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glitchh3d · 4 years ago

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Halloween Party (Terushima x Reader) [HTF]

So, I didn’t proof read this. My apologies.

Also, it’s not the best because I’m not the best at writing and i’m very tired and sad because my halloween went to crap but y’know. whatever.

Ily guys!! Here you go! 🥰

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: Cheating but not really. Language. Talk about sex. Talk about drugs. Alcohol and other college party stuff.

Masterlist

(Y/n), Terushima, Futakuchi, Atsumu and Taichi walked into Kuroo and Bokuto’s house later than expected, but there was a round of cheers for them as soon as they were noticed. Kuroo bounced over excitedly, his drink spilling over the edge of his red solo-cup as he pulled (Y/n) away to lead her toward Matsukawa and Hanamaki who were waiting for her in the backyard with Oikawa and Iwaizumi.

She giggled upon seeing them in their costumes. Hanamaki had darkened his hair somehow so it was red but Matsukawa had left his, instead styling it slightly.

“Oh my god, you two-” She fell into a fit of laughter as they strutted around and showed off their legs that were covered in thin white tights. She pulled them into a tight hug, thanking them for doing the group costume with her. “I love you guys, thank you so much!”

Hanamaki and Matsukawa both laughed and shrugged it off.

“Anything for you, (Y/n). You’re our girl.” Matsukawa said, slinging his arm around her shoulder. Makki wrapped his around her waist and Oikawa flailed his arms around excitedly.

“Let me get pictures!” He shouted, his halo nearly falling off as he jumped excitedly and rushed towards them. Iwaizumi rolled his eyes but smiled at his friends.

(Y/n) giggled at his annoyed look, curious on how Oikawa managed to convince him to do a couple costumes with him. They were an angel and a devil. Iwaizumi looked like he didn’t really care though, only wearing a red tight fitting t-shirt and black skinny jeans with a little devil tail clipped to his belt loop and a devil horn headband on his head.

Oikawa on the other hand, was wearing a pure white robe that had gold accents. His cheeks were dusted with gold and he had a halo headband on. Gold bracelets went up his arms and he had big angel wings on.

“He looks ridiculous, huh?” Iwaizumi asked as he caught (Y/n) eyeing his boyfriend's costume. She smiled and shrugged.

“It’s cute. Yours though, mister. Holy shit. Who gave you the right to be that hot.” She asked, making him blush. Oikawa snapped a couple of pictures of the trio in their costume and then turned to admire Iwaizumi with (Y/n).

“Iwa-chan is hot, isn’t he? But stop ogling my boyfriend! Go ogle your own!” Oikawa said, shoving his cell phone into Iwaizumi’s pocket.

“Hey-”

“Oh shush. You’re my pockets for the night, deal with it.” Oikawa demanded. (Y/n) smiled at them and then saw Terushima, Taichi, and Atsumu walk into the backyard. Terushima smiled at her lovingly before approaching.

His costume, Boomer from the Rowdyruff boys, looked good. They went for more of an e-boy route so he was wearing a black and white striped long sleeve shirt under a blue t-shirt that had the iconic black stripe across the chest. He was also wearing black fishnets under his ripped skinny jeans. He stuck his tongue out and winked at her as he approached.

“Hey baby girl,” He said, pulling her away from Hanamaki and Matsukawa who raised their eyebrows at him.

“Look at this tool,” Matsukawa said as Terushima wrapped his arms around (Y/n)’s waist and rested his chin on her shoulder. He cocked his head to the side and winked at them.

Taichi and Atsumu approached on either side of them. Taichi looked bored, but Atsumu was grinning.

“Wow, lookin’ hot Matsukawa.” He teased. He’d gone with Butch from the Rowdyruff boys but instead of wearing a long sleeve striped shirt, he was wearing a black hoodie under his green t-shirt. And he had dyed his hair back to black just for the night.

(Y/n) had tried suggesting to just use some wash out spray to do his hair but she was a few minutes too late.

Flashback to the night before

(Y/n) walked into her apartment after a busy day at work, Taichi trailing after her tiredly. They had been on the closing shift for the night.

“Teru! Atsumu! Ken? You guys here?” She called into the apartment. She heard a loud crash in the bathroom and hurried towards it, dropping her bag on the floor in her rush. “Holy shit, what happened? Are you oka….y?”

In the bathroom, Atsumu was sitting on the toilet with a towel wrapped around his neck and shoulders. Terushima was holding a bottle of hair dye and Futakuchi was laying in the bathtub, watching.

“Why the hell didn’t you just use the halloween hair dye spray that washes out?” She asked as Taichi peeked in over her shoulder. He groaned and turned and walked away.

“...I didn’t think of that.”

END of flashback

“Fuck, I know.” Matsukawa said back, a grin rising to his face. They fist bumped.

Hanamaki grinned at Taichi who shook his head.

“Don’t.” Taichi said. He was Brick and he absolutely hated it, even though he didn’t wear anything out of ordinary. He was in a red jumper with singular black stripes on the upper arms. He had a lock and chain necklace on and a single dangly cross earring on. He also was wearing a black beanie and he looked cute in (Y/n)’s opinion.

“But Taichi, bro! You look good. We’d make a picture perfect couple, don’t you think?” Hanamaki asked, batting his eyelashes at him.

“I’m going to find Semi.” Taichi disappeared after that. Hanamaki pouted but turned and grinned at (Y/n) again a second later.

“I’m gonna go harass him,” Hanamaki said, making everyone laugh as he sprinted off. Atsumu and Matsukawa followed after him, leaving Iwaizumi, Oikawa, (Y/n) and Terushima alone. Oikawa smiled at Terushima but it was a bit forced.

“You two look good. Don’t they, Iwa-chan?” Iwaizumi stared at the couple then he shrugged.

“(Y/n) looks good. I dunno about Terushima though,” Terushima gasped and pulled away from (Y/n), glaring at the two older men.

“You two are fucking rude.” He said making (Y/n) snort. “I’m going to grab a drink, alright babe? I’ll be back in a few, yeah?” (Y/n) nodded. He kissed her cheek goodbye and then walked towards the glass sliding door that was wide open. (Y/n) smiled after him and then turned back to her friends who were watching her with fond looks.

“What?” She asked defensively. They shrugged.

“You just look really happy is all,” Iwaizumi said, crossing his arms. Oikawa nodded in agreement.

“You do seem happy. I’m glad. You deserve it, (Y/n)-chan!” She smiled at them and pulled them into a hug.

“Aw, you guys…” She said as they both hugged her back. Iwaizumi was the first to squirm away, claiming he also needed a drink. Oikawa and (Y/n) let him go with little pouts but when they curled up on chairs next to the fire pit and chatted to themselves.

“So (Y/n)-chan. You and Teru have been together for a few weeks now, yeah?”

“Yup!”

“And he treats you right?” Oikawa asked, eyes narrowing. She nodded.

“Of course he does. He gets a simp of the year award.” She said with a smile. Oikawa nodded and fist bumped her.

“Iwa-chan does too. He’s very sweet behind closed door,” Oikawa winked and she snorted. “Speaking of behind closed doors. Have you two-”

“No.” She replied quickly making Oikawa freeze with wide eyes. Then he smirked.

“My my, (Y/n)-chan. That was a hard no, wasn’t it?” He asked and she rolled her eyes, pulling her legs to her chest as she stared at the flickering flames of the fire. “Why’s that? You’ve had sex before haven’t you?” She shrugged.

“I- I guess I’m scared?” (Y/n) said, not looking up.

“Why?” Oikawa frowned.

“Because Yuuji has this image, right? He’s popular. Nice. Funny… I’m scared that once he gets all of me then he’ll leave because he’s had better and-”

“Sorry, I’m gonna stop you there.” Oikawa grabbed (Y/n)’s hand and squeezed it gently. “I don’t know Terushima too well, but from what you tell me, he seems like a great guy. One who respects you and cares about you a lot. I don’t think you need to rush to have sex or anything but I don’t think you should be scared to have sex either.”

She nodded and smiled back at him.

“Yeah… You’re right. I just-” (Y/n) was cut off by the back glass door getting slammed open. Iwaizumi was fuming and his hair was dripping with water as he walked towards them. “Oh shit, what happened Iwa?”

“I swear to god I’m going to kill your boyfriend (Y/n).”

“What? Why?” Her heart was racing.

“He fucking- that bastard just almost drowned me in that stupid apple bobbing bullshit!” (Y/n) and Oikawa laughed as Iwaizumi ran his hands through his hair. He flicked droplets of water at them and then sat in the small gap of the chair next to Oikawa before pulling his boyfriend onto his lap.

Oikawa whispered something into Iwaizumi’s ear and the ex ace began to turn red. (Y/n) smiled and looked away from them as they started having their own little private conversation. She didn’t want to intrude so she stood up, saying she was going to grab a drink.

“Hey hey hey! What’s up, (Y/n)!” Bokuto asked as (Y/n) entered the house. She smiled at him and patted his arm as he pulled her into a side hug.

“Hey Bokuto! I like your costume!” He looked down at her confused. “I LIKE YOUR COSTUME!” She shouted over the music. He laughed and nodded. He was a sexy firefighter, wearing only the pants of the costume with suspenders and the helmet.

“I like yours too!” (Y/n) smiled at him and then eyed Akaashi who was standing next to him, wearing a lifeguard costume (aka just a shite t-shirt with a red cross on it and red swim shorts). He had sunscreen smeared on his nose and a cheap flimsy whistle around his neck. He smiled at her as she got done looking him up and down and then also pulled her into a small hug.

“Hello, (Y/n)-san.”

“Hi Akaa-chii! He smiled at the nickname and patted her head before he was dragged away towards a beer pong table by Bokuto who was screaming at Kuroo and Daichi for a re-match.

She chuckled fondly and kept maneuvering her way through the crowd of unfamiliar faces and costumes. She dodged angel and devil wings and even a long dragon tail. She also had to avoid the ass end of a donkey costume that was dancing wildly on the dance floor.

She sighed as she got to the kitchen, reaching into a random cooler to grab a drink. She popped the cap off the bottle and took a long swig, her face contorting in disgust at the taste of whatever she grabbed.

“Hey, (Y/n).” Futakuchi said as he entered the kitchen. She smiled at him.

“Hi Ken,” She smiled at him. “Where are the others?”

“Ah, Terushima is dancing in the living room I think and Taichi and Atsumu are doing keg stands in the game room.” She nodded and thanked him, heading towards the livingroom to try and track down her boyfriend.

Upon entering the living room, she immediately spotted him. There in all his glory he was dancing with their newfound friends. Suga and a bunch of people she’d never seen before were hyping him up, dancing and jumping around with him. He was in his element.

“Do it! Do it! Do it!” A chant started and Terushima laughed along, rolling his eyes. There was a girl with blonde hair standing next to him that grabbed him by the back of the neck, yanking him down and into a kiss.

At first (Y/n) didn’t realize what was going on. And then it clicked.

Terushima had just kissed someone.

Her boyfriend just kissed someone that wasn’t her.

Her boyfriend willingly just kissed someone that wasn’t her, in front of her.

“What the fuck.” (Y/n) said, her hand that was holding her beverage falling limp against her side. Everything felt like it was in slow motion.

Everything aside from Terushima was blurred as he laughed and joked with the girl he’d just kissed. Like he didn’t do anything wrong.

(Y/n) realized that the only reason everything was blurry was because of the tears gathering in her eyes. But if Terushima was going to act like nothing was wrong, then so was she. So she left. She set her bottle down on the counter as she walked towards the door. Kuroo and Semi both tried calling out to her but she ignored them, exiting the house quietly. She wrapped her arms around her bare arms as she walked down the sidewalk and towards the unfamiliar city of Tokyo.

She didn’t know where she was going, but she knew Kait was somewhere within the giant city. She just hoped that Kait had her phone on her.

(Y/n) walked a little further to a little empty park, sitting down on the empty swings. By now all the trick or treaters were gone and the streets were empty aside from a few small groups of teens who were laughing and teasing each other.

“What the fuck,” (Y/n) repeated to herself as the image of her boyfriend kissing another girl replayed in her head. She didn’t want to believe that it was true, but she’d seen it with her own eyes as Terushima pressed his lips to some blonde girls.

She didn’t realize that the tears were falling until they dripped down onto her lap and through her thin dress. She was shaking from the cold but she didn’t care. She only had to wait 15 minutes and then she’d be with Kait and they could figure things out together from there.

Would she break up with Terushima?

Did he not love her?

Was he just using her? Did he get bored that fast? Maybe if she’d done more he wouldn’t feel the need to go off and kiss someone else.

She tried to be enough, she really did.

School and work filled a lot of her schedule but she always tried to make as much time for him as she possibly could.

Why was this happening?

“(Y/n)?” A voice called out. Was that Kait? Had it been 15 minutes already?

(Y/n) looked up as she heard Kait’s voice call out to her.

“Kait?”

“Oh (Y/n),” Kait rushed forward, followed by three other figures. (Y/n)’s lip quivered as she stood up from the swing. As she met Kait halfway the tears she’d been holding back broke free and she let out a choked sob as Kait enveloped her in a hug. “Oh, honey, no…”

_____________

Terushima laughed as he tossed back another shot of something clear. He knew it definitely wasn’t water as it made the back of his throat burn but he was okay with that.

It was halloween night and he was at a party, the point of this entire night was to get drunk and have fun and that’s exactly what he was doing.

“Yo, Suga! You were holding out of us with this guy! You knew he existed and didn’t tell us?” Tanaka laughed as he danced next to Terushima. Noya was jumping around excitedly next to them, screaming the lyrics to whatever song was playing on the speaker.

Tanaka was wearing a blonde wig, an entirely pink outfit, imitating Regina George from Mean Girls. His girlfriend, Kiyoko was Aaron Samuels, wearing a simple blue mens polo shirt and some baggy jeans with her hair pulled back into a low ponytail. Noya was Gretchen Weiners but his brunette wig had ended up falling off when he did a keg stand earlier and he was just too lazy to put it back on. They had convinced their friend Kinnoshita to be Karen Smith but he was currently puking his guts out in the bathroom upstairs accompanied by Ennoshita and Narita who were Cady Heron and Janis Ian.

“Yo I could kiss this man right now,” Terushima said as Tanaka poured him another shot. Noya smirked.

“Do it!” Suga rolled his eyes but nodded in agreement.

“Do it! Do it!”

And soon enough the entire room was cheering for the two to kiss. Tanaka rolled his eyes but reached and grabbed Terushima by the back of his neck, pulling him down into a quick kiss. When they separated, they laughed and fist bumped, taking another shot.

After a few more minutes of dancing, Terushima made his way towards the kitchen where Semi and Kuroo looked concerned.

“What’s going on guys?” He asked as he pulled a beer can from a cooler. He popped the tab and took a sip as they exchanged looks of concern. “Hey, either of you two seen (Y/n)? I left her in the back with Oikawa and Iwaizumi but I haven’t been back there and-”

“Terushima, (Y/n) left.” Semi said, making Terushima freeze.

“What?”

“We both just saw (Y/n) take off out the door a few minutes ago. She looked like she was about to cry,” Kuroo said, making Terushima enter panic mode.

“And neither of you tried to stop her?”

“I- we called out to her. We thought she was just getting some fresh air or something, calm down. I’m sure she’s fine.” Semi said, making Terushima shake his head.

“No, I gotta go find her. She doesn’t know her way around Tokyo. None of us do, what if she gets kidnapped?”

“What’s going on in here?” Matsukawa asked as Terushima slammed his beer can on the counter. He pulled out his phone and started texting (Y/n).

“Did you see (Y/n) leave?”

“(Y/n) left?” Oikawa asked as he and Iwaizumi entered the kitchen. Terushima shook his head as he got no response.

“She’s not answering me. Oikawa, text her.”

“What? What the fuck is going on?” Iwaizumi asked as Oikawa pulled out his phone and began texting their friend.

“(Y/n) took off a few minutes ago and now she’s not answering her phone.”

“Okay so check all the rooms and stuff. And check outside. Try and find her around the house before we go out looking, yeah?” Kuroo said, making everyone in the kitchen nod and split up. Terushima and Semi went out the front door, calling (Y/n), hoping to either get her to answer or to hear her ringtone but there was nothing.

“Fuck!” Terushima shouted. “I lost my fucking girlfriend and she’s probably scared and upset and-”

“Do you think someone drugged her?” Terushima’s head turned at lightning speed and he glared at Semi.

“Why would you even say that?”

“I- what! It happens!”

Well. That happened.

Another post tomorrow <3

Love you guys! I hope you had a Happy Halloween! Goodnight!

Taglist: @kaitycole, @cosmicmermaid25, @sempiternal-amour, @99astrid, @hidden-otaku-stuff, @vicassa, @elianetsantana, @ankl3s, @newfriendjen, @oikawa-simp, @dakotacecily, @axolotleyeliner, @heyyourecute, @tchalameme, @toobsessedsstuff, @marinovakovich, @disaster-rose, @tacosforexo, @sleep3deprived, @prettyinblack231 (Open)

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britishboystm · 5 years ago

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For Sure- Matt Edition

Warnings: End of smut, swearing, angst, bad parents, pregnancy, labor, fluff

A/N: Okay this is cute. Based on the song ‘For Sure’

•••

August 3rd, 1987

“Yes, yes, yes, right there! FUUUCK!” You cry out before your legs clench on top of Matt and you collapse down beside him onto your bed.

“Holy shit.” You breath out as the two of you lay sprawled out naked, breathing heavily and staring up at your white ceiling. Did it seem a little cliche that the two little best friends that lived in the same neighbourhood all their lives started dating when college began? Maybe, but you guys loved each other so it didn’t matter

“Holy shit indeed.” He chuckles trying to catch his breath. The back of his hand swipes across his forehead to get rid of any sweat.

You see, Matt had come knocking on your door earlier in the evening. He had just gotten off of work and was looking for some comfort from his loving girlfriend after a fight he had with his dad.

“Hey, you okay?” You ask as you open the door to see your boyfriend standing there, shoulders slumped forward and on the brink of tears.

“Can I come in?” He asks.

“Of course.” You say concerned, pulling him into the small home. Your parents were sitting in front of the tv watching some program you’ve never seen before.

“Matt’s here.” You call out. Your dad responds with a grunt of recognition and your mom turns her head.

“Hi Matt. How are you, love?”

“Fine thanks.” He wasn’t fine. You sigh and grab his hand to bring him up to your bedroom.

“So is everything okay?” You say while closing the door. He was already on your bed crying into your pillow.

“Matt baby what happened?” You coo, climbing on top of him and placing tiny kisses all over his tears stained cheeks.

“My dad. He just went in on me today. I tried to explain to him that I needed the weekend off to do a gig in Manchester. He said I couldn’t because of work.”

“Okay?” You didn’t really see why this would be enough to cry over. There was probably more to the story though. Matt didn’t cry over just anything.

“He told me I didn’t have talent and that I should focus on having a real job. Then he said I was going to end up like my mum, no goals and no future. I can’t believe he talked about her like that.” You were honestly shocked. He never really talked about his mom. She left when he was little and so he resented her. It was a sore subject for him.

“I’m so sorry my love. Do you want to talk about it?” He shakes his head.

“Can you just hold me?” He sounded so run down and defeated, it truly broke you inside.

“Of course.” He sniffles like a small child and starts to remove his shoes and gets under the covers. You give him a sympathetic look and get in with him. He moves the blanket so you can shimmy up against his chest and his steady breathing almost puts you to sleep.

“I love you.” He muffles in your hair.

“I love you too Matt.” He then lifts your chin to look at him in the eyes and he leans in to capture your lips in his. The kiss was innocent enough until it wasn’t.

And well, you know the rest.

You both took some time to regain normal breathing once you were done. His hand sneaks across the bed to grab yours in his and he gives you a thankful look. With a squeeze of your interlaced fingers he leans in and kisses your forehead.

“You’re too good to me.” You smile widely and place yourself against his chest.

“Stop.” You blush.

“It’s true. You and my music are the only positive things in my life right now.” You look up at him and place a kiss on his lips.

“Go to Manchester. If your dad asks I’ll cover for you.” He quickly sits up and looks at you with shock.

“Are you serious.” You nod and giggle.

“You would do that for me?”

“Of course I would. I’ve got your back Matt. Go play your music and get us out of here once you sign a record deal.” You laugh. He then jumps on top of you and peppers you with kisses.

“I love you, I love you, I love you. Hey Y/N? Have I ever told you that I love you?” You roll your eyes and smirk before pushing him off of you.

“Yeah, yeah, I love you too. Now get out of my house and pack your shit. You have a long drive ahead of ya.” He beams and goes in for another kiss before you push him off once more. He shoots up out of bed and starts to walk out of the room but you yell after him.

“Hey, you forgetting something?” He frowns in confusion then looks down, noticing he isn’t wearing anything. All out on display for you. It was a nice sight sure but you didn’t want to distract him by pulling him back into bed. It didn’t hurt to look though.

“Oh right my clothes.” You giggle as you watch him quickly collect them and struggle to get into his pants, hopping around your room. His excitement radiated which got your stomach bubbling with happiness as well. You loved to see him happy and content so this was nice for you.

“Bye love.” He walks over to your side of bed and places a gentle kiss on your lips.

“Bye rockstar.” You whisper as he runs out the room leaving you naked and disheveled. In a good way though.

August 5th 1987

It was now Sunday and it would be safe to say that this would be a Sunday you would never forget.

You were currently sitting on the closed toilet seat in your bathroom as your best friend Lizzy sat on the bathtub edge.

“Is it time yet?” She asks, shifting forward to try to get a better look at the object in your hand.

“Lizzy, stop I can’t see if you're in the way.” You say nervously, your leg shaking and your thumb in your mouth, biting away at the nail.

All of a sudden the timer sitting on the sink goes off and you jump slightly. Your stomach churns and you grip the stick a little harder before flipping it over.

Your breath catches in your throat and tears brim your eyes.

“Well?” Lizzy asks, clearly impatient. Without saying anything you hand over the stick and put your head in your hands, sobbing.

“Jesus Christ.” She mutters after looking at the result.

August 6th 1987

“Matt I’m pregnant.” You say. No, that was too abrupt.

“Matthew, I’m having your kid.” No, that sounds awkward.

“You knocked me up and now you got to pay child support.” That’s just uncalled for.

“I am with child.” Who says that? You honestly didn’t know how you were going to break the news to him.

You paced around your room waiting for your boyfriends return. It was now Monday and his time in Manchester was finally over. Usually you would be ecstatic and ready to greet him with open arms.

This time it didn’t feel like that. This time around, you felt this awful weight on your shoulders and this dull ache in your stomach that wouldn’t go away. And it wasn’t just the baby.

How were you going to explain to him that he got you pregnant and basically every dream he ever had would now be crushed by a little crying, shiting alien. Oh you were going to be an amazing mom, you thought sarcastically.

Sure you had a job at the college radio station and Matt had the clothes stand (probably not for long though). But none of this was the plan.

You were taken out of your thoughts as one of Matt’s band members' car screeched down the road, synth blasting through the speakers. The car abruptly stopped in front of Matt’s and he jumped out, then pulled out his keyboard and bag, completely oblivious to the bombshell you were going to drop on him. He laughs at a joke and you can’t help but admire his smile before he waves his friends off and enters his home.

You assumed he was going to come right out to see you but he didn’t. You frowned and waited a couple minutes but nothing. You thought about going over to his but you were honestly so nervous you just layed on your bed and stared at the ceiling.

About ten minutes later, a loud banging could be heard from downstairs, you waited a second until the door just opened and the figure ran up the stairs.

“Y/N?” It was Matt. Your heart was racing as he entered your bedroom, fuming. Uh oh, you thought. He knew.

His nostrils are flaring and his hands are clenched.

“Fuck him!” He yells. Nevermind

“I come home, super happy. Gig went great by the way. But why would that matter when the first thing I hear when I come home is my dad screaming at me? I am so sick and tired of being pushed around by him. He doesn’t respect me and I don’t want to live under the same roof if he,”

“Matt.”

“Just because I don’t want to live out his dream doesn’t mean he can treat me like that. Honesty you and me should just leave. Get in my car and never come back. London sounds nice doesn’t it. That’s where I can hand off my demos. It will be perfect. Just the two of us.”

Not exactly, you thought.

“Matt.” You then say louder

“And another thing. He barely does anything when he isn’t working. He has the audacity to say I don’t have goals when he lays around all day while I’m-“

“Matt!” You yell finally.

“What?” He seems a little agitated at the fact that you weren’t listening.

“I’m pregnant.” You just had to say it. His face drops then almost becomes angry.

“Seriously Y/N, I don’t have the time for this. I’m already super pissed with my dad. I don’t need you joking around and pulling my leg about something like that.” That response does you in. Of course he thinks it’s a joke. Even though you have been living with the reality of it for the last 24 hours. All of the pent up stress finally leaves your body and you break down.

“I wasn’t joking.” You whisper out through your cries. His face drops again.

“Oh.” Now he didn’t know what to say. It was quite for a while, just your sobs as he stood there completely flabbergasted. He never thought about having kids. Didn’t even occur to him.

“You're not joking?” He finally says.

“NO!” You yell chucking a pillow at his face. How could he not get it through his thick skull. Seeing you in distress makes his heart hurt so he sits down beside you on the bed. He didn’t really know what to do so he just pats your back weirdly.

Then almost out of natural instinct he moves his hand to slide onto your belly.

“That’s our baby?” He asks quietly. Almost like he couldn’t believe. You look up with red, glossy eyes and sniffle.

“Yeah.” He could see how hopeless you were. He couldn’t leave you alone.

“I love you.” He says. You close your eyes, absorbing the words you always loved to hear. He was still your Matt.

“And this baby.” He says after which shocks you.

“Matt you don’t have t-“

“Shh.” He put a finger to your lips.

“Just shut up and kiss me.” You smile weakly and lean in for a deep and loving kiss.

“Matt I need to tell my parents.” He sighs and leans his forehead on yours.

“Your dad is going to kill me.”

“Well you should have thought of that before you ca-“

“Yeah okay I get it.” He rolls his eyes and grabs your hand to go out back where your parents were enjoying glasses of lemonade.

“Mum? Dad?” You said while standing, Matt right beside you.

“What is it dear?” Your mom asks, moving her sunglasses down her face. She always thought she was posher then she really was.

“Matt and I are having a baby.” And with that, the glass in her mother's hand dropped to the ground, spilling all over to the grass, leaving a feast for the ants.

Her father just looks at her in disgust and gets up and walks past them. Not even acknowledging what was happening. He was in denial.

“Oh that won’t do.” Her mother says.

“It isn’t really your choice now is it mum?” You say.

“Oh but it is. Because when the women at the book club ask about the family I will not tell them about my whore of a daughter.

This stung. A lot. You never got much support from your parents so you were almost numb to their shitty parenting.

“Okay well, um nice chat. We’ll be off then. Good luck with everything.”

“You’ll be back.” She says leaning back into her chair. No care in the world.

“Without a baby and your deadbeat boyfriend.” She continues.

Matt’s fists clench and you have to hold him back from him blowing up. Once he calms down you turn and start walking back in the house, Matt trailing behind you.

“What was that?” He says shocked. You crack a smile and grab your boyfriend's cheeks.

“We are free Matt.” You whisper. He scrunches his brows.

“What do you mean?” You pass him and run up the steps.

“I’ll call my aunt Helen in London. Go pack everything essential and meet me out front.”

He stands there for a second, surprised at your burst of energy but follows your instructions, leaving out the front door.

You worked on your room for a good twenty minutes and finished up the call with Aunt Helen before rushing downstairs with your bag.

“Where do you think you're going?” Your father says from the living room.

“Away. Thanks for everything or lack thereof. Hope all goes well.” You say bitterly.

“You're not leaving.” He says sternly, getting up and slamming the door as you open it. He towers over you and you stare him down like a little ferocious chihuahua.

“I loved you, and still do. It saddens me you couldn’t be a proper dad. I hope you learn from your mistakes and get your act together.” And with that you opened the door once more and closed it behind you, leaving your stunned dad.

Matt sat in the car patiently, then giving you a wide smile when you threw your stuff in the back and hopped in beside him.

“I love you.” You say.

“I love you too.” He grabs your hand before backing out of the parking lot and towards your new future.

April 7th 1988

“Matt get down here!” Your aunt yelled. She had been helping you and Matt out in your new apartment as you prepared for the baby. But there wasn’t much prep left to do since your water had just broken.

Loud footsteps could be heard coming down the steps to reveal your shirtless boyfriend with headphones around his neck.

“What, what happened.” He says frantically grabbing a crewneck sweatshirt and covering himself.

“My water broke.” You say calmly, not understanding why everyone was panicking.

“Oh god. Um Helen why don't you grab the bag. Y/N my love let's get you into the car yeah?” He tries to put his hand on your lower back but you swat it away.

“I’m fine. Stop grabbing me.” He sighs and lets you waddle down the apartment stairs, clearly struggling but too stubborn to ask for help.

Everything was fine until the end of the car ride. That was when the contractions kicked in.

All in all the process was awful. You asked for an epidural the second it was offered and you were chewing on ice to distract from yourself from the pain. Matt was an absolute travesty of a human . He was constantly putting his hands through his hair, pacing back and forth. Throughout the pregnancy he had become a homebody. He didn’t seem like a party animal anymore. Just a man who loved his music and his girlfriend who would occasionally hang out with his old friends from Luton and new ones in London. He had proved to you during these past nine months that he was ready, even if he didn’t think he was. Watching him pace almost eased the gut wrenching pain. He was a dad.

When the actual birth happened, you weren't the nicest. Swearing at everyone and gripping onto Matt blaming him for everything and how he caused all this. It did hurt him but he knew you weren’t coherent. You couldn’t control your feelings.

But once your child was born though everything seemed to be right in the world. You were barely conscious but enough to ask for your baby.

“Congratulations, Ms L/N. It’s a girl.” Matt was a blubbering mess when he saw his little girl be passed to you. She was so small and it almost scared him just how much he loved her already. He never thought someone could match you in his ranks. He was wrong. The small baby cried and cried. The nurses came around to give you their best wishes and your aunt finally came in to check up on you. After all that was done, Matt and you were left alone with your perfect creation.

“She looks like you.” You say as you look down at the sleeping baby, her hand curled around your finger.

“You think?” He asks, cuddling in more on the hospital bed.

“Hmhm.” You say.

“Look what we did.” He chuckles to himself, in awe of everything happening. He then raises his hand and you roll your eyes before giving him his high five, a proud look on his face.

“Daddy loves you Hayley.” Matt whispers before giving his daughter a small kiss on the forehead. She yawned in return.

“And I love you Y/N.” You smile up at him and place a kiss on his lips.

“I’m so proud of you.”

July 17th 2005

You sighed deeply as you leaned against the wall and removed your paint splattered converse. For the last decade you have been a commission artist who has actually made a name for yourself in London and even out of the city.

You could hear synth coming from the office which made you roll your eyes. He better not be doing this again.

You walk down the hall and open the office door to see Matt on the computer with Hayley who was home from school for the summer.

“See right there. Isn’t that amazing! Nothing like it.” You smirk at your family.

“Sure dad. But let me show you this.” She leans over him and types in a song in her music library. ‘Since U Been Gone’ by Kelly Clarkson starts playing, a song she has already shown you. Matt thinks for a minute.

“Eh not bad, not Duran Duran but you know.”

“If I’m not mistaken, people thought your music was odd when we were young.’ Matt and Hayley turn around to see you leaning against the doorframe.

“Hi love, how was work?” Matt gets up and brings you in for a kiss. Hayley doesn't even flinch because she was so desensitized at this point when you guys showed each other affection. Even after all this time you two were still madly in love.

“Eh fine. Not getting stuff done as quickly as I like but you know.”

“Hi Mum.” Hayley calls out.

“Hey baby, how was your day?”

“Fine. Hung out with Jason.”

“Jason?” You repeat confused.

“Don’t even ask.” Matt says rolling his eyes. He was always the protective type.

#dean charles chapman #dean charles chapman x reader #fanfiction #fanfic #matt blinded by the light #blinded by the light #Spotify

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descendantofthesparrow · 5 years ago

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Remember your past life - Prince!Harry x Chosen Knight!Reader - part 12 - the tower

Ben opened Harry's tent flap, brows furrowed in concern “is he alright?” Uma shrugged, glancing up from her spellbook.

“he seems to be, no idea what set that….attack off” she muttered, leaning forward and placing her hand on Harry's forehead. It was still too warm for umas taste, and she muttered a cooling spell under her breath and Harry sighed in relief.

“well,” Ben awkwardly mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck “let me know when he wakes up, we’re all worried about him” Uma nodded, running her fingers through Harry's hair.

You popped in behind Ben, holding a small bowl filled with soup the steam slowly rising from the bowl.

“Hey, I got him some soup, with those healing herbs I was talking about” you chirped, Uma nodded holding out her hands to take the bowl.

You gave it to her, kneeling next to Harry's form, brushing your fingers through his fringe. “I wonder what happened” you muttered, trailing your knuckles down his cheek, “he was fine one minute and then poof he was having a panic attack”

Uma shrugged, tapping Harry's cheek a couple of times, harry blearily opening his eyes, groaning in discomfort.

“ u’ma?” he croaked, letting you and Uma help sit him up “(y/’n)? wha’ happen’?” you sighed, setting an extra pillow behind his back

“We don’t know, we were in the chamber thing and you went haywire”

Harry gave a numb nod, shaky hands trying to take the bowl from uma, which she pulled away and shoved a spoon towards his mouth.

“if you're shaking that much, you're not gonna be able to hold the damn thing” harry sighed and opened his mouth, eyebrows raising as the soup hit his tongue.

“wha’ is tha’!?” he exclaimed, his shaking already subsiding. You laughed, patting his leg.

“hearty radish and meat stew, it's known for its fast healing properties”

“well,” Harry took the spoon from Uma, the red glow coming from his cheeks and chest dissipating “its fukin delicious!”

you smiled, standing and brushing off your pants “well I see you later, Ben wants me to lead a group around the place for some reason”

Uma raised her brow, letting harry take the bowl from her “probably because you’ve been here before?”

you paused, pursing your lips and nodding “yeah probably?”

you waved them off and walked out, patting your thighs in a rhythm as you made your way towards Ben.

he turned to you, and smiled, waving you over to him “hey, ready to go?” you sighed and nodded, glancing over the small group.

Evie, Ben, Carlos, Harriet, and Gil.

alrighty, then you shrugged and started walking, avoiding the shrine and making your way to the plains.

you paused as you passed your tent, going in quickly and grabbing a sword you had bought on the way to the plateau and strapping it to your back.

“Alright, let’s start with the plains of the plateau, there’s a huge rock formation over there with a huge pointy thing sticking out the top”

Gil and Carlos looked like excited puppies, Ben too, Evie was just there to look at the scenery.

as you passed the temple, you heard Evie gasp, attempting to step closer to the building, stopping as a red pig monster exited the doors in front, sniffing the air and scratching its chest.

“ignore them, they’ll only hear us if we’re close” you kept going forward, scanning the area around you, looking for the pig-like beasts.

you sighed, stopping in your tracks, there was a red one, standing at the entrance of the rock formation.

you glanced to the right, two archers, but they were too far away to really notice the lot of you.

you reached up, gripping the sword on your back and unsheathing it.

“stay back, I’ll take care of that one” you started to run forward the red beast perking up and squealing, pointing at you and jumping up and down, drawing its blade and shield.

you backflipped as it swung at you, the world seemed to slow, landing you rushed forward, sending a flurry of attacks at the beast

it gave a pitiful squeal as it died, poofing into black and purple smoke.

you nodded, glancing back at the two archers, they didn’t notice you, facing the opposite way.

you waved to the group, the five coming towards you with wide eyes “holy shite lassie” Harriet laughed, clapping you on the back “where were yeh when me crew needed ya!?”

you snorting, turning and walking into the open-ended cavern.

you leaned back on the wall, letting the five explore the small space, Carlos obsessing over the odd control panel looking thing.

he looked down, eyes catching a small tablet looking object, he kneeled down, grabbing the thick tablet.

“Hey guys look at this!” the rest of you crowded around him and you furrowed your brows at it.

it was the shekia slate, but you had dropped it at the edge of the plateau? so how had it gotten here?

a loud beep sounded from behind you.

“woah” Gil jumped, he had pressed a couple of buttons on the control panel, seeing the same buttons on the tablet, “guys it says to ‘place the ‘shika? slate into the pedestal’?” Carlos shrugged, stepping forward and setting the slate onto the panel, they both glowed orange for a split second, wiring as words started to appear on the slate. the slate began to beep.

“shekia tower activated”

“Please watch for falling rocks”

the ground beneath you started to tremble, enough to lose your balance and fall to the ground.

you groaned, standing and rubbing your head. “what happened...woah” the tower had lifted into the air, placing the six of you high up.

you walked over to the edge, whistling as you saw the ground.

“what happened” Carlos muttered, standing next to you, brows raising as he caught sight of the rest of the students running toward the tower.

an odd musical sound came from behind you, you turned, the stone above the slate and platform was glowing blue, odd symbols starting to flow down to the point.

a blue glowing liquid dripped off the rock, and onto the slite and eye symbol appeared on the slate. you walked back over to it, raising your brows as a map of the area appeared.

the slate beeped at you

“regional map extracted”

the slate was pushed toward you and was stood up, handle facing you, you hesitantly grabbed it, turning it over in your hands.

“well,” you muttered, turning to ben “that was really weird?”

he nodded, rubbing his head and spinning around slightly “Well, at least we got a really good view?” evie had her phone out, taking pictures of the landscape.

you nodded, you could see almost everything from here.

“blah blah blah, now how we gonna get down?” Harriet grumbled crossing her arms.

you hummed, looking around for a ladder or stairs when you spotted an opening and saw close together platforms.

“I think the intended way is this,” you said, dropping down to the platform, “they wrap around the tower!” you yelled back up.

the group followed you, the vks helping ben down.

As you reached the bottom, Harry slammed into you, arms wrapping around your torso.

“what the fuck happened lass!!” his voice cracked, pressing your face into his shoulder “yeh disappear and then a fukin earthquake happen-”

Harriet snorted, pulling harry away from you “chill har, yer suffocating ‘er” harry turned red, backing away and nodding

“Sorry lass” he muttered, you smiled, patting his shoulder.

“it’s okay, I like that you’re worried about me!”

Harry squeaked, turning and walking away, Harriet and CJ cackling at him.

you huffed as he walked away, glancing back down at the tablet.

you really just threw yourself back into the fray didn’t ya?

in a faraway forest, shrouded in mist and fog, a sword, covered in vines and dust, surrounded with blue and white flowers known as the silent prince.

the blade began to glow, the sun breaching the trees and shining down on the blade.

“oh” a gruff voice echoed “it seems the hero has returned….we shall see the retribution of Saorsa soon”

--end of part 12, comment or message me for part 13--

perm taglist

@sephiralorange

@marichat4lyf

@queer-cosette

@random-thoughts-003

@daughter-of-pan12

#descendants #Descendents #disney descendants #harry hook #harry hook descendants #harry hook x reader #harry hook imagine #remember your past life #botw crossover

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deamon-castor · 5 years ago

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*Relaxing at a late night cafe, donning his old clothes from Magnolia (a simple black vest, a red scarf and white parachute pants, which surprisingly still fitted) cuz his robes have been destroyed in the latest one-sided fight which he won easily, couldn't even handle on flash step or a hellfire punch. Oh well, at least the repairs were easily patched up thanks to the magic classes (really need to find a teacher for them), and he gets to enjoy a good blood bubble coffee (strawberry and blueberry flavored decaf coffee) and the best part he gets to put as much as he wants for an extra sweet taste. (Eeee coffee coffee coffee! Just what I needed!) Sniff sniff? (Hello, that's not the smell of coffee I was expecting, it smells more like... Perfume?) *He looks around and sees the heroin known as Skybright without her mask or her costume no less, just in casual clothes and a purple hoodie. Panic mode:* (OOOOOOOOOOOOOOH SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIII- Just what the heck is she doing here of all places!?) *Gotta get out of there or she's gonna see him, he left the 20% of the tip and tried to sneak out casual yet very gingerly but as soon as he got up she was coming his way and they crashed into each other which caused Skybright to spill her coffee on him and then they both fell to the floor. Skybright on top of Demonius.*

Ouch.

Oof! Oh I'm so sorry, I was wrapped up with my own thoughts and got distracted!

*trying his very best to disguise his voice to be a pitch higher, luckily with his current form it was possible.* Uh, it's quite alright. But if you don't mind, I'd like to get up off the floor and it's a little difficult with you on top of me. *she may not be able to see it but he's staying completely still, save for his right hand which is firmly clutched on his very lucky unspilled coffee.*

*They managed to get off the ground without any further embarrassing incidents (what you didn't think I would go the anime route didja?) After apologizing to each other, Demonius decided to pay for the spilt Skybright had much to her disagreement although she had little choose but to let him. After the coffee was bought they said their goodbyes and Demonius took off flying after calmly walking out the door silently cursing about the close call* Holy shite! That was way too close! I gotta get home before something else weird happens! *And so he does, he was able to safely enjoy his decaf at the comforts of his home and wonders what will happen tomorrow.*

*meanwhile back at the cafe, Skybright has been left thinking about the polite person she literally ran into.* Guess it goes to show that not all boys are degenerates, though I can't help but feel like I've seen him before. And the way he grew his wings is certainly odd and yet very familiar... *She felt some pain of distant memories, first came two faces one of a catlike creature and the other was the face of the stranger she ran into. They were both smiling like they were happy to see her. The memory changed to a most recent one, it was Demonius with a sad look on his face, flying her to the hospital and she was barely hearing what he saying. It went like "Why, why do you have her looks? How is it that you're so similar? The memory ended there answering one question of who he was but arisen so many others.* WHAT THE WHAT!?

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bazypitchandsimonsnow · 5 years ago

Text

Being Simon

Chapter 2: The Present

Rating: T

Genre: Fluff/Angst

Word Count: 9856

Chapter 2/2 (All chapters)

Summary: Simon is back in his own time, but all he can think about is the man from his past.

Read on AO3

AN: Time for some pining!

———————————————

I wake up on Sunday feeling just as shitty as I did Friday night. No amount of comfort food, hitting my punching bag, or mindless TV have helped. And sleeping it off has done jack shit, because all I could dream was Ty’s soft looking black hair and pretty eyes.

I barely know who he is. I don’t even know his bloody last name. Yet I desperately want to see him again. How that’s going to happen is...well, that’s something I haven’t figured out yet. Every time I’ve opened a door, I’ve hoped I would walk into Dr. Margaret’s office. She can time travel and teleport, surely she’ll know something about one guy I talked to. Right? Right...

I throw off my blankets, sitting up and staring out at the London skyline, lit up in violet and gold by the rising sun. I wonder if he’s out there, looking at the same horizon I am. I wonder if he’s working at his mother’s law firm, or if he’s reading forever like he truly wants. I hope it’s the latter. I want him to be happy. Fuck, I can’t stop thinking about him. The urge to see him again is burning in my chest and gut and everywhere. I’ve never felt like this before; so intensely focused on one person. If only I had looked at his bloody number!

“God,” I groan, “I want waffles. At least I can have that.” I get up and stomp to my door. The second I walk through, I stumble onto a cold stone floor, bright lights flooding my vision.

“Nice pants,” Dr. Margaret says. I pull the hem of my shirt over my Monty Python boxers.

“Seriously, why do you always get me at literally the worst times?”

“Not my fault you never have a good time.”

“Oh, fuck off.” I sit heavily on her couch with my arms crossed. “So what happened? You usually do the post-regret session earlier than this.”

“Time is an illusion. Stop stalling. What did you learn?”

I sigh, sinking further into the cushions. “Well, I learned that Agatha and I didn’t just fall apart, I let it fall apart. I put myself and my own stuff before her time and time again. And I’ve done the same with everyone else after Agatha because I refused to see my part in our relationship ending, so I never tried to fix it. I need to actually be present in and put the work into my relationships. That’s the lesson, right?”

Dr. Margaret scoffs and laces her fingers together, elbows on her desk. “What the hell am I here for?”

I shrug with a little smirk. My ego feels way too inflated right now. “Dunno. You got something else to add?”

“Hm.” She leans forward and pins me with her intense eyes. She’s really good at that. “You’re too scared of being alone to end things when they’re not going well. Why you get dumped every time. See that?”

And pop goes my pride. My face heats up, most likely turning an impressive shade of scarlet. I sink into my seat. “Okay, yeah, you’ve got a point there...”

“Simon.” She moves even closer with a kind smile. “Don’t feel bad. Not a bad person. Were alone most of your childhood, don’t want to be alone again. But can’t keep making choices from fear. Have to make them for the right reasons.”

“What are the right reasons, then?”

“Happiness, growth, all that good shite on greeting cards.”

I let out a small laugh. “Okay, I’ll go pick some up at the corner store.”

“Get some ice cream too. Deserve it after such a long regret.” She leans back in her chair, strong arms crossed behind her head. “Maybe give Agatha a call on the way there. Might know something about a raven haired bloke.”

My pulse goes into double time. I lean forward with eyes wide. “Wait, you mean-”

“Have fun.”

Dr. Margaret nods, and the world spins into a blur of colour around me. Then I'm stumbling through my bedroom door like I haven’t been anywhere at all. Fuck, I hate when she does that. I have to stay against the wall for a few seconds, just until I don’t feel like I’ve been on a bloody tea cup ride for a million years. Part of that might be caused by Dr. Margaret said. My heart is still beating like mad. It’s bruising my fucking rib cage, I swear. Holy shit. Holy shit.

I scramble to grab my phone, half charged on my bedside table. Fourth in my contacts is one Agatha Wellbelove. It’s relieving to see for so many reasons. The phone rings three times, each one making my anxiety ratchet up, until it finally cuts off.

“Hello?” Agatha answers.

“Aggie!” I say a bit too loudly.

“Simon? What are you doing? It’s four in the morning here.”

My stomach sinks. Right. Major events don’t usually change after a regret. “Oh my god, you’re in California. I completely forgot about the time difference, I’m so sorry. I’ll go-”

“It’s alright, I’m already awake now. What’s up?”

“Um...this is going to sound random, but do you remember Ty? Your friend from third year uni?”

“Wow,” she chuckles, “that’s a name I haven’t heard in a long time.”

Fuck, that’s not a good sign. “Have you, uh, seen him since uni?”

“A little, but not in awhile. We only had a couple more classes together before exams started. We had drinks a few times after, then I went to California right after graduation and he went to Oxford. Both of us were too busy to keep in touch, I guess.”

“Oh. Okay...” I lay down on my bed, Part of me just wants to curl up under my blankets forever. Another part wants to stuff my face with pastries. (Maybe both.) (Both is good.)

“What’s up with asking about Ty?”

“I dunno. I was just thinking about that time we talked. It just, uh, popped into my head” Because I literally just lived it a couple days ago while in time travel therapy, but I can’t say that. I learned a long time ago that no matter how rationally I explain it, no one will believe me.

“Right, you talked to him after our breakup.”

“Yeah. He helped me a lot. I’m pretty sure we wouldn’t still be friends without him. He was nice. In his own weird way.

She laughs quietly. “Yup, sounds like Ty. He acted all haughty but he was such a sweetheart. Wish I had kept more in touch with him more.”

“Me too.” I hug myself, and it helps a little. “Me too.”

“Oh, I think I might still be Facebook friends with him.”

Almost all my despair washes away in an instance and I bolt upright. “Really?!”

“Lemme check.” She makes little contemplative noises through the phone. “Okay, yeah, there he is, Ty Black.”

“Black? That’s his last name?”

“No, he told me he had a crush on Sirius Black and wanted to pretend they were married.”

“Oh...okay.” I start to deflate again. I feel like a leaking balloon. “Does it say anything?”

“Looks like he hasn’t used it in awhile. His last post was a couple of years ago. Says he made partner at a law firm.”

“Does it say which one?”

“No, just that it’s in London. Not surprised, he always wanted to be in the big city.”

I’m grinning ear to ear. He’s in London, my city. He’s here with me. I can find him. “Cool, cool, good to know. Um, anything else you can tell me, Ags? Like his full name?”

“No idea, Si. I actually didn’t know much about him. We spent most of our time gossiping about our classmates or getting shit faced. If I asked him something about his family or past, he’d always change the subject. So I just don’t know.”

I’m not sure how to feel about that. Ty told me things about his family, about his past. But was that because he trusted me instinctively, or because I was just some random bloke who probably wouldn’t remember? Was I convenient? Well, he gave me his number, so he must’ve seen...something in me. Not sure what though. I've never seen much in myself.

“Okay,” I sigh, “makes sense, yeah. Thanks, Agatha.”

“Welcome, and good luck. From what I remember, he was really cute.”

My face turns a bright shade of scarlet. Luckily Agatha can’t tell over the phone. (I think.) “Um, I’m not sure-”

“Please, give me more credit, Simon. I’ve known you for most of your life, I can absolutely tell when you're smitten. Not sure why you’re thinking about him over ten years later, but I support you. I hope it goes well.”

I smile, and I kind of hope she can hear that. “Thanks, Ags.”

“Welcome. Now I’m going to go back to bed. Love you.”

It’s impossible to describe the utter joy and relief I feel at those words. I’ve got Agatha back in my life. Hell, as far as she knows, we never lost touch to begin with. I’m so, so happy.

“Love you too, Ags. Night.”

“Night,” she yawns. The phone clicks off, but I keep grinning. Well, even if I can’t find Ty, this is absolutely a victory. But I’m going to damn well try.

My stomach growls louder than a lion. Waffles first, though. Definitely waffles.

———————————————

“You don’t remember anything about him?” I ask through my mouthful of sweet, delicious fried batter and syrup.

“No, Simon,” Penny sighs. “I don’t remember the guy you mentioned, like, once in the few weeks before our third year exams.”

I grumble. Stupid past me, not saying more. It’s not his fault though. Past versions of me only remember bits and pieces of a regret, just enough so they don’t seem like total weirdos who blacked out and can’t remember a big chunk of time. So it's more like stupid time travel shenanigans.

“Damn, okay. I’ll just keep looking.”

“Are you really going to scour all of London looking for one bloke you met over ten years ago?”

“When you say it like that it sounds stupid.”

“Yeah, it really does.”

“Bye, Penny, got more work to do.”

“Simon-”

I hang up before Penny can talk me out of this. She absolutely will, and I don’t want that right now. I want to find him, no matter how impossible it seems.

First stop is the alumni website, obviously. We went to the same uni, he has to be somewhere in the system. My fingers fly like lightning across the keyboard. No one in the political science or English departments that looks close to him, just a lot of uptight white dudes or hippie looking magazine writers who probably smoke too much weed. None of them have his gorgeous skin or dreamy grey eyes. (God, I want to see those eyes again.)

Next, I try the Oxford law school site. It’s even more impossible to navigate than most uni websites. There aren’t even any pictures of their alumni, just a list of stupidly posh names. Lewison, Pemberly, Grimm, Fairchild, Abbot, Harrington, none of which have a first name resembling Ty. That’s another issue. His name could be a nickname for so many other names. Tyler, Tyson, Tyrell, Tyrone are all possible. (Hope it’s not Tyrone, bloody hell.) Or maybe his name is just Ty, for some reason.

That’s why London 411 is absolutely no help. Apparently there are literally thousands of Ty's living in my city. I narrow it down to people my age, plus or minus a few years and there are still hundreds of Ty’s and Ty adjacents. I groan and rake my fingers through my hair, nails digging into my scalp. Why the fuck didn’t I get his last name? I want to scream at myself but all that would achieve is getting noise complaints from my neighbours.

Eventually, I resort to just straight up Googling. I try everything I can think of. “ty university of manchester,” “ty university of manchester english,” “ty university of manchester politics,” “ty university of manchester english politics,” “ty oxford law,” “ty london lawyer,” “ty london,” “ty sexy hot university of manchester student ashwerhuertjwerh.”

I faceplant my keyboard for longer than I would like to admit. “This is hopeless,” I groan into my table. I lift my head up to the ceiling. “What’s the point of this, Dr. Margaret? Is this some sort of test? Are you trying to give me a bloody ulcer?! Cause the last one is absolutely happening!”

Of course, there’s no answer. I’m not even sure where Dr. Margaret’s office exists relative to myself, or to our reality period. Trying to figure that out makes my brain hurt. I look at the clock, and it’s already seven. Christ, have I really been at this for that long? I should be grading homework like a good teacher. I need to stop. I’m a thirty three year old person, dammit, not a love struck teenager. (Okay maybe I’m both.) I slam my laptop shut and go on a hunt for food.

I heat up some frozen macaroni and take out my munchkins’ worksheets. Okay, these are easy. Math tests are universally understandable and simple most of the time, unlike stupid time travel therapy tests. I shovel bad pasta in my mouth as I fly through grading.

“Good job, Matt,” I mumble through my shitty food. “Got the formula right.”

This is easy. I can do this. And I’m not thinking about Ty. Not at all. Maybe if I keep telling myself that, it will come true.

———————————————

“Nice job there, Roy,” I say. “You summarized the text wonderfully.”

“Thank you, Mr. Snow.” He beams at me with his gap toothed grin.

“You’re very welcome, bud.” I turn to Sufia, who seems to be stuck on the second question. I get down on her level, making my knees ache in the process. It’s worth it. “Need any help, Sufi?”

She holds up her worksheet to me a little too close. “What’s this word mean?”

I gently push the paper back so I can actually read it. (My vision isn't bad enough for that yet.) “‘Ascend,’ it means going up. For example you can ‘ascend the stairs.’”

Her eyebrows knit together. “Why doesn’t it just say go up then?”

“Well, that involves a longer discussion about poeticism that we’re going to have next week, alright?”

“Okay.” She goes back to the worksheet, sticking her tongue out in concentration. I chuckle under my breath. The strange and hilarious things kids do, gets to me every time.

I wander around the room, helping any kid who needs it and giving suggestions when asked. Teaching is less about telling and more about guiding children. It makes me wish a certain someone would guide me instead of leaving me to suffer for the last week.

I’ve still got nothing on Ty, no matter where and how I search. Everyday my hope gets whittled down bit by bit. I’m this close to giving up. There’s only so many hits one person can take, really.

“Yes, that’s a good point, Maeve, I like where you’re going with that,” I say. “How do you think that fits with our earlier readings?”

Maeve scratches her head with the top of her head with her pencil eraser. “Um...I don’t know...”

I crouch down near her. “Well, is there a way for you to remember? Do you have the books on you?”

“No, but I have something better!” She reaches into her absolutely massive backpack (I’m surprised she doesn’t tip over wearing that thing) and pulls out three notebooks. They’re all labeled with divider tabs. It’s insanely organized for a nine year old. “I keep a lot of notes.”

“Wow, I can see that. You like doing that?”

“Yeah! I keep all my notebooks, I like to read them.”

“Smart plan. Wish I kept-”

My mouth snaps shut. The gears are turning in my head. Creaking and slow, but still turning. I’m flung back to a vague memory of being 24, moving into my current flat from my old uni one, and Penny sorting through my random crap. She stood over a mess of all my uni papers next to my desk. Literal years of collected worksheets and notes that I never got around to throwing away.

“Why the hell do you have all these?” Penny asked.

“I wasn’t sure what I’d need for later classes,” I’d said, “then it all just piled up...”

She shook her head at me. “Well, you can’t keep all of it. Pick some stuff you want to keep and we’ll donate or throw out the rest.”

I nodded, then sat cross legged in front of the anxious student hoard. I tossed all the random papers profs handed out but I never read, along with most of my notebooks. But I remember one moment, a single instance that might change everything, when I decided to keep the notebooks that looked nice. Like the green one with vines on it I used in third year. I always kept it in my book bag. I liked the pocket just inside the front cover.

Holy shit.

“Mr. Snow?” I’m snapped out of my weird memory trance back to my reality as a teacher who needs to, y’know, teach. I smile down at Maeve.

“Sorry, mate, spaced out a bit there. Anything else you need help with?”

Maeve points to a new question. “What does this mean?”

I explain the question to her as calmly as I can, not showing how I’m simultaneously panicking and ecstatic inside. Like a fireworks display in every lobe of my brain. Holy fucking shit.

———————————————

The second all the munchkins are out the door, so am I. Luckily I’ve been distracting myself from the Ty search by furiously doing all my lesson planning. I’m set for the next week. But all I’m really thinking about is where I put my bloody notebooks.

I slam my door shut, only vaguely wondering what my neighbours would think. My office (really a repurposed storage room) is a huge mess of textbooks and lesson ideas, like a tornado tore through a Michael’s and a college book store. I make it even worse by throwing object around, searching for one stupid thing. I have to have it, I need to have it. It’s my last chance, honestly. Please, universe, let this go right.

Under my Teaching Theory 5th Edition textbook is a pile of old notebooks, including a green one with vines on the cover. I scramble to open it. My heart skips a beat when I feel a piece of paper. Slowly, I pull it out, and gasp under my breath.

023-345-9876 Give me a call sometime, Snow - Ty

I’ve never typed a number so quickly in my life, though I have to keep hitting backspace because my fingers are shaking so much. And I’m even more nervous as I bring the phone to my ear. Fuck, this is so stupid, but I’m not turning back now. The phone rings three times before it finally gets picked up.

“Basilton Pitch,” a smooth, strong, most likely male voice replies. Well, that sort of sounds like him, but wrong name. My stomach sinks a little.

“H-Hi,” I squeak. I clear my throat so I don’t sound like I’m going through fucking puberty again. “Um...”

“Hello? May I help you?”

“Uh, possibly.” I rub the back of my sweaty neck. “I don’t know if you can help me, but I’m looking for someone who gave me this number a long time ago. Do you know a man named Ty?”

There’s a long, extremely awkward pause on the other side. My face gets more and more red each passing millisecond. I’ve really fucked up, haven’t I? I should just hang up-

“No one has called me that in ages,” he says. “Who are you?”

I gasp very audibly. Holy mother of all fuck. It’s him. I’ve found him! “It’s me!” I shout far too loudly. “I-It’s Simon. We met once in uni, after your friend Agatha broke up with me. I’m not sure if you remember-”

“You’re...you’re Simon Snow.”

“Yeah! That’s me! And you’re Ty, the really nice posh gay bloke who was getting his degree in politics and English then went to law school, right?” I’m grinning, I can’t stop grinning.

“Holy shit, it really is you.”

“Yeah, and you’re you!”

He chuckles, and his voice sounds even brighter than it did all those years ago. “Yes, I am. Though I’ll admit, I’m a bit...confused. Not that I’m ungrateful, but I gave you my number over ten years ago, and you’re only calling me now?”

“Um, yeah...” I scratch my blushing face, quickly concocting up a reasonable story that lacks time travel. “I got caught up in exams, then I, uh...kind of lost the notebook where I put your number. I was so pissed at myself for awhile but what could I do, y’know? Then I was, um, going through my old uni stuff today and take a wild guess at what I found.”

“A notebook with an ancient piece of scrap paper.”

“Still pretty smart, huh?”

“Well, it doesn’t take a genius to figure that out, but I’ll take the compliment.”

My cheeks are starting to ache from smiling. I don’t mind at all. “Happy to give it, and that you haven’t changed your number in over a decade.”

“Thank God for being loyal to a mobile carrier.”

I’m about to say something else, anything to keep talking to him. But then there’s commotion on the other end of the line, and Ty (Basilton?) moves away from the speaker.

“What?” he says. “Yes, I can take a look at your notes, Vadoma, give me a moment.” His voice becomes louder again. “I’m very sorry, I wish I could keep talking, but I have end of the week work to do.”

My shoulders slump. “Oh, okay.”

“From your area code, I’m guessing you’re in London too, so how about we have coffee tomorrow and catch up? Around noon good?”

“Yes!” My voice squeaks again, fuck. Calm down, Simon. “Yeah, that sounds great. Any suggestions?”

“I know a nice little place in Camden if that’s alright.”

“Yeah! I actually live in Camden.”

“What a lovely coincidence. I’ll text you the address?”

“That would be amazing.”

“Great, I’ll see you then, Simon.”

“See you.”

The phone clicks off, but it stays by my ear for another long moment. My brain is still playing catch up.

I found him. I actually found him. My stomach is filled to the brim with a thousand butterflies. I’ve never been this excited about...anything, really. How is it that one guy can make me feel like this? I have no clue, but I don’t care. I’m just looking forward to tomorrow so much.

———————————————

My leg won’t stop bouncing. No matter how deeply I breathe or push down, it just keeps jerking around like a hyperactive toddler. I’m somewhere between excited and completely, utterly terrified. What if he doesn’t show up? Worse, what if he does show up and he doesn’t like me anymore? It’s been over ten years, I definitely don’t look like I did when I was 21 anymore. He could be horribly disappointed with 33 year old me, with my dark circles and crow’s feet and only marginally better fashion sense. I would be.

Fuck, he’s going to laugh in my face isn’t he? My leg bounces even more. I stuff the last of my scone in my mouth then wash it down with strong coffee. Unfortunately that does nothing for my anxiety. I’m stewing in so much worry and fear that I don’t notice a shadow over my table until it decides to speak.

“Hello,” the same smooth, strong voice from the phone and from ten years ago says. I look up, and my heart skips more than one beat.

He’s just as beautiful as he was back then, but in a very different way. Same reddish-gold skin, same deep sea grey eyes, same raven black hair. But instead of looking like some preppy statue, he looks, well, human. He’s dressed in a tucked in white button down with a soft floral pattern. His collar is open, the sleeves are rolled up to the elbow, and it’s even wrinkled in some places, but none of that seems to bother him. More astounding, he’s wearing distressed black denim that hugs his legs in all the right places, a thumb casually hooked in one pocket. Never would I have imagined the uptight bloke I met in jeans. His hair reaches all the way to his shoulders now, falling in a lazy wave that softens the sharp lines of his face. His kind smile absolutely helps too.

This isn’t the same Ty from twelve years ago. This guy is a lot more grown up, and looks so much happier.

“Hello?” he says again. “You there, Snow?”

I shake off the second Ty induced pan-panic of my lifetime. “Uh, yeah. H-Hi, Ty. Oh, wait, you go by Basilton now, right? Or do you like something else?”

He chuckles as he takes his seat across from me. It’s a simple movement yet surprisingly graceful. “Just Baz is fine. It’s less of a mouthful than Basilton.”

“Okay. Hi, Baz.”

“Hello again, Simon. How have you been?”

“Good, good. How about you?”

“Alright. Honestly, I’m still in shock that I’m seeing you again.”

I chuckle and rub my neck nervously. “Yeah, me too. But, uh, you look good. Twelve years later and you’re still stupidly attractive.” My face immediately heats up. “Sorry, that’s weird-”

“I don’t mind. Not at all.” He leans back, arm casually slung over the back of his chair. “You’re still cute as ever, though I am glad your fashion sense has improved.

I must look so ridiculous right now, a thirty three year old man blushing like a smitten schoolboy. How can I help it when he talks like that? “T-Thanks. Your clothes have definitely changed too. What happened to the tweed jacket?”

Baz groans and hangs his head over the back of his chair. I like the way his hair falls. It’s pretty as hell. “Please don’t remind me. God, I don’t even know what I was trying to do back then.”

“Be some posh and professional prat while also being gay as hell?”

His head moves back up and he snaps his long finger and points at me. (I still want to know if he plays piano or not.) “Yes, that sounds right. Conformity and rebellion all at once. I had such insane cognitive dissonance back then, god.” He leans his cheek into his palm, pretty eyes fixed on me. “So what do you do now? Still attacking random men then stealing their cigarettes?”

I chuckle to try to hide my utter embarrassment. “No, but if I remember correctly, you offered me the cigarette.”

“Touche. You still haven’t answered though. What’s your life like?”

I shrug and sigh. “It’s pretty normal. I live in a tiny flat and I alternate between box food and take out, but I’ve got a pretty great job. I teach little kids.”

“So you did end up going into teaching like you wanted?”

“Eventually, yeah. I got sidetracked for...well, until a year ago. But I’ve finally been getting my life together lately. I do my laundry once a week now instead of once a month.”

He laughs, head bending back over the back. It’s so free and open, I’m amazed. “Yes, truly a sign of adulthood, I agree.” Baz sighs and runs his hand through his hair. I like how the black strands fall over his fingers. “I understand being derailed all too well. You should’ve seen me six months ago, I was a train wreck.”

“Really?” It’s hard to imagine Baz as a train wreck. He was so pristine in uni, and even now he still looks absolutely perfect.

“Oh absolutely. I’m humble enough nowadays to admit that you were right, Snow.”

“About what?” I don’t mind being right, but I’m not really used to it.

“About me.” He leans forward, arms crossed and elbows on the table, offering more but still a bit closed off. “All those years ago, you asked why I couldn’t just do what makes me happy. And I said that what I wanted didn’t matter. I had many reasons back then, but in the end they were all bollocks. I learned that the hard way. So, you were right.”

Is it strange that I’m both happy and sad that I was right? It’s absolutely a bittersweet taste on my tongue, like figuring out a lesson about myself from a therapy session. “Well, uh, thanks, I guess. But that sucks. Was the hard way, y’know...really hard? I hope it wasn’t.”

He sighs and runs his hand through his hair again. Honestly, he looks like some romantic hero when he does that. And I didn’t think he could get more attractive. “Well, it wasn’t fun, I can certainly say that. I did what I was supposed to do. Went to Oxford, became a lawyer at the family firm, fought all the cases the way I was supposed to. I kept waiting to not feel like shit every single day, but that never came. Nothing ever got better, and bit by bit small things piled up, completely crushing me. Then, well...” He winces, like someone has kicked them in the shins. “I did something pretty ridiculous.”

My head fills with a flurry of probably insane ideas. I only now realise that I’m leaning a lot closer, entranced and nervous for what Baz has to say. “How ridiculous are we talking?”

“Well,” he bites the corner of his lips (it looks way sexier than it should), “one morning over six months ago, I was looking over my case for the day. Checking notes and arguments, drinking too much coffee alone, smoothing out my suit, the usual. And for some reason, in that moment, a realization hit me; This was going to be the rest of my life. Reading cases, arguing for clients I hated, feeling completely numb all the time. I had been doing all this bollocks for almost ten years, and realistically I would be doing for decades to come. The thought sent me into a terrifying meltdown thanks to years of untreated mental health issues. I didn’t know what to do so I sort of ran away.”

“Ran away?” I chuckle. “In your thirties, I think they usually just call that a vacation.”

“It would have been, if I had told anyone I was leaving and hadn’t stopped answering my phone for weeks.”

My eyes go very, very wide. “Wait, what?!”

“Yeah...” It’s hard to tell in this lighting, but I think Baz’s cheeks turn red. Embarrassment looks cute on him. “After pacing around my flat for hours, I decided to simply leave. Packed a small bag, grabbed my car keys, and just started driving north with no destination in mind. Of course my colleagues started blowing up my mobile, then later my family and friends joined them. I couldn’t bear to answer because I didn’t even fully understand what was going on. I just needed to get far, far away from everything I knew and hated.”

“Where did you go then?”

“To a lot of places,” he sighs. “Mostly bad bars though. I basically drank and danced my way up the British Isle. I think. Honestly, I barely remember that time. It was an alcohol laden haze with brief moments of sober lucidity when I drove. And when I was lucid, I got depressed about my life again so I would drink more that night and pass out.”

“And you did that for how long?” My heart is beating a bit too fast. I know he’s fine, yeah, but still, the worry is eating away at me.

“Only a month,” he says, like that’s in any way a relief. “At the end of September, I stayed at a shitty inn in Scotland. I remember walking down the hall, and the next thing I knew I was in a hospital with my aunt by my side. She equal parts screamed at me and was relieved I was okay. Turned out I had fallen down the stairs while severely hungover like a bad Monty Python skit.”

He laughs, but there’s sadness behind it. Just like his smile over ten years ago. The more things change, the more they stay the same, I guess.

“Obviously I was fine.” He waves dismissively. “I spent two weeks recovering in the hospital. Which gave me a lot of time to think about myself and my future. By the end, I had decided to take an actual leave of absence from my work to focus on my mental health. And I did. Started therapy, stopped drinking, bought some clothes that weren’t bloody lawyer suits.” I can’t help but giggle. Baz’s smile has no sadness behind it this time.

“So I guess you’re not a lawyer anymore?”

He shakes his head. “Absolutely not. I quit a week after I got back to London, then started applying for book editor jobs.”

I grin wide. I can’t stop grinning. “Reading books forever.”

There’s a lovely glint in his eye. Like someone ripped Polaris from the heavens and put it in the deep sea grey of his eyes. (God the poetry unit is getting to me.) It’s a kind of playful happiness that I really, really like.

“You remember,” he says amused.

“Of course!” He smiles wider, eyebrows raising up. Now it’s my turn to blush like a teenager. I sheepishly rub the back of my neck, thinking of a reason that doesn’t include time travel. Or obsessing over our one conversation for a week. “Well, I-I’ve remembered some stuff. You just kind of, uh, y’know, stuck in my head.”

“Hence why you still called me ten years later.”

“Yeah.” I tilt my head down a bit, uselessly trying to hide how ridiculous I look. “I mean, I’m not really sure why. You were just...really different from anyone I’ve met. You were so, pretty and posh and smart, and at first I found it annoying. But the more we talked I realised you were nice, in your own strange way. And without your help I would have lost Agatha in my life forever. I dunno. You made an impression. You’ve come up in my head from time to time.”

Technically that’s not a lie. By time to time I just mean all the time for days. Though I have a vague feeling, a whisper of a half memory, that past me may have thought about Baz too. Some things always stick post-time travel no matter how much past me is supposed to forget. Usually it’s only the super important, impactful things. Looking at Baz’s incandescent smile, framed by wavy black hair, I think he might count.

“Honestly,” he says, his voice low in a very private way that I like, “you’ve come up in my head too. Especially during my crisis. I thought about how right you were back then, how I should have listened to you and maybe wouldn’t have wasted so much of my life if I had. But I was too stubborn and blind back then to”

“Hey, stop that.” I somehow lean even closer. I’m this close to actually getting out of my chair. “Don’t beat yourself up so much. Remember that you had good reasons back then, and yeah it really sucked to go through all that, but you learned stuff right?”

“I suppose...”

“Then it wasn’t a waste.” Baz’s eyes narrow. A softer version of a glare, but he's still not totally happy. “Yeah, I know that’s easy to say, but I do kinda get it. Working in jobs I hated, never dating, never really doing anything for years, that all felt like a total waste. Sometimes it feels like my life is only just starting now at bloody 33. But I think struggling also gave me the drive to work harder now, live better. So did being a lawyer give you anything good?”

Baz looks really cute when he’s thinking. I like the way everything in his face pinches up, from the furrowed manicured brow to the slight pout of his bottom lip. (Don’t think about kissing that pout, do not think about it.) (Fuck I’m thinking about it.) Slowly, his expression softens.

“I learned,” he starts, “that I can’t force myself to love something. I thought if I was a lawyer long enough, I would at least learn to tolerate doing it, but I still hated every moment. I can’t keep living for other people’s expectations. At least that’s how my therapist puts it. Maybe I’ll fully listen to her one day.”

I let out a laughing snort and immediately cover my mouth in embarrassment. I hate when I do that. But Baz grins at me. The amused, affectionate glint in his eyes makes me want to blush even harder. My stomach feels like it’s full of rocks and butterflies all at once. It’s so overwhelming and wonderful.

“Took me a while to listen to my therapist too,” I say. “Actually fixing yourself is hard.”

“Tell me about it,” Baz groans, hanging his head for a moment, hair like a wavy curtain around his face. “It took ages for me to realise that I didn’t know everything that was wrong with me. Instead I had to actually listen to someone else’s assessment of me and not interject my own thoughts every time. Do you know how frustrating that is for a know it all like me?!”

“I can only imagine,” I giggle. My thoughts immediately go to Penny and the first time she got drunk. My ears rang for hours from all her yelling about not actually being drunk. She and Baz might get along. (Maybe a little too well. God, could I deal with two of them together?) (Hopefully, because I want Baz to stick around for awhile.)

“I live in absolute agony.” He puts the back of his hand against his forehead like a dramatic Victorian maiden. I’m about to call him that when my stomach decides to rumble louder than a bloody earthquake. The corner of Baz’s mouth quirks up. “You hungry there, Snow? I can get us something.”

“Uh, yeah, I’m always hungry. But I can buy it, don’t worry.”

“Nonsense. I was the one who asked you out and picked the place, I’ll happily pay.”

“Out like a date?” The words spill out before I have a chance to stop them.

I’m pretty sure even the tips of my ears have turned bright pink at this point. Shit, why did I say that? Calm down, Simon. This is (technically) the first time we’ve seen each other in twelve years. No need to make this something it may not be. I expect Baz to be shocked, or confused, or annoyed at worst. But once again today, Baz surprises me. All he does is smile, looking at me with such kindness, far more open than I remember he was back at uni.

“Would you like this to be a date?” There's no pretense or implication in his words, he’s legitimately asking me. I don’t feel pressured, but luckily I already know.

“Yes, yeah, I-I would. I’d like that a lot.” I reach my hand forward across the table and just barely brush our fingers together. The tips of his are rough. Maybe he plays guitar or something, not piano. Doesn’t matter. I like the way he feels anyway.

Baz grins pointy ear to pointy ear. He flips his hand over, long callused fingers pressing into the much softer skin of my inner wrist. He can probably feel the way my pulse jumps. Luckily, I can feel the way his own is hammering. “Me too, Simon.”

We spend a bit too long just staring at each other before my stomach grumbles again. Baz chuckles and flags down the very nice waiter. I get another cherry scone and hot chocolate (yes I am 12 on the inside), and Baz gets something called a pumpkin mocha breve.

“What on Earth is that?” I ask when Baz gets his drink. It’s pale orange with a mountain of whipped cream on top.

“Try it.” He offers the cup to me and I take a sip. My tongue is immediately assaulted with more sugar that I’ve ever tasted at once. I blink rapidly from the shock.

“It tastes like a candy bar.”

“What can I say, I have a sweet tooth.” He licks the whipped cream off the top like a toddler with ice cream. A dollop gets on the tip of his nose.

“You’ve uh, got something right...” I flick the cream off with my thumb, “there.”

He laughs quietly. “Thank you. Allow me to return the favour.” Baz brushes some scone crumbs from my cheek. My skin feels like it’s on fire.

“T-Thanks.”

“You’re very welcome.”

We eat and drink and talk in between. Baz tells me about his work at the publishing house. It’s a small place that does mainly e-books and a few print ones, focusing on indie LGBT+ writers. He’s currently working on a book he describes as “gay polyamorous steampunk pirates,” which honestly gets me way too excited. I plan on pestering him for more details in the future. He looks animated the whole time, so passionate about what he’s doing. It makes him more beautiful.

He asks about my teaching. I tell him about my students, how incredible they are no matter how much they drive me crazy. I describe my lesson plans and all the new things I’m trying. Structured word inquiry, collaborative maths work, mixing subjects together to get kids engaged with stuff they don’t like. Luckily my principal is in favour of more out there ways of teaching too. Baz pays attention, asks questions and listens raptly. I can’t tell if he’s faking it. Most people do. I can’t blame them, it’s not very interesting. But as I go on and on, Baz never tries to change the subject or stares off into space. It’s not like he’s an angel for paying attention to me. It’s just nice that he’s making the effort. He’s really, really nice.

We eventually move off the topic of work. I tell him about my fencing class, something I haven’t done since I went to Watford. Baz calls me a bronze haired knight. I’m not too proud admit that made me blush. In turn, Baz tells me about getting back into playing the violin since he quit being a lawyer. (So that’s what the calluses are from).

“Cold I hear you play sometime?” I ask.

“My skills are still rusty,” he says over his near empty mug.

“Is that a no then?”

He sighs, but it’s with a small smile. “More like a ‘listen at your own risk.’”

“I can live with that.”

“Alright, another time then.”

I grin. Another time, I really like the sound of that.

Eventually, we somehow get onto the harder topics. I tell him about being in group homes, not having friends until Penny and Agatha, still feeling out of place and worthless sometimes. Baz talks about growing up without his mother, trying to live for her instead of himself until recently. Turns out we’ve both had a lot of hardship. We understand each other. We sort of match, I guess.

“I did like being with my younger siblings,” Baz sighs. “No matter how much I pretended I didn’t. Part of me felt like I was betraying my mother if I loved her husband’s children with another woman. But they were still my siblings and good kids, though I’m glad they’re all mostly tolerable ages now.”

I chuckle, leaning my cheek on my fist. “Mm, understandable. I always wanted siblings. Other kids to play with, y’know?”

“Group home kids didn’t play with you?”

“Nah, I was the weirdo who preferred punches over talking. No one liked being around me.”

Baz reaches out and brushes against my forearm. How can someone make me feel like I’m going to melt with just a touch? “If it’s any consolation, I certainly like being around you.”

I grin and touch his arm in turn. “I’ll certainly take that.”

We get away from all the dark shit, turning back to happier things. Baz describes the techniques and difficulties of the violin with dramatic gusto. I relay some of my worst customer service work experiences. I’ve never been good at talking, never liked it much. But I like it with Baz. He feels easy to talk to. I barely feel scared or awkward. We talk so much that we don’t even notice the sun setting on the horizon.

“Holy shit what time is it?” I say.

Baz looks down at his fancy leather watch. (A leftover from his prep days.) “Much later than I think either of us realised.”

I laugh and run a nervous hand through my hair. “Damn, sorry.”

“Don’t you dare apologize, Snow, unless you regret being here?”

“What?!” I gasp. “Of course not!”

He grins cheekily. I grumble and glare at him. Teasing bastard. Baz grabs my hand, lacing our fingers together. Any bad will immediately vanishes. “You said you lived in Camden. How close are we?”

“Uh, not that far. I walked here.”

“Wonderful. How about I pay then walk you home like a gentleman?”

I hope my face doesn’t look as hot as it feels. I squeeze his hand. “I’d like that a lot.”

He squeezes back. “Good.”

Baz does just as he says, and soon enough we’re strolling down the streets under the dimming London sky. We chat some more, but also occasionally just walk in comfortable silence. I don’t mind either, because Baz doesn’t let go of my hand the whole time. I’ve never felt so excited just from someone holding my hand. I don’t know why. I don’t care, really. I just want to bask in it forever.

Unfortunately though, we do reach my building. Never have I hated my own home more. I consider not telling Baz so we can keep walking, but then I remember all the homework I was supposed to grade yesterday while I was too excited about Baz to focus. I’ll need a good night’s sleep to survive. Life is too cruel sometimes.

“This is me,” I say.

“Nice place,” Baz replies.

“You don’t need to lie.”

“I’m not, I promise.” His head tilts to the side, a smirk on his lips. “Maybe I could see if your flat matches up sometime.”

I swear to god, my face is going to melt off from how much I’m blushing today. Baz laughs at my obviously flabbergasted expression. I playfully smack his shoulder. “Haha, very funny. Buy me dinner first, arsehole.”

He tugs me a bit closer by our joined hands. My nose is almost touching his. The smell of his post coffee peppermint gum hits me so hard I’m afraid I’ll stumble from the wonderful shock. “Are you free next Friday?”

I gulp, then nod slowly. I can’t look away from his mouth, fuck “Y-Yeah.”

“Good for you.” He takes a large step back, snapping me out of my daze. He’s got a cheeky little half smile on his lips. “I’m not, but I’m sure you’ll enjoy the free time.”

I gape at the absolute bastard. I shove his shoulder a bit harder this time. “Arsehole!”

Baz throws his head back laughing. It’s the most beautiful sound in the noisy London night. He takes my other hand and runs his thumb over the back of it. “Unfortunately, I am actually tied up for the next week, but I’m free the week after. Any ideas, Snow?”

I grin at him. “How about a scenic walk in Hyde Park?”

One of his eyebrows goes up in playful confusion. “Not dinner?”

“We’ll get to dinner eventually. I expect to be romanced a bit more first, Basilton.”

He smirks again and pulls me closer again “That doesn’t sound bad at all. Hyde Park will be lovely this time of year.”

“Agreed.”

Even though by all rational logic we should let go, our hands stay linked. Neither of us make a move to get away. I can smell the peppermint again, every time his hot breath brushes against my face. It’s somewhat shaky. But I imagine mine is about the same. I’m not sure. I’m too focused on his sharp cheekbones and blown pupils and pouty mouth. Mostly his mouth. Before I know it, we’re nose to nose. I’m getting whiffs of something other than his gum. Cedar, maybe, and bergamot. It’s perfect for Baz. He moves his face slightly, and our mouths almost touch. A spark still runs through my veins.

“Simon,” he sighs, and the sound of his voice hits me in so many places. Baz’s head moves again, brushing our noses together. I watch his eyes flutter like a pair of butterflies until they fully close. Mine follow suit. I’m overwhelmed by the smell of cedar and bergamot as I press my mouth to Baz’s.

He’s colder than I thought they would be, colder than anyone I’ve kissed before. Yet I like it so much more. Baz’s tepid mouth sends a calming wave through my constantly overheated body. He’s soft too, like how I imagine a cloud could feel if I was ever able to touch one. Our lips slot together so easily. His hands clutch mine tighter, nails even digging into my skin. Not good enough. Not close enough. I let go of Baz, but only so I can slide my arms up to hold his shoulders, pressing our bodies together. Baz immediately winds his arms around my waist, getting us even closer. He’s all lovely lean muscle pressed against me. And I fit into his arm so well. My lips fall open and Baz quickly follows. His tongue slowly over my back teeth, making stars explode behind my eyes and in my brain. I kiss him more fervently. Baz groans into my mouth.

Part of me can’t believe that we’re doing this. Two thirty three year old men, snogging like stupid teenagers on the steps of my apartment building. Sounds so embarrassing. The other part of me really doesn’t care. I’ve never felt like this just from a kiss. Like I’ve left my body and entered another dimension where all there is happiness and pleasure and Baz. Is this how all kisses are supposed to feel? Or is it because of Baz? I don’t know, and I don’t care. I just weave my fingers through his silky smooth black hair and keep kissing this wonderful, wonderful man.

Baz pulls away, and I nearly whine. Luckily I still have a bit of dignity. (Just a bit.) He doesn’t let go of me, thank god. He keeps his lovely hands on my waist, eyes still half closed, bright red lips pulled into a grin.

“Do you always kiss on the first date, Snow?” he whispers playfully.

“No, you’re the first.” I twirl a bit of his wavy hair around my index finger. “Feel special?”

“Extremely.”

I lean forward and kiss him again for a moment. Just a quick, hard press against him. Baz leans forward slightly when I pull away. My heart flutters happily in my chest. “As much as I’d like to keep doing this, it’s late, and I’ve got grading to do.”

He makes an over dramatic groan, leaning against my hands. “How dare you be a responsible teacher who is truly committed to educating the next generation?”

God, he’s making me want to kiss him again. He does it so easily. “I know, terribly inconvenient. We’ll figure something out, yeah?”

“Yes, give me a call. And don’t wait twelve years this time.”

I sigh while Baz smirks at me. I’m about to retort when he leans down and kisses me. My head is spinning like a tumble dryer. I don’t want this day to ever end. Unfortunately, reality is a thing that exists. And because of it, Baz has to pull back, leaving me wanting more.

“I’ll text you when I get home,” he says, “alright?”

“Alright. Have a good night, Baz.”

“You too, Simon.”

He pecks my forehead, and I nearly melt into the pavement. We then slowly disentangle ourselves. My fingers trail on Baz’s as he lets go. He waves one more time. I smile back. And I keep smiling as I watch him walk down my street, only going for my keys when I lose sight of him as he turns the corner. I literally skip up my steps to my door. I’m so dazed with happiness that I barely notice that I walk into Dr. Margaret’s office instead of my dingy lobby.

“Snogging in public?” she says. “How very adolescent.”

I narrow my eyes at her. “That’s what you say after abandoning me for a week?”

She snorts, leaning back in her chair. “Didn’t abandon you. Just let you figure things out on your own. Point of therapy, remember?”

“Well, yeah, I know that. A little heads up would be nice though.”

“Not my style.”

It’s my turn to snort. I plant myself on her couch. “I know, you’re more of the ‘toss in the deep end and yell swim’ kind of therapist.”

“Mhm. And look how it turned out. Found your Baz.”

My eyes narrow even more. “How do you know his name?” Dr. Margaret just keeps smiling at me like a cat who’s caught a canary. The realisation slaps me in the face. My jaw drops open. “You knew exactly who and where he was the entire time, didn’t you?” No change, still smiling. “How?!”

“Though about him. Saw his whole life in my mind’s eye.”

My jaw falls further. Holy shit, how powerful is she? “Really?!”

“No.” She pulls a plastic card out of her pocket, holding it between her index and middle finger like a throwing star or something. “Swiped his uni ID and Googled him here. Much faster than powers.”

I can’t help but burst out laughing. Godlike abilities have nothing on a good search engine, it seems. “Of course you did.”

She shakes her head sarcastically. “Can’t believe you. Send you back in time, and you wonder how I know about one bloke?”

“Uh, yeah. Knowing everything is a bit different from time travel.” I lean forward with elbows on my knees. “Why didn’t you tell me about him then? Why make me suffer for a week?”

“Suffering now?”

“Well, no, now that I’ve found him-”

“And what made you want to find him?”

I rub the back of my neck, trying to coax the words out from my brain. “Uh, I dunno. I know we met only once, but he just stuck in my head. He was interesting, smart, funny and nice in his own way. And I wanted to talk to him again, learn more about him. It was overwhelming, really. How much I wanted to be around Baz again. I-I’ve never felt something like that so strongly before.”

“Exactly.” Dr. Margaret picks up a pen just to point it at me. “Felt strongly for the first time ever. Made you determined even to find him when it was hard. And never felt this strongly because you always settled for okay. Felt okay with Agatha, with Todd, with everyone. Need better than okay. Need to want someone more so you can build more. Make a relationship that’ll actually go somewhere.”

My eyebrows furrow. “I thought I needed to focus on the present more.”

“You do. In the present, desire Baz right?”

I think about Baz’s pretty eyes and his pretty laugh and the way he made my head do somersaults when he kissed me. My flushed face splits into a grin. “Yeah, I really do.”

“Good.” She leans back again with her hands linked behind her head. “Build from there. Put the effort in like you did searching for him. Will want to put the effort in, because you actually want him, not just because he’s nice and you should like him.”

The puzzle pieces start to slide into place finally. It was all one big, weird life lesson, of course, like everything Dr. Margaret gets me to do. Looking back, I cared about Agatha, and I did love her as a friend. But I never desired her. I never desired Todd or any of my other exes either. They just seemed like the kind of people you should date. They weren’t even bad, they just weren’t for me, weren’t who I wanted.

But dear lord, do I want Baz.

“You couldn’t just tell me I was dating people I wasn’t actually attracted to?” I ask. “That I was actually supposed to feel more but I was settling for nice people I didn’t really like instead?”

Dr. Margaret shakes her head. “Not how therapy works. Supposed to guide you to find the answers, not tell you outright. Where’s the fun in that?”

I cross my arms and smirk at her. “Since when is therapy fun?”

She glares at me hard. “Brat. Lucky that I like you.”

“Aw. I’m touched.” My voice is sarcastic, but my bright smile is genuine. I’m glad she likes me. I’m glad she’s here to help me finally live my life. I hate to think where I’d be without her help. From her returning grin, I think she knows that.

“Go do your grading. Be a responsible teacher. See you next time.”

“See you later, Dr. Margaret.”

She waves her hand, gold rings flashing in the light, and the world spins like a cyclone. I yelp as I fall flat on my arse on my apartment floor. Well, at least she didn’t put me back in the lobby so I had to climb all those stairs. Small blessings, take 'em where I can get ‘em. And Dr. Margaret herself is already a huge one.

After getting out of my day clothes and into trackies, I set about to my teacher's work. It’s not the most fun part of the job but it’s certainly the most important. I’m lost in a haze of spelling tests and math activities when I feel my phone buzz. There’s one text on the screen, and it makes me smile instantly.

Baz Hey, made it home safe. I had a lovely time today and can’t wait to see you again. Call me tomorrow at lunch?

Is it possible to die from such pure happiness and excitement? I hope not, because I’ve still got so much more of my life I want to live. And I want to see if Baz will be a big part of it.

Simon me too. call you at noon <3

———————————————

AN: Mushy ending, as usual for me haha. I really hope you all liked that! Even if you don't know the original show, I hope it was good. I really liked the idea of Simon in time travel therapy, it would be good for him. Tbh I thought about making Ebb his therapist because she was such a mentor for him, but I wanted to try out Margaret and she ended up being a lot of fun. I may write more in this universe. There are other Being Erica plotlines that could be fun. And exploring Baz and Simon's relationship in this AU further could be great. We'll see. I'm taking writing day by day due to my health. Anywho, thanks for reading!

#carry on #snowbaz #simon snow #baz pitch #being erica au #time travel #time travel therapy #fluff #angst #first meetings #mysnowbazfic

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idealistsinc · 4 years ago

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04 // clinch

wc: 2,097 content warning: abuse, suicidal ideation

The study door was locked that day.

There were once times when Father never barred that door. By his word alone he kept his wayward sons out of his possessions, his authority a fortress more impenetrable than any ordinary lock and key; to enter the study without Father’s express permission was a transgression akin to desecrating some holy grounds of old Gelmorra, if the pricelessness of the artefacts Father housed there was to be believed. But he had done away with those days of unlocked doors, explicit trust, his status as his father’s unseen-unheard right-hand man.

Rin drew a shaking breath. “Father?” he said.

A silence. Eventually, Senan’s voice wafted from within. Rin imagined him immured at his desk among dusty tomes and crumbling papers, nursing a cup of tea. “I am working, Rin.”

“It’s important.” Please.

Rin could hear the blood rushing in his ears, his heart beating a cannonade in his chest. He forced himself to calm. Finally, a book slammed shut. Footsteps padded softly from the desk to the door, and it swung open to reveal his father, brow furrowed, nursing not tea but an after-dinner cognac that, judging from the scent that lingered about his clothes, had actually been more than one. Behind him, documents flooded his behemoth of a mahogany desk. Although Senan’s manner was as cold and restrained as it ever was, the subtle pull of his mouth indicated his impatience; Rin knew he expected an explanation for the interruption at once. He did not waste any time.

“My sister Luma—Isha’a found her. She’s in Limsa Lominsa.”

But his soul sang, She’s alive.

He had been called into Mr. Kawaguchi’s office at midday. Isha’a’s former Doman teacher, the Roegadyn ferried Isha’a’s messages where he could, as Senan would not allow him to speak to his brother since the incident; this day, he had handed Rin Isha’a’s letter and then, unusually, left the room to preserve Rin’s privacy. It was a moment of astonishing foresight in retrospect. Rin had only gotten as far as the first line before, rocked by the tidal wave of feeling he’d stymied since the day his sister was taken from her family at the tender age of fifteen, he had started to cry.

Rin had no expectations as to how Senan would react to the news. Senan had never met his half-sister, and he did not generally think well of their mother’s side of the family. But what he wasn’t expecting was for Senan to say, in a tone like a droning lecturer, “Our arrangement was that you were not to contact your brother.”

“I—” Shock lamed his voice. “I don’t see how that’s relevant. He had to contact me. Father, I have to go see her.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” said Senan. There must have been something horrid in Rin’s expression to match the roiling storm in his gut, because Senan softened. “I understand you’re relieved that she’s well. So am I. But your marks have yet to recover from last term’s failures. You’ve not the time to travel.”

Isha’a had said once, before he realized his complaints fell on his brother’s deaf ears, that arguing with Senan was like trying to argue with the Twelveswood’s elementals. Rin hadn’t understood what he meant, then—in fact had taken such violent offense to the comparison that Isha’a had never dared to mention it a second time—but he did now, with the dizzying sense that he was staring up into the distant canopy of those warped and ancient trees, and no matter how loudly he spoke or how much he prayed, the deity with aegis over his life would never hear.

“But—but she’s my sister.”

Rin never argued with Senan. An imperiousness crept into Father’s bearing. “You stole from me, you’ll remember. You betrayed my trust. Travel is a privilege; I thought we agreed that you do not currently possess that privilege. I’m sorry.”

Senan began to close the door. Father had spoken, and it would be done, and it didn’t matter that it was his sister, it was Luma—Luma who took him aside and showed him the shapes and colors of the forest, Luma who danced like she would die if she didn’t, Luma who loved him in violet—and before Rin knew what he was doing he had jammed his foot in the doorframe and followed Senan into the study, something hot and sick and brittle crawling up his throat.

“Privilege?” said Rin, in a voice he barely recognized as his own. “Father, I thought—I thought she was dead. And you’ll not allow me to see her, on account of a bloody emerald and an orchestrion roll—”

“You’re acting like a child, Rin. It’s a punishment.” He scolded him like an errant toddler; though there was beginning to be a hint of irritation in his voice, Rin noticed his father’s tail didn’t so much as twitch. He’s still in control, Rin thought. When he shouted at Isha’a, he was always— “Do not whine as though I am being unfair; you agreed to my terms.”

“Perhaps if the punishment was at all proportionate to the crime—”

“You had the opportunity to make your appeals. The matter is closed.”

Somewhere else, Rin was thinking, Was Senan in control then? When he had screamed in his face about the emerald, threatening to cut him off, threatening to pursue legal action against him, threatening to send Rin an itemized bill of every gil Senan had ever spent on his upkeep until Rin was a sobbing puddle on that plush Thavnairian carpet, had he even been angry? Or had he simply used his anger the way he used everything else—as a tool to get what he wanted?

“If you are truly repentant, tell me how you should be punished.”

“Please, Father—”

“Tell me. Tell me right now, or you will not be welcomed back in this house.”

“Appeals!? This isn’t a courtroom, Father! She’s my fucking sister!”

The study rang. Somewhere else, Rin looked upon himself as though he were a stranger—the flush of his face, his panting breath, anger a heat that boiled the blood in his veins, and knew with the cynicism of experience that none of it mattered. This game they played, the dance he’d danced for a decade to earn his father’s acknowledgment—none of it would have ever made any difference.

What Isha’a had learned long before he did: that anger simply didn’t work.

“If you are going to speak to me that way,” said Senan, low, “we have naught to discuss. You are dismissed.”

And yet…And yet Father was still a person.

“Wouldn’t you have dropped everything to see grandmother again?”

Senan had told him the story once and only once in a tenuous string of intimacy, on a day Rin had cried for Luma’s loss when he was yet a little child, home- and heartsick for the life he had left: a long time ago, Senan’s mother had vanished upon visiting family in Gyr Abania, walled off from Eorzea and almost certainly killed in Garlemald’s lust for conquest. Rin knew he should not have mentioned it, and knew it better when Senan suddenly grabbed him about the shoulders as though to shake him, his countenance a twisted ruin of something Rin had never seen before on his father’s face: grief.

And then just as abruptly Senan released him, the mask once more in place, emotions contained. Rin recognized it, because he had done it himself as often as there were grains of sand on Hydaelyn.

Gods, I am really…

“No,” said Senan, finally, like a glacial wind. “That woman abandoned her family for the sake of a few xenophobic and ignorant tribespeople who would have just as soon eaten their own shite as bring themselves out of their squalor—as your brother has done. I would not mourn for such people.”

Rin understood, then, why he was not permitted to leave.

When he was very young, Mama used to tell him and Isha’a the story of their birth. The labor pains had come upon her, she said, and she’d barely had the time to so much as rest her back against a withered pear tree before they were out of her, first one and then the other. “How you shrieked!” she had laughed, ruffling their hair. “Nobody could hold just one of you; it had to be both, or you would just cry and cry and cry.”

His brother. His twin. Senan feared Rin would follow in his brother’s footsteps—and he was right to, because even after years of distance, after years of Rin doing his damndest to make Isha’a hate him, Isha’a had been there when the scaffolding collapsed underneath him. Isha’a had held him like when they were children and still shared half a name, and he had told him, with all the patience Rin didn’t deserve, “Senan is hurting you.”

What Rin thought Isha’a had meant to say, now: “He had hurt me, too.”

Had Isha’a felt like this? When he fought with Father, had Isha’a wanted to shout his voice hoarse? Had he wanted to knock all the Gelmorran artefacts from the etagere just to get Father to say something, to show something other than that indomitable mask? Maybe it had been like that for him, too, the crushing pressure in his chest in front of an examination he knew he’d fail, long hours spun out staring at the ceiling, vomiting dinners into wastepaper baskets and the miserable daydreams of throwing himself off the bell tower just to get it all to stop—

And it was that last thought, that thought and the sudden accompanying horror that perhaps Isha’a had felt that way, had stared down that same dim hallway and made the only choice he could live with, that made Rin say, from the depths of a well of bitterness so deep and so dark it would have taken him ten years to plumb to the bottom, “My brother wouldn’t have left at all if you had been a better father—”

Senan slapped him hard across the face.

His head filled with static. Rin staggered, more from surprise than pain, and saw Senan stagger, too—saw the flush of rage in his cheeks drain white, saw his lashing tail still, saw something terrible come into his eyes as he realized just what it was he had done. It was the most feeling, he thought, he had ever seen from Senan in his entire life.

“Rin,” said Senan, after a silence that might have spanned a year and in a voice that did not sound like Senan at all. “Rin, son, I—”

They stared at each other as if across a great divide. Rin brought his hand to his face.

He felt—he—

He could not rationalize this away. So Rin did what he had always done: he pushed it, pushed it all down, down, down into that rusted old lockbox at the bottom of the well. A distant part of his mind was astounded at how easy it was for him to feel absolutely nothing about this development, as though Senan hitting him was simply another characteristic of their relationship to one another, as though this transpired every day (because that’s what Father had taught him to do—)

Rin straightened. Then he said, very evenly and as though nothing at all had happened, “I’m going to see my sister in Costa del Sol. I’ll need gil for an airship ticket.”

Senan didn’t respond.

“Father, I said—”

“I heard you.”

There was another beat of hesitation. Finally, Senan moved to his desk for the gil he kept in the left-hand drawer. He moved very oddly—in a shuffle, like an old man with too many moons weighing down on his shoulders. Somewhere very far away, someone was screaming in a high, sustained note. Senan handed Rin the pouch, too full for Rin’s purposes, and said again, “Rin—”

Rin left the room. As far as the stairs, he walked with all the dignity he could muster, back straight chin up ears alert, until at once some critical faultline cracked within him and he ran, sprinting out the doors and gulping in the balmy sunlight of summer’s last gasp, clutching the gil and saying to himself, Luma, Luma, Luma. He had it. He had gotten what he came for. But the sun seemed a cold and distant thing, just then. And as he looked about him, the whole world was as a stranger.

Though he didn’t know it yet, Rin would never return to his father’s study again.

#ffxivwrite2020 #ffxiv #ffxiv rin weise #my writing #well this is a thing that i wrote #poor baby ;u;#not totally happy with it but que sera sera

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invertedeidolon · 5 years ago

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The Longest Library #5: The Crying Sisters by Mabel Seely

(This is a series in which I attempt to read and review all (or most of) my library of 297 books.)

Rundown: A librarian wishes for a little more excitement in her life and IMMEDIATELY regrets it. Goes to a resort with a stranger, hired to look after his kid. His kid is cute but he may or may not be a fucking literal murderer?? We don’t know!! 4/5, good suspense, great pacing, a steady read that won’t make you obsessively read for three days straight, but it will definitely overtake your lunch breaks.

This entry took me a little longer, not because it was a bad book, but because for roughly two or so weeks I got caught up in mental health shite and had to re-tweak my schedule YET AGAIN and force a half hour of reading in the mornings to make sure I actually had time to read. This book was wonderful.

I think this book marks the first actually good mystery I’ve ever read. Considering I never read mysteries, and the first one I read was catballs mcgee over here. There are some reviews that seem to be bothered by the authors occasional tendency to mention something and then go “I had no idea that would be so important at the time”. Personally, I loved it. It put me in a further state of suspense, and it had me attempting to put more things together. There’s not enough info to pin one person down, and the really obvious choice is a REALLY obvious choice, and the main heroine constantly agonizes over it, so you know the book wouldn’t do THAT, but still... what if? The very last resort my mind ended up going to in a lazy scooby doo kind of way ended up being right, but the intricacies of their place in the whole plot was still a surprise.

No, the super conservative prude witch lady had absolutely nothing to do with any of it, she was just unpleasant.

A really cool thing about this book, at least the copy that I have, is that it’s a reprint from 1944, during the war. There’s a little note in the front about book cloth shortage because of war-time rationing (you can see it in my instagram post here). So instead it was bound in a ‘sturdy paper fabric’ instead. That, plus the aging of the paper, give it a really smooth and airy feel, for a book. I love holding this thing.

Okay, onto quotes.

We already start off strong with the writer’s description of oppressive summer heat:

“In the afternoon I was a cooking waffle between two irons, the steely paving and the chromium sky; heat from below pressed up and heat from above pressed down until the juice oozed out of my bones and each eye was a separate furnace”

Hot damn that’s a HOT day.

“My imagination worked overtime a bit, but the last thing I would ever have thought was that that revolver would come into my possession”

There’s that hinting that people were talking about. But it wasn’t useless or meandering. This line appears on page seven and become EXTREMELY pertinent by the end of the story. I don’t mind hinting if it isn’t useless without giving too much away. We have no idea about the circumstances of how she gets the gun, but all we know is that she gets it, and that’s just a tiny bit exciting already. The author putting a little foreshadowing in front of us directly didn’t bother me because not only was it immediately relevant (usually within a chapter or so), but also relevant in an even more significant way by the end of the book.

“...if Cottie calls me mamma, then anyone who hears him will think I’m your wife.” “I won’t.” It was cold enough to douse me the rest of the way back to sanity. “I’m sorry, I’ve changed my mind. I‘m not going.” His answer came with the tired reasonableness of a construction boss rebuking a steel riveter who complains he is afraid of high places. “Aw, quit being a sissy pants.” Sissy pants! Before I could recover he had elbowed me aside, and was inside my car.”

What the FUCK. What a little shit! Holy fuck! This man makes me feel offended and incredulous like an amish spinster looking at capri pants! Like what the fuck!!!!

“I can see, now, how expertly he handled me, how exactly he conveyed the right amount of disinterest in me, how he goaded me into staying.”

This man is a fucking EXPERT at manipulating the heroine. Your own mind sort of starts to soften to him the further you read, because like the heroine, in the beginning there’s no reason to like or tolerate the man, but as you go on, it becomes a necessary evil if you want to figure out what the FUCK is going on. I also started to get just as curious as to who he really was and what business he had at the resort. (by the end of the book I came to understand it’s a lot like how Kain had to handle Raziel: You can’t reveal too much or you risk your plans going astray, but for fuck’s sake Kain, you could be way less of an ass about it, you know?)

“Whatever had been done in the resort tonight, for whatever reason a woman had screamed, he was staying. The cot creaked lengthily as he lay down. I tried, with an effect of pressing a lid down on a kettle that bubbled and boiled over, to suppress my expectant terror.”

Damn that’s a good description of that feeling. I used to get that way when I heard stuff at night and my (at the time) untreated, panic prone brain immediately went “IT’S A CRIMINAL, A MURDERER, A CRIMURDERER, YOU MOVE AND YOU DIE”

“Mrs. Clapshaw carried herself like a small dragoon and had a nose like a thin white claw. I thought she’d be the acid test. “A scream?” She repeated rapidly, reaching upward with the nose. “Mrs. Corbett, I’m so glad you heard it. It’s the Reds. I’ve told Mr. Loxton here. There are un-American activities going on at that Flaming Door. Nazis.” She bit at her decisive words as they went past her teeth.”

Oh my god. Thankfully we don’t really deal with this lady for long, but holy fuck. The heroine wisely doesn’t spend any more time with her on purpose.

“You can decide to treat me like a person or I leave. I don’t like being pushed over or taunted or overruled or spoken to contemptuously. I can leave here today. It’s my car.” “Sure. Why don’t you?” Why is it that being invited to make good on a threat makes you want to change your mind? As usual when I’m pushed over the edge of anger, I couldn’t find words, and stood sputtering.”

The thing about Steve (this asshole’s name is Steve) is that he doesn’t force her to stay. He makes it quite clear in his smug little way that she always had the choice to leave at literally any time, and many times gives her orders knowing full well she can very well disobey them (and she does at times). She has a gun. Why doesn’t she shoot him? Go to the sheriff? But just. God. The man is infuriating and uncomfortably manipulative, but when immersed in the book, it becomes something mildly amusing, although the real world implications and usage of this kind of manipulation are sobering. The curiosity overrode everything else.

“I didn’t know how difficult it was going to be to keep out of Mr. Sprung’s way, or for what a long section of the chain he was going to be responsible.”

Another hint. The heroine frequently refers to the thread of the mystery as a chain (i.e: Chain of events), and it’s used fairly frequently through the book, sometimes in creative ways. There’s a moment where she realizes she’s reached the point of no return, that she’s in too deep, and goes on to describe how she can feel the chain whipping around her and binding her.

“Something would come of this night business now. I had in an instant a hundred blinding expectations -- a shot through the door, harsh angry voices calling to open, Steve Corbett rushing to attack the source of the light, men tramping in to say he was caught. My internal arrangements drew out into a rope and then tied themselves into one tight knot as I sat there with all animation suspended.”

Night noises be like that though. Man, these descriptions of the heroine’s internal reactions to things have been excellent!

“I’d heard that thin, high tone before. I’d heard it walking along a country road with telephone wires over my head and a wind in the wires. It was eerie in the wires. It was deadly in the man’s voice.”

“The boy was the man’s son, and the man loved him almost with agony. Yet last night he had walked out of the cottage into some circumstance he thought might be so dangerous he might never come back.”

“Suddenly I was shaking again, clutching Steve Corbett’s arm. He wasn’t shaking, but the muscles hardened as my fingers grasped; it was like touching a sleeve holding a warm marble arm. Had this been the arm I fought against last night?”

“The eyes above me had the same blue-metal gleam as the revolver’s mouth.”

The author does a fantastic job of making Steve Corbett seem like a very threatening potential murderer, nearly everything around him is foggy, suspicious, and mildly threatening in it’s implications, and yet there’s never enough solid evidence to truly pin anything on him. Both myself and the heroine could only stand by and watch further with a distinct sense of unease as everything unfolded both too quickly and not quickly enough.

“If tampering with the truth was illegal, the sheriff was a bit unlawful himself. “She couldn’t see, it was black as pitch,” Niddie denied weakly. “So there was something to see!” Niddie wasn’t the stuff of Hoxie Moebbels; once the sheriff had an opening wedge he weakened quickly.”

I like the sheriff a lot.

“I had hardly heard her. The corner of my eye had caught the stubby white patent-leather sandals on her feet. Caught between the heel and the instep of one sandal was a dry scrap of plantain leaf.”

So, something that annoyed me a little bit in the last mystery, was that the glimpses of suspicion raising evidence sometimes didn’t mean anything. They’re were just like ‘ooooo, suspicious!!!! It MEANS something!!!’. Here the narrator (our heroine) seems way more credible, relatable, and the events preceding it turns this into a massive clue. AND it’s later actually relevant, and NOT evidence of the heroine being (understandably) paranoid!

“If ever there was an evil-eyed harridan, I thought, she was it. I wondered what had built the immense familiarity with the worst impulses of men, that lay in her eyes, the thickness of her slow, significant voice, the turn of her hands, the slide of her thick hips.”

Another good description of yet another extremely suspicious person.

“We called hello in return, Carol prinking and smiling.”

Autocorrect can’t tell me that’s not a word.

prink /priNGk/ verb spend time making minor adjustments to one's appearance; primp. "prinking themselves in front of the mirror"

Ah, so nowadays we would more readily recognize ‘primping’ as opposed to this one. Nice! I learned a new word!

“In a white rayon bathing suit her figure was as plushly luscious as an overstuffed pink satin davenport.”

So she’s cute chubby! Nice! I assume this is roughly the era or coming from a writer from an era that was just on the edge of where being ‘too skinny’ was a REALLY bad thing.

“Look, Janet.” It was the first time he’d used my name.”

213 pages in. What a piece of work.

“Wasn’t it too bad I couldn’t be placated by an ice-cream cone, I thought grimly, as I went to obey orders.”

Me too, Janet. Me too.

“This was the sheriff to whom I held with the emotion portrayed by the girl in the old oleograph of the storm swept cross.”

If anybody knows what painting this is, that would be fantastic. I can only barely imagine it based on context, but that’s about it.

The quotes and the commentary are more sparse here at the end because I don’t want to give too much away.

This was a book that I genuinely enjoyed, and I could easily recommend it for some casual but still absorbing reading. They still print this book in paperback now, so it shouldn’t be too hard to find, it’s just me that has the old as balls copy.

Good shit!

#thelongestlibrary #book review #mabel seely #the crying sisters #mysterynovel #origin1 #wri1

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flirtingwitharson · 6 years ago

Note

drunk remus plz

contrary to popular belief, I haven’t died, just am trying to find time and motivation you mega nerds

Remus Lupin wasn’t exactly one to get drunk. It was honestly difficult to get him even bordering on inebriated, considering his metabolism was extraordinarily quick, what with his lycanthropy and everything. It took some rather strong whiskey and arseloads of convincing to make it happen, really. Luckily enough, in all matters concerning whiskey and Remus Lupin, Sirius Black was very, very gifted.

“Remus John Lupin, you are not bailing on your own fucking birthday party,” Sirius scoffed, strolling dramatically into the common room and simultaneously scaring off children in younger years with the stomping of his heavy boots. “A little birdie called James let loose that you said to him that you ‘weren’t really feeling it this year’, or whatever bullshit excuse you gave. Not feeling it, my arse.”

Giving a world weary sigh–having only picked up just a hint of Sirius’ dramatic tendencies over the years–Remus uncrossed his legs and gently placed his bookmark inside his novel, preparing himself for the skirmish Sirius was surely about to stage. “You’re causing a scene,” were the words that came out of his mouth first, taking the form of a half-assed attempt to stop Sirius’ idiosyncrasies before they even got started.

“As if,” Sirius replied, his drama increasing as his irritation increased as well. “Moony, you are turning eighteen, the big one-eight, Mr. Adult, you can’t just not have a party. I won’t hear anything of it.”

“It just gets boring, having all these parties all the time, you know that’s not my kind of fun, Sirius,” reasoned Remus tiredly. It was true; Remus was always the odd one out of their tight little group. He liked to go out, sure, but all of these grandiose parties with drinks, and people he’d hardly ever even talked to, it just wasn’t his scene. However, James and Sirius were quite the opposite: they loved to entertain, and host, and simply just have loads of fun, so organizing huge ragers in the Gryffindor common room and getting drunk off their arses was right up their alley.

“Moony, Moony, Moony,” Sirius crooned. “I’ll make it fun, I promise. Since when have I ever let you down?”

“Well–”

“Don’t answer that.”

The conversation seemed settled, and Remus was one hundred and one percent positive that he would resent his inability to say no to Sirius for the rest of eternity.

Sirius and James made it their goal for the evening to finally, for what might be the first time, to get Remus Lupin properly and totally pissed. Being the rich, unknowingly privileged people they were, they went out and bought the nicest, strongest alcohol they could, fully determined to make the one to remember–or get so drunk that they couldn’t. They snuck the crate they had gathered into their dormitory under the invisibility cloak, knocking it off their to-do list as they headed out to spread the word of “Mr. Moony’s Birthday Banger” (not their most creative title, but it would have to do last minute.

“How do you figure you’ll even be able to convince him to drink?” James asked curiously as he walked besides Sirius, handing out flyers to all sixth and seventh years they came across.

“Oh, some jealousy, a lap dance, and whispering dirty things into his ear should do the trick,” Sirius smirked devilishly, the unsurprised sigh that James emitted satisfying him.

“Why of all people he chose to fall for your sorry arse, I’ll never understand.”

“I’m irresistible, Jamesy, how could I blame him?”

The party was a roaring success, as was any event organized by the daunting duo of Padfoot and Prongs. The gift table was sneakily placed next to the drink table, encouraging everyone to not only spoil the birthday boy, but to get spoiled on the plethora of alcohol they had provided. Remus sulked nearby in an armchair, wearily smiling and conversing with all who were courteous enough to wish him a happy birthday, even if most were just there for the booze. Sirius tutted at the sight, and set off to begin step one of Mission Get Moony Hammered. He took a swig of the beer he was starting out with, and sauntered over to Kingsley Shacklebolt, one of the only other students besides Remus and himself that was out as a queer man, barring Marlene and Dorcas proudly announcing themselves as lesbian (far, far too publicly). He made eye contact with Remus from across the room, grinning mischievously before laying his hand on Kingsley’s shoulder. “Hey, Shacklebolt,” he said in a low tone, shooting him a well-practiced smile, “care for a dance?”

“What will the boyfriend say, Black?” Kingsley laughed back, knowing full well what Sirius’ end goal was, because they’d been down this road before.

“This time I’m not trying to get him to shag me–well, yet,” Sirius insisted. “I just fancy seeing him drunk off his arse on his eighteenth birthday, surely you understand what amusement that long-concealed knowledge could provide.”

“Very well,” came the reply as Kingsley allowed Sirius to drag him off to the makeshift dance floor and place his hands on his lower back. Sirius was confident that this would at least get Remus started, and surely enough, when Sirius looked back over ta his lover, their was a beer in his white-knuckled fist as he conversed with Frank Longbottom. Sirius knew that it was a bit sick to make his boyfriend jealous just for a drink, but Remus always pulled the same tactics when he wanted something out of Sirius, and the whole population of Europe could deduce that Remus and Sirius were madly in love and that their teasing and shenanigans meant nothing in the slightest.

“Thank you, Shacksy my dear,” Sirius smiled as he slipped a cheeky grab of his arse in before departing. “He better be good in bed!” Kingsley called after him halfheartedly, Sirius hardly having heard him as he made a beeline for Remus. He sat right on his lap, completely ignoring the conversation that he was interrupting while he tilted Remus’ chin up to make him focus on him alone. If he was honest, Sirius was already a bit tipsy, for he and James had ‘sampled’ everything before people arrived.

Frank got the message and went off to go join James in a heated argument about the Quidditch World Cup, leaving Sirius and Remus alone in a rather small chair. “Enjoying yourself, Moon man?” asked Sirius, smiling down at his boyfriend happily, if not a little sneakily.

“Why do you always have to tease,” pouted Remus, furrowing his brow as he stared at Sirius right back.

“You and I both know it’s the only way to get you to have a little fun,” replied Sirius quite simply, ducking to peck the pout off of Remus’ lips.

“Don’t think I didn’t realize you bought particularly strong beverages this time around, mangy mutt.”

“…Okay, guilty, but I resent the mangy bit,” Black insisted. “Aw, c’mon, Moons, lighten up. It’s one night, and we leave here in three months for the last time, and everyone will forget all about us and no one will give two shites about that one birthday party they were at in March of their seventh year.”

Remus looked across the room, back at Sirius, and sighed. “Fine, then. Pour me a drink, you bastard.” Sirius could have sworn his grin reached his ears.

Two beers, one whiskey, and a multitude of birthday shots later, and James and Sirius were sure they reached their goal. In fact, they knew they finally had, but were quite honestly a bit frightened about what drunk Remus might entail. After all, he wasn’t used to it–he was almost never, ever drunk.

Currently, Remus was dancing with an equally drunken Lily…shirtless, the both of them, on top of some table on the other side of the room. “Er, Prongs?” Sirius asked hesitantly. “Is it just me, or is that-is that Lily and Moons on that table?”

James’ eyes widened as they flicked from Sirius to the table and back to Sirius again. “I fucking believe it is,” he replied in awe. “Hell, Moony’s hammered! He’s got to be, he never even takes his shirt off in front of me, much less in front of loads of randos.” After the shock settled down a bit, James and Sirius raced over to go convince their significant others to put their clothes back on and drink some water, as Sirius and James had been doing for the last half hour in order to be good hosts.

“Pads! Oh, you’ve got to dance with me up here, I’m a much better dancer than Kingsley,” Remus whined gleefully–and rather bluntly at that–his voice surprisingly slurred.

Unlike Remus might have done if the situation were switched, Sirius gave in. He let Remus pull him up to the table, and was happily shocked when Remus hands immediately slipped down the back of his pants. It was quite the spectacle, but Sirius was always one for causing scenes. James had already persuaded Lily off the table and to the staircase to sit her down and give her water–for fear of another embarrassing situation (she was a wild drunk).

“Moony!” Sirius yelped, jaw falling open when Remus slipped his hand down further and squeezed his arse. “There are prying eyes!” Remus shrugged and simply pressed his body closer to Sirius’. Sirius made eye contact with James and grinned, mouthing ‘holy fuck’ as Remus continued to borderline grind on him, acting much unlike himself.

“Mm, I’ve the hottest boyfriend in the school,” Remus mumbled lowly in his ear, ignoring Sirius’ half hearted attempts at prying him off. All of their friends were catcalling them and cheering them on by now, but Remus was completely and utterly oblivious.

“Moony, as much as I love what you’re doing, you can’t do…whatever it is you’re trying to do in front of half the school,” Sirius reprimanded, taking a deep breath and internally believing that he should earn some type of award for the amount of strength it took to not give in to Remus right then and there.

“You…are an awfully boring boyfriend, s’not fair,” Remus pouted, trying to tug Sirius’ shirt off now too. When Sirius didn’t give in, Remus huffed and stepped back, subsequently falling off the table. “Fuck,” he groaned, trying to stand up, yet falling right back down. Sirius covered his mouth with his hand and laughed in surprise at Remus’ expense, but stepped off the table when he realized he should probably be a gentleman and help him up.

“C’mon, pup, let’s get some water in you,” he suggested, crouching as he sat Remus up and stroked his hair. Remus looked like he was about to protest, but was interrupted as he leaned over and vomited all over Sirius, then passed out.

Maybe this would be a night to remember after all.

#this kinda sucks #but hey its long #wolfstar #wolfstar fic #harry potter #remus lupin #sirius black #james potter #peter pettigrew #lily evans #kingsley shacklebolt #moony #wormtail #padfoot #prongs #marauders #marauders era #mwpp

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beheadingofmakai · 7 years ago

Text

“Baller”

Lance “The Monster God” @tainbocuailnge hit me with:

for writing prompts, how about someone drunk bidding on a sword (or other weapon you're the one who knows shit about weapons) on ebay only to find out when it arrives that it is a magic and/or possessed sword that /desperately/ wants to belong to some mythical ancient hero despite it being the good old year of 2018 and if it has to whip its new owner into shape then so be it

So sit back, grab your pop corn, and let Uncle Drimo Beheading tell you the story of an unemployed man who drank a little bit too much and got in a scuffle with a mysterious man with an anime avatar, an event that changed his life.

———

“...And who the shit has an anime avatar on ePay?! You mean this freaking nerd outbid me? Get the hell out, let’s see what other deals he’s in, you’ve crossed the wrong unemployed drunk, shithead.”

The dark room’s sole source of light was the monitor’s light blue hue, reflected on a man’s glasses that sat in front of two tired, drunken, furious eyes.

2:38 AM, three bottles of schrobbeler, twelve cans of stout and a small army of discarded potato chip bags. It was a particularly bitter Friday, now Saturday, for Jan, and what better remedy for the sorrows of modern life than senseless spending? Like syrup finding is way down one’s throat, vigilantly hunting for a cold, the act of burning money seems oddly cathartic. It’s very much just pretending one’s current problems aren’t there by simply creating more trouble for oneself in the future. And sometimes, this future trouble is worth it if one’s splurging involves spiting someone with an anime avatar and a lot of booze. Not really, but it sure as hell seems so during the heat of a bid war.

“You think you’re hot shit, xX_KimikoKisser937_Xx? That I’m gonna let you flaunt your weight around just because you got some disposable income? I’m gonna shit on your sofa!”

Bills are a pain in the ass, aren’t they? Water, light, real estate, food expenses, cab fare... We’re lucky these brutes haven’t found a way to pipe oxygen and charge us for it yet, but it is what it is. And for bills, you need a job, for you kill those with your paycheck. Things were rocky, but stable enough the last few months for Jan Wildemors, but just yesterday, Fate decided to be that unlikable bitch we all hate and that hates us back, and he was laid off. No feedback or reason given, either. He was handed his stuff in a box that was missing a flap, and told to go, thank you for your hard work the last eight months, which is a very polite and corporate way of saying “go choke on a cat-o-nine-tails composed entirely of dildos”.

“Hah! Really regret on screwing me over with that keyboard now, don’t you, jackass?” Jan adjusted his glasses as he proudly asserted his dominance, victory his, not really sure what he just bought, but satisfied with the knowledge that he did. Hooray, unhealthy coping mechanisms! With his objective complete and his body at its limit, Jan went down like a glorious baboon that just missed a branch during its jump, his face smacking his desk as he lost consciousness like an ape plummets down a tree: With a lot of drool and a dull thud.

———

“Now, hold on just a second, let me check one more time with my bank, and--”

“Hey, you bought it, I just deliver it, now please just sign up already, and with all due disrespect, wear some pants next time. The day’s not even begun, and your hairy legs already ruined it. And yesterday too, retroactively.”

As the confused, unemployed man signed the paper on the clipboard (with a lent pen, of course), he was left one on one with the fruit of his idiocy: An ornate box, long and purple, the most expensive thing in the small apartment by far without even accounting for whatever it contained. “Oh man, oh man, I really messed up last night...”. Well! Whatever! It’s here already, so might as well open it! The best part of messing up is when you finally realize there’s no use in crying over spilled! Hooray, unhealthy coping mechanisms!

Inside the long and purple box was nothing other than a longsword, ornate and majestic. It was at this point that our dearest Jan propped a chair close to the window and prepared himself to just fucking throw himself out of it headfirst into the speeding traffic from the fourth floor.

“Welp, that’s that. I went and bought a sword. A sword. I can’t buy anything fancier than instant ramen or soggy lettuce leaves, not even the whole thing, I just got laid off from my job, and the first thing my drunk ass does is buy a sword. No wonder I had no cash when I checked in the morning. Well, alright, I’d like to thank my father for my ethics, my mother for my sense of humor, and neither of them for my savvy with finances, now let’s check out heaven, alley oop!”

“A moment, if you would.”

“Oh, sweet, the delirium is starting to kick in, I can hear voices! I love nervous breakdowns!”

“Face me when I speak to you, boy.”

Jan froze in place. This was the first time the panic voices ever were so untoward. He considered, for just a second, that maybe he truly wasn’t alone in this room, that perhaps, against all odds, that which was inside the box was the one...

“...Yes, it is I that speaks to you, now turn around and face me already, you unruly child.”

In the words of Oscar Wilde himself: “Holy shite”.

“Hold on, what, no one told me swords could speak.”

“And they normally don’t, but I am not a normal sword.”

On top of the chair, wearing only a sleeveless white t-shirt and coffee stained boxers, Jan Wildemors faced the sword in the purple box, a faint silver aura blanketing it, the two staring at each other while Jan comprehended, little by little, that his mundane life was about to end. The faint glow of the morning sun that filtered in through the closed blinds accentuated this scene, the young man’s face stained with lines of bewilderment and amazement.

He then faced the window and tried to throw himself out again.

“H-hey, stop trying to kill yourself for a second and hear me out, will you not!? What kind of reaction is this to the honor of being addressed to by Moonflare itself!”

“Yeah, no thanks! I’m not only unemployed and in debt, now I am being plunged into some magic nonsense that I want no part of! This truly is the end for me!”

“Wait, you’ve no job and you owe money? That’s less than ideal, young one.”

“And now a sword is criticizing my life choices! This sucks!”

“Just hear me out, damn it!”

“Aaaaaa!”

“Baller”

———

“Coffee or juice?”

“I’m a sword.”

“Yeah.”

The young man sat in front of the sword, sipping his coffee, finally wearing pants, the weapon unmoved from the purple box, its faint silver flow still emanating like a candle at the end of a long, dark hallway. A resigned sigh is all the young man could muster, lifting his arms in very real surrender.

“Alright, let’s do this. What’s up?”

“What do you mean, ‘what’s up’? First your purchase me and now you wonder what the dickens I am? Where is it that I came from? How could you possibly acquire a Resonant Arm without knowing? Is this some manner of jest?”

“Yeah, look, I’m not going to lie to you, Monsieur Sword, I--”

“Moonflare.”

“Hm?”

“I’m no Monsieur, nor am I a Madame, I am a sword with a name, and that name is Moonflare. Be sure to use it.”

“Yeah, sure. Anyways, so yesterday, I was laid off from my job, so I got real damn drunk, and decided, yeah, Imma buy a gaming keyboard! It’s a sound investment! It’ll improve my morale and help out with my job hunting!”

“Uh huh...”

Jan stretched and sipped from his coffee, making keyboard motions with his free hand. “No, for real, reward yourself, and then be responsible without a regret! It works! Sometimes! Unfortunately, the model I wanted was the last one in stock in ePay, this bidding website for online transactions--”

“You bought me online!?” Moonflare cut in.

“What, that weird?”

“I’m a Resonant Arm! It’s akin to saying someone bought a priceless relic on the internet!”

“Well, about that...” Jan produced his smartphone, tapped it a couple of times, and pointed the screen to the hilt, where he assumed the sword’s “eyes” were. Jan is no sword biologist, so we hope you’ll excuse his beginner’s mistake. “...People kinda buy really expensive things like the Mona Liz--”

“Someone bought the Mona Lizard!?”

“On the internet.”

“Curses!”

“Yeah, so I guess you ended up being sold off online, and whether your previous owner knew about you being a Restaurant Arm or not is anyone’s guess, but the fact is, the keyboard I wanted was ripped from my bloody, splintered fingers by some asshole with an anime avatar that outbid me at the last second. So I got mad and went to outbuy him in something else he was putting money in for.”

“...What for?”

“A foolish and short-lived sense of satisfaction and spite.”

“Marvelous, and that’s how you came to own me.”

“That’s the whole shebang, ya.”

If the sword had eyes, their revolutions per second would create a localized cyclone. It was clear this was a six piece McNobody who just obtained them as a consequence of bad impulse control and good taste in alcohol.

“...Well then,” Moonflare finally let out, as if forcing words out of its sword throat. “You know, at least you’re honest. Well, this might just be what you need.”

Jan’s eyebrow raised inquisitively. “...What do you mean?”

“This could be destiny at play, young man. No job, crippling debt, the end of the road, that’s what life is for you right now. And at the moment of most need, when you see the horizon as a guillotine encroaching on your throat with each passing day, cooped up in this cell that no doubt will be subjected to embargo, you come across me, Moonflare the Pilgrimbreaker, Resonant Arm... No doubt you see where this is going, right?”

“What are you suggesting...?” Jan inquired, his interest thoroughly piqued.

“You can be a Hero. I can make you a Hero. One worthy of wielding the real me. Look around you, you know you want this. Say, what’s that poster over there, above the couch?”

Jan looked to where the sword had verbally pointed and found his old Funny Fantasy VII poster, with its protagonist boldly wielding his weapon in an action pose.

“It’s my Funny Fantasy VII Collector’s Edition poster. It’s my favorite game ever.”

“And who is that brazen, courageous man showcased oh so prominently in the forefront?”

“That’s Clown Strife! A failed JESTER who didn’t have it in him to make it big in the ranks of the CIR.cus organization! After taking to wandering as a mercenary, his freelancing eventually landed him smack in the middle of a huge, world-class incident!”

“Poetic, is it not? You’ve just been released from your own job, you’re swamped in debt, and nothing seems to be going right... And that’s when we cross roads. It’s not only that you don’t really have a choice, this is the right choice. We’ll make it big.”

For the first time in years, Jan’s eyes shone with a fire they had long forgotten. Hopping from job after job, doing shit he didn’t wanna do, forcing smiles for nasty bosses who didn’t give a damn about him... It could all be over. It could all remain in the past, were he to become a Hero.

“I’ll do it.” he said, resolution dripping from his voice and fire emanating from his eyes like a faulty smelter. “Let’s do this!”

———

“Let’s not do this!”

“Quit whining and give me ten more laps!”

“Stop giving me more laps!”

“Then stop whining, cur!”

It’s been a week of this tragedy. Day after day, night after night, the sword and man duo engaged in this pitiful play. Moonflare, the sharpest drill sergeant in town, attacked the would-be Hero with arduous routine after routine, if one could call “20 hours straight of morbidly harsh training” a routine, by any stretch. When he was finally done doing suspended midair push-ups with a tire, Moonflare gave the signal (which is a disappointed sigh, by the way), and Jan finally came down.

“You’ve got the physical condition, Jan, you are fit and can move well, but you don’t take pressure well.” the sword chided. “How are we going to achieve fame like this?”

“...”

This silent reply didn’t go unnoticed.

“Is there something that’s bothering you, young one?”

“Yes, actually. You keep mentioning ‘fame’. We need to be the best to cause an impression this, we need to be at our peak condition that, you seem really obsessed with fame. Isn’t a Hero’s role to save people in the first place?”

But now, the silence came from the sword.

“...Hey, I’ve put up with this for a week, you could at least tell me what a Restaurant Arm is already in addition to answering to what I just said. I’m breaking my back, almost literally, here.”

“You make a good point.” the sword replied with what almost was a sigh. “A Resonant Arm, and please get ‘Resonant’ right already, is a weapon crafted with a fragment of a powerful weapon of legend. In this body, I am powerful sword with capabilities far beyond regular weapons, yet, I’m still a shade of my true potential. It’s because only a shard of my original body is in this shell.”

“Oh! So wait, you’re not just some delirium or haunted sword with delusions of grandeur?”

“I ought to pierce a lung of yours for that statement, hmph! Indeed, I am not a figment of your desperate psyche, I am indeed THE Moonflare, the Pilgrimbreaker, the Discipliner, the...”

Jan scratched his head as he drank some water as Moonflare went on and on with his titles before he interjected. “I’ve never heard of you.”

That window shattering in the distance? That’s Moonflare’s confidence you just heard. “...Yeah, that’s the problem.”

“Hm?”

“...I am a legendary weapon, but I am unsung, because my previous master didn’t care for fame in the slightest.”

Jan simply looked at the sword, as if telling it to go on.

“...Centuries ago, I belonged to The Pilgrimbreaker, a very unknown Hero. There’s no records of her real name, for she refused to announce it, there’s no records of her face, for she always wore a helmet that shrouded it, and there’s no records of where she went to after the Mana Turbulence, for she disappeared without saying a word after all was said and done. Just a few souls in this world know about her, hence why I’m an unsung legendary weapon.”

“Huh... I was thinking she was small time, but the Mana Turbulence was a big deal way back in the day, wasn’t it? Was she weak compared to the other Heroes or something?”

“Nonsense!” Moonflare suddenly raised its voice in stark contrast to its usual calm bearing. “Pilgrimbreaker was the real deal! I never could see eye to eye with her, but I will never tolerate illspeak of her!”

“W-woah!”

“Her form was perfect, her mind impenetrable, her defense unbreakable and her aggression irresistible! She struck fear in whoever was in the wrong side of her blade! Do you know where she got the moniker of Pilgrimbreaker, boy!?”

“Moonflare, calm down, I didn’t mean to--”

“She singlehandedly infiltrated the dread cavern where the Pilgrims Of Brozarok held the Ritual Of Turbulence, which would’ve torn the world’s apart thrice had it been completed, and killed every last one of the wicked dastards! Her arm swished left and right, which each move an impact responding, each swipe a life taking, over and over, dodging curses and enduring maladies! She fought for an entire two days, killing every single Pilgrim in the cavern. By the time four hours had passed, I had gone dull from the sheer and excessive amount of cleaving, and yet, she relented not! With myself as a blunt hunk of moonsteel, she kept going, going, and going! What once were slashes now were blunt strikes, but her sheer strength would break them apart all the same! By the forty eighth hour, when she had broken every Pilgrim and stopped the Ritual, her own sword arm lay shattered and her muscles swollen. She saved the world! She saved us all...”

“...But she’s not famous, not unlike the other Heroes whose names are now in history books, huh?”

Today, Jan learned that swords could indeed cry. “Indeed... The other Heroes actually acknowledged and respected her. Some admired her! They worked together many times, and they were all equally instrumental in stopping the Turbulence. However, she always insisted in others not singing her praises. She foolishly refused to reveal face or name, and eventually, history forgot her.”

“...I guess that explains why you were sold as an antique at best online. No one knows the true of your previous Master, and thus, of your deeds.”

“...Yes. I suppose that makes sense.”

“So I guess your true body, that is, the true Moonflare is elsewhere, if only a fragment is built in you?” Jan inquired, going back to that topic not only because of his genuine curiosity, but also to change the topic, as it clearly was a sensitive topic for Moonflare.

“Yes and no. The ‘true’ Moonflare would imply I’m a fake one. I am indeed Moonflare, just, not in my true body. This blade was forged with a fragment found in the cavern where the Pilgrims met their end. As thus, I have consciousness in this ‘body’. Resonant Arms are called a such because they resonate with their true bodies, and can thus direct their owners to the real legendary weapons. Since it’s my body, I know where it is -- where I am.”

Jan’s eyes shot wide open and he choked on water. “Pwaah! H-hold on, if we can go get your real body, then why haven’t we done that?! We’ve just been wasting time for a week!”

“It’s not that easy. I need to make sure you are worthy. Not anyone can handle a legendary weapon, and you need to show me your physical and mental aptitude. That’s why, today, we’ll have a little test.”

“What? What’s this test? If you make me run more laps, I swear to Aunt Jemima I’ll--”

“We’ll go and do heroic deeds! The streets are dangerous at night, no? We’ll go and stop a crime! Then, I shall judge you!”

“Oh!”

It was finally time. After a whole week of this tiresome nonsense, of pushing his body to the utter limit, of ragging his muscles to shreds, it was finally time to engage in the whole Heroing dealio! And Jan, our strapping would-be Hero, simply couldn’t wait.

———

The streets of the city aren’t exactly what you’d call safe. In fact, they are not what you’d call “oh they are alright as long as you stay in the main streets and by the light”, either. Every back alley you see is a brave new world of armed robbery and assault, with your neck and wallet ripe for the taking. The ideal place to truly thrive as the scum of society and get your doctorate in banditry. Why, just now, a helpless office worker, on her way back from overtime, has found herself tangled in an interesting business proposition between herself and a switchblade pressed against her neck. The switchblade’s companion, a rather forceful fellow with an iron grip and a neck covered in veins, currently yells at her politely, suggesting she voluntarily makes a generous donation to his wallet. How beautiful they are, the streets of this city, rife with opportunity and bankrupted in morals and safety.

Little did the streets know that a brand new market element was about to change their business dynamic.

“Hold it right there, fiend!”

The sudden voice blindsided the mugger not from behind, but from above. As his neck craned to see just who in the world would dare interrupt such an important business meeting, he soon found his answer: It was the man wielding a longsword that currently plummeted towards him.

“The fu--!” The mugger moved out of the way in time to avoid feasting on boots, finally finding himself face to face with the vigilante. The lady that was being mugged couldn’t help but stare in disbelief at the cloaked figure of justice, its silver blade glimmering under the moonlight with unnatural fervor. The billowing cape and the small domino mask made it abundantly clear that this was no mere civilian, this was a vigilante who meant business.

“R-repent now, wrongdoer! Surrender yourself peacefully, and you may yet know mercy!”

“Oi! What’s wrong! Don’t stutter your lines!” Moonflare whispered.

“H-how do you expect me not to!? These lines are so cheesy and stupid...! J-just let me handle the script, yeah?”

“Absolutely not! Who is the seasoned legendary weapon here? If I may be so bold, I believe I know more about this whole Hero business than you do! Just follow my lead and we’ll rake in the fame I de-- we deserve! Now shush!”

With a sigh, Jan simply surrendered and went along with it, dramatically pointing the sword towards his foe. “Hark! Release the dame or taste the righteous fury of the Pilgrimbreaker, miscreant! Know that I shan’t stay my hand a second longer!”

“...pfff...”

A small chuckle finally interrupted the monologue of the would-be Hero. It wasn’t the mugger that let it out, however, it was the victim.

“pppfff... I-I’m sorry, but wow, you are extremely lame. A domino mask? Cape? Really? What C-list telenovela did you jump out from? Shouldn’t you be looking for your missing baby? Maybe slashing ‘Z’s on walls like a loser? Please do me a favor and let me get robbed, it’d be far more dignified than letting you save me, Costume Party.” the lady mercilessly commented, performing Herculean efforts to contain her laughter.

“Shit, I know, right? Who goes, ppfppfffffff, who goes all ‘reepehnt villuns!’ anymore? Did your mom slam dunk you when you were a child, guy? Cloak and mask over sweatpants and a sleeveless wife beater with coffee stains? Really?” the robber added, shaking his head.

“A full outfit is expen--”

“Then don’t wear any at all, idiot! You only look like an overgrown manchild going out trick or treating! You really looked at yourself in the mirror and thought, ‘yeah, this is cool, I look like justice itself, I’ll drown in pussy!’?” the supposed victim harshly mocked, her laughter now out of control.

“Pffff, yeah right, this guy couldn’t score in brothel. His birth certificate is an apology note from the condom factory. Imagine being this asshole’s mom!”

“Oh, fuck off! Someone carried this thing for nine months! Imagine looking at this dude’s FateBook and seeing him posting pics of his outfit, like, ‘Yeah! Ready to fight crime! #Herointhemaking’, and then thinking, yeah, I did this, I made this, I was irritable and in pain for 9 months so I could bring this specimen to the world. At that point, I rip my ovaries out with my own hands and play ping pong with them.” she mercilessly chided.

“Bwaaahahahaha! Hey, you are really funny, and pretty cute, now that I look at you.” observed the criminal, apparently taken with her, now that he could see her better, out of the darkest reaches of the back alley.

“You are not bad yourself... I like a man that can handle a knife. Say, are you free right now? I’d like to unwind after work. We had a meeting today and my bitch of a supervisor, who happens to be why I drink, was on one of those moods today.”

“I’m down for that. I know a really good place here, they have craft beer really cheap, since they make it themselves, and the steak is to die for. Let’s leave Captain Virgin behind and get started!”

The mugger and the victim looked at each others’ eyes with just an inkling of passion for a few seconds before walking away, arm in arm, leaving behind our would-be Hero, the night young and ripe for their taking. It was the beginning of a beautiful relationship that would steer the young man towards rehabilitation and for him to abandon the ways of the petty street criminal, working long and hard for his doctorate in electrical engineering, a career he dropped out of, with the loving support of his girlfriend, whose own lifestyle greatly improved thanks to his good domestic skills and the encouraging fire of his pep talks. Together, they had three children (two of them twins) and lived a happy, humor filled life, growing old together, hand in hand.

Anyways, back to the present, where Jan’s self-esteem was shattered into so many pieces that you couldn’t even vacuum clean them.

“...What did just happen...?” Moonflare inquired, confused, no scratching his sword chin with the sword hand it didn’t have.

“C-crime successfully prevented! A-all part of the plan!”

“Are you crying?”

“Of joy!”

“Are you also trembling of joy?”

“Y-yup!”

“...In your parlance, this ‘sucked’, didn’t it?”

“Yup.”

“I really don’t know what to say, Jan. This is the first time I see an attempt at crimestopping end up in matchmaking. You might be cut out to be a Cupid more than a Hero, perhaps. Well, no matter, let’s try with the next--”

“Oh no no, look here, we’re not doing this again.” the would-be Hero vehemently declared, ripping his tiny domino mask off and throwing it in a nearby trash can. “No way. This sucks. Your way sucks. I’m absolutely not doing this your way. Look, we’re doing this my way, or it’s the highway for you.”

“Fool, I’ve got more experience, you must listen to me, and then we’ll be famous!” argued Moonflare, its silver glow intensifying as if to show irritation.

“You’ve no legs, so the highway means I’ll dunk you into the nearest river and call it a day. Now, you listen to me and you better listen well, Moonflare.” Jan’s voice finally hardened up, much like his grip on Moonflare’s hilt. “I’m neck-deep in debt, out of a job, stuck with a stupid sword that talks like a shitty Shakespearian secondary character, humiliated and ready to go and throw myself off that window, just like I should have. You either take me to your real body right now, or I’ll really make sure no one can find you. I’ll take a damn loan for a shovel and some scubba gear, dipshit. I’ll bury you at the bottom of a river or a lake, and no one will know.”

“Jan, please wait, you are clearly making a hasty decision here, your body and mind are not ready for the brunt of a legendary weapon, just follow my lead and--”

“And keep playing Cupid to victims and their would be assailants? Fuck off and fuck you. You’ve three seconds to start leading the way.”

Seeing as there was no convincing Jan, Moonflare finally complied, giving in to the demands of Captain Vir-- Jan.

———

Marble tiles, ivory pillars, and a massive sanctum lit only by mysterious floating gems that shone a dim blue. This was the Sanctum Of Moonflare, hidden deep within the underground, a place impossible to reach unless you know of it, as the path to it will capriciously twist and curve to kick you out if you don’t, leading you back to the entrance, no doubt all part of the arcane architecture that the gnomes who built this place are known for. Only Heroes, or those with the aptitude to become one, could reach this place.

“Well, it’s awfully convenient that this was located under the sewers of my city. What are the odds?”. Jan wore his trademark sleeveless white t-shirt and black sweatpants, without the silly cape and mask, of course. The majestic room clearly had gotten his attention, his eyes scanning the place thoroughly with child-like admiration, whistling at the intricate handiwork of the engravings in the ivory pillars that held the place together. “Sure looks like a place where you’d find a legend!”

“Odds had nothing to do with it.” curtly replied Moonflare. “We are no longer underneath your city. We are far, far away, in another country, actually.”

“Oh, quit it. We just went down a manhole, don’t try to embellish your shitty tale more than you need to.”

“I speak the truth, cur. This place is not subject to the physics and logic of the world. All Sanctums that hold a legendary weapon are hidden away in places that would be impossible to reach physically, and instead, one must know of the place and fulfill a certain number of rules in order to reach them. My Sanctum, as an unsung weapon, hasn’t difficult rules, as you can see.”

“I assume they are something like ‘knowing about the place’, ‘travelling underground while intending to reach it’, and ‘carrying a fragment of Moonflare’?”

The sword didn’t respond for a few seconds. “...That’s spot on, actually. Those are the three rules. How did you...?”

“Intuition. Places like this turn up in games and novels a lot. Perhaps they were inspired by the real tales of old Heroes in the first place, with no one knowing any better.”

“...The era of mass information is terrifying.” the sword lamented, still not used to the 21st century.

In the center of the massive Sanctum, a staircase led to an altar where a protrusion with a sword planted in it could be seen. As the duo approached the gorgeous marble staircase, the engravings of the ivory altar, which turned out to be runes, glowed with the same dim blue at the crystals that floated aimlessly, resonating with the fragment in the incomplete Moonflare, the structure making a noise that was simultaneously organic and mechanical.

“Well, it’s ready. Try and fail so we can get out of here.”

“...So, you are a sword in a stone that only the worthy can pull out, huh?”

“Good, seems you’re familiar with the concept. Saves me having to explain it to you. This is what I meant when I said you were not ready. Now, give it your futile go so we can go back and apply ourselves to accruing fame.”

As Jan’s hand approached the indigo hilt of the true Moonflare, just inches away before he could grip it, Jan and Moonflare were interrupted by a slow clap behind them.

“Bravo! You actually made it here. My compliments! Now, would you please turn around and face me, you thief? I’d so love to see your face.”

Surprised by the sudden personage, the duo turned around to see a man dressed in an exquisite purple suit, two long and curved blades hanging on his hips, one on each side. “What do you mean, ‘thief’? I ain’t taken a thing from you.”

“I disagree, you lout. That sword you insolently grip right now should have been mine to begin with.” he replied, his footsteps echoing in the ample hall as he approached Jan.

“Hold on... xX_KimikoFucker456_Xx!? Is that you!?”

“Kisser! xX_KimikoKisser937_Xx! Get it right!”

“So it is you, the weeb from ePay that outbid my keyboard! You asshole, I should’ve guessed only someone with an username like that would wear a tacky purple suit and carry two... Ppfff.... Two katanas! My goodness, you really are a disaster! Where’s your fedora? Shouldn’t you be at home complaining about the fairer sex?”

“These are tachi, you ignorant, insolent nobody! And the plural of ‘katana’ is ‘katana’, which you’d know if you knew anything about weaponry. You’ve got a lot of nerve to outbuy me for a Resonant Arm, but... I wager you had no clue it was one, am I wrong?”

“Oh, please, of course I kn--”

“He had no idea and everything you say is correct”

“Moonflare, shut up, the people with opposable thumbs are talking right now!”

“You’re telling me this is all because you were mad that I outbid you for a gaming keyboard? You went a got in a bidding war with me for a legendary weapon just because you couldn’t accept that someone took a blasted keyboard from you?”

“Ye.”

“Incredible.”

“Indeed, I said the same.”

xX_KimikoKisser937_Xx sighed and simply took a stance, his hand on the left tachi’s hilt. “...My name is Clement Marmaduke Solaris, and I challenge you to a duel for the Moonflare that you currently hold. In the impossible case that you defeat me, I shall gracefully relent and admit defeat, pursuing you nevermore.”

“Hey, quick question.” Jan shot at Clement as he readied his blade in a stance unlike anything Moonflare taught him during the hellish training week. “Does everyone involved with legendary weaponry and Heroes and all this jimjam talk like a loser nerd? Is it part of, like, a contract? Why do none of you speak like a fucking real person? Is it too hard to not be immediately unlikable as soon as you open your mouth?”

“...Do you accept my duel?”

“On one condition. If I win, you gotta give me the keyboard.”

“You’re still going on about that, Jan!?” the sword chastised, but Clement simply laughed.

“Very well. If I win, I get Moonflare, and if you win, you get the Palanquin Corsair K195 RGB Platinum Gaming Keyboard.”

With a nod, both men agreed to the terms of the duel, and not ten seconds passed before they were at it, the two clashing as the altar with the true Moonflare served as their judge. Eschewing all of the sword’s antiquated teachings, Jan’s fighting style was far more fluid and natural than the proper sword technique Moonflare would rather he used, involving tumbling on the ground and spinning, launching unpredictable slashes and thrusts from every direction and angle.

“Jan! What in the world is this!”

“Breakdancing! I do this a lot, hence why I was in shape before your training. Your formal style is too stiff and old, this suits me better!”

“We’ll never be famous with a silly style like this! Just use the proper style of Pilgrimbreaker, and--”

“Fame, fame, fame! It’s all you talk about! Put a sock on it, already! I don’t give a fuck!”

But just because he was doing much better didn’t mean he had the advantage. Clement’s technique was equally unorthodox, drawing his blade with lightning speed and re-sheathing it, shooting out attacks with immense force as he attacked and defended at the same time.

“Impressive, Jan. I didn’t think you’d last a second against my Iaijutsu.”

“Just like a weeb to use freakin’ Iai... But I hate to admit that you are really good at it.”

“Oh, you flatter me, but you’d seen nothing!”

Jan spun and flipped in the air to attack Clement with a smashing overhead, but the man in the suit, with practiced mastery and a cool head, blocked the attack using his tachi’s pommel, paralyzing Jan with the impact, and subsequently launching him across the room with a powerful sheath thrust to the gut, saliva and tears shooting from Jan’s face.

“Phwoo! Sh-shit... He’s really good...” Jan struggled to say as he cough and barely managed to get back on his wobbly feet, the air knocked out of him. “...He may be a loser, but he’s a strong one...!”

“Cease this child’s play and use the style I taught you already, Jan!”

“I’m afraid there’s no need to. I’m done playing.” Clement approached the duo, none the worse for wear, the pressure around him increasing tenfold compared to what it was before. He was clearly holding back, but playtime was over. “You are a disappointment, Jan. I held back to see if you truly had what it takes, but you don’t even clear the minimum requirement. That Moonflare and you are opposites, and thus, without ever agreeing on what your purpose should be, nay, in how you should even move, you’ll never unleash its true potential. Ready yourself.” Without letting go of the hilt on his left hip, Clement’s left hand now reached for the hilt on his right hip.

“...Wait, no way, are you really gonna--!”

“Hwaa!”

He was less a man and more a raging storm. With speed that defies comprehension, Clement’s attacks doubled in both velocity and quantity, employing iai strikes with both swords at the same time. If the flurry of one such blade was already difficult to keep up with, defending against this storm of steel was impossible. The sheer impact and velocity of the bladed tempest lifted Jan off the floor, silver and blood dancing around his helpless frame as his clothes were ragged to tatters, his mangled body landing square on the altar, next to Moonflare.

“H...Holy shit... I can’t fight that...”

The footsteps approached him. “Indeed, you can’t. Now, surrender the sword. You can’t keep going.”

There simply was no way for Jan to win. With a pained sigh and a bloody cough, he mustered the strength to extend Moonflare towards the Iai master. “Yeah, it makes sense for you to have it... You’ll make a better Hero than me in every way...”

“Hero...? What are you talking about?”

Jan twitched, confusion tinging his face. “Huh? Don’t you want Moonflare to become a Hero?” The statement was apparently a devastating joke, for Clement could barely contain his laughter.

“Of course not, silly. I just want Moonflare in my collection! I’m a collector of weapons who travels all across the world finding different antiques and relics, but alas, I’ve grown tired of simple mundane masterpieces. I’ve set my eyes, thus, on legendary weapons, and with Moonflare as my first, my collection will reach the next level.”

“Hark!” Moonflare interrupted, shining a furious silver. “I’m no ornament! I refuse to gather dust in your vault when there’s heroic deeds to be performed! You can simply commission a replica if you must! You have a fragment of me, as well, don’t you? You wouldn’t be able to come here otherwise.”

“Hah! Indeed, a fragment, albeit one too small to even house your consciousness. I’ve waited here for little over a week for you to show up. A weapon ought to obey, for without an owner, you are nothing. Simply sit tight in my basement as the crown jewel of my collection, O mighty Pilgrimbreaker, and cease your yapping?”

“...Don’t give me that bullshit.”

Blood oozing from his wounds, muscles tearing from the exertion and damage, Jan stood up, a new fire in his eyes. “You know, I was ok with losing to you. Moonflare’s a dick, but it’s a strong sword. If it was in the hands of a capable swordsman, no doubt it could mete out some ridiculous amounts of justice, enough to clean up the streets easily! I was ok with that Hero not being me! But you...”

“Jan...?” “Oh?”

Jan pointed at Clement. “You are no Hero! You’re just a selfish little cunt who wants to feel good by filling his basement with shiny things! I’ll never give Moonflare, the Pilgrimbreaker to you! Not such a storied blade with a bright future in front of it!”

“Hah!” Clement could only laugh. “And how, I wonder and ponder, do you expect to make good on that? You are no match for me. Will you seriously throw yourself to the grinder for these ideals? Heroes are a thing of the past, and should remain so! They have no place in the modern world!”

“Oh, fuck you. Moonflare! I finally understand Pilgrimbreaker.”

“What do you mean...?”

Jan simply took a deep breath and approached the sword stuck in the stone of the altar. “Pilgrimbreaker was a real Hero precisely because she didn’t give a damn about fame. You only held her back, but she still managed to save the world.”

“What!”

“You’re obsessed with fame. You just want the glory of other weapons and their Heroes, and I kinda do feel for you, but that’s not what Heroism is about. You know what my job was before I got fired? I was an insurance agent. I got fired because I kept giving people benefits. Insurance is supposed to be there for when tragedy strikes.”

“...” “Oh...?”

“When you have a car accident, when your parents die, when you get sick with a complex illness, insurance is supposed to cover for you. But my boss kept insisting that we find ways to screw our clients over, to bring up the small letter of a contract and fuck ‘em over! I ignored it, gave our clients our support, and that meant loses for the big wigs on top, loses they recouped by kicking me out. I thought I could make the world a better place, yet, it was another dumb pyramid scheme, the insurance game. I’m tired of it. I’m tired of all this shit!”

Jan grabbed the sword’s hilt. “Moonflare! Pilgrimbreaker was the same! Heroes are all about public image, but she kept fighting as silently and anonymously as she could! Fame didn’t cross her mind! She wanted to make a difference! I admire her, I didn’t know about her until this week, but I wholeheartedly admire her! You should be ashamed of disrespecting her style and respecting only her strength!”

“Jan, I...”

The silver glow of the blade turned gold, and strength seeped into Jan’s body. The golden glow of affinity, achieved only when user and weapon are one mind and one soul, shone brightly from both sword and man, Jan’s words striking chords Moonflare didn’t even know about.

“...Interesting. Still, you won’t be able to draw that sword. A little bit of determination isn’t enough to change the world, which is exactly the kind of power that Moonflare requires to be drawn.”

“Bite me, nerd. Moonflare! Your methods are old, but your power is real! What you need to become a Hero in the modern day is to be a baller!”

“A... A what?”

“Baller! One who can do, no, who does what needs to be done. One who can make a difference, and makes the difference! Not one with the potential, but one with the intent! If we are to change this cynic piece of shit world, you need more than tradition! You need innovation! And with this innovation, we’ll pull out your body!”

“Jan, that’s fine and all, but it’s not how it works! But...” The sword’s golden aura intensified. “Whatever! We’re doing this your way! Let’s do this!”

Jan gripped the true Moonflare with all of his might and pulled, pulled, and pulled. Even the massive power boost from synchronizing with Moonflare didn’t seem to be enough. “W-we can’t do it...! You don’t have the power to change the world just yet, it’s nothing one can achieve overnight! That’s why I didn’t want to bring you here!”

“I don’t have the power to change the world...”

The altar rumbled.

“I don’t have the wisdom, either... The tradition... The pedigree...”

Cracks began to form on the floor surrounding the altar.

“But I have the heart! And there’s no way I’m surrendering you to an egoist jackass like this! I don’t have the power to change the world, but I sure as hell have it to draw one stupid sword--!”

The floor quaked wildly.

“--And start with the small things, like the streets! I don’t have the power to change the world, but that won’t stop me from trying!”

With a sound as loud as an explosion, rocks flew everywhere and a wall of dust obscured Clement’s vision as Jan let out one final scream. When the dust finally settled some, Clement couldn’t believe his eyes. In front of him, Jan stood boldly, the True Moonflare resting atop his shoulder... Still embedded to the rock and the altar, which he simply carried as if it was nothing.

“Y-you what!? You just ripped the altar off the ground?!”

“I got no time for these dumbass traditions and tests of worthiness you losers like so much! This sword is rotting away down here when it could be saving lives and making the world a better place! If I have to take it with stone and altar and all, so be it! I like clubs better than swords, anyways!”

“This is unprecedented...! No one ever ripped the whole altar along with the sword! You technically didn’t draw me, but at the same time, you practically did! Is this the modernity you speak of?”

“Damn right! I’ll drag the entirety of the Sanctum if I need to. A little altar stuck to the sword is nothing! Now, Clement... Clench your teeth.”

“You dastard...! Hand over Moonflare!”

“Take it from me, bitch!”

Clement once again turned into a cyclone of steel, his infinite slashes approaching Jan faster than a ballistic satellite could catch, but Jan stood calm, took a deep breath in, and swung the altar-sword forward, like a baseball bat, with all of his might. The holy altar clashed with the furious steel, and the steel shattered into pieces. Behind the steel was the arm that held it, and the arm, too, was shattered into pieces, mere bone unable to withstand the impact of a ton of ivory and righteous Heroism. Behind the arm that held the steel was a body, and the body was, too, shattered into pieces, the single deft swing enough to incapacitate Clement easily, his mangled body rolling away from the sheer force of the impact, a few lucky bones in his body unbroken.

“W...Wha...? H-how...?”

“The thing is, Clement, you ain’t a baller. You are simply a selfish rich boy who looked at people’s hope and saw an ornament for his wall. You could never swing this blade meant to serve the people. You ain’t shit, Clement.”

———

“Hey, we’re on the newspaper again!”

“...Is it another collateral damage report?”

“...Y-yup...”

The sword sighed.

“We sure are stopping crime and accruing fame, just, not the kind of fame I wanted...”

“Hey! We’re saving people! What if a few cars or buildings get smashed in the process? I-It stimulates the economy!”

“Maybe if you were more careful when swinging me! I have a whole boulder-like altar stuck to my body!”

“Ok, ok, mom, chill. Let’s just go home now. We keep at it like this, and crime’s a-gone in a few weeks. No one wants to risk being clobbered by an altar, after all.”

The duo jumped from rooftop to rooftop, Jan lugging the massive altar casually atop of his shoulder still, less sword and more comically oversized hammer.

“You just wanna keep gaming with that new keyboard, don’t you? I swear... You should be training to be able to draw me properly!”

“You can’t rush Heroism, Moonflare! As long as we keep being ballers, we’ll get there eventually!”

“...Heh, you’re right, Jan. Yeah, sure, let’s go.”

What is a Hero? A beacon of hope for the people? Or someone who acts for their safety in the shadows? Both are valid definitions, and many more kinds of Heroes exist, too. There’s some that are Heroes due to their lineage, while others are self-made, defying expectation and rising to greatness, all that truly matters is that you seek greatness for yourself and others, regardless of how you go about it. Some prefer the bombastic splendor of the spotlight, while others feel comfy in the shadows, but as long as you are excellent to one another and keep going and going, no doubt you’ll become a Hero in your own way, be that sticking to old tradition or carving your own path.

For Jan and Moonflare, the path to being a Hero is to be Ballers.

“...But really, stop causing collateral damage, your debt is only getting worse, you idiot.”

“Oh, shut the hell up.”

...Even if it’s expensive sometimes.

End.

#code:prompt #format:one off #length:short #tainbocuailnge #you sent me a real homerun lance

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sasshole-for-rent · 7 years ago

Text

Shits and Sage

@dismalzelenka asked: Prompt: SMELL MY FUZZY WEED WITH YOUR ANUS, any pairing of your choice. >:3c (Why am I writing this? blame dis for this @dadrunkwriting)

Summary: Faeven slips something between a bear’s cheeks. Sera sucks at fibbing. Horse toots.

It was a Sunday, and like most Sundays, it started out weird. More weird than the last Sunday which was when he came home to find the loft, his work space, and stables covered in gourds and a cackling half-drunk elf rolling in the straw. She liked puns, and he liked her quite a bit, so he tolerated her pranks. One would even say he enjoyed them. One being Sera knew this secret, and would elbow him when she caught him smiling at Faeven. Only the horse he talked to when she was gone knew that he was quite taken with her. It was a bit embarrassing when Dennet overheard him while mucking the stalls.

But this Sunday she crossed a line with her little pranks. He’d woken up with something pokey in his ass, and he did not like it. He was going to make damn sure she knew that.

“Why did I wake up with a sprig of sage in my asscrack?“ Blackwall came down from the loft, holding up the aforementioned fuzzy plant. He never thought he’d ever say a sentence like that, but he was beginning to find a lot of odd things coming out of his mouth lately, especially if Faeven was around. At least, bees weren’t flying out of his mouth like that utterly terrifying remark Cole had made while in Crestwood.

Faeven and Sera were sipping from bowls at his woodworking table. He knew it was coffee from the smell of it. The griffon he had been carving had been delicately placed on a clean portion of straw. At least, they had some decency.

"Sage is for cleansing…” Faeven stated as if that explained everything. She was cheeky even if she was being interrogated due to slipping things between his cheeks.

“Yeah, but why was it in my ass, puddin’?” The moniker came out of his lips before he could stop it. He’d only used it once with Faeven before and with Faeven alone. He didn’t even know why it came about, or why he said it right now. He was supposed to be mad at her, right? One look at her looking at him with wide eyes and a stupid little smile made the thoughts slip away like silk.

One of Sera’s signature titters snapped him back into reality. “Heh, puddin’ what kind of shite…?" Faeven narrowed her eyes over her bowl. Her laughter stopped with a cough.

“Right…” Sera cleared her throat, awkwardly, and she noticed him and his lack of dress for the first time. To be fair, he lived here and a man could wear whatever he pleased. At least he was wearing pants. "Beardy, you heard of shirts? I mean, it’s fine, yeah. Just not the first thing I wanna see in the morning.” “I don’t mind it.” Faeven smiled as she got an eye full of him, before flicking a splash of whatever she kept in those things up her sleeve into her bowl. “So, about the sage?” He prodded, meeting her eye. With a quirk of her lips, she gazed into her bowl as if it was the most intriguing thing. Faeven sipped at her coffee, bowl taking up half her face. Why were they drinking from bowls? Was he still dreaming? He never knew with their lot. “I hoped it would cleanse the foul fumes that came out of it.” “With all due respect,” He pulled up a chair. “coming from you that’s a brave accusation. Half of that was you." "Mine didn’t smell like that…” She protested, setting her bowl down. “They just made noise.” There was a spare bowl. He made use of it, and poured himself a coffee. He might as well get accustomed with the strange, if he was going to be subjugated to it every Sunday. “It was your cooking that did me in. I shouldn’t have told you that I liked jellied meats. Didn’t taste quite right going down." "Look, I followed the recipe the cook gave me. Sera ate it and she wasn’t shitting up the place. Her plate was licked clean even.” “Yeah, you think she ate it? I saw her sneak her plate to the horse when you wasn’t looking.” “Did not.” Sera folded her arms, chewing on a piece of straw. “Beardy’s friggin’ lying, Fae. Don’t listen to him.” “I saw you, Fuzzhead.” He gave her what he thought was his best scolding eyebrow jaunt. “I bet if we shut our traps for a moment, you’d hear that poor horse just roaring out its ass.” “How dare you accuse her of such things! Look at her, she is the picture of innocence.” He did look at her and she was the furthest thing from being innocent. Even gave him a full fledged raspberry basically announcing that she did indeed feed the horse last night’s dinner. Sometimes it was difficult to know whether Fae was serious or playing. “She actually appreciates my cooking, unlike somebody I know.” She paused to give him a scrunched up nose. She was playing. He gave her a boop on the nose, and she actually had to laugh out the rest. “Isn’t that right, Sera?” “Yeah…” Her face curling into something like a smile, but not quite. “What is that you’re doing with your face there?” Faeven addressed the peculiar almost smile with a swirl of her finger. “Are you smiling or?” “It’s nothing!” Sera jabbed a finger into Faeven’s cheek. “What are you doing with your face? It’s doing that gross pink shite again."

“It’s…uh.”

Out of his peripherals, Sera threw up a hand at him. “Oh come on, not you too.” He was blushing. Oh well, He didn’t care. He was busy watching Faeven blush too. She was cute with her fingers wrapped lightly around her stupid bowl and white teeth smiling down at the wood grains in the table. She was shy when you got close, and man, he was really close. Those eyes were like seaglass, and his finger was hooked under her chin. Things happened fast as they did, and he placed a kiss to her forehead.

Faeven sat there, gaping at him. Not knowing whether it was okay to breathe or to swear at him, because holy shit. That just happened. Her cheeks were hot. She touched them. Her body felt like it was vibrating, like hummingbirds knocking their wings against wind chimes. The chair creaked. He took his bowl with him as he walked away. She put hers back to her lips. Should she say something? Should she follow? Were they going to drink coffee together? They were before but Sera was with them? Sera?

“Oh whatever, wasn’t he supposed to be mad at you?” Sera leaned down to put her boots on. Had she been barefoot this whole time? Oh right, they went running through mud puddles before and now her feet were crusty, “He put that butt sage in your coffee while you were making eyes at him, by the way.”

That snapped her out of her doey thoughts. With a glance, she saw the sprig floating in her bowl. Faeven spit out her coffee. “He fucking what?”

“Mmhm.” Sera said as she went out the door. Blackwall was leaning against the stables beside himself with laughter. They locked eyes, then the laughter stopped as she chased him around the stables.

#faewall #dwc #da drunk writing circle #da drunk writing #blackwall #sera #Sasshole's OC: Faeven Lavellan #how did this turn into fluff?#help #apparently blackwall confessed his love for faeven to a horse #submission

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vide0-nasties · 7 years ago

Text

the rivalry is with ourselves

Pairings: Lucio/MC

Content Warnings: Very strong language, sexual come-on’s, alcohol and hashish consumption

Word Count: 2675

Author’s Note: I really just wanted to write something where a Court Magician!MC and Lucio irk the living hell out of each other with lots of references.

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When Lucio had ‘discovered’ the magician, she was a wild-eyed thing with cockleburs in her matted hair descending on a battlefield with twenty of her other black-clad Banshee Sisters, and he had no idea what an enormous pain in his ass she was going to become.

She’s impossible to live around. Insolent, belligerent, petty. If he told her to jump off a bridge, she would sprout wings and fly.

“I told you not to wear your tall boots.”

“These aren’t my tall boots,” she hums. They are her tall boots. He’s in his tallest boots, and he told her not to wear her tall boots, because he does not want to be towered over all day.

He bends and pulls on the back of her ankle, pinching the tendon as if she’s a bullheaded horse refusing to give hoof. But, like the horse, she gives. “Don’t dare lie to me. These heels are six inches.”

“Oh, aye, they are,” she laughs, jiggling the foot in his grasp. “I have a pair of eight inch heels with platforms on the toes. Brand new. Those are my tall boots.”

He drops her ankle and glares up into her masked face. She is his Court Magician, and she doesn’t like her odd face being seen. Because of this, he had masks and veils and scarves made for her, but did she ever thank him? No, of course not.

He smooths his hair back into place and bares his teeth in a facsimile of a smile. “If you insist on looking like an ogress, Eustacia, who am I to stop you?”

“Lucio—my dear, dear count. If the little donkey can’t stand the ogress,” she purrs, dropping her hands on his shoulders and her cheek against his to growl in his ear, “they should stay out of my fucking swamp.”

He hates her smug tone. He hates this his throat is suddenly clicking-dry. He hates that she called him a little donkey.

When Eustacia ‘discovered’ the count, he was a mercenary with one pathetic little shoulder pauldron and a dagger driven into his lungs whom she dragged back behind frontlines, and she had no idea what an enormous pain in the ass he was going to become.

He’s impossible to live around. Insolent, belligerent, petty. If she said the sky was blue, he would set fire to an entire village just to turn it black.

Something was so urgent, he’d sent a servant to her quarters before the crack of noon, disturbing her fitful hangover sleep. So urgent was it, in fact, she had no time to dress. She arrives in Lucio’s bawdy brothel of a bedroom in a dressing robe, and is slapped in the face by the smell of wet dog and body odor. “It reeks of Valerius in here,” she seethes, “Valerius and sweated-out wine.”

With Mercedes sprawled in his lap on the floor, fresh from the bath and having her claws filed, Lucio doesn’t deign to look up at Eustacia. “That’s probably because Valerius was in here, sweating out wine last night.”

Disgusting. She drops on the bed, petting Melchior’s stumpy ear when he drops his head in her lap. “I can’t believe you’re clipping their nails. You have servants that would die to do that bidding for you.”

“They wouldn’t get it right. And they keep getting themselves bitten because they’re idiots. Isn’t that right, Mercedes?! Ahhh, good girl!” he baby-talks the dog, clapping and scritching her upturned pale belly until she kicks a leg and yowls in her throat.

A red tongue lolls out between her teeth, and Lucio looks so pleased. He doesn’t stop looking that way when he finally concedes to look at Eustacia. “Besides, there are servants that should be polishing your boots, yet you start pissing your pants the second they’re too close to your wardrobe.”

Ooh, she doesn’t like that—son of a bitch almost got her to use his argument for her own, they wouldn’t do it right. “They’re dogs. Their nails don’t need buffing,” she argues instead, trying to ignore how her blood pressure rises and her head thumps.

“They only deserve the best. Give daddy a kiss, Mercie. Mercie, kiss daddy. Gooood girl, what a good girl!” he laughs, heedless of Mercedes’ snapping teeth as she licks all over his face. Eustacia likes the dogs alright, but they’re so poorly trained that she draws the line at kisses. Because of this, she pushes Melchior’s head down when he starts whining and reaching for her face with his chops peeled back over his teeth.

Lucio whistles for Melchior, and the dogs trade places. “Right, anyway, why I called you here,” he starts, flipping the long dog over in his lap. “I’m hungover. I figured we’ll fuck the hangovers out of each other and brunch on the veranda.”

Vulgar, but appealing. “You’re on top.”

“If you sit around like a dead fish, I’m not doing any either,” he warns, but it’s not a hard and fast ‘no,’ so she stretches out on the bed and lets her mind flicker between brunch tartlets and Lucio’s mouth going places the holy texts say it shouldn’t.

Sir Mulverhampton’s birthday party is dull as dirt. Nadia’s made her appearance and escaped for the evening, and Lucio had already forbidden Eustacia ditching him just so he doesn’t have to face down the droning, monotonous man’s saltine-cracker-conversation on his own.

He’s monologuing about his fucking chandelier again. The enormous, tacky brass-and-glass structure that belonged to Count Dickhead Hornblower two hundred years ago, given to his family as a token of whatever. “Didn’t you kill his daughter or something?” Lucio whispers out the side of his mouth, clicking his fingers on his champagne glass.

“His niece, but I’m considering the kindness of reuniting them,” Eustacia whispers back. “You’re a rude little bastard to make me endure this. Maybe it’s you I should be reuniting with his niece.”

“Tough tits, Eustacia,” he seethes, nodding his head, forcing a smile, and raising his glass when Sir Mulverhampton looks back to make sure they’re rapt. “His family outfits the entire mounted guard with the best tack on this coast for free, and you’re not making me suffer this alone.”

“I don’t know why Nadia puts up with you,” she snorts into her champagne. Lucio narrows his eyes at her and keeps grinning as he sneers, “I don’t know how your right hand puts up with you.”

The rest of Sir Mulverhampton’s history lecture is worth sitting through, if only because Lucio gets to watch Eustacia’s indignation and offense skin her alive.

Two hours later, Sir Mulverhampton’s wife has dragged him off by the ear to read him the riot act about the awful way he’s allowing himself to be treated by his guests, and Lucio’s escaped with Eustacia to the overly-tended gardens and hired hookah bar behind the man’s stodgy home.

She stalks off to hunt down a carafe of wine, still having her panties in a bunch over his little comment earlier, and Lucio gets good and familiar with the hashish loaded in the bowl. Sir Mulverhampton’s sons must’ve had something to do with this. If they weren’t pig-faced twats, Lucio might invite them on a hunting trip.

But they are, and he won’t.

He’s completely boneless and giggly when Eustacia returns, necking straight from the bottle and prowling. “Damn. Look at you, such a mean, tough girl, drinking her drink like a big, scary sailor,” he chortles, stretching out on the white divan under him.

“My right hand might not stand me, but you’re always eager to fuck me,” she snaps, her accent obscenely thick because of the many glasses of champagne she’s already consumed, pointing an accusatory finger at him. Really, she’s still on that?

“C’mere,” he leers, patting his chest. He bites his lip, darting his tongue out between teeth and lip, waggling his brows. “I want you to ride my face.”

“Ohh, fuck you, Lucio. You little shite-arsed tit. Rude fuck. With your creepy little corpse eyes and shitey, fuck-arsed eyeliner,” she scowls, shoving the carafe in his hands and pulling on the hookah like it owes her a blood debt. That’s definitely doing something for him. His pants feel amazingly restrictive.

“Pleeaase, Eustacia, ride my face,” he wheedles, brushing a hand down her thigh. “I’ll make the most interesting noises come out of you. Make you squirt. Then you’ll take care of me.”

“Like hell, arrogant, rude shit, should’ve been drowned at birth,” she grumbles, and blows smoke in his face, but she’s already undoing her belt buckles. The sound makes Lucio’s hair stand on end.

It was supposed to be a nice little hunting trip. Ducks are in season, and Eustacia hasn’t hunted her own dinner in years. She would’ve loved to have gone on her own, but Lucio caught wind of it and turned a small, one-man hunt into a gilded march on the banks of a big lake.

A full retinue of footservants and guards have set up glaring, blood-red tents on the shore. A dozen horses and two carriages wait in the woods behind them. Cooks wait around grills, sorting fresh forage, and Eustacia is beyond offended by the display. She wanted to braid her hair up, sleep on a crappy bedroll, and slow cook greasy duck over a campfire.

And Lucio’s made it into a production.

At least he didn’t send guards out ahead to flush out game, and at least he actually waded into the shallows and thrushes instead of complaining. He’s good at keeping his mouth shut during a hunt. During dinner—a full, six-course spread that gives Eustacia the beginnings of a migraine—he refuses to shut up or keep to himself.

They take their meal on an overly glamorous bed that overlooks the glass-smooth lake, light by torches and serenaded by a violinist outside the flap. Magnanimously, he pours her a draught of wine in a thick cut-crystal goblet, and holds it to her lips. He pulls it back when she tries to drink. “No,” he chastises her, “you’re not going to act like an uncultured swine. I’m going to teach you to appreciate good wine.”

“Because you’re the crown prince of sommeliers?” she frowns.

He frowns in return, a very ugly look on his buzzed face, but he powers on heedless of her barbs. As if he isn’t from a southern tribe that’s never seen a vineyard in their entire existence, he says, “Start with the bouquet. Try to detect certain fragrances. This is a Bordeaux. You can tell that it’s leaner, more elegant and restrained than a cabernet.”

She sniffs, and all she can smell is alcohol and that it’s an impressively dry wine. She’s going to hate it. She can also tell that he doesn’t know what the hell he’s talking about, either. Nadia would, but Eustacia imagines that she’s living her best life with the palace all to herself.

“Tell me what you’re smelling, Eustacia.”

Oh, poor sob, he’s trying to set a mood. He thinks making her sniff wine is a sexy thing. He’s not even aware that he sounds idiotic and she feels like a tit. What’s worse—it’s working. Even if it’s only working because she feels bad about how hard he’s trying, how smooth he thinks he is!

“I think…” she mutters gravely, as if in deep concentration, putting a hand on the back of his wrist and giving him her darkest bedroom eyes, “I think I detect…old grapes. Very old grapes.”

He roars and dumps the glass right her lap, splashing a great deal of it down her chest. She can’t help it, she starts cackling while he rants and raves and stalks the tent. He moves to leave the tent, stops, turns and slashes the air in her direction, yelling, “Nice things are WASTED on you!”

“Yes, they certainly are!” she howls, picking up the goblet and drinking the dregs from the bottom. Driest wine she’s ever consumed, but it doesn’t stop her from pulling her shirt off and throwing it at Lucio’s red face. Grinning so savagely her face might crack, she laughs, “You’ve ruined my hunting trip, my dinner, and my clothes. Might as well come over and ruin my night, too, you pretentious fuck!”

If Eustacia was miserable to deal with on her own, combining her efforts with her new apprentice Asra’s makes her insufferable. What’s worse, they’ve brought Nadia in on it. They’re always laughing and whispering to each other, flicking their eyes toward him and bursting out into cackles.

But it doesn’t matter. His mural is progressing, and he wants to show it off. It’s beautiful, it’s luxurious, and he’s made damn sure that he is the central focus.

Eustacia sways into the ballroom where the massive canvas is being painted with an arm looped through Nadia’s, followed closely by her gaudily-dressed apprentice with his hands clasped loosely behind his back. Lucio’s heels snap over the marble floor as he rushes up the meet them, and for only a moment, he’s distracted by Eustacia’s flat shoes. “No heels today, that’s an interesting change.”

“It pains me to take away from Milady’s radiance, and it pains my apprentice to crane his neck so to meet my face,” she grunts, unreadable behind the veil of diamonds that start at her hairline and disappear beneath the folded collar of her black jacket. Another gift she’s never thanked him for, but it’s not a problem.

“Isn’t there something you wanted to show us, dear?” Nadia queries, cocking a brow. She looks thoroughly bored. Lucio thinks she might’ve had something else to attend to, but he’s her husband and whoever else she needed to meet with doesn’t take precedence.

“I think it’s his animal painting,” Asra supplies, scanning the room from under his hair. “The cannibalistic one, where they’re eating other animals.”

If Eustacia wasn’t so dependent on…whatever it is he does, Lucio would’ve thrown him into the coliseum by now. He might yet do it. See how well he manages to shrug off and quip at lions. Bears, maybe.

Eustacia sighs, “Is that the one where you’re a goat, Lucio?”

“A ram,” he corrects, making a sweeping turn and leading them closer. Throwing his arms wide, he gestures at the piece that occupies a great deal of the lesser ballroom. “It’s magnificent, a masterwork! Have you ever seen such majesty—?!”

“Lucio,” Eustacia deadpans, a hand on her chest. “That bird has tits.”

“What?” He begins searching the painting, feeling heat sear up his shoulders. His blood pressure explodes like a buckled dam wall, making veins stand out on his neck and forehead. There had better not be what he thinks there is, or so help the painter.

Nadia’s hand covers her mouth, her eyes blown mischievously wide. Asra ducks his head, clearing his throat. His shoulders quake, and the quake only worsens when Nadia drops her hand on Eustacia’s shoulder and notes, “Oh, my dear. It’s not so bad. Everyone has breasts, even you. And artists should be allowed some license in their work. I think it’s…creative.”

The painter has suddenly made themselves very scarce, leaving their wide-eyed assistant behind. Lucio feels a migraine begin to drill into the spaces behind his eyes. He finds the bird, and it most certainly has a rack on it that would make a virgin faint. Pert, feathery breasts. They’re heaving.

“They’re very nice breasts,” Asra comments, but his smirk betrays his lack of genuineness.

“Never have I seen a prettier pair of tits outside of a brothel, Lucio,” Eustacia assures him. “And, look, so beatific and gracious are you in the center of it all, I’d wager that few people at all will scarcely notice her…gifts.”

Lucio only ever stops hearing about the bird’s tits when Eustacia is mercifully absent from their lives, and even that only brings him new and interesting ways to be degraded and belittled. Sometimes, he will even think that his misses the insolent witch.

#the arcana #the arcana fanfic #lucio #lucio x mc #OC: Eustacia #this is deliriously self-indulgent and i loved writing it #i mean it's definitely mine there's a shrek reference at the beginning

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