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inkrabbit · 4 years

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A Promise to Keep - Micah x GN!Reader

I liked the beginning, then hated the end. But it’s done and you all get to deal with it.

Summary: Micah keeps his promise of taking you to dinner and a show, and you find the man to be on his best behavior while on the little date.

Word count: 1,823

True to his word, you find yourself on the back of Baylock in the late evening, Micah all dolled up (as best he could be and felt like) and asking if you were ready to go. You had laughed when he took your hand, pressing a kiss to your knuckles, and you knew it was all out of sarcasm. Still, it did make your heart pick up a bit, and you made sure to mess with the outlaw on your way into Valentine, resting your head on his back and wrapping your arms around his waist. Oh, you felt him stiffen and inhale sharply, and you couldn’t stop the grin that spread across your face.

“Makin’ yourself comfy?” he asks, head turning to look over his shoulder. You let out a hum as a reply, and you can hear that soft chuckle escape his lips. He’s talking, something to fill the silence on your way down the old road, joking that if this show is horrible, then you’ll be owing him money. It’s enough to bring a laugh from you, sitting upright so you can playfully hit his shoulder.

“Can’t you just have fun for once?” you ask, and that offended scoff cements the smile on your face.

“Doll, I’ll have you know that I’m very fun,” he purrs over his shoulder, “You just don’t wanna find out. No, instead you wanna go to a show.”

“Which will be fun,” you correct him. You can’t see it, but you know he’s rolling his eyes as you two finally make it into town. He brings Baylock to the stables and you link your arm with his when he hands the reins over to the stable boy. You have to shush him when he growls at the poor young man, instructing his horse gets the utmost care. You knew how much he loved that animal. It was probably the only time you ever saw him care about something so much, aside from his beloved guns.

The theater is right beside the stables, little tents and wagons put up all around with the gallows just across the road. Micah mutters something about wishing there was a hanging that you two could watch instead, something more enjoyable. Another playful smack to his arm, and you have to remind him of the events that transpired in Strawberry. He huffs, pouting as you comment how fun that would’ve been as well.

“Now, you know you don’t mean that,” he says, pulling his arm in to drag you closer to him. You let out a thoughtful hum, but he can see the smile on your face. Walking over to the ticket booth, the man inside greets you both with a warm smile. He tells you what the show is about when you ask, the tale of why bears hibernate and it’s enough to pull a scoff from Micah. He seems almost reluctant to give the man a dollar for the tickets, having looked at you with those eyes that clearly asked “are you really sure you wanna see this?” When you held your smile, he finally handed over the money, grumbling about how it better be worth it as he led you inside.

There wasn’t much, but you didn’t expect anything fancy. Some wooden chairs lined up, three in a row with a big screen in the front. The man operating the film was right by the entrance, seated in his own chair with his legs crossed, as he stared down at the table. Micah leads you over to the chairs in the back, right in front of the film operator. You finally remove your arm from his as you sit down, hands folded in your lap as you lean back against the chair. Micah’s leaning forward instead, arms resting on his thighs with his legs are spread and his knee brushes against yours. You don’t move away this time. Instead, you allow the contact.

The show starts, getting right into it. The main character, Bear, is visited by Old Man Wind, who warns the grizzly of an upcoming winter. You can tell your companion isn’t into it and isn’t even paying attention. He’ll look at the screen, sure, but he’s also glancing around at the others in the small tent. You didn’t expect much from him in all honesty. You were surprised he even made it this far without throwing a fit and wanting to leave.

Halfway through the movie, and Micah’s still being good. He’s finally leaned back, back pressed against the top of the seat. He’s not subtle about his actions, bringing his arm up to wrap it around your shoulder. There’s a look in his blue eyes when you turn your attention to him. His eyebrows are slightly raised, gaze trained on you and you can feel how he’s slowly easing his grip from your shoulder. Well, he had been a good sport for this long. Shuffling over as far as you can on the chair, you allow yourself to rest your head against his shoulder. You can tell you’ve caught him off guard, but he’s quick to recover and relax against you. His thumb is rubbing your arm softly, back and forth against your shirt. This was quite the change from how you viewed everything going in your head.

You can hear the man chuckling at the end, and you can’t help but roll your eyes. He’s making some sort of comment about how the characters should’ve listened, and this is the first time you find yourself agreeing with the man. When the show ends, the two of you stand up, and you slip your hand into his as you two exit the tent. His grip is firm but gentle, just enough to keep your hand from falling out of his grasp. You walk close to him, still smiling as the two of you make your way over to the saloon for some dinner.

“I’m surprised you behaved so well back there,” you comment, catching his attention. Brows raised again, he stares at you.

“What? Don’t think I know how to be good?” he chuckles, but he lowers his head just a bit, just enough to cover his eyes. “’Sides, it wasn’t that bad I guess…”

“I liked it,” An amused huff escapes him as he pushes open the doors to the saloon. You tell him what you’d like to eat and drink, and you choose a table as he makes his way up to the counter. You watch him talk, and you catch the way he sneers at the man, no doubt throwing in some sort of insult wrapped in charming words to the poor man. Well, it wasn’t much a surprise, and you couldn’t expect him to stay good all night.

He comes over with everything when he’s given his items, setting your plate in front of you and handing you your drink. It’s nice, and you thank him softly as he sits across from you. Dinner starts out quiet, both of you enjoying your meal, but he finally speaks up about halfway through.

“Why the sudden interest in me?” he asks, and you wait for him to clarify his question. He lets out a low groan when you don’t respond. “Ya don’t take interest in me before, but after last night, you’re suddenly curious about ol’ Micah Bell. Now, why is that?”

“Guess you finally caught my attention,” you respond, taking a bite of your food. You watch him and you can practically see the cogs turning in his head, trying to piece everything together. And when it takes him too long, you continue. “I see you around camp, Micah. Hell, everyone does. Talkin’ nonsense, startin’ fights for no reason. Then you start talking to me, actually talking, and you ain’t that bad.”

“I’m not a monster,” he grumbles out, and you just nod, reaching over to gently rest your hand on his.

“And I’m realizing that after you’ve simmered down,” you tell him. A smile forms on your face when you see him nod, and you stroke your thumb over his knuckles. “Maybe you could work on it?”

“Now, I think you might be askin’ for too much,” He’s chuckling softly, but you know it’s the truth, and you didn’t expect the man to change overnight. But, you’d settle for his calmer attitude now, giving him a nod and telling him you understood.

Micah’s out of the saloon first when you two finish eating, focus trained on you as you thank the bartender for everything. He doesn’t hear the trampling hooves coming his way, and he seems almost shocked when you’re rushing forward, grabbing onto his coat and dragging him forward. A young man rushes by on a horse, an obnoxious leaving his lips.

“You need to be more careful,” you chuckle as you look up at Micah. You were sure he’d be ranting and raving by now, promising to teach the kid a lesson. You’re surprised when he reaches out, however, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you into his chest, lips crashing onto yours. The shock lasts only for a bit before you melt into his embrace, moving in sync with him. One hand rests on his bicep while the other goes to his cheek, your fingers threading through his beard. You finally break away after a while, abruptly when you feel him try to reach lower. The hand that was on his cheek is pulled back, just for a moment, before it’s making contact again in a sharp slap. He’s stunned, but there’s a smile on his face and he’s laughing.

“What was that for?” you ask, face red as you cross your arms.

“I thought ya might like it,” he responds. You’re almost at a loss for words. Truth be told, you had liked it. He had taken you by surprise, and he had even been gentle with you.

“I might’ve if you asked!” you shoot back. You turn your heels, and decide it’s time to end the night. You didn’t get to hear much about Micah. Didn’t get to know him any better, and that kiss only fueled your desire for more. “You comin’?”

“And just where are we goin’, doll?” he asks, jogging to catch up with you. “To get a room,” you tell him. Eyebrows raised, he sends you a smug grin. “Figure we can get to know each other more without the rest of the gang listenin’.”

“Oh, I have a feelin’ we’ll be getting to know each other real well,” he purrs. He snakes his arms around your waist and pull you close, and you have to pry yourself away with another smack.

“You don’t get anything if you don’t behave!” you scold him, and he gives you a playful pout. This would be a long night, but maybe, just maybe you’d reward the man if he didn’t act out again.

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #micah bell #gn!reader #micah x gn!reader #I headcanon the man on the horse to be The Boy tbh

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occasionalrpmemes · 4 years

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Will Wood: the Normal Album Sentence Starters

lines taken from the 2020 album. edit as desired. tw: violence, disordered eating, gender dysphoria, mental illness, substance abuse, suicidal ideation, death

01. Suburbia Overture: Greetings from Mary Bell Township! / (Vampire) Culture / Love Me, Normally

“Trick or treat. Merry Christmas.”

“Howdy neighbor!”

“Thank you Jesus!”

“It don’t look like survival, but buy now or die.”

“You’re not alone.”

“The lights are on, but no one’s home.”

“Takes a village to fake a whole culture.”

“Home is where the heart is- You ain’t homeless, but you’re heartless.”

“It’s the safest on the market.”

“You still gotta watch where you park it.”

“Give me your half-life crisis.”

“I can tell that you know where paradise is.”

“Parasites don’t care what your blood type is.”

“A snowflake only matters in a blizzard.”

“Everyone knows that nobody knows that.”

“Well, word gets around on hit number stations.”

“Smile and wave, boys, kiss the cook, live laugh and love, please pass the pills.”

“It’s only culture. It’s only culture. It’s only culture.”

“Didn’t they want your blood?”

“Why apologize when you turn blue and cold?

“Hey, fuck your culture.”

“Do you know the difference between blazing trails and slash-and-burn?”

“Hey, you’re only mortal.”

02. 2econd 2ight 2eer (well, that was fun, goodbye)

“The devil made me do it, but I also kinda wanted to.”

“Forget bored stiff, I got rigor mortis.”

“My third eye’s open and I like what I see.”

“If you knew what I knew, if you saw what I see- ”

“But I got facts and I’m not afraid to use ‘em.”

“I’m getting better one forever at a time.”

“If sick is defined by what’s different, well then pull the plug out and let me die.”

”Who I am, I choose through all the things I do.”

“If it rhymes, it’s true, but I hate poetry.”

“Well that was fun, goodbye.”

03. Laplace’s Angel (Hurt People? Hurt People!)

“Have you ever died in a nightmare? Woke up surprised you hadn’t earned your fate?”

“Have you ever felt like Atlas, threw your back out on the axis, and collapsed and threw the planet away?”

“Nobody dies agnostic.”

“Nobody dies agnostic, but we still dial 9-1-1.”

“Am I really that bad?”

“Whatever you think of me, if you were in my shoes, you’d walk the same damn miles I do.”

“With my head up in the clouds, I can see so much ground.”

“From up here, you look like ants in a row.”

“It doesn’t take a killer to murder. It only takes the reason to kill.”

“The difference twixt fate and free will is whether you’re singing.”

“You wash your hands of where you’ve been until you flood the second floor. Neatly fold your skeletons, but still can’t shut the closet door.”

“The only ones in need of love are those who don’t receive enough.”

“You could break an angel’s fall, and ignore the Devil’s call.”

“It’s a small hell after all.”

“Man, no more than animal, is made of moral chemicals.”

“If you were in my shoes, you’d see I wear the same size as you.”

04. I / Me / Myself

“I’ve been feeling lightheaded since I lost enough weight to fit back in my skin.”

“Am I pretty now?”

“For some reason, I find myself lost in what you think of me.”

“I wish I could be a girl, and that way you’d wish I could be your girlfriend, boyfriend.”

“Am I pretty enough to lie to?”

“Just little old me in a big, big world.”

“I’ve been feeling lighthearted since I gained enough weight back to cover my bones.”

“You’ll be walking out early, but the show must go on.”

“No, I know that I’m wrong. But I love how you’re on my side when I cross that line.”

“It’s been a point of contention between myself and this body that they stuck me in.”

“The privilege of being born to be a man.”

”I am quantum physics; my witness brings me into existence.”

”Am I pretty enough to love back?”

“Am I pretty enough to fucking die?”

“I wish-”

“Don’t you think that there’s a chance that you could live without it?”

05. ...well, better than the alternative

“My daughter’s growing up. She’s gonna be a lot like me, but I don’t wanna be at all like me.”

“I don’t wanna be at all like me.”

“You’re telling me I’m holding up eleven fingers.”

“Stranger things than death can happen.”

“Everybody knows that nobody knows that.”

“Everybody’s in on everybody’s business.”

“This isn’t my first Christmas, I know mistletoe when I see it.”

“Baby, could you play along with me?”

“Baby, would that be alright with you?”

“When we find out what’s wrong with me, could you tell me how I’m right for you?”

“Could you tell me how I’m right for you?”

“Could you tell me if I’m still pretty?”

“If they could see the future back when times were simple...”

“If everyone’s sick, well then, nobody can catch it.”

“Everybody’s all up in my god damn business.”

“This isn’t my first kiss.”

“It’s better to be lost than loved, now, isn’t it?”

“Everybody’s all up in my motherfucking business!”

“This isn’t my first anything.”

“After all of that’s been done to me, could you tell me how, could you tell me how, could you tell me—”

“What’s so wrong about what’s wrong with me?”

“I’m just trying to do what’s right by you!”

06. Outliars and Hyppocrates: a fun fact about apples

“Did you know that the hole in the apple didn’t come from the outside in? It was eaten from the core and out to the skin, and that’s why you’ll never find the worm in it.”

“The disease is defined by its treatment.”

“You people make me sick.”

“Who’d want to be human anyway?”

“Why’d you come into this world or come out that way?”

“Isn’t it funny? Well, not "ha-ha" funny, but y’know, funny.”

“I doubt that you would even if you could change.”

“You think it makes you special, but it makes you strange.”

“The things that make you special are the things that make you strange.”

“I am the shadows cast aside by gallows, and you the red-hot sky.”

“And if you’re believers, then why would you grieve for the dead, instead of a devil that you never prayed for?”

“Too weird to love, too scared to die. Too alien to take you home.”

“Who’d want to belong to anyone?”

“I mean, what do people even do?”

“If you love me, let me let you go.”

“Five more minutes, please? You wouldn’t believe the dream I just had.”

07. Black Box Warrior - OKULTRA

“Bless the torpedoes!”

“For what? For what??”

“For what it’s worth, if it was going to kill you, boy, it would have by now.”

“There’s no more looking back, it’s looking up or looking down.”

“Wonder if Christ-Consciousness would charge a cancellation fee.”

“Auf wiedersehn! Au revoir!”

“Hello, welcome. Why don’t you take a seat? Get comfortable, relax, take a second if you need to.”

“Now, what’s bothering you?”

“Well, why don’t we start at the beginning?”

“Growing up, how was your relationship with the fundamentals of conscious existence?”

“Did you die before your day?”

“You got a better idea? It’s about the best we could come up with.”

“What, you think ideas spread because they’re good? No, they spread because people like them.”

“So here we are once again. Holding, as it were, a mirror up to your mirror.”

“I guess it’s just something people do!”

“You learn to be an animal instead.”

“I never did think you better than this.”

“It’s you who are the problem. Not the things you do, but something sick inside.”

“Boy, you really is defective.”

“Offer up your innocence, please ignore the side effects.”

“You’ve lost your mind and almost lost your life before, so you’ll be fine!”

“Why would you want to look back? I mean, it’s no good looking back. So try to look forward now.”

“For what it’s worth, if they were gonna get you boy, they would have by now.”

08. Marsha, Thankk You for the Dialectics, but I Need You to Leave.

“They could prescribe you any illness you’d like if you define the terms of your ailments.”

“A crow don’t know the smell of carbon monoxide.”

“How many years have you been on that couch?”

“Your draw a line in the sand where it ends and you begin, but the tide rolls in, so who knows?”

“A little identity never hurt nobody, but lately you’ve been focusing too much on yourself.”

“How many milligrams of you are still left in there?”

“Back in my day, we didn’t need no feel-good pills and no psychiatrists. We just drank ourselves to death. And god damn it, we liked it!”

“What’s a symptom, what’s a flaw, can it be both?”

“Well, I suppose that’s an answer.”

“Would you give up your humanity for just a touch of sanity?”

“They’ve discovered a cure for the symptoms of being alive. It’s a painless procedure with a low rate of failure, but very few patients survive.”

“And a little conformity never hurt nobody, but lately I’ve been worried that you’re losing yourself.”

“What’s my prognosis?”

“Disease is in the eye of the beholder.”

“Tell me ‘so it goes.’”

“Better safe than sorry, and we both know the danger.”

“So doctor, could you run another test?”

“If our harmonies don’t sync, we can change our voices.”

“Don’t heed no evil wills of moral nihilists.”

“Don’t you make me waste my breath.”

“GOD DAMN IT!”

“Does aspirin kill you with the pain?“

“You’re not your thoughts, you’re not your brain, you’re just the character you’ve made.”

“What seem like separate body parts come together to believe they’re you, and not just chemistry.”

“It’s not the way that you were raised, or what the advertisements say.”

“It’s not what you pay for, what you pray for, what you want, or what you say.”

“Something tells me that you need, forgive me now if I misspeak--”

“Something tells me you prefer to be sitting there flipping through those old issues of People.”

“Well, that’s our time. See you next week.”

09. Love, Me Normally

“In lipstick on the mirror are the lyrics to my obituary.”

“Crossing my eyes, dot my T’s.”

“I was delivered holding scissors.”

“I live deliberately, I’m a quitter.”

“I never agreed to participate in this game.”

“Won’t follow my dreams, cause they all got me waking up screaming.”

“I’d rather be normal. Yes, so normal.”

“I suggest that we keep this informal.”

“A normal human being wouldn’t need to pretend to be normal.”

“Well, I guess that’s the least that I owe ya.”

“C’mon, c’mon, and love me normally.”

“If I could live in third person, well, I don’t think life would be much worse than it is.”

“Is it courageous or escapist to leave the quarantine when you’re contagious?”

“It may just be a cold. And besides, I don’t wanna get old.”

“I drank myself to death to be the afterlife of the party.”

“When the afterparty came, I was rolling in my grave.”

“Now, this is the part of the song where I talk to my audience.”

“There’s something I want from you hepcats tonight.”

“I want you to look to your left. Look to your right. Your twelve o’clock, three o’clock, six o’clock, nine o’clock, rock around the clock tonight–”

“I want you to find those points of no return, those singularities, those burning rings of fire in the beautiful pupils and the beautiful eyes of the beautiful boy, girl, neither, both, or in-between that you brought with you tonight. And I want you to tell ’em how you really feel!”

“Jam that square peg in the round hole in their hearts!”

“You love them exactly the way that everybody else is.”

“I was nothing before, so I couldn’t have asked to be born. I’ll be nothing again, so what am I between now and then?”

“Is there nothing to fear? Cause shit’s getting weird.”

“So to God who made this man: you better have one hell of a plan.”

10. Memento Mori: the most important thing

“If you’re lucky you’ll be surrounded by the ones that you love, when the lights in your eyes fade and life flashes by.

“One day you’re going to die.”

“Heaven, hell, nirvana, nothing, no one knows how it ends.”

“Rest in peace— or pieces.”

“Read your horoscopes, your palms and tarot cards. But either way your destination ain’t very far.”

“You could drown, or choke, or burn, or be hit by a car.”

“What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, but something will eventually.”

“One day you’ll look back at the life that you lead. No more future left to fear that you’ll have the past to regret.”

“But your worries will be over if you truly realize— one day you’re going to die!”

“Take it away, hands!”

“In the fabric of time and in the vastness of space, a billion amounts to nothing in infinity’s face.”

“Your life never mattered, so who cares if it's a waste?”

“Well, one day you’ll be not even a faint memory.”

“You’ll never know what it all means.”

“Just keep this in mind: that everything and everyone goes with the passage of time.”

“No need to fear, ’cause when it’s here, you won’t be alive.”

“Try not to think about it!”

“So if you only have one chance, you oughta try your best to live as you like.”

#rp memes #sentence starters #dialogue prompt #writing prompt #wwattw

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roodllle · 4 years

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Year in Review - Animal Crossing New Horizons

I started writing this review/criticism in May of 2020 but decided to update it as the year went along and post it on the anniversary of NH’s release. I would like to preface that this is mostly going to be full of questions of criticisms, I love this game. I have not been able to put it down since I got it on March 20th. My first AC game was NL and then I played HHD. I was ecstatic when they announced NH at E3 2019 and kept trying to find other games to fit in my AC shaped hole in my heart but I wasn’t able to fill it till this game came out. I feel like the pace of the game is great with how you build up to unlocking terraforming and 5 stars, and I feel like the updates are well timed especially with how crazy 2020 was for everybody. That being said there were some things that irked me.

Some of the points I will bring up came from other people/commenters I have seen on here, Discord, Reddit, and Twitter that I also agree with. Some other points are from Youtubers such as ShayMay and ChuyPlays. And others are from me.

With that out of the way, let’s get on with the review. Warning, I guess, don’t expect this to be an essay, this is just a patchwork quilt made up of thoughts.

Terraforming

I wish cliffs/tiers had a smaller level? Like how we’re able to make stepping stones for our rivers if we don’t want to put a bridge down/use our vaulting pole. I just wish there was a cliff alternative.

Another cliff alternative would be if we could put bridges between cliffs. I think we’ve all been there where we see this picture

thought ‘we can do that!!” then realized it was photoshopped

When we go into terraforming, I wish a grid showed up on our island. It would make it much easier to avoid hitting the wrong square when I’m trying to change a river.

Having us be able to “close” a waterfall from a lower level but not create a new on at the same spot.

Also the fact we can add a 4th tier but can’t put anything on it is just strange to me. I know we have to have a limit to how high we can go, but at least let me put nature stuff, such as trees/flowers/bushes, on top of it instead of just a flat piece of land.

Houses

Why no ceiling items? Find it odd they added a bunch of stuff in HHD and didn’t add that to the new mainline game

There’s no reason I can think of to why we can’t access our storage when we’re crafting inside our house.

Buildings

Dodo Airlines

The Dodo Islands right now are very boring and barely use them. I have enough money and materials to not go farming and save up all my NMTs for when I go villager hunting, which has also become a rarity. I think it would be a good idea to make some islands seasoned themed. Have them be all rare, but have an island where it’s fall and has maple leaves falling, a cherry blossom one, one with snowflakes. I wouldn’t recommend they make Holiday themed ones, but having seasonal ones would be nice.

When I mess up a dodo code or accidentally hit ‘make a bridge’ instead of incline, etc. why do I have to restart the ENTIRE conversation instead of the characters just being “oh? did you mean “x” or “would you like to retype it?” like is it that hard??

Resident Services

As much as I love Isabelle this game has made me very indifferent towards her. I think they gave her a role that didn’t need to exist. They could have either let us roam around without any warnings to who was roaming around our island, in the campsite, or any weather updates. Just have us rely on our villagers, the TV, and our eyeballs. OR they could have given us a social media like app and/or a weather app. Instead, they gave us Isabelle that only announces something once a month.

Nook’s Cranny

This might just be me but can they add a little DIY area in the store? Maybe just make to where you can only customize things?? This is more out of convenience than an actual problem

Speaking of customization, since you can make medicine but also buy can we do the same for the custom kits and bait. Like make it where we can buy bait and also make our own custom kits? I just think it’s weird that they give us either/or for medicine but not for the other 2 that I honestly use way more than medicine.

Why do the Able Sisters get to have all of the colors of an item in their shop but Nook’s Cranny can’t? And why can’t we just be able to customize all items that have multiple looks/colors? Example, why can’t I just be able to change the wood type for the antique set instead of having to buy each one? I get that the furniture catalog is already small, but that’s not my fault. They’ve decided to not add past furniture sets into NH.

Able Sisters

Let us multi select clothes instead of it just being how much we can wear. idc if it’ll just put those clothes in our personal storage and then we’ll have to run home and put it in that storage, I just hate having to walk back in and out every time I want a dress in multi colors. ALSO tell us if we already bought it, like a little storage icon or something

Why can’t we hang any article of clothing on the back wall, why do we have to either make it or have the OG qr designer come to our island?

Why can’t we have the transparent option when designing clothes? I think it would make many designer’s lives easier instead of having to make 8 versions of the same outfit.

NPCs

I have played this game almost every day since it came out, minus 2 days. I have also been able to make friends on discord that help with trading/cataloging/etc. I have all of Saharah’s, Kicks’, Label’s, and Redd’s items. I have all of the fish/bug models I want and have no desire to “catch them all”. I haven’t talked to Wisp in months because I have most of the items and his idea of “expensive” is 10k bells. The only NPC I actively look forward to is Celeste because even though I now have all of her DIYs, she still gives out star fragments, regular large or horoscope, when I talk to her.

What I’m wondering is if they’re planning on doing anything else with these characters. Before I speak further I’m going to weed out characters that I am actually fine with. CJ and Flick will always be there if I want a bug/fish model, I understand that Saharah/Kicks/Redd have a ton of stuff to get and w/o the help of my discord friends, I probably wouldn’t have gotten everything till late 2021.

So that leaves Label and Wisp. I understand Wisp is there for beginners, but now that I’m at a point where I am a bell millionaire and have most of the Nook’s items cataloged, there is no reason for me to talk to him. I wish Nintendo had put in a system where depending on the person who Wisp is talking to, it determines how much money you have in your bank account/looks at your catalog, Wisp’s item’s worth goes up.

As for Label...I never saw her as viable. I also thought the tickets were dumb and you don’t even have to talk to her to have her items show up in the shop the next day. I think it would be great if when you bought all of her items, she decided to join the Able’s sisters in their shop like in NL and then have Gracie show up in her place for the weekly NPC.

Where is Blanca? Or Brewster? Or Shrunk, Katrina, Gracie, or Kapp’n and his family? I understand we will probably never see characters like Harriet or Pete because they have been replaced by a new system, but what is the excuse for these other characters? I’m hoping they show up in year 2 of NH but...we’ll see.

Villagers

I think having your first villagers living in basic homes is a good idea but one that quickly gets annoying. I found Sherb while villager hunting for the 1st time and have had him ever since, but his house is stuck at basic lazy setup. Instead of me going back and forth on whether or not i should trust somebody enough to hold Sherb, get somebody else out, then get him to move back to my island, You can have it to where you let them leave, then just wait till he comes to the campsite to visit and reinvite him. You get his actual house and he still remembers you. This could also go for you accidentally letting somebody go or letting somebody go then regretting it. Also it’d be fun to see some old villagers again.

I was curious and looked back on past games to see how many new villagers were released each game and NH has been the least amount. NL released 112 new villagers in total while NH has released 8. I’m hoping they might release more down the line but, hella disappointing imo. Along with the Sanrio update and adding those characters to the game, I am more hopeful that they’ll be adding new characters!

Having an “event” of sorts where you visit a villager’s house and they’re looking inside their closet. They look at you in surprise when you walk in and sheepishly explain that they were going through their clothes/items. They then decide to ask you for help since they can’t decide what to get rid of/what to keep and think you have a good eye for that sort of thing. Basically, a way to get rid of any clothes/items your villager somehow received bc I guess Isabelle scolding them isn’t enough.

A big problem I feel like everybody has is the villager dialogue. Yes they added sub personality types for each personality but they are not perfectly cut in half, ex. are the Sisterly types where there are 4 B types and 20 A types, like?? How I have “fixed” this problem is by having one of each personality type on my island so I always have different conversations with my villagers, but I understand not a lot of people do that. Some people just want normal/peppy types on their island bc they’re cute as hell, I get it. I know it would be...difficult to come up with unique dialogue for all 399 villagers, including Sanrio, but....you could at least for the “gimmicky” villagers. Some examples of these villagers are Ribbot and Sprocket, Lucky and Ankha, the super hero squad, and Kabuki.

Quality Life stuff

Why cant we sit AND wish on stars? And I don’t mean the sit emote; why can’t I sit on a bench and wish on stars?

It sucks when I’m about to hit my rocks or just do a lot of dig work and then my shovel breaks in the middle of it. To show the tool is about to break, cracks should start to form on the handle and get deeper/longer as you keep using it, starting when you have 5 uses left. You can also add an auditory element by making the tool sound like its struggling when you are using it. Net/Shovel/Axe/Fishing Pole can have cracks show up on the handle, Slingshot can have crack show up at the bottom of the 2 spokes while having 1 at the top of the handle. And the watering can have cracks at the base of the can.

If our inventory is full when I dig up a flower, why can’t I replace it with another flower to bury? And if I can dig up an item at an diagonal item, I should be able to bury it again at the same angle.

Other

Having more...liveliness?? on the island, idk how else to say it. Example is whenever you travel by plane there's a chemtrail in the sky afterwards, maybe just seeing other planes go by throughout the day. Maybe you can get a hint Redd or Gulliver will be visiting you tomorrow if you see their boats beyond the horizon, Redd’s just crusin’ and the Gulls’ boats looking messed up. On a week where you don't have a new camper, maybe have an old villager visit. That leads me too

I wish villager’s doors could count as “exterior decorating” and we can just put any ornamental on there instead having to hope that your villager will put the wreath on their own door.

Conclusion

If you read this whole thing holy shit, thanks!! Go treat yourself on my part lol If you disagreed with me or whatever feel free to chat with me about it!

#roodle speaks #animal crossing new horizons #acnh #animal crossing #ac #acnl #animal crossing new leaf #qtiepie

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remijaecrowley · 5 years

Text

Feed the Hunger

Just a short fic of our favorite bumbling boys and one trickster of a succubus Bard. Song lyrics from “Animal” covered by Chase Holfelder. Listen to it and imagine it being sung in that style by a female and you got my succubus. XD

Geralt grumbled as he had to push his way through the crowded tavern, that Jaskier had BEGGED him to bring him to, to reach the bar, tossing down a few coins and holding up two fingers to the Barkeep for two pints of ale. The barkeep nodded when he saw the Witcher, quickly sliding two large pints to Geralt before scooping the coins off the bar and dropping them in his apron pocket.

Geralt nodded in thanks before turning and muscling his way through the crowd again, holding the mugs high above the heads of the humans that had packed the small tavern house. He didn't get what was so impressive to have this many humans gather for a bard, but he knew his own Bard was thrumming with excitement over getting to hear this particular Trobairitz. The Witcher had to listen to the Bard's excited babbling all the way to Toussaint. While he loved his little songbird, sometimes, he had to fight the urge to strangle the Bard just for a moment of peace and quiet when Jaskier got wound up over something.

The Witcher made his way through the crowd to his Bard, who had taken up residence at a small table as close to the stage as he could get. Geralt watched Jaskier for a moment, before the bard noticed his Witcher was watching him. The Bard's nervous, excited energy made the bard seem to vibrate in his seat. The Witcher rolled his eyes as he slammed a mug in front of the Bard on the table, causing Jaskier to jump, letting out a very undignified squeak.

"Fuck! Geralt! Stop startling me like that, you big burly bastard! Had me thinking one of the locals was trying to take our seats for a second there...and I will fight anyone who tries it....well, more likely yell loudly til they either give up or you come and scruff them." The bard harrumphed at first, though ending his conniption with a grin that made the Witcher roll his eyes again. Geralt hmmm'ed at the Bard as he settled himself in his chair, not liking being so out in the open, much preferring to be in a corner of the room with two sides guarded by walls, so as to make being on guard easier. He definitely did NOT like having his back to the crowd, so the only table he and the Bard could finally agree on where the Bard would have a good view and the Witcher felt it was a bit easier to defend was off to the left of the stage, Geralt able to set his back to a column at least.

Jaskier took a long sip off his Ale, leaning over toward Geralt to murmur," The show should be starting soon. I wonder what this new bard's schtick is? We all have one. Mine is singing songs of the adventures of the White Wolf..."the bard grinning at Geralt, "Others do dancing or whatever. For this bard to be THIS popular, they must have one hell of a...." the Bard's words trailing off as the crowd around them started to cheer as a woman stepped out on the stage.

Both men had seen some surreal beauties in their travels, but this woman even made the magically enhanced beauty of Yennefer pale ever so slightly. Skin that gleamed as if dusted with honey powder, hair that hung to her waist that shone like the darkest rubies, and eyes....well, the eyes were what struck Jaskier hard, having him elbowing the Witcher sharply and his whispered, "Her eyes, Geralt! Her eyes....they are like yours!"

Geralt grunted at the elbow, giving the Bard a glare that would make lesser men quail in fear. All Jaskier did was roll his eyes and whisper, "Yes, yes, scary face. I KNOW, Giralt."

The Songstress laughed softly at the cheering, her laughter like crystal bells ringing through the room. She bowed to her audience and grinned playfully. "Good eve, my darlings! Thank you all for coming to my modest concert. I am your humble Bard, Ilana. May my songs be found pleasing and your hearts...and coin purses, opened!" The crowd chuckled at her comment about coin purses as she nodded to her musicians to start playing. Soon, her voice rang out, weaving a spell over the patrons of happiness and joy as she sang of epic battles won, lovers united, and destiny. The crowd had quieted down as she started singing, unlike when Jaskier would do his little impromptu shows while he and the Witcher were on the road. Jaskier felt a little jealous, but at the same time, he couldn't truly be jealous. He felt too happy to feel jealousy at the moment and he was enjoying this feeling.

Geralt, on the other hand, was frowning. The only frown in the packed tavern and he was frowning because his medallion was vibrating against his chest. The Songstress took note, a small smirk playing on her lips as she finished a song, the crowd cheering happily. She held up a hand to ask for quiet and the audience settled down for her as she spoke,"I see we have a hero in our midst, my darlings. The famed Geralt of Rivia, the White Wolf Witcher is here. I think it would be a perfect time for me to sing one of my new songs, in honor of our hero, don't you think?"

The crowd cheered louder at the idea and Geralt's eyes narrowed, a low growl escaped him as he went to make a grab for Jaskier. The fact his medallion was dancing a jig against his chest meant to Songstress wasn't human and was something that could use it's voice to control people. A siren, or maybe a succubus of some sort, though he wasn't sure and the fact he wasn't sure made him feel uneasy. He wanted to get Jaskier and himself out of there NOW, before she started to sing again.

He tried to make a grab for the bard, but found himself unable to move. a thunderous look crossed the Witcher's face as he struggled to move, but he felt pinned to the seat, the golden cat eyes of the Songstress were on him, as if she was pinning him with her very gaze. He grunted, trying to move, only managing a fidget in his seat. Jaskier was so enraptured with the Songstress, he wasn't even noticing that his friend was trying to get his attention.

The Musicians started playing the next tune , the music soft and slow as Ilana opened her mouth and the first dulcet words dripped from her lips.

Here we go again I kinda wanna be more than friends So take it easy on me I'm afraid you're never satisfied....

The words wiggle into the Witcher's mind, trying to strip him of his years of honed willpower. The words tickled at the thoughts he'd been supressing for a long while now. He couldn't give into those feelings. If he did.....if he did, Jaskier would be hurt possibly and that thought made a feeling he didn't feel very often rear up. Fear.

Ilana kept singing while the Witcher glared at her, a smirk pulling at her lips as she knew her spell was worming it's way into the Witcher, despite his years of training and his mutations, even a Witcher had a hard time fighting a succubus who sang as sweetly as a siren.

Oh, oh I want some more Oh, oh What are you waitin' for? Take a bite of my heart tonight Oh, oh I want some more Oh, oh What are you waitin' for? What are you waitin' for? Say goodbye to my heart tonight

Jaskier glances at Geralt, finally noticing the Witcher hadn't grunted or moved in a bit, noticing now that the Witcher was in a locked eye match with the Songstress singing, as if she was serenading the Witcher. OF COURSE. She wanted a piece of Geralt, but then, he was a terribly handsome man so Jaskier couldn't blame her. At the same time though, a spark of jealously flickered in the Bard's heart as his gaze moved from Witcher to Singer and back again.

The music takes on a stronger beat, more insistent as Ilana sings, her body swaying to the rhythm on her song, her golden eyes never leaving the Witcher's face, the smirk on her lips as she sang growing wider as she saw the Witcher's eyes start to glaze over. Good....her spell was working and soon he would give into his desires, which was exactly what she wanted. She wanted him to pounce, maul, devour the one he desired, to release all that tasty, tasty repressed and pent up energy in him. She didn't understand why he would deny himself something he desired, something that would bring him pleasure, but then, her skill set was perfect for this. Tempt, tease, bring her prey to the point of begging for it, then releasing them on their heart's desire, feeding off the energy as the lust was consummated.

Here we are again I feel the chemicals kickin' in It's gettin' heavier I wanna run and hide I wanna run and hide....

Oh, she knew the Witcher wanted to escape. She could feel him resisting. The more they resist, the more delicious the final result. She poured all her power into her words, knowing it would leak over to the rest of the audience and....yeah, there might be a few affairs this evening, or a few new surprise babies to be had, but she wanted to feed off the Witcher. She would make him submit to his desires. She hadn't lost a battle of wills like this before and she didn't plan on it tonight.

.......And I won't be denied by you The animal inside of you!

Jaskier actually growled a little himself at the lyrics, realizing they were aimed at his Witcher and that spark of jealousy was slowly being fanned into a flame. First he had to deal with Yennefer's claim on Geralt and now this...this...this singing hussy was trying to seduce Geralt in front of the whole damn audience with him sitting right next to the Witcher! Though....he had to admit, the words made him a bit tingly...thinking of Geralt...wanting to be more than just his best friend. He'd wanted to be more pretty much since day bloody one with the blasted dense man, but Geralt always kept him at arms length.....unless he was injured, or it was cold, or he needed to shake some sense into the Bard.

The tune dipped low and quiet again as Ilana sang, her voice nearly heart breakingly sweet.

Hush, hush, the world is quiet Hush, hush we both can't fight it It's us that made this mess Why can't you understand? Oh, I won't sleep tonight...

Geralt's eyes shifted from Ilana to the bard next to him. The words echoing through his thoughts, "Hush, hush, we both can't fight it...." Why HAD he been fighting something that he wanted so much that just looking at the bard made his loin ache and his chest tighten? Why was he denying something that they both obviously wanted, just that Geralt was being a stubborn bastard and not wanting to have someone else feeling bound to him. He knew if he gave into this...this want, this longing for the Bard that he had been fighting, Jaskier would be bound to him as tightly if not more so than Yennefer was. That thought terrified the Witcher. He didn't want to bind the human to him but if he gave into his hunger, his desire, he wouldn't let Jaskier go ever again.

The music grows louder, faster, as Ilana's voice rings out, her arms extended out, hands grasping out to the audience, towards Geralt, her words burrowing into the Witcher, making that iron will crack under the assault of her power, her demand that he give into his desires, that he give into her command to give himself over, to be free.

Oh, oh, I want some more Oh, oh, What are you fighting for? Take a bite of my heart tonight. Oh, oh, I want some more! Oh, oh, What are you fighting for! What are you fighting for?

The songstress' eyes slid shut as she felt it. She felt that iron will snap under the demand of "What are you waiting for? What are you fighting for?", a devilish grin stretched across her lips as her golden eyes fell on the Witcher, watching him launch himself up from his chair finally as the audience around him cheered for the song. A smug look graced the singer's face as she watched the Witcher grab his Bard next to him and yank him to his feet. Ohho! This was not what she was expecting at all! The smug look grew into a huge grin as she watched the Witcher manhandle his Bard out of the stage area and muscle him up the stairs.

Ilana took in a deep, deep breath, the grin on her face wouldn't go away now. She could feel the energy flowing over the inn/tavern in thick waves. She was suddenly glad humans couldn't sense lust, desire, and love like she could. There might have been an all out orgy at that point with the energy coming from the room somewhere upstairs where a Witcher finally gave into his heart's desire and his Bard was thinking it was about fucking time!

#one shot #the witcher netflix #the witcher #geralt x jaskier #geraskier #geralt of rivia #Jaskier #witcher fanfiction #no beta #i will go down with this ship

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infptarius · 5 years

Text

Play With the Clown

This is the first thing I have written to post to Tumblr. I hope my fellow clownfuckers enjoy, this is NSFW. (18+ ONLY) PART 1

The sound of the door slamming shut behind you made your rattled nerves jump, and you turned to see the way into the decrepit house on Neibolt St. closed tightly behind you. ‘Just a peek,’ you had thought when you entered. A peek indeed. You were aware of the things people said about this house. You’d heard the place was haunted, that homeless people stayed here, that people had died here. Curiosity was a hell of an incentive to do the stupidest things, you supposed. Turning back to the interior of the house, cobwebs dripped from the cracked ceiling, and dead leaves crunched beneath the soles of your shoes as you pressed onward, into the dim light filtering through grimy windows. You felt anxious, sweat beaded on your skin as goosebumps raised along your arms and neck. You could feel eyes watching you, but you saw no one else. You heard no one else, either. “Hello?” Your voice sounded meek as it rang through the abandoned structure, crumbling walls sending decaying echos of your own call back to your straining ears.

As you listened intently, you found that there WAS another sound. Soft tinkling bells sounded in a room down the hall you were currently exploring. The fear that was building in your veins like a buildup of ice around your frantically pounding heart faded slightly at the sound.

It seemed so... welcoming? Wrong? Both of these things, in fact, were true. Your feet carried you forward into a room that seemed impossibly dark. The moment you crossed the threshold, it was like being blindfolded.

You turned on your heel to exit the room, but saw no doorway from whence you had come. A solid wall met you as you attempted to walk, hoping to pass through to the hallway once more.“Oh FUCK!” you scream, fists balled and pounding on this unexpected surface, your fear of confinement rearing its ugly head to make your heart ache in your chest.

A malevolent giggle catches your attention in the darkness. The sound made you cringe and twist away, sounding as though it had come from mere inches from your ear. “W-who are you?” Your voice quakes as you pose your question, betraying your trembling body even in complete darkness. “Who? Why, I’m Pennywise the Dancing Clown~!” The response comes quickly, in a false jovial tone. “Pennywise has found a friend, yes?” His uneven tone, rising and falling in strange ways make your stomach twist into knots with anxiety.

“Okay... Pennywise...” The name feels strange on your tongue as you struggle to calm yourself. “How... how do I get out of this room?” “Get Out?” he asks with a mirthful giggle, “You don’t Get Out of this room, silly. You stay, and you play with the clown~!” A soft glow emanates through the room, providing just enough illumination for you to make out the silhouette of the tall clown in his strangely designed suit standing before you. He is easily three heads taller than you, towering above with a face obscured in shadows.

The eyes, though... small points of light set deep into the darkness of the face you can almost see glimmer at you as you try to step back, pressing into the hard wall behind you.

“Ohhhh... You don’t want to play with the clown?” he asks in mock sadness, placing his hands against the wall to either side of you. He leans forward, and the rooms strange luminescence increases to bring you his visage. His chalk-white face with ruby lips and lines adorning his cheeks, rising up over his eyes of molten gold comes into focus, and you feel heat rise in your cheeks as an unnaturally long and pointed tongue snakes out from between his lips. The wet muscle drags a trail of chilly saliva from the bottom of your neck, right at the top of your collar bone up over your pounding pulse. It glides over the curve of your jaw, letting the tip flick upward as it comes away from your skin after tasting your cheek.

Sharp teeth glisten behind those plump, blood red lips, and you gasp softly when you feel the sudden pooling of tingling desire in your abdomen.

Pennywise pauses as this feeling unfurls inside you, his eyes drift slightly, his vision no longer sharply focused on your face. He huffs a few times, like a bear scenting its surroundings.

His face presses into the nape of your neck harshly and the air rushing over your skin as he breathes in makes your body shiver, nipples stiffening under your shirt.

“So you DO want to play with the clown...” he comments, a wide grin spreading over his mouth. “Play with Pennywise, yes... we can have so much fun together.” “Play with you?” You ask this with a still trembling voice, though the heat of desire slowly overtakes the terror that had originally settled into your bones. “If I do that... if I play with you, whatever you want to play, are you going to help me get out of here?”

Pennywise cackles at this inquiry, chilling your blood for a moment, before he leans himself down, nose to nose with you in the dimly lit room. “Sure, little thing. Play with me and I’ll let you go home... if you don’t break the rules~.”

“Rules?” you ask nervously. “W-what are the rules?”

Large, gloved hands grip your arms just beneath the shoulders and you feel yourself hoisted effortlessly into the air. You cry out softly in surprise, legs shaking as you feel yourself lowered to the floor again. “Rule Number One~,” the clown’s singsong voice filled with threat announces, “No screaming.” He chuckles to himself as though he finds the idea itself hilarious. You shiver and bite your lips together between your teeth.

“Rule Number Two~.” He raises a hand to touch your chin. The soft tearing of fabric meets your ears as blackened, sharp-tipped claws erupt from the glove. “No fighting.” A momentary blur of motion sends the sharp tips of his claw down through the fabric covering your body, shredding the front of your shirt, your pants and undergarments so that the clothing tumbles off of you uselessly. The cool air of the room makes you whimper softly.

The growing pressure in your belly ignites your nerves, and you feel tears gathering in your eyes at the aching need you feel to be touched, to be stimulated by this creature.

A low inhuman growl issues from Pennywise as his suit dissipates like vapor, exposing his lean, pale body to your eyes. His legs and arms appear blackened from the knees and elbows to his clawed digits. The image was strangely beautiful, before those clawed hands grabbed your arms and pulled you against that chilly, firm body.

His lips gleam with his saliva, a few cold drips landing on your collar bone and breast. You lean your head forward and press your own lips against his, eyes closing as you trust these instincts that burn and flare within your body to lead you to safety.

After a moment of shock, the vibration of his low growl of contentment makes your lips and tongue feel almost electrified, and you grind your thighs together at the heat that radiates from the swell of your slick sex.

He returns your kiss with surprising intensity, his tongue gliding around your own as his teeth prick your lips lightly, causing little droplets of blood to form and darken your lips to the same color as his own.

As he sucks and licks at your lips, a new sensation makes your core tighten and clench, a slick, smooth appendage glides against your hot slit. The aching entrance of your sex spasms as the slick tip glides over it, making its way to the throbbing bundle of your clit.

Thrusting your hips, you grind that aching bundle against him, knees shaking as jolts of pleasure crash through your terrified body. You moan into his mouth, even as he collects the tiny droplets of blood at your lips.

Struggling, you tilt your hips to place his tip at your entrance and wriggle against him. Complying with your silent plea, he bucks his hips forward. Slick flesh fills you, stretching your aching walls in sweet satisfying agony.

As he releases your mouth, your head tips back and a low moan issues from you as he stretches you around his appendage. His arms grip you tight against his chest, and his hips begin a rapid, merciless rhythm.

Your body flushes with pleasure even as your walls ache around him, the friction of his pulsing shaft against the sensitive flesh of your core sending showers of sparks and galaxies of stars through to the backs of your eyelids. Breathless whimpers are all you can manage as he holds you tight against his chest, fucking into your slippery heat in greedy, full thrusts.

He picks up his pace when your muscles spasm around him, an external hint at the mind-blanking intensity of pleasure that wracks your body as you come hard against him, eyes open and unseeing.

You feel the continued pace pick up as your senses return to you slowly. His breathing grows ragged in your ear, breath rushing over the side of your neck and ear as he pants, fucking into you like an animal in heat. His pelvis slaps loudly against your own with every thrust until you feel yourself crushed down against him, his shaft buried inside your body throbbing and hot, thick fluid seeping into you.

For a long moment, you’re held pinned against him, viscous release seeping out around him from your overfilled cunt. “Rule Number Three...” The sinister voice speaks in your ear as a sudden harsh shift in gravity sends you reeling. For a moment, you feel as though you’ve lost consciousness, until you find yourself being held above your bed, in your own bedroom. “When the clown wants to play, you play~.”

Dropping you unceremoniously on the bed, Pennywise gives you a malicious, sharp-toothed grin and vanishes with a pop!

You lay panting on your bed for a moment, wide-eyed with your heart hammering away in your chest. When you realize that you’re beginning to leak whatever strange seed you were filled with on your favorite blanket, you stand and walk toward your bathroom with quivering legs.

A mixture of dread and excitement boils within you as you wonder when the clown will be coming back to play again.

#clownfucker #pennywise #smut #pennywise x reader #dubcon #Play With The Clown

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space-blue · 4 years

Text

The Last Ingredient

A little bell peels in the air somewhere, comes muffled to our ears and makes me smile. It is proof that time still flows, that soon we'll return indoors, where breathing through your nose doesn't trigger a gagging reflex.

"Rachar, do you think the weather was a selling point when they decided to build our prison here?" I ask, panting.

"Totally. I can see the ad, 'atmosphere of the 6th circle of Hell, hot, humid, and thick as pudding.'"

I stare up at the ever shifting pattern of lush and exotic leaves, criss-crossing above our heads in a breeze we can see but never quite feel. Rachar, halfway through his thirty years sentence, jest as he might, is much more acclimatised than I ever wish to become.

"Don't you need my help for gathering more ingredients, Ira? I quite enjoy the rush of danger from those errands."

"No. No more errands," I say, "I only need one last ingredient, and..." I make a fluttering motion with my hand, mimic myself flying away. Free. "Soon now."

This news makes my friend stir and sit up. After three years of secretly brewing this potion, he must have thought me all talk.

"What is it, this last ingredient?"

I make a face up at him, peering into the eyes smouldering behind his own little jungle of tangled hair.

"It's something I'm not sure I can get."

"For real? But you've been so keen on escaping this whole time... Well, maybe it's for the best. Considered what they'd do to you if they catch you. I kinda like you, you know. I'd rather not see that done to you. No one gets out of here unless their time is up."

I don't know if it's respect or pity I feel surging in me when he speaks like this, him who won't rebel, won't try to escape. Who sits day after day in this green hell of a place, knowing there will be endless tomorrows made of the same infernal heat, the same corrosive dullness, the same absence of freedom. Making it out doesn't even matter. Trying is my only way to remain sane. I can't relate to his defeatism and meek acceptance. Not that it's easy to ever relate to Rachar, who was done in for running the biggest, most lethal cartel of drugs for were-animals Europe had ever seen, and killing, in his werebear form, five of the special-ops werewolves that were sent to arrest him. A sleek piece of remorseless trash, though a decent fellow one-on-one.

"Ira, you're growling."

"Sorry, mind wandered."

Rachar laughs, pats my hair with a hand monstrous enough to crush my skull in a squeeze. "Think of the future. When you finish brewing that potion of yours and pull a Shawshank over the eyes of Erikson and the crew."

"Don't go talking so loud, naming names and mentioning potions!" I sit up, unnerved. "The break is almost over."

"Ease up Ira, I'd know if anyone were around. I wouldn't let them lock you down with the bloodies either."

"Aye, like you could help it if they decided to."

Which is not the real problem. To determine the strength of new inmate magi, the prison's surgeons test the glands that secrete magica, always found in the armpits and throat. That test labelled me as a mere C-class magus, hardly a trouble to handle here. In comparison, A-class magi, like blood witches, are near impossible to catch alive. Meaning the handful of them we have in the basement make my werebear-druglord friend look like a philanthropist. They're kept with their hands in wet casts so they can't sharpen spelling tools, their teeth in moulds to keep them from biting themselves bloody. Not enviable. But people like me, with a little known organ tucked away behind the stomach, who can brew potions in their own bodies–potion being the romantic name for a magical bile–are extremely rare, and impossible to safely detain. A-class treatment wouldn't cut it. So long as I'm fed, I can always brew something annoying or even lethal to my handlers. S-class, maybe? As in Straight-to-firing-squad-class.

"Surely Erikson wouldn't let them take you away. The man is fond of you."

"Brewers are thought extinct since the mid 20th century. They'd probably dissect me, Rachar. Officers would not care for my being some guardian's pet prisoner."

"Eurk–well, I won't talk so... What's that last ingredient anyway?" His hand flies up before I can answer. "Speaking of the Devil," he mutters.

"Rachar, Ira, you two deaf? Didn't hear the second bell?"

The Devil indeed.

"Ah, Erikson. We were busy exchanging news, so much has happened since yesterday after all."

"You crazies shouldn't even be allowed to meet."

"Crazy? Nonsense, I'm a lamb."

"And I'm perfectly conscious of my actions."

"That just makes you a horrible person, Rachar."

Back in the cool bliss of air-con, I nod to him, a discrete salute I mean as an adieu, his looks are worried, but he tips me an invisible hat before turning away. So long, crazy friend. Up the stairs now, and following Erikson. Like every evening, my aisle is a mess of supernatural creatures and their supernatural gaolers, but I only have eyes for mine.

Erikson. I watch his blond head, his shoulders shifting under his miraculously crisp white shirt–what spell does the man use to keep them dry, I still wonder. By habit, I match his steps. Hateful habit, that makes my face relax, almost smile for him when he looks my way. Too long he's been my mindful captor. The man answering my calls, opening my door. The hand feeding me, the hand swiping me little things, when no one watches. He's a decent guy under the rough persona one needs to work in this jail, and I'm neck deep in Stockholm syndrome.

Erickson, for three years blind to my careful plotting. I hid it all from him, always playing the nice, reasonable lass, caught up in troubles bigger than her. Not the weirdo woman bargaining favours at every turn to obtain samples of hair, skin, blood, fabrics, spices... Stealing food, making some rot, pre-digesting others for the desired effects. Anything that might contain the ingredients my gut craves to continue its infernal distillation. Behind his broad back I've licked the walls of my cell, scratching my tongue over the lead paint till I nearly poisoned myself. It's an organic, messy trade. For three years I've brewed this concoction. Haltingly, with no known recipe, brought forth by my instinct and my need to escape, disappear, melt through walls–any will do so long as I get far away. Where Erikson won't be tearing at my mind, brushing my heart with the very fingers that turn the key in the lock of my cage.

"Ira, you're growling."

"Funny, that's the second time I've been told today." I pace down my little cell and back up to him.

"What is making you so tense?" he asks, leaning against the bars to talk with me.

Erikson. My last ingredient.

"Some internal turmoil over something I need but struggle to obtain."

"That's the point of jails."

"Aye, but smuggling doesn't usually get a magus in jail."

"You were smuggling human flesh!"

I shrug, give him a sad grin. "How would I have known? It was spelled."

He smiles back at me, a show of dimples. "Save it for the judges. Your appeal won't be delayed forever."

Erikson, who believes me when I lie. I step closer, curl my fingers around the cold steel bars. Looking up at him, I whisper, "will you miss me, when I'm gone?"

He frowns. Is it hatred, or love, festering in my pounding chest, that makes me flush and quiver as I wait for his answer?

"I'd like that; missing you. If it means you're acquitted."

The idea of missing him makes my mind trip over itself.

"I think I'd miss you too," I surprise myself saying, "but I don't think I'd like that at all."

I dive in the grey pools of his eyes, so close, like full moons pulling at the tides of my emotions. Erikson murmurs my name like a warning, but doesn't move. I'm on the tip of my toes and my fingers rubbing against the wondrous white shirt and the warm flesh behind it. His breath smells like mints and beer and magica. His lips are hot, firm but hesitant, like a cliched first kiss. His fingers are trailing my jaws, scorching my skin.

In one strong bite his blood comes gushing into my mouth. He cries, rending my heart–part free woman, part betrayer. I swallow my feelings along with coppery blood. There is a burning sensation in my guts as the last ingredient creates a chain reaction. The world dissipates in clouds of matter around me. Erikson's hands reach out but pass right through me. Through my victorious smile and my farewell nod like through a gentle wind.

I'm immaterial.

I'm free.

~~ August 2016 – Theme : Potion and elixirs

#original work #original story #competition #fantasy #magic

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callsignjxde · 4 years

Text

Later or Now?

It was on a cold Winter’s afternoon that Alora, a mediocre girl with a big heart and deep insight of the world was sitting on the curb just outside of her high school, a little after the last bell had rung for the day. The clouds had started to gather and darken overhead, casting a grey shadow over the town and dimming the world. Like insects, the ice-cold air bit at her skin. Her ears ached as the cold embraced them; she shivered. Alora took out her phone and took to scrolling on Instagram. Nothing out of the ordinary appealed to her; not the short anime clips or fashion tips and tricks. She scrolled and scrolled until something caught her attention. She slowly scrolled back up and saw a picture of someone’s legs. They were skinny, long legs styled with black jeans and red converse. They were angled upwards, as if the person were stretched out resting them on the windowsill. … Do I know this person? I don’t remember following them, Alora thought to herself. She lowered her gaze to the caption, which exclaimed, “My aunty and my mother kept calling me fat today. When will I ever be enough for anybody?” Alora sighed in pity. What a horrible thing to say to someone, she expressed in her mind.

Alora wasted no time in wanting to leave a comment. She gazed up toward the sky, whose clouds had started weeping, and tried to think of something kind and thoughtful to say. She furrowed her brows and let out a small sigh. Alora decided to type as she thought:

S1NS: “Hi! We’re not close, but I noticed that we’re following each other! If you ever need anyone to talk to, I’m always going to be right here for you. We don’t know each other, but I promise you that you are so special to me, and that my love for you runs deep. Also, for what it’s worth, you are beautiful.”

Alora hit send and took a deep, heavy breath. She hoped that she wasn’t out of place and didn’t sound too weird or creepy.

Deep in thought about this person, she trudged home while the crying clouds watched over her, as if her mood and the weather were one and the same.

Ping! Her phoned chimed as she sat in her room procrastinating that night, doing her very best to avoid her assignment that happened to be due very soon. She peeked at her phone screen and saw a direct message from Instagram user 69.shadesofblack. Ah, it’s that person whose post I commented on earlier, she thought. Alora excitedly opened the message and began to read and respond accordingly.

69: “Hey, I’m Caia. I saw your comment under my recent post, and I just wanted to say that I appreciate it very much.”

S1NS: “Oh hi! I’m Alora. I mean it! If you ever wanna talk, I’m always ready to listen without judgement.”

It wasn’t even to Alora’s knowledge that this was going to be the start of a beautiful, yet tragic friendship.

Days passed, then weeks, and eventually months. The two girls messaged every chance they had, conversing about all the things that made them smile and cry. They shared their dreams and hopes, and even their fears, too.

Caia had some good days, but her bad days unfortunately outweighed the good ones. She would message Alora exclaiming her desire to die and leave the world, to which Alora never failed to present Caia with hope, even if it was just a little bit.

In the beginning, Alora was happy that she could be used as Caia’s strength to hold onto life, in the hopes of her discovering something more in it, something better, something that she would find… worth living for. However, as the months passed and the world around Alora became colder and darker, she began to feel scared. She knew that if she failed to comfort Caia or make her feel better, she would slip right through her fingers. Despite this, Alora knew that there was only so much she could do, since they were oceans apart, yet she felt deep down that she would feel responsible for Caia if anything were to happen to her. Alora lost sleep and her grades plummeted. Her mind, her heart and her soul were with her friend. On the nights where she’d finally fall asleep after hours of haunting thoughts, she’d awaken from nightmares, a crying and hyperventilating mess. Covered in cold sweat and incredibly weary, Alora would unlock her phone to check and monitor the activity of user 69.shadesofblack, much like a hawk, eyeing its prey from above.

On a warm and sunny Winter’s morning a little before 8:30, Alora and Caia were deep in pleasant conversation. Alora smiled to herself as she sent her messages. After the conversation slowly died out, Alora slid her phone back into the pocket of her pants and lifted her head so that the sun caressed her face with its warm and lively touch. It was cool, but the warmth of the Winter sun warmed not only Alora’s skin, but her soul.

Ping!

The girl took her phone back out, unlocked it, and read:

69: “Also, btw before you go to class”

S1NS: “Yeah, C? What’s up?”

69: “Don’t ever leave me okay?

Never.

Ever.

Don’t even think about it.

I’ll come after you.”

S1NS: “Never in my life will that ever cross my mind.”

69: “Promise me.”

S1NS: “I promise, C. I promise that I’ll come and get you soon. I promise to get you out and take you far away from there. We’ll go places, you and I. I promise that you’ll be happy with me. You can be friends with my friends! I just know that they’ll love you. And my parents would love you too!”

69: “Thank you. For never giving up on me.”

S1NS: “… Thank you for being so brave.”

Alora felt her eyes well up with tears; she quickly wiped them. The bell rang for first period and, with the heaviness in her heart lifted ever so slightly, she marched off to class. It was the first time in awhile where she could breathe properly, where she could relax a little.

She was happy.

That evening, when she was free of hassle from her family and school assignments, Alora messaged Caia to see what she was up to:

S1NS: “Hiya bestie, I’m back!”

Minutes passed, then hours, without a response from Caia. She must be busy, Alora thought, so she put her phone down for the night.

Alora messaged again the next day, but there was still no response from Caia. Days eventually passed by in a blur, and Alora’s nightmares had become more frequent and more powerful. Eventually, Alora stopped sleeping altogether. She would camp under Caia’s profile, waiting for a sign that she’s safe and sound.

About 2 weeks had passed without a message from Caia. Frustrated, Alora decided to message as many of Caia’s followers as possible, questioning her possible whereabouts. No one knew where Caia had gone.

Feeling defeated and hopeless, Alora began to sob. Hot, salty tears started to stream down her cheeks. She watched her tears fall from her face to her lap. They reminded her of how the sky wept on that cold Winter’s day where she initiated a conversation with Caia. She remembered the cold air biting at her olive skin, numbing her. She remembered the lonely roads and the mist like rain that fell from the clouds. She remembered the sadness and worthlessness she felt from Caia’s Instagram post.

And then, in the darkness, her phone lit up as it chimed. Caia, Alora exclaimed happily with a sense of relief.

Wasting no time, she opened the message, only to read words that would shatter her heart into a million pieces:

69: “Hi, this is Erin. I’m Caia’s little sister. I’m messaging to let you know that my sister committed suicide last week, and that we recently just had her funeral.”

Alora’s heart sunk to her stomach. She felt her heart stop, and then felt it race faster and faster. She couldn’t breathe. Even so, she mustered up enough strength to message back.

69: “Hello?”

S1NS: “What the hell do you mean? You’re lying to me. STOP FUCKING LYING TO ME. THIS ISN’T SOMETHING YOU JOKE ABOUT.”

69: “Why the hell would I wanna tell people that my sister killed herself?! Whether or not you believe me, she’s DEAD.

And I’ve seen the messages you two sent each other.

You were supposed to protect her. You were supposed to make her happy.”

With tears streaming down her face, Alora clenched her fists and gritted her teeth.

S1NS: “My fault?! YOU’RE HER SISTER. I’M ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WORLD FOR FUCK SAKE. YOU’RE HER SISTER.”

69: “Goodbye. I’m closing this account now.”

S1NS: “WAIT DID SHE SAY ANYTHING BEFORE IT HAPPENED?!”

Erin deactivated Caia’s account, leaving Alora alone with no one but her thoughts and the night’s darkness, which was a very dangerous thing to do, most especially when Alora is angry with herself.

Alora couldn’t figure out why.

She sat in the corner of her room and let out a cry so hard, it rung breathless and soundless into the night. She pounded her head with her fists, unable to figure out where she went wrong. The silence of the night was loud and menacing. It frightened her to death. She beat the carpet beneath her in agony; she felt betrayed.

“You made me promise… You made me promise to never leave you so why.. Why did you leave me? Was it something I said? Was it something I did? … I’m sorry… I’m so fucking sorry.. But.. Why didn’t you come to me..? Why didn’t you let me help you..? Did you hate me that much? Did you even care about me at all?”

Alora wailed and bellowed into the night, with nothing but that menacing silence to answer her. She cried and cried until she cried herself breathless. Eventually, with hot, salty tears still falling from her weary eyes, Alora passed out.

An hour or two had passed, and the moon shone in the dark night. Its light seeped in through the crack in Alora’s curtains and caressed her tear stained face. She slowly awoke, praying to God that this was all just a terrible, terrible dream. Feeling empty and hopeless, she let her gaze be guided by the night sky through the gap in her curtains.

As she stared into the night, thoughtless, she made out Caia’s smiling face in the stars. She was angry, miserable, and felt betrayed, yet somewhere in her shattered heart, she felt a sense of happiness for her friend. I promised that… I’d save you from what made you miserable… But… It seems like you did it yourself, Alora thought. I just… I just wished you had more faith in me.

Alora let out a slight snicker, “I’ll see you again. You’ll wait for me, right?”

She reached out and rummaged through her bag which was only a couple of feet away and pulled out a bottle of tablets.

Alora let her gaze rest on a dust particle in a group of many that she spotted sailing through the air, thanks to the white light of the moon. With no one but herself and the universe present, Alora murmured into the unforgiving and silent night,

“Caia... Should I come and see you later… Or now?”

#Alexa #play #youth #by #daughter #story #true #events #i love you

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groundzerobakugo · 5 years

Text

absent // k. bakugou

gender in this imagine will be female. if you wish for me to create this with male or genderneutral pronouns please feel free to send a message my way. i would be happy to help!

word count: 3.6k

summary: a big ass misunderstanding that leads to hella angst and an ending off fluff.

...

if he’d done something, he didn’t know what. all of the sudden, his favorite person in the world had began fading away from him. it started with canceling hangouts, and then fewer syllable texts, and then never answering or returning his calls. and he was hurt, and he was confused, and he was upset—you had dropped out of his life without warning.

bakugou katsuki didn’t have many friends. none that he would claim, anyway. of course, there was shitty hair and sometimes he’d admit that discount pikachu was an acquaintance.

but the one constant, the one he never denied was his friend, the one annoying piece of shit he could never live without was you. you hanging off his shoulder as he tried to study. you shoving him in the middle of an intense video game so you could win the upper hand. you sneaking into his room late at night when the world seemed too much.

and then you just up and disappeared.

the phone started ringing, and the blond anxiously held it up to his ear. he felt fidgety, out of place in his own room, and he paced from wall to wall.

he was in love with you, the icing on the cake. kami, bakugou didn’t know when it started. you were still an annoying pest like the rest of them, just a bit of a step up, but at some point, you stopped being so annoying. he began to crave those late night moments with just the two of you, when you’d weaseled your way into his room to bug him when he should have been sleeping. and he could hear your laugh and see your smile, a private show just for him.

it continued to ring. he plopped down on his bed and drummed his fingers along his thigh. still ringing. he let out an annoyed sigh and stood.

he didn’t even get to talk to you during class. you’d make it there just before the bell rang for class to start, and you booked it out just as the bell rang for class to end. you’d disappear during break and lunch, the blond unable to find you in the lunchroom, in the hallways, even on that damn roof you liked to hideout on. you hid from him during hero practices, and if he tried to talk to you, you blew him off and–

“hey!”

bakugou jumped. “(name), i–“

“sorry i missed your call. leave a message, and–”

bakugou hung up and threw his phone on the bed, but it missed and hit the wall, cracked as it fell down the space between his bed and the wall he shared with kirishima. he ran his hand through his unkempt hair in frustration, and he growled a loud goddammit!

there was a knock at the door, the shadow of someone standing in front of it showing through the crack under the door. for half a second, he had the mind to tell whoever it was to fuck off, but against his judgement he begrudgingly opened the door.

shitty hair stood at the door with his usual carefree smile. “hey, bakugou! some of us are going down to the arcade, did you wanna come with? i know it’s not your scene, but figured i ask anyway!”

bakugou grunted, mulling it over. yeah, he’d rather stay in than deal with the rest of the fuckasses, but what else did he have to do? the one person he cared for the most had gone missing in action. so, he shrugged, “sure, not like i’m busy.”

kirishima’s grin widened, and the two headed downstairs, meeting up with the rest of the so-called bakusquad and walking out to the arcade.

at some point, kaminari and sero were started playing some stupid first-person shooting game, kirishima cheering them on and ashido calling out every single target for them to hit. bakugou had stood off to the side; he was leaning on the wall, arms crossed over his chest, face pulled into a scowl.

it didn’t matter if he just got there. he wanted to go back to the dorms the moment he stepped into the arcade. it didn’t feel right to be at the arcade with the other fuckasses without your stupid ass.

without you calling “versus against the winner,” without your pout when you lost against sero, without your cute ass grin when you won against kaminari, without you constantly begging for bakugou to win you a stuffed animal from the crane game because he’s the best crane game player in the whole world.

“–ey, bakugou?”

he blinked. sero was waving a hand in front of his face. “the fuck do you want, plain face?”

“we were gonna go get some food, asked if you wanted to come, but you were, like, spaced out and shit,” sero replied.

bakugou pushed himself off the wall. “i’m going back to the dorms.”

ashido pouted, “awh, why?”

he glared. “because i’m fucking tired.”

“yeah, say what you want, it’s probably because you’re depressed that (name) got a boyfriend,” kaminari said casually, checking his phone.

if looks could kill, that damn discount pikachu would have perished in his spot. bakugou had started to stomp towards the stupid fuck, but shitty hair was quick to step in between the two.

“hey, hey, let’s handle this like men,” he said quickly.

bakugou’s glare turned towards the redhead. “fuck off, shitty hair, and fuck you, sparky. i don’t give a fuck if (name) got some stupid boyfriend. it’s her own damn life to live, and i don’t give a damn about it. now, i’m fucking going home.”

he stomped off out of the arcade.

what the fuck did he fucking care if you fucking had a damn, shitty, fucking, stupid ass boyfriend? big fucking deal! it wasn’t like he even had a damn fucking chance with you anyway. you were too fucking beautiful, too fucking smart, too fucking kind, too fucking soft. you were the fucking sun and the goddamn moon and the stupid ass stars. and him? bakugou was the fucking, goddamn, stupid ass dirt compared to you.

it was just before school, when bakugou was switching his shoes in the locker room and grabbing the right textbooks he needed for class. it had been a late night, he’d been studying into the wee hours of the morning just to keep his mind off of you.

you stared at the blond from the safety of your own locker, heart caught in your throat.

you’d wanted nothing more than to walk over and act like nothing had happened between you two. act like you weren’t dating someone you didn’t even like. act like you weren’t being forced to stay away from your best friend because you decided it best so you wouldn’t get hurt.

maybe you’d been staring for too long, but suddenly, the blond had glanced over at you, his crimson eyes locking with your (eye color) ones. it startled you, and you quickly looked away, a blush on your cheeks and heart skipping a beat.

all you wanted was your best friend, the one you annoyed to no end, the one you talked all night with, the one you were in love with.

an arm snaked around your waist, and you jumped, turning to see your boyfriend.

akiyama kiyoshi—sweet and thoughtful and everything anyone in your school could ever want in a significant other. he was someone you’d met during a school clean up, from the general studies course and one of shinsou’s friends. he had a decent quirk, and while he didn’t aspire to be a number one hero, he expressed his desires to help people when he graduated yuuei.

“morning!” he smiled, placing a chaste kiss to your cheek.

you mustered up a carefree smile. “good morning!”

a locker slammed behind you, and bakugou stormed by.

the smile faded ever so slightly on your face as you watched him disappear up the stairs.

“everything okay?” akiyama asked.

you blinked, looking back at him.

how much longer could you hold up the façade that you weren’t dying on the inside? the boy in front of you meant absolutely nothing compared to the hothead asshole that you loved, that you pushed away.

the boy in front of you sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “you know, (name), you don’t have to date me if you don’t want to.”

“wh-what?” you stammered. “what makes you think i–”

“i can see the way you look at him,” he replied. “bakugou, from your class.”

“i don’t... i...,” but the words jammed in your mouth.

you couldn’t say you didn’t like bakugou, as much as you wanted to. because you did like bakugou. sometimes, it felt like you even loved him.

akiyama smiled, soft and with a hint of sadness. “it’s okay, (name). i... i had a feeling you liked him, even when i asked you out. i risked that chance, and while i would love to continue this, i can see it pains you.”

you looked to the floor. “sorry, akiyama-kun.”

“don’t worry about it. i’ll see you around, okay?”

the boy turned away from you and headed up the same stairs bakugou had gone up just a few minutes prior.

your vision grew blurry with tears.

it felt like a weight had been lifted from your chest, but despite that, an overwhelming sense of urgency to leave filled you. you didn’t want to have to see bakugou after akiyama broke up with you. you couldn’t deal with that. hell, he probably didn’t want anything to do with you anymore, not after the way you just blocked him out of your life like that.

“good morning, (name)-chan!” uraraka greeted as she saw you standing alone at your locker.

you turned to her. “tell aizawa-sensei i’m not feeling well, please.” and you brushed past her, heading back towards the dorms.

the girl watched you leave with her brows knitted in confusion. she had half a mind to go after you and ask what was wrong, but aizawa-sensei would kill her if she was late to class again. so uraraka switched out her shoes and jogged to class, texting you an i hope you’re okay, let me know if you need to talk message before going inside.

tsuyu waved at her upon seeing the brunette make it to class on time, and the girl headed towards the frog girl with a worried expression on her face.

“did you talk to (name) this morning?” uraraka asked.

but the green-haired girl shook her head. “nuh-uh. is everything okay with her, kero?”

uraraka pursed her lips. “i’m not sure. she didn’t say much, she–”

“you’re not in class for chitchat. uraraka, get to your seat,” aizawa said from the front of the room. he scanned the room, eyes locking on your empty seat. “anyone know where (last name) is?”

the brunette raised her hand. “she said she wasn’t feeling well, sensei.”

the man simply shrugged. “make sure she gets the notes from today’s class then.”

bakugou looked over at uraraka when aizawa turned his back to the class, his brow furrowed. he’d just seen you in the locker room with that stupid dumb boyfriend of yours. you didn’t look sick, so what the fuck happened after he left?

...

the day passed by in a blur for you. holed up in your dorm room with the lights off and music softly playing through your headphones. you were laid underneath a pile of blankets, curled up on your bed and thoughts swirling together of what had happened and of a certain blond-haired individual.

how were you supposed to face bakugou tomorrow? he probably already suspected something happened with you and akiyama. he saw you at the shoe lockers; you two made eye contact from kami’s sake! he’d know something was up the moment uraraka said you were suddenly sick. and–wait.

you paused.

bakugou wouldn’t care. bakugou didn’t give a damn about why he saw you at the shoe lockers and then didn’t see you in class. he probably didn’t even notice you were missing. and why should he notice? why should he care after the way you’d treated him? after blocking him out of your life for no reason that he would ever know about.

the realization, while it made you relieved, it also depressed you to think about.

you sat up and sighed, the sound wavering and shaky. the sun had long since set in the sky, and the moon had taken over. it was most likely late at night, too late for anyone else to be awake. you’d passed the entire day in the safety of your blankets, and you could have stayed in there a until the end of time had it not been for your grumbling stomach.

the hallways were cold as you made your way to the elevator. it was deadly silent, not even a peep from ashido’s room where she usually had music playing while she studied. it took a minute, but the elevator finally reached your floor, and you took it all the way down to the common area.

it was dark, and you held your hands out blindly in front of you, feeling your way to the kitchen. finally finding it, you flicked the light on and headed for the pantry. there wasn’t much, but you grabbed a small snack and a box of peppermint tea; somehow, the tea always made you feel better and refreshed. you turned and walked into the kitchen to turn on the kettle.

“if you’re sick, you shouldn’t be up so late, (name)-kun,” a voice said.

you jumped and spun around, stifling a scared gasp. “ki-kiri-kun.”

“unless you’re not sick.”

you gulped. “i-i, uh....”

the redhead gave you a gentle smile. “relax. i’m not here to confront you or anything. it’s your business as to why you skipped class.”

you opened your mouth to speak, but he beat you to it.

“you should really talk to bakugou, though,” he said. “some shit went down today, and things happened.”

your eyes widened. “what happened?”

but kirishima shrugged. “that’s something to ask bakugou. i’m gonna get some water, but i think you know where his room is.”

“i do,” a lump appeared in your throat. “but, i have to ask. is... is he mad at me at all?”

kirishima laughed. “bakugou? he could never be mad at you. good luck, i hope everything works out.”

your brows furrowed. “what do you mean by that?”

“nothing. you’ll see.”

he watched as you made your way towards the boys’ elevator, and he waved at you as the doors shut and you began your ascent to the third floor.

it had taken you a few minutes to gather the courage in the elevator. you stood in front of bakugou’s door, heart hammering in your chest. something had happened today, something while you weren’t at school, something that had to do with bakugou. you were worried. what if he got hurt in a mock battle or he overdid it with his quirk again?

the anxiety became too much, and you knocked softly at his door.

no answer.

you knocked again, this time louder, in case he was asleep but just quietly enough not to wake anyone else up.

again, no answer.

you took a deep breath and placed your ear at the door to listen if he was even awake at this hour. there was the distant hum of music, but it was a bit late and bakugou went to bed pretty early.

“bakugou?” you whispered. “bakugou-kun, it’s me.”

but still there was no answer.

you had half a mind to try jiggling the handle to see if he’d locked the door, but you knew that it would be. he always slept with the door locked. kaminari was too infamous for pulling pranks, and he was the only one stupid enough to try one on bakugou much to midoriya’s anxiety. so, you turned away from the door.

kirishima passed you on your way back to the elevator, noticing your dejected expression.

“he’s asleep,” you said and hit the button for the common room.

kirishima knew better though, and he entered his own room, knocking on the wall he shared with bakugou. when he didn’t get a knock back, he knocked again, harder, but unlike you, he knew that the other guys were too heavy of sleepers to hear knocking on the walls. he’d found that out when bakugou had blasted an explosion at him at three am for waking him up, and no one else had heard the following morning.

“hey, bakugou!” he called into the wall. he leaned against it, listening for a sound. “oi, bro, wake up!”

there was the distant sound of shuffling, and then a half-assed knock. “what the fuck do you want, shitty hair?!” it was muffled through the wall, but kirishima heard it clear as day.

“(name) wanted to talk to you,” he called back. “she might have gone back to–”

a door slammed shut, and kirishima leaned back into his bed. his work was done.

bakugou stormed down the hall and impatiently continued to press the down button for the elevator, tapping his foot. it took its damn sweet time, but the moment the doors open, he switched to impatiently continuing to hit the button for the common room until the doors shut.

while it felt like years, the elevator finally fucking got to the bottom floor, and bakugou hurried out and into the common room. but, his step faltered as he noticed you curled up with a blanket on the couch, head propped up on your arm, resting on the armrest.

you noticed the movement out of the corner of your eye, and you turned to see bakugou. your heart jumped to your throat. “ba-bakugou-kun, are you okay?” you sat up, looking him over in the dim lighting. he didn’t look hurt, but recovery girl did work miracles sometimes.

he stomped over with his eyes narrowed. “where were you? why the fuck weren’t you in class today? and don’t say you were sick because i know you fucking weren’t.”

immediately, you could feel the panic coming on, the fear of confessing everything to him, as you suddenly couldn’t seem to stop shaking and your heartbeat sped up and the air become thinner as your breaths became shorter from being put on the spot.

now or never.

“i-i-i, well, i....” it unraveled. “akiyama broke up with me today because i don’t like him and never really liked him, and he knew that when he asked me out, but he still wanted to try anyway, and then, like, he saw me staring at you today when you left for class, and he was like, i know that you're in love with bakugou, so you should go be with him rather than stay unhappy with me.

“so he broke up with,” you hiccuped, “with me because i’m in love with you, but i can’t because you’re my best friend, but i can’t be your best friend because i’m in love with you, and i know that you don’t return the feelings, which is why i distanced myself because–”

you were interrupted by a pair of soft lips crashing into yours, and your mind went blank. was bakugou fucking katsuki fucking kissing you?! but, before you could even think to kiss back, he pulled away with a smirk.

“you know, you can be such a fucking idiot,” he laughed, soft and quiet, like no one else was supposed to hear. “this all could have been fucking avoided if you’d just talked to me, dumbass. if you’d just fucking talked to me, you wouldn’t have had to avoid me, nor would you have had to gone out with that stupid punk, nor would you have had to skip school,” he said. “if you’d just fucking talked to me we would have already been fucking dating.”

you blinked with wide eyes. “i... you... we... we kissed.”

“we did.”

“we should do it again, i wasn’t ready.”

“we can,” he said. “but only if you promise not to fucking pull that shit again.”

a blush spread across your cheeks. “i promise, so please just fucking kiss me already.”

and without another word he did. the sweet scent of burnt sugar filled your senses again, and you wrapped your arms around his neck to pull him closer, his lips soft and inviting. you kissed back with fervor, and his arms wound themselves around your waist.

you pulled back, catching your breath and resting your forehead against his. “so, we’re... dating, right?”

“of course we’re fucking dating, dumbass.”

“good.”

“okay,” you smiled. but, then the smile faded as you suddenly remembered what kirishima had said earlier. “hey, baku-kun?”

“hmm?” he’d rested his head on your shoulder.

“kirishima said something happened today,” you said. “so... what happened?”

bakugou went rigid. “nothing of importance.”

“are you sure?”

“yes, i’m damn sure.”

“just checking.” a moment of silence passed. “hey, baku-kun?”

“...what?” he grunted. “m’trying to sleep.”

you laughed quietly. “nothing, never mind. goodnight.”

“night....”

after everyone had found you two in the common room and woken you up, you’d found out what had happened.

bakugou thought akiyama had done something and went off in a rage, pinning him against a wall and demanding to know what was wrong with you. scared the poor boy shitless into admitting that you didn’t like akiyama anyway and liked somebody else. that somebody else being the blond.

...

...okay listen, ik yall are probably sick of all the angsty shit i post and ik ive been posting some kinda sad shit with unsatisfactory endings, but im sorry. still trying to get back into the swing of things. next fic will definitely be fluffier and happier. bakugou just radiates angst for me so

also! please let me know what you guys think. i love reading tags or replies to my lil one-shot fics, and it makes me sad when no one gives me feedback.

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katelynrushe26 · 4 years

Text

Welcome to Everworld

If you were a kid in the '90's, chances are you crossed paths with the book series Animorphs in some way. Written by K.A. Applegate and Michael Grant, this sci-fi/action epic about kids turning into animals to fight off an alien invasion was one of the Scholastic Corporation's most popular IP's of that decade, rivaled only by Goosebumps. It had sixty-four books, numerous video games and toy lines, a TV show that ran for two seasons on Nickelodeon, and even cross promotions with fast food chains like Taco Bell and Pizza Hut that sold Animorphs collectibles with their kids' meals. An official graphic novel adaptation is now in the works, and the series still has a devout fanbase.

And rightly so. I started reading Animorphs at age nine, and to this day, it's easily one of the most powerful and formative works of literature that I've ever read. It was funny but tragic, relatable but imaginative, entertaining but horrific, and it often hit you with a sobering dose of reality that made the message of each book stay with you long after you finished reading. Best of all, its mature themes and ideas about the morality of war have made it just as meaningful and relevant to read as an adult as it did as a kid, so I highly recommend the series.

With that said, I want to discuss another book series that Applegate and Grant wrote during that same time called Everworld.

I occasionally saw ads for this series in the backs of the Animorphs books (exactly four of them), but the ads were always vague, and eventually those back pages were used to advertise other things. A promotional CD called The Everworld Experience was given out in bookstores upon the third Everworld book's release, but if the series was ever sold in Scholastic's monthly school catalogues or at any of its school book fairs, I can't find evidence of that. Botton line, it barely had any of the exposure or success that Animorphs did, and the series came to an earlier-than-planned conclusion after two years and twelve books.

This is a real shame, because now that I've finally sat down and read all of Everworld, I think the series is great. It deals with four Chicago teens (David, Christopher, April, and Jalil) who are dragged by a witch named Senna to a parallel world where the gods, monsters, and famous figures from all of Earth's mythologies live at constant odds with each other. The teens exist in this place, called Everworld, and on Earth simultaneously, with their consciousnesses jumping back and forth from one world to the other whenever they go to sleep. In addition to staying alive, their main goals in Everworld are to save it from an invading alien god named Ka Anor and to keep Senna from transporting more dangerous people to—and from—Earth.

I should start by saying that Everworld was written for an older audience than Animorphs; for high schoolers instead of middle schoolers. As a result, it has a much darker and grittier tone with less, shall we say, innocent protagonists. It shares a few themes with Animorphs, such as the stress of leading a secret double-life and having to compromise personal values for the greater good, but it also deals with themes like letting go of old perceptions as you grow up, realizing the cost of your deepest desires, and deciding whether to keep to the safe life you know or venture into a greater unknown.

Everworld's premise is clearly a metaphor for coming of age, a representation of the crossroads between childhood and adulthood where you need to start finding a direction for your life. For all of its fantastic settings and elements, the series is really about the four main characters' internal conflicts, not the external conflict around them. The external conflict is just a device that serves to make the characters deal with their internal conflicts, and this is important to keep in mind when reading the series. We don't see much of how the teens change Everworld by getting involved in its dealings, just how much deciding to get involved changes them.

As for the characters themselves, I think we're given a pretty well-rounded and relatable main cast. We have David, the self-appointed leader who feels unfulfilled in his normal life and is desperate to prove his worth due to his toxic masculine upbringing; Christopher, the less-than-sensitive class clown who leans on immature humor and sitcoms to cope with his problems; April, the wily, religious idealist who takes care of business when she needs to; and Jalil, the level-headed skeptic who tries to learn the science of everything so he can master it. A huge part of the overarching conflict is these four learning to get along and work together, and once that starts to happen, they become a fun group of friends to go through all of these crazy adventures with.

I've read complaints that some of their early character flaws (especially Christopher's tendencies towards xenophobic humor) turn off a lot of readers after the first few books. That's understandable, but the point of giving the characters those flaws is that they eventually see the error of their ways and reform. I don't approve of Christopher's intial brand of humor, but I actually like him the most out of the four because he undergoes the biggest and most dramatic transformation throughout the series. You see how finding a life goal in a world where he can't tune out reality so easily makes him a better person.

The other major character is Senna the witch, who really serves as the main antagonist of the series. Not that she's a villain; a major part of the story is trying to figure out her motives and allegiances, since she seems to help the four leads as often as she gets them in trouble. We even get a book narrated by her eventually, and that does a great job of swaying you to feel one way about her right before the series yanks you in the other direction. She's not as complicated as Snape from Harry Potter or Gollum from Lord of the Rings (even though she does shape-shift into him in one rather amusing scene) but I found her arc just as engrossing and its conclusion extremely rewarding. The whole series is worth reading just to get that rush at the end.

And that level of engagement is the ultimate reason why I recommend Everworld. It's one of the most immersive works I've read in a while, both in setting and tone. It takes you right back to the '90's from Page 1 with its now-nostalgic pop culture references and laid-back view of the world, and then it slowly pokes at that bubble with an ominous undertone until all hell finally breaks loose. The descriptions of Everworld effectively capture the feel of every location and threat, and Applegate and Grant's tongue-in-cheek humor goes a long way in keeping the series self-aware enough to avoid turning hokey. One of my favorite parts is in Book 4 when the teens try to catch a wild boar for food, only to have it beat them up and then suddenly order them in English to give it what little food they do have. It becomes a running joke after incidents like this for David, Christopher, April, and Jalil to mumble, "W.T.E. Welcome to Everworld," and then move on with their business.

Also, borrowing so many of its settings and characters from preexisting mythologies (with the authors' own creative twists, of course) builds anticipation as you wonder what other pantheons the series might explore as it goes on. It also gives the protagonists some prior knowledge going into each conflict, especially when some of them start using their "visits" back to Earth to research mythology. This helps endear them to readers by showing their proactive sides, as well as their overarching growth throughout the series as they start trying to help Everworld instead of escape from it.

What's interesting though is that the scenes on Earth are also very descriptive and immersive. It's easy in cross-world narratives like this for the "real world" to take a back seat to the more creative fantasy world, but the Earth scenes in Everworld have their own overarching story that also builds into a genuinely suspenseful conflict. This really sells the idea that David, Christopher, April, and Jalil still have some grounding in their normal lives that keeps holding them back from fully embracing their new lives in Everworld.

With that said, I do wish that their families had more of a presence in the series. The families in Animorphs were very well defined and prominent in a lot of the B-plots of some books. This made us like them almost as much as the Animorphs themselves by the end of the series, which raised the stakes tremendously whenever things started to escalate. In Everworld, we see the families occasionally but get very little sense of their personalities or the teens' relationships with them.

I don't think either of David's parents ever makes an appearance throughout the whole series, and I actually forgot for a while if Jalil's mother was even alive until he mentions her in one of the other characters' books. Things like this make it hard to feel the full emotional weight of certain events near the end of the series. I guess the idea is that teenagers going through major life changes like these just aren't always that close to their families, but it still feels like this particular element of the story could have had a little more focus to sell how torn the characters are between their two lives.

It's worth noting that Christopher's parents and brother probably get the most character out of all the families, with scenes as early as the second book showing their interests and personalities as they banter with him. Given his similarities to Marco, the main comedic character from Animorphs, I'm starting to think Christopher was the authors' favorite lead as well.

Also, one of the Earth antagonists in Everworld is named Mr. Trent. This was also the human alias of the main villain on the Animorphs TV show, which predates Everworld. I can't find any information on how both of these characters came to have the same name, as Applegate and Grant didn't write the TV show, but it certainly has me conjuring all kinds of theories about the two book series existing in the same universe.

So why wasn't Everworld more successful if it's so good? Why didn't Scholastic advertise the hell out of it to at least try and hook the millions of Animorphs fans back then?

Sadly, I think the answer lies in the reader demographics. When you're dealing with kids, a couple of years can mean a huge difference in maturity and what's considered appropriate material for them. Animorphs was surprisingly graphic and intense for a children's book series, but it was still written for children. I can't recall a single swear word ever being said in it, and things like drugs, sex, and xenophobia were either very vaguely implied, disguised in metaphors, or presented as problems that the alien characters (not the humans) struggle with.

The very first Everworld book features flashbacks where David recalls seeing a camp counselor molest a child and hearing a football coach call a player the "F" word for not being tough enough on the field—and they don't just say "the 'F' word" in the book either. Add a few dollops of religion, sexuality, infidelity, teen alcoholism, and other adult language throughout each book, and there was no way Scholastic could promote this series to the same kids who read Animorphs. The Everworld books don't even have that bright red Scholastic logo at the bottoms of their covers; there's just a tiny, inconspicuous logo on the spine and an even less conspicuous trademark credit on the back.

Again, I can't currently find any information about this. I'm very curious to know how this situation came to be though. Did Scholastic give the authors more leeway for Everworld because of Animorphs' success and then found out too late how far the pair had run with that? Did the company want to experiment with publishing more adult material but then started getting cold feet closer to Everworld's release?

The worst part of this, if it's true, is that Scholastic may have been right to worry. According to some of the YouTube comments and online book reviews I've read, a lot of kids who read Animorphs in the '90's were barred by their parents from reading Everworld. Some say their parents found the series too dark and inappropriate. Some say their parents took issue with it for religious reasons, due to all the pagan deities that it shows to exist. One person even said they were almost barred from Animorphs too after their parents vetoed Everworld. Not the kind of thing a Scholastic executive in 1999 would have wanted to hear.

I know that Scholastic would go on to publish the Harry Potter and Hunger Games series over the next decade, and both of those saw their share of controversy too. All things considered though, I do side a little with the parents when it comes to Everworld. The topics that I listed three paragraphs ago are important for teens to discuss, and it's realistic to include them in a story about teens, but I feel like the series presents them a little too bluntly for me to totally disagree with the parental discretion. There's an entire book about a lustful underworld goddess who does nothing but capture men and force them to "please" her under threat of castration, and there's an ongoing subplot where April questions what the existence of all the different pagan deities in Everworld means for her own Catholic beliefs. Even if this series had come out today, there would be a legitimate reason for the concerns.

I'll never say to bar your kids from reading anything, but here's a thing to consider: the main characters in Animorphs are roughly thirteen years old at the start of the series, they're sixteen by the last book, and the Everworld characters are sixteen throughout their series. Maybe letting your kids read Animorphs first and giving them a chance to mature alongside those characters is a good gauge for when you think they'd be old enough to read Everworld.

And if they decide for themselves that they don't want to read Everworld, then that's them choosing a direction in life, just like the series would want them to make.

#ka applegate #michael grant #everworld #animorphs #book series #scholastic #young adult #scifi #fantasy #david #christopher #april #jalil #senna #gods #goddesses #mythology #loki #ka anor

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kaziklubaby · 6 years

Text

Micah Bell x F!Reader

Title: A Killer to Die For!

Words: 5.2k

Pairings: Micah Bell x F!Reader

Warnings: (+18) That’s the one with the party and unrealistic scenes, when we rescue Sean and we see things and do some stuff too. And I love making Micah laugh.

Forgive my typos, as always.

Summary: Chapter 5.

[A03]

Yes. He did it. As you mended a shirt, you thought about why he did it, because certainly wasn't because of new found feelings. If he had actual feelings – which of course he had, he was human, wasn't he? – they were buried deep enough so not even his thoughts could touch it. And his feelings were not kind towards you, anyway. Oh, you could imagine why he did it. Territorialism. In some level, he must have thought about you as some kind of property, and a disrespect to you was, indirectly, a disrespect to him, and he had to assert some kind of dominance. Not romantic at all, just pure instinct. That actually made sense to you, and you didn't even flinch. What were you supposed to do? Appear hypocritically offended?

"Oh my, my honor!" – you scorned.

That didn't pass as anything feeling-relatable at all, but gave you a little leverage as well. But for how long? That couldn't continue, because he would sooner or later ask for something in return and you expected that to be a one-time thing. In fact, probably he might be thinking that you would open your legs to him whenever he pleased. And your cunt whined about it. But, what if you could continue doing him? What was the problem, really? Well, you were disappointing Miss Grimshaw, and he was an asshole, that should be pretty serious in your eyes.

"Think about it, you is going against everything you thought was right. Sleeping with a man, and worse, for pleasure! He didn't have any feelings for you, and would never have, merely seeing you like a hole to put his cock in" – you thought to yourself.

Yeah, that was a problem. But you didn't want his feelings. Did you? Of course not.

Should you confront him about it? Or maybe, you could just wait until he tried something, so you wouldn't sound like you were expecting him. Anyway, it could not be under the eyes of the gang, or they would have another reason to think that you should go for a walk, for good this time.

-You know, Miss, I've killed girls as betrayed us, and done it happily – said Miss Grimshaw to Mary-Beth, right next to you. You didn't look, you weren't crazy enough to meddle in that discussion, not when you already had troubles enough. Also, you didn't pity Mary-Beth that much, she was used to reading and writing more than actually doing any workaround, usually, Tilly had to do most of it to cover for her.

-Is reading betrayal in your world, Miss Grimshaw? – said Mary-Beth, and you, for a moment, admired her cold blood.

-Not reading, Miss, idleness. – and Miss Grimshaw paused for a second – Idleness is betrayal, because it means I work so you don't have to! – and Miss Grimshaw was screaming at full lungs – That's not right, is it?

Mary-Beth got up as fast as you ever saw her do before.

-I guess not, Miss – she said, going for the laundry

-You're right not, missy! On!

You kept your eyes low, mending the shirt. You adored that woman, but she could be scary as fuck when she wanted to.

-Y/N, taking long mending those things, ain't you? – Miss Grimshaw said.

-I'll go faster – you said, without lifting your head.

-You better – Miss Grimshaw said, leaving you and Mary-Beth alone.

-Must feel good be the favorite – said Mary-Beth, in her sweet way, but behind it, you could feel her sting.

-I'm not anyone's favorite. – you said, but you wish you were – I just do my work.

-I see you working – Mary-Beth said, and this time her tone was more suggestive than sweet.

You didn't answer that. At first, you were tempted to start a quarrel about it, but, what good would it do? More fights? Better stay quiet and hold your ground, she was just upset about Miss Grimshaw. Although, if the circumstances were different, you would feel inclined to be – just a little bit – devilish with her.

And you smiled.

All people used masks. All of them had flaws and scars, even the kindest one. Mary-Beth, deep down envied Karen and how she was so carefree and strong, and when alone and thinking that no one was hearing, she would touch herself and moan Arthur's name, yet she looked down on you for your marks. Karen would cry herself to sleep late at night, when everybody was already sleeping, like a baby without its bottle. Also, you could see how she looked at other girls at Valentine, frustration and despise. Tilly was by far the more emotionally constant one of them, she had an objective, survive, and she was firm on her will to get through everything, although you could see in her eyes that she had experimented, in some level, the same things that you had too. Molly O'Shea usually cried as Dutch pinned her down and fucked her into oblivion, begged for him as you did to Micah, but still, in her eyes, you were the lowest of the woman. Even dear Miss Grimshaw had her blue days. Sometimes she would wear her old dresses just to see how she looked on them, she would put old jewelry, and pinch her face, trying to discover where the young girl went, and how this girl - the one in the picture - was replaced by an old crone – but she would never cry, not her. Her tears had dried a long time ago.

They all had scars too. The only difference between yours and theirs, was the fact that yours was showing to everybody see at broad daylight.

Even worse was how people usually thought that woman, in general, should be obedient, calm, motherly inclined, sweet, educated, and most of all weak, so men would feel strong near them, as if being a woman meant to be a boost on man's ego and a hole so he could take his pleasure – but woman should be sacred and pure too, because men didn't want to openly assume something that others had tasted before, it seemed like it diminished them under the eyes of other men, but, ironically, they would pour all their desires and perversions on a woman who didn't fit on that specific profile. So, a woman could kill herself as an individual, or, let the world kill her piece by piece. That's why you admired Miss Grimshaw too. She escaped that profile and still was respected by all, strong-willed and brave, she conquered her place in the world.

And then, your mind would be filled with thoughts of Micah. He too had a wrong idea of what a woman should be, although you could see that to him, every woman on Earth was not worthy of his attention, just his cum, he made no distinction. It seemed like he didn't have a good relationship with his mother, after all – if he had a relationship at all.

You had known men that were rejected by their mothers, and they ended up having a bitter view of a woman later in life, because they saw their mother's rejection on other women too. Could that be the reason? You didn't know, for you were no expert, just pointed out things that you had experienced yourself.

Days passed, Hosea didn't pressure you to make yourself scarce for a while, so you stayed, quiet and calm, mending and feeding the chickens, attending to your regular affairs. As for Micah, was but a shadow in a distance. Sometimes he would be close to you near the fire, always silent and pretending you were not there, reading a newspaper or smoking.

And you would not talk to him either. Was he waiting for you to break? Like hell you would.

That was another night like those, where silence filled the space between you. At first, that strange situation had bothered you, even more than when he just couldn't shut up. It took a little while, but now it seemed natural. -What are you looking at? – he said, suddenly.

You looked around, maybe he was saying that to someone else, but there was no one awake. Uncle, who had been talking nonstop about the time when he stole a herd of cows, now was sleeping, cradling his bottle of whiskey as it was a teddy bear.

-What is it that you want, Micah? – you said.

-Huh, it seemed like you wanted something from me – he said, with that confidence that couldn't fool you – You is looking at me with those doe eyes, what is it that you want?

And he laughed. Was he really trying to convince you that it was you who wanted him? Cheap Trick.

-I'm not even looking at you, you dumb fuck – you said.

-Yeah, sure doll, you can tell whatever lie you want to convince yourself, fuck... – he purred – you can even insult me but I see in your eyes what you want. Come here – he said, giving soft slaps on his thigh.

You looked around again.

-You must be drunk, or stupid in the head – you said – Why would I want anything with you? -Looks like you forgot about our little stroll – he got up and came in your direction – What a bad memory you have, Y/N, should I remind you what is like to be with a real man?

Micah sighed deeply and held your throat, not tight enough, just a light touch like a reminder of what could be.

-It's a shame your bruises is fading, they was so beautiful – he purred.

A shiver ran down your body again. -Why don't you keep those cheap words to someone who cares? – you said, slapping his hand away from you – or I will kill you dead.

He laughed more and lifted his hands backing away.

-I'm still waiting for that – he said.

He backed off, but his eyes were like the ones of a hungry animal with nothing to lose. He smirked, victorious, one last time and walked away. Logically, he was a piece of trash, and you knew that dealing with him was going to end badly, but you felt divided between accepting his invitation or denying it.

Your body didn't have any doubts, though.

Could you deal with his rejection? Because he was bound to pull the same shit as before, and leave you alone and stained by him. That's when something crossed your thoughts, something so simple and yet, you would have to be really invested in it to make it work. First of all, life was much like a poker game, tables could turn with a good bluff, and this way you could put him to the test.

How much he desired you? Enough to risk a little gamble? Your cunt ached for him, but, so you could give in to that desire, you would have to change the terms. You didn't want monogamy nor compromise, even less loyalty.

You just wanted him to admit that he wanted you too.

Your opportunity appeared when they heard about Sean, he was alive and being kept by some lawfolk, Arthur was going to rescue him along with Javier, Charles and your favorite conman, Josiah Trelawny. Something about Josiah made him almost impossible to be hated, and you guessed that it was his way with words and his manners, you just couldn't help but laugh at him whenever he pulled one of his magic tricks, like a kid around a show. He dazzled people, that was his best trick.

Your plan, though, didn't include him, but the probability of success of the mission and what it could mean. Arthur was a skillful gunslinger, Javier a master with his knives, and Charles by himself was strong as a bull. You doubted that mission could go wrong.

Only if Sean was too stupid for his own good.

You saw when Charles' girl gave him a little trinket before he left the camp.

"A Lucky charm" – you heard she say. That smart little witch. Against all magic, what could go wrong? And when they returned with the big-mouthed leprechaun... There was going to be a party.

A party.

Dutch wouldn't miss the chance to make everyone believe he had everything under control, and to show that we were all under his – merciful – wings, for the man liked his speeches way too much, and that was a moment too perfect to be wasted. Even if the guy smelled like bullshit a mile away, you wouldn't say anything. You were having a nice life, after all, didn't have to suck cocks that tasted like piss and old cum for a few cents, and you ate regularly, that was a great improvement in your life. You had to be grateful, at least a little.

And, you were focusing on Micah and his pretentious attitude rather than Dutch's. Micah needed to be taught a lesson.

So, the Irish had returned home safe and sound. More or less. His voice echoed, above a crate, holding a beer and his dignity as both were the same. -... and don't you worry Mr. Pearson, you drunk old shit bag... – he just arrived but was already drunk – It'll be nothing but, uh... the finest game in the pot, now Dead Eye Macguire's back!

You were near Miss Grimshaw, sitting against the table, and looking to the faces around you.

-... and don't worry about nothing Miss Grimshaw, we'll have this camp running like clockwork... I love you bastards... have fun! Have lots of fun!

-We intend to! – said Mary-Beth, laughing.

-Yeah, come on... Let's party! – said Karen, drinking her beer.

And Sean descended from the crate, drinking his beer.

-Even you, you grumpy old bastard, Arthur. – said Sean.

-Uh oh, here comes trouble. – said Karen, but you could tell she wasn't all against his presence. Their sweetness was even more complex than you had foreseen.

They were sweet on each other, but could only admit it when they were drunk, almost like they were ashamed of each other when sober. One more reason for Karen to cry at night?

-I just can't get rid of you, can I? – said Javier, tuning his guitar.

-Mind if I join you fine folks? – Sean said, sitting with them at the round table.

-I suppose – said Karen, looking silly. The way her eyes gleamed looking at him almost made her look younger.

-I owe you one, Arthur Morgan. The drinks are on me! – said Sean.

-They always are, when you ain't buying – said Arthur, walking away to sit by the fire with Hosea and the others.

-You are looking lovely as ever, if I may say so – said Sean, not his first attempt to flirt while drunk.

-Oh stop it – said Karen, smiling shyly

-Imagine riding with him all the way from blackwater to here – said Javier – estúpido.

-So, what now? – said Sean, completely unaware that Javier called him stupid.

-Come on, how about a song? – said Dutch.

The music started. You walked away from that place. Micah wasn't around, almost like happiness made him sick or something.

-You is going to see him, ain't you? – said Miss Grimshaw.

-But not in the way you think I am – you said.

She looked deeply at you.

-You better, girl – she said.

As you walked away from her in the direction of the trees, your whole body trembled slightly, excitement trapped in a bottle too tiny for it. You wanted to do it - play Micah - but, a part of you wanted to flee as you had been doing your whole life – fear weighed in your stomach.

Soon, you found him against a tree, with a bottle of beer. If you didn't know him better, you could say he was peaceful there alone in the woods.

-So, changed your mind? – he said, his smile mocking you.

You scoffed.

-Can’t a girl smoke in peace around here? – you said, using a match to light your cigarette. It was a peaceful night, alright, no wind to even blow a candle.

-Sure, and you came here just to smoke – he said, holding his belt – tryin' to fool me?

-If I'm bothering you, then I will leave you and your nasty personality alone – you said throwing your cigarette on the ground and stepping on it.

-Oh, come on - he purred, all convinced that he called the shots with you - there is room enough for both of us here – he said tapping the tree near him.

You laughed.

-Don't go thinking you is such a big deal Micah, I fucked better with my hands.

-Is that so? – he said.

Micah was patient when he wanted to, he knew how to buy his time and push your buttons, just to strike where it hurts the most. Too experienced to fall easily in any trap. The only way to destabilize him was through his ego.

Lucifer didn't fall for it too?

You gave your back to him and returned to camp. It was more or less like fishing, you threw the bait and now you would wait. Would Micah bite it just by sheer desire to see what you were up to? He was a stubborn man. Would he be stubborn to the point of wait to see you play yourself or stubborn to believe you, and seek to prove you wrong? What would give him more pleasure? Much of your plan was going to carry on based on probability and improvisation. Were you right about Micah Bell, after all?

As you approached the center of the camp, you heard they singing the ring-the-dang-pussy song. You watched in disbelief how grown man liked to sing about cunts like little boys. Uncle had red cheeks and a bottle in hand, making obscene gestures.

Oh, you enjoyed that old man just enough, and that was a whole lot to you. You had to give it to them, it was funny alright. All seemed fine, the gang was happy again, playing and laughing like nothing was wrong. Even Pearson didn't seem so stupid.

That was a good night. Felt nice to have people around you, sometimes... The only thing that seemed strange to this scene was Dutch's music playing in his phonograph. People were actually drinking and talking about pussy and he was listening to some kind of classical song?

Really?

You sat by the table where people usually polished their guns, and tasted your first beer of the night. You couldn't get wasted so soon, not yet anyway. Soon Micah appeared, looking as flustered as possible, walking in that crooked way that only he does, shoulders up, head down facing you. Your heart started pacing, but you maintained your face neutral. He sighed deeply, almost like a threat to you. -So, you fucked better alone alright? I see – he laughed, but was mad enough too.

You shrugged and didn't answer, just took a sip of your bottle.

-I see what you are doing, Y/N, thinking you is smart? I won't fall for that.

-Oh, I'm doing something now? What am I doing Micah?

-Don't pull that on me, thinking you can provoke me. Trying to get me angry?

At this moment, Sean walked by almost falling to the ground but still holding his beer. A true drunken, sure he was. Karen walked behind him too, so drunk that neither one of them seemed to care about you and Micah. They hid behind the girl's wagon.

-Look at that lucky fucker... – Micah said.

-Huh.. – you were indifferent, sipping your beer.

-Hah, don't try to play it cool, Y/N, it doesn't suit you.

-Like you would know that.. – you scoffed him.

Then, you heard Sean laughing, and this time we waited in silence.

-Admit you love me – Sean said in that drunken fool way of his – Admit it and I'll stop annoying you.

-I'll admit nothing – it was Karen who spoke.

-You love me – Sean said.

-I'd rather love a snake!

-Come here – it was Sean's voice, but it faded quickly.

A slap sound, and more laughter. Soon Karen came by running and laughing as Sean stood near the wagon.

-She loves me... – he said, more to him than to us – I'm the happiest man alive.

-That fool wouldn't know what hit him not even if it was a train – Micah said.

-Sure – you said.

-What do you want, Y/N? – he said, at last.

You shrugged again.

-You want to give me something now? – you said.

-You wish. – he said, getting down to your level, his hands over the table. He sighed again – I won't fall for that Y/N. Just letting you know.

-Okay. – you said, as quickly as you could, as if you didn't care for what he did or said.

And he picked a bottle out of the crate over the table, moving his brows - emphasizing what he said - as if he didn't care about you at all. Sean got up and now was standing near the tent, close to us. Drinking his thoughts away, most likely.

-Oh, there she is... the finest lady I know – he said, suddenly.

You looked over your shoulder and saw Karen coming by.

-I hate you, you Irish bastard! – she said. She was all too drunk to care about much at that point.

Micah and you stood there, watching the scene.

-Ah, come here. – he said, going towards her.

You were so tempted to make a bet with Micah, but you feared to ruin the moment.

-You hate me too, I can see 't ‘n your eyesss... – she wasn't talking all the letters, others she pronounced too much.

Sean held her hands in his, caressing them slowly.

-I love you – he said.

-You only love me when we're drunk – she said divided in laughter and tears.

-Well, you're always awfully superior when you're sober... – he said, his words filled with emotion.

She didn't need much time after that.

-Come on, then... – she said, taking him by the hand and guiding him to the nearest tent while he laughed – I hate you, you know that... I hate you.

You couldn't bear any more, you had to look at him and laugh.

-Shush now doll, let's hear them – Micah said, finding it all terrible funny too.

They were laughing at first.

-It's alright John's tent, isn't it? – said Sean – hasn't seen any action like this since nine months before young Jackie popped out!

-Sean! – Karen said, whining.

-Move over, will ya? – Sean said.

-What are you doing? – Karen said.

Sean was trying to get his pants off, with no success.

- Sorry! – Sean said – Ohoho, there they are, look at them. Magnificent.

-Is he talking about his balls? – you asked Micah, making fun of them, for obvious reasons.

Micah laughed, and it was nice to hear him doing so.

-Like the peaks of the Derryveagh! – said Sean.

-Oh, shut up, you idiot! – said Karen, laughing.

Okay, her breasts.

-Nice compliment, you could use that too – you said.

-I have better ones for you, you nasty thing – he said.

-Come here, you – Sean said inside the tent.

They started moaning and whining. You could imagine, but you didn't want to, expecting to preserve some of your sanity for later.

-Hey, what are you doing? – Karen said, kind of annoyed.

-Anal – you said to Micah, putting your hands over your face and pretending to be surprised.

He laughed hard.

-It's an old trick my Da taught me – Sean said.

-Ugh, no! Don't ever do that again! – Karen said, relaxing again.

-Oh, okay, okay, here we go... Miss Jones, meet Macguire Junior – Sean was having fun.

-Creepy – you said. Before Micah could say something, Karen was talking again.

-Is that it? – she said, not pleased at all.

This time Micah laughed hard and loud. He couldn't help it, and probably would bring that up to Sean until the end of days.

-You wait, he's a fighter... – Sean trying to save his reputation was a terrible thing to hear – Okay...no, that's not... there... no...

Sean didn't seem very comfortable.

-Guide me in here a bit, will ya? – he said.

-Jesus! – Karen said, irritated.

-That's the ugliest thing I have ever heard. And I heard a lot in my life – Micah said – That woman is a true fighter. Brave Karen.

-Oh yes! – Sean said.

-Finally – you said.

-You're a lovely woman – Sean said, gasping – Oh – his voice trembled a little – yes! Oh yes, that's it!

-Stop pulling that face! – said Karen.

-He's a virgin – you said – must be.

-And you would know that, don't you baby doll? – Micah said.

You shrugged again. Sean was gasping, and Karen was not whining of pleasure. You could almost precise his rhythm by his sounds.

-Yes! – Sean said – Ohoohoh Miss Jones!

-Will you shut up? – said Karen.

-Are you close? – Sean asked.

-Nowhere near! – Karen said, uncomfortable and irritated.

-Oh! – Sean screamed.

-That's a record alright – said Micah.

-Ohh – Sean's voice was trembling – There she blows! Phew... it's like all worries have floated away... Hey, where are you going?

-She must have sobered up already – you said.

-We're done, ain't we? – she said, bored and tired.

-We certainly are, darling. – Sean said, his laugh somewhere between nervousness and tiredness, but nowhere near the fact that she was completely unsatisfied.

When she left the tent, she didn't even look around, so you were not sure if she was completely aware that you and Micah were there. Sean, however, spotted Micah first of all. Sean was a messy mixture of shame and confidence, and soon as he found out that Micah had heard the whole thing, he gave him gis back and made his walk of shame towards his bedroll.

-That was disturbing – you said.

-See? You should be grateful for what I give you – Micah said.

-Yeah, what about you be grateful for what I put up with you? – you said.

-I knew it! You are all sour because I didn't say anything.

-You wish – you got up, stretching yourself – What about you pestering me about it? All I see is you trying to convince me that I want anything with you, why don't you admit that you are a pussy that's afraid to like it too much?

-Oh, you want me to admit? – he said, walking around the table, coming in your direction – You coming too sassy for my taste.

-Your loss – you said.

He sighed deeply again, his nostrils opening like the ones of an angry bull.

-Don't you think I could just take you here, now? You can't stop me.

-And that would be rape. You don't scare me. Besides, what rape would prove? That you can't satisfy a woman so you must take her by force? Thought you had some pride.

He was so close that you could feel his breathing against your skin.

-Okay. You want me to say it? I will say it.

-I don't want you to lie to me. Or else, what's the point – you said.

-Cards on the table doll. Who's holding what.

You looked deep in his blue eyes, blue as the summer sky. He held you close, against him, your breasts crushed against his chest.

-I want you – he said - Is that what you wanted to hear?

-I don't know, keep trying...

-Don't test me baby doll, you wouldn't like it

-Wanna bet? – you whispered.

He held your dark hair in his hand, pushing backwards and making you face him. He was almost two heads taller than you, and you enjoyed how big he was near you. Then he kissed you, his lips were rough against yours, but you molded yourself to him, to his strength. His kiss kept getting deeper, more thirsty and demanding.

At some point, you had to fight to back off a little so you could breathe.

-Satisfying you enough?

-Shut up and kiss me, now! – you said, holding his face, bringing his lips closer to yours.

He smiled, but there was nothing funny about it.

-I will just give you a treat tonight, you have been a very bad girl, you don't deserve...

-Shut up Micah – you said, pushing him against the table – We will fuck!

He wasn't all comfortable with that. Seemed confused, yet interested.

-What's now, gonna use me? – he said.

You didn't say, just pressed him, and started opening his shirt, passing your hands against his chest.

-This way they will see it all – he said, mocking you – Let me help you a little – he held you and walked to the other side of the table, putting your back to his chest – now all they is gonna see is my back.

You looked to the wagon, your heart racing, trying to see if someone was awake. He lifted your skirt.

-No undergarments? – he laughed – You was expecting this, wasn't you?

-One may never know – you said.

He put his cock out, rubbing it. You started to rub yourself against him.

-Oh yes, you was waiting for it all day, waiting for me – he said.

You held his thighs, over his pants.

-Just as much as you. – you said.

-Then, you were waiting big time – and he shoved himself in you.

You screeched, but he quickly held your mouth. You could hear Sean singing near the fire.

-No sound, or you want them to notice us? – he whispered – I will release you, but only if you promise to be a good little slut to me.

You shook your head. He released you and started pounding hard inside you, you could feel him hitting deep, and you bit your lips, so you wouldn't scream. You enjoyed how he stretched you, and made your cunt ache, no mercy, only pleasure. He held you by your neck with one hand, the other holding your hip so you wouldn't break apart not even a few inches from him. But even if he didn't hold you, you still would hammer yourself against him, guessing his movements.

-Ain't you an obedient one, huh? You love some good cock fucking you, don't you? – he whispered.

-Yes – you whispered.

-I said don't make a sound – and he scratched your thigh, ugh – You only answer when I say you can.

You shook your head.

-Huh, your cunt is hungry tonight, what is it that you doing? – he asked, really low – You speak now.

-I learned it a long time ago...

-It's like you're giving me a blow with your cunt – and he gasped.

And he pushed your back, making you bend for him, touching the ground with your hands, then he pounded harder, and you couldn't catch your breath – he was touching every inch inside of you, all the right spots, and the way your cunt ached only increased the sensation, it was too quick and too strong... too much... You cried trying to keep it quiet.

-Already? You just can't have enough, can you?

Micah got down in his knees, pushing your head against the ground now, you two hidden behind the table. He kept pushing you further.

-You fucked better alone, was that it? – he said, and thrust himself inside you with anger – better than this?

And he made you close your legs, making you really tight and difficult.

-Tell me, you fucking cum-hole, better than this?

-No... – you moaned really low, barely breath leaving your mouth.

-You bet – he whispered in your ear.

And he fucked you into another orgasm, just to prove a point. What was the point? That he was good. He came in your thighs. Micah got up, closing his pants and looking around, trying to notice if someone had seen you both. Luckily, the ones that were still awake were too drunk to even notice.

#red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 rp #micah bell #micah bell x reader #micah bell x f!reader #sean macguire #karen jones #miss grimshaw #mary-beth gaskill #Smut #killer to die for!

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amandaoftherosemire · 6 years

Text

One Foot in Heaven...

Fandom: Marvel Dark AU

Pairing: Demon!Steve Rogers X Angel!Reader

Characters: Steve Rogers, Joseph Rogers, Sarah Rogers, Maria Hill, Tony Stark, Pepper Potts, Nicholas Fury, Natasha Romanoff, James Barnes, Sam Wilson, Clint Barton, Pietro Maximoff, Wanda Maximoff, James Rhodes, Happy Hogan

Author: @amandaoftherosemire

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 8,332

Format: Two-part One-shot

Warning: Violence, angst, fluff, flangst, language, implied smut, implied torture, implied abuse, domestic and child, minor character death.

Summary: In a 19th century New York City carved up between angels and demons, you and Steve have roles in the eternal war you neither asked for nor wanted. All you really want is each other.

A/N: Written for @buckysforeverprincess’ Into the Nightmare 2K challenge. 🎉🎉🎉Congratulations, dearest!! 🎉🎉🎉 I had such a great time with this challenge. Everyone should go follow her right now cause she’s great!

Set in the mid-to-late nineteenth century, but I stayed vague so that I didn’t end up spending the rest of November doing research in the interests of historical accuracy. I am a pedantic butthole so that is totally something I would do. I had intended to have this up before Halloween, but once I got going I couldn’t stop, because I am also a verbose butthole 🤨🤔. I had promised to make this a one-shot, however, and though it’s been split into two parts for clarity’s sake, it is complete.

Prompt: Angels and demons have never played fair.

One Foot in Heaven

Upon the news that his third wife had borne him a daughter, your father beat a servant to death.

At least, he thought, the otherwise useless creature he'd tied himself to this time had managed to survive pregnancy with his child, something no other woman had managed. Though a daughter was worse than worthless to him, this was the first child to survive as well, so perhaps his vapid little wife would have some use other than her money after all.

Truth be told, all he'd wanted out of a wife was an heiress who could bear his children. She may have disappointed on her first try, but she'd done better than her predecessors. As he stood panting over the broken body of the maid he'd destroyed with his fists on the floor of his study, he considered using some of her money to buy his stupid little wife something sparkly for the birth. Not that he cared enough to know, but he imagined that as a woman she'd like that, and with the smell of blood in the air he was feeling indulgent.

As you saw your father only once in a blue moon, growing up you were mostly insulated from his disdain for you and his growing impatience with your mother. Though he exercised his husbandly rights on a regular basis to get the son he so desperately sought, his unassuming little wife rarely conceived. On the few occasions she’d gotten pregnant, she miscarried, but survived each time. He had begun to hope that she wouldn't survive the next so that he could be free to seek out another, younger wife who might finally be able to give him an heir.

To his frustration, he was reliant upon human women and their weak bodies to get what he needed. As he couldn't be certain he'd ever find a woman capable of giving him a son, he used your existence as a backup plan, arranging your engagement to a powerful family with the potential to be extremely useful to a creature with ambition. The boy was weak and sickly, but your father figured that would make him easier to manipulate. If nothing else, marrying you off to the little invalid as soon as possible would minimize the danger you posed.

You couldn't remember a time that you didn’t know Steve, didn't know that one day you and Steve would marry. You couldn't imagine a world in which you didn't adore every single thing about him, a universe in which you weren't meant to be together forever. Three years old when you were born, Steve had been your world your entire life. Because Steve's mother, Sarah, and your mother were old friends and comrades, both were delighted with the match.

Unbeknownst to their husbands, your mother and Sarah were intelligent and strong-minded women. Though they weren’t aware of it, Joseph Rogers and your father were being outmaneuvered by far more brilliant minds and your betrothal was only part of it. The only concern was whether you and Steve would comply. By the time you were sixteen and Steve nineteen, however, it had become clear that neither of you had eyes for anyone else.

Steve was small, both short and slim, and prone to illness. He spent most of his time inside, both because he was often sick, but also because any number of things outside could set off a fit of wheezing. He was pale both from the lack of sunshine and the arsenic used to treat his asthma. You knew that others looked at Steve and saw weakness, but you saw strength.

Steve wasn't just your betrothed, your beloved, he was also your best friend and the person you trusted above all else. You knew Steve wasn't weak, but quiet and shy. Steve had an unshakeable concept of right and wrong and a complete inability to ignore his conscience.

He also had not just a willingness, but an eagerness to fight for what he thought was right. If Steve thought something must be done, he would do it, regardless of all else. Between you and James, Steve's brother in arms and best friend, you had barely managed to keep him alive. His utter disregard for his own health and safety made it a nearly impossible task.

You may have been mad, but you looked forward to a lifetime of it.

Not long after your seventeenth birthday but shortly before the wedding, all hell broke loose.

You and Steve had inadvertently set the stage for the calamity a couple of days prior. You had taken a rare chance to be alone together; both your mothers had been very careful about chaperones for years.

The gardens of your father’s country estate where he most often left you and your mother to your own devices were massive and elaborate. Near the center was a little bower where the trees had been tied to force them to grow together into an arbor. After years of neglect and tucked away where you had to almost crawl in, you and Steve had found it as children and immediately claimed it as your secret. You’d spent hours there together, talking and dreaming.

Years later, in that place of childhood dreams, you and Steve had exchanged vows of your own making before making love for the first time. As you promised to love him forever and a day, joy, bright and brilliant, burst upon you like sunlight. As you moved together, tentatively as each of you was afraid of hurting the other, the pleasure was so pure and radiant you were sure it had to be magic.

You weren’t really surprised. You and Steve had always made magic together.

A few days later, in the library of his family’s house in Brooklyn Heights, you and Steve sat next to one another on a sofa in the corner. Under the fan of your skirts, Steve had taken your hand and was brushing his thumb over the back of your fingers, something he'd done a thousand times before.

This time, though, knowing what his face looked like flushed with passion, how his eyes had glowed as they took in the sight of your body finally bared completely to his gaze, even that little touch was electrifying. Completely distracted, neither of spoke as you each focused on that point of physical contact. You could hear the little catches in his breathing you knew to be the surest sign of Steve's excitement. You'd heard them before every kiss he'd ever stolen.

You didn’t notice your mothers sending one another worried glances at the change in your behavior; you and Steve normally held animated conversations whenever you were together. You didn’t notice the looks of malevolent glee your fathers traded or the subtle smell of brimstone that permeated the room as the men tossed back celebratory glasses of brandy.

You did notice, however, the look of corrupted lust that lived in Steve's father's eyes when he crossed to you, his voice booming out. "Well, my dear! We always considered you one of the family. The day after tomorrow, it becomes official!” Joseph Rogers' eyes raked the bared skin of your chest your neckline exposed and made your skin crawl. Now that you knew what healthy desire looked like, it seemed easy to see the twisted, malignant kind for what it was.

When he reached out and snagged your hand in his, it took everything you had to not yank it out of his grip. Afraid to make a scene, especially so soon before the wedding, you forced your hand to lie lightly in his and allowed him to draw you to your feet. It seemed almost painful in that moment, but you let go of Steve's hand as your skirts fell around you.

"A kiss for my soon-to-be daughter-in-law!" he announced with a leer that a week ago would have looked avuncular and harmless. You didn't know why Steve's father, who had always seemed to you like a mostly benign drunkard, if a little over familiar, now looked like a demon from the pit. Mesmerized by the flames that danced behind his eyes, you didn't cringe away though every fiber of your being was screaming at you to run.

As his overly wet and deeply unpleasant mouth met yours, blinding light bloomed behind your eyelids and a sound like you were directly underneath clanging cathedral bells screamed inside your head. A searing pain shrieked through your body, leaving you unable to feel, see, or hear anything. It couldn't have been long before you came back to your senses, but nothing made sense when you did.

Your mother was cradling you in her arms where you'd fallen to the carpet. Your father was looking at both of you with a sneer of disgust that didn't hide the predatory gleam of anticipation that shone in his eyes. You shuddered as you looked at him; it was like you were seeing him for the first time.

He was a handsome man, but under his skin something… revolting lived. It was the raw red of a dangerously warm wound but mottled with what looked like bruises in varying states of healing, ranging from green to purple. Your gorge rose at the sight and you ached to scramble back, away from boiling black eyes so cold they burned.

"Obviously we'll have to call off the wedding." Joseph was saying cruelly. He flicked a dismissive glance your way. You were fascinated to see a similarly hideous red creature beneath his skin. He glanced at Steve, and the disappointment on his face was so clear, you wanted to claw out his eyes.

Steve looked to you as he always did, beautiful, but the bleakness on his face had your heart galloping in fear. He was cradling his mother in his arms as she sobbed into his shoulder. You thought you could see the beginnings of a bruise on her cheek and wondered if this was the source of the sadness that always seemed to haunt Steve's eyes.

Steve's eyes were on yours, liquid with love and sorrow. Underneath his skin was the loveliest golden glow, like his soul was as beautiful as his face. His mother was as golden, if not as bright, and together they created a little sun for you to focus on as you tried to catch your breath.

Your mother was holding you in her arms and murmuring words of reassurance and remorse. You couldn’t understand why she was apologizing as she rocked you, but her arms were tight around you and her voice was thick with unshed tears. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw a glow emanating from your mother that matched that from Steve and Sarah, but hers was silver.

"Pity," your father was saying, his voice both bored and irritated. "An alliance between our houses would have been formidable."

"Once we get this cleaned up," Joseph replied with a roll of his eyes toward you and your mother, "we should discuss other options." The two men smiled at one another and the sight had chills of terror running down your spine. You were trying desperately to scramble to your feet and run, grabbing your mother, Steve, and Sarah on your way. You were weak as a kitten, though, and could barely lift your arm to reach toward Steve.

Only once your arm was outstretched, however, did you realize that the silver light that had been teasing the corner of your eye was coming not only from your mother, but from symbols etched all over your skin. You wondered if they were confined to your arms and shoulders or if you were covered in them. You didn't understand what they meant or where they came from, but unlike the golden glow of Steve and his mother, or the silver glow of your mother, everyone else seemed able to see them, too.

"I-- I don't understand," you said, your voice a near soundless whisper, as your throat was as raw as though you'd been screaming with all your might.

"Excellent," your father said with a sigh of relief. "She's untrained. That will make this much easier." With that, he walked across the library to grab you by the knot of hair at the back of your head. You tried to struggle as he dragged you to your feet and scooped you into his arms, but your muscles felt like water. "Come along, Lydia. It looks like I found a use for a daughter after all."

Your mother rose to her feet, every inch of her body taut with haughty disdain. You'd never seen her like this, like a cruel queen dismissing a disappointing servant. "Only because you hold something of far greater worth than you can imagine. Perhaps you should be more careful with her."

Rather than growing stronger the longer you were conscious, you seemed to be getting weaker. You reached out to Steve again, your mouth forming the words even though your voice couldn't carry them to him. "Help me." The last thing you saw as darkness descended was Steve turning away.

You awoke in tears.

You were already crying as you swam toward consciousness, but once you broke the surface, you were shocked to hear the wracking sobs tearing from your throat in harsh cries of betrayal, heartbreak, and terror. Almost immediately you stuffed your fist in your mouth to stifle the sound of your tears, but even as you gained control over your body, your heart continued to weep. You slowly became aware of your surroundings and as you did, you began to tremble.

You were in what you thought was the cellar of your father’s house in Brooklyn, but a part of it you'd never been in before, not that you’d spent much time here. Around you was a cage, and around your cage were more cages. In the one next to yours, a girl who looked a lot like your mother but closer to your age rocked back and forth and sang softly to herself. The wounds in varying states of healing all over her bare body made you sick to your stomach at the thought of what she must have endured. You hoped she'd found a more pleasant place in her mind.

You were still wearing the gown you'd worn to your fiancé's house, though it was stained with heaven knows what from the floor you'd been laying on. The pungent coppery smell told you the identity of at least one of the substances you were now covered in. You looked down at your arms and saw the symbols still glowed the slightest bit but would not be noticeable in light any brighter than that of a single candle. The only light in your dungeon was dim, golden light from a crack under the door leading into what you assumed was the wine cellar.

Your suspicions were confirmed when you heard the rattle of bottles as the rack in front of the door was moved aside. Your heart was pounding with the fear that your father had come for you. The door opened, and you relaxed a fraction when you saw the female shape of the silhouette, even as part of you grew more frantic at the flickering light at the shadow's back.

"Miss Y/N?" The voice whispered tentatively, as though afraid to make any more sound than absolutely necessary. Nonetheless, you recognized the voice as belonging to the personal maid your mother had brought from her own household, Maria.

"Maria," you whispered back, still unable to speak out loud, though that would seem to be an advantage in your current predicament.

"Oh, thank god," she breathed. "Let's get you out of here." She went to work on the lock of your cage, pulling what you thought must be lockpicks from a pocket in her petticoat.

As she worked, you noticed the smell of smoke wafting into the room through the open door. "Maria, where's my mother?"

"I'm sorry,” she answered briskly, but with sympathy nonetheless. “Your father killed her before he set fire to the house. He was more cunning than either she or I expected." Having made quick work of the lock on your cage, she turned to the cage next to yours with pity on her face. "I don't know if I can save you," she said to the girl in low and soothing tones as she worked at the lock, "but damned if I'm not going to try." She sounded almost put out by it.

As she worked at the other lock, you crawled out of the cage and got tentatively to your feet. For reasons that escaped you, rather than your earlier weakness, your muscles now felt stronger than they ever had before, and a burst of energy made you feel like you could fly if you had to.

You could tell the effort was likely futile, but Maria was right. You had to try. Once Maria had the lock open, you reached into the cage and pulled the young woman out. As soon as she was standing on wobbling legs, Maria was wrapping her in the cloak she'd pulled from her own shoulders. You and Maria moved to each side of the girl, bracing and supporting her.

Maria didn't move toward the open door, however, but toward the back of the dank little room. That's when you realized that wisps of smoke were streaming from the door through the room before disappearing into a little crack at the darkest back corner.

Maria pushed, and a slab of rock that looked as though it couldn’t have been moved by a giant swung easily aside to reveal a hidden passageway. The girl between you seemed to wake up a little at the smell of fresh air. To your surprise, she moved forward without a murmur of protest.

The passageway was tight, especially for three people, but though you expected your father to come out of the dark behind you to snatch you back, you made it nearly to the end, and escape, without incident.

A gust of cool air blew over the three of you, making you and Maria shiver, but seeming to wake your companion. She gave a quiet whimper, dropped the cloak and turned around, running naked back toward the house. You tried to turn and catch her, but Maria prevented you.

“I can’t let you risk yourself. The house was already engulfed in flames when I ran down to the cellar. We can’t save her now.” You wanted to yell at her for her callousness, but the sadness in her eyes stopped your voice. “Come. Your uncle will be waiting.”

You sat on a settee in your uncle's study with your face buried in his chest as you shook like a leaf in a hurricane, reaction from the events of the night finally setting in. Your aunt draped a blanket carefully around your shoulders and rubbed your upper arms through the fabric like she could take some of the pain away through her palms. Sadly, no one had that power. To lose your mother and Steve in the same night was devastating beyond belief. Though you hadn’t shed a tear since you’d awoken, inside you sobbed like your heart was breaking. Because it was.

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart. This was all my fault." Tony's voice was low and throbbing with remorse. The loss of his dear little sister wounded him to the deepest place in his heart. The loss of his most trusted lieutenant in the never-ending war left all his carefully laid plans in shambles. But for Maria, there'd be nothing left of the twenty-year long plot to take his enemy down from the inside. But for Maria, there'd be nothing left of his Lydia. He met Pepper's eyes over your head and took solace from the love and understanding there.

"If everything had gone to plan, you never would have been in danger." Tony's heart hurt, because he was almost certain he knew where his plan had gone awry. If his sister had been a better soldier than a mother, perhaps things would be different now, but he would never have wished it so. "One of two things must have happened, and one is far more likely than the other." Your uncle and the last of the family you could trust pulled you away so that he could look into your eyes. His will almost broke when your pale, grieving face came into his view, but he pressed on. "Did you allow Steve the rights of a husband before your wedding?"

He knew your answer by the way your face blanched and your eyes dropped to your lap. "I did. We were to be married in a few short days. I didn't see the harm." Your voice was a rasp, still damaged from whatever had happened when Joseph Rogers had kissed you. Pepper continued to rub your arms and the sympathy in the way she squeezed your shoulders made you feel better.

Tony stood and moved to the desk where a decanter of brandy sat. He poured one for each of you as he spoke. "If you were a normal girl and Steve a normal boy, there probably would have been no harm."

Maria came up behind you and placed a cloak around your shoulders. You were standing at the rail of a steamship taking a last look at New York. You were believed dead, so it was best that you get gone before someone saw you. The bodies of two women had been found in the still smoldering remains of your burned down house, your father was nowhere to be found, and your uncle was buying two headstones, one for his sister, the other for his niece.

You were going to England to be trained.

Steve… well, you weren't sure. Your Uncle Tony had told you that he'd chosen the other side in this war, that he'd joined his father, the Demon King of Brooklyn, to become a creature like that you had seen lurking beneath the surface of Joseph’s skin. You could hardly imagine your Steve doing such a thing.

He told you Steve had helped kill his mother.

You didn't say it out loud, but that you didn't believe even a little.

Of course, you didn't think your uncle was lying, though you wouldn't put it past him if he thought it was what was best for you. Hadn't he, and your mother, and Maria, and Pepper and everyone else in your mother's family lied to you your whole damn life about who you were and your place in all this insanity? You may have understood, but you were also furious, and you'd vowed to never be used like that again.

If they’d only told you about the spell that hid you from demons, you would not have broken it by making love with Steve.

The fact was, even though he'd turned away from you at the end, you knew Steve. Steve would never have harmed a hair on his mother's head. He adored her, would die protecting her without hesitation. You could not believe that he could have had a hand in her death. If part of Tony's information was flawed, the rest was suspect. You wouldn't let your heart truly break until you'd seen Steve for yourself, heard the truth, or god forbid a lie, from his own lips.

Unfortunately, Tony had been adamant that your continued existence could not be known by anyone. He would not allow you to contact Steve in any way, was in fact shipping you off as quickly as possible to get you under the thumb of someone he trusted to control you. You were going along with it so that you could learn what you needed to obtain your revenge.

You may have chosen the angelic side, the "good" side, but you'd done it for all the wrong reasons and you knew it, not that you were concerned. You'd finally been told why your mother, a being from a powerful angelic bloodline, would have a child with a creature from the pit, a demon of a less powerful demonic bloodline. You were a weapon, but despite what the others thought, you would decide how your power was to be wielded.

As you raked the New York skyline with eyes burning with unshed tears, trying to sear the sight into your memory until you could come home again, you hardened your heart. New York meant Steve, but you had a mission now. Every day that ended with your father still breathing was an offense. You wouldn't rest until he'd breathed his last. For your mother. For a girl whose name you never learned but that now lay at rest under yours. For all your broken dreams.

Five years later you stood in front of the house in Brooklyn that had been built in place of that once owned by your father. The fire brigade had managed to save the houses around it, but your father’s house had burned to the ground. You didn’t know why, but apparently he had cut his losses and bolted. The last Tony had heard, he was in New Orleans trying to make alliances against the Demon King of New York. Your mentor's spies said the same and Fury's spies were almost never wrong.

Fury, a dark man who seemed humorless at first but, when he relaxed a little, was in actuality very funny if a little melodramatic, and the ever-faithful Maria had spent almost every hour of every day training you for the day of your return. You'd had physical training until you were agile as a cat and deadly with a blade. You currently had your favorite strapped to your thigh under the thick black skirts that could be removed with a pull of a string. Underneath you wore breeches and boots in case you suddenly needed to move unencumbered. Tony had sent him a soft, sweet little rich girl. Fury had sent back a warrior.

You hadn't been trained in only martial talents, however. The long history of your bloodline had finally been passed to you. You understood now what had happened the night your world came apart. Now that you'd been taught to use the power that had flowed through you that night, you were nigh unstoppable. Not that you had any intention of using that power today.

You'd given Maria the slip so that you could go back to your old neighborhood, thoigh you’d never spent much time at your father's house in Brooklyn. He had much preferred that you and your mother stay at the country estate. It made a lot more sense once you'd finally been told of his vicious and depraved appetites, seen the evidence of them first hand. You hoped those that lived there now never learned of the horrific things done on that unholy ground.

Almost against your will, your feet turned you towards Steve's house. To indulge his new wife, with whom he was delighted due to the size of her dowry, your father had bought his city home just a few doors down from the Rogers'. He hadn't known that he was buying it from his brother-in-law, nor had he known that it had been outfitted with an escape route in the wine cellar. But then, you wouldn't expect even a demon with your father’s pedigree to know that he'd married into an extremely powerful angelic bloodline. The Starks were nothing if not secretive.

You weren't worried about being recognized, hiding as you were in widow's weeds and a hat with a heavy veil. You slowed but remained carefully casual as you walked by. You wondered if he was in there now. What would happen if you walked up to the door and knocked? Would he welcome you with open arms? Or would he kill you on the spot?

You were so lost in thought, you didn't notice that you'd come to a stop, all your training forgotten as you stared at the house that held your heart, even now. You also didn't notice the green-eyed redhead behind you whose eyes had sharpened when she followed your gaze.

"Excuse me, ma'am?" The redhead's voice was low and almost bored as she walked toward you. When you turned in her direction, your eyes widened but you saw her intent a split second too late. In a move almost too fast to see, she had your wrists in her hands and wrapped in black rope that seemed to smoke and seethe. "Looks like I caught an angel," she murmured with a smirk as she pulled you by the rope across the street. If you were an ordinary angel, the rope would have burned like ice, but as it was it only held a somewhat pleasant coolness.

You didn't try to escape. Some part of you had been hoping for something like this, some excuse to see Steve, to find out if your heart could be trusted at all. The traitorous thing wouldn't stop beating for him. Maybe if you saw him as the creature he'd become, you could finally talk your heart out of its stubborn loyalty. When the front door opened to the house you'd run tame in whenever you'd come to Brooklyn, your heart leapt at the knowledge that for better or worse, you were going to see Steve again. You couldn't help the small smile that curved your lips.

"Since you're so compliant," the redhead was saying as you looked around, wondering at the small changes you could see, "we can put you in the library until James and I figure out what to do with you." Your head snapped around at the name James, the first acknowledgement you'd given the woman's words. "I see you've heard of our ghost story," she replied with a smirk. "At least now I know I didn't capture a doll."

She showed you into the library, though you knew very well where it was. Your familiarity with the house wasn't lost on the woman, who wondered even as she determined to get James as soon as you were trapped in the hidden sigil meant to hold captive angels. Once you were seated, she breathed a sigh of relief. However, she couldn't help but notice your apparent lack of fear considering you were an angel among demons. You folded your hands loosely in your lap as you made yourself comfortable on the sofa across from the massive wooden desk that sat with its back to even more massive windows.

You had been dreading this room more than any other, afraid the sight of the place where your life as you knew it had ended would break you despite your training. You were relieved to see that it had been changed in nearly every way. Every scrap of furniture was different; the carpets, the wallpaper, even the books seemed to have been replaced. You wondered if Steve hated this room as much as you did.

"I hear our little spider caught something." You recognized the voice as soon as you heard it. Low and warm with humor, the good-natured man was someone you'd missed almost as much as Steve. It took everything you had to not leap to your feet and hug him as hard as you could. As it was, you remained still. Fury had taught you the value of staying quiet when in doubt.

"Something special," the little redhead replied. "I think Stark either sent something top-tier, or something unusual. I wouldn't have looked twice if she hadn't stopped in front of the house."

"Give her a break. Who could anticipate our Natasha?" James was chuckling, his voice a touch flirtatious. You'd heard it enough times to see the smile on his face in your head without turning to look. You knew better, but you just couldn't help yourself. Five years with Maria and Fury had also honed your tongue to a razor edge.

"Please tell me women are not still falling for that," you said clearly, your voice dry as a desert, with an almost cracking sandpaper rasp. Your throat had never recovered from the damage done the night your blood had responded to the demon holding you. Even so, the tone and timbre were still recognizable to anyone who knew you well. You kept your gaze on the gardens outside the windows behind the desk, but the sudden silence told you that you had their attention.

A small smile curved your lips in response until you heard James breathe, "Y/N? You're alive?" The sound of his genuine grief mixed with hope broke your resistance. This was why you hadn't been allowed to see these people. Your heart was too vulnerable. It didn't matter that they were on opposing sides in an eternal war, you loved them. With a sigh, you lifted your still bound hands to your hat to remove the pin holding it on and pulled the veil from your face.

You turned and looked at James as you replied, your eyes tired and sad. "If you can call it that," you smirked.

With a whoop, James was hopping over the back of the sofa to snatch you up into his arms and squeeze you until you squeaked. "He always said he'd know if you were really gone." As he was talking he was alternating pulling back to cup your face in his hands and yanking you back into his arms to hug you again. You were laughing, though your voice was thick with tears you would not let fall. You hadn't allowed yourself to cry since the night your mother died. "I can't believe Stark let us believe you were dead. I understand hiding you from your father, but Steve? Where is Steve?" The last wasn't directed at you, but at Natasha.

"He's getting ready for his meeting with the King of Long Island about his daughter's hand." Natasha was answering James, but her eyes were on you. You stiffened involuntarily and cursed yourself. Another break in your training and you'd only just gotten back. Some soldier, easily caught, hugging one of your jailers, and jealous that your enemy(?) had been courting another.

James felt your body tense and grinned. "Not anymore, I bet. I'm going to get him. Do not let her leave." With that he let you go to run through the door and from the sounds of his pounding footsteps, up the stairs.

"I guess he forgot about the sigil I'm standing on." You spoke to the suspicious Natasha for the first time, a small smile curving your lips.

"I take it you didn't. It's supposed to burn, you know."

Your smile widened when you saw that this one wouldn't underestimate you. Good. You were grateful Steve had had suspicious, dangerous people at his back. "Is it? How odd."

"So are the ropes."

"Maybe you need new ones." Your voice bored, you sank down onto the couch and turned your gaze back to the windows.

"Buck, I really don't have time to deal with whatever spies Stark is sending now. He's been spying on me for years; I don't know why Natasha even bothered to capture one."

Your breath caught, and your heart leapt when you heard his voice. Your eyes closed as you floated on the sound you'd missed more than anything from home. That beautiful sound was different somehow, though, the timbre lower and deeper and you hurt that you hadn't kept such a sacred memory with true fidelity.

On top of that, Steve sounded different. His voice carried the tone of command, the sound of a man sure in his position and confident he'll be obeyed. You grieved a little for the shy boy who'd won your heart practically before you could walk.

"Yeah, but this one's special, Stevie. Trust me." James was practically dancing he was so happy. Steve was amused, but less than enthused. His best friend was at his most dangerous when he was this excitable.

Now that the moment was here, you couldn't seem to make yourself move. You wanted to stand, to turn and see the face that had haunted you through most of every day and all of every night for years. Tears pricked at your eyes and were viciously blinked back. You would not look at Steve for the first time again through a sheen of tears.

Natasha piped up. "The ropes and the sigil don't burn her, Steven."

For the first time, Steve sounded interested, though he still didn't sound like your Steve. "I see. Did Stark send a nephalem to spy on us this time?"

This was the moment. You stood slowly, your hands still folded in their bonds, and though you weren't aware of it, your training had left its mark. As you stood, Natasha and Steve both braced, alert to the danger you posed by your smooth movement, the sign of a highly trained assassin. As you turned to face Steve, your heart galloped in both excitement and fear. "No one sent me." Your eyes were soft as you turned to face the man your heart insisted was your husband. You'd given him your heart, your body, and your soul without hesitation, taken vows for all they’d been for his ears alone. You wouldn't take it back now, no matter what he'd become.

Your eyes had expected Steve's face much lower than it was. As your eyes lifted to his, they traced over a massive chest, brawny shoulders, and huge arms. By the time you'd reached his face, your expression was one of fear and confusion. He looked like Steve, but not your Steve. His gorgeous blue eyes were cold when they met yours and your heart failed.

You hoped he'd at least let his face be the last thing you saw before you died.

Then something strange happened. You'd been holding back your other sight, terrified you'd see the hideous red creature you knew had to be beneath Steve's skin. You cursed yourself again, angry at how weak you were, how desperate you were to avoid facing what Steve had become. Tony had told you a thousand times in person and in letters to accept that Steve was lost forever, but you were still holding onto the memory of a love that could never be.

But when you looked into Steve's eyes, you caught a flicker of that golden glow you'd seen in him that last night. Your heart murmured insistently. The corner of your mouth lifted slightly with the hope that your Steve was still in there, in this body you didn't recognize. The smile fell completely when Steve took three angry strides forward and closed his hands hard around your upper arms.

Steve lifted you up, his face a mask of rage. “Who are you and what horrible magic has Stark done to give you her face?” The flames you’d once seen in his father’s eyes danced behind Steve’s, but you weren’t frightened. You didn’t struggle against his grip because under that anger you could see his heartbreak, his grief, as fresh as when you lost each other.

“Is that really more believable than I faked my own death?” You were a little surprised to feel the buzz of irritation under your skin, but you didn’t like being frightened by Steve. These days you responded to things you didn’t like with anger. Of all the reactions you’d imagined, skepticism wasn’t one of them.

Steve set you down, hard, and his grip on your shoulders remained almost painfully tight as he answered harshly. “Yes. Because I cannot imagine why Y/N would let me think she was dead.” He towered over you as he lifted you onto your toes to bring your face closer to his, the experience dizzying in its unfamiliarity. “For years.” Steve’s eyes were sizzling black and gold, his voice a menacing growl.

You closed your eyes as guilt assailed you. "You're a demon," you replied, your voice cracking as you held back the tears. Seeing Steve like this was almost more than you could bear, proof that at least some of what Tony had told you was true.

Steve released you with a curse, turning to glare at James. "They didn't even get the voice right," he said in a tone you'd never heard from him, scathing and cruel. He turned back to you, his jaw set in rage. "Did Stark really think I wouldn’t be able to tell the difference?"

Standing in the room where it had all fallen apart, where every naïve dream you'd had ended up broken under your feet, as the love you'd never been able to escape turned its back on you, you wanted to weep. But you’d learned years ago that tears were worthless. Instead, as always, you channeled that feeling into anger of your own.

You lifted your bound hands as you stepped forward. The smoking ropes vanished in a sizzle of silver light and the sigil did nothing more than tickle as you crossed its boundaries. Natasha moved into an immediate defensive crouch, ready to leap. You stopped where you were and pulled the string at your waist, letting your skirts fall to your feet.

"The last time I was in this room, Steven," you began, your voice rasping even more harshly with your pain and rage, "you and I sat on a sofa against those windows. You had my hand in yours under the edge of my skirts and we were both thinking about..." Your trailed off as your skin ran with heat at the memory. Caught, Steve turned slowly to face you once more. "When your father kissed me," you went on, drowning in the bright blue eyes you’d never stopped dreaming of, "everything went crazy, blinding light, clanging bells, pain like I was burning from the inside out." Steve was walking slowly toward you, his eyes never leaving yours even as Natasha growled in protest. "I think I screamed, but I don't remember. My voice has never been the same."

Steve stopped directly in front of you, his hands coming up to once again close around your shoulders, but with infinite tenderness this time. His big warm hands were squeezing gently as his eyes seemed to devour your face like they were starved for the sight of you. He looked astonished, but belief was beginning to take hold. "Why?"

In that moment, with Steve’s hands smoothing up and down the outside of your arms and his eyes rich with the same love that had always lived there, you didn’t know how you’d ever doubted him. Whether or not Steve had given into his demonic heritage, he was still your beloved. You knew what he was asking; he deserved the truth.

“That last night, I reached for you and you turned away.” Tears were standing in your eyes again and the sight had Steve’s hands coming up to cup your face. “After that, I heard so many things and didn’t know what to believe. When Uncle Tony decided to ship me off to England, I didn’t argue.”

“I was grabbing a knife. Well, a letter opener.”

You gave a little hiccup of a laugh, one tear breaking rank and slipping down your face. Steve lips were there to kiss it away and the feel of his mouth on your skin made your heart ache. When he licked his lips, a flash of golden light winked in his eyes, but you were too busy looking at his mouth and wondering if he tasted the same to notice. “I should have known,” you murmured, unsurprised. “I think my heart did.” You looked up at Steve, a disorienting experience as you’d never had to do so, and the wave of love that hit you was so huge you felt you might drown in it. There was no guarantee you wouldn’t do so willingly. “I could never convince it to give up on you.”

The next thing you knew Steve’s mouth was on yours. Like coming home, he tasted exactly the same, honey and cinnamon and Steve. As odd as it felt to kiss him from this angle, you still sank in, the sob you wouldn't loose caught in your throat. When he pulled away, you saw his eyes boil black for a moment, and a shiver ran over your skin.

Even so, you didn't move away. Steve held you infinitely more securely than the rope that had bound your wrists. His hands cupped around your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks kept you in place when their sigil could not. His eyes, blue and green and beautiful, had caught you as surely as any diabolical snare demons had ever devised for angels. Or vice versa, to tell the truth and shame the devil.

"Should I send a message to the King of Long Island that you won't be joining him after all?" James couldn't have sounded happier if he tried. He loved you as a sister, almost as much as Steve did, and though he was furious that he'd been allowed to grieve you unnecessarily, he was too delighted to have you back to hold on to it.

"What?" Steve turned to glare at James as he barked the word. "Yes!" he shouted, his voice rich with disbelief that his friend even asked. "Go now. And close the door." Natasha made a tiny sound of protest and straightened out of her crouch as she stepped forward, making you wonder not for the first time who she was to Steve. James grinned and winked at you before taking Natasha's arm and guiding her from the room. Steve didn't see her turn to glare at you as she was led away, his eyes immediately returning to yours once he'd issued the command.

"She's my lieutenant, and my friend, nothing more." When you raised a questioning brow as your gaze returned to Steve's, he smiled. "I can still tell when you're jealous, my love. Your eyes go to smoke. I used to try to make you jealous just to see your eyes smolder."

"Did you?" You murmured the question, your lips curving in pleasure. Steve had always had a way of making you feel like the most beautiful thing he'd ever laid eyes on.

Once again you were taken completely by surprise by Steve’s mouth on yours. You couldn’t understand why, despite all your training, you couldn’t see it coming. Then Steve’s startlingly brawny arms were wrapping around your waist and pulling you tight against his broad chest and you couldn’t think at all, too focused on the press of his soft lips against yours. This, thank god, hadn’t changed.

The next thing you knew, you were being settled across firm thighs as Steve sank to the sofa you'd been sitting on and pulled you into his lap. "St--" The moment you were back in his arms, Steve's lips were once again on yours and all the questions you needed to ask went up in flames along with any thought you had of resisting the wildfire that had flared between you.

To your utter shock, Steve’s hands were already at the buttons of your bodice, unfastening them with deft but hurried fingers. You had no intention of trying to stop him, as eager for him as he for you, but this aggressive confidence in Steve’s touch was foreign to you, and thus of note, if not concern.

“It never occurred to me that breeches could be arousing, but it never occurred to me to imagine you in them, so…” Steve trailed off to bury his face between your breasts, his hands moving to unhook the modified corset you wore. The low rumble of Steve's voice sent a shiver of pure lust down your spine and you arched against him with a gasp. The delicious sound teased at your memory and you realized that you hadn't misremembered; Steve's voice really had changed.

"That's why you keep surprising me when you kiss me!"

Steve lifted his head from running his lips under the parting fabric over the curves of your breasts to smile at you. For the first time since you'd laid eyes on him again, you saw your Steve in his smile. You didn't know he was thinking something similar about you, that it was the first time since he'd heard your voice again that he'd heard his girl. It wasn't the cracked rasp, but the bored indifference that had made him question your identity. "What?" he asked with a laugh.

"Your breath doesn't catch when you're wound up anymore." You smiled softly, unable to hold your heart back from Steve, your Steve, as you lifted your hand to brush at the lock of blond hair that always fell over his forehead whenever he got disheveled. You'd always adored disheveled Steve; and absence truly had made the heart grow fonder.

Your face seemed to Steve like it was shining as you smiled down at him. His heart, whispering from wherever it hid from the demon he'd allowed to infest him, had insisted that you could not be lost to him forever, that it, that he would know if you were truly beyond his reach. Should his heart be right, and he'd never allowed himself to give that thought credence for longer than a sleepless night, he'd never dreamed you'd look at him like this ever again.

All he'd been able to hope for was that you still lived; he'd never allowed himself to hope you still loved. The sight of not only the same love as when he'd been only a man, but an even deeper, richer love, had his breath catching in his throat.

The sound had the two of you grinning at one another before you dived.

…The Other in Hell here

Tagging the usual suspects:

@hellzzzbelle @suz-123 @cheekygeek05 @lbouvet @rishlo @diinofayce @bibliophile1773 @getbuckylucky @california-grown

#intothenightmare2k #steve rogers x reader #demon!steve x angel!reader #marvel dark au #steve rogers fanfiction #one foot in heaven #the other in hell #pantswrites #two-part one-shot

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upontheshelfreviews · 6 years

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If there’s a reason why we’re able to recall the story of Snow White from memory, and why said princess is usually depicted with short hair, a cute bow and surrounded by woodland fauna, look no further than Disney. Their take on the Grimms’ fairy tale is the prime example of pop cultural osmosis. Even if you’ve never watched Disney’s Snow White, it’s easy to recognize when a piece of work is borrowing from it or spoofing it. And I can definitely see why – not only is it going eighty-plus years strong, but its influence on nearly every Disney feature to come after it is a profound one.

The real story of Disney’s Snow White begins in the early 1910’s when a young Walt Disney saw a silent film version of the Grimms’ fairytale starring Marguerite Clark. The movie stuck with him well into adulthood. One night, well after he had established himself as an animation giant the world over, Walt gathered his entire staff of animators and storymen and re-enacted the tale for them in a mesmerizing one-man show. They were enraptured, but what he told them next struck them dumb – they were going to take what he performed and turn it into a full-length film.

In Tony Goldmark’s epic(ally hilarious) retrospective of Epcot, he performs a quick sketch he summed up as “Walt Disney’s entire career in 55 seconds” where Walt presents his career-defining ideas to a myopic businessman capable of only saying “You fool, that’ll never work!”. Considering how animation is everywhere today, it’s easy to forget that an animated film was once seen as an impossible dream. The press hawked Snow White as “Disney’s Folly”, and Hollywood speculated that it would bankrupt the Mouse House. It very nearly did. Miraculously, a private showing of the half-finished feature to a banking firm impressed the investors enough to ensure its completion.

Snow White is touted as the very first animated movie – admittedly something of a lie on Disney’s behalf. Europe and Russia were experimenting with feature-length animation decades before Walt gave it a try. But consider this: most animated films predating Snow White’s conception are either sadly lost to us or barely count as such by just crossing the hour mark. With all the hard work poured into it showing in every scene, with each moment displaying a new breakthrough in the medium, Snow White might as well be the first completely animated movie after all. Hell, it’s the very first movie in the entire history of cinema that was created using STORYBOARDS. A tool used by virtually every single movie put out today. If that’s not groundbreaking enough, I don’t know what is.

But is Snow White really…but why does it…can it…

“You know what? No. I’m not doing this teasing question thing before the review starts proper. OF COURSE Snow White is a masterpiece. OF COURSE most of it holds up. Let’s skip the middleman so I can explain why.”

After the opening credits we get the first of what will be many Disney leather bound books opening themselves to invite us into the world of the story. We’re informed that once upon a time there was a particularly Wicked Queen (nicknamed Grimhilde in promo features and the comics) who had a serious narcissistic personality disorder. Every day she consults her Magic Mirror™ to see who’s the fairest one of all and takes pride in being repeatedly told she holds said title. In the meantime she bullies her younger, prettier stepdaughter, the princess Snow White, and gives her the standard Cinderella treatment in the hopes that endless drudgery will wipe out the competition.

One fateful morning, however, the Mirror informs the Queen that she’s been bumped down to runner-up. She susses out that it’s Snow White who’s taken her place after the Mirror describes the newcomer as having “lips red as the rose, hair black as ebony, [and] skin white as snow”, but maybe the Queen is projecting here due to her extreme jealousy. Going by those three traits the Mirror could be describing almost anyone on the planet.

Care to narrow it down a bit, buddy?

Now if you consider yourself a feminist or at the very least have progressive views regarding women, I know what you’re thinking – just another example of the patriarchy pitting shallow female stereotypes against each other, right? Well in a manner of speaking, yes. There’s plenty of evidence that the Brothers Grimm held some odious misogynistic beliefs that stemmed from a bad combination of the era they lived in, outdated religious teachings, and their own experiences with the opposite sex. It shows in their second fairy tale revisions – the heroines are naïve bimbos in need of a man’s rescue, and the villains are evil stepmothers and witches who happen to be hideous 99% of the time – and those views have been reinforced in our society thanks to those particular iterations being passed down to today.

Here’s my way of viewing the central conflict: The Mirror’s news is a wake-up call that Snow White is coming into her own as a woman and princess. That means marriage to a prince and the end of the Wicked Queen’s rule. Snow White will have all the power and adulation while the Queen is forced to step down and become another footnote in ancient royal history. Up until now the Queen has gone out of her way put down her pretty young opponent with petty cruelty because there’s nothing stopping her; but when faced with the inevitable, she unflinchingly opts to take more drastic measures so she can keep the throne.

If it weren’t for the fact the Queen’s unofficial moniker is Grimhilde and her transformation scene reveals a head of black hair, I’d suspect her real name was Cersei Lannister.

You also have to remember that the Queen takes the term “fairest” at face value. The Queen is beautiful, sure, but it’s a glacial beauty – cold, unfeeling, and nothing beneath the surface. All she cares about is looks and power. You’d have to be a pure loving soul or Woody Allen find something worthwhile in her. Snow White is beautiful too, though it’s her kindness and fair treatment of everyone that garners her the title of “fairest one of all”, not her appearance.

Speaking of, we follow that scene with Snow White (Adriana Casselotti) dressed in rags cleaning the castle courtyard. She shows her bird friends her wishing well and sings “I’m Wishing”, where she reveals her wish for her one true love to show up.

Confession time: In childhood the title of my favorite Disney princess was neck and neck between Belle from Beauty and the Beast and Snow White. I’ve already discussed at length why I adore Belle, so I suppose I should do the same for Snow.

…turns out it’s more difficult than I thought.

For as long as I could remember, I was surrounded by Snow White paraphernalia – tapes, toys, dolls, music, games, artwork, bed sheets, I can even recall the ice show. Snow White is ingrained into my early years. It more than likely has to do with the timing of its brief return to theaters and first VHS release between 1993 and 1994, right at the peak of the Disney Renaissance, so I experienced Snow White-mania right alongside Lion King-mania, Beauty and the Beast-mania and various other Disneymanias that were rampant at that time.

Even this one, embarrassingly.

As a result, I idolized Snow White as much the other princesses of the time, right down to making her the character I dressed up as the most for Halloween. I suppose what drew me to her was inherent kindness, ability to make friends with everyone, and her voice. Yes, I admit it. I don’t find Snow White’s warbling to be as irritating as everyone says it is. Maybe I’ve listened to it so much that I’ve grown immune. Then again I am that one Disney fan who doesn’t loathe It’s A Small World with every fiber of their being so maybe I should question my own tastes more.

Now as an adult with a critical eye who can put nostalgia behind me when necessary, is there something more to the character of Snow White that’s worth appreciating as much as the more-fleshed out princesses of the Renaissance and current Revival period?

I accept that I’m in the minority on this one, but I firmly say yes.

I know what you’re thinking – all Snow White does is smile and sing while she slaves under the Queen and the dwarfs and dreams of a handsome man to come carry her away, so I should turn in my feminist card for daring to suggest she’s a good character and role model for girls, right? Consider this: like Cinderella after her, Snow White’s happy nature and songs are her ways of coping with her unpleasant situation. It keeps her spirits up and in turn she tries to spread that positivity to others who need it as well. She refuses to let the Queen’s negativity turn her as sour as she is. All the little things Snow White reveals in what she does – her patience, pride in her work, healthy emotional balance, drive to help others, and warmth towards those smaller than her (in both a figurative and literal sense) – are all signs that she is capable of being a far better and beloved ruler and all around person than the Queen is. Plus, her reason for wanting to find love is two-fold: not only is she looking for someone with whom she can share a unique emotional understanding bond – which is something most every human craves – but it’s the also best possible means for her to escape from her stepmother’s abuse. Like I said earlier, once Snow White gets the ring, she gets to rule.

And what’s wrong with having a princess who can run a practical household? One could argue that it’s an example of traditional female roles desired by an oppressive patriarchal society on full display, but you want to know why millennials are called out for being lazy? Because baby boomers have cut out classes that teach things young adults actually need outside of school like how to properly cook and do laundry and pay your taxes since those weren’t seen as “essential enough to education”. So I have to admire a princess who, while not the most “progressive” of the bunch by today’s standards, is willing and able take care of herself and others when it comes to basic everyday needs. I think TheBrutallyHonestMom summed it up best in her post defending Snow White:

When we denigrate what Snow White accomplishes at the dwarfs’ cottage, when we rename her accomplishments to make them sound more impressive, more official, more valuable—management, administration, domestic CEO, sous chef, hospitality specialist—what we are really doing is saying that we don’t value the truly valuable work that she and so many other stay-at-home individuals do. Those words are a microaggression against what have traditionally been feminine roles, an attempt to align them with a patriarchal worldview where only those with the biggest titles and fattest paychecks matter. Snow White is domestic. She is a maid. She is a mother figure. She does take on the womanliest of the womanly roles. To claim that adopting these roles (and being good at them) somehow makes her a poor role model for my daughters is not a failure of Snow White’s imagination. It is a failure of ours.

Then there’s the matter of her actress too, which I can’t stay silent about. A few years ago it was revealed that in order to preserve the illusion of Snow White as a real character (a good many years before the company applied that same logic to their character performers at the theme parks I might add), Disney forced Adriana Casselotti to forego her screen credit and never take on another acting role again, essentially robbing her of a career. She only managed to appear in It’s A Wonderful Life and The Wizard of Oz because hers were uncredited minute parts. Casselotti had no regrets about choosing Snow White over a promising show business vocation, but I still call bull on the matter. If this kind of thing happened today, people would not stand for it, character illusions or not. There’s also crazy double standards since all the actors who played the dwarfs got to keep on acting; Sneezy’s voice actor was in Fun and Fancy Free for crying out loud! I love ya Walt, but that is one dick move. So if you’re a detractor cheering that you never have to hear Casselotti’s voice beyond this movie, keep in mind that’s all because of one man silencing her for the sake of his business.

So, Snow White. She cooks, cleans, delegates, teaches, loves, domestically kicks ass, and her behind the scenes story makes a strong case for the Time’s Up movement. Any questions?

“Yes. You’re over 2000 words in and we haven’t even gotten to the dwarfs yet. Plan on getting off that soapbox sometime this decade?”

Snow’s singing attracts the attention of a handsome Prince (Harry Stockwell) passing by on his horse. But his forwardness startles the shy girl and sends her sprinting up to her room. He charms her out to her balcony by singing his one song in the feature…”One Song”. You gotta love it when the title matches the tune perfectly.

“Wherefore art thou Prince? Deny thy father and refuse thy name!”

“Sure I’ll gladly refuse my name – if I had one, that is.”

All joking aside, I have a soft spot for this scene. Stockwell’s voice has this old-time Broadway/operetta quality I’ve always liked, the lyrics are unironic purple prose that still feel genuine, Snow’s little excited gestures are adorable, and it’s framed beautifully. This is what got it into my heard early on that the most romantic gesture anyone can make is serenading someone from beneath their balcony.

“Too bad you’re technically in a long distance relationship.”

“I know. Propping up a phone beneath your window just doesn’t have the same effect.”

Snow returns his affections with a kiss delivered via a dove and departs the scene with one hell of a pair of bedroom eyes, especially for a Disney character.

Daaaaaamn, girl! You already got him hooked, no need to gild the lily!

Unbeknownst to either of them, the Queen is watching overhead; Snow catching the eye of Prince Charming is what finally pushes her to take further action. She summons her Huntsman –

– to bring Snow White out into the forest and do away with her. Brief as this scene may be, there are two things I really like about it. First, the gravity. The Huntsman reacts with horror on being told what he must do, foreshadowing his eventual turnaround, yet with an icy hiss of “Silence!” and a short reminder of the price of failure, the Queen goads him back into line. We don’t know what the penalty for insubordination is, but it’s implied to be pretty nasty if she’s able to convince him otherwise with just a few words. Second, the Queen’s other demand. In the original fairytale, the Queen requested Snow White’s liver, lungs and heart so she could eat them and inherit her stepdaughter’s comely attributes.

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But here in the film, she only wants the heart, and not for lunch. The Queen wants to keep it as a trophy. She even has a disturbingly appropriate box for it at the ready.

Proof that she really puts the ‘grim’ in ‘Grimhilde’.

Snow White, now dressed in her iconic yellow and blue dress, goes out flower picking with the Huntsman waiting not far behind. She spies a lost baby bird, and the moment she turns her back to help it, the Huntsman moves in for the kill. It’s framed like the murderer creeping up to their next victim in a scary movie, slowly building up to the moment he confronts her, with tension you could cut with a – well, you know.

Ultimately the Huntsman is moved by the princess’ humanity and can’t go through with the deed. Instead he reveals the Queen’s plot and pleads her to run, run away, Snow, and never return. Terrified, Snow White flees into the forest where her fears magnify her surroundings. Brambles become gnarled outstretched hands, logs are hungry snapping crocodiles, and there are eyes everywhere, always watching, boring into her every place she turns.

I should note that while developing Snow White, the Disney studio became something of an art college with fine arts and film study classes offered to the staff in order to hone their craft. Some of the movies they studied were horror flicks from the pre-Hays Code era, classics directed by the likes of James Whale and F.W. Murnau. The results speak for themselves. Scenes like this and the Queen’s transformation are why I consider Snow White my very first horror movie. The frightening imagery and darker themes all hide beneath a veneer of Disney childhood innocence. Like a proto-Pan’s Labyrinth, the terror as much psychological as it is fantastical.

A young Sam Raimi watched this and vowed one day he’d make those trees even more terrifying and bad-touchy.

This scene is also the source of one of the most famous stories to come out of the film’s creation. During the planning of the part where Snow falls backwards through an open-mouthed cavern into a lake, one of the animators cried out in terror “Won’t that kill her??” And the whole room fell silent. They reached the point where they no longer thought of Snow White as a cartoon but as an actual person, something that had never happened before. That was the moment where they were officially, as Ben Vereen once put it, on the right track.

Overwhelmed, Snow White collapses in tears. She’s brought back to her senses by the usual cuddly forest inhabitants inexplicably drawn to female royalty in need of assistance. Of course, being the ever-thoughtful soul that she is, Snow apologizes for startling them and making a fuss over how afraid she was, once more putting others before herself. She bonds with the animals through the uplifting “With a Smile and a Song”. Then she spends several minutes talking to them and making plans for the future all in rhyme. I confess it’s one of the weaker moments of the movie, showing that the studio’s transition from the Silly Symphonies to full-fledged filmmaking hasn’t completely been made yet.

The critters lead Snow to a quaint cottage in need of a good cleaning service. Assuming the miniature-sized furniture means the inhabitants are orphaned children, she decides to surprise them by sprucing up the joint, hoping her act of kindness will make them forget her breaking and entering and they’ll let her stay. Said cleanup time is underscored by one of the more upbeat tunes in Disney’s songbook, “Whistle While You Work”. Like Mary Poppin’s “A Spoonful of Sugar” it’s all about finding joy in the little things that make the work go by quicker.

“Here’s the last of the underwear, Bambi. And try not leave any ticks in the laundry this time!”

But as we all know, the cottage belongs not to seven children, but seven little people who work as jewel miners, all the while singing that famous mining song –

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“No, the one sung by dwarves.”

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“Seriously?!”

All joking aside, Heigh-Ho is the best song in the movie, no contest. Easily the catchiest tune here if not the entire Disney canon. If it can keep a theater full of gremlins occupied, it’s doing something right.

Sure, they whistle while they work for now. But once they find the Arkenstone it’s all downhill from here.

And let’s not kid ourselves, the dwarfs are the real reason why we keep returning to Snow White. Their quirk-matching names and designs make each one memorable, they’re endlessly entertaining, and they’re the characters that come the closest to having some form of arc. The group is a prime example of the illusion of life that is animation, exaggerated to a degree that they’re still believable in their movements and mannerisms. Dopey especially works well in this regard, a wonder considering much of his character was developed by happy accident. When an actor suitable enough couldn’t be found, they made the decision to simply mute him. Like much of Disney’s favorite animal sidekicks, they based his personality around that of a lovable dog, though I’d be lying if I didn’t see some Harpo Marx in there as well. As a result, his childlike playfulness and comic timing is up there with Chaplin’s Little Tramp. His hitch step was also an unexpected boon; after animator Frank Thomas put it in one of his scenes, Walt liked it so much that he insisted all previously animated footage of Dopey be redone to include that step. Incidentally, Frank’s popularity among the animation staff reached all-time lows after that announcement.

Snow White flops down for a quick nap on the beds upstairs just as the dwarfs return home. What follows is them sneaking about their now suspiciously squeaky-clean cottage and further establishing their personas through a series of finely-tuned gags (Walt paid five dollars for every good joke his guys could come up with, and this was when five dollars could take you out to dinner and a show). Dopey is elected to check the bedroom and he comes to the conclusion that Snow’s sleeping form is a monster. The dwarfs work up their courage to go kill the beast themselves only to realize in the nick of time that it’s just a harmless girl. But Grumpy, the clear-cut misogynist in the group, isn’t keen on having a “wicked-wiled” female refugee in their abode and shamelessly yells “Let ‘er wake up, she don’t belong here no-how!”

Snow wakes up and instantly charms over everyone except Grumpy as they introduce each other. The dwarfs are shocked and terrified to learn the Queen has put a hit out on her. Grumpy in particular declares the Queen is a powerful witch skilled in the black arts, which is true, and it raises a potent question. Is her magic common knowledge throughout the kingdom, or is it mere speculation? If it’s the former, how did that come to be? What happened to Snow White’s father the king anyhow? All this could make for a very interesting –

“You know what, never mind, forget I said it -“

“Too late! Jenkins, write that down! Bob’s gonna love it!”

“Very good, sir. Shall I pre-heat your crack pipe in preparation for the first draft writing session?”

“Does the Academy loathe streaming services? Hop to it, my man!”

“Hey, I thought you left that jerk to go work for Don Bluth.”

“Shh! I jumped ship after A Troll in Central Park and came back under a new identity. I couldn’t pass up the bankroll Disney’s been on since 2009.”

“Mum’s the word.”

Grumpy’s certain that they’ll be in the Queen’s crosshairs once she learns they’ve been harboring Snow White and demands they kick her out at once. But Snow White stands up for herself and says she can take care of the house for them if they let her stay. Just like Belle offering herself in her father’s place, no one corners Snow into the position of housekeeper. She’s the one who puts herself out there, listing all her best qualities like she’s on an interview. It’s only when she does so (and also mentions she can bake a mean gooseberry pie) that the dwarfs overrule Grumpy and declare she’s welcome in their home.

Yet even when all is said and done, Snow makes it clear that if she’s the one doing the work, then the dwarfs must play by her rules. Immediately following their acceptance, she goes into full Team Mom mode, insisting they improve their manners and wash themselves before dinner’s ready. Doc attempts to get around it by saying they cleaned up “recently”, but despite her sweet nature, Snow won’t let them walk all over her. She does a cleanliness inspection that makes the dwarfs almost as bashful as Bashful himself, and even gets a good bit of sarcasm in (“Why Doc, I’m surprised.”) The dwarfs washing themselves is another one of those Silly Symphony-esque filler scenes, but at least it gives us more time for their fun shenanigans; though I have to wonder if dog piling Grumpy and half-drowning him takes it too far.

“Where’s the money, Legrumpski? Where’s the fucking money??” “It’s down there somewhere, lemme take another look.”

Back at the castle, the Queen is showing off her newly acquired bodily organ to the Magic Mirror while demanding he validate her preconceptions of who’s fair and who’s not. Alas, the Mirror tattles on Snow White’s location and reveals that heart belonged to a pig, which I’ve got to say I’m glad they didn’t show how the Huntsman got ahold of.

Infuriated, the Queen storms down to her secret lab (and no, there’s no wrong lever scene. I’m disappointed too). She brews up a potion made up of ingredients like scream of fright, a thunderbolt and partially hydrogenated dimethylpolysiloxane which will completely transform her into a disguise nobody could suspect her in, an aged peddler woman.

Was I afraid of this scene way back when? Of course, but it was one of those rare moments where I didn’t want to look away either. Here we have a woman dangerously obsessed with beauty becoming the very thing she loathes in order to sate her implacable desires. Not only that but in this disguise she’s able to set loose the insanity buried deep beneath her frigid calculating exterior, grinning and cackling like the witch that she is. The Queen never smiles once when she’s in her true form. But once she’s the old Hag and it’s all cackling and gap-toothed smiles, it’s extremely unnerving.

Case in point.

“Anyone else miss the creepy fade to black where the villain’s eyes remain for a few seconds? Disney needs to bring that back.”

Major props to Lucille LaVerne, who gives a bone chilling and utterly unrecognizable performance as BOTH the Queen and the Hag. She made the switch from one role to the next by removing her false teeth between recording sessions. In doing so she gave us one of the great Disney villain performances.

The part where she preps the infamous poisoned apple does undercut some of her menace, however. The Hag is supposed to be sharing her scheming with a cowardly raven, but due to how much she stares directly into the camera while monologuing, it comes off as directly addressing the audience, like we’re watching her in a play. It’s not just the Silly Symphony style of storytelling creeping in, it’s melodramatic semi-vaudevillian theatrics that early Hollywood was moving well away from at this point. And again, what’s with the sudden speaking in rhyme?

At the last moment the Hag looks up a possible antidote to the poison and learns that it’s Love’s First Kiss. However she scoffs at the notion that Snow White can be saved because she’s counting on the dwarfs believing the princess is dead and burying her alive.

“For those of you who claim Disney waters down fairy tales into saccharine pap, I point you to Snow White.”

And it doesn’t end there. As the Hag leaves the dungeons, she passes a cell where a skeleton is sprawled out between the bars, reaching for a water pitcher. It’s bad enough to imagine this poor soul dying of thirst, spending their last moments with salvation just out of their grasp, but the Hag openly mocks the skeleton and kicks the pitcher aside. If that’s not a deciding irredeemably evil factor moment, it comes pretty darn close.

This would have also tied into an important but ultimately scrapped sequence where the Queen kidnaps the Prince, locks him in the dungeon to keep him from saving Snow White and torments him by detailing her elaborate scheme.

This sounds vaguely familiar…

Depending on which pitch you’re reading, the Prince refuses the Queen’s offer of marriage, and she enchants the chained-up skeletons of other scorned suitors to dance in an extremely misguided attempt keep him entertained while she’s out, or floods the dungeon to drown him. He makes a daring escape and rides to the rescue on horseback.

Again, vaguely familiar…

Unfortunately we had to wait twenty-plus years for this to happen because the animators weren’t confident in their abilities to create a believable male character. This is why the Prince appears only in the beginning and the end of the movie (and by extension why the Cinderella’s Prince is barely in that feature as well). When it came to making Snow White look realistic, they subtly incorporated some rotoscoping in a few places (I’d call it cheating but it’s difficult to tell where it begins or ends because she looks that good eighty years later). But I guess it just wasn’t worth the effort to do the same for her love interest, who doesn’t even get the dignity of an official name (fans go back and forth between Florian and Ferdinand). He’s reduced to a deus ex machina – which to be fair is exactly how he was treated in the fairytale. The movie has the slight advantage over that, however, by setting him up before he arrives for that wake-up kiss.

“And now it’s time for Silly Songs With Happy, the part of the review where Happy comes out and sings a silly song. Today’s interlude, appropriately titled “The Silly Song”, features choreography which has gone on to inspire many other Disney musical sequences dating as far ahead as the 70’s.”

“Hold it!! It’s just the exact same movements with the Robin Hood cast grafted over them!”

“Is there a problem with that?”

“Well…no…it’s just a bit distracting when you finally notice it. I mean I love Disney’s Robin Hood, but boy did they take the main character’s attitude towards stealing to heart when it came to the animation.”

And yes, “The Silly Song” itself is fun too. It’s one of the less remembered Disney tunes, though I have fond memories of it due to its inclusion in the Sing-Along video lineup. The decision to have it follow the Hag’s unsettling introduction makes perfect sense; I could imagine audiences experiencing it for the first time needed a bit of a breather after that.

I guess I should mention the musical number we could have had instead of this one, though. “Music in Your Soup” was a similarly lighthearted song that was fully recorded and animated before it was ultimately cut. It was expertly animated, featured more dwarf-Snow White interactions, and it also closed up a plot hole involving a bar of soap Dopey swallowed earlier. Still, it didn’t add much to the story overall and it disrupted the flow, and keeping both that and “The Silly Song” would have been superfluous; so as much as I like “Music In Your Soup” I think they made the right call in sticking with “The Silly Song”.

After the dancing, Snow regales the dwarfs with a love story, though they quickly figure out she’s talking about herself and her prince. She dispenses with the self-insert fanfiction and sings the movie’s eleven o’clock number “Someday My Prince Will Come”. Bawl all you want about setting women’s rights back a decade, it doesn’t change the fact that it’s still a lovely song, even without Casselotti’s vocals. In fact, much of the movie’s soundtrack has been a go-to for jazz artists through the decades ranging from Miles Davis to Dave Brubeck. The pure simplicity of Larry Morey’s lyrics and Frank Churchill’s melodies are ripe for riffing on. Virtually every cover I’ve found succeeds in the impossible task of measuring up to the original in some capacity. The action in the song itself is subtle and restrained, mainly focusing on the dwarfs’ reactions. It’s not only good storytelling, but a clever way to get around showing more of Snow White than the animators could handle; she was already tough enough to animate even with rotoscoping.

Snow realizes how late it’s getting and ushers the dwarfs to bed; however Doc and the others try to behave like gentlemen and allow her to sleep upstairs while they take up whatever space they can fill on the lower floor. It goes to show how much her kindness and politeness has had an influence on them, at least while she’s around. Them taking up whatever sleeping space they can find on the ground floor is an excuse to squeeze more gags in, but I’m fond of how it lets us wind down and take in this cozy atmosphere.

The next morning before they head out the dwarfs warn Snow White to beware of strangers. Even Grumpy can’t help but show concern in his own gruff tsundere way. It’s little touches like this that reveal Snow White’s unwavering compassion is chipping away at his chauvinist attitude and he really does care about her after all –

Hang on, they couldn’t spare ONE dwarf to stick around and keep an eye out in case the Queen does drop by? They’re really think the Queen isn’t going to make another murder attempt as soon as possible? They sadly must, because no sooner do the dwarfs heigh-ho off to work than the Hag creeps up like a meth user turned Jehovah’s Witness.

“Hello, my name is Elder Grim. Would you care to learn more about our lord and savior Chernabog?”

After the animals fail to communicate the obvious danger, they fetch the dwarfs for help. Meanwhile the Hag has convinced Snow White to let her into the cottage and show off her “magic wishing apple”.

Already I can hear the slapping of a thousand facepalms through my screen. I get why, but there’s something about the situation that feels strangely relatable. The Queen is fully aware of Snow White’s gentle, trusting nature and knows how to take full advantage of the girl. Snow isn’t all smiles and open arms though. There’s a split second of regret the moment she divulges she’s by herself, and as the Hag literally corners her into tasting the poison apple her body language gives away how uncomfortable she is. Even the cottage itself grows darker and claustrophobic, mirroring her trapped state. Snow White knows there’s definitely something off about this stranger, but there’s the downside of her kind personality. She can’t bring herself to kick the old lady out no matter how wrong this scenario inherently feels.

“Just keep smiling and slowly reach for the mace.”

Ultimately the Hag coaxes her into tasting the apple. Every breath leading up to it is dramatically intercut with the dwarfs led by Grumpy (further proof Snow White really has gotten through to the old softie) racing back to the cottage.

Do you want to know why the original Texas Chainsaw Massacre is considered one of the scariest movies of all time? Because for all its promise of a gory spectacular, the violence is deliberately kept offscreen. Our imaginations fill in the blanks and come up with even worse terrors than they could possibly show. Snow White’s poisoning works on that logic. All we hear is her gasping and groaning as the Hag gleefully looks on, ending with the most cinematic shot of the film.

If you’re still convinced Snow’s a dunce for biting the big apple, trust me, it’s a vast improvement over the original. The Queen showed up in disguise three times to kill Snow White with varying methods: strangulation by laces, a poisoned comb, and of course the apple. This was cut down to the last one for obvious reasons – not only would the story be repetitive and extremely padded if they remained, but it makes Snow White look like an idiot for falling for the same trap thrice in a row. The only time I’ve ever seen the inclusion of all three murder attempts work is in the anime The Legend of Snow White (which despite the laughably bad English dub is worth checking out). By the time the Queen comes around with the apple in that instance, Snow White is well aware of who she’s dealing with. But she plays along because the Queen has turned the kingdom to stone, and the only way to break the curse is by taking the bait and destroying her staff while she thinks she’s down, thus turning what was once an act of naivete into a heroic sacrifice.

The Hag exits the cottage feeling confident in who’s the fairest now just in time for the dwarfs to show up. They chase her through a thunderstorm up a cliff side. Literally trapped between a rock and a hard place, she attempts to dislodge a boulder and crush her pursuers. But Zeus is having none of that and a lightning bolt strikes the cliff, plummeting the Hag to her doom.

To quote Linkara, “Thus the origin for ‘Rocks fall, everybody dies’.”

And in case you’re still thinking she could have survived that drop, even with that boulder tilting over after her, the vultures that have been tailing her since she left the castle begin circling lower and lower over the place where she now lies. A chilling, subtle way to show they’re getting a meal after all.

We fade to a wake the dwarfs are holding for Snow White, complete with organ music and weeping – LOTS of sad, silent, motionless weeping. Poor Grumpy gets the worst of it. One can only imagine the tsunami of emotion he must have felt coming home to see that she was making a pie just for him. Like “Someday My Prince Will Come” it shows how restraint can be an asset in acting for animation. Considering how it’s very much like a real-life wake and just how much everyone believes Snow White is truly dead, this was a tough scene to get through.

The seasons pass and we’re told through title cards that the dwarfs couldn’t find it in themselves to bury Snow White, so they built a glass coffin and kept constant vigil along with the depressed forest animals.

“Clearly the idea of watching her slowly decompose over time never crossed their little minds.”

The funeral on top of the wake keeps piling on the sadness. We’re used to animated features moving us to tears, but you have to remember for audiences back then this was an entirely new experience because no animation dared to get this heavy. Think about it: Shirley Temple, Charlie Chaplin, the best and the brightest of Hollywood who poo-pooed Walt for his ridiculous idea – all moved to tears over Snow White. I can only imagine the satisfaction Walt must have felt hearing their sobbing at the premiere. Again, going back to that animator who felt genuine fear for her safety, the audience developed an emotional bond with the character just as they would for a real human on screen.

The Prince FINALLY shows up again still singing his One Song. Believing the love he has long searched for to be lost to him forever, he says his final farewell by bestowing her with Love’s First Kiss.

“Ah – “

“If you make ONE necrophilia joke, I swear I’ll take all the Adam Sandler movies off the Shelf.”

“Please, no!! I’ll have nothing to fully snark at!!”

The kiss does its work and Snow White awakens none the worse for wear. And since what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, she’s immune to all poison ingested via deciduous fruit now. That’ll make ruling the kingdom she’s inherited from her stepmother and disappeared father much easier. And for those of you complaining how a magical kiss is a cop out, trust me, it’s better than how the original fairytale resolved it.

“Somewhere my love lies sleeping, and here she is! I’ll pay you dwarfs anything to let me take her back to my castle and keep her there as a memento of our tragic love.”

“This had better be worth it, she weighs a freaking ton!” “OHH, there goes my hernia!” *BANG*

*HACKHACKCOUGHHACK* “Thanks for the Heimlich, guys, damn apple’s been stuck in my throat for a year!”

“Seriously, I’m not making that up. Plus, they invite the Queen to the wedding and force her to dance to death in red-hot iron shoes.”

Everyone rejoices, Snow White says goodbye to the dwarfs, and the Prince leads her on his horse to his shining palace in the clouds. They all live happily ever after, the end.

And that’s Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, the very first animated Disney movie. Do I believe the American Film Institute’s claims that it’s the best animated film of all time? Well, to be honest, no. The main characters aren’t as developed compared to future Disney protagonists, the animation goes noticeably off model at times, and it’s got one foot stuck in the style of the Silly Symphonies shorts that came before.

Is it the most influential animated film, however? Of course! Without it animation wouldn’t be as mainstream as it is today. While the formula has been updated and subverted through the decades, most animated features follow a similar blueprint – a dastardly villain, fun side characters, memorable music, distinct visual flair, fighting, torture, true love, miracles, you get the picture. We wouldn’t have any of that without Snow White. Once upon a time, this movie was the Star Wars of its era; a groundbreaking, audience-thrilling blockbuster that changed the way people looked at movies. Part of that is because Snow White taps into an emotional simplicity in a manner few films are able to. It relies more on providing an emotional catharsis than logic, inviting us to experience the story as we once did through the eyes of a child, and in doing so captures the essence of a classic fairy tale.

In fact, looking at the ripple effect of how movies can influence one another across the years, Snow White ranks among one of the most influential movies made in general. Apart from Disney you can see its echoes in The Wizard of Oz, Gulliver’s Travels, Citizen Kane, and yes, the original Star Wars. Even Sergei Eisenstein, the man who revolutionized filmmaking with freaking Battleship Potemkin, declared Snow White to be the greatest film ever made.

…So why did Walt Disney come to hate it later on in life?

Every movie that’s met with acclaim and accolades is bound to hit some backlash for one reason or another. Maybe it’s been overhyped, or time hasn’t been that kind to it. For Walt, Snow White leaned into the latter as his artistic prowess grew. No creator likes looking at their past work because it’s easier to notice the flaws when viewing it through a more experienced eye (believe me, I know). That, and no matter what he did, it seemed impossible to escape from Snow White’s shadow. For decades everything he created was inevitably compared to it.

Hmm, the animation and music are an improvement, but what it’s really missing are some dwarfs.

Hmm, the creativity leaps off the charts, but if only the score had lyrics that rhyme with the words “shmeigh shmo”.

Hmm, it’s breathtaking and magical, but it’d be perfect if you could just sit and watch it for eighty minutes without interacting with any of it at all.

Hmm, it’s practically perfect in every way, but…um…uh…more dwarfs, dammit!!

Thankfully Walt’s displeasure mellowed after some time. As for Snow White, she’s still rightfully hailed as the one that started it all. The art is iconic, the characters are unforgettable, and virtually all the songs are Disney gold standards for a reason. Well before Rodgers and Hammerstein changed the face of musical theater by having the score and the book go hand in hand, Snow White did it first in the cinemas. In fact this was the first movie to ever have a commercially released soundtrack, another confounded idea Hollywood wouldn’t understand for quite a while. Though time may temper with modern expectations, Snow White is as much a classic now as it was destined to be eighty years ago, and nothing can touch it. It still is the fairest one of all.

“HA! Try to remake/sequelize THAT, Disney!”

“Excuse me, is it too late to join this review?”

“I’m sorry, who are you?”

“Oh, where are my manners? I’m Snow White’s sister, Rose Red.”

“…You sure you’re not just a color-swapped OC clone from Deviantart?”

“Of course I’m not, silly! I’m in the fairytale and everything! Well, not THE fairytale per se, but there is one titled ‘Snow White and Rose Red’ where we’re siblings.”

“Checks out. They’re technically related.”

“Okay, but what are you doing here?”

“I was just wondering when you were going to discuss my upcoming movie!”

“Your…movie?”

“Oh yes! It’s going to be Disney’s Snow White all over again but from MY point of view! Isn’t that exciting?”

“But…but you weren’t even in Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs.”

“I know! I was off to the side doing…well, you’ll have to wait and see! The lady who wrote that Gone Girl knockoff that takes place on a train and the Indecent Proposal remake is doing the screenplay and she is just delightful!”

“…Excuse me for one moment.”

“Oh dear. Have I said something wrong?”

“It’s ok. This is just the part of the review where Shelf goes berserk.”

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Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed this review, please consider supporting me on Patreon. Special thanks to Amelia Jones and Gordhan Ranaj for their contributions.

You can vote for what movie you want me to look at next by leaving it in the comments or emailing me at [email protected]. Remember, you can only vote once a month. The list of movies available to vote for are under “What’s On the Shelf”.

Also, Patreon supporters get extra votes among other perks. If I reach the goal of $100, I can get back to reviewing animated series! I’m at the halfway mark right now, so please consider supporting me if you’re able.

Artwork by Charles Moss.

Most screencaps courtesy of animationscreencaps.com.

February Review: Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (1937) If there's a reason why we're able to recall the story of Snow White from memory, and why said princess is usually depicted with short hair, a cute bow and surrounded by woodland fauna, look no further than Disney.

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barpurplewrites · 6 years

Text

Lack of Reflection

Tonight House of Horror offers that classic creepy monster; the Vampire. And for this vampire there are definitely things that go bump in the night.

-x-x-x-x-

Belle was exhausted.

"At least the rent is covered and with tips I can eat."

Is was small comfort at two in the morning as she headed to her car, the grimy neons of the Rabbit Hole flickering off behind her. She hated working at the local dive bar, but it was the only job she'd been able to get. That wasn’t entirely true, she could have worked for her Dad.

She shuddered at the thought of being stuck in the flower shop with him from nine to five every day. He’d been bad enough with the passive aggressive digs at her choices when she was a teenager, but since she came back from college he’d given up on any pretence of subtly and was now blunt in his disapproval. He was also convinced that ‘a nice man’ would look after her and prevent any more ‘silliness’. No matter how many articles and leaflets she left lying around in his kitchen, he still held the opinion that mental health problems could be cured by the right man in her life.

At least she only saw Dad a few times a week now. She loved him, but one more demand that she settle down and she'd stuff him into that awful giant vase he used for the Valentine’s display. She grinned to herself as she crossed the car park; Dad’s large frame crammed into the horrible red glass vase might be a better Halloween display.

Her little blue car was starting to look a bit battered, but the engine was sound thanks to Billy. She'd helped him study for his GED so he looked after her car on the cheap. He was a star, but he still couldn’t get the heater to work all the time. He was convinced that a gremlin had taken up residence.

Even though she was the only car in the parking lot she checked her mirrors before she reversed out of the space. The bump and thump came as a hell of a shock. Belle jumped out of the car but left the engine running. She paused half way out and grabbed the flashlight from the glove box, more as an impromptu weapon than for the light it would provide.

Edging around the back of the car she braced herself to the fender hanging off, or worse an injured animal. The sight of a man groaning on the ground by her back bumper was not what she had been expecting.

“Where the hell did you come from?”

The man rolled over and groaned; “Scotland.”

“What?”

“What what?”

They stared at each other, both desperately trying to work out what the hell the other was talking about. The man shakily sat himself up and hissed. Belle blamed the poor light for the strange way his teeth glinted. He was grimacing in pain and rubbing at his hip. She was going to have to be the one to start making sense

“I checked my mirrors there was nothing behind me. How did I hit you?”

“Oh right. Mirrors don’t work for me.”

Belle waited sure that he was going to make some joke about his looks or dark clothes. Nothing. He just kept looking at her like she was supposed to understand. Belle sighed and offered him a hand; “Come on, I should take you to the hospital, get that bump on your head looked at.”

He took her hand and she had to stop herself wincing at how cold he was. It took a good tug to get him on to his feet. He wobbled a bit and slumped against the back of her car.

“I didn’t bump my head.”

Belle didn’t believe that for a hot second. Anyone who could claim that mirrors didn’t work for them must have a concussion. It wasn’t like a mirror could breakdown or need a software update.

“Yeah well, still best to get you checked out.”

He tilted his head to one side and looked directly at her. The lights in the carpark must be on the fritz because the gold flecks in his brown eyes looked like they were swirling.

“You’d let a strange man in your car with you?”

Belle blinked and stepped back. What the hell had she been thinking? She’d never seen this man before, he’d appeared out of nowhere and now she was offering to drive him to the hospital. He could be a killer. She shivered at that thought.

The man leaned forward and whispered; “Might be best if you just went home.”

Belle was in two minds. She’d just knocked this man over with her car, at the very least she should call an ambulance or the Sheriff. On the other hand, she had a sudden intense desire to get home as quickly as possible.

“Yeah. I should go home.”

Rum watched as she got into her car. At least his powers of suggestion hadn’t been affected by getting knocked over. He limped out of the way as she reversed the car, he didn’t think he could cope with getting hit twice tonight. Tales of vampire super strength and resistance to injury were greatly overstated in fiction. He’d just been hit by a car and it hurt. True he’d recover a damn sight faster than a human, but right now he was still feeling to shaky to move at more than a slow stagger.

She gave him a curious look as she drove past him. Please let his suggestion work. Had he told her to forget him? Damn he didn’t think he had. It looked like she worked in the bar, he could always come back in a few days and make sure she’d never remember him. He stayed perfectly still until she reached the entrance to the car park. The brake lights of her car came on, she must be checking the road was clear.

Rum groaned when he saw her hair flick as she twisted in her seat and peered out of the rear window. Okay, this wasn’t good. She turned back and checked her mirrors again. Rum crossed his fingers that she’d decided she was tired and seeing things. He groaned again as the engine revved and the car began speeding back towards him. He clenched his teeth. This was going to hurt like hell.

Belle’s head bounced off the head rest as she collided with the man. She hissed at the taste of blood in her mouth. Her dad was always telling she she’d bite through her lip if she persisted in nibbling it, for once he was right about something. Thankfully he wasn’t here to be smug about it.

Oh gods. She'd run the man over again and this one was no little bump. She gripped the steering wheel and tried to calm her breathing. She couldn’t remember a single one of the breathing exercises that Dr Hopper had taught her. Her ragged gasps were loud in the small car. Had she really seen a man who didn't have a reflection? Vampire. No that was ridiculous. Vampires were not real. She was over tired and seeing things again. She ground the heels of her hands into her eyes. If she was hallucinating again this was the worst episode she'd had in a long time. He'd felt solid and sounded real.

She jumped as something knocked on the back bumper.

"Hello? Erm, would you mind pulling forward. Please?"

There was a Scottish lilt to the voice. He'd said he was from Scotland. Moving as if she was trapped inside a jelly she slowly went through the motions of easing the car forward. Without thinking about it she wrapped her fingers around the flash light she'd tossed on the passenger seat and opened the door.

Rum bit out a couple of swear words as the car rolled off his leg. He'd expected to be flung backwards, but somehow, he'd ended up under the back wheel. This was going down as one of the shittiest nights in his immortal life. Hit by the same car twice in the space of ten minutes. Was this worse than the night he'd drunk from that opium eater and tried to fly from the top of a four-storey building? Yes, definitely. That landing had hurt but he’d been so high he'd giggled as he twisted his knees back the right way.

Oh great, his maniac driver was getting out of the car. He didn't have the strength left to suggest that she please fuck off and leave him alone.

The light prod of her toe to his ribs didn't improve his mood. He felt rather put out by the yelp she gave, he was the one lying on the floor in agony, why was she screaming?

"Fuck! You are real! Shit! I am so sorry. Okay this time I am taking you to hospital."

Rum tried to sit up an instantly regretted it; "No hospital. I just need..." -How the hell was he supposed to say he just needed to get back to the graveyard? - "... just need to go home."

It was true, but she wasn't going to believe where he lived. Maybe he could roll out of the car as they passed by the gates? The very thought of hitting the asphalt at speed made him moan.

She'd crouched down and brushed the hair out of his face. The blood heat of her hands on his cool skin made his fangs throb.

"I'm sorry I thought you were an hallucination."

Rum snorted; "Did vampire not cross your mind?"

"Well yeah, but that’s mad."

Rum was in too much pain to care about keeping his nature hidden. He pulled his lips back in rictus grin and let his fangs drop. His fangs were impressive, a bit flashy thanks to some twisted sense of humour of his changing.

Belle’s mouth dropped in shock at the sight of the needle-sharp gold fangs that filled the man's mouth.

"You're a vampire."

All Rum could focus on was the sweet red blood in her mouth. It looked like she’d cut her lip. That smear of crimson was so inviting, so tempting, and looked downright delicious. He raised his hand to cup her face, she flinched, but didn’t pull back. A quick swipe of his thumb over her lip and his had his prize. He lapped at his thumb and sighed happily as the taste of iron and salt bloomed across his tongue.

Belle scooted away. Watching him suck her blood from his thumb hammered home the fact he was a real vampire. This was a really fucking weird night. He was staring at her lips and for a heartbeat she thought he was going to pounce her. He dropped his gaze and gave an embarrassed cough.

“I, erm, I don’t suppose I could take you up on that lift, maybe, if you wouldn’t mind?”

Belle gave him a good hard look. She knew fake shy and bumbling, plenty of the men who frequented the Rabbit Hole employed it as a flirting tactic. For many of them it was a very thin mask that attempted to conceal what complete and utter jerks they were. She wasn’t getting any alarm bells from the vampire.

“What’s your name?”

He looked up at her, not the least bit of surprise on his features; “Robert Fitzglen, I go by Rum.”

“Belle French. Come on let’s get you up.”

Getting him upright wasn’t as difficult as Belle had thought it might be. He was heavily favouring his right leg, and he’d winced as she wrapped an arm around his ribs, but for a bloke who’d been hit by a car twice tonight he was in good shape. She got him settled into the passenger seat and then hopped into the car.

“Okay, so hospital?”

“No, no, please no. Draws far too many questions. The graveyard please.”

“Seriously?”

He chuckled; “Yeah I know, it’s a cliché, but I don’t sleep in a grave or a crypt. There’s a cabin for the groundskeeper.”

“And they don’t mind you using it?”

“Not at all, since I am the groundskeeper,” – he waved away her obvious question, - “long story.”

Her bar-tender senses told her that was a ‘I don’t want to talk about it’, but it felt like a not-right-now, rather than a never-at-all. The idea that she might see Rum again after tonight made her smile as she started the car.

Rum could feel that Belle had a million questions, but she let him be. Damn good thing to because he was feeling woozy and was almost sure talking would make him throw up.

“We’re here. I can’t get any closer because the gates are locked.”

He started at Belle’s voice and blinked at the shape of the graveyard gates through the windshield.

“I can manage from here. Thank you, Belle.”

He turned to look at her and found her worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.

“Is this where you work some vampire mojo on me, so I forget all about you?”

It should be, but he didn’t want to. He didn’t know where this reluctance was coming from, but it was there pushing an invite to come and visit him one night onto the tip of his tongue. He swallowed that mad impulse and instead said; “Don’t have to, unless you’re going to go telling all and sundry that you ran over a vampire. Twice.”

She shook her head; “Nah, I think I’ll be keeping this to myself. Got to think about what this would do to my insurance premiums.”

Rum huffed a laugh; “Very sensible. Insurance companies are worse blood suckers than me.”

She smiled at his pathetic joke, and then smothered a yawn with her hand. It was very late for her. Rum opened the car down and stepped out. Once the door was closed again Belle wound the window down, so he ducked his head and said; “Good night Belle. Drive home safe and sleep well.”

“See you around Rum.”

As the little blue car drive away Rum wondered if it was her Australian accent that had made her last words sound like a question, or if she had been asking would they meet again. He licked his lips and caught the last faint taste of her blood. A sudden and rare certainty struck him; he would be seeing Belle French again and it would be sooner rather than later.

#halloween house of horror 2018 #rumbelle #vampires

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rosesastrology · 7 years

Quote

Aries: I envy you. I envy your courage, your stupidity and your childishness. Maybe you’re asking “Why?” Well, wouldn’t it be beautiful if we were all children at heart, like you? Like seeing things so horrible yet still making corny jokes? Like telling your feelings, like running until your feet hurt? Like purity, like innocence mixed with knowledge? You have experienced the world, you have experienced life. And yet, you still stand here. Brave and tall. As if to say “I am not afraid of life. I am not afraid to live.” Taurus: I will always associate you with flowers and colours. With lilies and roses and blood oranges. I will always associate you with fruit and red-green-yellow. We will speak in colours, talk in words others won’t understand. With red-pink sand and blue-green eyes. An encouraging nod, a hug with clasping hands. Words left unspoken simply ‘cause they were never meant to be said, they were meant to be. They were meant to be. Plucking petals like a grade schooler playing games about love. Holding a magnifying glass over your head, and I could not find a flaw. I just saw you. I saw you. Gemini: While you drink in the melodies of everyone’s laughter the ghosts find a new home inside your body. A facade of performance, masking out your true emotions. While the hallways turn vacant and your ghosts shut the doors. The voices leave the room empty, the emptiness in your chest weighing like a brick worth thousands of diamonds. I cannot put a price on your heart, I don’t know its colours. I don’t know its voice. Or the three albums you have on repeat over the summer, or the songs you dance to at night. Simply because you are you, unique, mysterious and beautiful. Cancer: You are a puzzle and I am not your missing piece, I don’t own it. But you do. You make up your own being. Maybe you left it in your back pocket, next to the shattered dreams or under the pillars you build when you were eight years old. The ones you made to put your broken home on, searching for stability in broken mirrors. I will linger in my map of you and I swear that even when I get back it leads back to you. It always leads back to you. To that little house with orange paint on the walls from ten years ago. With the nicotine sticking to a once white ceiling and some kind of animals running around. The dusty photographs will still stand on the desk. You will still sit on that one spot, with teary eyes and crossed legs. And you will still be beautiful. Leo: I could never describe your beauty. Your beauty cannot be multiplied, it can only be remembered, treasured, envied, appreciated or regretted. And by remembered I mean that when you feel like you are just another extra in someone’s life that they will mention you to their parents during dinner. They will talk about your shining personality and sparkling eyes. By treasured I am talking about that “the one” experience which you deserve. A treasure filled with all things unique and irreplaceable. One that’s filled with happiness. By envied I am talking about the eyes you do not see, or do not wish to see. Or don’t notice. You stand out in a crowd, especially when you don’t think you are. By appreciated I am talking about the ones who see your true you, your tangled hair and cracked lips. The ones who still stay even through the bad times. By regretted I am talking about the people who did not see your beauty until you blossomed. I understand why you find cocoons beautiful now, and how you like caterpillars just as much as butterflies. Virgo: Snow litters on untouched skin. Sun rains through the cracks of the darkness even where you hide. I could hear you talking every day. Forever. With delicate fingers and blushed cheeks. Your hair untamed and your fingers bruised to the bone. Delicately logical. The edges of the leafs of oak trees remind me of your way of thinking. The overhang reminds me of your mind. Which casts shadows over the villagers in the houses you build where colourless souls reside. You are so often in debate with your own head, at war with your own body. Never at peace, always restless. Always asking, “but why?” I don’t know. You like it, don’t you? Parading around in your own world? Sweet little soul in a world full of pain. Libra: The bell of the church echoed through your head a little longer than it should’ve. It never was nice. We never played nice. We talked until our lips were dry and I stayed home when you were out cold. But memories don’t matter anymore do they darling? In this orchestra of harmonious noises where you are the leader of everything nothing can hurt you. I don’t know, I don’t know. And goddamnit I know you will try to push everything on yourself again. You always do. That’s just how you work. Why don’t you warm your hands on your own body for once? You don’t need another person to feel like you’re loved, you only need one. One whole, full, true person. Scorpio: Everything seems darker these days. Charcoal coloured clouds are a daily thing. And your arms are always covered up along with your legs. Even in the summer the nights don’t seem as enchanting. Not when small bruises shaped like the bumps of your knuckles litter on your thighs. Self destructive lullabies, “I just need a friend, for once in my life.” A desire for someone to stay ripped from your lips. So I stayed by your side wondering, if you wanted me to stay or needed me to stay. Of course I could say you remind me of scarlet blood and bathroom tiles. But you also remind of the river I used to play in when I was nine. You also remind me of the necklace I got when my grandmother passed away. You remind me of memories, the good, the bad, the in-between. You remind me of life. Please keep on living. Sagittarius: The reason that I didn’t cry when you left was because crying means letting go, or so you said. And I don’t want to let you go. I want you to be a part of me, forever. But I can’t do that, you would rot in the hell hole that is my mind. I can’t put you through more cruelty. I hate how I am the reason you cry on bad nights, do you still wonder if I miss you? I do. I do. I do. Regret was stronger than appreciation. But you’re so fucking strong. Your eyes still shine even when you’re sad. You think no one likes you yet you know that’s not true. You’re the reason I am alive. You let me experience pain, beauty, emotion. You let me live. You’re so much more than enough, sometimes I can’t even handle who you are. You are dazzling. But you could never control your heart, it always wandered over the streets of other people’s bodies. Capricorn: When the sun sets over mountains and the houses made of glass shatter I will still see your name in the sky in neon lights. The little bugs in our home always wanted to be friends with you. They always sat on the tip of your nose with gentle smiles. I never envied you, I wish I treasured you. You are so simplistic and nice. Nice. Too underrated for your own good, no? Aren’t we all. Your hands will still be remembered by those you touched. You always leave some kind of mark that they don’t want to wash off. You have that affect on people. You make them drown their thoughts and hold their breath when you walk into a room. You are an old soul, but you know that. Why? You just do. Because you’re you. And nothing can change that or the late nights, the slowness or the fastness in your walk doesn’t matter for the right people. They will walk for you until they have blathers on their toes. If they don’t you know what to do. Aquarius: Swirls of icy wind are always your accomplice. You’re cold, and beautiful; like snow. The wires always stick to your senses, they get stuck in between your backbone. They twist around your spine and plug into the back of your brain. You let other people control you like you’re a mindless puppet. I think the wires got the best of you. Whenever you speak your mind it says something beautiful and unique. You are original, not ordinary. I am sorry they teach you that being unique is bad and that you have to fit into this ‘ordinary’ world as an ‘ordinary’ person. Nothing is ordinary about you, not even your name. Your name says who you are as a person, if someone asks me to define you I will simply say your name, the definition of your personality is your name. Because your name is unique and so is your personality. Don’t let other people control you. Pisces: The imaginary butterflies with the raven black wings told me about you. They tell me that your head is in a universe they have never seen, with all things beautiful and all things bad. They see you crying with your knees tugged up sometimes, hands in your hair as you hide beneath sheets of darkness. You write poetry with the blood in the sink and make galaxies with the stars you find inside other people their eyes. A gentle smile always embraces your lips, “So happy, yet so sad” they say. A mask is something you believe is beautiful, but I believe you are beautiful. The real you. Not the you who cautiously walks over this realm of sadness. Your moonlit hair is so silky, your sunlit eyes are so sad. Chin up little soldier.

Letters to the zodiac signs

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