you'll be hauling on the ropes." The demon explained it all too professionally.
"And she'll be going down on..." You didn't have time to hear the rest as you felt a presence nearing you. With a gasp, you swiftly put on the blindness, and you reprimand yourself for not thinking of it sooner. A young man walks past you and enters the room. In spite of your desire to follow him, you knew better and focused on spying.
"Who are you ?" A man spoke.
"I understand you need a locksmith." You grew even more confused. Why on Earth would Crowley need help picking up a lock?
You recognised Crowley right away. "I was expecting Mr. Narker."
"Well, Mr. Narker's passed on to his reward. I've taken over the business." The voice was the nearest; you figured it was the youngest. "He was my cellmate. He taught me everything he knew. "You rolled your eyes. Gosh, you hated when you were right.
"My name's Shadwell." You kept focusing; you needed to know what Crowley was planning.
"Please... sit down, Mr. Shadwell."
"Lance Corporal Shadwell. If you don't mind." Unbeknownst to the both of you, Crowley and you shared an unimpressed expression at the man's arrogance.
"So, what's so valuable that they're going to leave it in a church at night?" A more feminine voice inquired.  That was when the truth came crashing down on you. You closed your eyes and sighed. He was still after that god-forsaken holy water. You gritted your teeth in anger, but another emotion overtook your wrath. You truly feared for his safety, knowing that he was treading dangerously close to a path from which there might be no return.
With a sense of determination, you straightened up and marched your way out of the building. You had to talk with Aziraphale now. So, wasting no time, you strolled proudly to the angel's bookshop, which was only a few miles away, and even if it erased any trace of epicness, you rushed in.
Startled, Aziraphale's gaze shot up from his book, and he met you in a near panic. "Oh my Lord, Y/N, don't enter like that." He said it gently while putting down his book.
"Sorry, Az, but it's kind of urgent." You apologised while hurriedly floating his way. "Crowley is in trouble."
He met you half-way, sending you a wave of snowy nights. "What kind of trouble?"
"He's going to rob a church to get holy water!" You cried out, deeply worried, too.
"Oh my God, I cannot believe him!" He exclaimed angrily, still in his polite tone. You sighed and waited for a few minutes, as Aziraphale's footsteps marked the tempo of his passing. It gave you both time to consider the whole situation and what your options were. There was no way you would just stay still without doing anything. But how could you prevent him from putting himself in danger?
That's when you got an idea. It wasn't the best, and you knew you'd have to convince the angel and yourself. Swallowing thickly, you finally took a step towards him and called his name. "Aziraphale ?"
He stopped in his tracks and waited for you expectantly, thinking you had found the solution to all your problems. Your lips formed a thin line before you finally offered him your thoughts. "I know what we agreed on, but... maybe we could trust him."
"What ?" His face had lost all its colour, and he looked at you like you had lost your mind. Which was understandable.
You exhaled and put your hand on his shoulder. "Think about it. What's worse? Has he tried to get the holy water on his own, possibly getting caught or, even worse, splashing himself in the process?" You seeked his eyes to convey how much you believed in your idea.
Aziraphale almost pleaded with you with his eyes. You frowned apologies and smiled softly. You were asking for a lot; he was terrified for his life, and you had just suggested giving him a suicidal pill. However, the angel surprised you once again. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply before opening his eyes. "Okay."
A few moments later, you and Aziraphale teleported to Crowley's car. You held tightly to the bottle and hid it on the ground in between your legs. Just at the same time, the demon entered his car, sitting lazily. That's when he felt your presence and turned to you, astounded. "What are you doing here?"
"We needed a word with you." Aziraphale started calmly, with a high reserve.
"What ?" He faked ignorance.
Obviously, it didn't fool you, and you rolled your eyes. "Please, we both work in London; it's hard to miss things." Crowley glanced at you from the rear mirror but didn't say anything.
"And apparently you're setting up a... caper." The angel glanced towards you too, searching for backup. "To rob a church."
You nodded and leaned forward, between their seats. "Crowley, it's too dangerous." But your friend didn't let you influence him and kept looking away.
"Holy water won't just kill your body. It will destroy you completely." Aziraphale added, dread lacing his voice.
"You told me what you think 105 years ago." He snarled lowly, exasperation in the back of his throat.
"And nothing changed." You said it serverly, gripping on the leather seat, gaining Crowley's attention as he turned towards you.
"But... we can't have you risking your life." Though you knew you should have backed out the moment you were added to the equation of 'we', you couldn't just leave. "Not even for something dangerous..." Aziraphale sighed.
"So..." You reached down to the car floor, carefully pulled out the thermos, and slowly handed it to Crowley. His hands shook as he reached to grab it, though you still held onto it.
Aziraphale swallowed thickly and eyed the bottle like a hawk. "You can call off the robbery."
Your fingers met with the demon's as you let go of the bottle. "Watch the cap. Don't unscrew it unless it's your last resort." You warned in a hush voice, afraid the cap might just pop right off it.
"It's the real thing?" Despite his glasses, you can see how incredulous his face was. He held the holy water like a bomb, ready to explode.
"The holiest." Aziraphale was incredibly stiff, and he kept leaning away.
"After everything you said..." he whispered, unable to wrap his mind around the idea of the both of you giving in. "Should I say thank you?"
"Better not..." You smiled.
"Well, can I drop you anywhere?"
"No. Thank you.." Crowley pouted; he really wanted to do something for Aziraphale, but he kept being so stubborn. "Oh, don't look so disappointed. Perhaps one day we could... I don't know." He smiled thoughtfully. "Go for a picnic." He then glanced at you, truly hoping you would accept his next offer. "Dine at the Ritz." He shrugged. You looked down; maybe you were the stubborn one after all.
But Crowley insisted. "I'll give you a lift, anywhere you want to go."
"You go too fast for me, Crowley." Really ? Like, really? You sighed and roughly leaned back on the seat. Aziraphale didn't waste any more time and slipped out without saying another word.
But you could see past the facade of bravado the vulnerability that lurked beneath the surface of Crowley's neutral exterior. So, you reached out to him, making a silent plea for him to not give up. You knew that no matter how fiercely Aziraphale resisted, he would always be there by his side, despite how much he wanted to pull away.
For your part, you stayed, feeling a kind of pull urging you to do so. After spending some time in silence, Crowley spoke up. "Need a life, sweetheart?"
You chuckled and sat back up. "Please..." You observed the wheel for a few seconds before chirping, interrupting his movements. "Can I drive?" You used your big, charming smile.
Crowley glanced your way for a few minutes, contemplating the idea before shrugging. "Sure." He opened his door to switch places. You grinned mischievously and grabbed the stirring wheel tightly.
"I'll give it to you fast, boy." You said that and started the engine. Pray for Crowley's poor heart.
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2000, Aziraphale's bookshop, London
On your way to meeting Aziraphale and Crowley, you couldn't help but giggle like a little child. You skipped through London, avoiding flying and frightening the sweet baby creature snuggled against my chest. You didn't know such an adorable thing could ever exist, but humans were always full of wonderful surprises! You squeezed your way through the crowd on the busy side walk before finally catching a glimpse of the angel's bookshop.
"Almost there, baby!" You cooed with a big smile and felt her squirm against you. You hurried to cross the street and forcefully pushed the door open with your shoulder. The bell rang loudly, which brought your friends attention to you. Crowley was sitting on the couch, well, more like his body was thrown carelessly on it, whereas Aziraphale was nicely sitting on his big, comfy chair and holding a small device in his hand.
Crowley threw his head back to look at you. "Happy new milenial." He joked with scoff. You smiled brightly and floated towards them, not far away from the ground but enough to not walk down the stairs.
"Hello..." You sang and giggled again until I landed next to the couch. You squeezed the little bundle of joy into your arms. Aziraphale cocked a brow, amused.
"What do you have here, dear?" He smirked, curious. Crowley sat up and looked at you, intrigued as well.
"Oh... nothing..." You chuckled, giggling. Scanning the room for a place to sit, you notice a brand new big divan, which you had never noticed before. "Well, this is new."
Aziraphale got up and took the place next to you. "Indeed, it is." He laughed softly. "It's for you." You looked at him, showing him your disbelief.
"Aw, really?" You asked while approaching the grey van. It had a back, so you didn't have to just lie on it, and it looked really squishy too. You sat down on it and smiled brightly. "Oh, this is great! Thank you.."
The angel dismissed your gratitude with a small gesture. "No need to thank me, dear. "You'd simply like a place to sit on your own."
You smiled gently at him before Crowley spoke up. "What kind of animal is that?" He titled his head to the blanket in your arms as he gave off strong aromas of curiosity and... endermant?
You brushed it off and inhaled deeply. "Gentlemen..." You started trying to set the ambiance. Both of them leaned slightly. "Let me present to you... Eden!" You exclaimed wildly and took off the blanket, reaveling your new baby white dexter mini cow in all her cuteness. She mowed softly as you put her down. She was extremely tiny, with her white coat, black ears, and snoot.
"Oh..." Aziraphale cooed, and you could smell how smitten he was already with her. "She is precious." He affirmed.
Crowley gave off the same scent but still tried to keep up his mocking exterior. "Wow, that's where mini hambergers meat comes from." He teased, his uncovered eyes sparkling with mischief.
You gasped loudly, fakely offended, and went to cover her ears. "Shh, you fool ! She might hear you." Eden mooed and nudged your arm. "I know, baby, he's a meanie." You cooed and kissed her forehead.
"Damn right." He laughed and caressed the mini cow's fur.
"Right, you are absolutely dreadful." Aziraphale rolled his eyes, mocking the gentle behaviour of his friend. Crowley growled but didn't retort anything. "
"Really, you would do that ?" You smiled brightly, earning a chuckle from the angel.
"Of course, you spend so much time here; it would be cruel to leave that poor creature all alone." He tilted his head to the side, inviting you to follow him.
Aziraphale opened a door, right behind all the shelves, in the hidden parts of the bookshop. The room was dusty and crammed with books and antics, from the ground to the ceiling. And despite the library in itself, it was the largest room the bookshop had.
"We'll just put all that into other rooms and upstairs."
You turned to Azirphale, who was making grand movements to explain his whole plan. "It would be its personal stable. He smiled from ear to ear. It truly warmed your heart to see him so involved.
Crowley was leaning against the door frame, holding Eden to his chest. You spotted him and cooed mockingly. "Aren't you a sweetheart?"
He scoffed while petting Eden's head. "Nah, that's your job."
You pursed your lips into a bashful smile before an idea popped into my mind. "Oh, I never thought of what a cow might eat !" You exclaimed, outraged at your ignorance.
"Don't worry, dear, I'm sure I have a book about it somewhere." Aziraphale was reassured, already leaving the room to find it.
You sighed in relief and followed right behind him. It took some time, but you eventually found it and walked back towards the room, leafing through the book. The two of you came to a sudden stop. Everything that was previously in the room was lying on the ground. Aziraphale let out an offended gasp.
"Crowley ?" You called out, midway concerned and amused. "I'm not sure that's how you tidy a room."
The angel was the first to open the door abruptly and stop just as fast. You pressed yourself against him to see what happened to the room. Your eyes widened, your heart quickening, and your eyes flashed pink. "Wow..."
The room, if you still call it that, had enormously enlarged. So much that it actually had an horizon. In the seemingly soft glow of dawn, the meadow unfurled like a tapestry woven with a myriad of colors. Dew-kissed grasses shimmered with a silvery sheen as they swayed gently in the early morning breeze. A symphony of bird songs filled the air, weaving melodies that danced among the fragrant blooms.
Clusters of wildflowers adorned the landscape, painting the meadow a kaleidoscope of hues. Sun-kissed daisies nodded their heads in greeting, and their cheerful faces turned towards the rising sun. Delicate lavender blossoms released their sweet, intoxicating fragrance, mingling with the earthy scent of fresh grass and damp soil.
Water streams meandered lazily through the meadow, their crystal-clear waters glinting in the golden light. They carved sinuous paths among the greenery, creating small, tranquil pools where dragonflies darted and frogs sang their morning serenades. Butterflies flitted from flower to flower, their delicate wings shimmering like stained glass in the sunlight. Bees hummed busily, collecting nectar from the blooms and adding their gentle buzz to the symphony of nature's orchestra.
The ceiling—no, the sky—wasn't entirely blue, but it reminded you of a gentle summer morning. Just the softest warmth. We slowly walked into the landscape, afraid to disrupt it. The thick grass felt mellow under your feet, and you couldn't resist kicking off your shoes to feel it yourself. Aziraphale chuckles, joining the sweet sounds of birds and the running water.
"This is amazing !" You laughed in disbelief and utter joy, twirling around, taking in everything this beautiful place had to offer. The ground was now the last thing on your mind, and you took off in the air, floating around like a cherub.
"I can't believe Crowley did all this in such a short amount of time." Aziraphale backed up, caressing the petals of a Jack Rose.
You chuckled and floated in a circle around him. "Where do you think he is ?" Your eyes scanned the area, and you spotted him beyond a field of yarrows, answering your own question. "There ! C'mon !" You landed abruptly next to Aziraphale and took his arm, hurrying him to climb up the small hill.
Crowley was sitting underneath a tree that bore the colours of a pink cherry tree, but the lazy branches resembled those of a weeping willow. Eden quiet moos caused you to smile and rush the final feet, seperating you from the two of them. The demon smiled almost smugly at your arrival, and you responded with a bright grin.
"This incredible..." You panted a bit and roughly let yourself fall on your back, on the grass. Aziraphale chuckled and miracled a blanket under the four of you. A comfortable hum came out instinctively, and you completely laid on the ground. With a happy coo, Eden waddled her way and rested her head on your stomach. Aziraphale sat down as well, crossed his legs, and congratulated Crowley on his work.
"Now, this is a wonderful place to have a picnic." Aziraphale sighed and rested back on his arms. You chuckled and laid down on the blanket. Eden's weight left a comfortable pressure on your chest. Staring at the sunny sky through the pink brenches of the tree, the scent of heliotrope embraces your entire being.
You never knew what heliotrope was meant to represent, despite how many times you asked Mihael about its meaning. All she ever gave you as an answer was a cheeky smile and a shrug. So, you didn't ask further. And right now, all you wanted to do was bask in the scent and never leave this meadow.
Or its inhabitants. For anything in the world.
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* 
There... Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to sleep U,w,U
Hope you liked it, I put extra details for you to enjoy ! Now let's hope Y/N | Balael will be and about in the next chapter, 'cause they're running out of time ;)
And if they're any errors like a lot 'I's instead of 'You's please let me know ^^
Bye bye !
Parts : First - Previous - Next
Masterlist : Here
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sortagaysortahigh · 2 years
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Sex Education P.3 | Steve Harrington
a/n: yall posting this shit was the most annoying experience ever and tumblr and I have genuine beef, but its okay because hopefully she’ll post <3. Also I decided that this series is going to be 5 parts, and this is the longest part thus far because it’s the “turning point” in the series :)
Summary: No one ever assumes they’d develop feelings for their childhood best friend who also happened to be their friend with benefits, nor do they expect to end up jealous over mindless flirting.
Warnings: SMUT, cussing, spelling and grammar errors, talks about kinks, mentions of: bondage, handcuffs, voyeurism, mutual masturbation, and gagging, actual P in V unprotected smut, creampie, rough sex, spanking, fingering, oral (f receiving, m giving), spitting, hair pulling, back shots, missionary, jealous sex, degradation, praise kinks, choking, overstimulation, Dom!Steve, Sub!(ish)Reader
Word Count: 12k
Series Masterlist
Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader
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(I just really like this gif honestly, like it gives bestfriend steve vibes)
Friday came faster than expected, and of course, something had to go wrong the day of Y/n’s big exam. She’d made it to the college early-leaving thirty minutes prior to when she usually left. The forty-five minute drive filled with her loud sing-a-long to Blondie’s The Hunter album as she sped down the highway. Then she got to school, parking outside of her academic building then rushing inside-hoping to get some kind of last minute cramming in as she found herself running up two flights of steps-anxiety fueling her swift steps.
By the time she’d sat in her usual classroom she was slightly out of breath, opting to sit in the front row to the left side of the room. Immediately going through her bag-then realizing that the flashcards Steve helped her make-flashcards which included important vocabulary, structures, authors, and anything else she found essential from the past half-semester-were still sitting at home on her nightstand-right next to a sleeping Steve Harrington. 
The same Steve Harrington that had spent the past two days at her house, granted the two went to work together yesterday-then he found himself back at her house, helping her study until he decided that she deserved some ‘stress relief’ which in turn led to his head between her thighs for nearly two hours. Her thighs and calves were still store from the feeling of both curling her toes constantly and Steve holding her in place while she begged and whined for more.
She was currently in a state of panic, looking down at his watch that he insisted she take for good luck today-seeing that she had twenty minutes before the class started-then she rushed out, finding the nearest phone and dialing her home number-praying Steve would answer. 
“Hello?” She tried to ignore the deep rasp in his voice-he was clearly still sleeping-but it still sent a small shiver down her spine. It’s been happening a lot lately, he’d say things or give her certain looks and they’d somehow make her heart race. But now wasn’t a time to focus on whatever that meant.
“Steve! I left the stupid flashcards there and I’m taking this test in-” she glanced down at the watch “-in seventeen minutes and I’m literally about to vomit because I was gonna try and cram before but now I don’t even know what I’m gonna do or if I’m gonna pass-this class literally determines if I have to extend or not because the class I’m taking next semester is only offered in the spring and this midterm is worth more of my grade than the final which is total bullshit but holy shit-”
As she rambled Steve sat up in her bed-phone in his right hand held up to his face while he ran a hand through his hair-the comforter now sinking past his bare chest to his waist.
“Y/n! Y/n!” the silence on the other end of the line caused him to let out a sigh of relief “you’re gonna do great okay? You know everything from this class-you need to stop doubting yourself. Cramming was never going to help you because it doesn’t ever work for you-it hasn’t worked since like freshman year of high school. You need to take a deep breath-” he paused for a second-his gaze now focused on her messy desk-alongside the few photos pinned to her corkboard above it-a small smile on his face when he spotted a photo strip of the two of them from the fair in tenth grade.
She took a deep breath, leaning against the wall next to the phone-a hand on her forehead-thumb and index finger massaging her temples while she stared at the ceiling. 
“This is a big deal Steve-I can’t just relax-I’m like a ball of anxiety and nerves and-” he cut her off mid-sentence “-and nothing. It’s okay to be nervous about your exam but you can’t dwell on something like flashcards-you’ve been studying for this for like two weeks-you color coded all of your textbooks and notes Y/n-you know everything already-you’re overthinking it”
She groaned, and on the other end of the phone Steve smiled, shaking his head while rolling his eyes-she’d always done this. Everytime a big test was coming up she’d panic about it and rush to sit and study until there was nothing left-then she’d panic more until the day of the test when she usually aced it-occasionally getting a B-but even then she’d never failed. 
That was something he admired about Y/n, she’d go through hell and back if it meant being successful-and her version of success was always her own. She never compared her successes to other people’s because as she always said ‘Steve success isn’t measured by other assholes-it’s measured by you. How the hell are you supposed to be your dad’s version of successful when you don’t even like your dad-you’ll never live up to whatever he wants you to be because that’s not what you wanna be’. 
He found himself biting his bottom lip and smiling while she spoke to him.
“Okay-sure you’re right I might be overthinking it-but this shit is genuinely so stressful and what if my professor thinks my answers sound stupid? Then what? I can’t sit here and look stupid-God I’m gonna barf” he laughed at her, all the while she groaned again, staring down at his watch, seventeen minutes turned into ten and now she was biting her thumb nail-the leather band slightly slipping along her wrist.
“You won’t sound stupid, now go drink some water and kick your tests ass.” she sighed “if you say so Harrington” he nodded his head-the same dopey smile on his face “what time are you coming home?” 
His words made her smile, both eyebrows raised and she was positive if she’d been anywhere but here-or even if she was sitting down-she’d be kicking her feet back and forth. She felt like a thirteen year old getting called pretty by a boy for the first time.
“Home? So now you live with me?” he scoffed, of course she couldn’t see the blush on his face-thankfully “I mean this is your house isn’t it-and considering your parents don’t get back til Monday-I’ll stick around. Besides it’s better than Casa Harrington-home of the assholes”
She smiled, nodding her head while twirling the metallic curly phone cable in her hand “Guess you aren't asshole after all. Anyways, my class ends in two hours-then I’m meeting with my advisor so like another half hour-plus the drive back home-basically three or four hours” 
“You’re gonna crush your test, now hang up the phone Y/l/n” she scoffed, holding in a giggle-who the hell was she becoming. “Uh huh Harrington, I’ll see you when I get back” she bit her bottom lip “Drive safe baby, bye” with that the two hung up the phone. She couldn’t stop the heat enveloping her features at the pet name-of course she was used to it when they had sex-but outside of that-he’d never really casually called her that. But it made her heart race and she couldn’t stop her smile as she walked back to her classroom.
Steve however hung up the phone then groaned-two hands covering his face at the realization that he’d let the ‘baby’ slip out. Of course he started to overthink it the second he said it-mostly because she had no reaction to it-and of course it wasn’t like he could see her through the phone. Hopefully in the future they’d invent video calls or something for people.
He laid back on her bed, staring up at the ceiling decorated in small stars-the same stars he’d called childish the first time he’d gone over to her house when they were twelve. His parents had been late picking him up from swim practice-of course he said he’d just take the bus home or figure something out-but her mother insisted he came over and she’d call his parents for him.
By the time he got to their house he’d realized two things-Y/n’s mom was a lot cooler than he’d thought-granted she always showed up on time for practices, never missed a meet, and of course encouraged her daughter to speak her mind-which in turn led to a few altercations with other teams during the season. However she was genuinely nice to him and even as she drove-she still listened to him as he spoke-occasionally making eye contact through the rear view mirror and nodding her head.
The second thing he realized was that Y/n was really pretty-he’d never really gotten to see her sit in silence and just listen before that point-and as the golden hues from the sun outside hit her skin while she sat in the back seat with Steve-he found himself staring at her-the two holding eye contact while he spoke. He just assumed she’d always been confident in herself and a good listener based on the way she looked so relaxed and invested in his story-but even as a twelve year old she made him blush.
When they got to the house her mother called his mother’s office-leaving a message with their home address alongside the fact that Steve was there hanging out with Y/n and staying for dinner. She was quick to drag Steve down the hall to her room, forcing him to sit on her bed while she blow dried his hair-which she’d been wanting to do for some time-he even argued with her before she started. However, at the mention of Y/n’s mother making him dinner-he agreed.
Even at twelve he had great hair, his father always forcing the need to look presentable down his throat. She stood on her knees behind him-the bright pink blow drier in her right hand while she ran her left hand through his hair as she dried it-giggling at the way he protested. Then as she finished and turned off the blow dryer he laid back-purposefully pushing her backwards-nearly knocking her off the bed-which only made the both of them burst into laughter.
“Are you afraid of the dark? What's up with the baby stickers” she scoffed, sitting up and shoving him over while rolling her eyes “oh shut it poodle” with that she stood up, grabbing a compact off of her dresser-throwing it at him with a smirk on her face-which in turn led to his jaw dropping as he stared at his reflection-his hair overly voluminous and framing his head like a bad bowl cut.
The memory made Steve smile, eyes tracing each star formation-after she’d shoved him she eventually told him that she’d placed them in the shape of constellations-showing all of them to him before her mother called the two for dinner. That was the day he realized that he wanted to be her friend for a long time. She was caring, smart, she was honest-overly honest sometimes, she definitely had a nerdy side to her, her family genuinely cared for him, and she was the only person he knew he could be himself around.
After that day he started coming around more and more, her mother offering him rides home sometimes-the first time he slept over was during their eighth grade school year. The two had to do their science fair project together and once it hit nine o’clock her mother insisted he just spent the night-so he did. The both of them eventually fell asleep on the living room sofa after watching Star Trek-which Y/n had to explain to him.
He had no idea why he was reminiscing about their friendship-he also had no idea why calling her baby just felt right-granted when they had sex he knew she liked the pet names-a smile on her face while she bit her lip-the thought made his cock stir which only led to him groaning again. He’s her best friend, granted their relationship was starting to shift-he knew it was there and maybe she just didn’t notice it-or maybe she didn’t care-but there was something different now.
At first he summed it up to ‘well she’s seen my dick and I’ve fucked her so that must be it’ but the more he thought about it-the more he realized this wasn’t just about sex-actually it wasn’t about sex at all. She made his heart race in ways it hadn’t before-well ways it hadn’t in a long time.
He admittedly had a crush on her when they were in middle school, of course by freshman year he claimed it was gone-and then as he rose up the ranks in popularity because of sports-he dragged her along with him. Then by their junior year he was King Steve-he could get with any girl he wanted-so the crush on Y/n was long forgotten. She still argued with him in the hallways, constantly cursing him out and telling him to ‘humble yourself Harrington! High Schools not the real world jackass!.
She always stuck around though, she was there during his first genuine heartbreak-when Nancy Wheeler cheated on him after telling him she didn’t love him. He was at the Y/l/n household crying-which he would never tell anyone else about-and Y/n was holding him-rubbing circles into his back while making small sarcastic jokes and remarks to cheer him up. 
Ironically that’s around the time that a very broken and bloody Steve later showed up at her doorstep surrounded by Mike Wheeler, Dustin Henderson, Max Mayfield, and Lucas Sinclair-kids she thought he was babysitting-and as she was patching Steve up they all explained everything.
Of course the girl didn’t believe them-even when Steve told her that it was all true she simply scoffed and mumbled something along the lines of ‘Hargrove really beat the shit out of you huh?’ However, when they all took her to meet El a few days later-the girl with supposed ‘super powers’ and after seeing Nancy’s tape-she quickly learned that they were all telling the truth. The entire drive back to her house she kept rambling to Steve and asking him questions even he couldn’t answer.
She always did that, the girl had little to no filter-so anything that came to mind would be said. If it was a question, a comment, a concern, a rude statement, or an obnoxious opinion-she’d let it be heard. A lot of people hated that about her-it was the reason she’d gotten into so many arguments with Carol Perkins, always telling the girl that she was ‘an airhead with Daddy’s money’ alongside comments like ‘don’t be upset because you didn’t make the cheer squad Carol, I’m sure you can shake your ass for some dumb jock and he’ll pay attention to you’. 
Yeah, she was brutal. But he loved that about her. 
Then it all dawned upon him-he had a thing for his best friend-of course it broke the final rule of their ‘contract’ but he didn’t want to acknowledge it. As he stared at her ceiling he decided he’d just ignore it, hoping that things would be fine between the two-and that she wouldn’t catch on.
He spent the next few hours getting ready to face her-hell he’d even cleaned her room and did her laundry-blushing as he fumbled her panties into the washer and dryer, then he all but moaned at the sight of her vibrator in the back of her panty drawer-a rosy blush overtaking his features while he stared at the baby blue bullet-then at the sound of a car pulling up and parking he slammed the drawer shut-fumbling to fold the rest of her clothes.
She whistled as she walked into the house, a triumphant smile on her face because not only did she complete her exam early-her professor spoke to her after she’d turned it in-stating that she had the highest grade in the class. Then she met with her advisor who said she was on track to graduate a semester early-and traffic on the way home wasn’t bad whatsoever.
He walked out of her room, standing in the hallway with a clean shirt thrown over his shoulder while he held her basket-once she glanced at him she couldn’t stop the laugh.
“You look so domestic Stevie-it’s adorable. You’re just missing your six kids” he scoffed at that, rolling his eyes while walking back into her room once he realized she was heading in that direction.
“For your information-I got bored” she nodded her head as she placed her backpack onto her desk chair-glancing around at the now neatly organized room-her bed was even made-Blueberry sat in the very front. “So you cleaned my room? And did my laundry? Are you pursuing a career in housekeeping?” He rolled his eyes at her, watching as she pulled out the notebook their ‘contract’ was written in-followed by her pink pen.
“I actually wanted to talk to you about something serious though” he nodded his head slowly, taking her folded shirt off his shoulder-tossing it in the basket before placing it on the floor then sitting down. His eyes never left her as she kicked her shoes off then sat on the bed criss-crossed across from him. She then turned the pages to the back of their contract page, placing the notebook on one of her knees as she uncapped the pen-his gaze shifting to her bare legs-spotting the bite mark on her right inner thigh from last night-he tried to hold in a groan at the way her skirt rode up.
“You look nervous-loosen up Harrington it’s not like I’m breaking up with you” he scoffed, craning his neck back slightly “as if you’d ever want to break up with me” she glanced up at him, brows raised “aren’t you just a catch” then the two started laughing at one another, Y/n reaching over and shoving him lightly before focusing on the notebook.
He watched as she wrote out ‘Kinks’ then two categories titled ‘Y/n’ and ‘Steve’, he blinked a few times, clearing his throat while licking his lips, catching her attention again.
“Steve-if we’re actually gonna do the whole ‘trying new things out’ part of this then we have to talk about everything prior to y’know having sex” he nodded his head, scratching the back of his neck-visibly tensing up at her words. “Can you stop overthinking for five seconds Harrington! You look so stiff, relax” 
“That’s easy for you to say-you’re you!” she scoffed “and what’s that supposed to mean Steve?” he shrugged “this doesn’t bother you-like you don’t have any reactions to us having sex-or like changes or anything” she placed the notebook to the side, getting on her knees and practically waddling towards steve before grabbing his face in both of her hands-his lips parted while he stared at her in awe.
“Just because I don’t act like weird or whatever because we have sex doesn’t mean I don’t have any reactions or whatever to it Steve-I clearly understand that our friendship is gonna slightly change because of the sex-you’re still my best friend jackass” she spoke slightly slower than usual, eyes widening just the smallest bit to emphasize her point while she held eye contact with him. “Now stop being a weirdo so we can talk about our kinks mister I wanna do anal” 
He blinked a few times, shoving her back slightly-causing her to let out a small ‘yelp’ as she fell backwards-her body hitting the mattress and a series of loud laughs and giggles left her lips as her head slightly hung off the bed. She was thankful that she had a Queen sized bed-otherwise even at the diagonal angle she was in-she’d probably fallen off the bed.
He was blushing, his entire neck was on fire-and he was blushing the same way that Dustin used to blush when Y/n would talk to him-the boys crush on Y/n was almost adorable, but eventually he told Steve that he’d gotten over ‘his girl’-which of course had Steve questioning everything the younger boy was saying in the moment-however now when he thought about it he knew that Y/n was inevitably going to look like his girl to everyone who didn’t understand their friendship.
But he liked that, he wanted her to be his girl-but that wasn’t happening any time soon, so instead of sitting like a statue he moved-placing his hands on her knees which were nearly eye level with him-then he parted her legs-looking at her while she awkwardly strained her neck to look at him-a goofy smile still on her face.
“You’re a weirdo Harrington-now help me up” he nodded his head, grabbing her outstretched hands then pulling her upwards. After she got situated-scooching closer to Steve this time-she grabbed the notebook and her pen. 
“So what exactly are your kinks?” she scoffed, glancing at him “uh uh-you can go first” he rolled his eyes, pursing his lips slightly “after I did all of this cleaning for you? I still have to spill my deepest secrets first?” she smacked his arm lightly “I already know your deepest darkest secrets-now tell me your kinks! Other than butt stuff-I already know that one” he rolled his eyes, stifling a laugh.
“Are you ever gonna get over that?” she shook her head “nope, I think it’s funny-as childish as that is” she now glanced at him, raising a brow expectantly “choking” she nodded, writing it down and in turn she wrote it down on her side too, earning a curious look from him.
“That’s good to know” she scoffed “shush-what’s next pretty boy?” he bit his lip “uh being complimented?” she rolled her eyes “it’s called a praise kink” he nodded slowly-watching as she wrote it on both sides-then she followed that with degradation before elbowing him-motioning for him to continue.
“Uh-well I er-I like to spit” she blinked a few times, brows knit together while glancing at him “elaborate” he bit his bottom lip for a second-feeling the familiar heat in his face “Like in girls mouths-and uh-on them” she slowly nodded her head, slightly confused but also intrigued “so like, you just do it? Is it like a heat of the moment thing? Or do you just-do it?” he shrugged.
“I guess it depends on the girl-you into that?” she shrugged “I dunno? Never really thought about it until now-I guess I’m always down to try something new?” he bit his bottom look-the two holding eye contact-his eyes flickering to her lips for a second before moving back up. Then he shifted his body slightly-to face her before bringing a hand to her cheek-gently caressing it before placing his thumb on her bottom lip-tugging at it.
“You wanna try it?” she felt heat rushing through her face-and she knew he’d be able to feel it radiating from her cheeks-his voice slightly dropped as his gaze was held on her lips. “Y-yeah” he smirked at her stuttering, moving his hand to her chin-tilting her head up slightly.
“Open up for me princess” the pet name sent a shiver down her spine as she obeyed him, parting her lips “tongue out-good girl” his praises went straight to her core-she was positive he knew exactly what he was doing-and truth be told-he did. He then leaned over her slightly-spitting in her mouth-and it was almost an instinct for him to lean closer-tongue against hers as he pulled her into a sloppy kiss. 
As much as she wanted to keep kissing him she pulled away for air first-she knew she was blushing-the heat enveloping her face had her biting her lip and looking away from Steve-staring down at the notebook. He smirked at her reaction, moving back the smallest bit-still in her personal space as he watched her write it on the paper-on his side she simply wrote ‘spitting’, on her side she wrote it with a few question marks. 
“You okay?” she shushed him “you know what you’re doing Harrington-quit it” he couldn’t hold in his laugh at her reaction “I just had to test a theory is all” she shushed him again, this time smacking his chest without looking up at him while she wrote ‘hair pulling’ on her side-and based on what she’d learned from their past experiences-it reflected on his too. She then followed her side with ‘overstimulation’
“So you’re into being fucked til you cry?” she choked slightly, her eyes widening and as she finished writing the ‘n’ she accidentally extended the ending of the letter. “Jesus Christ Steve” he nudged her slightly “oh c’mon you won’t even look at me? Really? Are you embarrassed again?” she scoffed.
“Shut up! Just tell me what to add to the list Harrington” he hummed, raising a brow “Finish your side first” the slight dominance in his tone made her eyes widened-and she finally looked at him-processing how close their faces were “Quit it Harrington” he bit his lip, tilting his head in faux confusion “quit what princess?” she clenched her jaw.
“You know what you’re doing!” he smiled “is it working” she shoved him back-pointing a singular finger at him while squinting her eyes slightly “we need to finish this you horndog!” he smirked, nodding his head “so it is working?” she scoffed “list first, then maybe if we have time we can fuck okay? Shit you’re such a perv!” he smiled “but you like it don’t you” she shushed him again-rolling her eyes while trying to hold in a smile.
“I was serious though, finish your side so I know what I’m working with” she scoffed “confident much? A little humility would benefit you” he nodded his head “you’ve been saying that for years at this point” she scoffed “maybe if you listened then I wouldn’t have to repeat it so often” he slowly nodded his head, a singular brow raised at that “eh-you’re right, now get to writing princess”
“Quit it!” she shoved him again “that one wasn’t even that sexual!” she scoffed, glancing at him “really? That sexual? You ass” he shrugged, pointing to the notebook with an expectant look on his face. She groaned, shifting away from him-trying to block his view-the entire time he moved behind her-glancing over her shoulders as she wrote ‘mirrors, rough sex (situational), breeding??, voyeurism, bondage??, spanking, edging??’.
“You have a breeding kink? That’s hot” her eyes widened at his question, heart practically beating out of her chest “shut up!” he laughed at her tensing up “You have to get comfortable saying things out loud y’know-that’s the whole point of us having sex” she groaned “that’s easy for you to say-you aren’t the one feeling like a whore writing this shit down” he laughed at her embarrassed tone.
“I mean-I’m gonna fuck you like a whore apparently-so it’s not far off?” she elbowed him “Steve!” he rolled his eyes “okay, okay I’ll cut it out” she nodded her head, before adding more things to the list-which only made Steve groan as he read them ‘gagging, crying??’ she shoved him back while she rushed to scribble the next one down ‘thighs’, although he still read it, his brows raised at that one-and he had to admit his cock was twitching in his pants.
“Finished?” she nodded her head, handing him the notebook-too embarrassed to actually face him. He quickly scribbled down ‘breeding, masterbating together, edging, blindfolds, handcuffs?? (sounds hot), biting, pussy eating’ he paused for a second “what’s voyeurism?” she groaned “when you like watching” his brows raised in surprise “learn something new about you every day Y/n” then he wrote it down on his side followed by ‘being in charge’, then ‘submissive shit’. 
With that he handed her the notebook-watching as she read through the list, brows raising and eyes widening. 
“So can we have sex now? Wait-first how was your exam” she placed the notebook on the bed between them-alongside her pen-her face now in her hands as she tried to calm herself down-she was both nervous and really turned on. He shifted on the bed, now sitting in front of her-gently grabbing her wrists and pulling them away from her face “you okay?” she nodded her head, avoiding eye contact.
“What’s wrong?” she scoffed “that’s my line Harrington” he nodded his head “I’m not the one nervous and stiff-y’know we don’t have to do it all at once-take it day by day-or week by week if you want” she bit her bottom lip, lightly gnawing on it “I’ve just never told anyone that stuff-y’know” he nodded slowly “not even Ryan?” she rolled her eyes “Ryan couldn’t even make me cum, and he was such an egocentric asshole-just cause he was decent at football” 
“So you're just into sleeping with assholes then?” he wiggled his brows when she glanced at him, she was quick to roll her eyes-smiling at his words “are you implying you’re an asshole Steve?” he shrugged “seems that way sometimes” she laughed at him “you’re not an asshole-anymore at least” he smiled at that.
“Okay now, we can focus on this-” he grabbed the notebook and closed it “-later, tell me about your exam pretty girl” she rolled her eyes, her smile evident while he stood up from the bed-placing her notebook on her desk before making it back to his original spot on the bed-scooting back against her iron wire headboard-which had pillows in front of it-then he extended his arms out-waiting for her to slide into them.
She grabbed her stuffed animal, holding it as she moved back-leaning against Steve’s side.
“I’m pretty sure I passed it?, found out I have the highest grade in the class-which was kind of shocking because I’ve been struggling my ass off.” 
She spent the next hour telling Steve everything about her exam, then about her conversation with her advisor and going into detail on her entire morning, all the while he nodded his head, listening to each and every word she said, free hand rubbing circles into her right thigh-which ended up being draped over his left leg. 
Then her alarm clock went off at one-thirty, signaling that the both of them had to be at work in half an hour-which only made Y/n groan, rolling her eyes while Steve reached over and turned it off. 
“I hate our job” he nodded his head “I mean-after we get off-we could always-y’know revisit the book” she bit her lip, glancing over at him “okay” with that he nodded his head-and without a second thought he leaned in-placing a gentle kiss to her lips-and when she kissed him back he felt like his heart was doing backflips in his chest-their moment cut short when she moved away, placing Blueberry down on the bed. 
“Can you drive today Steve? I really hate driving on days I have class” he nodded his head “that’s uh-fine-yeah totally fine” she smiled, grabbing her tote bag from her desk chair-switchin her wallet and keys from her backpack into that bag-all the while he stared at her, eyes tracing along her figure-staring like a lovesick puppy. 
Well that was until she put her vans back on, then turned to look at him, an expectant expression on her face “c’mon Harrington, shoes on-I wanna grab Robin something on the way since she’s been working the morning shift” he furrowed his brows “since when am I your taxi?” she shrugged “since you started eating my pussy on a regular basis” he choked on air at her comment-it was clear her confidence was back-but he hadn’t expected that one.
“Vulgar!” she scoffed “coming from you? You’re a literal perv, now hurry up!” he groaned, getting out of her bed. The two of them scrambled around the house for a few more minutes, then they were off. Y/n now sat in his passenger seat as she went through the different tapes in his glove compartment, raising a brow at the Madonna one while holding it up.
“Are you a material girl, Harrington?” he rolled his eyes “I got that for you y’know” she furrowed her brows, glancing at the tape-then back at him. “You always hum the songs on that album-and you always criticize what I play in the car-so I got that one to play when you’re here” she blinked a few times, trying to ignore the warm feeling in her chest while she popped it out of its case-then replaced the tape in his stereo with it.
He smiled when she played the tape, the upbeat tune of ‘Material Girl’ playing through the car while she looked out the window-based on her posture he knew she was trying to hide her smile-she always did that when people remember small things about her. It was practically the girl’s love language-granted he didn’t really understand the whole love language thing-but he knew nothing made her happier than that. 
He was falling deeper and deeper into his ‘thing’ for her, and he just wanted to push it away but the more he thought about it-the worse it got. So he opted to simply ignore it.
Which he later found was a lot harder than he thought.
Several hours had passed since they’d gotten to work, the two worked until close at nine tonight-close used to mean ten-however after a lot of arguing with their manager-they’d gotten it to nine. It was now closer to seven thirty and the traffic within the store started to pick up, Y/n worked the register while Robin worked on helping people with recommendations and going to the back to find any extra copies of tapes, and Steve worked on reshelving and talking to customers around the store.
It was their usual system-dividing and conquering as they went. 
However when one of her ex-boyfriend's friends walked through the front door Steve immediately stiffened up-eyeing him as he wandered through the new releases section-then the tall blonde made his way to the front desk where Y/n was currently on the phone.
He waited until she hung up, then from what Steve could see he started flirting with her-and he was laying it on thick-he was too irritated to even acknowledge the guy’s lame pick up lines and overused compliments-all he could focus on was the way Y/n laughed and smiled, rolling her eyes in a playful manner, twirling a piece of her blown out hair around her finger. 
She had a wide smile on her face as she rolled her eyes-clearly falling for his shitty flirting. Then he leaned across the counter slightly, closer to her-now twirling one of his fingers around a strand of her hair-the motion lighting a fire of jealousy in Steve’s entire body-to the point that he was completely ignoring a woman asking him for his help-too focused on the way Y/n let that douchebag touch her.
He finally recognized him-Richard Miles-it made sense that his name was Richard, he was a real dickhead. Steve mumbled under his breath about standards while gripping the tape in his hand so hard that his knuckles were whitening-the sound of snapping and a hand being waved in his face finally breaking his trance.
“Uh sorry-ya how can I help you ma’am?” the older woman nodded her head, a tight lipped smile on her face as she glanced over towards Y/n-then back at Steve “I understand that young love can be complicated, but please focus on your job kid-can you help me find a copy of Back to the Future? My grandson has been asking about seeing it” he nodded his head, motioning for her to follow behind him.
Meanwhile Y/n was still giggling at Rich’s jokes, gently swatting his hand away from her hair before leaning back, her hands now on the edge of the counter.
“Sorry Rich-no can do-Robin’s off limits” he scoffed, raising both brows “seriously? I’ve been trying to ask her out forever-she just doesn’t notice. Y’know I have English with her? She doesn’t even acknowledge me half the time-and we sit right next to each other!” she laughed at that, rolling her eyes, shaking her head.
“I can’t help you Rich, the heart wants what it wants-but sometimes it’s just not in the cards” he knit his brows together, running a hand through his tousled blonde hair. “I’m gonna act like I got that card thing-but you really can’t help me-not even for the sake of old times?” she sighed, pursing her lips inward while shaking her head-she knew why Robin didn’t pay him any mind-and it was never her place to tell anyone that. When Robin wanted to let her truth be known-she would. For now Y/n would be a supportive friend.
“Not even for old times” he sighed, leaning over again-toying with her hair. He’d always been a flirt-that was just Rich, he was a natural flirt and it was simply a part of his personality. She didn’t mind it, the two were actually good friends prior to her messy breakup-then he had to let her know that for the sake of his spot on the team-he had to distance himself from her. At first she was angry that her ex managed to break her friendships apart, but she knew how much playing football actually meant to the blonde so she simply accepted the fate of her friendship.
However when Ryan went off to play football at some D3 school across the country she easily found her way back to her old social circles, when she wasn’t with Steve, Robin, and the kids-she was with them. No one ever really questioned it because she didn’t give them the chance to. 
“Alright sweetheart-thanks for trying though” she nodded her head as he let go of her hair, offering a small smile-his gaze finding Robin as she walked around the store “you think if I go talk to her-she’ll listen” Y/n laughed at that, shaking her head “I don’t think so man-sorry” he nodded his head a few times, letting out a groan before handing her the copy of Risky Business
“Interesting choice” he shrugged “what can I say, my sister loves Tom Cruise” she laughed while scanning his membership card, then scanning the barcode of the movie with her hand scanner, typing a few things into the system. “That’ll be four-forty seven and it’s back in three days” he nodded his head, handing her a five dollar bill.
“Keep the change pretty girl” she scoffed, laughing at his terrible joke, however before Y/n could respond Steve was standing next to her behind the front desk, smacking a hand against the counter while grabbing his receipt and shoving it in his direction “have a great day Rich” the blonde slowly nodded while taking his receipt, walking away then turning back to wave at Y/n.
She glanced over at Steve-who was visibly annoyed “what the hell was that Harrington?” he clenched his jaw, taking a deep breath, now meeting her stare “nothing-just figured you could use a break from flirting with every guy within a ten foot radius” she blinked a few times, brows knit together-a wave of anger coursing through her entire body.
“Excuse me? What the fuck is your problem?” he rolled his eyes, nodding his head a few times “my problem? You-” before he could finish Robin cut them both off with a loud “Woah, woah, woah! Both of you calm down and go back to what you were doing! Argue later-we actually have to do our job today!” Y/n clenched her jaw-eyes slightly squinted as she stared at Steve-a look of pure anger on her face while he licked his lips, then offered Robin a tight lipped smile, his hands on his hips while he nodded his head again.
“Yeah-you heard that Y/l/n-we have a job to do so maybe don’t eye fuck any of our other customers” she scoffed “Are you serious? Fuck you Harrington” but before they could keep arguing Robin dragged Steve away-by his ear as if she was his mother. She smiled at some of the customers staring at the two while she dragged him to the far back corner near the Adult section partition.
She immediately smacked his arm “what is wrong with you?!” he rolled his eyes, shrugging his shoulders “nothing-nothings wrong” she raised both brows, staring expectantly at Steve “you’re joking right? You basically just called Y/n a whore? In the middle of our job?” he blinked a few times, finally unclenching his jaw and rolling his shoulders back.
“I didn’t call her a whore” Robin gave him a confused look “yes you did, you literally said she was eye fucking every male within a ten foot radius-your words not mine” she glanced back over at Y/n, who now forced a smile, but Robin easily noticed the way she angrily typed-fingers practically bashing into the keys-then she basically slammed the scanner down onto the counter while smacking the register shut. 
“Yeah-she’s pissed.” he looked over at her, now feeling a pang of guilt in his chest-he didn’t know where that came from-he was angry at her-or maybe at Rich-he didn’t really know.
“I just-I dunno” Robin scoffed “you got jealous didn’t you! Oh my god I knew it!” he knit his brows together, glancing back at Robin “knew what?” she rolled her eyes “you have a thing for her! I knew people couldn’t just have sex and not be into each other” he shushed her, blinking rapidly-tilting his head slightly before glancing at the customers around the store. “I don’t have a thing for her”
Robin slowly nodded her head “so why’d you get jealous when Rich was flirting with her-by the way he flirts with everyone-that’s literally just how he acts. He flirts with our English teacher-and she’s like fifty Steve!” he blinked a few times, a dumbfounded look on his face as he opened and closed his lips a few times trying to figure out something to say-he couldn’t just outwardly admit that Robin was right-and he also felt bad for calling Y/n a whore-granted he’d definitely call her a whore in a different context. 
“Are you gonna tell her?” he scoffed “Tell her what Rob? I-I don’t have a thing for her-she’s my friend okay-I just-I dunno” Robin slowly nodded, her brows still raised “well-whatever that was-figure your shit out because we have a job to do and I just wanna go home soon” he nodded his head.
For the next two hours Y/n ignored Steve-and even as the three of them were finishing closing she completely ignored him, walking right past him-taking the extra step away from him so their shoulders didn’t brush, taking the register key from his hands without even looking in his direction, organizing the desk while whistling to drown out the sounds of his forced apologies, and once Steve mumbled something about dropping Robin off she simply nodded her head. 
She’d gone as far as to sit in the backseat-shimmying away from his line of vision, only saying bye to Robin and blowing her a kiss before staying seated in his back seat. He tried to convince her to move to the front-however she simply stared out of the window-an emotionless expression on her face which remained the same as he drove towards her house. 
Once he parked the car she was quick to get out-slamming the door as hard as possible.
“Seriously y/n!” She flipped him off while she walked to her front door-pulling her keys out of her bag and unlocking it-she was planning on slamming the door in Steve’s face-however he managed to hold it open from behind her-following her inside despite her silent protest.
It was clear that she was still pissed. 
“Can you at least let me apologize?” she scoffed, walking down the hallway and into her bedroom, kicking off her shoes and placing her bag on her desk before turning to face him. “Apologize? For which part? Being a total asshole to Rich for no fucking reason? Calling me a whore? Or maybe arguing with me at our fucking job? Hmm how about accusing me of eye fucking random fucking people?” 
He blinked a few times-trying to ignore the way her irritation was turning him on, she spoke with an almost venomous tone-she hadn’t been this angry with him since their junior year homecoming-but good God was it doing things to him. He licked his lips while nodding his head.
“Maybe if you’d let me explain” she scoffed “explain what? Your bullshit fit of jealousy because oh wow I’m gonna go fuck any guy that pays any attention to me? What do you think I’m just fucking easy?” He tried to stay calm, but as she walked closer to him-her voice getting louder-he found it harder to keep himself calm and collected. He clenched his jaw, taking a deep breath.
“What the fuck do you even have to be jealous of? And don’t even try to lie to me Steve-I know you like the back of my fucking hand! You’re acting like I’m some precious little ‘off limits’ doll-you fucking asshole!” he scoffed, mumbling “you are off limits”-which only made her tilt her head, fists clenched at her sides as she stopped in her tracks-only a few steps away from him now.
“Excuse me?” he nodded his head “last time I checked, you’re not supposed to be fucking other people in the first place Princess” he walked right past her-grabbing the notebook off her desk-flipping it open “Huh-wow even wrote it yourself-what a smart girl you are” his sarcasm was pissing her off even more.
“I never even said I was gonna fuck him, you just assume that I whore myself out to anyone and everyone-huh maybe that’s why I even agreed to fuck you in the first place! How about I just call this off and go fuck Rich and everyone else in Hawkins over the age of eighteen”  that caught his attention-now staring at her-the pit of jealousy ignited again.
“Since I’m such a fucking easy whore, maybe I’ll start with all of my exes team mates-let them pass me around for fun!” Her sarcasm was actually irritating him now, and truth be told, the thought of her with anyone but him set off a fire in him that he hadn’t felt in a long time. She shook her head, rolling her eyes at his silence.
“Get the fuck out Steve” he licked his lips at her words “Do you ever shut the fuck up?” she scoffed “excuse me?” he nodded his head, “I said, do-you-ever-shut-the-fuck-up” he paused between each word, the evident shift in his tone brought heat to her cheeks-but she ignored it-she was mad at him and she had to remember that as she stood her ground.
“You’re such a fucking asshole Steve!” he bit his lip, nodding his head twice “yeah? I’m the asshole-course I am pretty girl-or would you like it better if Rich called you that-maybe I should just keep calling you a whore-I know how much you like that” his dominant tone was evident while he stared at her-glancing down at the notebook in his hands before flipping a page-looking at the list they’d made earlier for a few seconds before meeting her stare again.
“Maybe I should fuck you like a whore-maybe then you’d shut the fuck up” she swallowed, trying to ignore the heat traveling through her body, forcing a scoff “your ego isn’t helping the situation Harrington” he licked his lips again-a smirk on his face at the way her thighs slightly clenched together-the black miniskirt she wore did nothing to hide that. His eyes slowly trailed her figure-and she was trying her best not to buckle under pressure-she was mad at him-she needed to remember that she was mad at him.
He took a few steps towards her until they were inches apart, the same smirk on his face “you can’t even hide it can you” he tried to place a hand on her cheek-but she immediately smacked it away while rolling her eyes “you can’t fuck your way out of everything Steve” he nodded his head “you’re right, but I can fuck you so good you stop entertaining every asshole that looks your way” his confidence sent shivers down her spine while he held eye contact with her.
“Why can’t you just admit that you’re a jealous asshole” he nodded his head “yea would that make my girl happy? If I said watching that blonde dickhead flirt you-and touch you-made me jealous? That I don’t like people touching what’s not theirs” her face was on fire at this point-and as he placed his hand on her jaw-she let him-her heart practically beating out of it’s chest-her anger slowly fading into need. 
“If it’s too much-I want you to say peaches-cause they’re your favorite, isn’t that right princess” she nodded her head, lips parted as she stared at him-slowly forgetting why she was angry in the first place. The look he was giving her was enough to send her spiraling.
Steve on the other hand had a fire of jealousy running through his entire body-he was committed to making his point and solidifying it. He didn’t hesitate to pull her into a kiss, lips crashing together, Y/n easily melting against him-one of his hands now on the back of her head-hand in her hair while the other was holding onto her waist-pulling her even closer to him. 
She moaned into the kiss when he lightly tugged on her hair-giving him the chance to slide his tongue into her mouth-and as he deepened the kiss she gripped his sides-tongue moving against his while she felt herself getting pushed into that familiar pool of Steve Harrington. The hand on her waist slipped down-and when he opted to bunch up her skirt-his hand grasping her ass before landing a hard smack to her skin she whimpered.
He didn’t stop there-as he kissed her he repeated the motion, massaging the soft flesh, harshly grasping it, then smacking it-earning a moan as she pulled away from the kiss-eyes still shut-forehead against his-lips parted with heavy breaths falling from them. 
“Already desperate? Haven’t even gotten to the good part yet princess” she kept her eyes shut, now biting down on her bottom lip-she didn’t want to look at him-she felt the very familiar flush across her skin-heat enveloping her figure. Her resolve was so easily broken down it was as if she’d never even been mad at him. 
“Open your eyes” she listened to him-her gaze focused on anything but his face as she pulled back slightly-she was embarrassed by how easily he could wrap her around his finger-then he smacked her ass again “Look at me princess” she did as told, now meeting his stare-his eyes were usually dark-but they looked almost black-lust overtaking them as he stared at her-his cocky smirk evident.
“You’re such a desperate slut y’know that?” she nodded her head “You just need attention is all” as he spoke he trailed the hand that was on the back of her head along her cheek-tugging at her bottom lip for a second before he harshly gripped her chin-cheeks slightly smushed together-lips parted as rushed breaths left them. “You’re usually such a good girl for me, perfect little princess, all As, studying so hard, never late for anything, always so focused, so helpful, so eager, keeps those legs nice and wide for me, so sweet-but look at you now-a bitchy little whore” his degrading tone had her panties practically soaked, her thighs pressed together, her grip on his sides tightening.
“Is’ okay, m’ gonna take care of my little slut-remind you that you’re my girl-remind you of your fucking place” she tried to nod her head-his hand keeping her still. “You understand me?” she whimpered “y-yes” he gave her an almost sadistic smile “good girl” 
With that he all but threw her onto her bed, her back hitting the mattress-a loud creak from her bed heard as it hit the wall. He was quick to pull off his crew neck-tossing it aside then kicking off his shoes-all the while she stared at him, chest rapidly rising and falling while she pressed her thighs together-trying to get some type of friction-some type of relief. 
“So pretty like that-” he spoke as he got onto the bed-making his way between her thighs-easily spreading her legs wide open-a smirk on his face when he noticed the evident wet spot on her black panties. Her thighs still covered in marks he’d left the night before-she was his and it made him go crazy. She just needed to be reminded of that. 
He was quick to start rubbing her clit above her panties-the friction and much needed relief had her head rolling back, whimpers leaving her lips as her hands gripped the sheets below her-bucking her hips into Steve’s hand-on the verge of begging him for more. The tension between the two had gotten so thick-so palpable-that she was positive it was only making things so much worse for herself. 
“Haven’t even really touched you yet and look at you-” he finally slid her panties to the side-not bothering to remove them as his middle and ring finger found their place against her clit while he rubbed harsh circles against the sensitive pearl. “-Don’t think I forgot that you like it rough-you want me to fuck you like a desperate, whiney, whore? Make you cry?” she nodded her head-finally looking at him.
“Use your words princess” she moaned “y-yes” he smirked, fingers moving faster along her clit-the feeling had her whimpering-hooded eyes staring at him while she moved one of her hands-grasping his wrist “you’re already gonna cum aren’t you? That needy?” she moaned as he shifted his hand slightly, two fingers slipping right into her-his thumb against her clit. It was like he memorized her body-to be fair he hadn’t stopped thinking about her since the first time they slept together. 
Her loud moans and whimpers only motivated him to move his fingers faster within her, curling them against her g-spot over and over again-the motion making her toes curl-the familiar coil in her abdomen tight. As the walls of her cunt fluttered around his fingers he knew she was close-he loved it when he made her cum-she looked so pretty under him-face scrunched up slightly, lips forming a perfect ‘o’ while needy whines and moans left her swollen lips. 
“Aw are you already gonna cum? That quick-can’t even hold it can you?” she shook her head, brows knit together while she bit down on her bottom lip hard enough to nearly draw blood. “Fuck look at you-so fuckin desperate-fuck.” he groaned as he spoke, his eyes trailing her entire figure-her shirt rolling up slightly-skirt bunched up at her waist as her legs were spread wide-glistening cunt on full display just for him. 
“So pretty like this, spread wide open just for me” she nodded her head, head rolling back again, rushed whimpers leaving her lips while her back arched off the bed slightly “that’s it princess-cum for me like the needy bitch you are” that sent her right over the edge-hips bucking into his hand while her eyes were squeezed shut-loud moans leaving her lips.
“St-Steve! Oh fuck-Steve” her words dragged as she moaned, breaths slightly choked, her head felt like it was spinning-because the second she felt like she was coming down-she opened her eyes and Steve was already laying between her thighs-fingers still rapidly fucking into her. 
“Love how your pussy tastes-fuck can’t get enough of it” with that his tongue trailed along her folds-teasing her-and right as she let out a loud strung out whine-he started lapping at her clit then bringing it into his mouth. He sucked on it like a man starved, her hands now gripping his hair-tugging at the soft brown locks while her back arched off the bed-eyes screwed shut-loud moans, whimpers, and cries constantly falling from her lips.
When she tried bucking her hips into his face he moved his free hand-wrapping it around one of her thighs-holding it against his shoulder-using that as leverage to pin her in place. He moved back for a second “stay fuckin still” she moaned a slurred “yes sir” which only made him groan-mouth back on her pussy-sliding a third finger into her sopping hole-smirking at the way she gasped-his gaze now held on her face-watching as she tried to look at him-her eyes falling shut each and every time.
“Steve-oh my god-Steve-please-please-please” her begging had him moaning against her clit, his hips rutting against her bed-as he kept his motions up, slightly grinding his teeth against her clit-tugging at it-the motion pushing her right over the edge again-the overstimulation setting as she nearly screamed his name. Her whole body tensed, her hands tugging his hair harder and harder while he lapped at her cunt-sliding his fingers out of her-only to replace them with his tongue.
“T-too much-fuck, fuck, fuck” he licked one final flat stripe against her cunt before sitting up on his knees “Yeah? Too much? Pretty girls all fucked out already?” she whimpered “that’s too fuckin bad” with that he grasped her waist “you’ve got on too much clothes baby, take it off my smart girl” she nodded her head, vision slightly hazy as she sat up slightly-pulling off her sweater-tossing it elsewhere before she unclasped her bra-Steve pulling it right off-taking a second to drag his fingers along her arms-the soft motion a direct contrast from the way he was about to ruin her.
“So perfect-look at you-my perfect little fuck toy” she moaned at his words, her heart beating against her chest while his hungry eyes scanned her figure-and as she tried to close her legs-he pinned them down-holding them open-his stare held on her cunt-wet panties pushed to the side-leaving her open the way he liked. “This cunts all mine-all fuckin mine-you understand me?” she nodded her head. “Use your words”
“All yours-fuck Steve-all yours” he smirked, her raspy voice made him blush, but more importantly-her words lit a different fire in him-one that was consuming his entire being-he needed more of her-he needed to fuck her. He landed a harsh smack to her center-the motion earning a whimper from her while she stared at him. “Hands and knees-gonna fuck you like a whore since you love to act like one” 
The way he degraded her made her mind hazy, all she could do was nod her head-and with his help she managed to roll over-now on her hands and knees-head slightly hung. He groaned at the sight-but it wasn’t good enough for him-he pressed a singular hand to her lower back-his other hand holding her hip-pushing against her-deepening her arch until she groaned-the new stretch oddly satisfying while Steve worked at his jeans-the sound of his belt unbuckling sent heat through her core. 
She was positive that her cunt was leaking along her thighs-she’d never been this turned on in her life-her mind lost in the haze of Steve Harrington’s dominant side. She’d never been a fan of jealous sex in the past-but right now-she’d flirt with half of Hawkins if it meant he’d fuck her like this more often.
He stroked his cock a few times-moaning at the sight of her on all fours-face down ass up just for him-god he’d fantasized about this moment for what felt like years. She wiggled her ass slighty-swaying her hips and whining “Steve-please-fuck me” he moaned at that-smacking her ass twice “shut the fuck up and wait princess” with that he lined himself up with her cunt-sliding the tip of his cock along her slit-gathering her wetness while teasing her.
“Gonna fuck you so good, make you forget all about that fuckin asshole from earlier-remind you that I’m the only one allowed in this tight little cunt-only one allowed to have you like this-only one allowed to hear your desperate whines while I fuck you like a bitch in heat” she whimpered-looking back over her shoulder-craning her neck trying to see him-watching as he stared down at her cunt-gliding his cock along her slit until he found her hole.
“Oh and princess-I’d never assume you’d whore yourself out to anyone who looked your way” with that he slammed into her-bottoming out in one fast stroke-then he repeated the motion building a rhythm. Her arms practically collapsed-back arching a little bit more as her cheek hit the mattress, hands gripping the sheets below her while she moaned his name-over and over-in a chant. She didn’t even care about the burn of the stretch-she loved the way he was pounding into her. 
“F-fuck Steve-so good-so so good fuck” he smirked, smacking her ass again-then placing one hand on her waist-holding her bunched up skirt in place as he fucked into her. She was a moaning, whining mess under him as he fucked her-his head thrown back slightly while he kept his movements up. He couldn’t get enough of her-and the way she felt around him-he was thankful she forced him into going to the clinic-the feeling of her warm, tight, wet cunt swallowing him raw was a feeling he wouldn’t trade for the world.
“So fuckin tight-fuck feels so good baby” she whimpered, biting her bottom lip-the overstimulation making her body burn “too much-fuck Steve” her words had a continuos slur to them, all dragging together. It felt too good, she knew she was close again-her body melting into him-she really was his fuck toy-and she loved every second of it.
He leaned forward, snaking a hand around her figure-gripping her throat-the feeling made her whimper as he pulled her back slightly-her head leaned back into his shoulder while he pinned her to the bed-cock fucking into her sopping cunt-the squelching sounds alongside the sounds of skin slapping practically echoing in the room. 
Then he started licking and sucking marks into her shoulder blade, leaving a bite mark along her soft skin-earning another loud moan from her.
“Taking my cock so well-fuck feels like you’re swallowing me-so fuckin good for me Y/n-always so fuckin good-even when you have that fuckin attitude. Just needed to get fucked good huh? That it?” she nodded her head, moaning incoherent words and sounds, he felt her walls flutter around him-he knew how close she was-and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t teetering on that edge as well.
“M-more, n-need m-more Steve” he smirked “yeah? You need more? My smart girl needs more?” she whimpered “y-yes” which led to him moving the hand on her hip-sliding it under her body-between her thighs-two fingers tracing crescent moons into her swollen clit, her jaw dropping at that-a long low moan of his name slipping out of her lips, tears sliding down her cheeks from the intense pleasure coursing through her.
“Gonna let me cum in you? Fill you up? Make this cunt mine?” she moaned a quick “y-yes” while nodding her head, one of her hands moving from the bed below her to his wrist-holding on to him while he fucked her over the edge-a loud scream of his name fell past her lips, her eyes squeezed shut as she arched into him. 
“Just like that pretty girl, fuck just like that” he moaned as he spoke, keeping his rhythm up-fucking her through her orgasm before pulling out of her, taking a second to press a gentle kiss to her cheek before moving back. “Roll over for me baby” she lazily nodded her head-laying down then slowly rolling onto her back-the second Steve noticed the tears on her face he swiped a few away with his thumb before holding her chin “you’re so pretty when you cry” his words were almost sweet-but the degrading tone behind them made her whimper. 
The way she stared at him made his heart race-she looked so cock drunk, her eyes hooded, tears along her cheeks, a layer of sweat covering her skin, lips swollen and parted with a small smile on her face. “Can you handle another one?” she nodded her head “words” 
“Yeah-please Stevie” her voice was strained and raspy, she moved one of her hands to grip his forearm-pulling his hand from her chin to her throat all the while holding eye contact with him-and he lost all of his composure at the motion. Her mind was a haze, she was so high on pleasure that she’d practically let him do anything to her right now and it was driving him crazy. 
He stared at her for a few moments, taking every part of her in before moving, now leaning above her, perfectly slotted between her thighs while he traced the tip of his cock along her dripping slit-and in one quick motion he was thrusting into her, her head falling back slightly-a loud moan of his name leaving her lips while her hands easily found their way to his back-gripping against his shoulder blades as he pounded relentlessly into her.
“So-so good, fuck-swallowing me whole-taking it so well” she nodded her head at his praise, brows knit together in pleasure while her nails dug into his skin-scratching long marks into his back while she moaned below him-the tears still falling from her eyes as she felt herself practically drowning-it was so overwhelming. She knew she was close, it wouldn’t take much to push her back over the edge-her fucked out cunt and swollen clit so sensitive that the moment his fingers glided against the bud she was gasping and arching into him.
“C’mon princess, cum all over my cock-show me it’s all yours” His head now in the crook of her neck, lips brushing her ear as he spoke. her heart was racing for a different reason now-his words sending a shiver down her spine and even through the ocean of pleasure she was in-she still felt the butterflies in her stomach. He was so close that his shoulder was slightly brushing against her chin-his body enveloping hers.
“Good girl, just like that-squeezin me so good” she moaned again, and as her orgasm hit her-she bit down on his shoulder-earning a loud groan from him-the motion surprising him but also sending heat waves through his entire figure. “F-fuck, gonna cum-I’m gonna fill you up princess” his words were strained and all she could do was moan-too caught up in her orgasm to speak coherently. 
Then as she felt herself start coming down from her high-he kept fucking into her-hips slamming against hers for a few seconds before his warmth filled her-the motion feeling almost euphoric as she whined his name-all the while he was moaning incoherent phrases into her ear.
As they both came down from their state of euphoria he rested his head against her shoulder-both of them catching their breath as he slowly pulled out of her-mumbling apologies when she whimpered and gripped his skin again. Then he rolled off of her-ignoring the feeling of his pants around his hips-tucking his cock back into his briefs while he stared at her ceiling. The two laying in complete silence-the only sounds heard were their harsh breaths.
“Steve” he swallowed “yeah?” “Rich is into Robin not me” his eyes widened at that, brows knit together while he processed her words-then he finally sat up-looking over at her-watching as she pulled one of her bunched up sheets over her chest-gaze still held on the ceiling above them. 
“What? She’s gay-” Y/n rolled her eyes “we’re literally the only people in Hawkins who know that you moron” he blinked even more, an evident flush on his skin now because he had to bullshit some excuse about the way he just fucked her-or why he said the things he said-he couldn’t just outwardly say he was jealous because he wanted her to be his-in every aspect. No he couldn’t, so what was he supposed to say.
“Oh-uh-shit” she finally looked at him, shifting her body slightly-laying on her side as she met his stare. “Have you always been the jealous type?” he scoffed, rolling his eyes-the real answer was no-he’d been confident in most of his relationships and endeavors-of course his ex girlfriend did cheat on him but even before that he’d never been outwardly jealous when someone looked her way-so why was it different with Y/n.
“Uh yeah-guess so” she knit her brows together at his rushed response, but she didn’t want to press anything else out of him given the fact that it was late and her entire body was sore-and all she wanted to do was take off her soaked panties, take the skirt off, then lay down. 
“Help me with my skirt?” he nodded his head, gently pulling the sheet back-a loud audible moan leaving his lips at the sight of her fucked out pussy dripping with his cum-a wave of heat rushing through his entire body as he found himself struggling to pull her skirt off alongside her panties. His gaze focused on her cunt-and as she squeezed her legs shut-angling them slightly-just enough that he could see her leaking pussy he had to fight the urge to finger it all back into her.
She hadn’t even noticed-her eyes fluttering shut while he pulled her clothes off, however as his fingers gently grazed her inner thigh she whimpered-looking at him-realizing his gaze was directly on her center. “Harrington-quit it” he raised a brow-blinking a few times before looking back at her face “huh-what?” she pursed her lips slightly “stop staring at my pussy” he groaned “I can’t help it, looks so good with my cum dripping from it” 
She ignored the rush of heat to her face, opting to roll her eyes instead “take your pants off and lay down with me you jealous douchebag-and I still want that apology” he bit his lip, holding back a smile while nodding her head.
Then after a few minutes he was back next to her-pulling her into his chest.
“Sorry for flipping out earlier-I just-I dunno I didn’t like how he was flirting with you-then you kept giggling and I just-” she scoffed “you just what? Assumed I’d spread my legs for him in the middle of the store?” she was teasing him now, her light hearted tone made him roll his eyes, a smile on his face. “I mean-Rich isn’t exactly ugly-for all I know he could be my competition” she rolled her eyes “I agreed to have sex with you and literally said I wouldn’t have sex with anyone else-also if I wanted to fuck Rich I would’ve done it months ago. He’s a cool guy but he’s such an airhead, maybe if I was like you he’d be my type”
He scoffed “like me?-I’ll have you know my type is very diverse!” she rolled her eyes “pretty bimbos with big tits” he scoffed again “and what about you?” she raised a brow, now leaning up, looking down at him “so you’re saying i’m your type?” he started blushing-eyes widening at her words.
“It’s okay Harrington-you just might be my type too. Don’t think too deep into it-might actually hurt that pretty little head” he rolled his eyes “just because you have a nice ass doesn’t mean you have to act like an ass” she nodded her head “who knows-maybe next time you fuck me like that I’ll let you eat it-and don’t forget I have a great rack too”
With that she let out a few giggles, laying back down and shushing him as he tried to respond.
The both of them knew they were more than friends-however they’d do their best to avoid the conversation about that. For now they’d simply pretend nothing had changed-pretend that their sex mean’t nothing-that Steve’s jealousy was just a spur of the moment thing, and that Y/n’s heart didn’t race everytime he looked her way. 
What’s the worst that would happen? They’d fall in love? As if.
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Taglist: @dmonchld​ @anxietyandtacos​ @radiantroope​ @wisdaemon​ @hearteyes-blog @mabelestell​ @totally-bogus-timelady​ @live-the-fangirl-life​ @asbisexualasitgets​ @prettyinpunk85​ @destielshipper88​ @godidontevenknowwhat​ @harringtonsbtch​ @madziekatfromao3 @postresdevainilla @k-k0129​ @little-pocket-rocket​ @darylssluttt​ @touchdeprivedwh0re​ @catpoopiekaworu​ @siriuslysmoking​ @renaroo123​ @clearbolts​ @blorp-bee​ @clacatbuc​ @bigbittiebitch @williamjzanders​ @misaamaneswifey​ @val-writesstuff​ @sunfairyy​ @inloveeith999fictionalcharacters @whoamads @treat-winchesterswith-kindness​ @niviiera​ @nearlypetrified @oneeggontoast​ @sparkletash​ @levylovegood​ @cali-888 @sinforsuccubus​ @aizensgf​ @watercolorskyy​ @zeusmyster​ @spiral-x @r0s3mm
If you are not getting these tags tumblr won’t let me tag you, srry bby :(, you can always mssg me or send me an ask to double check that your url is spelled correctly on my taglist form
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comradekatara · 2 months
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Who first suggested the book club: Mako or Jinora? And who picks the books?
i think it probably started organically as a natural progression of jinora getting to know mako better. they're on a roadtrip (airtrip?) across the earth kingdom in search of new airbenders and they're both a little bored and irritated. mako has no escape from the budding bestieship of his two gorgeous ex-girlfriends who he fumbled. badly. jinora has no escape from her generally chaotic extended family. they're both introverts who need space that they cannot find on a relatively large but still altogether much too cramped airship. mako walks in on jinora reading a book on the history of ba sing se. he apologizes for interrupting her, but then he's like "is that book interesting?" and before he knows it, jinora is rambling about the history of dai li and the various earth dynasties, and mako is listening intently trying to absorb all of it. normally jinora's interests are shot down as being (ikki and meelo) "too nerdy" or (tenzin and pema) "extraneous to her air nomad studies" (even though, she argues, air nomads have historically been very worldly, and besides, she's part water tribe!) so when mako seems to actually appreciate knowledge for the sake of knowledge, she lends him her book after she's done with it. and for a while, that's how it goes: jinora finishes one of her books, and then she gives it to mako to read, and they discuss it. their conversations primarily focus on their literary pursuits; neither has an interest in discussing the interpersonal drama currently surrounding them.
then, jinora develops a crush on one of the new airbenders. and suddenly jinora regrets befriending this teenage boy who won't stop barraging her with his motherly concern and disapproval. "he's not good enough for you," "he's untrustworthy," etc. etc. everything they read somehow turns into a didactic lesson, even as jinora directs them to books on the most mundane, innocuous topics possible (mako is actually fascinated by the mechanics of the omashu mailchute system, but he still somehow manages to turn it into a moralizing tale about how careless disregard for authority can lead to life-ruining danger). eventually, the red lotus becomes more of a threat than mako's obnoxious presumption that he knows what's best for her, and their attentions are diverted elsewhere. gradually, mako's opinion on kai turns around, and he gives jinora his approval (not that she needed it, he's literally just some guy?), so they can once more go back to reading and discussing literature without any distractions.
jinora is usually the one selecting the books, since she has more free time to read, but mako lends her some books of his own. there is no obligation for it to be a formal thing, since mako is on air temple island frequently enough that they don't need to create an official schedule to plan for their meetings, but for some reason they still do because mako prefers to live a highly structured, ordered life. they meet on the second and sixteenth of every month, and exchange notes on their primary takeaways from each book – what they were most interested to learn, whether the author was convincing in their rhetorical style – and then they deliberate over which book to read next while drinking tea. they have a strict "no 'personal life' talk" rule. occasionally jinora ventures to suggest that they read a work of fiction together next, but mako always swiftly shoots her down. he is here to expand his mind, not to rot it with fluff! jinora would be annoyed if she didn't find it charming being friends with the world's most boring guy. and eventually she does manage to tease out his entire convoluted backstory with korra and asami, as well as some of the least unpalatable details of his childhood, and some of his more exciting moments as a detective. jinora's just like "damn, no wonder you don't read fiction. your life is already five different genres of insanity." and mako's just like "yeah. do you have any more of those plain, unsalted rice crackers? they're my favorite food."
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txttletale · 6 months
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bundletober: live. love. die. remember
hello and welcome to bundletober, where i look through TTRPGs i got in bundles like a year ago and see if they're good or not. i will be doing this with no rhyme or reason but i will be trying to do one a day. i'll note whether or not i've played the game in these reviews but more often than not i'll just be looking at the book and offering my first-level thoughts. if a structure or something develops over the month so be it but for now the plan is just to ramble about the game a bit and give an overall recommendation or lack thereof
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first of all, the cover (by finbah neill) is really nice. a good cover, a smart choice of font, a couple of masking layers over it, can really go a long way.
the game is one of my favourite types of game -- a single, razor-sharp concept. this game is about one thing: mechs that have fallen in love with their pilots, reminiscing on the time they spent together. it is specifically about that and nothing in it can be separated from that.
i've talked quite a bit (including in the pages of my own game, most trusted advisors) about how i think the text of a game should act as a co-author, prompting you and providing bits of story you wouldn't have thought of otherwise--and as an alchemist, transmuting narrative or mechanical input from the players at the table into a narrative or narrative output for them to engage with. LLDR is much more of the former than the latter--there is no real alchemy going on here, it's very much a co-author, asking questions and inviting a simple pattern of call-and-response.
so what are its contributions in that capacity? LLDR wants to tell intimate stories, love stories--or rather, it wants you to tell them. the meat of the game is the thirty-item long list of prompts that ask you (playing the mech) to recount stories of times spent with your pilot. some of them are pretty standard as romantic prompts go, but some create a real sense of place and tragedy -- "When you couldn't save someone" and "When you helped them pick fruit" stand out for me as being deliciously emotive while being specific. this game is at its best when it is specific, when it seems like it has a specific vision (like a huge powerful war machine and its pilot picking fruit together) and is inviting you to share that vision with it, into its secret hidden places to feel private feelings with it.
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the only real 'mechanic' other than these prompts -- the only thing that the game asks you to do other than tell short stories based on them--is "marking your chassis". the game asks you to use eyeliner or marker pen to track, on your body, how many scenes you've played out. i really like this--it definitely does something to set LLDR apart from other small prompt-based games like it. it's the closest thing to alchemy this game has, and it's an oddly physical and located thing for a TTRPG to ask of you. i really like it.
ultimately, this is a five-page RPG with sparse mechanics. that's not enough space to set the world on fire. i think it falters in a few places where there aren't quite enough distinct ideas to fill out every slot on a table that needs filling. but for what it is, the razor-sharp concept goes a long way towards justifying the spareseness and tonally i think it's melancholy and warm in a way that makes me excited to check out more of creator reizor's games.
live. love. die. remember can be purchased as a digital download from itch.io
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minas-linkverse · 5 months
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Do you have any tips or tricks on how to start a comic like this? Or even just how you got started?? I've had my own au for years that I so badly wanna put out into the world but I've been struggling with finding a good way to start it!!!!
Hm!! Ok!! This is a tough question with many different answers even just from me. I'll do my best to answer tho!! 😮
The main bit of advice I want to give, and which I think is vital to anyone creating anything:
☆ Know yourself.
When looking up advice for creating, people love to tell you that by doing things a specific way is the best and only way to go. Often advice of this sort has solid points, you should plan ahead, you should have easy character designs, buut... You don't have to.
I do not work well with outlines or scripts. I dislike sketching. You'd think that'd make being a long form comic artist impossible for me, but nope.
I know theres things I cannot do, so I've put all my practise to what I can do. My lineart style allows me to almost skip sketching completely, my scripts are more of an A to B structure than law. I improv 90% of the time when making pages. It's kinda like dnd with myself.
I would absolutely not reccomend what I'm doing to others, but I know it works for me. People can tell me I'm doing it wrong but its either wrong or no comic at all, SO. Suck it. 👍
Er. Rambling now.
My point is, figure out what you can and cant do, and do your best to give yourself the ideal work enviorment and process.
☆ Deal with being overwhelmed
Making just a few panels and suddenly realising its gonna take years to get anywhere is SO demoralising. It's gonna happen and its gonna happen again, and again, and—
But continuing with the earlier advice, you gotta ask yourself what would help you. Are you willing to sacrifice quality? Do you just need a break? Maybe you're like me and like to include smth you love in every update so you'll have something to get excited about making.
That feeling of overwhelm is trying to tell you something, so figure out what that is so it wont end the project for you.
☆ Start it
You wont like what you make when starting. I've never heard of an artist who has.
I'm not saying start this instant, not everyone is as into improv and flailing around as me. But I will say you'll never feel ready. Figure out the minimun of what you need to start and do it. Show friends first if youre afraid to post.
Also where to start? Well sure there's lots of good advice online about that, but you can also just doodle random stuff until you feel like diving deeper. That's what LV started with, just Twi and Wild hanging out with animals and some headcanons. It may not be the most tightly written work but theres beauty in the humanity of a mess.
☆ Extras
A "failed project" or "forgotten WIP" is only a failure if you let yourself feel that way. Yea it can be a hauntingly strong feeling thats hard to deal with... But it can be beaten. WIPS are proof you tried and not everyone can say they have.
Lv is far from done and I have no intention of dropping it, but because the journey has been so nice I'd satisfied even if I had to call it here. Its smth that helps me with the overwhelm... What I've made is beautiful even now.
Comparing yourself to others is gonna rip your heart out. I love that theres other links meet aus out there and hope the best for those artists but I caNNot follow any of them or I'll crumble to dust.
So Uhm.
Basically. Have fun and be yourself. 👍
Ps. Readability is basically the most important thing for a comic artist to pay attention to, that and not destroying yourself with details and rendering. 🙌 Good luck out there!
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dougtheintern · 9 months
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DNDADS STIMS/HABITS/IDK
LONG. ASS. POST. do not click more or whatevs if u dont wanna see autistic ramblings of a mad man
darryl - scratches his scalp— he has like KILLER scabs on his head bcuz of this— but theyre so fun to pick at. he keeps his nails slightly longer than most so it’s easier to pick. it drives carol crazy. very subconscious but also does it consciously when his head itches.
after faerun he develops a habit of twisting his ring around his finger when he’s nervous or worried— usually when thinking about the future or his family.
this is only when he’s alone, but he shakes his hands around really fast to get his energy out.
ron - shuffles his business cards around— in a really cool way. like those people who can shuffle playing cards really well. he does this when he doesn’t have anything else to do and is understimulated
tugs on his mustache either very gently— subconsciously and just out of habit— or very harshly— when he needs to ground himself
rocks on his feet, or when sitting. usually to create a steady pace for his thoughts to follow.
shakes his head very violently— like a dog— when he needs to get energy out
henry - always has tree sap (?) or natural gum on hand to chew— it makes it so he doesn’t hear overstimulating noises and only hears the movement of his jaw and the gum.
has a ton of bracelets— loosens them, tightens them, spins them around, stretches them out, everything. usually when he feels sick/anxious. you know when he’s feeling under the weather when he spins around his bracelets.
bounces around when he’s very excited and hyper— to get out his energy
glenn - this man mimes playing the guitar ALL THE TIME. i just know it. usually its when he’s getting a bit excited and need to get his nerves/excitement out so he just goes ‘BAWOWOWOOOOWW’ with his air guitar
usually has 2 guitar picks with him— one for chewing on, flipping, etc— and one for actually playing. chews on the pick when he’s nervous and understimulated. flips it when he needs to distract himself from smthin
jodie - spins his keys around his fingers when he needs something to look at and is understimulated
after morgan left him, he was constantly tired, so he claps his hands often to stay awake— it’s cheaper than coffee. plus, caffeine doesn’t work on him.
rubs his temples to soothe himself when overstimulated— especially from bright lights. (the flames of hell suck! too bright 0/10)
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grant - takes after his dad when he’s older, and picks at his scalp. but, marko always gently corrects it, and gives him some picking toy instead. only subconsciously, he doesn’t do it on purpose.
when younger, he used to jump around and flail his hands when overstimulated and full of energy— after becoming a ‘man’ he stopped.
matches his breathing to the nearest person’s breathing— even if he doesn’t know them. it grounds him and keeps him stable— especially when he’s older and has to be present for his husband and kid.
terry jr. - since Samantha is a therapist, he actually has many fidget toys that he knows work for him. probably the luckiest kid in that retrospect.
specifically; he enjoys fidget cubes, slime (only fluffy and non-sticky.), and watching a newton’s cradle.
he also very freely rocks and flails his hands— if anyone insults him for it, he knows that his mother would be proud of him for letting him express himself— despite what people say.
as an adult, he twists his hair a bit, but usually catches it and uses a fidget cube instead.
lark - very violent to himself with his stims.
hits himself in the head when overstimulated and upset— especially when on the verge of crying. usually does this when no one is around to worry about him.
picks at stuff with the structure/texture of saran wrap? like soft plastic? chews on it and pulls it apart— he likes being aggressive and just clawing into it. it soothes him.
sparrow - when she wears dresses, she twirls a lot to watch the dress flow. it calms her down and makes her giggle a bit.
when overstimulated, she paces really fast. wears footprints into carpet because of how long she does it.
kinetic sand is her favorite thing to play with— but it’s embarrassing for her to do it around other people. she feels like she has to be mature— not playing with stuff for kids.
nick/narc/nicky - chews on literally everything— nick chewed on a stainless steel necklace, narc chewed on an actual chewy necklace, and now nicky just chews on his hand, his arm, his nails, whatever he can.
taps things 3 times— one for nick. one for narcolas. one for him. it grounds him and reminds him of who he is— technically 3 people— just compiled into one person. he does this when nervous— or questioning his identity.
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linc - if he has a soccer ball with him, he WILL do sick tricks with it— balancing it on his foot, shoulders, head, or whatever is cool to do with soccer balls?? idk im a theater kid i dont do sports
twists his hair— his hair is voluminous so you dont really see it, but he has some spots where his hair is thinner because of him twisting and pulling it. usually when hes nervous and not feeling well.
kicks at rocks and dirt when overstimulated— to get energy and anger out. sometimes stomps— but immediately gets embarrassed.
scary - twists her lip piercings with her tongue when she’s bored and understimulated— or her nose piercing with her hands. it kind of irritates her nose piercing, so she has to not do it for like a week if she does twist it around.
picks at the fishnet stuff she wears— claims that the holes that are caused by it are SICK AS HELL, THANK YOU. usually she does this when she’s mad— so when you see her picking at her fishnet stuff, BACK OFF (terry. )
never uses any of the fidget toys terry gives her out of pure spite— but did enjoy the slime he got her. she pretended she threw it away but actually kept it— currently in her backpack for when she’s upset and needs something to beat the shit out of (she likes punching it.)
normal - clicks his tongue to the beat of the songs that the marching band usually plays— also does little finger drumming to go along with it. this is subconscious and not necessarily for anything— it just calms him
cracks his knuckles, pops his shoulders, rolls his ankles and wrists until they pop, and cracks his neck. all because he likes the sound it makes and the way it feels afterwards. usually this is saved for when hes understimulated and needs something to listen to/focus on
hums when he’s overstimulated— usually some random song thats on the radio.
taylor - when he doesn’t need his cane (usually on a good day) he’ll swing it around and twirl it and shit. for funsies. also because he just. he likes swinging stuff like swords!!! can you blame him!!
chews on necklaces like his dad, cassandra gets VERY emotional when he does that but pretends she doesn’t. me when people stim the same way that theyve seen their friends/parents do: 😭😭
he also yanks on his own horns alot to ground himself when he’s overstimulated and upset. his horns are often red bcuz of that .
bites his lip and eats the dead skin off of it. gross little man . (i say, actively doing the same thing.) hates the feeling of lipgloss and chapstick so i suppose he’ll just have gross disgusting chapped flaking lips forever… 💔
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hermie - he likes messing with his hair— usually has a couple of hairties on his wrist just so he can tie it up and out of the way. the gayass shaggy hair is cute until you’re overstimulated by how the bangs are touching your face.
bro itches his burn scars way too much. i have a burn scar on my ankle and i itch it so much so i think if that’s on half of his body its. its gotta itch a bunch. he probably does it absent mindedly and doesn’t notice ever until someone points it out.
clacks his teeth together when overstimulated and angry. he likes tha sounds. clickclack bitch
scam likely/well actually - stretches like a cat constantly. hermie when his dad gets on all fours and does a ‘big stretch’: ☹️ . also he purrs :3 meowmeowmeow
literally pops his limbs out of his sockets idk what to tell u. he just. CLICK. hahahah hahahah spinspinspinspin like propeller. its horrifying. its terrible.
randomly turns himself into animals. just for funsies. especially when hes overstimulated. oh ur overstimulated? just turn into NAKED MOLE RAT ( look it up theyre mostly deaf)
hero - oh she has glasses chains FOR SURE and she fumbles with them constantly. like always fiddlin. always diddlin. ok maybe not like that but like. yea.
has a ring with like.. a spinny thing. like its silver with a little planet charm that can be spun. she adores it. will not let anyone touch it. only took it off for. yknow. killin deer with her bare hands.
+ i reached 30 fucking tags with this stupid post. hate this
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antialiasis · 4 months
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Chess (2018 Kennedy Center revival)
So I was just going to briefly mention all the other different versions of Chess I have consumed in the big essay post I’ve been writing on and off, but there was just too much to say about this one which made it really awkward to fit it in, so fine, here is another individual chesspost. Nearly 7500 words of rambling under the cut, oh my god.
This production represents the latest official full overhaul of Chess. It sports an all-new book written by Danny Strong, also known as the actor who played Jonathan on Buffy the Vampire Slayer, which is some whiplash (Sarah Michelle Gellar is apparently a big Chess fan, too). It was later staged again as a concert with some further modifications in 2021, but I listened to an audio bootleg of the 2018 version. (There exist some videos of it online, but only scattered bits.)
The Story Changes
This version has London’s basic plot structure with the distinctive two chess tournaments (this time four years apart, which is neither the original number nor the actual number of years between world chess championships), but rearranges Act I, adds a lot more quippy dialogue and swearing, reinterprets the characters, and recenters real-world politics in the whole thing — sort of the exact inverse of what Chess på svenska did with the material. It opens with “Difficult and Dangerous Times” to set the scene in the Cold War and features the Arbiter narrating with sardonic omniscient commentary between songs/scenes throughout, which does feel a bit more consistent than the Arbiter suddenly having a narrator role for the duration of one song in Act II.
All the main characters in this version are reinterpreted with significant new background context, which is a very interesting way to rewrite it that I definitely dig in principle. For example, Florence’s first scene here involves Walter threatening her with deportation from the US unless she can make Freddie behave for the duration of the tournament. Most versions of Chess make the political scheming very symbolic and vague — exchanges of mostly unnamed political prisoners or handwaved concessions — but this version is noticeably specific, with specific nuclear arms treaty negotiations that the CIA believes would be negatively affected if Freddie keeps openly antagonizing the Soviets. She tells Walter to go fuck himself (told you it adds more swearing) and that nobody can control Freddie Trumper, but ultimately she doesn’t have much of a choice but to reluctantly play along. This addition recontextualizes her character and her interactions with Freddie in Act I a fair bit — it’s pretty significant, after all, that she is under threat and may lose her home if she doesn’t somehow control what she really can’t.
Meanwhile, Freddie himself here suffers from a full-on mental illness which he takes medication for. Walter asserts on a phone call early that they’re dealing with a “genuine paranoid schizophrenic”, but then later calls him a “bipolar bitch”; I take the blatant inconsistency combined with the obviously insulting nature of these remarks to mean probably we’re not meant to take either of them at face value, but these two lines from Walter are the only ones suggesting any specific diagnosis. (I unfortunately suspect Danny Strong didn’t have a specific condition in mind and research it so much as just slap him with a Generic Ambiguous Mental Illness for which he takes Pills.) One way or another, Freddie’s ambiguous mental illness gives him bouts of intense paranoia, driving him to do things like trashing his and Florence’s hotel room to look for listening devices at one point. Florence keeps insistently, frustratedly telling him to just take his goddamn pills even as he’s in genuine distress; it’s pretty uncomfortable, and also definitely one of those things that are at least more human when his episodes could cost her the only home she has: she’s desperate and in distress too.
(I do kind of feel as if this whole bit would make more sense if Florence and Freddie had a strictly business relationship here to start with, instead of being explicitly portrayed as a couple — when they have a committed intimate partnership going on, one would think Florence getting deported would also be pretty obviously significant for Freddie, and Florence quietly playing along with the CIA and crossing her fingers that she can indirectly coax him into behaving with seemingly no serious thought given to whether it’d be better to just tell him why he needs to stop feels stranger. The scene with Walter sounds like Walter/the CIA are not aware of their romantic relationship and Florence wants to keep it that way — they both refer to Freddie strictly by his full/last name and as “her player” — so I guess Walter would have assumed she wouldn’t tell him, but surely the calculus would at least look a bit different to Florence herself. Even if it just prompts her to realize Freddie would still be liable to react by becoming even more erratic and vocal about his paranoias, that feels like it’d be significant enough, at least for her feelings on this relationship going forward, that it never actually coming up or being suggested within the story starts to feel marginally odd. Not a major complaint, though, just a bit of overthinking.)
Freddie in general is noticeably portrayed much more sympathetically here than usual throughout. Where other versions of Chess tend to present Freddie as an attention-seeking drama queen who plays up ludicrous arbitrary demands for money and press, here things like his walkout from the first chess game are made to come from a much more genuine place: he has major sensory issues and is intolerably thrown off balance by distracting noise and lights (which really are deliberately arranged to sabotage him). “Florence Quits”, the song with the misogyny verse, usually reads as being triggered by his jealousy and inability to accept that Anatoly’s just playing better than him, but this version makes it feel more about how he feels persistently gaslit about the ways he’s being sabotaged than anything else: he accuses the Soviets of having a hypnotist in the front row to throw him off (which they do, and Freddie literally saw him and recognized him) and Florence of working for the CIA (which she has been, if not by choice) while they deny it and brush it off, and the tense opening notes of the song play under him desperately yelling “You’re lying to me! You’re all lying to me!” (Which doesn’t make the misogyny okay, obviously, but it does make it feel more like a desperate, paranoia-fueled lashout where you don’t know how much he really means all that.)
When he subsequently forfeits the match against Anatoly, he makes a speech that sounds absolutely despairing where he says chess has been taking a toll on his health since he first became champion at eleven years old, and he doesn’t feel he can trust anyone, even himself. In Act II, before “The Interview”, he even actually apologizes to Florence for how he treated her; heck, his motivation for going so hard after Anatoly in “The Interview” itself is portrayed as being that he is genuinely disgusted by Anatoly leaving his family so callously (which is a lot of fun given Freddie’s own issues about his father leaving him and his mother behind) and wants Florence to hear the truth about what a despicable man he is, which is still unpleasant to her but clearly comes from a much more sympathetic place than either simple spite or reluctantly complying with Walter’s orders.
As for Anatoly… he was taken from his parents when he was a small child to be groomed by Molokov and the KGB into becoming a chess champion, and he’s well aware from his very first scene that the state had killed the previous Soviet champion after Freddie unseated him. (Freddie excoriates the press early on for not covering why the former champion disappeared off the face of the Earth because they’re too busy bashing Freddie, which sounds like paranoia, but the narrative has actually told us Freddie is right and they really did execute him but no one but Freddie seems to notice or care — another way in which Freddie is jarringly sympathetic here. In general, Freddie is portrayed as paranoid, and the other characters treat him like he’s just paranoid, but the narrative keeps proving Freddie’s paranoia right.)
Anatoly, though, isn’t afraid of the same fate, because “The state cannot execute a man… that is already dead.” (This general sentiment could press my buttons, but it just feels super corny and melodramatic the way it’s presented and performed, especially with that dramatic pause in there.) He is deeply depressed, thinks his marriage to Svetlana is fake and his kids hate him, and says repeatedly in Act I that he hates chess and just wants to be free of it, though he also describes a particular championship match he watched as the only time he’s felt love. At the end of Act I, he defects to the UK along with Florence as usual (his defection fully blows up the treaty Walter was worrying about despite Anatoly’s victory, so Florence’s refugee visa is indeed revoked, and that’s why they end up in the UK). Theoretically he should be free of chess now, but it bothers him intensely that he only won by forfeit (here they never finished playing a single match), resulting in him returning to defend his world champion title, and win it ‘properly’, four years later in Bangkok against Viigand.
Unknown to Anatoly, by Act II, after the election of Ronald Reagan, the Soviets are extra on edge and believe a planned NATO military exercise is actually the US mobilizing for a full-scale invasion of the Soviet Union. Walter tries to convince Molokov it’s just an exercise; Molokov insists unfortunately the generals are going to believe it’s an invasion and be ready to retaliate unless Viigand wins the championship (if Viigand wins they will take it as a ‘sign of goodwill’ from the US, which will change their minds on the apparent invasion because, uhh, unclear). Throughout Act II, the larger stakes in this version are set up to be that if Anatoly should win the match, the Soviets are liable to start a nuclear war.
Does Walter go to Anatoly to frankly tell him that apparently the Soviets have lost their minds and are basically threatening nuclear war over a chess match and try to convince him to throw on that basis? Does Molokov realize that if he’s telling Walter to go rig the chess match so the generals will call it off, he clearly doesn’t actually believe that the US is about to invade, so probably he should be trying to convince the generals not to go for the nuclear option himself? No, of course not; this is Chess, so we have to have the songs that are in Chess. So instead, Walter and Molokov just go through the same indirect schemes as usual to unbalance Anatoly and convince him to throw the game, with some minor twists. Molokov actually actively threatens Svetlana with being sent to a gulag to die if she doesn’t convince her husband to return — and Svetlana does straight-up tell Anatoly this, only for Anatoly to brush her off and tell her they won’t do that. Florence learns the same from Walter and initially dismisses him, and fully doesn’t believe him about her father being alive, but does ultimately sympathize with Svetlana and worry for her, which I like. But Anatoly is obsessed with winning this championship above all else and fully convinced Molokov is bluffing.
In the end, he plays the game to win, oblivious to the nuclear threat; as he checkmates, Walter makes a desperate phone call to his superiors to call off the training exercise. (Why he didn’t just do that immediately when Molokov told him the Soviets were taking it as an attack, instead of spending all this time playing along with this elaborate chess mind game, is a mystery.) Only… they don’t, and the Soviets watch with their fingers on the nuclear button, but ultimately they don’t fire. The Arbiter’s narration informs us this was the closest the world ever came to destruction, even closer than the Cuban missile crisis, and that this then served as the wake-up call that prompted negotiations about nuclear deescalation.
Anatoly, meanwhile, returns to the Soviet Union as usual, this time successfully exchanging himself for Florence’s imprisoned father, and Walter gives the two of them visas so that they can return to the US together.
Broad thoughts
I feel profoundly weird about the mixing of real-life history and completely fictitious alternate history here — you can’t just assert in narration that the fictional events in your musical were what taught the US and Soviet Union that maybe they should just talk to each other, while making a specific comparison to an actual thing that really happened, after spending the musical asserting that the Soviets murdered chess players for losing the world championship. I think mixing history and fiction can work fine if we can imagine that for all we know this is what really happened, or alternatively that this is what might have happened in some alternate universe similar to but distinct from ours. But here, we’re creating highly significant and publicized events that are obviously fictional, making it absurd to pretend this is what really happened, while also presenting these fictional alternate-universe events in objective hindsight narration alongside real events that happened in the real world and as a supposed cause of them. This ending narration just feels like it’s weirdly trying to have its cake and eat it too.
All in all, though, I think this is definitely one of the most interesting efforts to rewrite Chess. It definitely has something it’s going for, there are several neat ideas in it, and in particular I appreciate that it tries to give extra attention to the characters, more context to their actions, and more messy, humanized depth, inner conflict, and complicated motivators and stressors behind what they do. I genuinely enjoy what it’s doing with Freddie in Act I, in particular, even though it feels somehow both jarringly like it’s woobifying him (I genuinely think he ends up coming across as the most sympathetic of the three mains here, with so much of his erratic, childish and unpleasant behaviour being recontextualized to be more understandable and the way his hatred of the Soviets keeps being validated by the narrative) and like the narrative is weirdly harsh on him (this much more sympathetic Freddie who suffers from an actual mental illness is treated like absolute irredeemable scum by every other character including the fourth-wall-leaning narrator, even more than usual).
I also think the restructuring of Act I was pretty solid for the most part, though there’s definitely some awkwardness, like how Freddie’s expanded encounters with the press sort of clumsily repeat the same beats a bit. On the one hand, I can get what Danny Strong was going for in choosing to introduce everyone first and then go into “Merano” instead of doing several minutes of narrative meaninglessness before the main characters are even introduced; on the other hand, that kind of just half-defeats the sole original purpose of “Merano”, which is to provide a very jaunty more stereotypical musical theater song so that Freddie can be introduced via barging in and interrupting it with his very different vibe, and if I were Danny Strong I would definitely have just removed “Merano” at that point. But the “Difficult and Dangerous Times” opening works great, and it nicely avoids the “almost nothing of note happens for nearly forty minutes” and “several meaningless fluff songs in a row” problems of the London script, introducing conflict and stakes early and keeping the narrative going.
Ultimately, though, a lot of what it’s trying to do doesn’t quite come together to me, and some of it is variously misguided or just strange.
The Politics
To start with, I can definitely get wanting to emphasize the role of Cold War politics in the narrative, and I basically enjoyed the increased political focus and higher stakes in Act I — but I don’t think making Anatoly unwittingly almost start a nuclear war works here, or fits properly into this narrative at all. The Soviet generals have to be holding idiot balls; Molokov has to be holding an idiot ball; Walter has to be holding the biggest idiot ball of all; and most importantly, the ludicrously massive stakes being pasted on top of the match despite none of the main characters even knowing about it means we zoom thoroughly out of the character drama of the situation: “Endgame” just becomes grotesquely trivial with that hanging over it without Anatoly’s knowledge, rendering the actual drama of the climactic song completely irrelevant to what’s really at stake.
I also dislike, in a version that emphasizes the politics, how distinctly slanted it is. One of the things that I like in the London strain of Chess is that Walter and Molokov are both slimy, manipulative bastards in different ways, both sides’ political actors cruelly toying with the lives of the players for their own impersonal ends; the righteousness of each state as a whole doesn’t really matter to this story, only the impact that the whole conflict and the mutual scheming has on the main characters’ lives. But in this version, the Soviets and Molokov are cartoon villains who literally abduct children to force them into chess camp and then murder them if they don’t win the world championship, while Walter may be a condescending asshole who’s willing to threaten Florence but is distinctly the ‘good guy’ in his interactions with Molokov, which comprise most of his screentime, especially in Act II. Walter even gets a humanizing moment where he explains he has a nine-year-old son and has nightmares about him suffering a nuclear winter (Molokov, meanwhile, tells Walter in Act I that Anatoly is like a son to him but could not more obviously not care about Anatoly at all when he proudly presents his new champion material Viigand in Act II). I just find it really detrimental to Chess’s narrative to make it about Soviets Bad, US Good, and more so the more you focus on that — to whatever extent you highlight the politics in this story, it should be done in a way that’s about how the political machinations of the Cold War impact the character drama at the center of it, and it’s distracting when instead you make it into a loosely related B-plot about Walter’s desperate diplomatic efforts to stop the evil Soviets from destroying the world with their shortsightedness.
I think a successful more politically-focused Chess could definitely exist, but I think it’s always going to function best if Walter and Molokov feel at least narratively like just about equal scumbags. It’s not even impossible to imagine nuclear weapons and mutually assured destruction coming up in the course of it — but it needs to be using that to make us enraged at all of this on behalf of Anatoly/Florence/Svetlana/Freddie, not enraged at Molokov on behalf of Walter.
The Character Work
Meanwhile, I do basically like the setup and recontextualization done for all of the main characters in Act I, but unfortunately none of them quite delivered as well as I hoped in the end.
Let’s start with Florence. I actually quite liked the deportation threat, putting Florence herself under personal pressure in a way she usually isn’t. I dig characters being put through the wringer and making decisions under stress. But the story doesn’t quite do anything with that other than using it as silent context behind her early interactions with Freddie and technically as the reason she and Anatoly move to the UK offscreen. We don’t, for instance, ever see Freddie learn that that’s why she moved or that he was unwittingly indirectly responsible for that, or otherwise address that in any way, and as far as Florence in the rest of the story is concerned, it might as well never have happened — we never see her having any kinds of feelings on it, or even confronting Walter about that nasty little part he played in her life when she meets him again (she doesn’t even comment on it when he offers her the chance to go back to the US at the end!). To an extent this is, of course, because Florence being deported was never originally part of the story of Chess, so of course it doesn’t come up in any song or have any significant specific impact on the core series of events — but if you’re going to add it in at all, you really ought to be taking that somewhere in the rest of your additions that isn’t just briefly handwaving that she gets to go back at the end.
Like Long Beach, this version brings Florence’s father back at the end — but unfortunately, it feels really unearned here. Compared to other London variants, it actually ditches the bit of “The Deal” where Florence is tangibly emotional and riled up by Walter’s offer of her father — she fully dismisses the idea of her father being alive as bullshit, and instead it’s Svetlana who moves her to have doubts when she sees her begging Anatoly to return on video and realizes Svetlana still loves him. I do really like that, by itself, and it’s probably my favorite thing about this version’s portrayal of Florence; her empathizing with Svetlana to the point of feeling genuinely guilty for having taken her husband from her, and believing maybe the right thing to do would be if he went back to Svetlana for her sake, is actually very good, serves as a great lead-in to “I Know Him So Well”, and makes Florence’s character feel far more sympathetic in a production where she’s otherwise pretty lacking in that department. But it leaves us with no emotional connection whatsoever to Florence’s father — we’ve only heard her mention him twice before Walter’s offer, very briefly, in Act I, and not really with any sense that she misses or is all that invested in him. Seeing her reunite with him means nothing for her or her arc; it just comes out of left field, and winds up being another thing slanting this version towards Good Guy Walter, Bad Guy Molokov, what with Walter offering her visas back to the US for both of them seemingly out of the goodness of his heart.
It would have been possible to actually build up to this in a way that would make it satisfying. Florence and Anatoly have several conversations; we could have used some of those to have Florence actually talk about her father and how she feels about him being gone, and that could have been part of building up her relationship with Anatoly, made it meaningful that Anatoly’s parting gift to her is to ensure her father’s return. I suppose Danny Strong’s thought process may have been that if he built up Florence’s father too much, that should become her main concern once Walter brings that into it, and he wanted her concern to be about Svetlana instead, which I guess is fair; it also means Anatoly only really has to dismiss the potential harm to one other person in his obsession with the winning the game. But if you do make the decision to not build up her father, then bringing her father back is not an ending that makes any sense, and there was no need to do this — they could have easily cut out all suggestion of her father being alive entirely and it would only have made things smoother. I think the only reason she gets her father back in this one is in some hasty effort to make Florence’s ending less bleak, but because it doesn’t have any emotional resonance, it’s just not the right way to do that here.
Speaking of Florence and Anatoly, the romance here… once again has some neat, interesting things it’s going for but doesn’t quite come together as a whole. The two of them do have some actual conversations where they bond a bit, which is already a marked improvement over the default London script — but their very first conversation features Anatoly asserting out of nowhere that Florence has “a way of brightening his spirit”, despite not even knowing her, which isn’t super convincing and just comes off kind of creepy-awkward. Florence asserts a few times that he’s sweet and kind, but we don’t really see much of him actually coming across as sweet or kind — his lines tend to be either melodramatic or sardonic moping interspersed kind of jarringly with awkward jokes. He’s less charming or sweet and more like a lonely, kicked dog, which is fine if Florence is into that but doesn’t quite make her descriptions of why she likes him ring true.
This production actually goes back to the concept album a bit when it comes to Florence and Anatoly — namely, more than political manipulation and external pressures forcibly tearing them apart from the outside, there’s a more substantial internal tension between them as Anatoly genuinely simply prioritizes winning the chess match over her and dismisses her as she tries to question him about Svetlana. The two approaches can both work but do different things for the narrative; this internal approach puts more focus on the personal conflict and character drama and makes the relationship more interesting, which is definitely good, and in principle I think this is built up to in a pretty solid way here — Anatoly, raised to become a chess champion to the exclusion of all else, being maddened by the notion of not actually beating Freddie in Act I and needing to prove he deserves the championship to himself in Act II before he can feel “free from chess” works as a coherent reason for him to be so strikingly, unhealthily obsessive about it.
But I think the biggest problem is that Florence and Anatoly individually don’t hit well enough as characters to create investment in them. Florence is ultimately not developed enough and mostly just acts kind of unpleasant, especially to Freddie, all the way up until that Svetlana bit in Act II. More importantly, I just can’t like or understand or sympathize with Anatoly at all, beyond recognizing that core of what his arc is going for. Part of it is probably down to the writing of his lines, which I’m just not a fan of in general. I already named one example from his first scene. Here’s how Anatoly and Florence’s very first conversation starts:
ANATOLY: It’s not his fault. This game drives us all crazy. FLORENCE: I’m fine. Aren’t you even a little bit scared? ANATOLY: Of Trumper? FLORENCE: No, that they’ll kill you if you lose. ANATOLY: Oh. To quote the great Leo Tolstoy, “Even in the valley of the shadow of death, two and two do not make six.” FLORENCE: What does that mean? ANATOLY: I don’t know exactly, but it is very Russian.
I just don’t find this dialogue very convincing. Why is he reciting a dramatic irrelevant quote if he doesn’t know what it means and just thinks it’s “very Russian”? It feels like a generic quippy exchange off a snarky TV show. Does Anatoly use humour to cope with his situation? Not really; this is pretty much the only time he says anything that might be taken as that. This feels like a joke that’s there only to get a laugh out of the audience, not because Anatoly would actually tell it — and consequently, it doesn’t tell us anything real about Anatoly. Meanwhile, Florence responds to this with “Oh, you’re funny,” as if that’s one of the reasons she falls for him when I would decidedly not name that as a character trait he has. I feel like most of his dialogue just doesn’t have a great sense of character — in stark contrast to Freddie, who oozes character. I can’t get a good sense of who he is and how he thinks. He’s just there. And this also makes it harder to see what Florence sees in him and believe in the relationship.
Moreover, this Anatoly just comes across as kind of a terrible person, not in the fun coherent intentional way Freddie is a terrible person but in a flat, confusing and kind of unintentional-seeming way. Svetlana here is actually really sympathetic, with lovely little additional bits of dialogue that make her feelings hit harder (her voice as she tells Anatoly that “You left us!” breaks my heart), and this is possibly my favorite version of Svetlana in any Chess. But Anatoly is really, really terrible to her, by which I don’t even mean the cheating on her but the bit where he keeps angrily insisting to her face that she never loved him and she brainwashed their children to hate him and of course they’re not going to kill her (hey, Anatoly, guess who’s already well aware that the Soviet government in this universe is not above executing people over chess?).
And even that could be made understandable, given his situation — he could just be in hard denial about it because the thought of them having been suffering with him gone and being punished for his actions is so horrific he just shuts it down — but there’s never any sense that that’s what’s really going on. We don’t see him privately upset about the possibility later, for instance — he just keeps insisting the same and dismissing Svetlana to Florence, too. We know it’s not that it’s true — we see Svetlana admit to Molokov that even though he ruined her life and she never wants to see him again she still loves him, and we hear her sing “Someone Else’s Story” and “I Know Him So Well”. Nor do we ever get any hint at exactly what Svetlana or his kids did to make him think this of them, if anything (his own kids!). Anatoly just seems to sort of bitterly, adamantly believe this for no reason at all. And that makes it impossible to empathize with. Okay, sure, Anatoly, you were taken from your family as a child, but that really doesn’t even start to explain any of this. There could have been ways of making it feel at least believable, tragic in a deeply fucked-up way, but the story here just doesn’t do the work. And once again, Anatoly being so unpleasant for no reason just makes it harder to feel at all invested in his relationship with Florence or sad when they part.
The best fix here isn’t quite obvious, and I can’t say I envy Danny Strong trying to put all his neat little ideas together and make them work. If Anatoly were to appear substantially conflicted about Svetlana and put any real stock in Molokov’s threat, that would render “Endgame”, where he doubles down anyway, kind of jarring and inexcusable as he’d be not just refusing to return to her but refusing to care if she is killed. So in order for this to properly work with “Endgame”, he probably does need to be very deep in denial about whether they’d really kill her. I think what I would do, if I were writing this plot where groomed-as-a-chess-champion Anatoly knows the Soviets killed Boris Ivanovich and they’ve threatened to kill Svetlana too, is to emphasize better how irrational Anatoly is being and try to show it more as a consequence of growing up among the constantly plotting KGB.
Let him go off on a proper paranoid rant to Florence about the reasons why he thinks Svetlana is just plotting against him, and some innocuous things he saw his kids do once that mean she brainwashed them. When Florence tries to challenge him on how batshit he sounds, he just storms out, saying she’s being taken in by their lies and just wants to sabotage him, and disappears — and she doesn’t see him again until he appears at the final game and plays this manic, desperate match while insisting to himself that Svetlana and Florence both just never understood him and hated his success. Afterwards, we can perhaps see him finally, quietly asking Molokov if they’re really going to kill her, showing that on some level he already knew the threat might be real and had just firmly blocked it out (in the actual ending as it is Molokov simply tells him unprompted that she really will be punished unless he comes back, and he just asks why with no addressing of his previous adamant insistence that that wouldn’t happen). His and Florence’s final conversation could then involve a bit more of a reckoning with that and with what his relationship with Svetlana was really like, through a more honest lens.
I’m actually pretty tickled by this scenario because that would really drive home a pretty fun parallel between Anatoly and Freddie — which in hindsight I think this version must in fact have been trying for, but didn’t quite do in a focused enough way for it to really hit. Anatoly and Freddie are both chess players with deeply abnormal childhoods and bouts of paranoia that cause them to behave in toxic ways, which ultimately drives Florence away from both of them.
This production shows the first chess game as the “Chess Game” instrumental playing under Freddie and Anatoly having alternating inner monologues about the game and their issues, deliberately drawing a comparison between the two of them; they both say they hate chess, that they don’t feel like real human beings. It’s not exactly subtle, but I liked the way this was used to build up their respective brain gremlins and was intrigued by the parallel being set up. I didn’t feel they ultimately did much with the parallel, though, because the story then didn’t really continue leaning into it much from there. By emphasizing this Anatoly’s paranoia as paranoia and not just as him legitimately thinking the marriage was never real and the KGB wouldn’t kill her, we could properly build the story around that parallel, and I would genuinely dig that.
The one place after the chess match where the actual thing does sort of try to get at the Anatoly/Freddie parallel again is in the dialogue scene that precedes “Endgame”. This scene is not sung (though it has the “Chess Game” instrumental in the background, which connects it neatly to that previous bit comparing the two of them), but it’s clearly based on “Talking Chess”: Freddie approaches Anatoly to tell him Viigand’s weakness lies in his King’s Indian Defense, and:
ANATOLY: Why are you helping me? FREDDIE: Jesus Christ! Am I the only one who cares about this game? ANATOLY: It’s more than a game now. There is so much more at stake than who wins or loses. FREDDIE: No! No, winning is everything. Fuck politics! Fuck the KGB, fuck the CIA, fuck them all! We are the ones who have dedicated our lives to chess. We are the ones who have given up everything for greatness — our childhoods, our sanity, our loves. Anatoly, we’ve sacrificed everything. They’ve sacrificed nothing. What’s the number one rule of a chess champion? ANATOLY: Play to win. FREDDIE: As long as you do that you can never lose, even if you do.
Much as I love “Talking Chess”, though, this on the surface similar scene just didn’t feel right in this context when I listened to it. In Anatoly’s last scene here, he told Florence firmly that he just wanted to win and that his marriage with Svetlana was never real and it’s all KGB mind games. Him going “It’s more than a game now, there’s so much more at stake” suddenly now comes out of nowhere — if he believes that now, it could only be if he actively reconsidered something offscreen, but he doesn’t say anything elaborating on what he’s thinking now or what he might have reconsidered or why, just that vague, generic line that contradicts everything he’s expressed up until this point. It’s another example of Anatoly’s dialogue just feeling really flat and meaningless to me — his lines here don’t say anything, just serve as vague filler to prompt Freddie onward. And because unlike London proper the setup leading up to this is all about him already being absolutely determined to win the game at all costs, this just feels redundant, unnecessary, going through the motions of something that’s in London without realizing that with the changed context it doesn’t quite make sense anymore.
I think that’s unfortunately the case with Freddie a bit here too. I enjoyed Act I’s quite different take on Freddie, and his establishing narration for Act II petulantly stating Anatoly won the championship last year “by forfeit, I might add”, and “The Interview” is recontextualized in a very fun way as I mentioned before — but after that it feels like Danny Strong doesn’t quite know what to do with Freddie anymore and just has him sort of arbitrarily go through the motions of London in a way that doesn’t necessarily hang together with everything he’s established of Freddie so far. It made sense that this Freddie, despite being decidedly hostile towards Walter and the CIA, conducted the interview to show Florence what a bastard Anatoly is — he’s not doing it for Walter, he’s got his own reasons to want to do it once Walter’s shown him the Svetlana video. But I find it a lot harder to swallow that this Freddie — whose usual problem seems to be that he’s compulsively blunt about how he really feels — would then be easily persuaded to play his part in “The Deal”, which involves exaggeratedly trying to be all buddy-buddy with Anatoly. Maybe if there was better setup around it, like with “The Interview” — but “The Deal” only has seconds of kind of half-assed leadup here, and from there it moves directly into “Pity the Child” (after a segue featuring the recording of Oppenheimer quoting the Bhagavad Gita, because nuclear war).
Freddie’s next appearance after that, then, is this “Talking Chess”-esque dialogue where he’s realized the parallel between the two of them, how they’ve both sacrificed everything for chess and the political schemers have sacrificed nothing and that’s why he should play to win. I can appreciate how the low point of “Pity the Child” would trigger that particular realization, contemplating how much he lost and sacrificed to achieve his status in the game and perhaps afterward realizing Anatoly is the only other person here who might understand that. That feels like it basically tracks and is interesting.
But… it also means that fun very specific contempt for Anatoly in particular based on him having left his family like Freddie’s own father did is just kind of… gone, I guess, or at least Freddie doesn’t consider it relevant enough for it to stop him from going out of his way to pep Anatoly up for the game with no mention or hint of it. (At least Freddie probably isn’t aware of the threats made against Svetlana in particular, so he doesn’t know Anatoly winning would shatter his family even further.) And we’ve lost the bit in “Talking Chess” where the notion of the political scheming actually leading to Viigand winning the match just personally offends Freddie because Viigand is not even that good; instead Freddie is just putting forward “Play to win” as some kind of general inviolable chess principle, which is kind of generic and not nearly as characterful, in my opinion. I’m not saying we ought to have had the “Viigand is mediocre” bit here — I don’t think it would quite fit in for this Freddie, whose feelings about chess itself are very conflicted and who is more concerned with showing up these political hacks who have sacrificed nothing while they sacrificed everything — but as a Freddie moment I would really have wanted to end on something stronger there than this vague assertion that “The number one rule of a chess champion is to play to win.”
Like in London, this is Freddie’s last substantial scene, but he does have a part in “Endgame”, and it’s also an interesting one: he gets Sixty-four squares / they’re the reason you know you exist (but not the preceding How straightforward the game…), but also a couple of other verses usually sung by the chorus, and the lines he gets are clearly very purposefully chosen to reinforce that final resolve regarding the sacrifices they’ve made for greatness, which I really appreciate: Listen to them shout / They saw you do it / In their minds no doubt / That you’ve been through it / Suffered for your art and in the end a winner and They’re completely enchanted / But they don’t take your qualities for granted / It isn’t very often / That the critics soften / Nonetheless, you’ve won their hearts / How can we begin to / Appreciate the work that you’ve put into / Your calling through the years / The blood, the sweat, the tears / The late, late, nights, the early starts?
All in all, Freddie is still definitely my favorite part of this Chess, but while the parallel itself is neat it’s too muddled and I find the second half of Act II pretty uneven for him. What would I do if I were writing this bit?
I’m not totally sure how I’d want to tackle “The Deal”, but as for the “Talking Chess”-but-not scene: I would ditch the bit where Freddie is trying to advise Anatoly on strategy and the bit where Anatoly is apparently suddenly not determined to play to win just so Freddie can then tell him he should be again. None of that is contributing anything in what this version has been building up. Instead, they just sort of bump into each other, Anatoly fresh off his paranoid rant to Florence about Svetlana, Freddie fresh off “Pity the Child” and the strange realization Anatoly might be the only person who’d understand him a little bit. At first they just sort of stop and look at each other. Freddie starts, guarded, with some kind of oblique accusatory prod about the leaving his family thing, which he still deeply resents.
Anatoly has calmed down now, but he tells him what he told Florence: that it was always a fake marriage, a fake family, that the video was just a lie set up for him by the KGB, that Svetlana had brainwashed their children to despise him.
This incidentally plays into Freddie’s existing preconceptions pretty well. He’s probably not instantly convinced but it checks out enough he’s willing to reluctantly leave it alone for now. Probably mutters something like, “Fucking Soviets.”
Anatoly says something like, aren’t you going to try to make me a deal to get me to throw the match and go back? Freddie says no, fuck that. Says the whole bit about how we are the ones who have dedicated ourselves to chess, who have sacrificed everything, childhood, sanity, love, and they’ve sacrificed nothing. Why should we listen to those CIA and KGB assholes? Draws out that parallel. The two of them are probably standing in symmetrical positions on the stage.
Anatoly just nods slowly, agreeing. “I would have beaten you.”
Freddie scoffs and says, “Dream on,” but not quite with the spiteful arrogance he would’ve said it in Act I.
Then they part, and we move on to “Endgame”. The scene isn’t about Freddie helping Anatoly, or about Freddie convincing Anatoly to go for the win; it’s about the Freddie/Anatoly parallel, about Freddie realizing it and in his profound loneliness finding a smidge of connection with this guy he hated because he’s the only one who sort of Gets It, and about showing how Anatoly’s conviction has developed since the first chess match where part of his inner monologue went, “I can’t beat him, he’s too good.” Anatoly is so ready to prove that he really is the world’s best chess player.
Conclusion
Man, this version is so interesting. It’s a mess, but it’s a fascinating mess with a bunch of tasty potential and a real sense that Danny Strong had some genuine thoughts on what the show was missing and how to rework it to fix that, even where his attempts were ultimately confused and don’t succeed. In some ways it’s the most me-core version of Chess and in other ways it’s deeply antithetical to me and in most all ways it’s trying to do something neat but does it in a flawed way. Special shoutout to this Freddie, who honestly deserves better than this Florence.
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ferris-the-wheel · 4 months
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I love the christmas event youre doing! I wanted to request floyd leech and gonna give him a shark plush (Listen i love sharks) Hobbies: I love writing, chatting with friends, swimming, and watching shows about the ocean (Like blue planet)
Personality: Kind, giving, excitable
Setting: The octavinelle dorm
Awwwww thanks! I'll do my best on this fic ✨️ Also, I'm debating changing your moot tag to sharkie🦈, would you be cool with that?
Christmas Secret Santa Event
gn!reader x Floyd Leech
: ̗̀➛ Scenario: Most of Octavinelle decided to stay in the dorm at NRC this Christmas and helped out to make a feast for dinner.
ೃ⁀➷ Just 💜
ೃ⁀➷ Reader isn't Yuu
ೃ⁀➷ Semi-proofread, please ignore any mistakes!
TW: None
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You and Floyd did Secret Santa a bit differently (aka Floyd rigged the results somehow, you have no idea how). You both knew that you'd gotten each other obviously, so now comes the shopping process.
It took you longer than you'd thought to pick out something for him since you weren't sure what he would like. Obviously your first thought was shoes since you knew he liked them and also played basketball, which is the gift you almost got him until a squishy shark plushie caught your eye, and you immediately bought it.
While everyone else was in the lounge exchanging gifts and preparing Christmas dinner, Floyd pulled you into an empty corridor. "Sharky~ what did you get me, what did you get me?" He asked excitedly.
You laughed, holding out a neatly wrapped square present with a nice bow on the top. "I almost got you something else, but I thought you'd like this more." You said as he waited impatiently, almost like a child.
You handed him the present, which he grabbed vry eagerly. He tore open the paper and removed your gift. Cue a few moments pause and he figured out what it was. He got so excited that he squeezed you much harder than he meant to. It took a minute to regain your breath. "Awwwww, I love it, Sharky~!!" He said, the relased you and handed you a slightly messily wrapped present. You only had a second before he was pleading with you to open it.
"Go on, go on, open it!" He said loudly with a wide grin on his face. You took the present carefully, not sure ehat to expect, though you eventually opened the present and were delighted by what you saw. The present contained what resembled a snowglobe, but the structure inside was of the Atlantica Memorial Museum and instead of snow inside, there were tiny glowing beads.
"Awwwwww, thank you, Floyd!" You said, hugging him tightly while trying to not drop the gift. He hugged you back with his signature drawling laugh. "C'mon, Sharky, let's go put these in my room so we can go get some food!" Floyd said, putting the shark plushie under one arm and grabbing your hand with his other. You really had no choice but to follow him.
When you entered his room, he was evidently still very happy because he jumped onto his bed and squeezed the poor plushie to the point where it was so flat that it took a few seconds for it to regain its form. You deposited your snowglobe(?) onto his desk and sat down with him for a moment on the bed.
"Floyd, weren't we going to get food?" You asked amusedly. He frowned, still holding onto the shark plushie. "I don't want to now. I want to snuggle you and Sharky 2.0." He said, then lunged forward to pull you into a hug.
You accepted the hug with a knowing smile as he'd done similar things in the past. "It's time for my Christmas snuggles now." Floyd said, pretty much wrapping his entire body around you. You laughed. "Alright, fine."
You stayed there for about ten minutes before there was knocking on the door. "Floyd? Y/N? Are you in there?" You heard Jade's voice from behind the door. Floyd jumped up and ran to the door with his new shark plushie in hand as you took a moment to sit up. You laughed as Floyd began rambling about Sharky 2.0 and how cute it was but not as cute as you and how squishable it was. At first, Jade was utterly bewildered, but he retained a semi-formal composure, though his smile was very genuine.
"I'm glad you like your gift from Y/N, Floyd, but aren't you hungry? Most of dinner is ready and I'd hate for you to miss out on the good food." Jade interrupted Floyd's rant. Floyd pouted, but after he grabbed your hand and all but yanked you out of the room, he was all smiles. You noticed that he still had the plushie in his other hand and you smiled.
All throughout the feast and the rest of the Secret Santa exchanges, Floyd stuck to your side like glue and would tell anyone who would listen about Sharky 2.0. He also declared to you the your gift was the best of the exchange (you had luckily pulled him into the empty kitchen before he'd said this to get more food). In the end, it was a very good exchange and you made this eel boy's day. Yeah, just so you know, he's going to take Sharky 2.0 with him everywhere and basically the whole school is going to know about it by the time Christmas break is over.
Floyd requested that you put the snowglobe on your desk so you'd always see it when you walk into your room, which you obliged and now that is its permanent spot. At night, the glowing beads gave off the illusion of fish swimming in water when light hit the globe. He gets visibly much happier when he comes in your room and sees it.
I WAS SO EXCITED FOR THIS, I HAVE NO EXCUSE FOR WHY I FINISHED THIS SO FAST!! Also thank you for the ask! 💙 I hoped you enjoyedddd and obviously everyone else who read this too. First request of the event is done, I'm so fucking good lol/j but seriously I love that your suggestion was a shark plushie because it is so cute to imagine. Can someone with better artistic skills than me draw this and tag me in it? Like 🙏 P.L.E.A.S.E. 🥹
Taglist: @mermaidfanficlibrary (obviously) @officialdaydreamer00 @lyle-my-beloved @b-floyd-o-leech-b @cookiesandbiscuits
Tagging artists I follow because I beg of thee, please for my sanity, draw them 😭🙌 @deezneezz @qwakque (if you don't want me to tag you in stuff like this, let me know please!!!)
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afloweroutofstone · 2 years
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Honest question, Brett. Why does it seem that the Dem establishment is so disconnected from actual wants and needs of their voters? You'd think that more so than any other career, being a politician would necessitate those skills. Yet they regularly make disastrous and tone-deaf decisions and statements over and over again. Is it truly just wealth insulating them to a degree I can't comprehend, or is there some secret internal ideology within the Dem establishment that guides them?
I want to write an entire book in response to this ask tbh so I'm just going to give bullet points on some major causes
The decline of the organized labor movement (true via like 10 different mechanisms, can't emphasize enough how big this is)
The rise of big-money campaign finance, which has given the wealthy an even more disproportionate say in politics than they had beforehand. From the late 1970s to late 1980s, corporate PACS quintupled their congressional spending. In six years, labor unions went from providing half of all contributions to a quarter.
The persistent influence of the New Democrats and Clintonism, both highly effective in serving the interests of the most conservative remaining constituencies of the Democratic Party (now that the Blue Dogs have largely died off)
A deeply insulated industry of political elites which rewards connections over successes- a whole book in itself, though of course this applies equally to the Republican Party.
The Democratic Party is living in a false past, obsessed with past failures of supposedly losing for going too far left (McGovern, Dukakis) while ignoring all of their past failures where they really did lose for running boring moderates (Humphrey, Mondale). The large majority of Democratic Party operatives think that it's still 1996 or something. This is part of why both Democratic and Republican politicians systematically overestimate how conservative voters actually are
The Democratic Party has explicitly abandoned its focus on rural and Rust Belt voters in favor of suburbanites (even though the prior makes far more sense in the context of the US political system). In the months before the 2016 election, one Democrat in congress said: "For every blue-collar Democrat we lose in western Pennsylvania, we will pick up two moderate Republicans in the suburbs in Philadelphia, and you can repeat that in Ohio and Illinois and Wisconsin." Clinton lost in three of those four states. The Democrat who said that was Chuck Schumer, now the Senate Majority Leader.
The proportion of sympathetic voters that actually turns out to vote for their party is generally lower for the Democrats than the Republicans. This is a complicated effect with many different causes: GOP voter suppression, voter turnout rates are lower for the young and poor, the Democrats do far less to please their base than the Republicans, the right has a better media operation, etc. But overall it means that each faction of the Republican Party is fairly well-represented, while many factions of the Democratic Party are underrepresented compared to the rich/white/suburban/old factions.
The undemocratic structure of the US political system hurts the Democratic Party and limits its room to maneuver, leaving it to adopt a strategy of "promise little, do less" which does not exactly inspire voter turnout
The primary Democratic strategy since the mid-2010's has been an obsession with emphasizing Republican character flaws rather than hitting hard on policy issues, which is the exact opposite of what you should do when your views are more popular than your opponents' on most issues!!!!
Way too many of them are rich/old/white/male/etc., though I'm quick to note that descriptive representation issues like these are only just one piece of this larger puzzle
I can ramble on about this forever, but these are the big ones that come to mind
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