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saeransboy · 3 years ago

Text

Autumnal

Pairing: Saeran Choi / Male CMC (Rowan)

Word Count: 2942

Warnings: Chronic overthinking

Notes: this is for mystictober’s day 1 prompt: favorite character/rings!! knocked out two in one. entirely self-indulgent, just to get me in the writing spirit.

you can also read this here on ao3!! enjoy!!

Between the warm tones of his sweater and the color of his hair, Saeran blends in against the red and orange leaves perfectly, his eyes being the only thing making him stand out. They’re fixed on the sinking sun in the distance, watching with a content expression as he fiddles with a piece of the chocolate chip cookie he had yet to finish between his fingers.

An autumn picnic had felt just right. It took a few weeks for Rowan to put it together, deciding on the right foods to bring, the perfect spot, and whether a surprise was acceptable or not, but he finally made the decision. Things had to be just the right balance between perfect and comfortable.

The food -- and the sheer amount of it -- was definitely overboard, but he knew it would be appreciated. Three types of cookies, ice cream, cinnamon rolls, cinnamon bread, chocolate pecan pie, brownies, and cupcakes had been carefully packed away, sectioned off into containers, stored either on the back seat or in the freezer box they had brought along.

For once, he had skipped using his motorcycle, instead choosing to borrow one of Saeyoung's cars. It was an SUV, with plenty of room in the backseat and the trunk for food storage. Most of them had been too cramped, or "too precious" -- though he was sure that would've been tossed out the window if he revealed his plans for the evening.

Of course, he didn't. He couldn't. If the answer was no, then it would make things devastatingly more awkward. And, in the hopes that it was a yes? Saeran wouldn't exactly be rushing to tell his brother. The enthusiasm the revelation would bring was something he would almost certainly have to brace himself for long ahead of time. That wasn't a problem for Rowan; he was willing to wait. If the answer was a yes.

The doubt bubbling up in his chest, he lets a sigh escape from his lips, tensing as his boyfriend glances over. Though the redhead doesn't say anything, the question is obvious. Is everything okay?

Shoving another helping of frosting into his mouth to keep himself from stuttering out anything stupid, he nods, taking his time swallowing. It looked ridiculous, he knew, but it gave him time to think of a suitable response. "I'm fine. Just… thinking. You know how difficult that is for me. I get worn out in seconds," he jokes.

Saeran rolls his eyes at the self-deprecating joke, flicking a sprinkle still stuck to his finger at his boyfriend. "You can think just fine. Oh, and your mouth is…" He gestures to his own lips, prompting Rowan to wipe at his mouth with the back of his hand. It's totally covered in black frosting; in his haste to keep himself quiet, he hadn't been careful to not make a mess.

He can't help but smile at the ridiculousness of it, running his tongue along his lips and wiping the rest away with a napkin. "Surprised you didn't try to get a taste, sweet tooth." Though he doubts his boyfriend would've been that bold, he wasn't one to shy away from the opportunity to tease.

Unsurprisingly, he only gets a huff in response, though he doesn't have to check to know there's a light dusting of pink on the redhead's cheeks. "I was wondering when you'd say something like that. You've been quiet."

Just like that, the soft smile on Rowan's face fades into a slight grimace. If Saeran was mentioning it, that was a problem. Quiet was rarely a bad thing to Saeran; in fact, he usually preferred it. The fact that he was saying it like it was a point of concern meant that there was nowhere to run; Rowan had been figured out, and his only options were to stay quiet and make things awkward, try and fail to weasel out of it, or fess up.

The first two options would almost certainly ruin the cozy mood, not to mention put them both on edge. Confessing and putting his plan into action was definitely a risk, but at least it had a chance of not going horribly, right? They had been together for three years. It was unlikely that all of that could be ruined by this, even in the worst-case scenario.

Wrapping his fingers around his cup of hot chocolate, Rowan takes a sip, grateful that the other man never called him out on his tendency to stall for thought. The drink is far cooled down now, the taste being more uncomfortable rather than satisfying and relaxing, so he catches one of the remaining marshmallows with his teeth to chew on.

It takes a couple of minutes before he's able to speak again, voice uncharacteristically soft. "I was planning something for a while, but now I'm second-guessing myself. Are you fine to talk about something… kinda, barely, a-bit-yes-a-bit-not serious? And maybe a little sappy? You can say no at any time, but I just wanna know whether to say it or finish off these cinnamon rolls and drop it."

Saeran pauses, considering it. Rowan always liked watching him think, whether it was something a bit serious or more mundane, like which ice cream he wanted Rowan to get from the fridge. Something about seeing his boyfriend lost in thought -- as long as it wasn't in a negative sense -- made him feel strangely happy.

Silently, Saeran nods, snapping the brunette out of his lovestruck trance. Taking in a shaky breath, the nervous man turns his gaze back towards the sunset. Why was it that all the words he had planned out decided to escape him now, of all times?

"So, uh," he starts, already feeling a grave irritation at himself for his clumsy entrance into the topic. Blue eyes watch the other man curl his knees up to his chest, getting comfortable in preparation for whatever words Rowan would be able to stutter out. "I've been thinking. Again. But, for longer, and with a lot more difficulty. Shocking, I know."

Rowan doesn't give time for his quip to sink in. "I care about you so much. I don't say it a lot because I don't wanna overload you with fluff, but even just sitting in silence with you makes me so overwhelmingly happy, happier than I've ever felt before. You've changed my life for the better. I won't go over all that again, because I don't want either of us to cry on our cozy little picnic, but you know you have. You're my favorite person, my best friend, and--" Wait. Shit.

"I'm not proposing," he says suddenly, a bit too loudly, putting his hands up. Saeran jumps a bit at the sudden outburst, making Rowan mumble a quiet apology, but he settles back down easily. "This is… not that. Nuh-uh. That wouldn't be a bad thing," he clarifies, "but that's not what's going on here."

Once the redhead nods in acknowledgment, he tries his best to continue, deciding to abandon the sappy build-up. "I was in the store picking up some ice cream and snacks to restock the minifridge, and, well, right by the entrance, there's the jewelry display. Apparently, they were having a sale, so I popped over to see if they had anything nice."

Reaching into his pocket, Rowan pulls out a tiny velvet pouch, tracing his fingers over the soft material. "Most of it was the normal shit: fake diamonds, overly eccentric junk, a bunch of things that look almost exactly alike being treated like the makers didn't just super-glue a different fake jewel in the same spot. But then I saw one that kinda reminded me of your sweater. I mean, the pearl on it is exactly the same color. And then I went, 'oh! His birthstone is a pearl!', and… ended up getting a bit attached."

His eyes flit up to gauge the other man's reaction. As expected, Saeran's face was almost unreadable, though he was definitely listening. Granted, he hadn't given him much to work with. Good job. You started out sighing and moping like it was some grand big deal and now you're telling him about your grocery store trip. Get to the point.

"I actually found out they were doing a 2-for-1 deal, so I decided if my brain wanted to get that one, I should get another. I was looking at different designs, but I found a pretty similar one, with a black jewel. That's pretty fitting for my style, so I picked it up, and it wasn't until I got out of the store that I realized they matched. Like, really well."

Undoing the drawstring, he shakes the two rings into the palm of his hand and turning them where Saeran could see. With the gems facing away, they looked nearly identical; both with narrow bands, and a small gem pressed on the front. The only thing differentiating them from each other was the contrasting gold and silver metals.

"I know that matching stuff can mean a lot of different things in relationships. Some couples do it just for fun, sometimes things like jewelry can have… stronger meanings. Some people see matching like that as a promise to stick together." Wow, he really did sound like he was proposing, huh? Part of him wants to look up, to see if his last comment had changed anything, but his neck felt stuck in place, paralyzed by his own nerves. The rings noticeably tremble in his hand; he hopes it isn't as visible on Saeran's end.

"And, well… I'm not going anywhere if you aren't. I--" Rowan lets out a shaky sigh, brushing his hair out of his face, something he rarely bothered to do. "Honestly, it's not even as serious as I'm making it out to be. I only thought to do this because my stupid brain got attached to both and I realized, 'hey, you'll look really stupid matching with yourself', and I know your birthstone is a pearl, and I like the color black, so… yeah."

He can't bring himself to look up at the other man, but the silence across from him was almost sickeningly overwhelming. Shoulders slumping, he fiddles with the ring he intended for himself, trying to distract himself from the pit in his stomach.

"I kinda fucked up and made things awkward, but… to shorten down my rambling: do you wanna match these cheap-as-hell rings with me, as some kind of symbolism that we care about each other and won't leave each other, or whatever?" Rowan stumbles over the words, trying to scoop together what was left of his brain into a cohesive sentence.

There's a long pause as the words sink in, the world around him feeling totally still until Saeran leans forward, resting his chin on his knees. "You mean a lot to me, too," he mumbles, voice quiet. It's hard to distinguish any specific emotion with his volume, so Rowan listens intently.

"It's... nice, that you thought of me, and..." Anyone else might be worried over the hesitation and reservedness of the words, but his answer comes as a great relief to the brunette. He's not rejecting anything, or pushing him away; he's taken off-guard, which isn't ideal, but there's no trace of upset or discomfort in his tone. It gives Rowan the courage to look up again.

"I'm not going anywhere either." The redhead parts his lips as if to say more, but can't seem to find the words, closing them again and instead wordlessly holding his hand out, palm up. Rowan presses the pearl ring into his palm, watching with a small smile as he admires it. It hadn't gone poorly. Things were fine. Nothing was falling apart.

Saeran's nose wrinkles in distaste all of a sudden, as if he imagined something unfavorable. For a moment, Rowan feels a spark of panic, but he quickly puts the pieces together. "I've got some necklace chains you can hang it off of at my apartment. They should be long enough to tuck under your sweater so your brother doesn't see. I'm probably gonna wear mine like that, anyways. I can't wear it over my riding gloves."

The other man hums in acknowledgment, the look on his face relaxing into something more content that makes Rowan's heart clench. Finally feeling that nervous knot in his stomach fully slip away, he turns his attention back to the picnic, taking another cinnamon roll and enjoying the silence. It was like nothing had changed, and yet, he felt even happier than before. Though his boyfriend didn't say anything further, he could tell the other man felt the same.

The moment lasts for several minutes, picking away at the food still left in comfortable silence. It's only interrupted by a small splash of water against Saeran's cheek, causing him to blink in surprise and glance upwards. During their distracted peace, a storm was beginning to roll in, the previously white-clouded sky now totally covered in heavy gray clouds.

"Shit," he murmurs under his breath, tearing Rowan's attention away from the brownie he was finishing off. He quickly begins tucking away the food still left out, the other man joining him once he feels a droplet hit his skin.

Saeran is the first one to get to his feet, walking halfway to the car before turning back to watch him. There was no need to; it wasn't as if Rowan would slip away on the slowly wetting grass, or that they'd lose sight of each other, but it simply felt right.

Neither of them say a word as they begin shoving food haphazardly into the backseat, Rowan giving an annoyed huff as he takes note of the lack of room, reaching up between the seats to pop the trunk instead of going around to the front doors. As he wiggles his way back out, his boyfriend's voice surprises him.

"Thank you."

"Mm?" Rowan turns to glance at him, the tenderness in his voice making him momentarily forget the basket of sweets in his arms, the blanket strewn over the top turning dappled with rain.

"For all of this, and…" Saeran raises his hand, showing off the ring now slipped around his finger. "It was good enough to have an excuse to get out, but you still put in more effort to make it perfect. You didn't have to, but you did. Thanks."

It wasn't often that Saeran was the one to fluster him, but the grateful comment had his cheeks heating up. "M-mhm. It wasn't a big deal, I just… wanted to do something nice for you, and wanted to make things more comfortable. I know you get claustrophobic in the bunker, and it's always nice being out this time of year. I thought you'd enjoy it; I'm glad you did. It makes me happy, seeing you happy."

Just as quickly as the redhead had gotten to him, he turned the tables back around, the other man busying himself packing food into the cooler to avoid a response. His joy from the evening going well getting to him, Rowan continues to speak.

"I'm relieved everything went well. I was worried about so many things -- maybe the cooler wouldn't be cold enough and things would melt, or something would get dropped or squished, or you'd think I was weird, that I was doing too much but then that I wasn't doing enough… a bunch of irrational shit like that. So, um… it really was perfect?"

"Yeah, it was." The short answer makes him smile, bouncing on the balls of his feet for a moment when Saeran isn't looking. The other man was never bothered by his stimming, nor did he judge him, but for once, he was the one more embarrassed by his love for the other man.

“Honestly? I had a dream about giving you some big romantic speech like that and wanted to make it real. Only this time, it wasn't as smooth, and the sky doesn’t explode.” Saeran pauses, mid-tucking away the picnic blanket.

“What?”

"Yeah. it was some biiiig date I set up, and I had fireworks and everything, but somehow the fireworks messed up earth's atmosphere and ended up killing all of humanity. Really sucked. This is a lot nicer. Less heat death of the universe and more coziness, y'know.”

Saeran stares incredulously for a moment, finally sighing and shaking his head. “I don’t get how you work at all.” His tone is affectionate despite his words, and the corner of his lips struggle not to twitch up into a smile.

“If I recall correctly, you just signed up to not get me, like, three minutes ago. Forever.” Rowan lifts his hand to close the trunk, pausing before looking back at his boyfriend with a smile, turning and falling into the cozy mess of blankets stuffed into the trunk, wiggling his fingers at the other man.

At the open invitation to cuddle, Saeran doesn't hesitate, shoving the cooler over a bit before moving to settle in front of him and leaning back against his chest with a frown. “You’re implying that I won’t ever get you.“

“Well, I don't know. I don’t have a me manual, pumpkin. If you want one, you’re gonna have to write that yourself. Good luck.”

The redhead tilts his head back to look up at him, lazily brushing his lips against his jawline for just a moment. “Mm, you’re not that complicated. Give me two weeks.”

“Two weeks?!“ Saeran smiles, turning his head away to watch the rain, quietly treasuring the warmth the other man provided. He could handle this forever.

#mystictober2021 #mystic messenger #mysme #saeran choi #se saeran #cmc #rowan carmody #my writing #saefluff

9 notes · View notes

ectonurites · 4 years ago

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I love Tim and I love reading Tim fics but tbh I am getting so tired of all the “woe is Tim, he was criminally neglected by his parents!! He was abused!!” stuff that keeps popping up. Like, were Tim’s parents gone often? Yes, no denying that. Was their relationship with Tim distant and not the best? Absolutely. But they weren’t evil, they weren’t breaking any laws, he wasn’t being dangerously neglected or put in any danger at all. Tim was in boarding school during the year! He wasn’t left to fend for himself 24/7 in a large empty house before he was even in the double digits, he wasn’t running around Gotham at night as a baby getting into trouble because his parents weren’t paying attention to him, and it’s weird how often that idea crops up. It’s like fandom thinks you’re either a good parent or an evil parent and there’s no in-between. But there is! Tim’s parents weren’t really good parents, but they weren’t evil people! I have no idea why that’s such a hard idea to grasp.

Also the weird changes to his personality that tend to come with this! I can always tell when a fic writer hasn’t read Tim’s solo Robin series, or even just YJ 1998, because they write Tim as being socially awkward and incapable of making friends or understanding how people work. Sometimes even how empathy works! Or like a tiny genius prim proper upper class businessman, which. Is just. I have no idea where any of this comes from, is the thing that really gets me. Usually you can trace commonly held fanon character misconceptions and alterations back to some point in canon and at least see where something may have been misunderstood or exaggerated, like Tim’s Red Robin run influencing the perception of him as depressed and distant from the rest of the Bats, or for what reason the fanon change is made, like Lazarus Pit madness being used to absolve Jason of his crimes for the purpose of making reintegrating him into the group easier (which incidentally also chafes me) But this? This I am at a loss for. I have no idea where this specific yet pervasive fanon mischaracterization came from. Yes, Tim might be a little socially inept at times, but no more so than the average person. Tim makes friends incredibly easily! Tim isn’t all too concerned with pleasing his parents! He’s not formal or super well-mannered or a budding super villain! Tim is incredibly empathetic and quick to adapt in social situations! He’s an average teenage boy with the likes and attitude of an average teenage boy with an above average intelligence! Tim is such a great character on his own and sometimes I start reading a fic that says it has Tim, but Tim is nowhere to be found, it’s just this weird guy I don’t recognize calling himself Tim and it is so incredibly frustrating, Fanon Tim please die and don’t come back

Yeah big agree on pretty much all of that, I’ve talked about this subject a lot before and I feel like much else of what I could add would be just repeating you or myself.

On the topic of parental abuse I think you can even make arguments about that in Tim’s life while still like, not blowing things out of proportion. But the way people frequently write in fanfics and stuff like you’re talking about I definitely agree is misinterpreting the situation. This is a really good post on that subject with Tim and his dad that actually deals with stuff we see in canon. (This also goes into some stuff with Cass and Steph with their dads and Cissie with her mom)

Fanon Tim feels like he came from a mix of out of context panels, people reading only Red Robin, people only watching the YJ cartoon where Tim is such a minor character whose only arc is about being inexperienced and kinda shy and quiet compared to Dick, and then just general people assigning stereotypical traits to him based on the fact that he’s a smaller guy and not the most like ‘superhero manly masculine’ type. And then just like... people having potential ideas sometimes without much of a basis about things that weren’t explored much in canon (like Janet’s actual personality, since we saw so little of her before she died, or what his childhood would have been like in more detail) just to try to fill in gaps for their own personal view of it, and it then just getting treated as fact because people pass it around so much.

Fandom for anything can be a giant game of telephone but especially for comics like this where there is so much source material that a lot of people are intimidated by and thus barely even break into, it becomes even worse. The amount of misinformation I see go around is crazy, and really contributes to the ways fanon heavily alters the characters.

#Anonymous

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chokefriends · 4 years ago

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Anatomy model Eustass Kid

By @godims0tired ♡ for my fic Life Drawing

Rating: E

Warnings: None

Characters & ships: Eustass Kid / Trafalgar Law

Word count: 2978

Summary: Law practices his anatomical drawing with Kidd as his subject. With his devil fruit abilities he can see right inside him.

Kidd finds this insanely romantic.

~~~

Read on Ao3 or below the cut. I know it's an older fic by now but I havent posted it here before so here!

~~~

Kidd jerked into full awareness as he lay sprawled in his bed. He checked around himself without moving and sensed a second heartbeat in the room, near enough that the dim echoes of its electrical impulses lapped at his skin like waves. Slow and calm. Just watching then; not yet poised to attack…

There were eyes on him.

It took him a moment to remember that the other heartbeat was supposed to be there. He wasn't used to having bedmates stay overnight.

Red eyes slid open and found keen grey ones fixed on him.

“The fuck you staring at.”

“You, idiot.”

The big redheaded sprawl snorted crassly at that and flopped over, returning the stare with sleepy menace.

Law smirked. He was wedged sideways in one of the heavy carved armchairs in Kidd's quarters, loosely wrapped in a sheet and busily scritch scritching in a large book. His gaze flicked from page to Kidd and back.

Kidd prodded him, “See something you want, Trafalgar? Come over here and take it.”

His limbs were still all loose and languid from when they'd fucked a couple hours before, but Kidd could stand to go another round. Especially with the sharp, evaluating looks Law was throwing him right now.

“Come on, c'mere.”

“Later. Go back to sleep, Eustass-ya.” The pen bobbed.

“Don’ wanna. What are you doing still up?”

“Just passing the time until my brain decides to let me fall asleep.” Law's insomniac woes again.

“A good fuck will do that for you. Lemme do the ligature thing and you'll be out like bam .” Kidd offered generously.

“Heheh. Thanks but oxygen deprivation is not the kind of sleep aid I need.”

“Your loss.”

Kidd burrowed into his cluster of satiny pillows with a sigh. For an infamously brutal pirate captain he sure liked his little extravagances. The whole room was draped with horribly clashing bits of luxurious fabrics and furs, and the odd shiny sharp thing. The manic magpie whims of past raids.

“Nah, that's no good,” Law recrossed long legs over the chair’s arm, well cushioned with some spotted pelt. “Go back to where you were a second ago.”

“Are you…? What, taking notes on me? Writing an ode to the sinful curve of my flawless ass?”

“Something like that. I'm adding my own anatomical diagrams to this medical text. It’s my favourite for reference material but the illustrations are scanty and kinda shit -- it's like they've never dissected anyone before.”

“Nice. Add a diagram of these.” Kidd kicked up a leg.

“Hah. I'm nowhere near the section on genital abnormalities, but I'll look you up when I get there. Turn on your side again, I was doing upper body musculature.”

“Ooo. I got lots of that, yeah.” Kidd complied.

The lamplight was flickering low behind Law. Kidd could see him and his book backlit dimly, the small hairs on his leanly muscled shoulders aglow like a nimbus. Tinged subtly blue.

Wait, blue?

“Do you have a Room up?”

“Yeah, so I can scan down and see the actual anatomical stuff.”

“Huh. That's handy. You don't even have to dissect anyone.”

“Yeah but it’s easier to see everything if you physically open someone up. You can isolate the individual structures that way.” Law peeked overtop of the book. “And it's more fun to do it the old-fashioned way, heh…”

Kidd gave a low laugh. Law wasn't even joking, he knew. He imagined waking up one night like this, to find some part of him delicately splayed open and the dark haired doctor sketching away with the same expression. If Law used his devil fruit power he could do it painlessly and bloodlessly, without even waking him. Kidd had seen him sever heads away from bodies completely within that blue sphere, both pieces still functioning as one. He’d never been the subject of that eerie power himself, though.

He didn’t think so, anyway.

Law untangled himself from chair and sheet, and finally came over to join him on the bed. Kidd was gifted briefly with a full view of the lithe figure. His recent handiwork was beginning to show in the mottling that ran up either thigh and the bites framing his chest tattoos.

The long limbs refolded next to him. “Stay there, I wanna do the neck muscles now.”

“Lemme see that first.”

“Don't be grabby,” Law complained, but gave up the book.

“Holy fuck.” Kidd flipped through studies of his back, shoulders, hands. “So that's how I look without skin, huh.”

He had been expecting more… yeah. Skin.

“I did say I was drawing the muscles.”

“And my bones and everything.”

“Yeah. Good skeletal structure too. Several odd calluses where breaks didn't quite set right, though.”

“You can see all of that?”

“Yeah, of course. Like I said, I can scan down to any level. Though it helps if I know already the shape of what I'm looking for.”

Something about the drawings was just so Law. The lines so precise, so sharp, somehow impatient. A little obsessive and overworked on certain details, like the hollow between his collar bones and the knobbly crook of his index finger, broken at least twice. Many practice studies on loose sheets of paper showed that Law had been trying to get these parts just right.

It occurred to Kidd that these weren't just anatomical studies using him as a model -- these were him.

Jotted notes crowded around the practice studies, but Law grabbed the book back before Kidd could read them properly.

“Trafalgar. Does that seriously say I have 8.2 litres of blood in me.”

“Nevermind that. Just an interesting fact. You have a lot of blood.”

Kidd stole another peek as Law held him off. “And that I have a grip strength of 68 kilograms in my right hand?”

“At least. That’s not something I can see; that's from uh, experience.”

Kidd leaned back with his hands laced behind his head to look at Law. “One might misinterpret this as a target profile of some kind.” Because that's exactly what it was -- a detailed map of Kidd’s strongest, and weakest points.

“Whoa, your blood pressure’s spiking.” Law grinned with more teeth than usual and leaned in to hover over him.

“Now you're just showing off,” Kidd complained.

“Does this disturb you?”

That wasn't exactly the feeling that was spreading through him, no. Or not entirely, anyway. Kidd just cracked his neck, stretching it out for Law's benefit, and raised an eyebrow.

“So you wanted some neck action? It's all yours.”

Law seemed to like the sound of that. He angled Kidd’s head away and up with a gentle press of fingers, so the ear and neck were exposed to him.

Kidd watched his shadow flicker on the opposite wall and listened to the pen scratch across paper. The undulating magnetic field of Law’s heart was so close now, washing over him. His own blood thudded in his ears, senses all on high alert from holding himself in this vulnerable position.

He could be fuckin patient. Sometimes. Well… when he had all of Law’s attention focused on him like this, he’d stay still forever. He could feel the sharp eyes on him like a touch. His own eyes started to wander back over…

He jumped a little when Law did touch him, nudging him back into place. And then trailing fingers over the mound behind his ear.

“Sternocleidomastoid,” Law mouthed to himself. “Levator scapulae…” The hand travelled down to his collarbone and rested there lightly, his thumb tracing little circles.

It was so calm. And strange. Rare for the reserved doctor to be so casually intimate. Even while they were fucking, touch was more like a struggle, hands straining against and into each other. Kidd was rough without even trying, but it was Law who seemed to flinch from any contact not resembling combat. Or medical care. Such structured things. He’d objected -- vehemently -- to being “pawed at” and “pet like a lap dog” often enough. As though anything less than bruising force would hurt more.

He was so guarded. It made Kidd greedy.

“You're hard, you know,” Law breathed onto his neck.

“Yeah I'm aware.”

“Heh.”

Tattooed fingers ran along Kidd’s side, over the tight bands hugging the ribs (“Serratus anterior…”), and pinpricks rose in their wake. Kidd found himself arching up against the hand desperately.

“Ah, fuck, Trafalgar…”

“Mhm,” Law responded, distracted. Or pretending to be. He followed a particular cord of muscle down Kidd’s powerful thigh with his thumb. “Sartorius. Gracilis.”

“Dick.”

“No that's not a muscle, Eustass-ya.”

“Oh for the love of GOD.”

Law made a sound that was probably a muffled laugh. “Hold still. I'm doing anatomical studies.”

“Oh is that what we're doing.”

“Obviously.”

“Where's the book.”

“It's…” Law looked around for a minute. “On the floor.”

Kidd covered his face with his hands and just laughed. Law sighed dramatically.

“Well. Guess I gotta start from the top again.”

---

Law could be a pushy bastard when he topped. But he kept up the slow, focused treatment this time and it was driving Kidd fucking insane.

“I'm gonna flip this the fuck around and pound you inside out if it takes any longer.” Kidd growled from under his arm, slung across his face.

This was as close as he could get to actually asking for it. Here he was laid out, so open and ready, core clenching and unclenching. Needing to be fucked, to have hands on him, in him, whatever. All of it.

“Nah you're not.” Law countered smugly.

“F-uck,” was all Kidd could come up with when a third finger twisted into his slicked up hole. His body tensed and spasmed before yielding itself open.

By the time Law was actually fucking him, Kidd had nearly popped a fucking vein.

Law pushed in slowly, slowly. Until they were pressed together as tight as they could go, breath hot on each other's faces.

“Shit, Tr--ahh…”

“Eustass-ya…”

He was done with all the slow shit. Kidd was a shifting mass of need under him and honestly, he was even more worked up. He dragged almost all the way out only to grind back in hard, and the tight body jolted.

“Aw fuck, yeah…”

Law braced his weight on his arms, pressing Kidd’s hips into the bed. He watched the muscles bunch beneath him with each impact, Kidd straining to meet him. Watched through skin so pale it was translucent, glowing and rippling.

Kidd still wasn't entirely sure what to make of that gaze. All hunger and splitting seams, open lips and ragged breath.

He quirked up one corner of a mocking mouth.

“The fuck’re you-- ah --staring at?”

Law didn't answer for a moment. Under Kidd's skin it was like… layers of red ribbons, wrapping him up. The ribbons all pulling and straining against each other when Kidd moved (when Law moved in him), like something inside was trying to burst out. Under them, ribs curving -- jealous fingers. Wetly clinging membranes. Then under that…

“Your heart. It's…”

Their bodies collided, beaded with sweat. Harder. More. Law could see, hear Kidd's heart beating faster as he picked up his pace. God, he could feel it in his palms. In his dick. Beating so strong it echoed in his ears, drowning out his own.

“Fucking perfect. It's perfect.”

Kidd laughed breathlessly. His heart. What the hell. “...You wanna get your hands on that too?”

Law did.

He wanted to grip it, feel it flutter, make it burst …

… What if I could? he thought. He slowed, thinking, and spread a hand over Kidd’s breastbone. Not just to incapacitate through dismemberment, but to cut a piece from the whole, one vital piece…

Kidd watched the pensive eyes flicker and gave him a swift jab of encouragement with his heel.

“You'll just have to get hold of it the old fashioned way. Hahahaaa…”

“Hah.” Law shook himself from his distracted state. He picked up a pace that was slower than before, though not less jarring. “Like… I should court you or like I should cut you open?”

“Whichever ...ah ... But you should fuckin get me off first.” Kidd guided the tattooed hand down from his chest to his dripping cock, and Law obliged, finally.

They fucked with foreheads pressed together and grips slipping on sweat slick skin. Kidd thought of Law digging his hands right into his chest and came in jerking starts like it was being beaten out of him, legs clamped tight around him. Skin thrumming with the echoes of hands and heartbeat.

---

Kidd flipped through the last few drawings with some undefinable flutter in his gut.

“That's some shit you won't see in any other textbook.”

“Mhm.” Law allowed himself to press against Kidd just slightly as they lay sprawled out, sweat drying in the cool air. He was in a fuckin good mood, kinda dazed.

“I do look damn good without skin, I'll say that much.”

“Heh. And with. You can see the suprasternal notch really clearly even under the skin, it's nice. I fuckin love all of that. That area.”

Kidd choked a little but Law didn't seem to realize what he'd said. And that's not even what he meant anyway, Kidd told himself.

But the whole thing kinda was the same as a confession, at least as far as Law went. The drawings, as vaguely threatening as they were, betrayed an intimate preoccupation with Kidd's finer points. Maybe even admiration. Definitely possessiveness. Need.

“I wanna do you too.”

Law grinned, “Already?”

“Not that, idiot. Draw you.”

“I didn’t know you could draw.”

“Well, draft. I can draft things -- just basic. For engineering stuff on the ship, mostly.”

“Oh, nice!” Law bounced up to get fresh paper from the floor by the chair. “How does one usually draft stuff? Don’t you need a triangle thing? Compasses, etcetera?”

“Maybe. I’ll just make an outline for now.”

Law seemed right into this whole idea. “Draw me like one of your machines, Eustass-ya.” He draped himself dramatically across the bed and Kidd shoved him with a grin.

“How do you want me, though.”

Kidd appreciated that question for a moment.

“Doesn’t matter,” he shrugged. “I don’t know how to draw from life -- like perspective or anything. So it’s gonna be pretty diagrammatic. I just need a few details and some numbers.”

“Like specifications? How to build a Trafalgar?”

“Yeah, so I can make another if this one breaks.”

That made him laugh.

“Okay lie out flat and lemme measure you.”

“With what measuring tools?”

“I'll just eyeball it,” Kidd insisted.

This turned out to mean that he was going to get his hands all over him, which Law supposed was fair. He tensed and shied but stayed mostly still, letting Kidd explore his dimensions and proportions. Pages filled up with ratios and vectors of movement. Things got off track again around when Kidd was testing the rotation arc of his arms and quickly became vicious rutting. Light, skimming hands could become crushing ones so quickly.

Anyway, turned out that Law could get off while his arms were being hyperextended behind his back. Pretty effectively, in fact.

After, when they were laid out next to each other once again, and Law’s breaths were finally lengthening into sleep, Kidd dared to try another light touch. Without their thin pretense of functionality this time -- just want. He smoothed a hand over all the tattoos he'd taken such careful note of earlier. A large heart on his chest with a grinning skull similar to his Jolly Roger. Hearts on his shoulders. Kidd’s fingerprints blooming dark purple on his upper arms.

Sixty-eight kilograms of pressure and Law hadn't made a sound, but a feather touch over the marks and a quiet ah pushed past his lips.

“Whose emblem is that tattoo?”

Law mumbled with his eyes closed, “Someone who died. Long time ago.”

“Someone…” Kidd repeated to himself, but didn't probe. “You going to get any more?”

“Nah.” His breath stuttered slightly when Kidd trailed knuckles down his jaw. “I just like… your marks…”

He fell asleep with Kidd's lips against the shell of his ear.

---

A roll of broadsheet tied with string arrived by carrier gull when Law was back on his sub some days later. He stole away to his cluttered quarters and spread the roll out on the bed.

Inside the broadsheet was a large-format technical drawing.

There were three flat outlines of Law: front, back, side. All heavily marked out in blunt pencil, all surrounded by arcs and lines, dotted and solid, indicating measurements and angles of motion. The insides of the outlines were empty except for perfectly to scale renderings of his tattoos.

#kidlaw #trafalgar law #eustass kid #fanart #thank you so much dude i really mean it!#its exactly how I imagined laws drawing style to be ♡

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phantom-curve · 4 years ago

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find the strength, find the melody pt. 7

lmfao I love how I posted an update 2 days ago like “this fic will have sporadic posts! idk when they’re coming!” and then I spent the last two days writing this. when that insomnia inspiration hits ya gotta just go with it!

this chapter went in a completely different direction than I had planned on soooo yeah...honestly not sure where this is gonna end up! the characters from my OC novel that I’m loosely basing this story around didn’t have a connection before they ran into each other so when Julie gave me this I almost cut it because I genuinely wasn’t sure where it was going. I think I’ve almost figured it out and I’m pretty sure I know how this will end. and now we all get to laugh at me together because it’s definitely gonna be more than 3-4 chapters. it might even be more than 6. Luke’s POV will have roughly the same amount of chapters I think, possibly longer because boy oh boy does he have A LOT to say (most of it about Julie). fair warning: this one has an awkward cut off because of the way I need to set up the next chapter. sorry about that.

and now something I probably should be embarrassed to admit: I don’t remember writing the part where I managed to sneak an “I’ve Got The Music” reference in so now we know for sure this show has infiltrated my brain. it’s fine, I’m fine, at least I WILL BE WHEN WE GET A S2!!!! KENNY!!!! SAVE ME HERE!!! MAKE MY UNHINGED OBSESSIONS WORTH IT!!!!!

taglist: @blue-hat-girl, @lwhoscribbles, @bluefyoto94, @5sosmukefan, @moonlightxnder, @leahthewonder, @kat-maybe-not, @lukewearingbeanies, @imastrugglingartist

It was no small miracle that Julie made it through the afternoon without Ray asking for details about her supposed ‘plan’ to play with the Sunset Curve boys. She didn’t think she would have been able to pull off spinning a story quite as well as Luke had earlier. She had expected at least a small amount of interrogating about when she had started playing again, but apparently the news that she was playing at all, let alone with other people in front of an audience, was enough for Ray to ignore all of the other plot holes involved in this scheme. He seemed to have almost forgotten the meeting with Principal Lessa entirely, humming on the drive home, kissing her forehead and turning her loose to freak out alone in her room while he sat down to work on his computer in the dining room. Julie took full advantage of the time alone to restlessly pace her room and send Flynn a 911 text. Her bestie’s contact photo lit up the phone screen 30 seconds later.

“Okay, I’m hiding in the basement girl’s bathroom, so you’ve got exactly 5 minutes before I get too grossed out to stay here.”

Julie’s chest loosened at the sound of Flynn’s comforting voice. There wasn’t anyone else in the world that loved her the way Flynn did. It was reassuring and made it easy for Julie to let loose.

“Lessa told Dad about the music program and then You-Know-Who ambushed us outside of her office and basically forced me to agree to perform with them.”

“Voldemort was at Los Feliz?!”

Flynn’s gasp was overflowing with sarcasm.

“Flynn!” Julie whined. “Be serious! Luke showed up out of nowhere again! And he did the thing again! The charming his way into getting what he wants thing! And now I have to play with his freaking band! What the hell am I supposed to do?”

There was silence for a moment. When Flynn spoke again her voice was softer, more serious.

“You don’t have to play with them, Jules. You can tell them no, and they’ll have no choice but to respect that. The only person who can make you do anything is you. But...I kinda think you might want to play with them.”

“What?! No!”

Julie’s exclamation was a second late. Flynn didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to. Julie sighed.

“Okay fine. There’s something about Luke that makes me want to play again. Are you happy? He gave mom’s song back to me when I thought it was lost forever. He’s the only person who’s heard me perform it, and he...no one else has ever made me feel that good about my music before.”

Julie thanked her lucky stars Flynn wasn’t in the room to see her blush. There was a long moment of contemplative silence on the other end of the line. When she spoke again, there was that extra note of take-no-shit in Flynn’s voice that made Julie sit up and really listen.

“I think you should give it a chance. Who knows, maybe this is some sort of sign from your mom. You said it was a miracle he would have even found that song in the first place. You said it felt like she was there with you when you were playing. Maybe she made sure it would find its way back to you when you were ready for it.”

Julie didn’t say anything, just worried her bottom lip with her teeth. Her heart beat a little faster in her chest. It had felt a little too perfect to be just a coincidence. The way Luke kept appearing in her life at the exact moments she needed him someone or something to help her keep moving forward. Flynn sighed.

“Look, I’m not saying it is your mom. But I’m not saying there’s not some kind of greater power out there that keeps pushing the two of you together. I think you should give it a chance. If nothing else, you can get back in the music program and we can bring Double Trouble to life in time for our Junior Showcase!”

Julie couldn’t help laughing. Her eyes felt misty, love for her best friend welling up in her heart.

“I never agreed to that name you know. But thanks, Flynn. I’ll think about it.”

“Good. Now. I gotta get the fuck out of this grimy ass bathroom. Love you, bye!”

Flynn waited for her to return the sentiment before hanging up. Julie flopped back on her bed, letting her breath out in a loud whoosh as she hit the comforter. A glance at her phone told her she only had a couple hours until Luke and the other boys would be out of school and on their way to her house. She tried her best to ignore the way that thought made her stomach roll with a type of nervousness she would rather not name. It was easier to blame it on nerves over playing with new people rather than nerves over playing with Luke. Except...now that she actually thought about it, she had played with Luke before. Her head spun, eyes fluttering shut as she remembered the one music class she had shared with Luke last year.

She had only been a freshman, stuck in a lowly Introduction to Composition class. It was supposed to be for new songwriters. Julie had a little more experience than the rest of the class, after all she’d been kind of composing with her mom for a few years now, so when it had been time to write a duet for their final big project she had gotten paired up with the classmate whose skill level most matched hers. It was supposed to be a way for them to challenge each other and grow as writers instead of one person doing most of the work. Julie had been paired with Luke.

He’d been a grumbly sophomore, held back for failing his last semester of Intro to Comp the year before. He had been stuck there only for the second semester, forced to double up between their class and his second year Composition class. Julie hadn’t been all that excited about partnering with him. He hadn’t really seemed to care about the class at all, and even though Julie also sometimes felt like it was holding her back a little bit, she never once voiced that thought. It was a privileged mindset, and Julie was well aware that she had an advantage over her classmates since her mother was a professional songwriter. Luke, on the other hand, had made it well known that he felt like he was wasting his time just waiting to get through the semester so he could move up to the Advanced Composition class that he felt he truly belonged in. Julie could usually do no more than roll her eyes in those moments.

It was true that Luke was talented. His guitar playing was impressive, his lyrics were heartfelt and sometimes even downright poetic. Julie just didn’t think anyone deserved specific things in life because they happened to be naturally talented at something. Their songwriting experience had been...interesting to say the least. And short. It had ended abruptly when Julie’s mother had died 5 days later. In the end, they’d only worked together for two 40-minute class periods before she had been lost in the fog of grief that consumed her in the weeks following the loss of her mom.

Julie shot up in bed, eyes wide. She didn’t even fully remember what had happened with the half-finished song they had been working on. Errant notes echoed in her head, like a song that had only existed in dreams until now. She absently wondered if Luke had held onto that as well. It was no wonder she had kept that particular memory suppressed all this time. That time in her life had been particularly painful. Luke had been gentle with her though. Almost all traces of his typical arrogance gone in the two short class periods they’d had to work together. He had kept things light, steering their songwriting in the direction of a rock ballad more than a true duet. Julie hadn’t minded. She had been floating through classes by then anyway, on edge every second she was away from her mom’s bedside. It had been easier to work on something that didn’t have as many sappy emotions attached to it.

She groaned, burying her face in her hands. No wonder Luke had been so sweet with her. He must have had a front row seat to her breakdown throughout the last year. She hadn’t even realized it. Had never before seen the way he watched her from a distance, checked in on her during class. She should have. Now that she was thinking about it, trying to identify every instance, she could name a million. How had she missed it for so long? How had he gone so long without saying anything? The Luke she remembered was terrible at keeping his mouth shut. He had always been ready to speak his mind, never afraid to start a discourse. It didn’t track that he had been holding himself back. Unless...it was more about her musical ability than anything else. She remembered now; Luke had been thrilled to partner with her for the duet. He had made some remark about how her sound was the perfect complement to his. Maybe he only cared about the ways they would mesh as songwriters. She could only hope that’s what his words had meant.

She felt more secure in her footing as a musician when it came to dealing with Luke than she ever had as a simple teenaged girl. If it was just about the music she could compartmentalize better, keep herself from getting too emotionally invested. Music had always been a safe zone, neutral. She breathed in and out deeply, remembering the technique Dr. Turner had taught her to slow her breathing and recenter her mind. She could do this. It was just about the music. They would play a song together, Julie would get back into the music program, and life would move forward much in the way it had before. Except Julie would actually participate in class this time. She had the music back in her soul, she wasn’t ever going to let it go again. On her next exhale, she heard the doorbell ring. Showtime. Julie zipped down the stairs, ripping open the door before her dad had a chance to get more than three feet away from his computer. Luke, Alex and Reggie all stumbled back a step as she tumbled outside, pulling the front door shut behind her. The three teenaged boys shared a look.

“Studio. Now.”

Julie raced down the path to her mom’s studio before they could react, not even waiting to see if they followed her. If they were smart, if they truly wanted to do this, they would. She hauled the garage doors open, only turning around when she had the piano at her back. The wood felt warm and solid, almost like she had her mom as a support behind her instead of an instrument. The boys appeared seconds later, Luke leading the way. He stopped a couple feet inside of the studio, studying her with wide open earnest eyes. She let out a deep breath. Reggie spoke up before she could get a word out.

“Woah, Julie, this studio is so cool! It’s like a tiny home! A musical tiny home in a botanical garden!!”

His green eyes were wide, expression awed as he spun to take in the space that Julie and her mom had spent countless hours turning into theirs.

“How did you get chairs on the ceiling?! Are you, like, a witch and a siren?!! Man, you and your mom must have made some serious magic in here.”

Luke’s arm shot out faster than lightening to backhand Reggie’s bicep. Reggie cringed away, a soft owww! just barely audible over the loud sigh Alex let out as he buried his face in his hands. Reggie shrugged, looking back and forth between his bandmates before giving Julie a confused yet apologetic glance. What had he said wrong this time? The giggle that bubbled out of her was as unexpected as it was welcomed. Warmth blazed in her heart, memories of the time she had spent in here with her mom washing over her with a kind of hazy bliss she hadn’t ever experienced before. She gazed at Reggie, letting that same feeling of motherly love from the night before fill her up. It was all she could do not to react to Luke’s jaw dropping when she gave Reggie a soft smile.

“We did. We made so much magic in here.”

The words were gentle and filled with a kind of genuine love that overshadowed all other feelings of awkward nervousness. Alex and Luke relaxed instantly, Reggie’s face losing all traces of uncertainty as he beamed at her with a smile so large it almost looked painful. Julie couldn’t help but let herself return it, just a little bit. The silence that settled between them was more comfortable, the tense moment from earlier broken. Julie studied the boys in front of her. She hadn’t ever thought of them as friends per se. They knew each other, would say hi if they encountered one another outside the walls of the high school, but at the same time, they didn’t actually know each other. Julie’s little run in with Luke the night before had made that painfully obvious. She wasn’t really sure what to make of them.

“Are you guys actually serious about this whole Showcase scheme? Did Luke even tell you about his dumb plan?”

“Hey! That plan is genius. Even your dad agreed. He seems pretty cool.”

Julie couldn’t help the fond way she rolled her eyes. Alex was quick to reassure her that they did, in fact, know about the plan.

“Not that I actually think it’s a particularly well thought out plan.” He stated with a lingering glare at Luke’s back.

The planner in question did his best to ignore the skeptical look on Julie’s face.

“Julie, you really don’t deserve to be out of the music program.” Reggie’s voice was soft and sincere. “You have the voice of an angel. If we can help convinced Ms. Harrison and Principal Lessa to give you your spot back it will be so worth it. And even if we don’t, it’ll be worth the looks on their faces when we rock the pants off that crowd!”

Julie laughed in spite of herself, slightly reassured even as she chewed nervously on her lip. Luke took a few bouncy steps forward, pulling her attention to him completely. His eyes locked on hers and she was sure she was drowning, throat tightening at the look he was giving her.

“You got this. I wouldn’t have come up with this idea if I didn’t believe it 100%.”

Honestly, that was what scared her the most about it.

“We don’t even have anything prepared.”

Her voice was barely a whisper, unsteady and wavering. Luke took a few more steps towards her, Reggie and Alex ghosting along silently a few feet behind him. Julie didn’t even notice, so laser focused on the brunette boy in the cut-up tank top in front of her. She watched his muscles flex as he reached into his back pocket, flicking out a piece of folded up paper in a move scarily reminiscent of when he had given her mom’s song back to her. He bit his lip, head ducking a little to be closer to hers as he unfolded the worn sheets of scrappy notebook paper. She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, focusing on the messy handwriting in front of her.

“I thought you would say that.”

The smile on his face was so soft and sweet it should have been illegal.

“It’s called ‘Bright’. It’s a Sunset Curve song that we never performed because it’s missing something. Look,” his bare shoulder brushed hers as he shifted to point at the notes, warmth seeping through the thin material of her t-shirt, “it’s perfect for your range. I was thinking, if we add a little bit of piano here and here,” fire blazed a path up her arm as his fingers traced along the opening notes and chorus, forearm flexing against her own, bare skin brushing in teasing licks, “it’ll be perfect.”

Julie forced herself to focus on what he was saying, eyes roving across the paper. She hummed a little under her breath, hearing what he described in her head. His eyes lit up when he saw her get it, feet springing up and down as he dipped even closer towards her and started to sing.

We will rise, through the night

You and I

We will fight to shine together

Bright forever

His voice vibrated in her chest, the sound filling her with an emotion she couldn’t fully identify. Alex and Reggie bobbed along behind him, Reggie’s fingers plucking out the baseline on an invisible guitar while Alex nodded along to an unseen beat. Julie could envision the way the song would sound with a complete band, could practically see herself fitting seamlessly into the mix with her piano and vocals. She couldn’t help the smile that curved her lips as she joined in, reading the lyrics off of the page.

And rise through the night,

You and I

We will fight to shine together

“Go up high.”

Luke cut in, fingers twirling towards the ceiling. Julie automatically made the adjustment in notes to harmonize her voice with his for the last line, holding the final syllable for a beat longer than him.

Bright forever

“Yes!”

Luke’s arm pumped up and down, bicep flexing and distracting Julie momentarily. She dropped her head shyly, trying to hide her blush. When her cheeks cooled a moment later she looked back up at the boy in front of her. His eyes were glowing, smile stretched a mile wide as he stared at her. Unconditional belief in her was practically oozing from his pores. She felt her face soften as their eyes locked, giving him her own sweet smile that was meant just for the two of them. She thanked him with a gentle murmur, heart melting as he simply bit his lower lip and nodded.

A throat cleared in the background, and Julie was snapped out of their private bubble by the sound. Her entire face felt engulfed in flames as she looked over Luke’s shoulder to see Alex and Reggie still standing a few paces behind him. Reggie’s face was bright, his sunshine temperament back in full force. Alex was a little more guarded, but he was giving her an encouraging smile and there was cautious optimism swimming in his sage green eyes as he fiddled with one of his drumsticks. She inhaled deeply and let her breath out in one smooth exhale. The same sort of peacefulness from the night before settled over her.

“Okay. Okay, so we’re doing this.”

Luke’s whoop was so loud both her and Alex jumped. Reggie raced forward with a cheer to sling one arm around Luke’s shoulders and the other around Julie’s, pulling them so close to his chest that their noses nearly touched. Julie saw the blush staining Luke’s cheeks and felt her own warm to match. Alex coughed again.

“Reg, c’mon. Let it settle for just a sec before you go all human octopus on the poor girl.”

“Oh, right! Sorry, Jules!!”

Reggie released both of them quickly. Julie flicked her gaze between the three boys, enjoying the glimpses at their band dynamic. Alex’s words had sounded a bit exasperated, but there was a fondness running through them as well. He gave a half-hearted roll of his eyes at Reggie’s abrupt movements and reached his own long arm out to pull the dark-haired boy close.

“Help me unload the van? I still don’t trust our little Lukey boy with my kit.”

“Hey! That was one time!”

Luke sounded downright offended. The dark look Alex leveled at him in response had Julie choking back a laugh with a badly disguised cough. Clearly once of whatever he did was enough. Luke pouted, arms flexing as they crossed over his chest.

“You put your foot through my bass drum, and you think that isn’t reason enough not to trust you with it ever again?”

Luke sputtered, eyes flicking to Julie and back to Alex as his ears reddened.

“I told you I didn’t see it!”

“It’s the biggest part of the kit, dumbass. Literally the hardest thing to miss.”

Alex’s voice was as unimpressed as it was dismissive. Luke threw his hands in the air as the other boys headed out of the studio, laughing amongst themselves. It was clear this was a regular argument between the two, no heat or anger left in it, only a loving sort of tease. Like the way Carlos still brought up that time she accidentally gave him a concussion double-bouncing him off of their neighbor’s trampoline when he wanted something from her. Or the way her Tía would still laugh as she remembered the time her mom had almost gotten them both arrested for a bar fight on her 21st birthday, Ray affectionately filling in the parts that she tried to leave out. Warmth bloomed in her chest. This wasn’t just a band, wasn’t just a ragtag trio of friends. These guys were brothers. This was a family. And they were letting her into that intimate circle.

The thought was both humbling and nerve-wracking. This Showcase was a big deal. It wasn’t just some school assignment. This could impact their future as a band career-wise. They were all trusting her with this, fully believing in her, or at least, fully believing in Luke’s faith in her abilities. She wasn’t sure anyone had ever believed in her like that. Not anyone that hadn’t known her since she was in diapers. Her head swam, knees feeling a bit weak. She stumbled her way over to the couch, collapsing onto it with a barely audible huff. Luke was in front of her instantly, crouched down so they were face to face. His hands twitched in his lap, but he didn’t reach for her.

“Hey. Julie. Breathe.”

She sucked in a breath, zeroing in on nothing more than his face. After a few seconds she realized he was breathing in and out slowly, just loud enough for her to hear over the jumble of thoughts running amok in her brain. She matched her own inhales and exhales to his, the room slowly coming back into focus as her head cleared. He gave her one of those soft smiles she was starting to think of as hers.

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. But I wouldn’t have stopped you in school if I didn’t think you were gonna rock it. I heard you last night. I listened to you for years before last night.”

His chin dropped in embarrassment for just a second before he pulled his gaze back up to hers. Julie felt like she was on the edge of a cliff. Not for the first time she wished she knew how long this version of Luke had been lurking under the surface. It took everything in her not to let herself step off that ledge and fall.

“Music is in your soul. It’s a part of you. Not everyone is like that, but you are. Your life without music...”

He tapered off like the thought was physically painful to him, eyebrows furrowing in a slight wince.

“Living without music would be like living in a world without stars: dark and empty and uninspired. You deserve galaxies, Julie. You deserve the chance to shine exactly like the star you are, and the world deserves the chance to hear you. Please, just...have a little faith?”

She saw it then. As he gazed at her with those bottomless ocean eyes, with that special smile on his lips and sincerity bleeding through every word, she knew. Luke was like her. Luke got it. In a way that no one else except her mom ever had. That’s what this was. They were kindred spirits, two sides of the same coin. And that feeling? The wind rushing through her hair and stealing her breath away while her limbs all turned to jelly feeling? That was definitely her falling head over heels off of the cliff and into Luke Patterson completely.

“Okay.”

She breathed out, and his answering smile set off the butterflies she thought had finally left her stomach. He stood up and held a hand out to her, easily pulling her to her feet in one smooth movement.

“You know,” his smile turned rueful, “eventually you’re gonna have to answer one of my questions with something other than ‘okay’. That’s a pretty passive word, and I’m not really a passive type of person. I wanna start hearing some ‘hell yeah’s and ‘awesome’s pretty soon.”

Julie rolled her eyes, moving away from Luke to set up her keyboard. He gave her a bouncy little shrug of his shoulders, and she let the levity of his joke wash over her, releasing the last bit of nerves. She could do this. Luke believed in her. Her mom believed in her. Hell, Alex and Reggie believed in her and she barely even knew them. She could do this, just like her mom had said.

Noise from the other boys making their way up the driveway had her rushing to pull both doors to the studio open so they could haul in Alex’s drum kit. The three of them left together to grab amps and guitars, Julie finishing the rest of the set up in the garage. Before she had time to overthink things or freak out again, they were all settled into their spots and Alex was counting down for their first run through. Fingers against the keys, Julie breathed out, opened her mouth, and began to play.

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knullanon · 4 years ago

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black beetle won the fight yall

anyway heres that fic, sorry it doesn’t include him until the end, imma probably write a part 2, but only if yall want it lmao

warnings: homeless man being weird, underage drinking (reader does no drinking), kidnapping, running, lmk if there should be anything else!

words: 1715

“Jesus, _______, you don’t even have a public snapchat, what in the name of fuck makes you think that you’ll actually gain some followers on instagram?”

You rolled your eyes, and gave a small glare to your friend, who was sitting on your bed, scrolling through her phone. Currently it was almost 11 pm, and it was a miracle that Vanessa's parents were out on a weekend vacation. It was Friday night, and they had left her with you in the morning when you both had left for school. After that, well, it was chaos from there. You both had gone shopping, eating, and even got some… contraband from one of her friends. Currently, she was high as fuck sitting on your bed, and stating almost every opinion you were assuming she had hidden from you for your almost 2 year long friendship.

And it was not pretty.

“Seriously, you always bitch about that one chick, what's her name, Kathrine? You act like her opinion is the definition of your future. Like, who give a fuck if she thinks you’re too fat? You look like… fuck, what was I gonna say? I don’t remember.”

She was in the hyper and “paranoid” part of smoking weed a few minutes ago, but now that she's high and more relaxed, she's really let her bars down. It was kinda annoying you that she never mentioned to tell you this shit, but to be honest, you would’ve started crying if she said this shit in front of a bunch of people.

You mainly ignored her comments, most of them about your confidence issues and the fact that any opinion that was stated about you took 100% seriously. It hurt a little, hearing her say these things, but you reminded yourself that she's high, she doesn’t know what she's talking about, and it was a completely normal thing for people who were high to start spewing bullshit… probably. You’ve never seen her this high, but it was interesting to see her act like this.

One comment made you particularly mad, when she said, “You always act like there’s gonna be someone to save you, or something, like, this isn’t fanfiction, _______, this is real life, where people aren’t going to care about some girl with daddy issues. Just, really, accept it, your dads an ass, and hey, maybe if you’re lucky, one of those fictional characters who you like will come out of nowhere and give you whatever you want.”

You gave here a look and then asked, “Vanessa, you’re drunk. Let’s just- ugh, let's just get you home.”

She didn’t object to you bringing her out the back of your porch (your neighbors were nosy) and you dragged her drunk ass through town, making sure to stay out of dark areas where people could grab you. Of course, there was no telling someone would actually do that, but you were still just a young girl: you couldn’t do jack shit against a 40 year old man.

Anyway, Vanessa was starting to regain her footing, and she was able to start walking n=by her own for the last 5 minutes. When you dropped her off, she insisted that she was able to walk by herself onto the steps and with that, you made sure she got inside her house, before you started walking back to your house.

Unfortunately, you had no idea that there were 2 people following you, both with completely different intentions.

~~~~

You ended up running when you saw the seemingly homeless man sprinting towards you. It was only a split second before you dodged his attack, where he would’ve had you in a neck hold, and you couldn’t have escaped: you were surprised that you even saw it in time.

However, you didn’t even try to feel the burning in your lungs, only the fear of what the man was going to do to you if he did catch you. You didn’t know where you were, going, you only followed your instinct. And it eventually led to you going down some weird alleway.

Which of course, you expected it to not work. It was long and dark as you turned but you didn’t have time to go back, he was right behind you, you could feel him. And then, almost halfway through the alleyway, you heard his shoes screech to a stop, and then him… gurgling? But when you turned around, you didn’t see anything, or anyone. Just one of his shoes. A singular, worn out shoe. You didn’t want to stay, oh no, you were getting the hell out of there and heading back home.

And while you sprinted out of the alleway, the second person who was following you was sitting on the top of the rooftop holding someone's dead body.

~~~~~

For the next few days, everything seemed like normal. Vanessa didn’t mention anything about the shit talking, she didn’t say shit about you walking her home either, and nothing about that weird homeless man and his weird bullshit. You felt relieved on the fourth day: nothing strange had happened, and you felt like something was slowly coming off your shoulders: nothing bad was going to happen, everything would continue as normal.

Right?

You still had no evidence of anything happening, and Vanessa seemingly didn’t remember shit about the day, so you had to assume that it was just some weird dream: maybe you drank some beer with her and you ended up like this. You didn’t know if it really did happen, to be honest: you were doubting yourself.

So, a week after the whole thing, you decided to head back to that weird alleway to see if there was anything that could help you. Putting on your most concealing outfit, just some sweatpants and a hoodie, you ventured out and started to wander around, wondering where the hell you went. Eventually you traced your steps, remembering little bits from the strange… night? Dream? You didn't know, which was also the reason why you were even here. Did that bullshit really happen?

You saw some evidence of you being there: a trash can that was still knocked over from the man, the man's little area he had set up to live, which was now taken over by another person, your pencil you had dropped trying to get away from him which was… in surprisingly good condition. You didn’t know why that gave you a feeling of dread when you recognized the alleyway: it looked like any other, but there was just… something off putting about it, even in the daytime.

When you approached, you heard something rattle, like something metal had dropped. You rushed in, only to see just that, a trash can lid rattling on the ground, like someone was there.

And along with it, that damn show that the man had left behind, this time, it was moved slightly.

Ok, now this was weird.

~~~~~

You didn’t like the feeling you got when you were walking back home. It was still bright out, many people out and about, happy and glowing in the sun.

You didn’t feel like that. You felt terrible. You felt like the sun was going to melt you with all of your layers of clothes, but you didn’t focus on that. You focused on the fact that yes, that night was real, and that it happened, and that that homeless man was gone and you had no idea where he could be. Of course, you didn’t care for a maniac like him, but it was the fact that he was gone that was bothering you. While on the way back home, you wondered what Vanessa would say about it, but you eventually decided against it.

She would call you crazy and say that you were making it up for attention, for starters, and you would also have to explain why you were bringing her home, which would then have to have you explain why you wanted her out of the house. Not a situation you wanted to deal with.

Anyway, as long as that weird man didn’t show up again, you would be fine. He couldn’t do anything to you anyway, right? He wasn’t even there! It had already been a week, what could he be doing?

Your fears were starting to calm down while you were making every excuse you could think of so that you wouldn’t have to worry about it. And then the part where he disappeared came into play. Sure, he had disappeared, but to where?

This made you think. Seriously, where had he gone? Where could he have gone? And why did it sound like someone was choking him when you turned around-

… Was there always a 7 foot tall man in your backyard? No, no there wasn’t. Quickly hiding, you tried to see what he was, but it was no use. He was really hidden, like you. Pulling out your phone, in case he actually saw you. Which you soon found out that yes, yes he did.

You don’t know when he actually was able to get to you, but apparently, it was quick. You didn’t even hear him when he grabbed you by the back of your neck and pulled you up: almost like a kitten and their mother.

You looked up to see some weird armored figure. His armor was black, with little accents of grey here and there. He had two spikes on his back and he also didn’t have a nose. He looked… weird, a little, yes, but you were more worried about the bigass sword that had formed in his other hand.

He stood taller (how?) before he asked, “Tell me, where are your parents?”

“Parents?”

“Yes, that’s what I asked.”

“I-I don’t know.”

“Well, are they in the house with you?”

“N-No, I don’t think so-”

“Great. Then you won’t need to worry about what’s about to happen.”

Before you could ask, he gave you a quick slap to the neck, and you felt something almost pinch your skin. You were going to scream, but nothing came out. Instead, you only fell into a pit of sleep, and you fell more and more, until you only heard wind rushing through your ears, before nothing more.

_______________

yall im tired af lol I should’ve answered more asks but im getting real slow and im sorry. ill try to get more requests out, im just getting overwhelmed by bullshit irl lol

#yandere black beetle

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peepingtoad · 5 years ago

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THE POSITIVE & NEGATIVE; Mun & Muse - Meme.

fill out & repost ♥ This meme definitely favors canons more, but I hope OC’s still can make it somehow work with their own lore, and lil’ fandom of friends & mutuals. Multi-Muses pick the muse you are the most invested in atm.

My muse is: canon / oc / au / canon-divergent / fandomless /

Is your character popular in the fandom? YES / NO / 50-50 (There’s a lot of love and a lot of hate, but I think many are actually pretty neutral on him too!)

Is your character considered hot™ in the fandom? YES / NO / 50-50 (I’d say he may be an... acquired taste? Of course a lot of people I know here find him sexie so it’s hard to say for certain, heh. We may just be the weirdos of the fandom :P )

Is your character considered strong in the fandom? YES / NO

Are they underrated? YES / NO (Not in terms of ability, but underrated for just how complex and multi-layered he is, I’d say)

Were they relevant for the main story? YES / NO.

Were they relevant for the main character? YES / NO /

Are they widely known in their world? YES / NO.

How’s their reputation? GOOD / BAD / NEUTRAL (I honestly think he’s a man of many reputations, both in canon and in fandom :’D)

How strictly do you follow canon? — I’m very much a ‘use the bones of what we got in canon and do my best to flesh them out’ kinda roleplayer. There are some things that can be taken too easily at face value that I see fit to build upon. For example, I think Jiraiya’s feelings on the prophecy and his relationship with Konoha is something that could be too easily played off as simplistic, or like they were immovable constants. But that’s unrealistic for a man of his years and many experiences, so I try to put myself in his emotional setting at various points in his life, and trace how his feelings and behaviours change, if that makes sense?

I try to avoid saying that any of the writing was straight up wrong because it’s disrespectful to the creator. But especially for Jiraiya, who had such a significant role to play in the narrative that it sometimes took precedence over his actual character, I do find some of his actions, and the way some interactions were handled in the canon to be a little OOC... so I’ll work with it and try to spin it in a way that I feel fits how he was characterised.

Basically, I’d say that I follow canon, but I like to enrich it in areas that were lacking detail or a nuanced view that took in all the surrounding events of the time. After Jiraiya’s canon death, of course, that’s when more divergence comes in to my portrayal... otherwise I wouldn’t be able to play any post-war scenarios! But the essence of his character is the same, which I try to keep as close to canon as possible.

SELL YOUR MUSE! Aka try to list everything, which makes your muse interesting in your opinion to make them spicy for your mutuals. — A man of many experiences! You can bet that any topic that comes up, he’ll have some sort of amusing anecdote to share, or be able simply to talk shit about it. He's seen so much, and has a sensitive soul enough that he’ll give anyone a chance; he’s very open-minded and non-judgemental, and honestly is a humanitarian that wants to help those in need. Might leave your muse a little baffled as to how he could hold the status of ‘legend’, only to show it when they least expect it. You never quite know what you’re going to get with him: he’s generous and selfless, yet has many vices that seem selfish at times; he’s both a lover and a fearsome fighter; he’s immensely resilient at the same time as incredibly vulerable and damaged; he’s a himbo and a bit of a jock with the soul of a poet. Love him with no restraint and invite his love in return, and you’ll get not only a lover, but a devotee. Wears his heart on his sleeve... or does he? Chip away at him and find out!

Now the OPPOSITE, list everything why your muse could not be so interesting (even if you may not agree, what does the fandom perhaps think?). — The pervy, flirty, jokey schtick could get grating, or come across as disingenuous. In romantic situations, he’ll keep quiet about putting a label on whatever it is, and beneath his overall sweetness and devotion there may be an underlying reek of commitment issues and a fear of admitting he is afraid. He also has a habit of deflecting negativity in general, and playing things off as if they don’t matter or they’re a joke, making him actually rather a difficult person to get to know the heart of. One might feel as if they’re getting nowhere with him...

... Either that, or they get the complete opposite. Yes, as equally as he can be guarded, he can overshare like crazy, and has a tendency to become codependent with those he gets attached to, which is inconsistent with his free-spirited nature, and how adept he is at keeping others at arm’s length from his less sunny side. This inconsistency might make him seem unreliable—if the fact he’s always off who-knows-where doesn’t do the trick already.

What inspired you to rp your muse? — I’ve been a big fan of the Sannin ever since I first read the Deadlock, but being a very young person at the time I perhaps couldn’t relate enough to people who had experienced so much to do them justice in my teenage fic-writing endeavours, so I remained on the sidelines enjoying content by other people (there may also have been a little bit of ‘what the fuck, why do I dig the old dude so much’ denial in there haha). I’ve picked up and dropped my obsession with the series several times over the years, and my love for those three seemed to grow each time. They really are ‘the lost generation’, and as the sole survivors—alongside having a huge impact on the plot, how the shinobi world is shaped, and the three main protagonists—there’s a lot of juicy material there, a lot of emotional background, along with decades of history that basically goes untapped in the canon.

Anyway, I digress. Coming to the Naruto RPC for the first time around this time 2 years ago at the age of 25, I made this blog and my Deidara one on a whim, but focused on the latter at first. Villains were always comfortable territory for me in my other RP experiences, and I think it made me doubt that I could possibly do someone who is frankly a lovely guy any justice, no matter how much I loved him. I even had the intention of making him fully Akatsuki/Missing-Nin AU at first. Yeah. That’s how stuck in my villain/anti-hero zone I was! But, I think in the end, the fact he actually isn’t a two-dimensional typical ‘hero’ was something I chewed over and realised would be incredibly enriching to write, worth stepping out of my comfort zone for. And being a little more mature and less angst-ridden myself by that point, I found I could resonate with his feelings and ideals in a way that I know I couldn’t have as a teen... but I was still tentative.

Anyway, after leaving his blog empty for a bit (with its placeholder URL ‘frogdaddy’, which sadly got hoarded by someone else), I cosplayed the old bastard, along with my partner as Orochimaru. We’d been stanning that particular ship and talking about how great the Sannin are in general for quite some time by that point, but being casually in character for fun while drunk off my tits at a boat party, was a bit of an epiphanic moment. Not long after that, I threw myself right into writing this chaotic-good old bastard with gusto, and here I still am :’)

What keeps your inspiration going? — Taking breaks to recharge as and when I need to. Seriously. The death of all my other blogs has been pressure (mostly from myself) to be there and force myself to put out regular content, so I went into this not thinking that way and it’s really helped!

Of course, there’s also the fact that there simply seems to be no shortage of areas I can delve into with this guy. Again, it’s his age and all the missing years in canon... but I think it’s also how much love he has and his genuine eagerness to engage with others that makes him one of the most naturally bountiful muses I’ve played. Because honestly? Most of my villain muses wanted people to just fuck off :’D this guy is open to everything.

That aside, I guess I just gel with him more than I ever expected to. I’ve changed a lot as a person and gained more confidence since various areas of my life got better, and I really just vibed with this chill, funny, romantic, pervy, big-hearted energy. I enjoy angst, but my real love is peppering the serious and heartbreaking with romance and comedy—and isn’t that just befitting of him? Writing through his eyes also helps to keep my outlook positive, so that keeps me stuck on him as much as the seemingly limitless content potential.

And this is without even going into my cross-fandom AU ideas I have on the back-burner. Honestly, they’re there but I want to put a real effort into them while keeping his essence the same, which for some, involves brushing up on my lore!

Some more personal questions for the mun.

Give your mutuals some insight about the way you are in some matters, which could lead them to get more comfortable with you or perhaps not.

Do you think you give your character justice? YES / NO.

Do you frequently write headcanons? YES / NO.

Do you sometimes write drabbles? YES / NO / RARELY. (depends on whether I get a flash of inspiration—which mostly comes with random asks that happen to stir up an idea for a scene, such as this one (NSFW warning))

Do you think a lot about your Muse during the day? YES / NO.

Are you confident in your portrayal? YES / NO.

Are you confident in your writing? YES / NO.

Are you a sensitive person? YES / 50-50 /NO. (I tend not to take things personally but am also very passionate—call it my innate Leo-ness!)

Do you accept criticism well about your portrayal? — Hmmm. I haven’t actually had any critique on my portrayal, so I’m not sure haha! I’d say if it’s constructive, then I’ll take it into account and consider it, especially if it’s a case where it helps me realise I’ve perhaps not gotten across what I intended to very well. But I’m also quite fond of my portrayal in its essence, so I may end up just thanking the person for their opinion and carry on as usual :P

Do you like questions, which help you explore your character? — Absolutely! I’ve had some wonderful ones recently and it’s exactly the kick I need to get ideas out, some of which I’ve had on the back-burner but not had a framework within which to write it without it getting derailed. I definitely appreciate a question that will keep me at least a little on-topic, otherwise if I go off on my own volition I really tend to... well, go off! Even if a question is a similar topic to something I’ve already done, it’s a good exercise for me to go back to the similar headcanon and see if I can build further on it, deviate, and link it to show what past thoughts I’ve been working with. A great way of keeping some consistency in my portrayal while making improvements, I find! And then of course I’ve had some questions that are entirely new morsels for thought, and it leads me to something new and fresh, which I greatly appreciate.

Basically, any questions at all, fire away! I may take a while but I will get to them eventually!

If someone disagrees to a headcanon of yours, do you want to know why? — Yeah. I mean I think it’s just polite to present a reason as to why not, instead of just being like ‘this is wrong/a bad take’ or whatever. Source material is down to personal interpretation, so if I draw different ideas from it to another person after discussion, then we can simply agree to disagree on it.

If someone disagrees with your portrayal, how would you take it? — They are welcome to disagree with me I guess? So long as they’re respectful and don’t then treat me as if my interpretation is ‘AU’ or talk about ‘canon Jiraiya’ as if he’s obviously a different entity to my own, then disagree away. But if prompted enough, know that I will most likely defend my portrayal with what I consider to be justification from the source material :P I did pay close attention to it, after all, and I do consider my portrayal to align well with it.

If someone really hates your character, how do you take it? — Depends on the nature of it and the conduct, really? Like, people are allowed to dislike characters. I myself find a couple of characters pretty annoying or don’t particularly care for them (granted, usually it’s in a love-to-hate or simply a ‘this character doesn’t interest me’ way), but that doesn’t affect how I behave towards the RPer of a character. It’s just manners, really. People tend to RP characters because they like them, so why would you take negativity right to their doorstep, in this space they’ve made as an expression of enjoyment for, and to develop said character?

There’s been some people who admitted to me that they didn’t care much for Jiraiya, but then began to like him more with my portrayal and that’s more than fine; I take it as the highest compliment in fact. It’s also the kind of open-minded attitude I like to have with portrayals of characters I don’t necessarily like or have much interest in, because by and large, people do tend to add more depth and nuance than the busy and character-packed canon allowed.

However, if it’s the type of hate that’s got its own devoted circle of bitter bitches, who seem to use so much energy hating a character... then please, don’t engage me. Doesn’t matter who the character is, don’t expect me to follow/keep following your negative ass if it’s constant on the dash—and if the target character is any of the Sannin then frankly I’ll have probably blocked/blacklisted in a heartbeat. The ‘critical’ views of them tend to diminish them as humans, diminish the context and events that surrounded their choices, and in a way that I find is a gross double standard compared to what people will allow other (read: young, attractive, fandom faves, ‘babies’ or ‘beans’) to get away with and excuse the behaviours of. I don’t need that kinda negative energy sullying my hobby, nor do I need moral superiority that isn’t applied consistently across the board.

Are you okay with people pointing out your grammatical errors? — Absolutely! I meticulously fret and check, and cringe when I get a reply and happen to spot errors while rereading what I wrote before it! I edit a lot but don’t always pick up on errors, so I’m more than happy to have it pointed out. Chances are, I’ll be far more brutal to myself about it than anyone else would be!

Do you think you are easy going as a mun? — Overall, yeah. I’m not possessive or clingy (I don’t think) and don’t expect the world from people, nor for them to focus on or favour me or be super fast. I just expect the same respect in return. Having said that, I will express it when I don’t like something or it makes me uncomfortable, provided we’re familiar enough, because if we’re strangers I’d feel like I was coming across as entitled to your energy and emotional labour. I do my best to be diplomatic about it though, and rest assured it doesn’t mean I’m forever mad at you or turned off in any way just because I have a small grievance. I just find that being honest with each other rather than letting things pile up and fester makes a friendship more solid, and basically more genuine and long-lasting.

That’s about it, congrats for filling out!

Tagged by: @dokuhebi Tagging: Whoever hasn’t done this yet!

#this got super long yikes #{dash games}#{ooc}#{long post}

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heuristicallyinclined · 5 years ago

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MallekWeek2020 Day 3 Writing Prompt

Day 3: Mallek discovering his god tier powers

(AO3)

Day 3: Meeting MSPA Reader for the first time in a while

Nobody Knows (AO3)

This a larger fic I’ve been working on for a bit now. Posting the link to this too since I updated it today and it’s relevant. The read more contains a ficlet of the god tier prompt.

Summary: Mallek finds out about an unusual game from an even more unusual source.

Notes: So this was really hard to write because it has been a decent while since I have thought of the actual game mechanics of Homestuck.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

It was only out of curiosity that you accepted the chat request that night. You were also bored and tired and not making any progress on the code you were working on, so they made for an excellent distraction. The username, "alieninvasionofone," seemed funny to you and you couldn't work out what was going on in their profile picture. Some kind of image editing? You had to admit, you were kinda curious as to how they found you. You don't use social media at all and that line wasn't public. You always used vpns and encryptions when messaging people on it and you thought you had made a pretty airtight, secure communication system. Guess not.

They immediately introduced themselves with black text that made you wonder if they were trying too hard to be edgy with the hemoanonymity or something. Maybe they were pulling this whole alien thing for attention or were a very committed roleplayer? Either way, they were very weirdly excited to talk to you "for the first time on your end." Whatever that meant. You asked them who they were and how they found you, thinking they were another hacker. They said they were an alien that you would befriend in the future and that you would tell them how to. You called bullshit on that.

Thinking they were someone who must have caught you slipping somehow, you asked what the fuck they wanted before you found them and sent drones to their location. They said that that wouldn’t work because they were in some "semistable pocket of space and time" and were really sorry to have scared you. They said they needed you to help them help you get things moving. They said they were your friend, or at least would eventually be, and wanted to help you out. You tried to trace them to find them to find them, to figure out who was fucking with you. But they just, didn't seem to be anywhere? Which didn't make sense. What kind of help were they even trying to offer you? What did they have that they thought you wanted?

You almost severed the connection when they said they wanted to help you get out of your ordeals and escape the planet. You didn't talk about that shit with anyone, they especially shouldn't have known about it. But they said it was future you who told them. Maybe normally you would think you had a stalker, but they described what you apparently said to them in detail and it was way too accurate. It was starting to freak you out. You asked them what the fuck it is that they wanted you to do. They said you had to go spelunking. The fuck?

They gave you the coordinates to what was supposed to be an ancient code that would help you get out of your ordeals. You asked what was the catch and they said there was no catch, and from their end you already did this and they were just helping you get started. The easy part would be finding it. The hard part would be turning it into an executable file that you would need to send to them and that they would send to their other friends.

You asked why they didn't just do it on their own since they were apparently savvy enough to find you. They said they "weren't a hacker, sorry, information specialist" like you and had to follow your specific instructions to get this connection going. They knew your dumb joke? This felt weird. This felt very fucking weird. But they hadn't threatened you and you were running out of ideas.

Eventually, despite all logic, you agreed.

Finding some ancient code scratched into a cave wall that promised escape from the planet and not having to go through your ordeals seemed like a wild honkbeast chase from someone who wanted to fuck with you in the weirdest ways. You were hesitant to do it, but as much as you didn’t want to admit it, you were running out of time and you would try anything to try to get more of it. Even riding your rocketboard to the middle of nowhere because your future alien friend said you would find something there.

After making it to the cavern and venturing in, you were able to see it for yourself and you were astounded. Lines and lines of code carved deeply into the cave walls, you traced a claw along the characters, their edges had rounded a bit over time, but it was still completely legible. You were maybe starting to rethink things. This code looked like it had been there for hundreds of sweeps and was written in a way that preceded the invention of husktops, but didn’t look too hard to make compatible.

The thought that you even could was wild. Trying it at all was insane but you didn’t really have much to lose. You thought there was just about as good of a chance of the code you found actually coherently running as there there was you having some kind of last second breakthrough in controlling the drones. So nonexistent, but you were getting desperate and this was starting to intrigue you.

While you were working on it, the alien would message you from time to time to check up on you. They gave you some more information as to what this would all even do. You didn’t believe them at the time. Still, you liked video games and Alternia was already wild as hell, so it couldn't be too bad, if they, again, weren't completely insane and wasting your very limited time with this.

It was kinda nice to have someone checking up on you though, especially when it was just chatting about dumb stuff, they were easy to talk to. You could see how you could become friends with them. If any of what they said actually made sense, you probably would already be. You tried to ask them about how they were even talking to you.

Because from what you understand, they, the alien, were talking to you, past Mallek, because future you told them to and they were friends. But this was something future you told them to do since it already happened to him. And they agreed since from their perspective, future you had started talking to them around when they first started the game and future you had already gotten a lot of help from future them in the beginning and had to do it to complete some kind of time loop. Where and how the fuck did the original convergence occur? Meeting each other because you would meet each other sounded paradoxical as hell. The more they told you, the less you felt you understood.

To be fair, they said they didn’t super get it either, which wasn’t super reassuring on your end. Time was apparently your domain and you would eventually understand it to the point of being able to pull this off. Also something about the inherent connection of serpents to time? You guess you can thank the future you for this pan-ache. Which is probably the most believable thing they’ve said.

When you were done, they seemed ecstatic and said that they would start organizing shit with the rest of their friends. They had apparently been planning something big for a while and you would eventually be helping them cause the events that would lead to you currently helping them? It didn’t make much sense, but you were used to it at that point. You didn't hear from them in awhile after that, even if it was mostly bullshit, you kinda missed hearing from them.

They messaged you one more time before they told you to run the file. They said that time flows weirdly in the medium, so when you enter it and finally start messaging them after you found your footing, it would be the beginning for them. So they wouldn’t know you at all. This left you a bit more distressed than you thought it would. Sure they caught you really off guard in the beginning, but they were pretty chill when they weren’t going into game mechanics. They even listened to you rant about stuff and you sent each other dumb shit. You had kinda grown to like this little weirdo and the idea of them not knowing who you were at all, you didn’t like it.

They said that the game was going to start soon and that they hoped you were ready to make an alien friend in the future. You told them you already did and that you would see them on the other side. They said you absolutely would.

You had the file, and were ready to run it. You were nervous, but it was this or nothing. You ran it.

When you finally did, that was when shit really popped off.

And that led you to now. Once you were in the game though, you met up with their other friends who all seemed to have met them through pretty convoluted mechanics. With a large group, things were pretty hectic, but at least you had numbers on your side. You also found out you were one of three time players. You were all pretty different with one being a bronze rancher and the other being the actual fucking Marvus Xoloto, but despite your bickering, you were all pretty committed to getting shit done and not dying. Until now.

You finally made it to your quest bed. A red slab of rock greeted you ominously and you felt sick. You had seen a few others rise through death, saw what they had become capable of. You knew you needed to too, it was just, you were terrified. You had spent so long on Alternia, being careful, covering your tracks, and limiting what you did. It was to escape culling. And now you just, you’re supposed to die?

You had bonded with a few other trolls in the game, Diemen was even here and you two were cool, but you didn’t know if you had anyone you could necessarily call up because of your fear of death. You knew someone, you used to, but they didn’t know you now. You couldn’t message them the same way you used to. So you do the next best thing.

You send a friend request to alieninvasionofone.

Death did not come easily for you. But it did eventually. And after it did, you rose, more alive than ever before.

You floated, adorned in red robes and wings made for speed. You felt like you had been struck by lightning with you now being hyper aware of time. The past, present, and future, you could just dip in and take what you and others needed. It was all accessible to you now, yours for the taking.

You were never going to run out of time again.

You got a notification.

Your friend request had been accepted.

You had a temporal loop to create.

Notes: Can you tell that I don’t know anything about time loops or paradoxes?

#mallek adalov #mallekweek #mallekweek2020 #hiveswap #homestuck #my writing

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ayearofpike · 6 years ago

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Spooksville #23: Phone Fear

Pocket Books, 1998 113 pages, 9 chapters ISBN 0-671-00271-6 LOC: CPB Box no. 1872 vol. 29 OCLC: 40402284 Released November 1, 1998 (per B&N)

When Bryce’s phone rings, and the caller demands he do horrible things to a local man or face consequences, the gang figures it’s a prank caller out to get them. But then Bryce gets hurt, and Adam gets the next call, and they know it’s serious. How could someone know everything about everybody everywhere at every time? Maybe it’s not someone, but someTHING, come to life and possessing a malevolent desire to undermine humanity.

As complex as this cover is, it’s a drastic oversimplification of the story within. I feel like here, and also with The Creepy Creature, we’re starting to get more of the genre expectation that there should be a gross green monster out to get the kids in the book. Also, notice how the characters on the covers are not as consistent as with the first few stories. Like, we hadn’t seen Charisma Carpenter show up before, and now she’s being attacked by some kind of telephone lizard.

It might fit with the huge jump in time we’re being expected to swallow, or perhaps Pike is glossing over it while nodding to the fact that it’s been two years since the start of this series. Because in the opening pages, we find that Adam and Cindy are now two-year Spooksville residents, getting used to the town but still plagued by its evil and quirkiness. So that means the kids are now fourteen? Pike doesn’t say, but they have to be, even though I’m fairly certain he marked them as twelve as recently as The Living Dead. (EDIT: They are still twelve on page ONE of The Creepy Creature, and they’re twelve AGAIN on page 31 of The Witch’s Gift. Obviously Pike just fucked up.) Still, even though time has been sort of glossed over for the last couple of titles, I think this jump might be too big to swallow. Makes me think Pike just wasn’t paying attention.

Still, we learn that the school year is almost over (which is, again, another big jump, as Pee-Pants was just wearing Santa jammies six books ago) and the kids are looking forward to summer. They’re discussing plans and hopes when Bryce’s phone rings. Why does a twelve fourteen-year-old have a cell phone in 1998? Well, he had one hidden before, so this might not be so weird. But the voice on the other end tells him to go break the postman’s windows. Obviously Bryce is not going to do that, but they decide to go warn the guy that someone is maybe out to get him. On the way, though, a black van races out of nowhere and jumps the curb and clips Bryce, breaking his leg.

They get their friend to the hospital and stabilized, but then start talking about who might be after them. Is it just one person? How did he move so quickly to know that Bryce wasn’t going to enact the evil action and have him punished? Why does he sound like a computer? They try to go to the postman’s to do some research, but the guy isn’t answering his door. In fact, he blows out his own windows with a shotgun to scare the kids away and stop them going after him, like he knows something and is protecting himself.

Adam is still holding onto Bryce’s phone, and it rings again as they’re walking away. This is his first experience hearing the voice: it’s oddly mechanical, like it’s being diffused through a computer somehow. The speaker identifies himself as Nernit, and tells Adam to go burn down some old lady’s house with her inside. Again, he obviously refuses, and this is when the gang is set upon by a strange girl in a long coat with a knife. After aliens and witches and demons and giant robot crabs, a teenage girl is no match for Sally and Cindy, who quickly disarm her. It turns out that she is, in fact, working for Nernit, and that she was sent here from a neighboring town just in case Bryce and Adam failed to carry out their tasks.

So it’s more than just local? Watch starts to put some pieces together. What is it that uses the phone line to communicate, and has a worldwide presence and a near-bottomless found of knowledge to draw from? Might it sound like a computer because it IS a computer? Or perhaps a network of computers, some kind of, I don’t know, international network? That pronounces its name “Nernit” because that’s how the speech-to-text program parses “Neernitt,” an anagram for Internet?

But now Watch is pretty sure he can get in touch with the being that has emerged from connectivity consciousness. He goes online and Googles whatever-search-engine-it-was-in-1998s “Neernitt,” which quickly leads to a black screen with red text talking directly to him. The presence refuses to talk or negotiate, insisting that humans are tools and not valued as equals to it. But Watch is pretty sure we have something Neernitt wants: a body. Autonomy. Freedom to get out of the computer and do something with our physical selves. Watch can give this to Neernitt, and of course it agrees.

There’s one catch: they have to produce the body in a week. We don’t have the know-how or the technology — but the Lemurians did, and it just so happens that they buried a robot at the end of the last book. Adam’s all salty about digging her up to befoul her final form with this megalomaniacal computer monster, but Watch feels it’s the only bargaining chip they have. And so he works nonstop with Bryce’s help over the course of a week. They don’t have anything else to do, because Neernitt’s minions are guarding the house so they can’t leave, with orders to shoot to kill if they try. (I guess what’s weird about this, what doesn’t fit with the rest of the series, is that it is so LATE getting to Spooksville. Normally the bizarre shit STARTS in this town.)

Adam is concerned that his friend is going over to the dark side. He sees only one hope: get hold of a gun somehow and take the robot body hostage so that they can get free and then ... what? He hasn’t really thought that far ahead, and if Neernitt is, indeed, global, there’s nowhere they can run that they can’t be traced and taken down. Still, it’s all he’s got. He swipes a weapon from a sleeping guard and points it at the robot head, which really only serves to make us all realize how expendable humans are to Neernitt. It quickly and remorselessly gains the upper hand, but before anyone can act in killing Adam, Watch leaps in the way. He insists that he needs to protect his friend, and that the project is not completeable without him, and so if Neernitt commands the shooting it will never have a body. So Neernitt concedes and lets the kids live. For now. (Weirdly, the girl with the long coat slept through the whole standoff.)

A couple days later, the body is ready, and Watch plugs it into the computer so Neernitt can download itself. Now it is free to roam and act however it likes — but first it commands the humans under its control to go rest. They end up gathering in Watch’s room, talking about what life is going to be like under the unmerciful claw of an all-seeing robot network. Watch is actually kind of interested in the idea of becoming a robot himself, though, and the new girl concurs that it could be pretty good. So they get up and go back to Neernitt, where Watch encourages him to unplug and go outside. Neernitt agrees that it’s time, on one condition: Watch must demonstrate how little he cares for a human body by shooting one of his colleagues.

He doesn’t hesistate: He picks up the provided rifle and blasts the new girl right in the chest. This is enough for Neernitt, who allows himself to be unplugged. But you know what that means? That means his consciousness is now limited to the robot body he is in, and tricksy Watch has built in an electromechanical overload circuit that allows him to short out the computer and effectively kill off the robot. So we’re all safe! But didn’t Watch just shoot a dude?

Yes — with a blank. (Fuckin’ Pike and his blanks, I swear to god.) It turns out that New Girl is the mastermind behind the whole thing. Neernitt isn’t a naturally occurring emerging consciousness, it’s a program, written by this girl to effect change and evolution upon humanity. Watch figured it out because of speech patterns and commonalities between them, and also that even though she was supposed to have been asleep during the standoff the computer in her room was on. She admits that she’s controlled Neernitt since the beginning. She’s tired of feeling things, of being hurt, and figures that if she were a robot she wouldn’t have to feel anymore. (There is NO backstory or exposition on any of this; just a teenager being moody, I guess.) But she is surprised to have started having GOOD feelings for Bryce, which Cindy does not care for at all. But now, maybe she’s ready to suck it up and deal with the pain of existence if it can go along with happy and warm feelings.

Does this end the same way as the previous one? Kinda, right? With the exception that THIS girl is not actually a robot, and she doesn’t die in the end. I didn’t think I’d see this in Spooksville, actually, but it parallels the Archway books in that Pike seems to see the writing on the wall and is winding himself down to complete the contract with the bare minimum of effort. There’s only one more book left in the series, and I’ve been led to understand it goes too quickly to effectlvely wrap things up. Let’s find out if he actually gives us the goddamn Watch backstory I’ve been wanting for twenty-three books.

#spooksville #spookstober

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hamilkilo · 8 years ago

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Ardently

Prompt: ANONYMOUS: Request for hamilsquad x reader where one of them meets the reader at a coffee shop and kinda flirts with her asking her out and then tells her about the open relation ship a few weeks into there relationship and asked them if they would like to join them and the reader is really shy and has horrible social anxiety and is really worried about messing everything up (because this is aka me 24/7) Pairing: Mostly John Laurens X Reader, but also Poly!Hamilsquad X Reader TW: angst, drama, mild swearing, mentions of bigotry and intolerance, drama, self depreciating thoughts, social anxiety A/N: Hey guys! I’m really excited about this piece! I’m sorry for any typos; I pulled an all nighter to write this, so my brain is a bit fuzzy. I really hope y'all enjoy this! I did my best! If you want me to tag anything, please let me know! I want you to feel safe when reading my work! I love y'all so much!!!! Please enjoy! Word Count: 10755

You liked to live by your aesthetics. You went to used book stores downtown, took polaroids of old buildings, went out of your way to a quaint little coffee shop for the feel of it. After you had gone to the bookshop, it was a habit of yours to go to the coffee shop, buy a warm drink, and read your book at a table near the window. You usually made the trip on a rainy day, for the aesthetic. You used old Polaroids as bookmarks and you wrote comments or thoughts in the margins of your book with a pink pen. The light chatter of background noise was soothing as you reread one of the Jane Austen’s. It was your first copy, therefore the most beaten up. You had always been a romantic, probably for the aesthetic. Which came first? Did your aesthetics extend from your romanticism, or did the romanticism stem from your aesthetics? It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that you loved the idea of love. You were deeply engrossed in your book when you heard the sound of the chair across from you being pulled out. Someone sat down, but you buried your nose in the book. What would Elizabeth do? Would she accept Mr. Darcy’s love? Of course, you knew the answer, but you read the book each time like you had no idea. You just hoped that your guest would get the hint and leave you to read. “Excuse me, I couldn’t help but notice that you’re reading Pride and Prejudice,” a smooth voice commented, and you glanced up at the boy. Your breath caught when you saw how cute he was with his curls and freckles. You almost shoved your nose into the spine of the book in nervousness. You knew you should probably say something, but you didn’t wanna mess it up. What if you accidentally offended him? “Um, Yeah?” You managed to squeak out, and the guy smiled. He leaned closer, as if to get a peak at your face, but you were quick to bring the book back up. You fiddled with one of your polaroids to calm yourself. “I think Mr. Darcy is a pompous prick that nowhere near deserves someone as well thought and versed as Elizabeth,” the boy stated bravely, and your switch flipped. You didn’t know how to talk to strangers about the weather, but you knew how to talk books, especially if you were defending one of your favorite romances.

“Excuse me, sir, but I’d have to disagree with you. Your judgement is clouded by main character infatuation. As readers, we have the bad habit to believe that the protagonist is the hero, a do-gooder. Elizabeth wasn’t! She was harshly judgmental of her own family and quick to damn everyone else. While she wasn’t as upfront about it as Miss Bingley, she wasn’t exactly discreet about it. You’d have to be brick stupid not to see how she and Mr. Darcy are horridly wonderful for each other. They’re both horrible, judgmental people with ridiculous prejudices and even worse pride. They were made for each other!” You narrowed your eyes at him while he stared at you. Your cheeks were bright red from your outburst, your heart hammering. You could not believe you just did that. He just shared his opinion! You didn’t have to go ahead and give him an essay! This wasn’t literature and composition! You bit your lip and slowly brought your book back up, but his hand caught the top of it. You glanced down at his hand, then back up at him. “Dare I say, but you sound like Elizabeth. Passing judgment on them would make you just the same as her, right?” He asked softly, and you scoffed. “It’s human to judge, just like its human to be ugly and horrible to each other,” you dismissed, tugging on your book to no avail. “That’s a rather dreary outlook on life. Surely not everyone is as bad? You don’t seem ugly,” he smiled at you at his last comment, and you felt your face heat. “I haven’t met anyone capable of proving me different,” you countered, and he smirked. “Darlin’,” he drawled, and you melted. “You’ve been meeting the wrong people.” You laughed out loud, “And who would you call right people?” “I dunno,” he glanced around the coffee shop, then back at you. “I know a few.” “Uh huh,” you sassed, giving up on the book and placing a Polaroid in your spot. You closed the book, almost on his hand, and he grinned at you. “There’s the little bookworm, coming out to greet the world,” he teased in a weird voice, and you crinkled your nose. “No, I can’t read when your enormous hand is covering the page and weighing down my book,” you replied with a faux annoyance. “Why read about adventures when you can live them?” The boy asked as he reclined back in his seat and gazed at you. You tugged on the end of your scarf anxiously. “Books are better than people,” you stated simply, and he shrugged. “You’ve picked up the right books and wrong people,” he restated his previous claim, and you rolled your eyes. “Well, you go out there and find the right people, write a book about it, send it to the coffee shop, and I’ll read it,” you tried to sound frigid, but the boy saw right through that. He was determined. “I think you’re afraid,” he accused casually, and you went straight into RBF. “Afraid?” Your voice was monotone. “Yeah, I think you’re afraid of the adventure out there. You’re afraid of the Miss Bingleys, Janes, and Mr. Darcys. You’re afraid to get your heart broken. You’re afraid to love and be loved,” he took a breath like was about to go on, but you interrupted. “Who do you think you are? Dr. Phil? Oprah? You don’t even know me! Don’t go psychoanalyzing me!” You were only defensive because you knew he was right. Only you weren’t afraid, you were petrified. You liked books because the dialog was there. With books, you didn’t risk saying something wrong. You didn’t risk messing anything up. Books were safe. “It’s alright, sugar. It was just a hunch. I’m sorry I got you worked up,” he reached out and patted your hand soothingly, and your breath caught. He was so cute. He was talking to you. And you yelled at him. Oh boy. How had he not flipped yet? Somehow, you still couldn’t stop yourself, “You’re worse than Mr. Darcy.” The boy paused, then began to laugh. He chortled like there was no tomorrow. It got to the point where he was downright cackling. “That may be true,” he stared once he had sobered up, “But I think you’d make a wonderful Elizabeth, and I mean that as a compliment.” Your cheeks tinged, and you reached for your book, but you bumped his hand instead, and he carefully entwined his fingers around yours. “If you want,” he murmured as he traced his thumb across your knuckles, “I could introduce you to the people I was talking about.” You bit your lip, unsure. He was nice, but he know how to get a bustle in your hedgerow. You glanced at him and remembered what he had said about fear, then you found yourself nodding. “Great! Let me get your number, and I’ll set it up!” He beamed at you, and you bit your lip. You could have just put your number into his phone, but you lived for your aesthetics, and you wrote your number on the back of a black and white Polaroid of you against a brick wall before you gave it to him. With another shy smile tossed over your shoulder at him, you hurried from the shop. Hopefully, he’d lose your number. You’d embarrassed yourself enough for a lifetime.

Sadly, he did not lose your number. A few hours later, he had texted you. “Hey, Elizabeth,” was his cheeky greeting, but despite your heated embarrassment, you found yourself grinning. You felt like a school girl. You saved his contact in your phone as Mr. Darcy, nailing down the pompous prick part of his personality. “I’m sorry for yelling at you earlier,” you began to type, but you bit your lip and reconsidered. Then, you deleted it all and typed up a different message. “Hey.” Short and simple, was it too short? You grimaced as you hit send. You were such an idiot. You wished you were half as quick witted and good with words as Elizabeth. Your phone buzzed, and you found yourself grinning when you saw it was from Mr. Darcy. “So no one is available to actually hang out until about a month from today. For some reason, Eliza likes to plan things week in advance, which also ties up her girlfriend, Maria. I figured you’d like them most. They remind me of Jane.” You rolled your eyes. If only your high school English teacher could see you now. You were doing text to world connections. She’d be so proud. Somewhat relieved that you didn’t have to meet anyone any time soon, you feigned disappointment in your text, trying not to be rude. “That sucks! I was so looking forward to meeting the right people.” Right people. Jeez, this guy was way more arrogant than Mr. Darcy could even aspire to be. But he was also wayyy cuter than any of the Mr. Darcy’s you’d ever seen in the movies. “If you want, we can hang out next Friday night. I can take you to a club my friend works at!” When you read that message, you frowned. Dang. You faked your disappointment too well. You could always fake being sick, but you didn’t want to be rude, especially since he was making so much effort to be nice. “Okay,” you replied, keeping it short. You had found that the shorter the replies, the littler room for error. He didn’t respond right away. You weren’t sure how long had passed, only that you had read another thirty pages into your book when your phone buzzed. “So when you aren’t playing English teacher with some stranger at a cafe, what are you doing?” You felt embarrassment course through you. You were so lame. He was right. Ugh, you wished the ground would swallow you up. You had probably just single handedly destroyed any chance you had with another hot guy by being a huge nerd. You knew you had to reply though. “Drugs.” Before you could stop yourself, you hit send. You turned your phone off right after, trying to stop the message from sending, to no avail. You buried your head in your hands. Cheese and rice, you were so lame! And weird! He probably thinks you’re some crazy coke whore! “Just kidding!” You quickly typed. “I’m usually reading, writing, listening to music… How about you?” Jeez, is that all you did? You really needed to get out more. His response was quick. “Drugs!” Was he teasing you? Was he making fun of how stupid you were? Maybe you should change your phone number and move to Chicago or something? Maybe Antarctica? Yeah, that sounds good. Talk to the penguins, cry, live in an igloo. That’s a good plan. “You’re cute! Actually, I’m usually hanging around my boys. It’s almost a full house here, and we’re always getting into stuff. I’ll have to introduce you to them at some point.” You quickly caught onto his personal life, and you directed the spotlight onto him. “Tell me about your boys. Are they right people?” You bit your lip as you waited, your book forgotten to the side. “Okay. There’s three of them, and we all live together. There’s Alex, who I met first. He’s always been my best friend. He’d like you a lot. He loves to argue. He’s a writer, and he always has an opinion on something. Then there’s the frenchiest fry, Marquis de Lafayette, but we all call him Laf. He’s a French foreign exchange student that just kept coming back. He’s actually on his residency here! He’s probably the best out of all of us. He has such a pure heart, always giving. Last, but definitely not least, is Herc. He actually owns a little boutique uptown. I’ll take you by there sometime, you’ll love it. He’s probably kept me out of jail a few times, tbh. All those drugs, yo.” You found yourself laughing as you read through his long text. It was odd; when he talked about his boys, he seemed so much more like a Jane than a Mr. Darcy. He was actually kinda sweet, and funny, and he made you smile. Look at you, a blushing school girl all over again. You spent the night texting him, smiling and blushing as he talked to you about all of his right people and you stuttering through your texts, typing and deleting, editing, reconsidering. But no matter what you said, he always had something funny and sweet to counter it with. You never scared him off, even though you felt like you had given him several reasons to run for the hills.

“Hey, Y/N, deep breaths, you’ve got this!” “No! I don’t! He’s so cute, and I’m such a nerd! I totally geeked in front of him! Ugh, I don’t even know his name! Why did I agree to this?!” You were pacing around your room, the phone pressed to your ear. You were supposed to meet your Mr. Darcy at the bar his friend owned in less than half an hour, but instead, you were freaking out. “You’re the cute kind of nerd! Don’t worry, it sounds like he likes you! And by the things you’ve been telling me, he sounds like he’s a huge nerd too! And besides, names are overrated! He’s going to love you. Just be yourself and give him the ol’ razzle dazzle!” “You just say that because you’re my mom,” you sighed, sitting on your bed and covering your face with your hand. “Honey, don’t worry about it, okay? Just go out and have fun! Be safe and call me when you get home! I want all the details! Now get off the phone and go live one of your books!” You tried to protest her, but she wouldn’t hear it. As soon as she hung up, your stomach twisted. You had put on one of your favorite dresses, your hair was up, your makeup was done, and you looked killer, so why did you feel so scared? You stood and smoothed your dress before taking a deep breath and leaving to meet him. You stuttered your way through a cab ride, fidgeting with the hem of your dress the entire time. When you actually made it to the club, your stomach dropped at how long the line was. There was no way you’d get in. This was a mistake. You turned to crawl back into the cab when you heard someone yelling. “Elizabeth! Wait, Miss Elizabeth!” You turned around, confused, then you realized it was Mr. Darcy. He was running towards you, trying to stop you from leaving so soon. You frowned; it was too late for you to pretend you hadn’t seen him and go on your merry way. He knew you saw him. You turned around slowly and gave him your most convincing smile. “Mr. Darcy,” you countered as he came to a stop in front of you. He grinned, somewhat out of breath. He looked rather cute with his curls pulled back smoothly, his blue sports coat, all the way down to his snazzy dress shoes. What a pompous, well dressed prick that made your heart flutter. Where were your books when you needed to hide? “You look beautiful,” he breathed, and you realized you’d been staring. Jeez, his freckles were wonderful. It was like your own galaxy to stare at. “Thanks, you do too,” you replied, half listening as you took him in. There was just so much to appreciate. It was only when you heard him giggle that you noticed your mistake. Was it even really a mistake? Beautiful. Huh. Guys were actually very beautiful, this one in particular held your fancy. “Thank you! I wish I got that compliment more often!” His smile was so enticing. You scolded yourself for being so easily distracted tonight. He held his elbow out to you. “Shall we?” You took his elbow with a shy smile, and you hesitantly followed him into the bar. He nodded at the bouncer, then carefully made his way towards the stairs at the back. “I’m taking you up to the higher level; it’s more private up there. We’ll be able to talk more. Maybe you can give me more opinions on Jane Austen,” he teased you as your heels clicked on the metal stairs. When you heard his words, you blushed and were so distracted that your heel slipped. He caught you quickly to prevent you from falling down in a fairly embarrassing manor. His hand was warm on your waist as he stabilized you, and suddenly, the air felt way too thick. “Whoa, careful there. Save the falling for when there’s a bed behind you, eh?” You scoffed and quickly pulled away, not because you were repulsed by the idea of being in bed with him, but because you weren’t repulsed by it. He laughed lightly as you took his elbow again and quickly continued up the stairs. When you got to the top, there was a door that he knocked on, and in what felt like seconds, it was opened to reveal a goddess. Cheese and rice, if you didn’t go to bed with Mr. Darcy, you might go with her. She was tall and sleek, her perfectly sculpted cheekbones and wonderfully dark skin made her look like a goddess. Her curly hair was loose around her shoulders, and her pink dress only made her look even better. Of course this guy was friends with her. Then your reader’s brain clicked. Was she his girlfriend? Was she his right person? What if it was all in your head, and you didn’t even have a chance with him to begin with? Cheese and rice, you felt ridiculous and naive. Who did you think you were? Some special little book worm that got to live their trashy fanfic dream? Wake up, y/n. This was real life. You didn’t get the dream boy or the perfect heroine. You got embarrassment for being such an optimistic idiot. “Y/N, this is my friend, Angelica. She owns the bar. She’s one of those right people I was telling you about,” Mr. Darcy explained as he led you into the room. It was better lit than the rest of the bar, the music wasn’t as obnoxious, and the seating looked way more comfortable. There was a wet bar in the corner with a few different snack bowls laid out. “Oh, is this the Elizabeth you would not shut up about?” Angelica teased as she went over to the bar and poured herself a vodka tonic. You blushed. So Mr. Darcy had talked about you? To her? An actual goddess? What did that mean? “Don’t embarrass me, Angelica!” He playfully scolded her as he sat down on the couch. You bit your lip before sitting down beside him with an ocean of space between you two. “You do that well enough on your own, Johnny,” she countered with a smirk before she threw back a shot. So his name was Johnny? John? Johnathan? Good ol’ Jimmy Jam? Why wouldn’t your brain just shut up and let you focus for two seconds tonight? “And what’ll you have, Miss Elizabeth?” She put air quotes around the name, and you smiled. Uhhh, you never really went out, especially not to a bar. The wildest place you usually went on a Friday night was to Walmart around 11 when you were craving ice cream. To be fair, Walmart past 10 pm was reasonably sketchy. You made a knee jerk reaction. You figured it was best to establish dominance. Maybe, if you intimidated them, they wouldn’t come after you. “Vodka, straight shot.” You could channel your wild college days of crying, shoveling ice cream, and swigging vodka out of the bottle with your room mates instead of working on your ten page paper due the next day while watching the Notebook. Angelica raised her eyebrows, but she didn’t question you. She just poured you a shot, poured Good Ol’ Jimmy Jam a glass of whiskey, and brought you both the drinks. As soon as your shot was in hand, you threw it back. It burned like you had just made out with an angry, firebreathing dragon. Cheese and rice, how did this not kill you in college? Were you dying right now? No matter how bad it felt, you didn’t cough. You held it together. Establish the dominance. Mr. Darcy chuckled in wonderment. “Wow, John. She might be able to hang with you and the boys shot for shot if y'all ever go out together,” Angelica mused. So his name was John. You glanced at him. That seemed fitting. He looked like a John. “I know! I was just thinking the same thing! You might even be able to keep up with Herc. Once he gets going, that guy is a machine!” John swirled his whiskey while he stared at your face. “Herc’s the one with the shop uptown, right?” You asked as you tried to remember which boy he was talking about. “Yeah! I think I’ll take you there next time!” He gushed, and he went on to say something else, but you weren’t paying attention. Did he say next time? Was he already planning on taking you out again? Why? You were probably the lamest person you’ve known. At some point, Angelica poured you another shot, and you threw it back. They had been talking about Herc’s shop uptown, a lot of stuff you didn’t get because you didn’t understand the background. “Wait, Wait, so if you’re here with John, then he probably never told you about the Taco Bell incident?” Angelica suddenly changed the topic, roping you back in. She was a really good hostess… to your dismay. “Don’t tell her about the Taco Bell incident!” John quickly protested, almost choking on his whiskey since he was in the middle of taking a swig when she brought it up. “She needs to know! Everyone needs to know-” “Angelica! Don’t! You swore you’d never tell anyone-” “Yeah, but that was before you introduced me to a girl! It’s a great party story! And besides,” she leaned close to you. She had seated herself in the arm chair adjacent to John. “It’s revenge for him talking smack about Pride and Prejudice.” You snickered at her comment, those shots of vodka already hitting you. “Angie, please,” he gave her the cutest look, and you felt your heart melt. Angelica looked unphased. “Those eyes might work on Alex, but you’ll have to work a whole lot harder than that to deter me. So anyways,” you found yourself leaning closer, eager to hear the story, while John slumped in defeat. “It was our senior year of high school and we were both in marching band. It was our last performance at our last competition, so it was kind of a big deal. Earlier that day, we stopped for lunch, and we had four separate options: Panera, McDonalds, Steak N Shake, or Taco Bell. I, like anyone with taste buds and half a brain, chose Panera, while John and Alexander chose Taco Bell. Now, I’ve known John for years, and he’s always been that kid. You know, the one that thinks it’d be a good idea to throw a hammer at a hornet’s nest, jump out of the tree house instead of taking the ladder, stuff like that. So this kid, being the genius he is, and with the encouragement from Alex, ate fifteen dollars worth of Taco Bell. So fast forward to later, our first performance is fine. We have dinner provided by the band moms; we laugh; we cry; it’s great. We’re all getting into uniform for finals, and we’re marching off to warm up, when Alex comes up to me asking if I’d seen John, and I’m like, no? He’s not even in my section! I’m a flute player! He’s a tuba! He’s not even in my jurisdiction! But Alex is worried sick, so I go off, and after half the band searching for him we find him, crying in a portapotty-” “I wasn’t crying. I was just, uh, the smell, it was making me tear up-” “Oh shut up, you were crying. We could hear your gross crying noises. Anyways, needless to say, he had to miss his last performance all because he thought $15 of Taco Bell was worth it.” Angelica was laughing towards the end, and you found yourself chuckling with her. John had his lips pressed into a thin line while you both ended up in hysterics. “Mr. Adams,” she panted through her laughter, “was so disappointed! He actually refuses to stop by Taco Bell on band trips anymore!” You roared with laughter again. “Yeah, haha, laugh it up,” John pouted, “I have stories on you, too, Angie-” He stopped talking when Angelica shot him a look. “Try it, Portapotty, I dare you!” You laughed so hard that your sides hurt.

You and Angelica were quick to become friends, and you quickly figured out that she wasn’t seeing John. You ended up actually texting her more than you had texted John, usually just nonsense and inside jokes. Yeah, you had inside jokes with her now. It had only been a few weeks, but you were already close friends. You had spent most of the night upstairs with Angelica and John, listening to funny stories and laughing until you almost passed out. It was the most fun you’d had in a long time. It was around two in the morning when Angelica had her driver take you home. John had offered to walk you home, but Angelica insisted. Angelica struck you as the mom friend. She was always there looking out for you. She went the extra distance to ensure your safety. At first, you’d thought of her as a Miss Darcy, or maybe a Jane, but neither of those did her justice. You eventually decided she was more like an Athena. As much as you hated to admit it, most books didn’t have female characters strong enough to do her justice, especially not your beloved classic novels. It was a quiet Friday night. You had been texting Angelica that day, and you had discussed your plans for that night. She was running her bar, and she invited you out, but you politely declined. You had recently bought a new book you were just dying to read. She understood. It was things like that that made it so easy to talk to her. Maybe John was right. Maybe she was right people. You missed John and her, but both of them had been busy the past few weeks, and when they weren’t, you were. It was around seven that night, and the sun had just set. You were curled up in your armchair, halfway through Pride and Prejudice instead of the book you had planned to start reading. You had been obsessed with that book more so than lately. Perhaps it had something to do with the curly haired boy that kept wandering his way back into your thoughts. You were in a pair of leggings and an old college hoodie, positively comfy. You had your blankets and your mug of tea, which was almost empty. You had it made. Suddenly, there was a knock at your door. You were confused. Was your mom visiting today? No, she was visiting on Sunday. Maybe your neighbor accidentally got some of your mail? You stuck a Polaroid in the spine of your book and went to the door. It was probably Miss Higgins, looking for her cat again. You opened the door, expecting to see the sweet little old lady and half distracted by the door mat you accidentally messed up when you opened the door. “I’m sorry, Miss Higgins, I haven’t seen Tippy today, but I’ll let you know if I do,” you answered routinely as you nudged the carpet with your socked foot. A soft laugh from whoever was in front of you alerted you that it was not your little, old neighbor lady unless she just hit puberty and her voice dropped several octaves. “Who’s Tippy? Should I be worried?” John joked with a cheeky smile. You felt yourself break out in a grin at the sight of him. He was dressed down today in a pair of jeans, a striped sweater, and a pea coat. He had a scarf hanging loosely from his neck and your inner romantic swooned at the idea of grabbing him by that scarf and yanking him in for a kiss. “Um,” you began, shaking your thoughts away as you held the door open for him. You didn’t give him your address, but logic told you that Angelica probably did. Her driver had taken you home, after all. “My neighbor is constantly losing track of her cat, Tippy.” He came into your house, pausing by you to give you a gentle peck on the cheek, and if your head wasn’t so lost in the clouds, you probably would’ve fainted. You shut the door, hiding the blush creeping it’s way down your neck. You quickly tucked a strand of hair behind your ear as he took in your apartment. John was such a Mr. Darcy that he probably had a snobbish home somewhere instead of a small apartment in the shady part of town. Luckily, you had befriended the rookie police officer, Tommy, across the hall. If he didn’t give you such reassurance in safety, you would’ve already complained to him about the noise level coming from his apartment. You got it. He had two boyfriends that knew his name, that didn’t mean they had to scream it every night when you were trying to sleep. “Did I interrupt something?” He glanced over at your extended recliner, mug of tea, scattered polaroids, and tattered book. You bit your lip. “Yeah, but it’s no big deal. It’s not like I haven’t read it before,” you shrugged it off, shifting nervously. “What brings you by?” John turned to you, running a hand over his hair with a small smile. “Well, Angie said you weren’t busy tonight, and I figured I’d surprise you. I figured I could show you around Herc’s shop, maybe go for dinner if you want?” You felt your cheeks tinge with color again as your lips stretched into another delighted smile. Damn, this boy made you smile almost as much as your books did. “Hmm, I dunno,” you teased, pretending to ponder. “I mean, I’ve been looking forward to reading my book all week… besides, isn’t dinner a little too direct for Mr. Darcy? I was actually expecting a proclamation of love before, and then a heated, fairly insulting letter meant as an apology. You wouldn’t happen to have that planned before dinner, would you? Because I need to know whether to pack a snack and some popcorn or not.” As soon as he realized you were teasing him, he broke out into a grin. “You had me worried there for a sec! I thought you were blowing me off for a book you’ve read a thousand times!” “Excuse me, sir,” you looked at him as if he had just fatally insulted you, “that’s one thousand and one times. Get your facts straight!” He laughed again, and you were suddenly aware of how close he was standing to you. Was this customary for guy friends? You weren’t really sure. You had been too caught up in your books to ever pay any attention. It was something about the way he looked at you and seemed to laugh so genuinely that distracted you from your fear of messing up, but it was also the way he looked at you that made you stutter your words all the time. “So, Herc’s? Sounds fun. Lemme just go get changed,” you stated quickly. You needed space. You were getting lost in your head with him standing that close. You quickly retreated to your bedroom, throwing clothes around in search of the right outfit. You were deep in your closet, your mind tangled in thoughts and panic as you thumped around. None of it was right. No no no. Then you grabbed a pair of jeans with rips in the knees and you tossed them on your bed. Your hands found your favorite sweater that you threw with the jeans. Your fingers laced around a cute scarf that matched, and you were set. You didn’t have time to second guess as you stripped and began to dress. You were standing in your underwear, cursing as you stumbled around the room trying to fit into your jeans, when the sore opened and John came in. “Hey, someone’s at the door and-” he stopped talking when you both made eye contact, and you froze-which was a poor move on your part when you toppled over. John moved towards you to help you up, then moved back when he remembered the predicament. “I knocked! I swear, I knocked. I am so sorry, I didn’t mean-” “John?” You interrupted as you stared up at him from the floor. His eyes were darting around the room, falling on anything but you. “Yeah?” his voice cracked nervously. “I’m still half dressed. Would you mind…?” You didn’t know how to phrase it, but he got the hint. He continued his stream of apologies as he quickly retreated and closed the door. Then you started to laugh. It was quiet at first, but then it developed into full body quakes that left you breathless. You couldn’t stop laughing. The cute boy you had a crush on that probably thought you were nuts just walked in on you half naked! At some point, your hysterical laughter turned into ugly crying when you realized that your life was a disaster. You only ever managed to embarrass yourself. John probably already left! He probably thinks you’re psychotic, and he wants nothing to do with you! You got dressed, hopeless thoughts swirling in your mind, then you finally left your room. Surprisingly, John was still there. He was flipping through your polaroids, trying extra hard not to look at you. “It was Miss Higgins,” he explained after clearing his throat a few times. “She was looking for Tippy. I told her you hadn’t seen her cat.” You nodded, heading to the door. When you turned around, you caught John staring at you, and you both blushed. “So, Herc’s?” You trailed off, and he nodded eagerly. He followed you out of your apartment and you locked the door behind you. You walked to the elevator in silence. Once in the lift, you kept the three foot friendship distance between you two, still not saying a word. It was only when the elevator stopped at the third floor and one of your creepier neighbors got on that you moved closer to John. “Hey, baby,” the guy said, and you rolled your eyes. Flippin’ Ralph. He was the scumbag that cat called you from the wall outside while he smoked through four packs. He smelled like piss and an ash tray. “Maybe later tonight, you can tell me your name so I can scream it for ya. Would you like that?” He reached out to grab you, but John was quick to wrap an arm around you. With Him by your side, you felt empowered enough to stand up for yourself. “Gee, Ralph. I knew rats in this city got big, but I didn’t know they came this big,” you gave him the disgusted once over all of the girls perfected in high school. “Honestly, the idea of even touching. You makes me wanna Ralph. Besides, with the number of packs you smoke these days, I’d be surprised if you could even get your voice above an embarrassing rasp. Besides, why would I settle for you when I’ve got a boyfriend that makes me scream instead?” Ralph had never heard you speak up before, so it was a fair reaction when he was so shocked that the cigarette fell from his mouth. You felt John shaking with quiet laughter behind you, and you stood tall. “You know what? You’re a disgusting little tramp-” there was the reaction you were waiting for. You shrank into John, waiting for the verbal onslaught, but John was ever the valiant Mr. Darcy. “You’d better watch what you say next or you’re gonna have trouble speaking with no tongue and no teeth, my friend,” John growled out as he shoved you behind him. The elevator dinged, and you all but threw a party. You cursed the cheap apartment and it’s decrepit elevators. Your grandma could navigate those stairs faster than that lift, and she’s dead. Before John could deck Ralph, you pulled him off the elevator with you and quickly out of the building. It was only when you were down the street and your breathing had calmed that things had caught up to you. Number one, you called John your boyfriend… and he totally went with it. Number two, you insinuated that you and John had really good sex… and he also totally went with it. Number three, you might need to start carrying a gun to protect yourself from Ralph. Number four, John totally stood up for you! Wow, that was actually really hot. Number five, you were still holding hands from when you dragged him off the elevator. When you looked up, you noticed he was looking down at you. “Hey, you okay?” You gave him a small smile and nodded. “I’m sorry back there. I shouldn’t have dragged you into it, and I’m sorry about the comment about our wild sex-” John cut you off by bringing your hand up to his lips and kissing your knuckles. “Hey,” he murmured, his lips tickling the skin before he slowly brought your hand down from his lips, “don’t worry about it. Any guy would be lucky to be called your boyfriend.” You felt your heart thrumming in your chest, and you were suddenly hyper aware of everything your body was doing. Was he into you? “Well, I…” your words failed. You didn’t know what to say about the entire ordeal, so you didn’t. Instead, you said, “Which way to Herc’s?” John’s lips twitched to a frown, but it was quick, and you didn’t ponder it. He didn’t drop your hand as he led you down the street. It was about ten minutes into the walk when you started shivering. You were so embarrassed by what happened in your apartment that you forgot your coat. John put his arm around you at first, holding you near him as you walked, but your teeth still chattered. He then tugged off his pea coat and quick to swaddle you with it. You protested, but he was quick to shush you. Your heart stuttered when he put his arm back around you for the rest of the walk. About thirty minutes after you left the lift, you found yourself outside of Herc’s Four Sets of Corsets and More. John opened the door for you and ushered you in. He took the coat off your shoulders and draped it on the mannequin as if he’d been here a thousand times before, which he probably had. “Herc!” He called, causally throwing his arm around you again and wandering around the shop. You heard footsteps on the staircase behind the counter and turned to find a tall, dark drink of damn son come down the stairs. Did John only know hot people? What did that make you? “Hey, babe! Who’s this lovely, little lady with you?” Herc asked as he came around and leaned against the counter, waiting for an introduction. You were confused by his pet name for John. Since when did bros start calling each other babe? Whatever, you were on board for it. “This here, is the Elizabeth from the coffee shop,” John explained. How many people had he told about you? And how many people only knew you as “The Elizabeth”? You decided to take a leap of faith, “Hi,” you said shyly as you extended your hand, “most people actually call me Y/N.” Herc shook your hand, but you felt John’s eyes on you. That’s when you realized you had never told him your actual name. You blushed in embarrassment. You’d been talking to this guy for at least a month now, and you hadn’t even bothered to properly introduce yourself! Your mama raised you better than that! “Well, I’ve heard a lot about you!” Herc beamed, and you returned the smile. “I’ve heard a lot about you, too!” You replied, and Herc’s face lit up. “I’m so glad John told you about us! You two must be really close now for him to mention us!” Herc wiggles his eye brows. Although you were confused, you dismissed it. Their friendship must be really tight. They did live together, after all. You carried on with light banter, and Herc gave John an occasional jab or two. You had fun, and eventually, you had Herc’s number written on a scrap of loose cloth he had tied around your wrist. Apparently, he too had an appreciation for aesthetic. Herc showed you around the shop. You noticed a mannequin without arms and complimented his Greek architectural taste, but he laughed and said it was an accident. Apparently, it was a “long story.” You ended up picking up a few items, and you were excited to purchase them, but John footed the bill. You argued, but one shared look between Herc and John ended any discussion. Herc handed you the bag, and you thanked him again. John wound his arm around you again, and you both said farewell to Herc before you left the shop, you wearing John’s pea coat again. “So, where do you wanna go for dinner?” John asked as you both moseyed down the street. You shrugged, “I dunno, I’m kinda in the mood for Italian.” John grinned down at you, and again, you were hyper aware of how close he was to you. “I know just the place.” John took you to a quaint, little place downtown called Belladona, and you were quickly seated at a table in the back. John was ever the southern gentleman, pulling your chair out for you, draping the jacket over the back of it. He was sweeter than any guy you’d ever met. You knew if you voiced that, he’d just say you were meeting the wrong guys. “So what do you recommend, Mr. Darcy?” You perched an eyebrow at him as you unfolded your menu. “Hmm,” he looked at you and thought for a minute, “you strike me more as a ravioli type…” You rolled your eyes at him with a smile, “You only know that because you saw the cans of Chef Boyardee’s ravioli sitting out on my counter from my recent grocery store trip.” He chortled, “What can I say? I’m an observant guy!” “I’m torn, now I want ravioli, but I also really want spaghetti,” you pouted at him, and he laughed. “Tell ya what, you get the ravioli, I’ll get the spaghetti, and we’ll share,” he offered, and you eagerly nodded. This guy was the gift that kept on giving. “I knew I kept you around for something,” you poked him on the nose, then you spent the proceeding twenty minutes regretting that action. He laughed in response, “What? The free food?” “Hey, you paid for the clothes, the least I can do is buy dinner,” you responded, moderately offended that he’d think you’d expect him to pay for everything. “Please, I brought you out. Let me treat you,” his smile was so kind; it drew you in. “We’ll see,” was your answer before you let your resolve dissolve. He smiled at you and your stubbornness. Maybe you were wrong before. Maybe he isn’t Mr. Darcy. You couldn’t imagine Mr. Darcy being this kind. Of course, you’d never admit that to him. “So, Y/N,” he tested the sound of your name on his tongue, and it caused your heart to falter. “What do you know of polyamorous relationships?” You were taken aback. He brought you all the way out here, to a nice restaurant, to ask you your opinion on that? “Well, I know what it is. I’m sorry, are you asking my knowledge or my opinion?” He bit his lip, then he ran a hand over his hair and toyed with his curls. “Uh, opinion?” You shrugged, “Well, I know a few people in one, and they seem to make it work really well. The only problem is that the sex is louder with more people and it keeps me up at night… I mean, I’ve never been in one, but I think I’d be open to it with the right people. It’s always been intriguing to me, but I guess I’ve never been in the position to be in one before.” You paused. “Why do you ask?” He glanced around the room nervously, then tugged at his curls once more. “Well, I… Um… Alexander would be so much better at this,” he muttered. “I mentioned earlier that I live with my boys.” He gave you a hard look, clearly trying to communicate to you. You nodded slowly, waiting for him to go on. He swallowed. “My boys,” he repeated, a bit more enunciated this time. You stared at him blankly. A few seconds of awkward silence lapsed where he waited for you to have a lightbulb moment, and you waited for further explanation. Then it clicked. “Ohhh… your boys,” you breathed, almost to yourself. You had to work quick to mask your hurt and disappointment. For some reason, you really thought you had a chance. Obviously not if he had three boyfriends. You bit your lip hard as you stared down at the table. Way to go, Y/N. You messed it up. Again. You felt your stomach churn with embarrassment and shame. No one would want you. Of course not. You were way to much of a nerd. Jeez, you were such an idiot to think someone like that would ever go for a stuttering moron like you. This is why you kept to yourself. Books wouldn’t do this to you. They wouldn’t change like this. They wouldn’t let you down like this. You just wanted to go home and read. Well, read and cry. And maybe yell a little bit. “I…. I gotta go… I think I left the stove on…” you managed to stutter through the lump in your threat. You felt foolish. Were you really going to cry over a boy you didn’t even have a chance with? “Why? Did I do something wrong?” John’s eyes searched your face, but you ducked your chin to hide. You’d kill a man for a book right now. “I’m sorry,” you whispered as you stood up and turned to leave. He stood abruptly and grabbed your wrist to stop you. “It’s me, isn’t it?” He sounded hurt, too. You couldn’t focus on that. If you looked up and met his eyes, you’d start crying in public, and you couldn’t handle that right now. “Don’t touch me!” You snapped as you tore your arm from his grasp. You turned and dashed from the restaurant as tears spilled down your cheeks. You were right. Books are better than people.

As soon as you made it back to your appartement, you put on the kettle and called your mom. It was about ten o'clock, but you figured she’d still be up. She answered on the fourth ring. “Hello?” “Momma?” Your voice broke. Hearing her broke the dam, and you began to sob. “Oh, pumpkin, what happened?” Her voice was soft, and you could practically feel her wrapping her arms around you. “I’m such an… an idiot!” You sobbed, slumping down against the wall. “No, baby, you aren’t an idiot…” “Yes, I am! I was naive to think that a guy like him would ever want me. I’m such a loser, Mom!” You wiped your tears on your sleeve, but they were quickly replaced by more. “Hold on, honey, I’m on my way over. What kind of ice cream do you want?” You cried even harder. You loved your mom so much. She was always there when you needed her. You told her your favorite ice cream, and she said she’d be over as soon as possible. She hung up, but you didn’t move from the floor. You continued crying. You didn’t feel like moving. Why bother? You just wanted to lie there. At some point, the kettle went off, and you managed to pick yourself up, change into your pajamas, and go to the kitchen. Your tea was ready, but you ignored it. Instead, you went straight for the liquor. You needed something hard. You started throwing back shots. You felt like you were back in your college days. When your mom first showed up, she tried to get you to stop drinking, but quickly realized her efforts were futile. She let you drink while also making you drink plenty of water. You both are ice cream while you cried. She wrapped you in a blanket and vented with you about the stupid boy. She said he led you on, but you disagreed. You’d just read too far into it. The rest of the night blurred away when you started taking straight swigs out of the bottle.

A week had passed. Then two. Angelica and Herc had sent you texts, but after a week of you not replying, they decided to give you some space. You’d deleted John’s number from your phone. You were right about him being Mr. Darcy. He was a pompous, arrogant prick and you were the foolish Mr. Bingley. You were just some optimistic idiot blinded by emotion. You went to work. Came home. Read until your vision doubled. Passed out. Repeated. You were back to your old ways. The first week that had passed had a dreary Saturday. Before John, you would have gone to your bookshop, then the cafe. But now, you couldn’t risk seeing his face; you couldn’t do it. You stayed inside, read your books, listened to music, and watched romantic movies that made you cry. It was on a Thursday the second week that there came a knock at the door. You shuffled over and answered it to reveal Ms. Higgins. “Mornin’, dearie,” she said hoarsely. She held the elusive Tippy under her arm and an envelope in her free hand. “I got your mail again.” You forced a smile and took the small stack of junk mail from her. “Thank you.” “Are you doing alright, sugar? You look awful tired,” she seemed to lean closer to look at your face, and you looked down, ashamed. Now you had your elderly neighbor worried about you. Way to go. “Yeah, just been busy lately,” you lied. It’d be true if you counted crying as an activity. “Ahh, a broken heart makes for a busy soul,” she replied simply before she turned and went back to her apartment. You stood there for a minute, miffed, but you shrugged it off and went back inside. You stood over the trash can, absentmindedly sorting threw the mail. Junk. Junk. Junk. You tosses envelope after envelope into the bin. However, you reached back into the trash to retrieve one envelope you had skimmed over. Your stomach twisted as you opened it and pulled the letter out. “Elizabeth, I hope you are doing well. Angelica and Hercules are both worried since they haven’t heard from you. Please call them when you can to let them know you’re okay. Angelica tends to obsess about people she cares about. I’m writing because it’s the only way I’m sure you’ll get my message. I wasn’t sure if you’d blocked my number or not. I’m sorry if I disgusted you, but I assumed you’d be more open minded given that it’s 2017, not 1917. My mistake. I didn’t realize that you would find the concept of love so abhorrent. You seemed so sweet and lovable, but I guess most bigots do as well. The worst part is that I actually let you close to my heart. I liked you, but I guess that was wasted emotion, huh? I guess you were right about Elizabeth. You suit her, you know: judgmental, rude, harsh, horrid… sound familiar? I am unafraid to say that I love my boys, each and every one of them, and I don’t care if that offends you. I don’t need you in my life if you can’t accept me for who I am. I opened myself to you. I was vulnerable, but you showed me that you can’t be trusted. I’m glad I got that out of the way before things progressed any further. Maybe one day, you’ll find your Mr. Darcy-some horrid man that compliments your horridness, and you’ll go on your horrid way. You’d be perfect for each other. Maybe the reason you only saw bad in the characters was because you were looking in the mirror. News flash, it’s not that you’re meeting the wrong people, it’s that you are wrong people. I’m not going to miss you, but I will miss the idea of you. Do us both a favor and lose my number, John.” You were so angry that you couldn’t move. You couldn’t breathe. All you could do was sit there. Then it hit you all at once. How dare he. How dare he assume all those things! He was such a complete moron! You grabbed a piece of paper and your pink pen and you went to work. “Dear Mr. Pompous Prick, First of all, how dare you. How dare you go and assume all of those horrible things about me. I can’t even begin to comprehend where you got those opinions from? Unaccepting of your relationships? If you had listened to a word I had said, you’d actually get it through your pea sized brain that I support polyamory and I’m open to it! But no, you were to busy thinking about God only knows what to actually see what was right in front of you. I liked you! I had a crush on you! I know, ridiculous. It was absurd of me to even consider you to be my Mr. Darcy! You know, at some point, I thought I was wrong and that you were nothing like Mr. Darcy. I was right! You’re so much worse! You led me on, made me think I actually had a chance. Stupid me. Although I appreciate your honesty about your relationship, I wish I’d known before I’d been so emotionally invested. I didn’t leave because you disgusted me; I left because I realized how stupid I was to think you were into me! You have three other boyfriends, clearly I misunderstood. But sure, go ahead and assume I’m some bigoted asshole. Rip apart my character and everything I stand by if it helps you sleep at night, but know that you broke my heart, you son of a bitch. You made me think I had a chance, then you told me the truth and spit on my character. Tell Angelica and Hercules I’m fine. I’m sure they won’t miss me anyways. And don’t worry about your number. I lost it weeks ago. Thanks for nothing. Y/N.” You wanted to say more. You wanted to swear and curse at him until your fingers crumbled apart, but you couldn’t let him be right. You couldn’t let him have substantial proof to any of his claims. You couldn’t be that person he claimed you to be. You sent the letter to the return address, then went back to your books. You just wanted to forget the whole ordeal.

Weeks had passed, and your heart ached with the echo of his cruel words, but you couldn’t let it get to you. You were healing and repairing. You eventually got the nerve to go back to your bookstore on a dreary Saturday. You had stopped reading Pride and Prejudice a while ago. It reminded you of too much. You needed new books to hide your face in. After you bought a few books, you went to the cafe. You had forgotten your umbrella today, so you were sopping wet by the time you had gotten to your cafe. You dashed inside and ordered your old drink. You sat at your old table. You pulled out your old novel and a black pen. You began to read as you wrote in the margins. You wished the cafe would swallow you whole so you could live in this moment forever. “Elizabeth?” You recognized that voice and you froze. You shoved your nose deeper into your book as the chair scraped in front of you. He sat down with you. “Hey, Y/N,” a gentle hand tugged on your book, but you harshly pulled it back up. You did not want to speak to him. “Y/N, please, hear me out-” You snapped your book shut, not even worrying about marking your place. You grabbed your bag and fled the coffee shop. He called out behind you, begging you to stay. You didn’t. You dashed down the street, not caring about the pouring rain. You just needed to get away. Then you felt a hand in your wrist. You turned around to face him, anger sparking in you. “What, John? Have you come to bash my character again? Have you not done enough?” You demanded as you stared up at him. The pouring rain plastered hair to your face and blurred your vision, but it didn’t lessen your glare. “Y/N, please. I was wrong. I was ignorant, harsh, unreasonable, and a completely pompous prick. I was scared and hurt, and I lashed out at you-” “So what? You come here thinking some shitty apology will suffice? Obviously, you misunderstand me completely!” You were furious. After all he did, all he said, he thinks he can fix it with a few words. “I’m sorry, Y/N! What can I do to get you to see that?” He was exasperated, but you didn’t care. You would not let him hurt you again. “How about you get lost and never talk to me again?” You snapped at him. Why couldn’t he just leave you alone? “I can’t!” He was angry too now, which pissed you off even more. He had no right! “Why not? Isn’t it obvious? I hate you!” You shoved him away from you, trying to force him to leave, but he grabbed both of your hands. “‘In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and-’” “Don’t say it,” you whispered, tears in your eyes. “If you care about me at all, you won’t say it.” “'You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and-’” “Don’t,” your lips trembled as a tear slipped down your cheek. John cupped your face. “'How ardently I admire and love you,’” he finished, and you began to cry. He tried to pull you into his arms, but you pushed him away. “Oh, John,” you began crestfallenly, “Dont you remember? Elizabeth could never accept that proclamation, just as I cannot.” He let you slip away from his fingers as he stared at you. He wanted to reach for you, hold you, you could tell. But he didn’t. “But I do,” his voice cracked, and you shivered as more tears fell. “I wish I could believe you, John. I really do.”

Needless to say, your mom made another trip after that encounter, and it was only after speaking with her that you came to your senses. But it was too late now. You’d done your damage. “Honey,” your mom had said, “if you believe in romance at all, and if you truly live by your aesthetics and romanticism, then you will not sit idly by and be satisfied by this excuse. If you are half the girl I know you to be, you will find this boy and tell him how you really feel.” She was right. It took a few phone calls with Angelica, who was completely relieved to have heard from you, but also completely pissed off from the whole ordeal. She was delighted to help after you had explained everything. So there you were, fidgeting anxiously at the Belladona, waiting for John to show up. You were relying on all of the books you had read to aid you in this one moment. Would he show? Angelica had invited him out to dinner with her. Word on the street was that you’d left him a complete disaster. You felt horrible. This whole ordeal was your fault. Cheese and rice, you royally screwed this one up. There’s no way he’d show. Not after everything you’d done. You didn’t deserve another chance. But then you saw him. He looked beautiful, just the way you remembered him. As soon as he came in, his eyes locked on you. Would he turn to run? You prayed to anything and everything out there that he wouldn’t. And he didn’t. He slowly, hesitantly, approached your table, and you stood. You made your way over so that you were standing before him. This was the bravest thing you’d done in your life. “John, I…” and words failed you. You had nothing. You’d built everything up to this moment, and you were flatlining. You couldn’t speak. All you could do was stare at him, hoping he’d understand. “I…” Speak, Y/N! This is your last chance! “I…” Where was your fire? Your spark? Suddenly, you were back in the coffee shop the first time you’d met, and you finally found the words. “You’re my right person,” you finally managed to get out. You stared at him, waiting. He blinked. Then he blinked again. “I’ve always been afraid of saying the wrong thing, but with you, it’s like all the dialog is already there. You already know what I’m going to say before I say it. And I know I’m the wrong person, I’ve always been, but you’re my right person and I could never forgive myself if I didn’t tell you that-” you couldn’t stop talking now. You were rambling. You were losing him, you could feel it. Without warning, his lips were on yours, and he was kissing you like there was no tomorrow. He was desperate, trying to convey everything he had been holding back those past weeks into that single moment. When he pulled away, he whispered, “If I’m your right person, then you’re my right story.”

You could fill books upon books with the different aesthetics you got to wake up to now. You had dozens of polaroids filled with your boys’ faces. It had been two years since you met John at the Belladona. Your relationship had been far from fanfic material, but maybe that’s why you loved it so much. Fanfics were predictable; this was an adventure. John was right. Your boys were right people. They were everything you’d been hoping for and more. It wasn’t perfect, not by far, but that’s what made it perfect. You were happy, and you knew you would always be happy as long as you were with them. You didn’t read as much anymore. You didn’t need to. You had all the adventure you needed. It was bittersweet to watch your beaten up copy of Pride and Prejudice collect dust on the shelf, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. After all, it was all for the aesthetic.

#hamilsquad #hamiltrash #hercules mulligan #alexander hamilton #hamilton #laurens #lafayette #marquis de lafayette #john laurens #mulligan #fanfiction #fanfic #my work #my writing

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