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darthwheezely · 3 years

Text

grande - g.w.

Summary: George meets a mighty adorable barista in the new cafe on Diagon Alley and the man just can’t help himself... based off the song Coffee Girl by Johnny Socko! Sorry this took me absolute ages (9 days oops) to get out, guys :/

Warnings: DIABETIC FLUFF STUPID AMOUNTS OF CARDIAC ARREST INDUCING FLUFF UWU,mentions of sexism, Fred being Fred, cussing probably, alludes to sex, PG/PG-13

taglist or people that might like this but idk: @theweasleyslut @kitwalker02 @loony-loopy-lupinn @wand3ringr0s3 @gcdric @thehufflepuffwife @monoscandal @lupinsclassroom @whiz-bangs78 @vogueweasley @rogueweasleys @band--psycho @lumosandnoxwriting @oh-for-merlins-sake @amxrtentias @virgohufflepuff @vivianweasley

George Weasley didn’t sleep. This had long been the habit of his ever since he and his parents had discovered that his elder twin Fred had been an avid sleepwalker by age 4, then became a (minor) party animal in his Hogwarts days, and finally when he became the co-owner of one of the Wizard World’s most successful entrepreneurs and business owners.

The man hadn’t slept in about 18 years give or take. And days like this reminded him of it constantly.

It was a Saturday, the first of the month, and to boot, it was about to be Christmas in a little over a week. Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes was packed with everyone from couples window shopping, children in desperate need of fun now that school was out, parents trying to keep them in line, and even some old lady named Ethel (who swore she was part Veela, and therefore Fred couldn’t “escape her girlish charm.”)

“Ethel, you have an absolutely ravishing day, and don’t even worry about that moisturizer it’d be a waste of product on a natural beauty like you” Fred winked and kissed the old lady’s hand, George watching from the top of the steps rolling his eyes.

“Oh, Freddie, you know how to keep a lady young, don’t you? Oh - goodbye, Georgie! Have a good rest of your day boys!” She waved majestically to the younger twin on the stairs and he bowed royally in response.

“Bye, Ethel!” They both called as she exited the building, the bells flurrying in her wake.

“Georgie, mate, hate to say it but you are being uncharacteristically quiet and it’s making me uncharacteristically uncomfortable.” Fred said bounding up the stairs to meet him, chuckling briefly.

“Freddie, mate, hate to say it but I’ve had absolutely no sleep as of late and it’s getting to me. But I’ll be back up to my usual antics in no time.” He padded down the stairs, winking at a couple young ladies ogling him, sending them into a fit of giggles. Fred sat down on the middle step eyeing his brother carefully. It didn’t take a genius to see George wasn’t holding on much longer, the dark circles littering his eyes and the way he mussed up his already purposely messy hair just...didn’t comfort his older twin at all.

“George.” Fred sighed, George looking back at him, confused. He took his hands away from the merchandise Wonder Witch he’d been rearranging and gave him full attention.

“Take your lunch break early. And longer if possible.”

“Pffft, why would I do that when I have women to woo and boxes to juggle?”

“George.”

“Fred.”

“Stop, I mean it. You look half dead as it is, just go take a nap or get an espresso from the cafe down the aisle or something that reinforces the idea that yes, you are a human being and no, not a zombie.” Fred crossed his arms feeling suddenly a lot like Molly and dropped the cross. George pretended to ponder this tapping his chin, rather finding the mature brother role reversal funny as hell.

“Oh, alright, but can I still be a zombie when I get back?”

Fred hit him with a folder and sent him on his way.

-•-•-

You had just finished the lunch rush, finally being able to calm down and not have to worry about making one more goddamn Butterbeer Latte for at least another 20 or so minutes...until there’d be another rush. You grabbed a lemon scone, took off your apron and sat against the back counter. You inhaled the citrus scent, it was always something that you loved to savor, and took a bite.

The holidays for the Merlin’s Mochas, the cafe, had been absolutely atrocious so far. All you had for customers were angry businessmen, bratty kids and their upper class parents who let them run around the already small place being rude to everyone, your boss Lionel who had an affinity for calling every woman who worked there a “bitch” (...ok lionel) and to top it all off: you’d been pulling 9 hour days every day except sundays. Needless to say: you kind of super hated your job.

You had just finished your scone when you heard the door chime signal a customer, immediately wiping your hands on your jeans and restrapping your apron.

“Hi how can I-“ oh Jesus this is the hottest man I have ever seen. He was easily no older than 23, fiery red hair, a perfectly tailored striped terracotta suit, green tie, and the most gorgeous doe brown eyes you’d ever seen.

“How can you...?”

“Help you, ohmygod, I am so sorry I’m super-“

“Tired? Yeah me too...interesting how similar we are this early in the game hmm?” He winked at you and your knees felt too weak. No he was just a stupid hot customer that also was really hot and also? Was super hot. No worries, Y/N, just don’t die by 22 okay thanks.

“Very funny...wait are you-“ your finger led from him to the statue outside Wizard Wheezes, realizing a simple oh shit

“Yeah, that would be me. Or my twin Fred but we never really decided, that’s why he kind of looks like both of us mixed. Although we’re twins so we basically look the same anyway. I mean because were identical. Twins, yeah.” George, what the fuck is wrong with you, why are you sweating? She’s just a simply beautiful girl in a simply maddeningly purple coffee shop can you please breathe and not make yourself look stupid-

“Oh, wow! I’ve never met a twin before - not like twins are anomalies or anything it’s just so crazy. Science. Science is crazy” You closed your eyes and took a breath

“We should probably start over shouldn’t we?” You wrinkled your nose.

“That sounds much more redeeming than anything we both were about to say” George breathed out laughing softly, rubbing his hand through his hair.

“I’m George. Weasley. Like I said, I work at Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, the shop over there, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen this place before...or you for that matter, I never forget a beautiful young woman.” He said smoothly, his heart steadily subsiding - something about you had the power to not only make him scared out of his mind, but also totally at ease.

You returned the smile, warmly, the blood rushing to your cheeks at his compliment and sticking your tongue to your teeth. “Well, George Weasley, of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes I’m Y/N Y/L/N. And yeah, we’re new around here,” you leaned further onto the counter, realizing, albeit a moment too late that your eye level was directly with his abs now, and although he was wearing a suit...you could definitely tell they were there.

“We erm, just opened three months ago. It’s honestly a bit of a time to work here.”

“Oh and why is that?”

“Well, nothing like a blatant sexist to run an entirely female employed establishment and weird stuffy rich people.” Your eyes widened suddenly, and you felt like you had said far too much far too soon. But he gasp-laughed - laugh that ended as soon as it began and burst into a smile...like you had shared a secret with him.

“What the hell is he doing here then? Got a boy’s club to run in a purple coffee shop?”

“I mean you never really know these days, George, imposters are among us at every moment” you purred and pushed off the counter, meaning it as a joke but George’s heart screamed when he heard your name. As you moved to the other edge of the counter, he followed you.

“What a resourceful and cruel young woman, I am starting to like you, Miss Y/L/N.” He clucked. “And do you think of me like you think of Mr. I-Hate-Women-That’s-Why-I-Hire-Them?” He got inches from your face, smelling the coffee beans and vanilla extract that riddled your skin.

“Hmm...Mr. Weasley, I’m not so sure.” You coyly stepped away from him and took long strides to the far end of the coffee bar by the wall. George immediately felt a pit of flirtatious butterflies and (arousal?) something more in his stomach, jaw dropped, he followed you again. He pressed his hands to the counter in front of you.

“Well, how can I convince you?” He asked rather quickly.

“Hmm...” you leaned forward like he did before and his breath hitched in his throat “...let’s get you a cuppa first.”

-•-

“Wait, okay let me get this straight-“

“Yes?”

“You have 6 other siblings.”

“Yes.”

“...because your mom wanted a girl?”

“That-that would in fact be true, yes.”

You thought for a moment.

“So you’re telling me after she made it through you two-“

“-she still wanted to have more of us, believe me, it races through my mind daily.” He nodded vehemently laughing with you. You two had taken to the empty cafe at a table nestled in the corner, him sitting in a chair across from you on a bench. You had both been cracking each other up with stories from your childhoods, like how you both had managed to never know of the other’s existence until now.

He’d discovered that you had transferred from Hogwarts to Beauxbatons early on in your fourth year. You, a Hufflepuff, loved the quiet and soft landscape of the French school. You both had absolutely no idea the other existed. How? The world may never know.

He was brash. You were careful.

He was already flying when you were just feeling comfortable learning how to walk.

But you sat there with him for the better amount of an hour and a half, laughing and interrupting each other with memories of the school years you had, some weird and strange, and especially during fourth year, hard for George to talk about.

Ginny, his baby sister, had almost died. And as he said to you in a candid and highly vulnerable state: he blamed himself for almost letting her go to this day.

“I...I really do believe it was my fault.”

“George, it couldn’t have been your fault. Hogwarts is a big freaking death trap - you and I both know that,” you had said with an exasperated laugh, eager to make him feel better in any facet.

“Yeah, but...I’m her big brother. Yes, she has five other older brothers but...we were supposed to protect her.” He swallowed and blinked back tears. “It was her first year, for Christ’s sake, and I paid about as much attention to her as a doorknob would.” He had rolled his jaw and taken a gulp of his gingerbread latte (you had said it was your favorite, and he was loathe to try anything else) and you had softly draped your hand on top of his.

“If she’s as kind and loving and funny as you, I’d love to meet her.” You quipped, a small smile growing on your face in effort to soothe. He had smiled back at you, turning your hand over in his and drawing his digits lazily over your palm.

“Funny, because I was thinking the same thing.”

-•-

He had told you to close your eyes, that much had been true.

See, his coffee had started to get cold. So, like if you give a mouse a cookie, he’ll have to have some milk-

If you give a George a latte he will have to not only have another one, but also feel the strenuous need to show off for you and take you to his place of work. Naturally. And it was so lucky that by the time he’d proposed you leave, he even helped you clean and lock up afterwards.

Truthfully, it almost scared you how much he had seemed to care.

“Alright, Y/N, darling, I’m going to release my hands on the count of three, yeah?”

“Perfect, Georgie” you giggled. You’d legitimately only knew him for so long, but you just...you trusted him. He grinned widely, his strong hands only applying a slight amount of pressure as not to hurt you.

“Alright, then. 1. 2-“ he took his hands off your eyes and watched you adjust not only to light, but to your surroundings as well.

“3.” He breathed out taking in the way you smiled like a teenager, face alight with pure inundating wonder. You squealed and started to run around the store.

“Look at these! Pygmy Puffs - ugh they’re so adorable look at this one! Oh, oh - ‘Fizzing Whizbees’ - these look absolutely wicked! And Per- ‘Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder’?” You picked up the glittery stone in your hand, and heard a smooth voice perk up behind you.

“A real money spinner, that one.” You turned around and there was a man that looked absolutely identical to George, although entirely different in the same way.

“Handy if you need to make a quick getaway,” you heard George on the other side of you. He smiled warmly down at you, nodding his head up to look at the twin across from him.

“Y/N, this is my-“

“-older, much more attractive and fiscally responsible brother.” He winked and you blushed almost immediately. “Fred. Weasley.”

“Y/N Y/L/N. Georgie has told me a lot about you and the shop - absolutely marvelous this place is, I cant believe you two created so much in such a short span of time. Brilliant it all is, really!” George had started to flush, rubbing his jaw to seemingly take the red away from his striking face. Fred, upon hearing the genuine warmth from your voice and the unmistakable use of “Georgie” had a small, but highly distinct aha moment:

“Well, we couldn’t have done it all on our own, one of our best friends helped us out a good lot. But thank you, really...it means so much when other people see how much we do and-” he looked directly at George.

“-acknowledge the things we love, right George?”

“Absolutely, Frederick.” Fred had given him the look that seemed to imply: “please, God, make a damn move.”

“Well, Y/N, I’m going to be off and woo some ladies, have a biscuit and do some paperwork” he smiled wide when you giggled, already enjoying your company.

“But I hope to see you again, very soon, yeah? Please stop by whenever you can, we’re alwYs just down the street.”

“Freddie, for your company, I’m not so sure, I’m still deciding.” You quipped. Fred laughed heartily at that and looked at George.

“Georgie, I like this one.” George looked at you and winked.

“Me, too Freddie, me too.” You leaned back on your heels as Fred padded back up the stairs to the flat, now completely alone with George. You threw your arms behind you back and forth and took a long stride to George.

“So...what are you those?” You nodded up to the array of pink bubbles in a clam shape in the corner. He hummed and reached to grab your hand.

“Love potions - c-can I show you?” He raised an eyebrow slightly, but he felt his whole body turn to mush when you accepted his hand and nodded slowly. As he walked with you, you memorized the feeling of his callouses and veins, the way your hand curled deliberately in his.

You wanted to make sure if it was the last time you felt something like that, you had that memory with you for a while.

“Essentially, if you give these to a person they will temporarily have feelings of love and attraction for you. Depending of course on the dosage you use and the weight of the person in question.” He explained. You watched the way his suit jacket pulled taut against his back muscles and instinctively wanted to honestly just take the whole thing off-

“Hmm...I don’t know about these, Georgie.” You hummed mischievously. Your heart was pounding in your chest.

He scoffed placing a dramatic hand over his heart. “Am i being questioned in my own establishment, Miss Y/L/N?”

You rolled your eyes and hit his arm, bowing slightly at him. “Well, do forgive my feminine insolence, Mr. Weasley, it’s not often I meet such bewitching mad scientists like you.” You watched his face grow blank for a moment at your compliment and immediately wanted to throw up.

“George, I’m really sorry, I know we just became friends-“

“Do you mean it?” He took a step towards you. You swallowed finding again his perfect milk chocolate eyes. You nodded.

“Hell yeah I did, you’re smart...and wicked hot” you both laughed at that. He took another step, the distance being unbearably harder to live in as his digits found a piece of hair and wound it behind your ear.

“Well, darling, the feeling is quite mutual.” He said quietly, taking in the whole of your face. He wanted to crash his lips onto every possible nook and crevice of your face, collide with you entirely.

“We’re going to have to do something about that, then, aren’t we?” You gently nudged his nose with yours and wrapped your arms around his neck, his strong and powerful arms pulling you to him gently. He wanted you to feel him not to break under his embrace. He leaned down and brushed his lips up to yours, feeling you whine and let out a minuscule sound.

“Got you making noises for me already and haven’t even kissed you yet, hmm?”

Your eyes fluttered close and one of your legs made it’s way in between his, snapping any chance at loose air between you two out of the way.

“Please, Weasley, pants a bit small for you?”

“Keep talking like that and they might, yeah.” You two laughed softly and with a final look to your lips he closed the last gap.

His mouth was perfect. His lips ghosted over yours one last time before wrapping every part of himself onto your frame, your lips entangled in each other like you’d never be able to taste him again.

But it was loving and slow and sweet. He tasted like gingerbread lattes and pastries and cinnamon and licking into his mouth you could feel the spice. He moaned lightly into your mouth, sending your knees buckling. He dipped you slightly, a hand traveling to your lower back to keep you steady, and his other hand coming up to nestle under the nape of your hair. Your hands caressed his face, his chest, needless to say? You wanted them everywhere. You wanted him everywhere.

The kiss broke and you and George were left breathless in each other’s hold, your foreheads pressed together as he kept you slightly dipped.

“Y/N, I’m feeling a bit tired” he quipped hoarsely, pressing a brief kiss to your lips and onto your neck. You hummed satisfactorily.

“Georgie, you’re gonna need another latte aren’t you?” You set multiple chaste kisses to his lips and cheeks, feeling him rumble with a small giggle. He caught your mouth with his and you moaned slightly.

“I’m gonna need a whole pot, to drink you in, love.”

#George weasley #george weasley imagine #george weasley x reader #george weasley headcanon #coffee shop #Harry Potter #POV you get called cruel and resourceful by George Weasley #new kink unlocked

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stevesharrlngtons · 4 years

Text

what i want.

roman godfrey x reader

summary: takes place in s1 of hemlock grove just after roman’s coma and the aftermath.

word count: 3.1k

a/n: yeaaahhhh so i know this is st related but it felt more right to post this here over my marvel account? anyways, i just really really wanted to write for roman and this poured out of me yesterday (which is surprising bc i can’t remember the last time i wrote a fic all in one day) but even though i already know this is gonna flop, i wanted to post it anyway just for fun (: i hope you enjoy and if you do read, please let me know that you think!!!!

With an ear pressed to his chest and a hand cradling his neck, you counted the rhythmic beats of his frail heart.

He looked the same, felt the same, smelt the same; but the man we lay still below you wasn’t Roman. Not in the metaphorical sense at least. This man who’s lashes lay gently against the apples of his cheeks obscuring his large doe eyes, wasn’t your love. He was still and quiet and lacked the emotion of your Roman. Your Roman who could never hide how he really felt, who wore every feeling on his sleeve, unable to mask his emotion.

At least, always around you.

A soft french ballad played in the background as you hunched over his hospital bed in the attic of the Godfrey home. You could hear the faint scratch of the needle against the vinyl, more so when there was a lull between songs.

Heavy footsteps entered from your right and you knew before they reached you that it was Shelly to fetch you for school.

“I know, Shell.” You said quietly, like you might wake Roman from his restless sleep if you spoke any louder, “I just need a few more minutes with him.”

The tall girl loomed over you both, watching you stroke Roman’s cheek lovingly with your thumb, the rest of your nimble fingers still holding his thin neck.

She had never experienced the kind of unequivocal and palpable love that she did when she observed you and Roman together. She often wondered if all the tales of true love and soulmates that were regaled in some of her favorite novels were actually true? Because the way you looked at Roman, and the way Roman looked at you, could not be fabricated or faked.

After a long beat of silence, Shelly gripped her phone and typed out a simple message to you.

“I miss him, too.”

She could see tears forming in your eyes once more. Your eyes that seemed to have not ceased their perpetual filming for the last two weeks Roman had been under.

All you could was nod in response. When Shelly placed a dense hand on your shoulder, you silently wept.

It all felt so surreal. But Roman was always larger than life, you probably should have prepared for something like this. You were just so scared.

That night two weeks before, when he had come to you in the pouring rain, drenched to the bone, you had been scared then, too. Roman was dramatic, yes. But never anything like this. He trembled fiercely and his fingers twitched and his muscles rippled with fear.

He didn’t seem himself as you wrapped him in blankets and placed him in your bed to warm his icy bones. You had wound your arms around him as he cried into your neck, tears and snot streaking your skin as you soothed him the best you could.

“I’m ugly, I’m a monster, I am unlovable and disgusting.” He chanted between hiccups and deep intakes of breath, like he was under a spell.

“Please stop, please don’t say that. You’re not, you’re not, you’re not. I love you, I always will.” You whispered sincerely to him, beginning to shutter yourself at the uncharatieric behavior he was displaying.

He startled you even more when he grasped your wrists together with one hand and flipped you onto your back, meeting you with a fierce kiss before you could comprehend his actions.

It was all teeth and tongue and labored breathing as Roman pulled your strings in only the way that he could. Once he was inside you, he only became more brutal. It was more pain than pleasure as he looked at you with soulless eyes and his mouth agape. But everything Roman was, was good. Even now he felt like heaven.

When he had finished and pulled two orgasms from your body, he collapsed on top of you. You cocooned him with your limbs, whispering loving words and frightened questions as his body seemed to pass out from sheer emotional exhaustion, anchoring you beneath him.

The next morning, you were dressed in nothing but Roman’s cardigan and tucked underneath your duvet with no knowledge of his departure the night before.

It was only minutes after you woke that Olivia called to curtly inform you of Roman’s condition.

You placed your own hand, the one not holding Roman, over Shelly’s and squeezed it.

“He is so lucky to have you.” You said, swallowing thickly to look up and give Shelly a smile, “He loves you so much, I know he’ll wake just for you.”

Shelly knew you were trying to soothe her as well, something you had a knack for since you came into the two Godfrey’s lives. She appreciated it greatly, but wished you would let yourself swim and stop trying to make sure she stayed afloat.

“You, as well. He will wake for us.” Shelly typed and you squeezed her hand in a tight pulse.

“We can only hope.”

You dropped Shelly’s hand as she went to turn the music off while you kissed Roman goodbye.

“Where, today?” Came Shelly’s mechanical voice as the music ceased.

“His left eyelid.” You replied, standing up and stroking Roman’s porecelain cheek.

You had taken to kissing a new part of Roman each day as you left him. To cherish him even while his mind was missing. You were saving his lips for when he woke, hoping his subconscious would crave your mouth on his enough to jar him from his slumber. Roman was never quiet about his appreciation for your lips.

“And tomorrow?” She asked.

“The other.”

As you sat in english class, you couldn’t help but feel Peter’s absence in the seat next to yours. With neither him nor Roman around, you felt off kilter. The boys had been going through a rough patch lately, but Peter was still your friend when Roman wasn’t looking. Giving you winks that would reply with an eye roll, and chatting between classes. You believed you could mend the fence between the two men by simply being Switzerland, but after the police incident, Peter wasn’t so sure.

But you and Roman were alike in many ways, you told Peter as much.

“You two will work this out. Even if it gets hard.” You say flippantly one day as you rummaged through your purse for a tube of lipgloss.

“Yeah? And how do you know? Are you an oracle and just haven’t told me?” Peter jokes as you take the cosmetic from your bag.

You remove the fuzzy doe-foot applicator from the pink make up with a loud squelch and smirk at him.

“Because not only do I know everything,” a swipe of the goods on your lips, “But, I always get what I want.”

Now, his absence along with Roman’s seemed to be significant. Connected.

And then you got a call.

And the ID almost gave you a heart attack.

You fled the classroom without the formality of an excuse. It wasn’t any secret that you and Roman were a couple, so some teachers had been far more lenient with you since he had fallen under. Thankfully, Ms. Day was one of them.

You ran from the class and around the corner for the veil of privacy before you picked up the call.

“Roman?”

“God, how I’ve missed your voice.” He said, punctuated with his melodic laugh.

You burst into tears, clenching your phone tightly in your sweating palm as Roman cooed to you.

“Hey, hey, no. No tears, baby. Too fucking hot to be sad, you know that?”

“I’m not sad, God no! These are tears of joy, of fucking relief.” You felt suddenly very fatigued from the worry and dread escaping your body at the sound of Roman’s voice, and slid down the wall to the grey linoleum below.

“Good, hate to think you’d forget about me after two weeks out of commission.” You could see his smile in your minds eye and your stomach twinge with love.

“You know I could never forget about you.” You replied, whipping your damp cheeks on the back of your hand.

“I’m glad. I was counting on it.” You can see his smirk now.

“Dick.” You laughed and he did as well.

“Eh, you love me.”

“Yeah, yeah I do.”

There was a silence and you wished so helplessly that he was in your arms. Your Roman. Not the still and sterile one. The one with a wicked tongue and a beautiful smile that he offered to you so freely.

It was in this silence though, that you heard the purr of an engine.

“Baby, are you in a car? Are you with Olivia?”

“Uh, no. Not exactly.” And the bubble of joy popped just as it had formed.

“Roman, where are you? Why are you in a car?”

“It’s nothing for you to worry about, my love.” He hummed quietly his adoration and immediately you knew what was happening.

“Put Peter on the phone.”

“How did you-”

“Just fucking do it, Roman.”

You could hear him curse, then the shuffle of the phone being passed between hands.

“Hey, (Y/N/N), how’ya doin’?” Peter asked, faking a calm tone.

“Let’s forget the goddamn pleasantries, Peter. What in the living fuck are you doing trying to track this wolf when Roman just rose from the dead?”

“Rose from the dead sounds a bit dramatic, don’t you think?”

“Does it sound like I give a shit?”

“Frankly, no. It doesn’t.”

“And what does it sound like I give a shit about?”

“Probably Roman not doing this right now.”

“Bingo, Fiddo. Now you either take him back to his house or I am coming to find you two and I promise you, I can be scarier than Olivia.” You hissed into the receiver, looking around to make sure no rouge students in the halls were hearing your conversation.

“Oh I don’t doubt it. But this was his choice, (Y/N). Nothing neither of us can do anything to change his mind.”

“Peter, I swear to-” This time, you were the one cut short.

“Baby, listen,” Roman said after commandeering his phone back.

“No, Roman, you listen! I know you have some attachment to helping kill this thing, but now isn’t the time.”

“But it is. It’s complicated, but you just have to trust me on this.”

“I do trust you, Ro. I do. But I don’t trust whatever this thing is.” You sighed, leaning your head back against the wall, “Unfortunately I do trust what it is capable of. Which is a fuck tone pain.”

“I’ll be safe. I have Peter, Peter’s got me. I got this. We know what we’re doing.”

“Wish I could believe that.”

“Baby, I promise. I swear, even. We are gonna find some answers and then I’ll be home to you in one piece.”

You pause and Roman calls your name from the phone, his voice vulnerable.

“It’s funny. This morning you were in a coma and you were more safe then than you are right now.”

“I love you.” Roman says firmly.

“I know.”

Another pause and you know you can’t scold your way out of this one.

“Just… please call me when you get back. I don’t think I can take another minute of being away from you.” Your tears were beginning again.

“Me too. You’re all I can think about,” Roman sniffles, “I need you, I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

You both sit in silence on the line before Roman tells you he needs to go.

“Ok… but hey, Turner?”

“Yeah?”

“Tell Hooch to be careful. Both of you just… be careful.”

“Always.”

And the line goes dead.

After school you debated going straight to the Godfrey residence to wait for Roman to return, but decided against it. You weren’t sure exactly what Olivia knew and didn’t know, and didn’t feel like being alone with her while you figured it out.

So, you waited anxiously in your bedroom, doing everything possible to quell your shaking nerves. You had a perpetual tremor in your body as fiddled with your phone to try and distract yourself. Which was partly true, the other reason your phone was glued to your palm was so you would know the second Roman contacted you.

Though, as the sun descended in the sky and the night sky spanned for hours, you were becoming more restless. Whatever Peter and Roman were doing was no doubt dangerous and time sensitive, and it made you sick that it was nearing midnight without any word from either boy.

As the night continued to wear on and your mind ran away from rationality into an amalgamation of pure fear and absurdity, you decided you couldn’t sit around anymore. You weren’t going to wait for Roman to call and tell you he was home safe. You were going to drive to his house and wait for him there, and if he wasn’t back in an hour, you’d go out looking for him yourself.

As you put on a pair of house slippers and a sweatshirt over your nightgown, your phone vibrated on your vanity. Your heart began to speed up in your chest as you rushed over to the table and picked up your buzzing phone. On the screen was a text alert from Roman, with only one word present:

Come.

And you didn’t need to be told twice.

When you arrived at the Godfrey’s, you fled your car so quickly you almost forget the keys in the ignition. You ran up the front steps and banged both fists on the door needing to use your excess anxiety and adrenaline for something. And while you didn’t want to face Olivia’s wrath, your judgment was clouded by the chance of seeing Roman, alive and well.

When Roman finally opened the door, you wasted no time throwing yourself into his arms. He stumbled at the impact of your embrace, but was quick to remedy his shock by wrapping his arms around you. The feeling of this made your throat constrict.

“Jesus fucking Christ I missed you.” Roman all but growled as he firmly smoothed flyaways from your hair and placed his strong hand on the back of your neck.

“You have no idea how much I missed you, Ro.” You said, voice thick with tears as you began to pepper kisses anywhere you could reach.

Neck, jaw, ear, temple, cheek, shoulder, trap, clavicle, repeat.

Roman groaned appreciatively in your ear as you covered him in your lips.

“You scared me half to death you know?” You said between kisses.

“I know, I’m sorry. Things have been… odd. I still can’t remember it all.” Roman says, his tone confused.

“Well, Olivia said-”

“I know what she said. I just don’t know if I believe it.”

You furrowed your brows and tried to wiggle in his hold, silently signaling for Roman to place you back on your feet, but he only gripped you tighter.

“Not yet. Just, stay a while.” His voice wavered.

You finally pulled back to look at him, his eyes red from tears and shadowed. Sometimes it was difficult to look at him, his beauty and pain were just too much.

“I’m staying, Roman. You couldn’t get me to leave if you wanted to.” You reply.

A wash of emotion washes over his features as his lip quivers and his eyes attempt to blink back tears. You opened your mouth to try and alleviate him of whatever he was feeling when his mouth crashed to yours.

You forgot how good his lips felt against yours as your mouths meshed together. The velvet of his tongue and the mint and smoke on his breath. His hands gripping you everywhere as he pressed you impossibly close, moaning into you with deep primal noises sounding from his chest.

“Roman, baby,” You pulled away for air and Roman promptly moved his attention to your neck and clavicle. “I need you. Take me upstairs, I can’t wait any longer.”

Roman groaned and bit you hard on the shoulder before hitching your legs higher on his hips and running you both up the winding staircase behind him.

Bruises, at the behest of his mouth and fingers, littered your body as you lay on Roman’s chest as you both still reeled in the blissful aftermath of your climaxes. Roman’s fingers idled along and spine while his unoccupied hand rested behind his head.

He had begun to tell the tale of his night, of Peter and the turn and Chasseur and his mother. He told you Peter was upstairs unconscious and that he was unsure what was going to happen when he woke.

“So, after all this, everything’s still shitty? Is that what you’re saying?” You muttered.

“Essentially. But I have hope… we’re going to figure this out. I know it.” Roman nodded, like he is reassuring himself more than you.

“Me too. You two are smart,”

“You flatter me.” Roman chuckles and looks down at you.

“Just trying to butter you up to get into your pants.” He laughs again and slaps your ass.

“Clearly it’s working.” He replies.

“Well that, and I always get what I want.” You say with a content smile.

Roman hums, “Don’t I know it.”

“You enable it.”

“Again, I know.” He kisses your forehead and you burrow closer to him.

You two lay in silence a bit longer before he sighs.

“I think we should move to sleep in the attic. Just in case something happens with Peter and he needs us.”

We. Us.

The small implication in his word choice makes you smile and once again fall under a wave of emotion, just so happy that your Roman was back to you.

You don’t know what you had done if there was no we or us with Roman any longer. But you choose to not fixate on the past.

You just nod and kiss the underside of his chin. Roman gives you a small grin and begins to get up. As you do the same, Roman throws you one of his white button downs, giving you a stern look as you raise an eyebrow in question.

“Just put it on. I got two weeks to make up for, baby. It started with reuniting, then fucking, and now you in my shirt.”

You try to hold off the wide smile that was threatening to take over your face and put on the shirt, buttoning it to just above your cleavage.

“Yeah? And what’s next?” You ask, watching Roman round the bed toward you.

“Sleep.”

Now in a pair of threadbare silk pajama pants and nothing more, Roman extends his hand to you.

“Shall we?”

“We shall.” You reply, taking his hand, weaving your fingers as he led you to the attic.

i hope you enjoyed even though it was for a different show!! and if you did, pls i’d love some feedback (:::: also let me know if you would possibly want another roman fic bc i have other ideas lol

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buildacatboy · 3 years

Text

I posted 5,392 times in 2021

92 posts created (2%)

5300 posts reblogged (98%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 57.6 posts.

I added 355 tags in 2021

#tf2 - 104 posts

#wwdits - 36 posts

#yeah - 35 posts

#reference - 31 posts

#futurama - 30 posts

#fav - 28 posts

#french tw - 24 posts

#nudity - 23 posts

#eye contact - 22 posts

#smoking - 22 posts

Longest Tag: 140 characters

#yeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah

My Top Posts in 2021

i stg one of these days im gonna make an essay about engineer tf2 woobification “and ooooh hes everyones dad hed never hurt anyone!!” and how much i despise it and none of you mother fuckers can stop me

42 notes • Posted 2021-08-10 22:38:28 GMT

my twin brother once told me that if you told medic he was based he would bolt you to the ceiling and leave you there and honestly i believe him to this day

42 notes • Posted 2021-08-20 04:47:59 GMT

finally getting around to modeling mein veiner dog

but you wont like why nor the result

48 notes • Posted 2021-08-17 02:21:45 GMT

heres why i think engie fanon is objectively wrong

So basically, the Engineer is one of the the three defense classes in Team Fortress 2 and tends to be subjected to Woobification a lot, people view him as kindly and polite and someone who greatly cares about his team.

While I do think he does care somewhat for his team, as all team members generally care about one another to a degree that they’re not trying to kill each other outside of their jobs about half the time in the comics, I think the assumption that he’s not a mean man is wrong.

first of all, HAVE YOU EVER EVEN PLAYED OR SEEN SOMEONE PLAY THE ENGINEER IN TF2?

Now, don’t get me wrong, the Engineer has a LOT of friendly lines to teammates, he offers to buy people beers and even tells them he’s proud of them-- but have you seen his non-friendly lines?

For example, it is implied that he may have a Napoleon complex or perhaps even a God complex if not both, and you can tell this mainly through lines you hear in the game itself. I’ll drop a few examples here with links to the actual voice lines themselves.

"I am a god!"

"I'm a killer of men, doc. That is the God's-honest truth."

"I'm wolverine-mean, you son of a bitch."

"I just beat on your sneaky ass like a mule, boy!"

"I'm done playin' games with you, boy."

Despite what you may think, the Engineer finds himself to be quite menacing. Also, I would like to mention, his main melee voiceline is "Take it like a man, shorty." which is hilarious given the fact that he is the shortest man out of all the mercenaries, further feeding into the idea of a napoleon complex. He’s very joyful and laughs a lot on the battlefield at death, which is kind of worrying regardless of whether or not he’s got a napoleon complex, just because he’s.. he’s not the one playing a video game? Ah?

As well as this, he’s canonically close friends with what most people would call the evilest character among the mercenaries, Doctor Ludwig Humboldt, otherwise known as Medic. MEDIC!

That’s not for no goddamn reason, the Engineer is more than fine with doing brutal and horrific experiments on people in the name of science and he simply found someone to do them with! The main difference between him and Medic is that he’s a lot better at hiding his inherent madness than Medic is, and a lot of people in the fandom friggin buy his nonsense!

Though I’m sure if he wasn’t wearing his dorky goggles and hard hat all the time, people would be less inclined to buy it, because quite frankly, the Engineer without his goggles is a god damn nightmare. In the comics it looks fine, amazing even, but have you ever seen it in-game?

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Ironically, the only other mercenary with a look scarier than that is Medic’s “Evil Grin” that’s actually just his normal smile.

And I’m sorry but a lot of people tend to forget what actually happened in the comics? Sniper was fully willing to merc Demo and Ms.Pauling, Sniper DID end up dying, and Engie was COMPLETELY ABSENT! Now you could argue that this wasn’t necessarily his choice, but the point remains that he’s more loyal to the Administrator than his friends to the point of very possibly knowing about letting them ‘die’. Not to mention that he either does know that he’s missing a soul (AND DOESN’T CARE???) or willingly let his friends throw themselves at certain death while he was missing in action attending to the administrator-- contracts just mean more to him. I mean, unless of course when Medic was talking about having 9 souls in total, he was counting Miss Pauling and not Engie which is also pretty likely but that’s a debate for another day entirely, dear god.

I’m sure there’s more points I’m forgetting here, but I’ll add on later if I remember anything. Feel free to have discourse below.

91 notes • Posted 2021-08-10 23:29:59 GMT

happy birthday mister Ludwig :]

350 notes • Posted 2021-06-23 21:53:27 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

#my 2021 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #THIS IS SO FIRE FR

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codename-adler · 3 years

Text

Kevin Day and his Oblivious Literature Lover, pt. VI

This bit explores Kevin’s sexual identity and his relationship to Jean, so, you know, not all funs and games... But very cathartic to write. I love them.

>> Table of Contents, TW and other parts are here!

after Juliet’s confession, their little talk does not flow any easier, but despite the rocky start and their dirty secrets, they push through the stuff that matters

it’s like a dam burst open

though, some subjects remain silenced

no parents, no exy, no relationships, no entourage, no names…

it’s just them

Kevin stays well into the afternoon

he has no class on Tuesdays, except in the mornings and, well, for once, he chose to rearrange his priorities

it wasn’t even a difficult choice, it wasn’t even a question: he had to stay, simple as that

he even missed morning practice

morning practice

it scares him, he feels the restlessness running through his veins, he feels guilty, guilty, guilty… and so, so weak…

but that was easier than leaving Juliet in the state she was

that had never happened before

not even with Jean

he’s used to flight, not fight

as for Juliet, either she didn’t have class or she chose the same as Kevin

either way, both were unspokenly grateful

sometimes, Juliet would fall asleep

sometimes she’d go non verbal and simply watch Kevin do his homework

one time he fell asleep

he woke up extremely tense, his jaw hurting from the clenching and his back protesting against his curled up position on the floor (really, an elite athlete should know better)

Juliet was looking at him strangely

“Can I ask for another truth?” she said quietly

he nodded calmly while his heart went racing

“Who’s Jean?”

“You said his name in your sleep. A lot. Are you usually a sleeptalker? I know I sleepwalk sometimes, but I don’t think I’ve ever talked,” she added

Kevin took an awful long time to think

he was looking at Juliet without really seeing her

instead he was imagining Jean’s bruised and battered face

he started speaking without refocusing his gaze, staring in the distance behind Juliet

“Jean is… He’s the one who taught me French. He’s the one who made me discover philosophy, Sartre and Hell is other people and all. He’s the one who listened first. He is the man that knows my shames, my failures, my mistakes, my ugly side, the man who knew and still looked at me as a human being with worth. He’s the one who showed me how to reset a dislocated shoulder. He’s the one I used to talk to in the middle of the night, about future plans or crazy ideas or incredible historical discoveries. He was my crutch when I couldn’t stand on my own anymore. He’s the one who kept my spirits up when times were tough. He is the man who kept me alive without either of us realizing it until it was too late. He is the man that I took for granted, the man I left behind without a second thought when things got too bad. I could beg for forgiveness my whole life and it still wouldn’t be enough to do right by him. He is the only person that has ever left me speechless. He can make my mind go blank, he can make me lose my words, he can shut me up with just a word. He’s the only one I let, at least. Jean is… So much. Too much, sometimes.”

Kevin’s throat tightened as he spoke, fists clenching and unclenching, his stomach twisting into knots of guilt and shame

if he’d been able to cry, Kevin would have shed burning tears

but he couldn’t

it’s as if everything in his system had been ready to cry, only for his body to realize that his water tank was completely empty of tears

and if Juliet hadn’t been looking at him with such intensity and such intent, Kevin would’ve ran away to Jean’s bedside right this second

three entire languages couldn’t even begin to express everything that Jean was to Kevin

Jean was every single emotion Kevin had ever felt in his short yet brutal existence, wrapped in one person as complex as the mechanics of the world

Kevin thought back on that first night when he allowed himself to be close to Jean since his escape from Edgar Allen

he thought back on how, with a single touch, all their entangled feelings came rushing back to the surface

how Kevin had never wanted to let go ever again, but the dark and violent waves of emotions had made his instincts scream with the urge to run away

Kevin had forgotten Juliet was still a witness to his battle

“Jean was… is… you ex?” she asked, something like wariness in her eyes

and what

“What?” he even says aloud

“Jean was your partner? Before… whatever it is you overcame?” Juliet repeats

“No!?”

“Okay… I’m sorry, Kevin… I didn’t mean…” she apologizes

“Why would you say that?” Kevin harshly asks

“Why wouldn’t I? It seems you two shared a very special bond, that’s all I’m saying,” she replies

she couldn’t possibly know

she couldn’t know

how would she know?

only two people in this godforsaken existence knew about these secrets in the dark, one of them being barely conscious in a bed a few minutes away, and the other one being himself

it was impossible that Juliet knew about what had transpired between him and Jean

“Kevin?” Juliet’s voice finally reaching him

“I said ‘Sorry for assuming’, I shouldn’t have done that. We don’t have to talk about it anymore, I’m sorry.”

Kevin considered their exchange

“I think I want to talk about it. To you,” Kevin finally spoke

Juliet nodded slowly, ever so careful, a silent yet binding promise passing between them

and so Kevin told her everything

absolutely everything

everything that didn’t touch exy, Riko, the Ravens, but that still left plenty, enough to cover many pages of poetry

he told her about how it had started between them, how Jean’s resilience had intrigued Kevin and how it had made him discover that there was more to life than his adoptive-brother

how Kevin had wanted a part of that rebellion Jean carried in his heart, how he tutored Kevin in French to share that slow-burning flame

he told her how for the first time in his life, Kevin’s entire focus wasn’t on one thing, but on a person too

he told her how their midnight talks became as important to him as his duty was

he told her how he began fighting for something else without knowing what it was, or why

he told her how on these nights, as Jean was teaching him verb tenses in French, their heads had, inch by inch, made their way closer to the other’s, until their foreheads were touching and their whispers barely made a sound on their lips

he told her how one fateful night, as Jean was teaching him the future tenses, their faces hadn’t stopped moving once their foreheads touched

how that simple touch hadn’t been enough anymore

how Jean had been his first kiss, his every kisses for the longest time

how he had been Jean’s first kiss, too

he told her how they had been each other’s first for everything

how they had been each other’s everything for a long time

he also told her how his fear and his shame, and his ambition, had ruined what they had

how his and Jean’s “situation” made it so, so hard

how once he was 17 and was “promoted”, Kevin didn’t choose Jean back

how it was on-and-off between them even when he showed interest towards Thea, also his now ex

how he had “moved” when shit hit the fan, and how he didn’t bring Jean with him because he was too scared, too self-centered, too weak

he told her how nobody knew back then, how nobody knows even now, because he had denied everything to everyone, including himself

and he told her how Jean was back, now, and how the memories came flooding back in with that same sour, yet familiar taste of shame, guilt, and fear

Kevin talked and talked and talked…

and Juliet listened

and Kevin cried, or rather, tears escaped his saddened eyes without even realizing it

and Juliet cried, too

they both wiped away the mess with the sleeves of their sweaters

“I have nothing to say about guilt and shame, but… If you liked Jean, if you loved him… if you still do… that is so okay, Kevin. It’s just love. You find it where you can. There’s nothing wrong with that, or with you. That’s how I see it… how I- I see you. You’re still you, Kevin.”

“You don’t know me,” Kevin replied fast, without thinking

Juliet just raised her eyebrow in a really, Kevin? way

“Look at where we are… Look at me… This isn’t even my worst. And I don’t believe it’s yours either. But it’s not pretty. Give us a little credit here, Kev; we’re not strangers anymore. Please don’t be a stranger… “

“Okay, Jules”

---

Kevin left Jackie Hall after sundown, with his heart heavy and his mind racing, but his shoulders a little lighter than yesterday

nothing in his life had magically changed into a goddamn fairytale, yet it felt different

Jules had told him nobody could decide who he was, that was his decision and his alone

he held that power, and only he chose who could wield some of it

he could choose what to do with it, and that thing could be outside of exy

at least, it could be for someone, instead of something

someone like Jean

on his way back to the familiarity Abby’s, back to Jean, he began plotting

by the time he was back by the bedside of the person he’d held so close to his heart and his lips, once upon a time, Kevin had formed a plan to give Jean the happy ending he so deserved

he’d have to make a few calls to USC, to the Trojans, to Jeremy Knox, he’d have to be careful of what he revealed, he’d have to convince Jean to leave, he’d have to convince himself to let Jean go, too, but he believed it was worth it

and if once in a while, in his cautious planning of Jean’s second chance at life, Kevin absentmindedly thought of a certain face framed with frizzy hair when the words “happy ending” kept nagging him, well no one could take that away from him either

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shadedrose01 · 4 years

Text

Truth or Dare (Yes, I Double Dare You)

Ships: Parkner (Harley Keener/Peter Parker), mentioned Thompsborn (Harry Osborn/Flash Thompson)

Summary: Peter play Truth or Dare with his friends.

Tags: Febufluff, Day 8, I dare you to kiss me, Truth or Dare, Party Games, Birthday Party, They play truth or dare y'all, Peter has a crush on Harley, Harley likes him back, Thompsborn is in this too, Bisexual Peter Parker, Gay Harley Keener, Dare, Calling your crush, admitting feelings, Mutual Pining, First Kiss, Kissing, Cute, Fluff, a lot of swearing, I dont know why i made them swear so much, im sorry lol, Bad French, Poor translated french, I Tried

Day eight of Febufluff: "I dare you to... kiss me"!

"Hmm, I dare you to speak in a French accent for the next three rounds." Flash grins over his cup, swirling the drink in front of his mouth before taking a sip, watching the smile drop off of his boyfriend's face, an incredulous expression replacing it.

"Seriously?!?"

"Yes, seriously! And that wasn't in an accent!"

"Oui, oui, baguette." Harry deadpans, looking so entirely done with Flash's bullshit, the entire room erupting into laughter as said boy sits up, shoving his boyfriend's shoulder hard.

"No halfassed bullshit, dickwad. The real deal."

"Fine, you want the real deal?" Harry sits up straight, and Peter starts giggling like a mad man from the other side of the room, leaning against the wall to watch the scene unfold, knowing exactly what is about to happen. Harry clears his throat, holds a dramatic pause for a few seconds, before- "Tu veux un accent francaise, tu vas recevoir un accent francaise."

"Oh my god, I forgot he spoke French!" Flash moans, slowly slipping down the wall in shame.

"Oh la la, ma chérie, qu'est ce que tu as fais, eh?" Harry grins, smug, cheeky, knowing he's won this hand as his boyfriend sinks even lower, his head almost level with the ground, his face red.

"And why is it so hot?!?"

"Okay, okay, enough." Ned laughs, sitting chris cross apple sauce beside Peter, the party hat sat on the top of his head beginning to sag.

It was Ned's 17th birthday, and instead of throwing a big party full of alcohol and loud music like most people in their classes did, he decided to have a smaller party, a sleepover full of board games, video games and now party games, with his closest friends, with their friend group. So here they all were, packing into Ned's smaller sized room, Flash and Harry practically conjoined at the hip sitting against the wall, Peter and Ned sitting on top of his bed on the other side of the room, and MJ and Harley leaning against said bed, sat on the floor, playing what would hopefully be a quick game of Truth or Dare. Hopefully.

Peter had never liked this game. There was always too much risk for him in this game, of being asked to reveal one of his many secrets, or of being asked to embarrass himself for laughs. He gets the appeal of it, the adrenaline rush, the amusement of watching your friends do something stupid, it's a fun game to watch, but that doesn't mean he likes playing it. He hadnt even called on yet though, and he was hoping to keep it that way.

He shouldn't have jinxed it.

As if his thoughts manifested into reality, Harry turns to stare at him with a unknown, horrifying glint in his eyes. Oh no, this is definitely not going to end well. "Action ou Vérité?"

Peter sighs, looking up to the ceiling as he mumbles "Dare.", assuming that's what Harry asked. If he's going to go down, he may as well go down in style.

Harry's grin widens, and Peter is already regretting his decision. "Je te défie de telephoner ton béguin."

Peter blinks at him in confusion, before MJ translates, "He's daring you to call your crush."

"What?!?" Peter sputters, Harry cackling at his flushing face while Harley speaks up for the first time in a while, his ('beautiful, gorgeous, fuck-') face turned towards MJ, scrunched up in thought.

"You know French? Since when?"

MJ just shrugs, face impartial, the only sign of her shyness being her pushing a stray hair behind her ear. "Since I got bored one day and learned it."

Harley just nods, like that makes sense, all while Peter is internal freaking the fuck out. Normally, this type of thing wouldn't be an issue. Sure, your friends will find out who your crush is, and tease you about it, and it'll be embarassing and whatever, but that's not the problem. Oh no no no no no, that would be too easy for Peter Parker. No, the problem with this question for Peter is that his crush is in the damn room, sitting directly in front of him leaning against the bed, an easy smile tilting up his thin pink lips, showing off his adorable dimples as he scans the room again with those big, stunning ocean blue eyes, hair coiffed back just right, messy, but just neat enough to be perfect, one stray blond curl falling in front of his eyes and fuck, fuck, frick fuck.

What is he going to do?!? He can't exactly call Harley when he's right in front of him, but he can't exactly say that he won't do it either, he wont be that guy. And now everybody is staring at it, expectant, waiting, shit, shit, shit-

Ned's eyes are the only ones that are sympathetic, because he knows, he knows who Peter likes and why this is such a big deal. Harley is one of Peter's best friends, they've been friends for years, and Peter is closer to Harley than he is to anybody else, he cant just throw it all away because of a game, can he? Harley definitely doesnt like him back, so if he does call him, it'll only end badly, but theres this tiny, tiny, traitorous part of him that wants to fo it, wants to tell him, if only to get it out in the open. But he cant ruin their friendship like that, he cant, but- but- oh god, oh no-

"Come on, Parker, we don't have all day." Flash complains innocently, not knowing of Peter's internal dilemma as he throws a stray piece of popcorn at him, Peter catching it subconsciously and throwing it into his mouth, just to try and get a few more seconds of peace before all hell breaks loose, before he destroys his closest friendship with his stupid ass feelings, goddamn it-

"Yeah, Pete, come on, dont keep us on the end of our seats." Harley teases, placing his head onto the blankets and looking back at him upside down, his hair surrounding his head like a halo, making him look even more angelic that he normally does, and god, why him, why? "Who's caught your eye, hm?"

Peter takes a deep, long, shaky breath, trying to prepare himself for the worst (and failing), taking his phone out of his pocket and scrolling down to Harleys contract, the black letters and two heart emojis on either side staring back at him mockingly. He hovers his thumb over the call button, noting how much its trembling, before he gulps and presses it, placing the phone to his ear, squeezing his eyes shut like a coward, unable to watch, knowing that Harleys expression was going shift, was going to turn from soft and warm, friendly, to hard and angry, to hatred and disgust and-

ACDC blares out into the room, the noise very obviously Harley's ringtone, and Peter grits his teeth, biting his tongue hard, his heart hammering in his chest.

"Wha-" Harley sounds so confused, so so confused, and Peter's squeezes his eyes shut tighter, holding back the burning tears that are threatening to spill. "Peter, why are you- wait..." He stops, pauses, and Peter digs his nails into his palm, squeezing his phone until he hears it start to crack. "...really?"

His voice is shaky, and god, Peter made him upset, he is probably so hurt, so confused, so disgusted, god stupid, you're so stupid, why would you do that, why didnt you just not do it, why why why-

He nods once, slowly, swallowing down a sob before whispering out "I'm sorry," into the now eerily silent room, his friends seemingly shocked into silence. He doesnt even want to know what they're thinking, what expressions are on their faces-

Theres another pause, another moment before he hears somebody shifting, Harley standing up, he's leaving, he's leaving- Good job, Parker, now you're forcing him to leave, you made him feel so uncomfortable that he's leaving, good fricken job, god, what is wrong with you-

A hand rubs his cheek gently, so so gently, spurring him out of his head as it brushes away a tear that had broken free, before another hand joins it on his other cheek, cradling his face. Peter blinks opens his eyes, shocked to see that its Harleys hands on his face, and that its Harley sat right in front of his face, with a wide smile and glowing eyes, face bright. "You mean it? You really mean it?"

Peter just nods again, so, so confused but also filling with a spark of hope, of joy as Harley's smile grows even more, filling his face before he launches into Peter's arms, hugging him tightly. "Oh thank god," he breathes into Peter's shoulder, and Peter is so lost, what is happening- "I thought you were gonna call someone else, and I was gonna have to act all happy and like it didn't bother me when it totally would have and-"

"Wait, wait," Peter finally puts together the pieces, and pulls away to stare at Harley with wide eyes, the beginning of a smile twitching at his lips. "You like me back?"

"Yeah?" Harley cheeks grow a rosey hue, and he looks away bashfully. "I thought it was obvious."

Peter shakes his head wildly, eyes still wide, this cant be happening, he likes me back, he likes me- "No, no it wasn't, it really really wasn't-"

"So, what I'm hearing," MJ cuts in, tone blunt as always, but with hints of warm amusement softening the usual edge, "is that you two are oblivious idiots."

They both laugh breathless, staring into each others eyes. "Apparently." Harley murmurs, his blue eyes swirling and flickering up and down, looking down at his lips before looking back up again.

Peter gets an idea, a cheesy, cheesy idea, and grins. "Hey, it's my turn now, right?" He asks to the group, never taking his eyes off of Harley.

"Yeeup!" Ned responds enthusiastically, seemingly thrilled to see his two best friends realizing their feelings for one another.

"Well," he leans forward a bit more, watching as Harleys pupil's grow bigger. "Truth or dare, Harls."

"Dare." He responds easily, quickly, seemingly getting more and more antsy by the second. Peter can't blame him, he feels the same way.

"I dare you to kiss me." Peter doesnt even finish his sentence before Harley's lips are pressed to his, his hands moving upwards and running through his hair, fingers grabbing lightly onto the strands as Peter grabs his hips lightly, pulling him closer, both of the boys grinning into the kiss. Peter can hear MJ gagging in the background, Harry exclaiming "gross!" like he doesnt kiss Flash every two seconds, and Ned squealing like a fangirl, but he ignores it all, just focusing on Harley, focusing on this moment, his heart swelling in his chest.

146 notes · View notes

cagestark · 5 years

Text

-Proxy-

Chapter One | Chapter Two

Read here on AO3.

@starkerinthepark three words babe: fucking by proxy.

Warnings: adult!Peter, sex, sex workers, natasha/peter, peter omc (but don’t worry, starker is endgame always).

“Mr. Stark?” Peter asks.

It pulls Tony from his work, head coming up to blink owlishly at the kid. Peter sits at a table across the room, textbooks from his classes at NYU spread out along the table littered with pencils and papers, though it has all been pushed aside so the kid can plant his elbow on the table and lean on it, staring off into space (the space that just happens to be in Tony’s general direction). “What is it, Pete?”

“When did you have your first kiss?”

Tony thinks, stretching his mind back. “I was twelve. So, ’82, ’83.”

“Twelve?”

“What?”

“Well, isn’t that a little young?”

Tony smiles wryly. “I did everything a little young. You could say I was quite—ah—advanced for my age. Why?”

“I still haven’t had mine.”

Tony shrugs. He hunches back over and pick up the soldering pen, nudging the blazing tip at the copper wires. His hands are shaking, something about the kid’s admission. He’s nineteen years old, and still no first kiss? Tony’s no judge of normality, but it does seem a little delayed. Still, he’s not one to shame someone else for their sexual activities (or lack thereof). “Everyone moves at their own pace, kid. I don’t know what to tell you.”

“I feel like I’m missing out,” Peter admits. He picks up a pencil and twirls it between his long fingers—why is Tony watching the kid’s hands when he’s holding a goddamn soldering iron? God, Tony’s distractible mind is going to get him burned. Literally. Worse: figuratively. “Everyone at university talks about their hook-ups and stuff. It sounds like…”

“Like?” Tony prods. Just like how he prods the wires.

“Like I’m missing out.”

“On sex.”

Peter’s face flushes—look down, Tony, Christ. “I mean—yeah? But I’m so far away from that. Like, so, so far. I mean, I did kiss a girl once, but it was like—” Peter puckers his lips, squeezing his eyes shut tightly. Tony is obliged to look, he contents himself with that knowledge. Freckles dust the kid’s nose, and he looks so painfully childish. It’s endearing, even if it makes some part of his stomach churn, like he’s swallowed one too many cocktails made of one-part perversion and two parts disgust. Shaken, not stirred.

“Find a girl—”

“Or guy,” Peter chimes, helpfully.

“Or a guy—or a non-binary babe, and french them. That’s all it takes.”

“Believe it or not, not many people are jumping at the chance to like, make out with me, Mr. Stark,” Peter mutters. He twirls the pencil too much and it slips from between his fingers and skids off the table. Smooth.

Tony sits down the soldering pen. He studies the kid—hard. Peter has clear skin for a boy still clinging to his teen years. His eyes are gold like a glass of whiskey left to sit in the sunshine, the brows flat and a little unruly. He’s got curls which are adorable. All in all, a very sincere and baby-faced young man. Tony can see why the girls and boys at university might not look at the kid and want to jump into bed with him. The priorities of young people these days are different.

Jesus, Tony sounds like an old man. He feels like an even older (dirtier) old man when he thinks about how those things don’t change Peter’s attractiveness to him at all. The face might be babyish, but the jawline is cut. He knows from sparring in the gym and passing each other in the Avengers’ locker room that the kid has an eight-pack that most people his age would kill for. Beyond all that, he knows Peter, knows the kid’s heart, the generosity, the warmth, the bravery.

“Most people are stupid,” Tony says much too honestly. “Anyone would be lucky to be with you, Pete.”

Peter’s face lights up. Tony scrambles for the soldering pen. He needs all the excuses he can get to avoid looking at that handsome, joyful face. Peter asks: “Do you mean that? I mean, do you really think so?”

Tony makes a noise that he hopes conveys everything reasonable and acceptable that the kid wants to hear.

“I just think if I had some practice, I don’t know, maybe I could reel someone in.”

“If I look up and you’re really pretending to reel in a fishing rod, I’m going to throw you out of my lab,” Tony mutters, squinting at the wires. When he glances up, it’s just in time to see Peter lowering his hands demurely to his lap, eyes far too wide for him to have been doing anything but pretending so. Tony shakes his head, snorting. “You’ve found the paradox. To attract somebody, you need practice. To practice, you need somebody. The absolute woes—Thank God I’m not nineteen anymore.”

“You’re Tony Stark,” Peter says, and Tony can hear him rolling his eyes just from the tone of his voice. “I doubt you had any of these troubles when you were nineteen. Or, like, ever.”

Tony’s lips fight not to smile. “You might be right. Okay, so, attraction. Practice. Let’s brainstorm some solutions—”

“Do you think Steve would kiss me?”

Okay—Tony burns himself. The wound cauterizes instantly at least, which is nice, but it stings like a son of a bitch. Tucking the throbbing thumb into his mouth, he shuts down the soldering pen because obviously he can’t be trusted around both Peter and dangerous machinery. The words Peter spoke bang around in his head like a quarter in a washing machine.

“Steve who?” Tony asks.

Peter presses his thin lips together. He drops his eyes to the pencil he’d retrieved from the floor, twirling it anxiously between his fingers. “You know. Steve—um—Cap-Captain America?”

“You want to make out with Captain America.”

“Or Thor. I could do Thor—kiss Thor! Oh my god. I could kiss Thor.”

“Am I in a fever dream?” Tony asks. He makes a show of pinching himself. “FRIDAY, am I have a stroke?”

“Not that I can detect, boss,” his girl says, unhelpfully.

“Well find me a stroke, FRI, so that I can have it. ASAP.”

“Mr. Stark,” Peter groans, dropping his face into his hands. “Stop. You’re making fun of me.”

“Making—? I’m not making fun of you. This is me being traumatized at the thought of Steve doing anything more PG than holding hands.”

“I just—I thought maybe a more experienced person—friend, I mean. I thought maybe they’d be willing to help me out. You know. Take one for the team.” The kid looks so miserable that Tony feels his heart squeeze. With that look on his face, Peter could ask anything of him, and Tony would bend over backwards, alter timelines, break his own moral code to give it to him.

But Peter didn’t ask him.

“Kid. Peter—I’m sorry. You’re right. It’s a good idea, I think. But Steve probably doesn’t have as much experience as you’d like, and Thor is on Asgard. We’re only supposed to summon him under threat of galactic peril.”

The intensity of Peter’s stare makes Tony feel like there’s a joke he’s missing out on. It isn’t a feeling he’s privy too, often, and thank God he’s not, because it makes his skin prickle uncomfortably. “Well then what are my other options, Mr. Stark?” Peter asks, eyes wide and guileless.

Tony swallows. “Let me—give me ten minutes.”

“I don’t know whether to be offended or honored,” Natasha says, lounging on Tony’s sofa. She’s dressed in casual clothes, a t-shirt maybe best for sparring, yoga pants and fuzzy socks, because she always has cold feet. Always. She looks beautiful, stunning, sensual in the lazy way she lays against the dark leather, but Tony knows that’s just instinct to her. It’s not for his benefit.

Peter stands behind Tony, one hand tangled into his curls and tugging on them anxiously.

“Can I make a suggestion?” Tony says. “Because I’d say honored—I mean—”

“Stop talking, Tony,” she says, lips twitching.

“I would,” says Tony. “But I really do want to explain my choice to Peter.”

Natasha waves a hand magnanimously, even as her eyebrows raise, the picture of honed skepticism.

“Pete, we’ve got a handful of Avengers on the continent, so Natasha immediately gets a point for proximity. She’s—and I swear to God, under threat of torture I will deny having said this—but she’s got the biggest heart of all of us. Even if she says no, I knew she wouldn’t laugh you out of house and home, and she wouldn’t spread it around for gossip’s sake. Also, I have it on good authority that Natasha has never been bad at anything in her life, so more than likely, she’s going to suck your brain out from between your teeth.”

“If she says yes,” Peter says.

After which, they both turn toward her. She looks surprisingly moved (let it be known that Tony can give quite the stirring speech when moved to). Behind her pale eyes, Tony can see the cogs of her brain churning, always churning. Her glance flickers between them several times, and her lips are curving, curving, and Tony has a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach—

“You’ve overlooked one thing,” Natasha says.

“What’s that?”

She flicks a finger at Tony. “You have the Avenger most skilled orally right there. Why isn’t Tony helping you?”

It’s—yeah. It’s worse than Tony imagined it could be. Not that it isn’t a question he hasn’t asked himself twenty times during the brief call he made asking her to meet them up in his penthouse. Behind him, Peter makes a noise that Tony can’t translate from teenager to English. It sounds a little horrified which shouldn’t offend Tony as much as it does. Then again, Tony feels a lot of things for Peter that he shouldn’t these days.

“Because he didn’t ask me,” Tony says. Let the room make of that what it will. Everyone holds their breath, a stare-down of epic proportions taking place, a duel with no guns, they’ve met at high noon outside the saloon doors and all Tony wants to do is hop on his horse and ride off into the painted sunset. But he can’t. Because Peter asked for his help, and he can’t tell the kid no.

“Alright,” Natasha says at length. She shifts to the farthest couch cushion and pats the space next to her. “Come here, Peter.”

Peter looks far younger than his age of nineteen when he crosses the room, one shoe untied, wearing a graphic tee and skinny jeans, face redder than Tony’s suit. He’s wringing his hands even as he sits down on the couch cushion, deciding that he’s too far away and scooting closer only to second guess himself and scoot back again. The space between them is probably enough for Tony to sit—and okay, not a mental image he needs.

“Lesson one,” Natasha says seriously. “Good oral hygiene.”

“I—I figured the first lesson would be something like, don’t be nervous.”

She stares at him flatly. “You’re always going to be nervous. That lessens with 1. practice. 2. security with your partner. And 3. good oral hygiene. Does my breath stink? Can they taste what I had for lunch? Those are the last thoughts you want to be thinking when you’re trying to kiss someone. Brush regularly, and if you can, always carry gum.”

“I don’t have any gum,” Peter admits.

Natasha smiles, soft and indulging. “I do, don’t worry.”

She and Peter each takes a stick of peppermint gum, and when Natasha holds the pack out to him too, eyes glittering (“What,” she says. “It’d be rude not to offer you some as well.”) Tony realizes that it’s a little preposterous: his presence here. They don’t need him. Peter might even be more nervous with Tony watching, if the looks the kid keeps shooting him are any indication. Tony should leave. He should definitely leave.

He sits in the armchair, tucking the gum wrapper into the back pocket of his jeans.

While they chew, they make awkward small talk. Peter dodges any questions about who he might be trying to learn kissing techniques for, Tony dodges any question that make might him reveal his proclivity for the young man on the sofa, and Natasha looks like she knows everything, lips tilted upwards into a perpetual smirk. At last they all spit out their gum (not Tony, because Tony isn’t going to be kissing anyone, certainly not kissing Peter, thanks).

“Breath nice and fresh, now. Guaranteed. See how that’s one thing off your mind, now?”

Peter does look more noticeably upbeat. “Yes, you’re right. Thanks, Ms. Romanov.”

“You can call me Natasha, Peter. We’re going to get rather close. Now come here—” She urges Peter closer until their thighs are pressed together, and then their knees when she encourages him to turn towards her. “Lesson two, where to put your hands.”

She takes his hand—Peter has very nice hands, thin, fine boned, dexterous, so soft looking—and turning his hand to be palm up, cups her jaw with it. Peter’s fingers disappear back into her hair, and his thumb rests along the smooth skin of her cheek. Peter is holding his breath. Tony can tell, because Tony can’t take his eyes off of him.

“This is a good place to start with. It’s nice to touch your partner when kissing them, because it makes you feel more present, it makes the moment more intimate. There are—other—places you could touch them, but this one is nice and sweet and unlikely to offend someone if you’re still feeling each other out. Okay?”

Peter nods, head bobbing furiously. Tony might be holding his breath too. Who knows. Not him.

“Lesson three: caution and adaptation. You can’t hurt anything by starting off slow. You can always turn up the heat, but it isn’t as easy to dial it down, especially if you come on so strong that you turn your partner off. Listen to their cues—most people will unconsciously try to tell you want they want.

“Are you ready for the practical?”

“I—” Peter swallows. He glances at Tony, who can do nothing but shrug. “Yeah. Let’s—do it.”

Natasha matches Peter’s hold on her, reaching out to dip the tips of her fingers into those curls, to run her fingers along the strong line of his jaw and Tony finally feels it: the sourness in his stomach of jealousy, the aching desperation to be in her place. He wraps up all those emotions and tucks them into a trunk in the back of his mind, closes the trunk, and loses the key. Hopefully.

Slowly but firmly, Natasha draws them together. She kisses Peter. Their heads slant naturally to the right, and the first press is soft and chaste. They part just a hairsbreadth and then kiss again, this time their mouths just barely parted. Tony catches a flash of pink tongue (almost assuredly Natasha’s), and then Peter makes a noise from the back of his throat: a tender little whine that makes Tony swallow.

He can’t help but glance down and—oh. The kid is hard. There’s no hiding the bulge in his skinny jeans. To be honest, Tony can hardly blame him: he’s feeling a little tingly down south himself, mostly after that sweet sound the young man made. It backs up theoretical data Tony has already been compiling (from when the kid groans when he eats something particularly tasty at the Avengers’ communal dinner table to when he whines when Ned beats him at a video game on the console Tony had made for them). What Tony is compiling that data for is—confidential.

Now that he’s noticed the kid’s erection, his eyes can’t help but bounce between it and the sensuality of Peter’s kiss with Natasha. Tongue is obviously involved now: their mouths are open, cheeks hollow, and Natasha reaches up to coax Peter’s hand back towards her hair where he tangles his fingers in it, pulling her closer until she has to kneel up to avoid falling right on the kid’s lap.

She parts long enough to say, “Don’t forget to breath.”

The kid is panting, nodding furiously, already pressing back to her mouth. This time Tony catches a hint of his tongue and has to look pointedly above their heads for several long moments to collect himself. It almost doesn’t work, not with the soft sensual wet sounds that come from their mouths. How the fuck did Tony get himself in this situation, practically pimping out the young man who he is far too emotionally and physically and spiritually and intellectually (and all the other lly’s) interested in?

His life is ridiculous.

He looks back at them.

He can’t stop watching.

Natasha takes the kid lower lip onto her mouth and sucks on it. Peter’s eyelashes flutter, chest hitching. The bulge at the crotch of his jeans twitches. But ever the good student, he then tries the same move on her, taking that full lower lip into his mouth and suckling, then his lips draw back just a little and Tony sees teeth—he is biting her lip, and Natasha’s mouth curves just a little into a smile. When they pull apart, their mouths are wet and red. Peter is panting, and Natasha’s hair is mussed.

Tony is barely managing to keep from being hard.

“How was that, Pete?” Nat asks.

“I guess I should be asking you,” Peter says, sound more than a little breathless. “Did I do okay? Any tips, pointers, criticism? Compliments?”

Natasha laughs. Tony thinks it might be an honest-to-God laugh, one that bubbles up from somewhere inside her chest. He can’t help but smile at the sound of it, at the way it makes Peter duck his head, press one palm to his mouth to disguise his smile. Natasha reaches out and pulls his head to her bosom, giving Tony a look over his head that says, how fucking precious is he?

Tony rolls his eyes.

Pretty fucking precious.

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Tips welcome at my kofi. <3

#starker #peter/omc #peter/natasha #nff #precious!peter #insecure!tony

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shannygoatgruff · 4 years

Text

My Brother’s Keeper - Chapter V

Genre: Psychological Thriller

Characters: Modern Ivar X Modern Hvitserk

Rating: MA 18+

Overall Warning: Dark story told from an emotionally distributed person’s POV with graphic and sadistic material including rape, terror, torture, kidnapping, drug use, slash, implied incest, necrophilia, and insecurity. Heavy trigger warnings.

Chapter Warning: Angst, talk of violence, drug use

Summary: Mama always said to be their brothers’ keeper. Now there is absolutely nothing these two won’t do for each other. Boys will be boys…

Chapter V

I can't figure out why I'm so edgy today. For all intents and purposes, I should be pretty fucking happy. I had a great time last night. I slept well, took a good shit this morning, and had a delicious breakfast with Ivar. Instead of pancakes, today, he made French toast. I was thoroughly impressed.

I even worked on a few things in the basement while I waited for Thora’s morning classes to be done. I meant it last night when I told her I wanted to spend the day with her today. I just wish that I was in a better mood now. ‘Cause right now, everything is annoying the fuck out of me.

Sometimes, I can’t stand how childish Thora is. I mean, she’s a grown-ass woman, so why does her room look like a five-year-old’s? Everything in here is a hideous shade of pink. Stupid fucking unicorns, teddy bears, and little porcelain things decorate her shelves and her bed is always perfectly made up with a fluffy pink and white comforter. It’s just all so…innocent.

I shouldn’t be all that surprised – her room reminds me of her. Sweet…girly…fucking perfect, just like her. It’s fucking sickening. Sometimes everything I love about her, the fact that she’s so different from the people I like to party with is the one thing about her that drives me fucking insane.

I need to get out of this room and get some air before I break every fucking thing in here.

I walk out of her dorm and outside into the chilly afternoon. The autumn breeze is cool on my face and helps me focus on something other than my uneasiness. It’s so crisp out here, today. Believe it or not, this is my favorite time of year to party. I don’t know what it is about the fall, but people seem to be out more than they are in the spring or the summer. Maybe it’s the wonderful colors of the season or the smell of the decaying leaves? Whatever it is, people seem to come out in droves and I’m fucking here for it. There are so many more adventurous people that are willing to party this time of year, it gets my blood racing.

Jesus, am I still thinking about partying? Normally, the day after Ivar and I go out, I just concentrate on being with my girl. Being with her helps me put my life back in perspective. She’s my reminder of what my other life is going to be like when I get this hunger under control. She helps dull the cravings for a few more days before the gnawing starts again and I need to feed it. I know I’ve been wanting to party more often than I usually do, but it’s never been the next day. Being around her is supposed to help me forget about it.

But, right now it’s not working.

I need to get myself together because when I’m with Thora, she depends on me to take care of her. I do for her what Ivar does for me. Besides giving me something else to concentrate on other than finding the next one, when I’m with her, I just want to comfort her. Especially, since she cries a lot. She's like a little girl that's not in control of her emotions. Whether she's happy, sad, or scared, the tears are the same. I know it sounds weird, but I like when she cries. I think it’s because I can usually make it all better. At least, I'm so busy trying, that partying doesn't cross my mind…not a lot anyway.

Today, though, I can’t comfort a damn soul. Not with my heart about to jump out of my chest. This fucking anxiety is overwhelming. I had fun last night so I shouldn't even want to again this soon.

I should be able to ignore this. It's not like I can't function without it. It's more irritating than anything, like a constant nagging. I like I can hear it calling me from far away, but it's getting louder by the minute. I bet it was because I had to rush last night. I was so busy trying to finish before that guy died and shitted on me that I finished too quickly. That’s got to be the reason. That is exactly why I hate rushing.

If we go out tonight I'm gonna do it slowly; take my time and do it right. I'm going to do everything I want and I won't give myself a time limit. That's the only way to make my palms stop sweating and get my heart to stop beating like I’m running a goddamn marathon. Yeah, going slow will make it better. It has to because I hate this feeling.

I reach my forefinger and thumb into the small change pocket of my jeans and retrieve the two pills there. Without hesitation, I pop the two Klonopin in my mouth before taking a healthy sip from my water bottle. I wish I had something stronger. That reminds me that Ivar and I need to visit that guy he knows across town to reup on party favors. What kind of hosts would we be if we didn’t keep libations to put our guests in the mood? We’ve really been slacking, lately. I know for at least the past week, I haven’t been all that impressed with our selection. I’ve just been reaching in the bottom of the bowl and using whatever I pick up. I haven’t been properly stoned in at least 5 days. This shit is amateur hour. But, it’s better than nothing to take the edge off.

My hand shakes as I bring that guy’s lighter to the end of my cigarette, but it stops as soon as the taste of menthol enters my mouth. My lungs open up, clouding with thick smoke and a sudden calm washes over me. My eyes close on their own as the head rush takes over. It's not as good as I’ll feel when these pills kick in, but it'll do for right now.

Thora’s arms come around my waist and I roll my head over to look at her. She looks like she's worried about me. I have been a little quiet today, and there's no good explanation I can give her. She just thinks I'm not feeling well.

I'm not.

"You okay?" Her lips poke out in a pout as she rests her chin on my arm. She can't see the bruise on my shoulder under my long sleeve shirt, but it hurts. I think it happened carrying the blonde from the front seat to the warehouse. It was hard to maneuver him from the way he was sitting in the car to draping him over my shoulder. I must have bumped up against the car door or something because now I have a huge bruise.

Trying not to flinch, my arm comes around her shoulder and I pull her closer to me. "Fine." For the most part that's true. I do feel better holding her, I just don’t know long this reprieve will last.

"Let's go for a walk." She grabs my hand and I follow behind her.

My lips start to turn up into a smirk and Thora turns to me and smiles. I feel a little twinge of guilt because she thinks my look is about her. Honestly, I’m thinking about the fact that her campus is crawling with people that I could party with. If Ivar were here right now, we'd have a fucking field day. There are so many bored people around just looking to have fun. We could have our pick of them and show them the best time. There no telling some of the shit we could get to if we just let our imaginations run wild.

As the leaves crunch under my feet, I watch the way Thora kicks them with each step she takes. She's so graceful and childlike; she's going to make the perfect mother for my children. This hobby is just that, a hobby. I don’t understand how Ivar can doubt my decision. Watching the impish way Thora moves, the concerned way she stares, the careful way she worries about me, I know that when this over it'll work out with us. She's exactly the transition I need from this phase of life to my next one.

She loves me and I think I love her. At least that's what I tell myself all the time. I love that I'm going to marry her and that she's going to raise my children. I love that she's so innocent and that she knows that I won't hurt her. I love the way she needs me. That means I love her, right? It doesn't matter really. I will love the life that I'm supposed to have with her.

Her hand grips mine tighter as we approach the people standing in the middle of the quad. Something is off. They're all huddled around one guy, hanging on his every word, whispering to each other, shrugging, and offering sympathy every now and again. Thora's arms wrap around mine and her head leans on my shoulder like she's feeling their pain. "His boyfriend didn't come home last night," she says quietly to me.

I look from her worried blue eyes to the blue-green eyes of the dark-haired man standing there. His red-rimmed eyes are swollen from crying and yet look sunken in on his pale face. The look of terror in his eyes is reminiscent of the way Thora looks when she talks about Ivar. He's petrified and for some reason, my stomach starts to drop because of it.

The toe of my Doc Marten creates a small hole in the ground as I twist my foot to extinguish the cigarette. I can't stop staring as Thora moves to stand in front of the tall, brunette. She must know him. Looking at her face, I can tell she’s feeling his pain. It's enough to make me want to hurt him so he can stop hurting her.

"Kalf, still no word?"

Fresh tears spring to Kalf’s eyes when he shakes his head. "We fought last night.” He uses his entire hand to wipe the tears running down his face, “A few people said they saw him dancing at Danger, but then he just disappeared.” His voice starts to crack with each word as his fear starts to get the better of him, “We fight all the time, but he always comes home. He hasn't called or anything. Erlendur always calls."

"Maybe he just needs time to get his head together." My voice comes out soft and unsure. I don't even know why I spoke.

When Thora's teary eyes turn in my turn in my direction, my throat starts to close.

Erlendur. This Erlendur is the guy from last night, he has to be. He was the one at Danger. He was the one that talked about his boyfriend with Ivar as we walked to the car.

Shit! His name was Erlendur. He wasn't just the blonde tramp that we met at a club, but a kid; a college student with a boyfriend and friends, including my girl. He had a real-life like he was a real person. Why the fuck did he have to be real? He was just supposed to be a good time, not a person with a life outside of that moment.

By the time I open my eyes and steady myself on my feet, Thora's arms are around me again. I can't stand to be around her right now. Those innocent blue eyes are tearing into me at a level like I've never known before. Thora is hurting and it's because of me. She's worried about her friend because of something I did. I'm supposed to be the one to protect her and I've done just the opposite.

Kalf's concerned eyes for Erlendur are exactly how Thora's eyes cloud over with concern for me. "Hvitserk? Are you alright?"

My head shakes as I try to keep myself from throwing up. "I don't feel so hot. I'm gonna take off." I offer her a smile to keep her calm, but she doesn't seem to be convinced by it. Her forehead is warm on my lips and her body is soft in my arms, but this is all I can give her right now. The guilt is like molten lava creeping up my neck. I know my cheeks are turning red and the pounded in my head lets me know right away that this isn't going to end well. "I'll call you later."

Turning to Kalf, I stuff my hands in my pockets and refuse to meet his eyes. "I hope your friend turns up soon."

I barely manage to get around the building before I bend at the waist and try to catch my breath. I hate to hyperventilate. My hands rest on the top of my thighs as I try to control my breathing. I'm almost gulping in the air but it isn't helping. The only thing it's doing is making my throat burn and my lungs feel like they're going to explode.

"Fucking, Erlendur. Motherfucker." Muffled curses pour from my lips, while I stumble my way to the car door. The wheezing in my chest doesn't stop, but it slows when I focus my attention on the fact that that fucker had a fucking name.

I don't give a fuck about him or what we did to him. It does bother me though that the people he left behind are worried. They have no idea how we partied with him. They don't know that my face was the last one he saw before he stopped breathing altogether. Would Thora cry if she knew that Ivar beat him and skinned parts of his body? Would she be devastated if she knew that his skull was probably cracked when I slammed his head on the table repeatedly? Would it break her heart to know that we set him on fire and stood around to watch his body burn?

I can't hurt Thora. She needs me and I did this to her. I can't handle knowing that.

I don't know how I make it home, but when I look up, I'm already barefoot and climbing the stairs.

I feel sick, shaky... confused. I don't know what to do. The only thing I can do is open Ivar's door and close it quietly behind me. He's taking a nap, but he must have heard me come in because his head rises from his pillow right before he pulls back his covers.

My movements are slow, but I manage to make it to his bed and tuck myself in close to him. "Erlendur. His fucking name was Erlendur." My voice cracks while I try to catch my breath. "He was real, Ivar. He had a name and a life and friends, and…"

"Shhhh, baby. It's alright." His voice is a gentle whisper and his safe arms wrap protectively around me. He lovingly rubs my back while rocking me softly, "I'm here, Serk."

Nodding my head against his chest, I feel the tears slip from my eyes. "Make it better." This is where I need to be. “Hold me tight.” I just need to be in his arms and let him protect me as only he can. "Promise me you won’t let me go."

His warm lips kiss the tears falling from the corner of my eye before he presses them to my forehead, “Never,” I feel him whisper against my skin.

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molsno · 3 years

Text

I’m skipping the middleman on that trans ask game and just answering all the questions myself <3

this is long so it’s under a read more

1. How did you choose your name?

in senior year of high school, while I was in french class, I was thinking about the word vivre, to live, and how it conjugated. I forget what tense it is, but one way of conjugating it is “nous vivions”, and it dawned on me that the name vivian is based on the word vivre (or its latin origin). of course, I already liked the name due to the character from paper mario ttyd, but knowing that it means life really spoke to me, as I think the ability to live is a precious thing that shouldn’t be wasted. I decided pretty much then and there that I would name my daughter vivian some day. well... then I got the chance to play a character in my friend’s danganronpa killing game, and I thought playing a girl would be interesting. granted, I also already knew I was an egg and saw this as an opportunity to try out my favorite name, so I created vivian tamochi. as you might have guessed, I loved being her so much that I made vivian my actual name

2. What gives you the most dysphoria?

um, hearing recordings of my own voice probably. I always think that I sound very feminine but then I hear a recording of myself and it sounds like a bad impression

3. Do you have more physical dysphoria or more social dysphoria?

more social I guess? actually yeah I think all of the dysphoria-induced breakdowns I’ve had have been because of social things

4. What do you do to perform self-care when you’re feeling dysphoric?

something that helps a lot is shaving, especially when it’s a fullbody shave

5. What was the first time you suspected you were transgender?

this is a bit embarrassing but it was honestly christmas eve 2018. I saw my little cousin (I think she was 8 at the time) wearing a pretty dress and I felt sort of jealous that I never got to do that when I was her age. I was so confused about this feeling that I told my trans friend kyra about it and after asking me to clarify what I meant she linked me to the egg_irl subreddit. that was the first time I seriously considered it

6. When did you realize you were transgender?

I told my friend amanda how I’d been confused about my gender and she offered to take me to goodwill to try on some clothes. I was extremely nervous about it while we were there and I really had to work up the courage to not only pick out some clothes to try, but also take them to the fitting room with me. but once I put on a skirt for the first time I stood there for like a solid 5 minutes just looking at myself in the mirror with the biggest happiest smile on my face. in that moment I finally understood what gender euphoria was. I couldn’t deny I was trans any longer, it was just a matter of working up the courage to tell people

7. What is your favorite part of being transgender?

um, probably that I feel like a person now. also the little things, like seeing my hips get bigger or looking at how long my hair has gotten. just little things to smile about!

8. How would you explain your gender identity to others?

um, I’m girl <3

9. How did you come out? If you didn’t come out, why do you stay in the closet? Or what happened when you were outed?

I mean it depends on who, but I decided to do it on national coming out day 2019, in my discord server with friends. basically I commented on it being national coming out day and reposted my intro in the introductions channel with my new name and pronouns. everyone there sorta saw it coming I’m pretty sure

10. What have your experiences been with packing or tucking?

I’ve tucked a few times in public. it’s uncomfortable for sure, but not terrible once you get used to it. the idea of it made me squeamish at first, I’ll admit. but since I haven’t had much excuse to go out in girlmode the past year or so, I haven’t tucked much

11. What are your experiences with binding or wearing breast forms?

the closest I’ve ever gotten to wearing breast forms is wearing a bra every day for..... almost a year now? it doesn’t serve much purpose other than letting me feel something there, though that is changing since I’ve been on hrt for several months

12. Do you pass?

I mean... probably not? I feel like I’m very visibly trans. there have been like two times where I’ve been gendered correctly in public (one in girlmode, one not) but those are extremely rare

13. What (if any) steps do you want to take to medically transition?

well I’ve been on hrt for 8 months now so that’s one thing. I want to get laser hair removal for my facial hair because that’s one of the biggest sources of dysphoria for me, but yknow. that’s expensive! according to my understanding my insurance supposedly should cover bottom surgery, but I’m honestly in no rush to get that. I don’t really have much bottom dysphoria, but it would be nice to get surgery some day

14. How long have you been out?

it’s been about a year and two months now...... time flies

15. What labels have you used before you’ve settled on your current set?

up until I was like 17 I was incredibly insistent on being cis and straight despite very obvious (in retrospect) signs to the contrary. around 18 I was very confused why all my friends were lgbt in some form and also I kinda started realizing I don’t mind dick, and I thought it would all make sense if I was bi. I identified as cis and bi for like 4 years or so but the longer it went on the more wrong it felt considering I had never once during that time been attracted to a man

16. Have you ever experienced transphobia?

surprisingly not really? the most transphobia I’ve experienced has been a result of automated processes like proctored testing or emails. of course, I’ve seen all the nasty shit that terfs say about people like me, but I’ve never been a victim of it directly

17. What do you do when you have to go to the bathroom in public?

if there is a universal restroom that I can lock from inside then I use that. if not, I sigh dramatically and sadly use the men’s room

18. How does your family feel about your trans identity?

truthfully I don’t know. my mom seems accepting enough, but with the pandemic going on I haven’t talked to her much. I know my sister is aware, and shockingly she seems supportive too, but we haven’t talked about it in depth

19. Would you ever go stealth, and if you are stealth, why do you choose to be stealth?

if I could go stealth I would. I’m sorry but I don’t want to be visibly trans

20. What do you wish you could have shared with your younger self about being trans?

the sooner you start transitioning the happier you’ll be. by denying this part of yourself you’re just making yourself miserable

21. Why do you use the pronouns you use?

she/her makes me happiest. I’ve (against my will, mind you) used they/them and been called molsno in a group that I wasn’t out in, and..... it made me feel..... distant, I guess? it was better than he/him, but it felt much less personal

22. Do your neurodivergencies and/or disabilities affect your gender?

I mean...... yeah? as a trans lesbian it’s very easy for me to hate masculinity given how it’s instilled nothing but negative feelings in me literally my entire life, and being autistic makes it harder to understand how the things I say about gender negatively impact the people around me

23. What’s your biggest trans-related fear?

the fear that I may never be able to believe I can be loved as a woman, probably

24. What medical, social, or personal steps have you already taken to start your transition?

coming out nearly everywhere and getting on hrt!

25. What do you wish cis people understood?

I desperately wish cis people understood even the basics of trans issues. still to this day many cis people don’t even know the right terminology to use for trans people. they think “trans man” and “trans woman” mean the opposite of what they actually mean and that’s just so goddamn frustrating. many of them think transitioning is just bottom surgery and that’s it. like, they don’t know anything about hrt. cis people please educate yourselves on trans issues I’m begging you

26. What impact has being trans had on your life?

it’s affected many aspects of my life but I think the biggest one is that I feel like a person now. I always felt like a robot, or like someone putting on a performance before, but I feel like a human being now

27. What do you do to validate yourself?

ummm... not much really. I guess one thing that has helped is making my character astrid trans? because if I ever think something bad about myself I can stop myself and ask if I would think the same thing about her, and of course the answer is no.

28. How do you feel about trans representation in media?

it’s bad. trans women very rarely get any positive representation. like the only transfem characters that come to mind that I think were handled well were lily hoshikawa from zombieland saga and vivian from paper mario (although even that’s debatable given the english censorship about her gender and the way beldam abuses her in japanese). meanwhile nonbinary representation consists almost exclusively of aliens, shapeshifters, robots, etc. and trans men get literally nothing. like. trans representation is just so abysmal it’s not even funny

29. Who is your favorite trans celebrity?

umm....... I don’t really care about celebrities lol. if I were to answer this question it would be “oh yes I’ve heard of these people”

30. Who is the transgender person who has influenced you the most?

gosh, how could I ever decide? most of my friends are trans so it’s hard to say but if I had to answer.... my friends kyra and modeus were probably the most helpful when I was figuring myself out

31. How are you involved with the trans community, IRL or online?

mostly online

32. How do you see yourself identifying and presenting in 5 years?

I’ll almost certainly still be a woman, and hopefully my transition will have gone well enough that I’ll be able to pass

33. What trans issue are you most passionate about?

healthcare. the difficulty so many people face with getting access to trans healthcare is ridiculous and discriminatory. I’ve written essays for school about this topic and they were the easiest essays I’ve had to write because of how passionate I am about this

34. What advice would you give to other trans people, or what message would you like to share with them?

pick your head up queen/king/royal, your cat ears are falling down

35. How do you feel your gender interacts with your race, disability, class, weight, etc. from the perspective of intersectionality?

well I’m white, able bodied, average weight, and I’m about to get a degree in computer science, so I have a lot of privilege that other trans people don’t have. I fully recognize that. it breaks my heart that so many less privileged trans people, particularly trans women of color, are murdered and never even get the justice they deserve. I wish there was more I could do to stop it, but privileged as I am, I’m only one person. I want everyone to be aware of who the major victims of transphobia are. look out for black trans women especially, they need your protection and support most of all

36. What, if any, is the difference between your gender identity and your gender expression?

not much. I’m a woman with a very feminine gender expression, when I’m free to be. the biggest feminine thing that I don’t do is makeup, but that’s more due to dysphoria rather than a distaste for it

37. Do you feel more masculine, feminine, or neither?

feminine uwu

38. What is your sexual and romantic orientation, and what are your thoughts on it?

I am a lesbian and that is very epic of me. I love girls and seeing girls in love makes me happy and imagining myself as a girl in love with another girl makes me even happier

39. Is your ideal partner also trans, or do you not have a preference?

I always hate admitting this, but due to personal reasons, my ideal partner is cis. this is mostly because I very much want to have biological children, and that’s simply not possible with another trans woman. I wouldn’t rule out an afab nonbinary person entirely, it just really depends on how comfortable said person is with femininity and also how they feel about dating a lesbian. if not for my desire to have kids (which is not something I’m willing to compromise on since it has been my lifelong dream) I would have a lot more options. truth be told, cis women kind of scare me, and it would be so much easier to date someone who fundamentally understands what it’s like to be trans. but biology is cruel unfortunately

40. How did/do you manage waiting to transition?

it was incredibly difficult. thankfully, it didn’t last very long. I only had to wait about 6 months, and most of that time was spent waiting until I was able to bank sperm because I didn’t want to risk becoming permanently infertile after starting hrt

41. What is the place (blog, website, forum, IRL space) you get most of your info on being trans or on trans related things?

ngl...... reddit. the trans boards have many, many helpful resources for transfem people. I don’t really go there anymore but it was immensely helpful in the early stages

42. Do you interact with other trans people IRL?

I mean..... yeah, but not very much anymore on account of the pandemic. I made a few trans friends junior year of college and we still talk occasionally, but it’s been several months since I last saw them all

43. Are you involved in any trans-related activism?

not really 😔

44. Free space! Answer any question you want, or make up your own question to answer.

“Wow Vivi how come you’re so epic?”

I was born this way <3

#personal

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tessatechaitea · 4 years

Text

Justice League International #8 (1987)

Is it weird that I have a newsstand copy of a comic book when I definitely was shopping at my local comic shop in 1987?

This cover has so many jokes to talk about that I probably won't have time to review the entire issue. My stomach is already sore for laughing so hard! Look at how the box marked "fragile" is about to fall onto the floor thanks to the carelessness of Blue Beetle and Booster Gold! Ha ha! And they're carrying the large box upside down! According to the label on the upside down box, it's going to Paris, France so it must contain Crimson Fox who is almost certainly swearing in French because have you ever tried to masturbate while upside down in a box being jiggled by two men?! The incompetence of those guys is hilarious! But the best joke is the one where the only woman on the team doesn't lift a finger to help and also can't make up her mind about the placement of a gigantic box that hasn't been opened yet! See how funny that is? Because who cares where the box is placed?! It's not like they're moving a desk or an end table and Black Canary is coming up with a floor plan! It's just a box that will need to be opened and then broken down and then thrown out! The other funny part is that yellow spray around Beetle's head and the shape of his mouth because I think it suggests he's about to call Black Canary a bitch! Ha ha! I probably left out the joke about the hernia although that one might just be implied. Also, it'll probably be a blatant joke later in the story. The issue begins with Jack Ryder on his right-wing radio call-in television "news" program fiasco of a show Hot Seat trying to get the masses to shit blood over the Justice League. It'll work because the masses in comic books (as well as the masses not in comic books because we've all seen how people who listen to and watch right-wing radio call-in television "news" programs easily believe the alternate reality fed to them because it speaks to their inherent biases and selfishness) are idiots. (That might be my favorite interruption by parenthetical reference I've ever written.) I also know that it will work because Glorious Godfrey only recently did the same thing a year or two ago and it worked. But comic books don't recognize time and space in the same way that we more logical and real readers do so the masses won't remember that they were fooled just a year ago by idiotic television pundits who don't mind seeing the world burn as long as they can cash a fat check over it. I doubly also know it will work because Millennium is coming up and I think that might be proof that maybe Jack Ryder was sort of right because aliens have infiltrated Earth and are pretending to be heroes and possibly even right-wing radio call-in television "news" hosts. I don't really remember much about Millennium except that it was weekly and there were Manhunters in it.

My favorite comic book characters when I was a kid were Blue Falcon and Dynomutt. I bet Jack Ryder was Sean Hannity's favorite. Tucker Carlson's favorite was probably Hitler.

This issue begins the long running joke that Martian Manhunter is addicted to Oreos. I fucking get it, man. Have you ever tried to melt an Oreo into a spoon, fill a needle with the liquid contents, and inject it straight into your bloodstream? Me neither because that's stupid, you dumb idiot. Why would you even suggest it? You need to inject them straight into your taste buds. J'onn, Mister Miracle, and Captain Atom are setting up the New York Embassy which leads to lots of jokes about shoddy construction and terrible wiring and lazy movers. At one point Captain Atom electrocutes himself and then destroys all of the wiring because he's the guy the United States wanted to represent them on the new international team. I'd say his penchant to escalate a situation straight to violence proves the United States made the right decision. Batman and Guy Gardner oversee the outfitting of the Russian Embassy with a little help from Rocket Manhunter #7.

Even Rocket Red has heard about Guy's serious brain trauma and yet nobody has even discussed getting him a medical check-up. What a bunch of bastards!

This is also the issue that begins the "Bwa-ha-ha-ha" gag (I think. Did it happen in an issue previously? Maybe?! Anyway, it really gets going here). That's the gag where somebody laughs when something terrible happens to somebody else. It's a great team building exercise, to laugh at a co-worker's pain! Or if it isn't, it, at the very least, helps develop personal morale. Nothing better than laughing at your manager after her credit card was stolen by a prospective new employee while the entire company was in a meeting, especially after learning that said card was pretty much just used at The Honey Baked Ham. Does that make if funnier? Or is this one of those dark humor things like when the same manager was super pissed at an employee I was training for not showing up for work the day before Thanksgiving only to learn later that she had died of carbon monoxide poisoning the previous night which caused her to erupt into crying jags for the rest of the day which I'm positive weren't for my poor co-worker but for her guilty feelings of being so angry at her. That's dark humor, right? The "Bwa-ha-ha-ha" gag begins when Booster tries to hit on a Parisian woman and gets shot down. Later, she winds up being the League's Paris Bureau Chief. And also maybe Crimson Fox?

This scene is well done in a book that often tries too hard for stupidly silly humor.

I'd say that these three pages (the scanned page being the third of the three) of interaction between Blue Beetle and Booster Gold is ground zero for what would become a great best friend relationship. Any interaction before this was just of the generic Blue Beetle making a stupid class clown comment to the group. But this foundational scene in Paris already feels like these two at their closest which, admittedly, is mostly Blue Beetle laughing at something dumb Booster Gold did. But I like to view this entire relationship through the lens of a Booster Gold mostly driven mad and insane from having to live through so many alternate timelines. Sure, the reader doesn't know about that aspect of Booster Gold yet (and won't for more than a decade). But I can't help but understand Booster Gold through that lens now. And his need for some kind of consistency and whimsy and, almost certainly, a need to be able to laugh at himself must be expressed through this relationship as a kind of therapy. In a universe where not even the timeline lacks consistency, Booster Gold finds solace in getting his balls busted by Blue Beetle.

Maybe I'm a dick who doesn't understand true friendship but this is totally what it looks like, right?

The issue ends with a Keith Giffen drawn story about the end of the Global Guardians, or at least the end of their United Nations backing. I'm sure it's a set-up for a future story but even if it were just a couple page story acknowledging the Global Guardians and how they're affected by a new United Nations backed team, it would remain an interesting moment. I don't need iron clad continuity in my comic book universe but I am entertained when writers acknowledge the waves their stories are making in that continuity. Plus it's drawn by Giffen which always makes it seem like I'm reading a story from the perspective of a madman. Justice League International #8 Rating: B+. How come when I publish a manifesto, people refer to it as a 'zine?! How do you get the fucking power to have your photo-copied screed with "art" considered a manifesto?! How many people do I have to rant at to get some Goddamned recognition?! "The Truth About Star Trek Transporters" is not a fucking fanzine, people! It's a manifesto of the alternate reality we're being asked to accept! The alternate reality of an alternate reality where people are being sent to their deaths every fucking mission only to be replaced by clones of themselves and nobody fucking cares! Probably because they're all clones of clones of clones and their ability to think rationally has diminished to the point of dogmatic stupidity! Am I the only one witnessing this while others simply think its some kind of retrograde perspective?! Does my antediluvian intellect subquester the means of proliferating the parallax of reality?! Does the inclusion of three hilarious dick jokes deny me the mantle of manifesto writer, oublietting my ego into an infinite mirror trick of endless zineian declarations?! Fuck this shit! And fuck that satellite that's been following me throughout this meandering conclusion!

#Justice League #Justice League International #Kevin Maguire #Keith Giffen #J.M. DeMatteis #DC #DC Comics

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the-awkward-outlaw · 5 years

Text

Second Chances - Ch. 19

Putting the past behind

Warnings: swearing, smut

Word count: ~10,200

Masterlist

Read on AO3

The next morning, camp is still sedated. The loudest sounds come from the river as egrets nest and the alligators hunt. You suggest to Arthur over your morning coffee to go into Saint Denis.

“Why?” he asks. “Thought you hated that place.”

“I do, but I feel like we need to go somewhere with life in it. Just for a bit.”

He nods and puts his tin cup into his satchel.

“We can do that. I have something to do in town anyways.”

“What’s that?”

He sighs and rubs his neck. “Few days ago, I bumped into some French artist. Helped him get out of a spot of trouble so he invited me to the gallery displaying his art. You wanna come?”

“I never been to an art show,” you say optimistically.

“Me neither if I’m being honest. But, I should warn you, this feller’s a bit of a… well, I ain’t too sure, but you might want to keep your distance from him.”

“Why?”

He sighs awkwardly. “He’s, well, he’s got a real strange way with people. Just stay by me and you’ll be fine.”

“Okay,” you say curiously.

Arthur grabs your hand and leads you over to the horses where you mount up. He bids Lenny a quiet farewell as you both pass him, heading out of Shady Belle. Once you’re through the trees, your mood lightens considerably, although the hot and humid air still cloaks you.

You walk Rannoch side by side with Artemis into Saint Denis. You’re just passing a fenced pond where you see a man on the boat dock, acting thoroughly agitated. You see a strange box with coiled wires sticking out of it sitting on a table on the dock.

“What is that?” you ask, nodding your head towards the man.

“Let’s go find out.”

Arthur stops Artemis and the two of you walk into the park, casually strolling up to the man who continues to rant, tearing up a piece of paper.

“You okay, buddy?” Arthur calls to him. The man jumps and looks back at the two of you.

“Fantastic! You Americans,” he gestures to you both, speaking with a thick accent you can’t place, “are nothing but shysters and traitors and slippery tongued ball suckers!”

Arthur grabs his gun belt and huffs a small laugh. “I’m inclined to agree with ya.”

The man waves a hand at him angrily then turns to a box set on the pier. Arthur stands beside him as he opens the box and pulls out a small boat.

“Back to work with a bloody smile,” the man mutters to himself. “No problem, Marco. You are a great genius so we shove the hot poker up the ass! Say thank you, Marco!”

“What are you talking about?” you ask as you try not to laugh at his continued ramblings.

“Nothing! Just how much I love this goddamn country of yours!”

“What are you, some kinda toy maker?” Arthur asks, gesturing to the boat.

“No, I am a fucking genius with a poker up the ass.” He hands Arthur the boat and takes two rods, inserting them into the top of the boat. “Toy maker. Hello? Do I look like I should entertain children?” He glares at Arthur.

“No,” Arthur replies heavily.

You’ve no idea how Arthur doesn’t laugh, you have to cover your mouth. You hide your snicker by pretending to cough.

“No, he says,” the man ignores you and takes his boat back. “I am the savior of mankind, buddy. Professor Marco Dragic. The one the silver tongue American betray and not pay the total money to. He total shit, man!” He places the boat into the water beside the dock.

“So what’s this toy about?” Arthur asks as you compose yourself. He begins reaching for the elevated box you had seen earlier with the coil rods sticking out.

“It is not a toy, big nuts!” Marco says, gesturing for him to stop. “It is a demonstration of my genius, about my ideas of the source of life.”

Arthur approaches the toy boat, leaning down. “Ah, it’s a toy boat!” he says enthusiastically.

“Yes it is a toy boat that I can power remotely!” Marco sneers, fidgeting with the box. You smile and approach the other side of the dock, looking over the water. You spot several floating devices in the water and tiny colored sailboats.

“I’m using electricity and waves you cannot see!” Marco continues, cranking a lever on the side of the box.

Arthur stands up, shaking his head. “Waves I cannot see,” he mutters skeptically.

You suddenly look at Marco curiously. Could he power the boat with nothing attached to it? The idea is certainly entertaining, though doubtful.

“Still the investors will not come,” Marco says, acting as though he hadn’t heard Arthur. “Just a couple of old ladies and a moron.”

He adjusts a few more things on the box, flips a couple of switches. You hear the sound of people behind you approaching. All three of you turn and find a man accompanied by two women, one slightly older than the other.

“Ladies! Gentleman!” Marco says energetically. He rushes forward and kisses one of the women’s hands. “Enchante. How is the piles?” The three people look to each other, clearly pondering if they should be offended. Before any of them have a chance to react, he continues. “Yes, yes good. My friends, you are about to witness history. A demonstration of my infinite insight.”

He pushes Arthur out of the way, who had been inspecting the box. Arthur stands next to you, clasping his hands in front of him. You smile at him, grabbing his arm, curious to see if the man’s experiment will actually work.

“All of us, we feel old,” Marco begins to the visitors. “You, you are old!” he points to the older of the two women, who huffs. “But maybe I can make you immortal!”

He chuckles and then moves over to the boat, clearly pleased with himself. “Using waves you cannot see, I will power this boat-”

“You’re a goddamn fraud,” a man interrupts. Your entire group turns to see him standing a few yards away, smoking a cigar. He sneers at Marco. “And this buffoon dressed up like a buffoon,” he motions to Arthur, who looks down at his clothes questioningly, “is his stoolie. I watched them conspire, you morons.”

You glare at the man and then back to Arthur. You lean over and tell him you think he looks handsome in his green shotgun coat, red vest and black shirt, his collar popped up. He pats your hand on his arm.

“I never met this buffoon before two minutes ago!” Marco says incredulously. He stands beside Arthur and gestures to him. “Isn’t that right?”

“Which part of it?” he asks, clearly still offended.

“Professor,” the man with the women says. “Show us your magical toy boat, but let the buffoon try it out.”

“No, this ain’t nothin’ to do with me,” Arthur says.

“Go on, Arthur,” you encourage, patting his hand. “I bet it ain’t that hard.”

He turns to say something to you when Marco reaches for him. “Come, please.” He takes Arthur’s arm, dragging him away from you and situates him in front of the box. He motions to two handles, explaining how they work in order to control the boat.

“Any moron can do this,” Marco says, gesturing to the women and looking back at Arthur, “and I am about to prove that.”

Arthur gives you an annoyed glance before grabbing the handles. He twitches them and the boat stirs in the water. He moves them again hesitantly and the boat glides forward.

“Ha ha! Excellent! Now keep going,” Marco says.

Arthur steers the boat through the water. Marco advises him to stay away from the floating blobs, which seem to be attracted to the boat. He explains they have magnets built into them and will explode upon contact. Arthur carefully guides the boat through the water, chasing the colored sailboats as per Marco’s instructions.

“I have loaded the boat with torpedos. Blow up the sailboats!”

Arthur does so. You watch the waves of water as the torpedos launch from the boat and strike the sailboats, amazed. After a few moments, he destroys the last one and brings the boat back to the doc.

“This is really remarkable,” the man says appreciatively.

“Like I say, any fool, huh?” Marco laughs.

“What is that?” Arthur asks, a big grin on his face. You smile over at him as well, moving closer.

“LIke I say, it is the stuff of life!”

“It’s incredible.”

“No, no. Incredible is in my lab. So, can I count on your support?” Marco asks the man.

“Well, I don’t know. This is expensive.

“It is immortality! Maybe perhaps we discuss over lunch?”

As Marco and the man talk, Arthur reaches up and touches one of the balls atop a coiled wire. You hear a jolt and he hisses, waving his hand.

“You okay?” you say, hiding your giggle.

“Ah yeah,” he takes your hand, tapping Marco with the other. “Alright, we’re going.”

“Ah of course,” Marco says to him happily. “Listen, if you are ever up near Doverhill, pay me a visit, huh?”

Marco returns to his watchers and babbles on. You laugh softly as Arthur offers you his arm and walks you back to your horses. You mount up and continue on deeper into the city.

He leads you down to the main street of Saint Denis. A man plays a trumpet beneath the tall bronze statue of a man. You’re glad Rannoch has become so used to following Artemis’s large form, you’re busy looking around at all the buildings, the architecture, the people. Men and women of all races and classes walk on the sidewalks and the streets. You thought Blackwater was a large and bouncing city, but it is nothing compared to Saint Denis.

Arthur leads you slowly up to the main street. Halfway up, he turns left and heads down a broad and nearly empty street aside from a trolley car making its slow way up. On the left, you see a building with a circular corner, the dome rising high, the words “Theatre Raleur” lit in golden lights under a fancy logo. Farther up on the opposite side of the street is a large park, a fountain playing near the west side, flowering bushes along the curving walkway.

“Come on,” Arthur says, hitching Artemis.

“What are we doing?” you ask, doing the same to Rannoch.

“Supposedly this is the nicest park in Saint Denis. Figure if you want to see the city, ya ought to see this.”

You smile, not believing him but humoring him all the same. He proudly offers his arm to you as he walks you into the park. You both pass the fountain, where a man in a white suit offers pamphlets about Chelonianism. Arthur points to a large house across the street on the west side.

“That’s Bronte’s house.”

“Quite… mundane,” you say, gazing at the large mansion. Arthur chuckles, patting your hand on his arm.

“Y/N?” a soft, tinkling voice rings behind you. You turn, looking for the owner.

A woman about the same age as you walks up. You immediately recognize the bold red hair, fair skin and blue eyes of your cousin Emma. It’s been nearly ten years since you’ve last seen her; she’s grown more beautiful since then. She wears a large, pale green dress completely covering her arms and neck, a large hat covering her head. She clasps her hands in front of her, her gold wedding ring glints in the sun.

“Oh my Lord, it is you!” she cries out happily.

Before you have time to react, she grabs your calloused, dirty hands with her soft, clean ones, her nails polished and finely shaped.

“Oh my, Y/N,” she says, her smile flickering slightly. “I heard about your parents and your husband. Such a tragedy!”

“E-Emma?” you stammer.

Arthur looks between the two of you curiously. You suddenly feel extremely self conscious in front of him, knowing you look hideous in comparison to her. Your hair’s unkempt and in need of a wash and a trim, your face sunburnt and dirty. You’re more muscular than Emma is and you’re taller than her as well. You feel like a troll standing next to an elf.

“That’s right, Y/N,” she grins. “Oh, I must say I have worried about you so since I left Blackwater. I hated that town so much, I wished you had come with me here. I sometimes think about how you could have been so much happier. A girl like you could have made out like a criminal in this city!”

Arthur suddenly clears his throat beside you. Emma looks at him as though she’s just noticed him.

“I beg your pardon, sir,” her eyes rake over his form. You can’t tell if she’s impressed or not. “Forgive me, I am Emma Caulson. Perhaps Y/N has mentioned me to you?”

She holds out her hand, as though expecting him to take it and kiss it. His eyes narrow slightly. “Oh I’ve heard of you, alright.”

Emma lowers her hand when she realizes he isn’t going to take it, her smile suddenly shaky. She turns back to you.

“So, Y/N,” she says, biting her lips. “When I heard word of your family’s deaths, I was told you were wanted for questioning. May I ask why?”

You swallow, hesitating. “I don’t know. I was away in Armadillo working my job as a seamstress when my husband was killed. By the time I returned home, I heard my parents were dead.”

“And you have no idea who did it?” she asked, clearly not believing your story.

“No. I couldn’t tell you.”

“I see. I heard your father sold you to your husband. I was sorry when I heard that. He got the idea from my own engagement, I’m sure. However,” she takes a step towards you, straightening to her full height, which is still shorter than you. “It doesn’t justify what I’m thinking you did. Your parents were good people, Y/N.”

You’re just about to say something when Arthur takes a step towards her. You barely reach his chin; he towers over Emma. It doesn’t help that he’s so broad. The sight is intimidating.

“Ya better watch your mouth, girl,” he says calmly.

Emma looks to him, her eyes widening. “I beg your pardon, sir. This conversation doesn’t concern you.”

“It concerns me because you’re threatening my girl, miss, and I won’t tolerate it. Now, she may be guilty of certain crimes, but they ain’t nothing compared to what I done. You open your mouth about her to anyone, I’ll come back to get ya.”

Emma’s eyes are as large as saucers and she takes a step back. Arthur continues to glare at her, his eyes unblinking.

“Forgive me, sir,” she says, her voice shaking. “I… I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“No, course you didn’t,” Arthur growls. “You only did your best to humiliate her ten years ago. Only now, she’s got me. I’m also gonna tell you this. If she killed her family, what makes you think she’s above killin’ you?”

You smile as she looks over to you, her face pale.

“That’s right, Emma. I killed those awful people. Don’t make me add you to my list, otherwise I will find you. It can’t be hard to track down a fat coal miner in Saint Denis and his pretty little wife.”

“Y/N,” she says, swallowing. “Forgive me. I… I wish you both a good and long life.”

She walks away quickly, pushing her way quickly through the small crowds of people in the park as though hoping to disappear.

“Well, well, well,” Arthur chuckles beside you. “Ya finally settled things with that awful cousin o’ yers, darlin’!” He turns to you, his face split in a large grin.

You smile back but then it fades. “You don’t think it was a bad idea telling her I killed my family, do you?”

“Nah,” Arthur shakes his head. “She looks like the cowardly type. Think the message sunk in. You’ll be fine.”

You sigh in relief. Arthur knows better than anybody about scaring people into silence. He looks over your head across the street.

“Come on, let’s go,” he says, taking your hand in his and leading you down the street. Just as you’re about to mount up, he puts his hand on your shoulder.

“Hey, you ever been to the theater before?”

“Huh?”

He points up the street and your eyes follow his finger, falling upon the Theatre Raleur. You see a few people filing inside before shrugging your shoulders.

“No, I honestly haven’t.”

“Ah, well then let me treat ya!”

“Mr. Morgan,” you giggle, taking his arm as he leads you down the street towards the theatre. “You’re turning into quite the sophisticated gentlemen.”

“Please,” he chuckles. “I’m wilder than ever. I ain’t been to one of these in years.”

You squeeze his arm affectionately as he opens the door for you. Inside, you stop, admiring the tall, circular room. You gaze at the white, stone walls, their carved faces painted in gold leaf, the huge crystal chandelier hanging above you. Your boots thump gently across marble floors. Glancing down the hallway leading to the stage, you notice the dark red walls and gold carpets, more chandeliers hanging above.

“I swear, this city…” you say as Arthur pays for two tickets.

“What?” he says, offering his arm again.

“The architecture is beautiful, but it just seems like it’s for the people here to pretend they live in the lap of luxury, and yet the streets still smell like shit.”

Arthur laughs loudly as he pushes the double doors open. You notice the large stage, hidden by the velvet curtains. Arthur gestures for you to find some seats, which you do on the left side three rows from the stage. Just as Arthur sits, allowing you to take the end seat, the curtains open.

You listen to the man who introduces himself as Aldridge T. Abbington to the crowd. He gives a drawn out speech about the first act, which turns out to be a fire-breathing woman.

“Catch on fire!” Arthur hollers as she begins to dance with a long stick, both ends aflame. You laugh as the crowd intermix cheers and boos. She takes a mouthful of liquid and spits it into the stream of fire twice, pulling oohs and aahs from the crowd. She does so a third time, but twitches badly and catches a man’s hat on fire in the first row.

“Oh my God!” you yell out as Arthur laughs. The man stomps his hat out and abruptly leaves, cursing madly, as the fire breather panics and runs off the stage.

Arthur sighs and drapes his arm behind you, letting you squeeze closer to him as Aldridge comes out, trying to make a bad joke about the incident. He introduces a woman whose talent is to sing. She steps out, followed by a small group of musicians who pick up a tune. She begins singing a rather boring song about how wonderful the town of Saint Denis is.

“Sing Otis Miller!” Arthur yells out. You laugh, knowing how much he loves that song. You rest your head on his shoulder, placing a hand on his thigh.

The woman finishes her song as the crowd applauds and the curtain closes. Aldridge comes out again and introduces a magician he met on the streets of Italy. He dashes out of sight as the curtain opens, revealing a noose tied to a single gallows and a man, standing next to a young woman.

For the next five minutes, the man laughs and tells about his trick. You’re growing weary of his speech.

“Is this guy gonna do a magic trick or is he just going to talk us all to death?” you whisper to Arthur.

He smiles and calls out loud. “Let’s see him die!” “Arthur!” you squeal quietly, giggling into his shirt.

The magician gratefully falls silent, allowing his assistant to wrap him up in a straight jacket. He walks up to the gallows and turns, continuing to speak.

“Good Lord,” you say.

“Let me tie the noose!” Arthur cries out.

You giggle and the man stands on the short stool beneath the noose, his assistant tightens the rope around his neck. A few tense moments pass as he attempts to escape, but to no avail. The small stool he stands on suddenly tips, causing him to dangle by his neck. His assistant screams and tries to grab him by the waist and lift him up as he gags.

“Somebody do something!” she screams out as the crowd begins to mutter, a few women panic. Arthur pulls himself from your grip and stands up, pulling out his pistol. He shoots the rope holding the man up and sits back down.

The magician, having slammed into the ground, huffs angrily. “You absolute pillock! You ruined everything! Sod off, all of you!”

“You’re welcome!” Arthur responds loudly.

The curtains close as the magician continues yelling insults to the crowd. Aldridge comes out, looking flabbergasted.

“What true marksmanship!” he calls out, trying to make the accident look as though it were planned. He says his final speech and bids the audience good night.

“Come on, sweetheart,” Arthur says, patting your leg. “Need to get to the art show.”

You stand up and leave the theatre, looking happily over at the man beside you.

“What?” he asks as you walk down to the horses.

“Nothing. It’s just… I’m happy, Arthur. I ain’t been this happy in a long time.”

He chuckles and stops besides Artemis, pulling you into a tight hug. He kisses your head.

“I’m happy too, darlin’.”

He holds you for a second, his arms almost too tight around you. You giggle and pull yourself away from him.

“Come on, cowboy. Like you said, we have another show to see.”

“Alright, alright.”

You hop up onto Rannoch and follow Artemis to the other side of Saint Denis. Arthur wanders down a narrow road where the buildings are formed close together. You see the front of the gallery, colored a light purple. Arthur hitches and hops off, bidding you to follow him.

He leads you up a set of stone stairs and into a small room, a ticket master hidden behind a gold grate. Arthur approaches him and tells him he’s here to see a Charles Chatenay. The ticket master waves him in.

You enter the gallery, spotting paintings and statues placed throughout the room. Arthur ignores them, heading into a blue room. You spot on the wall photos of horses running in the Heartlands, alligators in the swamps, wolves and then a photo of Arthur, standing in front of a line of pines.

“What’s this?” you say, approaching it.

“Huh, forgot he’d taken that.”

“Who?”

“You recall that Albert Mason feller? These are his. Wonder if he’s here.”

Arthur leaves briefly to speak with the ticket master. He comes back a moment later.

“He ain’t here.”

“Ah, that’s too bad. I liked him.” “As did I. Now come on, let’s get this over with. Like I said before, stick close to me. This feller’s… different.”

Arthur leads you through a wide arched doorway into a room with red walls and an ornate carpet. Over half a dozen paintings are displayed of various styles but all depict nude people, mostly women in sensual poses. Several other couples observe the paintings, making comments. Arthur approaches a small man smoking a cigarette by a painting of a naked woman standing by a window.

“Look at these idiots,” the man says to Arthur in a heavy French accent. Arthur blocks you from the man with his body. You stick close to him, feeling extremely self conscious surrounded by these paintings. Many of the other women in the room look about the same as you feel. An older woman walks across the room to your little group looking extremely ruffled.

“Excuse me, Mr. Chatenay,” she says in a raspy voice, “but couldn’t you have painted some drawers on her?” She points to a painting of a woman, her back and buttocks completely exposed.

“Madame,” the man says, walking to the painting slowly, “I paint her in her natural state as she was and will be in paradise. Clothes are civilization, repression, death. To be naked is to be free, innocent, alive. Like Buddha said, we are all here to fuck.”

The woman gasps. The other couples have begun to gather around him.

“The artist?” you ask Arthur. He nods, wrapping an arm around your waist. He’s begun acting very possessive of you for some reason.

“Hey!” a man says near another painting. “You got a picture of my wife here in her delicates!”

“Henry!” a woman says to a man near another piece. “Is that your behind? Why would you be showing that man your behind?”

“That’s my mama!” another man says, approaching one of the more lude pieces. “As nude as the day she was born!”

“Stop looking at my husband’s buttocks!”

“Stop looking at my mama!”

Arthur gives a soft laugh as the mood in the room escalates.

“This is disgusting!” one man points a finger at the man defending his mother.

“That’s it!”

A fight breaks out between several men, their wives fleeing.

“You filthy little man!” the woman who had first approached the artist yells, slapping him with her handbag. Arthur laughs loudly and helps him to his feet.

“I’m comin’ after you, Frenchy!” a man hollers.

“Shit!” Mr. Chatenay hisses, dashing out of the room. The man barrels after him, only to be stopped by Arthur.

“Leave it, friend.”

“He painted my mama, the bastard!”

Arthur throws a punch, knocking the man out.

“Excellent shot, cowboy,” the artist says from behind a pillar. That’s when you see he’s eyeing you.

“Best get you out of here,” Arthur says to the man. He notices the artist staring at you hungrily. “Charles! Let’s get you out of here before I get a reason to hit you.”

“Oh alright, fine! Follow me, cowboy!”

He walks quickly out of the empty gallery, you and Arthur following. Once on the street, he begins talking about how he’s confused about his role as a painter, walking through an alleyway. “We artists provoke emotions, no?” he demands.

“You keep provoking emotions,” Arthur says, “and all your canvases will have punch holes through ‘em.

“I told you I was a whole ass!”

“That you did,” Arthur says with little humor. “Now maybe go be an asshole somewhere else.”

“I know a lady over here, I can stay with her a few days.”

Charles Chatenay stops by a door. “That picture I gave you, it will be worth something someday, I can feel it!”

“Perhaps, but right now the only thing it’d get me is a kick in the balls.”

Arthur pulls you close, partially placing himself between you and Charles. It doesn’t go unnoticed by the artist.

“Hey listen, cowboy,” he says, excitement flickering in his eyes. “An artist’s work is never done. Listen, if you wanted to… come inside and help with your lady friend? Perhaps I could teach you a thing or two, eh?”

Arthur straightens up and takes a step towards Charles. “Give me a reason and I’ll teach you a thing or two about pain. You look towards my girl again, I’ll kill ya.”

“Ah ha ha! You Americans!” Charles says, completely unphased. He raises his arms up in delight. “Always looking for a fight! That’s what I love about you! You are funny!”

He turns around and knocks on the door. “Mon ami! It’s me!” The door opens and he gives a delighted chuckle before dashing inside, snapping the door shut.

“Well, Arthur,” you say, relaxing. “If that’s how all art galleries are, I hope that’s my last one.”

He sighs heavily and turns back to you, gesturing towards a break in the stone wall blocking the alleyway from the street.

“I don’t think they are, darlin’, just his. Pretty sure he was doin’ more with his subjects than just paintin’ ‘em.”

“You think?” You step out onto the street, facing the city’s gallows, which are empty for the moment. Arthur follows and whistles for the horses.

“I hope that’s the last time I see that man,” you say, your hand nervously coming up to clutch your elbow. You still feel thoroughly uncomfortable by it all.

“I’m shoar it will be, darlin’,” he says, seeming to sense your unease as he stands closer to you. “Besides, even if he sees you again, I doubt he’ll do nothin’. He knows you’re my girl.”

“Or he’ll take it as an extra challenge, Arthur!”

“Nah, he owes me. I only saved his hide twice now.”

The horses come trotting up the street and stop close to you, both snorting in greeting. You pat Rannoch’s neck affectionately after mounting up.

“Should we head back to camp?” you suggest.

Arthur hops up onto Artemis. “In a bit, need to make one more errand. Think there’s a fence near the trapper and I got some things to sell.”

Arthur leads you to the east side of the city, which is a drastic change from the other side with its big houses and fancy gardens. The buildings and houses here are older, smaller, and dirtier. The roads are no longer cobbled but dirt. Round pigs and skinny, cowering dogs roam the streets, searching for anything to eat. The people here are just as roughed up and downtrodden as their homes, their clothes dirty and torn, their eyes slightly sunken from too much work and not enough food.

You follow Arthur down onto an extremely narrow street. It doesn’t help that the trolley moves along it, almost completely filling the street. You pass by a sad looking bar and then Arthur stops. He’s about to walk through a stone archway into a small marketplace when a monk asking for spare money for the poor stops him.

“You, kind sir, will you help the poor?” he gestures to Arthur.

“I ain’t so kind,” he responds, stopping.

“Yes, you are sir. You have it in you, I can tell.”

“I’m a nasty bit of work, father.”

“Ah, you’re wrong on two counts, my friend,” the monk says with a kind smile. “I’m a humble brother, a penitent monk, not a priest. And you are a magnificent bit of work.”

You walk up and stand close to Arthur, unconsciously wrapping your hands around his arm. The monk spots it.

“Ah, you see? Even the young lady sees it. I can tell by her eyes she finds you to be a glorious man. Now you may have made some poor choices, but which of us hasn’t?”

Arthur chuckles and looks at you fondly. He leads you over to the wall next to the monk, still laughing. “Oh, you have no idea, brother.”

“But you do and God does; that’s enough for me. But perhaps if you’re not so sure, why don’t you offer two bits to the poor?”

He gestures to a collecting tin near his feet. Arthur ponders for a moment.

“Shoar. Least I can do.” Arthur takes out a few coins and plops them into the tin. You do the same.

The monk looks at you both proudly. “Bless you both.”

“How you gettin’ on anyhow?” Arthur asks, folding his arms over his chest.

“Ah, these are a somewhat apathetic lot I’m afraid.”

“Hm. My mentor says that America is designed to induce apathy in people.”

You know he’s talking about Dutch, who has spouted these types of philosophies over and over again.

“He must be a wise man, your mentor.”

Arthur huffs a small laugh. “Well, sometimes he’s a downright fool, but most times he’s the best man I know.”

“That’s wonderful. Well, poverty will always be with us, but slavery…” the monk peaks over the stone wall into the marketplace. “I thought we had abolished that. Unfortunately, Saint Denis is acting as a staging post for shipping slaves out to the islands.”

“Nah, I don’t believe that; it's 1899,” Arthur says.

“Perhaps you should take a look for yourself. I’ve heard the pawnbroker sells more than forlorn trinkets.”

Arthur steps away to look through to the marketplace. “Alright, ‘scuse me, brother. Y/N, stay here a minute will ya?”

Arthur heads down the marketplace, leaving you alone with the monk.

“Your companion is a fine man, miss,” the monk says, returning to his collecting tin.

“He is. He doesn’t like to believe it. I swear though, every time we’re in a city or a town, he’s helping someone.”

“Like I said, a magnificent work. As are you, if you don’t mind me saying.”

You look at him with a small smile. “Ah no. I done some… some real bad things myself, brother.”

“And like I told him, we all have. Who is not without sin?”

“You ain’t sayin’ that just because you’re hoping I’ll give more money to the poor, are you?” you ask skeptically.

“Oh no, my sister,” he says, clasping his hands in front of him. “I took an oath never to lie, not even for the benefit of others. I simply state what I see.”

“Well, I guess that’s a slight comfort. Still, there’s no place for people like me in the eyes of God. I done real bad things when I could have… just walked away.”

“We’ve all done things we wished we did differently, my friend. Each of us has something to be guilty of. But if we dwell only on the bad, we make no room to try and do good. And remember this: God cannot forgive you if you don’t forgive yourself.”

“Ah, I stopped believing in God a long time ago, brother. Forgive me.”

“That may be so, but he has never stopped believing in you.”

You glance over at him and smile again. In your past, you’ve met a few priests and monks, but they all seemed to lack something he has: genuinity.

Arthur steps out from the marketplace, closely followed by two thin and dirty Mexicans, shielding their eyes from the sun.

“Brother...?” he says, holding his arm out.

“Brother Dorkins, my friend.”

“Arthur Morgan, and you were right: I found these two imprisoned in that shop.”

The two men stand nervously beside the wall, looking around. Brother Dorkins smiles at Arthur.

“They are blessed to have met you, Arthur.”

Arthur narrows his eyes slightly. “Trust me in that they’re very unusual. I don’t think they speak English.”

“My brothers,” the monk says as Arthur approaches you. “Come, let’s get you something to eat. Comida.”

The men look at him in surprise as he gestures for them to walk ahead of him and down the street. Just as they begin to leave, Arthur picks up the collecting tin on the ground.

“Hey, you forgot this!”

“Oh, thank you, I…” Brother Dorkins turns to grab it, but hesitates. “Take it as payment for your services.”

“Give it to the poor, brother,” Arthur says, handing it to him.

“Thank you, I will. Like I said, magnificent.” As Brother Dorkins begins leading the men again, he calls back to ask Arthur to meet him again at an old church he often works at. Arthur waves two fingers at him.

You and Arthur cross the street to mount your horses. You look up and see the sky has turned pink as the sun has begun to set.

“You wanna head back to camp or stay here for the night?” you ask.

“Up to you, darlin’. I know ya ain’t too fond of this city.”

You shrug your shoulders. “Ah, let’s just stay here. I’d love to take a bath in some hot water for once.”

Arthur nods and directs Artemis down the street, leading you back towards the main street of Saint Denis. Once there, he hitches his horse next to a large hotel. You hitch Rannoch and walk side by side with him inside. You’re greeted by a large room with multiple tables in front of a long bar, a group of men play poker at one of them. A chandelier dangles above, watching everyone in the room. Up a short stairwell on the landing leading to a longer stairwell sits a piano, a man playing happily on it.

“Come on, let me treat ya to dinner,” Arthur says, gesturing to the bar. He gestures for you to find a table as he goes up and orders. He sits down across from you. “Guess they actually got waiters here,” he says.

“Impressive,” you say sarcastically.

“I know, this city really tries to make ya think life is great, don’t it?”

“Maybe, but I still prefer the open country. Smells better.”

He laughs as a waiter comes over and sets down two plates of prime rib on the table. A moment later, he returns with a bottle of wine.

“Since when were you a wine drinker, Mr. Morgan?” you ask.

“Ah, I ain’t, but I figured we might as well try and enjoy the luxuries this city offers.”

“Oh yeah, along with corrupt politicians and Italian strongmen.”

He laughs again softly as you both begin to eat. When you’re done, Arthur stands up and walks over to the bar again to pay for a room and a bath. He offers you his arm again as you both walk up the stairs, passing the piano and up the next two flights. On the second floor, you see a large and comfortable sitting area. A few men lounge about, accompanied by working girls smoking from long sticks.

Arthur leads you to a hallway off the sitting room and gestures to a door on the left. A plaque on the door reads “Bath”. You open it and are surprised when Arthur follows you in.

“What you doin’?” you ask.

“Figure we might as well pay for only one bath,” he says, shutting the door and taking his hat and shotgun coat off. You shrug your shoulders and begin to undress. After a moment, you’re about to step into the tempting hot water when Arthur stops you. Your eyes rake his naked body.

“Now come on, darlin’,” he jokes. “You’re makin’ me blush.”

“Sorry,” you giggle. “Ain’t my fault you’re so handsome.”

“Hey, I thought we agreed not to lie to each other.”

“Who said I was lying?”

He chuckles and shakes his head before stepping into the water. He leans back and gestures for you to come in. You do so, leaning your back against his firm chest.

“This is nice,” you say as he folds his arms around you.

“Shoar is.”

You sit like this for a moment before Arthur releases you from his grip and pushes you forward so he can wash your back. Once he’s done, you both get down to scrubbing your hair and limbs. You feel as though you’ve lost the top layer of your skin and are surprised to find the water isn’t all that dirty, but the bubbles probably hide a lot of it.

Once you’re both clean, you settle back against Arthur. He embraces you once more and sighs. You’re so comfortable and warm, you feel yourself beginning to drift off.

“Hey, none of that now,” Arthur says with a small laugh, patting you. “We still got one more thing to do before the day’s out.”

“What’s that?” you say, looking up at him.

“Well, we’re in this nice hotel, we got a room to ourselves. With all the noise going on around us, we ain’t gotta worry about being quiet ourselves.”

You blush a little and bite your lip, smiling.

“Okay, you got me.”

You pat his arm and stand up, grabbing a towel and drying off. You wonder if it’s really worth getting dressed when Arthur’s just going to undress you again, but then you realize it’s highly probable that people are still in the sitting room. You simply throw on your shirt and jeans, not worrying about your boots or even your undergarments. You stuff those under your arm and head out of the room just as Arthur’s pulling on his pants.

You take the three steps across the hall and open the door to your room, marveling at it. The room is large and comfortable with dark walls adorned with paintings of scenery and elegant women. A fireplace sits at one end, emitting heat from the fire. A small couch sits across from the door, a finely woven Afghan covering the back. Between it and you is a large four-poster bed, covered in red fabrics and a mountain of pillows.

“You’re blockin’ the doorway, darlin’,” Arthur says.

“Sorry,” you say before moving out of the way. You see he’s done the same as you and dawned only his pants and shirt, the rest of his clothes tucked under his arm. He smiles at you as he tosses his clothes and shoes into the corner. You do the same. Your back is to him when you feel him wrap his arms around you. He kisses your temple and hums.

“What say you we get our money’s worth for this room?” he purrs in your ear.

“Arthur, you paid what, a dollar for this?”

He chuckles. “Yeah, but that’s a dollar I coulda saved if we decided we just wanted to sleep.”

His hands wander down your body until he finds the untucked hem of your shirt. He lifts it up and strips it off your body, quickly folding his arms around you once more.

“Arthur, we can’t do this if you don’t let me go for at least a few seconds,” you say as he massages your breasts. He laughs again but finally releases you. You take the opportunity to remove your pants. As you straighten up, you see his shirt and jeans go flying past you and land on the pile of clothes.

You’re just about to face him when you feel his hands on your shoulders. You stop as he runs his thumbs delicately across your skin. You feel his right hand gently trace the scar on your shoulder that your ex-husband had given you the night you murdered him. Suddenly, his lips trace the mark. A warmth blooms in your chest that has nothing to do with you being naked.

Arthur folds his arms around you once more, his lips studying your neck. You sigh and tilt your head back, enjoying it. Without warning, he picks you up and carries you over to the bed, lying you down on your back. He hovers over you, a smile stretched across his face. You raise your hands to tangle into his chest hair, caressing the skin beneath. He kisses your lips, his tongue coming out to explore yours. Your hands travel up his shoulders and into his hair, pulling it slightly. His lips leave yours, wandering down to your jawline, your neck, your collarbone and then down to your breasts. He spends a moment focusing on your nipples, sending jolts of pleasure through your chest.

His lips leave your chest and then trail down your stomach. His hands squeeze your hips before sliding down to the backs of your knees, lifting them up and spreading your legs. You groan as his right hand leaves your knee and spreads your folds, his finger gliding over your wet and sensitive nub.

“Aw, Arthur!” you moan, your fingers scrape his scalp.

Without warning, he lifts himself up and hovers over you again. You stare at him pleadingly. He smiles mischievously before his lips crash to yours. You grind against his rough fingers, your breath leaving your lungs in fast bursts.

You wish he would slide himself inside of you already, the waiting is almost unbearable. He continues to brush your center with his fingers. You suddenly realize he’s teasing you; he knows what you want him to do.

You decide two can play this game. You place your hands on his chest and shove him, pushing him onto his back. You lift yourself up to straddle his hips, keeping your core away from his cock. He looks up at you, almost surprised. Before he can say anything, you lean down and begin kissing his neck. You make your way down to his collarbone, spying the scar on his shoulder from where the O’Driscolls shot him. You know he’s been self-conscious about it since it became a scar, and you’re determined to show him that it’s a part of him and therefore worth loving. You gently pepper it with kisses. His hand reaches up to tangle into your hair as he groans.

Remembering how he teased you moments ago, you sit up again, straddling his thighs. Your eyes wander down his body, drinking in his every detail until you find his erection. Your hands slide down his chest, his sides until they stop at his hips. Your eyes find his as you reach down and stroke him, tenderly at first and then you begin to apply more pressure.

His head tilts back against the pillow, his eyes closing as you study his cock with your hands. His hands plant against your knees and his hips begin to buck, though you keep your folds away from his hips. You take your thumb and run it across the slit at the end of his tip. He grunts loudly as he throbs in your hands, his hips thrusting again. You circle his head multiple times, alternating in speed until his hips are snapping up and down in a slightly unsteady rhythm, his length throbbing.

“Oh God, darlin’,” he begs. “Quit torturin’ me.”

“You started it, cowboy,” you tease with a small snicker. His eyes open as you circle his head again. His face begs for you. You smile and lift your hips up, not releasing his length. You angle yourself above him and guide him into you until you sit on his hips. He groans again as he reaches deep into you. You sigh pleasurably and begin bouncing up and down, building friction between you. Within seconds, you feel him erupt inside you.

“Sorry, darlin’,” he groans, his hands stroking your hips. “Ya got me worked up.”

“That’s okay, Arthur,” you sigh.

You feel him slide himself out of you, causing you to twitch slightly. “Let me return the favor at least,” he says. He guides you down onto your back and begins kissing you, worshipping your body, as he positions himself so he can reach between your folds. You feel his warm, thick fingers press into your clit. He pushes against your body hard several times until two fingers slide into your center. You close your eyes with a happy sigh as he pushes them in and out of you. His thumb circles your nub tenderly as he begins kissing your neck.

After a few moments, you feel his fingers slide out of you, although his thumb remains pressed against your core. Within seconds, his hardened length presses into your center once more, stretching your walls. He begins pounding himself into you. After only a moment or two, that familiar warmth blooms in your chest and travels down to your stomach. You spread your knees farther apart, angling your hips to reach his better. He pounds again into you and kisses just below your ear. Without warning, your head tilts back and a yell escapes from your lips. He chuckles softly and pumps into you a few more times, growing more frantic. His length throbs inside your walls before he erupts a second time inside of you.

His body collapses onto you, nearly squeezing every bit of air from your lungs. You pat his back, letting him know your discomfort. He lifts himself up and rolls onto his back, grabbing you and dragging you onto him.

“Mm,” you sigh, snuggling into his chest. “That was amazing, Arthur.”

“I’ll never say no to doin’ that,” he says, his fingers trailing up your spine.

The next morning, Arthur treats you to breakfast before stating that you both should go back to camp. You’re not entirely sure you’re ready to go back. The truth is that ever since Kieran’s death and the O’Driscoll ambush, you ‘ve been nervous about Shady Belle. It was a risky hide out before, due to the fact that it acted as the safe house to the Lemoyne Raiders. Now it’s hard to say if you’ll be ambushed there again. You bring it up to Arthur over your meal of eggs and ham.

“Ah, I wouldn’t be too worried, darlin’,” he says. “Think they were surprised by how well we defended the place. The few we didn’t kill ran off pretty quick.”

“Exactly, Arthur. They probably ran off to tell Colm. He’ll be better prepared next time.”

“Well, I mentioned to Dutch that we probably need to find a new place and quick after that whole mess. Course, he don’t seem too concerned. Just said we need to find another big take. Think he’s hesitant to leave the city, might have somethin’ here.”

You just shake your head and finish your meal. If Dutch has a fault, it’s that he doesn’t take threats seriously. When the Pinkertons first found you and Arthur out fishing with Jack, he hadn’t been too worried then. The O’Driscolls had butchered Kieran and sent him headless into camp and still Dutch didn’t find it worrisome.

“Well, I hope a score comes soon. I don’t like it down here,” you say.

“Nor do I. I just hope we can make it out west like we planned before that whole mess with Blackwater.”

You both leave the hotel and make your way through the city. Arthur decides he wants to stop at the post office in case any mail has come in. Once there, he finds a letter addressed to him from the mayor of Saint Denis.

“You met the mayor for all of five minutes, what does he want with you?” you ask as he tears the envelope open. Arthur quickly reads the letter and then hands it to you.

“Shit, how did he figure out you stole those papers?”

“Don’t know. Guess I wasn’t being as careful as I thought,” he says, taking the letter back. “Well, guess we’ll have to come to the city more often while we’re down here.”

“You want me to come?” you ask.

“No. No, darlin’. I ain’t too sure what he’s plannin’, but if it’s bad I don’t want you involved.”

“Arthur, I don’t think you should go by yourself. Like you said, you don’t know what he’s planning.”

“Darlin’, he ain’t gonna have me killed. He’s the mayor, not a murderer.”

“Yeah, and as mayor of this big town, he’s gotta have a lot of people in his pocket, don’t you think?”

Arthur just shakes his head and puts the letter in his satchel. “I’m fairly sure he ain’t gonna do nothin’. Maybe just some of the usual scare tactics or call in a favor. Like I said, it shouldn’t be too much of a worry.”

“Well, fine. I just don’t want you to get yourself into trouble again.”

You both mount up and start heading out of the city. Just as you’re passing the police station, you see a vaguely familiar man pounding on the door of the building across the street.

“Hey, where have we seen him from?” you say, nodding to the man. Arthur’s eyes follow yours and he squints. Two taller, dark men stand close behind him.

“Think we saw him at that godawful party,” Arthur says.

“You sure?”

“Yeah. Wait, I know who he is.”

Without another word, Arthur dismounts and approaches the small group of men.

“Come on, we have an appointment!” the man yells as he pounds on the door again.

“Hey, don’t I know you?” Arthur calls to him.

The man turns and you instantly recognize him, mainly due to his beard.

“Evelyn Miller?” you say.

“Why, I do believe we’ve met. At that ghastly party,” Evelyn says.

“That’s right, I thought I recognized you,” Arthur says. The two shake hands and Arthur introduces himself and you. Evelyn kindly shakes your hand, his grasp surprisingly gentle.

“Forgive me, Mr. Morgan, but can I say something rude? The mayor thinks you robbed him.”

“Does he?” Arthur responds, saying nothing about the letter.

“To be clear, he didn’t seem very upset about it. He rather liked you.” Evelyn pauses, looking to his companions nervously. “Do you, I mean, can you steal things, sir?”

Arthur glances at you, his face irritated. “Is there a reason you’re asking me to incriminate myself, Mr. Miller?”

Clearly wanting to ease the situation, Evelyn lifts a hand to his companions. “Have you met?”

You take a good look at the men accompanying Evelyn. You can tell by their facial structures and their skin they are Native Americans, one quite a bit older than the other. The elder has an inquisitive face, his quiet eyes seem to hold a gentleness you’ve rarely seen. The younger holds his jaw tightly, his brow heavy.

“This is Rains Fall,” Evelyn says, “a great chief and his son Eagle Flies.”

“We saw you on the wagon train,” the man named Rains Fall says in a deep and gravelly voice. “Crossing the river at Cumberland Falls and at the party, you and your wife were upstairs.”

“You have great powers of observation,” Arthur says. “Except she ain’t my wife. We’re together, but not like that.”

“Ah, my mistake,” Rains Fall says gently. He looks at you and you smile softly at him. You wouldn’t have minded at all if Arthur had left the bit out that you weren’t married, but you have to remind yourself that he surely has no interest in that.

“My people,” Rains Fall continues, a note of sadness in his voice, “if we are even a people, we fought hard. We made peace treaties and those treaties were broken. We have been punished and moved, and moved and punished.” He looks at his son sadly. “And now I am told we are to be moved again.”

“Clearly going against the peace treaty signed three years ago,” Evelyn says.

Eagle Flies takes a step forward. “This will lead to war.”

Rains Fall puts a hand on his shoulder. “No, my son. We cannot fight another war. They have got stronger and we have become weaker.”

“It’s a bad business,” Arthur says.

“It’s to do with oil,” Evelyn says. He explains how a few months back, a group of prospectors visited the reservation occupied by Rains Fall and his people and they made reports, stating the high probability of oil in the earth. He also mentions these reports were given to Leviticus Cornwall.

Arthur tilts his head and gives a knowing nod, a disbelieving smile on his face. “So you want me to go and steal it.”

“Well, obviously they can’t,” Evelyn says, gesturing to the two men. “And I would be useless.”

Arthur begins to shake his head, scratching his neck.

“Listen, I realize this is a ludicrous request,” Evelyn goes on, “but we’re very desperate.”

“I’m not a do-gooder, Mr. Miller. Gentlemen, I’m very sorry for your predicament, but I got problems of my own.”

Arthur takes your hand and begins walking away. You’re just about to say something to him, to try and convince him to help them, when Rains Fall calls to him.

“We will pay you very handsomely, Mr. Morgan.”

He stops and looks back. “How much?”

“I told you, they’re all mercenaries,” Eagle Flies says with a raised lip.

Arthur chuckles and looks at him hard. “I got a price on my head in two states, my friend. The government doesn’t like me anymore than it likes you. Like you, I been runnin’ as long as I can remember and like you, my time is nigh on done.”

“We understand and we will pay,” Rains Fall says. He tells Arthur where to meet Eagle Flies in the Heartlands. Arthur thanks them and is about to walk away.

“I will meet you there, too,” you say, stepping forward to the men. You don’t know if you’re overstepping your bounds, but you don’t care. “I will help, and I don’t want your money in return.”

“Y/N,” Arthur says from behind you.

“Leave it, Arthur. I’m just as wanted as you are, but these men… they need our help.”

“We can’t help everyone, darlin’.”

“No and I’m not asking you to try.” You turn back to Rains Fall and promise him that you will be there to help. You glance quickly at Eagle Flies, who stares hard at you almost as though he suspects you.

“We are very grateful for your help,” Rains Fall says.

“Well, gentlemen,” Evelyn says to them. “That appointment with the senator. I apologize, we must leave. Thank you, both of you, for your help.”

You step away and rejoin Arthur. As you mount up, he catches your attention.

“What was that, Y/N?” he says.

“What?”

“I didn’t want ya helpin’ me with this, darlin’. And then you go shootin’ that off to ‘em.”

“Why don’t you want me coming?”

“It’ll likely end with us gettin’ shot at, that’s why,” Arthur explains, urging Artemis into a steady walk. “We’re gonna be sneakin’ into Leviticus Cornwall’s oil factory. That man’s already gunnin’ for us, and now we’re about to rob directly from under his nose.”

“Arthur, I’ve been runnin’ with you for months now. I’ve been in my fair share of gunfights. Besides, if you’re really worried, I can stay back and help Eagle Flies.”

“Well, that’s fine. But what’s with the not wantin’ to be paid, darlin’?” You can tell he’s getting irritated. “You know all the things we got goin’ on.”

“I know, a lot of pots boiling. When don’t we? But Arthur, what does it hurt to help someone who has been given as raw a deal as they have? Our country was built by spilling their blood. The least we can do is try and fix some of that.”

“We can’t change the past. You know that better than anyone.”

“I do, and that’s why I want to try. Please, Arthur.”

He sighs and shakes his head. “A’right, fine. Can’t stop ya anyways, you already promised them you’d be there.”

You both walk down the street and towards the edge of the city in a slightly awkward silence.

“Well, maybe let me lift your spirits?” you say.

“What?” He doesn’t look back at you. He drives with one arm, his other hanging leisurely.

“You remember a few days ago you wanted to go up to that lake near Colter? Why don’t we do that? We can leave today or tomorrow and meet Eagle Flies on our way back.”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment. You wonder if maybe he’s going to come up with an excuse to get away from you for a while, clearly irritated with you.

“Yeah, a’right,” he says. “Let’s get back to camp first, make sure Dutch ain’t got no fresh leads on jobs.”

The two of you speed up to a canter and travel quickly through the swamps until you reach Shady Belle. Arthur heads up to the balcony where Dutch stands. You watch him until Grimshaw leaps on you, squawking angrily.

“You been gone two days havin’ a grand ol’ time while we been here slavin’ away!” she shrieks, making to grab your ear. You dodge out of her grasp, covering your ears.

“No you don’t girl!” she says, making to grab you again. You back up and immediately crash into a firm barrier. You look up and Arthur smiles down at you, gripping your forearms.

“Sorry, Ms. Grimshaw. Afraid this girl’s mine for the next few days.”

“Mr. Morgan! We ain’t carryin’ her for free. Just like with everyone else, she needs to earn her keep.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that, m’lady, I’ll be puttin’ her to work. Actually goin’ up to do a job, something we found in Saint Denis.”

“You folks aren’t going hunting, are you?” Pearson says, jogging over.

“Yes, we were planning on it,” you say, giving a nervous glance at Grimshaw.

“Oh, excellent. We could really use it. Make sure to bring back as much as your horses can carry.”

Grimshaw huffs irritatingly and stalks away, muttering to herself. You sigh in relief.

“Thanks, Arthur. Thought she was going to tear my head off.”

“Ah, now I can’t let that happen, darlin’,” he grins down at you. “Now come on, let’s go. You still got our coats packed on the horses?”

You nod and start walking to the horses. Arthur explains that Dutch only just got word to Trelawney about the riverboat job with the high stakes poker game, so it’ll be a few days until the gang hears back from him. “Perfect time for us to get away,” he finishes as you both trot away from Shady Belle. You’re glad for an excuse to leave the swamps.

#Red Dead Redemption #rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x oc #arthur x reader #arthur morgan x reader smut #arthur morgan x reader #Van Der Linde Gang #R*#rockstar games #fanfiction #red dead fanfic #I'm awkward #second chances

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therainroguefanfiction · 4 years

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🔥 ℝise Ⱥbove I̾t ◈ Chapter 013 [Extra Factor]

📑 Table of Contents | ◂Backward

Word Count: 3,254 ☁

⊱ ────── {⋅. 🔥 .⋅} ────── ⊰

〈“Oh, I started as an ember, Who was meant for kerosene, And now I’m raging like a fire, burning up.” The Score, “Glory”〉

⊱ ────── {⋅. 🔥 .⋅} ────── ⊰

I sprinted around the corner, nearly running into Midnight as she talked with a student. “Winchester, no running in the halls!”

I ignored her with a huff, turning the next corner and stopping in front of the nurse’s office. I kicked the door open, “Granny!”

The small woman jumped in surprise, turning toward the door with a frown. “Don’t you know how to – oh my goodness, what happened?”

I set Midoriya down on the closest bed. I didn’t want to out Toshi by saying he should’ve stepped in and stopped things. “Battle training got a bit out of hand,” I muttered, stepping aside so she could examine him.

She kissed his forehead, his body glowing bright green. With a huff, she headed over to a medical cabinet. “Well, don’t just stand there, deary, make yourself useful!”

“Ah, sure.” I rushed over to her, taking the bandages and ointments from her. While she set up the I.V., I applied burn cream to his left arm before wrapping it with gauze and bandages. She did most of the work on his broken arm while I assisted in any way I could. “Hey, Granny?”

“Yes, deary?” Her tone was clipped with annoyance.

“This kid’s quirk… it’s One for All, ain’t it?”

She was quiet for a moment. “I’m afraid that’s not for me to say, but you already have an idea, don’t you?” She finished with his wounds before turning to me. “Now to fix you up!”

“Ah, wait!” I jumped back before she could kiss me. “I haven’t fought yet, I need my energy!”

Granny sighed, grabbing some more bandages. “Fine, fine. At least let me wrap up your hands so they don’t get infected.”

“Thank you,”

“That’s what I’m here for. Now, try not to get hurt any worse and come straight back after your match, understand?”

“Sure, sure.” I sighed, heading out of the room. I have so much racing through my mind right now that I honestly couldn’t give a fuck about this exercise, but I knew I had to participate, especially since I skipped out on the Quirk Assessment. That quirk of his… it’s the same aura as Toshi’s, but… it’s more raw and untamed. He clearly can’t control the damn thing, he said so himself. If he had used that much power against Bakugo… but he didn’t. He knew better than that. I don’t think he ever planned to fight him head-on, but that blonde idiot is just so goddamn angry.

And I always thought that I’m a moody little bitch.

I stepped into the observation room but I wasn’t quiet enough, everyone’s gaze snapping to me. I scowled at the attention, shoving my hands into my pockets. “The fuck are ya’ll lookin’ at?” I shrugged as if that would get rid of the eyes on me, moving to stand by the back wall.

“Um, excuse me…” The brunette approached me, looking tired and pale. “Is Deku okay?” She looked really worried like she was about to start crying.

Deku? Is that his nickname or somethin’? I smiled softly, resting my hand on her head. She reminded me of a bunny, pure and innocent. “Don’t worry, he’ll be fine. Recovery Girl is the best in the business for a reason.”

“I’m so glad,” she rubbed at her eyes before giving me a bright smile. “My name is Ochako Uraraka. Your name is… Winchester, right?”

“Jen Winchester. You can just call me Jen,”

“It’s nice to meet you! And… thank you for looking after Deku!”

“Yeah… sure thing.” I watched as she walked back to stand beside the Prep. My eyes landed on Bakugo, who was frozen in place, his wide eyes staring at the ground.

Was I too much of a dick to him? Was I too harsh?

I moved to stand beside him, my shoulder brushing his, but he didn’t even seem to notice. He’s really out of it… His lips are trembling. Oh geez, he’s not gonna cry, is he? I don’t handle crying people well, man. I cleared my throat but got nothing. I nudged him in the ribs, nothing. Okay, if he’s trying to make me feel worried and guilty, it’s fuckin’ working.

I placed my hand on the small of his back – Gramps always did that to me when I was feeling especially upset and it always calmed me down as a kid. He finally looked up at me, meeting my eyes. For a moment, he looked so… vulnerable. And then the anger returned, but it was much tamer than usual.

“Get your fuckin’ hand off me, I don’t need your pity.”

“It’s not pity, idiot. Just shut up and accept my feeble attempt at being comforting.”

He scoffed, turning his head to the side but not moving away from me. That’s a good sign, I guess.

We watched in awkward silence as the other teams took their turns. Everyone did well, but none were quite as… active as the first battle had been. And finally, it was my turn.

French Fry and Alien were up against Sumo and Mountain.

I pulled back from Bakugo, ignoring his curious stare as I slipped out of the room. I don’t really have a plan, mostly because I don’t know anything about my opponents, not their quirks or capabilities, or even their fucking names. Guess I’ll just hide in the shadows until they engage with each other.

I snuck around to the back of the building, climbing the fire escape. I was careful around the windows, making sure I wasn’t seen while also checking for where the bomb is. No one but Toshi knows what team I had drawn, but this was the last battle… did they expect me? To be honest, I was hoping to my god, the taco, that everyone had forgotten about me.

I reached the last landing of the fire escape with a huff. Why the fuck is this building so damn tall? Fuck’s sake. I haven’t moved this much since I was ten and that fucker Jino stole my taco money. Guess I forgot that being a hero requires putting in actual work. I glanced through the window on the top floor.

Jackpot! There’s the bomb and it looks like Mountain is alone and… what the fuck is he doing in the corner? I leaned closer, squinting to see through the dirty glass. He was kneeling down petting a rat… I sweatdropped. Is everyone in this damn school nuts or is it just my class?

I dug my nails into the bottom of the window, but it didn’t budge. Damn, I was hoping for a stealthy approach, but it looks like I gotta break the window. I pulled back my elbow before bringing it hard against the glass, shattering it. My bandaged hands were a big help in removing the class from the sill so I could slip inside.

Mountain was now standing by the bomb, shaking like a leaf with his hands held up in surrender. I took a step forward and he flinched. Okay… definitely not gonna fight this poor kid. He might die of fucking heart failure.

I pulled the capture tape from my back pocket and slowly approached him, keeping my guard up in case it was all an act – I didn’t believe it was, but better safe than sorry, I guess. He looked so terrified, I almost feel guilty capturing him. Almost. “Hands,” I ordered. He quickly held them out I tied them together. “Too tight?” His shook his head side to side and I led him away from the bomb. If I ended up having to fight the others, I didn’t want this kid to get involved.

“Ow, shit!” I snapped my gaze down to see the rat attached to my ankle, his teeth easily cutting through the fabric of my pants. “That fucking hurts, you shit! Get offa me!” I wiggled my leg, but he just bit down harder. Goddamn it, I’m against animal cruelty! I grabbed it by the scruff of its neck, tapping it on the nose lightly until it finally let go, trying to grab onto my finger. With a string of curses, I dropped the squirming creature into Mountain’s lap. He held it close and the rat started to calm down. Does he have an animal quirk?

Wait, wait wait… don’t rats have diseases and shit? Fuck my life. If I die by a fucking rat I will burn this world from the grave.

“Woohoo!” Alien came sliding into the room, aiming straight for the bomb.

I held my hand up and a line of fire sprung to life in front of her. She yelped in surprise, stumbling back until falling on her behind. “Sorry, but I’m afraid that belongs to me, and I don’t like people touching my shit.”

She looked back at me, eyes wide. The situation dawned on her and she jumped to her feet, shooting a grey substance from her hands. I dodged most of it, but some splattered onto my tank top. The fabric started to dissolve with a hiss. Acid? It’s gotta be.

Che, how annoying. My long-range flames aren’t as powerful and they’re harder to control, but it should be enough for this. I just have to be careful. Watch the temperature and breathe.

The acid was beginning to eat through the floor, creating varying sized holes across the room. Hey, that’s an idea that might work. If I can keep her distracted by pretending to attack, I might be able to pull this off. I dodged another wave of acid, slipping under it and aiming my fist at her head. She slid backward with the acid coming from her feet. Her reflexes are pretty sharp.

I glanced at the floor as the acid slowly ate through the concrete. Just a little bit longer. She jumped toward me, kicking up acid into the air which fell onto my arm. I clenched my jaw in pain, slamming my flaming fist against the ground. The concrete cracked, spreading out to the holes until the floor started to collapse beneath us. She squeaked, trying to reach a part of the floor that wasn’t crumbling, but she was too far away.

I kneeled by the hole, glancing down at her. She was lying on her back, eyes closed. Hopefully, she’s unconscious. I glanced over at Mountain, who was near the hole. “You good?”

He nodded frantically, clutching the rat to his chest.

I stepped around the hole, leaning against the wall by the door. I could hear heavy footsteps rushing down the hall, far too heavy to belong to French Fry. Must be the big guy, then. If I had to guess, his quirk has something to do with strength, but that’s going off of appearance alone. I pressed myself flat against the wall.

Sumo ran into the room too fast to see me. Perfect!

I kicked the back of his knee and he stumbled but didn’t hit the ground. It was enough, though. I threw my arm around his neck, digging my knee into his back. He tried to claw at my arm but I increased my body temperature to burn his fingers but not his neck – it was tricky, but I managed it. I dug harder into his back, slamming his body against the ground with my own.

My eye twitched as he continued to fight back, nearly knocking me off of his body. Goddamn, just fucking pass out already! His body started to weaken before finally going slack. I huffed, releasing him. I made my way back to the hole and over the line of flames in front of the bomb, lowering my hand before flipping it over. The flames disappeared and I touched the fake bomb.

“Extra factor wins!”

My eye twitched in annoyance. What a stupid ass name. I’m along here, just use my fucking name! I pulled a switchblade from my pocket, flicking my wrist as I approached Mountain. He closed his eyes in fear and I kneeled down, carefully cutting the tape from his wrists.

Toshi came through with the medical bots, slapping his large hand on my shoulder. “You’ve come so far in such a short amount of time! I am so proud of you, young Jen!”

“You can cut the proud dad act, I still have a bone to pick with you after this,” I told him as I left the room, my hands stuffed into my pockets. My ankle is stinging from that damn rat and my hands were bleeding again. There was a small burn on my left arm and another on my stomach from the acid. If Granny sees these new wounds, I’m never gonna hear the end of it.

I’d rather just suffer and heal naturally.

When I re-entered the observation room, Bakugo’s red eyes were the first thing I saw. His jaw was clenched and he looked angry again. Ochako popped up in front of me and started to fangirl about how cool I am. I could only scratch my cheek awkwardly as she started to re-enact what she had seen. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t feel nice to be praised by someone other than Toshi, but man if it ain’t embarrassing, too.

I glanced behind her and Peppermint was glaring at me again. Man, what is his damage? Does he have a fucking problem with me? I returned to Bakugo’s side, putting more distance between us than before. He glared at me, too.

Man, this class needs some serious therapy.

Toshi led us all back to the same tunnel we had begun at. “That’s a wrap! Super work! You really stepped up to the plate and we didn’t have any major injuries except for Midoriya. You should be proud! Excellent first day of training all around!”

Toshi, you’re laying it on too thick. Chill out.

“It’s nice to hear some encouraging words after our homeroom class. Mr. Aizawa was kind of a buzzkill.”

Oh boy, Toshi’s head just inflated with that one.

“I’m happy to bring such staggering positivity to my alma mater! That’s all for now, folks! I should go and check on young Midoriya’s progress. Now watch how a pro exits! Like he’s got somewhere to be!!” Toshi took off down the hall and I cursed, rushing after him. No way in hell am I letting you get away!

He was so pre-occupied that he didn’t even notice me slip into the staff entrance behind him, sliding through the doors just before they closed. He was wheezing and his body engulfed in smoke. His skeletal form looked even worse in the baggy hero costume. “Man, you’re a fucking mess, ain’t ya?” He jumped in surprise, his wheezing turning into full-on coughing. I sweatdropped. “Don’t die on me, now.” With a sigh, I turned my back to him and kneeled down.

He stared at me blankly.

“Oi, I don’t have all day! Get on, I’ll carry you, gramps.”

He smacked the back of my head half-heartedly. “I’m not that old.” He staggered a bit as he walked, heading down the hall. I followed, hands in my pockets. As expected, Granny was pissed when we showed up.

She glared at both of us, making me sit on a stool while she ranted to Toshi. “The second day of school and he’s already a regular patient! Why didn’t you stop him, All Might?”

He coughed. “You’re right, Recovery Girl. I’m sorry.”

“Well, it’s no good apologizing to me! He’s too exhausted from his classes for my quirk. I can’t treat all of his injuries at once! I did some first aid, but after the I.V. is finished, we’ll have to wait for his body to heal overnight. Come on, All Might. I know you passed your powers onto this boy -”

I fucking knew it. Well, Toshi did technically mention it to me before school started but that’s neither here nor there. Not my fault my dumbass don’t listen.

“- but you can’t spoil him!”

He rubbed the back of his head. “I am trying not to play favorites. I wanted to consider his feelings, though. He needed to see that he was capable of winning the exercise. Oh yeah, also,” he lowered his voice. “Will you please not talk so loudly about One for All when anyone around you could hear?”

I pushed against the ground with my foot so the stool was by the bed so I could lean back against the metal at the foot of it. What was the big deal about people knowing about his power? I mean, I get that it’s this like, super over-powered quirk or some shit, but it’s not like people can forcefully take it if they find out the truth.

“Yeah, yeah. I know. Mr. ‘natural born hero’. Mr. ‘symbol of peace’!”

He sighed, raising his clenched fist to his chest. “Several people know about my injury and this weakened form, like the U.A. facility and a certain group of pro heroes, for example. However, only a select few people know the secret of One for All. There’s you, the principal, and a very close friend of mine. Young Midoriya, too, of course, and young Jen, but no one else knows the truth about my power.”

“You’re the number one hero in the world, All Might. Does it really matter if you were born with your quirk or not? Do you have to be the symbol of peace? Is it that important?”

Granny asking the important questions. Her sad tone tugged at my heart, though. I wanted to pull the small woman into my arms, but at the same time, I didn’t want to draw attention to myself because of my injuries.

“If they knew I wasn’t, the temptation of this power could corrupt our society. This quirk… those who wield it are responsible for mankind’s safety.”

I glanced at Midoriya. Does he even know that? That’s a pretty tall order for a fifteen-year-old boy.

“Well, if that’s the case, it’s even more important for you to be a good guide.”

“You’re right…”

“And you, young lady.”

I winced at her tone, sitting straight up on the stool.

“Didn’t I tell you not to get more hurt?”

“Uhh, well, you see, what had happened was -”

She kissed my cheek and I slid off the stool, feeling my energy drain as my wounds healed. “You wouldn’t let me heal you earlier but you can’t escape it this time, deary.”

I groaned, wishing I had a pillow to smash my face into. “Next time, please just let me heal like a normal person, thanks…”

“But you’re not a normal person,”

I can’t tell if that’s an insult or a compliment…

⊱ ────── {⋅. 🔥 .⋅} ────── ⊰

I yawned as the final class of the day ended. I grabbed my bag and headed out the door, ignoring whoever called out my name. The only voice I cared to hear from was the one belonging to that ugly ass green couch.

“Oi,”

I glanced over my shoulder to see Bakugo. His head was lowered, hair covering his eyes as he approached. “What’s -”

“Thank you,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I’m sorry, you what now?” Had I heard that right?

He glared at me. “I didn’t fucking say anything. Get your damn ears checked!”

I deadpanned. This fuckin’ kid…

“Kacchan!”

Midoriya ran toward us, looking a bit worse for the wear. I patted Bakugo’s shoulder as I passed by, leaving the school grounds.

⊱ ────── {⋅. 🔥 .⋅} ────── ⊰

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imyourliquor-youremypoison · 5 years

Text

A Girl’s Best Friend (Peter Parker x OC) - Part 7

Synopsis: Diamonds are man’s best friend- or dogs are girls’ best friends, wait… how does the saying go again?

Warnings: Family issues; Peter has a crush and it’s complicated; mention of assault; good dogs; College AU; aged up! characters; TONY STARK IS ALIVE AND WE ALL LIVE IN A HAPPY PLACE CALLED DENIAL

A/N: In this story, Peter has Tom’s dog, Tessa.The dogs in the story play a minor but key role.

Word count: 2.8k

Part 6 <<< >>> Part 8

MASTERLIST

“You know,” Emmeline started, spinning her phone on the table, legs crossed, sitting on her balcony while Spider-Man laid in a web-hammock that dangled from the balcony above hers. “You sound way younger than I thought you were.”

He folded his arms behind his neck and crossed his legs at the ankles.

“I’m not that young…” he argued, although not very convincingly. “I’m an adult, legally. I don’t magically turn into my civilian self on the stroke of midnight.”

“I know that, you hang out here way past midnight,” she laughed and stopped playing with her phone to better look at him. His gaze was still trained on the skyline, lost in his thoughts. They didn’t always talk much, but it was nice to just chat a little and share comfortable silence. “Still, I thought you were an actual adult, not just legal.”

“What does that even mean?” Spider-Man suddenly sat up, looking at her. “I’m an actual adult.”

“I don’t believe that! I think you’re my age, and I’m not even close to being a real adult,” Emmeline huffed, leaning back and crossing her arms on her chest.

“What’s a real adult, then?”

“Someone who has a job, is financially independent, is well established in life, has their shit together-“ she began to list off and Peter had to cut her off.

“Alright, alright, if that’s your criteria then I suppose I’m not an adult. Does friendly neighborhood Spider-Man not count as a job?” he still asked.

“Not if you’re not paid to do it, my friend.”

“Damn it,” he cursed under his breath. “But still, being an adult isn’t all about exterior things like money and status. It’s a feeling too.”

“Like it just dawns on you the first time you fill a tax form?” Emmeline suggested. “Because I don’t pay taxes, I don’t pay for anything, and that’s exactly my point. I’m not a functioning adult, I’m a kept woman at best,” she laughed bitterly and cracked open her beer. “Or is it when you don’t need to use a fake ID to buy beer anymore?”

As if on cue, Emmeline leaned down to grab a can of beer from the bucket of ice and threw it to him. He caught it without batting an eyelash.

“Good ones, but not what I meant. Like, what made you realize deep down, what changed inside of you?" Peter argued, rolling his eyes under his mask.

“Oh, you mean the newfound crippling anxiety regarding anything that is farther into the future than next week? Yeah, I have that now, fun times!”

“That's funny. You're funny,” Peter said, playing with his beer but not drinking it. He never drank the beers she offered, he suspected she was trying to force him to take his mask off, using politeness as an excuse.

“What about you?”

“For me it was...” He pursed her lips as if thinking really hard about it. “...back pain. Back pain and insomnia. One often deriving from the other.”

She threw her head back and laughed more frankly this time, filling Peter with an odd sense of accomplishment for making her laugh.

Peter had been here dozens of times and now he had to pretend really hard to never have been. Granted, he had never stepped in, but Emmeline’s large balcony offered a pretty great view on the inside what with the large window panels she had instead of walls. It wasn’t the safest kind of housing, he had to say. What was it with rich people and windows? They were obsessed with lighting. Then again, he would wager Emmeline did not pick this apartment for herself. He had known her for months now and he found she had rather modest tastes and never judged something by the price tag, so to speak.

With the notable exception of the leash she bought him the day they really met. He googled it and, boy, it was expensive. But another thing he had noticed was that nothing was too good for her dog – or his, actually. Tessa had gained a doting aunt of sorts the day Emmeline decided to become his friend.

It was the first time he came in through the front door though, it had to count for something. He wasn’t Spider-Man escorting a girl who had been assaulted – or Spider-Man being an over-zealous superhero who kept checking in on her even though he knew she was safe and sound. He was Peter Parker, and Emmeline Gerard had invited him to her penthouse so they could work together.

She closed the front door and they took off their shoes and coats. Tessa zoomed in and began to walk around, getting familiar with the place.

“It’s the first time you invite me here, and we’ve known each other for months,” he pointed out, good heartedly. It was a teasing comment, nothing else, and he was taken aback by her serious answer.

“This place hasn’t seen many visitors since I moved in five years ago.”

Not at all what had had expected to hear. On the contrary, he imagined having such a gigantic place to yourself would prompt anyone to try and fill it with people, with life. It must be quite lonely to be on your own in there.

“I’ve just never been comfortable with having people over.”

Emmeline shrugged, biting the inside of her cheek. She tried to play it off as a casual remark, but Peter was having none of it and decided to push her a little for answers, to see if she would shut him off or not. He was hoping they were past that and she trusted him a little now, especially after they heart to heart moment where they talked about their parents. It had been a one-time thing, but he sensed she was more relaxed around him from then on.

“Why not?” Peter made a 360-degree spin, taking in it all in. That was something he had never thought he would see. Being inside a penthouse wasn’t really new to him since he met Tony in high school, but being in Emmeline’s place was exhilarating.

“It always feels like they are invading my space, always… snooping.”

Yeah, Peter got that. Especially since he had so many secrets to hide from so many people.

“Your place is fancier than any place I’ve ever been to.”

“Now that’s not true, you’re working with Tony Stark,” she countered, leaning against the back of her couch and crossing her arms over her chest.

He couldn’t believe the Stark internship excuse was still a thing. It had been seven years since it started, and no one seemed to find it strange.

“Alright, you got me there.” Peter couldn’t deny the truth after all. “I still think your place looks nicer.” His shoulders rose so high his neck disappeared. “It’s cozier. And I work in the lab most of the time when I go to Stark Tower, not in his last floor billionaire penthouse.” Also known as the Avengers compound, that he wasn’t supposed to know about.

“Right, right.” She waved off his comment and looked away. “I still try to keep the visitors to a minimum. It’s just awkward. Like what you’re doing right now!”

“What?” Peter frowned, a sliver of a smile on his lips. “What am I doing?”

He wasn’t doing anything out of the ordinary as far as he was concerned. He was just standing in front of her, hands in his pockets, looking around a bit – he tried to spot little details that would tell him a bit more about her. Emmeline was such a private person.

“You’re standing there, looking at everything around you like you’re in a museum, probably wondering how much some of it costs, and you don’t even know if you’re allowed to touch anything, hence the hands in the pockets,” she listed everything he did wrong unbeknownst to him.

Peter immediately took his hands out of his pockets and grabbed a little glass sphere that sat on a wooden base to prevent it from rolling away. He twirled it around in his hand, playing with it and glancing at her with a smug little smirk.

“What’s that little thingy?”

“That’s an original 1920s crystal art piece by French glassmaker Lalique, it’s worth 700,000 dollars,” she recited as though she had been an auctioneer in her past life, watching Peter nearly drop the little glass ball out of sheer shock, only shortly catching the priceless art object before it shattered on her floor, then replaced the thing on its stand with shaking hands.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, blushing like crazy.

Emmeline laughed and walked past him, sliding a hand on his upper arm to gesture him to follow her.

“I’m just kidding Peter, it’s just blown glass,” she giggled, looking at his decomposed face.

“Not funny!”

“But it proves my point.”

“Which is that your place is too fancy for your working class friends?” Peter asked, just to annoy her after the joke she just made at his expense. It was only fair.

Emmeline stopped at the kitchen island, placing her hands flat against the marble.

“No, I don’t like having people come here because it makes the gap between us bigger than it needs to be; they judge me based on all of this.” She gestured around them.

“May I advise you to not flail your 1920s French glasswork at them, then?” Peter suggested humorously.

She didn’t laugh.

“It’s a goddamn snow globe Peter, I wasn’t serious.”

“Got it.” Peter swallowed with some difficulty. Clearly, he had tackled a sensitive topic, he couldn’t back down now though, and apparently joking wasn’t the right approach.

“When people see this place, they have one of two reactions: there are those who start thinking that we live in different worlds and stop inviting me to stuff because it’s not fancy enough for me to hang out in their two hundred square feet flat and eat Domino’s Pizza. And then, there are those who think they can take advantage of me.”

“Who would do that?”

“A shockingly high number of people, Peter. People are disgusting,” she deadpanned. “Everyone in this city knows I come from money, but it’s not until they see how I live that they take the full measure of what it means. Making friends isn’t the easiest thing in the world.”

That was when Tessa decided to butt in and strut over to Emmeline, sitting right by her feet and looking up with big, sparkly eyes, as if knowing that she was the one to go to is she wanted something.

“You have Bella at least,” Peter said, thinking of her own dog.

He had never formally met Bella; only Spider-Man had. She was at the vet for a few days because she had stepped on some glass shards and had needed stitches. Maybe that was the reason why he was even allowed here. After all, Bella was trained to not let strangers near Em, and as far as she was concerned, that’s what he was to her protective dog. Bella’s absence was also why he agreed to come. He was dying to see her apartment, but he also didn’t want to give his identity away.

He wanted to echo her little explanation with his own experience and found he could not. He didn’t come from money, his father wasn’t someone important like hers, but he did have his own issues with making close friends, for different reasons than her. And he felt like a fraud suddenly, sitting here in her kitchen, in her home that she opened for him even though she despises bringing people here, forcing her to talk about things that stung, and yet not reciprocating.

“Yes, what would I do without her?”

A large, goofy smile replaced the stern expression on her face when she bent over to pet her.

“Are you hungry, Tessa? I know it’s dinner time. C’mon, I’ll fill Bella’s bowl for you.”

He didn’t add anything and just sat on the bar stool by the kitchen island while Emmeline went to get Tessa’s food and filled her bowls water, and a mix of dry dog food and meat leftovers from the fridge.

“Follow me,” she told him this time instead of touching his arm.

A flash of electricity coursed through Peter when she had placed her hand on his bicep just a few minutes ago, and he wouldn’t have minded if Emmeline had dragged him all the way to where she wanted to go by the arm this time around.

Actually, he just really would have liked to hold her hand.

She stopped outside a closed door and took a deep breath, then turned around to meet his questioning eyes.

“Just so you know, I wasn’t talking about you.”

“Huh?”

“I know you’re not like those people who just want to be friends with me for my family’s money and influence,” she explained. “At least, I hope so.” Her eyes shifted when she said the last part.

“Hey, hey,” Peter whispered, taking the step separating them to place his hands on her shoulders and make her look up. “Em, you could be living in a cardboard box and be a nobody’s daughter and you’d still be the most amazing person I’ve ever met.”

That was it: the lamest, most ridiculous thing that ever crossed his lips in front of this girl – and God knows he already blurted out some dumb shit in his times of awkwardness.

She smiled softly, her eyes darting down a little while she placed a hand on Peter’s elbow to make him let go of her. It made her feel warm – whether it was his words or his touch, she couldn’t tell. But she didn’t let herself ponder the thought too long.

“Thank you for saying that. It means a lot.” And it took her a lot of effort not to start crying like a little girl, but she had pretty good control over her emotions. Living in the public eye tended to do that to someone. “You win.”

Peter’s eyebrows rose and he gave her a confused look, planting his hands on his hips and watching her step back, one hand already reaching out for the door handle.

“I win? I win what?”

Emmeline was pleased to hear the utter confusion in his voice and not an ounce of greediness.

“The right of entry.”

When she opened the door, Peter wasn’t surprised to see it was her room, but he was surprised by the room itself. It was nothing like the rest of the apartment that resembled a design magazine front cover and was so white and pristine it blinded him a little.

This bedroom was warm.

He wolf-whistled.

“Now, that’s more like it,” he said with a laugh, letting his fingers play with a leaf from a ceiling plant.

“More like what?” Emmeline walked over to her bed and hastily draped the duvet over it, smoothing it out. Someone didn’t make her bed this morning, Peter thought, amused by her need to make things look perfect, even though there was no need at all.

“You, obviously.”

It was still far fancier than anything he owned, but it was toned down. It was presented in a normal, a-twenty-something-lives-here kind of way, and not like a professional interior designer did it all. There was no ikea furniture in his room, but it had this homey feel that he thought this building lacked the first time he followed her here.

“I can’t tell if it’s a good thing, but I’m going with a ‘thank you’,” Emmeline laughed. “Don’t take this in a weird way, but you’re the first person I show my room.”

“Not even-“ Peter stopped before saying something out of line, but Emmeline just stared blankly at him, one very unimpressed eyebrow raised at him.

“C’mon,” she said. “Say it.”

“It’s none of my business,” Peter argued to get himself out of this situation. She was obviously holding back a smile, and he couldn’t help but think she was enjoying watching him fumble a little too much.

“You were going to ask anyway, and you obviously want to know,” she replied, sitting down in her desk chair, legs crossed.

If she pushed on her leg and rolled the chair a bit backwards to get in the shaded corner of the room, the resemblance with that scene in The Godfather would be uncanny.

Peter braced himself, seeing no way out of this that didn’t involve backflipping out of her window to escape.

“Not even… your boyfriends?” he eventually asked, feeling supremely embarrassed that he would even be concerned to hear the answer and blushing like nobody’s business.

“No,” she simply answered. “I use the guest bedroom when I have a boy over. This is my room, it’s private.”

“Then why-“

She sent him a sharp look and Peter swallowed down his question, mimicking to zip his mouth shut.

“Go get your laptop,” she told him, the slightest of smiles adorning her face, matching the mischievous glimmer in her dark eyes. “You wanted to partner up for this tutorial, so let’s get to work.”

He should feel lucky being here at all and stop questioning why.

Reblog to save a writer

Taglist: @justanothercynicalgenzkid @of-virtuoso

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hitchell-mope · 4 years

Text

(Third Film. Jane’s birthday party)

Dizzy: I LOVE THIS FOOD! What is it?

Jane: Mal made them. Ben’s recipe. Uhhhh. Mac’n’Cheese cupcakes.

Dizzy: no matter what happens stop me when I’ve had 50.

Lonnie: and how many have you had already?

Dizzy: 25

Lonnie: ah.

(Dizzy runs off laughing like mad)

Lonnie: so when’s the string quartet coming

Jane: hopefully never

Lonnie: you’re not enjoying yourself are you?

Jane: I am. I am, it’s just. Mother made a schedule. No opening my presents until she gets here and she’s not here. And neither are the rest of our friends and I don’t want another geometry book or a rock polisher. I stopped collecting rocks when I was 10.

Lonnie: hey, hey. It’s alright. Party’ll pick up. Just wait til Mal gets here. We’ll finally see the famous routine

Jane (chuckling): infamous more like with all the cloak and dagger she’s put into it

Lonnie: I’d thought you’d seen it.

Jane: I have. Mal said there’s more to it though. Not for anyone over fifty. And mothers darn near a million

Lonnie: well. 99 thousand eight hundred and 37. And a half

(Both girls burst into a giggle fit. Half way up the embankment Chadeficent is arguing with a chaperone)

Chadeficent (Chad’s voice): hey dickbrain. I’m on the list. Chad. Charming. My father pays your salary. So you can take this piece of scrap and shove it up your

Dizzy: what in Grimm’s name are you doing here?

Chadeficent (both voices): silence wretch

Jane: Chad. Are you ok?

Chadeficent (Maleficent’s voice): perfectly well my dear little girl

(Their eyes glow black. Jane gulps and rushes back to the others)

Jane: something’s wrong with chad!

Lonnie and Dizzy: what’s right with him?

Chadeficent (Chad’s voice): none of you belong here. Not at court. Not as nobility. Not as anything else but housewives. And you “cousin” shouldn’t have left the poverty line. And I’m gonna make sure you bitches pay with your second class lives.

Lonnie: on with the misogyny full force then eh?

Dizzy and Jane: apparently.

Chadeficent (Chad’s voice): it’s your bday isn’t it?

Jane (hesitantly): yes?

Chadeficent (Chad’s voice): has mom sent you something?

Jane: a handmade dress.

Chadeficent (Chad’s voice): I have something better

(He pulls out the wand. Everyone else takes a step back in shock)

Jane: it was you

Chadeficent (Maleficent’s voice): not just him

(They split apart and Maleficent stands before Jane. She’s grinning like the madwoman she is)

Maleficent: did you really think he had the brains to pull it off

Dizzy: where are my parents

Chad: who gives a flying fuck? Ones a whore and ones a half formed freak. They deserve what they’re gonna get.

Jane: run. EVERYBODY RUN. GET AWAY WHILE YOU CAN

Maleficent: thought you’d say that. Oh. Someone gave you a compact mirror. Lovely.

(She points at the present table and glass shards start shooting out sending everyone into a panic. Lonnie hoists dizzy up and the three girls run to the shore of the lake)

Dizzy: no wait stop. I can’t swim.

Lonnie: you’ve been. Here for a year!

Dizzy: they asked if I wanted lessons I said no.

Jane: that worked out well.

(Lonnie puts Dizzy down and turns to face her)

Lonnie: Dizzy I promise. I won’t let go. But you have got to trust. Do you?

Dizzy: yes

Jane: jump!

(They all dive into the lake, Dizzy clinging on to Lonnie for dear life. Jane’s eyes glow periwinkle blue and suddenly their standing on the lakes floor)

Dizzy: what happened?

Jane: magic. It’s a wonderful thing. In the right hand.

Lonnie: and right now one of the most powerful magical relics is in the hands of chad and Maleficent. We have to warn them. Ben at the very least needs to know.

(Back on the embankment chad hasn’t been paying attention to a single thing the girls have been doing. Instead he’s been scratching his skull with the wand)

Chad: ooh. I know what to do. Happy birthday Janey

(This is when “happy birthday happens. After the song he just stands there dumbly)

Chad: where’d everybody go?

Maleficent: never mind that. We must make haste to the palace. We must find the king if you ever want the throne

Chad: yay! (Maleficent’s takes control of his body) oof must ya do that every goddamn time? (Maleficent’s voice) it’s amusing to me.

(They disappear in a swirl of black smoke. Under the lake Jane’s been listening in on the conversation)

Jane: Ok they’ve gone. Dizzy. Lonnie. Be careful. When we break the surface you might get a head rush. It’ll pass. Fight it.

Lonnie: ok. Sure. Makes sense

Dizzy: can’t you just teleport us to land?

Jane: oh yeah. Didn’t think about it

(With a flash of periwinkle blue smoke the three are back on land. Dizzy immediately runs up to the food table and starts kissing it)

Dizzy: oh land I’ve missed you so

Lonnie: it was barely ten minutes

Dizzy: it was 10 minutes too long! Jane what are you doing

Jane: calling the king. Ben? Hi yes. Chad has the wand. He’s possessed-you know? Does anyone else know? Mal and the others. Ok. We’re in safe hands. Just stay in your office. No. No ones dead. Well. No one else. Well. Not yet. Rendezvous at your office? Perfect. Bye.

(She ends the call and starts going through the present table)

Dizzy: what are you doing?

Jane: looking for something (to herself) come on Abigail. You were my favourite babysitter. Come through for me. Do not leave me high and dry. AHA YES!

Lonnie and Dizzy: what?

Jane (turning around to show them): water bazooka

Dizzy: and what’s that going to do?

Jane (already wading back into the lake): help us. This lake is magic. You come into contact with it and any spell you were put under is removed.

Dizzy: so what? We’re gonna beat chad via a water gun fight?

Jane: bazooka. And sort of. If the others are put under, we shoot em with this and they’ll wake up. In theory.

Lonnie: ok that’s all well and good but it’s your mothers wand. The magic will only last until midnight.

Jane: my mother’s wand is being influenced by the mistress of all evil. Aka the first one to be revived from death 23 years ago

Lonnie (realising): oh crap. So our friends are our best shot basically.

Dizzy: as always.

(In Ben’s office, he’s enacting the protocols when Audrey skips in)

Audrey: it took forever but I finally found something for Jane. Carlos let me use the 3D printer and I made her a wand of her very own. It’s not magic but I think she might like it.

Ben: you need to get back to your room

Audrey: what? No

Ben: the party’s cancelled, go back to your room. I don’t want to use magic on you but I will if I have to. So please go back to your room!

Audrey: Florian you’re not making any sense

Ben (taken aback): you’ve never called me Florian before

Audrey: you’ve never not made any sense before. So what’s. Happening?

Ben: chad has the wand. And he’s possessed by Maleficent. We don’t know what he wants so the entire kingdom is going on lockdown until he’s stopped.

Audrey: oh no. Oh nononononononono. Oh it’s all my fault. I did this. I drove him to it

(She keeps rambling. Ben tries to get through to her but to no avail. Until he slaps her around the face)

Audrey: OW! That really hurt

Ben: I’m sorry you weren’t making any sense and I didn’t know best else to do and Carlos once did that to me and it worked and I’m so sorry

Audrey: s’ok. I probably would’ve done the same thing.

Ben: what do you mean it was your fault

Audrey: I dumped chad last night.

Ben: what?

Audrey: he was being a dick. Said I couldn’t hang out with Mal anymore. He tried to stop me from leaving. So I dumped him. And your eyes are glowing again.

(Ben blinks hard three times and the glowing stops)

Ben: sorry about that. And it’s not your fault. It’s his. Never apologise for knowing your own worth

Audrey: which is what you did when you broke up with

Ben: ah. Did I ever apologise for that?

Audrey: no. And you were right not to. I was a bitch. I still see murder in Evie’s eyes sometimes. And I deserve it. I sicced chad on Carlos. I’m surprised you didn’t have me executed

Ben: well Evie did suggest (laughing) ow

(Audrey just playfully slapped him on the arm)

Audrey: now we’re even

Ben: not yet. Ici tu vas madame

(He hands her a shot glass of wine)

Audrey: Pourquoi merci, gentil monsieur

(They down each glass in one. And promptly cough it back up)

Audrey: aw that’s. That’s bad.

Ben: haha yeah.

Audrey: why do we drink this again?

Ben: cause we’re french?

Audrey: possibly. (She looks at the bottle) and it’s out of date. Where’d you get it.

Ben: mom gave it to me. Said she was keeping it for her fiftieth wedding anniversary. That statement aged well.

Audrey: bin?

Ben: bin.

(He throws the bottle away

Ben: now you should really get back to your room. Activate the protocols Mal made. You should be safe

Audrey: ok.

(She leaves)

Ben: oh and hey. Don’t blame yourself for what Chad’s doung. He’s always been a dick. No one changes anyone. We change ourselves. He’s just done it wrong.

Audrey: sure. (To herself) then why do I feel like I’m still to blame?

(This is when “what if” happens)

(Elsewhere the six vks have just gone through the barrier into the island. And Mal is young again)

Mal: well that was surprisingly easy

Celia: it always is. Then the bullshittery happens.

Evie: explain.

Celia: your majesty. Chancellor. Follow me to your fathers lair.

Evie: this is gonna suck for me personally isn’t it?

Mal and Celia: probably

Carlos: hey mom. What do we do when you’re off on you feel good movie of the year thing?

Celia: my fathers arcade. I thought it’d be obvious

Carlos: yeah. You’d think.

Jay: there is a photobooth there you know?

Carlos: at your lead then

Gil: what about our bikes?

Celia: again. My fathers arcade. Oh so simple Legume

Gil: well not to me! I’m not Cj.

Evie: don’t mention that bitch Gil. Please. It’s like candy man. Say it enough it’ll show up.

Gil: I used to think that too. But brother said it’s an old legend and therefore not true

Mal: let him live, sis.

(Evie snarls)

Celia: c’mon end ladies we are burning daylight

(The wiz split up. The girls going to the lair. The boys going to the arcade. None of them see Harriet in the shadows drinking watching them and knocking back a hip flask. Back in Auradon a black cloud of smoke is descending across the land. And Doug is trying to comfort the twins)

Doug: it’s ok. Just stay here. I’ll get the blanket.

Squeaky: whas happening?

Doug: someone that doesn’t like us is trying to hurt us. But don’t worry. I won’t let them get to you.

The twins: ok.

(Around the the house is covered in blackness. The curse has reached them. The front door is blasted off its hinges)

Doug: I’ll protect you. I swear it. (To himself) ohh this is so “Harry Potterish” it’s disturbing

(He grabs a steak knife from the kitchen, deadbolts the door to the workshop, not noticing the smoke has already made contact with the twins, and runs to the front door. Chadeficent is standing there. He charges at them but they use magic to slam him into a wall and keep him there suspended two feet above the floor)

Doug: I always knew you were a dick! I just didn’t think you were this much of a dick

Chadeficent (Chad’s voice): that’s pretty big talk coming from a dude with a ponytail. What should I do with him? Sleep is too good for a half breed (Maleficent’s voice) it is your choice my child. He is your enemy after (Chad’s voice, happy) ooh. You’re right ARGH

(Doug has just kicked them in the crotch. This makes them lose concentration and Doug drops to the ground)

Doug: yeah, not only are you a dick. But you have a dick. So. Byee

(He runs to the kitchen deadbolting the door as he goes. He turns around )

Chadeficent (both voices): boo

(They grab him by the neck and throw him through the wall. He lands on Evie’s worktop, smashing it in two)

Chadeficent (Chad’s voice): I think I know what to do now

Doug (chuckling through bloodied teeth): what? What could you possibly do that you haven’t already done to me?

Chadeficent (Chad’s voice): I was ya roommate. I’ve read ya journal

Doug (terrified): no. No. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

(The smoke knocks him out. And he wakes up in a bathroom at the shool. Chadeficent is staring at him through the full length bathroom mirror. Behind them is Doug’s unconscious body laid out almost peacefully on the floor)

Chadeficent (Chad’s voice): see now this what you deserve.

Doug: HELP. HELP. HELP ME. SOMEONE PLEASE HELP ME

Chadeficent (Chad’s voice): oh c’mon dwarf you know that won’t work. They can’t hear you. You’re mute. Like you should be. Just like your idiot father.

(Doug looks like he’s going to throw up)

Doug: why. Why are you doing this

Chadeficent (Chad’s voice): because Ben is wrong. Women and half breeds and and fairies and djins have no place at court. Not in this world. Not in my world. Ooh. Someone’s coming. Best hide. You know what we’re like. How we don’t take well to the different.

(The mirror clouds up and they vanish leaving Doug alone. Chad almost smashes the mirror but he stops)

Chadeficent (Maleficent’s voice): that’s not how we do things. We gloat. And let them suffer. (Chad’s whiny voice) oh but whyuh? (Maleficent’s voice) because. Sooner or later they’ll come back. And he can see her heart break. (Chad’s voice) oooh. I like that. (Maleficent’s voice) come on now dear. Let’s face the king

(Back on the island the girls have just arrived at the lair. And Hadie is making his way to the door)

Hadie (opening the door to the lair): hello boys. Uh ha ha. You’re not Anthony and Grayson.

Mal (smugly): 🎶told ya🎶

Evie (slowly getting more high pitched): I was fourteen I was an idiot and no straight person has a gaydar!

Mal: then why did you say you did?

Evie: BECAUSE I WAS FOURTEEN AND AS I SAID I WAS AN IDIOT

Celia: now we’ve gotten that out of the way. Hadie. Meet your kid sisters. They’re here to see the big man

Hadie: Iris? Hestia?

Mal: I dunno who those people are but I’m Mal. She’s Evie. Where’s our father?

Hadie: dea uh dealing with, stuff. What did Maleficent do this time. I swear if she touched either of you

Mal: vous êtes donc au courant, bien, nous évite d'avoir à expliquer. maintenant, prendre est à notre père afin que nous puissions sauver notre royaume des griffes d'un garçon de salope de base hormonal qui est possédé par la maîtresse de tout mal.

Hadie: je suis à tes ordres, petite soeur

(He lets through the door)

Mal: ooh I like you

Hadie: right back atcha kid

Mal (chuckling sarcastically): ohhhh. I’m eighteen.

Hadie: so you can’t drink

Mal: ah I never said that

Hadie: beer or wine?

Mal: yes please

(They don’t notice that Evie’s sunk down behind a pillar)

Hadie: alrighty then. Dads asleep. Hangover

Mal: of course

Hadie: if you want my help just ask. Loving the highlights by the way.

Mal: I like having a big brother

(Mal goes to the couch where Hades is supposedly sleeping. She almost gets the ember from the coffee table. But hades grabs her hand)

Mal (chuckling nervously): aha. Hey dad?

Hades: Iris? IRIS!!!!

(He pulls her into a crushing bear hug)

Hades (maniacally): HAHAHAHAHAHA

Mal: AHAHAHAHAHAH

Hades: oh I’m so glad to see you. Oh my me I thought I’d killed all four of you. Tell me. Your sister. The boys. Are they ok?

Mal (strained because she’s being crushed by the hug): stop. Hugging me. (He lets her go). Evie’s fine. She’s got soot streaks, she’s hiding behind the pillar at the entrance, don’t think I didn’t see you chicken out E, and she’s insisting I’m wrong. Excuse me. Ahem. HA! I WAS RIGHT. YOU WERE WRONG. HAHA! Where was I? Oh yeah. Ben’s hair is fully purple and he’s growing wings. And jay’s ass, though apparently a tiny bit bruised, or so he says, I don’t really wanna know, is fine. Doug is also fine. We’re good. We’re all good.

Hades: and your brother?

Mal: right behind me. Daydrunk in the satin robe that doesn’t reach his knees

Hadie: I made it when I was 16. Growth spurts.

Mal: ahhh

Hades: your other brother. Probably know him. That doug boy stabbed him last year. Somewhere very tender and bruisable

(His voice drowns out as Mal realises in horror what he means)

Hades: ...I was gonna call him Icarus but his sister on his fathers side, paychotically vile little thing, named him after herself. Harry. I think. Harry Hook. Yeah?

Hadie: yeah. Yah. Yes. Harriet is such a bitch. First child born here. Thinks it gives her a tight to act like a Hera disciple. Oh dear

(Mal’s fainted. Her father and brother put her on the couch and Evie gets over herself and emerges from behind the pillar)

Evie: tell me she’s wrong. Tell me your lying. Tell me that thing, isn’t my brother.

Hades: I don’t lie Hest

Evie: MY NAME IS NOT HESTIA. MY NAME IS EVIE GRIMHILDE. MY MOTHER IS THE EVIL QUEEN. SHE PAID A MALE PROSTITUTE TO SPEND THE NIGHT WITH HER EIGHTEEN YEARS AGO And KILLED HIM WHEN SHE FOUND OUT SHE WAS PREGNANT WITH ME. THAT IS IT. THAT IS MU HISTORY. I AM NOT THE BASTARD DAUGHTER OF A MORTALISED GOD.

Hades: your mother is a cheapskate (he changes from Sebastian Stan to John Barrowman) and as you can see my dear, I’m very much alive.

Hadie: she’s waking up. You ok kid?

Mal: what happened

Hades: you fainted when I told you Harry hook is your brother.

Mal: oh. Well. I would’ve guessed it eventually. Gods are whores. He’s a whore. It balances out

Hades: thank you for summarising our history so succinctly.

Mal: well it’s true. And why don’t you look like me

Hades: oh. Right. Um. (he changes from John Barrowman to Jesse L Martin) hello heh heh

(He smiles nervously)

Mal: Ahhh. Now that makes sense. And I didn’t faint because of the revelation. Though that is a nauseating concept. My fiancé’s in trouble. I have to get back home.

Hades: of course. Take the ember. It can help. Gods are a step above genie. So if you two Ben and Jay use it together you can burn him from the inside. Uh be careful though. You’re only half god. The boys aren’t even a millionth. It could backfire. Conflagrantly.

Mal: eh. That’s par the course for our plans. C’mon sis

(She start to leave with the other two in tow. But Evie throws out her arm to stop her)

Evie: nuh uh. We’re not going anywhere until we get answers. He owes us that much

(At the docks Facillier is taking a lunch break stroll. A huge plume of water shoots upwards and back down onto the pier drenching him. When the water dissipates Uma’s kneeling in front of him craddiling the barnacle covered Harry in a Pieta pose)

Uma: help me. Please dad. Help me

(In the forest back in Auradon the girls are slowly making progress)

Dizzy: I’m bored

Jane: well I’m sorry Dizz but he’s probably exkecting magic or a vehicle. So you’ll just have to be patient.

Dizzy: There’s not even any food.

Lonnie: time sensitive mission kiddo

Dizzy: I’m nearly fourteen.

Lonnie: meaning.

Dizzy: I want you to teach me how to fight.

Lonnie: really? Well. First things first. Movies. Books. Tv. Forget it. Improper practice. Not conducive to what we need to do. You gotta be gentle. But at the same time. You gotta be tough.

Dizzy: well that’s an oxymoron if I ever heard one

(This is when “lesson number one” happens. Back in Auradon Ben is practicing the violin. This is when “human” happens)

#disney descendants #zendaya!mal

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