#sorry to anyone who was anticipating part 4. didnt want to rush it since it has to be more visually complex than previous parts

[mastercrownmonday]

Unfortunately I didn't find the time this week to get Part 4 of the comic drawn, so it will have to be postponed until next Monday. I offer you some sketches from the drawing process of the previous three comics instead.

(content under "eye contact" warning below the cut)

starin' at you with their big ol' eyes (we can only imagine what they are plotting)

[lotties-ashwagandha]

NEVER HAVE I BEEN A BLUE CALM SEA (part 4 of ?)

pairing: alice macray x reader

word count: 2061 (aaa sorry this is a longer chapter)

notes and warnings: alcohol,, that’s it i think. also i didnt proofread so please be nice i probably have a lot of typos

summary: from the moment you saw her, you swore to give her everything... or at least give her a Woody Guthrie album. 

Three days had passed since you’d visited Alice, three days in which she had never left your mind. 

You remembered her inviting herself over to your apartment, and you wondered when a reasonable time would be to invite her over – you didn’t want to seem too eager, yet you also did not want to seem like you didn’t care. 

Perhaps you should call her. You had a few minutes before you needed to leave for work, and the call would only take a moment. You’d persuaded her when you were last over at her house to give you her number. 

The thought of speaking with her sent you into an adrenaline rush. 

What if she didn’t pick up? Maybe you didn’t want her to, for you were so afraid, the prospect of calling her becoming the most terrifying idea you’d ever had. 

You noticed how spontaneous you’d become as you picked up the phone and began to dial her number, your hands shaking with every movement. 

Every ring sent you into a deeper sense of anticipation. 

She was only a few moments away, the sun was rising at last. The eternal night had ended – you were saved. It would all become okay again, for just the sound of her voice would sustain you. 

You almost dropped through the floor when a man’s voice answered the call. 

He sounded irritable, rushed, as if he were always running an hour behind schedule. He urged you to respond, yet you were at a loss for words. The man cleared his throat impatiently. 

Fumbling over your words, you asked for his name, though you knew very well what it was. You knew it was Alice’s husband, yet clarification would make him real. 

“Buck Macray,” he answered in a proud tone that made you wish to vomit. “Who is this?” 

You slammed the phone back onto the wall, hanging up the call. A string of curses left your lips, for what you were doing had properly hit you. 

You were interested in a married woman, a woman with children, a woman who did not deserve the disruption you were so willing to provide. You choked back tears of fury, promising yourself that if you cried, you would loathe yourself. 

Work. 

You had work soon. 

Slamming the door behind you, you attempted to remove Alice Macray from your thoughts, desperately hoping to achieve the impossible. 

–

It just didn’t fucking sit right with you. 

Was she interested in you? The revelation that you could be making all of this up crossed your mind in a storm, unyielding and ruthless. 

Her husband had sounded atrocious. Perhaps he was kinder with those he knew, or perhaps he was merely having a rough morning, yet the tone he’d used implied that he thought more highly of himself than anyone ever should. It reminded you of when Alice had told you that her husband had disregarded her wish to live in a different neighborhood. 

You needed to speak with her. If even for a moment, and even if she viewed you of menial importance, you needed to hear her voice. 

You needed the glow she brought to the world – you needed everything around you to heal magnificently. 

The record shop was empty – no one would interrupt your call. Hardly anyone had visited all morning. 

Dialing her number on the phone by the cash register, you wished desperately for your worries to dissipate. If she didn’t pick up, you would–

“Hello?” her melodic voice rang through the phone, and you jumped. 

“Alice?” you breathed, and you heard her sigh in what seemed like relief. “How are you doing?” 

You could hear the smile in her voice. “I’m quite well, how are you?” 

“I’m… I’m well. Listen, are you free tomorrow night? I know it’s last minute…” but I have to see you, you finished in your head. 

She was quiet for a moment, and you could almost see her contemplating your request, shifting in her stance. “Tomorrow night?” 

“Is that alright?” 

“I… I think so.” 

“Alice… you don’t sound like you think so.” 

“Buck has an event tomorrow night, a dinner party we need to attend,” she admitted. 

Fuck. 

“Go, definitely go. I don’t want to keep you from your family.” 

There was a great silence before she responded, and though it felt like eternity, it only lasted a couple of moments. 

“What if I stop by after we arrive? I usually lose him to his coworkers after everyone does their round of greetings.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Of course,” she assured you, “you’d really be saving me, trust me.” 

You smiled, nodding even though you knew she couldn’t see you. 

“Is seven thirty okay?” 

“That’s perfect,” you agreed, hanging up a moment later. 

–

A knock at the door startled you. You almost dropped the bottle of wine you were bringing to the table, the final touch of the dinner you’d planned – even if she’d already eaten, you decided, what you had planned would still be an amusing gesture, at the very least an inside joke. 

You let yourself take a deep breath before moving to unlock the door to your apartment, swinging it open to be met with the breathtaking sight of Alice Macray. 

She wore a lovely chiffon dress colored a deep purple, the color bringing out the kind glint in her eyes every time they caught the light of the candles and lamps you had used to create a golden atmosphere. She completed everything as she entered the apartment. 

It took you a moment to realize that you hadn’t yet said hello, and you greeted her awkwardly – luckily, you realized that you were not the only one that had absolutely no idea how to handle yourself, for Alice kept smoothing her dress and hardly met your eyes. 

You wondered if you had made her uncomfortable somehow. Was it all too much? Would she rather have been at the surely extravagant party than be here with you in your apartment the size of a matchbox? 

“I love your apartment,” Alice said suddenly, offering you a small smile. Yet behind her eyes was something you could not quite decipher, a deep sadness that contaminated her warm glow. “It’s so comfortable…” 

“Really? It’s rather small.” 

“Really,” she confirmed with a nod. “I wouldn’t mind living here myself.” 

You weren’t quite sure how to respond to that, so you changed the subject. “Well, if you come this way, I’ve tried cooking.” 

She chuckled. “Should I be scared?” 

“I sure am.” 

God, how you loved it when you made her laugh – to know that your words could give her some sort of joy, that just for a moment she had some sort of deep appreciation for something you had said. 

You led her to the kitchen table, attempting to contain a smile as you saw her face light up at what you had cooked and burnt. “I thought it would be a nice gesture,” you said, gesturing to the quiche waiting on the table. 

“Oh my,” she breathed, and you could tell she was attempting to respond in a way that would imply that the quiche was not black from being overcooked. “You really made this?” 

“I tried.” 

She picked up the bottle of wine, smiling softly. “You’re still determined to intoxicate me.” 

“I just thought you’d need it after being at that party.” 

Alice nodded, meeting your eyes. “See? I told you.” 

“What do you mean?” your confusion was obvious. 

“I told you that you would save me.” 

You were very fucking gay. You almost fainted at her words, your heart picking up speed as you tried to come up with a reply that was even half as well-planned as hers had been. 

Before you could, she spoke again, asking you for a bottle opener. 

“In the kitchen,” you breathed, and she walked past you, leaving you to panic for a few moments before you followed her into the kitchen. 

You heard a string of quiet curses coming from the kitchen, and you entered, amused to see her struggling to open the bottle of wine. 

She hadn’t heard you enter. 

A/N: bye there are so many dirty double entendres i could make about this whole wine cork situation everything i come up with sounds like a double entendre and not in a sexy way. 

“You need to press it down more,” you said, making your way towards her, stepping behind her. Your hands over hers, you guided the opener further into the cork, then pressed down on its wings. 

With a quiet pop, the bottle opened. 

Silence engulfed the two of you, and after a moment you realized that your hand was still over hard, and you removed it. Alice was still, and neither of you seemed to know what would happen next, but neither of you seemed too concerned with the outcome. 

She turned around, and you realized just how close you were. If you were even an inch closer, you would have felt her breath, would have heard how fast her heart was beating. 

Alice’s eyes met your own, and you never wished to look away. You could have spent the rest of your life in this very moment and never gotten bored. Her beauty colored the world around you, and you had never seen such vibrant hues. 

But doubt overcame you, it tortured you, and you reached behind her to grab the wine glasses, leaving her in the kitchen just as she had left you in the dining area only a few minutes before. 

The air seemed entirely too thin in the dining area when compared to the kitchen – you could breathe at last as you poured wine into the glasses on the table, and despite how your hands shook, you were becoming more level-headed. 

You heard Alice approach the table, watched out of the corner of your eye as she sat down, and you sat across from her. 

Peace followed her wherever she went. 

You watched in slight amusement as she carved out a slice of the overcooked quiche, her expression as she analyzed it turning to apprehensiveness. She tentatively took a bite, and you watched as her face contorted in disgust. Yet upon looking at you, she swallowed the food and sent you a smile, preparing another bite. 

You tried immensely hard not to laugh. “It’s awful, isn’t it?” 

Though she looked like she wanted to throw the dish out the window, she shook her head. “No, no, it’s fine, it’s great.” 

“Alice, you don’t have to like it. Hell, I’m not even going to try it. It’s okay.” 

She relaxed, putting down her fork and sipping her wine. 

As you sat longer in each other’s presence, conversation began to flow more naturally, the two of you finding a rhythm. You told Alice of humorous customers you had helped at the record store, and she told you about the time she had broken a vase in Phyllis Shlafly’s house and shoved the smashed pieces under the sofa. 

You loved nothing more than talking to her, exchanging stories with her, watching the way her face lit up at something she found amusing or how she would get distracted telling one story and go off into a whole different one. 

It could have been the wine that helped the two of you find such peace, yet even without it you felt that you would have had the same outcome, her presence making everything so vibrant. 

Eventually, a moment of contented silence settled between the two of you. Somewhere in the middle of your conversation the two of you had decided to rifle through all of the records you had brought home from the shop, deciding to play a record of old Ella Fitzgerald songs – Dream A Little Dream Of Me was now ringing through the room. 

You inhaled sharply when Alice’s hand found yours. Her touch was exhilarating, enlivening. 

“You’re entirely different from anyone I’ve ever met,” she whispered, looking to where your hands were entwined. “I’m pulled toward you in a way I can’t quite understand.” 

But neither of you had to understand, for this was a song without words, your own dance, and not a soul but yours ever had to learn the motions. 

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chapters: five six

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