#why is it so oddly tender and intimate while at the same time being absolutely horrifying

[angeltannis]

Thinking about the wax ritual scene in House of Wax 2005. Why was it so Like That.

[peeterparkr]

perennial;tom holland|seven.

chapter seven: yellow roses

↳ flower meaning: jealousy, infidelity, apology, broken heart, intense emotion, dying love, extreme betrayal

Pick one. 

chapter summary: dried flowers on walls and ‘dirty’ dancing

pairing: tom holland x y/n

warnings: angsty? just a bit,  fluffy, mentions of sex 

word count: 8.1k

SOCIAL MEDIA BEFORE THE CHAPTER:

masterlist & profiles   six:  in which y/n wakes up and Tom doesn’t. 

previous chapter next chapter   perennial masterlist.

perfidy  ( series masterlist)

wanna be tagged?

Tags aren’t working so yeah. Sorry for posting late. I am too busy with school, and my job and  life and yeah so I hope you enjoy it. 

Tom woke up alone. He thought he wouldn’t, for the first time in months he thought he’d finally wake up by her side, kiss her cheek, pull her close to him and nuzzle into her hair as he asked for five more minutes of sleep.  He hadn’t, and that had bothered him, just a little. 

No, it had bothered him a lot. To wake up alone when you expect not to, hurts. So damn much. Because he didn’t know the reason for it now. 

Of course, she probably hadn’t run away, he thought. Maybe she’d woken up early to get her morning tea, or maybe she was making breakfast or whatever y/n did now. Did he still know her? Did he know her routine? 

He knew she had changed. He had expected her to, of course. He had, too. In a good way. Well that was what he thought or liked to believe apparently. 

He wondered why she had never called, not once. He thought about doing it, several times. Had it ever crossed her mind? To call him? Because it had crossed his mind, every day. 

Of course, his friends had stopped him from doing it, and Harry, Harry had stopped him from doing it. 

“I want to call her,” Tom had stated once. 

“Don’t, she did this to give you some freedom, so you could heal.”

Freedom that turned into severe loneliness. Tom had never really experienced it, and though he was not alone, he had felt lonely. Sometimes he couldn’t quite understand why, it’s not like before they dated they were that close. 

Or were they? And had Tom never truly acknowledged how important to each other they were? Because of course he knew she was important but he hadn’t realized how much she had influenced his life. 

For better or for worse, that is. Not always the brightest side. But… she was there. And for those months, she disappeared. And it wasn’t like when she had disappeared after that club night. At that time, Tom had tried to reach out, subtly. 

Had she felt this way? This heart-clenching way? Tom didn’t understand why he had felt so lonely. How they’d gone out to bars, and the music didn’t cheer him up, how he had walked through the crowded streets but not a single person seemed to notice. How his friends would laugh but he couldn’t even get the joke. 

He missed her. Because she’d always been there, one way or another. 

And now she wasn’t there by his side to kiss him good morning, she wasn’t there to run her hands through his hair while she gave him a shy smile, and the sun was pooling her whole bed, and thought it was warm, Tom still felt cold and like a stranger in that bedroom. Bedroom that he hadn’t stopped to take a glance at.

He knew y/n was so dramatic and chaotic and always, always, always made everything for the aesthetic and for her big drama show. Her room was her set, he knew, the place where her secrets hid. 

He wondered what had happened to Tim’s box, and it was nowhere to be found. There was no box in sight. The Polaroids weren’t the usual y/n Polaroids. She had some with James, and her parents. But most of them were from different places. 

He could see some Polaroids from New York, even one from Rome but most of them were new. Most of them had flowers. 

That was her latest theme, it seemed. Flowers. Flowers taped to her wall, flowers in her nightstand, near the small mirror. Flowers. 

Which seemed so very like her, Tom thought. He saw her  dried flowers and they seemed oddly familiar but he couldn’t quite figure out where from. 

He continued scanning her room, it made him happy there was absolutely no trace of Timmy in that room. There was no sight of Tom, either, whatsoever. 

Well, maybe there was. Because there were pictures of New York, of Rome. Not sight of him but it was subtle. Very subtle. He saw the vinyl he gave her about a year ago on her birthday. Which made him think. Just a year ago, Tim had planned the perfect party for y/n. A year ago, Tom thought he had lost his chance with y/n, for good. A year ago, Tim had been the one that made y/n: “The one that got away.” Of course, not now, but it seemed that Tim really had been y/n’s endgame. Of course, Tom didn’t believe that now. But he was still not fond of the fact that his… that y/n was sleeping next to that man, literally, since their rooms were just right by the other. 

That pissed him off. He wasn’t sure why it bothered him so much if he was sure y/n loved him. But thinking about it just… bothered him. 

Tom had felt so lonely. So lonely and he had needed her so badly. And waking up without her one more time hurt. But he knew she probably was out there, making breakfast, or working on something, maybe gushing to Emma what had happened. 

He couldn’t think of why she hadn’t been there. That wasn’t really her thing, he knew, at least in New York she always waited until he woke up too. But he was probably overthinking. That was something Tom had learned while being apart. He had never really dealt with it, but he guessed that was what broken hearts do, they change you. 

And he’d never dealt a heartbreak like that one before, not that harsh. Maybe that was why he felt lonely again in her bed. 

This breakup had felt like it had been for good. He hadn’t told her about that, and they probably still had to talk about it, but Tom had really felt he had lost her forever. Because they were hurt, because they were apart, and because their life had taken different paths. Because everything was different. But then he had the night before as the sole proof they had both missed the other. 

He sat up and rubbed his face. Not wanting to deal with it, trying to get that thought out of his mind. So impossibly stuck there. But he was there now, right? But there was a lot they had to talk about, and maybe sleeping together could have been a setback. Except, he really thought it wasn’t, because it wasn’t sex. Yes, of course, it was passionate and hot and Tom probably wanted to repeat it. But it was intimate and their connection was still there. He knew it wasn’t having sex for the sake of sex. Though both of them had been desperate for it, he knew it wasn’t about the sex. It was more than that, so desperate, longing to touch the other as if there was a magnet pulling them together, bodies glued to each other as hearts synchronized in a sole emotion, fast heartbeats combined with short breaths and the sound of their names over and over again. And then so calm, and quiet, and tender, heartbeats getting steadier, 

Nobody said it would be easy, and Tom was well aware it wouldn’t be. Not for now because there were still secrets waiting to come out, and conversations waiting to be heard, and tears ready to be shed. He wished he could skip to the part where they were happy, if that part was ever to be reached. And though it wasn’t simple, it was something that he aspired. 

Though it was crooked, and he didn’t want to go there again. Not repeat the same mistakes they’ve done before. And so far it looked that way, from enemies who had to apologize, and who barely talked to desperately trying to hook up. He didn’t want to repeat history. 

They needed a new one, one that didn’t end in a heartbreak. Not their heartbreak, at least. 

He tried to look up for his clothes, his shirt was nowhere in sight. Though he probably knew who was wearing it. He knew y/n had a thing for wearing his clothes. He didn’t mind, he possibly couldn’t mind. 

He walked out of the room, shirtless as he sneaked out of y/n’s room, he didn’t see her right as he came out, so he walked to the kitchen, she wasn’t there, and not on the couch. Her apartment was small, so it rubbed the wrong idea on him. Had she left? 

And then he saw her walk out of what Tom assumed was Emma’s room. Or so he hoped it was her room. 

Emma locked the door right after y/n had walked out. 

“Very mature, Emma, very mature,” y/n whispered, rolling her eyes. 

“What do you know, y/n? You also did something stupid.”  Emma yelled from the other side of the room. 

“At least I accept it,” y/n yelled back. 

Tom chuckled slightly and awkwardly as he saw her, standing there against the door, wearing his t-shirt just like he had expected her to. 

Y/N finally turned around to see him, she blushed instantly. 

“Oh, hi,” she said softly, a smile spreading on her face. 

“Morning,” Tom answered walking over. 

She seemed nervous, embarrassed as she shuffled her feet, watching him. “Did you sleep well?” 

He had, for that matter. For the first time in months he’d finally slept peacefully. He had slept, for that matter. Not once had he woken up in the middle of the night to stare at the moon. So dramatic and melancholic but he couldn’t help it. 

He wrapped his arms around her waist pulling her close to him. “Hm,” he smiled, glance going up from her eyes to her lips. “Thought I wouldn’t wake up alone for the first time in months.” 

She avoided his gaze. “Sorry, Emma—made some noise and woke me up and—“

“And you did something stupid,” Tom pointed out. “I can only assume I am stupid in that equation.” 

“Don’t be so harsh on yourself,” she smirked. “You’re stupid in every equation.” 

He laughed, and then leaned over to kiss her cheek. 

She smiled, as his lips continued to pepper her face with small and soft kisses. 

“Tommy,” she whispered. 

“Hm?” He travelled down to her neck.

“Stop,” she giggled. 

He sighed as he stopped. “Hm, it’s only fair if you’re wearing my t-shirt.” 

“I—It was the first thing I found.” 

“In your room?” He pushed, laughing, 

She blushed looking away. “Yes, all my clothes disappeared,” she stated, walking her fingers through his chest. 

“How awfully convenient,” he smirked. She looked up at him and locked her eyes with his. As if both of them knew they had to talk and were avoiding it. Tom felt naked. And not for the fact that he was technically half naked and he was shivering each time her fingers brushed against him. He felt completely like his true self, he didn’t have to hide anything, but then again… they were alone. Even if Emma was on the other side of the door, they were alone. 

“You’re doing it again,” y/n mumbled looking away.

Tom laughed with confusion. “What am I possibly doing?”

“Last night you gave me those same eyes and look where we ended up,” she pointed out. 

He coughed, “Then with more reason I’m not stopping,” he smirked and finally pulled her close enough to kiss her. He felt her smile against the kiss. He pulled her and clumsily made his way back to y/n’s room, crashing against walls and furniture on their way. 

Tom quickly closed the door and slammed her against the wall as he kissed his way down her neck 

“Tom no wait—“she said. 

“Hm, need a cold shower again?” He asked. 

But she was pushing him away. “No, no, Tommy.” 

He sighed, still pressing soft clumsy kisses behind her ear. 

“Tom, no, really—We—“she sighed. 

“What?” He asked, lips brushing against her jawline. She closed her eyes and sighed heavily. “I was supposed to be angry at you,” she sounded disappointed at herself. 

He finally pulled away. “Hm why?”

“Because you’re an idiot,” she whispered. It seemed like she was trying to get back into her senses, yet she still hadn’t let him go.

“I am,” Tom admitted. “But—what does that have to do with anything?” 

She gulped. “Tom—we, we have to talk about it,” she sighed. “We can’t—“

“I know, we can’t keep avoiding it,” he bit his lip. “But maybe just— a few more minutes and we can talk about it on set,” he begged as he pushed her hair back. 

“No,” she finally managed to get out of his grip. “No, no… no.” 

“Fine, no then,” Tom watched her sit down on her bed. 

“You shouldn’t be doing my script,” she stated, avoiding his gaze. 

He rushed to sit down, taking her hands. “No, hey—But hey I want to, I really want to make something incredibly cool—“

“You don’t even direct,” she pointed out and watched him. 

“I—Look, it’s my first time…. But Harry does, and I have vision and I am part of the story.” He took her hand.

“Tommy,” she whispered. 

“Y/N.”

“And I know this kind of thinking brought us to our doom but I can’t—what if something  bad happens?” She asked him. “you know Tom and y/n type of bad, our own particular way of screwing things up.” 

“It won’t happen.”

“But if it does?” She questioned. “And you try to get back at me with the script?”

“I promise I won’t.” 

“But you really have to promise it,” she pleaded. 

“I promise y/n.” 

She pulled her hand away from him and stood up, running her hands through her hair, stressed enough. 

“No, you don’t understand Tom, this is my dream,”she sounded stressed. “this is the biggest dream I’ve ever had and I finally got a shot and I… I guess I forgot about it last night because I… Because…”she stared at him again. “I—Because I’m an idiot…. and I was blinded by the moment, but I never really—“she gulped.”I need you to understand this, you can fuck me up, if you hate me, like I don’t know, okay? But don’t fuck up my dreams, if this is your plan, if it-“

“No,” he stopped her. “Y/N—“

“No, no, listen to me,” she seemed stressed. “I don’t care if—You, whatever happened in the last few months,” she sounded hurt now. “Whatever happened or…” 

The last few months? Tom was confused by that statement, whatever did she mean…. 

“Whatever happens… Just don’t fuck my script up, please. It’s my dream, and if you—“

“Y/N, I wouldn’t do that.” 

It hurt that she still believed Tom was only a weapon designed to destroy her. 

“No, I know, I know,” she cleared her throat. “I’m—sorry, I—It’s… we still have a lot going on.” 

Tom was angry then. Was she the one supposed to be angry? Wasn’t he the one supposed to doubt her? Because he didn’t. 

Not entirely. Only… he understood she did have some reason to be upset about the script. Though he wasn’t sure how to tell her that he stupidly thought it would be his way of making their paths cross again. He knew their breakup had been hard enough to deal with and adding being apart and going different ways wouldn’t help. So his stupid mind decided to make their ways cross. Though he thought he hadn’t had a chance for it, but—He found it so easily. And if he hadn’t called he was scared nobody else would. The project was risky and different and not—not something people would like to dive into. Less if she was a debut writer. 

But Tom didn’t want to tell her that. That had he not offered to be a director, there was barely any possibility of having it. He wouldn’t ruin it, no. Less now that he had actually had the chance to read the wonderful script she’d written. 

He’d judged it. Yes, the first pages were harsh to him but then—Then he realized it, the character growth, the development and the story and how, like y/n had said in her letter, they were supposed to fall in love. 

Though at times one may think that y/n—Valerie was supposed to end up with someone else, she couldn’t. It was Valerie and William. Tom and y/n.

“We’re not ready, Tom,” she whispered again. “And I know, how dare me to set back when I was the one to ask you to stay and the one to…” She cleared her throat.”To walk in the shower with you.” 

“Yeah, but it’s… It doesn’t mean we have to either take a step forward or backwards,” Tom said. “I don’t think-” 

“I know, I’m not saying not to acknowledge it, I mean,” she took a deep breath. “I mean what happened last night is just like our confirmation that yes, we still have… Well I still have feelings for you.” 

“And I have feelings for you.” 

“But,” she gulped. “I don’t think this whole… ‘Let’s make out and forget about it’ thing will work,” she pointed out. “We—look, I—Although I may be… although I am acting this way there’s a lot of things we need to talk about.” 

“I know.” 

“But…” 

Tom frowned. “But?” 

“Whatever happens while we are working on anything related to Dos a Dos we won’t give in okay? Not for good or bad,” she stated. 

“Alright.” 

“I’m talking about being strictly professional,” she continued. 

“Okay.” 

“No fighting,” she sounded cold. 

“I know.” 

“And also,” she coughed. “No flirting.” 

Tom chuckled. “Hm that’s gonna be hard.” 

She sighed. “So where are we going to go from this?” 

Tom stayed quiet. It was harder than he thought it would be. He hadn’t healed, not completely. Maybe he hadn’t realized it until then, how he had avoided his pain just to be with her, and now that they were standing on that point, he didn’t know where to go. Why was this so incredibly complicated? 

He looked around the room and stared at the flowers taped to her wall again, too familiar but he still didn’t get where from. Maybe the flowers only reminded him of y/n. 

“Where do we want to go from this?” Tom asked. 

“I don’t know,” she gulped. “And do we want to go together?” 

Tom looked at her again. “I… well, I… I hope? Or… don’t you want it?” 

Y/N nodded. “Yeah it’s just.” 

He feared whatever her next sentence would be. 

“It sounds,” she looked down. “It sounds like a whim but… And it sounds illogical, doesn’t it? You and I, how after everything we’re still willing to try it. We’re too stupid, and…” She chuckled dryly. “And you know, I’m crazy, and you’re… Too stubborn,” she gulped. “And I don’t know if I want it, you know? For us to fall down another time, and let our pride and our immaturity win over us again, you know? I don’t think either of us can afford another heartbreak.” 

Tom knew she was right. 

“It seems like we are sentenced to fail,” she sighed. “But then again I know that if we don’t try it, I won’t be able to…” She squinted and chuckled. “Dunno, but I know that if I dared to ask you, neither of us would be able to move on, right?” 

“I know I wouldn’t.” 

“And I know I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night, and no cold showers would help to cool us down,” she conceited, making Tom chuckle, “and though it might be a mistake, it might be the best mistake I am willing to make.” 

Tom smiled, slightly and sadly. “Yeah,” he gulped. “And if we don’t I’ll be glued to the phone waiting for your call or trying to stop myself from calling you, but end up doing it anyway.” 

“That’s our problem, we’re always waiting for each other to make the first step and then we do take it, we both get scared,” she explained. “And though it makes no sense, and I really wished we both could either say yes or no, we both know it’s not simple.” 

“No,” He gulped. “But maybe it does have some logic to it.” 

“Hm?” 

“You and I, I mean,” he gulped. “I mean, no matter how hard we try, I’m always drawn back to you, and no matter how hard we’ve… I mean you always end up haunting my dreams.” 

“Haunting.” 

“Like a ghost,” he chuckled. “And though it makes no sense, I still feel that whole stupid and cliché thing, my heart beats the same way as yours.” 

“You’re so cheesy,” she blushed. 

He leaned to kiss her cheek. “I know, it’s disgusting.” 

She laughed. “Yes, you’re only giving me reasons to bully you.” 

“But I actually,” he smirked. “Those aren’t my words. I must admit I plagiarized them.” 

Y/N blinked watching him. “What?” 

“Well, not really, but I did,” he chuckled. “But I do remember a certain Valerie saying it, ‘my heart beats to the same rhythm as Will and maybe that’s why I can’t stay away from him’” 

Y/N instantly blushed. “Yeah, uh,” she coughed. “Yeah...Did she say that? Did-” She cleared her throat. 

“Oh, yes she did, she very much did and I’m not cutting that off the script,” he teased. “It’s-” 

“No,” she shook her head. “I--no” 

“Why are you embarrassed?” 

She chuckled. “Because it’s too cheesy.” 

“Please, y/n, we’ve all known you’re cheesy, I mean the whole boxes things, the songs, the magical moments, I mean the polaroids, please y/n all you is cheesy but with class and aesthetic, just look around your room, that vinyl over there…  the flowers hanging on your wall which-” Tom stopped. He realized it. Where he knew the dried flowers from. He knew exactly why they were so familiar. Tim’s instagram. He remembered the picture and the quote: ‘Morning Bloom’.  He gulped.

“Yeah, I know, I’m cheesy,” Y/N chuckled. 

But Tom barely heard her, he felt it. And… It could mean nothing. It could be nothing, of course. Tim loved photography and aesthetics and… It didn’t have to mean anything. It couldn’t, could it? But why had he been in her room? Was there a reason? He hated this. He felt a stab through his heart. It had to mean nothing. Right? He guessed he had to see how y/n reacted about it. It could be an old picture. But… it seemed to be the same flowers, but maybe y/n liked those and always changed them. 

He had to ask about it, he knew but not right now. He didn’t want to have that answer just yet. But he needed the answer, and he wouldn’t be able to continue but of course, ruining that moment and pull a ‘Tom’ and walk out angrily and not explain anything to her would be stupid. He wasn’t going to make the same mistakes. But god, he wanted to. Fucking Tim. Of course now he thought the picture was probably a way to shove it on Tom’s face. But… 

“Tom?” She asked again, getting him out of his trance. 

He blinked. “Huh? Yeah.. Yeah.” He gulped. “What?” 

“I… asked if you were hungry?” 

“Ah, yeah, right. Yeah.” 

But he wasn’t, not after that sudden realization. 

Emma, two rooms away from there, felt stupid. The night before had been so blurry. And she hadn’t really realized how much seeing Harry hurt her. Y/N had tried to understand the situation. How did you get to sleep with Josh? 

Emma didn’t know, for that matter. How and what had led to that? Completely clueless. Of course Josh was attractive and he hadn’t hesitated on throwing his shot, especially because he’d probably been oblivious to the obvious tension Emma felt around Harry. Maybe Josh had chosen to ignore it. He had pointed out the tension between Tom and y/n, though. 

“This is weird, but do you guys know each other?” Josh had asked. “Or did y/n/n and Tom know each other?” 

“What gave it away?” Harry had laughed. 

“Oh, you know, the fact they went from undressing each other with a glance and then trying not to cry every time they had any eye contact.” 

But what about Harry and Emma? 

One of Emma’s strengths was hiding her real feelings. She was so good at avoiding it. Probably because she wanted everyone to believe she was a tough bitch who had her life in control. Even if she was tearing apart. 

Like she was the night before. That nerve wrecking heartache she was feeling all night each time she managed to look at Harry. She tried not to. Not a single word directed to him. 

Emma was hurt. 

Sometimes it bothered her that nobody could see how much she was drowning, as if she was seen just as a casualty from Tom and y/n. Everybody liked to forget she was hurting too. Not y/n, though. Y/N tried to get her to talk, and to talk about her feelings, and to mourn about it. She didn’t.

She couldn’t. 

Only person she had been able to open up completely to was Harry, and we know how that ended. Emma was struggling because she really wished she could be like y/n, so forgiving or so stupid. Stupid enough to sleep with Tom and forget her sorrow, that is. 

But Harry and her worked differently. Harry and her were talkers. Tom and y/n, according to y/n, barely liked to talk. Or that’s what y/n had said, in their short relationship, apparently, they were more...physical. And it seemed they still were. 

Emma was nobody to tell y/n what she couldn’t or could do. And Emma had known that y/n would end up sleeping with Tom the moment she saw them hold hands during the movies. 

Emma knew Tom was more about actions, for god’s sake no matter how stupid he was, he at least had already tried to talk to y/n, he had searched for her and he had, stupidly, of course, invited himself to the movies with them. Tom wasn’t playing. Maybe that’s why y/n was so dumbly smitten with him. If he wanted, he fought for it. The man didn’t think twice before doing something and sometimes it got him in trouble, but sometimes it didn’t, and well, it led him somewhere. At least he’d gotten laid. 

Emma was very much like Tom. And she knew y/n was very much like Harry, in a way. Emma, too, liked to get what she wanted. But the truth is, she didn’t know what she wanted. Of course, last night she’d finally gotten laid. Though she had been all the time claiming she would, she had never slept with anyone before. She’d always end up thinking about Harry. 

She didn’t know where she got it from, the guts to sleep with somebody else. Maybe it was her way of telling Harry that he’d have to fight for it, that hiding in the shadows and being shy wouldn’t get him anywhere. He needed to fight back for her. 

That’s what led her to sleep with Josh, she guessed. She had tried to see how far she could get flirting with Josh, trying to make Harry jealous until he exploded or did something. Emma wanted Harry to fight for her. 

He hadn’t. 

He had let Josh flirt with her and Emma flirt with him. Why was this so damn hard? Did he not want to fight for her? 

That was the single poisonous thought that had driven Emma to sleep with Josh. She hadn’t told that to y/n, of course. 

“I just needed to, y/n.” 

That was half-true. She did need to. But of course, she didn’t want to explain that to y/n. Not really. Especially because Emma knew that y/n was to Harry what Emma was to Tim. So if y/n had reserved herself a little from telling her about Tim, then Emma would reserve herself from telling her about Harry. 

Besides y/n’s choice to sleep with Tom was a thousand times more stupid than Emma’s choice. Emma had absolutely no feelings for this other guy and she was sure Josh didn’t feel anything either. It had just been one drunken one night stand. Nothing important. It didn’t matter. 

But she guessed y/n had some points to herself to brag about. Y/N didn’t regret her night. 

Emma had gone to take a quick shower, y/n had advised her to so Tom wouldn’t suspect a thing, and Emma would have to complain about them being loud, or whatever. 

Emma, all dressed up and cleaned and trying to put on some makeup to hide the fact she hadn’t slept at all, walked out with a towel wrapped on her head. She heard y/n’s laugh coming  from the kitchen. 

She walked closer… and Emma saw it. The way they looked at each other, so, so, so in love and she finally  understood y/n. Yes, she still thought she was an idiot but she understood it, and Emma was thankful Tim hadn’t been around to see it. 

The way they were staring at each other as if they were having their very last breath and didn’t mind at all, like telling the other: you’re worth it, you’re worth my last sunshine. It was so ridiculously romantic, Emma wouldn’t normally be a fan of that, but she felt butterflies just from watching them. Like when you’re watching a movie and see the lead romance and long for it. 

The way their laugh emerged into one and how they were trying to touch each other, not with lust but with curiosity. Not like one of those clingy couples you see on the street that are always glued to each other, no, Emma was even jealous of what they were having, hands so desperately trying to connect with each other. Magnetized skins. Not a single kiss, but it felt wrong watching them, they weren’t even touching in any compromising way. But they felt so intimate. 

Emma realized it then, why y/n was so confused. Because Emma remembered how Tim looked at y/n, too. What did that girl have that had those two idiotic men so mermerized with her? 

She didn’t blame y/n, no, she couldn’t. And Emma wished she’d seen the way Y/N looked at Tom before the engagement party incident. Then she wouldn’t have doubted her.  Because the way y/n was beaming and shining and glowing near Tom was incredible. She wouldn’t have doubted y/n. 

She’d doubted Harry, of course. That was the problem. Because why wouldn’t she doubt him? Even more now that she saw the way Tom was blown away by y/n. And how Tim was, too.

But when she saw Tom and y/n, she was reminded of her own love story, maybe the butterflies were caused because she recalled Harry, and staring into his eyes and smiling for no damn reason. Loving him for the sake of loving him. Giggling and having intimacy without even having to touch the other. 

It mirrored Emma and Harry, just as they had become engaged. Making breakfast together, music playing in the background, Harry placing a sweet kiss to her cheek, her feeling like she was in heaven. 

And she saw it now, the way y/n probably was in Cloud 9 as Tom said something to make her smile. 

It wasn’t the first time she’d seen her smile that way. Because she’d also seen y/n with Timmy, their chemistry was undeniable. It made no sense how she was seeing her now with Tom when just a few days before she’d seen her laughing with Tim, a loud laugh and a wide smile on her face, after he had said the most stupid comment, yet y/n was almost on the floor, both of them making the same stupid jokes to bother Emma. Timmy and y/n were basically the same person, it was even pathetic how stupidly alike they were. Everybody had said it, for a reason, Emma knew how perfect they were for each other. 

Emma had seen how Timmy was trying to flirt with y/n, he wasn’t subtle, and y/n did answer to his flirting from time to time. 

But Emma guessed that’s not really how love works, or was it? 

Emma could quite put her kind around y/n, but she understood why she didn’t let go off Tim either. 

But Emma also knew that to get that smile from y/n, Timmy had had to fight. While Tom only had to show up, so simply. 

Emma understood it, she wouldn’t let go off someone who made her feel...alive. Though that seemed stupid and cliché. But she’d seen a change just in two days y/n had… changed and felt. Y/N had cried, and yelled and now laughed. 

Maybe Emma wanted that, too. She knew she could feel with Harry. But… Harry probably had given up on her. Maybe Emma had to be like Tom, and make sure Harry felt something, too. 

“Morning, idiots,” Emma said before taking off the towel. “Thanks for not letting people sleep last night.” 

Tom jumped and quickly turned to see Emma. “Oh-- Hi, uh, I’m sorry.” 

Y/N only side-eyed her. 

Emma laughed. “So, you guys are a thing now?” She asked, and judging by both their reactions, she shouldn’t have. Both of them had only widened their eyes and panicked. “You know what, don’t answer that, but next time get… a hotel room or whatever.” 

Tom and y/n blushed, y/n even coughed. 

“I didn’t hear you come in,” Tom pointed out. “Sorry.” 

Emma rolled her eyes. “You guys were busy.” 

Tom blushed harder. “I’m… really sorry.” 

“No, don’t be, as long as I get some breakfast which--” Emma frowned. “Pancakes, huh, y/n?” 

Y/N looked up. “Yeah, what about it?” 

“You guys are totally cliché,” Emma rolled her eyes. 

Tom laughed. “It was my idea, sorry,” he shrugged. 

“And you didn’t complain, y/n?” Emma frowned. 

Y/N chuckled. “Why would I?” 

“Why would she? It’s her favorite food,” Tom chuckled. 

Emma smiled, slightly. Y/N was a mystery to her. 

“So, did you guys get any inspiration for the movie?” Emma asked. 

Y/N and Tom both watched her with surprise. 

“From Dirty Dancing, idiots,” Emma rolled her eyes. “You both really-” 

Tom chuckled. “Yeah,” he coughed. “I did, I did… Um, I need some 80’s songs, we, I’ve been thinking about it, the whole setlist for the dance and-” 

“That’s what you’ve been thinking about?” y/n frowned, laughing just slightly. “That?” 

Tom chuckled, and nudged her lightly. 

“Oh, please, but you guys shouldn’t have any trouble with that,” Emma commented. “Y/N here probably knows more about the 80’s than Madonna or George Michael themselves.” 

y/n chuckled nodding. “That might be true.” 

“Might be?” Tom rolled his eyes. “You know everything about the 80’s.” 

Emma grinned. “Besides, I know you, uh, okay, I might give you some ideas…” Emma bit her lip. “God, I know no 80’s songs, I know 70’s, that’s my thing, so if you guys ever need some 70’s advice, that’s my thing, but.. 80’s…” She gulped. “Uh, dunno, that catchy song um.. ‘I think We’re alone now’...” 

Both Tom and y/n once again were awkward. Could Emma say something without making them feel awkward? It was so weird and stupid. 

“Or not…” Emma finished. “But okay, so… thoughts on the script Tom, any big changes?” 

“I thought of changing the name, not going to lie,” he said. 

Y/N frowned. “Tom! What even to?” She nudged him.

“Dunno, the story of how y/n y/l/n broke Tom Holland’s heart and still has him wrapped around her finger,” Tom joked. 

“That’s a very stupid name, it wouldn’t be marketable,” Emma pointed out. “But we could change it to the script that changed all the Holland’s lives.” 

“It’s not catchy,” Y/N commented, she coughed. “I chose the name because its back to back in French, and it’s a dance step and it’s a-” 

“Metaphor, like everything you do,” Tom finished. 

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Not everything but… Yes, a metaphor and it’s a play on vis-a-vis which means face to face.” 

“Alright,” Tom grinned. 

“And dos in Spanish is… two.. so it’s just a play on words two.. To two…” Y/N coughed. 

“Alright, so I need to know more about the metaphors,” Tom grinned. “My brain is to dumb to get it.” 

“So... y/n, look I don’t want to ruin this adorableness or awkwardness you guys have but you’re meeting cast today and I don’t want you to be late, so, I need you both to get going, and stop being adorable, it makes me sick, and please Thomas, go get some clothes, don’t show up shirtless with the cast.” 

Eventually Tom had left, and Emma had seen them both hesitate when it came to y/n saying goodbye to him. He did kiss her before he left. 

Which left Emma and y/n alone to deal with the conversation, except y/n hadn’t stayed there, she had rushed to get ready. Leaving Emma alone with her thoughts again. 

But she didn’t even have the time for it before her phone rang. 

“Timothée,” she answered. “Why are you bothering me so early in the morning?” 

He chuckled from the other side of the line. “You’re so nice to have as a best friend.” 

“I’m a delight, I know,” she sighed. “So.” 

“So you slept with Josh?” Tim asked. 

“Oh, so you’re calling for that,” Emma coughed. “Thought you were going to ask about y/n first, that’s what you usually do.” 

Tim gulped. “I don’t.” 

“You know you do,” Emma sighed. “But yes, I slept with Josh, big deal.”

“You’re avoiding your feelings again,” he pointed out. “So do you want to talk about that, maybe?” 

“No, I don’t,” Emma coughed. “Look, I freaked out and... Josh was flirting and then Harry did nothing to impede it and-” 

“There it is,” Timmy sighed. “So you slept with someone to feel like you were liked huh?” 

It seemed that a lot of people did that. Sleeping with someone because they felt like shit. 

“You really can’t judge me, huh, you’re one to sleep with your exes when you know they’re-” She didn’t finish her sentence. It was too cruel to say it, and Tim was her best friend and he didn’t deserve that. 

“They’re in love with someone else, yeah,” Tim coughed. “I know.”

“Well, what did you realize? Or did you only call to judge my actions?” 

“No,” Timmy said. “I’m sorry, I want to help you out but seriously Emma you can’t keep avoiding it.” 

“And you can’t avoid it, either, Tim, you are avoiding what’s actually happening and you haven’t tried to address it.” 

“What do you want me to address?” Tim asked. 

“Oh, piss off and ask away, I know you want to.” 

Timmy stayed quiet for a bit, but then took the guts to ask her. “Has y/n talked to Tom?” 

Could Emma tell him? Did she have to tell him? It was none of her business but at the same time she knew it was. It kind of was. Emma guessed y/n was too worried on what to do with Tom that she’d forgotten that she’d kind of given hope to Tim. 

Did she have to tell Tim? Because she didn’t want him to be hurt, but he would be, anyways. 

“They’ve talked, and I mean, he went out with us last night so...” Emma started, deciding on the way what she had to tell him. “You know how it is.” 

Tim gulped. “I love her.” 

“That’s your big realization?” Emma asked. “That’s not news.” 

“No,” Tim sighed. “I just… We talked that night.” 

“Oh, you did?” Emma frowned. 

“Yes,” Tim coughed. “And--” 

“What?” 

“Well, she did say she would always be in love with me,” Tim said. “And...Well, it’s weird, okay? She said I had been the only man she’d ever fallen in love with.” 

That wasn’t true. Emma frowned. “But-” 

“Besides Tom,” Tim finished. “And that she… She didn’t believe that her and Tom could work out, that deep in her heart she didn’t believe they could work out, and that she was scared and-” 

“Tim, look, I….” Emma didn’t know how to tell him. Because she had seen y/n and y/n was so in love with Tom. It was so obvious. 

“I look, I know, I know she’s too blinded by Tom right now, but look, she was in love with him before she dated me, and I still… Like, I just need her to see that he’s not the right choice, you know? That sure, whatever, she always wanted to kiss him, but that’s not… Not what love is, you know? It’s about a deeper connection, and we… We had that, even that night, we were both so entranced with the moment, and it wasn’t…I just need a chance to prove her, you know?” 

Emma didn’t know what to tell him. Because she guessed that’s what y/n liked. Someone to have some initiative, after all, that’s why Y/N had dated Timmy in the end because he had fought for her. 

Which drove Emma insane, because why didn’t Harry have it? Why was Harry the one to wait around and do nothing? It made no sense. Because Emma needed him to, and y/n needed both of them to back away to have some time to herself. It was ironic, even. 

Harry. Harry. Harry. He had left early in the night after he’d given up with Emma ignoring him. Yes, she had been harsh on him by ignoring him, probably. But did she have any other choice? She had been heartbroken, he had basically told her: I won’t be able to be happy because you’re not her. 

It drove Emma insane. So, so insane. And sad. 

“Yeah, fight for her,” Emma sighed. “Anyway… I need to go, I’ll see you tomorrow…?” 

“Tonight, I’m coming home tonight.” 

Was Emma too proud? But she wouldn’t beg Harry, she wasn’t one to beg, no, no. And she wasn’t the one supposed to beg, was she? Emma was fierce and strong. 

And she had avoided Josh at all cost when they arrived at the studio. He had said hello but Emma had decided to follow y/n around instead.  The cast would be there later, and Emma was thrilled. So was y/n. She thought she’d see y/n all over Tom, kissing again, but their attitude had changed back to the same cold attitude from the day before. Well, to everyone else, but Emma had noticed their glancing. Tom staring at her. 

Emma didn’t look at Harry, but she did feel his staring. Harry was so stupid. Why didn’t he try to… say anything? He had said hello, and asked how she was doing but that was it. 

“But okay, we have to--” Tom gulped. Y/N and him were talking about the script, as if no trace of their night before. “I mean, each song needs to… We need a choreographer but for sure we have to decide the songs, I mean you have some here but I think we can… Build more from it you know?” 

“Yeah, I mean dancing is,” Harry coughed. “But we saw it last night in Dirty Dancing, though, how like… They build up from it.” 

“Of course, but I think, look, the songs we choose really have to be... “ She gulped. “Like okay, there’s Valerie who’s friends with Robbie and they have this… Like the music she listens to while with each of them is different. But there’s like two Valerie’s.” 

“The one who she is with William and the one with Teddy or Harry” Tom nodded. 

Y/N bit her lip. “Yeah, in a way, look, uh, the music,” y/n said. “It’s got to have different tones, like different 80’s songs, Valerie, as we know, likes to listen to Rock n’ Roll, and…Robbie does, too. And well, both William and Robbie are somehow into music, you know?” William with his dancing and Robbie with his band.” 

“But Robbie is rock n’ roll and William is… well,” Harry commented. “Of course, but music with William is-”

“Chaotic,” y/n added. “No, but the songs that we want to associate with William is the one they dance to, together.” 

“Yeah, and y/n by her own has to have her own songs, you know?” Y/N commented. “And… then we have Teddy who is the outsider, the poet, who showed Valerie other forms of expressing herself… you know? Look the script starts with Valerie’s heartbreak, and then Teddy comes in, and she decides to dance again, you know, cheerful music, she starts so somber and then-” 

“Okay but we could-- I mean, just an idea,” Harry coughed. “You wrote her Don’t Go Breaking My Heart,” he commented. “I mean it’s Auli’i and Jordan… They both sing, so maybe…” 

“I think I know where you’re going,” she smirked. “That would be cool.” 

“So instead of dancing, they sing?” Tom said. “Yeah, better, only singing ” 

“But they have to dance,” y/n commented. 

Tom frowned. “Yeah but-- It’s better if the only one she dances with is William.” 

“But she dances with Teddy, too,” Emma frowned as she finally chipped in. She knew where y/n had wanted to go with the script and these two men were too stupid to understand it. “It’s  Valerie who wanted to be a dancer and always danced by herself but stopped trying to pursue the dream after her heart is broken, and then Teddy, though he’s not a dancer, they dance together clumsily because…” 

“What?” Tom frowned. 

“Please, it’s like in Dirty Dancing, right?” Emma said. 

Tom blinked. “Dirty Dancing? But I don’t-” 

“Didn’t you get it from last night?” Emma wondered. “What the dancing is meant to represent?” 

Y/N coughed, awkwardly. 

Emma thought it was too simple to understand, knowing y/n’s story, it was so simply to deduce it. 

Yet, Harry and Tom were both watching the girls with confusion. Emma chuckled. “Okay, so Dirty Dancing is a coming of age film… Baby is embracing her sexuality,” Emma explained. “Even in the beginning she’s…Unexperienced, alright? The only dancing she initially knows is the dumb merengue lessons, and when she first dances it’s… Dumb and she doesn’t know how to, and then she’s exposed to the dirty dancing, which is exposing her to the sexuality, alright?” 

Tom closed his eyes and chuckled. “What but this is-”

“Throughout the film,” Emma continued. “We see Baby exploring her physicality through dancing, and it’s not about sex, it’s about her discovering her womanhood, and her being fine with it, and it’s such a nice point of view to see the film, it’s through the woman’s gaze, you know? Because we see Johnny as the sex appeal, not her, you as the viewer are growing with her… she’s getting confidence over her body, and--She explores it while partnering with Johnny Castle, and how he’s experienced and she learns it from another woman, too, you know, like she’s being transferred her knowledge, and in their first dance, Baby’s developing sexual and romantic feelings towards Johnny- and it represents--” 

Tom chuckled awkwardly again. “But okay, that’s Dirty Dancing, this is not--” Tom chuckled. “I mean I’m sure the dancing means-” 

Y/N and Emma were not moving. Emma thought they had understood it. 

“I mean,” y/n was shaking now. “Okay, well, you obviously know how the first dance scene with William and Valerie… first they don’t, though they want to... they just don’t dance together and keep screwing up.” 

“Yeah?” Harry was so confused. 

“And Valerie doesn’t feel comfortable dancing,” Emma continued, knowing y/n was too embarrassed to explain it to the boys. “And…then she dances with Teddy, and she’s cool, but--” 

“I don’t get it-” Harry said. 

But Emma was sure Tom had understood it by then. But it seemed that it had bothered him. 

“But--” Tom chipped in. “So the only two people Valerie ever danced with are William and Teddy? And...Teddy was the first person she danced with?” 

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perfidy  ( series masterlist)

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[ladyofthestarcourt]

moonlit memories

you have a surprise for one kaede akamatsu, one you’ve been practicing for a while now

tw: none really? after sex, just fluff

All you can feel is absolute giddiness overwhelming you, making it impossible for you to settle down. Even after everything, she’s still there, still beside you, and how could you bear to close your eyes to leave her in the darkness? 

Her hands have found their way into your hair again (somehow they always do), and you hum softly as her nails gently scrape against your scalp. She laughs, the sound breaking the intimate silence that you’d both settled into, but it’s more beautiful than any music you’ve ever heard. Kaede may be the Ultimate Pianist, but everything about her sings to you, striking a chord deep in your soul. 

You tilt your face up to hers, taking in a breath at the moonlight shining in on her face, making her look more ethereal than ever. So soon and you’re breathless once again just by looking at her. 

“Do you even know how beautiful you are?” you murmur, tracing the path of the moonlight down her jaw and grinning as she shudders. 

There’s another beat of silence from her, and when you look up she’s staring at you with enough reverence to make your face feel warm. “I could say the same about you,” she whispers. Her hands leave your hair, instead placing her hand on top of yours. “I love seeing your smile.”

You take her hands in yours, rubbing the backs of her hands and watching her slender fingers entwine with yours. Your mind flashes back to the reason why you had been aching to be with her again, and now your nerves have finally been settled enough to show her. 

“I have a surprise for you.”

Her eyes widen slightly in delight as she pulls away, taking a glance around the room. “A surprise?” 

You nod and get up, tugging on a robe and tying it loosely. Kaede watches your movements before following suit, giving you a smile that sends shivers down your spine. Her hair is still a mess, but she’s absolutely radiant and you wouldn’t have her any other way.

God, she’s exquisite.

Taking her hand once more, you lead her into the music room without bothering to turn on the light. The moonlight will do, and you don’t want to stop looking at Kaede in the moonlight. 

Maybe another day you’d convince her to dance with you, but today it’s your turn to share with her. You take a seat on the bench, pushing back the keylid to expose the ivory colored keys. Sensing her presence behind you, you run a nervous hand over the keys. 

“What’s this?” Kaede asks, her hands settling on your shoulders. You can feel the warmth of her hands through the robe, your back straightening as she gently rubs there. “Are you playing for me now?”

You carefully put your hands in position, having spent time learning a piece for her. She’d been so disappointed to have missed spending time with you this week, but hopefully tonight would make it all worth it. Being able to make her smile always was.

“I was hoping to,” you murmur, your hands beginning to find the notes for Satie’s Gymnopédie, No. 1. They’re slower than a more practiced pianist like Kaede, but they’ll do.

More than anything, you wish you could see her face right now. Her eyes were likely closed, soaking in the music the way she did the time you took her to the symphony and watched her spend hours lost in the music. Then, your thoughts were only of her, but now they’re consumed with the music you’re playing for her. Learning how to play the piece was like an intimate look inside of her mind, one that you cherished every minute of. You’d do anything to learn more about Kaede Akamatsu, anything to explore 

Her hands are still rubbing your shoulders, usually welcome but this time a dangerous distraction as your mind wanders, thinking of what those hands were doing only a few minutes ago. Maybe more, you aren’t sure how much time has truly passed. It all seems to fly with Kaede. 

Your fingers stumble more than Kaede’s, a mix of nerves and inexperience leading to more than a few wrong notes, but you keep pressing forward anyway, so focused that you only barely feel her hands leave your shoulders as she slides onto the bench beside you just as you finish the song.

There’s a faint blush on your face as you become acutely aware of your bare skin pressed against hers, still able to see the curve of her body under the robe. Several months of this and she can still undo you completely in a way no one else ever has, the way no one else ever will.

“That was exquisite,” she whispers, her lips brushing your ear making you acutely aware of the fact that you’re trembling slightly. 

You duck your head a bit, the praise feeling out of place. “It wasn’t that good, you heard the mistakes.”

She draws you closer, her arms wrapping around you as she presses a kiss to the side of your neck. “It was amazing,” she insists. “I loved it, I can’t believe you learned that for me.”

“I’d do anything for you.” The words slip out before you can stop them, hanging in the room between the two of you. It feels oddly intimate, though you have no desire to take them back. You mean every word of it.

“It’s just…” Kaede begins before pausing, her eyes wide as she looks over at you. “I’ve never had anyone care enough to do something like this for me.”

“You deserve so much more than just that,” you insist, slowly stroking her sides. “I’d give you the whole world if I could, Kaede Akamatsu.”

Kaede’s hand moves up to trace your cheek, her gaze full of adoration as she gives you a smile you know is meant only for you, one that makes you feel like you’re the only one that matters. Her lips meet yours in an impossibly tender kiss, one achingly gentle in a way that makes you yearn for more. You can feel your heart beating faster, knowing that hers is doing the same. Every kiss feels like a new beginning, something timeless and endless and you know you’re safe with her. 

It’s short, too short, but Kaede leans back to whisper, “I already have the whole world right in front of me.”

Laughing in delight, you kiss her again, caught up in the thrill of it all. Her hands tease the ties of your robe as you run your hands through her hair again, unable to stop yourself. Neither of you moves to deepen the kiss, knowing that there’s plenty of time for that later. Instead, you laugh as she moves her lips to your cheek, teasing you before leaning back to let you both catch your breath.

“Play Clair de Lune for me,” you whisper hoarsely, unable to stop your heart from fluttering as she grins back at you.

“Of course,” she says, her voice more playful than before as she kisses your cheek one last time. “Anything for you, my love.”

She faces the piano again, her fingers instinctively searching out the right notes. She’s done this a thousand times before and you know she’d do it a thousand more. She lives and breathes music and you’re just grateful that you get to be the melody of her life. 

You lean back slightly, gazing over at Kaede as she loses herself in the music once more. Her fingers move skillfully across the keys as she looks back at you, her laughter ringing in the room as you wink at her. After a few moments of just watching, you lean your head on her shoulder, knowing you’d be content to stay like this forever. Just you and Kaede, alone in the moonlight.

And you wouldn’t trade this for anything.

[my-fanfic-library]

Something Different {BBC Dracula x Reader} [10]

Masterlist

~^*^~

The doors to the room swung opened and Zoe paced in holding a metal briefcase. Her face was stoic and hard as she made her way towards you and Jack. You were both sitting together, sorting through accounts of Count Dracula trying to find something, anything. She made her way to the pair of you and set the case down.

“What’s that?” Jack piped up.

“This,” Zoe began, “is a sample of Dracula’s blood. I managed to get a little sent off for testing.”

“A little? Zoe you had a whole vile-“ you began, however she cut you off.

“Yes that doesn’t matter. What matters is that we have our lab results back. And I’m sure that you are both as curious as myself to see what’s inside the box.” She smiled, a little enthusiastic about getting the results back.

You weren’t entirely sure on how Dracula’s blood would differ from any other mammals on earth, but you supposed you could always just find out. It may be important, after all. With eager eyes, both you and Jack watched as Zoe flipped open the case. Inside, a brown paper envelope with ‘classified’ stamped over the front and underneath, secured in black foam, the vile with a few drops of Dracula’s blood left. Zoe tore open the paper and began to read.

“How utterly curious...” she mumbled as she continued to read.

“What is it?” Jack inquired.

“Dracula’s blood... it has no red blood cells whatsoever. I mean, it makes sense considering he doesn’t breathe but... you would think his bone marrow would still produce the cells anyway...”

“Is there anything else?”

“Yes... they sampled some white blood cells, for the DNA, you see... it’s... it’s completely mutated. Dracula’s DNA is so completely scrambled. It’s a mesh of DNA from all of his victims, this must be how his body accumulates the desirable attributes of his victims.”

You took the paper out of Zoe’s hands, reading the same words (more or less) in the pages. It explained a lot. How Dracula’s own biology worked.

“Whatever you do, Zoe, don’t let him get his hands on this.” You warned quietly, “I don’t doubt that he’d use it for his own gain.”

“Yes. We must keep this safe.” She took the papers back from you, placed them back and snapped the case shut, “I wish I could stay, kids, but I have somewhere to be. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

When Zoe departed, you and Jack simply went back to reading account after account, scribbling down any notes that would be beneficial to the research. Jack had wanted to say something to you about that night, but he felt a lump grow in the back of his throat every time he thought about saying a word. Maybe it was best to keep quiet for now. Besides, he knew you well enough, if you wanted to talk about it, you would.

A few hours passed, but Zoe did not return. Instead of burning your brains anymore on reading passage after passage, you decided it was time to get out for a while and take a quick stroll. Side by side, you wandered aimlessly back down the 199 steps, and took a sharp right turn down the cobbled alley that lead to the slipway and onto the other pier where the lighthouse stood proud. Instead of walking to the very end, you sat down on an empty bench, looking inwards to the harbour, at the swing bridge and the bustle of the town.

The noise was a little diluted from where you were sitting. But you could still make out the rumble of car engines, the disorder and merged chatter of tourists and citizens alike, the cry of seagulls and the occasional crescendo in the music coming from the amusements. It was peaceful. It was intimate being so far away from the rest of the town.

It was nice to be in Jack’s company.

He turned to you.

“[First],”

“Yeah?”

“What really happened with Dracula?” You turned your head to look at him.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does. It really does.”

“Alright.” You sighed, “you want to know?” He merely nodded at your strong tone, “he killed the owner of a small cottage, regained his strength and we spent the night there. All we did was talk until I fell asleep and he had to find somewhere dark to stay for the entirety of the day. The next night, we sat up and again just talked until the first train back to Whitby at 6am when he dropped me off at the train station and went back into hiding. I’m telling you, nothing happened.” You explained firmly.

Jack looked at you, a little taken aback by your confession. He didn’t know why he and Zoe had decided to distrust you. You had never proven yourself to be silly. You’d never give yourself up to a vampire willingly. They should have known to be more trusting of you. You could handle it.

“I’m... I’m sorry.” He lowered his head.

“Don’t be. We both know how Dracula can enchant his victims. Not me, though, Jack. I promise I won’t let him enchant me.”

Jack looked up. You were smiling at him. The way the sun glowed gold on your skin, illuminated your hair with a halo of warm light, glistened in your eyes. His heart stopped for a moment. When had you become so pretty?

~^*^~

[DraccyBoi: 8pm. Be ready.]

[You: you can’t tell me what to do, toothy.]

[DraccyBoi: I won’t tell you again. I’ve given you enough warning.]

Texting a vampire was always going to be an odd affair, you thought. You rolled your eyes at his last message. How he could be so charming in person and yet kind of an asshole over text was beyond you. You didn’t really have a lot of time to ponder over it, considering you had just over three hours to ready yourself.

The weekend had come and you knew exactly what Dracula was telling you to ready yourself for. Sighing, you pushed yourself up and made your way towards the bathroom. You knew it would take time to get ready, and you wanted to. Not that you needed to do anything for Count Dracula; sometimes it was just nice to put in the effort.

Halfway through your shower, the music you had been singing along to cut off and your phone began to ring. You groaned, turning off the water and sliding the button to answer and quickly putting it on speakerphone.

“Hello?” You gasped, the hot air in the bathroom making it a little difficult to breathe.

“I was beginning to worry. You didn’t text me back.” His smug voice rang through your bathroom.

“Clingy much?”

“No, just making sure you’re following orders. Are you?”

“Considering you just interrupted my shower, I’d say yes.”

“Your shower?” You could hear the cockiness in his voice, “remind me again, what does that entail? Correct me if I’m wrong but that would mean that you are currently very n-“

“Bye Dracula.”

You hung up, wishing to never have a conversation like that again. Quickly, you resumed your shower and within the next two hours, you were all ready, except for being in your dress. There wasn’t much point in getting into it an hour before you needed to leave.

Instead, you flipped through the channels until about ten-to-eight, when you clambered back up your stairs.

The dress was where you had left it, hanging up in your spare bedroom. Getting it on was a struggle, considering that the hem of the skirt came out by two feet in a circumference around your waist in the centre. It was matte, with a few rhinestones sewn on here and there to make it sparkle just a little. The neckline was a plunging sweetheart, and thick straps settled on your mid arm, between your shoulder and your elbow. You thanked your recently past self for opting to put your shoes on before the dress, and you heard the door open just as you tried to tug up the zip at the back.

“Hello?” His voice called out.

“Up here!” You called back.

You heard the rythmic thud of his shoes slowly gain volume as he made his way up the stairs.

“You’re not in a similar state as the one when we talked on the phone are you?” He playfully called out.

“No!” He chuckled at the hint of embarrassment and the clear irritation in your voice. There was a pause, “...can you come in here?”

“...why?”

“Because... I need you to zip me up.”

Now this was a turn of events. Dracula could not help the smug smirk that overcame his face. With a slow stride, he made his way into your room. The curtains were drawn, your bedside lamp illuminating the room a little. You were standing facing away from him, the back of your dress zipped down, just enough to give a tease of the dimples in your back.

The dress, as he had anticipated, fit you perfectly. With the height of your heels, the hem was merely a centimetre away from the floor. It was perfect.

“Needing a little help?” His soft voice teased.

“Just... quickly, please.” You spoke, not moving.

“Alright.”

You heard him come closer. When his fingers made contact with your hot skin, you shivered and your heart picked up the pace. He hummed. With no shaky hand like the previous men in your life, with confidence, with an oddly tender touch, he zipped the dress up. When done, he positioned the ends of your hair a little, just making them perfect.

“All done.” He mused, “look at me, [First].”

You turned on the ball of your foot. You were quite a few inches higher now and thus a lot closer to his own height. He liked how you hadn’t gone overboard with the colours on your face, opting to simply enhance your features, bar the red lipstick that stuck out and seamlessly pulled your entire look for the evening together.

His eyes glossed over you, taking in the way the dress fit you perfectly. He had never seen you so dressed up. He had never seen you looking so formal.

“Beautiful.” He breathed, “absolutely stunning.”

He grasped your hand. You enjoyed the familiar coolness that spread through your fingertips and up your arm. Locking eyes with you, and keeping them locked, he lowered his head and pressed a tender kiss to your knuckles.

“Shall we go?” He spoke lowly against your hand. You nodded.

~^*^~

In all honesty, you didn’t know how Dracula was coping. The room was full of beautiful ladies in gothic dresses, laughing, many of them being whisked around by men, similarly dressed. The room was hot and buzzing with life. You could only imagine how stir crazy the vampire was going inside of his head. However, he kept his grip on you, your arms linked as you moved through the crowd of people. He was leading you towards the dance floor...

“Drac...” your voice came out meek and you tried to pull away from him but with no avail. He simply turned to look at you.

“What is it?” He inquired gently.

“I can’t...”

“Now, [First], a lady as beautiful as yourself should have the luxury of being engaged in a dance at a ball. It’s basic social etiquette.” He spoke fluidly, as if it were simple law everyone ought to know.

“Yes, but, I can’t... I don’t know how...” your eyes were pleaading up at him, you were begging him silently to listen to your pleas. You didn’t know how to dance and you sure as hell didn’t intend on making a fool of yourself. You managed to tug your arm out of his.

“Then let me teach you.” He commanded lowly, “dance with me, [First].”

“I don’t know, Drac... there’s so many people here and-“

“And none of them are going to judge. It is my understanding that your society doesn’t know the first thing about real etiquette or balls or the such. You’ll be fine.”

He was too convincing. His voice too smooth, his eyes too genuine, his smile too kind for you to refuse. You took his hand. That boyish grin took over his face and he strode a little forwards, tugging you further into the mass of people. When you broke through the barrier, before you, many couples were swirling around. It was dizzying watching them waltz around without a care in the world. Laughter erupted from every corner of the room amongst the chatter. Dracula turned to face you.

Your heart caught in your throat as one of his arms snakes around your waist, bringing you forwards. He positioned your arms for you, and pressed his lips to the cartilage of your ear.

“Just follow my lead and you’ll be ok.” He reassured quietly. His voice melted into your brain. He was too close.

And then, he was gliding you across the room. He was smiling down at you, eyes warm unlike their usual inhumane coolness. He whisked you along, your body reacting just as it should and as he swept you up into his grasp and around the ballroom, everything faded away. It became white noise, it became irrelevant. You were swallowed by him, his arms around you, his mouth right next to your ear.

It was as if you were intoxicated.

You let him lead you around the floor, some people stopped to watch the way the handsome Count Dracula swept the most elegant young woman up at. You were quite the sight. The way your eyes were locked on him, the way he carried you with such ease. Every movement of your dress accentuated the way your body twisted and turned.

Turning on one spot, Dracula slowed. Keeping his hand firmly on your waist, he guided you down, holding you as if you were a porcelain doll. You were precious. He grinned down at you. And he bowed his head down. Your heart began to race. You sucked in a breath and his lips gently caressed the soft skin of your neck. It ignighted a fire beneath your flesh, warming up your heart and your cheeks in an instant. Your stomach flipped. He lingered for a moment. He was listening to your pulse. It had suddenly become erratic. He smirked against your skin.

When he dipped you back up, you clung on to his arms. You were breathless and your head was spinning. You looked up at him, mouth slightly ajar and eyes locked.

“I knew you could do it.” There was a hint of smugness as his lips rugged up at the edges, “dearie me, your heartbeat really is lively this evening.” He teased.

You couldn’t find any words to reply to him. You simply held onto his arms as if you were dependent on him. You continued to look into his eyes, until he moved forwards once more to press a chaste kiss on your cheek.

“Bear with me a moment, darling.” He whispered.

And like that, he had disappeared. You stood alone in the middle of the dance floor. Once you had regained some sense, you rushed away to the sides. You waited for a good 20 minutes, and Dracula did not return. You decided to leave.

You couldn’t help but feel a little rejected as you pushed open the doors, fleeing past the latecomers. Your heels clicked against the pavement. You felt stupid. Dracula did not care about you at all. He was toying with you. It was a sick game and no matter what, you would lose.

It was dark. And being alone in the dark made you feel vulnerable. You turned the corner, looking over at the whale bones that stood proud, between them the sight of the Abbey on the other side of the harbour. You looked left and right before crossing the road. When you turned your head back to look at where you had come from, you saw the familiar figure of the vampire pacing up and down on the other side of the road to the Bay Royal Hotel. You didn’t realise at first, but he was on the phone and you could just about make out what he was saying.

“No... I can’t... I’m busy... well yes, I miss you too...” who was he talking to, you wondered, “...maybe tomorrow or the night after... not today, I can’t... no... no, Lucy.”

Your heart stopped. Lucy...? She was still alive? And Dracula had left you alone to... is that why he had spent so long in London? Dread filled your gut as it sank hard and fast.

It had happened all over again.

The tears that began to spill from your eyes were unavoidable and you plucked up your dress, feeling like a cliche and rushed down the steps, away from the whale bones and as far away as you could (and as quickly) from Count Dracula.

When you reached the bottom of the steps, you were heaving tears. You plucked your phone out from your bag and dialled a number.

“Can you come pick me up...?”

~^taglist^~

@vampiregirl1797 @avalanet @bunnyreese12 @nerdonpluto @teamceleries @grifffins @hitbythunder @winterseoul @mymagicsuitcase @angeli-fucking-cat @benedictethegoddess @bloodhon3yx @nifflersravenclaw @writteninthestars288 @labelladrama @frankcastlesgrunts @angelicdestieldemon @quakerlasss @aliisa-jones @wolverinexmenn @clairedragonessbaker @voidxngel @mitsukatsu @piratewhore @your-pixels-are-showing @tardisnesss @ladydovahkiin180 @catwomom @god-of-dramatic-death-scenes @th3rah @viper-queen @mephdcosplay @greghouse7 @faeprinces @kokoro-no-yami @trishaferdream @therealmoni @crazytxgradstudent @sansthelonelypunster @crowley-needs-a-hug @girlonfireice @wasntpriscilla @ivanna6026 @greeniemoon @blueinkblot @tefymorgan @misfitgirlwrites

[monst]

Together

All Characters 18+

Challenge #4 

Todoroki shouto x Reader

Warnings: Sexy time themes mentioned. 

The last part of this mini series ^.^ Its crazy how these challenges turned into a small series O.O but, I had a lot of fun writing these and, I hope that the person who I was Secret Santa for likes them! I had fun including their favorite things into these. So without further ado:

When he had confessed his feelings for you he had assumed you would reject them. He was still under the impression that he was your charity case. Something to help you get over the sting of your soulmates death. He was over the moon when you had confirmed for the millionth time that that wasn’t the case and that you also held feelings for him. 

The both of you were content. You wouldn’t say you completed each other it was something deeper than that. Something that a soulmate mark could never replicate. It was something natural, real, raw. It was as cheesy as it sounded it was love. True and unconditional. It was forgetful of the past and forgiving of mistakes. It was something the both of you never thought you’d be able to have. 

Life had brightened up considerably for the both of you and, soon after Shouto got his GED. You were so excited for him that you proposed the both of you go out and celebrate. Sadly not everyone looked at Shouto with the same eyes as you did. Everyone still saw a ‘vile’ Todoroki. His heart swelled when you gripped his hand tighter and professed your love for him in front of the judgemental masses.  

You were uncaring of the negative comments thrown at the both of you. Nor did you pay mind to the people who tried to tell you of how disgusting he was and what he used his body for. You were well aware of what he had to do to survive and, you loved him dearly for his strength. Your lips had brushed over every wound and scar with tenderness. Nothing he had ever done in his past could sway your feelings. 

With your status you were allowed passage into the restaurant you booked however, you soon realized that even though you loved him not everyone was ready to treat him as a fellow human being. It broke your heart to see in person how awful he was treated. So the both of you resolved to keep your love between yourselves after all Claudio had once said, “Speak low if you speak love.” It was less harmful this way. Especially since you had poured your steaming drink into a particularly nasty man’s lap. 

No one at your workplace had seen you so giddy before. Your cheeks hurt from how much you were smiling. Shouto had shot you a text earlier in the day saying that he landed an actual job and that he wanted to take you out on a date. Imagine that your first date with the wonderful angel. Work couldn’t have ended sooner. And, once it was time to go you flew past all of your employees and raced home. 

An indoor date. It was cute and, perfectly fitting. He said it was a ‘game night, date night’. You figured he would pull out a couple of board games in order to keep things from getting dull. Not that a moment with him was ever dull. When you unlocked the door you really thought your face was going to split in two. He had strung up fairy lights and cleared the living room floor. 

In the middle of it was a stereotypical checkered sheet and on the coffee table to the side were the board games you held back a snort. You had come to know that Shouto although built like a greek god was a major dork who had a thing for playing board games. With a cute smile said man ushered you out of your coat and walked you over to the ‘picnic’. You giggled at the oddly cut sandwiches but, you were glad that he was learning. 

“This is amazing Shouto.” You beamed. “And, I’m so proud of you!” You squealed pulling the male into a hug. He easily melted into your embrace. A shy smile touched his lips when he pulled back. 

“I figured it would be better this way.” He mumbled not mentioning the reason as to why you both couldn’t go out for a date. You only shook your head eager to commence. 

“What matters most is that we’re both here together.” You grinned lacing your fingers with his. The both of you enjoyed the small dishes he prepared over pleasant conversations. You had asked him a billion questions about his new job which he answered with enthusiasm. 

“That’s seriously amazing Sho.” You beamed “You know what? Let’s toast to it!” You chirped walking over to your small wine cupboard. You pulled out two glasses while Shouto uncorked the bottle. Once filled the both you locked gazes. “Heres to new beginnings, new chances and newfound love.” You flushed clinking your glass with his. 

The both of you may have a bit too much to drink but conversation was lively and in the midst of it the both of you found yourselves going through the games Shouto had placed on the coffee table. You both laughed as you choose your next game, you were writing your truths or dare on the blocks some of them a bit more daring and honest than you would have written while sober. Maybe some liquid confidence was what the both of you needed….

Once the tower was built you drew out a dare. And your lover dared you to a silly chicken dance that left the both of you breathless in laughter. Feeling bold he too picked out a dare placing the wooden block atop the tower. He was a blushing mess as you had dared him to sing one of the most childish songs he knew. The both of you continued your game blissful smiles stretched across your lips. Honestly the both of you could be twiddling your thumbs but if it was the two of you doing it together it would have been the most amazing thing on earth.

The both of you were so whipped that maybe it was for the best that no one else had to witness that level of lovesick sweetness. Ironically you had pulled out a truth that Shouto had written. He knew exactly what you had pulled out the moment your laughter ceased and your smile dropped. ‘Why aren’t we ever intimate with each other.’ For all the love you had for each other the both of you had never had any more intimacy than a loving hug. And you figured you should tell the truth as to why you never initiated more daring contact. 

“I… I uh I’m actually nervous about it.” You admitted. “You’ve been with so many other people…. What if I’m a terrible kisser or I can’t perform up to your standards... I have little to no experience on the topic… So I guess I'm just worried about messing up…”

Shouto’s eyes widened in shock. How could someone as amazing as you ever think you weren’t good enough for him. Good enough for him! Him for crying out loud?!?! It was inconceivable. “You could never mess anything up. I have not ever touched or kissed someone with any semblance of the feelings I have for you (Name). You couldn’t be anymore perfect.” He smiled. “I honestly have a hard time believing you actually want to be with me...I only wrote that down because I was scared that you might have been disgusted by the thought of being intimate with me.” 

You shook your head and assured him that that wasn’t the case. At the end of the day you were intimidated by his body count. You felt ridiculously threatened by the thought that someone else could make him feel better than you. But, it was his turn to quell your worries. And that he did as he explained that sex with someone you don’t care for wouldn’t feel the same as making love with someone you do. 

“Okay I get it now.” You flushed ushering him to pull out a block you melted in embarrassment. The game continued as such. Until Shouto pulled out a saucy truth. When you saw his face tint a shade darker in the red spectrum you knew what he had read.

“Do you ever think of taking our relationship to the ‘next level’” He repeated aloud making you groan and hide your face. He reached out to pulling your face up with the tips of his fingers on your chin. “All the time. You make my heart race in more ways than one and not one night goes by without me thinking of what it would be like to be inside of you and to make you mine.” 

You leaned closer. “And why haven’t you done so.” You breathed. 

He moved in closer his heterochromic eyes gazing at you with an intensity that made you grow warm. “You haven’t asked. You have no idea how long I’ve been holding myself back. How much I want to feel your lips against mine.” He whispered his eyes fluttering down to your lips and back to your eyes.

“Then don’t hold back.” You whispered back your noses brushing against each other. 

“I don’t know (Name) I believe it’s your turn.” He mused. “I dare you to kiss me.”

“Only if you kiss back.” You replied, closing your eyes when you pressed your lips to his in your first kiss with the man. It was tender and long overdue but it was everything you were expecting; Absolutely magical. When you pulled back his hand went up to cup your cheek to pull you back in. The way your lips molded against each other felt right and just as it was getting passionate the jenga tower fell making you both pull back in fright. You gazed at each other with wide flustered expressions until you broke out in laughter. 

Your fingers ghosted over your still tingling lips when you decided to ask “So who won?”

He smirked pulling you back towards him. He looked to the mess of blocks then to you again.

“Us.” 

[lovehotelreservation]

Oh, Sweet Love - I Don’t Care How We Might Seem To Others [10/15]

Summary: There was something about that Bruno Buccellati, a gentle, charming demeanor that was as welcoming as it was mystifying. He made for a delightful guest to your hotel, never failing to bring you joy with his arrival and ache upon his departure.

This time however, things would change between you both. Or so you would try.

How hard could it be to seduce someone any way?

Rating: R

Pairing: Reader/Buccellati

[Previous Chapter]

[Next Chapter]

HOOOOO JESUS WELCOME TO

C H A P T E R  1 0

SO CLOSE TO THE END, EVERYONE! TOGETHER, LET US SEE HOW THIS STORY SHALL CONCLUDE~

PLEASE ENJOY!!!

---------------

Compared to the vast grandeur of Rome and Florence, Capri was but a speck of rich and gorgeous seaside glory.

And yet, with its long and winding roads, quaint buildings that hugged close together, and endless lemon groves and lush green fauna, getting lost in this piece of paradise was common to many.

Though, as a local, the island in its entirety may as well have been your backyard, as you prided yourself on being able to walk from Marina Grande to Punta Ventroso with your eyes blindfolded and your hands tied behind your back.

You remembered the time when you proclaimed this exact ability to Bruno during his last visit, and how he became much more flushed in the face than the glass of wine he was holding could ever conjure.

Still, surprises were inevitable, even while you were finishing up with some errands around town.

"Signore?"

"Signorina..."

Simultaneously and with utmost surprise, both you and Bruno faced one another in the middle of Marina Grande's bustling street. To your left was the sparkling blue sea waves and boats of old and present, to the right was a crowd of tourists curiously spectating the ongoing rivalry between two cafe owners trying to coax potential customers to step inside.

The initial shock did not last long, for the two of you shared a smile before drawing closer together, meeting one another halfway. You were especially delighted to see his expression, given how weary and on edge he seemed to be as of late. While you would have wanted for him to take out his stress onto you by any intimate means necessary, giving him his space was far more important in your eyes.

"What brings you here, signore? Business reasons I take it?"

"Ahh, indeed." Bruno smiled in return, even though he had just spent the past afternoon scouring for any possible remainder of Conchiglia's presence and drug embargo around the marina. "Thankfully all has been settled for now. I can finally take my time to enjoy the island for leisure."

Your hands clasped together as you gasped with sincere joy, "Oh, that's so splendid to hear! You're always so hard at work and truly do deserve to relax." After all, the more free time he had--especially since you were now approaching the end of his stay--the more opportunities there were for him to hopefully take notice of your flirtatious advances.

A small chuckle escaped him, though the look in his eyes was tender. "And the same can be said to you, signorina. Your hospitality cannot be replicated by anyone else, and such is why I will always appreciate you."

Even being a local to Capri, you still experienced a rush of heat through your face as you stood before him.

"Signore Buccellati, please, you flatter and fluster me so," you remarked, bringing a hand to your giggling lips.

"Believe me, I am sincere with what I say. However..." His smile broadened as he proceeded to outstretch his hand towards you, "...may I treat you to lunch? If you are not busy, of course."

You wanted to take his hand and place it right upon your breast, if only so he could feel firsthand the effect he had on your heartbeat. "I've just finished with my errands, but please don't feel like you must--!"

"--but I want to, signorina," he clarified, his lips still quirked in a smile. "Won't you please join me in celebration of my hard-earned free time?"

For such a tender offer paired with a man who looked to be nothing short of a prince right out of a fairytale, hand offered directly to you and all, how could you say no?

And so, maintaining your thundering heart and all, your hand clasped with his before the two of you strolled along the length of the Marina Grande boulevard.

There was a bit of contemplation on where to go, but since the both of you were by the port anyway, it was decided up to sit in at Ristorante da Gemma. With fresh seafood to be savored and a splendid view of the ocean sea right beside your table, the setting felt like one of the many dates you wished to go on with him.

How fortunate it was that you decided to wear one of your white sundresses. Though the skies were partially overcast, the air was still scorching with summer warmth. You were dressing for comfort, so your outfit wasn't as revealing as you would've wanted to seize hold of his gaze, but the skirt was still a delight to twirl around in.

Paired with his favorite white suit that was donned with golden zippers, black embroidery, and a lacy peek at his defined pectorals, your heart was giddy at how much of a couple you looked together.

Such was the perception of surrounding patrons, even if they couldn't help but eye to two of you oddly.

"So, like...nya?"

"Mmm, you have the correct inflection, but it's quicker and more like nyaa nyaa."

Surely it might have seemed odd to locals and tourists alike to bear witness to Bruno showing you how to mimic the call of a black-tailed gulls while going on about the finer points of fishing, but the thoughts of others amounted to nothing compared to how much it meant for you both to spend time together like this. To sit right across from each other, your hearts in high spirits while being in each other's company, how could you want anything more?

Thankfully, there was an unexpected but welcomed answer that would be presented soon after your lunch was finished.

As the two of you remained side by side while strolling along Via Marina Grande, lost in idle conversation that never failed to bring you bliss, Bruno let out the remark of,

"You know, signorina, despite how many times I've been to Capri, I still have yet to visit Faraglioni."

The Lover's Rock.

You almost froze in place, absolutely astounded, "Really?! I swear, that is among the first things that travelers go check out when they come here."

Bruno nodded, the beginnings of an amused chuckle escaping him, "That I am well aware of. Though, to be quite straightforward with you, I said to myself that I'd only go with the person I love."

There were those flutters again. "Ahhh...is that so?"

It was then that his footsteps began to slow to a stop, all while his eyes immediately traveled to look directly into yours. "Quite so. And thus, signorina, I must ask you something..."

He looked and sounded so serious, which only stoked your yearning hopefulness all the more, hoping to any and all deities that this was not a dream.

This was surely reality.

As evidenced by the booming sound of thunder crashing within the darkening skies above.

And then it began to rain and pour.

I don’t care how we might seem to others

[anonymouskar]

Existential pain, the journey to proper living, art and love

The last post I made on here sucked. And for a long time I’ve had no desire to write anything with more insight or honesty at all. I often want to write on here after I’ve had my fits of desperate crying. This is just a ramble of thougths I’m having these last few days. I can’t structure them properly.

Long ass, depressing text (be careful exposing yourself to such negativity, haha):

I think I have been depressed for months. I always intuitively understood depression as a reaction to life circumstances that denied your true self. I’m not at all convinced it is a medical condition. It comes when you have no proof of the parts of you that redeem the pain of being you. It comes when life doesn’t validate your worth. And I think that is mostly due to a lack of social belonging, especially in our digital, individualistic time. No tribe.

To me, we seem to be split in two. One part of us that holds the eternal, spiritual, connected and secure us, and one that holds the conscious, animal, isolated ego us. I don’t think either of these are more “true”. I don’t subscribe to any philosophy that puts one over the other. I had a tragedy happen to me, and it blocked me from living in the animal ego world. To overcome it I had to sacrifice, and I had to face everything I was most afraid of. I did it to be able to live in the natural world. I know that is why I did it. I did it because that was the only way I could manifest in that world. I didn’t do it because I thought it would make me happy, really. I did it just to make myself possible.

We all have loads to carry. And we all know with outselves that we are deeply flawed. I know about myself that I’m scared, perverted, spiteful, jealous, limited, ugly, stinking. We all know this about ourselves. It makes it hard to love ourselves. I’m not sure loving yourself is even possible. I’ve tried so much self-help in attempts to reach that, I’ve tried strengthening my ego, I’ve tried deconstructing it, I’ve tried to examine my unconscious, I’ve tried grounding myself in my body, I’ve tried alone, I’ve tried with others, I’ve tried to be stoic, I’ve tried reprogramming my unconscious. But I still can’t reach the conclusion: I am worthy. In fact I think I’m totally unworthy. And I also think that about almost every other person. Because when I look around, I see despair, dysfunction, fear - but in that I see what is beautiful, too. I love others because they are limited, scared, voulnerable. And I can appretiate that in myself, but I still don’t see worthyness.

It remains to me a total mystery that someone can just know they are worthy. Worthy of love, connection, recognition. It’s a mystery to me that someone can know that about themselves. I can’t comprehend ever living like that. Like I’m a man someone I like could want. Or that I’m someone anybody could want to live with. In fact, when people who have initially liked me, and invited me to them, I’ve always seemed to massively dissapoint them. Too shy to open up. Too scared to stand sexual tension. Too self-hating to be patient with. Too quiet to be entertained with. Too passive to excite. I dissapoint, disgust and bore.

I didn’t think I would find myself crying myself to sleep at this point. I’m 23, I’ve gotten my life somewhat in order. Seen from the outside I have every reason to smile now, compared to before. I’ve grown a beautiful beard, I’m built and slim. I look better than I ever have. I sometimes think I’m sexy. I dress well. I paint better than I ever have before, I’m in better shape than ever. I know more now than ever. I’ve taken responsability for my own life and earn my own living doing something I enjoy. I have enough money now to spend on things that should inspire me. But I look around at my paintings, and all I see is failed attempts. I found myself thinking exactly that. “Fucking ugly failed attempts”. It’s harder than ever for me to paint, because I know I will end up hating every single painting. There are two paintings I’ve ever made that I love, and those are exactly the ones I’m ashamed to show anyone because they are kitschy clishes. I’m a clishe.

I tried as good as I could manage, where I was at, to live, but I always end up looking back at failed attempts. And as long as I can go back and somehow attempt to correct them, I still have hope, but it rarely helps. As long as there is progress, right? But if the progress never gets you there anyways? When has progress ever gotten us anywhere good? “I’m making progress”, well, isn’t that just an empty hope? Isn’t hope just a reason to prolong suffering?

Hope has been such a defining word in my life. It’s has been the reason I bothered to go on. I’ve never seriously contemplated taking my own life, but I’ve had fantasies of dying. On a plane for example, I’d imagine being relieved if it crashed. Don’t think I could ever sit in a moment with myself and decide to die, but maybe accepting it with a sigh of relief if death came to me.

The way I can most accurately describe how it feels to live right now, is swimming in the ocean. I’m just keeping my head over water, if I constantly swim. And it’s not that I see anywhere to swim to, I’m merely motivated by my absolute fear of sinking into despair underneath me. The ocean is made up of resignation from life. It’s where I came from. I swam up so that I could give myself a chance to experience life. And around me, I see others doing the same, but they all seem to have something to hold onto. A piece of wood, a direction, another person, an island even. Something to give them some relief.

I was told you could choose in life. You could choose to pursue what made you happy. Isn’t that the great narrative of this era. “Become the best version of yourself, be true to yourself and become happy at last”. Well, for one it seems to me that we have almost no control over our own choices. I’m sceptical to free will. Because how can I choose my desires? How can I choose my temperament? How can I choose my choices? What leads me to act as I do seems to me to be totally beyond me. Those are forces that are ancient, mysterious and so much stronger than me. Believe me, I’ve tried. I’ve tried to reprogram myself. I’ve tried that by constructing a life that would demonstrate to me who I could be. I’ve tried to narrate my own story. I’ve asked myself “What do you want to experience?”, and I’ve tried to pursue that.

And you could ask, why force it? Why outline expectations of a life experience? Why seek out experience? Well, what other reason would there be to come to this life, than to experience? I WANT to exerience. I deeply want to. I want to experience connection, love, sex, friendship, passion. I want to fuck a woman like a man. I want to smile and look at her tenderly. I want to be a father to a child. I want to travel somwhere with a family. I want to go on hikes. I want to paint good paintings. I want to drive a car to my house. I want to have a garden and see my wife work in it while she sings to herself. I want to walk out of the shower with her in the room. I’m willing to pay for these things with years of pain. That is another life lesson I’ve learned. You have to pay for everything that is good, with pain. But I don’t see myself getting closer to it. “Progress”. Aren’t these the things that matter in life? If I died now, I know I’d think about my moments of greatest intimate connection and intimacy. I would think of smiles, glances, touch, voulnerable words shared. So, that is what I want to experience, because I think this IS what truly matters. I think it is what almost every person alive is mostly concerned with. Connection.

What upsets me most, lately, is my constant ruminations on my failed romance. Again and again and endlessly I blame myself for it all. I think back on all the oppertunities that presented themselves to me. She forgave my foolish mistakes again and again. I did everything wrong in the book, and still she came back. I said self-defeating things, I teased her too much, I was unclear in my communication, I was weak and afraid, endlessly insecure, I talked to much, I self-pitied, I over-shared. Did everything wrong. When I looked at her, alone in a room, when the atmosphere was tender and I melted inside because she was so oddly familiar and curious and beautiful. I looked away and acted cold because I was afraid of rejection. And I ended up making her reject me because I rejected myself. And I hate myself more for doing that. I never learned to stop, I just learned to hate myself more. Now when I see her I can see how she wants away from me. She is awkward. Maybe she’s ashamed too. I can’t do anything about it. But it makes me cry every time. I think I still love her. Stupid me, I love her. I love how she is. I saw a promise in her when I first met her. I found something that felt like I could belong to. I connected. I attatched myself. I thought she could nurture me, like people who matter nurture each other. It’s no shame in that, is there? Is there shame in needing validation and nurturing? Isn’t that what we all do?

Then why did I fail? If I fail again and again, in sexual, romantic encounters, then surely it’s me, and I should understand it personally, right? It’s not constant bad luck. I take it personally because it demonstrates how I can’t be who I wanted to experience life as, no matter how hard I try. And it’s a total mystery to me how someone can just accept love. They don’t know how lucky they are. Every person who has ever had someone knew that they were worthy, loveable, no matter how dysfunctional the relationship.

I don’t know that, and life demonstrates to me that I’m not.

[entergamingxp]

Towards more speculative sex • Eurogamer.net

Hello! All this week we’ll be celebrating Pride and the power of positive representations in games. Every day we’ll be bringing you stories and insights from different parts of the LGBT+ community. You can also help support Pride with Eurogamer’s newly redesigned t-shirt – all profits from which will be going to charity.

In 2015, the Wachowski sisters asked a very important question via their sic-fi TV show Sense8: If eight people were psychically connected to share each other’s senses, how would they have sex?

The answer – enthusiastically and at a distance – notwithstanding, the question itself proves important. By asking it, the Wachowskis applied a fundamental lens of speculative fiction-a view towards questioning what is, can be, or will be possible-to sex.

“Resistance and change often begin in art,” said speculative-fiction giant Ursula Le Guin in her 2014 National Book Award speech, with a pointed nod towards science fiction and fantasy. Especially now, with the rise of “geekdom” as a mainstream, socially acceptable hobby, the idea that speculative fiction helps reimagine and perhaps pave the way for new socio-technological realities is neither contentious nor particularly novel. Since people began telling stories, we’ve been imagining the impossible and subsequently using these stories to expand the boundaries of the possible. After all, long before Soviet cosmonaut Alexei Leonov’s 1965 spacewalk in a nylon and metal spacesuit, Icarus soared to the sun on wax wings.

Which brings us back to sex. While sci-fi/fantasy authors spend a great deal of time conceptualizing various aspects of our humanity, reimagining how we have sex is often passed up for more “socially acceptable” topics. For queer folks, this is significant: who we have sex with, how often we have sex, and how frequently we choose to have sex is often the basis for discrimination against queer people around the world. There absolutely exists in culture an idealized, normative sexual praxis. And to seek out representation of anything else is to delve into the world of independent artists, of queer subcultures, and niche hobbies.

Consider, for instance, representations of the bodies we have sex with, especially the sentient but non-human kind. If we can conceive of intelligent aliens with whom we form emotional attachments, we can conceive of the desire to have sex with them. And while we can dream up scores of weird, unusual or monstrous bodies against which to wage war, our depictions of aliens to have sex with is sadly lacking in diversity. Mainstream film and television, at least, are mired in the heteromasculine gaze, where fuckable aliens tend to be lithe human women with brightly coloured skin. Hell, even Jabba the Hutt, a giant desert-slug, favours oddly Western-human ideals of beauty.

Star Trek (2009)’s take on alien sexuality.

In fact, we’d rather show no body than one that deviates from our beauty standards. While 2013’s Her is a deep, fascinating look at how humans might bond with and come to love artificial intelligences, that love is a rather chaste one. Joaquin Phoenix’s Theodore is utterly content with the occasional bout of late-night dirty talk (with a hint of fade-to-black masturbation) with his disembodied, AI-girlfriend, the same activity he used to engage in with human sex-chatroom lurkers. He clearly has never heard of sex toys, nor the (rather ridiculously named, true) field of teledildonics. The movie does enter interesting territory when he tries to sleep with a human mimicking the AI-girlfriends moves according to instructions whispered into her earpiece, but this look into the sexual politics of human-OS threesomes fizzles out quickly and never resurfaces.

Contrast this with Naomi Clark’s Consentacle, a 2-player card game that embraces a monstrous, speculative beauty. You play a human astronaut and an alien attempting to maximize each other’s pleasure while in joyous flagrante delicto. The alien, Dup, is basically an enormous blue-purple head with extra eyes and multiple tentacles, complete with octopus-like suckers. The astronaut Kit is a human woman. And yet, despite the anatomical gulf, the game models their sex acts (represented via cards), as joyful an uninhibited. The two characters tease each other, bite, kiss, and caress each other, exchange soulful gazes, and insert arms into each other’s “hungry orifices”. There’s even a comic.

Naomi Clark’s Consentacle.

And why not? When we conceive of queer sex and queer bodies, we reject what is considered “normal” and embrace the unusual, the taboo, and yes, the inconceivable. Consentacle, for the most part, is a game about how partners can communicate healthily, but it’s also a game that encourages you to think about who your sex partner is and what their body could be. As a piece of speculative art, it emphasizes possibility; as a game, it invites players to make decisions and choices within these possibilities, picturing themselves, perhaps in a wholly new sexual light.

Consentacle is probably a more extreme depiction, but even when media try to depict “unusual” sexual proclivities here on earth, we’re served the same old 50 Shades of Grey: bland, sanitized representations of sexual practices that were once fiercely queer. Small wonder that “kink” has become synonymous with BDSM for many (straight cis) folks.

Games are not so shy. Alex Robert’s game POP!, which I had the pleasure of editing for an anthology of erotic games, focusses on the lives and loves of balloon fetishists. Far from mocking the practice, the game portrays its subject matter in a sensitive light. As a larp, where players create much of the story, it encourages players to be just as attentive: “keep love in your heart. Looners, as they often identify, are real people.” It tasks the players with sensitively exploring the community and society of those who have sex with balloons.

These social impacts of a more speculative sexual practice are often simplified by mainstream media. HBO’s Westworld might be attempting to question the nature of consciousness and intelligence, but when it comes to sex, the show’s message never really advances beyond, “have robot, will fuck.” Similarly, if we examine depictions of VR sex (I’m recalling Arnold Schwarzenegger’s little romp in Total Recall) the social consequence of being able to have constant idealized sex aren’t really discussed.

By contrast, Troels Ken Pederson’s larp My Girl’s Sparrow‘s zooms in on the physical aspects of sex in a futuristic world where VR is the only (acceptable) mode of sex. In Pederson’s game, the near-future world considers meatspace sex to be gauche and gross. The freeform game’s main focus is on a group of friends who rent a cabin for the sole purpose of taboo physical intimacy, and much of play consists of describing, in minute detail, the blow-by-blow of your sex acts. The game never feels pornographic, however. Rather, the detailed erotic descriptions serve to highlight the fact that these characters never get to do this in real life. “Sex isn’t an indeterminate mass – its details matter,” Pederson writes. “What we do together and how we react to each other says a lot about who we are.” How does it feel?, the game asks of you, and then constrains you further by forbidding you to ever discuss your feelings. How does sex feel when the norm is taken away from you? Or under another interpretive light, how does it feel to have queer sex?

Troels Ken Pederson’s My Girl’s Sparrow.

The concept of feeling and sensation is studied through a different lens by Kat Jones and Will Morningstar in You Inside Us-another title in the Honey & Hot Wax anthology of erotic art games I mentioned earlier. In this two-layer larp, one player takes on the role of a human colonist of a distant planet, while other plays an alien symbiont that comes to live inside the body of the former. The game asks us to examine the physical sensations we might often take for granted, and ask ourselves what physical pleasure and eroticism really mean. The two players, who maintain some form of physical contact throughout the game, describe mundane actions the human performs with their body in their day to day, and explore how it feels now that an alien is in residence. Has the nose become an erogenous zone? Does the act of eating soup now trigger tingles down one’s spine? “Be indulgent, intense, and weird,” the designers urge you, because the game is about, “making familiar sensations alien, [and] making alien sensations real and intimate.”

Jones and Morningstar position sex as something present within the banal, quotidian world. In the tiny, indie video game Stick Shift, Robert Yang does the same-only he focusses on the hyper specific act of, well, masturbating a car. Or perhaps you’re masturbating yourself via the car? Or is the car just your kink? Either way, Yang asks:

“What if sex in games was something we did, instead of something we obtained? One way to do sex is to see sex everywhere. Sex here, sex there, sex behind yonder tree!… and sex through the tender caresses that seduce gay cars everywhere.”

Robert Yang’s Stick Shift.

Yang, Jones, and Morningstar want us to normalize sexuality, want us to explore erotic possibility where society says there is none, want us to break out of the confines of “here and a this time are when you receive sex, as a result of this action.” By replacing “ordinary” with “sexual”, these games allow us to reject heteronormative dicta of what constitutes sex, give us permission to question what we ourselves desire, what we lust for, and what, for each of us, makes sex sex.

Finally, on the topic of queerness and sex, gender must inevitably come into play. Gender and the possible deviations from our binary norm are still relatively taboo topics in mainstream media. More than fifty years after Le Guin’s The Left Hand of Darkness, where the inhabitants of the planet Gethen have no gender as a default and shift gender once a month, most science fiction does little to speculate on our notions of gender. Now consider Avery Alder’s indie tabletop roleplaying game Dream Askew. You play members of an enclave of queers, attempting to “live, sleep, and hopefully heal” and maybe carve out a utopia in a post-apocalyptic world. At character creation you choose a gender. The game, however, eschews, “male” or “female”, and instead presents a variety of new options: “gargoyle”, “dagger daddy”, “ice femme”, “raven”. Alder writes:

“Creating a character in Dream Askew involves contending with gender, but it’s a gender exploded, extracted from the society intact and made mutant. What do some of these words even mean? […] When you encounter a gender word, imagine. Ask your fellow players. Flirt with a search engine. If nothing comes up, invent. No matter how you come to your initial understanding, it’s yours to continue to define through play.”

Avery Alder’s tabletop roleplaying game Dream Askew.

Not content with simply offering new ideas about gender, Alder encourages players to come up with their own, and in an unusually intersectional move, links these gendered markers to other dimensions of identity like ethnicity or social class.

If speculative fiction is to offer us a vision of a better, queerer future, we need to stop ignoring a facet of the human experience as significant as sex. Like Sense8 with its multi-gender psychic orgy, Black Mirror and its virtual-crossplay-coitus, or the legion of indie, underground games that explore the hornier side of life, sci-fi and fantasy media should strive to explore the future of fucking. We should be unafraid to poke at our conceptions of gender, prod our communities and reactions to intimacy, and probe at our kinks and desires. We need to play more with sex.

The Effing Foundation for Sex-Positivity’s mission is to reduce sexual shame and normalise conversations around human sexuality by fostering sex-positive art and education. Two generous grant from them was what made “Honey & Hot Wax” possible. You can donate to The Effing Foundation here.

from EnterGamingXP https://entergamingxp.com/2020/06/towards-more-speculative-sex-%e2%80%a2-eurogamer-net/?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=towards-more-speculative-sex-%25e2%2580%25a2-eurogamer-net