#because the pattern claims to build in one piece and that terrifies me
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trust the process trust the process trust the process I tell myself over and over as I try something new with crochet
#ive been crocheting pretty much daily lately and I took a break from bigger projects to make a bunch of toques#now im back to doing some bigger stuff#I made a shawl#then I did a clown possum as a gift for a friend#now im trying a whole new style of cardigan#the Hawkeye cardigan wasn't my first it was actually the third ive made#this one will be the fourth and its very different#both in terms of stitch style (its a mesh look) and in terms of build#because the pattern claims to build in one piece and that terrifies me#my cardigans have always been made in several pieces and seamed together#so the idea of not having to seem this entire thing together thrills me#because seaming is not my favourite#we shall see#ill come back and update this once im done#see if trusting the process was the right call
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i don't know what this is but i just need to write this down and show people.
summary
peter B Parker (Mayas unofficial found father figure) finds Maya passed out beside a standing desk, where she does her research and learns about her sleeping patterns. the link leads to the exact color of green i imagine her bus being painted. also i'm tagging @pokers-ocs @kaidacresto @i-put-the-wit-in-dimwit and @persialiu because i want feedback! i have no fucking clue how to wright and I did this in one sitting but I want to know what you think!
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I was helping Miguel scope out new spiders to recruit when we eventually landed on Maya, I was able to see her life and, it was hard to watch. this poor kid has been through hell, and all on her own too. so when I watched Miguel manipulate her into joining, I saw just how lonely she was, and just how desperate she was to have someone to talk to, and yet how terrified she was to open up.
but somehow, I gained her trust. it started with a hello, she said hi, and reluctantly kept up surface level small talk with me . she's very nice, just incredibly nervous.
I made an effort to keep up appearances, and one day, when she saw me with mayday, a part of her she usually kept hidden bubbled to the surface. a genuine desire to actually talk. i guess she finally saw that not everyone there was a loner. or maybe she just likes kids. but what i really think it was, is a desire for innocence. maybe, she thought if i could bring that to the table, bring her, into the world, i was someone she could trust.
so soon after that, she would come to me, make the first move, and the more she would talk, the more comfortable she would be around not just me, but everyone.
so when today, she didn't show up at the society, i called and texted, something she would usually respond to immediately, but there was nothing, and i was worried, the day before, i had told her that i was involved in her recruitment and was there when Miguel looked into her past. and she said "well i assumed something like that would have happened, seeing as whenever I recruit someone, I'm given all the information about their past. I knew Miguel was involved obviously, but usually the info is passed down to someone else, and then to me, so clearly theirs more than one person involved, I've wondered, who else here knew about me, so honestly, if anyone in the entire society could have seen... my past... i'm glad it was you..."
'What if I had lost her trust, what if shes avoiding me, I probably hurt her feelings, I have to go apologize!' I decide to go over to her dimension to say sorry, when I arrive, i'm in a deep part of a forest, with the biggest trees I've ever seen, i"m talking at least twice as big as the empire state building, its foggy, and fireflies and moss carpets completely engulf the area, it's gorgeous, and i let myself be lost in fantastical wonder for a little while when I finally snap out of it.
i see a shape through to mist that has light coming through it, i come closer to it and i find that it's an old school bus, obviously renovated into a cozy living space, painted a nice soft earthy of green. the moss roots and vines spiral around the bus, this thing has been here a while, and it's not leaving any time soon, it looks like the magical spirit of the woods has claimed it for itself, giving it the blessing of it's beauty.
i walk over to the side of the entrance, and thats where i see it; two grave stones. well large rocks with names crudely etched into them. one covered in flowers and pictures, the other with a lanyard draped across it, the one with all the flowers reads Jade Maverick, the name on it etched much more neatly on it, below the name it reads i'm sorry. my heart breaks in a million pieces at the makeshift burial, i know who this is.. Mayas fiance, the one she lost in the explosion, i saw the accident when we where looking at her past to see how to recruit her, but to see this, it's different.
the other stone is more weathered and cracked, obviously less care has been taken in maintaining it. if any. This one reads Maya Maverick. For a second I'm confused, but then I remember, Maya survived the explosion, but she never told anyone. to the rest of the world, Maya Maverick is presumed dead. I look at the lanyard on the rock, and it has her old ID badge from Alchemax clipped on it.she looks so young, and happy, and somehow, more innocent. her hair is different, and she's wearing glasses, though only half the picture remains intact, the other burned, presumably, in the explosion.
the atmosphere is no longer pleasant as i look at this scene, the fog making the grave sight feel somber and cold. I look back at the bus, and I no longer see the once cozy looking hideaway i first saw, It now looks desolate and lonely, a place of grief and solitude, a place to wallow in what once was, and, as i see the M+J carved over the entrance, surrounded in a heart; a place of what could have been but was stolen.
I want to leave this place, it feels wrong. I can't believe I just flipped through this part of her life like a damn power-point presentation, taking notes like it was some sort of fucked up character study! this is so personal, I feel like I completely violated her space... she lives here alone, no wonder she is so closed of, this.. this must be terrible.
I finally realize I have heard nothing from inside the bus, not a sound. and now i am concerned, is she okay? I hesitate on opening the door, I feel like I have violated something so personal, it feels wrong to enter, i fear like I've already seen to much that was not for my eyes too see. should I really be entering her living space? what if shes completely fine and I only make things worse?
As I turn away i see something in the corner of my eye, through the window of the bus door, I see a hand lying limp on the floor. and I go back and enter the bus, concerned. when i go in I see her lying limp on the ground, a cup of coffee split on the ground, shattered just a few feet away. beside her is a standing desk with a computer open, and notes scattered across it, and pined on a wall, I start to piece together, what I sincerely hope, was what happened here. but it can wait, i go to Maya and try to shake her awake.
"maya?, MAYA! come on kido, wake up and talk to me!"
but she doesent, I try for a long while longer and decide that I need to get her someplace safe, where she at the very least won't wake up alone and confused. so I open a portal to me and MJ's house.
I step through it and MJ walks in happily.
"honey your home early, what's the occa-" she trails of at the sight of me carrying Maya. "whats going on?" she asks, now concerned.
"MJ, meet Maya, the girl i've been telling you about".
she looks at her concerned "is she okay?" she asks nervously
I explain to her what happened, and how she seems to be fine, just exhausted beyond belief, and in an extremely deep sleep because of it.
"is it okay if she stays here tonight, I.. I couldn't just leave her there alone, and, I.. I need to know if shes okay. please, I'm ... I'm worried about her"
she looks at me sympathetically and puts her palm against my cheek, I lean into it, tired.
"alway thinking of everyone but yourself peter" she says lovingly.
"well I'm afraid that might be her problem exactly, I promise it will just be for a ni-" she cuts me off before I can finish.
"that wasn't a no! of course she can stay Pete, she can stay here as long as she needs" she says kissing me softly on the cheek.
"you really are incredible" I tell her
"not as incredible as you; caring about someone like this, that's something only my Peter Parker can do." she says, "I'll go get the couch ready for her, wait one second while i make it comfortable for our guest." she says, leaving to get the blankets.
Looking down at Maya, asleep in my arms I realize I do care, I care a lot actually, I wonder if she's met miles yet, she reminds me of him. I want to protect her, in a a way that's different than how i want to protect miles, or anyone else really. she's just been through so much, all I want is for to wake up so that I can tell her it's all okay. she doesn't though, and I I don't think she will for a while.
I put her down gently on the couch i try to let go but her grip sub consciously tightens on my arm, and she tosses around a little, but eventually, exhausts herself and goes limp again, her chest rising and falling gently. my room is right across from her and I leave the door open so that i can see her. I lie down and after a lot of worrying, I eventually fall asleep myself.
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mayas pov
I feel myself wake up, but not wanting to, it's warm and confortable and I'm extremely drowsy.
that feeling lasts for about two seconds when I realize that I fell asleep in the first place and I panic a little at first, and then a lot when i realize three things.
A: I don't know how i got here.
B: Here is comfortable but it's definitely NOT my bed.
and maybe the most concerning;
C: holy shit. someone else is here and i definitely don't have my mask on.
I quickly bolt up and web up the closest moving object, my vision freaking the fuck out trying to adjust to the sudden intake of bright light, leaving my eyes completely useless on figuring out what the fuck is actually happening
"WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU AND WHAT DO YOU WANT WITH ME?!" I demand.
whoever is there calls for someone but my senses are so overwhelmed i don't quite catch who.
another blob runs in from another room and i try to web them up but they doge and web me up instead.
wait, hold up. if someone else is webbing me up, that means it's another spider, which means I should probably stop freaking out and wait till I can actually read the room and see what the hell is happening, before I hurt someone.
my senses slowly come back and I hear someone talking to me, and referring to me by name.
"....aya, .... alm dow... It's Oka... your Okay, It's me peter."
I blink a few times and my vision calms down and i can see whats happening, and it is infact peter.
the panic, anxiety and adrenaline completely drains out of my body when I see him. I realize in that moment, I actually trust peter. it's odd, but it's comforting, and it's welcome, so I guess that is thing that happened.
"peter?" I say, letting my voice crack with emotion, for the first time in years, not even caring on how pathetic i sound.
"hey kiddo sorry about that It, well, it didn't feel right leaving you on the cold hard floor, are you okay? do you need anything?" he said.
on the floor? wait.
"did I fall asleep?" I ask
"yeah, you did".
I feel dread bubbling up inside of me. "nonononon NO" I scream, tears building up, "wha- what happened is everyone okay?" I stammer.
peter seems confused. "kid no one is hurt, except maybe you, i'm worried, how.. how often do you sleep" he asks me.
I stay there, and I think really hard, and finally I say"
"I usually pass out after... five days, but I.. I try to avoid it for as long as possible"
Peter looks at me as if I had just died in front of him. I don't know why.
"kid..." he starts. "you gotta let yourself sleep,what do you do at night?" he asks
that when I realize that my sleep schedule is not a normal one that spiders have.
"I- I go out on patrol, don't... don't you?" I ask, nervous.
"oh my god kid, you.., you need to sleep." he says.
i'm confused. "but what about everyone else, I can't sleep if someone needs my help!"
peter approaches me, and does something unexpected,
he hugs me...
and I don't know what to do...
the last person who hugged me was... her.
my knees buckle, he catches me and hugs tighter...
and that's when I start to cry.
"Maya, you can't do that to yourself.." he says
In the back of my mind I know, I know hes right, I always did, but I couldn't.
"you can't help anyone if you don't take care of yourself" he says
"I.. I can't, It's too hard" I admit, sobbing into his shoulder.
peter is silent for a while, "then let us help" he says.
I pull away, confused. "what?" I ask.
"say here with us, and we can help" he says looking at me with caring eyes. "Mayday would like the company, she really likes you y'a know, and, well.." he looks over at a woman, who I assume is MJ, across the room who gives him an approving nod, and back to me "I guess me an MJ can tolerate you for a little." he says teasingly.
"Yes" i sob out.
"well while your here could you release our breakfast? I think it's ready to talk" he jokes.
I look over and realize that the closest moving thing that I webbed up after waking up, was one of MJ's pancakes in mid-flip.
I laugh, and cry at the same time, and for the first time in years, I have a family.
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#god I suck at writing#spider man#spidersona#across the spiderverse#spider man across the spider verse#spider sona#spiderverse fanart#spider man oc#spiderman into the verse#into the spider verse#fanfic#spiderman fanfiction#spidersona fanfic#oc fanfiction#oc fic#bad fanfiction#but I'm actually super proud of this
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If you want to be terrified, consider that on the difficulty scale for From Software games, Armored Core VI is easy.
It's still punishingly hard, don't get me wrong, and is way too hard for most people to enjoy playing. The things you cite about the game-its erratic difficulty curve, the boss AI flat out cheating-hell, in Elden Ring NPCs input read; I'm pretty sure the Ibis series fight in Chapter 4 the boss input reads-are amplified ten fold in other From games. (I had to quit Sekiro for a year out of frustration at one point; there is a boss that I still haven't beaten so I still have an ending to collect. A fucking YEAR.)
So, yeah, it could be far worse. And you've hit the nail on the head, though you would be courting controversy in the Dark Souls community for saying this: the overcoming frustration mechanics are always the primary concern. The narrative is always second, to the point that there's a cottage industry of lore videos on Youtube trying to make sense of the stories of From games. From likes to put all the lore on item descriptions and make the background vague as hell (from what I've heard, their biggest director, Miyazaki, likes to read fantasy novels in English, despite not being FLUENT in English, so the stories are a mystery to him that he has to piece together, so he wants that in his game. He's ignoring the blatantly obvious fact that the novels he's reading AREN'T a mystery, they have understandable narratives in the language they're written.) The thought that people might just react to the story by going "fuck that, I'm exhausted" simply doesn't occur to them.
And the funny thing is, for all that people claim you need to "git gud" to overcome a From Software game, no, all you need to do is figure out which build stomps everything, do a little pattern recognition, and overcome the jank built into the bosses. Honestly, Armored Core VI is a cakewalk once you can put together a dual-gatling/dual stun needle build, because that annihilates everything. A fight in new game plus that was murderous in new game turns into a slaughter on your side. And that's true for virtually every From game. I'm on New Game plus 6 on Elden Ring, and I'm a god of war. Nothing can stop me unless I make a mistake, because at NG6 you can get one shot frighteningly easily.
So, yeah. You pretty much mirror my criticism for From Software games, and despite what their fan boys say, it's an accurate one.
So I kind of want to expand a bit on what I mean when I say that I think AC6 is lesser for its obsession with difficulty, and I'm going to use one of its endings for it, specifically the one that comes first in the mission list.
See, the ending is rather tragic - they all are, honestly. I don't know about the other games, but Armored Core 6 is pretty forthright about how even in victory war brings mostly just grief and loss. Still, it's a rather poignant final battle due to who you fight and why.
Or, at least, it would be if the enemy wasn't such a cheating bastard.
The first time I went into that fight, I felt really sympathetic towards my opponent and my feelings resonated with the tragedy of our conflict. By the twentieth or so time I hit Retry Mission, those feelings were all long gone and replaced with frustration and desire for murder. The well-voiced lines of dialogue once tinged with betrayal and regret had come to sound only hollow and insincere.
People talk about how the point is the elation that follows from eventual success, but I don't feel that - my headspace just lingers in the frustration that's built up during the encounter and until that has time to abate my emotions are largely just a lot of residual spite with nowhere to go, which doesn't really leave a whole room for sympathy towards whatever the following cutscenes wete trying to go on about. In the end, it made the emotional message of the game feel more one of how cheaters prosper while those who try to persevere despite being bound by rules that their opposition can freely ignore earn only misery and spite. Which, while uncomfortably real, is perhaps not the message they were going for.
This is in stark contrast to the boss of the second ending, which was actually the ending I went for first, where you fight an enemy AC - a powerful one to be sure, but still a battle where you and your enemy are both on more or less equal terms, and while it was a challenging battle, it never felt that same kind of unfair where my opponent relied on cheating or otherwise ignoring game mechanics in order to artificially inflate its difficulty.
Perhaps unsurprisingly, I find the second ending my favourite one in the game - it certainly has plenty of its own tragedy and loss, and is perhaps the one I'm the most ideologically close to, but ultimately it was also the only one that wasn't marred by the game demanding to make me hate it before it would let me see it.
Now, of course, I'm well aware that not every game is for every person, and while AC6 has a lot of aesthetic and narrative aspects that are very much my thing, the difficulty level definitely goes well outside my comfort zone in places*. At the same time though, I can't help but think that if you're intentionally designing a game to make encounters frustratingly difficult, you might also want to recognize the ways frustration will alter someone's perception, rather than just assuming they will immediately be right back on board with your narrative and not instead busy themselves with picking it apart out of spite.
(*I say places because quite honestly the difficulty curve is kind of like a drunken mayfly flitting about all over the place with neither rhyme nor reason. The game isn't so much consistently hard as it is mostly average difficulty that randomly out of nowhere hits you with a brick wall. It's almost comical how inconsistent it is about it)
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Lightning Bugs
A/N: Angsty, fluffy, adult themes, all of the above. There are going to be warnings attached to this, but I love this piece. I’ve spent a little over a week working on it and I still have many more ideas for Peter fics. As always let me know what you guys think and enjoy!
Warnings: Adult themes, nothing too graphic, but I do recommend 18+ for this. Minors DNI. Talks of weight, many family issues mentioned as well.
Word Count: 12.2k+
“Okay, you’re completely packed right? Did you grab your toothbrush from the bathroom? I need to unplug the toaster. Can you make sure all the windows are locked? Shit, we’re late!” You were running around the apartment frazzled and trying to make sure everything was done before you and your boyfriend left the state for a week.
You felt two hands land on your shoulders and gently massage the massive knots that had found home there. “My darling. Love of my life. The most beautiful girl in the world. I need you to take a deep breath. We have more than enough time. I locked all the windows this morning, I packed my toothbrush, and you already unplugged everything,” his hands slipped down your arms, rubbing the exposed skin. He kissed the top of your head as you took in a short breath, trying to calm down and stop the shaking in your hands.
When your mom called three months ago saying she was dying to meet your new boyfriend, Peter, and to request time off from work because her and your dad wanted to come out and see you, you brushed it off. Your parents were always a lot of talk and hardly ever followed through, but when you received an email confirmation of two tickets to your home state with your’s and Peter’s names, you thought you were going to throw up.
It’s not that you and your parents had a bad relationship, but you could definitely describe it as rocky. You had incredibly different visions and opinions about your life and when you made the decision to deviate from their dream for you, it only strained what was already difficult. You didn’t do what they wanted you to and they became your harshest critics for every decision you made. Which is why you stopped telling them about the decisions you were making, including when you started dating Peter. He was new to them, not new to you.
When you started university years ago, Peter was one of the first people you met. You sat next to him in your English 102 course and had to do an ice breaker with him about your name, your major, and your least favorite animal and why. When you said you were terrified of spiders, he claimed he was hooked on you that day.
Three years later, you two had been together for over two years, had graduated university, and moved in together. You had never been more in love with anyone and you never thought you would be romantically involved with a superhero, let alone the Spider-Man, but he had taken his place in your life and you couldn’t imagine it without him anymore.
After you had found out about his second identity, to which you were mortified about your original ice breaker answer, he took you swinging through the city in the middle of the night. You two perched on top of a building, watching the sunrise while eating the best bagel you had ever had in your life, courtesy of Peter and his favorite spot around the corner. You fell hopelessly in love with him that day and you asked him to move in with you. He was in your apartment the next week.
Your current life was nothing like the one you had grown up around. The town you were from with the people you had known your whole life all followed in the same patterns of their parents and you were no exception to that in your mom and dad’s eyes. You were supposed to get married young, have a few children, live down the road from your parents, and attend the same country club as your family to maintain the name and picture perfect lifestyle your parents loved to remind you they worked so hard to achieve. Your older brother followed the list to a t. He was married at twenty-four to the perfect trophy wife that he had gone to prom with, they had their first child at twenty-six, and bought a big white house that was only a block away from your parents. They had family dinner every Friday night at the club to maintain the image. That life was never in your plans and just the thought of it made you nauseous.
You had been given the “rebellious” child title. You moved to New York City at eighteen, got a job, and hardly ever came home to see your family. The night you told your parents you were leaving that coming August, you thought your mom was going to have a heart attack at the dining room table. She sobbed for an hour asking what she had done to make you hate her so much and what horrible thing they could’ve done to make you want to run away from your life. You didn’t bother with an answer because you knew it wouldn’t be the right one unless you stayed. You weren’t going to stay. Needless to say, you don't talk to them often anymore.
Unfortunately, there are times where you do have to talk to your parents and when it does happen, the topic of your life almost always comes up. It’ll quickly turn into a degrading talk about how you were choosing to live your life and how it wasn’t proper for a young woman to make the decisions you did, but you had never been happier.
Peter was well aware of the situation of regarding your parents and how awkward your relations were with them, but when you showed him the tickets he spent a half an hour trying to calm you down. You two sat on the couch for hours that night as you explained most of your worries and why you hadn’t been home in two years and how you didn’t want to throw him into the fire like that. He wasn’t phased in the slightest, saying he would be there with you the whole time.
Now as you left for the airport, your hands had a constant shake. You were terrified of the questions your dad was going to bombard Pete with, what your mom would say about you living with a boy and not even being engaged, and how your brother would still be the golden child that you needed to take after.
Peter gently took your hands in his, trying to soothe the tremble that just wouldn’t go away. After an incredibly late patrol the night before, he slept most of the flight there, but you couldn’t shut your brain off, your thoughts running rampant. You hadn’t slept the night before either and no matter what you did, you just couldn’t shut your brain off. The first two hours, you chewed your cheek and lip raw, picked at the skin around your nails, and nearly had an anxiety attack. Peter noticed and put one of his earphones in your ear, pulling your head to rest on his shoulder, and entwining his fingers with yours.
Your breathing slowly calmed down, shaking subsiding, and felt your eyelids getting heavy, letting Peter’s thumb rub over the top of your hand. When you woke it was to the pilot announcing your descent. Peter offered you a calm, soft grin to try and keep you relaxed. You led him through the airport with a death grip on his hand that he didn’t make note of, letting you use him as you needed.
You let out a sigh of relief at the sight before you. A driver stood at the end of the terminal, your last name written on his sign. Peter’s brows furrowed, tugging you back towards him. “Weren’t your parents supposed to pick us up?” You shrugged, adjusting the bag on your shoulder. “Honestly, I should’ve expected this. At least it’s another hour I don’t have to see them,” you continued moving towards the driver. He tipped his hat to you both as you approached, quickly moving to take the bags from you and Peter.
The black suv parked at the curb had a door open and you climbed in, feeling Pete slide next to you. “Okay, I need you to be honest with me,” you eyed him as he tilted his head at you. “Are you rich?” You chuckled and checked your phone, seeing no new messages from your mom or dad. “Me? No. My parents? They’re more than comfortable,” you placed your hand in Peter’s as he nodded his head at your response.
He rubbed his free hand on his pants, sinking into the plush seat. “Good to know,” you leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder, as the car pulled away from the airport, towards your literal definition of hell on earth. Peter had never been out of New York before so you pointed out different landmarks to him as you drove through the state towards your hometown. His eyes were wide in surprise and pure excitement at the new sights to see, his gaze never leaving the window.
When the driver pulled off the highway, Peter immediately noticed the major change in scenery. The houses were massive, the downtown with its historic buildings, and as the drive went further in the city, the bigger the properties became. Peter eyed you as the car pulled into a long gravel driveway, a large white and blue home growing as you came closer. The porch lights were lit from the gas lamps, illuminating the wood siding as the sun began to set. You took in a deep breath, seeing four cars parked to the side where the garage was, trying to quickly assess who was at the house.
The double front doors flew open, the wreaths that adorned both lightly rattling at the movement. Your car door opened and you looked at Peter, as he quickly pecked your lips. “I’m right here and everything is okay. Deep breath,” you nodded at his words, following his advice. Taking in a large gulp of air as you moved out of the car, shoes hitting the driveway, your walls were immediately erected for whatever was coming towards you.
“Oh my god! My baby is finally home!” Your mom ran down the porch steps towards you, her arms opened wide as you offered her a genuine smile. “Hi mama,” she wrapped herself around you, her familiar perfume choking you as her hair fell into your face. She had her pristine white pants on with a signature black sweater, diamond tennis bracelet, and not a curled hair out of place. Not a single thing had changed about her, except for the small crows feet that came out around her eyes, showing she had in fact aged over the last couple of years.
She pulled away from you and took in the boy standing directly behind you, a large smile across his face. “Mama, this is Peter. Peter this is my mom,” she gave a smile towards him, pulling him into her embrace. “Peter, it is such a pleasure to finally meet you. I wish I knew more about you, but you know how secretive my daughter can be. I can’t wait to get to know you better this week,” her voice dripped like honey, but the bite in her words was quick.
Peter stepped back from her, arm finding home on your waist. “It’s a pleasure to meet you too. Thank you so much for this trip, it should be a lot of fun,” you smiled at the way Peter dodged her quip at you, moving to change the topic. Before your mom could respond, a large figure appeared in the door, blocking most of the light that streamed out.
“Well, now who is this stranger standing in my driveway?” You took Peter’s hand in yours, walking together up the steps towards the voice. “Hi dad,” you felt his meaty arms pull you into his grip. “Sweetheart,” he started to talk, but took notice of Pete behind you. He held out a hand to him, offering a weary smile with it. “Son, how’re you? Peter, right?”
Peter shook his hand with an impressive force that shocked your dad for a split second. The seemingly lanky boy in front of him had immense strength that he was not expecting. You had to bite back a laugh as your boyfriend started. “Yes, sir, Peter Parker. Thank you for inviting me out. I’m looking forward to getting to know you all,” your dad eyed him and nodded his head, moving from blocking the entire door.
“Of course. Us too,” you all moved into the foyer and you could see Peter’s Adam's apple bob at the chandelier that hung in the space. The staircase was to the left of the entryway, the wallpaper that adorned the walls was new you noted. Your mom smiled at you both and squinted her eyes in your direction, her hand coming to land under your chin.
You held your breath in your throat at the movement. She did this every time she saw you, taking in who was standing before her with the most judgment a person could offer. Peter’s eyes squinted in thought as he tried to gauge what was about to happen, trying to fight the urge to bat her hand away from your face.
“Alright, let me look at you,” she moved your head from left to right, taking in your features that you didn’t think had changed that much since you last saw her. Her hand fell away, eyes scanning your figure. “My most beautiful girl as always. You need to use a night cream, sweetheart, it’ll help with the eye bags. I’ll leave one in your bathroom. You two head up to your old room and get changed for dinner. We’re eating in the dining room in thirty minutes. We’ll catch up then. Go on,” she motioned with her hands up the stairs as she followed your dad down the hallway towards the living room where you could hear kids playing.
Peter grabbed your suitcases, letting you take your duffle bag on your shoulder as he carried the rest up. When you opened the door to your room, you saw that your mom had completely renovated the space. All of your childhood items were missing, new wallpaper and paint on the walls, a king size mattress with a bright white comforter, and a vase of blue hydrangeas sitting on the antique dresser took their place.
You threw your bag down as Peter closed the door behind you two. You flopped onto the bed, burying your face in the pillow and letting out a small scream. Peter laughed and laid next to you, pulling your face from the pillow, making you look at him, his eyes wide in surprise at the exchange that had just happened. “Holy shit, what the fuck?” You nodded your head, pursing your lips. “I haven’t seen them in two years and the first things out of my mothers mouth are about my eye bags and how I keep secrets from them,” you rolled your eyes, Peter’s fingers dancing over your cheekbone.
“We got this, bug. Just keep it surfacey and it’ll be okay,” you nodded your head at his words as he sighed and looked at the ceiling. “This is the most comfortable bed I’ve ever laid on in my life. How much does this cost? I bet we can steal it and take it home with us,” you snorted at his words, shoving him and sitting up.
“We need to get dressed for dinner, come on,” you pulled your suitcase up onto the stool at the foot of the bed. Peter went to the closet to get hangers for your stuff and scoffed at the ones he found. “I didn’t realize people actually had these satin hangers. I’ve only ever seen them in movies,” he mumbled, going to take a shirt from his bag to hang it up. You watched as the shirt slipped off the satin hanger into a pool on the floor, your mind starting to race about what dinner would be like. You didn’t even notice you had zoned out as Peter kept talking, moving towards you slowly.
“Wow and they’re complete shit. Can’t even hold a shirt. Our plastic ones can hold shirts,” you giggled as his arms wrapped around you from behind, lips attacking your neck, a small squeal coming from you as his fingers went to your sides, pulling you out of your thoughts and back to the present moment. “Come on, baby, give me a smile,” you turned around in his arms, draping your arms around his neck as you pulled the biggest, cheesiest smile you could.
“That’ll do. I’ll get a real one out of you by the end of the night. Now, I need you to show me what someone changes into for dinner. May and I normally put pajamas on and we would watch tv together in the living room off of tv trays,” your fingers played with the hair on the nape of his neck and you placed a kiss on his jaw before pulling away and looking at what he packed, trying to pick out an outfit for him as you chuckled at his memory.
Peter zipped your dress up for you as you slipped into your slightly heeled sandals. You and Peter matched perfectly as you moved towards the door, ready to face whatever was coming at you within the next few minutes. His hand found the small of your back and he gently grabbed the fabric of your dress, stopping you.
“Deep breath. If you need my help just squeeze my hand, okay? I’ll do the same for you if I don’t know how you want me to answer something. I’m right here and you’re okay,” you did as he said, mimicking his deep breath, nodding your head as you laced your fingers together, heading downstairs into the belly of the beast.
Your brother's kids could be heard from all over the house as you two rounded the corner into the living room. Your mother had changed, opting for a summer evening style type of dress while your father wore his dress pants and a button up. Your brother stood from his chair, not greeting you as you both stepped into the room.
“Great, we’re all ready for dinner. It’s all in the dining room, come on!” Your mom hurried the group into the space, while you led Peter to your chairs. He pulled yours out for you, pushing in as you sat. You shot him a surprised look, in only an exchanged glance asking how he knew how to do that. In response, he shot you a wink as he took his chair next to yours.
The food was splayed out on the table and it looked absolutely delicious, your stomach groaning as you realized you hadn’t eaten since lunch the previous day. You placed the napkin that sat on the plate in front of you gently on your lap as Peter watched you from the corner of his eye, mimicking your movements as your mom eyed the door to the kitchen.
Staff flowed out, going to serve everyone as your sister-in-law cleared her throat to get your attention, saying your name as gently as she could to not disturb the quiet that you all had been sitting in. “You look absolutely radiant. I can see that New York air is treating you well,” you gave a small smile and nodded your head and went to speak, but were interrupted as your mother spoke first. “She always was the prettiest in the town. Had boys fawning over her. Peter you should’ve seen it. I think it was at her sixteenth birthday bash when one young boy from her class asked her dad if he could marry her! That was just the first-” you cut her off, eyes wide as Peter tried to stifle a laugh.
“Mama, please not now. It was a lifetime ago, let it go,” you grabbed your fork as you started to poke at the salad on your plate. Your face felt like it was on fire as your parents laughed and your dad’s hands clapped together making you jump at the loud noise. Peter’s hand landed on your knee to steady you. Your parents continued on, completely ignoring your pleas to stop the story.
“That’s right! By the time her graduation rolled around, I swear there was a waitlist to have a seat with me at the club to talk about my baby girl,” you groaned, forcing lettuce into your mouth as Peter chuckled, starting to eat the salad on his plate. “Pete, do you golf?” Peter sat up straighter in his seat at your fathers question, your brother's eyes moving over him waiting for his response. You wanted to punch his smug face.
“Not regularly, no, but I have played a few times before with a friend back home,” your dad nodded his head, wiping his mouth with the napkin before speaking again. “That’s good, son. Tyler and I are playing a round on Thursday, I want you to join,” your father pushed his thumb towards your brother and Peter smiled at them. “Sounds great, I’m looking forward to it. I’m not sure I have golfing attire though,” he looked down at you and winked, trying to get you to ease up.
You were stiff as a board as they went back and forth before your mom spoke up again. “Oh, don’t you worry about that, Peter. The club has a shop, we’ll get you something from there or when I take my baby shopping we’ll look for you,” she pointed her fork at you with a smile. Peter thanked her as another silence fell over the table, the only noise was the cutlery scraping against the fine china.
Shopping. You couldn’t shop with her. It was a horrifying experience whenever it happened and on the few occasions it had happened past your sixteenth birthday they all ended with you both in screaming matches in the car. Peter’s fingers gently moved over your knee, when you realized everyone's eyes were on you.
“I’m sorry, what happened?” You looked at Peter and he smiled, your mom starting again. “I said that we’re hosting a little party the day after tomorrow and we need to go shopping for it tomorrow. Peter you’re more than welcome to come,” you felt like you were suffocating. Your hand found Peter’s and squeezed, begging for a lifeline to save you.
Your mouth was dry like cotton and as you stared at the main course in front of you, not even remembering when it had been placed there. You didn’t feel like you could eat anymore. Beads of sweat started to form on the back of your neck, you could feel the shake in your hands come back, but Peter was jumping in to save you. He started talking with your family as you sat there, one hand holding a fork and just pushing the food around on your plate, your appetite gone in a blink of an eye as your grip on Peter’s hand remained the same for the rest of the meal.
Sleep didn’t come easy to you that night. You tossed and turned, worming in and out of Peter’s arms all night, trying to get even slightly comfortable. Peter slept soundly throughout the entire night and you were envious of him. You lightly pushed the hair that had fallen into his face away from his eyes.
He looked gorgeous like this. The early morning sun starts to peak in through the gauzy curtains and wrap him in its warm glow. His bare torso was out, the comforter sitting low on his waist. He had an arm tucked behind his head as he laid on his back, his head turned and facing you. His features were soft and relaxed, his lips set in a slight pout just begging to be kissed. The veins in his arms were on display and your fingers lightly traced over them. His free hand laid flat on his chest and even though he had the biggest hands you had ever seen, they didn’t even begin to cover the broad expanse of him. Everytime you looked at him you felt like it was the first time all over again. He never failed to take your breath away with just how beautiful he truly was.
“You’ve been staring at me for the last thirty minutes. I appreciate it, but after a bit it’s just creepy, babe,” his arms wrapped you up in him, crushing you to his chest as you smiled, kissing the space where his collarbone and neck met. “I’m sorry, I can’t help it and don’t act like I don’t catch you staring at me at least once a day.”
His deep laugh shook you both. His morning voice was always so deep and scratchy, turning you into a puddle. His eyes finally opened, lighter than they ever were when he woke up first in the morning. The sun fell gently on them, the normal chocolate melted into a deep honey. His hand came up and gently pushed hair out of your face, kissing your forehead.
“It’s sweet and endearing when I do it. You get this look on your face that makes you look crazy,” he mumbled against your bare skin, lips moving from your forehead to your neck. You couldn’t even fight him, his teeth nipping a sensitive spot on your collarbone. A light moan fell from your lips. In seconds, you were straddling him. You slowly rolled your hips, your bare core rubbing against his clothed erection.
You could feel the wet spot that you left on him. Your night slips skinny strap fell from your shoulder, beginning to expose your breast. You both were starting to breathe deeper, your hands braced themselves on his chest. Peter’s hands moved the tight grip he had on your waist to run his thumb across your budding nipple, moving to attach his mouth, letting his tongue take the soft peak between his teeth.
Your head fell back, a gasp escaping you when a loud knock startled you both. Peter had you laying down under the covers in the blink of an eye as your mom poked her head in the door. “Wakey, wakey, sleepyheads. We have a busy day. I need you up and ready in an hour, sweetheart. Do something pretty with your hair today, okay? We’re seeing all the cousins,” if she noticed how flushed you were, she didn’t say anything.
The door closed behind her and you both erupted in a fit of laughter. “We have an hour. What I wanna do shouldn’t take more than forty-five,” you pushed him off of you as he tried to place a kiss on your shoulder. You climbed out of the bed and headed towards the bathroom as you let your slip fall to the ground in a pool around your feet. Slowly reaching in and turning the water on, you leaned against the doorframe, looking at the wide-eyed boy still in the bed.
“Thirty minutes and in the shower,” Peter jumped from the bed, arms dragging you to the shower with him as you giggled, letting him pull you into the warm water. “If I get shower sex on vacation, then I feel like we need to go away more,” he mumbled against your lips, leaning against the tiled wall. Before you could respond, you felt his slender finger plunge into you.
You could hear the group chatting outside the fitting room and you were trying to work up the courage to open the curtain. Your mom had picked out a dress for you and you couldn’t fully zip it. You’d gone up a size since you last went shopping with her. It was completely normal. You weren’t seventeen anymore and you couldn’t freak out because of that. Your mom could though.
She had invited your aunts and cousins to join you today, making it a girls day. The uncles and boy cousins were going to hang around the house and goof around as they called it. You had shot Peter a worried glance, but he gave you a reassuring smile, kissing you chastly, saying you would both be fine. That he was only a text or phone call away if you needed him for anything. You stared at the screen, debating on calling him, but deciding against it. You could handle this. You needed to handle this. God, you wished he was there.
Your mom's voice called from the other side of the curtain, startling you from your thoughts. “Sweetheart, c’mon! Everyone’s dying to see you,” you poked your head out and found your mom. “I-uh. I need a bigger size. Just one size up and it’ll be perfect. I swear,” your mom’s smile didn’t falter as she looked at the associate. They exchanged no words as she turned and grabbed the next size from the rack, handing it to you gently. You quietly thanked her, feeling your mom's eyes bore into you as you avoided her piercing gaze, that smile still present.
As you slipped into it and stepped out, your cousins and aunts all smiled, pouring compliments onto you. Your eyes could only focus on your mom though, waiting for her to break her silence and when she finally did, you didn’t know how to react. “Gosh, I remember when we used to share clothes,” that small comment just about knocked you off your feet. Delivered in her sweetest tone possible, but it felt like you had been slapped across your face. She nodded her head, knowing you got the meaning of her words, looking at the associate saying you would take it.
As you all left the shop, millions of shopping bags in tow, your mom didn’t speak to you again. She shot you a look as you tried to get in your cousin's car that you needed to rethink that decision.
The drive was silent at first, only the light music from the radio filling the silence. Your stomach was flipping, simply waiting for her to say something. Anything. You knew it was coming. “I see you’ve been eating well in New York,” her voice finally broke the tension. You didn’t bother to respond, it always went this way.
“Do you think this is okay? Treating your body like this? You embarrassed me, you embarrassed yourself. How do you think this reflects on your family? On Peter? Do you think he wants to be with a chubby girl?” Your eyes burned with tears as you looked out the window. She knew Peter was the way to get to you and boy did it.
Was she right? You had seen who Peter was interested in before you. Gwen was a twig and you tried not to let it bother you, but maybe it was obvious to everyone. Did Peter settle? He could do better. Your mind turned on you within seconds as you tried to claw your way out, but it was too late. You had slipped and were tumbling quickly.
The car came to a stop at the house and you exited the car quickly, feeling a panic attack starting, knowing you were spiraling. You couldn’t catch your breath, feeling like your chest was going to constrict at any moment. You bolted up the front steps, throwing the front door open as your mom called for you from the driveway. Bounding up the stairs, your thoughts pummeled you. You slammed the bedroom door shut behind you and headed straight for the bathroom.
You were gasping for air, tears streaming down your cheeks as you felt the cool wall on your back, the floor tiles pulling you to sit with them. You sank down, hearing the bedroom door fly open, the towering figure found you shaking and sobbing uncontrollably.
He stooped down to your level, closing the bathroom door as he did, hearing the lock echo through the space. You couldn’t see him through the tears, but his hands went to your cheeks. “One, two, three, four,” he inhaled after and you knew to mimic him. After a few minutes your breathing was back to normal, tears halting. “There you go,” he whispered, grabbing your hands and pulling you into his lap, taking your place against the wall.
“What happened, bug?” your eyes closed, breathing him in. “I needed a bigger dress size,” you spoke quietly, feeling silly and dumb about the episode from that. How quickly you were able to turn on yourself and fall into a hole that you couldn’t climb out of. His hands smoothed your hair, waiting for you to continue, his other hand lacing with yours.
“I asked in front of everyone and mom gave me that look,” you grew angry thinking about it. Who could talk to their daughter like that? “When we got in the car she said some nasty things. Freaked me out is all. I’m sorry, I know I probably embarrassed you,” you shook your head, laughing bitterly at the end.
He tilted his head to rest his forehead against yours, an angry look taking over his features. “Don’t say that. You could never embarrass me. Especially in front of these people. I don’t let anyone talk about my girl like that,” you laughed at the end, sniffling as you did. Your worries melted away as he kissed you, hand moving to your jaw, pulling you closer.
When you pulled away, Peter’s lips landed on your nose. He started placing quick pecks all over your face and neck, a loud laugh falling from you. “There she is,” he said between his own laughs. Your thumb swept across his cheekbone. “I love you,” you murmured, feeling his laugh rumble you both.
“I love you, too, bug. Always. Now I gotta ask about your cousin, Jax. Does he really have a yacht?” you nodded your head as his mouth fell open. “Yeah, he’s from old oil money,” he rolled his eyes and let his head fall back to the wall. “Figures. I’m an actual superhero who’s broke, but they struck oil 150 years ago and they own a yacht,” you pushed his hair back as you chuckled. “Yeah, but you’re so much cooler than them. You literally make your own web fluid in a lab, swing from buildings, beat the shit out of bad guys,” your fingers didn’t leave his hair as he shrugged.
“I’m pretty cool, huh?” you rolled your eyes, getting up from his lap. “I never should’ve told you that. It went straight to your already huge head,” you left the bathroom, Peter following behind you. “Wait, keep telling me how amazing I am. The amazing Spider-Man. I can get used to that.”
Your mom didn’t bring up the incident again which you were happy about. It would only cause more trouble and you just needed to get through these last few days and you were home free.
The party was in full swing the next night. The house had well over a hundred people flowing between the rooms and backyard. You were pounding the champagne, trying to take the edge off.
Peter had called you beautiful at least ten times since you had put the dress on. It never failed to give you butterflies.
He looked positively sexy. His navy suit looked immaculate, fitting the floral pattern of your dress. Your mom had gotten his suit yesterday after the incident and had it emergency tailored to fit him perfectly and good lord did it.
“You keep looking at me like that and this party is gonna be over very soon,” he spoke under his breath, lips dancing on the shell of your ear, his arm snug around your waist. “I think you need to wear suits more often, Mr. Parker,” your eyes gleamed with mischief. His smile grew as he held your gaze. “Oh yeah? I was thinking for grocery shopping, laundry days, you know the usual?” you snickered into your glass and nodded. “Definitely, maybe even while doing the dishes,” his head tipped back, a laugh flowing from him. “You got it, baby,” as you two continued back and forth, an older couple from the club approached you both.
“My goodness, you look lovely, hon. This must be the famous Peter we’ve heard so much about,” you and Peter shared a surprised glance as he shook the outstretched hand from the gentleman in front of him. “It is. Mr. and Mrs. Chesterberg, this is Peter Parker. It’s great to see you both,” easy conversation flowed between you all. A few other couples came over and joined in as time went on. The conversation was the same a million times over. Had been since you were fifteen.
You were happy to get a quick break as your mom stood on the porch overlooking the entire party, clinking her glass to get everyone’s attention. A hushed silence fell over the crowd, eyes going to her. “We just want to thank you all for joining us tonight. It’s been so long since our baby girl’s been home and we wanted to celebrate with all of our friends and family. Sweetheart, we are so happy that you’re home,” glances shot your way as you tucked further into your boyfriend’s side, his grip tightening on you.
“And Peter. It’s been so great getting to know you. Thank you, again, everyone for joining us. Please enjoy the food and drinks. Let’s dance!” claps filled the air as your brows furrowed, trying to understand what your mom meant by her words to Peter. Your mom was a calculated person. Each word was carefully chosen with specific meaning as she spoke. What the hell did she mean by that?
The band started playing and Peter smiled, taking your hand and moving towards the dance floor in the middle of the backyard, pulling you from your thoughts. There were string lights above the floor that gave light to the darkness around everyone, casting a special glow on your Peter. You rested your head on his chest, one hand in his, the other on his back. His chin rested on your head, his free hand on your lower back. You swayed to the music, happy to have him here with you. It made it so much easier and like it was meant to be as you fit together so perfectly. Peter was your saving grace.
As the song came to an end, your dad stepped towards you both, moving into Peter’s place and you smiled at him. “Hi dad,” he didn’t respond to you, but you were used to that. He was a man of few words, especially with you. The silence that followed him like a shadow was a comfort to you. It was one of the traits you treasured about him. He cleared his throat, giving off a warning that he was going to speak and you looked at him expectantly. “Peter’s been great these last few days,” you didn’t respond, knowing he wanted to say more. “Do you love him?” you let a small smile form at the thought of Peter. Of course you loved him. “I do, dad. He’s my person,” he smiled back at you, nodding his head as you two finished the dance in silence.
You stepped off the dance floor, going to grab a drink, eyes scanning the crowd for Peter. You smiled as you saw him talking to a group of older ladies from the neighborhood, watching as one placed her hand on his arm, laughing at something he had said. His eyes slightly widened, slowly stepping back from her hand. You giggled, taking a sip from your glass when you heard your name.
You turned and there he was. Mason. The first boy you had dated and the most eligible boy in town. Your parents were over the moon when you had told them you were an item all those years ago. You had broken things off with him shortly before you moved. You wanted a fresh start and he wanted to stay in the same town and live the exact life his parents had.
“You look stunning. It is so good to see you,” you smiled at his words, setting your glass on the table behind you. “Oh my gosh, Mason! It is so good to see you too,” you let him pull you into a quick hug, taking in the boy that had now become a man. It felt like he was from a completely different life. You couldn’t help but notice that he was the complete opposite of Peter.
Mason had sandy blonde hair, baby blue eyes, and was much more visibly muscular. He had been quarterback of the football team, star pitcher for the baseball team, and was going to inherit a complete fortune. Mason was the catch of the town and you didn’t regret leaving at all. There were plenty of girls who would suit him and his dream. You weren’t that girl.
“Can we have a dance? I’d love to hear about New York,” you beamed at him, agreeing as he took you onto the dance floor. One dance quickly turned into four as you two laughed at the memories you shared.
You were trying to catch your breath, wiping tears away as he told you the story about you two sneaking out senior year. You had taken your brother's car for the night and somehow it had hit the garage door, but you completely got away with it. You blamed Tyler, saying he hadn’t put the emergency break on. Your cousin came up to you, asking for your help in the kitchen.
“I’ll see you later, Mason. We’ll keep chatting, okay?” he nodded his head, a big smile taking over his face. You followed your cousin into the house, helping her find the paper towels she was desperately searching for when your mom appeared.
“Was that Mason I saw you with?” you nodded your head, saying a quick aha! as you found the towels, handing them to your cousin. “It looked like you two were having a good time,” you brushed her off, popping a mini weenie into your mouth. “Yup. Just sharing old stories. He and I did some funny things together,” she nodded, a small smirk on her face.
“It’s just that you two look so great together. I know he misses you. He tried dating Stacy Goldchuck, but they didn’t last-” you cut her off, putting a hand up to stop her. “Mama, enough. Mason is in my past. He and I had great times together, but I moved forward in life. He didn’t. I wasn’t going to stay here my entire life and stay stuck forever. I’m done talking about it,” you pushed past her, walking out the backyard, trying to find Peter.
You let out a sigh of relief when you saw him. He had a tight smile when you approached him, yours diminished fast. “Are you okay, bug?” you entwined your fingers together and he brought them to his lips, kissing your knuckles. “Everythings fine, babe,” you offered a shaky smile at him as another couple approached you both.
You didn’t have a chance to talk to Peter alone for the rest of the night. When you two went to bed, you passed out as soon as your head hit the pillow. Peter was still changing in the bathroom. You woke up the next morning to an empty bed, a note where he should’ve been.
GONE GOLFING :)
You took the opportunity to spend the day relaxing, having no plans for the morning. The house was quiet. Your dad and Peter had met with Tyler for golf and your mom went to her brunch club. You sat on the back porch, coffee in hand, reading.
“Nice swing, son,” your dad offered the compliment to Peter as he hit the ball from the tee. “Thank you, sir,” Peter eyed the ball, noting where it landed. “I think he might’ve hustled us, pops,” Tyler said as he set his tee up. Peter laughed with them as he put the club back in the bag on the cart.
“I said I had played a couple times before. Didn’t say I was bad,” they all laughed as Tyler hit his ball, cursing as it didn’t go like Peter’s. As they moved to the next hole, they shared jokes and stories, genuinely having a fun time as your dad set up his shot.
“Now, Peter. Tell me again what you do for work,” Peter leaned on his club, clearing his throat as he and Tyler watched him. “A couple things. Freelance photography. I’ve done it since I was a kid and really enjoy it. I am also a lab employee at Oscorpe in New York,” your dad hummed at the response, hitting the ball, whistling as it flew.
Peter moved to do the same, your dad taking his now empty spot. “And what do you want to do, Peter?” He took a moment to think of his response, using his setup to aid him with time to think of the appropriate answer.
“Well, I love photography and absolutely plan on continuing that. I think I’m fairly good at science so I want to see what can happen with Oscorpe,” he hit the ball as he spoke, looking at your father after. One more stroke and it was in. Your dad rubbed his chin as he asked another quick question, Peter taking over Tyler’s spot.
“And my daughter. What’re your plans with her?” He couldn’t help the smile that came as you crossed his mind. All his plans centered around you. It was all for you both. “I’m going to marry her. She’s who I picture my life with,” your dad hummed again. He moved towards your brother, going to take his next shot.
“Peter, I like you, son. You seem like a good boy. Just not meant for my baby girl,” Peter’s smile fell from his face as your father kept talking, not looking at him, but at his shot. “My daughter is not meant to live in New York. She needs to come home and be with a man that can provide for her. Photography and lab work can’t do that. You saw last night how happy she was with Mason. Now, that’s a boy that can take care of her,” he putted his shot, going down four strokes.
Peter’s mouth was dry, letting his words settle over him. Of course, he saw you and Mason last night. You were beaming with him and it broke Peter a tiny bit seeing how good you two looked together. He had tried to hide it, but he knew you caught it. This was your life and where you looked good. Peter wasn’t blind or dumb.
He grabbed his putter, moving silently to set up the shot. “So, it’s up to you, son. End it with her before you leave this week or when you get back to New York. She needs to come home. I let her live this silly little fantasy long enough, but it’s done,” Peter was shaking, still silent as he putted, watching the ball roll into the hole.
Tyler and your dad clapped. “Son, you know how to play!” Your dad clapped him on the shoulder as Peter stayed quiet. He didn’t know what to do.
You didn’t know what had happened at their game this morning, but Peter had been off ever since. He wouldn’t touch you, wouldn’t speak to you privately. He hardly even looked at you. That night as you two went to bed, he didn’t say goodnight as he laid on his side away from you.
Had you done something? You replayed every moment from the last few days, trying to place when it had happened. After you found him at the party he had been acting differently. Had someone said something to him? Maybe once he got to know your family and had seen your past life he realized he didn’t want to deal with you anymore. That you had too much baggage.
Your thoughts kept you up for hours, you had no idea when you fell asleep, but when you woke up, the bed was empty. You looked out the window, seeing Peter sitting on the back porch, reading some book he had bought a few weeks ago, claiming it would help him with work and Spider-Man responsibilities. That was code for science stuff you would never be able to wrap your head around.
It was still early, morning dew was still holding strong on the yard, a cold bite in the air. The house was still silent, signaling that everyone was still asleep. Peter’s head popped up as he watched you approach him, your bare feet padding along the wood. He gave you a soft smile. “I couldn’t sleep, I’m sorry.”
You eyed the spot next to him, moving to fill it. To your relief he accepted you willingly. You brought both feet onto the cushion, leaning your full weight into his side. You wrapped both your arms around one of his, laying your head on his bicep. His lips skimmed your forehead, eyes closing, wanting to relish the moment.
“Peter, are you mad at me? Did I do something to upset you?” you whispered out after sitting in silence for a bit, listening to his steady breathing. He sighed, your eyes scanned his face as he observed you. “Absolutely not, bug. I just-” he hesitated, trying to decide how he wanted to word his thoughts.
“Do you want to live in New York? Are you happy there?” He could see the confusion take over and immediately regretted asking. “Why would you ask me that?” You pulled away from him, anger taking over any rational thoughts you could’ve formed, quickly moving to the worse case scenario.
“I was just wondering, but I shouldn’t have said that. Forget I asked it, okay?” You stood, looking at him as he ran his hand through his messy locks. “I can’t just forget it, Peter. You brought it up. You wanted an answer. You have been acting so weird ever since that stupid fucking party. Did something happen?” Honestly, you were mainly thinking out loud, trying to understand where this was coming from.
You could tell Peter was growing more frustrated with every word you said, but you wouldn’t stop. Then it hit you. This all started after you had danced with Mason. Your eyes narrowed at him. You knew you shouldn’t have said it, watching Peter explode after the question left your mouth.
“Oh my god. Is this because of Mason? Because I danced with him?” His eyes snapped up to meet yours, jumping up from his seated position. “Yes! Yes, that’s exactly what this is about. You looked fucking elated dancing with him. It made me upset seeing you so happy with him. You know you’ve never looked at me like that?” He was shouting and you were so irate you were visibly shaking, the cold long forgotten.
“Oh please, Peter. Give me a fucking break. How the hell do you think I feel when I see you and Gwen together literally all the time? I laugh at some high school memories and I’m the bad guy. Nevermind the fact that I look at you like you’re my entire world, but damn fuck me for laughing at a joke!” your arms crossed in front of you, shaking your head as Peter looked at you, confused at your confession.
“What about me and Gwen? We’re friends. That’s all,” you spat out a laugh, meeting his gaze as he calmed down, going on the defense, trying to backtrack and reassure you.
“You think I’m stupid? You think I don’t notice the longing glances she gives you? That you jump at any opportunity to spend any time you can with her? Lunch at work, walking her home, inviting her to our dinners?” Peter’s jaw fell slack as angry tears formed in your eyes, your breathing going shallow and quick, another panic attack taking shape.
He saw it starting to form and his senses kicked into overdrive, just wanting to get you to slow down and breathe. He didn’t say anything as he took in a deep breath, watching as you subconsciously followed his breathing. He could see your brain actively sort through your thoughts and feelings, seeing how quick it reached the conclusion it did.
“Maybe it’s best we did this,” you choked out. Peter started shaking his head, moving to grab you, but you took a step back. “She’s perfect for you, Peter. An Oxford graduate, works at Oscorpe with you, cause God knows I’m not smart enough for that. I’m a total fucking mess. I wasn’t meant to be in New York, was I? A stupid girl chasing a stupid dream. I was meant to stay here, marry who my parents pick for me, sit down and shut up. The perfect little trophy wife. Not much of a trophy, huh?” A wet laugh bubbled up before you could stop it. “You don’t have to stay the last two days. I’ll have my mom change your ticket,” you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him.
Your heart was being ripped from your chest. Peter had no idea what to do. He didn’t mean for this to happen like this. It was supposed to be a clean break, but he was watching his world crumble around him. He was watching the girl who had grown confident around him, who was incredibly smart, and the most breathtakingly beautiful woman he had ever seen that he had fallen hopelessly in love with, shrink back in on herself, abandoning everything you had become. And he hated himself for it.
He had no idea that you viewed him and Gwen that way. A lifetime ago, he loved her, sure, but not the way he loves you. He didn’t know love like that existed. You were the blood that ran through him, the driving force that got him up everyday just to see you smile. Your laugh was his energy, he loved hearing it. It was music that he would choose a million times over, but now he couldn’t figure out what to say to you.
You turned and went back into the house, trying to stifle the sobs that were running through you. He wanted to stop you, but he didn’t, your fathers words running through his head.
It was Friday night which meant dinner at the club. Your family had all left the house this morning, having errands to run, leaving you and Peter entirely alone. The two of you steered clear of each other through the day. As you two got ready for dinner, you moved around each other in silence, not sure what to say.
You stood in front of the floor length mirror, trying to zip your dress when Peter approached behind you. He took the zipper from your hands, gliding it up delicately and with ease.
You gave an awkward smile, mumbling a quick thanks as he looked at you through the reflection, no smile offered back. “You are the most beautiful girl I've ever seen,” your gaze dropped from his, the smile leaving your face, looking at your shoes.
Neither of you said anything else as your parents babbled in the car, trying to get you both up to speed on the club's current drama. Peter’s hands laid flat on the tops of his thighs, fighting the urge to take your hand in his, kiss you and make everything okay again.
Your lip was raw from chewing on it, keeping your eyes on the window, not hearing a single word your mother had said. Peter noticed the old anxiety habit and so desperately wanted to pull it from your teeth, but instead he just watched.
As the car came to a stop, the valet opened your door, helping you step out. Peter appeared at your side quickly, escorting you inside. Instinctively, his hand landed on the small of your back, his touch scorching you as you kept up appearances for your family. Your stupid fucking family that had ruined your life in a matter of four days.
The club was so packed you could hardly move through the crowd to your designated table that you knew the path to like it had only been a week since you had been there when in reality it had been years. Faces perked up, greetings being shouted at you as you made your way to the table, politely offering waves and smiles to those that called out to you as you walked.
Peter admired that even though he knew you were broken like he was, you could put on that brave face and continue on like nothing was happening. He also hated it because you were well versed in having to do that. Peter knew that you had picked it up from your mother, having seen her do it since you could walk and something he had seen on this trip more times than he could count.
As you approached the table, Tyler and Annabelle were already sitting, waiting for you all to join. Peter continued the motions, pulling your chair out, pushing it in as you sat, placing the napkin in his lap. The room was buzzing with chatter, light music flowing through the space from the live band at the front of the room.
Your mom had a large smile on her face as she watched you chat with people as they came to the table, clearing her throat as another young girl you had gone to high school with stopped by to say hi, an infant on her hip that had your eyes lightly bugging out at. “Sweetheart, make sure you stop by the Davidson’s table this evening,” your eyes narrowed at her, knowing she wanted you to talk to Mason again.
Peter visibly stiffened at that notion. You wanted to offer a snide remark back to your mother, but couldn’t before the wait staff came to the table, setting three bottles of wine down. Wasting no time, you grabbed the red option, pouring yourself a hefty glass. Annabelle giggled, sticking her glass out, wanting the same serving.
You laughed as you poured hers the same. “We claim this bottle tonight,” your smile took over your face as you kept it on your end of the table. Instinctively, you poured Peter a glass too. You hesitated at the end, making brief eye contact as he smiled, thanking you. Your brother scoffed and leaned back in his chair. “Annie, do not overdo it. You’re a sloppy drunk and I don’t need that embarrassment tonight. Be an adult, please,” you watched as her smile slowly dropped, setting her glass down.
“Tyler, shut the fuck up. We’re out to dinner, she can have a glass of wine. She deals with your offspring every single day, she deserves it just for having to tolerate you,” Annabelle smirked into her lap at your words. Tyler rolled his eyes, pointing to the white wine and telling the server he would take that choice tonight.
Your hand went up to the server, a gentle smile offered to her, stopping her in her tracks. “Tyler, you can pour yourself a glass of wine. Be an adult and do it yourself,” your mom choked on her wine, eyes going wide at your challenge. Tyler leaned forward, a smirk forming on his lips. “So you're little miss independent? Think that you can speak to me like that? When you move back here we’re gonna have to take some time to reteach you some manners, little girl,” your mouth formed a small “o” as your dad went to speak, Peter beating him to it.
“I don’t know who the hell you think you are, but you do not speak to her like that, you understand me? You don’t talk to your wife and mother of your children like that either, jackass. Next time you have an issue with either of them, you come to me, yeah? Man the fuck up,” everyone sat silent as Peter held eye contact with your brother. You were fairly certain he was the only one other than you who had ever challenged him like that.
Your brother's smirk had fallen off his face, sitting back in his chair, no words to follow. Your father held his hands up as your mothers face sat in an almost permanent state of shock. “Okay, everyone settle down. Peter, I don’t think he meant any harm by that. It’s how Tyler jokes around,” you scoffed at that, rolling your eyes as Peter’s hand found your own, lacing your fingers together, not backing down.
“Joking or not, I will not let him speak to her like that. I don’t appreciate it and most definitely will not tolerate it. From anyone,” Peter eyed everyone at the table, taking a beat longer with your mother. You bit back a smile, feeling your pulse speed up at his words. No one had ever stuck up for you like that and as it happened you didn’t know how to react, other than to squeeze his hand, him immediately doing it back. It was him letting you know he would always do that for you.
As the servers approached the table with the first course, Peter smiled at you and Annabelle. “Tell you what, I love salad, but there are other appetizers out there. Have they ever thought about putting something like pigs in a blanket as an option? I bet it would go over well,” you couldn’t help but smile as Peter moved on from that moment.
The rest of the dinner went by as your parents and brother sat mostly silent, you three constantly in a fit of laughter as conversation flowed. You felt at ease with Peter, but you couldn’t help but feel the dread in the back of your mind knowing a really tough conversation was going to have to happen. But in that moment it didn’t matter as his hand never left yours the rest of the night, his arm eventually draping over the back of your chair, tugging it closer to his, shielding you from everyone in his presence.
When the music started to pick up, Peter’s smile grew as he stood, offering his hand to you. “C’mon, baby, let’s go dance,” you took his hand and let him lead you to the floor, your mothers eyes never leaving you two.
You and Peter danced for over thirty minutes, laughter taking you both over as you realized just how bad of a dancer he was. You caught the look of Mason and offered a soft smile, him returning it as he saw you and Peter together, turning around and going back to his table. You grabbed Peter’s hand and led them over to the Davidson’s table.
He quickly spoke in your ear before you approached them, hand landing on your hip to stop you. “What’re you doing, babe?” You didn’t respond, continuing forward, placing your hand over his, locking it in place. “Mr. and Mrs. Davidson! I’m so sorry I haven’t been able to catch up with you all before tonight. This is Peter Parker, my boyfriend. This week has been so busy and we leave tomorrow night,” they smiled widely, Mrs. Davidson standing and pulling you into an embrace, Mr. Davidson offering Peter a handshake.
“Oh I know how busy you’ve been. Your mama has had you running the entire time you’ve been here! I thought you were staying though?” You chuckled at her question, feeling Peter stiffen behind you. You turned and eyed him, offering a quizzical look before turning back towards her. “What do you mean? Why would I be staying? We leave tomorrow,” she looked flushed, stumbling over her words, trying to offer an explanation.
You excused yourself, pulling Peter to the hallway just outside the dining room. “Peter, what the hell was that about? Why did she think I was staying here?” he sighed, running his hand over his face as he leaned back against the wall. “Okay. When I tell you this I need you to be calm,” you could feel your temperature rising, arms crossing over your chest as you told him to continue.
“When we were golfing yesterday your dad had a talk with me. Telling me that he had let you live out your New York fantasy and that the entire point of this trip was to get you home. To stay here,” he didn’t look at you as he took in a shaky breath, looking at his dress shoes. “He told me that I was not suitable for his daughter. That my lab work and photography was not enough to support you. He doesn’t want me to be with you. I’m not good enough for you,” his eyes slipped shut, dropping his head.
“Are you fucking joking? Peter, why would you not tell me this? Of course, I want to be with you. I don’t need you to financially support me. I have never wanted that, it’s why I ran from here in the first place. I want to work and I want to do what I love. Just like how I want you to do what you love and do it with me. You are everything I have ever wanted, Peter,” his eyes met yours, his arms wrapping around you and pulling you towards him, hands landing on either of your cheeks as he kissed you.
When he pulled back his pained look didn’t budge. “I need you to know that there is absolutely nothing between me and Gwen, bug. She’s just a friend. She is nothing compared to you. You are my literal everything, I would never jeopardize that,” you looked away, your face burning as you thought of your jealous outburst from that morning. “No, I know that. I’m sorry I brought that up. It was my own insecurities coming to a head. They’ve been on hyper drive since we’ve been here. I shouldn’t have taken that out on you and especially on Gwen. She is so sweet,” Peter shook his head, putting his finger under your chin and getting you to look at him.
“I’m glad you told me. I didn’t know you were feeling like that. You are my main priority and I am so sorry if I’ve made you feel otherwise,” before he could continue, you connected with him again, your lips crashing onto his like he would slip through your fingers in any second. He was too good to you. You had let all of your ugly thoughts bombard him and he didn’t deserve that.
It made complete sense why he had been acting like that since the golf game, though. The party with Mason only solidified what he had been told from your dad and you hated that they had made him feel lesser than any of them when he was ten times the men they could ever be. As you melted into him, grabbing his dress shirt and pulling him closer to you, he pulled back, putting his forehead against yours.
“I’m so sorry, babe. The way your dad spoke just made me feel like maybe there was a small part of you that missed this. Like this is where you were meant to be,” you rolled your eyes as you kissed his nose. “Never. I left this for a reason and that reason ended up being you,” his smile grew as he kissed you again.
The drive home was uncomfortable between you all as you sat directly next to Peter, both arms wrapped one of his, hands tangled together. Your mom spared one glance to the backseat and saw you both, a sour look taking over her features, shooting a quick look to your father.
When you got back to the house, you told your parents you needed to talk. Peter’s worried look made you nervous, but you kissed him gently, assuring him you had this. It needed to be done and that he should go up and get some rest. You both knew he would not be doing that, opting to sit at the top of the stairs and wait for you to be done, no matter how long it would take and that he would be right there if you needed him for anything.
You and your parents had screamed and cried for hours as you battled out every feeling and thought you had. You knew it wasn’t going to be an easy fight, but when you had finished, you were so emotionally drained you thought you were going to pass out from exertion and dehydration.
By the end you realized your parents were never going to understand your point of view, your dreams and wishes, your goals. They couldn’t comprehend why you just didn’t want what they did. No matter what you said or did, it wasn't the answer they wanted. Your dad admitted to trying to drive Peter away, but swore he did it for you. For your best interest, not realizing that he was your best interest. That he was your future.
When you walked out of the living room, your parents going to bed, feelings and thoughts all laid out with no solutions to them being reached, you just wanted Peter. He had left his spot at the top of the stairs. It was the middle of the night, the large clock on the wall reading just past two in the morning. As you made your way to the back porch, you saw a figure sitting on the large brick wall.
You quietly walked out, climbing up to sit next to him. He wrapped you up in him, having you sit between his legs, trying to keep you warm. A breath you didn’t know you had been holding escaped you as you leaned back against him, letting him hold you both up. “You know I’ve never seen lightning bugs before?”
His whisper tickled your neck, eyes peeking open and seeing what he was looking at. The yard was filled with them, their yellow blinking lights taking up the darkness in the grass, illuminating what space they filled. You looked up at him and let out a breathy laugh. “They’re really pretty. That’s how I know summer is close, when they start coming out. When I was a kid we used to catch them in jars and watch them for hours. We’d release them of course, but it was so much fun,” your heart ached at the memory. A time when everything was so simple and when there were no expectations on you. When it was okay for you to run in the yard and catch bugs.
You pulled away from Peter, going to the kitchen and grabbing a mason jar from under the island. You stepped back out onto the patio, Peter watching you with a smile as you grabbed his hand. “C’mon!” You led him to the grass and you and Peter spent over an hour catching lightning bugs, laughter carrying through the air, your breath coming out in puffs in front of you both, ignoring that you felt like a block of ice, your nose lightly running and burning.
As you and Peter decided to make your way back into the house, you caught sight of your mom standing at her bedroom window, watching you both. Peter’s arms were wrapped around you from behind, his head resting on your shoulder as you set the last bug of the night free. She had a large smile on her face, one you hadn’t seen in years and you knew that everything would be okay. Eventually, it would be okay.
When you and Peter got home incredibly late the next day, you both raced to the bedroom, collapsing on the mattress. You let out a loud sigh, letting the lumpy bed wrap around you. Peter groaned, wiggling around as he pulled you against his chest. “This mattress sucks compared to the one at your parents,” you hummed, letting your eyes slip shut, sleep finally encompassing you for the first time in what felt like forever, loving the shitty mattress and how much it felt like home.
Peter’s phone immediately buzzed, and his head shot up, grabbing it and reading the breaking news article. You giggled as he jumped from the bed, grabbing his suit in the closet, quickly putting it on. Before he put the mask on, he grabbed your face, deeply kissing you, moaning into your lips.
“Go save the world, Spider-Man. I'll be here when you get back,” he shot you a wink as he pulled the mask on, yelling that he loved you as he climbed out the window, shooting a web onto the neighboring building and swinging into the night. You laughed, knowing this is where you belonged, in New York City with your superhero and you wouldn’t have it any other way.
#ficthots#tasm!peter x reader#peter parker x reader#peter parker x you#tasm peter parker#tasm peter parker x reader#peter parker x y/n#andrewgarfield!spiderman#andrewgarfield!peter parker x reader#tasm fanfiction#peter parker andrew garfield#tasm!peter x you#tasm!peter imagine#tasm!peter fanfiction#tasm!spiderman x reader
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acquainted
You had no intentions of becoming acquainted with the clan your family had cut ties with, but when Naoya Zenin himself is willing to teach you a lesson and you’re determined to show him what you’re capable of, it becomes a silly game of power and dominance.
REQUEST. naoya putting reader back to her place
WARNINGS: Naoya Zenin, rough sex, orgasm denial, face fucking, slight voyeurism, degradation, slight bondage, cowgirl riding, manhandling, spanking, hate sex
WC. 5.4k+
NOTES. Because Naoya is my favorite, his fic is the only one I’ve ever edited, LOL. Even though this is requested, this is written out of self-indulgence, purely because I love Naoya and even though he’s nasty, he’s my comfort character. And freaking FINALLY I have written more for this man. I worship this King 👑
There were so many ways this day had gone wrong. First, your shower broke. Second, the maintenance men couldn’t come until late in the afternoon, so you had to drive all the way to school looking like a half-mess. You weren’t a slob, of course, but you were beyond irritable at the thought your hair felt greasier than most.
So when an unfamiliar mop of blonde hair sat at your place, the sight of pierced ears meeting your gaze as you smiled at the young man, you had to clutch your bag tighter. No need to be harsh to anyone; you reminded yourself.
“Hi,” you greeted as politely as you could.
The young man in your seat was handsome — terribly so — feline eyes emphasized with an eyeliner, and stunning green eyes that peered up at you with utmost boredom. He looked familiar, but you couldn’t pinpoint where you’d seen him before.
“I believe you’re in my seat.”
You expected he’d kindly take another seat since the hall was empty, but he only leaned back in your seat, brow raised with a slight smirk. “So?”
Your mouth fell agape, hands falling at your sides. Who was this guy? “What do you mean, so? Get the fuck out of my seat.”
“Women,” he rolled his eyes, “Always so tempered and dirty mouthed,” the words felt like stinging slap in your face, and he easily read through you when he snickered to himself, waving a hand in the air as if he was swatting a fly away. “I’m already sitting here, so go find someplace else. I came here first.”
“You little — who do you think you are?”
“Who do you think you are for speaking to me? Did I give you permission?”
His condescending voice made you lunge at him if not for your friend’s hand wrapping at your arm, shooting worried glances over the guy. His smirk deepened when your friend pulled away, the words mutter under her breath. “Come on, let’s go,” she tugged you away despite your protests, pushing your shoulders down to make you sit. Once out of earshot, she rolled her eyes. “I seriously hate that guy. Don’t you ever involve yourself with him.”
“Who’s that prick anyway? He acts so high and mighty like he’s some rich daddy’s son. Look, he’s totally claiming my seat as his!”
“That’s Naoya Zenin, and yeah, he is some rich daddy’s son,” she confirmed, shivering at the mere mention of his name. “He’s an absolutely big misogynist. Don’t be fooled by his pretty face — he’s the worst fuckboy to ever exist. That dick of his isn’t worth getting fucked over. He’s already made half the women in school cry and run after him like a horde of lovesick zombies,” your friend gagged with a shake of her head, “It’s terrifying, actually.”
“Fucking asshole,” you hissed under your breath, sending side glances at the corner of your eye.
That stupid guy was still in your seat, a bored expression on his handsome face, his long lashes fluttering against his cheeks at every blink. He just had to be a sexist pig with that gorgeous face — no good men existed anymore. “Whatever. He’ll get a taste of his own medicine soon.”
“Whatever it is you’re planning, I wouldn’t recommend it.”
“I’m doing this for all of us,” you announced with your spine straightened. “I’m not letting a man walk like that acting like he’s got the whole world at his feet. I’ll teach him a lesson or two.”
“You do know he can sue you if you punch him right?”
“Who said I was going to punch him?” a smirk painted your lips at the same time he felt your eyes burning holes at the side of his face, your expression even more triumphant when he tilted his head to the side, eyebrow cocked at your gaze. He must’ve assumed you’d fallen for his looks judging by the satisfied smile on his face, making you laugh because it would be fun to teach him a lesson. “No, I have a much more interesting plan in mind.”
It turned out that Naoya wasn’t that much of a stranger.
You had his reputation to thank for — people spoke his name left and right that it was nearly impossible not to know of him. It had you wondering how you managed to live through university so long without knowing him when the name drowned you; he was a Zenin.
No wonder that name was so familiar.
The Zenin’s were a close business partner of your family, but they cut off ties with their company years ago due to them having an intolerable attitude. Clearly, it ran in the blood, and their heir manifested it so well.
Thoughts of Naoya and his stupid face were soon drowned out by expensive champagne, the golden liquid sparkling in your hands. You had to attend this dinner gala where businessmen and powerful families alike conjoined for a formal opportunity of forming connections and solidifying deals, pressuring you to be at your best behaviour lest you wanted your black card to be cut off.
You made your way through the crowd to get another one of those hors d oeuvres, opting to just sit in the corner while you watched your family plaster on big, fake smiles with even louder, faker laughter.
It was quite sad, really, that people had to do stuff like this, but who were you to complain when it was what fed you on a silver plate all the time?
For now, you just wanted to enjoy the new dress your mother had gotten you, the silk black material hugged around your curves delectably. Pearl drop earrings hung to frame the sides of your face, legs lengthened and accentuated with stiletto heels.
You felt sexy — especially when you got lingering gazes from men who were slightly older and definitely richer, though you made no move.
The last thing you wanted was to become someone’s trophy wife when you could become so much more. Plus, only your parents had the task of befriending people and building trust with others. You were only here to help represent the name somewhat with your pretty face, not really having much of an intention to be acquainted with anyone.
You swiped another glass of fizzy alcohol from the waiter that passed by, glossy red lips pinched around the glass when a sultry voice mused at your ear, “Still can’t find a seat?”
Swirling around so fast that the contents nearly poured out the glass, you weren’t surprised to see Naoya fucking Zenin stood before you, his tall stature draped in only the finest and hand-stitched three piece suit.
He looked absolutely delectable this way, earrings glimmering under the golden chandeliers and eyes lined with kohl, the aura of elegance that perfectly concealed his less than pleasing personality excessively charming.
You were beyond appalled.
“Still can’t find a brain?” you retorted with a roll of your eyes, eyes still narrowed at Naoya’s displeased ones as you dunk your drink in one go. “What are you doing here, pig?”
“I’ll let that comment slide once — only because you look hot tonight,” his predatory gaze ran over your form, the careful pattern of him pausing at the swell of your breasts sliding to the curve of your hips heating up each inch of your skin. “And it’s Naoya for you. Naoya Zenin, the rightful heir of the Zenin Corp—”
“What’s that scent you’re wearing? Baby powder? Fitting for your cute face, actually.”
Naoya’s jaw clenched, clearly unaccustomed to people cutting off his holiness, and you had to bite down on your lip to prevent the chuckles from slipping through. “It’s Tom Ford.”
“Hmm, why am I not surprised? My horrible ex also wore the same scent. Maybe it’s a trademark for all limp losers, huh?” Naoya opened his mouth to speak, but you beat him to it, stepping forward to grab at the space between his tie to pull him down. His face was mere centimetres away from you, close enough that his breath ghosted over your lips, the intense anger flaring through those eyes hot enough to burn you. “You act so smug and defensive, Naoya. Trying to have a big man personality to conceal a small dick?”
“I have nothing to prove to you.”
“You don’t need to prove me anything,” you glanced down at his pants with a smirk, ignoring the heat pulsing in your veins because the sight contradicted your words. There was a noticeable bulge inside those shiny black slacks, though the last thing you wanted him to see was the way your mouth watered in anticipation. “I already know what I need to know.”
“Yeah? You and your shitty girlfriends can’t stop talking about my dick?”
You shrugged sarcastically, “You know women. We’re tireless complainers.”
Naoya’s jaw ticked upon you using his words against him, his hands coming up to caress at your neck, his nails scratching behind the thick silver chain you wore.
From afar and in the eyes of others, people would’ve thought you and Naoya were simply getting a little too heated, his lips dipped to graze your ear while his slender fingers pressed a little tighter into your air pipe. Your positions could easily be mistaken for Naoya seducing you, and you supposed he was, since your body responded differently from your verbal protests.
“You should watch what you’re saying,” he warned, voice low with warning. “I could easily dump your body into a river and no one would even notice. In fact, maybe the world might even thank me for doing them a service and ridding them of a spiteful woman like you.”
“Oh, pretty boy,” you chuckled back and stood to your tippy toes. One of your hands wrapped around his neck to forcefully tilt his neck to yours, nose pressed above his collar to inhale the intoxicating masculine scent he wore. “You’re all bark and no bite. Why don’t you show me what you’re capable of? If you’re as awful as they make you out to be, maybe I’ll shiver enough to drop my panties for you.”
You didn’t miss the way Naoya’s hands gripped at your waist to pull you close, enticing you to continue with your insults because maybe Naoya liked this a lot more than he let on. Could it be his superiority complex didn’t always like submissive women, after all?
Well, it would make sense; everyone always liked a little challenge, didn’t they?
If that was what he wanted, then you’d be generous enough to grant it to him.
“Wouldn’t you like to get a chance to put me in my place, to teach me a lesson for defiling the oh-so-mighty Naoya Zenin?” you purposefully toned your voice down to a more breathy tone, your chest swelling with pride when Naoya sucked in a sharp inhale beside your ear.
God, he sounded beautiful — and you hadn’t even fucked him yet. Now, you were eager to hear what else those disgusting lips could be capable of other than degrading you.
Pulling away from him just to bat your lashes at him, heat pooled straight into your core when Naoya’s gaze had completely darkened, dark orbs pooled with lust and anger. Only he could make such an expression look so good.
“You don’t scare me, Zenin. You’re nothing but a small boy wearing big man pants.”
For a moment, your smile widened, believing that you’d won this time around. Naoya was still breathing hard at each brush of your stomach to his now hardening erection, but then he smirked and gently pushed you away from him. “I’m not fucking you here,” he stated calmly, not even bothering to keep his voice low. “You’re a lot dumber than I thought you’d be if you really think I’m whipping my cock out during this dreadful dinner.”
“This dreadful dinner you speak of is an opportunity for people like us to establish connections. I would’ve assumed you wanted nothing more to impress others but it seems I was wrong. If you hate this event so much, why bother coming here in the first place?”
“Just had a feeling I was going to meet a little minx,” he watched you seductively, his smirk adorned with his tongue peeking out to lick his lips — in turn wetting you in places he promised to make his by the end of the night. Curse him, you chanted in your head, curse him for being so attractive. It would’ve been easier if he was ugly. “And as always, I’m right.”
You tilted a brow, slightly impressed. “So you’ve done your background check on me. That doesn’t explain why you’re still here though. Surely a woman couldn’t be enough for a reason to make a man like you go all this way?”
“You’re right, a woman would never be a good enough reason, but I wanted to put you in your place,” his eyes flickered back up to you, now twinkling with danger and something else entirely. “Bad little girls need to be a taught to a lesson.”
“So what’re you waiting for? Go ahead and show me your ways, Zenin.”
“I will,” he nodded to himself, “I’m about to,” Naoya was nothing but confident as he strode your way until his arms was locked with yours, his breath tickling your collarbones that had unknowingly exposed itself at each heated touch. “You’re not that bad for a slut. You look like one, smell like one — I bet you also feel like one.”
A dry laugh left your lips as you fisted his shirt, mirroring his smirk to show that if a match was what he looked for, then a match he’d find indeed. Only this time, you would be worse.
“Why don’t you go ahead and find out?”
Naoya, despite being an absolutely poor excuse of a human being, was somewhat redeemable for being a man of his words. Find out he did, and he wasted no time into shoving you inside his McLaren, barely able to keep his hands off you the whole way up to his penthouse.
It was a blurry mess from there.
Moans spilled from your lips while he ripped your clothes off, not bothering to apologize that he’d just ruined one of your most prized possessions, his lust-clouded haze mumbling that he’d just buy you another one.
It was the last thing you expected to hear from him, but you couldn’t protest, not when he’d angrily snapped the buttons of his shirt away, a low growl mixing with your breathy whines as he loosened his tie.
Your eyes widened at the sight, legs rubbing together as you imagined what else he could do with that pretty tie of his.
Would he tie you to his bed, fuck you stupid and call you useless? Or perhaps, you could do it?
Naoya cut off your train of thought by pushing you back to his mattress, his hands tugging at his belt before he pulled his boxers down, his thick length slapping at his abdomen. Your mouth immediately watered at the sight. You were beyond wet from nothing but your sloppy make-out sessions, but would he fit?
Just the thought of him giving you that burning stretch made your legs spread beside his sides, the sardonic laughter ripping from Naoya’s lips absolutely disgusting.
“Fucking pathetic. You’re just like everyone else; submitting to me at the sight of my cock, but that’s not true, is it? Moment you saw me, I knew you were clenching around nothing,” he gripped at your jaw to force you to look at him. You glared up at him from his bruising hold, your cheeks squished under his rough hands. “But that’s okay; wanting me is not something you should be ashamed about. Although you should be thanking me I’m even letting you near me like this.”
“I’m so honoured. Come on, Naoya, let me feel you — let me make you feel good.”
Naoya, too lost in his ego, missed the sarcasm dripping in your voice. “So eager to be my cock sleeve, huh?” he grinned, tugging at your hair to push you deeper into his mattress. “Get on your knees. Now suck.”
He was too harsh in his pace, determined to exert his dominance over you. You could feel every ridge of his vein as he continued fucking into your mouth, his abs rippling above you. It felt like witnessing a Greek god come apart, and you took pleasure in being his ruin, prompting you to hollow your cheeks and bob your mouth up and down on his cock harder.
Naoya’s chuckles were broken and often mixed with curses of fuck, you feel so fucking good, his nails now scratching at your scalp.
Soon, Naoya stilled inside you, his hold around your head deadly to keep you in place. Tears flowed down your face as he kept thrusting inside, making sure to hit the back of your throat before his muscles tightened. Spurts of warm cum followed after that, but instead of swallowing it like you expected he’d command you to do, Naoya whipped out his cock and came all over your face, his seed shooting all over your cheeks and lips.
You took it all obediently, just enough to give him the false pretense of submissiveness that he was so willing to force from you.
While he was occupied pumping his still rock hard cock, eyes closed and massaging your scalp almost soothingly, Naoya failed to notice your hurried movements of standing from the bed, fingers looped around his tie.
A small wail resonated from him when you shoved him down onto the bed, knees locked at either sides of his waist before you tugged at the cloth wrapped around his neck. Naoya kicked his legs behind you as you tied his wrists to the bed hard enough that Naoya winced, the tie only forming tighter at each lame grapple of his.
You looked back at how he got more beautiful laid out in front of you like that, chest heaving up and down while he struggled against the restraints, face flushed with anger — no, this wasn’t anger anymore — he was furious.
“What are you doing?! Get this off me — how dare you!”
“How dare you,” you spat back, discarding your lace bra off to wipe his cum away from your face, gagging when the bitter cum left a tang on your lips. “I just got my skin appointment last week and you came on my face like that?”
Naoya kept fighting back before he realised it was a futile attempt, leaning back down onto the pillows, though that didn’t soften his heated eyes on yours. You cooed at how adorable he submitted to you, running a finger down the sides of his jaw. “Aw, don’t look so angry, baby. I’m just starting my fun,” you purred, “You should’ve known better than to mess with me, Naoya. I’m not as nice as the others. And I’ll show you just how awful I can be.”
Naoya’s breath hitched when you shimmied out of your underwear, a dark glint in your eyes as you stretched the elastic into a fake arrow until it snapped into his face.
“You fucking bitch,” he growled, turning his face away from your panties soaked with arousal. “Once I get out of here, I will ruin you.”
“Huh, yeah, sure,” you mumbled incoherently, too lost in the pleasure as you sunk down on his cock. You were right, he was fucking thick, stretching you out better than any of your toys could. Plus, he was warm and leaking with pre-cum that he slid in easily, erotic groans leaving both your mouths once he was finally seated inside you.
Naoya was growling at you to let go of him when you laughed, lifting your hips up slowly before sliding back down on him just as slow, almost as if you made love to his cock the same passionate way you did with a lover. “You do have a wonderful cock, though. I’ve never felt this good in my life,” you leaned down to lick a stripe down to his neck, allowing him to hear the needy pants you graced with him. “You feel so good, Naoya, oh. If you weren’t such an asshole, I might even fall in love with you.”
“Go faster. This is unfair!”
Naoya tried thrusting deep into you, evidently unsatisfied at this torturous pace you set, but you only gripped at his thigh in warning, your eyes no longer sweet as you glared at him.
“Nothing’s ever fair in this world, sweetheart,” you reminded him, shivering every now and then as you bounced on his cock, his length slipping past through your walls magically. “Like how such a gorgeous face and amazing dick is paired with the most disgusting personality ever. No, it’s not fair, indeed...”
You closed your eyes with your head thrown back, placing your hips flat on his pelvic bone instead, fingers rubbing at your clit while Naoya throbbed inside you, desperate for release.
The little whines you gave were nothing but mocking. You knew that Naoya suffered through this position, but did you care? Absolutely not. With Naoya’s cock stretching you full and his tip kissing your most sensitive spots, in addition to your fingers rubbing and tweaking at your clit, this was the most pleasure you’d ever gotten from sex.
You were stimulated everywhere, your other hand reached up to tug at your hardened nipples.
Your walls clenched around him, signalling him that you were close and you let out a broken moan, falling forward to gyrate your hips around his cock to push you over the edge. It wasn’t enough to get him off since you were mostly still fondling with your clit, the sounds of your moans like torture to his ears.
“No, don’t you dare cum, I swear if you—” Your orgasm washed over you comfortingly like a warm blanket. Instead of seeing white, it was like your vision cleared, the sight of the sweat that made Naoya’s hair stick to his forehead in clumps crystal clear. You prolonged your orgasm by thrusting your hips in a sickening rhythm of thrust, pause, thrust, stop — and by then Naoya was losing his mind.
Naoya lost control as he snapped his hips upwards inside you hard enough that you winced in pain, pushing off his dick until he’s left humping the empty air, his body drenched with perspiration. “No, no, no, fuck you! Get back here you useless slut!”
You lay beside him, giggling in post-orgasm bliss. Just to tease him, you rolled to his side to press a kiss to his cheek, laughing harder when your lips came in contact with his flushed skin.
“You’re so adorable like this,” you cupped his face tenderly, perfectly aware that Naoya had begun to growl, his wrists almost bruised from how hard he brawled against his tie. “If I didn’t hate you so much, I would’ve let you cum inside me,” you offered with a pat to his chest, moving off the bed with wobbly legs.
“Well, whatever, that was fun. I would say we both had the most sensual sex of our lives, but that would be a joke for you, don’t you think?” you snorted as you inserted your arms to his discarded suit jacket.
Naoya stayed still on the bed, his cock still painfully hard and slick with your cum. “Don’t look so angry, Naoya. You had it coming for you. Don’t worry, though, as a thanks for letting me cum that hard — though I mostly did all the work — I’ll keep this between us so you at least get to keep whatever’s left of your dignity,” you blew a kiss his way, “Bye, sweetie. At least now I know people weren’t exaggerating when they called you a good fuck.”
Not bothering to slip your heels back on, you looped your shoes into the curls of your fingers, about to button Naoya’s jacket as you made your way to his door.
You never got halfway across the room when strong arms suddenly lifted you off the ground, your vision transitioning from his door to the pads of his feet, your body slung across his shoulder. Naoya gripped at your ass in warning when you kicked your legs, leaving him with no choice but to hug your thighs with one arm.
The next thing you knew, he slammed the balcony doors open with one hand and slammed you on the pool table. His rough hands yanked his jacket away from your body, the chilly night of the air bringing a shiver down your spine as it hit your drenched core.
Naoya had pinned your arms flat on your back in a painful angle, making you cry out just as he kneed your legs open, his free hand that wasn’t pinning you down aligning his cock against your hole. You were a moaning mess underneath him, the pain only an intoxicating addition to the pleasure he was pounding into you. Naoya then leaned to whisper your ear, the sudden movement making his cock slide deeper into you, the pleasure overwhelming.
“Oh, Naoya, fuck—”
“I am not just a good fuck,” he corrected you, “I am Naoya Zenin — and you will do well being silent and submissive while I fuck you, do you understand?” You were too lost in the feeling of him rutting deep into you that he had you seeing white this time around. When you didn’t answer, Naoya slapped your ass, your yelps echoing from the dead night. “I asked you a question.”
“No,” you bit back, “I refuse to—” you were silenced when Naoya hit your sweet spot, laughing at your state that you were too fucked out to give him a proper answer.
Naoya’s pace was merciless as he fucked deeper into you, the hand on your ass moving up to grab at your waist to keep slamming you back to his cock. He watched as your lips sucked him in so tight that he didn’t know whether you were pushing him out or refusing to let go. Turning your head to the side to gasp for air, you opened your eyes, only to be met by the sight of men crowding on the building across yours to witness your undoing by Naoya’s hands.
“I’ve barely started and you’re already so wet for me,” he mocked in your ear. As if on cue, squelching sounds accompanied your desperate moans, hands grabbing at nothing in particular. “Shall I try upping my speed?”
“N-Naoya- there are people looking.”
“Let them see,” he seethed, using one arm to lift your other leg up to the table to gain him more access into your warm, wet cavern. The sudden stretch made your muscles ache until you lay there limp; jaw clenched at the pleasure Naoya drowned you with. “Let them know how much I’m making this pussy mine. Gosh, can you hear yourself? You sound like a dirty fucking slut,” another slap landed on your ass, hard enough to leave a mark there for tomorrow. “You claim to hate me, so then why are you dripping all over me, huh? Pathetic whore. You women are nothing but cum dumps to me.”
Naoya spread your butt cheeks open, laughing at the silly way you clenched around him every time he pulled out, your puffy lips sucking him back again until Naoya buried himself to the hilt. His dick did wonders in letting out the most erotic whines and whimpers you never thought you’d be capable of, leaving you a drooling and panting mess under him.
“You little fucker, don’t even think about cumming inside me, I will literally castrate you and feed your balls to yourself.”
“Such a dirty mouth. Though that’s expected of a nasty woman like you,” he sassed, his thrusts faltering while his hand clenched your flesh tighter. That was enough to send you over the edge when Naoya slammed his hips harder and more desperately this time around, his cock twitching against your walls. “You wish I would cum inside you. But I have a better plan in mind.”
All it took was one rough hand for him to pull you before him, pushing you down into your knees again as he came inside your mouth. You could feel your cum and his dripping onto his dark marble tiles, the white pool of liquid shining.
Naoya thrusted lazily into your mouth, a sickening grin on his face while he kept you down there. His glare deepened when you tried to pull away from him. “Swallow, you slut. Or I’m fucking your face until I break your jaw.”
Furiously, you swallowed around his cock, Naoya groaning at the feeling of your walls convulsing around him. The moment you gagged from when his tip poked the back of your throat, Naoya pushed you off him until you were left choking on the ground. You gasped for air, hands clasped around your neck, sure that you were going to have a sore jaw and a fucked throat tomorrow.
You kept glaring at Naoya, but this didn’t deter him from gripping your chin down, humming to himself upon seeing that his cum was now gone in your mouth. “Hmm, so you did swallow it like a good girl. I’m glad I’ve disciplined you well.”
“Go to hell.”
“I’m King there already, baby,” Before you could retort, his arms encircled your waist until you were heaved in his arms again. You pounded against his back because you were too done, you couldn’t do another round. Naoya sighed as he threw you in the bed as if you were a ragdoll, disappearing in the bathroom for a while before coming back with a wet towel, which he rudely flicked your way. “Clean yourself up and then leave. Take the back elevators. I don’t want the staff to see a whore leaving my place.”
“You’re the one who brought me here.”
“Only because I had a duty to put you in your place,” He stared at you with his smirk now permanent in his face, admiring the bruises he left on your body.
“We’re not over yet, Zenin. I’m going to break you one way or another.”
You rolled your eyes at him, walking to his closet to wear one of his shirts. Naoya was silent the whole time as he watched you button his shirt with trembling hands, his presence hot on your heels as he followed you out the large room.
As you were about to leave, you picked up the towel you used to clean your cum with and threw it right at his face.
Naoya dodged it easily, eyeing the towel with a scoff. “Still resilient, I see,” settling down on one of his lounge chairs like it was a throne, Naoya rested his cheek on his fist as he stared you down. “But fine — I accept your challenge. A true man never backs down from a challenge, after all.”
“Oh, honey, I’m more than just a challenge,” you sneered.
Naoya’s gaze left your eyes to stare at your perky nipples that poked through his shirt, feeling his cock swell all over again. But he was a man of control and dignity — he wouldn’t do anything more with you, not when it was clear you’ve had enough for tonight.
It didn’t bother him though, he knew he’d have more opportunities to put you in your place.
“We’ll see about that. I’ll be the one to decide your worth,” he declared oh so smugly, the mere sound of his voice pushing you to slam a fist to ruin that pretty face of his, though you held your ground, far too tired to move a muscle. Naoya saw this too, and he smiled to himself, head tilted to the side as he studied the mess he’d made of you. “Tomorrow, same time same place?”
There was no telling what pushed you to agree, but the words left your lips far too confidently for you to even wonder why.
“Be ready for me, Zenin.”
“I always am.”
All the way back to the back elevators that Naoya had directed you at, you pondered on how you’d be able to tell your parents you suddenly needed a ride home when they had no idea you left the dinner gala in the first place. But most of all, how were you supposed to tell them you’d acquainted yourself with the Zenin clan all over again?
#naoya zenin x reader#naoya zenin#naoya zenin x reader smut#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen smut#naoya zenin smut#jujutsu kaisen imagines#jujutsu kaisen x reader smut#jujutsu kaisen x reader imagines#naoya zenin imagines#naoya zenin x reader imagines#naoya zenin x you#naoya x you#zenin naoya#jujutsu kaisen naoya zenin#naoya zenin x you smut#naoya zenin x reader romance#naoya x reader romance#NAOYA SUPREMACY#suki: 500 milestone event#ayyyy i swear all of my naoya fics are my favorite like DUH#suki: queued
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when the ice begins to thaw | kang taehyun [f] ice prince! au, 10.4k words
s u m m a r y : The rumors of the Ice Prince, Kang Taehyun, that run throughout the kingdom of Glacies are nothing short of terrifying. Known as a spoiled boy who does nothing but take advantage of the horrors bestowed upon the kingdom by his grandfather, the late king, Taehyun is feared and despised by nearly all of his subjects. When you decide to take matters into your own hands as the kingdom’s greatest thief by plotting to steal the crown that harnesses the prince’s unjustly earned powers, you are surprised to find out that perhaps the Ice Prince is not exactly who everyone fears him to be.
c o n t e n t s : kang taehyun x fem reader, ice prince! taehyun, thief! reader, lots and lots of fluff, very mild angst, features enhypen’s 02 line!!
t a g l i s t : @honeyju @chanluster @tyonfs @magicalstellar
n o t e : this oneshot is my contribution to the five princes collaboration! you can find the masterlist for the collab here. check out the other participants’ blogs too! [ @bffsoobin, @juunnies, @honeyju, @gyuluster ]. this was a lot of fun to write and i hope you guys enjoy it!
FOR SOMEONE WHO WAS THOUGHT TO BE THE GREATEST THIEF AROUND, YOU WEREN’T VERY QUICK ON YOUR FEET.
It had been nearly half an hour since you had set your way across the icy bridge that led to the palace, nothing but the cloak of night to conceal you and your companions. You had studied the palace’s floor plan for months leading up to your mission, but for some reason, during all that time you hadn’t really thought of how difficult it would be to cross this god forsaken bridge. Your feet nearly came out from under you with every step you took, and it was so narrow that the four of you had to walk in a single file line.
Speaking of your companions, the three boys that accompanied you were proving to be an obstacle to your success all on their own.
“Jake, you have to keep up.”
You turned to see Jay, your self-proclaimed “second-in-command,” pulling Jake along by the wrist. The former liked to brag and say that he was among the most elite group in the village, boasting a great air of bravery and courage. However, now that he was actually in the face of danger, he seemed to be the most cowardly out of them all. Sunghoon, the brains of the operation, held up the rear of the group, shaking his head in exasperation at his companions.
You sighed, bringing the group to a halt as you turned to face them, arms crossed over your chest. “I don’t feel as though I should have to remind you, boys, but we’re not here to play,” You said, giving Jake and Jay the heat of your glare. “Jake, if you’re too scared to help out, I suggest you back out now before it’s too late. Oh, and Jay, leave the leading to me, would you?”
While Jay mimicked your voice in the most obnoxious way possible, no doubt completely disregarding what you had just asked of him, Jake ripped his arm free of Jay’s grasp and puffed up his chest. “Me, scared? Oh please, Y/N. I’m flattered that you think about me enough to care, but you’re looking at one of Glacies’ greatest rising legends! The future generations will tell stories about me, no doubt.” He threw you a careless wink, and you had to fight back the impulse to cackle out loud at how ridiculous he looked. “And you’ll get to say you had the pleasure of knowing me. Or perhaps even the pleasure of having courted me as well?”
From where he stood behind him, Sunghoon smacked the back of Jake’s head. That seemed to be enough to shut him up nicely.
“Anyways,” You continued, “We’re losing moonlight. I needn’t remind you of the fact that if we don’t make it out of here with the crown tonight, we’ll likely never get to see justice restored to our kingdom. Understood?”
“Perfectly,” Jay said, his voice strained in forced submission to your authority. You merely rolled your eyes—you were quite used to him and his attitude after spending nearly your entire life with him and the other two that accompanied you.
“She’s right, you know.” Sunghoon spoke for the first time since the four of you had set out on your assignment. You began to move forward again, the rest of the group following close behind. “The palace security is weaker tonight because the crown prince sent an assembly of guards to accompany the prince of Regna Terrae back to his home. The odds of us finding another gap in security like this are—”
“Incredibly slim, yes, we know,” Jake said. “You’ve only told us about twelve dozen times.”
“Maybe if I thought you were actually listening to me, I wouldn’t feel the need to repeat myself so often.”
“Well maybe if you weren’t such a pain in my—”
“Shh.” You held up your hand as you came to a stop again, after having finally set foot off the slippery bridge and onto the snow-covered walkway that led to the huge gates made of solid ice. Some might have tried to simply break through the ice to earn entry to the palace, but you knew better.
This was no regular formation of ice—it was ice forged by the crown’s magic.
You looked around for any sign of stray guards. If your team’s predictions had been correct, the guards would have been switching their stations at this time. You had approximately four minutes and fifty-three seconds to get through the gates before the rotation was settled, so there was no time to lose.
You glanced behind you, noticing that the boys had all replaced their teasing and playful mannerisms with serious gazes hardened by determination. With a single nod from you, everything was set into motion. Jay handed you the rope and hook from his bag, and you wasted no time in tossing it over the gate, pulling it tightly until you were certain that it had successfully latched onto the top. Jake knelt in front of you, folding his hands before extending them towards you. You placed your foot in his hands, waiting for him to give you a boost.
“Are you sure you can do this by yourself?” He asked.
“Yes, I’m positive,” You assured him. “You guys need to head to the far side of the wall and wait for me there. Sunghoon knows what to do if I’m in danger, but everything will be fine. Now hurry up and boost me.”
After a moment longer of hesitation, Jake thrusted his hands up while you jumped up at the same time, reaching out to grab the rope while you planted your feet against the icy gate. You let out a tiny sigh of relief when your feet didn’t slide off or cause you to fall—the boots that Sunghoon had designed to grip the ice were proving to be just as effective as he had claimed. You pulled yourself up the rope, moving as quickly as possible without letting your feet slip.
You soon found yourself perched at the top of the gate, your huff of relief turning into a cloud in the cold air. The view was nothing short of magnificent; fountains with frozen displays of various animals and flora, a grove of trees painted blue with ice and frost, and the castle. If you had the leisure to simply stop and observe the spiraling towers made of crystal ice, the beautiful clouds of eternal snow that remained stationary above the palace, the giant snowflake patterns that were imprinted along each outer wall, you would have stayed there just looking for ages.
But you knew that sightseeing was not on your agenda. When you glanced over your shoulder, you were happy to see that the boys had already left for their station, leaving you on your own. It took you no time to spring into action. You jumped down from the top of the gate, the impact of hitting the ground sending an echo of pain up your legs and to your core, but you quickly shook it off and sprinted towards the outer wall of one of the towers. Your informant from within the palace had sent word that the window you were about to climb into was the best place of entry. It was in a distant hallway that was close enough to the throne room for you to have easy access to the crown, but far enough away from where the guards were stationed that the chance of them being alerted to your entry was small.
You threw your grappling hook up again, this time latching it on the sill of the open window. Without Jake’s boost, it took you a bit longer to climb the rope, but you were no amateur when it came to breaking and entering. Soon enough, you had dropped down into the stairway that lied beyond the window, thanking your lucky stars yet again for Sunghoon and his slip-proof boots.
Your footsteps echoed throughout the walls of ice, and you bit the inside of your cheek, taking care to make your steps as soft as possible. The past months, you had done practically nothing aside from memorize the floorplan of the palace, but you couldn’t help how nervous you were beginning to feel. This was nothing like when you snuck into the kitchen at the local tavern to snatch some food for the hungry kids, or when you broke into the overstock building for the tailors to grab a few winter coats for those who needed them.
This was the castle, and you were there to steal the crown. Not just for your own good, but for the good of everyone else in the Kingdom of Glacies.
When you finally reached the throne room, your heart was practically in your throat. Typically the cool headed one of your band of thieves, this feeling of pure anxiety was something new to you. With a shaky breath to calm your nerves, you peeked around the corner to take a look at what awaited you in the throne room.
There were two thrones at the far end of the room, made of spiraling ice spires and decorated with intricately detailed snowflakes that would never melt. One was a bit taller than the other—the King’s throne, no doubt—while the other didn’t reach quite as high in the air, but that didn’t make it any less marvelous of a sight to behold. The real piece of beauty in the dimly lit room of ice, however, was the pedestal that sat just between the two thrones which held the giant, sparkling crown made of ice and snow.
It was the King’s crown; the bane of every Glacian’s existence. And it just so happened to be what you planned to walk out of the palace with that night.
Stationed right in front of the crown, two guards stood, frozen just like the pillars of ice throughout the room. You bit your lip, growing increasingly worried as you waited for your cue to move in towards the crown.
“Argh! You’ll never catch me, you scum!”
Never before had you wanted to sock Jake in the face so badly as you did in that moment. He had been instructed to create a diversion, but it sounded more like he was a pirate from the Kingdom of Nymphe. His shouts spilled in through the open window right behind the thrones, filling the otherwise silent palace with his voice. If you could have trusted that Sunghoon would have been loud enough to even be heard, you would have asked him to do it instead. He was the only one who even pretended to listen to you.
“What’s that? You think you can chase me down? With those skinny legs? Ha!”
There was a loud bang, and you decided in that moment that when you got back to your village, you would kick Jake out of your team and encourage him to join the theatrics group instead of pursuing this line of work. Not because he was a good or compelling actor, but because he was so outlandishly obnoxious that he would fit right in.
The guards glanced at one another, but neither of them moved from their stations. They probably assumed—or hoped—that someone else would be taking care of the lunatic outside.
Until they heard Jake shout, “Take that!” which was followed by a large crash, and another slew of empty threats. The guards quickly ran out one of the back entrances of the throne room, finally giving you your chance to move forward.
You were light on your feet, not even making a sound as you dashed across the iced floor. With one leap, you skipped up the few steps that led to the crown. It was even more stunning close up, just as alluring as all the stories surrounding it had claimed. Blue jewels frosted over were embedded in the crown, which was made of solid ice, just like the palace that it sat in. The most mesmerizing part about it, however, was the flurry of never-ending snow that surrounded it, as though it were a part of its own atmosphere, separate from the rest of the world.
Your heart stormed within your chest, and you thought it might burst right out of you. Everything you had prepared for had led to this moment, but now that it was finally here, you were beyond terrified. But you were ready.
You stretched your hands out towards the crown, but before you could even feel its icy surface beneath your gloved hands, you felt someone’s body press flush against yours from behind, one arm holding you around your shoulders, and the other pressing the edge of an ice dagger against your throat.
Heart in your stomach, you were silent for a few moments. Someone had caught you. It was over. It was all over. You prayed that Jake, Jay, and Sunghoon had gotten away safely, that only you would have to pay the price for trying to seek justice for your kingdom.
You had practically written your own eulogy in your head when you heard the person speak, their breath tickling the back of your neck as they tightened the ice cold grip they had on you.
“You know, it is wrong to take something that isn’t yours.”
A man’s voice. You could tell right away, and his words made your blood boil. Perhaps you should have bitten your tongue, but you couldn’t keep the venomous words from leaving your mouth.
“It’s not wrong to take back something that was yours to begin with, is it?”
“I’m afraid I’m a bit lost. Does this crown belong to you?”
“It doesn’t just belong to me,” You seethed, “It belongs to every single Glacian, those alive and those who have passed, and I’m here to take it back.”
With that, you quickly snatched the knife from the man’s hand and spun around, pressing the blade against his throat this time, grabbing onto the front of his shirt to hold him in place.
When you saw his face, you knew you were a goner for sure.
Piercing blue eyes, a sharp jawline, blonde hair so light, it was almost white. His skin seemed to be made of ice, and his lips were set in an amused grin, one of his perfectly shaped brows arched upward.
You were holding the edge of a dagger against the neck of Kang Taehyun, the Ice Prince himself.
With the simple flick of his wrist, the dagger in your hand dissolved into snow, falling from your grasp in an instant.
His eyes drew you in and he held you with his gaze; frozen, unable to move, a fistful of his white sleepshirt still held within your fist. Your imagination began to run wild as you tried to predict what would happen next. Based off of what you had heard about the prince, you expected him to turn you to ice right then and there, perhaps preserving you in his room full of iced prisoners that he was rumored to have, or maybe he would just shatter you to bits and pieces right away, like a glass smashed against a stone floor.
You decided to take your last shot at doing what you had gone there to do.
You quickly shook yourself from the prince’s grip, pushing him back onto the icy floor. When he no longer had a hold on you, you lunged towards the crown, hearing Taehyun shout, “Wait!” before the tips of your fingers barely touched one of the crown’s jewels. When you made contact with the crown, you felt a sharp pain in your neck, and with great force, you were thrown back onto the ice, landing right next to the prince himself.
The pain was spreading from your neck to the rest of your body, like frost creeping up blades of grass. You pressed your hand against your neck and couldn’t hold back a gasp when you saw blood covering your palm.
Before you knew it, Taehyun was leaning over you, gently cupping your neck in his hands. You closed your eyes, certain that he was about to strangle you for your vain attempt at destroying the crown. His fingers were like icicles against your skin; smooth, strong, and deathly cold.
But he didn’t strangle you. He didn’t even squeeze your neck or try to block your airways at all. Instead, he lightly brushed his cold fingers over your skin. As he did so, you could feel the pain melt from your body.
“There you go,” He said softly. He helped you back to your feet, and you opened your eyes, pressing your hand against the place where your wound had been just moments before. There was not a trace of blood left in sight.
“What was that?” You whispered, holding Taehyun’s gaze.
Before he could answer, you heard three familiar voices fill the chilly throne room. With eyes round as saucers, you peeked over the Prince’s shoulder to see Sunghoon, Jake, and Jay being dragged in by not one, two, or even three—but five palace guards. Where said guards had even come from, you had not a clue.
There was, however, one thing you knew for sure: your plan had failed, and the price of failure was going to be your life.
Or at least, you thought it would be, before the prince saved you.
You swallowed, wishing that you could have at least seen your companions walk free. This whole mission was your idea, after all. You alone should have been held responsible for the failure. Heart racing, you grasped at endless threads of half-strung ideas that wove in and out of your mind, trying desperately to figure out some way to save the boys.
“Please,” you said, your eyes meeting Taehyun’s, “Let them go. I drug them here; they have nothing to do with this. You can turn me to ice, kill me, do whatever it is that you desire. Just let them go, please.”
“Y/N, don’t,” Sunghoon said firmly, but you ignored him, keeping your eyes fixated on the prince.
Taehyun’s eyes softened, his brows knitting together, almost as if he were hurt by your pleas. He was being just as cautious as you were—perhaps even more so. “I have no intentions of harming you or your friends, my lady. In fact, the desires of my heart are quite the opposite of what you assume them to be.”
You raised a brow. “Please, enlighten me of your true intentions then, Ice Prince.”
“I want to help you.”
“Oh, come on,” Jay groaned. You shot a glare that would freeze any normal man, but alas, Jay was far from normal, so he continued to speak. “Y/N, don’t listen to a word this prick says. If he wanted to help his people, he would have done so by now.”
Although you wanted to cut out his tongue from how annoyed you were by Jay’s habit to speak up during the most inappropriate times, you knew that your friend had a point. The people of Glacies had been driven to desolation and poverty by the late king’s actions, while in your eyes, the rest of the royal family did nothing but sit idly by and watch it all happen.
But you had just seen a side of the prince that was entirely different from every story you had ever been told about him. When your life was on the line, he didn’t kill you or laugh mercilessly as he watched the life leave your body. He had saved you.
Taehyun turned to face your friends, and you felt your heart leap into your throat. The prince motioned for the guards to release their holds on your friends. They did as they were told, and the three boys were much too shocked by Taehyun’s instructions to do anything but stand there, frozen, keeping their eyes glued to the prince as he spoke once more.
“I understand why you’re here,” He said, glancing over his shoulder at the crown. He locked eyes with you for a split second before he looked back at the boys. “I want the same thing you do. But I’m afraid that there’s no way for you to achieve your goal by simply taking the crown. It’s far more complicated.”
“What do you mean you ‘want the same thing’ we do?” Jake finally spoke after regaining some sensibility—though he never had all that much to begin with, in your opinion. “Do you even truly know what we are here for?”
“You want to destroy the crown and restore the kingdom to its former state of balance,” Taehyun said. “Am I correct?”
“It’s not just that,” Sunghoon finally spoke up, his cool, calculating eyes drifting between you and Taehyun, as if he expected the prince to turn around and attack you at any given moment. “We want to undo all the pain and suffering your family has caused us. Do you even know how desolate your people have become while you’ve wasted away in your palace for the past two decades, Your Highness?”
Taehyun frowned, casting his eyes down to his feet. “I’m well aware. I know it may not look like it, but I’ve been doing everything I can to help reverse the pain my family has caused our kingdom. But I realized that I can’t do it alone.”
He turned to face you then, and you were surprised to find yourself drawn to his piercing eyes rather than being struck down by fear. His gaze was urgent, but it was gentle.
“I need you to help me.”
“No. Absolutely not.” You tore your eyes from Taehyun to glare at Jake, who had decided once again to speak out of turn. “Y/N, you can’t trust him! Don’t do it.”
You knew where Jake was coming from, but you couldn’t help but feel as though Taehyun was telling the truth. And even if the prince were lying, you would probably never have the chance to get this close to the crown again. Even then, it was clearly impossible for you to touch the crown, as you had nearly died trying to do so just moments before.
You had no choice. You were going to stay with Taehyun.
“I just have one condition,” You said, ignoring the objections that flew from the lips of your friends. “You let them go. Now.”
“Of course,” Taehyun said without a moment’s hesitation. “I have no intentions of keeping anyone here against their will. Yourself included. But if you truly want to destroy the crown, I need you to stay with me. Just for a few days.”
You nodded, keeping your eyes trained on his. “Alright. But the moment I sense that you’re lying to me, Your Highness, not even the four princes of the surrounding kingdoms will be able to save you from my wrath. Understood?”
Perhaps you were just seeing things, but you could have sworn that you saw the prince smile when he said, “Perfectly.”
-
WHEN YOU WOKE UP THE NEXT MORNING, THERE WAS A NOTE ON YOUR BEDSIDE TABLE.
Well, it wasn’t your bedside table, but rather the one in the bedroom Taehyun had lent to you for the duration of your stay. The night before, against all their complaints, you had sent Jake, Jay, and Sunghoon back to the village with instructions to search for you if you didn’t return in a week’s time. After they had left, you wanted to talk to Taehyun right away, but he had disappeared from your sight, leaving you with a guard who said that the Prince had gone to bed, and that you were encouraged to do so as well.
You stretched your arms above your head, squinting in the morning sunlight that slipped through the curtains, and picked up the note from the table.
I hope you found the room suitable for resting. When you wake, put something on from the closet in your room then come to the dining hall for breakfast, if you’d like. One of the maids will escort you there.
—Taehyun
You sighed, folding the note up and setting it back on the table. After another good stretch, your feet met the cold floor and you slumped over to the large closet, throwing the doors open. Your eyes were met with dresses in varying lengths and shades of blues and periwinkles, and shoes to match them all. A great sigh left you at the sight—you did not wear dresses. But the pants and shirt you had come to the palace in were caked with mud and sweat, so you had no choice but to change, and it wasn’t like you had many options.
Begrudgingly, you searched through all the hanging gowns, finally settling on a long sleeved, ankle-length frosty blue dress made of lace that held subtle snowflake patterns throughout the skirt. It was the most practical looking one amidst all the others, but you still found yourself already growing annoyed at the lack of freedom you felt in the skirt. You put on the pair of shoes that went along with the gown and stopped by the mirror, running your hands through your tangled hair before you finally stepped out of the bedroom.
A maid was waiting outside the door, just as Taehyun had said she would be. You followed her down the stairs of ice, hugging your arms across your chest as you shivered from the cold.
“I know this is the Ice Prince’s palace, but does it have to be so cold?” You asked, your teeth chattering. There was no response from the maid as you went down the last flight of stairs and found yourself walking into a large dining room, with a glass table in the center of the room and a dozen chairs surrounding it. The floor was frosted over, and snowflakes fell from the ceiling, though they melted away as soon as they hit the floor. Only the seat at the head of the table was occupied—Taehyun sat there, dressed nicely in a dark blue suit, his hair parted neatly to the side. He smiled when he saw you, motioning for you to take the seat beside of him.
You sat down slowly, taking great care to cross your legs so you didn’t accidentally expose too much of yourself. Taehyun eyed you curiously as you reached for the cup of tea that a servant had sat down for you.
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but you seem to be a little bit uncomfortable,” He said, sliding a plate of fruits and breakfast pastries towards you. You accepted them gratefully, noticing just how hungry you were now that you could smell food. “Is it because of the dress?”
You nodded, swallowing the grape you had tossed into your mouth before responding. “Dresses were not meant to be worn by thieves, Your Highness.”
He hummed, leaning back in his chair. “I’m not sure if I would classify you as a thief, my lady. I personally find the term ‘vigilante’ more suitable.”
You paused, the piece of chocolate bread that you had pinched off frozen halfway to your mouth. You set it down, narrowing your eyes at Taehyun. “What do you know about me?”
He smiled, taking a sip from his own teacup. “I know what I’ve heard. You are Y/N, the greatest thief throughout all of Glacies—some would even say throughout all the Five Kingdoms. You know this kingdom like the palm of your hand, and you’re extremely good at not getting caught. Unless, of course, you find yourself in my home.”
You scowled, looking away from him as your cheeks grew warm.
He laughed for a moment, but his tone grew quieter when he spoke again. “I also know that you almost never steal for self-gain. You take for yourself what is necessary for survival, but the rest of your plunders go to the starving and impoverished people of our kingdom. You take from those who have more than enough and give to those who having nothing at all.”
To say you were speechless would have been an understatement. You were under the impression that the prince despised his people, just as his father and grandfather had before him. But now you were to believe that he knew of your existence, long before you had even made an attempt to steal the crown?
You poked at the food on your plate, your appetite suddenly gone as your mind churned with questions.
“Well, since you seem to know so much about me, allow me to inquire about yourself, Your Highness,” you said, setting your fork down and folding your hands in your lap.
He nodded with unabashed enthusiasm, scooting forward in his seat. “Of course. Ask me anything.”
You held up three fingers. “I have three questions. One—what happened when I tried to touch the crown last night?”
“Ah,” he said, tapping his fingers against the table. “Well, as you’re well aware, my grandfather channeled all of the kingdom’s magic into that crown. It’s the most powerful object throughout all the kingdom.”
“Yes, that’s why I’m here.”
He nodded, pressing his lips together. “Well, when my grandfather had the great spell cast upon the crown, it also came with a protective curse. Only those with royal blood flowing through their veins are able to touch the crown, and anyone else who attempts to do so . . . well.” He gestured to your neck, where the magic cut had sliced through your skin. “You saw what happens.”
“And you have healing powers, apparently,” you said, running your hands against the smooth skin of your neck, double checking just to make sure that no trace of the injury was left there.
“Not exactly. Because all of the kingdom’s magic is held within the crown, I have access to all the ice magic in the kingdom,” Taehyun explained. “Healing just happens to be one of those powers, among ice manipulation, the ability to turn things into ice, control of the snowstorms, the power to generate snowstorms, the power to plant things in frozen ground. . . you get the picture, I assume. Because of the overwhelming amount of capabilities I’ve been granted due to my grandfather’s spell, I’m not sure what my actual ability is.”
You nodded once, slowly, trying to keep up with the influx of information. You put one of your fingers down, then said, “Question two. I know you’re the Ice Prince, but why in all the five kingdoms is it absolutely freezing in here? Can’t we start a fire or something for a bit of warmth?”
Taehyun laughed, although you struggled to see what was so funny as a shiver went up your spine. “Another lovely perk of the crown’s magic; because my entire being is so reliant upon its powers, I’m quite weak on my own. My body temperature can’t go above a certain degree, or I’ll perish. So I’m afraid we must keep it quite cold in here for the time being.”
“It seems like this crown is doing you more harm than good,” You muttered, slightly disappointed by his answer as you were hoping to garner a bit of extra warmth. You shook it off, putting another finger down and leaving only one remaining up in the air. “Last question. Why do you want to help us, and why am I the right person to help you?”
“That’s two questions in one, isn’t it?”
You rolled your eyes, and Taehyun quickly wiped the teasing smirk off his face, his expression growing grim as he prepared to answer your final question—or questions, as the prince had been so kind to point out.
“I know it doesn’t compare to the pain that the rest of our people have gone through—yourself included—but the crown’s spell has done more harm than good for my family as well,” Taehyun said.
“How so?” You asked.
“As I explained before, those of us with royal blood are incredibly reliant upon the crown,” he began. “Because of this, we aren’t able to be far from it, or we become incredibly weak, and eventually, we will die.”
Your eyes went wide at that, your mind racing. You hadn’t thought of the possibility that the crown could be harming the royal family at all, especially not in such a deadly way. “So, have you never left the palace?”
He shook his head, looking down at his hands. “Not even once.” He sighed, bringing his eyes back up to yours. “My sister left us, a few years after my grandfather died and a few years before my father passed. She fell in love with the stable boy, and they decided to run away. At the time, we knew that we would become weak without the crown. But we didn’t know how weak we would be. Two weeks after their great escape, the stable boy returned. And my sister. . . she was dead. My father had the stable boy put to death immediately upon his return.”
You covered your mouth with your hand, stifling the gasp that threatened to slip past your lips. The royal family was so isolated from the rest of the kingdom, that none of you had even heard of the princess’ passing.
“So then, you’ve been alone all this time, since your father passed?” You asked, your voice quiet and careful.
He nodded, his eyes shining with tears that never fell. “Correct. And that is why, now more than ever, I want to reconnect with the people my family has driven to desolation. I know how harmful it has been for our kingdom since we have kept all of the magic to ourselves. You haven’t been able to farm, to use the magic for yourselves, or even turn the ice into water for necessary use. By hoarding all the magic to ourselves, we have forced our people into poverty. I want to right what we have done wrong. And that is where you come in, my lady.”
“That’s the second part of my last question,” You said, pushing your plate back so you could lean forward against the table. “Why do you need my help?”
He smiled, wiping the back of his hand across his eyes, the action so rushed you had barely registered its occurrence. “I’ve spent the past two years studying the origins of the spell on the crown. There’s supposedly a cave near the border between Glacies and Terrae where my grandfather traveled to have the spell cast, and in order to break the spell, I have to take it back there. And, according to my sources, nobody in the land knows their way around the caves quite as well as you do.”
“I’m flattered, although I am quite curious to know who’s been saying such kind words about me behind my back,” you said, wishing you knew who Taehyun had been in communication with that would know of your occupation and skillsets. “So, what I am gathering is this; you want me to guide you to this cave and help you break the spell in order to finally have the magic distributed back into the kingdom?”
“Precisely. Only if you are willing to do so, of course.”
It was your turn to smile then as you stood to your feet, extending your hand towards him for a shake. “You needn’t ask me twice, Your Highness. When do we leave?”
He stood as well, his smile mirroring your own as he took your hand in his and shook it. “We head out first thing tomorrow morning, my lady. Until then, let us prepare. Together.”
-
YOU AWOKE THE NEXT MORNING TO THE SOUND OF A CRACKLING FIRE.
Beneath your face was something warm and soft, but not quite as soft as the pillow you had slept upon the night before. When your eyes fluttered open, you were surprised to see that you had fallen asleep in the drawing room, the map you and Taehyun had spent all day studying spread out on the table before you, and your head resting upon his shoulder.
You quickly sat up, brushing your hands through your hair in an attempt to fix the wild strands. Taehyun was already awake, smiling at you as you looked away, cheeks growing warm.
“Did you sleep well?” He asked. It was still early in the morning—so early that the sun had not even risen yet, leaving the room bathed in the predawn darkness.
You shrugged, daring to look back at him only to see him smirking at you in the dark. “Well enough, I suppose,” you mumbled, your eyes finally landing on the source of the sound you had awoken to. In the corner of the room, Taehyun had gathered a pile of logs and started a small fire atop them, casting a soft orange glow upon the room made of ice. You gasped, turning back towards the prince. Beads of sweat were rolling down his forehead and cheeks, and you noticed that his breaths were much more labored than they had been before.
“Taehyun, what are you thinking?” You asked, grabbing his arm firmly. “Go put that out. Now.”
“You were shivering,” He said, refusing to let his eyes meet yours. “I didn’t want to see you suffer. It’s the least I could do after all you have been through because of us—if I can suffer in your place, I will do so gladly.”
You sighed in exasperation, grasping his hand in your own. He looked at you then, eyes wide from the unexpected contact. “Your Highness, you have been doing everything within your power so far to right what has been wrong for so long. I refuse to let you blame yourself and cause yourself any form of pain for something that has always been out of your control. In order for us to finish this, we must do so together. Now, go put that fire out or I will be forced to find a way to do it myself. And I will have you know that my methods are not usually the safest.”
He sighed, finally giving in as he raised his hand, a gust of icy wind blowing past your face and killing the fire on the far side of the room. You sighed in relief, giving his hand a squeeze before you let it go.
“Thank you,” he whispered. “I do not feel as though I deserve your kindness nor your understanding, but I am grateful to be receiving it regardless.”
“Everyone deserves kindness and understanding, Your Highness. Especially you.”
After that, the two of you grabbed a quick breakfast from the dining hall and gathered all your supplies from the drawing room before you threw on a thick cloak, allowing Taehyun to lead you out into the snow and to the stables. He introduced you to the reindeer named Atlas that would be pulling your sled, and then led you into the stable where the sled was stored in order for the two of you to finish gathering a few last-minute supplies before you were to head out on your quest.
While Taehyun began throwing things into the back of the sled, you became distracted by a wall strung with weaponry. A quiver of arrows caught your eye, and you reached up to pull a single arrow out, observing it closely.
“This looks like something Jake would be interested in,” you mused, twirling the arrow between your fingertips before you set it back in its place. “He’s been trying to improve his archery.”
Perhaps it was your imagination, but when you looked back at Taehyun, you could have sworn you saw his smile falter, at least for a moment. He shook it off though, throwing a sack of food into the back of the sled before he asked, “So, you and this Jake guy. How long have you been courting?”
You nearly choked on the stable’s air, throwing your hand against your chest in shock. “I’m sorry, what?”
He raised a brow, turning to face you fully. “You are courting him, aren’t you? He seemed to be concerned for you in a way that went deeper than friendship, from what I was able to observe.”
“Oh, please. Jake flirts with anyone who even bats an eye in his direction. We are not in a relationship.” You couldn’t help but laugh at the mere thought. “The only time I ever touch that man is when I’m trying to slap some sense into him—and I mean that quite literally.”
Taehyun laughed, almost as though he were relieved, while he began to tighten the reins that kept Atlas anchored to the sled. “Would you ever consider courting him? If he asked you to, of course.”
“He has asked, and I’ve never considered saying anything other than no.” You picked up the pile of blankets one of the servants had left by the sled and lifted it over the edge, making sure they landed right in the middle of the bench where the two of you were to be seated. “He is not my type.”
Taehyun leaned back against the sled, the slight smirk you had grown accustomed to seeing taking over his features once again. “Well, what exactly is your type, my lady?”
You went still, not sure why his question made your stomach flutter like a disturbed nest of bluebirds. You had never really given this much thought before, but now that he had asked you, your mind was instantly flooded with thoughts of cold hands and warm smiles, icy eyes and flushed cheeks, strong arms and gentle words.
You turned away from him before you spoke, trying your best to be nonchalant. “I think I’d like to find someone that I understand more than anyone else. Somebody that the rest of world may see as cold and brittle, but someone I know to be warm and soft on the inside.”
When there was nothing but silence after your words, you dared to glance back over your shoulder at the prince. Upon doing so, you were more than a little bit happy to see that you had made him just as flustered as he had made you, with his cheeks and nose painted cherry red—and not just from the cold.
He cleared his throat, biting his lip to keep his smile from being too obvious. “Good to know. If I ever meet someone who I think would meet those standards, I’ll be sure to send them your way.”
“Oh, please do,” You said, glad that the tense silence was thawing. “And quickly if you don’t mind. The elders in my community remind me at every passing chance that my childbearing years will be over before I know it, since that’s apparently all that matters.”
That earned an even bigger laugh from him, which caused to you giggle in return. When he smiled at you again, you couldn’t help but lose yourself in his eyes. But who could blame you when they sparkled like freshly fallen snow beneath the morning sunlight?
“I’ll keep that in mind, my lady.” He hoisted himself into the sled and extended his hand out towards you, his brilliant smile never once falling from his face as he said, “Now, what do you say we go and restore this kingdom to its former glory? I believe it’s long overdue.”
-
THE SLEIGH RIDE THROUGH THE KINGDOM HAD BEEN FAIRLY PEACEFUL, FOR THE MOST PART. Taehyun had the reins and was guiding Atlas through the snow-capped mountains while you held the map and directed him, although you could practically navigate your way throughout the kingdom with your eyes closed, no doubt.
The scenery was beautiful in some ways. Trees weighed down by ice coated branches, casting rainbows across the ground as the sunshine reflected through them. The deep snow covered the ground, coating the entire landscape in a blanket of endless white. You sighed, perhaps a bit too loudly as you gained Taehyun’s attention.
“What could possibly be weighing so heavy on your mind to earn such a heavy sigh, my lady?”
You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile that took over your lips at his jest. “I’m just tired of all the ice, I suppose. It’s so suffocating. It kills all the beautiful things and leaves us with nothing in return but cold.”
“That’s not how I see it though,” Taehyun said, holding onto the reins with one hand so he could keep the other around your shoulders, making sure you didn’t fall out of the sled as you crossed over a particularly bumpy patch of ground.
“What do you mean?” You asked, willing your expression to remain steadfast lest you reveal how flustered you were by Taehyun’s physical contact.
He smirked, and you cursed yourself internally, knowing that perhaps the faint flush in your cheeks had given you away after all.
“I mean, I see the ice as more of a new beginning than an ending,” He explained. “Of course, it does freeze everything over for a while, but it thaws eventually. And when it does, everything starts all over again. The rivers start running, the flowers begin to bloom, the animals come out of their sleep. Everything begins again, until it is time to freeze once more.”
“Well, that sounds nice in theory, my dear prince, but I am afraid there’s something you are forgetting,” You said.
“And what is that?”
“This is the Kingdom of Glacies. Well, the version your grandfather created, that is.” The smile fell from your lips. “The ice here never thaws.”
“Maybe the kingdom is still waiting for its new beginning,” He said. Gently, he grabbed your chin and turned your face towards his. He smiled then, the action alone so bright and warm, you were surprised the snow didn’t melt right off the trees.
“The kingdom may still be waiting for its new beginning,” He whispered, “But I think I have found mine.”
You were speechless. Never in a million different lifetimes would you have even dared to imagine the Prince of Glacies saying such sweet words to you. Unsure of how to respond, you cleared your throat and looked away, afraid your face would melt right off at this rate. You heard the sound of rushing water not too far off, and you glanced over to see a small spring beneath a gentle waterfall.
“We should stop there to let Atlas drink,” you suggested, leaning forward to pet the back of the reindeer. “It would be nice for us to stretch our legs too.”
Taehyun obliged, leading Atlas over towards the spring. You were more than happy to jump out from the back of the sled and stretch your legs, and the view was nothing short of spectacular. As you drew closer to the border between Glacies and Terrae, there were a few patches of green grass peeking through the snow, and some bodies of water—like this spring—were unfrozen. Seeing the rushing body of water made you think of what Taehyun had said to you just moments ago, and you felt your heart flutter once again.
You nearly flinched in shock when you felt him slip his fingers between yours, gripping your hand tightly.
He smiled, running his thumb along the back of your hand. “Care to go for a stroll?”
You nodded, deciding to push past your nervous feelings by taking the lead and pulling him along behind you. You were both quiet as you walked, taking careful steps over the snowy grass and onto the rocks that led up towards the waterfall. When you reached the fall, you stuck your hand beneath it. It was cold, of course, but you were mesmerized by how it sparkled, dots of the afternoon sun shining through the beads of water. The pressure of the waterfall was fairly low—no stronger than a drizzle of rain. The water first hit the slab of stone that the two of you were standing on before it cascaded down into another, smaller waterfall, which led into the spring that Atlas was drinking from.
“Do you like it here?” Taehyun asked, watching the way your eyes glowed as you let the water fall between your fingers.
You looked back at him, smiling brightly. “I love it. Don’t you?”
He nodded, glancing up at the falls then back at you. “It’s beautiful.”
He looked down at your hand in his for a moment, and then he gently tugged on it, causing to stumble a few steps closer to him. You raised a brow, clearly confused, but didn’t pull away.
“How about here?” He asked.
You nodded slowly, narrowing your eyes. “Sure. I like it here as well.”
He swallowed, gathering all the courage from every corner of his soul before he took a step forward, closing the gap between the two of you, his free hand coming up to cradle your jaw while he kept the other tightly intertwined with your own.
Your eyes were wide, lips parted in shock, but you made no moves to distance yourself from him. Slowly, he brushed his thumb along your bottom lip, lowering his face towards yours so that he could feel your breath against his own mouth.
“And here?” He whispered, his eyes meeting yours. “Do you like it here?”
When you nodded once again in answer to his hushed question, he wasted no time in diminishing the space left between the two of you to gently press his lips against your own.
His lips worked against yours perfectly as you allowed your eyes to fall shut, letting your hand fall from his grasp so you could hold his neck in your palms, your fingers slipping into the hair at the nape of his neck. He wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you into him as his kiss grew deeper and you followed along, tilting your head to better match your lips with the pace of his.
When he pulled away from you abruptly and rested his forehead against your shoulder, you knew right away that something was wrong. He was breathing deeply, his hands clutching the fabric of your dress. You cupped his cheeks in your hands and lifted his face to yours, seeing how red his cheeks, nose, and ears had gotten.
“Taehyun? What’s wrong?”
He let out a shaky breath, his eyes still closed, his chest still heaving. “I’m—I’m sorry. I can’t kiss you, it’s too—I’m getting too warm.”
Your heart sank as you continued to hold his face in your hands, racking your brain for ideas. The sound of the waterfall rushing behind you filled your ears, and you glanced over your shoulder, biting your lip as an idea popped into your head.
Grabbing him by the collar of his shirt, you carefully walked backwards until you felt the ice cold water cascade over your head and down your back, stopping once you and Taehyun were both standing fully beneath the waterfall.
His eyes were wide, and he was slowly beginning to stand up straighter, his face growing less and less warm beneath your skin as the moments passed by.
“What are you doing?” He asked, nearly shouting to be heard above the light rush of water.
You smiled, pushing back pieces of his hair that the water had plastered to his forehead, only for them to fall right back into place.
“Why would you ask a question with such an obvious answer, Your Highness? I’m about to kiss you.”
He seemed to be in shock, but before he could utter out a single word in reply, you threw your arms around his neck and kissed him once more beneath the cascade of icy water, the feeling of his lips against your own giving you more than enough warmth in the core of your soul.
-
IT DIDN’T TAKE YOU LONG TO REACH THE CAVE WHERE THE LATE KING HAD FIRST CAST THE SPELL THAT RUINED THE LAND OF GLACIES. You had set back out on the road shortly after your somewhat extended rest stop, and by following the map closely, you arrived at the mouth of a cave with icicles hanging from the top and also sticking up from the ground. It looked much like the mouth of a great beast. It was too dangerous to try and bring Atlas inside with you, so Taehyun tied him and the sled to a nearby tree. He grabbed the bag that held the crown inside of it in one hand and then made his way to your side.
“Are you ready?” Whether his question was directed towards you or himself, you couldn’t be sure. Regardless, you took his hand in yours and gave it a squeeze.
“I am ready when you are, Your Highness.”
He smiled before he took the first step into the cave, carefully sliding between two spires of ice and gently pulling you along behind him. The cave didn’t go on for very long, and there was no need for you to bring a lantern along with you, as the daylight that spilled in through the entrance was more than enough to light your way.
When you reached the end of the shallow cave, a large pedestal made of stone was waiting for you. It was surrounded by a perfectly round back wall, with ancient texts inscribed on the walls. You weren’t able to decipher them, but you made your way towards the pedestal, your hand still locked with Taehyun’s.
A large black scorch mark in the shape of a sharp snowflake tainted the surface of the pedestal. Atop it rested a tattered and torn piece of tan paper, also written in a language you were unable to read. You slowly picked it up and handed it to Taehyun. “Can you read this?”
He nodded, squinting his eyes a bit before he read the words written on the page.
“To seize the power given to all, you must first destroy the treasure within. To restore the treasure within your soul, you must then destroy your everything.”
As soon as the words had left Taehyun’s lift, a violent, howling wind burst through the room. It blew with so much force that your hand was ripped from Taehyun’s, and you were thrown back against the stone wall of the cave. Taehyun was blown to the side opposite of you, and the crown fell from his grasp, landing near your feet. For some reason, the crown didn’t seem to be affected by the wind, as it remained stationary.
“What’s going on?” You shouted, gripping at a spire of ice nearby to keep from being blown right out of the cave. Bits of sleet and snow were pricking at your skin, the chilling air feeling sharper than the blade of ice Taehyun had held against your neck just days before.
“I don’t know,” He shouted back, gripping a rock that protruded from his side of the cave. “We need to decipher what was written down on that paper—that must be how we are to break the spell!”
The words scribbled onto the page flashed through your mind.
To seize the power given to all, you must first destroy the treasure within. This was obviously referring to the spell itself—the one cast by Taehyun’s grandfather. In order to steal the magic from the rest of his subjects, he had to sacrifice the most valuable power of all—his humanity.
To restore the treasure within your soul, you must then destroy your everything.
What had been everything to the late king?
His power.
His crown.
“Taehyun!” You shouted, daring to hold on to the spire with one hand in order to point at the crown by your feet, which still remained unmoving amidst the magical storm. “The crown—you must destroy it!”
He tried to stand, but was instantly knocked back on his rear, desperately grasping back onto the rock that kept him anchored. “I cannot make it over there to retrieve it!”
You bit your lip, glancing between Taehyun and the crown only for a moment before you made up your mind. You knew what you had to do.
“Y/N,” Taehyun warned, catching on to what you were about to do. “Y/N, don’t—!”
It was too late. You used your boot to pull the crown towards you before you grasped it in your fist. Pain shot through every inch of your being—beginning in your neck, then spreading through your chest and your legs, to the tips of your fingers and the bottoms of your toes, piercing through you like the sharpest bite of frost. You cried out in pain, over the noise of Taehyun screaming for you to put it down, before you mustered up every last bit of strength within you to lurch the crown towards the prince.
He caught it with one hand, his heart racing as he saw you fall limp to the ground, the wind battering and blowing your unconscious form around like a lone leaf in the winter’s wind. Tears stung at the back of his eyes, and he glared at the crown in his fist, all the anger and resentment he had felt towards his grandfather over all the years combined with the fear of losing you coming to a peak within him. He channeled every bit of these hostile and fearful emotions into the palm of his hand, where a burst of ice so strong was emitted that it covered the room in a blanket of white, the crown first cracking in his hand before it burst into a million shards, scattering all over the cave floor like pieces of glass.
The storm died out immediately, and Taehyun felt a rush of energy enter into his body. He felt stronger, healthier, warmer. But none of that mattered to him. Not when you were nearly lifeless on the other side of the cave.
“Y/N!” He shouted, tripping over his own feet as he sprinted towards you. He collapsed to the ground beside of you, gasping at the sight of blood dripping down your neck and seeping through your clothes.
“No, no, no,” he whimpered, the tears finally slipping down his cheeks as his hands pressed against your wounds, but there were too many of them for him to cover.
Desperate, he let out a shaky breath and closed his eyes. He knew that he no longer had access to all the powers he once did now that the spell was broken. There was no way for him to know if his healing magic was his true form of magic.
But he had to try.
At first, when he tried to omit the soft glow of icy power from his palms, nothing happened. But then, he felt a familiar tickling sensation on the surface of his skin. He opened one eye, then the other, nearly breaking down in sobs of relief as he watched gentle trails of frost travel down your skin, closing all your wounds and erasing any traces of them that would normally be left behind.
When the last cut had disappeared, your eyes fluttered open, and you smiled at him.
“Well done, your highness. You’ve broken the curse.”
He grabbed you by the shoulders and pulled you upright, crushing you against him in a hug.
“Never do anything like that ever again,” He muttered against your ear, squeezing you even tighter. “I thought I lost you.”
“You cannot get rid of me that easily, Your Highness,” you teased, pulling away just enough so you could look into his eyes. “Besides, I knew that healing magic was your true gift. I knew you would save me.”
“And how exactly did you know that, my lady?”
You pecked him on the nose, giggling at how red it turned afterwards. “Because you are a kind and good prince, Taehyun. And you will make a wonderful, healing king.”
“What about you?” He asked. “We should see what ice power you have been gifted.”
You hesitated, gently holding one of your hands out in front of you. Your brows knit together, and Taehyun laughed at the expression before he placed his hand beneath yours.
“Feel the energy running through your veins,” He said. “Let the magic guide you.”
Nothing happened for the first few moments. But then, one by one, snowflakes began to fall, seemingly from out of nowhere. Soon, you held a tiny snowstorm in the palm of your hand. You gasped, eyes glowing with excitement.
“It worked,” You said, staring at what you had created in awe before you allowed it to die down. You then cupped his cheeks in your hands, leaning closer towards him.
“How does it feel to finally be free? What is the first thing you would like to do now?” You asked.
He couldn’t take his eyes from your face, his thumbs tracing invisible lines across your cheeks and your jaw, occasionally slipping over your lips. “The first thing? Simple; I want to make you my queen.”
You coughed, but remained fairly unphased by his forwardness as you responded with, “Although that is something you could have done without breaking the spell, I am quite fond of the idea. Yet, I have one even better than that—how about we instead dissolve the monarchy together?”
He laughed at that, brushing his hands through your hair before cradling your jaw once more. “One step at a time, princess. We can talk about that later. But what about you? What are you most excited about now that the kingdom has been restored?”
You smiled then, not having to take long at all to think of your answer. “As wonderful as having newfound magical abilities may be, my prince, the most wonderful thing about breaking this spell is that I am now able to kiss you wherever I please—without having to stand beneath a freezing waterfall.”
This time, when you leaned forward to capture his lips with yours, Taehyun gladly welcomed the warmth that rushed to his cheeks. And as he kissed you, he was sure that all the warmth that spread throughout him was enough to heat the entire kingdom, so much so that he dared to imagine that the eternal ice of the Kingdom of Glacies would finally begin to thaw.
#txt fluff#txt imagines#txt oneshots#moacabin#kang taehyun#taehyun au#ice prince#elements#elemental powers#royalty au#taehyun fic#taehyun oneshot#taehyun fluff#txt drabbles#txt scenarios#txt au#tomorrow x together#collab fics#taehyun angst#enhypen#enhypen 02 line
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Logger Sharks are, well, sharks but not the kind you may think of! When most people hear "shark," they think of the toothy saltwater variety, the swimming meat grinders that devour all! Of course this is all hyperbole, sharks are not the crazy bloodthirsty creatures that story likes to make them out to be. They eat meat just like everything else, so lets just all calm down about it. Back to my point, Logger Sharks are not found in the ocean but, rather, inland where fresher waters lie! That's right, Logger Sharks are a freshwater shark that is also amphibious. Their gills are capable of dealing with air, which means these little guys can march their way right onto dry land! This also is allowed because these sharks have grown a set of legs! Their fins have morphed into appendages that can work well on both water and land, which is perfect for their amphibious lifestyle. I am sure this sounds utterly terrifying for the ignorant, but do not fear! First of all, they aren't that big. They grow to about four feet in length. and their dorsal fin reaches about two feet. Second, they have better things to do then gnaw your leg off. You see, Logger Sharks get their name for a good reason, and they work hard for it! If you get past the fact that they are land sharks with legs, you will notice that they tend to go after non-meaty things. The thing they really like to sink their teeth into are trees and other woody vegetation! It turns out that super sharp teeth can do more than slice through flesh! Logger Sharks possess the same fast-growing, replaceable teeth as their ocean brethren, though theirs has a longer journey. The teeth grow in the back of the jaw, then slowly move forward as more erupt. They slowly travel towards the snout, until they exit the mouth entirely! The lower jaw of a Logger shark has a special, spiraled root that allows the teeth to move out of the mouth and down their chin. This creates a toothy circle saw, which is quite good for carving through bark and woody materials! When Logger Sharks find the perfect tree, they clasp on with their forelimbs and use their spiraled teeth to rasp away! Obviously their size and equipment aren't suited for slicing clean through the tree, instead they slowly wear away at it from all sides, counting on the height and weight of the tree to finally topple it. I now realize I kind of made it sound like these guys are chewing down redwoods, but really they are going after smaller thinner trees, because they have to be able to carry them home! After chopping down a good sized piece of lumber, the Logger Shark will use their jaws to chew it into workable pieces. Too big, and they won't be able to carry it. Too long, and they will hit every rock, tree and bump on their way back home. So careful cutting is needed, and once it is done they grab it in their jaws and march! They adorably plod their way back to some pond or lake where they live, as these sharks still prefer to live in water! They like non-moving water bodies, as they don't like to fight the current when they are building! You see, Logger Sharks use this chewed up lumber to build lodges for themselves, where they may eat, rest and groom away from the bothersome outside! They use wood and mud to slap together these little huts, and slowly form an inside chamber to live in. These lodges are furnished with grass and dead leafy vegetation, adding extra comfort to their home! They also sport multiple entrances and exits for speedy getaways and easy access. They don't just build houses, as sometimes extra construction is needed if the water refuses to stop running. Dams and blockages are constructed to bring up the water level and create a personal pond for them to live in! Quite the clever little fellas, though the folks downstream may not appreciate the craftsmanship.
The other interesting thing to note about Logger Sharks is the fact that they are quite social. This species lives in family groups and work together to build their perfect home! They tend to interact a lot with their own kind, be it felling trees together or staking their claim. To tell others that this territory is theirs, they will use extra rough patches on their body to rub against vegetation. This acts like sandpaper and wears away at the outermost layer of plants. It also is infused with their special marker, which other Logger Sharks can detect. If you ever notice multiple trees having strange worn patterns near the base of the trunk, it is a good sign that Logger Sharks are about! The other tell is the short barks they let out to call to one another, either warning of danger or calling for extra help carrying their haul! Living in temperate climates means that winter is bound to appear, so how do these little guys make it through the cold? Why, they stockpile food and make their lodges nice and cozy! They build special entrances and exits so that they can get through the ice when need be, but most of the time they sleep in their homes. They are able to go into torpor for long periods of time, occasionally waking to snack on some food before going back under. When spring arrives and the ice begins to melt, they are back at it again, making repairs and moving thing around so that the fading ice doesn't cause any damage. Cripes, I just realized I haven't even mentioned what these creatures eat, I have been so caught up in their antics! Logger Sharks are omnivorous, though a hefty portion of their diet leans towards greens. They eat leafy materials and aquatic vegetation, as well as the bark and chunks that come off of fallen trees. For meat, they target smaller prey, like worms, bugs, grubs, frogs and other critters. Their sharp teeth make short work of anything they go after (this includes fingers of fools who can't keep their hands to themselves)! Logger Sharks have been seen feeding on carrion, but honestly pretty much everything does that. Show me an animal that willingly passes up a free meal! This scavenging is what gives people the wrong impression of these guys. Someone will walk through the woods and see a group of them tearing into a deer carcass, then stupidly assume that they killed it. Logger Sharks do not go on feeding frenzies and they do not tear apart large prey! They just don't! Enough with this nonsense! Logger Sharks are a species of shark that give birth to live pups. They do so in the safety of their lodges, where the mothers can look after them and the family can bring them food. They will grow under their watchful care, until they may be strong enough to strike off on their own and build their own future! With their love for chewing down plants, I am sure many are wondering what us dryads think of them. They eat trees, surely they must be despised! First of all, they don't go after old trees, those are way too big. They prefer younger growths and tree saplings, something they can actually carry. Fallen limbs and branches also work too, as they are fine with scooping up pre-cut supplies! Second, they do not like busy areas and places with lots of people in it. Of course these little guys aren't going to come plodding into town to eat our homes. Honestly, dryads are fine with Logger Sharks because most communities know how to deal with them. This species likes to chew and work, but they won't pass up free meals! What dryad communities do near Logger Shark territory is plant fast-growing tree species that provide Logger Sharks with the materials they want. They may also discard unusable pieces of lumber and wood near these territories, so the sharks may use them instead. When they are provided with plenty of resources, they have no reason to come after our own crops! Do be warned, though, if you live on the outskirts of these territories and collect firewood. If you keep your logs and kindling outside, the Logger Sharks might scurry in to nab a few! Keep them contained somewhere safe, or store them high up! It isn't just our views on trees people wonder about, they also ask if Logger Sharks attack dryads. We are made of wood, after all! Do dryads have to fear bodily harm from Logger Sharks? No. This species is used to working on stationary trees that don't scream or fight back. They get spooked pretty easily, so I can't see any dryad letting one of these things chew through their leg unchallenged. Maybe an incident happens every decade or so, but most of the time it is just a bite or scratch from a scared animal. To have one chew all the way through a leg and then carry it off? Cripes, they must have guzzled a bottle of Napellin Cobalt to let that happen! If that did indeed occur, I would not use that against this species. I mean, how many drunk people have died to horses, and people are still fine working with those? Since I am talking about interactions with these critters, I would like to take a moment to inform folk of a few things. The first, is telling people not to go knocking down Logger Shark dams without proper precautions. I understand some communities get impacted when their river is blocked up by these guys. I would implore you to take a moment to think through the situation and find a solution that won't cause unnecessary harm. I know some folk just run in there and smash the whole thing apart without a second thought, and those people are absolute idiots. If the dam is broke that fast, the rush of water released will sweep away the lodge and any poor pups trapped inside! Also, that wall of water is headed straight towards your stinking town, genius! Hope no one is near the river when that battering ram of water and debris comes hurtling by! So instead of being stupid, why don't you relocate the Logger Sharks elsewhere, or at least drive them away and then slowly dismantle the dam. Bring it down little by little so that the water is slowly released. The other thing I wanted to mention is that Logger Sharks are absolutely adorable, wonderful and are certainly not pets. These animals are very social and need the company of their kind to properly function. I admit myself that I wish I could keep one, but it isn't healthy for them and they don't do well with it. Not to mention what will happen if you somehow own furniture! Logger Sharks should stay wild and stay with their families. The best option, if you want their company, is to be neighbors. Happy, but safely distant, neighbors. I have spent quite a few evenings after a long day's work sitting by the shore and watching them work. It is quite soothing and entertaining! Enjoy them from a distance, and I guarantee you will love every second of it! Chlora Myron Dryad Natural Historian --------------------------------------------------- I realized my world didn't have any sharks in it yet, so I figured I would fix that. Also been reading and seeing how sharks always get the violent evil image, so I wanted my first species to at least be something different than the cliché crazed meat shredder. Took some thinking on how to make a unique shark, but than the epiphany struck! Beaver sharks! I had to draw them up the second it hit me! This is one of the designs I am super proud of, despite the fact I probably say that about every other creature I make. Sharks! Formation! Sticks in jaw, snout in line! Colonel Bogey bring that tune to the 1,2,3 and MARCH!
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Possessed By Love (Event)
Roger Taylor x Fem!Reader | 1974
a little note: hello @demo-wise !! i’m your partner for the possessed by love event. i’ve written this as a reader-insert, because i seem to do all right with those, haha. i hope you enjoy reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it 🥰
a massive thank you to @yourlocalmusicalprostitute for hosting such a lovely event!!
synopsis: Roger Taylor had always been your neighbour. And your best friend. Until in 1968 he moved away to London, and the two of you fell out of touch. But 1974 will change it all.
warnings: swearing, mentions of drinking, mentions of smoking
word count: 17k
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1957-1968
As far as childhoods went, you’d had a pretty normal one.
You remembered summer afternoons going down to the river to swim in whatever clothes you’d muddied when running through the woods earlier, buying ice cream from the corner shop with the loose change your mum had given you for doing the grocery shopping, making up increasingly inventive games to play on boring Sunday afternoons.
You remembered winters walking home from school in the blistering cold; shivering in the threadbare second-hand coat your dad had got you from a garage sale; sitting on Truro’s large, grassy hill to watch the cold light of the stars wheel by above you.
School wasn’t an aptitude of yours, but you made it through, mostly by drinking too much coffee and studying late into the night, alongside your best friend, who did absolutely no studying at all because fortunately for him, he was just one of those people.
A best friend— you’d had one of those too.
It was as good as life got, the times you’d spent with your best friend. If ever there was a soulmate to be had, he would have been yours.
You’d lived in Truro, Cornwall for the whole of your life, but Roger and his family had first moved in when the kindly old lady next door to you had passed away, in 1957.
Like Roger, you were seven years old, so it was really only a matter of time before the two of you struck up a friendship.
When Roger had come across you that first day, you’d been shy, wide-eyed and nervous. He’d been the opposite, bold, energetic, and cheeky in his manners, though his mum was quick to reprimand him if she was anywhere nearby.
And from a young age, he’d been reckless. Hell, from the moment you’d met, he’d been reckless, because he’d spoken to you at all; your classmates had dubbed you a loner.
You’d been playing marbles at the kerbside out the front of your house when he’d first seen you, because it was one of the few games you enjoyed that could be played alone. You liked the precision the game required, to spur the little glass ball across the pavement and have it not roll too far on either side of the larger ball. You also liked the aspect of marbles that involved collecting, because the glass artefacts were pretty, and pretty things to you were what shiny things were to a crow. You supposed this came with growing up poor, though, because when money was tight, pretty things were hard to come by, and for many years of your childhood, you looked forward to the inevitable, but nonetheless exciting, gift of a marble or two on your birthday.
“Can I play?”
You’d looked up and seen a soft-shouldered, blonde-haired boy with sleepy blue eyes, peering at you by the garden gate.
You narrowed your eyes. You were protective of those marbles; they were all you had.
“I’ll be careful, I promise,” he said, rather politely. As if that would convince you.
But maybe it was actually quite convincing, because you’d never before met a boy your age with manners. All the ones at school simply pulled your hair and called you names.
“Alright,” you said slowly, watching him hawkishly as he opened the gate and crouched down beside you on the path. He reached out for a marble, but you smacked his hand away. “Do you promise?”
“Yeah, I said I promise, didn’t I?” he responded impatiently, and went to pick up the marble.
“Really, really promise?” you stopped him again.
He nodded earnestly. “Really.”
You considered a moment, then sighed and placed a marble in his palm.
He had been careful, as he’d promised.
And you’d been friends from that day on.
As you and Roger grew up, the two of you were practically attached at the hip.
Together, you mastered blowing bubblegum and building bonfires, leaping across the river using the thick rope that hung down from a tree on one side of the bank, making faces at your maths teacher without the old sod noticing, riding bicycles without holding onto the handlebars, racing down the street as your parents in vain called for you to come to tea. And one midwinter evening, your dad and Roger’s had finally given in to your mum’s pleadings to put a gate between your front garden and theirs, because you and Roger were so inseparable that you deigned to jump the fence at least twice a day anyway.
Roger taught you how to pack a punch, and you taught him how to lie with just enough truth mixed into the story to make it sound legitimate. At the age of twelve, you put Roger’s teachings to good use when you broke a boy’s nose for teasing Roger about his “girly voice.” At the age of thirteen, Roger put your teachings to good use when he lied about participating in after school events— to be fair, he did stay after school, but using the music room as a practice space for a band he’d started with a few other boys was probably not what Winifred Taylor had envisioned when her son had said “after school studying.”
Roger was there for everything in your life, both the good and the bad, as well as the utterly embarrassing. He was there the time you won fifty pounds in a writing competition run by the local newspaper, he was there for the passing of your beloved grandmother, he was there for the incident of you wearing white trousers at a time of month when you bloody well shouldn’t have worn white trousers. He snuck you champagne when you happily pocketed your fifty pounds prize money. He held you and let your tears soak his flower-patterned shirt when you cried for your grandmother. He gave you his jeans to change into and spent the rest of the day with his jacket tied around his waist in the semblance of trousers, an action for which he faced multiple detentions from multiple teachers.
To the other boys he was arrogant, to his parents he was lazy, and to the teachers he was “destructively rebellious.” To you, he was the one person who made everything seem like it would be okay, no matter how bleak the circumstance.
The summer you turned eighteen was a pivotal one. Not only was it flooring to realise that you were now a legal adult and could do exactly as you wished, but it was also terrifying to begin to understand the sheer magnitude of things that independence entailed.
You were finishing your last year of school and your final final exams, looking into what to study and where to study it, and it was all very intimidating and rather time consuming.
Roger kept telling you not to worry about it and to just enjoy the summer.
“You’ll work it out,” he’d say. “You always do.”
“Easy for you to say,” you scoffed. “You’ve already got yours worked out.”
“Yeah, I suppose,” Roger said as you walked along one stuffy summer evening, scuffing his shoes on the path.
His tone was demure, and you frowned at him, shielding your eyes from the sun with one hand.
“Rog? You said you knew what you were doing, where you were going?”
He flashed you a sad little smile, not like his usual cheeky smirks, and your frown deepened. But then Roger laughed. “‘Course I’ve got it sorted, love. You know me.”
“Wanker,” you shoved him. “Making me worry.”
He only winked. Then he stopped walking. “Hungry?”
You considered a moment. “I’m starved,” you decided.
“Come on, then. Fish and chips by the river?”
You nodded, and you and he meandered down the hill in the sunshine, recalling stories of your last days as school-children.
Many days were spent like this, walking around Truro, often aimlessly, until something interesting crossed your paths or your parents called your lazy selves back home to help with the washing or the grocery shopping. The washing you would hang whilst having a conversation, because the washing lines of your houses were at about the same spot in your back gardens, so you and Roger could yell over the fence to one another.
Of course, you were seldom trusted with the washing any longer, because the last time you had been given that responsibility, Roger had tired of hanging washing and had instead attempted to sabotage your attempts to do so. The affair had ended with a scolding from your mothers, as though you were both still children, and the two of you scrubbing mud stains out of the same washing that had moments before been clean. As for the grocery shopping, it took forever because you and Roger ambled down the road to the shops, spent forever trying to find the specified items on your mothers’ shopping lists, and took a detour down to the river on the way home.
Really, you and Roger were mostly left to your own devices nowadays.
That summer, and every summer since you had been seven years old, you and Roger passed every waking hour together, even occasionally falling asleep beneath the bowing trees atop the Truro hill.
You spent a lot of time with Roger at his bandmate’s family’s holiday cottage where the band, known as The Reaction, would rehearse. In the three-piece band, which had previously been a five-piece, and even earlier on a six-piece, Roger played the drums and occasionally sang. He claimed he was no good at singing, but that, you knew, was an utter lie. Already at seventeen, he sounded professional, like he’d been taught to sing. But he hadn’t, been taught, that was. His talent was completely natural, and equally as abundant. Without even trying, his voice had that rough-edged rock ’n’ roll quality, and he had a lazy prettiness about him that completed the whole image— half-lidded eyes, languid smile, golden hair.
He was talented and beautiful.
He was meant to be seen. And you knew that, all too well. He wouldn’t hang about little Truro forever. But you preferred to push such thoughts to the back of your mind.
When you weren’t tapping your foot against the crate you were sitting on at The Reaction’s practice sessions, you were at their gigs, cheering the loudest at the end of their songs and passing your sweaty best-friend a towel or a bottle of water. If you weren’t tagging along with The Reaction, you and Roger were down by the river, or lying in the grass atop the hill.
And marbles. After all these years, the two of you still played marbles. Roger still had yet to beat you at the game.
On one particularly sweltering Sunday afternoon that broke all sorts of records in England’s weather history, you and Roger were sprawled beneath the trees of the hilltop.
You’d been groaning and complaining about the heat for the better part of an hour, and had anyone else been around, they’d have told you to just shut up, but Roger had elected to try and out-complain you.
“It’s never been this hot before,” you said.
Roger grumbled from beside you, an arm slung over his eyes. “It must be the hottest day on Earth. Hotter than the hottest day on Mercury.”
“Hotter than the hottest day on the Sun,” you countered ruefully, a whine in your tone.
Lifting his arm, Roger glanced over at you. “At least,” he said, “it’s not hotter than me.”
“Ha!” you barked. “You wish.”
“D’you wanna bet? My skin is on fucking fire.”
You blinked drowsily. “You look fine to me.”
The corner of Roger’s mouth turned up. “Thanks, darling.”
You rolled your eyes and went back to complaining.
“Is it just me or is the sun closer than normal?”
“It has to be,” Roger mumbled. “It has to be.”
“Do you want to go down to the river? We could go swimming.”
Roger scrunched up his freckled nose. “We’d have to walk there, first. And it’s way too bloody hot to move.”
You gave another sigh of anguish, shifting your legs to prevent them from sticking to the grass. “I think I’ve at this point drained all the water in my body.”
“Me too.” Roger had sat up and was fanning his face with a hand.
“Could probably die of dehydration if I don’t cool down soon.”
“Me too.” He swept the hair back from his forehead, his skin glistening with sweat.
“It’s so hot,” you whined.
“That’s it. I’m finished.”
“What—”
“Nope,” Roger shook his head, cutting you off. “Don’t laugh at me.”
“Why would I laugh at you—”
“You literally always laugh at me.”
“Yeah, okay,” you conceded. “But why now, exactly?”
Roger tutted, then raised a finger warningly. “Just this once. Don’t.”
You furrowed your brow in confusion, but then Roger crossed his arms over his torso and pulled his shirt up over his head, tossing it to the side.
You didn’t laugh, because why would you? How could you? You were a little busy trying not to stare at him completely open-mouthed.
It wasn’t like you hadn’t seen him shirtless before— the two of you went swimming all the time and had done since you were children— but somehow this moment flustered you, turned your cheeks even redder with heat than even the sun had been capable of, because he was so undeniably pretty, and now you could not be distracted from that by a splash of river water to the face. Windswept blonde hair with half of it matted against his forehead and cheeks, sleepy blue eyes, lightly-sunkissed skin, shoulders softened but lean from drumming, and a cute little tummy characterised by a spattering of freckles.
Gorgeous.
“You can stop staring at me now.”
You sputtered, “What? I wasn’t—”
A lazy smile curved on his lips as his eyes flicked over you. You felt suddenly short of breath, fighting the urge to shiver at his appraising— was it appraising?— glance.
“No, darling, not at all,” Roger said, lying back on the grass again. “Not at all.”
The rush of blood to your face was almost instantaneous. You considered reprimanding him, but you found that you had nothing to say. Instead, you crossed your arms and turned on your side, away from Roger. You felt suddenly as though you did not want to talk to him at all.
You heard him chuckle, and his fingers brushed your shoulder. The warmth of his touch almost tickled. What was the matter with you?
“Y/N,” he said, his fingertips grazing your shoulder again. You turned over to stop him from touching you a third time. For some reason, it was starting to turn you silly.
“What?” you snapped, willing yourself to maintain eye-contact.
Roger smiled bemusedly, now facing you, lying on his stomach and leaning his chin on his hands. “I was only joking, you know.”
You said nothing.
“About the staring,” he went on with a nod, big blue eyes fixed on your eyes.
Still, you said nothing, as though the air were not thick and his gaze did not move you. But it was and it did. Strangely.
Roger pouted childishly, tilting his head to one side. “Y/N?”
You rolled your eyes. “I know, you idiot.”
He smiled. “There’s my girl,” he said, reaching out to ruffle your hair.
You didn’t manage to lean away in time, and your hair was now sticking to every part of your face.
“Rog-er!”
His smile only broadened.
Until he caught sight of your watch. A pretty thing, it was, brown leather rim, a little round watch face encased in golden metal. But Roger looked at your watch as though it personally were responsible for world hunger.
“Alright?” you said.
Roger hissed through his teeth. “Please tell me it’s not five-fucking-thirty already.”
Puzzled, you glanced at your watch. “Well, you’re out of luck, because it is indeed five-fucking-thirty…”
Roger swore violently and leapt up.
“We were supposed to be down at the hall half an hour ago,” he agonised, throwing his shirt back on, despite the fact that the material clung like plastic to a wet floor.
The Reaction were playing at the City Hall that evening, and soundcheck had started thirty minutes ago.
“Oh shit,” you remembered, sliding your sunglasses back on your head and running after Roger, who was already halfway down the hill.
“God, Roger, slow down!” you yelled as he barely looked both ways before darting across the road. “We’re not going to be any less late if you get yourself killed!”
A woman passing on the street shot you a scandalised glare, as though shouting was now a crime as well. You just stuck your tongue out at her and sprinted after Roger.
“But we might make it before the actual concert starts!” Roger yelled back.
Quite frankly out of breath, you slowed your pace, until you were walking and Roger was disappearing around the street corner.
You huffed. “Well, you won’t have a concert if your manager gets killed, will you?”
You were The Reaction’s manager.
Roger’s blonde head poked back around the corner. “Sorry, you’re right. Always right.” He sighed. “But come on.” He slipped his hand into yours and pulled you with him, still running but now keeping pace with you. He sort of had to keep pace with you, given that he was holding your hand. But that had been his choice.
Finally, the two of you were rushing up the steps to the Hall, and then you were inside.
“‘Bout bloody time!” cried Mike from the stage, throwing up his hands. “Where the hell’ve you been? We can’t play without a drummer and you know it.”
The both of you were breathless at this point, because you’d really sprinted the last stretch to the Hall, but Roger managed, “Hill. Lost track of time.”
Jim laughed, holding onto his bass guitar as though the whole thing were just too funny for him to handle. “Bet you did,” he said, with a suggestive waggle of his eyebrows. “Pretty girl like Y/N.”
You sneered at Jim.
Roger told him, “You wouldn’t know a pretty girl if she bit you on the nose.”
“But I’ll bet that one bit you elsewhere than on the nose,” Jim chortled, nudging Mike.
“Shut up, Jim,” said Roger, seething with a rare hostility toward his bandmates.
“What’re you even on about?” you shook your head at Jim’s immaturity.
Mike smiled in amusement. “Look, we all know Jim’s an arse, but really, holding hands? This isn’t primary school. People are bound to jump to conclusions.”
You opened your mouth to repeat your previous question, until Roger dropped your hand, and you realised what Mike had been talking about.
You’d all but entirely forgotten that you were holding Roger’s hand.
You glanced at him, but he didn’t look at you.
He walked over to the stage, and Mike gave him a hand up. Roger picked up his drumsticks from where they lay atop his kit, and sat down.
“Alright?” he called to you, because you were standing motionless at the centre of the empty hall floor.
You flashed him a reassuring smile and he nodded back, but beneath your skin, you felt an unfamiliar flutter.
It’s just Roger, you reminded yourself.
But you didn’t believe you.
⋆⋅✦⋅⋆
You were at the front of the crowd, though the hall was filled to the brim with guests. There were mostly young people, many of whom you recognised from school, but there were also people your parents’ age, and the even elder generation too.
The buzz before the show was incredible, the anticipation almost cloying in its headiness; you felt drunk on excitement, though you’d drunk nothing at all.
Then the lights were shut off, and Quiet swept her elegant hand over the audience. All eyes were trained upon the single spotlight that flooded the darkness of the stage.
You wrung your hands. You held your breath. It was almost too much.
Then Roger’s airy voice rang out through the silence. “One, two, three, four!”
You smiled.
With a flick of his wrist, Roger began the drum fill that opened the first song, and you could see him nodding his head and mouthing the count under his breath.
The spotlight lit up Mike at the front and Jim off to one side, and The Reaction began.
They were well-liked, and tonight’s audience was energetic and appreciative, clapping and cheering and dancing about. It was a good turnout.
Roger caught your eye and winked. Somehow, at every gig, he always managed to spot you, no matter where you were standing. His attention sent a shiver through you.
The concert flew by, and before you knew it, Mike was announcing, “One for the road?”
The crowd responded with a hearty cheer.
Mike laughed. “Really for the road. This’ll be our last show as The Reaction,” he said.
Your mouth fell open. What?
The crowd responded with an equally hearty boo.
Mike clucked his tongue. “It’s been a pleasure, Truro. Thanks for being home.”
Last show? you thought. Have they had a falling out? What the fuck did I miss?
You couldn’t concentrate for the last song. You couldn’t take it all in. You felt weak-kneed, the ground beneath you prepared to open up and swallow you whole at any given moment.
You didn’t take your eyes off of Roger for the remainder of the show, wondering if it was sadness or guilt that twisted in his face. You decided it was a combination of both, because hell, he should feel guilty for having left you out of this.
You headed for the wings of the stage, and you watched the end of the concert from there, arms folded over your chest.
All the energy seemed to have gone out from you, and if you weren’t mistaken, looking at Roger, it had left him too.
⋆⋅✦⋅⋆
“Roger, what the hell?” you grabbed his arm as soon as he came offstage.
His expression was one of shock and— yes— guilt.
“Y/N,” he said quietly, twirling a drumstick with an absent hand.
You shook your head. “When were you going to tell me that the band was breaking up? Or were you just not going to tell me until it happened?”
Roger pressed his lips together, glancing down at his shoes. “I was going to tell you, really.”
“When?” you demanded. You could feel the heat rising in your face; you were furious.
Roger sighed, setting his drumsticks down on a crate. “Come outside.”
You obliged to follow him out the back, but you wouldn’t let him hold the door for you.
Outside, you realised that you shouldn’t have obliged, because this was where everyone was taking their smoke break. You had asthma. The promise of a coughing fit rattled your chest almost instantly.
Roger winced and pulled you away from the smokers, toward the trees around the back of the building. If you hadn’t been so angry, you would’ve appreciated his considerateness, especially because the only reason Roger had yet to take up smoking was because he knew that you, his best friend, wouldn’t have been able to be around him if he did.
Away from the haze by the back door, you squared your shoulders anew and prepared again to scold Roger for having not told you about the breaking up of The Reaction. But he spoke before you could.
“I’m leaving,” he said.
Of all the shocks you’d received thus far that day, this one threw you the most.
“Leaving?” you said. “What do you mean, leaving? After the gig, now, as in we should go home?”
Roger closed his eyes. “No, darling,” he murmured. “I’m leaving Truro. I’m moving away. For school.”
“What?” The word rang in your ears as a dizziness clouded your mind, rattling your thoughts with tremors like earthquakes.
He met your eyes softly. “I’m going to London. I’m going to study to become a dentist.”
“A dentist?” you stammered. Rock-star Roger, off to be a dentist. It just didn’t fit. He was meant for more than that, you knew he was.
“Yeah,” he nodded.
A sinking feeling took up residence in your stomach, and you were acutely aware of a numbness beginning to crawl up your sides and your neck, the wool-thickness of your throat as you tried to swallow.
As easily as pulling teeth, you forced yourself to become coherent. “When are you leaving?”
“After the summer,” Roger said quietly. “The band’s small enough as a three-piece. They can’t play as a two-piece.”
The thought of the band breaking up had barely occurred to you. Sure, The Reaction were good, but they were just... good. What worried you was losing Roger. But you didn’t dare to think about what you would do when your oldest and greatest friend was gone. You couldn’t bear to. It would take too much out of you.
“They wouldn’t last without you, no matter how many people they had,” you said, because the words felt more true to you than anything else in the world. Roger may have been only the drummer— his words— but he was the spark for The Reaction. Without him, playing a gig would be like trying to burn a fire without oxygen. He had an irreplaceable energy, an easy charm, the rock ‘n’ roll voice, and you would have replaced Ringo Starr with Roger any day. Not that you didn’t like the Beatles as they were, but you really couldn’t imagine anyone playing the drums with as much tact, as much rhythm, as much vivacity, as Roger Meddows Taylor.
“Thanks, love,” Roger breathed, sounding as tired as you suddenly felt.
You nodded distractedly. He took your hands in his.
“So what now?” you said, unwilling to articulate the uneasiness that swamped you, but nonetheless trying to convey the feeling to Roger.
Roger smiled another one of those small smiles that were uncommon to his character, and you knew that he saw right through you. He always did.
“We make the most of this summer.”
Tears pooled in your eyes without warning, and you bit your lip to stop them from falling. You stared at Roger unblinkingly, and the sappiness in your heart washed through the entirety of your being.
“I’m going to miss you,” you said, and your voice wavered.
Roger closed his eyes again, almost as though in pain, before he reached out his arms and folded you against his chest.
He whispered into your hair and his words hummed along your warmed skin.
“My darling, I will miss you infinitely more.”
⋆⋅✦⋅⋆
You and Roger made a list. A list of all the things you wanted to do before the summer was over. Before Roger left.
It was extensive.
You were going to get up early and go to the hill to see the sun rise, because you hadn’t done that since you were ten.
You were going to go swimming at the river by moonlight, which was a compromise to Roger’s idea of skinny dipping— you’d shut that down immediately.
Roger was going to teach you how to drum, and you were going to teach him how to draw, and he insisted on taking you to some obscure record shop just outside of town, and you insisted that he learn to cook.
You were going to build a house of cards, if Roger didn’t knock it down with his sighs of boredom.
Roger said that the two of you should try to stay awake for twenty-four hours straight, and that you should help him improve his French by learning the language too.
You planned a picnic at the top of the big tree on the Truro hill, where someone had, years ago, nailed planks of wood between the upper tree boughs.
You were going to have breakfast or lunch or dinner in every single fucking place in the centre of Truro.
You were going to develop all the film you had lying around from various years.
You were going to visit your school one last time.
You were going to eat ice cream for breakfast.
And you were going to go swimming for hours every day until Roger’s hair turned white-blonde from the sun.
Most ambitious of all the things on the list, however, was Roger’s intention to beat you at marbles. You knew he never would.
With every summer day that passed, you and Roger scrawled new items on the list, and so, even though you crossed a couple of things off the list each day, a blind man could’ve seen that you would never get to do everything. Not before Roger left.
You realised this on the day you tried to stay awake for twenty-four hours.
You’d ended up in your usual spot on Truro hill, and were both rather giggly from having got no sleep, and from Roger’s suggestion to get drunk to pass the time. Altogether a terrible idea.
“Roger,” you said, laughing for no reason as the long blades of seaglass-coloured grass tickled your skin.
Roger laughed too, tossing his blonde head to catch a brief glimpse of the swarm of fireflies that had been hovering nearby for the past few hours.
“Roger,” you said again. You didn’t laugh, because he finally looked at you, and your heart fluttered at the liquid blue of his eyes. “We’ll never do it all.”
The smile disappeared from his face, and you hated that you were the one to take it away.
“I won’t be gone forever,” he said. “And you can come visit me in London, and I’ll… I’ll come visit you wherever you are!”
“But it won’t be the same,” you murmured sadly.
Roger intertwined his fingers with yours, and he sounded suddenly sober when he spoke. “I know.”
Then, as his thumb ran softly over the back of your hand, you asked what you’d been afraid to ask for weeks. “When are you leaving, exactly?”
He stopped moving his fingers. “The first. Of September.”
You inhaled sharply. “But that’s—”
“The day after tomorrow,” he whispered.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Roger sighed. “For the same reason I didn’t tell you I was leaving in the first place.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I don’t want to leave you.”
As it happened, Roger didn’t learn how to cook, though he did ruin your house of cards. You never made it to every restaurant, cafe, and bar in central Truro. Roger didn’t beat you at marbles.
But you did all the other things. Every single little thing. And Roger’s hair turned white-blonde, so he resembled an angel even more than he had previously, though he was anything but.
And then came September.
It was raining, the first day of the month, as though the rain had sensed your mood and had arrived in a show of solidarity.
He’d said goodbye to his sister, to his parents and yours, to every girl on the street that had ever had a crush on him. Which was all of them, really.
You went with him all the way to the train platform, because he had yet to say goodbye to you. And to let go of your hand.
You’d walked the whole way, taking the scenic route about the landmarks of the memories of where you’d grown up together.
To Roger, you pointed out all the places you’d waited for him when he’d been running late to some rendezvous or another, and to you Roger pointed out all the places he and his various bands had over the years tried (and usually failed) to book gigs.
You talked. You laughed. You tried not to think. If you let yourself think, you would only think about where the end of this walk would take you. And you knew that the end would take you much farther than memory lane, beyond it and into a bleak future. A future without your best friend.
The light was fading from the sky when the train and its cars rattled into the station, and Roger set down his suitcase. He had gone quiet over the last few minutes.
It baffled you how easily he could pack up and just leave, but nonetheless, there he stood on the platform, with his favourite velvety jacket and one tanned-leather suitcase.
He pulled you into a hug.
You buried your nose in his shoulder.
“You’ll write, won’t you?” you said.
“Every week,” he promised.
“And you won’t forget about me?”
Roger laughed softly. “How could I forget you, the girl I couldn’t beat at fucking marbles.”
You barked a laugh, but it came out as more of a sob.
“Hey, hey sweetheart,” Roger murmured, pulling you off of his shoulder to brush the hair from your eyes. “Don’t cry, love.”
“How d’you expect me not to do that?” you said, your voice sounding small and pathetic.
Roger had no smart remark, no cheeky innuendo or quick response. “I’m going to go before I start too.”
You scoffed. “The only time I’ve ever seen you cry was when you were eight and scraped your skin raw on that rock by the river.”
The rock had been slippery, and Roger had slipped. There’d been blood for days, hips and elbows and knees scraped clean, bones broken and skin badly bruised. Luckily, the water where Roger had fallen in had not been deep, and you’d managed to get him out of the river, and home as well, where you’d lied to your parents, saying that he’d fallen off his bike. They never would have let you go back to the river on your own if you’d told them the truth. But that river was your favourite place in the world, and Roger’s too. He’d always said so.
“Oh, don’t let’s talk about that,” he said with a grimace. “I’ll miss that stupid bloody river, even for all the trouble it’s got me into.”
You laughed again.
You’d miss Roger making you laugh, even when it was through tears. All the better when it was through tears; that he could do that was just one of the many reasons why you loved him.
You loved him and his smile, and his stupidly pretty hair and wide eyes, and his insolence and his childishness, and how he knew what you were thinking at any given moment. You loved how he made you feel, like you didn’t need to be anyone in particular, but just that you, and you alone, were enough.
“I love you.”
You hadn’t meant to say it, you really hadn’t. You didn’t want to be that person, giving the other something to hold onto, to hold them back. You didn’t want to be another girl in love with Roger, just one in a hundred. But you weren’t in love. You just loved him.
Or that was what you told yourself anyway.
You changed your mind when Roger’s hand came to rest on your cheek. The world around you spun slowly; it felt suspended in time.
You were in love with him.
Roger leaned forward and his lovely eyelashes fluttered closed.
Your breath hitched and you fell utterly motionless.
Then, ever so gently, he pressed a kiss to your lips. Closed-mouthed and soft, it was still enough to turn your strength watery and your skin alight as his fingertips pressed along your jaw.
And that it was Roger kissing you— it thrilled you, terrified you in equal amounts.
Still, as he pulled back, you gravitated toward him. You wanted to keep his mouth on yours, make your breath his, make him melt as he had made you melt.
But when he dropped his hand, he made no acknowledgement of what he had just done.
Don’t leave don’t leave don’t leave don’t leave don’t—
“I have to go,” he said, tenderness forgotten by all but the quietness of his tone.
You nodded mutely, squeezed his hand one last time.
Then you were wiping your tears away, alone on the platform, and hours had passed since Roger had left you standing there. But you couldn’t remember a single one of them.
All you remembered was him.
⋆⋅✦⋅⋆
1968-1974
It saddened you deeply, but the fact was, it hadn’t taken long to fall out of contact.
Roger had called every now and then, and had written every week, precisely as he had promised.
And you’d written back.
But it was difficult, when he was off in London, such a lively and interesting place, and you were back in ol’ Cornwall. Everything you had to say paled in comparison with what he wrote. You shouldn’t have wondered if he groaned tiredly each time he received a letter from you.
Yet he wrote back every time, about dentistry and biology and about how it all alternatingly bored or taxed him. But mostly he wrote about music, about his experimenting with guitar and drums, though he had more of an aptitude for the latter than the former.
Then one day, the tone of his letters changed. He’d met some bloke named Brian May, and it sounded like they’d struck up a friendship, and a band. They called themselves ‘Smile’.
You were there to read Roger’s letters when Smile became Queen and Farrokh Bulsara became Freddie Mercury, and when nineteen year-old John Deacon replaced Mike Grose on bass guitar.
But you’d stopped responding to the letters. And so Roger stopped calling.
He kept writing, though. For years.
In 1971, you moved out of Truro, farther south to Falmouth to study at the university there, and your family followed.
You had hoped that the move to Falmouth— to a new city, to begin anew your education, to make new friends— would replenish you. But the truth was, you’d never really been good at new. Everything in your life had always been there— Truro, a school established in 1880, old friends. Well, old friend. You’d never really got around to making more than one. Roger had been all you’d needed. Roger had felt like home.
Truro had stopped feeling like home the day he’d left.
Falmouth had never even had a chance.
By the time you’d mustered the will to respond to Roger’s letters again, the one you sent came right back to you, stamped with Return to Sender.
You’d cried that day.
You’d cried for love lost, for everything you hadn’t had the time to do, for everything you were missing that was happening in your former best friend’s life.
Even three years later, in 1971, one year since the letters had stopped, you weren’t used to living without Roger by your side. You thought of him every day.
At first he had been a voice in your head, remarking on everything you said and did. A snide remark, a tooth-achingly sweet compliment that came from out of nowhere.
It was as though you were possessed.
By 1972, everywhere you went, you thought you saw him, though of course it was never him.
By 1973, though you now thought of Roger only sometimes, little things led back to him. Bubblegum. Bicycles. Poached eggs for breakfast. Train stations, suitcases, ticket stubs and playing cards.
Or perhaps you were haunted.
It was in 1974 that everything changed again.
You saw the advertisement in the paper, and you made your decision.
It was as simple as that.
Queen were to play in Penzance, which, by way of train, was only an hour away from where you lived. So, without hope or agenda, you were going to Penzance, to see Queen play, to see Roger, and his new best friends whom you’d never met.
The allure of seeing him again was simply too great, because fuck it all, six years had gone by and you still could not shake his lopsided smile from your memory.
Having had tea at a local cafe, you arrived alone at Winter Gardens in Penzance at seven o’clock, thirty minutes before the start of the concert.
The venue was small, and yet it was already filling up. Sure, you’d heard of Queen through the occasional newspaper or magazine, and through Roger’s letters, but you weren’t aware that they had such a large following.
The support act was all right, you thought, but to be entirely honest, you had a hard time paying attention. You were distracted, wondering what the headliner would be like.
Six years would have changed the face of your friend, but you hoped you’d still recognise the boy you’d played marbles with. You wondered if he would recognise you, in the crowd, like he used to.
The opener finished their act, and they bowed and departed the scene.
Then Queen took to the stage.
The guitarist, whom you remembered to be named Brian, opened the set with a series of notes harmonised with delay, and the rest of the band entered.
The lead singer Freddie, bassist John, and guitarist Brian were all dressed in flamboyant garb, all loose sleeves and sparkly thread, with dark makeup to highlight their eyes.
But Roger.
No kohl embellished his features. They stood out as it was.
His hair had grown long in the time he’d been away, and the planes of his face had leveled out, cheekbones and jawline sharpened by the evanescence of childhood. Still, the big blue eyes and the slight pout to his mouth remained, and his beauty was staggering.
The music they played was electrifying, and Freddie certainly knew how to manage a crowd. He became the crowd, and he was a magician, the ringleader of a circus, the friend who nudged you at a concert when the band played your favourite song. He played off of the others, and they played off of him. Roger in particular seemed energised by the effervescence of Freddie Mercury, smiling and laughing between singing and playing the drums.
Roger was even better at the drums than you remembered, and you found yourself enraptured by the rhythm he kept, your pulse thrumming in time with the beat.
You were swept away. Your eyes hardly left him.
“Alright, alright, alright!” Freddie cried, and the audience responded in kind. He surveyed the people before him in a flirtatious manner. “You’re all beautiful,” he said. “Thank you for having us here tonight, we’re very pleased about this whole thing. You’ve been lovely, so how about one more?”
A cheer rose from the crowd and you joined in.
“Alright, my lovelies. I’ll let my blondie pal, who I’m sure you’re all very familiar with, probably because he’s flirted with all of you at least once—” here there came another cheer from the audience— “introduce the number. Rogerrrr!”
Roger laughed, shaking the hair out of his eyes. You smiled, remembering when you’d been the one to make him laugh like that, all glowy and soft.
“Ha ha, thanks a lot, Freddie. Anyway, this one’s called ‘Modern Times…”
Roger was looking right at you.
His lips were parted in surprise, his brow furrowed in something that looked to you like anguish.
Hello, he mouthed to you.
Hi, Rog, you mouthed back.
His face broke into a smile.
“This one’s… this one’s called ‘Modern Times Rock ‘N’ Roll’.” He raised a drumstick and pointed it in your direction. “For you.”
Fondly, you shook your head at him. He really never did stop flirting.
You saw Freddie glance back at Roger with an expression of amusement.
Then Roger hit the drums, and the guitar and bass followed, and Freddie gave a shout to start off the song.
After the final encore had been played, Freddie thanked the crowd once more, Roger waved his drumsticks, Brian raised his guitar, and John took a bow.
If it had been anyone other than those four, you would’ve said that they were being pretentious. But this wasn’t pretentious. This was Queen.
The venue slowly emptied out, but you remained where you were. When the front was clear and there was nothing between you and the low-raised stage, you went to lean against it. You needed a moment to think.
Did you go after Roger now? Or did you just go?
He’d seen you. He’d acknowledged you. But that didn’t mean he wanted to talk to you, catch up, no matter how much you wanted that.
You headed for the door.
“Y/N!”
You turned around, and before you could react, Roger was running forward, and he barrelled straight into you.
He threw his arms around you and held to you tightly, stepping from foot to foot and rocking you gently in his hold. You felt him bury his face in your hair, and a tingly feeling skittered down your spine as his sigh tickled your skin.
You wrapped your arms around him and breathed in his familiar smell— lemon chamomile shampoo to keep his hair bright blonde, coffee with his ridiculous one and three-sevenths sugar, soap and a prickle of sweat.
And something else.
Was it… no, it couldn’t be. Cigarettes.
“Roger, have you started smoking?”
He laughed in an endearingly bright manner, pulling back from the embrace to look at you. “I haven’t seen you for six years and that’s the first thing you say?” He shook his head, his eyes crinkling at the corners in a lovely smile.
“I’m sorry,” you laughed with him, and he hugged you again.
“God, I’ve missed you,” Roger said, squeezing you tightly. “How’ve you been?”
“I—”
“Who’s your friend, Rog?”
Freddie Mercury appeared by the door to the backstage, a sly smile on his lips. He’d taken off his makeup and looked quite young in the now brightly-lit room.
Roger let go of you gently as Brian and John arrived on the scene as well.
“It wouldn’t be the legendary Y/N, would it?” asked Brian.
“Legendary?” you snorted.
“Mmh,” John said, “I think it might very well be. We aren’t far from Cornwall, you know.”
Roger rolled his eyes. He gestured to you, his other arm still around your waist and his palm bleeding delightful warmth into your skin. “Yes, this is Y/N,” he said.
“Nah, I’m just another groupie,” you joked.
Freddie strode forward, extending his hand to you.
“No, you’re not, darling,” he said, shaking your hand with a regal air. “Rog doesn’t look at anyone the way he looks at you.” Freddie winked and you found yourself blushing at his remark.
“I’m sure that’s not true,” you said lamely. You elbowed Roger to ease the tension, hoping you could rely on your old best friend for a reaction. “How many have you had?”
“Hey!” Roger pouted and rubbed his side. “Six years, and you just elbow me right in the ribs.”
He really wouldn’t let go of those six years.
“Like old times,” you said.
Roger practically beamed at that, and you wondered if really he had missed you as much as you had missed him. “Oh, we’ve got so much to catch up on,” he said animatedly. “But first, meet the other two sods I work with.”
Brian and John exchanged a glance.
“Rude,” Brian sniffed. He came over to shake your hand as well. “I’m Brian.”
“I actually knew that,” you smiled, “Rog sent me letters for a while.”
“Ah, so you were the one he was writing to,” Brian quirked an eyebrow.
“You’re a bit slow on the uptake, dear,” Freddie said.
Brian sighed. “Thanks, Fred.”
“Then I suppose you know I’m John,” said he, greeting you with a friendly smile to accompany his handshake.
“Yes,” you nodded, returning the smile.
“We call him Deacy, though,” Roger, who still had his arm around you, added.
You turned your head to look at him. “I know, Rog.”
Roger smiled at you again and your skin warmed. “Yeah, I suppose I wrote that to you.” Then he said softly, “Why’d we ever stop writing?”
You’d told yourself it was the mix up of addresses, but really, it was a bit more than that, wasn’t it? After all, you might have tried getting a hold of Roger’s parents and getting his new address from them.
Freddie interrupted by clearing his throat, and you were honestly quite grateful for it, because with the way Roger had been gazing at you just then, all soft-eyed and sweet, you might have been tempted to kiss him.
“That’s a conversation for another time, darlings,” Freddie said. “We’re going to the pub for a drink. Would you like to come, Y/N?”
You tore your eyes away from Roger, only to glance at him again to see if he was okay with you tagging along. You took his smile as a yes.
“Oh, uh... Yes, I’ll come,” you said.
“Excellent!” Freddie exclaimed, and Brian and Deacy followed him out the door.
You started after them, but Roger pulled you back. “I really have missed you,” he said earnestly.
You couldn’t keep the smile from your face.
“I’ve missed you too, Rog.”
⋆⋅✦⋅⋆
Roger, of course, remembered your drink order and brought it to you from the bar. He also wouldn’t let you pay for it, because he insisted his income was far more than yours, which was probably an understatement.
“So,” Brian said, “Y/N, what’re you studying at uni?”
A collective groan came from the others.
“What?” Brian asked.
“Darling, the poor girl does not want to talk about uni,” Freddie put an arm around Brian’s shoulders. “Do you really think she’s hanging out with us for boring adult-talk?”
Brian frowned.
You laughed. Brian seemed to you the kind of person who actually thoroughly enjoyed a life of research and studying; it probably hadn’t occurred to him that discussing one’s major was a staple boring-topic, one that was only brought up when there was absolutely nothing else to talk about.
“It’s fine,” you waved Freddie off. “I’m a history major. Specialising in World War Two.”
Brian tipped his glass toward you. “See, now that’s impressive. I could never remember all those people and all those dates.”
“He was a science major,” said Roger in an aside to you, leaning his shoulder against yours. You leaned into his touch.
“Astrophysics, actually,” Brian corrected him, and you saw John— Deacy— roll his eyes.
“What about you two, Freddie, Deacy?” you inquired.
“You don’t want to ask about mine?” Roger smirked.
You shrugged. “Dentistry. Switched to biology.”
He smiled slowly. “You remembered.”
“Of course I remembered,” you said, and if it was even possible, Roger’s eyes softened. He was still the boy you’d loved six years ago, and it was as though no time had passed at all. Your dynamic with him was exactly the same as it had been for the whole of your life. Your heart still lost its pattern when he touched your hand.
“I studied electrical engineering,” Deacy said, as Freddie gave a little ahem, and you realised that you’d just spent a good many seconds gazing at Roger.
“Oh,” you said, feeling your skin pinken slightly. “How, um, interesting.”
Deacy chuckled. “The usual response.”
“Oh no, you must get that all the time, I’m sorry,” you stammered, “I’m not entirely sure about the specifics of electrical engineering—”
“And they would bore you to death, darling,” Freddie interjected. “It’s all far too technical. But for some perspective, Deacy here built his own amp from something he found in a tip.”
You raised your eyebrows. “Did you really?”
John nodded humbly, but you could see that he was really rather pleased. Fair enough, too. His sound at the concert had been excellent.
“Freddie did art,” Roger continued. “He designed our logo, for Queen.”
“Wow,” you said.
Freddie pulled a black sketchbook from out of nowhere. He flipped it open to a specific page, which had been opened to rather often, going by the creases down the spine of the sketchbook, and pointed a carefully manicured fingernail to the paper.
“There. It’s made up of our star signs.”
Freddie proceeded to explain in detail how he’d gotten the idea for and designed the logo.
“We’re all impressive, really,” said Roger, voicing your exact thoughts.
You laughed, “Not to mention you’re rockstars.”
“We’ve definitely got something to fall back on if it all goes wrong,” Brian said, to which Freddie made a face.
“It won’t go wrong, though,” you said. “Look at how far you’ve already made it. It’s brilliant! Queen’s brilliant!”
Freddie laughed delightedly. “Oh, I like you,” he said.
“Could it be that Rog has finally improved his taste in women?” wondered Brian with a grin.
John was smiling too. “Yes, I think you should hang around us more often, Y/N. Bit of an ego boost, you know.”
“Like we need an ego boost,” Roger scoffed. “We bloody well named ourselves Queen. And besides,” he went on, hugging you to his side, “Y/N���s been around me forever. You just had the misfortune of waiting so long to meet her.”
You narrowed your eyes at him. “What is it you want, Roger? You’re never this nice unless you want something.”
Freddie let out a cackle, and Brian choked on his beer as Deacy laughed.
On the other side of the table, moments later, Brian was still having trouble breathing, so John ran to get a glass of water while Freddie thumped him on the back.
But Roger turned to you.
“I want you in my life again,” he said quietly.
Your heart stuttered.
You wanted that too, desperately.
But how could you be in his life again when you had your education to think of, and he had Queen? Hell, you wouldn’t even have time to properly catch up before he and the others moved onto the next concert location.
“At least for the next few days.” His voice was so wistful. “Please?”
You’d only brought with you the clothes you were wearing, the crossbody bag that hung against your hip. You’d booked a return ticket on the nighttrain. You would miss that train, waste that money. You would miss classes at uni.
But the please had done it. For all his cheek and flirtations, Roger was still the first boy who’d even been properly polite to you, without wanting anything in return.
You nodded slowly. “I can take off a few days. But you’ll have to lend me some clothes or something, because I didn’t—”
“Oh, not to worry,” he said, waving a hand. “You always wore that flower print shirt of mine far better than I did, anyway.” He had the gall to wink at you, and your stomach dropped to your toes.
Before you could pretend not to be flustered, Deacy returned with Brian’s glass of water, and Freddie gave a sigh of relief.
“Well thank goodness for you, darling,” he said to John. “I think he’s hacked his throat raw.”
Brian did look rather pink in the face, but at least he’d stopped coughing.
He sipped his water gingerly, then muttered, “I think I’d like to go home, now.”
“Can’t go home, dearie,” said Freddie. “We’re on tour!”
Roger glanced at his watch. “One o’clock. I think it’s past your bedtime, Brian,” he chuckled.
Deacy laughed. Brian looked miserable.
Freddie shook his head. “Hotel, anyone?”
Roger nodded. “Early start and all that.”
As the five of you filed out the door, you bit your lip. You had no idea as to what hotel they were staying at, and you hoped you could afford a room there.
“Where is it you’re staying?” you asked casually.
“Oh, just down the road,” said Roger.
“Only place for miles, so not much choice, y’know,” Deacy smiled.
“You’ll have to excuse him,” Freddie patted Deacy’s shoulder. “He’s too used to the glamorous life. Likes making choices. No fun when he’s got none to make.”
Freddie led the way down the boulevard.
The hotel didn’t look too fancy, so you felt a little better as the four of them picked up keys to their rooms, having provided some ridiculous fake names. They then waited for you patiently at the side of the lobby, conversing with some of the roadies who had also returned back from the pub.
“Hi,” you said, approaching the front desk, “a single room for one night, please.”
The lady at the front desk winced, but in a rather apathetic manner. “Ah, sorry,” she said, not sounding in the least bit apologetic. She wrinkled her long nose as she peered at you. “No vacancies for tonight.”
Your skin felt suddenly clammy.
This was the only hotel for miles. John had said so.
You swallowed, your throat constricting. “Okay, well, thanks anyway.”
You turned away before desk-lady could pick up on your terror and revel in it. She seemed the kind of person who would enjoy turning someone away just for the feeling of authority that came with it. Or maybe that was just your spite talking.
What were you going to do? There was nowhere to go for the night. And you’d have missed that train by now, so there wasn’t even the chance of going home tonight and simply meeting up with Queen at their next rendezvous.
You felt like again like the nervous child you’d once been as you made your way over to the group.
“Hey,” you said quietly, your fingers curling around Roger’s sleeve.
“Hi gorgeous,” he smiled. “Desk lady wasn’t too mean to you, was she? She can be a bit uptight sometimes. Think all she needs a really good shag—”
“Um, Rog,” you cut him off, “there were no vacancies.”
“Oh,” Roger frowned. “Well, not to worry. You can stay with me.”
Relief rushed out of you in a breath.
“Thank you,” you murmured, feeling silly for having even worried.
Roger shrugged. “How shit of a friend would I have to be to just tell you to get lost?”
A smile found its way to your lips. You were back to being friends.
“Everything alright?” Freddie joined you and Roger.
“Perfectly. Well, more or less, anyway,” he amended. “They had no vacancies, but Y/N will just stay with me instead.”
Mischief glittered in Freddie’s eyes. “Ah,” he said. “Have fun, dears.”
He was up the stairs to the next floor before you could correct him.
Brian looked over. “Did Freddie just say ‘have fun’?”
You blushed, “Yeah, well, he didn’t, um…” You gestured between you and Roger. “I mean, we’re not—”
You looked to Roger to see if he would help you out, but he just stood there, his arms crossed and a little smile playing on his lips.
“Of course not,” said Brian, but he was grinning.
“Roger!” Deacy called.
Roger turned.
“Use protection,” John said pointedly.
Roger rolled his eyes. “Fuck off, all of you. Come on, Y/N, let’s get away from these idiots.”
You didn’t know what to say, so you simply followed Roger.
You let him guide you up the stairs and toward his room, his hand pressing softly against the small of your back.
You normally hated anyone touching your back— it felt too intimate, a violation of personal space— but growing up with Roger, the two of you had pushed and shoved each other at any given moment, into the river, off of the fence you were sitting on, down a hallway, and so Roger’s fingers on your back were familiar. Though of course his touch was now gentle in place of forceful.
Gentle.
You stiffened thinking about the weight of his palm on your skin, quite forgetting to breathe, then attempted to right your inhale-exhale without him noticing that anything was off.
But he noticed, as his hand dropped from your back so that he could unlock the hotel room door.
“Alright, love?” he said.
“Yeah, fine,” you loosed a breath carefully.
Roger smiled bemusedly, then held the door open for you. “Welcome to my humble, one-night abode,” he said.
“Thank you,” you responded courteously, and went inside.
You surveyed the room.
A shiny, new-looking television, an ample wooden wardrobe, a door that presumably led to a connecting bathroom, an armchair with bright orange upholstery, a few plastic plants, Roger’s open luggage tossed to the floor on one side of the room, the wallpaper and floor unstained, and a double bed. Not too shabby for a gig-night stop off.
A bed. As in a singular noun. One.
Roger shut the door behind you.
He caught sight of your face, the barely-concealed nervousness that skittered behind your eyes.
“Ah. Yes,” he said slowly. “One bed. Sorry about that. I’ll just take some cushions and the floor—”
“Oh, don’t be silly,” you told him. “You’ve been out all day, and what with the concert and all, you must be exhausted. You always were, back home.”
Your rambling gave way to quiet as the both of you slipped into silent reminiscence about earlier days. “Besides,” you went on, with what you hoped was an easy smile, “we used to share sleeping spaces all the time, when we were younger.”
It was true. Sleeping under the stars atop Truro hill, sleeping in hammocks by the river, sleeping with your head on Roger’s shoulder on the bus back from a school excursion.
“Oh, all the places I fell asleep,” Roger laughed, no doubt talking about his ability to fall asleep anywhere, at any time at all. “Right. Do you want to take a shower?”
“Do I smell that awful?”
Roger scoffed. “‘Course not,” he said. “You always smell lovely. Like flowers.”
Once more, you didn’t know what to say to that, so you continued the other half of the conversation. You normally showered in the mornings, but the concert hall had been hot, and you were pretty sure someone had spilled beer on you at one point. You set down your bag and your jumper. “If there’s enough towels, I’ll take a shower.”
Roger nodded. “There’s more in the cupboard under the sink. You go on. I’ll go after.”
You took your shower quickly because the time was already nearing two o’clock in the morning, and Roger still had to take his. You were towel-drying your hair as you walked out of the bathroom, redressed in your day clothes, not wanting to hog the space.
Roger was rifling through his luggage, and upon hearing you re-enter the room, he straightened up and tossed you a washed-out cotton blend t-shirt.
You caught it. “Thanks.”
Roger gave a friendly smile and ruffed your hair as he passed you on his way to the bathroom.
You swapped your shirt quickly, feeling rather uncomfortable about changing in a hotel room that wasn’t your own. You walked over to the bed and pulled the covers out from where they’d been tucked in tightly. Hotels always folded the covers in so bloody tightly. You nearly fell over trying to tug them free.
You settled beneath the duvet, hesitating briefly before slipping off your denim jeans. It was ridiculous, of course— the thought of sleeping in those stiff trousers!— but your stomach roiled with nerves all the same. You’d slept beside Roger before, yes, but at least then you’d been fully dressed, or had been wearing your own pyjamas. This was something else. You could smell the faint aroma of lemon and chamomile which saturated his t-shirt.
Since you could only find one pillow on the bed, you’d taken the cushion from the orange armchair to use for the night, and as you lay your head down, you could hear the muffled sound of Roger singing in the shower.
You smiled to yourself. It was unlikely he realised how much his singing carried through the wall.
You loved his voice. You relished the times he sang in front of you unabashedly, which was rare, because he normally only felt comfortable singing when he was already onstage, drinking in the confidence of a fully fledged performance. But it was different when he sang alone, and sang without accompaniment. It was rawer, a little softer.
The water shut off, and after a few minutes, Roger returned. You felt him sink down beside you.
“Y/N?” he asked quietly, probably wondering if you were already asleep. You were facing away from him, so he couldn’t tell.
You turned your head to look at him. “Yeah?”
“Oh,” he said, and your eyes caught on the little blonde wisps that curled about his face. He looked very young in that moment, and your heart twisted at the rush of old memories. “I was just seeing if you were already asleep.”
“Not anymore,” you joked. “You sing in the shower.”
Roger actually blushed. He never blushed.
“Sorry,” he murmured.
You shook your head. “You know you’ve got a beautiful voice, idiot.”
He smiled. “Not beautiful, but fairly alright.”
“Beautiful,” you insisted.
Roger smiled with downcast eyes, his hair falling about his face, and the warm light of the room rendering him more boyishly pretty than ever.
God, you wanted to hold him. Wrap him in your arms and hold him close and kiss the top of his head until you both drifted off to sleep.
“Right,” he said, “we’d better get some sleep. Off again tomorrow, early.”
You nodded silently.
Roger got beneath the covers and switched off the lamp.
You heard him sigh as he settled down, his muscles likely aching from the show. You’d often massaged his shoulders after The Reaction’s gigs.
The bed was quite small, and Roger practically radiated heat. It was nice, really, because it was late March and the weather was still on the cold side of things. The only problem was that you wanted to shift closer to him.
You startled as Roger’s knee bumped your thigh.
“Oops, sorry sweetheart,” he said, and you tried not to disintegrate as his breath tickled your ear.
“It’s fine,” you responded quietly.
There was silence, and then Roger murmured, “You okay? I’m not hogging the covers, am I?”
If you turned around now, you’d be nose to nose with him.
You released a shuddering breath. “No, no, it’s fine,” you repeated, wrapping your arms around yourself to try and subdue the tingling sensation that hummed along your skin.
“Cold?” Roger spoke again.
You wished he’d shut up and go to sleep so that you could stop thinking about how close he lay to you.
You gave a frustrated huff. “No, I’m fine,” you bit out.
“You’re shivering.”
You were.
“What are you going to do about it,” you said, more in exasperation than as an actual question.
“Well, feel free to kick me off the bed now, but…”
He trailed off, and you were about to ask what he was on about when, tentatively, he wrapped an arm around your waist.
You inhaled sharply.
The material of the t-shirt you wore had ridden up; there was nothing between your skin and his.
“Is that okay?” he asked softly.
You forced yourself to exhale normally, though your heart stuttered in your chest and demanded you breathe at the pace of a sprinter. “Yeah.”
He pulled you closer until your back was flush against his chest and you were close enough to hear his heartbeat.
Slowly, he nestled his nose into your hair, his face resting at the crook of your neck.
You could hardly breathe.
Forget kissing; lying this close to someone, the warmth of their skin flooding yours, the rise and fall of their chest matching your own as they breathed gently, was so intimate.
It was underrated how utterly lovely it was to just lie with someone, all close, with gentle movements and whispered words.
And here you lay with Roger.
⋆⋅✦⋅⋆
The morning came swiftly, because in Roger’s arms, you’d fallen asleep quickly.
The sun crept into the morning sky, seeming almost timid in how its light seeped back into England’s little corner of the world, slowly, as though afraid to wake you.
You turned over carefully, but there were no arms to shift from around you.
As your eyes adjusted to the light, you realised that the curtains were open. Roger was nowhere to be seen, but his suitcase now stood by the door, packed but not closed, and folded clothes lay on the armchair across from the bed.
You sat up slowly, wondering how he could have got up, packed his suitcase, and left the room without you noticing. You must have been very deeply asleep.
You slipped out of bed, touching your toes to the floor with a hiss at the cold of the wood. Crossing the room, you found that a note bearing your name rested atop the clothes on the armchair. Moving the note, you picked up the shirt that lay atop the folded stack. It was orange. Printed with flowers. Roger’s hippie shirt.
You pulled off the shirt you’d slept in and picked up the other.
Just as the door to the room swung open.
You were standing in only your bra and knickers. You gave a cry of alarm.
“Ah,” Roger said, “sorry, sweetheart.”
“Fuck’s sake, Roger!’
“Oh, ‘s alright,” Roger shut the door behind him, “we’ve known each other forever, hey? Not like I haven’t seen you in your bathers before.”
You threw on Roger’s orange shirt hurriedly, fingers fumbling to button the thing up. “I’m not in my bathers, Rog.”
Your back was to him, but you saw him shrug in your peripheral vision, folding his arms as he leaned back against the door. “Same cut, really. No less skin. Besides, it’s not like you’ve got anything to be embarrassed about.”
You’d finally finished with the bloody buttons and were now pulling your jeans back on. “Excuse me?” you said.
“Well, you’re beautiful.”
He said it so simply, like it was a fact, common knowledge, indisputable.
“Beautiful?” you murmured, creases settling between your eyes.
“I guess beautiful is a relative term,” he elaborated, “what with all that ‘beauty is in the eye of the beholder’ stuff, but to me, I mean. To me, you’re beautiful.”
You gaped at him.
You couldn’t believe that you were having this conversation. At the break of dawn on a Sunday morning. And with Roger no less.
“Roger,” you said, because he wasn’t looking at you. He glanced up, eyes wide and questioning, as though it were not out of place to say such things as those which he had said, as though he were not being bold, reckless.
“Why?” you asked, because you couldn’t voice the full thought. Why say this now? Why say it at all?
Roger only pressed his lips together. “You can put your jumper in my suitcase. Take one of my jackets instead. It’s supposed to be colder in Taunton.”
You frowned.
“Just close it when you’re finished. It’s on the heavy side, so I’ll take it down.”
He was gone from the room before you could say another word.
⋆⋅✦⋅⋆
The road to Taunton was three hours long, but Freddie insisted it would pass in a flash.
“We’ve got Scrabble,” he’d said smilingly.
“Scrabble?” you’d asked. “How much time can we really pass with Scrabble?”
Brian had shaken his head at you as he’d got on the bus. “You underestimate the power of wooden lettered tiles in times of need.”
“And you underestimate Freddie’s ability to make up words,” Deacy had added, taking a bite out of what appeared to be a cheese toastie— weird breakfast choice, but okay. You had other things to worry about. Like the fact that Roger couldn’t seem to decide whether the two of you were best friends or arch-nemeses.
You’d begun playing Scrabble with the boys before the bus had even started moving, but unfortunately, Scrabble was a four-person game, so this had required two of you to become a partnership. Roger had volunteered for you and him to be partners, and you’d mutely agreed.
Freddie sat by the window on one side of the bus’ little dining booth, flanked by Deacy. Brian sat across from John and next to Roger, whose side was flush against yours where you inhabited the other window seat.
When he leaned forward to reach for tiles or lay down a word, you felt the shift of his muscles, and before your turns, he’d lean toward you and talk softly in conspiratorial tones. It was difficult to concentrate when he did this, because his breath feathered across your face and his eyes were intent on yours, and the way he murmured his words made your insides flutter.
Really, Freddie was right; the bus rolled into Taunton before hardly any time had passed.
The afternoon was taken up by soundcheck, and when evening came and Queen stood in the wings, ready to go onstage to the already raging cheers, you stood with them.
It was surreal, not only the thought of the size of the crowd that awaited your friend’s band, but how similar it all was to the days when you’d waited in the wings with The Reaction.
The final preparations for showtime were the same. The combination of nerves and excitement that rushed through you was the same. The electricity that seemed to hum beneath each word, every movement, was the same. It was all the same.
An aching sort of nostalgia clawed at your chest, and you turned to your right to see Roger tapping his drumsticks absently against his leg.
He caught your eye and smiled. “Just like old times,” he said.
With his bright blonde hair and wide eyes framed by long lashes, you were again shocked by how young he still looked.
It was all the same.
At least on the surface.
You and Roger were not the people you had once been. The days of hands sticky with melted ice cream, of running about town pretending to be Clint Eastwood in some forgotten Western movie, were long past. No matter how much the thought may have saddened you.
This was real life.
The cheering out beyond the wings reached a crescendo, and Freddie’s face broke into a smile. He winked at you and disappeared into the darkness of the unlit stage.
With a deep breath and a smile exchanged with Brian, Deacy followed Freddie, and Brian followed Deacy.
Roger remained.
“Go,” you told him. “Your subjects await.”
He laughed. “Alright then. Give us a good luck kiss.”
He angled his cheek toward you, and you considered taking his face in your hands and turning his lips toward you, to kiss him properly, at first out of spite, and then find out how many of your sentiments he really shared.
But you didn’t. You had that much self-control, at least.
You pecked his skin gently, and perhaps it was your imagination, but you thought he leaned into your touch.
“See you after the show,” he said, and he was so close to you that you could see freckles beneath his eyes, across the bridge of his nose.
He followed his bandmates into the dark.
⋆⋅✦⋅⋆
Roger
She’d always been with me.
It’d always been the two of us against the rest of the world, and I hoped it would always be.
Still, six years had taken their toll; her eyes were older than when I had last seen her, and by many years more than the time I’d spent apart from her.
Everything had changed.
And yet nothing had at all.
She’d always come to the gigs, no matter what band I happened to be playing in. And I’d always felt about her how I felt about her now.
She was like a ghost, standing in the wings every night, and I was possessed by her. By my love for her.
But who wouldn’t be?
I was as much a fool as anybody else.
⋆⋅✦⋅⋆
The after-show buzz was as strong as the pre-show buzz, and in watching Queen play again, you’d almost forgotten the world around you. You’d been enraptured by the way Freddie’s fingers danced across the piano keys, and how the voices of him, Brian, John, and Roger had melded together, as though they couldn’t have sung off-key had they tried.
Drunk on the lateness of the night, you’d swayed to the music in the wings, and wondered how life might have been different if you had been just another groupie, or if you and Roger had met later in life, under other circumstances.
It was extravagant and strange to be back in his company after so long, so much so that you almost questioned whether you were really there at all, or if you were simply lost in the throes some feverish dream. You wondered what it would be like in a few days, when you returned to the world of going to university and paying rent and cooking your own dinner, draped in the consequences of sleep-deprivation and stripped of the glory you felt in this moment, watching Roger’s hair catch the light like spun gold as he sang with half-lidded eyes. You wondered what you would tell him when he inevitably asked what you’d thought of the performance tonight, because you wouldn’t remember anything but him; you couldn’t take your eyes off of him.
They came off of the stage, all glistening with sweat and brilliant smiles. The rush of performing was something felt even by those who simply watched, and so you could only imagine the adrenaline felt by those who actually performed.
“That was a great one!” Brian was saying animatedly.
Deacy grinned, handing off his bass to a roadie. “You didn’t hear me mess up then?”
Brian blinked at him. “You messed up?”
“Fantastic, darlings!” Freddie cried, hugging Roger to his side, to which Roger laughed. “Would anyone have a glass of water for me?”
“Right here,” you passed Freddie a glass, because it’d been filled and was waiting for him.
“Ah, thank you, dear.” He let go of Roger, took the glass from you, and swallowed the water in a single gulp.
“Hi Roger,” said a sultry voice from your right, and you turned to find a long-legged brunette winking at him.
“Hello Janey,” Roger responded, his tone velvety. “Fancy seeing you here.”
“You’d think I came to these shows for you,” said Janey, toying with the hem of her skirt.
You could have gagged.
What kind of name was Janey, anyway? What was wrong with good old Jane?
Why was Roger even interested in her? Anyone with two eyes could see that she’d turn out to be a double-crossing, press-whispering, inarticulate, brainless little—
“Y/N?” Brian was at your shoulder. “Alright?”
You shook your head. “It’s fine. Nothing.”
“If you say so,” said Deacy. He glanced between you and Roger, then turned away and walked toward the back door where a roadie was ushering both band and crew out.
You followed the others, trying not to think about Roger still talking with Janey behind you.
But then he called, “Y/N, wait up, will you?” and you heard him jog to catch you.
“Thought you were busy talking to Janey,” you drawled the name in the same tone he’d spoken it.
“Time to go, though, isn’t it?” he asked. He slung an arm around your shoulders as you walked, and leaned his head against yours. You didn’t object. “So... how were we?” he asked.
You hadn’t expected the question so soon, but here it was, and you hadn’t anything to say.
You tipped your head against his and told him the truth. “I’d say you were wonderful, but I’m honestly not quite sure. It felt like a dream.”
Roger laughed. “Hear that, Fred? She says it felt like a dream.”
Freddie smiled at you over his shoulder. “You’ve yet to wake up, it seems.”
“Losing sleep, are we?” Roger ruffled your hair with gentle fingers. “That’d have to be my fault, then.”
“Well, I wasn’t going to let you sleep on the floor,” you said, and he scoffed.
“Maybe I should, tonight.”
“Don’t,” you murmured.
He stopped walking. A frown creased his pretty mouth as he took your hands in his.
“Sweetheart? What’s the matter?”
His gaze was almost mournful.
You had to tell him how you felt sometime. Why not now? What had you left to lose?
You swallowed, glanced down at your feet.
“Roger, I’m—”
“ROGER!”
You both turned toward the sound, and before you could register what was happening, you were swarmed by a pack of teenage girls.
You swore under your breath, but Roger slipped into an easy smile, squeezed your hand before dropping it.
There were about fifteen girls, and they were all baying for his attention, for an autograph, for a single glance at him, and each was more aggressive than the next. You were elbowed in the ribs more than once.
“Hello, girls,” Roger purred. “Has anyone got a pen? Otherwise signing things might be hard.” He gave a chuckle and practically every one of them swooned.
You didn’t blame them.
As they each fumbled to be the first to hand him a pen, Roger’s fingers encircled your wrist.
His lips brushed your ear as he murmured, “Go back to the hotel with the others before the press get here too. I’ll see you later.”
Your skin prickled at his touch, but you managed to nod. You slipped away from the crowd before it could swallow you anymore wholly than it already had.
Back at the hotel, you sat around in Freddie’s hotel suite as he, Brian, John, and a handful of roadies drank and played the day’s final game of Death Scrabble to unwind from the show.
You kept glancing at the clock, but eventually, at a quarter to one, when Roger still had not made a reappearance, you said goodnight to Freddie, Deacy, and Brian, and headed to your— Roger’s— hotel room.
It hadn’t even occurred to you to book a second room, and now the lobby was closed for the night, so you opened Roger’s suitcase, pulled on the t-shirt he had lent you the previous night, and crawled under the covers to the sound of rain lashing against the window.
Despite the late hour, you couldn’t sleep.
Where was Roger? What was taking him so long?
Probably off with some groupie, your mind offered unhelpfully.
But then you heard the door unlock, and light spilled briefly into the room before the door was shut once more.
You must have been closer to unconsciousness than you’d thought, because your eyes felt heavy with sleep when you opened them to find Roger silhouetted in the darkness.
Now that he was actually here, you didn’t feel up to talking to him. You opted to pretend that you were already asleep.
Still, you didn’t push him away as you felt his arms settle around you, his lips ghost the skin of your neck. You shifted closer, because this was Roger. He was the closest you’d ever get to feeling you were home again, back in the sun-saturated summers of your childhood where the sky was wide and forever, and the future was unwritten.
And where you didn’t have to miss him when he was gone.
⋆⋅✦⋅⋆
Again, you awoke to an empty bed.
But this time, his suitcase wasn’t even there. Just a folded set of clothes remained, your name written on a note in Roger’s elegant scroll.
You crumpled up the note and dressed in a huff.
Downstairs, you found Freddie and Roger having coffee in the hotel dining room.
“Good morning, Y/N,” Freddie said pleasantly.
“Morning, Freddie.”
Roger smiled and got up from his chair, walking toward you as though to embrace you. As though he had any right. “Good morning, sweetheart—”
“Don’t call me that when you don’t mean it,” you ducked out of his grasp, made for the coffee pot on the table on the opposite side of the room.
Roger’s brow furrowed as he followed you. “What makes you think I don’t mean it?”
The coffee pot was empty. Just what you needed right now.
“Oh, I don’t know, maybe the fact that you’d call any random girl who asked for your autograph the same thing without a second thought.”
You saw Freddie’s eyes widen— you’d spoken loud enough for the whole world to hear— and he sipped his coffee, trying to give the impression of being oblivious to your conversation with Roger. He wasn’t at all convincing.
“I’ve never called any one of them sweetheart,” Roger said, his voice surprisingly level in response to your anger. In your peripheral vision, Freddie glanced up from his coffee as though to gauge your reaction.
You reached for the teapot, and found that that was empty as well. Your frustration brimmed and flooded into your words.
“Yeah, right,” you scoffed. “Love, darling, dear, babe, sweetheart—”
“No,” said Roger firmly. He touched your hand, his fingers skimming your pulse. “Never sweetheart. That’s yours.”
Your anger was momentarily stilled by the look in his eyes, the earnesty he exuded.
Just yesterday, on the bus, between rounds of Scrabble, you and Roger had talked and laughed about the old days, as Roger called it, recalling afternoons by the river, nights on the hill, mornings traipsing home through empty streets before the rest of the world had awoken.
They felt like another life, those memories, sometimes so much that you wondered whether you’d lived them at all.
You needed Roger to ground you.
But you couldn’t figure him out.
Spending the nights with his arms wrapped around you, leaving wordlessly in the morning. Kissing your cheek before shows, flirting with groupies afterward. None of it made any sense.
“Let go of me,” you said quietly, because Brian and John had entered the room and were openly staring at your exchange with Roger. You saw Freddie trying to make them pretend like nothing was happening, but he only ended up confusing them more, to the point where Brian asked what in the world was going on, and Freddie fell back in his chair exasperatedly.
Roger let go of you.
You brushed yourself off as though you’d taken a fall.
You had, in a way. But that hadn’t been now. You’d fallen ages ago. For someone you couldn’t have.
And yet, everything about him possessed you.
You felt dizzy. You needed to get out of this room.
“I’ll be on the bus.”
⋆⋅✦⋅⋆
“Home,” Deacy had said happily as the bus entered the outskirts of London. The others had nodded in agreement.
Even Roger.
No, you fought the urge to shout, Cornwall is your home. Don’t you remember?
Home had never felt so far away.
Freddie was overly nice to you, as though he sensed you wilting beneath the weight of your inner turmoil. He even went as far as to offer to take you shopping, right before soundcheck.
But Queen were performing at the Rainbow tonight, and as much as you would’ve liked to go shopping with someone as glamorous as Freddie, it would’ve been selfish to say yes and risk him running late to— or god forbid, missing— soundcheck.
You paced around and about the stage as lighting and sound gear were strung up for the show, while Freddie and John bickered with Brian about some song or another. Roger paid them no attention, having dropped out of the conversation at least ten minutes ago, and was instead tapping and twirling his drumsticks idly, across the toms, the cymbals, through the air.
You stopped pacing to watch him, because there was something otherworldly in the way he moved, fluidly but with tact, becoming a part of the rhythm he played.
His eyes were closed, as they often were when he sang, and you could vaguely hear him humming to himself as he tested out a beat.
You folded your arms where you stood, felt a soft smile touch your lips.
Then Roger caught you looking at him.
He winked.
You glanced down, but the smile didn’t fade from your face.
⋆⋅✦⋅⋆
By that evening, you weren’t sure that you could stand to be in Roger’s company for very much longer.
John and Brian were tuning their guitars while Roger sat around, flicking through Polaroids and trying to decide what to wear. You sat beside him, taking the Polaroids he tossed aside, making him laugh by poking fun at the various facial expressions he wore in each of the pictures, and occasionally handing him back a Polaroid in which you liked the outfit and thought he should reconsider wearing it.
His hair fell over his shoulders in messy waves, and he was biting his lower lip as he went through the pictures. He sat so close that you could see every detail of his face, every freckle and each of the tiny little creases at the corners of his eyes. In reaching for a dropped Polaroid, his fingertips trailed your hip, and he murmured an apology that you barely heard because you were too focused on remembering to breathe.
And presently, dressing room air seemed thicker than the layer of eyeliner presently being applied to Freddie’s eyelids.
“Darling,” Freddie said to Roger as the makeup artist finished her work, “you’re being positively irresponsible. There’s barely ten minutes until showtime. Have you decided what to wear?”
Roger squinted down at two Polaroids he’d narrowed his outfit selection down to. He chose a chocolate from the box that Freddie was passing around, handing the assortment to you without a second thought.
“I mean,” Freddie continued, taking the box from you once you’d finished, sticking two chocolates in his mouth at once, “we’ve all coordinated our outfits, so it shouldn’t be too hard to find something to match.”
Roger held one Polaroid up to the light. But you shook your head.
“No,” you said, curling your fingers lightly around his wrist. “That one.”
“This one?” he asked.
“Mm-hm. Very pretty on you.”
It was. The top was black velvet, but in no world was it plain, because it sparkled with an outrageous dash of gold, and it was paired with similar velvet trousers dotted with little gemstones, like stars.
Roger turned his gaze to you. “You think I’m pretty?” he said softly.
Shivers glanced off of your sides as you met his eyes. “Roger, I’d have to be blind not to.”
And even then, you’d have to lose your hearing as well, because his voice lilted beautifully, like the quiet rush of the ocean in the nighttime.
His lips parted as though he intended to say something, but then he said nothing, only turned his hand, so that his palm settled against yours, and your fingers intertwined with his.
“Roger!” Brian cried. “For god’s sake, get dressed. We’ve got five fucking minutes!”
Roger glared at Brian, but Deacy proceeded to haul him to his feet.
“For once,” said John with a laboured sigh, “I agree. Get dressed.”
“Alright alright, I’ll get dressed,” Roger said, but there was no bite to the supposedly irritated remark. He got up from the sofa the two of you were sharing, letting his fingertips trail along the underside of your wrist before he left you where you were sitting.
Your eyes followed him as he disappeared through the door to the next room.
⋆⋅✦⋅⋆
Queen performed spectacularly, as usual, the fullness of the sound reverberating through the massive speakers positioned on the stage. Out of the three nights you’d seen Queen so far, this was by far their best performance.
And if you hadn’t known Roger so well, you might not have known that anything was wrong.
Queen were as elegant and dramatic as ever, but the camera crew was invasive, the type to sacrifice anything for a perfectly-angled shot, even if they risked disturbing the performers as they did.
But saying they were disruptive was probably an understatement.
They were at Freddie’s side constantly, leaning over Roger’s drums and getting in Brian’s face, blocking Deacy from the audience.
Freddie was talkative this night, trying to keep in touch with the audience by calling out to them and having a mostly one-way conversation, punctuated by cheers and shouts. John hovered close by Freddie, because it appeared that the camera crew were less inclined to obstruct two people at once.
But the interaction was forced. Heat rose to your face in angry waves as you watched the spectacle go on.
Roger’s jaw tightened each time the camera crew took a step closer than the last, and he was hitting his drums more forcefully as the show went on.
And then, Brian snapped a string.
There was a general mass of swearing and exclamations from the crew as Brian ran for the wings, and a second guitar exchanged several hands before reaching him.
Brian hurried back onstage, just as Roger shot a particularly intense glare at a cameraman.
“What’s the matter now?” a roadie was saying to your left.
“Drums are out of tune,” a second roadie winced.
Toward the end of the concert, it was absolute havoc.
Roger was furious. That much was obvious.
You saw him swear violently in the direction away from the microphone. He’d just missed a cue, a cameraman getting between him and Freddie when Freddie had glanced back at him in signal.
“This is a shitshow,” Brian’s guitar tech muttered, pressing a hand over his mouth as though he felt physically ill. He looked a bit pale, to be quite truthful.
“They still sound great,” you assured him, because they did. Even slightly out of tune, Queen were still miles better than any band you’d ever heard before.
But your voice was tight, words spoken through gritted teeth. How was this allowed to happen? The camera crew were completely out of line.
The tech laughed, running his fingers through his hair. “Please tell them that, when they come off stage and start shouting their heads off.”
“You think they will?”
“Judging by the look on Roger’s face, maybe.”
He really did look rather angry, but then you would’ve been too. Presently, just watching the camera crew, you were infuriated. Really, they had a nerve, the way they were carrying on.
A cacophonous crash echoed through the concert hall, and you blinked against the intensity of the stage lights to find Roger throwing a cymbal off the drum risers, kicking in another drum, Brian dashing out of the way and Freddie throwing a protective arm over Deacy when part of the kit sailed toward him.
“What the hell’s got into him?!” someone cried as the lot of you looked on in horror.
“Pullin’ a Keith Moon, ‘e is.”
“What?”
“Drummer for The Who. Don’t you listen to anything other than Led Zeppelin, James?”
The lights were dimmed and Freddie came storming off.
“I want that bloody camera crew out of here, now!” he cried, his voice strained.
“Oye, careful Fred, don’t lose your voice. You’ve still got an encore to go.”
“Damn the encore,” said Brian. “I can’t hear myself play with those tossers going about, and I can usually hear myself play even when Freddie’s shouting in my ear.”
Deacy appeared next. “Roger!” he exclaimed, rather viciously. “You’ll kill me one of these days, and by god, no one’ll thank you for that.” He turned to his tech, “Christ but I nearly lost the lead there. One of those ruddy cameramen tripped over it!”
Roger arrived last, gripping his drumsticks tightly, breathing hard, wisps of his light hair curling over his bright eyes and his flushed cheeks.
He scanned the wings as though looking for something, stopping when he saw you.
“Roger,” you said, “what the hell was that?”
His drumsticks clattered to the ground as he let go of them.
You frowned, but then Roger strode toward you.
“I didn’t mean you,” you backtracked, “I mean the camera crew. Completely unprofessional and just so disruptive and—”
Suddenly, he had his arms around you, and he was kissing you like you were air and he couldn’t breathe.
You didn’t care if you breathed.
You parted your lips against his, and your fingers tangled in his hair the way you’d always done when you were younger, when he was weary or feeling down, only this time you were pulling him closer, closer, breathlessly drinking in the years you’d missed him for, as though you could make up for time by memorising the way he touched you now, fingertips ghosting your sides and trailing shivers down your sides though his hands were warm.
He pulled away but lingered with his forehead against yours, heat prickling from his skin and seeping into your own.
“What—” you stammered, hardly daring to think of how the others around you might have been staring, “what was that for?”
Roger’s breathing was still laboured and rough, but he held you gently, his grip as soft as his mouth had been.
He brushed his nose against yours, his eyelashes fluttering, and you might have sunken to the floor had his arms not been around you; he’d kissed you quite senseless.
“Nothing,” he murmured. “Everything. Just needed you.”
“Me?” you whispered, unable to say anything more.
“You, sweetheart.”
Warmth spread through your chest, butterflies beating restless wings in your stomach.
You thought to say something, but you couldn’t think of any words at all, and a smile had broken across your face.
Roger’s eyes flicked to yours, and your smile broadened.
He laughed softly, his hand coming up to caress your cheek affectionately.
“Roger,” Freddie interjected mildly, “we’ve still got a bit of show to do.”
Roger glanced over at Freddie, who, to his credit, looked apologetic.
“Right,” said Roger, and you found Brian and Deacy grinning at you. “Encore, then. Lead the way, Fred.”
Freddie sidled past you with a wink, and John and Brian followed after.
Roger was once again the last to leave, but you thought he had a pretty reasonable excuse, just this once.
Tenderly, he kissed the corner of your mouth, cupping your face in his hands as your eyes slid shut and you pressed closer to him.
“Ah,” he hummed against your lips, “afterwards. You’ll get me all flustered, like this.”
You laughed. “Me, make you flustered? My, I feel powerful.”
“You are,” he said.
⋆⋅✦⋅⋆
The night was old, but the morning was young, for the previous day had just slipped into the next while the team packed up around you and you sat on the rim of the stage, your legs over the edge as Roger lay with his head in your lap.
He had a hand over his eyes, and his countenance was exhausted, but still you combed the hair from his face, trying to ease the tiredness from his being with the delicateness of your touch.
He’d been quiet for a while, but now he wound his fingers around yours, bringing your hand to his mouth to press a kiss to your knuckles.
He’d kissed you many times in the past hour— on your lips, below your eyes, along your jaw, on your nose, on your forehead, across your fingers— but still, something like sparks rushed through you each time.
He reached up to touch your cheek, and you leaned into his palm as he ran his thumb across your skin. His gaze was sleepy-eyed but irrevocably pure, such that you might have described it as adoration, and you gazed back at him with equal temperament, enamoured by the feeling of his eyes on yours.
“I never want to go six years without seeing you again,” he said.
A sadness pierced your heart from the inside, a betrayal of logical thought from within your own mind.
“How can we be sure that doesn’t happen?” you asked quietly, knowing full well how his path diverged from yours.
Roger sat up slowly, taking your face in his hands.
You stared into those big blue eyes, and hoped he had the answers that you did not. Six years was too long, and nor were you willing to risk such a separation again.
“I don’t know, my love,” he whispered. “But we’ll figure it out together. We’ve always done, haven’t we?”
It was true. You’d always been together, and you’d made do with less hope on your side than this, when money was tight or when school was rough or when thoughts about it all kept you sleepless on endless-seeming summer nights.
So you believed him, and you believed yourself when you told him,
“We always will.”
He held you tightly and you lay your head on his shoulder with a placid sigh.
Somewhere, Freddie was laughing at a joke made by John, and the quiet strums of Brian’s acoustic guitar reached your ears.
There was a ceiling and a roof above you, but here, in this moment, in Roger’s arms, the sky was wide and forever. The future was unwritten.
And you were home.
⋆⋅✦⋅⋆
#tina's writing#possessed by love event#ylmp event#ple#queen#event#roger taylor x reader#roger taylor#fic
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Pygmalion
Word Count: 2,258 (oops) Character: Sam Adams A/N: I don’t even know what to say aside from that this made me laugh at myself the entire time. Happy Birthday to everyone’s favorite rebel, and a huge shout out to everyone’s favorite custom pop artist.
(ARTIST APPRECIATION SUBMISSION)
Happy Sunday friends! And a very happy 298th birthday to the one and only dirty rotten rebel bastard, Sam Adams! This submission made me so happy because it’s SO creative and the artist is incredibly talented and absolutely deserves this spotlight. I have to admit that I was far too terrified to write a longer, period appropriate piece for Sam, but this idea pop-ed (see what i did there??) into my head and I ran with it.
So thank you to the anon who sent this submission in for @its-my-little-dumpster-fire ‘s custom Sam Adams Funkopop! And thank YOU Mrs. Dumpster-Adams, for sharing your incredible artwork with us all! The submission also mentioned the amazing illustrations that you added to your masterlist and the animated art you shared for a few of the characters- Neil in all his sparkly glory was my favorite! You astound me with your ceaseless list of talents, woman. There’s literally nothing you cannot do if you try your hand at it. So from this anon and I to you: THANK YOU FOR GIFTING US ALL WITH THIS FANTASTIC, FUN FANART. YOU ARE TALENTED. YOU ARE APPRECIATED. YOU ARE A WEALTH OF HISTORICAL INFORMATION AND OBSESSIONS, AND YOU WOULD MAKE AN EXCELLENT COLONIAL. Too bad it’s 2020...
(Would you just lookit the detail!!! My goodness.)
Pygmalion
This isn’t happening. It can’t be happening. You kept your hands at ten and two as the city lights faded, giving way to the darker country roads, your grip on the wheel so iron fisted that the bones of your knuckles were straining at your skin. It can’t be happening, because if it is then I’m crazy and I’m not crazy, so… You nodded to yourself. So it’s not happening. I’m going to look to my right and he’s not going to be there because this is not happening. Taking a deep breath to steady yourself, you exhaled slowly and turned your head towards the passenger seat, expecting - hoping- to be met with nothing but the pattern of your material interior. But instead your eyes landed first upon a pair of legs in linen trousers before scanning upwards and taking in a thigh length overcoat atop a dark waistcoat, the color of which you couldn’t be sure was from dye or dirt, accessorized with a mustard cravat. It was strange attire to see sitting in your passenger seat, but even stranger was the man wearing it. A tricorn hat that he’d been wearing was now sitting on his lap, his long hair corralled in a small tail at the base of his skull. Shit. It is happening. I am crazy. Okay. You let out a little puff of air that was part laughter, part disbelief and part surprise as you flicked your eyes back to the road.
Samuel Adams- or at least that’s who he claims to be- was sitting in your passenger seat. Either that or you were having the most vivid dream that your brain had ever conjured. You cast another sidelong glance at the man, who was gripping the handle above the window with his right hand, his left clutching the chest strap of his seatbelt. You’d had to reach across him to pull the belt down and into the lock, his earthy scent filling your nostrils as you did. Leather. Tea leaves. Gunpowder. Dirt. He smelled exactly as you always thought that he might, which briefly made you question why you’d spent so much time thinking about that, but you were distracted by his startled jump as you clicked the seatbelt into its lock. After convincing him that it was a safety measure and that you would be wearing one, too, he watched in awe as you drew your own seat belt down and pressed it into the locking device, the word ‘remarkable’ slipping from his whiskered lips in an astonished gasp. If this is a dream, I can wake myself up. Keeping one hand on the wheel, you took the other off to pinch yourself, hard, using your fingernail to bite into the fleshy part of your bicep.
“Ow.” You muttered to yourself. Okay, so it isn’t a dream. I have a founding father in my car… completely normal.
.. .. .. .. .. ..
Your day had started out just like any other; just a humdrum Sunday, which meant taking the dogs out before heading into work for the morning, and running to the grocery store since you’d been putting it off all week and all that was left at home were a few packets of Ramen that were older than the framed degree hanging above your desk. The only exception was that today happened to be Sam Adams’ 298th birthday, and since you were new to the Boston area, and since you were quite possibly the biggest American History buff in the state if not the country, you decided to head downtown to see what kind of festivities that the city had planned. The brewery was more packed than usual, as was Griffin’s Wharf, both locations offering special tours and discounts in honor of Boston’s favorite son. But you weren’t looking for a drink, and you’d already visited the wharf when you had come out to Boston looking for a place, so instead you spent the day at the State House, walking the FreedomTrail, and eventually ending up at Faneuil Hall, where the man of the hour’s likeness stood tall in bronze, surveying his city. “Happy Birthday Sam,” you said to the statue, “wish you were here so you could see all the hullabaloo the city kicked up for you today.” But you hadn’t been expecting a star to shoot across the sky at the very second that those words left your lips, and having had your fill of the city for one day, you turned to head back towards where you’d parked your car. That was when a searing flash of light came from right behind you, making you spin back around to see what had caused it.
What the he- the thought died mid word as your mouth dropped and your eyes grew to the size of the silver coins you’d seen displayed in one of the exhibits earlier that day. Blinking furiously as though the rapid opening and closing of your eyelids would change what you were seeing, you told yourself that what you were seeing couldn’t be real. And yet, the pedestal holding Mr. Adams’ statue was empty, and there was a man standing beside it that looked as though he had just stepped from the pages of one of the many history texts you kept on shelves and tables and in piles on the floor of your home. What...the...hell?
The stranger before you seemed just as stunned as you were, the overwhelmed look on his face turning to one of horrified shock as he took in the sites and sounds of the city. Oh my god. This is...this can’t be… Oh. My. God. Just as the bell from a pizza delivery man’s bicycle chimed, the colonial time traveler jumped back, one hand going to the holster on his waist, dirty fingers seeking out the pistol that hung there. Oh, that’s not good. You had no clue what was going on, where the man came from or what kind of trick this was, but you knew for certain that a colonial era gun going off in the city’s center would only make things worse.
Stepping forward, you held up your hands and approached the man like you might approach a frightened horse. “Hey there, it’s- No! No, I’m not going to hurt you, just…” You pumped your hands, heart racing as he lowered his pistol shakily. Releasing a relieved breath, you wondered how on Earth this was happening, and why on Earth it was happening to you. “There you go, easy. It’s okay.”
“Who are you, miss, and..and where...what’s…” he worriedly looked around, taking in the tall buildings, streets paved and crowded with vehicles, and bright lights. “What’s happened to Boston?”
Oh boy. I swear, the crazies really sniff me out, don’t they? But you couldn’t ignore the fact that where just moments ago there was a huge, heavy, solid bronze sculpture of your favorite founding father, there now stood an empty plinth. And a man who looked like he had never taken a shower in his existence. You told him your name, which he repeated immediately in his serious tone as though to commit it to memory. “Um...nothing’s happened to Boston per say, it’s…” you struggled to find the right words. “Do you...do you know what year it is, sir?”
“What year it is? Why of course I...it’s 1778, but I…” he looked back at the empty structure and then again at you, confusion only growing in his warm brown eyes. “Something isn’t right, something’s…something isn’t right.”
“Alright, it’s alright, d’you…” you cleared your throat. “What’s your name?”
“Samuel. Adams.” He reached up to remove the hat from his head, touching it to his chest. Beneath the hat his unkempt hair was flattened aside from the strands that hung free around his forehead. “My friends call me Sam.”
I was afraid that’s what you would say. You sighed. “Alright, Sam.” I can’t believe I’m… You suddenly realized that while the two of you had yet to garnish any attention, the fact that the Sam Adams statue had gone missing from its pedestal would not go unnoticed for much longer, and you did not want to be anywhere near it when people did notice. But I can’t just leave him here, I have to… “I can...yes, I can help you, but we can’t stay here, alright?”
He nodded eagerly, thanking you, and against your better judgement, you took his elbow in your hand and led him towards your car, planning to bring him home, let him clean up and get a good night’s rest- but that was the extent of your plans, as you decided that the rest would depend on the next few hours. This should be interesting…
.. .. .. .. .. ..
“Are you hurt?”
He hadn’t said much since climbing into your car, seemingly as shocked to be there as you were to have him there, but his question came without the skittish nervousness that had been present in his voice at first, only genuine concern in his words now. Maybe my brain is hurt, but… Another little burst of incredulous laughter burst from you as you turned your car onto your street. “Uh, no I’m,” clearing your throat you threw him what you hoped was a reassuring smile but what felt more like a hysterical grin. “I’m fine just...this is...I’m fine.”
“I thought I heard...it sounded as though you were in pain, are you certain you’re alright?”
Pulling into your driveway you fought the urge to laugh, swoon and scream all at once. “Yep, I’m...not hurt. Don’t worry.” You put the car in park and took the keys from the ignition, the sudden quiet startling him just as much as the instant roar when the engine had come to life. “Here we are, home sweet home.” You undid your seat belt, feeling his eyes on you as you did, and then reached over to open his as well.
“Oh,” he put up a hand and you froze. “May I?” There was an intrigued twinkle in his eyes behind the uncertainty and confusion that made you smile. He wants to…
“Be my guest, Sam.” You watched as he extended his pointer finger and pressed down on the red button to release the metal clasp of the restraint.
“Fascinating.” The seat belt snapped back into place and though you could tell that he was still distressed and disoriented, he chuckled in surprise as the harness retracted.
“If you think that’s fascinating, wait until you try a shower.” You winked at him and got out of the car, helping him open the handle on his side. This is insane.
“A shower?” He paused in the middle of your walkway and looked up to the night sky. “There aren’t any clouds, it isn't going to rain.”
“No that’s…” you sighed, turning your key in the lock. “Not what I meant. Just...come inside, okay?” The last thing I need is my neighbor peeking out the window to see this. He agreed, following you inside where you instructed him to wait in your living room as you searched your room for spare sweatpants and an over-sized tee that would fit his tall frame and broad shoulders, depositing the items in the bathroom before getting the water started. There’s no way he would be able to figure out modern plumbing. You chastised yourself for believing even for a second that he was the real Samuel Adams, and not some crazed costumed performer who took the man’s birthday too far. Once the water had reached a decent temperature and you’d set out towels, soap and the clothes you’d gathered, you left the bathroom and headed back out to find him hovering near your desk.
He pointed at the framed diploma as you entered the room. “I’ve never heard of this University before. Did you attend it?” Of course you hadn’t, it wasn’t founded until almost a hundred years after you… You nodded and he looked impressed. “I had my schooling at-”
“Harvard,” you said the word with him. “I know.”
He regarded you curiously, one cheek growing slightly rounded as he gave a sideways smile. “Hmm.” Hmm? What’s he… But before you could wonder what was going through his head, his long fingers closed around a small item on your desktop that made you gasp. Oh, I didn’t even think about… “What is…” He picked up the small figurine which was wearing an outfit stunningly similar to the one that he had on. “Is this...me? What is this?”
“Uh...yeah that’s um… it’s called a Pop?” You shrugged. This is so stupid. “And I uh...made it. Well I didn’t make it, I…” what am I saying? “I bought it, it looked different when I bought it, but then I customized it, you know, with paint and… um...to make it look like, yes. To make it look like you.”
He smiled again, still looking just as confused as he was when he appeared out of nowhere, but entertained and interested in seeing where that confusion would take him when it finally lifted. “Fascinating, truly.”
He set the figurine back down where he found it and crossed the room to where you stood, finally giving him a smile of your own. “If you think that’s fascinating…” You trailed off into laughter. “Come on, bathroom’s this way.”
You led him down the hallway, trying not to laugh as you heard him exclaim “An entire room just for that bath? Fascinating!”
.
.
.
I had a blast writing for this amazing artist and her wonderful work! If you are an artist in the Ben Barnes fandom, or if you would like to surprise an artist with a quick little drabble, send me a message or link me to the piece that you would like me to write about. Let’s show these talented folks how much we appreciate them and the beautiful things that they create!
#ben barnes fanart appreciation#ben barnes fanart#ben barnes characters#ben barnes fandom#its-my-little-dumpster-fire#mrs. dumpster-adams#sam adams#samuel adams#HBD Sam!#298 never looked so good#sam adams sons of liberty#sons of liberty fic#sort of#pygmalion
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Blind Roy - Office Woes
This was meant to be part of a series of more Blind Roy drabbles, titled and focused on things like being back in the office, conversations with each individual team member, talking grimly of the future with Grumman, etc. But all my writing juice went into other stories (like the Elicia story, The Things We Carry), so they never really came together. This is just leftovers.
Features: Blind Character PoV, insecurities, workarounds for disabilities, Team Mustang being supportive like a good team should.
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Disclaimers:
- Realistically, Roy would be forced to retire from the military because of his blindness, but I didn't double-check that until I'd written out most of this because I'm PRETTY sure that in Brotherhood, he says something about continuing to pursue his goals despite his blindness. But whatever, it's an AU.
- I know Braille wouldn't exist in the FMA verse, or would go under a different name, but whatever.
Also, here’s another Roy doodle.
--
Roy's first day back in the office was difficult - much more difficult than he imagined.
He spent the majority of the day shuffling slowly around rooms with arms outstretched, running into walls, knocking things over, feeling his way around doorways and chairs and tables, much like - well, a blind man. He would've laughed at himself, if not for the quiet shame and anger that gripped him.
And a strange sort of denial did, too. Years from now, he'd look back on these days and realize that his biggest mistake was thinking he could somehow function exactly like he used to and therefore not become a burden to those around him. Because the worst parts of it all were his constant, stubborn refusals to accept help, even from his own squadron.
It takes him almost two weeks before he finally relents to using a cane at everyone's suggestion, after growing incredibly tired of crushing his nose, bumping his head, stubbing his fingers and toes, and wounding his pride in front of other officials while navigating their offices.
The sounds of people snickering softly behind his back hurt more than all his bumps and bruises combined. He expects them to multiply upon starting use of his cane, but to his surprise, they don't, and eventually stop altogether.
He gets a reason why when he offhandedly comments on it one day, as he's getting ready to head home for the evening.
"Another day done, I suppose. Almost surprised I'm still in one piece."
He hears a questioning sound from Riza. "How do you mean, sir?"
"Well, besides surviving the day without hurting myself for once-" He gestures with his cane. " -I haven't heard any, shall we say, disrespectful sounds from anyone in my vicinity. Maybe they're finally wise enough to hold their snickering for when I leave the room."
Riza makes an odd sound, as if holding back a laugh herself. "Well I wouldn't say that, sir..."
"...Hm?"
There's a shifting of fabric from Riza's uniform, as if she were lifting an arm to adjust her collar.
"Just between us, sir, if it eases you... myself and the others may be responsible for that. I've done my best to shut down any potential disrespect towards you during our meetings, and Fuery's encouraged us to take problem folk aside and give them, as he says, 'a good talking-to' about your condition."
There's a lightening in her voice, as if she's smiling. "And it looks like our efforts have paid off."
Roy was silent for a good few seconds, gaping a bit. He was... shocked, a little, that his squadron would go so out of their way for his comfort, even his pride.
Eventually, he'd learn to stop being so surprised.
--
Progress on paperwork nearly came to a complete halt during his first few days.
Unable to read, Roy had asked Riza to read the forms aloud to him before he signed them, but that method quickly proved to be inefficient. Not only was listening to Riza's droning voice a battle to stay conscious by the end of the day, but the strain on her soon proved to be too much.
"-and so, as per the order of Colonel Roy Musta- Agh. Ack." Riza chokes, then breaks down into a coughing fit.
"...Lieutenant? Are you alright?" Roy asks, snapping out of his boredom.
It takes a few seconds before she's recovered enough to respond, and when she does, her voice is still noticeably rough. "I'm- Urgh- I'm sorry sir, but I don't think this will work. I'm losing my voice," she says hoarsely.
Roy does his best to stave off a surge of panic. These forms need to get done. "Er- Well... Then uh, bring Falman in to take over until you recover, Lieutenant."
He hears her sigh softly. "Apologies again, but I have to disagree, sir. Falman has his own duties and can't spend all his time reading to you. Same for the others."
"...Besides, he's not even here today," she adds. "He's out on reconnaissance, remember?"
Roy sighs deeply, sinking into his desk and rubbing his temples. "...I'd forgotten. Sorry, Lieutenant. It's just- the meetings, the forms- it all blends together sometimes. You know."
Riza makes a "hm" noise in agreement, but nothing else. An awkward silence falls, and Roy can imagine her staring him down accusingly, since she'd already suggested a better alternative earlier today, but Roy had refused it, as usual.
At this point he was just delaying the inevitable. He lets out a long, loud groan of defeat. "Fine, fine. I'll stop putting it off. I'll try to learn that 'brell' language you told me about."
"It's called Braille, sir."
He waves a hand dismissively. "Yes, yes... And we'll have to reprint everything with that special paper... Ugh, the print department's going to moan at me, I just know it."
"I should hope not. Not when their Colonel has a disability that needs accommodation."
Disability. Roy flinches a little at the word, associating it with years of well-meaning but nonetheless other-ing societal norms. Nursing homes, therapy wards, parking spaces and public seating set aside and marked with garishly-colored signs.
"Er- Can you... not call it that, Lieutenant? It's not disabling, just ah- challenging, that's all," he says.
He hears her sigh again, and the sound of her uniform shifting, then feels her hand on his shoulder. Her voice is soft, perhaps softer than intended from her hoarseness, but there's something undeniably sincere in it.
"Roy, please... it's alright."
Her voice is closer to him now, and Roy can imagine her leaning down with a small, gentle smile near his face, offering tender support against his bull-headed stubbornness that masked a deep, all-consuming shame inside him. It eases him, a little.
Roy breathes out slowly, relieving a tension in his shoulders he hadn't noticed was there.
"I... I'll try, Riza. Thank you."
--
Luckily for everyone, the Braille system works out better than expected.
Frustrated with the amount of time it took to reprint everything traditionally, Roy, in his usual manner, came up with the brilliant idea of using Alchemy to convert them instead.
It takes some time and convincing to the higher-ups, but eventually, with the help of Major Armstrong and a few other alchemists, Roy creates a new and fairly simple system. All one has to do is place a stack of documents, along with a small amount of extra wood chips, in an array that instantly thickens the paper and raises the correct pattern of bumps, both for letters and lines to write into.
Then it's arranged for a specialized alchemist to be tasked with learning braille, translating documents, then recreating them using this process.
It turns out to be quite a bit faster and more efficient than traditional printing methods, since mistakes happened rarely compared to the sometimes-unwieldy machines, and in turn, this significantly cuts down on costs from maintenance and wasted paper.
East Headquarters’ Treasurer and Senior Accountants commend him for the idea and its execution, and begin sharing the idea with the officials at every other military office. Soon there’s talk about installing a similar system in every printing facility throughout Central City, even the country beyond, potentially opening up a significant breakthrough in readership for the similarly-disabled.
Roy was just happy he could finally fill out his paperwork by himself with little issue, but he’s certainly not above claiming it as another of his many impressive achievements.
As for writing out new documents himself, the solution was more simple. He has Riza bring in a typewriter to type his words as he says them aloud to her, and uses a ruler to keep his signatures straight on the plain, non-textured paper. Then the proofs are brought to the printers to reproduce as proper forms.
--
It took time - a long time - but eventually, Roy forms a mental map of not only his office, but of his personal apartment, the surrounding hallways and rooms of the apartment building, the whole interior of East Headquarters, and everywhere else he frequented on his daily routine, largely helped by his memory of what they looked like before he lost his sight - and by his squadron, of course.
Eventually, he also learns to stave off the irrational fear that things could be switched around without him knowing, that doorways and furniture would change position for no reason, and he didn't have to feel and re-feel everything every other day just to make sure. Slowly, he learns to trust himself and his connection to this dark world that was familiar, but at the same time strange and terrifying.
And of course, his squadron would never be so discourteous as to move something in his office without telling him.
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Broken Wings, pt. 8
08: Love the way you lie
Summary: Ethan and Grayson are both trying to say goodbye to her, just in case everything goes awry.
Warnings: angst, fluff, swearing
Word Count: ~ 3000
Broken Wings (Angel AU - G.D.) Masterlist
She laid with her head in his lap, her Y/H/C hair sprawled over his inked thighs as he propped himself up on his elbows. Grayson had spent every waking minute with her, terrified of what's to come once the therapist she called for arrives. He didn't want her risking her current life for a slim possibility of living it until the end only to lose her forever after. Sure, having her die in his arms for centuries has been a living hell, but he always he she'd come back to him after. He always felt her soul is still present. Grayson feared should she change the coarse of her destiny, she'd find peace and her soul would be laid to rest and that...facing a forever without her – the biggest heartache of his existence...that would surely be enough to kill him.
„Whatcu' thinkin' about, angel eyes?“ She teased, her tone playful and airy, so much giddiness hiding behind every letter of every word that Grayson felt his heart die little by little at the thought of losing her. It was a painful ache, a pinch at the core of his being, one that he couldn't fight nor deny.
„You do realize that silence usually means you're back in your broody mood and the bad thoughts are eating away at you?“ She deducts, sitting up to properly look at him, her hair falling all around her beautiful face, framing it in a heavenly manor. Out of all the faces she had in the past, there was never one Grayson couldn't love.
„I'm not broody!“ Grayson defended, his eyes narrowing and his eyebrows furrowing, as if the words itself was an insult when he really just wanted to throw her off his scent. He refused to burden her with his gloominess.
„You're as broody as they come.“ She giggled in his face, throwing a leg over his lap, allowing herself a straddling position as her hands came up to his face, holding it as if it's the Sun...and it is. It is a small piece of sunshine in the palm of her hand – beauty and flames, all together. „But I still love you just the same.“ She smiled, her eyes giving off intense longing and aching neediness he knew he couldn't indulge in.
But she was reckless. As always.
It nearly stopped Grayson's heart when he saw her face coming closer to his, her lips pursed and nearly on his lips. His breath caught in his throat as he felt the soft plush of her lips brush the tip of his nose, his hands premature with their action as they were not only on her hips, but already pushing her off in a rough manor she despised.
„Seriously?!“ She exclaimed, her face one of anger and disappointment, a brewing fight just under the surface. „STOP THROWING ME INTO THE SAND LIKE I'M A RAGDOLL!“ She huffed, getting up on her own as Grayson tried to help, which she ignored completely....Of course. She's as stubborn as they get – one of the traits nearly all her previous reincarnations possessed.
„I'm sorry. I just didn't want to risk it.“ Grayson put his hands in his front pockets, managing to keep eye contact with the stormy eyes of his forevermore, wondering how dead he'd be if looks could kill because she had the deadliest eyes he has ever seen. No one, not Y/N, not Amara, absolutely not one had the same fury in their eyes as Caroline. She was unpredictable and perhaps that was the part of why she's different and why she might end the cycle....or it was because of years of mental torture her past lives had subjected her to.
„It's not just about that, Grayson! Okay?!“ And there it is, the avalanche he knew would come. She had been bottling everything in...if you could call it that, but despite her being openly discontent in the past, Grayson knew the look she held in her eyes wasn't a look of someone who simply shows their unhappiness, rather a look of a woman who's keeping in a storm – an enraged look she let out.
„Hey, guys! Darren is here!“ Ethan called out, his voice getting lost in the sound of crashing waves, but they heard him fine.
„NOT NOW!“ They both screamed in unison, allowing Caroline to spew fire.
„You keep saying you want to protect me, but every little bit of protection you provide only hurt me more! YOU FUCKING TOLD ME TO BE WITH ETHAN! And to make matters worse...I actually think I could survive the kiss. I don't think I'm going to die in this life and while I'm not particularly eager to die a horrible death, I'd still try because that's how much confidence I have in us.“ She stopped to draw in a breath, her cheeks flushed a darker pink, one Grayson would usually run his fingertip over, but he feared losing a finger if he tried at all.
„And then you tell me not to try this hypnosis thing? Literally the only thing that would let us be together?!“ She huffed, smacking her hair back against the wind.
„You...do you not want me?“ Her tone finally returned to normal, but it wasn't the normal Grayson had hoped for as he remained silent, allowing her this chance to blow off some steam. He had wanted the cheery, playful Caroline, not the defeated, vulnerable one.
„Is that what this is about? Do you not like this body? Or this personality?“ She began to list, making his eyes bulge and for the first time since she started this rant, Grayson had opened his mouth to speak against her.
„Absolutely not! I love you – all of you!“ He stepped toward her in his attempt to prove it so, but she stepped back at the same time, not wanting the contact because this is when her illness came to collect, convincing her she's not good enough...not for him. Convincing her he didn't want her. Not this version, at least.
„Then why do I feel like I don't measure up? Huh? How can you ever claim to love me, when I'm never the same woman you met in the past life? I'm never the same in any way, so how can you love me so unconditionally? Maybe it's just a pattern – a habit of sorts. Because I don't think any of us could ever fill the giant hole Y/N left in your heart and I may be mistaken but“, a choked sob stopped her mid sentence, not allowing her to continue as she looked away with tears in her eyes...those beautiful eyes, her lips thinning as they set in a firm line.
„But I don't think I am...She was the original and I...all of us were merely fading copies of the masterpiece you always wished to have. And as all copies tend to do, we're nothing like the original...no one can paint the same image thousands of times.“ She shrugged, taking note of his stunned silence and near desperation as a confirmation of sorts, one she knew he wouldn't utter but lingered deep in his subconsciousness.
She turned on her heel, walking back to meet with Darren. If she got lost in time, at least she'll make it worth something. Perhaps her breaking the curse at the beginning will give Y/N and Grayson the happy ending they deserved. Perhaps Ethan will be happier without ever knowing or losing Amara. Perhaps Cameron will be happier without chaperoning her brothers across the world and a new copy of herself who was probably the least favorite part of her immortality.
Wiping her tears away, she took in a deep breath – one that filled her lungs and set a bundle of oxygen running through her body and to her brain, clearing her troubled thoughts enough to make herself seem presentable for Darren. Otherwise, he wouldn't help her – any sign of instability and her plan is gone.
And then she saw the older man, her legs taking her to him faster and faster until she had her arms wrapped around him. She had the only man who believed she wasn't insane with her again and it did give her some solid ground to build herself back up again.
„You needed me?“ He chuckled, noticing the difference on her already, but remaining quiet about it.
„There's so much to tell.“
They spent hours talking, enough to explain everything, but not nearly enough for him to wrap his mind around it – especially when the fallen angel she spoke of was nowhere to be found.
„What if you can't come back from it?“ Darren questioned, his previously cheerful persona replaced with a worried man.
„Then I don't...Better than spending the rest of my life fighting visions of the past, alone.“ She bit on the inside of her bottom lip, gnawing on it as he eyed her carefully.
„Caroline...“ Darren tried, but he knew she made her mind up already. Anything he says will fall on deaf ears.
„Please. I'm ready. Just do it. Now.“ She pleaded, her hand atop of his, tightly holding onto him.
Reluctantly, he agreed, but not immediately. „Tomorrow.“ He said.
„Okay.“ She whispered, giving the man time to recuperate and put himself back together. She needed some time too.
Caroline sat on her bed, looking at her bare feet in thought. She could still see flashes of her previous lives whenever she shut her eyes close or with eyes wide open if she concentrated hard enough.
„Care?“ Ethan's voice broke her focus, stopping her from delving deeper into her mind.
„Yeah?“ Her voice is small, her tone weak. She's on edge and he sees it. He's gotten too good at spotting people's weaknesses and exploiting them for his own gain. But he also knew she'd appreciate him not commenting on it, so he didn't, even if he felt the itch to do so.
„Can I ask you something?“ He licks his bottom lip, coming closer to her only to sit on the bed across from hers...where her roommate used to sleep before jumping to her death.
„Always.“ She offered a reassuring smile, despite not knowing if she had anything left to offer to anyone. Ethan seemed to take it to heart, giving her a small smile in return, the best one he could afford to give without it looking forced.
„Do I stand a chance? If you come back and the curse isn't lifted, would you be mine?“ Ethan decided to put it all out there, make sure she knows she has choices and Grayson isn't the only one. And perhaps she was right, he did see Amara in her and it drew him in for she was so much alike her in too many ways for it to be a coincidence – more than any other version of her ever was. But Ethan found he loves the debris of Caroline's essence as well, even if those debris longed for his brother more than they'll ever long for him.
„I...I don't know.“ She was honest. A part of her was screaming no, because how could she ever love someone that wasn't Grayson? How could she love a man who looked like him, but wasn't him? How could she love a man she knew loved another that lived deep within her? But another part of her was wistful and it wanted Ethan and the easy love he brought with him. It was so effortless with him – no looming curses, no death caused by a simple kiss...he was kind and understanding, beautiful and thrilling and sexy as the hell he belonged in. But he wasn't Grayson...even if he would have made her life an unforgettable adventure.
„At least it's not a no.“ Ethan chuckles dryly, moving over to sit beside her, his weight shifting the mattress, tipping Y/N into him.
„I gotcha!“ He held onto her, his eyes immersed in hers as the panic of possibly falling fled her and he couldn't help but think how he wished Grayson wasn't around anymore. How he wished his brother was gone and he could have this chance with this incredible girl who would surely drive him insane five times a day, but he'd still be happy. He'd still count his lucky stars for having her in his life.
„I really want to kiss you right now.“ Ethan admitted, making her mouth go dry. She couldn't lie, she wanted to kiss him too. Just once, simply to know how it feels, to let him have that one kiss that would give him a piece of Amara back. She didn't want him to be miserable and she didn't want to be the reason why. So yes, she wanted to kiss him. But every fiber of her being told her not to.
„Ditto.“ She whispered, smiling as he frowned because he knew that if she hadn't replied with actions, but only words, she wouldn't do it. He knew her enough to know she's a wild one and considering her lips weren't on his, they won't be. Not for a while, at least.
„Look...whatever you see or hear tomorrow, make sure you come back in time, okay? If you can't convince any of us to bring you up, disappear. Don't let us touch you until you find a way out. Okay?“ Ethan repeated, swallowing thickly because he still remembered the horror of Y/N's death. It was gruesome and he never wanted for Caroline to feel it nor see it.
„I'll do my best, Mr. Bossy!“ She embraced him, her hands wrapped around him, hooked at the back of his neck as he buried his face in hers, inhaling her – all of her.
„Got time for one more?“ Another voice, one that sends chills down her back spoke, her eyes opening at the sound. She'd know his voice anywhere.
„I don't think it's the best idea.“ She detached herself from her favorite demon, a title she'd ever tell him about, only to wrap her arms around herself, needing an extra layer of protection despite the fact the hurt he causes is from the inside and there's not shield for those kinds of injuries.
„Please.“ Grayson's plea was the hardest thing she could ever hear right now, because he never just asked – he poured every human emotion into it, giving it weight of a hundred collapsing stars, wrecking her defenses.
With a nod, Ethan had decided to place a kiss on her forehead before heading out, respecting her choice. He didn't give up completely, but he respected her primary choice is Grayson at this particular time.
„You do know all those things you said on the beach are just a figment of your untamed imagination mixed with insecurities, right?“ He began, making her scoff.
„That's not an apology I hear, rather a start up for a new fight.“ She sent him a glare, one that meant he better stay in his position because if he came closer, she'd let her evil out.
„No. What I mean is, none of what you said is true. I never fell in love with your face, Caroline, although it's a very beautiful one. I never looked for body shapes – you've had them all. And yes, sometimes your personality is difficult to deal with, but I still loved you. I loved you because your soul is pure light that calls to me like a siren. If your soul hurts, I hurt. If your soul is happy, I'm happy. If you're feeling lost, I'm desperate. It's like two magnets, pushing and pulling in the need to be as one. Your beauty lies in the unchanging goodness of your soul and heart that can be a stubborn nightmare at times, but it never lessened the beauty. It never stopped calling out to me. I never stopped running to it when it did.“ Grayson sighed, deciding to be brave and step closer, brushing his knuckles over her cheekbone as she turned away from him.
But then she turned back, her eyes shooting up and connecting with his, her heart jumping out her chest with their proximity.
„I can't help but be insecure. You've known every dark, twisted, dusty part of my soul and you have so many memories with...me! But I don't remember most of them! It's like...Imagine if I dated a thousand versions of you and you didn't remember...It's silly, but I'm jealous and I'm bitter about not remembering. And I'm so pissed for being put in a position to be jealous and bitter about my own damn self.“ She stood up, stopping Grayson's breathing for the second time in a day, but this time she didn't try to kiss him anywhere close to his face. She just wrapped her arms around his torso and rested her head on his chest.
„Just know I love you. Whatever happens, that can't change.“ She whispered, feeling him shift their weight as he laid her down on the bed, half his weight pinning her under but she didn't complain. She enjoyed feeling him on top of her, wanting not only a kiss anymore...she wanted him in every sinful way possible. She wanted to feel him around her, inside her, enveloping her entirely. She wanted to be his, just once in this damned life she was given. Just once.
However, without even knowing, she fell asleep to the sound beat of his heart, her mind in the gutter, but still on him.
The morning came too soon.
„Wake up, love birds. Time to do some time traveling! Curse breaking!“ Cameron clapped, ignoring the groans and grunts and their cutesy snuggling closer together. But even they knew it couldn't last, slowly getting up in silence, simply looking at one another. While Caroline was still convinced half the things Grayson told her last night were lies to make her feel better, she didn't care. She loved the way he lied, just as she loved him.
And she would fight for him.
Tags: @dancerwriter @peacedolantwins @heeydolan @accalialionheart @graydolan12 @xalayx @fallinginlove-16 @deeteeeeevee @heyits-claire @riverdalesserpent @dolandolll
#grayson dolan#ethan dolan#dolan twins#grayson dolan x reader#ethan dolan x reader#grayson dolan fanfic#grayson dolan series#grayson dolan fanfiction#grayson dolan fic#grayson dolan angst#grayson dolan angel au#grayson dolan au#ethan dolan angst#ethan dolan demon au#ethan dolan au
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Blood Candy: Chapter 1
(This is the first of 12 chapters, each of which will be posted every few days at least, and weekly at most. Stay tuned :D)
My alarm went off at around 3pm that afternoon. I had taken a nap, just as I always do, as soon as I got home from school. Thing is, I hadn’t acknowledged the alarm until much later—a rather hypnotic dream trapped me in the dreamworld for about half an hour.
It was a dream of red.
Red and white, filling my entire vision.
Like a peppermint, almost.
Just a swirling peppermint, right before my eyes.
Now, I’ve seen hypnotism at work before—while I, myself, was never the subject, I’ve had a few friends and acquaintances who’ve went to magic shows and been the subject of hypnosis. To my surprise, it actually worked...but never for a long time. That was stage hypnosis. That was for show. And shows are always temporary.
But this?
This was pure, raw hypnosis.
A hypnosis trick set up by some unknown, disembodied mastermind, silently instructing me to do nothing—forcing me to do nothing. This swirling peppermint pattern was practically sleep paralysis itself; chaining me to my bed and draining me of all brainpower and willpower to fight against it.
So I stayed there.
My alarm went off at 3pm. It was beeping for fifteen minutes before I actually woke up.
Well, I was awake the whole time. I heard the alarm. I knew I had to get up. But I didn’t care. I bet the noise would’ve drove me insane had I not been fully focused on that swirling peppermint pattern. It was slightly terrifying, if anything—the fact that something so simple and nonsensical can have such a tight grip on the mind—it even transcended reality, inhibiting me from what I was supposed to be doing.
If I’m being honest, I don’t even remember what had broken me free of this dream in the first place. And you know what the scary part is?
I wouldn’t be surprised if I never even got up in the first place.
Here’s the thing: I wasn't exactly a fan of sweets. I didn't exactly hate them, either. But if someone gave me a piece of candy, there's about a 68% chance that I would turn it down. They just weren't my thing.
So this peppermint dream was rather strange to me, though not exactly the strangest thing I've encountered. My mind is constantly filled with strange things, though not necessarily by choice. My friend Sebastian, or Seb/Sebs for short, runs a conspiracy blog called AkiSeb Theories alongside my friend/classmate Akira, and constantly drills just the strangest ideas into my head, the majority of which seem to run around the supernatural: How the zombie apocalypse has already started, how schools can actually steal our souls, how my own mother is a witch, you name it. Seb comes up with the theories and writes the overdramatized articles for the blog, and Akira, alongside occasionally writing some articles and theories, does the research. Please don’t ask me how and why she did the research for the ‘my mother is a witch’ theory.
“Dakota!” my mom yelled. “You up?? Your alarm has been going off for fifteen minutes! Sebastian said he’s coming to pick you up at four!”
I was scheduled to get a blood drawing at exactly 4:15pm at North Clueham Health Center. Appointments, they say, are easy to get. Despite it being one of the few health centers in Clueham--which, in a city rumored to be filled to the brim with supernatural creatures, is a very, very bad thing--people rarely go there.
“Coming!” I shouted. I went into the bathroom and quickly combed my dark brown hair, making sure to take care of the bangs over my forehead. Seb teased me enough about my ‘giant forehead’ and I didn’t feel like giving him more of a reason to do so.
I headed downstairs to wait for Seb.
“You really should stop taking those after school naps, you know,” my mom said.
“Well, maybe if the school system stopped throwing mountains of homework at us,” I argued, “then maybe I could get some sleep.”
“Maybe if you stopped procrastinating and building yourself mountains of homework,” my mom retorted with a smile, “then maybe you could get some sleep.”
I rolled my eyes.
“Fine. You win.” I stood up after getting a message from Seb that he was outside waiting for me. “I’ll see ya later?”
“Nope,” she said. “Night school again, remember?”
I sighed.
“Right. What time will you be home?” I asked.
“If I’m lucky, things’ll wrap up at about eleven?” she answered. “I have a lotta papers to grade.”
“See you tomorrow then,” I said, giving her a kiss on the cheek and a hug before leaving.
I walked outside to find Seb in his car. If I’m being honest, I was never 100% comfortable riding with him. I don’t trust anyone who gets their license before the age of 18. Granted, Sebs was only six months from the trust zone, but that’s still six months too early.
“Hi, welcome to your Uber!” he greeted me cheerfully. “How may I be of assistance?”
“You know where I’m going, dweeb,” I joked before getting in the passenger seat next to him.
“Ah, yes, the evil lair of the vampires.”
“...come again?”
“You’re getting blood work, right?” he asked me. “Where’s the only possible place where people just take your blood? A vampire’s evil lair.”
I couldn’t resist the urge to laugh.
“I swear, you watch too many movies,” I said. “Would a vampire give you a legitimate results and information about your health?”
“You know anyone could fake blood test results, right?” Seb pointed out, confident in this refutation.
“I think I’d be able to tell,” I replied.
Seb rolled his eyes. Whether or not he was admitting defeat, or finally decided that I wasn’t worth drilling unfounded conspiracies into, was beyond me.
“One of these days,” he said, “You’re gonna find out that I was right. And when the apocalypse inevitably comes, you’ll have no pity from me when you turn into a mutant or a vampire.”
“You’re lucky that you’ve got someone as smart as Akira backing your ideas,” I replied. “I’m sure you’d look crazy without her.”
“Buddy,” he laughed, “I’m crazy regardless. But...I seriously don’t get it...why do they need your blood to determine all this?”
“That’s where, like, everything is, dude,” I explained. “The nutrients, the cells, etc. It’s the only way to determine if I’m still allergic to eggs. Didn’t you pay attention during science class?”
I knew the answer to this question, of course. Seb got a 58 in science last year. He claimed he was too busy making articles for AkiSeb Theories, but Akira got an 83--and she does most of the heavy lifting for the website, anyway.
“I’m telling you, man,” Seb said. “They’re probably just vampires. Same goes for the freakazoids who run those blood drives.”
“You idiot, they run blood drives for people who need transfusions,” I sighed. “If someone’s, like, bleeding out and no one goes to the blood drive because oh no it’s run by vampires, we’re gonna give them strength to take over the world then tough luck! That person’s gonna die because everyone’s a bunch of bloody cowards.”
“Relax. I know why blood drives are made! Lighten up, man.”
I let out another exasperated sigh. I didn’t really mean to sound so bitter--he truly was my best friend, and one of the few idiots in school I can put up with without pulling my hair out--but the least he could do is sound like a legitimate reporter instead of a paranoid doomsayer.
“Sorry, man,” I said. “Past few days have been kind of...stressful, and the last thing I want is to have to do this.”
Seb looked at me with a cheerful grin.
“Don’t worry about it!” he reassured me. “I get it. It’s almost the end of junior year, everyone’s just about done with everything. In my defense, though, it’s either you ride with me and let me drive you insane, or you take the subway and deal with hobos, angry pedestrians, and plague rats.
“Yeah…wait there are no plague ra—eyes on the road, Sebs!” I cried.
“Oh! Right.” Seb just missed a black Sudan before parking in the lot of the doctor’s office. “Good luck,” he joked as I got out of the car.
“Oh, can it,” I retorted playfully. I walked inside and checked into the doctor’s office. I was told by the receptionist to head to the basement levels for the bloodworks, and that I would be with Dr. Jasper Kermit. I nodded and went on my way.
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Blood Candy: Chapter 1
Ruqayyah Pickel
This is the first chapter of a longer piece of writing. Chapters will be posted here as they are finished. Stay tuned for the continuation of the story.
My alarm went off at around 3pm that afternoon. I had taken a nap, just as I always do, as soon as I got home from school. Thing is, I hadn’t acknowledged the alarm until much later—a rather hypnotic dream trapped me in the dreamworld for about half an hour.
It was a dream of red.
Red and white, filling my entire vision.
Like a peppermint, almost.
Just a swirling peppermint, right before my eyes.
Now, I’ve seen hypnotism at work before—while I, myself, was never the subject, I’ve had a few friends and acquaintances who’ve went to magic shows and been the subject of hypnosis. To my surprise, it actually worked...but never for a long time. That was stage hypnosis. That was for show. And shows are always temporary.
But this?
This was pure, raw hypnosis.
A hypnosis trick set up by some unknown, disembodied mastermind, silently instructing me to do nothing—forcing me to do nothing. This swirling peppermint pattern was practically sleep paralysis itself; chaining me to my bed and draining me of all brainpower and willpower to fight against it.
So I stayed there.
My alarm went off at 3pm. It was beeping for fifteen minutes before I actually woke up.
Well, I was awake the whole time. I heard the alarm. I knew I had to get up. But I didn’t care. I bet the noise would’ve drove me insane had I not been fully focused on that swirling peppermint pattern. It was slightly terrifying, if anything—the fact that something so simple and nonsensical can have such a tight grip on the mind—it even transcended reality, inhibiting me from what I was supposed to be doing.
If I’m being honest, I don’t even remember what had broken me free of this dream in the first place. And you know what the scary part is?
I wouldn’t be surprised if I never even got up in the first place.
Here’s the thing: I wasn't exactly a fan of sweets. I didn't exactly hate them, either. But if someone gave me a piece of candy, there's about a 68% chance that I would turn it down. They just weren't my thing.
So this peppermint dream was rather strange to me, though not exactly the strangest thing I've encountered. My mind is constantly filled with strange things, though not necessarily by choice. My friend Sebastian, or Seb/Sebs for short, runs a conspiracy blog called AkiSeb Theories alongside my friend/classmate Akira, and constantly drills just the strangest ideas into my head, the majority of which seem to run around the supernatural: How the zombie apocalypse has already started, how schools can actually steal our souls, how my own mother is a witch, you name it. Seb comes up with the theories and writes the overdramatized articles for the blog, and Akira, alongside occasionally writing some articles and theories, does the research. Please don’t ask me how and why she did the research for the ‘my mother is a witch’ theory.
“Dakota!” my mom yelled. “You up?? Your alarm has been going off for fifteen minutes! Sebastian said he’s coming to pick you up at four!”
I was scheduled to get a blood drawing at exactly 4:15pm at North Clueham Health Center. Appointments, they say, are easy to get. Despite it being one of the few health centers in Clueham--which, in a city rumored to be filled to the brim with supernatural creatures, is a very, very bad thing--people rarely go there.
“Coming!” I shouted. I went into the bathroom and quickly combed my dark brown hair, making sure to take care of the bangs over my forehead. Seb teased me enough about my ‘giant forehead’ and I didn’t feel like giving him more of a reason to do so.
I headed downstairs to wait for Seb.
“You really should stop taking those after school naps, you know,” my mom said.
“Well, maybe if the school system stopped throwing mountains of homework at us,” I argued, “then maybe I could get some sleep.”
“Maybe if you stopped procrastinating and building yourself mountains of homework,” my mom retorted with a smile, “then maybe you could get some sleep.”
I rolled my eyes.
“Fine. You win.” I stood up after getting a message from Seb that he was outside waiting for me. “I’ll see ya later?”
“Nope,” she said. “Night school again, remember?”
I sighed.
“Right. What time will you be home?” I asked.
“If I’m lucky, things’ll wrap up at about eleven?” she answered. “I have a lotta papers to grade.”
“See you tomorrow then,” I said, giving her a kiss on the cheek and a hug before leaving.
I walked outside to find Seb in his car. If I’m being honest, I was never 100% comfortable riding with him. I don’t trust anyone who gets their license before the age of 18. Granted, Sebs was only six months from the trust zone, but that’s still six months too early.
“Hi, welcome to your Uber!” he greeted me cheerfully. “How may I be of assistance?”
“You know where I’m going, dweeb,” I joked before getting in the passenger seat next to him.
“Ah, yes, the evil lair of the vampires.”
“...come again?”
“You’re getting blood work, right?” he asked me. “Where’s the only possible place where people just take your blood? A vampire’s evil lair.”
I couldn’t resist the urge to laugh.
“I swear, you watch too many movies,” I said. “Would a vampire give you a legitimate results and information about your health?”
“You know anyone could fake blood test results, right?” Seb pointed out, confident in this refutation.
“I think I’d be able to tell,” I replied.
Seb rolled his eyes. Whether or not he was admitting defeat, or finally decided that I wasn’t worth drilling unfounded conspiracies into, was beyond me.
“One of these days,” he said, “You’re gonna find out that I was right. And when the apocalypse inevitably comes, you’ll have no pity from me when you turn into a mutant or a vampire.”
“You’re lucky that you’ve got someone as smart as Akira backing your ideas,” I replied. “I’m sure you’d look crazy without her.”
“Buddy,” he laughed, “I’m crazy regardless. But...I seriously don’t get it...why do they need your blood to determine all this?”
“That’s where, like, everything is, dude,” I explained. “The nutrients, the cells, etc. It’s the only way to determine if I’m still allergic to eggs. Didn’t you pay attention during science class?”
I knew the answer to this question, of course. Seb got a 58 in science last year. He claimed he was too busy making articles for AkiSeb Theories, but Akira got an 83--and she does most of the heavy lifting for the website, anyway.
“I’m telling you, man,” Seb said. “They’re probably just vampires. Same goes for the freakazoids who run those blood drives.”
“You idiot, they run blood drives for people who need transfusions,” I sighed. “If someone’s, like, bleeding out and no one goes to the blood drive because oh no it’s run by vampires, we’re gonna give them strength to take over the world then tough luck! That person’s gonna die because everyone’s a bunch of bloody cowards.”
“Relax. I know why blood drives are made! Lighten up, man.”
I let out another exasperated sigh. I didn’t really mean to sound so bitter--he truly was my best friend, and one of the few idiots in school I can put up with without pulling my hair out--but the least he could do is sound like a legitimate reporter instead of a paranoid doomsayer.
“Sorry, man,” I said. “Past few days have been kind of...stressful, and the last thing I want is to have to do this.”
Seb looked at me with a cheerful grin.
“Don’t worry about it!” he reassured me. “I get it. It’s almost the end of junior year, everyone’s just about done with everything. In my defense, though, it’s either you ride with me and let me drive you insane, or you take the subway and deal with hobos, angry pedestrians, and plague rats.
“Yeah…wait there are no plague ra—eyes on the road, Sebs!” I cried.
“Oh! Right.” Seb just missed a black Sudan before parking in the lot of the doctor’s office. “Good luck,” he joked as I got out of the car.
“Oh, can it,” I retorted playfully. I walked inside and checked into the doctor’s office. I was told by the receptionist to head to the basement levels for the bloodworks, and that I would be with Dr. Jasper Kermit. I nodded and went on my way.
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❛ everything my mother prayed i wouldn’t be, i became. ❜
( froy gutierrez, twenty-one, cisman ) my goodness, is remus lupin back? it’s been a few years since the halfblood has been around the castle, but i’d recognize him anywhere. rumor has it the seventh year spent the past few years aligned with the order. they’re still logical & protective and destructive & faithless, though. and the gryffindor still reminds me of smiling while your heart is bleeding, muffled laughs in a seemingly empty corridor, setting yourself on fire to keep your friends warm. well, then, i guess some things never change.
links: stats, pinterest triggers: alcoholism, child neglect, emotional manipulation/abuse, domestic abuse
BACKGROUND
remus was born to lyall ( a pureblood ) and hope ( a muggle ) lupin on january 22nd, 1959. lyall worked at the ministry within the department for the regulation and control of magical creatures and hope was a stay-at-home mum, spending all her time looking after little remus.
for the first five years of his life, remus had a relatively calm childhood — his parents loved and doted on him, he was truly the apple of their eye, and to them, he could do no wrong. hope loved to teach him how to cook, especially baked goods, and lyall would often take remus to the ministry where the little boy would stare wide-eyed at all the inner-workings of the magical world. they were a tight-knit, loving family… all until fenrir greyback got involved.
in late 1963, fenrir greyback was brought in for questioning after the death of two muggles at the hands of a werewolf. due to the ministry’s complete incompetence, they had no record of greyback being a werewolf, and therefore fell for his whole ‘i’m a muggle thing’. lyall, of course, wasn’t having it, and after trying to convince the committee in control of the case that he was sure greyback was a werewolf ( to no avail ) lost his temper and called all werewolves ‘soulless, evil, deserving nothing but death’.
fenrir, having been in the room at the time, grew furious, and after escaping from the ministry’s hands decided to exact his revenge. thus on january 17th, 1964, fenrir broke into the lupin household and bit little remus lupin, turning him into a werewolf.
the family immediately started to spiral. lyall threw himself into his work, trying absolutely everything he could to find a cure for lycanthropy. hope grew distant from her son, too afraid to even touch him for fear of what he might do. at only five years of age, remus of course didn’t understand what all the fuss was even about, he couldn’t possibly fathom what had thrown his family into such chaos — that is, of course, until his first transition.
remus will always remember the first time he turned. pain doesn’t even begin to describe it. it was as if every cell in his body had been cut into a million pieces and then set on fire and he was expected to deal with the pain all on his own.
[ CHILD NEGLECT TW with no cure feasibly in sight, lyall and hope had locked remus away in the basement for three days starting from the day of the full moon, unsure how the lycanthropy would present itself. at first, remus protested, scared and alone while he suffered through the worst pain of his life, but as the scratch marks began to show themselves on the wood of the room, he started to think ill of even himself and even encouraged his parents to lock him away. END TW ]
despite lyall and hope insisting that they would always love their little boy and they would always love each other, the curse began to take its toll on everyone.
with lyall spending 20 hours a day at the ministry to try and find a cure, hope grew restless and even more terrified of her own son, insisting that they move any time someone inquired about the noises coming from their basement. as a muggle, she had always found it hard to adjust to a wizarding lifestyle, but having a werewolf for a son proved to be too much and so shortly after remus turned nine, hope ran away without so much as a trace.
[ CHILD NEGLECT, ALCOHOLISM TW although it was clear that lyall had fallen out of love with both his wife and his son during the four years he’d thrown himself into his work, the disappearance of hope was still a massive shock for him. lyall positively hated that he would now have to raise a werewolf all on his own, and now having given up trying to find a cure for lycanthropy, turned his emotions towards the liquor cabinet.
at just nine years of age, remus had no friends, no mother, an alcoholic father and still he had to deal with a transition every single month — i guess you can say that he wasn’t doing too great. END TW ]
[ EMOTIONAL MANIPULATION TW for as long as he can remember, however, remus has never blamed his parents for hating him — especially his father. even when lyall would throw bottles and yell nasty things at his very own son, remus would always just bite his tongue and accept that he deserved it. after all, his parents had never asked for a werewolf son. END TW ] and so he always tried his absolute best to please his father, which is why he worked hard at just eleven years of age with headmaster dumbledore to ensure that he would have a safe space at hogwarts to make his father proud.
honestly, lyall didn’t even care about the education his son was going to get — he just wanted some time alone to not have to deal with a werewolf every four weeks.
first starting at hogwarts, remus found it incredibly difficult to find his place. he’d been sorted into gryffindor in no time, but he couldn’t really understand how it was he could belong with these confident, rambunctious students. he’d always thought himself to be a shy, quiet kid — turns out he just hadn’t met the right people. for as soon as he’d been bunked with james, sirius and peter, the real remus started to show itself.
with no one trying to run away from him or curse him with nasty names, remus found a certain level of confidence within the school walls. he was intelligent, popular, and frankly fun and the fact that he had to disappear for a few days every month ( ‘my father’s sick again’ ) never stopped him from making friends.
the only thing that mattered was that they couldn’t know about that part of him — because if they knew, then they would have to be burdened with it, and there was no possible way remus could handle another person hating him like his father did.
after forming a bond with the boys closer than he had ever felt, it was really just a matter of time before they noticed the pattern in remus’ disappearances and in his behaviour — and when they confronted him in their second year with their correct assumption, remus was positively terrified. he tried to convince them that he would stay away, that he didn’t mean any harm, that he was sorry they knew, but instead of being disgusted, the boys were accepting, and after getting over the initial shock of having someone who still loved him as a werewolf, he grew to be grateful for having someone by his side through it all.
of course, he’s still absolutely terrified to this day that one day they’ll change their minds and leave just as his mother did, and so still every full moon he tries to convince them that they don’t have to come, but they have showed no signs of wavering and just wow he loves his boys.
[ EMOTIONAL MANIPULATION TW after sirius escaped from home in their sixth year, there was a lot of weight put onto remus’ shoulders about whether he would leave his own home, too. his friends knew that it wasn’t a safe environment for him to be in, but after years of lyall twisting with his emotions, remus felt a sick bond to his father and couldn’t possibly see why he should leave. he wanted his father to be proud of him, to be happy, and he tried every summer to make this work — and perhaps it never would. but that didn’t matter to remus. because frankly, he couldn’t see that. END TW ]
at the beginning of remus’ sixth year, whispers started to follow him at every corner. talk, gossip, hushed confessions of fear. did you know remus lupin is a werewolf? everyone around remus tried to convince him that it was just rumours, that no one actually knew if it was true or not, but that didn’t stop the whispers from spreading like wildfire, and the fear was beginning to build.
to anyone who asked, remus was fine. no one really knew the truth and that was enough to keep him safe. but deep down, the thought that everyone might know terrified him. he’d already feared for what his best friends might think, what was the rest of the school going to think? he was a monster and now, maybe, they knew. and they had every right to be scared of him. he was even considering leaving hogwarts when the worst happened...
the battle at hogwarts wasn’t really a shock to remus -- he had seen the tension brewing from a mile away, and it was only a matter of time before the pot boiled over into the supposedly safe kept school. what shocked remus the most was that it had the power to shut down the school -- the one and only place remus had ever felt safe and loved. at least for the first five years.
with the rumours only going stronger and the fear building in the air around him, remus tried his best to stay away from what was left of the school, to live with his father and lay low while he decided what to do before school returned, and if he was even going to return.
[ DOMESTIC ABUSE TW however, lyall had other plans. with the rumours reaching even the ministry, all eyes were pointed to the man who claimed to hate werewolves and yet now lived with one. lyall’s anger grew, his obsession with whiskey only got worse, and the bruises he left on remus’ arms were enough for remus’ friends to plead with him to leave. END TW] very reluctantly, remus moved into the order safehouses after nine months of living with his father, occasionally returning home to lyall, though the visits grew scarce as the rumours continued to swirl.
even in the supposed ‘safehouse’, remus was kept partially isolated. everyone was afraid of what might happen should he be pushed back into the public eye -- would the rumours get worse? would the fear lead to danger? and exactly who was in danger at that point -- the fearful student or the devastated werewolf himself?
having been isolated for three years, the rumours have somewhat died down for the time being, and it is this alone which allowed remus to return to hogwarts once the doors were once again opened. surely it will get bad again, but for the time being, remus has always valued his education -- and he wants to finish it. no one knows how long this arrangement might last and whether or not he’ll finish his schooling is still up in the air, but for now, he’s back in the public eye -- and ever so fearful of the consequences.
PERSONALITY
remus would do literally anything for his friends. they are his family, they are his lifeline, and they are a big part of who he is today. his loyalty and protective nature is unwavering, and he’s often been labelled the Dad of his group for this.
despite the fact that so many people have proven him wrong, remus has little faith in people’s humanity. first, there had to be someone who did this to him. second, there were people in the ministry who treated his father like trash for what his son had been cursed with. third, he sees the mistreatment of muggles and muggleborns every day and he just has to ask why. it takes a lot for one to prove themselves to remus, simply because he is of little faith.
he channels a lot of his self-loathing and destructive thoughts into humour and sarcasm. he loves dry humour and he loves pranks, and you can rest assured that he is the mastermind behind 99% of the marauders shenanigans. he’s seriously the epitome of that when life gives you lemons vine guy, like just that ‘depressed teens’ humour is just… so him.
#totalusintro#⌜ character study ⌟ ✦ * · ˚ ɢᴇᴛ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀʀᴋɴᴇꜱꜱ ꜱᴛᴏʟᴇ .#emotional abuse tw#domestic abuse tw#alcoholism tw#child neglect tw#this is long and Hefty i'm v sorry
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☄ / 🔮 / 🌐 :)
Gah I had so much fun with these! Again, so sorry I didn’t get around to them sooner, but I hope they were worth waiting for!
☄ - NewsAGoGo
To begin with I need to say that my headcanons for this wonderful lesbian are HEAVILY influenced by @neon-rat‘s NewsAGoGo tag cause that shit is SO GOOD.
- So we got our lesbian scene queen here. She’s had about four thousand different hair cuts and colours and not a single one has ever looked good, but that’s sort of the point. She is CONSTANTLY shaving bits off her head and has most of her scalp tattooed. Frequently seen in a variety of extremely ugly green, yellow or orange trench coats and totally impractical knee length boots, and manages to pull off the ‘I literally wouldn’t recognise good fashion if it punched me in the face’ look brilliantly. This is mostly because of her charisma and confidence in personally loving her own look, and besides, she is a TERRIFYING motherfucker so most runners wouldn’t have the guts to tell her they don’t like her look anyway.
- When I say shes tattooed I mean she is TATTOOED. Most of her body is covered. They aren’t generally big pieces either - a large piece on her upper arm, chest and one thigh, but otherwise covered in tons of smaller pieces, individual from each other and symbolic of vastly different things. Her favourite is probably any of the pieces her girlfriend, DJ Hot Chimp, has given her, and even if Hot Chimp wasn’t genuinely one of the best tattoo artists in the zones she would adore the fact that it’s her girl’s iconic ocean patterns that rest across her rib cage.
- She can be pretty blunt, and it often comes across as rude - she will always speak her mind and totally tends to miss the changes in conversations when people are hurt. She can also get a little heated too when she’s passionate, but also very short when she doesn’t care, so she can be a little intense for many joys to deal with. That’s not, however, to say that she is unkind. If NewsAGoGo is anything, its a good fucking friend. She is fiercely loyal to Doctor Death Defying and her friends at the radio station, and to Hot Chimp, and she easily makes up for anything mean that she may accidentally say in the passion she shows to the people she trusts.
- Before they settled either with or near Doctor D in the radio station, News, Hot Chimp, Cherri and Pony all ran together - it only lasted for about six months once they escaped the City, but it was probably the most fun any of them had. They were some of the earliest killjoys to get out, so the rules of the Zones were much less defined, meaning that setting fire to buildings for the sake of it and driving fast enough to crash every single car they found was fine - the precious nature of these things really weren’t set out or apparent, and the desire for chaos which plagues any runner fresh out of the City went uncontrolled in them.
🔮 - The Phoenix Witch
AH! My absolutely favourite character in the universe! Resident Goth Deity!
- She isn’t called the Phoenix Witch for no reason. The woman has mad power. Raising the dead and making random shit vanish type power. Mostly she takes this very seriously - a nasty side effect of prophetic visions is that she can see the role she, and others, need to play in the big picture, and so her somewhat controversial choices to raise, or not raise joys from the dead plays on her conscience a lot. It’s not clear where she got her power from other than the fact that it took her years of practise to gain it, and that the more powerful she becomes the less she seems to actually be seen.
- This then means that very few living runners have actually seen her. In the earlier days it was more common - she seemed to actually conform to the idea that having a physical form means that you had to exist somewhere at all times, so seeing her around the zones was rare, but possible. Many of those ‘joys who did see her wandering across the land however were ghosted, and those who do claim to have seen her in the later years tend to say that she can just appear at will, and so this lack of knowledge and sightings of her, paired with the frequent stories of the impossible things she can just do really gained her her status as big fucking mythical cryptid across the zones.
- Know I included this in my last Phoenix Witch headcanon post but it’s a headcanon I am willing to Die for - She is Doctor Death Defying’s twin. They were raised together and although they don’t see each other very often cause like. crazy zone happenings. they are still incredibly close and look out for each other. They also fuck around and indirectly make each other’s lives extremely difficult on purpose to piss the other one off because even if your sister is essentially a deity you can still make sure that she wakes up to her least favourite song playing on the radio once every week, and even if your brother is the most revered killjoy in the zones you can give him weird fucking intense dreams that fully convince him that yes, he is in fact a large marsupial, at two in the morning.
- Her ability to shape shift was something that kind of just happened. very suddenly. She was kind of just sitting there one day, thinking about how inconvenient it was to be a human person with like arms and legs and a torso, when suddenly she just wasn’t anymore. It was pretty surprising to say the least, to no longer have to exist in corporeal form, but both personally and practically it was pretty awesome, and after some practise she worked out how to change into a raven, which while also looking totally rad allowed her to go and sit outside Doctor D’s radio station at ungodly hours of the morning and shriek really loud before making a quick get away.
🌐 - One of my OCs
Okay lets talk Grenade. My fucking weird dumbass bitch oc. Love her.
- She has never lived in the Battery - she’s originally from around London, but when shit Went Down in the UK her family moved as far as they could - into the area that later became the zones. Her mother moved into the City in the early days but Grenade’s apprehension to follow proved pretty fucking lucky after Better Living started dropping bombs on the zones and their true nature was revealed. During this time she spent a while running with this group of aggressive dudes and trying to convince herself that she was totally straight™, but she quickly realised that this group were actually pretty awful morally, and left, later realising that girls exist and reassessing her entire world view.
- She is pretty covered in tattoos (notice the running theme in my headcanons for most female killjoys, I’m gay sue me), with her favourite being either the snake around her forearm or the large floral pieces over her hips and thighs. Her time being a general nuisance to Dracs has proved a little detrimental to the larger pieces on her body - a particularly violent run in left most of her chest piece totally unrecognisable, but the scarring itself still has meaning to her so it doesn’t bother her too much.
- She is often seen running around under the full moon, titties out, praising the Goddess. Just cause you live in the desert doesn’t mean you can’t still do your crazy witch shit and Grenade is definitely extremely spiritual. Due to this she also makes charms for runners she meets - getting her hands on actual supplies for spell bags is hard, but she makes do with what she can find and invests a lot of time into sigil magic to make up for it.
- Her and Lithium (@neon-rat’s OC) were the first members of their group, and met shortly after Better Living stopped dropping pig bombs when the two of them ended up trying to kill the same annoying SCARECROW agent together. They got on amazingly mostly because they are both fucking batshit crazy, so the idea of spending three weeks hiding in the City and just repetitively stealing all the fruit from the previously mentioned SCARECROW agent’s house before setting it on fire was one that made perfect sense to them both. They were originally gonna call their group Dykes! but realised that DOGS, or ‘Damn, Occult Girls are Sexy’ is funnier, and sounds like it should stand for something way cooler than it does.
#skkjdkjfd#the rest of these asks should be out by the end of the day#once again: i am a dumb bitch and should not casually queue ask posts months in advance and assume i'll have time for them#headcanons#mcr#killjoys#danger days#my chemical romance#my writing#phoenix witch#newsagogo#grenade#asks#long post#d slur /
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20 Questions for Simmers
1.) Favorite Sims Game
While I have played and loved every version of The Sims, I think my absolute favorite was The Sims 2. It was the one I couldn’t put down! The little details and humor are what really stand out when I look back, and I don’t remember having any real problems with it either since the game itself was pretty solidly developed and bugs tended to be squashed quickly. Overall, I was never bored playing The Sims 2 and I still occasionally boot it up just to reminisce.
2.) Yourself in 3 Traits
Ambitious, dog lover, neat
3.) CC or No CC
I play with a small amount of CC. Everything I download is Maxis-match, and I pull pieces out whenever we get new official content that I can use instead.
4.) Preferred Part of the Game
I really like each part of the game and try to spend my time evenly among them. Lately I’ve been building and messing around in CAS more than actually playing though. Oops!
5.) Favorite Expansion Pack
In The Sims, my favorite EP was Makin’ Magic. I was so young when I played that I thought I was incredibly clever for figuring out the pattern to the spells in the dueling arena so that I’d win every time. And I had a lot of fun creating one of each type of potion and then trying them out on the poor, unsuspecting townies!
In The Sims 2, my favorite EP was Bon Voyage. I spent so much time completing every single vacation memento! Some of them were really hard to figure out too, so finishing the collection was really rewarding to me. All three of the destinations were equally fun to explore with their local dances, gestures, foods, and massages. I could really feel the difference between visiting Takemizu Village, Twikki Island, and Three Lakes.
In The Sims 3, my favorite EP was Ambitions. The firefighter career and the new inventing skill were the real highlights to me. I spent weeks creating a Simbot without cheating, and firefighting was a really exciting change from the standard rabbithole careers. Another neat feature was the ability to sculpt statues of Sims. Never-melting ice sculptures looked great in mansions, and of course stone sculptures made great monuments to ‘famous’ Sims in town.
In The Sims 4, my favorite EP (so far) is Seasons. The weather effects are beautiful, the raincoats and rainboots and umbrellas are adorable, kiddie pools are the greatest item ever created, and temperature is just such a vital addition that it's finally starting to feel like a full game for me! Seasons and weather in general also function differently in each world, which is perfect. I didn’t want snow in Oasis Springs, and Brindleton Bay desperately needed fog and rain to feel complete.
6.) Favorite Game Pack
In The Sims 4, my favorite GP (so far) is Vampires. I never really liked this life state before, but this time around they’re fantastic! The abilities help differentiate each vampire from one another, and I love that they don’t have to ask permission nicely before biting a Sim. The sticker cracks and spider webs are also something I’d been wanting to help make places seem less perfect. Overall, the life state seems so detailed and sets a much higher bar for future life states. I don’t even mind paying for each individually if they’re this well-done.
7.) Favorite Stuff Pack
In The Sims 2, my favorite SP was H&M Fashion. Honestly, I just really loved all the new clothing that kept my Sims from constantly matching each other. And building a clothing store with all the cool retail items that came with it was a lot of fun too!
In The Sims 3, my favorite SP was Town Life. The rabbitholes were more modern and added some variety since most of the others were the same building with slightly different colors. I had a lot of fun remodeling my more modern worlds with them.
In The Sims 4, my favorite SP (so far) is Laundry Day. I’m a sucker for realism elements so adding another menial chore for my Sims makes me happy. The laundry system is surprisingly complex, the furniture filled in a lacking farmhouse style I felt was missing from the game, and stackable machines look perfect in apartments. The clothing and hairstyles were also very well-done and I have to actively try not to overuse them on all my Sims.
8.) Least Favorite Expansion Pack
In The Sims, my least favorite EP was House Party. It felt like the smallest addition we were given, and parties weren’t enough for me to explore more than a handful of times before I got bored. As soon as the next EP came out, I moved on to the new content and I don’t think I ever threw another party again.
In The Sims 2, my least favorite EP was Nightlife. It wasn’t bad at all, it was just the one I used the least. My personal gameplay style at the time was incredibly family-oriented and you just don’t take your kids to clubs. I only ever went to the new Downtown subhood for first dates and a few marriage proposals since the date interactions were pretty cute.
In The Sims 3, my least favorite EP was Showtime. I don’t think I ever really played with anything from it. The ‘optional’ online connection where you would send your Sims to someone else’s game to perform really made me mad since some of the items you paid for were locked away behind it and I had no desire to participate. And the whole in-game news feed and achievement system were horrible and really caused problems. The venues were also super glitchy so even when I did give the new active careers a go, trying to complete a performance was almost impossible. Overall, the whole thing felt like more trouble than it was worth.
In The Sims 4, my least favorite EP (so far) is Get to Work. I think my expectations were just too high going into it. The active careers are okay, but none of them make me actually want to follow my Sims to work past the first few days because they get highly repetitive and there’s no real risk associated with them. The retail system also seems a bit lacking. There are very few retail items to use when building a store, although I do have to mention that the clothing mannequins are pretty cool. And actually running it is too easy since you can just instantly restock the items even if they’re unique things that you’ve made your Sims create.
9.) Least Favorite Game Pack
In The Sims 4, my least favorite GP (so far) is Spa Day. It’s not nearly as immersive as the others. There isn’t much to do outside of getting a massage or doing yoga, and both are kind of boring to do repeatedly over and over. It doesn’t expand on the gameplay nearly enough to be categorized as a GP in my opinion; I’d demote it to SP.
10.) Least Favorite Stuff Pack
In The Sims 2, my least favorite SP was Glamour Life. It added the least versatile stuff. Most of my Sims weren’t swimming in cash, so the items, particularly the clothing, were rarely used since they’d look and feel out of place.
In The Sims 3, my least favorite SP was Katy Perry’s Sweet Treats. I didn’t even buy it and I have no idea why anyone did. The objects were all horrible and cheesy. There was literally nothing good about it. At all. Ever.
In The Sims 4, my least favorite SP (so far) is My First Pet. No matter how many times they deny it, it’s a massive money grab. The furniture set literally completes what they left incomplete in Cats & Dogs! The clothing is for the most part just recolors of what we already have! And to top it all off, there’s just one new critter. They claim four, but it’s the same thing with a different skin overlay. I am perfectly fine with some items in a pack being dependent on owning previous packs so that they can continue to expand on past content. But to release this immediately after the associated EP and for it to pretty much be the rest of the items that we were missing from said EP...certainly seems like they withheld content just to wring an extra $10 from their players. Especially since it wasn’t even mentioned in their quarterly teaser. Haven’t bought it, and will not until it’s on sale.
11.) Custom or EA / Maxis Sims
EA / Maxis Sims are the best! I adore the premades and their unique, weird stories. My favorite thing to do is make them over and put an interesting spin on their storylines while still keeping them recognizable.
12.) Households or Single Sims
Definitely households. I prefer organized chaos with lots of things going on at once! There just isn’t enough to do when there’s only one Sim.
13.) Free Will On or Off
Free will is always firmly set to off in my game. I’m a dictator when it comes to my Sims and I make no apologies for that.
14.) Favorite Life Stage
Toddlers. They’re just so darn cute! The expanded skill building this time around is really cool since they actually learn in discernible stages instead of all at once, and I’m still not over their ability to go up and down stairs all on their own. The little mess-makers also have some of the cutest interactions with other Sims and their environment.
15.) Favorite Life State
Aliens. The first time I ever had a Sim abducted was in The Sims 2, and it terrified me because I had no idea what was going on and didn’t know if he was ever going to come back. Then he was finally returned and popped out an alien baby! It was just so surprising and ever since I’ve had a particular fondness for extraterrestrials.
16.) Favorite Skill
Cooking is probably my favorite skill to build. Something about getting to see what those difficult dishes look like is just fun to me. Since The Sims 4 actually includes 3 separate skills for cooking, gourmet, and baking skills I’ve been having a blast discovering all the new recipes!
17.) Ever Completed a Legacy
Only once, way back in The Sims 2. It lasted a grand total of 16 generations before I wound up making the move to The Sims 3. I’ve tried numerous times since then, but The Sims 3 was too buggy to play a single file that long and The Sims 4 is still missing a couple of key features that I’d like to have before trying again.
18.) Longest Simming Session
When I had more free time (and was significantly younger), I happily confess to wasting away a full weekend playing The Sims 2. These days I’m lucky to get a couple hours a week here and there. Ah the joys of growing up!
19.) Personal Sims Wishlist
There are a few things I’m still really missing for The Sims 4. I’m hoping universities and witches are making a comeback soon as they’re crucial to my planned storylines. Fairies, werewolves, and a beach vacation world would also be wonderful to have but they’re less important to me.
20.) Unpopular Opinion
I don’t miss the open world system from The Sims 3 at all. I’m perfectly happy trading it for every world to be connected. Every save file is a megahood and I find that preferable to a single, completely open world. I also think that it makes the game more stable for everyone, especially lower-end computers. The loading screens are worth it!
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