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sugardaddytonystark · 3 years

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Love Bites (Love Bleeds)

author: sugardaddytonystark pairing: vampire Tony Stark x Reader word count: 4000+

*Explicit*

🔊 Love Bites

At thirty-eight years old, Tony Stark was bitten.

That was ten years ago, and he’s been either blessed or cursed to live out eternity in that same body, hidden away from the light, from people. Few know that he’s fallen victim to the virus. Rumors say that he’s just a shut in, an eccentric, only leaving the house when he’s in his armored suit. But you know better.

You have been his court-appointed guardian for a few months now, and you’ve spent more time with Tony in that short time than most people have in the last decade. You two were getting close, but lately he’s been distant, holed up in his basement workshop. And that’s the one place you don’t go, his private sanctuary.

You have free reign of the rest of Tony’s house, it being your home now as well, and you make good use of it. It’s dark now as you make your way down the stairs in a half-stumbling, middle-of-the-night daze. But you know every step by rote, every creak and every corner. So, even though there aren’t any lights on in Tony’s Malibu mansion, you can navigate it just fine.

You do turn on the light when you round the bar nestled into an alcove in the sitting room. You don’t feel like walking all the way to the kitchen, and you know that the mini bar will have stocked some kind of juice for making cocktails.

As you sip on your drink, you look out into the darkness of the living room and see two shining eyes staring right back at you. The glass slips from your hand as you startle, and in your panic, you step directly on the broken shards.

“OW! SONUVA B—”

Before you even realize what’s happening, you’re off your feet, cradled in a pair of strong, solid arms. You look up and it’s Tony, brows furrowed above concerned, blackest-brown eyes. He tries to give you a little smirk when he sees you staring up at him, but the space between his eyebrows is still pinched, the look of worry on his face.

“If you wanted to join me for a nightcap, honey, all you had to do was ask,” he says, voice low and smooth as he carries you into the adjoining living room.

You clench your jaw, trying not to show how much pain you’re in. “Well, you know me,” you say, “can’t do anything without a little flair.”

“Something we’ve got in common,” Tony replies as he lays you down on the couch. He gently places your head against the arm before getting a throw pillow from the chair and placing it behind you. He sits down on the other side and puts your feet in his lap.

“Here, drink this,” he tells you as he leans over your legs to pick up a glass from the coffee table. “Your nightcap.”

You take the drink and just hold it for a moment, letting the cold radiating from the glass sink into your fingertips. You bring it up to your lips and catch the scent of whiskey, of citrus. You didn’t even know Tony could drink alcohol.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he mutters, looking at the sole of your foot, “next time, a little less flair.”

“Yes, sir,” you reply, the glass perched at your lips.

He looks up at you beneath thick eyelashes, a flash of crimson in his otherwise dark eyes. He places two fingers under the glass and tilts it up. “Drink,” he tells you. “You’ll thank me later.”

You tip your head back as you down the rest of Tony’s drink. It goes does smooth, heating up the back of your throat, the warmth blossoming in your chest. You hand the empty glass back to Tony and he sits it on the table.

“Are you ready?” he asks.

You nod your head and close your eyes, fists balled and nails digging into your palm as you prepare for the pain. You can feel Tony’s grip on your ankle tighten, and when he pulls the shard of glass out of your foot, you have to try your damnedest to suppress a scream.

His grip tightens even more, managing to ease the pain a little, slow the flow of blood, as he gently slides your bloodied sock off your foot.

“Shit,” he says, dropping the sock from his one hand and your ankle from his other.

Tony grabs the hem of his shirt, brings it up and over his head. He presses it to the sole of your foot to stop the bleeding and you hiss at the pressure, recoiling at the touch. He wraps his palm around the fabric, keeping his shirt tight against the wound, fingers curled up and over the wounded appendage.

His hold on you is tight, forcing you to stay still. His other hand is stroking your ankle, up your shin - a soft, soothing motion. His eyes are cast downward, fixed on the place where you’re bleeding into his wadded-up shirt.

You watch Tony as he works, trying to distract yourself. He’s nice to look at. More handsome in person, even, than in pictures. He has a lean build, slender but with strong muscles under cool, winter-pale skin. His eyes are the darkest shade of brown, flashing with crimson when they hit the light. They’re big and round and warm, making him look innocent and young, even younger than his everlasting thirty-eight years. His hair is dark, his beard slightly longer than stubble. His lips are flower-petal pink.

The angle of the light from above the bar casts half of his face in the shadow, highlighting the slope of his nose, the curve of his cupid’s bow. A glow emanates from the metal embedded in his chest, and now more than ever, you’re reminded that Tony is part man, part myth, and part machine.

He is truly incredible, you think, and not for the first time. He glances up at you, catches your gaze, then quickly averts his eyes.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asks.

“I just… feel like I haven’t seen you in a while,” you reply, feeling like velvet – throat dry, head thick and fuzzy. You don’t know if it’s the blood loss, the drink, or just being in Tony’s presence, but everything is starting to feel slow-moving, like you’re stuck in a daze.

The corner of Tony’s mouth turns up in a smirk, but still, he doesn’t look at you. “Have you been missing me, honey?” he asks.

“Yes,” you tell him, unabashed.

He huffs out a quiet laugh, shakes his head, but he doesn’t respond. Instead, he gently peels his shirt from the sole of your foot, inspecting the damage. It must be bad, because you can see his brows furrow again, his nostrils flare.

“Shit, you’re gonna need stitches,” he says. “I’m gonna call the Doc, alright?”

“Wait, Tony,” you say, before he can stand up. “Can’t you just… you know?”

His grip tightens on your ankle. “No,” he says sharply, but he doesn’t try to stand up again.

You’re tired and weak and in pain, so when you whine, “Why not?” you don’t even feel bad about sounding so infantile. “You can heal me in a minute. If not, I’ll be limping around here for weeks.”

Tony, being what he is, can heal a wound almost instantly. His saliva mixed with his blood, and whatever science or magic that is involved, can keep you from being bedridden for however long it would take your wound to heal on its own. You wouldn’t ask normally, but he’s here and, well, you’re curious, not to mention that you’re not ready to be without his touch once again.

“I don’t know if I’d be able to control myself,” he admits to you, softly, as if ashamed.

“I’m bleeding everywhere and you’re controlling yourself now.”

“Do you think this is easy for me?” he responds, almost a growl, his voice deep and low. “I wouldn’t call how I’m feeling ‘being in control.’”

“Maybe not, but you’re doing it!”

You two just stare at each other, neither of you budging nor relenting. It’s not even awkward, just tense, this silent battle of wills. But you know that Tony is more stubborn than you, so finally, you give in.

“Fine,” you say. “Just get someone to sew me up.”

But Tony doesn’t move. He just looks at your wounded foot, your ankle still in his painful grip. His stillness is almost unnerving, his dark brown eyes unblinking, his pale face statuesque against the darkness of the room.

“Tony,” you say, nearly frightened. “Please, do something. I’m bleeding!”

“I know,” he replies, his voice soft again, as he seems to shake himself from his stupor. “I know you are.”

Slowly, hesitantly, Tony lifts your leg and presses his nose against the inside of your ankle. He breathes in and closes his eyes, rubbing his cheek against the side of your foot, his short beard brushing over your skin.

“You have no idea how incredible you smell,” he says, so low you barely hear him. “How tempting you are. It’s not that I don’t want to…”

And as he speaks, your hands curl into fists beside you, his words shocking you into near panic. It’s too much, this quick shift, this sudden change in atmosphere. You’re suddenly too caught up in the scene playing out before you to manage any coherent though, let alone words. Do it, you want to tell him, but you can’t, heart pounding, voice caught in your throat. Do it.

“...it’s that I want it too much.”

Tony brings up one of his knees to kneel on the sofa so that he’s turned toward you, between your legs, your ankle still in his hand, your other leg resting across his thigh. He eases up on the pressure around your ankle and you can feel the blood start flowing to your foot again, wet heat running down your wounded sole.

You watch him, enraptured, as he wipes his mouth across the bottom of your foot. You don’t even flinch from the sting of it, too fascinated to move. But you can feel him trembling, his breath coming out ragged against your skin.

When he lifts his mouth from the arch of your foot, there’s a smear of dark blood against his lips. And then, behind, sharp teeth shining white and deadly. His eyes flash with a nocturnal sheen – deep, deep burgundy all but glowing in the darkness. He looks dangerous and feral and like nothing you’ve ever seen before in your life.

You barely register that the pain in your foot has faded, the wound now a mere memory. You can only focus on Tony’s lips, painted red, and the intense pounding of your own heart. Never have you been more aware of the blood rushing through your veins. Or the reality that you’re living under the same roof as the person who would desire it the most.

Tony doesn’t relinquish the hold that he has on your ankle, but the other hand lightly grabs hold of your calf on the same leg, and then slowly, slowly, you feel his palm slide up to the back of your knee. He doesn’t stop. He keeps moving up, palm sliding across the inside of your thigh, his hand squeezing your flesh and staying there.

In the stillness and in the quiet, you can feel your pulse pounding beneath his palm.

Tony then sets your ankle on his shoulder, his hold giving up its claim. He smears blood from his lips up your ankle, kisses the side of your calf. From behind coal black eyelashes he looks up at you, mouth hovering above your skin.

“Aren’t you gonna stop me?” he asks, placing his lips on the inside of your knee. He kisses you there and you shiver, almost tickled by the soft touch against your sensitive skin, overwhelmed by him worshipping places that no one else has ever even cared to touch.

You slowly shake your head no and he closes his eyes, dragging his cool mouth up the inside of your trembling thigh. You arch your back as he moves higher still, planting a line of kisses up your delicate flesh.

“There are places where you smell the most you,” he whispers, almost absentmindedly, lips grazing your skin as he speaks. “The back of your knee... the inside of your elbow... your throat, your hair… your cunt.” He buries his face between your legs and inhales deep, moaning. “You should really tell me to stop.”

“I don’t want you to stop,” you tell him, your voice hardly even a whisper. “Don’t stop, Tony.”

“What do you want?” he asks, mouth hovering over your pussy, those shimmering black eyes looking up at you from behind dark lashes.

You roll your hips up. “I want you to bite me.”

He rears back so fast that you jump in surprise. You sit up and grab his arm, afraid that he’s going to leave. You must have gone too far this time. Too far too fast and now you’ve pushed him away.

“You don’t know what you’re asking,” he says, voice hoarse and rough. “You don’t really want that.”

You lead him closer by his arm, then wrap your other hand around the back of his neck. You lean your forehead against his and you hear him take a shuddering breath. You close your eyes and savor the feeling of him being so close to you – forehead to forehead, the sides of your noses resting against the other, your fingertips against his flesh and his hands noticeably absent from your body. You shiver, chilled at all the places that you two are touching, his skin cold against yours.

“I do,” you tell him. “I want you, Tony.”

You stare at him, waiting. He stalls a heartbeat before he tilts his chin, angling for a tentative kiss. He presses his soft lips against yours, wraps his arm around your waist. You cup his face in your palms, thumbs running across his cheekbones. He nips softly at your bottom lip, not even close to breaking the skin, before soothing the spot with his tongue.

It should disgust you – having Tony’s mouth on yours after he licked up your blood – but you only taste a slight metallic tang, mostly masked by the whiskey that both of you drank. It’s intoxicating, Tony’s cool mouth, his sharp teeth against your sensitive lip, his taste, yours, the sharp sweetness of the alcohol.

“More,” you moan. “Please.”

“Impatient,” he chides, then plants a kiss on the side of your mouth. “Greedy.”

Tony turns his head and kisses the inside of your wrist, your hand cupping his cheek. He runs his tongue over the delicate veins, and you gasp, trembling in anticipation. He doesn’t stop, though. He keeps moving, kissing up the inside of your arm, his mouth leaving a trail of goosebumps on the surface of your skin.

He moves his arm from around your waist, bracing one hand against the couch behind you as he slides his other hand under your shirt and up your stomach. His fingertips are cold and soft against your body, the temperature almost a shock, and you’re torn between moving away and arching toward him. But the sensation is nice, you’ve never felt anything like it, and you know you won’t be forgetting it any time soon.

Tony’s lips touch your bare shoulder, once, slowly, and then once more, lingering against your skin. He moves upwards and your breath catches when you feel his open mouth against your neck. He sucks the blood to the surface of your throat like he can taste it through your skin, marking your soft flesh with soon to be tender bruises that you’re sure will last for days.

You can feel your pulse in your throat, hear your quickening heartbeat. Tony is saying something, but it doesn’t register in your mind, you’re so caught in feeling of his lips against your skin as they move.

“Where –?” you sigh, echoing what you think you heard.

You groan as Tony pulls away from you, and when you open your eyes, he’s staring down at you, half-smiling. “Where do you want it?” he asks again, cocking an eyebrow. “The throat is conventional, but –"

“Yes,” you reply, impatient. “I – anywhere. Everywhere. Just… please.”

You want him to devour you, consume you. You want his lips against your body, to feel his teeth sink into your skin. You’ve dreamt about it almost every night, giving yourself to him, him having his way with you, doing whatever he wants to do with your body.

Tony’s smile grows wider, and he bites down on his bottom lip, sharp white teeth gleaming in the low light. He bends down, chest to chest, and kisses you again, his cold skin melting against your warm body, the two of you separated by just your shirt. He makes quick work of that inconvenient piece of fabric, his lips leaving yours just long enough to pull it over your head and throw it out of the way.

His mouth moves down your throat, slowly, across your collarbone, down your breast to latch on to your hard nipple. His tongue licks across it, then he lets his teeth graze the taut peak, his hand coming up to pinch and pull at your other one.

The chill of his fingers has you shivering, arching your back up toward him. Your eagerness must spur him on because he grabs your breast in his palm, almost too rough and desperate, fingertips digging into your flesh.

Too soon, Tony moves between your breasts, then kisses down your stomach. You roll your body to meet him at every place his lips touch – sternum, then stomach, then hips. He grabs the waistband of your shorts and panties, pulling them down your legs as he sinks to his knees on the floor.

His hands grip the back of your knees and pull your legs apart, opening you up to him. The way he’s handing you now is neither gentle nor shy, maneuvering you so that he can get his shoulders between your thighs, his face level to your cunt.

It’s jarring, to realize that you’re naked on Tony Stark’s living room sofa, with Tony himself below you, in just his sweatpants and socks. That his blood, no matter how little of it, is inside of you now. Your blood in him. This joining seems irreversible, more momentous than you would have ever imagined. There’s no possible way that you will ever be the same after this, regardless of what happens.

What has happened will have been enough to change you completely.

And then Tony tongues the sharp point of one of his deadly teeth, a strange glint in his dark eyes, and you are thrust back into the present, aware and frightened of what you’ve asked for.

Tony no longer seems hesitant, not when he grazes the tip of his nose against your clit. Not when he inhales your scent, moans on the exhale. And certainly not when he covers your clit with his mouth, lips and tongue shockingly cold against your hypersensitive flesh.

“Tony!” your practically scream. “Fuck, Tony!”

And he moans at the sound of your voice saying his name, the noise vibrating against your pussy, making you squirm. Your hands find his hair, soft between your fingers. Having something to grab on to is somewhat grounding, but you can feel him move against you, your hands not guiding him but just touching, and that only adds to the realization of what you’re doing. Only makes you that more desperate.

There’s no build up to get used to the sensations. Tony starts immediately licking and sucking your clit like he can’t help himself. Like he’d want nothing more than to eat you up here on his sofa. And you’d let him too, let him have all of you if that’s what he wanted. More than just your blood or your pussy. You’d let him devour you whole.

Your body arches and you push against him, making him bury his face harder against you. Tony flattens his tongue and licks at your clit, then moves lower, and lower, tongue lapping at your entrance, then, the sensitive spot between your pussy and asshole.

You’ve wanted this, dreamed about it, and now that you have him, it’s so much more than you could have ever imagined. And when he slides a finger into you, easily with the aid of how wet you are for him, you can barely hold yourself together.

Tony pumps his finger in and out of you, slowly, while his tongue plays with your clit, explores your folds. You could cry, you feel so good, and when he adds another, you do. Tears spill down your cheeks as his fingers fuck you, pressing against your soft inner walls and curving just right.

As he pumps into you, the inside of his knuckles rub against a spot below your clit that you never even knew was there, and you can feel that pressure building, that feeling growing low in your belly.

Tony’s mouth leaves your pussy and his thumb finds your clit, his strong, dexterous fingers touching you in all the places that you need. He kisses your inner thigh, licks at the skin there, sucks, nips, and you jerk at the sensation. His works at the soft skin, sucking a bruise into your flesh.

You couldn’t stop it if you wanted. You come. Hips rolling as you fuck yourself on his fingers. You hands still gripping his hair tight. Your eyes are pressed closed, the wetness of your tear still lingering on your cheeks.

And then – he bites. And it’s euphoric. There’s ringing in your ears like the aftermath of a scream, and maybe you did, your voice rough and raw as you call his name, as you plead for something that you don’t even know you want.

Everything is black, your entire body narrowed down to his fingers filling you up and his mouth sucking your blood. You can’t even hold on to him anymore, your hands drop from his hair as you come down from your orgasm, Tony still sucking on the tender and bruised skin of your punctured thigh.

You feel weak, only moving when Tony wipes his mouth on the inside of your thigh. And then he lifts up, face to face with you and you make a feeble attempt to kiss him, instinctively. You can smell the bitter copper scent on him as he turns his face to the side, nuzzles his cheek against yours.

He’s warm now, such a drastic difference than from before. Warm, pink cheeked, thin lips red and slightly swollen. You could mistake him for human.

“Let’s get you to bed,” Tony says. “Can you walk?”

You nod your head, but you sway as you stand. Without hesitation, he picks up like he did before, and carries you effortlessly up the stairs and toward your room. The walk is peaceful, silent, and you let the lull of his footsteps calm you. You close your eyes and almost as soon as you do, you are in your bed, warm and comfortable under the blankets.

Tony stands above you and you hold onto his hand, then run your fingers up his arm, from his wrist, softly, to his elbow. How long will you be able to touch him like this? Now that you’ve had him, you’re not sure you’ll be able to let him go.

“Will you come see me?” You ask. “Tomorrow night? Please.”

Tony gently takes your hand off of his elbow and brings it up to his lips. He kisses your knuckles, almost chaste. “Goodnight,” he says, eyes shimmering in the darkness of your room. “And sleep well. You’ll need your rest for tomorrow.”

if you’ve got love in your sights,

watch out, love bites

#tony stark #tony stark x reader #tony stark imagine #vampire tony stark #marvel imagine

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mandoalorian · 4 years

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Pain Is For The Living [Javier Peña x F!Reader] - Chapter 2 (SMUT)

Summary: Sex work in the heat of 1980’s Colombia was never going to be a walk in the park. Especially not when you had a crush on your number one client, agent Javier Peña. You’d been warned about him and his reputation, but after one very specific incident that would change your life forever, you find yourself attached to him like never before and you’d do anything to make him yours. Even if it means endangering your own life.

Warnings: 18+ SMUT (protected p in v), allusions to sex, reader works in a brothel, PTSD, anxiety, panic attack, mention of drugs, guns, character death, typical Narcos themes.

Word count: 4000>

Pain Is For The Living Masterlist

*reblogs appreciated! Ko-Fi in bio if you want to support me!

The office was dead, like it had been for the last three weeks. No new leads. Nothing. The days dragged and honestly, it felt like the case was growing colder and colder. Escobar had gone completely off the grid, hiding out in La Catedral, his very own self-built prison in the depths of Medellín. But the DEA didn’t know that yet. So, they made an attempt to shift focus, at least just for now. After all, any narco they captured would be a win. They’d been tracing Juan Diego Diaz, otherwise known as La Quica, believing that the sicario would eventually lead them to Escobar himself. But La Quica was just as cunning as any other narco and following him was not an easy challenge. If it wasn’t for Steve Murphy, the DEA would’ve most likely shifted focus again - but Murphy and La Qucia went way back. In 1981, just a few years ago, La Quica shot dead Kevin Brady, Steve’s old partner back from Miami, and so to say that Steve had a personal feud against La Quica was an understatement.

Javier Peña didn’t realise he was about to gain a whole vendetta against him too.

Within a second, every phone in the damn embassy began to ring. Javier and his partner, Steve Murphy exchanged a glance, and their eyes trailed up to Horacio Carrillo who answered the call. “Colonel Carrillo,” he introduced himself. Javier and Steve watched as their colleague took in the information on the other end of the line. Carillo erratically gestured for a notepad and pen, and Steve quickly threw him one his way. “Wait, wait… are you sure? Are you sure you saw him? How many eyes? With another man? Who? Who?” Carillo pressed pencil to paper and began to scribble the details down. “How many dead?... Shit, okay. We’re on our way now.”

Carrillo slammed the phone down on the hook and took a deep breath, rubbing his hands over his face in dismay. “We got eyes on La Quica,” he announced, and Steve immediately grabbed the handgun from his desk drawer and shoved it into his jeans. The whole office cheered, apart from Javier and Steve. This was good news considering the DEA had no lead whatsoever for the past three weeks, but if Carrillo’s demeanor over the phone was anything to go by, Javier and Steve knew they shouldn’t be celebrating just yet. “No. No,” Carrillo chanted, raising his voice in order to silence the rest of the department. “Three hookers. Dead. Shot.”

Javier froze up completely as he processed the words.

“By La Quica?” Steve beckoned, his voice dripping with venom.

“We don’t know. But we have eyes on him. He was seen.”

“Where?” Javier asked finally, his face expression stone cold.

Carrillo eyed Javier up and down, swallowing a nervous lump in his throat. He knew it was the brothel that Javier frequented...and Javier Peña was quite unpredictable. So, after taking a brief moment to prepare for Javier’s reaction, Carrillo finally gave the name of the location. “Desiderio.”

Desiderio. It was the brothel where you worked. His eyes flicked over to the wallclock before his gaze met back with Carrillo’s dark eyes. He had literally been there, with you, two hours ago. If he had just gone two hours later… he could’ve put a stop to the attack. Hell, he could’ve been the one to find an arrest La Quica. But Javier’s hero complex was short lived when all he could think about was you.

“Do we have names?” Javier asked. “Who was killed?”

What if it had been you? What would Javier do then? You were younger than the other girls, polite and bright eyed. You were brand new to Colombia, and Javier swore you were too good for the dangerous life you had managed to get yourself caught up in. Being a sex worker in 1980’s Bogotá? It was only a matter of time something happened to you.

“No names,” Carrillo confirmed. “Peña, with all due respect, I ask that you go in and investigate the scene. You know the girls better than anyone else in the department. Maybe you could identify some of the bodies.”

It was like time was frozen, and Javier felt sick to his core. Javier was used to death and bloodshed; this was a war on drugs - however, it hit different when it was close to home. When it was a place he had been, or it was people who he knew.

Javier Peña was a complicated man. He didn’t talk about himself or his feelings. Truth be told, he didn’t even let himself feel. But right now, as anger swirled in his stomach, he decided he wasn’t going to waste anytime at all. He paced back over his desk and grabbed his handgun before bolting to the car that was already waiting outside for him. All eyes followed Javier’s movements but no one dared to make a comment. Apart from Bill Stechner, of course.

“Not everyday you see the department of drug enforcement’s noted womanizer get worked up over a whorehouse shooting,” Bill commented, a smug grin playing on his lips. “Didn’t think agent Peña had it in him.”

“Shut the fuck up Bill.” Steve rolled his eyes, not even bothering to humour the CIA agent’s out-of-pocket remark. Everyone in the district knew about Javier Peña’s reputation with the ladies. But of course, you were new.

“The Search Bloc and I will go after La Quica. Steve, you stay on the down low with agent Peña and investigate the crime scene. We’ll have guards protecting you from outside the brothel.”

“I want to go after La Quica.” Steve argued but Carrillo pointed a finger.

“No. You stay with Javi. Partners,” Carrillo reminded the blonde haired man. “Besides, you’re the DEA’s best photographer.” Carrillo smirked, thrusting a Polaroid camera into Steve’s chest. Steve let out a low grumble in response, before shaking his head and following Javier out of the office. Partners. And right now, Steve saw the primal glint in Javier’s eye. Agent Peña was seeing red.

As both Javier and Steve were being transported to Desiderio, Javier made an attempt to dial a number on the carphone multiple times. Your number. Of course it was a dead line. And that only worked up Javier more. The never ending ringing sound signified that you weren’t there, and Javier’s heart was pounding against his chest. It was the same kind of adrenaline as when he found Helena tortured by Gacha’s men in Medellín. Steve knew better than to ask his friend who he was so desperately trying to call, but it was the last of his instincts to assume it was one of the sex workers from the brothel. Because renowned womanizer Javier Peña didn’t form attachments, especially not to women, right?

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

At some point or another, you had passed out. Maybe you’d cried yourself to the point of exhaustion. Maybe the reality of what you had seen had hit you like a ton of bricks and you had fainted. How could you possibly know? But when Javier and Steve stormed the lobby of your workplace, you were laying on top of Rosa’s body, as still as could be. And that’s when Javier’s heart sank.

You weren’t moving, and his mind shot to the worst possible outcome. He raced over to you and fell on his knees, dragging your body off Rosa and cradling you in his arms. You were absolutely saturated in your best friends blood, and by holding you, now Javier was too. He briefly glanced down at Rosa and placed a hand on her forehead, trying to feel for any sign of warmth - any sign of life. Javi sighed and ran his hand through his dark locks of hair before bringing it back down to you. He cooed your name a few times, desperate to earn some sort of reaction. Thankfully, on the third calling, you stirred a little, indicating that you were in fact alive.

Your perfect eyes fluttered open and in that moment, Javi swore his heart stopped. Thank God you were breathing. “You’re safe now,” Javier whispered. “I’ve got you.”

“Javi?” you asked in disbelief. Surely not. The way he was holding you was the most affectionate he’d ever been with you, and it felt like a dream. Maybe it was a dream. Maybe you were dead and this was your journey to the afterlife. God was finally giving you a chance with the one you loved so much. You said his name again, raising a shaky hand to cup his cheek. You brushed your thumb over his jaw and along his mustache, and when you smelt his familiar musky cologne, you knew you were somehow going to be okay.

Javier picked you up and carried you back to the car. “We have a survivor!”

Steve replied but to you it was just a haze. You could hardly keep your eyes open and when you did, everything was a blur. Your clothes were stuck to your skin, due to the mixture of blood, sweat and tears. You knew the second you were outside because the orange setting son burned against your skin. You stirred and mumbled, but Javier smoothed out your hair and hushed you. He opened the back seat of the DEA car and lay you down.

“Hey, hey listen, I’m DEA,” Javier whispered. “I don’t talk about it, but I’m here to help you. I need to head back inside now and help my partner out, but I won’t be long. I promise.” As Javier turned to leave, you grabbed his hand and he looked back at you.

“Please don’t go.” you sniffed, tears free falling down your cheeks.

And normally, Javier would’ve shrugged it off. He had a job to do, and he couldn’t just stick around you because you felt unsafe. They had counsellor’s back at the embassy for that. All he had to do was use the carphone and call them out. It wouldn’t take him two minutes. The only problem was, Javier didn’t want to do that. He didn’t want anyone else to hold you and comfort you. He wanted it to be him.

So, he swallowed the nervous lump in his throat and slid into the back seat next to you. He maneuvered your body so your head was resting against his jean clad lap, and he continued to smooth out your hair. Despite your red puffy eyes and tear stained cheeks, you were still so beautiful.

“Hermosa, what happened back there?” he asked quietly after a moment. Between you and Javier, there was never an uncomfortable silence. It was his job to find out, but asking you straight up when you were so clearly traumatized, felt insensitive. Nevertheless, what else was there to say? He had to do it sooner rather than later.

“I’m sorry.” Javier mused, closing his dark brown eyes as he mourned.

“They killed Rosa,” you whispered shakily, doing your absolute best to remain composed and not fall back into an abundance of tears. Javier looked out the car window and held back a sigh. Well, he knew they killed Rosa already. “And Juliet and Martzia.”

Javier didn’t know who Juliet and Martzia were, but his heart sank at the revelation. Three deaths that could’ve been stopped.

“La Quica,” you croaked, and Javier’s head snapped to face you. “Was his name. But there were two, I think.”

La Quica… that was the name Carrillo had come up with. It was who the DEA had spent so much time looking for. But two? That was the first he’d heard of it. Carrillo and the cop department only had eyes on La Quica.

“Do you know the name of the other man? Or what he looked like?”

You did. At one point, his name rang like bells in your ears. He was friends with Rosa, or so you had thought. You knew his name… you knew his face until suddenly you didn’t. You couldn’t make sense of it or understand it, but it was like everything that happened back there had just become a fuzzy blur. It still hurt so much but… you couldn’t match actions to faces, or names to bodies. All you could see was Rosa and her sacrifice. All you could see was the way her body fell to the ground, crumpled up in a pool of her own blood. And then the screams and cries.

“Are you okay?” Javier asked due to the delay in communication. Your mouth felt dry and your fingers felt numb. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Listen, I can take you home, but the embassy is gonna want to interview you at some point in the near future. La Quica is dangerous, and I don’t know who this other guy is but I wouldn’t feel good about bringing you back to your apartment and leaving you there. I can send over additional security measures but, listen. I know you. And,” Javier took a deep breath not sure if he was about to regret the proposal. “If you’d prefer, you can come back to my place. Stay there for a few days. High security and you’ll be with me. Someone you know. I know that, if I was you, I wouldn’t wanna be alone right now.”

And for the very first time, your pretty plush lips curled into a smile. “You’d really do that for me?” You whimpered, nuzzling your face into his shirt.

“Of course.” Javier hummed, pressing a soft kiss into your forehead.

Was it unprofessional, inviting you over to live with him for the foreseeable future, the moment you had become an essential asset to the case? Yes. Fuck yes. But Javier Peña was not someone who played by the rules. He’d done this plenty of times before, when he shouldn’t have… but it was truly the right thing to do. Besides, you weren’t like any other informants. He knew you. He cared about you, more so than he’d like to admit.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You were very sleepy, and you couldn’t bring yourself to talk all that much. Javier understood better than anyone. He helped you out the car, carried you through the embassy apartment complex, unlocked his door (albeit with great difficulty), threw his keys haphazardly on the kitchen counter and gently plopped you down on the brown leather couch. Pulled out a crocheted blanket, he wrapped it over you, ensuring your warmth. He padded into the kitchen and filled you a glass of tepid water before looking in the refrigerator. Empty. Javier didn’t cook. In fact, he rarely even ate. When he did eat, it was take-out or fast food. Something quick and easy that he didn’t have to bother with. But now he had company. He sighed, and closed the fridge, glancing back at your sleeping body. He figured he’d have to go grocery shopping.

He picked up the phone and dialled Steve’s number, but his wife, Connie was the one who picked up. “Hey Con, Steve there?”

“Yeah. But he’s pissed with you Javi.” Connie sighed on the other end of the line. Javier scowled. He understood. It seemed like he pissed off people quite easily.

“Could you put him on?”

Connie didn’t reply but judging from the scuffling, Javier assumed she was handing the phone to her husband.

“Javi,” (“Steve,”)

“What’s up?” (“I need to ask you a favour,”)

“After today’s stunt? Not a chance.” (“Y/N was a mess, Steve. One of her best friends died in the shoot-out. I wasn’t just going to leave her,”)

“Javier Peña. Ever the hero. What do you need?” (Groceries. She’s gonna be staying with me for a few days. I can use the time I spend with her to gain her trust. Try and work out what exactly went on,”)

“Javi, she’s vulnerable. She’ll need therapy. You really want to use her as an informant?” (We’ll get her therapy from the embassy. Steve, I don’t think we have any other choice.”)

“I just think it’s a bad idea, but, it’s your call Peña.” (“I’m going to head to the market before it closes. Can you or Connie come over to watch her? She’s asleep so she won’t be much trouble.”)

“We have Olivia.” (“So bring her. Or don’t. I don’t care. Steve, please.”)

Javier waited patiently through a silence followed by a long sigh. “Okay Jav, but you owe us. We’ll be over in five minutes.”

“Thanks Steve, I’ll see you soon.”

Javier put the phone down on the hook quietly and padded back over to the sofa where you slept, crouching down and taking your hand. You didn’t deserve this. You were so soft and full of life, and everytime Javier saw you at the brothel you were always beaming. You were too good for this life. He knew you’d get hurt, one of these days, but that didn’t mean it was right. And suddenly, Javier was filled with vengeance. He couldn’t bear to think how the shoot-out would come to affect you, but he knew, in that moment, he would seek justice. Too many deaths, too close to home. Javier whispered your name, his breath fanning over your ear. You were somewhere in between consciousness. You could feel his presence but everything felt so dream-like. “If you can hear me, I’m going to head to the store. Buy us some food, okay? I won’t be long, and I have friends who will be watching over you. You’ll be safe, I promise.” Javier said before pressing another kiss to your forehead. He just couldn’t resist it. You stirred upon feeling the bristle of his mustache graze your skin and he drew his face away, not wanting to wake you completely.

“Hi Liv,” Javi cooed, leaning down to Steve and Connie’s little girl and pulling a face.

“So that’s her?” Connie asked, putting Olivia down.

“Yeah,” Javier sighed, and began to introduce you.

“Why do I get the feeling that you know her?” Steve quirked an eyebrow and Javier felt his cheeks flush with heat. “Are you one of her regulars?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but yeah, I suppose I am,” Javier retorted, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Con, if I’m gonna cook her dinner, what would you recommend?”

Connie stifled a laugh before turning to Steve. “Steve, you hungry? Javier’s offering to cook.”

“Hey that’s not what I meant--”

“He does owe us…” Steve smirked. “Paella sounds good.”

Fucking paella.

“I could just bring her Taco Bell,” Javier considered out loud.

“I like paella.” Steve reiterated.

“Me too,” Connie agreed. “Paella is delicious.”

“Everyone likes paella.” Steve commented.

“Oh my god would you shut the fuck up about paella?” Javier groaned, causing Connie and Steve to laugh in unison.

“Make her paella and bring us the leftovers,” Steve grinned, patting his friend on the shoulder. “And be quick about it.”

“Whatever, Murph.” Javier sighed, rolling his eyes before grabbing his wallet and car keys.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Seeing Nina working as the supermarket cashier was the last thing Javier expected.

“Javi?” she smiled that familiar gorgeous smile, her eyes sparkling as she scanned through the items of food. “It’s so good to see you. Been a while.” she commented, her gaze not leaving the agent’s once.

And for the first time in a long while, Javier smiled. The stress of the stake-out and investigating the brothel, and taking you home had been a lot on him, but seeing his ex-girlfriend helped bring him back down to earth. If Nina could even be called ‘ex-girlfriend’. It wasn’t ever official, but he and Nina had been fucking on and off for around 6 months last summer and Javier was actually committed to Nina during that time. She came into his life unexpectedly, to say the least.

“How long have you worked here?” Javier charmed as he bagged the groceries.

“Two months, it’s been good to get out of the house,” Nina grinned. “You're still working for the DEA I assume?”

“Yeah.” Javier hummed, quickly reminding himself of you and the way you were sleeping on his sofa. He looked back up from the bag of rice and at Nina. Come to think of it, she resembled you quite a bit. Same hair colour, eye colour, skin tone… only she wasn’t as distinct. She didn’t have that flare about her, like you did. Maybe Javier had a type after all.

“I get off work now,” Nina announced, flicking her wrist upright and checking the time on her watch. “Are you busy or? I was thinking… it would be nice to catch up, maybe, if you wanted.” Nina ducked her head down awkwardly.

Javier didn’t forget about you once. He didn’t forget about the fact he had a traumatized sex worker sleeping on his couch, or how he’d invited his partner and his partner’s family over to watch over you while he got ‘groceries’. But catching up with Nina would be nice. The right thing to do would be to reject Nina, and perhaps make plans to see her when Javier wasn’t so swamped with work commitments (if he could even call you that). But this was Javier Peña. He supposed Steve and Connie could wait just a little while longer, besides, they’d never find out. Javier was a good liar. He could make up some excuse about having to travel to a different grocery store or something. So, he agreed.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Nina’s apartment had barely changed since she and Javier had ended things. Still quaint, decorated with plants in every corner and full bookshelves. It was a clash of tongues and teeth as Nina navigated inside of her home, not pulling away from Javier once. She moaned against his lips and he grabbed onto her back, pinning her against the wall and knocking a few things off the coffee table.

“Missed this,” Javier confessed, nudging his nose against Nina. In the moment, he’d forgotten why he’d ended things in the first place. Nina wrapped her hands in Javi’s dark hair and tugged on the locks at the nape of his neck. Javier groaned wantonly and reattached his lips to hers as she let her hands maneuver down his body, unbuttoning his shirt and working at the zipper of his jeans. “Fuck Ni.”

She pulled off him and began to discard her clothes. “Bedroom Javi, I have condoms.” she hummed, taking Javier’s hand and guiding him through her apartment as if he didn’t already know the way. He’d never forgotten, really.

This was wrong. On so many levels, this was wrong. He should be back home, with you. If anyone was to find out about this… well, Steve would be furious, for a start. But Javier genuinely couldn’t stop thinking about you. He didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad thing, because if he wanted to be with you so bad he could easily just go back to his place and sit with you on the couch. The idea of that wasn’t the worst in the world. But also, he was about to get laid by Nina who looked so much like you… he couldn’t stop thinking about you.

He was whipped. Thinking about your lips on his… your hands caressing his muscles. She might have resembled you, but she tasted different, her voice was different, and her attitude. She just wasn’t you.

Once Javi was all wrapped up, he pushed into Nina, and settled deep, his movements rough and fast. He grabbed onto her tits and gave them a squeeze, but they just didn’t feel like yours. They’d do though, for now. His grunts and her moans filled the room as she chanted his name, and he could feel himself nearing orgasm. He dipped his head in the crook of her neck, biting down on her skin that just wasn’t as soft as yours, and as his dick throbbed inside of Nina, and when he reached his climax, he made the biggest mistake of all.

He gasped your name like it was the sweetest prayer to leave his lips. He was fucking Nina but shit, he said your name.

Javier Peña said your name.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

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alastaircarstairsdefenselawyer · 3 years

Text

if this was a dream pt. 3

i want to apologize in advance because this is literally like 4 chapters in a trench coat... i'm serious chapter 1 was just over 1000 words and this is over 4000, I have no idea what happened. the reason I didn't break it up is because it is very alastair-centric. I promise next chapter we will get back to thomas and see how he's doing with the actual amnesia part of it all.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Fanfiction Masterlist | AO3

Alastair pulled his coat tightly around himself, trying to keep his breathing steady. The walk from the Institute to Cornwall Gardens was long, but it would give him far more time to clear his head than borrowing a carriage or hailing a hansom cab. He fell into the rhythm of his footsteps; this was familiar to him. He had spent more hours than he could count just walking and walking, trying to run from this life the universe had given him.

Now, though, even his walking was infected by Thomas.

Sometimes, I simply needed to get away from all of the hovering. There was this bit of forest near our house in Idris… it was nice, peaceful. The perfect escape, somewhere to wander until I was too spent to continue. Drove my parents a bit mad, but it was what I needed.

Alastair told him about the woods around Cirenworth, how it was his escape, too. He’d memorized nearly every corner of that forest over the years. It was somewhere where he could pretend to be someone, anyone else. He could be no one, even. He’d left most of the details out, as he often did when discussing his childhood. He trusted Thomas completely, but there were some things he preferred to leave in the past.

Now, his sleepless body ached against the increasing pace of his footsteps, pushing forward as if moving quickly enough could outrun the tears burning behind his eyes. He did not know if he could do this again. If Thomas never regained his memories, could Alastair convince him to forgive him again? Their original circumstances were quite peculiar. Could Alastair survive trying to gain his forgiveness again?

He’d do anything for Thomas, he knew. He loved him, even if he’d never said it out loud. And as he said it now, even in the safety of his own mind, it felt far different than it ever did with Charles on the receiving end. With Charles, love felt strangling. It was shackles to his ankles and wrists, tying him to his misery. Looking back, it was not love at all. With Thomas, he felt free. Thomas made the impossible feel possible.

It isn’t possible. It won’t ever be.

He heard his own words repeated back to him. He knew where this was headed from the start. This is how it all works out for Alastair Carstairs. He knew this time would be no different, even if he hoped it would.

He loathed this feeling inside of him. He’d been doing well. He’d been happy. Now all he could think of were his own self-doubts, his own self-hatred, his age-old desire to run away to the farthest stretches of the Earth in the middle of the night, never to return.

A better partner, a better person would not be so consumed in these thoughts as he was. A better partner would not be the recipient of such hatred from the man he loved at all, memories or not. A better partner would know what to do, how to ease the pain and anxiety that flooded Thomas’ eyes rather than exacerbate them. He was not better, however. He could never be what Thomas deserved. He knew it from the start, but it felt different, being thrown in his face now.

Perhaps it would be better this way, he thought, for it to end like this. It was going to end eventually, as all things do. Perhaps this way would hurt Thomas less, even if Alastair would always wonder what could have happened if he’d tried a little harder, if he’d been a little less horrible, if he’d been a little bit stronger, a bit braver.

He was being ridiculous, he knew. Thomas merely needed time. He’d just woken up from his injury, six months displaced, no less. He was grieving his sister again, even more than before. Alastair wanted to ease Thomas’ pain, but he could not, and thus, Thomas needed time and space and he would give it to him.

Before he realized it, he had returned to his home. He could not remember most of the walk, his feet guiding him through the city he now knew a bit too well as his mind wandered to a place he couldn’t quite reach with his consciousness.

He slowly unlocked the door and sighed as he hung his coat. Cordelia started quickly down the stairs but froze as her expression fell when she saw the look on his face.

Realizing what she must be thinking, Alastair quickly shook his head. “He’s alright. He woke up. He simply… appears to be missing about the past six months of memory.”

Cordelia frowned, her face softening as she continued down the stairs and embraced her brother. “Oh, dâdash. Are you alright?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be? Thomas is alive and awake. He just hates me.”

She sighed. “He doesn’t hate you. I don’t think he ever truly did.”

He shook his head. “He thinks he does. Or he wants to. What’s it matter?”

“Take a seat, dâdash. We just made tea, I’ll bring some out.” Before he could protest, she left for the kitchen.

He settled into one of the armchairs. When Cordelia returned, she took the one beside his and began to pour tea for each of them. “You two will work your way through this, you know. Whatever happens.”

“How can you be so sure?”

She rolled her eyes. “Are you joking? I don’t think I’ve ever met two people better matched. It’s as if you share the same soul or something.”

He gritted his teeth. “Most would say we’re opposites.”

“You act like opposites. Believe it or not, though, behaving grumpy or cheerful are not personality traits. In all the ways that matter, you’re two halves of one whole. It makes me utterly green with envy sometimes, seeing the two of you together, the way that you understand each other so completely.

“I love James, of course, with my whole being. But if I’m being honest, for a long time I thought that the reason I liked him was because he reminded me of Father, all introverted and bookish and such. Now, I’m merely trying to decipher what was real and what was not, what parts of me are genuine and which ones are simply who I thought I needed to be to please him. James, too, is finding himself again after all that happened with Grace. Sometimes, it feels as though we’re two clueless children stumbling around with no sense of self, for some reason placed in this big house with adult responsibilities. It’s an utter mess sometimes, though every moment is worth it.

“Yet you… somehow, despite everything, despite all of the odds stacked against you, despite so much pain and fear, you found yourself and your soulmate all in one person. It’s what you deserve, dâdash, what you both deserve. You will find a way.”

He did not quite believe her, but he would not argue.

“Are you going to be alright?” she asked, cocking her head.

He nodded and then paused for a moment. “I don’t know how I’ll explain this to Mâmân.” Despite all the trouble it’s caused, she still did not know the truth about his time in school.

“I could, if you’d like?” Cordelia offered.

He sighed. He wanted to say yes. He wanted to keep the entire matter out of his own hands. He shook his head. “It’s time I did, I think.”

She gave him a bit of a frown but nodded. “If you’re sure.”

“I’m tired of lying. I spent enough time keeping secrets when Father was alive.” He stood from the chair.

“I’m here if you need me.”

He started up the staircase, mustering up a more positive expression as to not worry his mother too much before he could get the words out. He found her in her bedroom, resting in an armchair a few feet away from Rostam’s bassinet. He approached his baby brother first, giving him a small smile though he was fast asleep. It could have been his mind playing tricks on him, but he was certain Rostam was bigger than he’d been just a few days ago.

“He just fell asleep,” his mother said softly. He turned to her. Her eyes looked tired, though no more tired than they had a few days earlier, and certainly no more tired than his own. “Come, azizam, what are you doing home? Did something happen?”

Alastair shook his head. “Thomas is awake; he’s alright.”

“Why aren’t you with him?” she asked after a small stretch of silence.

“He… He has amnesia. He doesn’t remember anything past last summer. It’s best if I keep my distance for a bit.”

His mother gave him a small smile. “It’ll be okay, Alastair joon. He’ll understand given a bit of time.”

Alastair didn’t look at her. “Maybe. I don’t know. He… he’s quite angry with me. The original circumstances under which he forgave me were fairly bizarre to begin with.”

“Forgive you for what, dear? What could possibly be so terrible that he would not forgive you?”

He sighed. He knew he could not avoid this conversation any longer. “I… It was something that happened at school.” He paused for a moment. “I know you think that I got on well with everyone at the Academy, but… That isn’t the truth. When I first arrived, all of the other boys could tell that I was an easy target. I was smaller than them, and… there were rumors. After a while, I just couldn’t bear it any longer. I… I was always quite good with words, as you know. I learned that using them to cut down others would get me a good laugh, and as long as the other boys were laughing they weren’t…” He trailed off. How was he meant to tell his mother this? “It took the attention off of me.”

“By the time James and Thomas and their friends arrived the next year, I was so angry, at everyone and everything… I was so jealous of them. They had…” Picture perfect families, he wanted to say, though he could not. “They had these perfect lives, or at least they appeared that way to me. They never had to worry about attracting the wrong attention on the street or being humiliated because their families couldn’t afford to hire private tutors. They never had to worry about anything but growing up.”

“Alastair…” his mother started. “I know we never discussed things of this nature. It’s alright that you were angry. They benefited from society in ways that rejected you merely by circumstances of birth. But that wasn’t their fault.”

“I know. I know that now, now that I’m older. I know that my anger was misplaced. But when I was in school, society was too big. I only saw what was in front of me. I thought that if I must be cruel to someone, it should be to them. I said terrible, dreadful things about them and their families, things that should never be repeated. They did nothing to deserve the way I treated them. Thomas was kind to me, one of the only people who was ever kind to me in my two years there, and yet I still slandered his family. Last summer, he learned of the things I had said when he was not listening. That is what he remembers now.”

There was a long stretch of silence. Alastair would not look his mother in the eyes. “I always knew that you had a hard time at school, Alastair,” she said finally. “Your lies were never too convincing. I could see how you’d changed. I… I didn’t know what to do. I’m sorry.”

He knew it, too. He knew how his parents had spoken about him in those years, lamenting about what a miserable and difficult teenager he’d grown into when he and his sister were not in the room. He also knew how his father only ever seemed to care about Alastair’s destructive behavior when his mother began to pester him about his drinking.

“It’s not your fault.”

“The world was cruel to you, and I could not protect you from it, but I should have tried. You were a child, my child, I am your mother, and I was meant to protect you, but I did not. Not just from the world, but from… your father, I know. Be kind to yourself, azizam. Regardless of what cruel things you did while trying to balance the weight of the world on small shoulders, it seems to me that those you hurt have forgiven you. You simply have not forgiven yourself.”

“Perhaps they shouldn’t have. Perhaps I never deserved their forgiveness in the first place.”

Sona sighed. “Forgiveness is not deserved, Alastair. We forgive for our own wellbeing, so that we can let go and move on. If you will not fight for Thomas on your own behalf, fight on his. He deserves to forgive you, to heal from these wounds of the past. He deserves to be loved by you.”

Alastair didn’t respond.

“It pains me to see you like this. You deserve to forgive, too. You deserve to forgive yourself and all who have caused you pain. You deserve to be free of it. As long as you keep such a tight grip on it all, you will only continue to destroy yourself, and as long as you continue to destroy yourself, you will hurt those who love you as well. Please-” she cut herself off, her voice breaking. Her voice trembled as she began again, and he realized for a striking moment that he had never seen her this vulnerable before. He’d witnessed her pain after Elias’ death, and he’d caught glimpses of her sorrow before it, but she’d always kept her truest self tightly locked. “Please, my love, promise me that you’ll try. You can start with me.”

He looked up at her abruptly, startled. He opened his mouth to protest, but before he could find the words, she’d stood and crossed the few feet between them.

She took his hands in hers. Seeing the pain in her eyes, he wanted desperately to look away but he could not. “Please, forgive me. Forgive me for all of the ways that I’ve failed you. You were too young for the burdens I placed upon you. I never should have allowed you to take on that responsibility. Please, forgive me for all of the times I overlooked your pain because I was distracted by my own. I am so sorry, Alastair, for each and every time I hurt you and dismissed you. I did the best with what I had, but if I could go back in time and teach myself to be a little stronger, a little braver, to be a better mother than I was, I would do it in a heartbeat, but I can’t. All I can do is promise to try to be a better mother, not just to your brother, but to you as well. If it’s not too late.” Careful tears streamed down her cheeks, rare as they were.

He shook his head, feeling his own tears spill. He fell into her embrace, holding her tightly, as he had not done since he was a small child. “I forgive you,” he said softly, and he meant it.

They stood for a long while, holding each other, taking comfort in each other and the silence. Until Rostam began to cry. They pulled away from each other awkwardly.

“I should… get some rest,” Alastair said, trying to pull himself together. He realized suddenly that he had no idea what time it was or when he’d last slept or eaten.

Sona nodded. “Of course. I love you, Alastair. I’m so proud of the man you’ve become. I’m sorry that you and Thomas are struggling right now, but I know that you two are strong and resilient. With a bit of time and healing, this will pass.”

He nodded, unable to respond without breaking down again.

He returned to his bedroom to the sound of his mother soothing his newborn brother. Shutting his door behind him, he felt the exhaustion of the past several days settled deep into his bones. With heavy movements, he changed into clean clothes, leaving the old ones in a heap on the floor. Typically, he would be horrified at the thought of anything in his room so out of place, but he could not find the energy within himself to care.

He collapsed into his bed, drifting into a deep, dreamless sleep, repeating his mothers words back to himself in his mind. If only forgiving himself would come as easily as forgiving her.

* * *

The next two days passed as a blur. He’d slept heavily the first night. Cordelia had reportedly attempted to wake him for dinner, but settled on bringing a bit of food to his bedroom instead.

The next day passed a bit more normally, though Alastair still felt quite scattered. He’d appeared well-enough put together, however, for Cordelia to feel comfortable going home, so he supposed that was a good sign. Kamala had come for a visit, too, though he wasn’t much in the mood for talking, and they wound up just giving Rostam a bath and discussing Kamala’s latest read.

The day after that had slowly begun to feel more normal, more balanced. Until Gideon Lightwood arrived at his door.

Alastair stared at him for a moment before regaining his composure. He began to call him Mr. Lightwood before stopping himself. It still felt a bit odd to call him by his given name. “Gideon, hello. What are you doing here? Did something happen?”

“No, no,” he said quickly. “Everything’s fine. Thomas is doing well; he’s feeling much better, though no significant improvements to his memory.”

Alastair nodded. “That’s good. That he’s feeling better, I mean.”

“I came here to check on you, actually.”

“Oh.” He paused. “You didn’t need to do that.”

“I wanted to. Well, we all did, Sophie, Eugenia, and I, but I was the most persuasive.” He smiled as he spoke, as if smug at the accomplishment of being delegated the one to come visit him.

“Right, er, come in,” he gestured for Gideon to enter and take a seat in the sitting room. “You’re in luck; my mother just made tea if you’d like some.”

He nodded. “That sounds wonderful. Thank you.”

Alastair returned a few moments later and began pouring tea. “It was very kind of you to come, but I’m truly alright. Just worried about Thomas is all.”

Gideon nodded. “Of course. As I said, he’s doing well, or as well as can be expected under the circumstances. I know it is difficult for him, feeling so disconnected. Regardless of the brave face he puts on. It’s frustrating for him, as if we’ve all got some sort of inside joke that he isn’t in on.”

He could imagine it: the quick glances, the brief answers to Thomas’ many questions. He was certain it was driving him mad. “I wish there was something I could do to help.”

Gideon gave him a small smile. “Because he’s feeling better, his friends are coming by today to attempt to fill him in on the time that he’s missing. I’m certain there will be gaps, though. Perhaps afterwards he will be more open to speaking with you.”

Alastair didn’t know how to tell him that he wasn’t so sure Thomas’ friends would be singing his praises.

“You should stop by the Institute tomorrow if you’re free,” Gideon offered.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“It’s up to Thomas, of course, if he would like to see you, but if nothing else I know that Sophie and Eugenia would love for you to come by.”

Alastair didn’t respond for a long moment. He’d spent these past couple of days mainly sleeping and caring for his brother, but also ruminating over his conversation with his mother. He began to make a mental list, both of the things he felt he had not forgiven himself for and the things he had not forgiven others for. Before he knew it, the list was distressingly lengthy. He had no idea where to even begin. Perhaps if he could put this one mistake behind him, whatever that meant, the rest would seem less overwhelming.

He knew that he would never forgive himself for how he hurt Thomas’ family as long as the terrible things he’d done went unspoken. Perhaps that was why he never brought it up. “Did Thomas ever tell you why he was angry with me?”

Gideon narrowed his eyes and shook his head. “Something that happened back at school, wasn’t it?”

Alastair nodded. He memorized the way Gideon looked at him now, prepared to only be looked upon with hatred in a few moments. He exhaled and looked down, too cowardly to watch the expression change. “I said things… horrible things about your family. About your wife and about Thomas and about Henry Fairchild, but mainly about you, the Consul, and Matthew. There were rumours going around that he was your child, and I repeated them to him. I repeated them after, too. I have reasons for the way I behaved at school, but I have no reasons for that. I was simply angry. Matthew and I were both terrible to each other, and I was so angry for so many reasons. I did not think of the consequences of my words. I am so, so sorry. I am so sorry for the role I played in causing your family such pain.”

“It’s okay,” Gideon replied gently. Alastair looked up in surprise to see not a hint of the hatred he was expecting. Seeing the confused look on his face, he continued. “Obviously, I’m not happy that you said cruel things about my loved ones, but it was a long time ago, and I would be a hypocrite to not recognize a man who regrets his mistakes and has learned from them. You make my son happy, Alastair. That more than makes up for anything you might’ve said when you were younger, in my eyes.” He flashed him a smile and gave an exaggerated sigh. “Here I was, worried that you’d killed someone or something.”

“Well, I’ve also done that, but it’s not what Thomas is angry about.”

Gideon stared at him, clearly unsure over whether or not he was serious.

“Joking,” he said quickly. “...kind of.”

He looked back at him hesitantly. “Do you… want to talk about it?”

“Ha, no. Not today.” His guilt surrounding the deaths of Clive Cartwright and his father would need to be addressed another time.

“Right,” Gideon responded. “Thank you for telling me this, Alastair. I appreciate your honesty. I only have one question, why did you not say anything about this before? It was clearly bothering you. Did you fear we would reject you?”

“I…” That seemed like the logical answer, wasn’t it? Yet he knew it was not the correct one. “I think that perhaps it was the opposite. I was just so ashamed… and I knew that as long as I held on to that, I would never allow myself to truly get too close. I know how horrible that sounds, and I know it hurt Thomas, too, but for some reason that,” he gestured vaguely with his hands, “was scarier than anything else. I’m sorry, I know that doesn’t make sense-”

“It does. I understand, Alastair, even if I don’t like that you felt you had to do that. I know the past couple of months have been complicated for you, though in many ways less complicated than the years before. It will always be your choice, but know that there will always be a place for you in my life, whether you and Thomas are together or not. But I will not ever blame you for anything you feel you are not able to do.”

Alastair nodded, feeling a soreness at the back of this throat that indicated impending tears.

“You should stop by tomorrow and visit us. It’s up to you, but I think that it would be helpful for you to speak with Sophie, too. I will not repeat anything to her, lest you decide not to. I do think it would be somewhat of a relief, though. We thought that the reason you were so distant was because you disliked us.”

“What?” He silently cursed the pain in his voice.

“Joking,” Gideon teased with a chuckle. “Kind of.”

Alastair exhaled, feeling a bit of the tension release, and gave him half of an eye roll.

“Please, tell me honestly, Alastair, are you doing alright?”

He nodded in response, finally feeling it to be true.

“I shall take my leave then. The tea was truly lovely, by the way. You must pass my thanks unto your mother.”

“I will.”

“See you tomorrow, then?”

“Tomorrow,” Alastair responded before he could stop himself. He stood to see him out, but was surprised when Gideon met him with a hug goodbye.

“Thank you for chatting with me.”

“Thank you for… checking in.”

Gideon smiled at him and donned his coat and hat. Alastair watched him as he departed, feeling more at peace now than he had in quite a while.

thanks so much for reading! taglist (reply, ask, or message to be added/removed): @stxr-thxif @satanisanauthor @zosiaenrique @lifewouldbebetteronmars @littlx-songbxrd @dianasarrow @kamalajcshi @bookswitchcraftandcats @jamesherondaleofficial @thomas-gaypanic-lightwood @livingformyself @anarmorofwords @foxglove-airmid

#if this was a dream fic #alastair carstairs #thomas lightwood #thomastair #tlh #the last hours #fanfiction #fanfic #chain of iron spoilers #chain of iron #coi spoilers #coi

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eternallysarcastic · 4 years

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winter moon/ch.1

Helloooo, I finally decided to post my little Xiao fic that I’ve been thinking about for a really long time. I hope you enjoy it! Feedback is appreciated.

Title is from Erutan - Winter Moon

You were slowly assembling the lantern, nimble fingers gently folding the paper, careful not to smudge the small writing on it. Sitting on your knees on top of one of the tall mountains on the edge of Liyue Harbour you let the lantern fly up in the air, joining the hundreds of small lights.

You sighed as you watched the beautiful scenery, feeling the nostalgia and sadness creeping up your throat. You put your hands together as if to pray, to whom you weren’t sure but you hoped there would be someone higher than a God, than an Archon, hearing your prayers.

But you knew there was no one, no one was more powerful than an Archon.

Except yourself.

And yet here you were, the God of all gods, praying for someone else to come and help you. Pathetic.

But you were desperate for someone to hear your wish, to rescue you and so you stayed all night, praying until you could barely feel your legs.

If you didn’t know better, you would have already confronted the man who had watched you the whole night from a distance far off in the forest of mountains. You could feel his wariness and his disdain, for what, you didn’t know. You had already felt the fact that he was no mortal, waves of condensed, rippling power coming from his direction miles away.

Once the sun rose, so did you. Supporting yourself on a nearby rock wall, you allowed your weak legs to gain circulation back to them and dusted off your white attire. You had a long day ahead.

Knocking on the funeral parlour door, you were surprised to be greeted by a short girl with brown hair and red eyes.

“Welcome, welcome! My name is Hu Tao and I am here to provide you with our funeral services! How may I assist you?” She spoke in a high and excited voice. She seemed a little too hyper to be working for a funeral parlour but to be fair, in all your years of life, it wasn’t the most peculiar thing you’ve seen.

“Uhm...” You were unsure how to continue. “I am looking for someone actually.”

“Oooh? And who may that be?” Her eyes lit up with curiosity. She reminded you of a small child.

But you weren't sure who exactly you were looking for. You haven't seen him in 3000 years, you didn’t know what form he might've taken this time. If it was even a ‘he’, but the stars had led you here and you trusted them more than you trusted anything else.

You had to guess. “A man?”

The girl, Hu Tao, pouted and crossed her arms childishly. “Everyone’s always looking for Zhongli and never me! Hmph!” You smiled sheepishly at her cute display of annoyance as she stepped aside to let you in.

The parlour wasn’t anything extravagant but you could see it was doing well enough to have all kinds of commodities. You stepped into a giant room with a long table in the middle, and as your eyes followed the length of it, at the head of it you saw a man.

He was sipping his tea, eyes closed and demeanour calm but as soon as his eyes opened, you knew. It was him.

The second you stepped into the room his golden eyes had snapped open and landed on you. He studied you for a second before those same gorgeous eyes widened. The sudden pressure in the room made the eccentric girl beside you obviously uncomfortable.

“I-I guess I’ll leave you two here to talk things out,” she said and she exited the room with hurried steps.

“You...” He seemed to not be able to form any further words and his eyes had filled with the foreign feeling you had recognized as hope. “You’re alive?”

“Have been for some time,” you chuckled and scratched the back of your neck uncomfortably; you really didn’t want to talk about it. “how have you been, Rex Lapis?”

That seemed to take him out of his stupor as he regained his usual calm demeanour, even though his eyes would still not leave your form as if you’d vanish into thin air at any moment.

“It’s Zhongli now,” he cleared his throat “Rex Lapis is no more.” He said and pulled out a chair for you to sit, “but you knew I hadn’t actually passed away did you, neither Gods nor Archons could ever escape your sight.”

“Isn’t that my job anyway? To be an observer and a protector-”, you laughed softly “or at least it was at one point in time. However, that’s not why I'm here, Rex L-, sorry, Zhongli. I need your help.”

“I am glad to offer my help, anyway I can, but you must know – my power is not what it used to be,” he said solemnly.

“What? Why? I knew something must be wrong as soon as I heard about your death but at the same time your constellation stayed as bright as ever.”

“I made a deal with the Tsaritsa. I gave her my gnosis,” he said as calm as ever. As if he didn’t just say he gave away the most precious thing to an Archon. You’d be furious if it wasn’t Rex Lapis himself, the god you’d known for over 4000 years and knew he’d never do anything irrational without having thought it out.

So as calm as he himself was, you asked simply. “Why?”

“Liyue’s protection and its people are my first priority. You might have heard already that the Tsaritsa is planning a revolution, a war against Celestia itself. It would be no easy feat and it will require sacrifice – I cannot allow my people to be that sacrifice,” he sipped his tea. “You must also be careful, as a God born from Celestia itself, once it’s destroyed so will your powers fade.”

“I know, that is why I looked for you. I need to find someone before that happens, my powers are only enough to point me in a vague direction but ever since that night 3000 years ago, they’re a quarter from what they used to be, I am not strong enough.” You sighed and held your hands in a fist over your weakness. Because of that fateful night 3 millennia ago, you were now reduced to begging for help – something your pride didn’t allow you to.

It was quiet for a few moments and you could feel his gaze on you. “I’d ask you what happened but I’m sure you don’t want to talk about it.”

You breathed out in relief, “Thank you, Zhongli.”

“I may not be able to help out much. Ever since I gave away my gnosis my powers have also waned, I haven’t had enough time for them to recover. However I know who can.” He seemed to have finished his tea and stood up from his chair.

Looking at him fully now, you could see the similarities of his stature and face to the one you remembered 4000 years ago. You knew he probably never meant to go back to godhood ever again, but he seemed happy where he was and that relieved you more than you thought it would.

“Shall we go, little lady.” He outstretched his elbow for you to take and laughed softly the moment he noticed your annoyed expression.

“I’ve told you a million times not to call me that!”

The full moon was high in the sky when you crossed a wooden bridge and could finally see the giant tree – hotel hybrid up close. It looked much bigger than you had thought it would at first. It’s height intimidating against the moonlit night sky. You and Zhongli used the elevator and got to the top floor.

“You can see every point in Liyue from here!” you exclaimed excitedly, leaning over the ledge of the balcony.

When you had entered a lady at the front desk had only nodded at you and Zhongli wordlessly, letting you through. You figured this was a place Zhongli frequented often. The view was as beautiful as you thought it would be, the gentle light of the moon covering everything in a beautiful silver colour.

“Rex Lapis, what may I do for you?” You heard a deep voice from behind you, turning around in time to see the boy bowing at Zhongli.

Your eyes met his golden ones and time seemed to stop for a moment. You felt pressure constricting your lungs and an unfamiliar feeling building in your chest. You didn’t understand what was happening, you weren’t even able to think, your head felt lightweight and heavy at the same time. There was a tiny ache right where your heart was supposed to be.

Yet, he also stood there, those golden eyes wide in surprise and something else you couldn’t recognise. His fingers twitched once, then twice as if hesitating before he slowly outstretched his hand towards you.

That seemed to wake you up from your state and as if you had just jolted awake you shook your head to get rid of that weird feeling that had made every hair on your body stand on end.

“I-I’m sorry, have I met you before?” You asked him quietly, eyebrows creased.

His outstretched hand stopped in its tracks before it fell down lifelessly by his side. His golden irises clouded with confusion for a split second before his expression turned blank, as if that whole exchange hadn’t even happened in the first place.

He turned away from you and towards Zhongli with his arms crossed against his chest. “No, we have not.”

It was like a lightbulb went off in your head. He was the person who had watched you for the whole night praying during the Lantern Festival! That must be it. You had felt his irritation at you from miles away, so this must be it. You had done something to disrespect him surely.

You had almost forgotten Zhongli was even here before he cleared his throat to get your attention, having watched the whole display in front of him with eyes filled with confusion. You could feel the cogs in his brain turning, thinking, analysing.

“Let me introduce you then. This is Xiao, the guardian Yaksha of Liyue and one of my trusted adepti and Xiao,” he turned to gesture at you “this is one of the celestial Gods, Goddess of the Moon.”

#genshin impact #genshin xiao #genshin impact xiao #xiao x reader #zhongli #hu tao #reader insert #winter moon

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myelocin · 4 years

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love, sicily | kozume kenma

Synopsis: Perhaps it’s through serendipity that you’ll begin to look at the world past the rose colored lenses and finally see the kaleidoscope of gold that it brings.

Characters: Kozume Kenma, Sugawara Koushi

Genre: Fluff, Travel, Eventual Romance, (Mutual) Pining | WC: 4000+

Playlist | Pinterest Board

A/N: This is a commission from @haiikyuuns ! I had a lot of fun with this one so thank you for trusting me miss maam ;A;

commissions

Track 1: Paris in The Rain | “I look at you now and I want this forever; I might not deserve it but there’s nothing better.”

Sugawara Koushi is what comes with Paris.

He’s the first, the only, and the current. It’s through summer nights under city lights, where you first are introduced to what love could be.

Where it could be this. Only this.

The summer of ’13 looking like living in an okay city that doesn’t really have much to offer in the rural side of southern Japan. One convenience store by the train station, and a teashop that most teenagers wouldn’t exactly prefer to frequent. Sunsets by the shore are nice, because your world had always just been nice.

It was okay.

Watermelon and ice drops in June, falling leaves in September, snowy paths you had to shovel every weekend in December, and the Sakura blossoms in March. Routine was okay, so you settled that you were too.

Koushi was who looked like what love could be to you. The word “eventually,” fitting. To be in a constant state of pondering if the word love could ever be redefined.

And in a way, it does. He doesn’t exactly become love, the more you think about it, but rather he just remains as is. Your constant; a day one of some sorts. Serendipity as a thing reserved for what could only be thought of as fiction, because reality had never been an ugly place for you.

So looking through rose colored lenses it was.

From your place you settled the most comfortable in—in the sidelines—you sat and watched Koushi bloom. Where for years it stayed okay. As is. Still a routine that frankly neither of you wanted to break.

Where eventually, the first crack of that well maintained schedule looked like a roundtrip ticket from Tokyo to the city of Paris, a suitcase, backpack, and a map of a city unknown to you.

The sight of Paris and Sugawara Koushi. Silver hair and hazel eyes. Every color that’s linked to what you’ve always known as home found in him. The pastel pink of his lips like the rose petals from outside his home, the silver of his hair as the clouds in the sky because for some reason rain always triumphed over sunshine.

And Paris, in the rain, with what you think as love, in front of you. Seen through your eyes as what you tell yourself is it—the greatest that love could ever become, because all you’ve known are shades of pastels with just a hint of silver.

Just one, perfect, palette that seemed to be enough for you.

(Until it wasn’t for him.) (It never occurred to you that just a few shades and a set of familiar streets would never be enough for him.)

“Paris is great, isn’t it?” Koushi turns to you and says, where he holds his hands out and past the balcony to catch a few drops of rain.

He looks beautiful. (Always has, you think.)

You nod your head.

“I’m coming back here next month because I got the job, actually,” he smiles, looking wistful.

You pause.

Rain still pours, and there’s a little bit of thunder. You think to yourself that if he chose to say any other set of words other than a watered down version of “I’m-leaving-you-and-that-good-for-nothing-town-forever,” you’d already be pulling him down into the streets and kiss him under the rain.

“Like,” you say, trying to sound out your thoughts; your throat feels dry. “—like forever?”

Koushi looks far away, and when he leans further to catch more raindrops, he feels far away. Further away, you think. Has he always been this far away?

“I hope forever,” he laughs, then turns to you. He’s smiling like you share his happiness with him. Are you happy along with him?

Silver hair kind of white against the backdrop of Paris in the rain, and hazel eyes that still look like all the shades of home stare at you. Your palms feel clammy, but you smile.

He turns away, and the rose colored lenses you’ve always seen the world with suddenly crack.

(When you sleep that night, Paris in the rain just becomes a city caught in a thunderstorm.)

Track 2: Paris | “if we go down, then we go down together.”

Kozume Kenma’s always hated looking at a city caught in a downpour.

He was never much for traveling, but he knew a city like this was meant to be explored.

He sighs, suitcase in tow as he opens the door to his hotel room and face plant into the bed. The skies above a city meant to live in sunshine continue to weep, so he turns on his side, facing the window to ponder. Not necessarily about much, because his thoughts have always been quite linear.

Kenma liked schedule. Predictability.

Booking a ticket to Paris three days after Tetsurou’s drunk speech was not predictable.

And because he spoke of the devil, his phone rings, flashing Tetsurou’s name in big, bold letters.

“You know,” Tetsurou’s voice drawls. “I don’t know what on God’s green earth even possessed you to jump on the first flight out of here to fucking—“ he pauses to inhale, before continuing, “—Paris out of every other city, but you did, and everyone’s confused as fuck.”

Kenma shifts in place, frankly wondering the same thing, but of course he’d never tell him that. There’s an ache that comes when he cracks his neck, but it’s a familiar one. He supposes that he’s used to a lot of things. The ache in his neck; the black roots that always grows faster than he can retouch them; Tetsurou’s voice that still sounds worse than his mother’s nagging.

“Why are you even there?” his voice comes again over the phone.

“You told me that I needed to do more,” Kenma replies.

The city still weeps. He wonders if someone’s out there trying to catch raindrops, or perhaps dance and kiss in the rain.

After all, it’s Paris, he thinks. A lot happens in a city people shroud with love.

“Do more,” Tetsurou parrots, confused.

Kenma nods, blinking with the tap, tap, tap that comes from the rain against his window.

The gears don’t turn in Tetsurou’s head until after a few more moments pass, his eyes eventually widening at the memory from three nights ago. It’s always been known that Kenma’s been more of a reserved person when it came to most things in life. Ever the calculated, side character type of person. For the most part it was okay, but he supposes that even the most silent could still have moments where they want to peek a little outside the view from inside the box.

Over the phone, Tetsurou smiles, nodding his head.

“You gotta live a little more, Ken, “ he remembers himself telling the younger man. Given that he was a little past tipsy when he made that impromptu speech, there was never an intention to say it as something to be understood as more than just a passing comment.

“See the world,” he said.

Kenma booked a ticket that night, and three days later he finds himself looking at Paris in the rain, with not much of a plan in mind.

“Do more,” he remembers.

And Tetsurou thinks that this counts.

“You trying to prove something to someone?” he asks Kenma, voice suddenly honest.

Kenma sighs, closing his eyes and thinking of the little world he lives within the big wide universe. He’s never really felt small, but sometimes even Tokyo gets lonely.

“Something like that,” he answers.

“—let’s show them we are better.”

The funny thing about serendipity is that it looks nothing like how it’s supposed to look like.

All your life, when you thought of happy moments in regards to love it was always an image that you thought was set in stone from day one.

Instead, it looks like this:

Wet concrete, a cup of coffee, and the rooftop with the view of the city that’s done nothing but weep since the day you arrived. The rain smelled nice, at least. There was always something about the way it lingered that reminded you of home.

—Of silver, and hazel, and pastel colors, and a goodbye that was said like a hello.

You sigh because you just know Sugawara Koushi’s the kind of person that means to linger after the exit.

But like the nature of serendipity, it’s three minutes later where things take a turn.

It turns into looking like a stranger with golden stars for eyes, a question always looking like it’s wanting to break past the barrier.

He shuffles awkwardly in place, looking like a deer caught in the headlights when you turn your face to look at him. You squint, having half the mind to greet him with a broken bonjour before he’s eventually bowing his head profusely and explaining that he’s sorry with an accent familiar to you.

Classic Tokyo boy, you snort.

“Rain kinda ruined the skyline, huh?” you prompt, breaking the silence.

He shrugs. “Not really here to see the city.”

You blink, not exactly phased. You came here following Koushi, so you were practically in the same boat.

“To do more,” he answers. Vague, you think.

Maybe not the same boat. The same ocean, riding the same current maybe, but not the same boat.

“Do more,” you repeat. “So like, are you soul searching?”

“This is beginning to sound like a bad fanfiction,” he mutters, shaking his head, then sighing. “I guess I’m trying to look outside my comfort zone.”

“Ah,” you nod your head. “So kinda like soul searching, but not really; I get it.”

Beside you, he straightens his back. “You do?”

You shrug. “Everybody’s always seeking for something aren’t they?”

He exhales a sigh that sounds more like a laugh so you laugh along with him.

“Mandy,” you say, giving him your name.

“Kenma,” he says, giving you his in return. “So what’s your story?”

You sigh, thinking about it and realizing that you’ve been feeling a little more lost than found lately.

“You really wanna dive straight into that?”

Kenma thinks of what do more exactly means, and settles that maybe this could be count as something to find the meaning to that.

He shrugs. “I’ll dive in if you do,” he answers, and just like that, the man besides you turns from just a rooftop stranger into a stranger with a name who knew just a little bit more about you than the usual you would think is okay.

(Maybe it’s Paris, or maybe it’s just the way your world has kind of tilted, but as you sound out your tale it feels kind of okay.)

Track 3: Roses | “Get drunk on the good life, I'll take you to paradise.”

“You’re going where?” Koushi asks you, eyes wide.

“Italy.”

Serendipity looks like this too. Wide eyes, and an unconvinced tilt to the head. It sounds like Koushi pacing back and forth in a room, his suitcase packed and ready to go, as is yours, but the destination on your respective tickets going somewhere different.

“Shit,” he says. You pause; he never was the type to curse much. “Do you need me to go with you?”

“I’m going with someone actually,” you decline, voice quiet. Mentally, you curse yourself. Why is your voice even quiet? Looking at it from an objective point of view, you’re an adult. You’re in control of your own salary, and sometimes impulsive decisions are granted because in the long run they’re good for the soul.

“You’re going with a stranger,” he deadpans.

You open your mouth, but no words come out. He had a point.

“Are you okay?”

The words he says sound familiar, and a part of you sighs to itself because in a way you’ve missed the familiar. Paris wasn’t familiar, and neither was the idea of Koushi telling you the forever kind of goodbye. Truth is, he could romanticize the see you later parting all he wanted, but that was kind of it. See you later becomes a couple photos you’ll stare at on social media then scroll past, then eventually into just greeting during the holidays before it dwindles into silence.

Just a box of photos of you and him from the coastal side rural city of your hometown, kept in a box, stored in an attic.

“I’m okay.”

You’re not. Sugawara Koushi and the little world back home is all you’ve known, and even if Paris in the rain became just a city caught in a thunderstorm to you, this wasn’t height of what the rest of the world had to offer.

So you smile. “I just wanna do something a little different for a change. I’m okay, I promise. A change is good right?”

The smile he gives you has you feeling terrified.

“—we could be beautiful.” | Italy

And the truth is, a lot of things really could be just that.

Kenma reminds himself that there’s a lot more to Italy than just the deeper saturated colors in the sky, and wider bloom of the roses, but sometimes his eyes wander. Doing more, rings in his head—again and again kind of like as if it’s a broken record.

So “doing more,” begins with thoughts.

He looks at you. A stranger he met by coincidence at a rooftop of a weeping Paris two weeks ago and now he’s suddenly walking along the coast of Italy with you beside him. He knows your name, a little bit of your story, and the fact that you have EDM music plus a couple of sad boy hour songs in your playlist.

He watches you smile when you lean down to smell the flowers, then wonders why you seem to look happier against the pink roses instead of the classic red.

All it takes is for you to smile at him, once, starry eyed and looking like all you know is the sun, and his thoughts stop for just a second before it spirals.

It fucking spirals. How does it fucking spiral?

The first thought that rings true and crystal fucking clear to him is that he’s certain that he wants to know than more than what he already does.

Why do you look happier next to pink instead of red? Why did it look like you wept with Paris? Why are you in Italy with a stranger you barely even know?

“—hideaway.”

Truth is, you think that Italy’s just a hideaway. One extra week away from home, so that goodbye isn’t goodbye yet.

When you look at Kenma whose eyes look distant when he stares at the distance, you wonder if he’s keeping his eyes on the horizon or trying to look past it.

Maybe Italy’s a hideaway for him too.

“Say you’ll never let me go.”

You fall asleep each night trying to tell yourself that he belongs with the city that cries, while the pastel colors of home would always be there for yours to cherish.

You don’t know what exactly you want to let go of just yet.

Serendipity has you looking at the world like it exists for you to conquer it, and perhaps for some it does. For you, you think you just want something to call yours, and for someone to call you theirs.

Track 4: All We Know | “Maybe we should let this go.”

Kenma’s the first to tell you about letting go.

You have half the mind to ask him of what exactly there even is to let go of, but it’s this one night in Italy where Sicily pours all over again.

“I didn’t know Europe liked to cry,” you laugh, staring at the streets outside.

“Maybe it’s just crying for us,” he offers as a response. To be fair, his words did work as if it’s consolation, so you give him credit for at least that and laugh with him.

Kenma’s nice.

He’s a stranger, but he’s nice.

It’s in Italy where you learned that he liked computer screens over window panes, and the buzz of Tokyo over the silence in Miyagi. He’s young, but he’s settled. There’s a house he’s trying to call home, and a kotatsu that serves him well during the winters.

He was a setter for a team, and has a friend that nags even more than his own mother.

Kenma likes apple pie, and despite the initial impression, he’s pretty good when it comes to conversation. He blushes when you look at him in the eye and smile, but eventually he stopped trying to avoid your gaze whenever you did do that.

You can feel him looking at you again, so you tug on your coat and walk towards where the awning of your impromptu shelter ends, palms stretched out to catch the rain.

(You think of Paris.)

“Wanna make a run for it?” Kenma suggests, hands shrugged in his pocket, and eyes looking like two pools of the most beautiful gold in front of you.

(—then you don’t.)

“Kozume Kenma’s getting kinda bold now,” you snicker, walking closer towards him then to the edge as the rain falls harder.

He puffs his cheeks, turning away from you to face the side, and shrugs off his coat to hold it above his head and your own.

And it’s true, you think; there’s something about gold eyes against dark streets and the bokeh of city lights that just fit. You think to yourself that you know his name, and a little slice of his life, but you want to ask him more.

You’re in Sicily with a familiar stranger, and it’s in this fleeting, little, perfect moment where you think that Paris has always just been a city. Never a chapter in a romance book or the postcard that you dreamed of standing in.

Italy looks like rain and now, and gold, and familiar strangers.

You’re not in love, but maybe you should let some things go.

A car drives past, and the streets clear. There’s more than just a few puddles on the ground, but Kenma’s eyes look like a prettier shade of the moon when it turns gold. He’s chuckling, in the way you think only you’ve heard among all the people in the world, and he feels close.

“—we’ve passed the end so we chase forever.”

So close that he could kiss you.

Is this what doing more means?

Maybe, he thinks; there’s a lot of maybes that comes with serendipity. With a sharp breath, you look at each other, then break out into a run.

“—this is all we know.”

You’re drenched in the rain and you’re laughing. Kenma’s long past given up trying to squeeze out rainwater from his jacket and instead just leans against the wall to look at you.

He likes to think that he’s part of the reason as to why you’ve smiled so much today.

“You good?” he hears you ask, and he nods.

“All good.”

He means it.

Track 5: Right Here | “Can we just talk it out like friends?”

“Are you running away because of someone?” Kenma asks.

You let his question sit for a few moments to think it through. Are you?

You don’t know, so you sigh, then look at him. “What does love look like to you?”

Kenma shrugs, but doesn’t ask about your question. Instead, he looks forward, twiddles with the frayed string of his sweater and gives you his truth. “It looks like a lot of things.”

He takes your silence as a response, so he continues.

“I love grocery stores at midnight,” he shrugs. “No lines.”

You nod your head, accepting his answer; you suppose that love could be that too. “I love League of Legends,” you try. “Even if some players can get toxic.”

“We should game then,” he mutters.

“Bet.”

You snicker, looking to the side and pretending like you didn’t see the faint dust of red on his cheeks. If he asks, you’ll just say that it’s because of the red in the sky and leave it at that.

He doesn’t, but he does ask for more slices of you. “What else?”

“I love how sunsets look in my city,” you say. “Cosplaying. The stars. My immaculate playlist. Pink roses over red. Purple hair.”

He nods, happy with the fact that he’s piecing together little bits and pieces of you.

“You love someone too,” he says, but the lilt in his voice gives away that he’s asking rather than just stating it.

You think about what he says. When you thought of love it’s always looked like all the shades of silver and maybe a couple palettes with just pastel. It looked like the beige of Paris and the cotton candy skies from home.

Then in comes the rain, the world drenched, and past the rose colored lenses you finally begin to see the first hues of every other color.

Italy, with this vibrant, beautiful kaleidoscope, and Kenma, who stands in the center of it.

You see gold, gold, gold.

“You love someone,” he says, and when the world love registers in your ear you think about how much you loved getting caught in the downpour from last night.

“I do love someone,” you tell him, because a part of you would always call that love. It’s in Italy, next to a stranger, where you learn that love doesn’t always have to be this or that. In reality, it’s actually as simple as being this and that.

The waves off the coast, and the sunny city from the postcards drenched in front of your eyes. The calm before the storm, then the beauty of how the rain falls and wind howls right after. You come to love running from point A to point B in a downpour, with a stranger who held his jacket over you and him as an attempt to keep you dry.

Love can be Koushi, still, and always.

As you calling him later that night and telling him about the adventure that serendipity took you in. He tells you a little bit about Paris, and how he’s always going to be right there, when you need it.

You nod to yourself as he says those words, because you’re fine with the fact that even if he won’t, you can always tell yourself that you’re right here for you.

Track 6: Nobody Compares To You | “Nobody, nobody, nobody compares to you.”

To Kenma, you are what comes with both Paris and Italy and the serendipity found after trying to find a face to correlate with “doing more.”

You’re sitting beside him, on the window seat of a plane headed home, and he spends the duration of the flight above seas thinking that he doesn’t want to approach a goodbye.

At the end of the day, he realizes that he’s just a stranger. And maybe to you he’s just going to be a photograph in an old SD card you’d look at once every couple of years before forgetting about it in an attic, or losing in some corner of a house that would you see you for the rest of this lifetime.

He’s never looked at unpredictability in the face. His whole life he’s sneered at the sight of a break in routine, and what’s unfamiliar, because not everything is laid out for him to acclimate to.

He thinks to himself that maybe Italy would be enough, and the downpour of Europe are wild enough of a memory to catapult him into seeing a little more.

Because he saw so much.

“Do more,” he hears Tetsurou say.

Was booking the first flight out of the country without a plan enough?

Kenma shakes his head no. It was a step, but it wasn’t enough.

Telling himself that he’s always going to have Sicily isn’t enough. Leaning in close, almost kissing you once, and watching the hues of the world burst like fireworks and settle into paintings against the depths of your eyes just once isn’t enough. Knowing that you love to play league but not know who your favorite champions are don’t even come close to being enough either.

He wants this, and wants to know you.

He’s certain that Mandy is a name he’s always going to remember despite the age, but he wants to ask you so much more.

Kenma acknowledges the thought that he wants more photographs on his phone and nights where he’d have no choice but to run across the street in a downpour. The truth that he finds in Italy is that there’s nobody like you, because you are who comes with the colors that he never thought he’d discover outside of Tokyo.

Suddenly the routine he’s bound to come home to isn’t enough anymore.

You’re both skies above Japan, and he wants to look at you watch the sunset and talk about all the things you love again. Whether it be in Italy or Paris. Japan or the rest of the world. Under the shelter of sunlight or in the eye of the storm.

He wants to ask you why you love pink roses more than red.

This isn’t love—not just yet, but it could be.

Track 7: Something Just Like This | “How much you wanna risk?”

All you’ve known is silver, but perhaps gold works too.

Kenma stands beside you, luggage in hand, and the exit a few steps away. How much does he want to risk exactly?

Not a whole lot.

The routine that used to be enough was never a whole lot.

He shifts his weight back and forth between each foot as he wracks his brain with thoughts of what he could say.

On the other hand, you don’t want to say goodbye.

Something just like what you have now is nice. The company of a stranger you saw the world be doused in colors in with is nice. Parting then potentially forgetting isn’t nice.

You think to yourself that maybe all you’ll be to him is a face to match a name, and a stranger meant to remain in only photographs of this slice of his life.

As you close your eyes, the colors of pastel and silver flashes behind your eyelids, but they aren’t blinding. You know it’s not because of just Italy and that rooftop in Paris that gives an answer as to why you’re suddenly seeking gold.

How much do you wanna risk? What exactly is there to risk?

Kenma’s the first to break the silence. “Do we say goodbye here or are we going to do something dumb like book another ticket to another country?”

You bite back a laugh, peeking at him through the curtain of your bangs. He doesn’t look away this time, so you offer him a smile when he meets you halfway.

Now that you think about it, Kenma’s always sort of met you halfway.

(It’s nice.)

“I don’t think my bank account would appreciate me booking another ticket on impulse right now,” you laugh.

Kenma’s eyes glimmer, and you think, gold.

“So you’re saying you’d still go with me?” he asks.

“Not everybody is a CEO to their own company, so maybe next time,” you chuckle, amused at the way he seems to deflate ever so slightly at your words.

“Next time,” he mutters, nodding to himself. “We’ll see each other next time?”

You shrug. “I mean, I’d run in the rain with you again.”

He laughs, shoulders shaking a little, eyes crinkling along with his smile. “See you in the next time?”

The way you smile at him has Kenma thinking about the boundaries evident between saying that he wants to do more than actually doing more. So it’s when you’ve turned your back, a few meters already away from him where he exhales a sigh and calls out your name.

You turn around before he even finishes.

What you see is gold. Gold, gold, beautiful gold; as the center of the kaleidoscope of colors.

“If I kiss you the next time, would you kiss me back?”

Kenma’s still as he sounds out his words, the taste of it foreign in his tongue. But he welcomes it this time. You’re looking at him like he gave you the sun, and he holds his breath.

“Earlier in the trip, back in Paris you said you were looking for something,” you tell him first. “Did you find it?”

A pause, then a smile. “Answer my question first.”

You think about what you’d have to risk if you answer yes, but the only thing that comes to mind are colors you know you’re starting to grow out of, so you roll your eyes, laughing. “Then I’ll look forward to that next time.”

He exhales, shoulders feeling light. “Good to know because I think I found what I was looking for too.”

You prolong the see you later. “Was it yourself or something else?”

The answer comes to him naturally, and he grins. “A little bit of both, actually.”

#nc.commissions #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu imagines #kozume kenma #kozume kenma x reader #kozume kenma scenarios #kozume kenma imagines #kenma x reader #kenma #kenma scenarios #kenma imagines #kenma fluff #sugawara koushi x reader #sugawara koushi imagines #haikyuu fluff #hq!!#hq!! x reader

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erideights · 5 years

Text

Through history to get to you. (1)

Request by @adela-topaz-caelon : Reader's an angel casted out of heaven because, well, she's weird. She's in love with Crowley and, of course Crowley is in love with her. Our poor Aziraphale is just fucking tired of seeing how neither of them realize the feelings of the other.

Part two: here

Pairing: Crowley x Angel!Reader (Good Omens)

Word Count: 3215.

Warnings: none.

A/N: I'm sorry, I didn't wanna make this request in two parts but I was having inspiration problems and... Well. I'll post the second part tomorrow, by the way. I hope you guys like this!

4004 B.C., the day that every christian remembers as the moment when everything went wrong,— when God expelled humanity from paradise and condemned them to an unhappy existence for the rest of their days because Eve bit the forbidden apple and escaped with Adam from the Garden of Eden; yeah, that day—, an angel and a demon were chatting for the first time in their lives, both standing on the top of the east gate wall of that cage of life that the first two humans in history left behind.

They were not friends, oh no, quite the opposite, they were hereditary enemies, but even so, they shared their existential concerns in a calm, friendly tone, typical of those who have known each other for a lifetime.

But they hadn’t know each other 10 minutes ago.

Meanwhile, another of the so many of the angels of Heaven, one expelled from it by her disturbing peculiarities but not bad enough —or so God considered it— to make her fall to Hell, observed from the north gate how his winged companion gave refuge to the vile demon of the first rain fallen on earth, and before she could realize it, she smiled.

Her corners rose in a sweet and tender expression before even being able to stop to think what it meant something like that, holy rain falling on her face, her clothes and her own wings, soaking every inch of her being until there was not a single dry hair.

Y/N was, indeed, peculiar, her way of seeing the world was completely out of tune with the rest of the cold, calculating, maniac and, in a summary, good soldiers of God who didn’t question absolutely anything that is ordered.

She must have fallen with the others, many thought, but she didn’t.

Instead, and because of the obvious discomfort that the playful angel caused in others, God simply and subtly banished her from Heaven, assuring her that her mission on Earth, guarding the North Gate of the Garden of Eden, was much more important than anything else she could do up there.

And that was the last thing God ever told her.

But she couldn’t care less, in fact, she was happy with her fate; she knew that wasn’t her place, anyway. She always knew.

''Hey, Aziraphale.'' Y/N greeted with a melodious tinkle in her voice, appearing out of nowhere and successfully scaring her co-worker. A sweet laugh then echoed in the girl's throat, whose wings swayed with the gentle breeze that ran up there.

''Y-Y/N, please,'' the blond platinum angel begged, right hand positioned over his left lung. ''You need to stop doing that to me because one day my heart won’t be able to take it anymore and the heart attack will send me right back to Heaven. Do you have any idea how much paperwork would be done? Uncountable.''

During his reprimand, the girl watched her colleague with a devilish smirk in her lips, enjoying every word of the dramatic attacks suffered by the former bearer of the flaming sword. But her eyes, inevitably and within a few seconds, went to a specific point on the ground, back to the garden, not too far from the apple tree and there they remained much longer than she would have thought, feeling how her attention was slowly fading away and the voice of the angel deafened with each second of the clock.

As expected, Aziraphale noticed this, but before he could ask out loud, Y/N beated him to it: ‘’Who was him?’’

Him? Was she talking about...?

‘’Crawly’’ he answered, knowing that lying to his extroverted companion was totally useless; she wouldn’t stop until she got the answers she wanted. Anyway, in his voice could be felt a bit of anxiety for that same matter. ‘’A demon.’’

''Oh, well'' her answer was immediate and without thinking, very typical when talking with Y/N. ''He's hot.''

41 AD, soft music enveloped a crowded tavern in some corner of the large and great Rome, warm weather, pleasant atmosphere and its people dressed in sleeveless tunics in pale ochre, white, or cinnamon tones.

Or at least most of them.

Then there she was, sitting on a low wooden bench next to a table not much taller than it, its surface occupied by a distant predecessor of the chess whose pieces consisted of stones and board on a sheet of brown leather.

She wore the typical and loose roman dress, barely fitted in her chest and waist by two thin bands that held the soft textile against her body, but it was in a eye-catching green color, making her stand out —inevitably— from the others.

In addition, her long hair was braided into a hairstyle that resembled one of the many sculptures that capture beautiful goddesses or nymphs of the mythology they so venerated, making her impossible to avoid in the eyes of the others; she was beautiful.

Perhaps the attention of many others was placed on her, a star that seemed to shine with its own light, but she didn’t notice it, her big eyes watching carefully the funny expressions Aziraphale adopted in his face while he decided what his next move would be, and it wasn’t until her friend's attention was scattered, stolen elsewhere —some point behind her— that for the first time, the girl turned around to see.

Sitting on a stool, he was leaning slightly on the bar that separated the woman who attended the inn and the rest of the clients, his voice loud and clear, asking for anything that could be drunk. His body was covered by the typical clothing for men in that time, a tunic that reached to the ground and a horizontal piece held by a golden pin on his left shoulder, but like her, the black color he wore made him stand out from any of the others in the room.

Y/N found herself holding her breath; It was him.

She couldn’t believe she was seeing him again, not after 4,000 years since that day in the garden.

Aziraphale, who since his escape from Eden had spent a considerable amount of time with her, had dropped in some occasions, when both were reunited again after some of the many adventures that the woman liked to live on her own, that he met by chance the —for her— attractive demon, and in each and every one of these times, without missing, Y/N sighed abstracted, assuring her friend that she envied him so much.

It was stupid! A nonsense, feeling her heart beating faster inside her chest when she hadn’t even spoken to him once, when she hadn’t seen the color of his eyes or feel his voice reaching her ears, but the vague memory of the fallen angel on the wall of the garden knocked at her door some nights, and she couldn’t help but wonder what he would be like.

But that was how she was, an angel repudiated by her insatiable curiosity and her uncontrollable range of emotions that, for nothing in the world, she tried to repress or hide from anyone.

So, as expected, Aziraphale, with a small smile on his lips and feeling soft by her friend's attitude —although he didn’t understand it and, at times, even scared him because, for God's sake, he was a demon!— he realized instantly what was happening. "Do you want to come with me to say hello?" He asked in that tone of voice that he used to use when he was with her, full of love and understanding, of empathy and affection for an angel like her. ''I could, I don’t know, introduce you to him'' Aziraphale suggested right away, believing that such an idea would excite her to no end.

'’What?'' Y/N's head spinned so fast it was hard to believe she hadn’t hurt her neck in the process, and even though there was no blush on her cheeks, her expression, her eyes, left to see how nervous a scenario like that made her be. ''No no no no. What would I say? I can’t do it.'’

One could believe a celestial being like her, given her history and extrovert personality, able to get away with any situation and talk to anyone —whether or not she previously meet them—, would never feel embarrassed no matter what. The fact of her being nervous was, simply, unthinkable, but that same day, Aziraphale learned that, in matters of the heart, Y/N felt much more than she was physically and mentally able to endure.

Who knew the reason?

The only thing he totally understood was that the relationship between his friend and that very human emotion called love was so pure, so convoluted in its own way and so latent within her, that for the first time in 4000 years— and with absolute certainty, it wouldn’t be the last— he saw her hysterical, alarmed and a totally loss for words.

Little did she know that, the moment she finally introduced herself to Crawly —Crowley, as he corrected with that deep and velvety voice of his— and didn’t know after what façade hiding those skin-deep nerves that pushed her to play with her own hands and smiling like an absolute idiot throughout the meeting, the demon felt his heart skipped a beat, falling for her long before he could stop it.

Of course, the only one who noticed this was Aziraphale, who from the outside could see with absolute clarity how an angel and a demon smiled at each other, chatted at ease —after 10 minutes in which Y/N didn’t know what to say and Crowley practically had to tear the words out of her mouth— and in their eyes, a strange feeling that they would be shaping during their many encounters over almost 2,000 years for them was reflected, beginning this way an endless torture for Aziraphale.

Nowadays...

‘’Aziraphale.’’ A beautiful voice pleaded, although it sounded more like a warning to the angel who, without stopping, reminded her each and every one of her encounters with the love of her life as if he was the author of a painful love story whose end was still to write.

He was killing her patience.

‘’Aziraphale…’’ She tried again, this time a little louder and lengthening the last vowel of his name, emitting a heavy nasal sigh as her whole body rocked to the rhythm of that same breath.

She was going to explode.

‘’Aziraphale!’’ She exclaimed after a few seconds, seeing that the rest of her attempts were completely useless and that, if she didn’t scream, she would never be able to shut her friend up, who then watched her with eyes wide open and an expression between confused and offended. ''I get it! I fucking get it!'' She breathed, exasperated with the situation almost as much as the angel in front of her. ''But I won’t do it. You know I can’t.''

The blonde snorted, frowned and pressed his lips in a thin line that, in silence, intended to reprimand his friend for her behavior.

And strangely, even though Y/N was used to that mixture of anger and disappointment, he got it.

''Oh c’mon, don’t look at me like that! You know I’m physically incapable. Do you remember that human I was interested in in 1487, Florence?"

‘’You’re talking about Leonardo da Vinci, aren't you?’’

‘’Yeah, him!’’ Oh, everyone remembered those years, when Y/N fell in love with the young, eccentric, faddy and complicated artist and couldn’t do more than talk about him.

At all hours.

All over the place.

Oh, the girl was head over heels for him.

''You know I tried. Hundreds of times. But each and every time I felt a knot in my stomach and my brain stopped working," she apologized, lowering her gaze until she lost it somewhere on the ground, far from the eyes of the angel that only judged her in the distance and in silence. ''Also, it wouldn’t have worked. I'm sure he didn’t like me that way.’'

And there are theories that would refute the young woman's suspicions, such as the rumor that Leonardo da Vinci was homosexual when, all those who knew him, knew for sure he didn’t dislike anything, and enjoyed both female and male company at all hours.

Leonardo's problem, if Aziraphale didn’t remember badly —and he didn’t usually do— was that he was only truly committed to his art, and the moment when perhaps he considered committing himself to someone else —one of his many muses— and shared this thought one night with one of his questionable friends... this one definitely convinced him not to do it.

Aziraphale nipped nervously at his lower lip; he knew the one who convinced the young artist not to take the step with his friend was no one else than Crowley. He could still hear the music of the florentine tavern that night, the voices shouting one above the other and the demon doing what he knew best, manipulating others to dance to his song, assuring Leonardo that love wasn’t gonna do more than hinder his art career.

Jealous selfish bastard, he wanted her for him.

''W-Well, but that was eons ago, my dear. I thought you’d overcome a long time ago from the story with Leonardo.''

''Yeah, I got over it, of course, don’t get me wrong, that's not what I'm saying, '' quickly corrected the girl, raising her eyes again to meet her friend's, catching the guilty look in that ones but deciding to leave it aside and not to ask about it. ''All I’m saying is if I couldn’t do it with him and he was a human like any other who would die after no more than 80 years... How could I do it with Crowley? Just to think about it terrifies me.''

But recapping, he knew his friend had had a partner on more than one occasion. Lasting more or less time, the girl had her fun throughout history; so in summary, her problem was only and exclusively confessing, taking the first step.

It hurted, even physically, because he was literally fed up with watching Crowley and Y/N constantly flirting with each other but at the moment of truth, they both thought it was just a game, a joke, part of their relationship and their personalities, nothing more.

How could they be so fucking blind!?

''I know, I indeed know, the only thing I say is that... the situation has already become untenable. What am I saying? It has been almost 2000 years. But before, Crowley and you only saw each other on rare occasions, once every 30 or 50 years with luck. Now? Almost every day." He reasoned, sighing deeply and calmly and leaning his body a little forward to be a little closer to his friend. '’Besides, you know he’s gonna notice that sooner or later.'' And without thinking twice, the angel brushed the exposed skin behind his own right ear, tearing from the girl's throat an audible gasp, almost like a silent scream.

‘’Shut up!’’ Y/N's eyes quickly scanned the room, panicking, making sure the aforementioned demon wasn’t sneaking around and, instinctively, covering the same ear Aziraphale had touched on himself. ‘’I swear to God If you say anything about it I’ll—’’

‘’I never told him and I promised not to do it in death or life. Your secret is safe with me.'' He assured, amused by the girl's reaction. "But being honest, it's a miracle you managed to hide it for almost 30 years. Someday he’s gonna see it, Y/N, and I can only hope that by then, you have confessed what you feel because otherwise it would be, how to say it? Wild.’’

To understand the conversation the two angels kept in the back room of this small bookshop in London, we must move to the late 80's, when during one of her worst drunkenness, Y/N couldn’t think of anything better than tattooing herself a snake identical to the one Crowley wore on his sideburn, but behind her right ear.

When Aziraphale heard about this the next day, he was absolutely scandalized, asking why. The answer he got? '' Because I know he hates it because it reminds him of Hell but I like it because it's part of who he is and I wanted him to be loved.'' But of course —sober— she knew it was definitely a bad idea and she couldn’t show it to him under no circumstance.

For some odd reason, she didn’t want to miracle it away either, so her strategy during those 30 years was to leave her hair loose and relatively long so he couldn’t see it.

'’Listen, Aziraphale,'' the girl started, turning the curl over again, having had this conversation with her friend countless times throughout her life. And it’s not that she didn’t appreciate his tireless attempts to see her happy and from the hand of the demon that had stolen her heart, it’s that she didn’t believe it was even possible. ''I appreciate what you're trying to do, really, and you know you're my best friend and I'd follow you to the end of the world again, if necessary, but I can’t look Crowley in the eye and tell him I've been in love with him long before the wheel was invented.'' It felt like she was apologizing to him, but anyone would know that the real apology was directed to her heart for not following her feelings and doing what they dictated. ''What I can promise you,'' she rose from her seat after a small pat on her own legs. ''is that I’ll try not to talk to you about this ever again so as not burn your patience so much.'' and leaving a quick kiss on the angel's cheek, Y/N waved goodbye and started walking towards the shop door.

''Thanks for the coffee!''

‘’She’s gonna kill me, isn’t she?’’ Aziraphale's voice rose fearfully, concerned once the bell on the door of the bookshop signaled that his friend had left and slow steps were noticed right behind him, stopping by his side.

‘’Yeah, probably.’’ But the face of the demon showed no concern for the angel, too happy to do anything but bite his bottom lip in order to hide the huge smile that threatened to spread through his face.

He still couldn’t believe all that he’d heard, hidden for at least a couple hours behind one of the huge and crowded shelves of the place.

‘’Well, you better take advantage of the situation so that all the paperwork I’ll have to do if that happens would be worth it, Crowley.’’

#good omens #good omens prime #good omens one shot #good omens one shots #good omens Crowley #Crowley #Crowley x Reader #crowley x angel!reader #crowley x fem!reader #good omens crowley x reader

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heady-senpai · 5 years

Text

One Piece 955: Enma

I took all day to write this up just so much to talk about from this chapter!

Let me just start by saying what a chapter!! 8.75/10

I was not expecting it to drop a day early & had no idea what to expect of this chapter until I saw the title...Enma 🤔😏

First things first. I believe Bege & company just stumbled upon Dressrosa. He mentioned they were stopping there for supplies. I wonder if any Straw Hat supporters are still around and if a conversation will strike up about Luffy.

------

Ok now to the chapter...

It starts off with Hiyori telling Zoro & Kawamatsu that she will not meet up with the rest of the alliance in order to not stir unneccessary emotions before the battle. Her brother stated this before so it wasn't a surprise. What surprised me was that Kawamatsu told the rest of the Scabbards that Hiyori was still alive & well.

I guess it's a morale booster but I have this weird feeling that something bad will happen to her now that everyone knows she's ok.

A couple random facts about Hiyori:

• She puts up a coarse attitude but is actually a crybaby

• She was a Tomboy who didn't typically speak refined & politely

(So funny how Momo was like, "A flying kick from someone 18yrs older would really hurt." Lol ik the struggle of being terrorized by a little sister hahah)

Now we get to the crazy good stuff!!!

O-Kiku might be one of the MVPs for finding the randomly lost Nidai Kitetsu. I had no idea where it was. Thought Kaido must've done something with it when Luffy was thrown into the Udon Prison Mines like kept it in a storage within the prison or something. Zoro states that he knew it was a Meito (famous/named blade) I guess with Sandai at his side he could feel the cursed vibes.

Rarely does Oda show us the actual tying of loose ends.

I guess Hiyori didn't go off to retrieve Enma & Orochi doesn't have Ame no Habakiri...Hitetsu Tenguyama had them both the whole time. That's why he had been patiently awaiting the return of the Kozuki Family.

I love every aspect of the design especially the sheath.

Seems as if both swords are of the same grade level as Shusui, O Wazamono, 21 Great Grade Swords. So Zoro won't be getting one of the 12 Supreme Grade Swords, Saijo O Wazamono, just yet and I'm fine with that.

Hitetsu tells Zoro only Oden was ever able to tame Enma & ODEN MUST'VE BEEN A BEAST because this sword is crazzyyyyy powerful. Kin'emon even said he himself would not even want to take the blade.

When testing out the sword Zoro tried to cut a tree but ended up cut off part of the cliff/island they were all on! Just insane lmao like I was not expecting that much of a power boost at all!

In the next panel we see the blade going black, coating in haki as Zoro's arm is also clad in haki, but looks drained & frail.

(Sanji's face was hilarious but damn I feel his pain lol Sanji is my favorite Straw Hat & just got a power boost now Zoro's power up makes Sanji's Raid Suit, look not as powerful so I have mixed feelings hahhaha but I love reading Zoro moments.)

So the thing with Enma is that it draws out its wielders haki to maximum extremes by itself. Any average sword wielder would've been drained completely and left dead.

Typically we've seen Zoro have swords with minds of their own but this one is just on another level.

Zoro yells for the sword to give him back his Ryou and takes it all back. Then we get that crazy Zoro smile like he knows this is going to be a challenge to tame the blade but he's ready to take that on to become even stronger. Hitetsu asks Zoro does he want another sword & obviously Zoro says he's keeping Enma, further impressing Kawamatsu.

[Now the text heavy part because I don't want to make 2 seperate posts for this review and want to only use my favorite images from the chapter]

Robin, Ashura Doji, & Kin'emon are discussing the sheer numbers that the alliance and their opposition have. Seems as if there will be approx. 30,000 enemies on Onigashima vs their 4000.

We then get quick panels of :

Franky yelling at his workers to prepare the boat to hold 10,000 men

(made me think hmmm Straw Hat Grand Fleet's over 5000 + the 4000+ men they already have...maybeeeee *Spongebob voice)

Luffy practicing Ryuo in Gear 4th stating that he used too much physical force

Zoro and Momo training in the forest and Zoro states an old man from his village is where he first heard Sunnachi (Snatch) & this surprises Momo.

With two days left before the raid Chopper, O-Tama, and Luffy return to meet with everyone else & the Yakuza bosses have added another 200 men to the resistance's ranks. (~4200 vs ~30,000)

Kin'emon states there hasn't been any word from Law (it's been a few days since he's been free & still hasn't contacted the group....hmmmm)

Silly Shinobu tells Kin'emon to forget about Law and Chopper has to speak some truth like hey Law is super strong. Law clearly makes a substantial difference, he's a cheat code in most situations!

There are still many men locked up in the Capital that wish to fight. I'm guessing only a few hundred more but still any help matters at this point. We also get to see many of the Wano townspeople discussing Yasu's encrypted message. Of course some still don't have faith but they will be proved wrong.

The alliance splits into its respective groups with the Scabbards, Shinobu, and Momo headed to the harbor, meeting Luffy there later.

The literature used here to describe the Scabbards and their shadows as the walked was magnificent. I also loved how the spelling for frost was shimo as in Shimotsuki. 🤔🤔

We see Pedro's & Lord Yasu's grave in the graveyard of Oden & his retainers. We also see Wanda & O-Toko shedding tears at theory loved one's graves. Carrot looks hardened & ready to go.

Hitetsu reveals to Zoro that he was the bladesmith of the Sandai Kitetsu. And states Enma & the Sandai cannot be wielded by the weak. Hitetsu also reveals why Zoro has had a quick take to Enma: the bladesmith who made Enma also created Zoro's main sword, the Wado Ichimonji. It was crafted by Yusaburo Shimotsuki, who fled Wano illegally over 50 years ago. Hiyori probably saw what swords Zoro held (Shusui, Wado Ichimonji, & Sandai Kitetsu) and decided he was worthy of her father's keepsake.

I just cannot believe that Hitetsu said that IN ZORO'S HANDS ENMA COULD RISE IN RANK & BECOME A BLACK BLADE! So then would it become O Saijo Wazamono???? Hmmmm I wonder.

It seems like Luffy has gotten a hell of a lot stronger! Didn't even get close to the tree and destroyed it from the other side (almost reminded me of that scene in Naruto when him and Sasuke battled on the roof of the hospital haha if you know you knowwww)

Law is definitely not the traitor. Like it's too obvious. Simply because Oda telegraphed this traitor vibe a couple times;I swear he's just messing with us.

Will Kyoshiro be revealed to be Denjiro soon?

I just wonder how Orochi found out this info.

And now we get a closing to Act II.

Just an epic chapter.

I swear Oda is hinting that Zoro may be a descendant/relative of the Shimotsuki family along with his teacher Koushirou.

Could even be a family tree like Hinata/Neji but I'm probably reaching there. Very interesting how bits and pieces of his past is flashed in front of us.

I guess only time will tell, but I bet Koushirou's father was Yusaburo Shimotsuki.

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luthienebonyx · 5 years

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So in late July, I decided to do Writer’s Month, which meant writing something in response to each daily prompt for the whole of August. “31 ficlets! I can do that!” I thought. “I’ll have a fix-it AU and a modern AU, and I should be able to write some little episodes for one or the other every day for a month!”

I tend to be the sort of writer who takes her time and thinks a lot, and worries about carefully polishing and all that sort of shit, but this time I was determined to just slam something out every day and see what happened.

All went well for the first two days. I wrote two ficlets set in the same fluffy little fix-it universe (honestly, the only surprising thing was that it was fluffy. I REALLY don’t do fluff. Except, apparently, that this pairing makes me write absolutely anything and everything, including fluff and character death and babyfic). Then came the third day, and the fateful prompt: coffee shop AU. This was the beginning of the modern AU, and also the beginning of the end of my control over this whole project.

The first modern AU ficlet, the actual coffee AU, was... fine.

I’ve read an awful lot of American coffee AUs over the years, and quite a few British ones, but I’m pretty sure I’ve never read one set in Australia. I decided to be the first. But instead of setting the story somewhere sensible like, say, one of the several places where I’ve lived, I set it on the coast of northern New South Wales, near Byron Bay. I can’t even remember precisely why now. But anyway, that’s what I did. I have travelled up and down the Pacific Highway and through Byron Bay many times when I was younger, but the last time I was there was about 15 years ago. (My partner helpfully suggested that I should listen to him because he knew the place better than I did, and then proceeded to tell me about the trip he’d taken up there in 1976. *eyeroll*)

So, anyway, my coffee AU is about British tourist Brienne, who gets left by the side of the highway in the middle of nowhere, after an argument with her arsehole travelling companion, Hyle, and so has to walk, dragging (what she thinks is) her luggage, until she makes it back to the last little town she remembers driving past. There, she finds a coffee shop, and a man who may or may not be a barista, and who is so good-looking that he may or may not be some sort of Hemsworth.

And THEN other prompts followed:

road trip - Jaime gives Brienne a lift to Byron Bay

sound - they’re still on the way to Byron Bay

kids - a conversation about (other people’s) kids while STILL on the way to Byron Bay, but they do actually finally get there in this one!

sports - featuring various sports for two. (This one’s e-rated, because they seemed to have been noticing each other quite a bit as well as talking and drinking coffee in that almost endless car trip.)

Then I had a day off and did some canon-universe-ish drabbles for the prompt ‘colours’.

But the coffee universe continued the next day with:

time travel - in which Brienne calls her friend Margaery in London, where it’s eleven hours ago, so... time travel!

Dark AU - it’s an AU and it’s the middle of the night, as Brienne sleeps and Jaime ponders his feelings. So... dark AU! It counts!

Then I had a bit of a health crash for a few days and got off schedule, before returning with:

feelings - in which Jaime feels things, and decides on a course of action.

whump - which turned out to be mostly about breakfast and romance, with a good dollop of comedy at Kafe Khaleesi, before... whump, (minor) car accident and the real world comes crashing in.

Then RL intruded for a few days, by which time I’d totally given up on the idea of writing a ficlet for every single prompt, partly because these stories were getting longer and more emotionally complicated, and there was just no way I could keep writing upwards of 4000 words every day. But I came back with one that had a lot of emotions and a lot of talking in it with:

dreams - Sometimes dreams are not what they seem.

Fairy tale - might have been tricky prompt to pull off in this setting, except that @slipsthrufingers reminded me of the existence of the Macadamia Castle just outside Byron Bay, so there were knights, macadamias and minigolf.

And now we’ve reached the current story, which has been a WIP since the 28th of August. The prompt for it is ‘weird’, and never was a prompt more appropriate. It has been a weird experience writing this story. I thought Jaime and Brienne were just going to go shopping in the middle of the night, but I’ve completed four chapters, it’s currently 15,000 words long, and we still haven’t made it to the shopping. I’m 3,000 words into what I sincerely hope will be the final chapter, so once we get past the sex scene (that they demanded) I’m hopeful that there will still be shopping. I think it’s likely to weigh in at about the 20,000 word mark when it’s done.

And yes, August is receding into the distance behind us, and I’m still nowhere near finished with this Aussie coffee ‘verse. Once I’m done with ‘weird’, there are still another seven prompts that I want to cover. I’m hoping VERY much that these will all be less than 6,000 words each, like every story in the series up until the one I’m still trying to finish. Anyway, the prompts still to come, in order, are:

summer, first time, hope, pining, death, flowers and celebration.

I’ve written 58,000 words for writer’s month all up so far, and 54,000 of that is the Aussie coffee ‘verse, so it really is pretty much a novel at this point. Except, um, that all the events have taken place over the space of two days. So, you know, don’t take it incredibly seriously.

And now I’d better get back to writing, if I’m ever going to get them to the point of going shopping.

But yeah, if you have been seeing me mentioning my coffee universe, and were wondering about it, wonder no more!

Banner by @ao3commentoftheday

#trivia tuesday #jaime x brienne

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yuckitup-jwd · 5 years

Text

Men VS Women

Women have many faults Men only have 2 Everything they say And everything they do

RELATIONSHIPS: First, a man does not call a relationship a relationship - he refers to it as "that time when me and Suzie were boinking on a semi-regular basis."

When a relationship ends, a woman will cry and pour her heart out to her girlfriends, and she will write a poem titled "All Men Are Idiots." Then she will get on with her life.

A man has a little more trouble letting go. Six months after the breakup at 3 am early on a Sunday morning - he will call and say "I just wanted to let you know you ruined my life, and I'll never forgive you, and I hate you, and you're a total floozy. But I want you to know there's always a chance for us." This is known as the "I Hate You/I Love You" drunken phone call, that 99% of all men have made at least once. There are community colleges that offer courses to help men get over this need; alas these classes rarely prove effective.

SEX: Women prefer 30-45 minutes of foreplay.

Men prefer 30-45 seconds of foreplay. Men consider driving back to her place as part of the foreplay.

MATURITY: Women mature much faster than men. Most 17-year-old females can function as adults.

Most 17-year-old males are still trading baseball cards and giving each other wedgies after gym class. This is why high school romances rarely work out.

COMEDY: Let's say a small group of men and women are in a room, watching tele- vision, and an episode of "The Three Stooges" comes on. Immediately, the men will get very excited - they will laugh uproariously, and even try to imitate the actions of Curly, man's favorite Stooge.

The women will roll their eys, groan, and wait it out.

HANDWRITING: To their credit, men do not decorate their penmanship. They just chicken-scratch.

Women use scented, colored stationery and they dot their "i's" with circles and hearts. Women use ridiculously large loops in their "p's" and "g's." It is a royal pain to read a note from a woman. Even when she's dumping you, she'll put a smiley face at the end of the note.

BATHROOMS: A man has at most seven items in his bathroom - a toothbrush, toothpaste, shaving cream, razor, shampoo, a bar of soap, and a towel from the Holiday Inn.

The average number of items in a typical woman's bathroom is 437. A man would not be able to identify most of these items.

MAGAZINES: Men's magazines often feature pictures of naked women.

Women's magazines also feature pictures of naked women. This is because the female body is a beautiful work of art, while the male body is hairy and lumpy and should not be seen by the light of day.

GROCERIES: A woman makes a list of things she needs and then goes to the store and buys these things.

A man waits until the only items left in his fridge are half of a lemon, and something turning green. Then he goes grocery shopping. He buys everything that looks good. By the time he reaches the checkout counter, his cart is packed tighter than the Clampett's car on The Beverley Hillbillies. Of course, this will not stop him from going to the 10-items-or-less lane.

GOING OUT: When a man says he's ready to go out, it means he's ready to go out.

When a woman says she's ready to go out, it means that she WILL be ready to go out, as soon as she finds her other earring, finishes putting on her makeup...

SHOES: When preparing for work, a woman will put on a Mondi wool suit, and then slip into Reebok sneakers. She will carry her dress shoes in a plastic bag from Saks. When she arrives at work, she will put on her dress shoes. Five minutes later, she will kick them off because her feet are under her desk.

A man wears one pair of shoes for the entire day.

CATS: Women love cats.

Men say they love cats, but when women aren't looking, men kick cats.

MIRRORS: Men are vain; they will check themselves out in the mirror.

Women are ridiculous; they will check out their reflections in any shiny surface - mirrors, spoons, store windows, toasters, Joe Garagiola's head...

GARAGES: Women use garages to park their cars and to store their lawnmowers.

Men use garages for many things. They hang license plates in garages, they watch TV in garages, and they build useless wooden things in garages.

MOVIES: For women, their favorite movie scene is when Clark Gable kisses Vivien Leigh for the first time in "Gone With The Wind."

For men, it's when Jimmy Cagney shoves a grapefruit in Mae Clark's face in "Public Enemy."

JEWELRY: Women look nice when they wear jewelry.

A man can get away with wearing one ring, and that's it. Any more than that, and he will look like a lounge singer named Vic.

MENOPAUSE: When a woman reaches menopause, she goes through a variety of complicated emotional, psychological, and biological changes. The nature and degree of the changes varies with the individual.

Menopause in a man provokes a uniform reaction. He buys aviator glasses, a snazzy French cap, leather driving gloves, and goes shopping for an expensive foreign sports car.

THE TELEPHONE: Men see the telephone as a communications tool. They use the telephone to send short messages to other people.

A woman can visit her girlfriend for two weeks, and upon returning home, she will call the same friend and they will talk for three hours.

LOW BLOWS: Let's say a man and a woman are watching a boxing match on television, and one of the fighters is felled by a low blow.

The woman says, "Oh, gee, that must hurt."

The man doubles over and actually feels the pain.

DIRECTIONS: If a woman is out driving and she finds herself in unfamiliar surroundings, she will stop at a gas station and ask for directions.

Men consider this to be a sign of weakness. A man will never stop and ask for directions. Men will drive in a circle for hours, all the while saying things like, "Looks like I've found a new way to get there," and, "I know I'm in the neighborhood. I recognize that White Hen store."

ADMITTING MISTAKES: Women will sometimes admit making a mistake.

The last man who admitted that he was wrong was General George Custer.

RICHARD GERE: Women like Richard Gere because he is sexy in a dangerous way.

Men hate Richard Gere because he reminds them of that slick guy who works out at the health club and dates only married women.

DRESSING UP: A woman will dress up to go shopping, water the plants, empty the garbage, answer the phone, read a book, get the mail...

A man will dress up for: weddings and funerals.

NUDITY IN MOVIES: Every actress in the history of movies has had to do a nude scene. This is because every movie in the history of movies has been produced by men.

The only actor who has ever appeard nude in the movies is Richard Gere. This is another reason why men hate him.

DAVID LETTERMAN: Men think David Letterman is the funniest man on the face of the earth.

Women think he is a mean, semi-dorky guy who always has a bad haircut.

CAMERAS: Men take photography very seriously. They'll shell out $4000 for state- of-the-art equipment, and build darkrooms, and take photography classes.

Women purchase Kodak Insta-matics, and often produce better-looking shots.

POLITICS: Men love to talk about politics, but they often forget to do political things such as voting.

Women are very happy that another generation of Kennedys are growing up and getting into politics, because they will be able to campaign for them and cry on election night.

LOCKER ROOMS: In the locker room, men talk about three things: money, football, and women. They exaggerate about money, they don't know football nearly as well as they think they do, and they fabricate stories about women.

Women talk about one thing in the locker room - sex. Not in abstract terms, either. They're graphic and technical, and they *never* lie.

LAUNDRY: Women do laundry every couple of days.

A man will wear every article of clothing he owns, including his surgical pants that were hip about eight years ago, before he will do his laundry. When he is finally out of clothes, he will wear a dirty sweatshirt inside out, rent a U-Haul and take his mountain of clothes to the laundromat, and expect to meet a beautiful woman while he is there.

WEDDINGS: When reminiscing about weddings, women talk about the "ceremony."

Men talk about "the bachelor party."

GYM SOCKS: Men wear sensible socks. They wear standard white sweatsocks.

Women wear strange socks. They are cut way below the ankles, have pictures of clouds on them, and have a big fuzzy ball on the back.

TOYS: Little girls love to play with toys. Then, when they reach the age of 11 or 12, they lose interest.

Men never grow out of their obsession with toys. As they get older, their toys simply become more expensive and impractical. Examples of mens toys: miniature TV's, car phones, complicated juicers and blenders, graphic equalizers, small robots that serve cocktails on command, video games, and anything that blinks, beeps and requires at least six "D" batteries to operate.

PLANTS: A woman will ask a man to water her plants while she is on vacation. The man will water the plants. The woman returns five days later, to an apartment full of dead plants. No one knows why this happens.

NICKNAMES: With the exception of female body-builders, who call each other names like "Ultimate Pecs" and "Big Turk," women eschew the use of nicknames. If Gloria, Suzanne, Deborah and Michelle get together for lunch, they will call each other Gloria, Suzanne, Deborah and Michelle.

But if Mike, Dave, and Jack go out for a brewski, they will affectionately refer to each other as Peckerhead, Scumbag, and Louse.

There are five things that women should never, ever ask a guy, according to an article in last April's issue of Sassy magazine.

The five questions are: 1 - "What are you thinking?" 2 - "Do you love me?" 3 - "Do I look fat?" 4 - "Do you think she is prettier than me?" 5 - "What would you do if I died?"

What makes these questions so bad is that every one is guaranteed to explode into a major argument and/or divorce if the man does not answer properly, which is to say dishonestly. For example: 1 - "What are you thinking?"

The proper answer to this question, of course is, "I'm sorry if I've been pensive, dear. I was just reflecting on what a warm, wonderful, caring, thoughtful, intelligent, beautiful woman you are and what a lucky guy I am to have met you." Obviously, this statement bears no resemblance whatsoever to what the guy was really thinking at the time, which was most likely one of five things: a - Baseball b - Football c - How fat you are d - How much prettier she is than you e - How he would spend the insurance money if you died

According to the Sassy article, the best answer to this stupid question came from Al Bundy, of Married With Children, who was asked it by his wife, Peg. "If I wanted you to know," Al said, "I'd be talking instead of thinking."

The other questions also have only one right answer but many wrong answers: 2 - "Do you love me?"

The correct answer to this question is, "Yes." For those guys who feel the need to be more elaborate, you may answer, "Yes, dear." Wrong answers include: a - I suppose so. b - Would it make you feel better if I said yes? c - That depends on what you mean by "love". d - Does it matter? e - Who, me?

3 - "Do I look fat?"

The correct male response to this question is to quickly, confidently, and emphatically state, "No, of course not" and then quickly leave the room. Wrong answers include: a - I wouldn't call you fat, but I wouldn't call you thin either. b - Compared to what? c - A little extra weight looks good on you. d - I've seen fatter. e - Could you repeat the question? I was thinking about your insurance policy

4 - "Do you think she's prettier than me?"

The "she" in the question could be an ex-girlfriend, a passer-by you were staring at so hard that you almost caused a traffic accident or an actress in a movie you just saw. In any case, the correct response is, "No, you are much prettier." Wrong answers include: a - Not prettier, just pretty in a different way. b - I don't know how one goes about rating such things. c - Yes, but I bet you have a better personality. d - Only in the sense that she's younger and thinner. e - Could you repeat the question? I was thinking about your insurance policy.

5 - "What would you do if I died?"

Correct answer: "Dearest love, in the event of your untimely demise, life would cease to have meaning for me and I would perforce hurl myself under the front tires of the first Domino's Pizza truck that came my way." This might be the stupidest question of the lot, as is illustrated by the following stupid exchange: "Dear," said the wife. "What would you do if I died?" "Why, dear, I would be extremely upset," said the husband. "Why do you ask such a question?" "Would you remarry?" persevered the wife. "No, of course not, dear" said the husband. "Don't you like being married?" said the wife. "Of course I do, dear" he said. "Then why wouldn't you remarry?" "Alright," said the husband, "I'd remarry." "You would?" said the wife, looking vaguely hurt. "Yes" said the husband. "Would you sleep with her in our bed?" said the wife after a long pause. "Well yes, I suppose I would." replied the husband. "I see," said the wife indignantly. "And would you let her wear my old clothes? "I suppose, if she wanted to" said the husband. "Really," said the wife icily. "And would you take down the pictures of me and replace them with pictures of her?" "Yes. I think that would be the correct thing to do." "Is that so?" said the wife, leaping to her feet. "And I suppose you'd let her play with my golf clubs, too." "Of course not, dear," said the husband. "She's left-handed..."

#gender jokes #men vs women jokes #q&a

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escapingreality1992 · 5 years

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Secret Pen Pals ch. 2

Keira's POV

My alarm went off at 8 a.m. sharp and I groaned as I scrunched up my face annoyed at the early hour. My hair fell in my face as I pushed myself up from lying on my stomach. Unfortunately, I couldn't go back to sleep because a client of mine was coming by to drop off her two golden retrievers to be watched for a week; She'd be here at 10 a.m. and I'd go over a couple things before having to leave the pups in the apartment two hours later in order to meet my friends for lunch.

An outward groan left my throat again, dreading the conversation I would have with them. If they had seen the advertisement for the pen pal event, I was sure that they'd have their own opinions about it. If they hadn't...well either way I planned to keep it a secret from them. I considered myself to be a romantic; to them, I'd be nothing more than a hopeless romantic, the idea that two people might fall in love through letters ridiculous in their minds.

My job was already a joke to them, a disappointing career to anyone close to me. The thing is I enjoyed what I did for a living. Dogs brought me joy to my life and today I planned on taking them for a swim at a local pool strictly for dogs. I released a content sigh thinking about it. In addition, I also wanted to stop by one of those unique specialty stores which sold anything from antiques to dolls, but more importantly the one I wanted to shop in had those instant Polaroid cameras. The reason behind this being that I had wrote Steve about sending him a picture of the coziness of my room, capturing the many blankets thrown across my bed.

Making a mental note to clean my room, I strode to the bathroom to take a shower in preparation for the day ahead of me. I let the hot water pour over my body, taking my time to cleanse it of the sweat that clung to it from the heat of the apartment. Fall came quick this year, meaning cooler nights and I had yet to make a thicker blanket to envelop me in warmth. Once finished with my usual routing in the shower, I stepped out into the coldness of the bathroom; I constantly let the fan run to avoid paint peeling off the walls from the steam that encased the entire room from the hot water. I wrapped a fluffy, light blue towel around my body - my arms and lower legs still exposed to the cool air - and ventured to the warm air of my bedroom.

Making my way to my closet, I chose an outfit consisting of a violet t-shirt, blue jeans and sneakers laying it across my unmade bed before grabbing undergarments from my dresser. Slipping those on, I dried my hair, leaving it slightly wet and pulling on the t-shirt and jeans before continuing the drying process. Since I had longer hair, it took a little while for it to get fully dry; I pulled it up in my usual ponytail and grabbed my current read and phone to sit on the couch while I waited for my client to arrive. At 10, a knock sounded at the my door, prompting me to put my bookmark in my book and set it aside to greet Andrea and Mark Peterson, the owners of the two golden retrievers; Jamie age 4 and Sherlock age 6.

"Good morning Keira. Thanks again for watching them. This trip to Paris is very important," Andrea greeted me. They were business partners who were trying to get word out for the wedding cakes they crafted from scratch. Andrea was a petite, 5'2" woman with honey blonde hair and brown eyes, while her husband stood at 6'3" with broad shoulders, dark hair and hazel eyes. They had no children apart from the dogs whom they sort of treated as such. They were humble and our first meeting involved picking out a cake for a friend's - well former friend's - wedding five years ago. They were a sweet couple and had seen my ad three weeks before that wedding, never needing to use my services until a month after; they went to travel to England for supplies for more extravagant decorations for their many delicious cakes. Now in the present, they became a regular client as their business continued to propel forward. They paid well, but it wasn't about the money for me. I loved taking care of each and every dog I watched.

"No problem. I enjoy having Jamie and Sherlock around. You said you were picking them up Saturday?" I told them, taking the leashes and walking the dogs to the couch, setting them loose once my apartment door was shut by Mark, who set down their dog bags.

"Can we pick up Sunday actually? Sunday night if possible. We'll be getting in pretty late Saturday and I have a feeling the jet lag is going to be horrendous," Andrea replied, pulling out her checkbook.

"Sunday is perfectly fine. Are you okay if I take them swimming? I'd be taking them to an indoor dog pool a few blocks from here,"

"Yes that sounds like a wonderful idea. I imagine they might enjoy that very much. If they stay until Sunday, how much more will that be?" Mark stated.

"Only 30 dollars more. Anything else I need to know about this week? Any questions about anything else?" I responded.

"30 dollars? Really? You know what, I'll give you a little more. I think 4000 should suffice," Andrea commented.

"Oh, but I only charge 2000 in most cases," I stated.

"We don't mind. You take care of them so often and so excellent that you deserve a big tip," Mark commented, smiling politely. I returned the smile and rubbed the head of Sherlock who had padded over to me and nudged the fingers of my right hand. Andrea ripped out the check and handed it to me, both owners waving goodbye to both goldens. My apartment door closed again and I turned to the pups.

"What do you say? Want to go for a walk before lunchtime?" I asked them. At this both dogs circled me jumping up to place their paws against my body.

"Okay, okay. First you two have to sit and wait so I can hook up your leashes," I told them, slipping on my sneakers. I grabbed a few poop bags, leashes and keys in the other hand before going outside for a walk. While walking, I couldn't help but wonder what Steve was up to at this very moment.

Steve's POV

Another 5 a.m. run, another training session, and another debriefing on the latest threat. That's how my day began. Not at all exciting, especially with debriefing, which wasn't even about a threat at all. It ended up being a report about the last enemy we defeated, a couple of paranormal entities, which we had to enlist Stephen Strange's help with. What followed the report was Tony discussing plans for an upcoming benefit we had to attend. As he droned on, I found myself aimlessly drawing on a piece of printer paper to stave off my boredom. Well, at least, I'll have something to send to Keira, I thought, focusing on the curvature of a ball of yarn I drew. Funny, I'm letting details of her first letter influence my sketches. Weird how it happened, I thought, a small smile creeping on my lips.

"What do you think Cap?" Tony's voice cut into my concentration.

"About what?" I answered, not even looking up, too involved in sketching out a dog's paw.

"I thought about showing up in my birthday suit and dancing all night," he stated. My pencil froze and I glanced up to see Tony grinning in pure amusement.

"I'm only joking. The theme, Steve, would be dark tones. Not necessarily black tie but shades of gray, black, maybe even white," he stated.

"No white. If you served red wine or colorful cocktails, there would be obvious stains should you spill anything on yourself. Shades of gray? Like the movies? Isn't that a little inappropriate?" I told him, my hand itching to get back to my drawing. Snorts of laughter went around the room as my friends glanced at each other.

"No, not the movies. The benefit is supposed to be formal. I didn't want it to be black tie again," Tony answered.

"Oh, alright. What is this for? Remind me,"

"Saving the world from total destruction and as it turns out paranormal beings. We're giving back to the community as well," Tony explained.

"Of course with a huge donation on your end," Natasha commented.

"We work hard and Stark Industries is doing pretty well in the technology department,"

"Maybe Strange is right. I don't see how that ego fits in..."

I barely registered Nat's entire quip at Tony, resuming my drawing as they bickered back and forth.

"You know Nat and Wanda could be having sex on the table right in front of us and you wouldn't notice. What's got you all distracted?" Bucky asked me, getting my attention by waving a hand in front of my face.

"Nothing. I hate these kind of debriefings. They're important but I find them dull and boring. At least the ones with missions have more excitement," I responded, flipping the pencil to use the eraser, correcting a mistake I made with the dog's body.

"Nothing? Seems like it's something since you've become super quiet. You must be really bored if you're drawing. What is it this time? More monkeys?" Bucky stated. He leaned over to see and I immediately moved another sheet over it to block his view.

"No. It's not finished. I'd rather not let anyone see it right now," I said, causing him to furrow his brows.

"What is it for anyway?"

"No one...I mean, it's not for anything. You know how I get when I'm bored. I doodle things instead of letting sleep take over. Especially in this meeting," I stated, a slight panic coming over me at revealing my pen pal. It's not like I didn't want to tell him but I didn't want anyone to poke fun at the idea. My friends wouldn't judge but I couldn't have them deter me from the exchange anyway. Plus, I wanted someone to talk to - write in this case - about anything I felt like. I wanted to have someone to interact with that wasn't involved in my world. Although I still had a recurring though of Keira already knowing who I am, though re-reading the letter it seemed like she didn't. If she did...maybe she hadn't revealed that fact yet, afraid to drive me away when she could have me to herself. Shaking my head, I tried to shove it away from my mind. Relax, Steve. Have some faith in this girl, I thought. Turning my attention to my best friend, I managed a small smile.

"Honestly it's a silly drawing. I wouldn't worry about it. I don't mean to be secretive about the beginnings of the sketch but I want to make sure it's perfect before I show anyone," I told him.

"That's understandable. That being said, are you sure nothing else is on your mind?"

"I'm sure, Buck. Thanks for your concern," I stated.

"That's a wrap everyone. On your way out of the room, grab a packet so you can review details of the benefit later this week," Tony informed us.

"This week? I thought it was next week," I commented, inwardly groaning.

"If you had been paying attention, you would have already known it's happening this week. Why the long face Cap? Afraid you can't get a date?" Tony mocked me. I frowned, standing up to approach the table where our packets lay.

"I'm not going with anyone. I forgot to purchase a suit to match the colors of this benefit. If you'll excuse me, I must go out and do so. Especially if I'm to be presentable for your taste," I remarked, almost hissing the last part. Tony and I had a different relationship, agreeing on some things, disagreeing on most. Today happened to be a day where the littlest of things could set me off. I could admit stress definitely was a factor, the only thing calming my mood being my pen pal and the eagerness of sending another letter growing in my heart. I picked up the packet, walking out in as much a calm manner as possible. I retreated to my room to place the packet on my desk before venturing out to a department store in order to pick up a suit for the benefit a few days later. After trying on a few suits and deciding on a charcoal gray suit with a tie that matched it, I chose to stop by a small jewelry store and purchased a birthday gift worthy for Keira. Unaware to me, Keira happened to be in the same area eating lunch; our paths wouldn't cross with each other on this day. I returned home to finish the small drawing of a dog playing with a ball of yarn and began constructing another letter for her.

Keira's POV

The golden retrievers and I returned from the walk tired and hungry; I also had sweat that accumulated on various parts of my body, deciding that I needed to take a final shower before meeting my friends. I set out bowls of dog food for Jamie and Sherlock before taking said shower, quickly going through the routine and drying off. I changed into a dark green, long sleeve blouse and black trousers remembering the restaurant we were going to was really nice. Not an overly expensive one you could see the elite dining in but one in which the prices were in a medium range. Pulling on a pair of heels that matched my blouse, I made sure my furry companions had water, giving them both a treat before heading out for lunch with my friends. Since the restaurant wasn't too far from my apartment, I decided to walk to it instead of taking a cab, the subway station out of the question being on the opposite side of where I needed to go. As usual, I ended up being 15 minutes early having to wait on the other three women to arrive. Thankfully, I always carried a book everywhere I went; the current read being about magic and wizards, the genre of fantasy drawing me into its fascinating world.

"Why is it whenever we meet up, you manage to have your nose in a book?" a voice interrupted my reading. The next to arrive was Charlotte Mathers with her red pixie cut, long legs, and green eyes. She enjoyed her job, which happened to be a general manager at a high end retail store. She got paid well, enough to live near Central Park in an amazing, huge, studio apartment, plus she had been born into a family that had a little more money than the average middle class. I smiled, trying not to be annoyed with her comment.

"Well Charlotte, I enjoy reading instead of having my face rooted to my phone," I answered her. Like she even heard me, her face locked onto her phone...this being a normal habit of hers.

"She never escapes from her fantastical world. How have you been Keira?" another voice stated. Oh good. Of course, Lena would be the next to get here, I thought. A woman with long blonde hair, a petite figure that mirrored mine and blue eyes was an accurate description of Lena Morrow. Lena had a job as a receptionist to a law firm. It was rare that she could out to lunch and we enjoyed her company whenever possible. She stayed busy exactly like Jana Elliot, who was the last to arrive. Jana was a nurse which is her schedule almost never matched Charlotte's and mine.

"I'm good Lena. I've got two dogs to watch this week which is pretty cool," I responded to the question, catching Jana's eyes as she walked in.

"Didn't you have one last week? What is it with you and babysitting dogs? It can't pay all that well," Jana greeted us.

"It pays pretty well actually. I keep getting requests from a lot of people who don't mind paying a lot. Plus, I charge 2000 for an entire week. Though for a few days it's only about 1500," I explained.

"Yeah, but you must not have enough to live anywhere nice," Lena commented.

"I live in Brooklyn. It's nice enough and save most of what I earn. Not to mention people give me tips after I watch their dogs. I even charge a little extra for training them if they need it. Sometimes I have the same dog or dogs for two weeks which gets me a lot of money," I stated.

"You're still earning money from doing book reviews right? What do they pay? 1300 per review?" Charlotte asked, looking up from her phone for the first time since she got here.

"Yes. It's more like 1500. Enough talk about my income. I'm hungry," I stated, feeling all the judgment from my friends. I loved them but there time I wondered why they bothered hanging out with me. Their comments seemed to get worse every time we met up, but I didn't want to seem like a hermit staying in my apartment, so I put up with it. They didn't bother me too much; occasionally someone would say something that rooted in me and stung a little but I never showed it until I got back to my apartment. We were seated and ordered spinach artichoke dip as an appetizer until we figured out what to have as a main course. Looking over the menu, I decided to go with a tuna poke, Lena, went with steak, Charlotte chose a salad and Jana went with a club sandwich.

"Did anyone see that advert in the bookstore downtown? An event for pen pals. Sounds ridiculous if you ask me," Charlotte said. My blood froze as Jana and Lena both nodded.

"Who would e-mail a complete stranger? What do they expect will happen? Someone falls in love with another person. Not likely," Lena replied.

"I heard it's supposed to be handwritten letters instead of e-mailing one another," I commented, nervously wringing my hands under the table.

"Oh good. Nothing like going back in time. I wonder if they had anyone sign up. Or maybe if they had any of the Avengers sign up," Lena continued, a scowl on her face.

"Maybe some might say it sounds kind of romantic. Having a connection with someone through letters of course. It doesn't have to be romance though. Some people could meet new friends," I stated. The three of them turned to glance at me; if I hadn't been judged before, then their expression certainly had judgment clearly etched out on their features.

"Did you sign up? You've always been a hopeless romantic. Sweetie, you should go out and meet someone real, not write to someone you can't even see," Jana suggested.

"No. I missed the deadline. As for meeting someone while I go out, it hasn't really worked for me," I snapped. Their eyebrows raised at the anger in my tone and decided to drop the subject. It was a quiet lunch, not much to say; I suppose my annoyance at them prevented anyone from speaking and for the first time I was happy to leave one of our outings.

Returning to my apartment, the retrievers greeted me by letting me scratch their heads, following me around while I prepared for our appointment at the dog pool. I changed into a black one piece, throwing on athletic shorts and a tank top with flip flops and leashed the dogs before exiting my home. This time, I loaded them in car and drove to midtown Manhattan, parking in the garage of the pool building, taking the elevator down to the pool. We would be the only ones there and I could eliminate the lunch from my mind as I swam around with Jamie and Sherlock. I had unleashed them and let them jump in while I pulled off my shorts and tank top, joining them immediately. We stayed there for two hours, swimming and playing, the tension I had melting away.

Packing up at the end of our session, I remembered to stop by the specialty shop that sold the Polaroid cameras for the purpose of keeping an old-fashioned theme to my letters. The shop in particular, accurately named Unique Peculiarities, allowed pets so I toted Jamie and Sherlock inside, browsing the various colors of the cameras, selecting a royal blue one and grabbing some film to prepare for my idea. I returned home and let the pups do their business before letting them loose in my apartment. I set to cleaning up and arranged my blankets in such a way to capture the coziness. I decided at the last minute to snap a picture of my bookshelves and added one of favorite books, Pride and Prejudice, for another picture. Once I got the pictures out the way, I sat down to construct another letter to Steve.

Four Days Later

Steve's POV

I spent most of the week preparing for the benefit and when it came, I still felt like something was missing, or rather someone. Maybe I was lonely and desired a companionship. Even now as I looked around at my friends, I wanted someone to hold, to kiss, to love. Most of my friends had someone; Natasha had Wanda - a surprise to all of us but we supported it - Tony had Pepper, Thor had Jane. The rest of us remained single but I couldn't help but to dream of having someone to care for. I didn't know if Keira would be the one for me. I hadn't even met the woman but still imagined what it'd be like with her.

"Can I get a beer please?" I asked the bartender, sitting down on the stools contemplating my decisions in life. I spent most days avenging the world and missed out on several opportunities to be fixed up on a date. Natasha had tried many times a few years ago but I rejected them all, set on working on missions. There was a brief relationship with Sharon Carter but it fell through pretty quickly and now I regretted not taking more chances with dating someone.

"Everything all right? You seem a bit down," Natasha's voice interrupted my thoughts as I sipped on my beer. I turned, managing a small grin.

"Yeah. I'm fine. Just thinking about some things,"

"Relationships you mean. What? I know you too well. Besides, I've been watching you tonight. You look at the couples and there's a hint of sadness in your eyes. Why don't you ask someone out?" she commented.

"I don't know. Sure, I'd like to date but the people I'm around are caught up in this world, avenging it and I don't want someone in the same line of work. I'd like to come home to some who can take my mind off this job. Other people see me as Captain America, not Steve Rogers. It's hard most days, seeing happiness of those around me when I can't provide it for myself,"

"Who knows? Maybe it'll happen to you one day. Don't give up hope,"

"Thanks Natasha," I told her. As the night died down, I wandered outside to get a breath of fresh air, hands in my pockets, the cool breeze of Autumn ruffling my hair. I reached the end of the drive and stopped by the mailbox. Mailbox. We haven't checked it in the last few days, I thought. Keira's name flashed across my mind as I opened the metal box and pulled out a stack of mail. I rifled through it on the way back to the compound. I was back inside the building when I saw it, the letter addressed to me. I set down the other mail on the coffee table and disappeared into my room, my fingers quickly opening the thick packaging of the envelope. I sat down on my bed, unfolding the letter, three Polaroid pictures facing me. One featured a bed with a multitude of colorful knitted blankets, the thickness of the material making me want to bury my body among them. The second picture had a view of three large bookshelves filled to the brim with all sorts of books ranging from fiction to nonfiction to young adult books. At the bottom of the Polaroid she had written - in Sharpie - 'Can you tell I'm a book collector?' followed by a winking face next to the question. A smile crept onto my lips as I picked up the final picture featuring Pride and Prejudice. The the end she had written 'My all time favorite.' Putting the pictures to the side, I began reading, kicking off my shoes and lying back on the sheets.

Steve,

As promised, I've sent you a picture of my cozy blankets. Don't they make you want to climb under them? They're ones for fall but there are more that I'm creating for winter. Definitely needing to stay warm, especially in this city. As a bonus, I've sent you a picture of bookshelves and one of my all time favorite book. I know, these are Polaroids but I thought it'd be kind of interesting to keep an nostalgic theme going here.

Pride and Prejudice is one story I've falling in love with ever since the eighth grade. I love the dynamic between Elizabeth Bennett and Mr. Darcy and the love that happened to always be there. I read it every Christmas curled up in bed or on the couch, a cup of hot chocolate, or tea, in my hand. The blankets surrounding me of course. You'd think after a few years of living here, I'd be used to the cold, but I'm still a southern girl at heart and desire warmth.

In my last letter, I realized I forgot to tell you I'm originally from North Carolina. Greensboro to be exact. When I used to live there, we had crazy weather too, one day it'd be hot as blazes, the next cool and comfortable. During the winter, we'd freeze, not used to it. My parents still live there of course, but we don't get to visit each other much. I miss them and I'll be visiting the some time next month and for Christmas, so if you get a letter from North Carolina, that'll be why.

Currently, I'm watching two golden retrievers named Jamie and Sherlock. We went swimming earlier and as I'm write this, my hair is still a tangled, wet mess. I hope wherever you are, you're having a good day. I was until I met up with a couple friends of mine. I think I've mentioned I'm a total romantic. If not, then now you know.

Well that makes two of us, I thought. She already had me wanting to cozy up in that bed as well since I already viewed the picture. The only difference being I wanted to be under there with her. It's only the second letter. Am I starting to crush on her already? Another thought popped up in my head as I continued reading.

Anyway, they saw the advertisement for this event and seemed to think it ridiculous. I rather think this is unique, a great opportunity to connect. Maybe all this could be is a friendship but maybe somewhere out there it could give someone to love. Is it silly? Maybe not ideal? Perhaps, but you never know. Things could miraculously happen.

No, it's not silly. I love the way your mind works, I thought. I sat up to remove my jacket and tie picking up the letter again, settling back on the pillows.

If that wasn't bad enough, they sought out to judge me on my job. They don't think it pays well but you'd be surprised at the amount of people who request me to watch their dogs. Sometimes they also pay to have me train them. Not to mention a side job (which I forgot to mention last time) as a book reviewer. Apparently in this city, it pays well and it's a lot of fun.

The only things that calmed me today was the pool time with the pups and knowing I could come back write to you. I wish that we have met already; I desperately need a hug at the moment. For the time being, I'll just hold the goldens close and pet them. Maybe next week will be better. It'll be my birthday after all. Nothing can go wrong on your birthday.

Sorry for the complaining but I needed to get it off my chest and my mind. Writing and talking is the best way I know how to do just that and since I can't talk to anyone about this, writing to you seems to be my only option. It's the best option, trust me.

Looking forward to your letter,

Keira

I ran my fingers over her name, a longing in my heart starting to grow. I would've wrapped her in a hug so warm she'd never feel sad again. I sighed, getting up and placing the letter and the Polaroids in a box I set aside for this very purpose. I stripped out the rest of the suit, except for my boxers and turned off the lights in my room. I slipped into the warmth of my bed and fell into dreams of one day meeting Keira.

Keira's POV

My week with Jamie and Sherlock wasn't over yet. I spent more time sitting on the couch reading, taking them out on walks or just to their business when they needed it. We went swimming two more days and I collected the mail, letting it pile up, not checking it because I got busy training the pups a few times during the week. Today my phone rang while I sat on the couch, Sherlock in my lap, Jamie on the other end sleeping.

"Hello?" I answered, not checking the ID.

"Keira, it's Andrea. We need to stay another three days in Europe. We've been requested to head to London to check on the shop there. Are you okay to watch Jamie and Sherlock for a little longer?" Mrs. Peterson greeted me.

"Yeah, no problem. I don't have any other dogs coming until next Saturday," I told her her pushing my stack of mail over to get to my calendar. I marked down Jamie and Sherlock until the Wednesday coming up. The pile tipped over, spilling to the floor and I sighed, bending down to pick up the envelopes that fell; my hands paused when I saw the new letter from Steve.

"Great. We'll pay you when we get back. is an extra 3000 okay with you?" she commented.

"Uh huh. Sounds good. Have a safe trip," I said, ending the call and standing up. I hastily threw the other envelopes I picked up back on the kitchen counter, returning to the couch. I ripped open the envelope pulling out a sheet of notebook paper, unfolding it and started reading.

Keira,

I just finished up picking out a suit for a benefit I have to attend later this week. I forgot all about it until one of my friends told me about it during a meeting today. This meeting was dull and boring, not exciting like others. In the other letter you sent, you wanted to know a favorite memory of mine. I don't have many but I always remember the one when my best friend made me ride on a roller coaster at Coney Island which made me throw up. Gross, I know, but it's the one that comes to mind first. That and the engagement of another friend of mine. He had never been happier than in that moment. Another thing about me is something we both have in common. Reading is a favorite thing I love to do. Other than drawing. Speaking of, I sent you a drawing this time. I mentioned I doodle when I'm bored. So, this took place during the meeting.

I stopped briefly to pull out the piece of paper that got stuck in the envelope. I unfolded it and smiled at the pictured of a realistic looking dog pawing around a ball of yarn. He was definitely talented, the details standing out and catching the eye. I looked back to the letter and continued to read.

It's not much but it made me think of you. Your job sounds interesting and I'm pleased you're following your passion. Now, things I like to do for fun besides reading and drawing are going out with my friends to a bar. We tend to have a good time. I like running and going to the movies, even though I'm behind on a lot of them. I love the smell of coffee in the morning and the smell of rain whenever I go out in it. The rain is almost tranquil and I feel I can escape among those tiny droplets. You should see my mood during a thunderstorm. I'm very calm throughout it. I love watching the lightning in the dark with the curtains drawn.

Oh, we'd definitely get along then, I thought, touching my free fingers to my lips.

The description of your blankets makes me want a creation of yours. No pressure though. We're still strangers after all. Your description of yourself, however, makes me want to see that lovely face. You're beautiful, though I haven't seen you yet. If we ever get to the point where we'd want to see each other in person, I know I'd have my breath taken away. That's only my opinion though. I hope this benefit goes well. I'm not going with anyone but sometimes I get this lonely feeling. I want someone to hold and to love but I haven't found the right person yet and the people I'm around are in my line of work. I;d love to come home to someone who doesn't deal with the same things I do. I would love someone who could pull me from it, to distract me from it, if only for a few hours.

I don't mean to sound sad but I feel as though I can tell you anything and not get judged for it or at least not pushed into anything. This a good way to open up indeed. To tell someone about things you wouldn't normally share with even your closest friends. I want to hear more from you. Your favorite movie? Your ideal date? Your ideal day? Maybe your favorite memory? Anything. Everything. I hope the drawing brought you joy today.

Write to you soon,

Steve

My smile spread wider at the words on the paper. A thought popped in my mind that very instant. The thought being that I might start to like him only not in a friendship way. Though the friendship was off to a good start, other feelings began to dance around in my heart. Try not to fall in love with him yet. It's too early for that, I thought to myself. I folded up the letter and the drawing, sliding them into the envelope carefully and set it aside, continuing my book well into the late night, Steve on my mind. I made a mental note to get a frame for the drawing as I got up from the couch, allowing both dogs to join me in my bedroom. I changed into pajamas and slid under the coziness of my sheets, drifting off into dreamland.

#avengers #captain america #steve rogers #steve rogers x oc #marvel #pen pals

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readingwebcomics · 5 years

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Analyzing Questionable Content: Pages 51-100

No Faye, it only looks that way because he’s playing Final Fantasy X-2. Good God, I just realized that Final Fantasy X-2 is someone’s first experience with Final Fantasy. That’s a depressing thought. Although someone starting out the series with Final Fantasy XIII is probably way worse, now that I think about it. At least X-2 had fun.

…huh? Oh right, the comic. You sure you’d rather not listen to me write an essay on Final Fantasy, instead? I have this great point about how Final Fantasy IX has the most emotionally impactful narrative but as a game it only really clicks with long-time players of… no? Okay fine, let’s get back into QC.

The very next comic has Marten getting a tax return check for $1,100, and being the wise adult that he is, decides to spend that money on a new guitar. Tagging along, Faye brings up something that gives us new insight on her character:

And clearly didn’t bore her, considering how much of that information she retained. Here we have yet another example of a shared interest between these two, Marten clearly being into Guitars if he’s invested enough to blow a fat wad of money on it and Faye carrying around quite a bit of information on the instrument herself. I’ve made the point in the last post, but to reiterate – at this point in the comic, it’s clear these two are clicking as far as interests go. They can keep up with each other, can and have provided support for one another, and challenge one another… okay granted that last one isn’t entirely true, it’s clear Faye challenges Marten more than vice-versa, but still. There is a clear, acting relationship dynamic between these two, whether platonic or romantic. The reason why early QC works as well as it does is because these two have clear characters to them and their relationship FEELS real – they feel like people you’d know who’d really be friends – or maybe more than friends. This is Jeph’s character writing at… well I hesitate to call it at its best because to imply he peaked as early as the 53rd comic would be an insult to him as a writer, and I’m not looking to do that here.

I’m looking to do that a little bit later on in this part when we discuss Faye’s “character quirk.”

Before that however, we’re going to get a little bit on insight on Marten:

The story is elaborated on in a future comic, but here we get Marten’s backstory – traveling across the country for a girl, the relationship falling apart and leaving him stuck in this part of the country. This will go on to explain several of his character choices, including Pintsize (although that’s something we’re not going to approach until MUCH later on). It also further elaborates on Marten’s character as a whole: He doesn’t make many active actions as a whole, but when he does, it tends to shift the entire dynamic of how he lives. He decided he wanted to follow this woman across the country, and that action ended up completely upending his life. Could this be part of the reason why Marten is so passive? Does he skew towards this lifestyle because he’s been “trained” to take any kind of affirmative action as an intense, life-changing event?

While I’m not certain myself, and I have a damn good feeling Jeph wasn’t thinking that far ahead when writing Marten’s character, it’s an angle I’m willing to continue exploring as we further our journey down this comic’s history.

This comic was written in 2003. I’m half-tempted to believe Meme culture can be tracked by indie bands now. Wonder if there was any zeitgeist with neo-nazi indie bands ten or fifteen years ago then, if that theory holds true?

…I just made myself really, really sad.

Later on, Pintsize proceeds to eat a cake when he really shouldn’t – again – and we are gifted with… this lovely image.

Okay. I understand Pintsize is an AI, so it makes total sense for him to be able to be uploaded to a PC like this (ignoring for the moment modern commercial hardware can’t possibly support the resources necessary to maintain human-level sapience and ESPECIALLY not in 2003), but this is one of the freakiest fucking things I’ve seen from this comic. Mostly because at the time of writing we’re on comic 4000 and AI as a whole take an entirely different turn in the world of QC around that time, so… this is just kinda surreal to look at.

…We’ll get to AI in regards to QC’s universe later on when it becomes more relevant. Needless to say, it becomes one of the core “themes” of the comic as a whole.

The narrative reason for this turn of events is simple:

Pintsize is now in a new visually appealing model, capable of moving his joints around so he can do more than just stand around and talk!

…also one that has a horrifying government-level laser built into it! Believe it or not, this DOES become a relevant plot-point later and it’s not just for the sake of a gag. This is a great example of Jeph taking a tiny detail he may have originally written in as a joke and building off it to create conflict… although I’ll be getting more into that later on when it actually DOES become relevant.

Pintsize agrees to turn the laser off, and a few comics later Marten and Steve go to the bar to discuss their lives – specifically Marten’s love life.

Further showcasing of Marten’s passive nature and his straight-up lack of confidence.

Say goodbye to Sara everyone – for real this time, I’m fairly certain this is the very last time we ever see her. I could be mistaken, but I highly doubt it. Plus, while we don’t see it in detail we get enough information to gleam Steve as Marten’s exact opposite – charming without being overwhelming, confident without being cocky. Steve is just straight-up a cool dude, and it’s easy to see how he can easily get into relationships while Marten stays there floating along, too scared and/or passive to make the move that comes to Steve naturally.

Wait. Shit, I may have the hots for Steve. Abort, aboRT, ABOR-

I’m showing this in part to showcase the next point of conflict and also to draw attention to the new style Jeph is trying. He’ll do this throughout the run of QC, trying out brand-new styles to see what fits and what doesn’t. I’ll be including this in my comparison pictures at the very end of this post to give a clearer image of what changes and how he improves… although you can see even in this comic he’s struggling against old habits as Marten’s face in the final panel looks drastically different than in the rest, looking more akin to how he looked in older comics. That’s okay! Habits die hard, it’s worth applauding the fact that Jeph is trying. God knows I can’t draw to save my fucking life, so I’ll always support artists trying new things.

I’m mostly including this panel for two reasons: The fact that Faye’s stuck in the closet right now – if you don’t get why that’s funny, you will in about 3700 comics from now – and the way she’s talking. Do you notice something different about the “feel” of Faye’s dialogue? Keep an eye on it, I’ll try to include more panels of her talking from this point onward.

Anyway, Marten dismantles the previously established conflict by revealing he managed to get Faye’s prescription for her and got her a new pair of glasses.

Mark this as the second time Faye has actually displayed real physical aggression against Marten.

Again, depending on how much you know about AI in QC’s world from future comics this could either be a lot funnier or a hell of a lot less funny. Although… the subject of AI mortality would make for an EXTREMELY interesting plot point in more recent comics. Remind me to touch on that when we get further along.

Again: Pay attention to Faye’s dialogue in this comic, especially in that last panel. You’re noticing it, aren’t you? The fact that she sounds a little… different? Give me a little more time, I promise I’ll touch on it a little later.

Hey, guess what? It’s later!

Faye does not punch Marten whenever she says something nice about him. In fact, she has ever only assaulted Marten twice – both times for completely arbitrary reasons not related to her saying anything to or about Marten. Nor has Faye ever spoken completely without contractions, as you see she’s doing now. Later comics will go on to point out how odd it is that Faye only speaks with contractions when she’s drunk and dips into her southern accent… when we’ve seen in previous comics that she is capable of speaking with contractions and talking like a normal human being. This change has shifted the entire “feel” of every line of Faye’s dialogue, as she no longer “sounds” like the Faye we started the comic with.

These are both examples of a writing mistake that a lot of long-form regular updating writers make, be it fanfiction or daily comics – retcons. If you’re reading this, you most likely know what a retcon is. For the few of you that don’t, a retcon – short for retroactive continuity – is the practice of in later works of an ongoing series introducing a fact that changes what was previously established in previous works. This is most commonly seen in Superhero comics from Marvel and DC, but the kind of retcon I’m talking about is more common on smaller scale works, like fanfiction or unedited novels or ongoing RPs.

See, when the writer realizes they wanted to change up something, introduce a plot element that would require them to go back and change something previously to make it make sense and find that for whatever reason they can’t, they may go ahead and introduce the plot element anyway while assuring the reader that no, of course this element was always included. That’s what’s happening here – Jeph had an idea for a plot element he wants to include, realized he can’t exactly go back to older comics and change them considering it’s a regularly updated webcomic, and so decided to retcon these facts by introducing them like they’ve always been a part of things and assert their truth while continuing on.

Not that I can necessarily blame the man – in a situation like this, realizing there’s an important plot element that you want to work with but can’t due to you leaving it no room in what you’ve previously published, there’s not much else you can do besides either retconning things or accepting you can’t introduce that plot element and just move on. However, there are other ways you can work with this that abide by previously established continuity and lets you introduce a plot element you want to introduce. For example, Faye punching Marten: You could introduce it as something she feels more comfortable doing the longer she’s around him. Have more frequent comics of her following saying something nice up with a punch, let us see her actually assault him more, and draw a correlation between her getting more comfortable around him and her getting more physically aggressive – something Jeph does touch on later, so it is entirely possible to introduce this new dynamic without asserting things have happened that we clearly see haven’t happened.

…as for Faye not speaking in contractions however, that’s just stupid. It’s a gimmick for her character, plain and simple, without adding anything to her as a character. If you want something big to showcase she’s keeping herself restrained, just continue as you were, having her speak in a southern accent when she’s drunk. That works as a fun gag to attach to her character without seeming like a dumb gimmick. And I’m sorry to say… this whole “Faye doesn’t speak in contractions” thing? It’s a dumb gimmick.

Okay, now that I’ve gotten that all off my chest, let’s introduce ourselves to the new main character of QC…

This is Dora, the owner of the Coffee Shop that Faye works at. She’s a cool cat and (seemingly) supremely chill. She’s introduced as another secondary character like Steve, but will swiftly become a mainstay character and join what will become a growing ensemble cast.

Also, potential conflict is seeded when it’s revealed she’s totally crushing on Marten.

And if you doubt Faye’s assessment, let’s hear it from the woman in question herself.

Also say hello to Dora’s cat. The cat has a name, I just can’t remember it for the life of me considering the little fella joins Sara on that island eventually. But yeah, Dora DEFINITELY has the hots for Marten, sewing another potential seed for conflict later on – Marten and Faye are certainly in the “will they or won’t they?” phase, and here sits Faye’s own boss with a clear, vested interest in Marten. Will she make a move and push Faye to take action? Time will tell.

Jeph enjoys trolling his audience, and Marten is suffering because of it.

Dora goes on to establish herself in the reader’s minds by having a clear, distinct personality that bounces off Faye’s beautifully. They banter so comfortably with one another it makes it so much fun to read, which goes on to make Dora a more appealing character to the reader. The more she talks, the more you want to see her because she’s such a genuinely charismatic individual… which can further serve to establish her as a very real conflict in the potential Marten and Faye relationship. After all, what’s a greater spanner in the works of this “will they or won’t they?” relationship than a character who will gladly say “Yeah, I will” that the audience likes enough that they are completely on-board with seeing go through?

The most dangerous thing to a romcom relationship is a third wheel that a good portion of the audience prefers over the teased relationship, and that creates good drama.

(Also Sara’s name is spelled wrong but eh it’s not like she’s around to complain anyway)

…that said, Dora goes on to assure Faye that she has no intention of swiping Marten off his feet away from her when it’s clear Faye’s interested in him. Then again… the more Faye insists she’s not interested in him, the more likely it may be that Dora believes her.

True story, I found this concept so funny that in a campaign I ran a few years ago, I actually had one of the players – who was supposed to be stuck as a worker in a dreary 9-to-5 job that he’d desperately want to escape to go onto adventure – be labeled as the Office Bitch. My only regret is that I didn’t print out a real business card for his player. That either would have gotten a laugh from the table or gotten me punched.

This here is Scott, Marten’s boss. He’s a cool dude, but for reasons that will become evident later on we don’t see very much of him. At first, I thought he was going to end up being the future husband of Marten’s father – and if you haven’t read through QC yourself that sentence will probably completely catch you flat-footed – but looking it up later I found that Marten marries a man named Maurice, not Scott. I only thought they were the same person because they’re both blonde and the art style changes so much later on anyone could look like anyone else.

Actually, fun fact: I started reading QC when 2512 was the most recent comic, so before she was introduced I thought Faye and Marigold were the same person because of how drastically the art style changed and I only recognized “curvy white girl with glasses and brown hair”.

Anyway, Scott’s pretty chill and… yeah. Yeah, that’s pretty much it. He’s a chill dude to work for, and that’s probably the only reason Marten hasn’t outright quit his job yet. The worst job in the world can be made tolerable with a good boss, and the best job in the world can be made unbearable with an awful boss.

Further evidence of the lack of contractions hurting the way Faye’s voice comes across than anything else. Seriously, is it just me or does this not sound like Faye? Like, at ALL? I’m open to being told I’m wrong, just… seriously.

Aaaand here we have Steve officially having broken up with Sara. Also, it’s a small thing but like I’ve said, I’ll give Jeph credit where it’s due – that visible wince on Marten’s face is the most expressive any of his characters have been thus far. Good work man, I’m happy to see you improving with your art!

After drinking together, Marten and Faye decide to go to an all-night diner for some drunken late-night pancakes when we get this bit of information from Faye:

That is Faye, if you can figure out which of the two Martens your fist will connect with. But yeah, the fact that Faye speaks in a southern drawl while intoxicated went from a joke to actual character – she’s legitimately from Georgia and that’s her natural way of speaking. Which may raise the question to the reader, why does she repress that voice so much? Don’t worry – they touch on it in later comics. For now though, another round of applause to Jeph for slowly and organically creating new information about his characters.

Faye is clearly not telling the whole story – the lack of eye contact being a key indicator of just that. Still, we’re getting a little bit more information on her, and the fact that she kept her wording vague leaves a lot to still explore in her future. Needless to say… it was a LOT more than just her mother being over-protective that led her to moving up north.

Marten’s just kind of accepted his lot in life by this point. Although when I was first reading through these I honestly thought this was going to be the headbutt-into-crotch moment.

Once again, if you haven’t read through QC yourself that sentence made zero sense to you. I’m kind of giggling at the thought of someone reading that and doing a double-take, actually.

Finally, we have the last comic of this batch, setting up a bit of conflict for our next batch…

Wuh-oh! Marten walked in on Faye changing! One really nice detail is that you can see the scar on Faye’s chest right there in the first panel, which means Jeph had a LOT of Faye’s backstory already planned out while he was drawing this stuff. Which just leaves me to wonder… how far back did he have this planned? When Faye first showed up in the third comic? When he had her start speaking in a southern accent while drunk? When he decided to have her stop speaking in contractions? I’d love to ask him, but I know for a fact he wouldn’t give me the time of day. Oh well, either way: He’s got shit planned out, shit that we won’t see until Comic 500 or so, and that’s always good for a long-form comic like this.

Like last time, let’s do some quick comparisons between the first comic of the batch, the comic where Jeph made a clear and active effort to change the art style, and the last comic of the batch:

It looks like Jeph found a happy medium between the style he was originally going for and the newer style he tried to incorporate, keeping the relative size and position of the characters’ facial features while rounding out everyone’s faces, making things much less angular than previously. The bodies are also beginning to get some real texture to them, looking closer to real human bodies than stick figures with a shirt.

Overall, what did I think about this batch of comics? Well aside from my complaints about Faye’s lack of using contractions and the sloppy way Jeph tried to incorporate that into the narrative, I thought it was better than the first batch! Marten and Faye are getting into a comfortable rhythm with each other, and we’re falling in-line with that rhythm ourselves. We just met a new character who’s going to be a mainstay of the series and in the few comics she’s shown up in, she’s made her presence stick with the reader. Even if I didn’t know how important Dora would become, I’d be saying I’m looking forward to seeing more of her.

You know what time it is now? That’s riiiiiight! Data compilation time!

Between comics 51-100, the following characters’ proportional “screen time” as it were are as follows:

Marten: 46/50 – 92%

Faye: 45/50 – 90%

Pintsize: 12/50 – 24%

Dora: 8/50 – 16%

Steve: 6/50 – 12%

Sara: 2/50 – 4%

Scott: 2/50 – 4%

Dora’s Cat: 1/50 – 2%

And the grand total of each character’s screentime, not including non-canon or guest comics, from most to least time shown:

Marten: 91/100 – 91%

Faye: 83/100 – 83%

Pintsize: 27/100 – 27%

Steve: 14/100 – 14%

Dora: 8/100 – 8%

Sara: 7/100 – 7%

Jim: 2/100 – 2%

Scott: 2/100 – 2%

Raven: 1/100 – 1%

Dora’s Cat: 1/100 – 1%

Yes, I’m counting Dora’s cat among the statistics. I’ll change the name when I learn what the critter’s name actually is. Also, I was reminded that when the Secret Bakery becomes a thing later on in the comic there will be another character named Jim, with this particular construction worker being called Jimbo instead. I’ll change the name properly when he’s called “Jimbo” proper in the comic, don’t worry. I’ll be doing my best to keep this list from getting confusing… it’s in as much my best interest as yours seeing as I want to keep track of everyone properly.

Tune in next week when we see the exciting conclusion of this spicy “Marten happening to walk in on Faye undressing” drama! And Dora flashing someone. See you then.

#Questionable Content #Analysis #Long-form analysis #Faye #Marten #Pintsize #Dora #Steve

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veryangryhedgehog · 6 years

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“Rabbit Heart Part III” an Ede Valley story by Hedgehog.

Part III

Gilveidan, “The All-Knowing” had been sulking for the past 24 hours. Clearly, he wasn’t happy about this whole “Being dragged along to kill the Ultimate Evil” thing, but Muirne didn’t really care. It was his own damn fault for trying to kill her.

As quickly as travel by foot would allow, they made their way across the unburdened plains towards the north-west. Muirne attempted to make conversation as they walked, though she wasn’t very successful at first.

“So, who are you?” she asked. “I mean, I know that’s a highly loaded question, but considering that we’ll be fighting and maybe dying together sometime in the next week and a half, it seems like something I should know.”

“We will definitely be dying,” he grumbled. “So what’s the point?”

“Well,” she pushed, her eyes narrowing, “Would you rather die with a stranger, or with a friend? And besides, I’m the prophesized hero, remember? So odds are, we won’t die.”

He shook his head, wearily. “Just because you’re ‘destined’ to destroy this evil doesn’t mean you won’t die in the process.”

“And you’re just a lovely little cloud of sunshine, aren’t you?”

Blinking, he paused. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I consider myself a person of the utmost pessimism.”

“I was being sarcastic.”

“Ah, yes. Of course,” he muttered, and for a while they continued on in silence. It was a hard trek under the burning sun, but after scrambling over giant boulders for two days, this was a piece of cake. Mm, cake. What Muirne wouldn’t do for a slice of cake right now. Her rations tasted like sludge in her mouth.

Before too terribly long, the sun began to dip towards the horizon, and the two made camp. As they sat on the hard ground, a crackling fire in between them, Gilveidan sighed in the silence. “So what about you, then?” he asked. “Since you seem so eager to become ‘friends’.”

“Well...” she began. “I’m the youngest princess of Atlantis, and I have two older sisters. I had a brother as well, but he, well...”

Gilveidan nodded solemnly. “I see. A shame.”

“Ai. He died when I was about eight, and he was fifteen.”

“It’s... hard to lose someone so young.”

“You sound like you know something about it.”

He shrugged. “I may have had experience.”

Muirne was really gonna have to coax this one out, wasn’t she? “Who was it?”

“My sister,” he explained. “She was younger than me, twelve. It happened a year ago.”

“I’m sorry,” Muirne hung her head. She wanted to ask more, curiosity pricked the back of her mind. But she barely knew this man, it’s be considered rude to ask him about something so sensitive. So she let the conversation fall to silence.”

After a moment Gilveidan shook himself. “Thank you,” he mumbled.

Before long, Muirne’s eyes began to droop, and she made to go to sleep. “Gilveidan, however, hadn’t moved from his spot. “I’ll take first watch,” he then shook his head as Muirne looked confused. “It’s dangerous out here in the wilds. Not all our enemies will cower from a simple fire.”

Muirne shivered at that. It was true she’d never been outside the bounds of Atlantis for long; she had no idea what—or who—could be out here. She was going to have trouble sleeping now. “I’ll take second shift,” she volunteered, trying to put on a brave face. “Wake me up when you get tired.”

He nodded, and Muirne rolled over in her cot, towards the darkness. She could feel both the fire, and his gaze on her back as she closed her eyes.

And then it was bright and Muirne blinked as the scattered light from the clouds reached her eyes. Gilveidan still sat by the remnants of the fire, glancing through a book. Muirne couldn’t read the words on the cover exactly.

“I told you to wake me,” she frowned.

He shrugged. “You were snoring. It was vaguely endearing. Like a lost little rabbit.”

Muirne’s frown intensified. “I’m glad I inspire you with such confidence.”

“One could argue that rabbits are some of the bravest creatures to walk upon this earth. The only defense they have is their strong, able legs,” Gilveidan pondered as they packed up camp.

Smiling, Muirne straightened. “Are you saying you were trying to compliment me?”

“No, I was just thinking out loud. It was rather sad, really.”

“You are not the most subtle person I know,” Muirne hoisted her pack over her shoulder and started walking, not waiting for him to keep up.

A second later, he was suddenly in front of her. “I wasn’t trying to be.”

“Speaking of which, you know magic! Why are we walking?”

“I don’t know magic, I have magic. A very small but distinct difference.” He kept walking, his long coat billowing behind him. “And if you’re speaking of my ability to ‘jump’ from one place to another, it wouldn’t be very helpful. What I just did is the extent of its range.”

“Well, you’re turning out to be a wonderful investment,” Muirne pouted.

“My abilities are much more suited for combat then for travel,” he admitted, almost a little sheepishly.

"Well, you might get your chance," Muirne pointed ahead, to where a patch of darkness had begun to loom over the horizon. "We're nearing the swamps.”

Less was known about the swamps then the well-traversed Dragon’s Teeth. Not many people had made it that far. The most that could be said was that there was “danger” in the swamps. Which was incredibly descriptive.

“That would be the most efficient route,” Gilveidan nodded. ��To go around would take days. Not that I’m terribly thrilled about it.”

“Do you know anything about what might be in there?” she asked, hoping for a warning of some kind.

But he shook his head. “Unfortunately, I have not known many people live to tell about it.”

“Well,” Muirne hoisted her pack higher on her shoulders. “I don’t see what we’re waiting around here for.”

Gilveidan would have responded with something along the lines of “Christmas,” but it wouldn’t be invented for another 4000 years yet.

The sky seemed to darken by several shades as they found themselves between the thick, drooping leaves on the trees. At first, the ground merely squelched unpleasantly beneath their feet, but before long they were wading through ankle-deep mud.

Though so far, they hadn’t run into anything dangerous, besides a few mosquitos. But just as she began to relax, Muirne suddenly looked down to realize that she had almost put her foot down into a pool of inky-black... something. Gilveidan grabbed her arm, and pulled her back as the liquid-like, gaseous material reached up to grab the offending foot.

“What... is that?” she asked.

“Corruption,” Gilveidan shook his head. “The evil is spreading faster than I had supposed.”

Muirne paused. “How do you know so much about this?”

“I’m a warlock,” he said, a little too quickly. “We’re supposed to know these things.”

Narrowing her eyes, Muirne made to open her mouth and call him out on the lie. But she thought better of it. “So what... if I touch it, it’ll ‘corrupt’ me?”

“Yes.”

"I don’t know what that means.”

“It’s better that you don’t,” Gilveidan shivered. “Just attempt to avoid it.”

But as they continued onward, they found more and more of the strange corruption, and it became difficult to avoid. They had to continuously look down at their feet to step around them. After a few hours of this, Muirne was quickly becoming annoyed. She was tired, sore, and soaked to the bone, not only from the muddy ground but from the very air itself. And Gilveidan being damnably cryptic was certainly not helping.

“Alright,” she said, “You’re not telling me something.”

He didn’t miss a beat. “I have no clue what you could possibly be referring to.”

“Obviously, you know something of this evil!” the floodgates finally burst. “You have more information about this corruption than a simple excuse like ‘I’m a warlock’ can cover for, you’ve been vaguely cryptic about your past, and need I remind you that you tried to kill me before I could even confront this evil!”

“Mere coincidence,” he said.

“Bullshit!”

“So what if it is?” he glared at her. “I’m not going to bother now that we’re just going to die anyway.”

Muirne wanted to scream at him, and her voice grew louder and louder. “The information you have might prevent us from doing so! You may have a deathwish, but I certainly don’t!”

“It doesn’t matter!”

“It does!”

“Fine, have it your way,” he spat. “I’ve never told anyone what happened to Viola, and if I do, then that’ll make it re—”

But he didn’t get a chance to finish, because he hadn’t been watching where he was stepping, and nearly fell out of sight as the corruption twisted around his legs and began to pull him in.

“Oh bother,” he grunted as his legs began to sizzle.

Muirne panicked, trying to find a branch or something to reach him. “Is that all you have to say?”

“Yes?” he said, before conjuring a rather small ball of light and waving it around the corruption, which shrieked and crept backwards. But not enough to stop it. “I knew I should have put more effort into light,” he muttered. “Blast. Well, I guess I’ll die now.”

“Not on your life!” Muirne grabbed a vine wrapped around the trunk of a tree and braced herself with one hand as she attempted to grab him with the other.

“Oh, are you going to save me?” he asked. “I thought you hated me.”

“I never said I hated you,” she grunted with effort.

“Good, because this is actually becoming rather painful.”

“Then reach, you bastard! Reach!”

He tried. They both stretched their arms towards each other. But it wasn’t enough, and Gilveidan kept sinking.

“There’s gotta be something,” Muirne glanced around frantically. “What about light? That seemed to hurt it.”

“It... it would have been more... effective with natural light,” Gilveidan’s face scrunched in pain as the sizzling increased in intensity. “But there’s no way to deliver it... down here.”

Suddenly, Muirne smiled. Quick as a whip, she reached into her pack and pulled out Ròs’ mirror. She danced around for a moment, attempting to find a spot where the sunlight stretched down through the pale leaves of the trees. Then, finally, the gilded surface of the mirror caught the light, and she angled it down towards the corruption, which was now up to Gilveidan’s chest.

The substance shrieked, squealed, then finally began to shrink away. Muirne shined it here and there, until the corruption was weak enough for her to grab Gilveidan’s hand and pull him back onto—vaguely—solid ground.

Much to her surprise, he immediately threw his now tattered coat off and then went for his shirt.

“What in Mor’s name are you doing?” she asked.

“I need to check,” he mumbled vaguely, glancing down at his arms and turning to and fro like a dog chasing its tail.

“For what?”

“The corruption, obviously, it can spread, do terrible things, I—” he paused then, and looked over at her as if he just realized she was there. “You... saved my life. You didn’t have to do that.”

She shrugged. “I sort of did. I am the one who dragged you into this, after all.”

“Believe me, you didn’t,” he added gravely. “But in the end, you were right. If you want a shot at surviving this thing, you’re going to need my full cooperation.”

Muirne smiled. “Let’s get out of this disgusting swamp first. And then you can tell me the whole story.”

#Ede Valley #Muirne D'Irn #Gilveidan the All-Knowing #Atlantis #story #writing

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oldtowrs · 7 years

Text

Come Back to me, Darling - Thranduil

Based on the imagine from @imaginexhobbit : Imagine being Thranduil’s wife and the look of heartbreak in his eyes when you wake up from a coma and have no recollection of your life with him.

A/N: Hello, people! Thank you so much for putting up with my unannounced and unexpected hiatus. School’s been pretty stressful and I haven’t had the motivation to write, but now I think I’m back on my bullshit, and fics should be coming out asap. Requests are open once again so please, if you have an idea, please drop it in my inbox!

Abbreviations: E/C: eye color, H/C: hair color.

Translations: guren vell: my sweetheart, meluis: lovely one, melethron nin: my love of my life

Warnings: Comas, no recollection of memory, sad Thranduil

Word Count: ~4000

Weeks had passed since Thranduil had seen the happiness that shimmered in her E/C eyes, heard the sweet twinkling of her laughter as it graced his ears and felt the warmth of her embrace. All had been cold since the attack, since they had taken her consciousness-and therefore from not only her but both of them. His heart ached and mourned the events every moment and it yearned and begged for the day those wonderful eyes would reopen again... for the day Y/N would wake up.

The healers in the infirmary had said that Y/N, Thranduil's queen and precious lover, might have forgotten everything that had ever happened in her long life up until the attack, and that knowledge had torn at his heart night after night in which sleep could and would not come to him. Everything they had worked for, everything they had built up... gone in a fleeting instant...

The healers said that talking to her while she slept in her cold, lifeless hibernation might help her regain some of the memories, and so, Thranduil would always leave his chambers early in the morning, before his duties were scheduled to begin, and would leave his throne early as well, all to visit his beloved Y/N's sleeping form. Each morning and each night, he would softly talk to her, spilling the deepest thoughts and feelings of his soul to her in hopes that the love and passion might awake her once more. But it never worked. Each morning and night he would enter the infirmary chambers in which she slept with a glimmer of newfound hope, that today would be the day she would awake. But each and every day and night, the results would always be the same... his beautiful, precious love would remain hindered deep within a slumber she took within the clammy, frozen palm of death itself.

Tonight was no different, or so Thranduil thought as he entered the infirmary, and crossed the large room to the corner in which the small bed laid. The nurses who weren't tending to patients immediately left, flying like innocent white doves on the flapping folds of their stark white healer's robes. Every day she gets better, Thranduil thought, noticing the stronger pigment that had settled in Y/N's skin, but still, she never wakes.

"Oh, Y/N," Thranduil's deep, melodious voice sighed, pure heartbreak in his eyes as his elegant, nimble fingers brushed her soft cheek, a small strand of H/C hair cascading down the slope of her petite jawline as a result, "why can't you wake up? Why can't you come back to me? Oh, Y/N... come back to me, my darling."

Thranduil's fingers tangled with the ones on Y/N's limp hands absentmindedly as his other hand smoothed over her hair that he had carefully washed with the help of a healer only yesterday. Although she was close to death, Y/N's hair was still as soft and beautiful as the day Thranduil had met her... the day oh so long ago that she had captured his heart.

"Darling, please," Thranduil cooed weakly, tears welling in his eyes as he continued. "I don't know if I can keep doing this. I can't keep waking to find our bed empty and cold. I can't keep dealing with these imbeciles without knowing the comfort of your sweet arms is waiting for me. I can't keep living my life that I wanted to spend with you without you. Love, oh sweet darling love...come back to me."

Tears, as frozen as Thranduil's aching heart, wetted his pristine face as they flowed in masses uncontrollably from his eyes... eyes that he had planned to use in acts of worship. He had planned to gaze upon Y/N's beautiful form with those eyes for the rest of his life upon the day they had married secretly in the woods with the last rays of summer sun melting like gold upon their skins.

Unable to take the pain any longer, Thranduil leaned down and kissed Y/N's cold lips, tears leaking from his closed eyes... his fingers a final prayer to Illuvatar for your awakening as they squeezed Y/N's tightly, reluctantly letting go as the delicate hand Thranduil had placed on her cheek departed like a fluttering bird and his lean back straightened.

Then he left the infirmary, his body feeling burdened, for every inch held the soft memory of Y/N's warmth... every inch was a reminder that she was just beyond his desperate fingertips and that, no matter how he tried, he could never reach her.

That night, he miraculously managed to sleep... a sleep that was interrupted only a few hours later by relieved but also grieving healers.

Thranduil... Thranduil...

"Thranduil!" the sharp voice of the head healer called, ripping Thranduil from a dreamless sleep, a single candle illuminating the curves of her face, for the sun still had not risen in the east, leaving the moon to reign over the blackened skies.

Thranduil sat up reluctantly, the blankets he once shared with Y/N falling from his torso into soft ridges at his waist.

"What matter is so paramount that you must drag me from the only sleep I've gotten in two weeks?" Thranduil snapped irritably.

"She's awake," the healer said, her tone softer this time. "Y/N's awake."

All of the previous anguish and sadness lifted from Thranduil's heart and soul as he shot up from the mattress he had been slumbering upon.

"I wish to see her," Thranduil murmured, rising again from his bed to his full height. He towered over the healer by a good foot, but that did not matter to him. His Y/N was awake.

"Very well," the healer sighed. "Come."

"Y/N!" A tall, thin man cried as he rushed to my side and enveloped me in an embrace that was so full of love. His pristine features seemed familiar, but only in the haziest and darkest of ways, as if the very depths of my mind could only vaguely remember his long, blonde hair, the piercing yet loving eyes, the tall stature, the kind yet elegant hands... the soft sweet voice. His voice seemed more present in my destroyed mind than anything else. I tried to return the hug, but I didn't know how. I did not know him or any of the details of how I knew him, and therefore, the love was lacking.

The warmth of the man's touch faded and he retreated as he realized I had no recollection of who he was.

"Y/N," he asked worriedly, "are you okay?"

"I don't know you," I tried to say as kindly as I could, but attempts were futile as his beautiful eyes widened and began to water. He backed away from me, his shoulders hunching forward as if he had just taken a blow to his heart... a heart that I could tell was now shattered by my words. Tears streamed from his eyes, hundreds of little droplets cascading down his face brokenly.

"You don't remember me... at all?" He asked disbelievingly, his merry tone from before now broken.

"No," I said softly, guilt consuming me. "I'm sorry. Maybe you could remind me?"

"Yes of course," he said after a long moment. "My name is Thranduil. I'm the King of the palace and woodland realm we find ourselves in. I'm your husband. And you're my queen, my lover... my true home..."

"But of course... you would have no memory of that," the man said quickly, trying desperately to hide the moment of emotion he had just shown from me uneasily.

The tears still fell from his dimming blue eyes and down his pristine cheek. But the corners of his sensuous lips turned slightly down into a pained, fragmented grimace. It was that subtle frown and the pain in his eyes that made me realize that I wanted to help this man, or elf (as I realized the long points that were the tips of his ears), as much as I could.

"Maybe if you tell me more about yourself and how we know each other, some memories would come back," I tried reassuringly, flashing him a kind smile.

His eyes betrayed his melting heart as he gazed at me in that moment, love evident in his eyes as he gazed fondly upon my smile. For a moment, I wondered what I had done to make such a handsome and loving man fall in love with me.

"Here," I said, patting the area beside my leg to beckon him over to me. "Come sit."

Thranduil, as he said his name was, sat gently on the mattress and folded his hands in his lap. They were long and elegant, each finger free of flaw. His nails were perfect in shape and size and everything just seemed to fit together in a delicate manner as he gently nestled his hands in the folds of his silken robes.

"Well, we've been king and queen for quite some time. In fact, as of next month, it will have been our 2,000th year of marriage-2,607th if you wanted to count how many years we've known each other," Thranduil began explaining.

He paused for a breathless moment before saying, "I know I keep bringing up our marriage, and for that I'm sorry. But... well, it's the most beautiful feeling loving you, and being able to know that you're mine and that I could come home to see the woman of my dreams each and every day, without fear of losing you. It was wonderful to know that you loved me as much as I loved you. In other words, I loved loving you... I still love loving you."

"Were we happy? Was I happy? Before I lost my memory, I mean," I asked.

"Yes," Thranduil sighed, his look becoming distant as a small smile formed on his face and his thick eyebrows turned ever so slightly upwards towards the middle of his pale forehead. "I'm so in love with you... so happily in love. I would bend over backward a thousand times if you asked it of me. I'd do anything for you. And you... you were always so happy with me. Even when the world thought I was the harshest, cruelest being, you were always there to comfort me and tell me how happy you were with me, how much you loved me... always."

He laughed a little, tears forming in his eyes as a memory surfaced in his mind. His nimble fingertips touched a silver band upon one of his fingers. It was very simple and humble compared to the other rings that decorated his hands. It was made of silver, and four elegant etchings were carved into its surface.

"You would always point out my wedding band... each and every time I was down. The runes on it say, 'you have my heart.' You would always say that with your heart, came every ounce of your happiness and love. You always had a way of making me believe you," he said fondly.

He pointed slightly to my hand. "Your ring says, 'and you, my soul,' by the way." I looked down at my own hand and upon looking at the ring, I felt my heart swell in my chest and tears form in my eyes. Sure enough, four runes similar to the ones on Thranduil's ring were etched into the softly glinting surface of the silver band. In that moment, I realized that if his band resembled his possession of my heart... then that must have meant that I had possession of his soul. Tears formed in my eyes, as I looked back to Thranduil.

"You would always kiss me so sweetly and my world would become brighter than all the stars combined. You would say you loved me, and in those moments, I swear I've never felt more in love... in happy, sweet, and precious love."

"How did this happen to me?" I asked after Thranduil paused, tears beginning to fall. "Why don't I remember a love like that?"

"Because, only a few weeks ago, this palace was under attack by the spiders that have inhabited the forests surrounding us for years. I tried to hold off the spiders so you could be safe, but I didn't notice the spider that had climbed in through the window until it had sunk its fangs into you. I didn't realize until you screamed as its venom entered your system. I was able to vanquish that hellspawn, but I wasn't able to save the venom from reaching your brain, taking all memory of us, of the love we, had from you..."

Thranduil's voice trailed off, leaving the two of us in silence for a long moment, the quiet bore heavily upon my heart and apparently even heavier on Thranduil's, for his pristine hands untangled and came up to cover his face as he hunched over, his shoulders shaking uncontrollably.

"It's all my fault, Y/N," he sobbed, the tears becoming ever more present on his pale cheeks. "It's my fault you don't remember anything!"

Perhaps there was a small piece of past me, the part of me who remembered and loved Thranduil, that made me do it. But whatever it was, Thranduil's sobbing made my heart ache uncontrollably and so, in that moment, I felt compelled to pull Thranduil's quivering form to me.

My arms encircled Thranduil's form, one hand pulling him to me gently while rubbing circles on his muscled back.

"No, Thranduil," I cooed, "it isn't your fault. Oh please don't think that? I may not remember much, but I know that it was not your fault. After all, you said, about how you care about me and love me, I know that it isn't your fault. You would have stopped the spider if you could have. I just know it."

"I really would have, my dearest darling," Thranduil sobbed. My heart swelled as the pronunciation of the endearment kissed my ears, heat spreading through them, turning them a hue of red as I blushed uncontrollably. "I'm just so sorry I didn't... I'm so so sorry."

"Thranduil," I whispered one of my fingers curling beneath his strong jawline and tilting his face upwards until his eyes were aligned with my own, "I don't know what it is, but I can tell that my heart still loves you. I may not remember you, but the adoration in my heart and my soul is still there. There are certain things you've said that has made my heart swell, and the tears on your cheeks now cause my heart to ache endlessly in a way that only true lovers' hearts can. Thranduil, there's still a chance for us. I've already accepted it. Do you think you can too?"

At my words, Thranduil looked up at me weakly. It hurt me to gaze into the sea blue orbs, but even as I did, I could see the smallest glimmer of hope behind them.

The end of the summer season came slowly in the fact that each day seemed to drag on for eternity, but quickly in the fact that weeks were over without my noticing. My hope, like the sun, had begun to fade as I visited Y/N each and every day, and talked to her for hours on end, and yet she still remembered nothing of our life before.

I thought that when she awoke, everything would be better. The pain in my heart would cease and the woe and anguish in my mind would be quelled by a single, sweet gaze of her wondrous E/C eyes. But alas, with her awake and her memories still gone, my heart was even more pained and my mind still ached with a beastly longing that not even the sweet touch of my lover could tame.

For all the love we had built up for a third of our lifetimes had been ripped from us so cruelly and so harshly that I had truly begun to believe that I would perish if my heart continued to shatter in the way that it did each and every time I laid eyes upon the beauty that was my Y/N.

The day of Y/N and I's 2000th anniversary had finally come with a bloodstained dawn. The brilliant rays of golden sun pierced the clouds as they streaked across the pink sky, staining them a brilliant shade of crimson.

I woke up on this morn, tired and heartbroken still after a month since Y/N's awakening, a month since my heart truly lost all hope.

I filtered through the closet I used to share with Y/N in search of my own robes and other attire I would need for the day. But as I filtered through the elegant silks and cotton, I found the most delicate cream dress. It was loose about the legs, but tight fitting around the hips and shoulders. Small pearls were sewn into the folds of the skirt. I pulled it to me, and as I did my tearing eyes fell upon the finest silk shawl I had ever seen. Vivid memories of summer afternoon sunlight dancing upon the fabric and the luscious skin of their wearer filled my mind, drowning it as my tears did my eyes.

These most lustrous garments that I held at my most unworthy fingertips had been the clothes Y/N had worn upon our wedding day. It was her form the fabric clung to and flowed away from and it was her skin the sunlight kissed upon that golden afternoon.

I remembered how the wind caught on her hair and that lovely dress as it flitted amongst the trees and meadows we had frolicked in that afternoon when the sun kissed her lips more sweetly than I ever could. I remembered how flower petals had gotten tangled in her luscious H/C hair when we had kissed in those meadows and I remembered thinking that I could not believe such a beauty existed anywhere, especially in my arms. I remembered how the sunlight had glinted in her even brighter E/C eyes that day that our souls had become one.

Then I remembered how none of these memories resided within her anymore, how none of all that we had known had been retained and, by this point, probably never would be.

At that terrifying thought, my heart finally broke. After a month of seeing Y/N, but not being able to love her in the way that I wished, my heart had finally shattered. My sun, the love I held for Y/N, had finally set on my heart and now... now there was nothing but darkness. Cold, unforgiving darkness that I knew, as long as Y/N didn't remember, would henceforth imprison me in its cruel claws.

A knock at my door sounded and in fear of seeming weak I threw the clothes into the closet once more, wiped my eyes as quickly as I could and called, "Come in."

The door opened to reveal Y/N, her widely smiling face the only radiant thing in our dark chambers. I looked at her, and a sharp pain ran through my heart and tears resurfaced, despite her radiance. Her smile fell.

Her smile fell.

"Thranduil!" She gasped as she rushed to me, placing her hand on my quivering shoulder. "What's wrong, my love?"

"It hurts. It hurts so much," I sobbed, my hands clutching at my chest as if I could tear my heart from my being. Would that end this horrid pain? I wondered.

"What does? What troubles you? Thranduil, please tell me!" She begged, the desperation in her voice increasing as the number of tears streaming from my face increased as well.

"It hurts to know that you'll never remember us," I sobbed. "I wake up every morning thinking, 'maybe today will be the day,' and it never is! It never ever is! This pain and heartbreak that I feel have become too much! I cannot bear the knowledge that I did this to you and still my selfish mind rages at your unhealing memory."

I clung to myself as the sobs shook me to my core and the tears streamed from my eyes that refused to relax from their tightly closed position. Even the comfort of Y/N's familiar arms around my quivering form was not enough to calm the rough waves that eroded the cold stone of my heart.

"Hey," Y/N cooed, delicate fingers running through my hair and over my scalp over and over in a tender attempt to calm me, "it's okay, darling. It's okay. Come back to me, darling, come back."

And suddenly, the tears halted. The pain ceased. The raging sea of my heart was suddenly... tranquil. Y/N's soft, sweet words became beautiful in their familiarity, and I couldn't help but look into her beautiful eyes with pure wonderment. Those words, so often spoken months ago after long days in which the tears kissed our cheeks and sadness overwhelmed our hearts, had finally been repeated. Those words had not been spoken since before the attack of the spiders and never in my countless centuries of life had I ever been more happy to hear the small combination of words that I did then.

"You remember..."

Thranduil's voice was filled with insurmountable hope and awe as his shimmering, tear-glazed eyes searched mine for a sign of a positive answer. I couldn't help but smile widely as I nodded ever so slightly.

And suddenly, the elf to whom my heart and soul belonged had his arms around me in the tightest embrace, his head tucked into the crook of my shoulder and his tears of grief and pain had turned rather to joy.

"Oh, my darling! Guren vell, you remember!" He wept. Never had I seen him so happy other than the day of our marriage.

"Yes, love, I do!" I whispered, my lips grazing his shoulder as a result of our most minimal proximity.

Thranduil pulled his face away from my shoulder, his cold grey eyes regaining their lively blue color as tears streamed down both our faces. Small lines formed on Thranduil's otherwise immaculate face as his pink lips pulled back to reveal the most wonderful smile I had ever laid eyes upon.

"Meluis, melethron nin... I love you!" Thranduil exclaimed. And as the red, bloody dawn turned rather to a rosy shade of gold, Thranduil kissed me with such a lovely force that it sent us both to the floor, laughter erupting from my lips as he pressed loving kiss after kiss to every inch of my face. His long, thin hands held me with such sweetness, devotion, and care as he did so, and I couldn't be happier that my memory had returned and that I had been able to fully return to the lovely elf that was my husband.

"Oh, love," he cooed, the sweetness in his voice clearly have been restored with the normality that had fallen once again over our lives, "never again will I fail to protect you."

"And never again will I leave you."

#thranduil x reader #thranduil #tolkien #writingsofa-hobbit

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xmagicxpenguinx · 7 years

Text

Crowns and Champagne

HEYY!! i wrote a thing! i cant think of a creative title so this will do. please validate me by telling me this is good. also i might do a face reveal tomorrow maybe idk. no hate please

warnings: drinking/alcohol/in a state of drunkness, phan fluff words: 1572

Phil had spent the day editing the video he filmed 3 days ago and had just uploaded it to his channel. He looked across the room at his boyfriend Dan, who was curled up on the other end of the couch reading something on his phone. He was wearing nothing but a pair of Phil’s underwear and socks and his NASA cat shirt. He looked at the time, noticing that it was 9:40 and they hadn’t eaten dinner yet.

“Dan, what do you want to eat?” Dan looked up from his phone, relieved that he had Phil’s attention again. “I don’t mind, whatever you want.” Phil stood up and walked the short distance to the kitchen. He opened the pantry and started assessing the contents of the cupboard in front of him. He took note of the green curry sauce and the noodles, deciding on which he preferred. While he was having his mental battle with himself, he felt a pair of arms snake around his waist and Dan’s head rest on his shoulder. He smiled and leaned his head down to peck Dan on the lips.

“You are a clingy little shit, you know that don’t you?” Phil said fondly. “Yeah, but you love me.” Dan replied. Phil laughed softly. “That I do. Do you want curry or noodles? And don’t say ‘it doesn’t matter’ because I know you and it matters a damn lot to you.”

Dan leaned up and kissed Phil’s cheek softly. “Curry, but I want to make it. You made dinner three nights in a row, its my turn now. Go have a bath or something.” Even after 8 years, Phil melted at Dan’s caring nature towards him.

He eased himself out of Dan’s grasp and pulled him in for a hug, kissing him meaningfully for a few seconds. “Who’s the clingy one now?” Dan asked giggling with a blush spreding across his cheeks. Even after 8 years, the simple things he did with Phil, small kisses, hugs, compliments, staying up late and talking, resting their heads on the other’s shoulder, cuddling on the couch under blankets while watching Netflix and the adorable dates Phil would plan every once in a while, just because he knows it makes him feel like a king, made Dan fall more in love with Phil, to the point where he wandered if it wasn’t just a fantasy from 2009.

Phil kissed Dan on the forehead and walked downstairs to his and Dan’s moon room. He grabbed a clean pair of boxer shorts and an oversized t-shirt, (they have both made a silent agreement that wearing trousers around the house wasn’t necessary anymore, and they both of them have slight obsessions with the other person’s thighs.) And a pair of socks before walking down the hall to the bathroom.

He put the plug in the bath and turned on the tap of the bath and waited for it to fill up. While he was waiting he lit some candles and placed them around the tub. When it was half-full he threw in 2 bath bombs he ordered from Lush, a vanilla one and a cherry one, and then poured in some bubble bath mixture. It didn’t take long to fill up, which is good because Phil liked long baths. He peeled off his clothes and sank down into the pink and bubbly water. He opened his Buffy comic and began to read. He had read this one multiple times before, but he didn’t complain because he loved it so much. He could read it 50 more times and every read would be more intriguing than the previous. In many ways, he felt the same about Dan; he never got sick of him, even after all this time.

Before he knew it, the water was cold. He quickly washed his torso with Dan’s scented soap after realising that he had just spent the whole time reading and jumped out of the bath. He pulled out the plug and reached for the nearest towel sitting on the sink, folded neatly. It was warm. Phil realised after picking it up, that Dan must have put it in the dryer for him. Just when Phil thought, he couldn’t love Dan more, Dan would always go and prove him wrong. He threw on his clothes in a hurry, realising just how hungry he really was.

He walked upstairs to find Dan sitting on the couch, reading something on his laptop. Probably self-insert with Luke Hemmings or some other strange fanfiction. Dan looked up at him and closed the lid of his laptop. “You took your time.” He observed. “I was reading Buffy. And thanks for the warm towel.” Dan smiled at him. “You’re welcome.” Phil sat down next to him and kissed him gently. “Although next time, can you bring me 3 towels?” Dan rolled his eyes. “You needy little shit, be grateful I still do nice things for you even after 8 years.” Phil laughed. “Honestly, I’m surprised you haven’t left me yet.” Dan scoffed. “Like I would do that. You are way to gorgeous to let someone else take you away from me. I wouldn’t give you up for the world.”

Phil could feel his heart swell at these words, and a blush spread across his cheeks. “Can we eat now? I’m starving.” Dan complained. “Yeah, why did you wait for me?” Phil asked. “Because I am a good boyfriend.” Dan stood up and put their food in the microwave, it had gone cold while Dan was waiting for Phil. “Don’t stand too close to the microwave.” Phil called out. “The radiation-” “Is not good for me yes, I know Phil. You have only reminded me 4000 times.” They were both silent until the microwave beeped.

“Do you want anything to drink?” Dan asked. “Yeah some champagne would be nice.” Phil responded. “Oh, I meant like a hot chocolate or Ribena or something but ok. I think we have some.” He searched the fridge and found an unopened bottle. “I think we got this at New Years and never opened it.” Dan replied. “That will do.” Dan gave Phil his food and champagne and walked back to get his serve.

“Are you not drinking?” Phil asked. Dan shook his head. “I am waking up early tomorrow because it is the only time I could get with my trainer and I am such a lightweight and don’t want a hangover.” Phil nodded. “Understandable.” They made small talk about their day as they ate; Phil almost literally inhaled his, and gulped down a lot of the bubbly alcohol, drinking it much faster than he should.

Dan shook his head in exasperation and took the alcohol off him. “That’s enough, Phil.” Phil went to complain and protest but just ended up laying his head on Dan’s chest. “I love you, Dan.” He mumbled. “I love you too.”

They are now halfway though an episode of Black Mirror when Phil fell asleep on Dan’s chest. Dan ran his fingers through Phil’s messy hair grabbed the TV remote. He turned off the episode and scrolled through the menu on Netflix. He had seen almost everything on here that he thought would be interesting, and now he has just stumbled across a show called The Crown. He read the description of the show, why not give it a try? It can’t hurt him… right? And so the binge began.

It turns out that Dan was more into historical fiction than he gave himself credit for. In the middle of episode two, Phil woke up and murmured “What are you watching?” Dan paused the episode to explain what had happened so far. When he had finished, Phil had another sip of champagne. Dan unpaused it and they kept watching in silence.

“The monarchy is so unfair.” Phil said out of the blue. “In which way?” Dan replied. “Because I can think of many reasons why it is unfair and slightly-” “Because the throne doesn’t have a choice.” Phil said, cutting Dan off. “What?” Dan simply replied. “Well, the chair probably doesn’t want all these different butts sitting on them. They probably hate it. People should really ask for the chair’s consent.” Dan looked at Phil in bewilderment. “You are so drunk.” he replied, laughing as hard as he possibly could. “NOO! I am not drunk. Give me back the champagne!” he said, as Dan took it from his grip. “You are drunk. Now shush I want to watch it.” Phil was quiet for a minute before saying, “Wow, they are so British!” At this point Dan was so done with Phil, so he turned off the TV and pushed Phil off him. “Come on Phil, lets go to bed. It’s 12:30 and I am getting up in 6 hours.”

“Nooooo!” Phil whined. Dan stood up and took Phil by the hand. “Come on, you are tired, I am tired, we need sleep.” Phil just nodded and followed Dan to the moon room.

Dan pulled back the blankets and Phil slid in, putting his glasses on the side table. Dan turned off the lights and got in next to him. “Goodnight Phil.” Dan said, sliding his arms around Phil’s top half, and reaching over to kiss his neck. “Goodnight Dan.” Phil slightly slurred, reaching over to kiss Dan deeply and passionately. “I love you.” He said. “I love you too.” Phil replied softly.

#evie writes #amazingphil #drunk! phil #phil lester #phan fluff #phanfiction #dan howell #daniel howell #i hope you like it

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