#'time at the bar' means 'you have 10 minutes max to leave'
Text
Worldbuilding Countries (Part 1)
I've lived in and visited a few countries in my life, which gave me a lot of inspiration for my fantasy novel. I'm not an expert, but I thought I'd share what I learned!
Climate
The climate will most likely come up at some point. Do you mention the cool breeze, or the orange leaves on the trees? All those nice weather descriptions will depend on the climate!
If you have a couple of different countries, it may be a little weird if they all have the same climate (especially if they are far away from each other), so there's a few things you can consider to make them a bit more specific.
Climate is of course a very complicated topic, so I will simplify it a bit.
Temperature
I like to pick a real country/city and look at its temperature graphs on Wikipedia. One important thing to note is that countries aren't simply colder/warmer than one another. I know a lot of people think that a country like Russia is cold all year round, but it is actually quite warm in summer. Some areas have a larger variation between temperature throughout the year than others (normally, the closer to the equator a country is, the less variation there is. They also tend to be warmer).
Look at Singapore:
The temperatures are basically stable all year round (the letters up top are the months). The numbers are the average minimum and maximum daily temperatures. You can see that on average the variation every day is less than 10°C.
Here is Moscow:
The temperature changes quite a lot throughout the year. Note that the maximum temperatures (summer) will occur at the opposite times of the year in the Southern Hemisphere.
You can see this demonstrated in Copiapo (Chile):
This city is in the Southern hemisphere, so their coldest months are June and July :)
One thing you may have noticed is that the bars here are taller, which means that the variation for the daily min and max are higher too. Why is that? I'm simplifying it a bit, but generally, the dryer a place is, the more variation you will get in daily temperature. Which brings us to the next thing to consider:
Humidity/Precipitation
There are a few things to consider:
Rainfall. This can vary month-by-month, and due to some complicated factors, some countries have more rain in their colder months, some have more rain in their warmer months. Some places don't follow a neat pattern or stay consistent throughout the year. Have a look at climate pages on Wikipedia to get some ideas! Even just this page on Chile has a lot of cool examples. Each city is quite different!
Although of course the "wetness" of a country related to rainfall (e.g. you'd expect greener grass somewhere with more rainfall, brownish dry grass or a desert somewhere with less rainfall), it's not that simple. UK is a wet country, right? And if you've heard of Gold Coast (Australia) it seems pretty dry, right? Well, actually the Gold Coast gets twice as much precipitation (rain) as London!
To demonstrate, I took a screenshot (randomly selected street in each city) from Google Streetview.
Why this difference? I suspect it's because the Gold Coast is much hotter. Living in Australia, puddles are normally gone by the next day (often the rain even evaporates as it hits the ground!), but in UK, the puddles would always stay around for a while.
The UK is always mossy, often the clouds hang in the sky for ages. It can look quite grey. When it rains in the Gold Coast in summer, the raindrops evaporate as soon as they hit the pavement, which makes the air feel very humid and smell strongly of rain. You can use these sorts of sensory details in your stories :)
Also, one thing I noticed, is that in hotter weather, rain can be much more heavy than in colder weather. In Australia we often get heavy rain that causes flooding. In UK the rain usually dribbles all day but doesn't get heavy. In a place like the Gold Coast you can get rain that last 10 minutes but soaks you all the way through and floods the street.
The rainfall may also vary year-by-year. Australia goes through periods of floods and droughts that last a couple of years. The mechanism is a bit complicated so I won't go through it now, but it gives you something to google!
Humidity: Deserts have low humidity, which means that you can cool off more easily in the shade and the nights are colder. The breeze feels more refreshing at low humidity as your sweat evaporates.
High humidity (like Singapore) will feel much hotter at the same temperatures and it is normally still quite hot in the shade. High humidity feels really muggy, the air feels thick. The sweat doesn't evaporate as much, so you are left all wet and sticky. The breeze can feel much less refreshing because of this.
When the temperature is below freezing, the humidity gets very low, so your skin may need more moisturiser or your lips may crack.
Those are just some things to consider while describing your weather!
Generally, closer to the sea will be wetter, further inland is dryer. Have a look at some climate maps on Wikipedia, you will learn a lot! Climate is quite complicated since there are so many factors, so there's a lot you can do with it.
UV: This is one thing that people often forget about when they think about weather. In the UK, even on a very hot and sunny day, you are unlikely to get sunburnt (unless you are very pale). In Australia, you can get sunburnt very easily in even Tasmania, which is our coldest state, even when the temperatures are chilly.
You can't actually feel being sunburnt, which I fully understood when I visited Tasmania. I was freezing, but the whole time I was being sunburnt.
Normally, UV index is higher closer to the equator, which is why people who live closer to the equator tend to have darker skin. The melanin acts as protection against the sun. Still, this protection isn't perfect, so in the real world people in Africa used different methods to protect their skin, such as using clay as a "sunscreen".
Australia has the highest rate of skin cancer in the world. This is partially because most people in Australia have pale skin (originally from the UK), but the UV index is high.
This is something to consider in your story, since it can play a bigger role in behaviour than you'd expect if you live in a cold climate. In Australia, they recommend staying indoors between certain hours of the day to avoid sunburn, and if you do go out you should wear clothes that cover your skin, a wide-brimmed hat and sunscreen. Someone with very pale skin can get sunburnt in minutes. Wide-brimmed hats are compulsory at schools in Australia - you are not allowed to play if you forget your hat.
In low-UV areas, there is the opposite issue. People with darker skin can have problems getting vitamin D. Same goes for people who cover their skin with clothing (e.g. for religious reasons). However, this is a bit simpler to fix with some vitamin D supplements.
How do I use this for worldbuilding?
If you have a map of your countries, you may want to keep their location in mind when deciding on the climate :)
I like to draw up some graphs with the temperatures throughout the year for each country and some quick notes on the humidity, rainfall and UV.
You can also add some other elements to your story. Is it a fantasy? Maybe magic affects the weather! Sci-fi? You can play with the distance of the planet from the sun, axial tilt, sun size etc. (I won't go into that since it's a whole another topic and really complicated as well)
You probably don't need to know the exact details of the climate for most stories, but having a general idea will allow you to consistently describe what sorts of clothing your characters wear, the weather etc. Those are the sorts of things that comes up in almost every story (if it's long enough).
If you read this and found this useful, please reblog so I know that it was helpful. If it seems like people enjoyed this post, I will make more (I was going to talk about so much more, but this is already too long).
#writeblr#writeblr community#creative writing#world building#writing tips#writing resources#writing advice#how to write#fantasy#science fiction#climate#writing#novel writing#comic writing#worldbuilding#fantasy worldbuilding#fantasy world#writing community#writer stuff
218 notes
·
View notes
Note
I have a Yax writing request. How about after Yakko flirting with Max so much, Max flirts back and turns Yakko into a flustered, stuttering mess? (Maybe have his sibs tease him on the side?)
Still taking drabble requests! They're making for good warmups when I'm stuck with normal writing! thanks for sending this in!
--
Flirting was something Yakko did often, and in his opinion, well. He might not have been successful in the past, well- ever, but he had no doubt in his abilities. He was still going to do it.
Plus the amused, but slightly embarrassed look on Max's face when Yakko took him particularly off guard with a well timed pick-up line or compliment? That was something he didn't intend to give up anytime soon.
And that was the norm. Max would do something funny, charming, or stunning, and Yakko would cover up the the way his breath stopped in his chest and the heat on his muzzle by putting up his familiar barrier of flirting and wit. It was a good way to get out his real feelings under the guise of a joke, and to make his friend smile at the same time.
Today however, was not the norm.
The Warners three were lying on the top of the water tower watching the clouds go by. The sound of metal creaking and soft grunts signaled the arrival of their favorite Disney, but none of them bothered to move from their spot as Max made his way up the ladder.
His face pops up over the side of the roof minutes later, and with a grunt, he leapt and grabbed the lip to swing himself over onto the ledge beside Yakko.
Yakko sat up and clapped. "Very impressive!" All three of them hold up signs to give him points. Yakko's holding a black 10, but his siblings' at 9. "Well there's no accounting for taste I suppose, you'll have to show me your "Parkour Skillz" sometime, I'm afraid with just jumping directly on the tower, I'm a little rusty."
Max, now placed between him and his sister, laughs and returns the joke. "If I could teach any old man how to pull it off, it'd be you. I'll show you sometime."
Yakko's heart swelled at the compliment. He deflected it off with a joke. "Then it's a date."
What Max said next, what Max did next was something new. He turned one way to dot and cocked a hand out toward her, then spoke much like one would expect for a gossiping hairdresser. "Oh my GOSH, darling can you believe it? After all this time, And here I thought he didn't like me!"
Dot, ever the one to pick up a bit quickly, sat and faked painting Max's nails, replying in that same tone. "Oh lucky you! You'll have to bring the boy 'round here sometime, let him meet all the girls!"
"Goodness will I ever, you know I introduce you to all my new boyfriends Margaret."
Whatever Dot said next, was lost on Yakko. The continued mentions of date and boyfriend, were a bit much for his heart to take. He felt much like a teapot. Emotions bubbling and ready to scream.
"Well your nails look lovely now if I do say so, you'll be all ready for your date with that Yakko boy."
Yakko was thoroughly flustered now, only able to watch in shock as the bit continued.
Max blew at the tips of his gloves and pretended to admire them. "Thank you so much Margie, they're as beautiful as ever."
Dot and Wakko both decide now was a good time to make their departure. Traitors, leaving him alone to deal with the racing of his heart. As they jumped down, his little sister made two more comments. "You must tell me how your date went when you're here next." Then again, in her normal voice, laced with sincerity. "You must, Max."
He swallowed, and waved her off. "Um, yeah, if he'll let me."
If he does the what-the who now? Let him? Yakko? Let Max? Take him on a date? Let? As if that wasn't the deepest secret clutched behind the bars of his sole since they'd met?
"D-do you, do you maybe- um. I mean if it's ok..." Yakko trailed off. He was hopeful, but he really didn't want to be made an idiot if he'd misread everything that just happened.
"Make it a real date? I'd love to."
59 notes
·
View notes
Note
R Daniel beeing overworked. I remember reading an interview that he is quite shy about feedback so for 2024 RB is planning a lot of stuff for him. Daniel being a little anxious about it, but he doesn't want to be a bother.
So in comes Max, who is taking no shit and his boyfriend will have some free time and moments to enjoy racing in Australia. The pr team apologizing to Daniel. He is a bit ashamed but secretly really glad that max got protective and very thankful afterwards...
Daniel collapsed on the couch in Max's driver room- exhausted and it was only lunch. Since he left their hotel room this morning he'd been carted around Melbourne. First it was Good Morning Australia, then the Today Show where he'd done that 'fuckin Chaos' half smile with Oscar. Then there was something with ESPN and two radio shows.
He was finally at Albert Park but he was loath to actually leave this room. His calendar was an ugly thing to look at. Lots of overlapping red and blue and green bars. He yawned the reached into Max's personal fridge and stole one of his coconut RedBulls. He'd just stay here for a little, then maybe scarf down a muffin and then hope the rest of the day goes by quickly.
The door opened and he was greeted by Max's annoyed media face before it melted into his Daniel smile.
"hey Babe." Daniel waved, patting the couch beside him.
"you made it." Max teased. And Daniel snorted.
"yeah I'm surprised too. Did you know they added like 3 more appointments this morning? I found out in the car." Daniel yawned, shaking his head. He knew it would have been a shit show but he'd at least hoped that when Lindsey had said that she'd make sure it was 'light work'- that she'd had been able to keep that promise.
"what do you have after this?" Daniel couldn't parse Max's tone, but he opened up his calendar anyway. A pop up appeared asking him to confirm an appointment in..... 10 minutes. Well, there went his muffin.
"well, gotta go Maxy. Dinner later? At like...9ish? Maybe?" Daniel got up and scrolled through the calendar.
"No."
"Fair, I'll let you know when they release me." Daniel tucked the phone in his pocket.
"No Daniel. I mean, this is ridiculous."
"what is?"
"your schedule. Yeah it's your home race but you-"
"babe your schedules always chaotic in zandvoort and spa..." Daniel furrowed his brows.
"yeah but when I block out time to rest, they don't fuck with it." Max pointed out. He got up and walked to the door. "Stay here." Then he was gone.
Daniel watched the door with wide eyes. only moving to drink his red bull. Max was back ten minutes later.
"come, we're going to lunch. Then we have a joint presser."
"I'm sorry what?"
"I- I didn't yell at anyone ok? But of course I made it known that this shit was unacceptable. So Gemma and Lindsey moved around some stuff. Now- lunch."
Max had that stubborn clench to his jaw that he got when he expected someone to chastise him. Daniel merely cupped his cheeks and kissed him solidly.
"thank you for taking care of me Maxy."
13 notes
·
View notes
Text
A break in the narrative of TOMORROW'S JUST ANOTHER DAY for a flashback to Burbank. 1989. (6101 words)
read on AO3 (better for your eyes) → or keep reading here below the break ↓
BURBANK 1989
He waited for the craft service manager to leave to empty the coffee urn. She’d be gone ten minutes max so he had to work fast. He pushed a cooler to the edge of the table, stood lightly on the lid and surveyed the end-of-day remnants. He grabbed the bowl of Hershey's Miniatures and up-ended them into his backpack. Same for the bowl of trail mix. The hummus wouldn’t keep and he didn’t have a container for that; he’d have to eat the carrot sticks he already swiped from the green room plain. Everything else was too picked over.
He jumped off the cooler and opened it— only a couple cans of TAB and RC Cola left. He closed it in disgust. Craft service was tapped, he could give the green room another once-over but he already had snatched up the last third of the party sub, the crudité platter and a bowl of M&Ms.
He turned back in a rush, smashing directly into someone walking the other way. He bounced backward, dropping his backpack and all his raided provisions spilling onto the floor
“Whoa whoa whoa,” a familiar voice admonished, “Watch where you’re goin’, kid.”
“Mr. White! Sorry, I—” Billy collected his wits and then dove onto the pile of peanuts and M&Ms leaking out of his backpack.
The taping ended an hour ago, why are you still here?”
“I missed my bus back to the hotel so I’m just killing time, I guess,” Billy lied, stuffing as much food back in his bag before Mr. White noticed as he could. White didn’t seem very observant, focused fully on the craft service table.
“I gotta stay to record promo bumpers for all the affiliates on Fridays,” Mr. White muttered sourly and then sniffed loudly.
Billy looked confusedly at Mr. White, out of wardrobe and wearing pale-gray jeans and a polo shirt.
“Audio only,” White explained, looking back at the table, “Someone took all the Krackel bars! Nuts!”
Billy spotted a miniature Krackel he had dropped next to Mr. White’s foot. He retrieved it and held it up in White’s field of vision.
“Thanks, kid,” White snapped it up and stuffed it in his mouth, “Oh, you’re the champ this week.”
White never learned the Quizboys’ names. They turned over too quickly. Two tapings a day five days a week with only one champion carrying over from show to show, that’s 21 Teacher’s Pets he had to feign interest in meeting on-camera and then never making eye-contact with after.
“Yeah, Billy Whalen,” Billy introduced himself again. Not just “this week” but the last three weeks but he wasn’t going to correct the host.
That was the problem. He had come out to Hollywood to tape his episodes with only two changes of clothing and no long-term plan of how to take care of himself. The production paid for his flight and his hotel room but other than that he was left to his own devices. He got paid $10 a day as an appearance fee, but his winnings were locked up until he ended his streak. He couldn’t drive and Los Angeles wasn’t terribly accommodating on the public transportation front.
There was a long weekend starting tomorrow that meant no taping on Monday, meaning one fewer day of meals and one fewer 10-spot provided. He always collected the leftovers at the end of a shoot day to tide him over into the weekend but he felt unusually desperate and was pushing his luck.
“Hardly behavior befitting a Quizboys champion to be stealing craft service, huh?” Mr. White teased him.
Billy froze and felt like he was going to cry, “I don’t want to, but we’re not shooting for the long weekend so I needed to take something to eat tomorrow.”
“I was just kidding around, loosen up, kid,” White said, smacking Billy on the back.
“We get catered meals on set, but if we’re not shooting I just stay in my hotel room and watch TV. I figure food left at the end of the day is stuff no one else wants so I can take it. It’s not really stealing, if it’s gonna get thrown away, right?”
White was sort of half-listening until the content of what Billy was saying sunk in, “Wait, No food. Alone all day in a room for… how long have you been on the show?”
“Three weeks,” Billy reminded him. That means he had been on-camera ‘introduced’ to Mr. White thirty times.
“Where are your parents, kid?”
“I came by myself,” Billy said with a tone of finality indicating he didn’t want to get into it.
“All that time by yourself. That’s awful,” Mr. White was horrified.
“That’s showbiz,” Billy threw jazz hands.
“Fuck it. No,” Mr. White took a stand, “Leave this. Come with me. I’m getting you a decent hot meal.”
Billy hesitated, “This seems like a conflict of interest. A Quizboy fraternizing with the host might smack of favoritism.”
“Why? I don’t decide who wins. I didn't write the questions. I’m just the dancing monkey who reads the cue cards. Who cares?” White shrugged it off.
“What about taping the bumpers for the affiliates?”
White sniffed, “Eh, fuck ‘em. They can use ones from last week.”
Billy walked meekly behind Mr. White as he charged out of the studio, still doubting if this was ethical but also really, really hungry.
White walked him to a kitted-out Suzuki Samurai parked around the block from the studio, “I don’t even get my own parking space on the lot, if you can believe it. Fuckin’ cheap ass production.” He sniffed audibly.
Billy was awestruck, “Is this your car?”
“One of them,” White grinned as jumped into the driver’s side, “Hop in.” Billy eyed the three foot rise from ground to car warily.
He scooted over to the passenger side and extended his hand, “Sorry, I’m a bonehead. I’ll give you a hand."
Billy grabbed it with his foot on the edge of the running board, White heaved and pulled him into the truck.
White started the engine and peeled out of the parking space, jostling Billy out of his seat. He grabbed at the seat belt over his shoulder, trying not to be strangled by the awkward angle. Other cars honked, which White cheerily ignored, fiddling with the car radio to find a good station.
Billy studied his host away from the studio lights and he seemed weird. Uncanny even. He wore sunglasses while driving even though it was already early evening but, Billy rationalized, he was a celebrity and that was par for the course. Billy couldn’t quite figure out why he looked so… wrong.
“Mr. White, do you always keep your TV makeup on after the taping?” Billy asked as he and the other contestants were scrubbed clean by the make-up department as soon as the cameras turned off, the more histrionic losers having already cried off half of it before the credits finished rolling.
“I wanna get out of the studio faster so I take it off at home when I shower,” White shrugged, pulling into traffic recklessly with a wide turn.
Billy nodded. It made sense. It was really sticky, greasy thick stuff and it smelled oily. He couldn’t wait to get it off at the end of the shoot himself, but he didn’t have anywhere to be. If Mr. White was just waiting around to record audio bumpers today, he had time to take the make-up off, didn’t he?
“Learn to drive, fuckhead!” White yelled out of the window at a car that honked at him, even though he was running a red light.
The car was brand-new and lit-up impressively. The top of the line stereo pumped She Drives Me Crazy. White even sang along tunelessly. He sure seemed a lot younger than he did on set, but maybe it was the change of wardrobe or that his words weren’t written for him or that he no longer had the authority to give and take points from him.
"Your car's kinda dusty," Billy observed.
White glanced over at the powder on the dash and quickly wiped it away with a finger, "It's wind from the desert. It blows all kinds of dust and grit in the air. I must have left the window open. Forget it."
“It’s awfully nice of you to worry about me,” Billy said, “You probably have a lot of cool friends you could be hanging out with and, like, Hollywood parties to go to on the weekend.”
“Not really. Nah,” White dismissed, “Unless there’s promos to shoot or public appearances for the show at a mall or something I usually just stay home and watch TV, same as you.”
Billy assumed he was humoring him so he wouldn’t feel bad.
“But I can drive and have money and do adult stuff so it’s not exactly the same,” White qualified his answer, “I really wanted a hot dog right now so this worked out great for all parties.”
They approached a boxy building with bright pink awnings just off the intersection of LaBrea and Melrose.
“We’re not going to Spago?” Billy moaned sarcastically.
“No Wolfgang Puck on a first date,” White quipped back, pulling into the small parking lot behind the hot dog stand, “This place has been here forever. It’s a landmark! Orson Welles ate eighteen hot dogs in one sitting here! That's probably what's in those lost scenes of The Magnificent Ambersons, I bet. Just Orson scarfin' down wieners.”
“I thought it’d be in a building shaped like a big hot dog,” Billy said, trying not to sound disappointed.
“You’re thinking of Tail o’ the Pup,” White said, “You know Bruce Willis proposed to Demi Moore right here... Aaaand Aaron Spelling orders a hot dog from Pink’s every day that he’s working in his office up there.” White pointed towards the CBS studios up the block.
“Pink’s Hot Dogs appears in the opening credits of The Golden Child,” Billy said idly, dropping non-academic trivia after hours.
“Whaddya doin’ watching R-rated movies? That’s not a kid’s movie.” White taunted him, “Someone oughta put a parental lock on the cable box in your hotel room.”
“It’s only PG-13,” Billy defended himself, “Fifteen uses of ‘ass,’ two ‘asshole’s, eleven ‘shit’s, three ‘bastard’s, two ‘hell’s, and one ‘goddamn,’ but no f-words at all!”
“What, did you have a bingo card you were filling out?” White mocked him with a snort.
It was late but there were still a dozen people waiting in line at the stand. White mentioned that the line is twice as long during the day and it wouldn’t be more than a few minutes before they got to order as he sniffed and wiped his nose.
"Do you have allergies, Mr. White?"
"Something like that," White shrugged, "Get anything you want, kid. It's on me."
Billy studied the menu card in front of him, with the dozens of hot dog combinations with celebrity names, “I guess I just want a plain hot dog.”
“C’mon. Live a little, Billy!”
Billy sighed and announced, “I want a John Tesh dog with onion rings. And an Orange Crush!”
White nodded and ordered, “Gimme a Marlon Brando. A John Tesh. A side of Tom Berenger and an Orange Crush.”
White paid and waited, Billy walked around to the patio to claim a table. They settled in to a hot dog feast al fresco in the cool of evening.
A woman in a bikini roller skating down LaBrea with a boa constrictor around her neck passed
“Welcome to Los Angeles,” she said, skating a ring around their table, waving her snake as she moved on.
“She seems friendly,” Billy observed, a little confused.
“So,” White asked through a mouth full of chewed bun, “Why’s your head so big?”
“That’s pretty tactless, Mr. White,” Billy mumbled.
“What can I say,” White threw up his hands, “I’m a no-bullshit kinda guy!”
“I was born with hydrocephalus. It’s colloquially known as ‘water on the brain.’” Billy shook his head demonstratively, making a faint gurgling sound, “It’s better than it was. I had brain surgery after graduation so I don’t leak anymore.”
“Huh,” White said flatly, “That’s cool.”
“I know I look kinda weird.” Billy muttered apologetically, breaking eye contact.
“What, are you nuts? You look fantastic!” White reassured him, “Despite the haircut.”
Billy suddenly felt embarrassed. What was wrong with his hair? Half the teen idols on the cover of Tiger Beat had this haircut. He roughed it up with his hands. Maybe that would fix it?
“Actors hang out here during the day waiting to be ‘discovered,’” White mused while stuffing an onion ring in his mouth, “I never wanted to be an actor. This is my first TV job. I was on radio before this, but they needed someone fast when they shit-canned the old host for getting ‘handsy’ with the Quizboys.”
“Prof. Dolan? No way!”
“Yes way!” White argued back, “They paid plenty to keep it out of the Enquirer, too. Settled out of court with all the kids. A real shit-show.”
Billy was shaken. He had watched Prof. Dolan's reign as Quizmaster on the show since he was five. He always assumed he had just retired.
“He’d take the champ and the runner-up back to his dressing room and give ‘horsey rides.’” White air-quoted, slowing the words down as if this had some well-known double meaning. Billy didn’t know and didn’t want to know what he was implying. He caught Billy’s expression, “Don’t worry, you would have been fine. You weren’t his type— he liked blondes with sad eyes.”
“Are all grown-ups this fucked up?” Billy finally muttered.
“Language,” White tsked.
“Ugh, you sound like my mom.”
“Jeez. I’m not that old. I gotta talk to Wardrobe about the hokey suits they stuck me with. Like I’m frickin’ Richard Dawson!” Mr. White said indignantly, “I only graduated from State, like, two years ago. Less than that!”
“That’s what I’m using the prize money for! To pay for college!” Billy interjected excitedly, “We blew my college savings on medical stuff.”
“Keep winning like you have been and you’ll cover tuition, housing and textbooks and still have money left over for beer bongs.”
“My top choice school is MIT,” Billy announced and then added, “You sound like you might be from near there, Mr. White.”
“Me? Yeah, the general area, I guess,” White prevaricated. He thought he had done a pretty good job rounding out the corners on his regional dialect to Broadcast Standard English but the kid was perceptive.
“Have you been to MIT?” Billy asked, hopefully.
“They had a good radio station,” White searched his memories, “Back in high school me and my friend Donnie would steal his older brother’s car to drive down to see bands in Cambridge on the weekends. That’s as close as I got, though. Sorry.”
“I’m from the East Coast, too,” Billy offered, “This is the longest I’ve been away from home.”
White seemed distracted, rubbing his teeth and gums vigorously with a finger.
“Are you ok, Mr. White?” Billy asked with concern, “Do your gums hurt?”
“Huh?” White said, caught in a tick, “Oh yeah. Just giving them a ‘finger check.’ Gotta floss more. Gingivitis can creep up on you.”
“I think I just saw Dabney Coleman walk by,” Billy whispered excitedly while standing on his seat, craning his neck to see further.
“Hey kid, why are you still wearing that?” White asked, gesturing up and down to Billy’s blazer over a sweater and khaki pants with a knit tie that he was wearing during the taping.
“I don’t have any other clothes,” Billy confessed, “I didn’t think I’d still be doing this three weeks later so I didn’t pack anything else.”
“You’ve been wearing the same outfit every day for three weeks? That’s disgusting,” White turned up his nose.
“No, I have two outfits. I wear one while I wash the other one in my bathroom sink. I trade off every day,” Billy said.
“At least take the tie off when we’re not on the show so this doesn’t look like a job interview.”
Billy slid the knot down and unbuttoned his top button.
“Better,” Mr. White pointed with the butt of his hotdog, “That settles it. Tomorrow I’m taking you to buy you some decent street clothes.”
“You wanna experience Los Angeles at the cusp of a new decade at the end of the Millennium?” White pontificated, gesturing broadly as they rode down the escalator, “Then you go to the mall. The Beverly Center Mall if you can swing it.”
“There’s a scene in Less than Zero set at this exact mall,” Billy quizboyed.
“Jesus Christ, don’t tell me kids are reading Brett Easton Ellis novels now,” White peered over his sunglasses.
“And it’s in Beverly Hills Cop. Briefly,” Billy added.
“Ok, that one is definitely R-rated and—”
“Eddie Murphy says ‘fuck’ in it 60 times,” Billy said with a naughty smile.
They walked off the escalator, crowded by shoppers, as dozens of neon-lit store signs twinkled at them across the atrium.
Mr. White always looked really stylish and put-together, Billy thought. Even when they were just hanging out at the mall he had a deconstructed white linen suit over a pastel-colored t-shirt. Billy reached up to flick some specks of white from his otherwise impeccable jacket’s cuff
“Guess the powdered donut I had for breakfast got away from me,” White laughed.
“Or your dandruff shampoo isn’t working well enough,” Billy suggested snarkily, even though the placement of the white specs didn’t make sense for either of those explanations.
White was still wearing his sunglasses even inside the mall. They had only a slight warm amber fade to them so Billy assumed they were just his regular glasses he wore all the time but it made it hard to look him directly in the eye. He had a big expensive-looking watch– probably a Rolex or something, a small gold chain around his neck and a signet ring with a pink stone on his finger. The only off element was the silky bandana-type wrap he wore on his head— a kind of tight-fitting fabric cap that covered his hair completely.
“It’s a du-rag, Billy,” White had explained on the drive over, “I put a conditioning treatment on my hair this morning so I gotta keep it covered while the chemical processes. You call it vanity, but it’s all part of the job. Gotta be slick and shiny when the cameras roll next week, y’know.”
“It still looks super weird,” Billy felt comfortable enough with Mr. White to offer his opinion. He didn’t feel comfortable enough to bring up that it still looked like he was wearing his TV make up from yesterday or he had put on a brand new face of thick foundation even though they weren’t shooting that day.
White spotted the green sign of the United Colors of Benetton, steered Billy away from the Electronics Boutique and in the front door. Here was a brand that was trendy, but not too intimidating to a fashion novice with, presumably, pretty conservative tastes. Plus they had kid sizes.
“I applied to work here when I was in college. Never hired though,” White remembered bitterly, muttering under his breath, “United Colors, my ass. I guess ‘No Color’ isn’t included that union, huh.”
Billy wasn’t listening, just overwhelmed by the size of the store and all the bright colors. Pop music blared from the sound system. Blown up photos of cheerful diverse groups of young attractive people of all races wearing primary colored Euro-Preppy outfits on white backgrounds smiled at him from the walls. Inclusive, sure, but all of them had a head-size proportionate to their bodies.
Mr. White walked with him to the kids’ section.
"You're really going above and beyond, taking me shopping, Mr. White," Billy said, "Spending all your free time helping some kid you hardly know with his problems."
“It’s kinda fun. Makes me feel useful, too. Reminds me of when I was back living at home with all the cousins and nephews and neighborhood kids underfoot. Lookin’ after 'em. Keepin' em outta trouble. I never thought I’d miss that but being out here is kinda… I dunno... isolating?”
"What do you mean? Don't you have lots of friends from being on TV?"
"It definitely helps when booking restaurant reservations, but otherwise... nah. I don't even hang out with any of the people who work on the show, it's too awkward. You never know who's on the way out or who's trying to get you fired or take your job."
Billy looked up a shelf that stretched up to the ceiling with tiny square cubby holes for socks in every color of the rainbow.
“You end up alone a lot of the time. Alone and doing nothing. Alone in your car waiting in traffic. Waiting for a call. Waiting to go on set. Waiting for someone to tell you to do something. Makes me feel like my brain is atrophying," White sniffed noisily and wiped his nose, "I used to be wicked smart before this gig, y'know?"
Billy watched his expression shift from melancholy to resolved.
"But not today! Today belongs to us," White went over to a table of folded sweaters in neat piles,"Pick out whatever you want. Get a week’s worth of clothes. Extra socks and underwear. I’ll cover you and you can pay me back out of your winnings.”
Billy hesitated. “Don’t make fun of me but… I’ve never bought my own clothes before. My mom always picked them out and told me what to wear.”
“Explains a lot of your ‘look,’” White sniffed. Billy pouted. “What can I say, I’ve got a good eye for ‘Sunday-Best picked-out-by-mom’ after 250ish fuckin’ episodes now. I tell ya I got sweater vests dancin’ before my eyes when I go to sleep at night.”
Billy snickered. White smirked, “Buying clothes doesn’t have to be a drag. Get something you like, not what your mom likes.”
Billy looked around at the sweaters on tables, the hanging racks, the open shelves with stacks of folded shirts. He didn’t even know where to start.
“What’s your favorite color?”
“I dunno,” Billy thought, “I like green, I guess. Green or yellow.”
“Good choice. Nice contrast with the whole carrot-top you got goin’ on.” White encouraged him while pulling a striped green pullover from a shelf and handing it to him. “Try it on in a couple sizes. These koo-koo European numbers on the tag are meaningless to me.”
Billy made a selection from the rack and walked to the dressing room, White followed him and sat outside the door while he dressed.
“From now on, bring your laundry to the studio on shoot days. Wardrobe can wash them for you,” he shouted over the door, “Unless you, like, crap your pants or something. Don’t bring that to the studio.”
“I’m not going to... soil myself,” Billy sputtered with disgust from inside the room, “Jeez Louise!”
"You say that now but you never know,” White shook his finger, “In a close game those final question challenges get pretty stressful.”
Billy groaned.
“Hey. Did you pack a bathing suit?”
“No.”
White pulled a pair of swimming trunks from a rack behind him and tossed them to Billy, “Get those, we’re going to the beach later.”
Billy hesitated, “Do I have to get exactly this pair or can I pick out one that will fit?"
___
Billy had donned one of his fresh new styles to make his debut on the Santa Monica boardwalk. A butter yellow rugby shirt with mint-green stripes over avocado green elastic-ankled slacks. He mussed up his hair to look beach-ready. For the first time in his life, he thought he looked pretty cool (allowing for the whole "built like a bobble-head and shorter than parking meter" factor).
Mr. White donned a bolero hat in bleached straw with a wide brim and switched to a pair of much darker tinted sunglasses. He draped a cashmere scarf in muted mauve over his shoulders. Being out in sunlight was unavoidable in Los Angeles, so he had strategies to protect himself while still looking the peak of yuppie au courant.
“C’mere kid,” White grabbed Billy by the shoulder and squatted in front of him. “You ain’t got much of a nose but it’ll still hurt like hell if you get a sunburn on it.”
Taking a dab of sunblock (top of the line stuff, from France) from the tube, he patted it on Billy’s nose and on the top of his ears. He squirted a streak across the palm of Billy’s hand and indicated he should rub it into any other exposed skin.
A woman in a bikini with a boa constrictor draped around her neck like a scarf roller skated the opposite direction as they walked down the boardwalk.
“Welcome to Los Angeles!” she shouted behind her in a sing-song voice as she whipped past.
Billy did a double take “Wait, is that the same woman from—”
White cut him off, “Nah, there’s tons of them.”
“This is gonna sound weird, Mr. White, but I’ve never been to the beach before,” Billy said, his hand on his forehead shielding his eyes from the sun overhead as he looked out at the small waves lapping at the sand.
“Really? Never?”
Billy nodded, “I’ve even been to California before— four times! Never once made it to the beach.”
White snorted derisively, “No beach. Just came out to admire our world-famous freeway system.”
“My mother didn’t consider the beach culturally or educationally enriching. Didn’t think it was a good use of my time.”
“She sounds like a barrel of laughs,” White said snidely.
Billy counted on his fingers, “I came out twice for academic tournaments at CalTech. Once for a conference at Stanford and once to… UC Irvine, I think. It was some UC school anyway. I was only three. Some grad students let me play Asteroids on a terminal hooked to a DEC PDP-11.”
White smiled nostalgically, “Ah, the DEC minicomps. Gorgeous machines. State had one avocado green.”
“Wow, you know about computers, Mr. White?” Billy was blindsided by Mr. White’s hidden depths.
“My sophomore year, I secretly coded a program in ours that would randomly generate different ‘fuck off’s to any subsequent entered commands. Made the Freshman lab seminar think the machines had attained sentience,” White laughed.
“You can do computer programming, too,” Billy shouted, even more amazed. He already idolized Mr. White for being tall and handsome and cool, plus being on TV, but if he knew computer stuff, too, he was ascending to god status. Mr. White might even challenge Rusty Venture for his all-time personal #1 hero pedestal.
“Oh sure. I got my BS in Computer Science. I ain’t just a pretty face, y’know.” White winked, “Theoretical and practical. Hardware. Software. Circuit engineering. Hacking, Cracking and limited Phone Phreaking.”
“That’s so cool,” Billy bounced on his heels, having found a kindred spirit, “You’re a scientist.”
“Scientist-Non Practicing,” White clarified, “Other than working as an involuntary help desk every time a boss bought a computer, I haven’t actually used those skills since graduation. I’m probably really behind the technology. I only got through C, never mind the C++.”
“How did you end up being a TV star if you were a computer scientist?”
“‘Star’ is really pushing it, pal,” White dismissed. For a smart kid, Billy was investing the low-budget production with way too much pop-cultural influence. It wasn't even a network show, just pretaped and syndicated to a patchwork of markets. White would make more money managing a Gap Kids or a Banana Republic over the chicken scratch he was paid.
His condo and his car leases were covered by his… other job.
“You’re squinting pretty hard there,” White noticed.
“I don’t have any sunglasses and no hats will fit me.” Billy sighed. “I’ll be OK.”
White made a bee line for a kiosk on the side of the boardwalk, gesturing to Billy to follow him. A standard little pushcart, stocked with water wings and beach balls and extra tanning lotion. Of interest to them was the rack of cheap hats and sunglasses.
“This looks like it’ll fit,” White joked, putting a kid’s inflatable pool ring on Billy’s head like a swan-headed crown.
“It doesn’t give me any shade, does it?”
White pointed at a rack of cheap neon-colored plastic sunglasses. Billy scowled.
“They’re not going to fit.”
“Humor me.”
Billy sighed and demonstrated, slipping the glasses arms over his temples, warping the hinges long before the bridge met his nose. He forced the glasses on with a shove, the arms digging into the side of his head before snapping off from the pressure and they fell from his face.
“You break it, you bought it, chief,” barked the vendor.
“Yeah yeah yeah,” White mumbled, handing him a couple of crumpled dollars while still combing the racks. He found a plastic sun visor on an elastic strap. He snapped the elastic and showed it to Billy.
“How about that? Pretty clever.”
“No way. I’ll break that, too.” Billy predicted.
White thought and then grabbed a second one, paying the vendor for both. He pointed at a fluorescent green boogie board in Billy was examining. “And I’ll take that, too.”
White gave Billy money to get them both frozen yogurt and sat down with the two sun visors. With the Swiss army knife in his pocket he cut the elastic off the first visor and used it as a donor to extend the length of the second. He didn’t have the means to sew or staple it on so he tied it on in a flat-lying knot. He bent a paperclip into a little slider to keep the free end slightly adjustable. It wouldn’t last more than the day but it was good enough to let the kid wear a stupid sunhat the same as any other normal kid could.
He finished up his jerry-rigged creation just as Billy returned, handing a paper cup to White without ever detaching his tongue from his own chocolate-vanilla swirl cone.
“Taa-daa,” White announced, holding up his creation, “I MacGyvered it.”
He slipped it over Billy’s head— the transparent plastic visor looking woefully tiny on his forehead, but actually casting a little shade over his eyes— and tugged on the loose elastic to cinch it on. It fit.
“You actually did it,” Billy said, “I’m totally, totally impressed.”
“Now let’s get to that beach you’re here to see.”
Finding a stretch of empty sand, they left the boardwalk for the beach proper. White hung back towards a bench with a city-provided parasol covering, well in the shade. Billy kicked off his shoes, pulled off and tossed aside his flashy Benetton duds revealing the swim trunks and t-shirt underneath.
“Before you go in, lemme refresh your sunblock or you’ll look like a boiled lobster on camera.”
“How about you Mr. White?”
“I’m already all blocked up. I took care of myself before I left the house,” White waved him off. Billy noticed Mr. White seemed to have put more clothes on since the morning, he was wearing his driving gloves on and had a long-sleeved shirt buttoned right up to the edge of his throat, plus that scarf draped over top.
“You’re not going to go in the ocean?”
“There’s a provision in my show contract that I can’t get a tan. It fucks up the lighting in the studio if I’m a different color. So I have to stay in the shade.” White gestured at the beach umbrella overhead
Billy looked a little disappointed, “That’s not gonna be fun. We came all the way here.”
“I live here. I can go to the beach whenever I want. You run around and go in the water.”
Although disappointed, Billy accepted it. He grabbed his neon boogie board and ran toward the ocean whooping cheerfully, his oversized Fido-Dido t-shirt all but entirely covering him.
“Hey! Hey! Hold up!” White called out.
Billy trotted back obediently.
“Whaddya doin’ keeping your shirt on when you're in the water? It looks dorky. You scared someone’s gonna make fun of your fat boy tits or something?”
Billy screwed up his face, disgusted, “No! Of course not.”
He peeled off his Fido Dido shirt defiantly and threw it on the ground. He threw a stink-face and a crotch-thrust at White before dashing back towards the ocean giggling.
“Oh shit,” thought White. Not what he was expecting on the secondary sexual characteristic front. He was more than a few Tanner Stages off in his estimation of how old this kid was. Speedos didn’t leave much to the imagination and he definitely wasn’t wearing the right size. Billy seemed oblivious, hopping over the incoming waves on his stumpy surfboard and screaming in delight.
White sat on the bench, thinking. The whole day in retrospect suddenly felt kinda shady. How did he feel more like pedophile because the kid was older, that made no sense! He didn't have any kind of attraction to any fuckin' kids; he just felt bad and wanted to do something nice. He shook the thoughts from his head. Fuck what people read into it.
Billy took a break from swimming and padded up to him, his sea-salt-scented bangs clinging in fettuccine strips over his forehead. White handed him a rolled towel.
“How old are you really?”
Billy stared innocently, “Fifteen. Why?”
“All this frickin’ time I thought you were like seven or something.”
Billy frowned, “Because I’m short, right?”
“And the haircut, honestly.”
Billy scowled and shook his wet hair like a dog drying off.
“The show thinks you’re a little kid, too, y'know. You were competing against 2nd Graders! I'm gonna have to tell 'em.”
“I never claimed to be anything. Your casting people made an assumption at the audition that I chose not to correct," Billy said snottily, “I could have shown my ID if they asked.”
“Yeah, well, Casting is coked to the eyeballs. They’d book a ham sandwich to be a contestant.”
“'Coked to the eyeballs?'” Billy repeated, confused by the phrase.
“Never mind,” White shrugged, “I’ve gotta pick up a package in Sylmar, all the way down in the Valley so I should get on the road soon. Are you ready to go?”
Billy nodded, wrapping himself in a towel. They walked back to his car.
“Now that I know you’re actually a teenager I guess I should be taking you to more mature attractions, huh?”
“Can we go see boobie movies?” Billy asked, wide-eyed and vibrating with excitement.
“Not that mature,” White rolled his eyes, “Not if you’re calling a skin flick a ‘boobie movie.’”
—
His car idled in front of the hotel as Billy got out.
“Did you have fun today?”
Billy smiled and nodded.
“Whenever you feel sad sitting alone in that hotel room, call me up and I’ll take you out for ice cream or something. No one should be alone because they’re different.”
Billy was alone more for logistics than his personal uniqueness, but it was still a heartfelt gesture.
“Even if you just wanna talk about anything that’s bothering you,” He reached into his inside jacket pocket and handed Billy a business card, “Any stupid thing. I’ll listen. I get it. I’ve been there.”
Billy turned the business card over in his hand, confused. Tasteful thickness, eggshell texture. “But it’s blank?”
White grimaced, “It’s printed white on white. Tilt it in light.”
Billy held the card up at an angle and the name Mr. White followed by his phone and a pager number flickered in subtle glossy relief to the pale nimbus background. There also was a thin edge of powder grains stuck to the long edge for some reason. He flicked them off.
Billy squinted at small writing next to his name “Why does it say '250 per gram, delivery no pickup' at the bottom?” White ignored him, and clasped his hand.
“If you’re feelin’ alone in the world just... know I’m here for you, kid.”
“Same for you,” Billy said back, but then second guessed himself. “I mean, if that’s not too presumptuous, Mr. White. I don’t know anything about your life. I’m just a kid but… it schucks to be alone all the time.”
“Yeah,” White agreed and sniffed.
“Goodnight, Mr. White.” Billy looked up at him with his puppy-dog eyes, “Thank you. Really.”
to be continued...
I gave up on posting fiction here because lack of interest and tumblr's annoying text layout but this story has TWO Illustrations and is mostly self-contained so maybe some fan might stumble onto it and get some enjoyment out of it, y'know.
→ Chapter title is a 1991 Boys II Men hit. Did I think it came out in 1989 when I titled this chapter? A little bit.
→ On a TV or Movie set, “craft service” is an assortment of snacks that is set out for the cast and crew to nosh on during breaks in shooting. Because hot meals (provided by a different department “Catering”) come at weird times on shoot, craft service keeps people on set (not ducking out to buy food). There’s a hierarchy of who gets to eat when (eg, SAG actors before non-SAG). A green room is the waiting room for guests (different than a dressing room— one room shared by all the guests) appearing on a talk show or game show and there’s usually a catering tray there, too.
→ Most facts about swearing in Eddie Murphy movies, Pink’s Hot Dogs and the Beverly Center Mall are accurate. I made up some of the hot dog names; I don't know what was on their menu in 1989. The Beverly Center Mall was the setting of 1991’s Scenes from a Mall, which was shot a year after this chapter is set.
→ A lot of that business card crap is a lift from American Psycho. Another novel by Brett Easton Ellis, came out 1991/set in 1987, movie made in 2000.
→ If anything else that needs explaining, ask me
→ the rest of the story is on AO3, but this flashback is a one-off scene. (It mostly takes place in 1995-1996 when Billy is 22, living in the trailer in the desert.)
A Conjectural Technologies backstory story ('95-'96ish)
→ with illustrations ←
Billy has a crush on the mean grrrl who works the video store.
Pete disapproves and suddenly finds himself ever-popular with a whole new fan base
#billy whalen#billy quizboy#pete white#vbros#flashback#origin story#fiction#the venture brothers#the venture bros#the invisible hand of fate#fanfic#fanfiction#ao3#ao3 fic#ao3 fanfic#1989#quizboys#mall#beach#scenes from a mall#hot dog
19 notes
·
View notes
Text
So Din WAS going to find the circuit board for IG-11 himself. We just had to interrupt that with the Bo-Katan scene where she tells him to go to Mandalor (which he already was going to do...?), end the episode, do the circuit board quest on Tatooine at the start of the next episode, then he goes to Mandalor like Bo-Katan said.
I don't want to tell Jon Favreau and Dave Filoni's hat how to make TV shows, but maybe do the Peli Motto thing at the end of Episode 1, then Episode 2 starts with him trying to join up with Bo-Katan, she says fuck you, he goes straight to Mandalor.
Why would you do it the other way? It doesn't make sense. I really don't understand why they did it this way.
I like the part when Din and Grogu and R5-D4 were exploring an ancient ruined mine and got attacked by frost trolls.
Why do I suddenly have an urge to play Skyrim? Huh.
And I feel bad saying this, but stop trying to make R5-D4 a thing. Seriously. He is a one-off sight gag of an exploding prop robot from a 46 year old movie. Leave it alone. This season of course has Grogu, and also those cute little mechanic guys. You don't need to be pushing Wacky Broken Coward Robot on the 6 year olds.
I mean, it didn't work back when Lucas tried it with C-3PO. And that was when the only alternative was a 7 foot Sasquatch who screamed like a walrus all the time. And kids picked the Sasquatch.
Also...I'm not saying this show has become a stunt man gesticulating in Mandalorian armor while Pedro Pascal got paid to record lines out of context over Skype on the set of the Last of Us. But I am saying that if they decided to make the next season that way, I can't imagine it would look radically different.
[Aside: Disney, out of all the streaming apps I use, yours is not the worst, that would be HBO Max, that shit crashes every time you dare to use your phone for anything besides watching 20 year old Adult Swim cartoons. But only the Disney+ app keeps coughing and sputtering every time my wireless connection gains or loses a bar. Shudder doesn't do that. Fucking TUBI doesn't do that, and Tubi is free with ads.
Stop arguing with DeSantis about what the King of England said you can do for 10 minutes and fix your shit that you keep making me pay more for.]
1 note
·
View note
Text
I’m Still Hurting (F!Reader/M!Orc)
Pairings: Fem!Reader/Male!Orc
Genre: Urban Fantasy, Angst
Warnings: (Almost) Infidelity
Word Count: 3376 words
Summary: Your boyfriend does something he’d never thought he’d do, and you’re left to try and pick up the pieces.
Request: can I make a request? About an angst story between an m!orc and f!human. I like the idea of like maybe the orc sorta misses being with other orc women or like she can't fulfill his needs and she hears this. I like the idea of almost infidelity
A/N: Surprise bitches! I’m alive! And back with some delicious angst for y’all!! I really loved doing this request, as I don’t often write full on angst. I am also working on a fluffy request at the moment, if some of you would like some nice comfort after this haha. Hope y’all enjoy!
Honey ❤️: Babe
Honey ❤️: Babe please answer the phone I need to talk to you
Honey ❤️: I know you’re angry, you should be angry, but please talk to me
Honey ❤️: Baby please
“____? Is that my phone?” Brynn yells from the kitchen, already mixing another cocktail for you to down. Her bright red horns peek over the living room divider, bouncing back as she grabs the alcohol from the fridge. Still looking at your bright screen, you don’t even have the energy to respond.
“____?” You throw your phone away as she peaks her head over, giving her a shameful look. Brynn furrows her brow, pulling away from the kitchen island and putting one hand on her hip. “Was that him?” With your eyes darting back and forth from the pillow you shoved your phone under and Brynn’s face, you nod.
“Y-yeah, it was him.”
Brynn sighs, fiddling with her hands.
“Listen, I don’t want to tell you what to do, especially not tonight, but I just think-”
“No, no, it’s alright. You’re right, you’re right.” A jolt hits you as your phone vibrates, the vibrations rumbling through the fabric and stabbing right into your stomach. You force yourself to look away, fiddling with your fingers. Brynn shoots you a pitiful look, you’re sure of it, even as your efuse to meet her gaze. “I shouldn’t talk to him tonight. Not right now, not when I’m like….this.” A slow, tired breath escapes you. “I’ll make him wait, just like he did.”
The coach cushion bends as Brynn sits next to you, rubbing your shoulder as she leans in for a side each. You accept it, your body like a deadweight as you let yourself go slack in her arms.
“Do you want anything? Chocolate, maybe a movie? I’ve got some leftover cheesecake?”
“A movie sounds nice.” You murmur, nodding against her chest. Brynn hums, her tail coming up and massaging your lower back as she kisses you on the forward.
“Of course, your choice. Do you want me to get your drink?”
You nod once more, letting Brynn untangle herself from the hug and laying back on the couch, grabbing the comfiest blanket and the remote. You quickly flick through you and Brynn’s ‘most watched’ section on Netflix. You need something new tonight, something to get your mind off.
All your regular comfort movies are romances, after all.
By the time Brynn comes back, a rum and coke and a carton of ice cream in hand, you’re already snuggled into a blanket burrito. She hands you a spoon and the glass, which you wordlessly accept. She sits down and throws a hand over your shoulder, trying her best to massage the left over tension in your neck. You sink into the feeling, pressing on your movie of choice.
“Mad Max: Fury Road, huh? I’ve heard this movie’s great.”
“Yeah,” you whisper, “It is.”
And chocked full of shitty men getting what they deserve.
As the opening title plays, the deep voice of Tom Hardy kicking the movie off, you snuggle into Brynn’s side. Your phone buzzes again, but it’s drowned out by screaming men and loud engines. Just how you like it.
Honey ❤️: Could you call me in the morning?
Honey ❤️: I’ll leave you alone for the night, I’m sorry
Honey ❤️: I love you
--------
Waruck sighs, his fingers shaking as another small ‘message delivered’ shows up on his screen. No response, just like the last 15 texts. He finds himself typing out another anyway.
I love you so fucking much
It reads, but is quickly deleted. Waruck clicks off his phone, but it stays in his hand, taunting him. The black mirror shows a sad, pathetic boyfriend, getting the silent treatment.
He falls back onto his bed, exhausted from a day of doing nothing. Nothing but worrying and feeling guilty, with the occasional flicking through TV channels and texting his girlfriend.
It’s getting late, his bedside clock cutting through the dark of his room to remind him he’s been up for almost 16 hours now. Waruck slides a hand through his hair and gets up. He’s going to have to camp out in front of the TV, because he knows he won’t be able to sleep tonight.
Not after what he did.
--------
He had gone out with friends. Friends from highschool who he still occasionally chatted with, friends he didn’t even really like anymore. But the past two weeks had him feeling oddly...nostalgic, like something was out of place. So when his buddy Simon had invited him to the bar, he had eagerly accepted.
He remembers grabbing his coat, you sending him a text to have fun, and him not replying. He didn’t know why he didn’t respond, he still doesn’t. The two of you had been going strong for almost 8 months now, with only the occasional hiccup that most couples have. So why didn’t he respond? What made him casually throw your sweet remark to the side like that?
Waruck shakes his head, trying to focus on the movie in front of him. Now isn’t the time to get existential over tiny shit like that, not with how the rest of the night went.
When he met up with the group, Waruck immediately knew that tonight was going to be different. His current group of friends are quite different, less rowdy, than his old posse. At only 10 PM, three of the guys we’re already halfway drunk, saving a spot in line from him outside the noisy bar. The electronic music that thrummed through the concrete and out onto the street reminded him of how much time has passed, how different his usual party-scene is now, and he revels in that feeling of former good-times.
Simon greets him with a hug, the guys shouting his name as he joins them. From the corner of his eye, he sees a gaggle of girls giggling.
And that's where it started.
An orc woman, dressed in a beautiful black dress, winks as she passes him at the bar. Simon nudges his side as Waruck takes a drink.
“Dude, that chick is totally sending you the look”
Waruck furrows his brow, stirring his drink.
“What’s ‘the look’?” He says, taking another sip of his scotch.
Simon rolls his eyes. “The ‘come hit on me’ look dude! That’s the sign you need to go for it!”
“I have a girlfriend, Simon.”
Simon scoffs, throwing his hand out dramatically. “What, that human chick?”
Waruck has half of mind to set down his drink and ask Simon what he means with that sarcastic tone of voice. It pisses him off, but he says nothing, just rolls his eyes.
“No offense, bro, she looks cute and all. But is she really worth missing out on some great ass?”
Waruck grimaces and shoots Simon a dirty look. “Jesus, Simon, are you serious?”
“I’m serious! When was the last time you had fun, y’know? Everyone knows an orc chick can throw down, wild-style.” Simon nudges him in his side, playfully, but it only serves to make Waruck more annoyed. “C’mon, you seriously don’t miss it?”
Waruck should tell him a firm ‘No’, finish his drink, and leave. He should call a cab and go home, call you and rant about his gross misogynistic friend from high school.
But he doesn’t.
The part of him, the part of him that feels slightly off, wonders if this is it. It had been a long time since he had been with another orc. You were a great girlfriend, but so different from in so many ways. Is that it?
Maybe relieving the old days will satisfy whatever longing he has, and then it will leave forever. Would that be so bad, to let loose for one night?
Waruck feels a tap on his shoulder, and turns to see the orc girl from earlier; The one who sent him ‘the look’.
“Hey handsome, can I buy you a drink?”
Between the boosted bass of the music and the orc woman pressing up against him, Waruck doesn’t notice Simon slip away, giving him a pat on the back.
Leave, say no, tell her she’s got the wrong guy, you fucking idiot. His consciousness yells.
“U-uh, sure.” He stutters.
She introduces herself as Naz and says she noticed him the minute he walked in.
“Hard not to notice the best-dressed guy in the room.” She flirts, pressing herself closer and up against him.
He has a thousand little moments like that, to say something; To pull back and apologize, but he doesn’t.
Instead, he slips into a corner booth with her, purposely ignoring the texts you send to check up on him. You had remembered that he wasn’t sure how much fun this night would be, and routinely checked in if he needed a convenient excuse to leave early. You’re sweet like that.
Naz is sweet too. She's a great conversationalist, with a good head on her shoulders and an interesting career in zoology. Waruck could see the two of you being good friends.
Is that why she seems so alluring? Because she’s so similar to you? Waruck’s mind does mental gymnastics to try and justify his hesitance, his compliance in believing that maybe she has something different after all, even though he knows that isn’t true.
The two of them talk for a solid hour and a half, Naz slowly inching herself closer and putting a hand on his knee. His body screams in resistance, his stomach tying up into knots, but he doesn’t push her away.
“So, I’ve got a room not too far from here. What do you say we go make ourselves a bit more comfortable?”
This is his final chance to find an excuse and say goodnight. To run back home and forget this ever happened. But the words are caught in his throat and he’s further silenced by the nearby whooping of his asshole friends.
“Yeah, Waruck! Get some!”
Naz chuckles and mistakenly reads his seething anger at himself with embarrassment for his friends. She leans in, grabbing his jaw, and whispers.
“Let's give them a show, huh?” Then, she kisses him.
The noises of the bar, his friends, and Naz all drown away as her lips mold into his. Waruck’s body goes rigid, terrified as time seems to freeze as he kisses someone who is not his girlfriend.
But all of that stops when your ringtone begins to blast in his pocket. It should be near silent when compared to the pounding bar music, but that familiar jingle seems to cut deep into his skin and skewer his heart. Waruck pulls away with a quick jerk, Naz almost falling over as he pushes himself into his seat and away from her body-heat. Every nerve is a light with tension as he quickly pulls out his phone.
There on the screen is a picture of you, your contact name, “Sweetie❤️”, shining through the dimmed light of that bar. Waruck breathes heavily, feeling like he’s just run an emotional marathon, stuck in his own head until Naz slides away from him.
“Wait, hold on, do you have a girlfriend?”
Waruck looks at her, then looks at his still-ringing phone, then back to Naz. He nods.
Naz's face curls up into obvious disgust, quickly directing her body to be as far away from him as possible. “Fucking hell, dude. What the fuck?” She grabs her handbag and stomps out of the booth, not before throwing her drink in his face and telling him to go to hell.
He almost watches her move across the bar, most likely to go complain to her friends about the asshole she just wasted the last 2 hours chatting up, but all he can focus on is your picture on his phone.
--------
Waruck practically runs out of the bar, his whole body covered in sweat and his mind racing a mile a minute.
What the hell was wrong with him?
He felt like a 15 year old, goaded into another shitty prank just because he wanted to look cool in front of his friends, buying into their weird bullshit about humans. Was he seriously going to throw away your wonderful relationship over one night, over one urge?
Naz had been strikingly beautiful, in all the ways he was taught an orc like himself should look for. She could probably get any guy in that club tonight, but she wasn’t you. You’re different, but in so many cool, inconsequential, uniquely-you ways.
Waruck doesn’t know how long he walks before he sits down outside a cafe, trying to collect his racing emotions. He feels gross, sticky with the kind of sweat you only get after too much alcohol and too many people. The screen of his phone seems to reflect every smudge and finger-print as he swipes it to unlock it, finally getting the courage to read your text messages.
They start off normal, spread out over several hours. The occasional “How are the guys?” and “Hope you are having fun! Just let me know when you get home safe.” before dropping off into nothing. Right up until 20 minutes ago, where you send a short and curt text that has his heart dropping to his stomach.
Sweetie❤️: Can you call me right now?
Sweetie❤️: Waruck, I need to talk to you
Sweetie❤️: Are you still at the bar?
After that is a notification of your missed call from earlier and Waruck can’t help but feel guilt stir in his gut.
It could be nothing, something unrelated to what he almost did tonight. But the notification he gets from his Instagram says otherwise. It says a mutual of his tagged him in a photo 30 minutes ago.
Waruck feels like vomiting when he opens up Simon’s story and sees a shaky picture of Naz, draped over him in the corner booth, with him looking all too happy to have her there. The caption reads
“At least someone’s getting lucky tonight 🤣🤣 #BoysNight20XX”
But what comes next is even worse; An even blurrier photo of Naz kissing him, both of their eyes closed as she almost sits in his lap.
Waruck can’t even look at the caption, quickly exiting out of the app and calling you.
He needs to explain himself.
But what will he say?
The phone rings, rings, rings….
Waruck waits with bated breath, thinking you’re going to let it go to voicemail, but you answer. There is no cheerful “Hi Babe” or even a tired and drawn-out “Hey.” Instead all Waruck hears is a shaky sigh, waiting for an explanation.
The words stay caught in Warucks throat, trying to find a way to maneuver and swing around to a solid excuse, a lie he hopes you won’t catch.
But he can’t, he can’t. Not to you.
So you make it easy for him, like you always do, and start the conversation off instead.
“Were you flirting with that girl?”
Waruck’s mind doesn’t give him a choice, the truth already spilling out like a tidal wave.
“Yes.”
Waruck hears you suck in a breath, before you shakily ask once more,
“Did you kiss her? Did you kiss her back?”
“Yes.”
There's 15 seconds of brutal silence as Waruck sits with his confession. In the moment, Waruck feels like he can hear your pounding heartbeat through the receiver.
You hang up.
---------
You hate the weather outside for two reasons.
One: You had far too much rum last night to enjoy any amount of sunlight. And,
Two: On a terrible morning like this one, it feels unfair that there aren't any dramatic thunder storms.
The bell rings on the cafe door as you walk in, causing you to wince as you pull down your sunglasses.
Thank god for the low lighting of these cafes.
You rub your brow, eyes scanning the menu above the bar. Some caffeine should do you good, at least with your headache.
But when you spot him, tucked away at a table, tapping his foot, all that aching pain seems to fall to your subconscious. Before you can meet eyes, you look away, forcing yourself to re-read the menu and blink away your tears.
You face the inevitable when you put in your order, turning to walk towards Waruck. He’s locked his gaze into the wood grain of the table, his large body hunched up and small, like he wants to sink into the shadows. He looks like shit, with large bags under his eyes and a nervous tension in his face.
He startles when you pull out a chair, sitting down across from him, but quickly curls back into his ball of shame. He looks so guilty, a small part of you wants to comfort him and tell him it’ll be alright.
You punch away that part of you with a baseball bat.
“Why did you flirt with her?”
Waruck says nothing. He looks at you with his tired eyes, big and racked with guilt.
I don’t know. They whisper.
Your fingers dig into your jeans, anger boiling up and through your nerves.
That’s not a good enough answer.
“Were you,” You suck in a breath, trying to control your volume, “Were you going to sleep with her? If I hadn’t called you, would you have-”
“No!” Waruck nearly shouts, shaking the table as his knees bang against the bottom, but he recoils once he sees the way you flinch. “No, I wasn’t going to.”
Those pesky tears press against your eyelids once more. You can feel your nails digging indents into your thighs.
“I don’t know if I can believe that.” You whisper, failing to catch the crack in your voice.
Waruck’s brow furrows as he nervously chews his bottom lip. He tries to meet your gaze, but you seem to look right through him.
“I know.” Waruck sighs, bringing his hand up to rub the back of his neck.
There's a tenuous silence; Waruck tries to find the words to fix things while you focus on the details of the cafe walls, examining every nook and cranny as you try not to sob.
“I-I understand if you don’t trust me. I understand if you hate me, or you want to break up. But please, please know that I love you, and that I’m sorry. I never wanted to hurt you. I’ve been kicking myself over flirting with that girl because I love you so fucking much. I-”
You hold up your hand, stopping Waruck in his tracks. He realizes how loud he’s been talking and that people are beginning to stare. He huddles back into his corner, tucking his hands into his lap. You let out a long breath. Waruck takes the risk and looks up.
When his eyes finally meet yours, he realizes just how sad you look. A treacherous tear has begun falling down your cheek, sending a lightning bolt of remorse into Waruck’s chest.
You take in another deep breath, wiping away the tear with the back of your hand. You look at Waruck, exhausted.
“I don’t,” You falter, but catch yourself, “I don’t want to break up with you. I just don’t know if I’m ready to forgive you yet.”
Waruck nods, fiddling with his fingers.
“Of course, I get it-”
“I’m not done.” Waruck quickly shuts his mouth. “You hurt me, Waruck. Hurt me in a way I don’t think I’ll ever forget. So I need time. Time before I can even see you again without thinking,” You hiccup, but this time you let the wave of emotion hit you, full force. “Without thinking about that night.”
A lady calls out your order, but neither of you makes a move. You sit in each other's presence, trying to wrap yourselves around the mess of emotions, trying to read the others mind without seeming too obvious.
You both sit here, in the presence of something that's been broken, damaged in a way that’s cut the heart of your chest and slams them on the table. There’s a crack that runs down between you two, inching open more and more with each breath.
But somehow, somehow, you both think you have a chance of fixing it.
554 notes
·
View notes
Text
Happiness [Maxwell Lorenzano x f!Reader]
Author’s note: Please heed warnings before you read. This is angst. There’s a little fluff and a few spicy moments, but at its core, this is a pretty angsty read. It’s a different interpretation of Maxwell, post WW84. Reblogs are so appreciated. I worked really hard on this and it’s not showing up in tags so if you could reblog it... it would literally mean the world to me :( <3
Summary: After the dreamstone debacle, Maxwell Lord loses custody of his son, his home, his job and all his wealth. He has nothing, and what was once the simple task of ‘living’, is suddenly proving to be extremely difficult. Until a beacon of light enters his life. He can only hope that you don’t find out who he really is.
Word count: 4000+
Rating: 18+
Warnings: depression/suicidal thoughts, PSTD/trauma implications, poverty, starvation, binge eating, allusions to sex, male masturbation, food and drink mention.
Masterlist
Max is usually pretty good at keeping himself to himself, but when he hears the commotion from outside his small shanty apartment, he cautiously stalks towards the front door and leans into the wood, gazing out the peephole. He spots you, struggling to unlock the door located on the far side of the hall. Your arms are filled with brown paper bags and an abundance of cardboard boxes circle around your feet. He hears you curse as you drop one of the paper bags. It rips, and groceries spill onto the floor with a clatter. He swallows thickly, feeling his tummy grumble at the sight of fresh fruit and colourful veg. Max hadn’t eaten a single meal this week.
He spends a few more seconds watching you struggle, before the guilt swarms over him and he feels like a creep. He does wonder if he should leave his apartment and help you out though, but eventually he decides on turning his heel and walks back to the torn leather sofa. He just knows he’ll be some kind of intrusion on you. If Max has learned one thing, it’s that he needs to stay away from other people. Otherwise, he’d just hurt them. Even if hurting them was the last thing he intended to do.
Still, he finds himself marvelling over you. He wants to go over and introduce himself. He thinks you’re absolutely stunning. Maybe it’s just because he hasn’t seen a woman (other than his ex-wife) in just short of a year, or maybe it’s something more genuine -- like the way you wear your hair or that glimmer in your eye. Once upon a time, Maxwell would’ve strolled on over to your apartment with the utmost confidence and charm, with the sole intention of winning you over and taking you back to his place. He wouldn’t dare do that now.
He stares at the wall clock, and watches as the minute leg ticks. It’s painfully slow. It’s 5:52pm, and Maxwell is just waiting until 6pm, because he knows at 6pm he can call his son, Alistair. If he tries calling a second earlier though, he is certain his ex-wife will throw a rage, claiming that he’s breaking court order. Maxwell had never been one to follow rules, but now, he didn’t have much of a choice. As he waits for the leg to strike 6, all he can really do is think about you. Truth be told, he hates that he’s thinking about you this much. He doesn't even know you.
But you’re so pretty. Your features are soft and delicate. Your clothes fit you perfectly and hug your body in all the right places. He can’t help but think what you sound like. He wonders if you’re from around here. He wonders why you moved into this particular neighbourhood, out of all the other neighbourhoods in rural D.C. He should go over and say hello at least. It would be the polite thing to do. He considers bringing over a bottle of wine to make a peace offering, but then he remembers all he has in his refrigerator is a stick of butter and a bottle of milk that has grown old and fermented. He assumes that you probably wouldn’t care for such housewarming gifts.
Maxwell calls Alistair as soon as the clock turns six. As always, Alistair is more than excited to speak to his dad, beaming brightly down the line. Alistair tells Maxwell about his step-father, and how he’d built a pool in their back garden for Ali and his mom. Max’s lips curl into a frown when he realises that his ex’s new husband is giving Alistair everything Max couldn’t. And once again, Maxwell feels like he has failed as a father.
For a short while, Alistair babbles about his day at school and how he got full marks on a pop quiz. Maxwell is as proud as punch. He has no doubt that success will one day find Alistair, he just hopes Alistair has an easier time handling it. Max can hear a faint yelling in the background of the phone call and eventually Alistair is interrupted.
“Oh-- mommy is calling me to eat dinner.” Alistair says softly, his voice suddenly growing oddly timid. Max’s stomach grumbles again at the mention of dinner.
“But we still have ten minutes left of our phone call.” Max replies matter-of-factly. He hopes Alistair can’t hear the disappointment in his voice. This isn’t his fault. He hears his ex yell again and Max can’t help but feel his face harden with disdain.
“I know, I’m sorry daddy, but I have to go.” The croak in Alistair’s voice is enough to break Maxwell’s heart. He wishes this could’ve been different. It should’ve been different.
Max knows he can’t argue though. It’s only futile. So he accepts the fact that Alistair has to leave the phone call early -- at least he was getting something to eat. Maxwell remembers when he was Alistair’s age. His mom always struggled to put food on the table because his dad would spend all the money on drinks at the local bar. Maxwell is just grateful his son isn’t starving.
“Okay, it’s okay,” Maxwell reassures before taking a shaky exhale. “I love y--”
But then, the line went dead. Max assumes that Alistair’s mom has ripped the phone from his hand and hung up. Sighing, Maxwell forces himself to stand up and walk on over to his bedroom. The bed is unmade and there are several piles of dirty laundry all over the floor. He jams open the sticky window and climbs onto the balcony, inhaling the cool evening air and lighting a cigarette. Smoking was a habit he’d gotten himself into when he was much younger, but he’d grown out of it when he’d hit limelight. Now though, it was growing back in to be a shameful addiction that he just couldn’t shake. It helped him stop feeling hunger, though.
As he flicks the orange lit ash over the edge of the balcony, his eyes catch on you again. You are standing on the street, talking to some guy. You’re laughing, and it looks like this mystery man’s hand is caressing your arm. It’s probably your boyfriend; Maxwell assumes, and the pang of jealousy in his chest turns into unadulterated sadness as he realises he was probably never going to find love again. He peers over the edge of the balcony once more as he takes a final drag of the cigarette, and he wonders if the jump would kill him.
Maxwell’s eyes begin to sting, and he climbs back into his bedroom, knocking his head on the window pane in the process.
He can’t sleep that night, and he tosses and turns in his three quarter sized bed. He could feel every spring in his mattress. What he would give to just sleep one more night in the soft, plush king sized bed he used to take for granted. He switched on his amber tinged bedside lamp and swatted away a moth that flew towards it. Maxwell stared at the ceiling and wondered if the damp had gotten worse. Even if it had, it wasn’t like Max had the courage to bring it up with the landlord.
He finds himself thinking about you again. He lived to see the way you smiled when you spoke to that guy, or the way your hair blew ever so slightly in the evening breeze. Max wraps his hand around his semi-hard cock and begins to jerk himself off. To nobody’s surprise though, he doesn’t finish -- the overwhelming feeling of revolt consuming him. He thinks he’s disgusting, and that nobody would ever want to touch him. He can’t even stand touching himself.
He falls asleep not long after that.
Max once had a pretty decent sleep schedule, going to bed at 10 and waking up at 6. But now he was up until the early hours of the morning, overthinking and hating himself. He wakes up three or four times a night from the same recurring nightmare. It’s a replay from the clear night of July ‘84, when he took over everyone’s TV screens. His doctor prescribed him therapy for it, which would probably help, but Maxwell just can’t afford it.
He wakes up to the sound of a bang on his front door. Max scrambles to his feet in a panic, checking the time on his alarm clock. It’s 2pm. And the person at the door could easily be his landlord, finally having enough and kicking him out. Max’s rent is two months overdue.
But it’s not his unforgiving landlord. It’s you. And you’re holding a fruit basket.
“Hey neighbour!” you smile pleasantly before introducing yourself to him. “I just moved in across the hall. I wasn’t sure what you’d like… but I figured everyone likes fruit!”
Maxwell stays quiet, standing there in complete disbelief. No one has shown him this amount of kindness in so long…
The prolonged silence makes you feel a little strange. He still hasn’t accepted the fruit basket, nor had he said anything. He was just… staring at you. It wasn’t a slimy gawk. You couldn’t quite put your finger on what his dark eyes were trying to tell you.
“—I’m sorry,” you continue eventually when he doesn’t speak, dropping the fruit basket by your side and turning away. “I uh— would you like me to get you something else?”
Maxwell’s eyes widen and he quickly shakes his head. “No!” he exclaims, opening his front door wider and taking the fruit basket from you. “I’m sorry,” he apologises. “I uh— I love fruit.”
You smile at his fluster, and you swear you notice a rosy pink blush cross his cheeks. It’s adorable.
“Oh okay, that’s good then.”
Maxwell prays you can’t hear his stomach grumble at the sight of the fresh fruit. He’s so excited to eat it all. “How can I repay you?”
You raise your eyebrows at his proposition and chuckle awkwardly. “Repay me? No no,” you laugh. “It’s just a fruit basket,”
It wasn’t just a fruit basket though. It was the only food Max had.
“I mean, you could tell me your name.”
Maxwell curses, realising he hasn’t even introduced himself. Gods— he wonders when exactly he’d lost his charm.
“Right, I’m sorry. I’m Max.” He extends his arm and offers you a handshake. You giggle, but accept.
He feels a bolt of electricity run up his arm when your fingers interlink with his, and he wonders if you can feel it too.
“Very formal Max,” you acknowledge with a smile.
Maxwell genuinely hasn’t communicated with anyone since July 1984. It’s probably about time he ditches the businessman persona, although he doesn’t realise he still uses it from time to time. Old habits die hard.
“I must say, I feel like I recognise you from somewhere.”
“No. You don’t.” Maxwell quickly snaps back and you’re afraid you struck a nerve.
There’s a longer silence and you find yourself wondering about your neighbour. He’s right in front of you and yet you can’t help but feel as though he’s some kind of enigma. Maybe it’s the crinkles in the corner of his eyes or his wry smile.
“Um…” you mumble, your gaze trailing behind him as you try and peer into his apartment. You can’t see much though. From where you stand it looks very empty… and brown. “If you weren’t busy tonight maybe you could come over and we could get to know each other. I uh-- don’t have many friends yet.” you explain shyly, nervously biting your lip.
You didn’t usually get nervous talking to new people, but there was just something about Maxwell that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. His presence made butterflies flutter in your tummy and your hands feel clammy with excitement… or maybe anticipation. He stares at you blankly before clearing his throat.
“I uh-- yeah I mean-- maybe,” Maxwell shrugs cooly. “If I’m not busy.”
Pft, busy. Max hasn’t been busy since the dreamstone debacle.
“Of course,” you nod your head and smile. “Well, you’re welcome to come on over anytime.”
And then, without thinking, Maxwell replies. “And you’re welcome to come over here anytime too.”
You feel your smile grow into a grin and you reach out, placing your hand on Max’s arm. “Okay, well, it was nice meeting you.” you bite your lip.
Max’s heart stops when you touch him, and for the first time, he doesn’t flinch away. You’re holding his bicep and… he likes it. It’s not sending him into a spur of anxiety, in fact, he feels better just for finally plucking the courage to talk to you. And now you’re touching him. You’re not repulsed or disgusted… in fact, you’re smiling. You look happy, and maybe Max is happy too. Maybe. Max doesn’t even realise the small smile that’s crept upon his lips.
“Nice meeting you too.” He swallows and you wave goodbye.
He watches you walk back into your apartment, drinking in your appearance. You were wearing jeans and a sweatshirt today. It was casual… but he liked it.
Even when he finally gets back into his apartment and slumps against his front door, he’s still smiling. This feeling is so unfamiliar.
Maxwell finds himself pondering whether or not he should visit you tonight. He so desperately wanted to see you again-- see your pretty face and sparkling eyes and that perfect smile. Maybe Max could have a friend. That would be nice.
But he quickly gets scared again. He knows immediately that you’re too good for him, and that he’ll only end up hurting you. And then he’ll be left alone again. Max doesn’t know if he can survive another heartbreak.
Once again, he lights a cigarette and sits on the balcony, and wonders if the jump will kill him.
Then he realises he suddenly doesn’t want to die. At least, not yet. He wants to see you again first.
Max doesn’t even bother finishing the cigarette. He taps away the ash and climbs back inside, stripping himself of his clothes and turning on the shower. If he was going to see you tonight, he’d at least make the effort.
The soap he uses is from Dollar Tree, and it doesn’t really have a scent. It made a change from his favourite Jo Malone pomegranate fragranced soap, that’s for sure. He gets annoyed trying to squirt out the very little remenints of his shampoo bottle. Although he doesn’t have much, he’s satisfied when he comes out of the shower. He feels clean and fresh.
Maxwell rakes through his tiny collapsing wardrobe, trying to find an outfit that will make him appear somewhat presentable. He’s probably overthinking this whole thing -- after all, it isn’t exactly a date. But he still feels the strong inclination to impress you. He so desperately wants to be liked by you.
Most of his everyday wear is stained or ripped or very aged. But then he spots the small duffel bag at the bottom of his closet and he remembers he packed some of his old business wear when he moved out of his manor and into this apartment. He hadn’t looked in the duffel bag once since moving though, afraid that seeing the clothes would unleash some kind of trauma on him.
Max crosses his legs and hesitantly unzips the black bag. Inside, he finds a few fitted shirts, a few tailored pants, and one suit jacket. He even spots a belt and two patterned ties. He’s a little upset though when he can’t find the suspenders he used to wear. They were always his favourite part of his outfit.
Maxwell can’t bring himself to dress in the whole get up, but he does pick out a white button down shirt and grey pants. He tucks the shirt in, and wraps the belt through the loops in his pants, clicking it into place. Opting to look slightly more casual, Max leaves the first two buttons of his shirt undone and rolls the sleeves up to his elbows.
And for the first time in a long time, Max likes the way he looks. He wishes he had some cologne to spray, and he could definitely do with a haircut, but this is good enough.
He doesn’t want to seem desperate, so he does wait (albeit impatiently) until 8:30pm to see you. In the meantime, he eats over half of the fruit basket. He tells himself he’ll stop after an apple and an orange, but strangely enough. He can’t. He can’t stop. It just tastes so good and he’s so hungry -- so he eats until he feels sick. He wants to lie down because he really doesn’t feel too good at all, but he’s not going to pass up this opportunity to see you for anything. He feels a little cold, so he throws on his suit jacket which is grey in colour and matches the tailored pants. Max chokes down a glass of water, straightens up his posture, and knocks on your door.
He’s not waiting for long, and he’s delighted when he sees you answer the door. Your lips are painted a ruby red colour and you’re wearing your hair differently. Not only that, but you’d changed out of your sweater and jeans, and now you’re doting a knee length flowy dress. Your feet are slipped into some fuzzy looking slippers though, and Max admires the small diamond stud earrings that you don. They really bring out the colour of your eyes.
“I was hoping you’d come.” you reveal nervously, opening the door wider and looking your neighbour up and down. He looks so incredibly handsome in his change of outfit. Max feels himself blush under your gaze and he smiles.
“I just couldn’t pass this up.” he laughs nervously.
You move out the way and gesture for him to enter your apartment. Max notes that it’s roughly the same size as his, but it’s already filled with more furniture. Judging from the plentiful cardboard boxes in every corner, you hadn’t finished unpacking either. You find yourself watching Max as he takes in your front room. You take his jacket and hang it on your coat peg which stands by your front door. You definitely do recognise him from somewhere, especially seeing him in that shirt and those pants…
You shrug off your curiosity temporarily though, and take his hand, pulling him into your kitchen. Max loves the way your hand fits so perfectly into his. He doesn’t want you to pull away. And you don’t, until you reach the refrigerator.
“I have cranberry juice, tea, coffee-- no milk though, uh…” you trail off and check the cupboards. You beam when you see the bottle of champagne that your friend had gifted you. It was to celebrate moving out. You present him with it and grin. “Would you care to have a glass with me?”
Max remembers the distinct taste of the bubbles on his lips and he nods in agreement. You don’t have any fancy glasses, let alone flutes, so you pour the pale yellow liquid into two plastic tumblers. You hand one to Max and cradle your own in both of your hands.
“You should propose a toast.” you laugh jokingly.
Luckily, Maxwell has always been able to handle being put on the spot. He only takes a few seconds to come up with something.
“To new friends.” he announces with a charming smile, and clinks his cup against yours.
Max hasn’t had a drink in a long time, so it doesn’t take long for it to reside in his system and he begins to feel a bit tipsy. It’s not bad though. Maxwell is relaxed, and he’s comfortable. You bounce off each other and make each other laugh right up until the early hours of the morning. You bring out Monopoly and you’re surprised at how good he is at it. He gives you advice on buying properties and investments and it truly sounds like he knows what he’s talking about. You wonder what he does for a living.
“I didn’t say this earlier,” Max says as you pour out the last of the champagne. The alcohol has him buzzing with confidence. “But you look breathtaking, really. That dress and those earrings and your lips…”
And you don’t know what it is, but Max just makes you feel so good. “My lips?” you repeat breathlessly, gazing into his honeyed brown eyes.
Max nods wordlessly when you climb into his lap and straddle his hips. You place the palms of your hands flat against his chest and nudge your nose against his, giggling playfully. Max feels scared -- he’d never been this close to anyone in so long, let alone a beautiful woman like yourself.
Gods, he’s so handsome too. A small piece of his hair has fallen out of place and it crosses his forehead. You’re quick to brush it out of his face with your finger, and one of your hands cup his cheek. He closes his eyes and leans into the warmth of your touch, humming in contentment. When he opens his eyes again, they’re noticeably shades darker.
“Can I kiss you?” He asks, his voice low like it had dropped a few octaves.
You nod desperately and your lips crash against his.
You don’t know if it’s the alcohol or the adrenaline but he’s an amazing kisser -- perhaps the best you’ve ever had. You roll your hips over his lap and he moans, but doesn’t break the kiss once. His large hands roam around your back and squeeze at the soft flesh of your thighs. The Monopoly game has been long discarded now, leaving only you and Max revelling in each other’s touch.
You want more. You want him. You dip your hand in between your bodies and find his belt, trying your best to undo the buckle so you can get him out of his pants. You’re certain you can feel his erection pressing against the inside of your thigh, and you’d be right in thinking he wants this too.
But what he wants the most, is to not ruin things between you both, and Max feels like that maybe this is all happening a bit too fast. He doesn’t want to reject you, and he’s afraid of hurting you, but he’s also afraid of you getting so close to him -- that you find out who he truly is, and the things he does. He doesn’t want to lose you because you make him feel so happy. For the first time in potentially years, Maxwell feels genuine happiness. He doesn’t want to fuck up, not when he’s been doing so well.
So he pulls away from you breathlessly and moves your hands away from him. He holds them though, brushing his thumbs in comforting circles against your soft skin.
“I really like you,” he smiles. “And tonight has been… great. You have no idea how much I’ve enjoyed myself. But I-- I really want to see you again. And do this again. And have a good time with you. I just don’t think we should-- you know--” Maxwell tries to explain. He feels bad for rejecting you. “It’s not that I don’t want to. Because trust me,” he sighs, closing his brown eyes. “I really really do. But--”
“You don’t have to explain yourself,” you smile, fiddling with the collar of his shirt. “I understand, and honestly, I think you’re probably right. I’ve had a good time too though.”
Maxwell can’t help but beam knowing that there’s no hard feelings between you both.
“So we can do this again?” he asks hopefully.
“Yes.” you reply, pressing a chaste yet sweet kiss to his lips.
You wiggle off his lap and Maxwell stands up. “I should head back home then,” he says. “It’s late. But maybe we can do something tomorrow?”
“I’d like that a lot.” you agree.
Max gives you one final kiss and part of you wants to ask him if he’d be willing to stay the night. You shake away the temptation and tell yourself there’d be plenty more opportunities for him to stay over. Before he leaves, you see him abruptly spin around on his heel and point his index finger towards you.
And your heart drops.
You freeze.
You think you can feel your blood run cold and the colour drain out of your face.
Because in that moment, when he points his finger at you, you recognise him.
You remember him.
You know who he is.
“I almost forgot my jacket.” Max laughs, sliding past you.
You feel like you can’t move though.
This was the man who single handedly almost destroyed the entire planet.
But how -- how could it be Maxwell Lord? He was so sweet and kind and funny. How could the man you just made out with, the man you shared a bottle of champagne with -- your own neighbour…
How could it be Maxwell Lord?
How hadn’t you noticed sooner. Hell, his name was literally Max Lorenzano.
“Goodnight.” Max tells you.
You try and force yourself to say it back but no words come out. Your throat feels dry and you’re panicking.
Max doesn’t even notice though. He’s too busy beaming with happiness when he leaves.
You aren’t sure if you’re going to see him again.
When Maxwell gets back home, he can’t rid himself of the grin that’s plastered across his lips. He sits out on the balcony and lights a cigarette, but this time, when he looks at the ground beneath you, he doesn’t wonder if the jump will kill him.
His eyebrows furrow together when he notices the florist across the road, and he wonders how much a bouquet of flowers will cost him. He wants to get you something; as a thank you for giving him a good time.
He simply can’t wait to see you again.
Permanent taglist: @paintballkid711 @supernaturalgirl @phoenixhalliwell @ah-callie @stardust-galaxies @wickedfrsgrl @goth-topic @nerdypinupcrystal @kiwi-the-first @pedroepascal @castiel-barnes @honeymandos @rocketqueen @girl-obsessed-with-things @elena-myth @moth-guillotine @pedro-pascal-love @hayley-the-comet @pinkninja200 @maxiarapamaya @autumnleaves1991-blog @artsymaddie @harrys-stan @kennedywxlsh @cripplingmoon @cheekygeek05 @mrschiltoncat @rye-flower @theamuz @persie33 @sleepylunarwolf @martellthemandalor r @pedro-pastel l @steeevienicks @rrtxcmt @saphic-susperia @beskarprincessjenny @readsalot73 @softmedics @jade10077 @dodgerandevans @planetariumx @pascals-cat t @ajeff855 @spideysimpossiblegirl @smoldjarin
#pedro pascal#pedro pascal x reader#maxwell lord#max lord#maxwell lord x reader#max lord x reader#jose pedro balmaceda pascal#ww84
183 notes
·
View notes
Text
A Happy Accident
A/N: The other day I found out that Chris Evans may possibly have a sex dungeon? I don’t write real people fics but I knew I HAD to write a Steve Rogers fic about this because I mean...c’mon. Also the text conversation in the fic is indeed a real conversation between my friend and I.
Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader
Warnings: NSFW, dirty talk, dom/sub, flogging, being tied up, penetrative sex, honorifics, praise kink
Word Count: 5.4k
You knew there was trouble before you even reached the meeting room, it was like a palpable tension you could sense coming from the conference room. You mentally prepared yourself for whatever was to come as you walked in and took your usual spot next to Natasha.
“Do you have any idea what this is about?” You questioned her, murmuring under your breath since nobody seemed keen to speak above a whisper for the time being.
“Some kind of security breach, we don’t know how bad yet, we have to wait for Stark.” She explained, speaking in clipped tones. She seemed nervous, which was understandable given the circumstances. A security breach could mean a number of things, none of them good. Anything from weapons tech to secret identities could’ve been revealed in the breach.
The tension seemed to come to a head when Tony and Steve walked into the room. Everyone erupted into a flurry of activity, peppering the two men with so many questions it was hard to make out what came from who.
“What was taken?” Someone asked.
“Was it anything serious?” Someone else wondered.
“Do we need to scrap the new suit designs?” You asked, adding your voice to the babble.
“Okay everyone settle down and give Tony some room to think.” Steve urged all of you, forming a one man barrier around Stark. Which you had to admit was rather effective. Once everyone reseated themselves and Steve gave Tony a nod, Tony cleared his throat.
“By now you all have obviously heard that there’s been a security breach. We don’t know who is behind the breach but so far all that was leaked was text conversations of the following Avengers; Wanda, Sam, Bucky, and Y/N.”
You felt your heart drop to your stomach. You were a target in the security breach. But why? Why you specifically and why just your text conversations? It seemed rather harmless considering everything else they could’ve taken.
“Luckily Wanda doesn’t really text anyone because everyone she knows is here. As far as Sam, Bucky, and Y/N are concerned they only leaked conversations from your work phones, meaning your personal phone security isn’t in question.” Tony reassured you all. Well, it reassured Sam and Bucky at least.
“Um, what do you mean ‘work phone’?” You asked, looking around with a puzzled expression on your face.
“You do have a burner phone for personal use, right?” Nat asked from beside you. Now your heart was located somewhere in your feet.
“I didn’t know I needed one.” You whispered, barely contained horror edging its way into your voice.
“Well, I mean what’s the worst that could be there?” Sam asked, trying to reassure you. Luckily, or unluckily enough, you didn’t have to answer that question because within the coming days they would all find out.
After the meeting you tried to go about your normal routine and ignore the security breach as best as you could. That got considerably harder the following morning, when the hacker released your private conversations with your friends for all the world to see. They went something like this:
Sarah: Do you think Steve Rogers is good in bed?
You: Obviously, dumb question.
Sarah: Do you think he’s kinky though?
You: Oh 100%, no way he doesn’t have a secret sex dungeon or something.
Sarah: Since you’re an Avenger now you should try to find out.
You: HAHAHAHAHA that’s hilarious and something I’ll never do, in reality. But in theory PUT ME IN COACH! I bet he would probably make me sign an NDA and I would totally be down for that.
Sarah: I’ll sign a DNR
You: HAA, I would sign the NDA but also have to tell you what’s happening and then I would make you sign an NDA.
Sarah: Then you’re breaking the NDA??
You: Not if you don’t tell anyone goddamn be cool.
Sarah: It’s the principle of the thing
You: ...I wonder what kind of dom he is
Sarah: Idk if he’s a daddy. He feels like a Sir or Master. I also think he doesn’t have soft limits, only hard limits.
You: as much as I would like to think he’s a pleasure dom I don’t think that’s true
Sarah: I agree
You: Maybe a brat tamer?
Sarah: That feels too tame for him.
You: Okay so then just a no holds bard whipping dom. I would wait all day in his sex dungeon just to lick his boots when he came home. Does that make me depraved? Probably.
Sarah: Possibly, I also think he’d degrade the shit out of you, like kinda pet play shit. I also think he has a spreader bar collection. Aaaand an overstimulation kink.
You: Oh agreed, that and edging. I feel like he would edge you for hours and then leave to go on a mission or something and you’re not allowed to touch yourself and then he comes back hours later and you’re just aching for release. And then only after you’re BEGGING he would let you come.
Sarah: Oof. How much do you wanna bet his dungeon is like a sensory deprivation thing? Think about it, hours upon hours of not having any form of relief, after begging nonstop, no real form of your senses and then BAM normal orgasm but heightened to the absolute max.
You: YEP! I bet he’s like the king of aftercare though, like 1000/10 so sweet. Like Steve Rogers is legit such a nice human being so I assume aftercare is the same.
Sarah: AYO SIR LEMME BE YOUR SUB
You: GOD FORREAL!
Needless to say, you did not leave your room that day. The next day you tried to get away with not leaving your room again but Nat was having none of that.
“Come on Y/N, I promise it’s not that bad, I’ve said much worse.” She assured you as she practically dragged you out of your room and into the elevator.
You buried your head in your hands and let out a frustrated scream. “He’s a coworker, Nat, and I totally objectified him and basically said all the filthy things I wanted him to do to me.”
“And I bet he’s real flattered about it! The man needs a good ego boost every now and then.” She replied with a laugh. To which you responded with another frustrated scream and a kick to the elevator doors as they opened. “I bet he didn’t even read it, I doubt anyone on the team did.” She said, sounding certain in her own thinking. She half convinced you until you walked into the training room and every pair of eyes turned to you, including Steve’s baby blues. Fuck.
“Okay we’re working in a group today people, focusing on enhanced individuals with external powers. Wanda and Y/N against Sam, Bucky, and Steve.” Nat announced, opening the door to the special training facility. So you and Wanda wouldn’t trash too much of Stark’s equipment with your powers.
“Hey Y/N, you been to any good sex dungeouns recently? I’m looking for one.” Sam quipped as you made your way to the starting point. Before you could even think about what you were doing the smell of ozone was ripe in the air and you sent a bolt of lightning hurtling towards Sam who was barely able to dodge it in time.
“Sorry...hand slipped.” You mock apologized, making it clear that you would have another ‘hand slip’ if he didn’t keep his mouth shut. He got the point well enough but the damage was already done. The tension was worse now than when you first found out about the breach, everyone trying not to bring up the elephant in the room.
Nat cleared her throat and started her countdown and then the training began in earnest. After an hour you were all panting and sweating, utterly spent from your session. Steve passed everyone a water bottle and you took it gratefully, chugging the cool liquid in earnest. It was then that another comment was made, this time by Bucky.
“Thanks for the aftercare daddy.” He mocked as he opened his own water bottle. Once again the smell of ozone was in the air but you didn’t have a chance to meet your target before Steve had Bucky pressed against the wall, his forearm digging into the other man’s throat.
“That’s enough.” He growled through his teeth. Everyone was silent for a minute and you almost felt sorry for the deer in the headlights look Bucky was now wearing on his face, almost. A shower of frustrated sparks extinguished all the lights in the room as you stormed from the room, embarrassment trailing after you.
That had been four hours ago and you hadn’t left your room, despite Natasha banging on the other side of your door. You had asked FRIDAY not to open it for anyone unless given your express permission. It seemed even the AI knew what kind of a mess you had landed yourself into, as she was immediately understanding of such a request. You were in the process of ordering a burner phone off of Amazon when there was a knock at your door.
“Nat, I don’t care how many books you offer to buy me, I’m NOT coming out of this room.” You yelled into the empty space of your room.
“Noted, but uh, it’s Steve. Can we talk?” You were at the door before he finished his sentence. You opened it no more than a crack, not courageous enough to do more.
“I don’t wanna talk to you, I’m mortified.” You mumbled, looking down at your feet instead of the imposing figure outside of your door. Steve gently pushed on the door with his hand and you let him open it the rest of the way. He brought gentle fingers to your chin and tilted your head back so you were looking into his eyes.
“There’s nothing to be mortified about, sweetheart. I just wanna talk.” He replied beseechingly. And maybe it was the tone of his voice, or the way he looked at you, but you relented and let him in, closing the door softly behind you.
“Listen, I’m really sorry for what I said. I obviously never thought it would see the light of day but that’s not an excuse and doesn’t make it okay. Fuck, Steve I’m so sorry. I can get reassigned if you want, have SHIELD put me somewhere else.” You rattled off apologies and half baked plans before you felt his hands gently clasp your shoulders and once again you were forced to look up into his eyes which had gone saucer wide.
“Doll what are you talking about? You don’t need to be reassigned, it's not that big of a deal.” He said, in an attempt to comfort you.
“Not a big deal? I practically accused you of having a sex dungeon and being a mega dom.” You blurted out, mortification making your voice rise half an octave.
He let out a soft sigh before he sat down on the edge of your bed, “It’s not like you were completely in the wrong.” He replied, and that’s when your brain short circuited.
“What? You have a sex dungeon?”
“Well, it’s not a dungeon, it's just my bedroom, but yes I do, partake in those types of things you described.” He explained, his voice as even and calm as if he were discussing the weather.
“Oh.” Was all you could really bring yourself to say.
“Oh? That’s all? I have to say you were much more articulate in your texts.” He teased, his voice suddenly becoming deeper and taking on an air of authority that wasn’t there a second ago. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
And again, maybe it was because of his tone or because of the absurdity of the situation you found yourself in but you answered him honestly. “I’m thinking I’m absolutely mortified that my coworker found out how badly I want him to fuck me.”
“What else?” He prompted. You couldn’t breathe properly, he was taking all the air from the room and the intensity in his gaze pinned you to the spot, like an unsuspecting doe finding itself at the barrel of a gun.
“I’m wondering how correct my predictions were. What kind of a dom you are.”
“Would you like to find out?”
“Yes.” You answered before you could think better of it. The second the word left your mouth your eyes went wide at the confession. Because you did want to find out, God did you want to find out what kind of shit Steve Rogers, the golden boy, was into.
“Then we have ourselves a deal. You want to find out what I’m into and I want to show you.”
“Right now?” You asked, breathless. You could feel your core ache at the suggestion, the want plain as day.
He chuckled before he moved to stand before you. “No pretty girl, not yet.” He whispered, bringing his right hand up to cup your cheek and stroke his thumb across the expanse of your lips. “First we have to talk about a few things.”
“Like what?” You questioned, completely enraptured by this man, finding yourself willing to submit to whatever he wanted you to. You were terrified by how much the prospect excited you.
“Like exactly what you want me to do to you. Your texts were very...explicit. But, that may have just been talk. I need to know specifics if this is going to work.” Steve explained, backing you up until you hit your dresser. Without a word he lifted you on top of it and stood between your legs, one of his hands tracing absent minded patterns on your thigh.
It was hard to think with him in such close proximity but you tried to clear your mind because you really wanted this, your mouth went dry at the thought. “I want...I want to be tied up. And I want to be blindfolded. And whipped.” It felt weird to lay your desires out plain before you like this. It made you feel exposed, but it was also oddly empowering.
Steve nodded his head at your requests. “You mentioned something to your friend about edging and orgasm denial, is that something you still wanted to try?”
“Yes, but not, not yet. I’ve never um, I haven’t- I’ve never been kinky with a partner.” You explained to him, feeling an embarrassing heat creeping up your face.
“Hey, no need to be embarrassed, we all start somewhere.” Steve insisted, bringing his hands up to settle on your hips. “Anything else?” After you shook your head he gave you a nod in reassurance. “Okay, I’ll be in touch.” He said as he stepped away from you.
That was three days ago and you hadn’t heard anything from him on the matter since. You had trained with him, went for a run with him, had the usual team meetings and exchanged the usual pleasantries but nothing out of the ordinary. You had even gone far enough in your wandering mind to think that maybe you imagined the whole interaction.
On Friday, you were told that Steve had gone away on a mission and by that point the team was done teasing you about the leaked conversation, already having moved on to the next thing. You had made plans to go out with them that night to a community outreach thing in Manhattan. You had just gotten your jeans on when a piece of paper slid across your floor from the door.
You walked over to it, thinking someone had just dropped their paper, when you saw what was written on the other side of it.
Text an excuse to Stark for the outreach and then come to my room. -SR
Your heartbeat sped up to a gallop as you read the message through two more times, just to be certain. This was it, it was happening. With shaky fingers you texted Tony a flimsy excuse about draft reports you needed to finish before you put your phone back on your desk and calmly made your way to Steve’s room.
You went to knock but found the door slightly ajar. Taking that as your cue you stepped into Steve Rogers room. While it wasn’t the first time you had been here, it was certainly a circumstance that you weren’t used to. Everything seemed...different somehow. The curtains were drawn and the only light came from dim overhead lighting. There was a faint scent of jasmine that you assumed came from a candle or incense burner you couldn’t see somewhere. On the bed, the sheets had been changed to something that looked like silk and resting on top was an eye mask and two long chords of rope. Which seemed innocuous enough, current circumstances notwithstanding.
“Shut the door and lock it please.” A voice commanded from a shadow in the corner of the room. As soon as you locked the door Steve Rogers emerged from the shadows in an all black version of his Captain America suit. You had never seen him in such a suit before and the sight of him in it made your mouth water and your knees buckle. This was really happening.
“I have to admit, when I read your text conversation I was surprised to say the least. I didn’t know how many dirty thoughts resided in that head of yours but you did not disappoint, did you sweetheart?” He questioned as he made his way over to where you stood, rooted to your spot by the door. He gently pressed against your shoulder and you followed his lead, letting him back you against the door, his strong hands landing on either side of your head, arms caging you in. “And then when we spoke, you were /very/ specific in what you wanted and I am nothing if not obliging, you’ll find.” He whispered into your ear and you couldn’t help the small moan that escaped your mouth at the implication behind his words.
“Are you ready to be my good girl? Hmm sweetheart?”
“Yes Steve.” You whispered, your mind not being able to form anything other than those words.
He made a slight tsking sound. “In here, don’t call me Steve. It’s Captain. Got it?”
“Yes Captain.” You replied obediently.
“Good girl, now get undressed for me.” He commanded, stepping back to give you room to complete his task. With nervous fingers you lifted your shirt above your head and undid the clasp on your bra. You watched as Steve’s eyes took in your exposed top half, he licked his lips which made you shiver in turn. Confidence growing by his visible excitement you unbuttoned your jeans and slipped them down your legs along with your panties, until you were gloriously naked before him.
“God, you're so beautiful sweetheart. I’m already getting hard and all you’ve done is get undressed.” He praised you as he palmed himself through his tac pants. “Come here pretty girl.” He insisted as he picked up the blindfold.
You walked over to him and turned around as he secured the blindfold against your eyes and tied it for you. “Now, we’re gonna use a color system, okay? Green means you’re okay to keep going, Yellow means to slow down, and Red means stop. Can you remember that doll?”
“Yes Captain.” You murmured as you adjusted to not being able to see. You tuned into your other senses to rely on what was happening. You felt Steve take your hand and walk you over until you reached the side of the bed. He helped you up before asking you to lay down on your back.
“Okay pretty girl I’m gonna tie you up now.” He told you as you felt both of his hands take your left arm and maneuver it above your head before securing your wrist in place with rope. He pressed a gentle kiss to the spot before repeating the process with your other arm. “How do you feel sweetheart?”
“Good Captain, I feel good.” You told him as your heartbeat kicked up another notch. You felt him take your left leg with gentle fingers and tie your ankle to the baseboard of the bed. You gasped as he secured your right ankle, knowing you were now naked and spread bare before him. You felt the bed dip as he kneeled over you and brought his mouth down to whisper in your ear.
“What’s your color baby?”
“Green.” You replied. Almost immediately you felt his lips press against yours, desperate and hungry for you. You kissed back with a fervor you didn’t know you possessed. It was a strange sensation, kissing someone you couldn’t touch let alone see, but that didn’t make it unpleasant. You felt blissfully detached from your body and the need raced down to your pussy until you had the sudden urge to close your legs and hide your arousal.
Steve chuckled against your mouth as his left hand snaked down to see what you were trying in vain to hide. “So eager for me and we’ve hardly started” He lazily swiped his fingers along your folds to feel the wetness that gathered there. He then brought the same hand up to your breast and worked your juices around your nipple, making you groan at the sheer wantonness of it all. Steve happily swallowed your groan with his mouth, his tongue taking the opportunity to pass your lips.
You fervently kissed him back as his ministrations against your nipple continued. His lips left yours and left a trail of hot kisses down your throat and over to your neglected right nipple. You felt him blow cold air on it and your back bowed against the bed, your arms straining against the restraints. He scraped his teeth against your sensitive bud and you couldn’t help the noises that escaped your mouth.
“Oh fuck, Captain.” You let out as he took your nipple into his mouth. You could feel his left hand leave your nipple and you let out a whine of protest. He only laughed against your skin before you heard the faint opening of a drawer. Your ears picked up the sound of him rummaging around for something but you couldn’t focus too much on that as the rest of your body was alight with fire as he continued to work on your nipple with his mouth. He finally found what he was looking for in the drawer and he released your nipple with a wet popping sound before you felt his weight shift and he removed himself from you.
“You mentioned something about being whipped.” He teased, and you could hear that his own arousal had made his voice hoarse. Your cunt throbbed in response. “Do you know what a flogger is pretty girl?”
“Yes Captain.” You replied from your position on the bed. Your mouth went dry at the mental image you had of Steve in his black tac suit with a flogger in hand. How would he use it on you? Would it hurt? Be pleasant? The anticipation was eating you up in the best of ways.
“Good girl. We’re gonna do some counting. Since this is your first time we won’t do too many, just ten. But you have to count them pretty girl. If you forget, or lose count, we start over. Do you understand?”
Oh fuck. “Yes Captain.” You heard him chuckle from somewhere above you before you heard the whoosh of the flogger and the sensation on your skin. You gasped as the leather straps came down hard against your left nipple. “One.” The second one came down against your right nipple and you found that your pussy clenched around nothing. “Two.”
Numbers three, four, and five were placed on your nipples and your stomach.
“Halfway there pretty girl, you’re doing so well.” Steve’s voice came from somewhere around you. A thin layer of sweat had broken out over your skin and your arousal was through the roof. You found yourself panting in anticipation of the next strike. It came, the leather striking against your dripping center and you let out a gasp as your back arched off of the silk sheets. “Six”
“Oh you liked that one didn’t you sweetheart?” Steve teased.
“Yes Captain.” You replied breathlessly. Number seven came in the same spot and another lewd sound left your mouth as the flogger found its spot. Numbers eight and nine he placed on the sensitive insides of your thighs.
“Last one pretty girl. You’ve taken it so well I’ll let you decide where this last one goes.”
“Hit my pussy again, please, I want it so bad Captain.” You practically pleaded. Under any other circumstances you would’ve been ashamed at how pathetic you sounded but you didn’t care. Steve Rogers was doing depraved things to you and you couldn’t think straight. You just wanted him to keep doing what he was doing, to take all of you, every tiny nook and cranny of your being until he knew your pleasures like the back of his hand.
“Such a needy girl, maybe after the flogger I’ll give you a reward.” He replied, sounding pleased with you, before he placed the tenth and final flog against your aching core. “God you look so sexy like this, blindfolded and tied to my bed, maybe I should leave you here as my own personal fucktoy, would you like that baby?” He asked as he inserted two fingers into your mouth.
You mumbled your response against the digits, your pussy getting wetter at the thought of him using you like that. You were only half kidding when you had texted your friend about it but now, with your arousal so strong, it sounded more and more enticing. Steve removed his fingers from your mouth and brought them down to your sensitive center, rubbing them up and down your slit before inserting them into your slick heat. You gasped at the intrusion and felt your hips buck up in response to being filled.
Your walls fluttered around his fingers as he began to pump them at a leisurely pace. You felt him make his way down your body to nestle himself between your spread legs and then his hot breath was fanning out over your cunt as his fingers continued to fuck you. “You look so good, pretty girl. Spread open for me like my own personal feast. God you’re so wet. I guess you like to be flogged.” He spoke, the filthy words that left his lips making you wetter than you already were. Without warning he brought his tongue to you and kitten licked your clit, sending a shockwave through your system.
He took your clit in his mouth and sucked as he continued to work you with his fingers. You fruitlessly tugged against your restraints and bucked your hips in an attempt to get the friction you so desperately needed.
“God sweetheart you taste better than I imagined.” Steve commented as his tongue lapped up your juices. “I bet I’ll be able to taste you on my tongue for a week.”
“Fuck, Captain, please can I cum?” You begged, tears wetting the inside of your mask from the intensity of your session.
“Come for me baby, let me feel you come on my fingers.” Steve commanded and that was your undoing. The knot that had been building inside of you was finally released and you came loudy around his fingers. You felt him lick you through the aftershocks.
“Talk to me, pretty girl, how are you feeling?” Steve questioned, voice hot once again by your ear. His suit gently pressing against your overstimulated skin. “Give me a color.” He asked, pressing a gentle kiss to your jawline.
“I’m good Captain, still Green.” You responded, coming down from your orgasm.
“Such a good girl for your Captain. You’re doin’ so well pretty girl.” He said as he left the bed. You weren’t sure where he went until you felt his dexterous fingers undoing the ropes on your left leg. “I’m undoing the leg ropes first. And then I’m going to fuck you senseless like I’ve been wanting to do since I saw those damn text messages.” Your spent cunt clenched around nothing, as you eagerly waited for him to undo the other leg restraint. You could hear him undo the many zippers and clasps on his tac suit until the bed dipped and he was once again between your legs.
This time skin met skin as you felt his upper thighs press between yours as he brought himself closer to you still. You felt the tip of his cock slide between your wet folds before slipping inside. The breath was stolen from your lungs at the feel of him sinking into your waiting cunt. A low moan left your mouth as you felt every perfect inch of him spreading you until he bottomed out and his hips nestled perfectly against your own.
You felt his forehead press against your own. “Fuck you feel perfect, you know that pretty girl? My perfect little pussy.” He breathed against your mouth as he let you adjust to him. He retracted himself from you fully before swiftly filling you up again. Any noise you may have made was swallowed as he kissed you with a hunger you didn’t think was possible. What started as a slow rhythm quickly changed until he was snapping into you with a fervor akin to a madman.
Your hips eagerly met his thrusts and soon your combined pants and skin slapping filled the room. Still blindfolded, you felt the moment his hand wrapped around your neck and squeezed just so. That had your walls flutter around him and your hips stuttered.
“Oh you like that don’t you? You like when I choke you huh pretty girl?” He asked eagerly, his voice husky from moaning.
“Yes, fuck, please Captain, fuck me.” You rasped out. You grunted as he brought his other hand down to press your hips into the mattress before he slammed into you at a relentless pace. Eventually, his hand left your throat to play with your bundle of nerves.
“Come on pretty girl. Come for me.” He ordered and you were only too happy to comply. You came hard around him, enough that you saw stars behind the blindfold and Steve let out a string of curses and praises for you as he pulled out of you and you felt his cum paint your stomach.
You had a moment to catch your breath as you heard Steve pad over to what you assumed was the bathroom. He came back and placed a warm washcloth against your skin, cleaning up the combined mess you both made. Then you felt his hands move up to untie the blindfold around your eyes. You squinted into the low light of the room and were shocked to see Steve bare chested and glistening with sweat before you.
“Hi.” You murmured shyly, finding that some of your confidence had left you along with the blindfold. Seeing him like this, because of you, because of what you had done, somehow cemented this moment in reality. There was no turning back now.
“Hi yourself, how do you feel?” He asked as he undid the ropes around your wrists.
“I um wow, I feel great.” You said and realized it was true. In the afterglow of the scene you felt amazing. Sexy and empowered and utterly spent but undeniably amazing.
“You did great.” Steve assured you as he took lotion into his hands and massaged the areas on your wrists and ankles where the ropes had been. He placed a gentle kiss on each palm when he was done and went to get you a glass of water. “Drink all of this.”
You took the glass from his hands and drank deep. Appreciating the cool feeling of the water as it slid down the column of your throat, you didn’t realize how thirsty you had become. You finished the glass and handed it back to Steve, who placed it on one of his bedside tables.
“Good girl.” He praised and you felt yourself blush in response. He noticed. “Do you like being praised, sweetheart?”
“Yes Captain.” You nodded.
“I’ll keep that in mind.” He replied as he helped you into one of his shirts and placed you underneath the covers. He rested beside you and wrapped you in his strong arms. “You did so well today for your first time. It wasn’t too much for you was it?”
“No, I really liked it.” You reassured him. He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead with a promise to discuss it more after you slept some.
#steve rogers x reader#steve x reader#captain america x reader#steve rogers fanfic#mcu fanfic#avengers fanfic#reader insert
63 notes
·
View notes
Text
🧛🏽♂️ Harringrove Feedback Fest 🧛🏽♂️ (PART ONE, because I simp)
(Special thanks to @gothyringwald for putting this together)
Writing:
1. you act so pure (I know you’re laced) by jishfish : G : 5.8k words
Billy couldn't take it anymore. He just fell apart. "Please touch me." He whispered.
(or) steve tends to billy's wounds at night, no questions asked, and billy really can't be alone right now.
2. Unless...? by peterqpan : M : 16k words
Steve wants to be best friends with Billy Hargrove. He wants to marry him--as friends--so they'll always be together, and he's going crazy, trying not to be weird about it, and scare Billy off. Also he's in a band, and they run a bar.
Billy's buckling under an onslaught of friendly Harrington flirtation. Also he's just been hired as the new bartender.
3. Some Sort of Magic by @thursday-knight : G : 2.1k words
"I…" Steve says. "You love me?"
In the gayest way possible, Billy thinks. Completely and with all of my heart. But instead, he says, "I do, yeah." Because, you know, even a weak, broken moron like him still has at least enough pride left not to say that.
4. And They Were Roommates by Carrera_os : T : 8k words
Steve and Billy are roommates, Billy is less than pleased when Steve gets a boyfriend.
-
“He doesn't treat you right, you call me, I’ll take care of it.” Billy says even as he feels his anger and jealousy trying to boil back up. Not Steve's fault, he is not actually mad at Steve, he is mad at some nameless guy for infringing on his territory, territory he did not know he could have, and worry sets in afraid he is too late.
5. Cocktober 10: Demon AKA BBQ Wings for Satan? by @cherrydreamer : M : 3.9k words
Steve tries his hand at summoning a demon.
It does not go exactly to plan...
"You did a shitty ritual, you get a shitty demon- sorry amigo, thems the rules.”
6. Killing Boys by blotplum : E : 1.9k words
Steve is kissing Tommy.
Billy stands at the mouth of the stairs, stunned and watching them. There’s like, tongue and shit. Billy hates it. He fucking hates it.
He wants to throw up.
(or) Jennifer’s Body AU
7. Gifts from Hawkins by Strawberry_Sweetheart : M : 4k words
“... Alpha Beta Omega series where Billy and Steve get a little girl pup, maybe adopted or something. The other idea was Steve and Billy taking care of a really sick Max or El...”
——
The truth is, as much as Billy hated Hawkins, the tiny town gave him two of the best things in his life. It gave him Max, snot filled as she is, he’d do anything to protect her. But it also gave him Steve, his beacone of happiness during the toughest years of his life, and Billy was unapologetically selfish when he stole him away from the town, swept him up to California because he couldn’t bear to leave him behind... and during their final year of college, Steve gave him the most precious thing he could ever ask for.
Or: Steve and Billy have a little Jane and Billy’s baby sister, Max is not happy about it. No she’s not jealous...
8. On Loving Billy by lilpeas : M : 16k words
“I’m good, you know.” Billy says. His face is empty, expressionless, the way it was when Steve threw books at him and shouted, what do you mean you’re leaving? That’s it? We’re done?
Steve can do nothing but stare at Billy.
He wants to say, I’m not. I’m not and I never will be. You didn’t just break my heart Billy, you blew it up. It’s not lying on the floor ready to be put back together, it’s floating in microscopic dust in the motherfucking air.
(OR, The Trials of Two Idiots in Love)
9. Worth the Weight by Fresh : M : 119k words
“God, shut up for a minute,” Steve scoffed, throwing his hands up next to his head and shaking them to emphasize his point. “I want a baby, asshole.”
As sudden as slicing a marionette’s strings, Billy’s brazenly overconfident swagger vanished; in his shock, he almost dropped his half-finished cigarette.
Steve prayed for the earth to open up and swallow him whole.
10. Don’t Tell Mom the Babysitter Worships Satan by BadHidingSpot & DeepSouth : E : 29.8k words
Steve takes the smallest of sips from the glass, swallowing slowly before he sets the glass to rest on his leg. “You wanted to know the reason right?” Dustin nods and Steve repeats the motion. “Ok then, well, you see, nothing comes from nothing. Everything is a trade, a deal. So take a guy like me, what do I want?” Steve pauses, breathes out a sigh that sounds almost wistful, like this is the first time he’s really thinking about all of this, even though Dustin knows that has to be a lie. But Steve just smiles, savors another sip. “I have all the material things a person could want. But let’s say I want more than that--”
“We sold our souls to the devil,” Billy cuts in.
Steve balls his hand into a fist, closes his eyes and snarls out a sound of frustration, like he doesn’t know if he’s angry or disappointed, “Fuck, Billy, I was trying to build a fucking moment.”
(Or: Just think Bonnie and Clyde, if they were, you know, two gay satanic teenagers who sold their souls to the devil to take down a clandestine government lab--that old chestnut).
SO MANY MORE. part two coming soon!
56 notes
·
View notes
Note
What about Steve Rogers thirst tweet prompt !
Tweeting Away
Pairing: Steve Rogers x fem!reader
Warnings: 18+ MDNI,start of smut but nothing wild just kissing and dirty dancing, alcohol
A/N: I added just a tad bit of comedy ... also i’m not that good at writing smut yet so i’m like easing myself into it
GIF by @noitsnotaudrey
-
-
I’ve been interning for Pepper Potts at Stark Industries for about a year now, and that means I get to meet the Avengers and a plus is that I get the highest technology.
But meeting the Avengers is always like a dream, they are all so built well and they are naturally smart.
I’ve been lucky enough to meet one of my favorites, Steve Rogers. I was able to drink and talk to Cap while Tony hosted a party with many others who were invited.
Steve is one of the nicest men I have ever met and talked to. He made me his special drink from behind Tony’s bar, and let me tell you this old man knows how to make a drink that fucks you up.
Before I got drunk out of my mind I was able to exchange social media’s and number’s with the Avenger. Thank the lord for alcohol because I would not be able to do this without it.
Ever since that party I’ve been posting, hoping to get noticed by Steve but I don’t even know if the man knows how to use Twitter or Instagram.
Tonight some of my friends that didn’t work at Stark invited me out for a girls night, and I sure needed a break after the whole fight about signing the accords.
After work which was around 5pm, I rushed back to my apartment in Manhattan and began to get ready.
I made sure I shaved my legs, my pits and all of my goods. I made sure I was moisturized, smelt good and I made sure I had no fly away hairs.
I wasn’t the best at makeup so I just stayed with some neutral stuff and just went all out with my outfit.
I wore a short silk black dress and some black heels that Pepper got me as a intern gift. The dress was perfect, it hugged me in all the right places and it just made me feel like I could rule the world.
My phone buzzed from a notification, I picked it up to see what it was.
“Steve Rogers Tweeted:
I need to loosen up this weekend!🍾”
I was shocked to see that he finally posted something, though it was a perfect time to post also.
I set my phone as I ate a slice of toast, getting ready so I don’t drink on an empty stomach.
My phone buzzed once again, I looked at it and my eyes widened.
“Steve Rogers Tweeted:
Who wants to be touched😈”
I dropped my phone onto my kitchen counter, mentally screaming at myself. Mostly because of the emoji’s used but also because I could have a chance to drink and party with him again.
I took a few deep breaths, went to grab some vodka from my freezer and poured a shot or two for myself. Even though it was an hour until I had to go.
I turned up some music to basically pre-party hype me up.
I thought to myself. “No, I shouldn’t.” “Yes, you should”. and my thoughts battled for minutes.
Once the confidence kicked in from the shots and the music, I picked up my phone and sent him a text.
“10 pm.” I sent with the link and directions to the bar the girls and I were going to.
I got a phone call from one of the girls I was going out with, saying that our rideshare is about to be at my apartment.
I put on my heels and raced down the hall to the elevator to meet my friends at the car. They had their music with the volume max and they passed out more pregame shots.
Finally we made it to the other side of the city where the club was, it was the club we have always been going to.
I kept looking at my phone to see if there was any new notifications but there wasn’t.
“Who are you checking for?” one of my best friends asked as she tapped the glass of my phone.
“I invited someone, sorry I didn’t mention that earlier.” I yelled into her ear, hoping that she could hear me over the loud music.
“Oh don’t bother, go have some fun. Fuck shit up! But let us know if you need to go to the bathroom or if you’re leaving.” She yelled back into my ear, kissing my cheek as she and I swayed back and forth with the music.
My girls and I talked about life and danced with all our hearts, some of them danced on other people while my best friend and I acted like a couple.
My phone vibrated from inside my bra, I pulled my phone out as my friend held onto my so she didn’t lose me.
I saw that I got another notification from Steve’s twitter.
“Steve Rogers Tweeted:
Feels nice to finally be out in the city once again🍻”
Thoughts ran through my mind, ‘is he out with someone else?’ ‘is that why he didn’t text back?’. I began to freak out, until I remembered it was a girls night to just relax.
I put my phone back into my bra and went back to swaying my hips against my best friend while also singing to some of the best remixes.
I felt the hands of my friend leave my hips, but it shortly came back but with a strong grip and heavier hands.
I turned to see why there was a sudden weight change. I saw a muscular build that obviously was not my friends. My eyes trailed from the biceps to their face.
I turned my whole body around, my chest against theirs.
“Steve! You made it!” I yelled over the music as we danced tightly together.
He looked down at me, towering over with his hands still on my hips. One of his legs wedged in between both of mine.
I looked around for my friends and I saw them a few feet away dancing with random strangers, some of them peering their head at me and giving me winks and thumbs up.
“Of course I did!” He bent down to my ear so I could hear him better.
“Want a drink?” I asked with a smile.
He smiled with a nod and allowed me to pull him to the bar. We sat next to each other atop the high stools.
The bartender asked us what we wanted, and Steve stared at the menu on the wall for a few seconds.
“How about I order for you, old man?” I said as our body’s faced each other, our legs fitting with each other like a puzzle.
“Hit me, young one.” he grumbled against my ear.
I waved down another bartender. “One corpse reviver Number 2 on ice for this man right here and a gimlet for me please!” I spoke loudly to the bartender.
The bartender then moved on to make our drinks.
“So what are you doing here?” Steve asked me as he bounced his leg on the metal stretcher on the stools we sat on.
“Girls night.” I nodded.
“So why invite me?” he questioned.
“I saw your tweets.” he clicked his tongue at this as if it was embarrassing.
“Oh you saw those?” he chuckled with his elbow resting on the counter.
“Yeah, what was up with all those emoji’s?” I asked him with a giggle as the bartender placed the drinks by us, and taking my card that I handed him.
“That was all Peter and Sam.” He shook his head in embarrassment.
“Well maybe cool it with the emoji’s next time.” I playfully slapped his thigh as I brought my glass to my lips and taking a sip.
We talked, drank, and danced throughout the night. We stayed in this club for hours even with my feet staring to hurt and my dress beginning to be uncomfortable.
At this point of the night we were fucked up. Steve was laughing at anything and so was I, our cheeked heated up and so did the things we did.
There we were, in the middle of the clubs dance floor. His lips attacking my neck, leaving purple and pink marks.
His chest against my back, our hips synced with each other. His breaths hit my neck, causing goosebumps to form on my warm and sweaty body.
I can feel him hardening from the movement of body through his jeans. Our panting and swaying had made me pool in my panties.
My thighs rubbing together hoping to get some friction, his jeans being able to help with that.
The night was long, Steve and I was drunk but even with the amount of alcohol in his system he still was a gentleman. He ordered a Uber through my phone and got in the car with me to ensure I’m safe.
Once our driver dropped us off at my apartment building we lazily went up the elevator and to my apartment.
“Wow” He said as he blinked his eyes multiple times.
“What?” I plopped onto my couch and pulled a blanket over me.
“Your apartment is nice.” He sat by my feet.
I hummed a ‘thank you’ to him.
We sat their in silence, in my dimmed living room, just laying on my couch.
“I should probably get going.” He began to get up from the couch but I kicked his thigh, causing him to plop back into the couch.
“Stay.” I mumbled out.
“I really shouldn’t.”
I lifted my head up from the couch to look at him.
“Stay just for the night.” I stood up from the couch and wrapped myself with my blanket. There I stood in front of him so he had no way to get up from the couch.
“Alright.” He mumbled out as he put his hands behind his head.
I then rushed into my bedroom and quickly changed into pajamas, making sure to grab clothes for Steve too.
I ran back to the living room and threw the clothes for him to wear.
“Do you just have clothes that fit me laying around?” he asked as he took off his shirt.
“No. I just like wearing men’s clothes to sleep.” I beamed at him.
We stayed up for about another hour watching shows that pleased our minds before we knocked out on the couch. He held me in his arms on my narrow couch.
-
-
A/N: i’m going to be honest, this is not one of my best works 😣
#steve rogers#steve rogers smut#steve rodgers x reader#captain america#buckybarnes#bucky barnes#bucky barnes smut#peter parker#peter parker smut#tony stark#iron man#pietro maximoff#bruce banner#sam wilson#james rhodes#scott lang#loki laufeyson#loki of asgard#loki smut#thor imagine#thor odinson#chris evans#chris evans smut#marvel#mcu#comics#spiderman#the falcon and the winter soldier#cmac-writes
95 notes
·
View notes
Note
Ok, first question about Luckyboy!AU, Rook has a girlfriend? As far as I know in cannon he doesn't even have a love interest? thought that might be my fault since it's been years since I've watched any Ben 10 series (really have to rewatch some eppisodes here :P) Who is she and what is she like? Has Rook ever taken her girlfriend in a date to the coffee shop? How much of a tease is Ben with Rook when he isn't on a date? And how much of a wingman is he when he is in one?
How is Ben's social life outside his Nekomata persona by the way? I imagine he still has some friends since he's a charismatic extrovert, but with how different everything is here compared to the prime timeline, I can't see who he might be friends with besides Julie.
Now, let's make some questions that aren't about Ben :D With the amount of invasions that Earth has had over the years is the general public privy of the existence of aliens as something more than just tourists that one almost never sees, or do they know but only aknowledge it when they see an alien in person? How is the general people view of aliens regardless?
Also, does Gwen 10 have good or bad public relations? Like, does Will Harangue berate her and turn the public against her, or is she lucky enough that he's focused on Nekomata and not her? How do the humans see her, as a hero, a child soldier, a menace, a necessary evil?
Also also, how do the Plumbers play in the whole PR thing? Do they manipulate everything so the humans have the view they think is the healthiest between humans and aliens? Do they only play damage control whenever alien activity is reported to the public? Are they known or are they still an underground organization? How does the public view them as, considering they're basically intergalactic police that aren't the most competent, specially considering that some countries have beef with their own police forces?
Now, to leave all of the political and heavy talk behind, how often does Ben play with Ship and Julie? Like, they're friends, obviously Ben gets petting privilegies and becomes a pet sitter whenever Julie has to go on a tournament and can't take care of them herself. PET SHENANNIGANS MUST ENSUE THERE, AND YOU CAN'T CONVINSE ME OTHERWISE XD
Also, I imagine a scenario where Kevin and Gwen enter the coffee shop unaware that the other is in there and Ben does everything in his power to force them to sit on the same table, reminding both of them that this is a true neutral zone and "Please don't break anything here and remember to play nice, if you manage to get through this without punching eachother I'll give you a discount on your next coffee", which is a very good offer if they think about it. Meanwhile Argit is waiting at the bar watching over the situation "Bet you 10 bucks they'll be shouting over eachother in 5 minutes" "Bet you it takes them 10 minutes"... It takes them 7 and a half minutes exactly and they can't decide who wins the bet. "There's no way they're getting out of this hating eachother any less" "As long as they don't break anything and don't bother the other clients, I count it as a win"
So Rook had an established relationship in Omniverse with Rayonna, she was introduced abit later in the series when Ben and Rook with to Revonnah. It was a very 2D relationship, just put there maybe cause of the whole shipping fiasco between Ben and Rook(?) don't take my word for it ;;
For the Lucky Boy! AU, they're together, but it's been years since Rooks been to Revonnah, crime never takes a break, neither does he. So his relationship with Rayonna is very flakey, they're on the verge of breaking up, buuut due to Revonnahgander traditions, they're together still. (pulling this out of my ass ;; )
Rook ends up mentioning he has a girlfriend at some point, it was just a casual thing, Ben won't bring up the topic because the way Rook talks about Rayonna makes him feel a little bit iffy towards the subject.
Outside of work and the Nekomata persona Ben's a little awkward in the social circumstances. At that point his social battery's almost completely clocked out. So unless he's dragged out by his friends, Julie, his old soccer mates - although it's happening a lot less now, since school finished a while ago and they're moving on with their own lives- (i refuse to call it football), Alan, if they both end up clocking out at the same time. OR, Rook. Sometimes Max if he's around will invite Ben for lunch or an afternoon snack run. (Mr smoothies, with a "healthy" dose of chillie fries. Best way to lure Ben out.)
Hell yeah, let's get down to the world building buisness, my favourite cup of tea.
Humans are very knowledgeable about alien existence, you'd have to be pretty ignorant to not believe in aliens. (I mean, lets face it, in the world we live in today, I bet, that if aliens did show themselves, some group would just say they're government actors, or russian/chinese spies. Comical, but sadly a realistic scenario...)
With the amount of invasions that have happened, and the daily attacks- normally done by humans with access to alien tech- Humans are quite fearful of them. Which has urged the plumbers to keep the aliens that live on earth down underTown.
It's not all humans of course, just most. Media influence has also pushed the feardar way up.
Will Harangue, surprisingly uplifts Gwen 10 to the eyes of the public, he's also much more focused on Nekomata. (bad news= views= good news). In Harangues personal opinion though, he'd prefer no aliens at all. So he does let his badmouthing of Gwen slip sometimes.
They do a lot of damage control, their original goal was to keep alien life hidden from the public until they(the people) were deemed ready, however, not so easy when an invasion happens nearly once a month. At least it's all limited to Bellwood. For now...
The plumbers are known to the public but aren't like your typical police force- you can't just call them. But they're always around on patrol. The police aren't exactly fond of them cause "They're terking our jerbs". But they have a joint thing going on, the police handle the human crimes, unless alien tech is involved, and the plumbers handle the alien crimes.
The public views them as an iffy subject, not exactly hailed as heroes, but more of a neutral, they're here to stay I guess, kinda thing. The focus is on Gwen mostly, as the poster child(adult) of the plumbers. (this is where I really wanna separate reality and fantasy, cause like, the issues with the police at the moment is major sooo, eh, it's a touchy subject matter)
Yes to this one. When Julie's away Ben and Ship play. Ben and Julie don't meet up often, work and the vigilante life make Ben way too busy, buuut when they do meet up Julie will pop by Bens apartment - Ben makes sure nothing incriminating is around if that's the case - , or they'll hang out at the dog park, and watch the dogs go ballistic around Ship.
For the pet scenarios, visualize them to your hearts content. I got some cats laying around for my reference... even though they mostly sleep- lazy bastards.
Yes to this too! Argit and Ben would totally make bets- Ben being an anodite can sense Kevin and Gwens emotions and when they're gonna break out into a fight- So he always wins the bets. Argit has learned to not bet too high when it comes to that- if he actually forks up in the first place- .
In the case Kevin and Gwen had broken out into a fist fight, Kevin obsorbing the marble counter, Gwen turning into fourarms. Ben nearly broke his cover trying to prevent any fights, until a coworker had stepped in and promptly kicked them both out. (maybe I'll design some coworkers)
Now to get me some mint tea, cause my fingers are about to freeze off ;;
24 notes
·
View notes
Text
Oxford to the Cotswolds
Chapter 23 - Always the Bridesmaid.
A/N: So here it is the LAST chapter of Always the Bridesmaid. I kinda feel sad but I know it’s not the end of H&L.Thanks so much @aussieez for proof reading. Thank you again to all those following this story and continue to follow it, you have no idea how much it means to me that you take the time to read.😘
I’m finalizing my tag list for this over the next few days, so again if you like to be tagged just let me know!
Read previous chapters HERE!
Warnings: Fluff & NSFW
Word Count: 2914
Pairings: Laila x Harry
Enjoy! 😘
A week later.
After their little spat, Harry decided maybe now was the time to take up his parents offer of using their cottage. They had their trip planned out, they would leave London on the Sunday morning stop at Oxford for a day or two and get to his parents' cottage on the Tuesday afternoon. "We are staying in an old prison that has been converted into a hotel?" Laila asks as they drove along the M40 "Yeah, I thought it was unusual and right up your street?" he takes his eyes off the road for a second to wink at her "You know the whole cops and robbers thing"
She rolls her eyes and laughs, "I'm guessing you're the criminal?" he smirks. "Nah, I'm a law abiding citizen, my love. You seem like the troublemaker here!" she laughs, "I've been looking up all the sites we need to visit while we are there"
He knew she wouldn't be able to visit a place without doing her research.
"Where do you need to visit then?" she smiles at the fact he asked "So, there is the obvious Bridge of Sighs, which is kind of a copy of the Rialto Bridge in Venice, Carfax tower the views of Oxford, from there are supposed to be amazing, Martyr's Cross which is a cross they have in the road where two Anglican bishops and the Archbishop of Canterbury were burned, oh and there is a Harry Potter tour around the University as some scenes were filmed there and Oxford Castle which is right next door to our prison hotel!"
"Sounds like a couple of days of learning!" he laughs at her "NOT just learning! There is a bar with magical cocktails, ones in test tubes, with fire and even smoke!" she's excited.
Harry doesn't know it, but Laila is a bit of a history buff, if she goes somewhere new she will research the hell out of it. Not long after they moved to London Laila was still adjusting to life in the city, Ezra could see his granddaughter struggling, so he planned a day out with her.
They stood on platform 5 at Harrow and Wealdstone Station "Grandad, where are we going?" she asked him "You will see when we get there!" he smiles at her. The train ride wasn't long. Fifty minutes later they pulled into Bletchley Station "Grandad, why are we here?" he chuckled "And I thought you knew everything about World War 2!" he winks at her, but it doesn't click until 10 minutes later when they were standing outside Bletchley Park.
Laila's eyes are wide "Oh my god!! This....this is where Alan Turing cracked the enigma machine!!" she squealed with excitement before hugging him. "Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!" she's beaming, she takes his hand and drags him through the doors.
This was one thing he and his granddaughter had in common, was their interest in World War 2. They spent hours looking around the huts where it all happened. He never saw her face light up so much as she looked around at the artefacts. They had a look around Station X (National Radio Centre) and when they finally reached the Mansion Laila was overjoyed "Grandad, just think all those people that helped crack the code have been in this very room...no house!!"
They spend hours looking around, before grabbing something to eat at hut 4 "Grandad, just think this is where they would get lunch or even dinner!" she looks around the hut "Laila, just think while they were here no one knew! They had to lie about working here, they couldn't tell anyone even family members. They had to take a vow of silence" he said.
This rang true, as years later Max was building an annex for a couple at the end of their garden and when he got talking to the Nan, whom the annex was being built for she told him how her mum worked at Bletchley Park and had to take a vow of silence which she kept until the park reopened as a museum in 1994.
When it was time to go home Laila couldn't thank him enough for taking her there "Just don't tell your brothers!" she laughs, "I've taken the Bletchley Park vow of silence!"
They finally arrived, Harry pulls into a parking space outside the hotel and a valet comes over Harry hands him the keys and they head in with their cases. They check in; "you will be on the fifth floor in room 135, so take the lift to the right once you go through those doors. Here is your room key and enjoy your stay!" she smiles. "I'm sure we will!" Harry grins at her before they make their way to their room.
"Did you ever watch the TV show Bad Girls?" Laila asks him as the lift takes them to the fifth floor. "I did! Izzy made me watch it with her. That woman that played Yvonne plays Shirley from Eastenders now, doesn't she?" she laughs, "I thought you don't watch it?" she nudges him as the doors open "I don't but when you put it on what am I supposed to do?" he winks.
"129...130...4 more rooms to go," she calls behind her. "Actually 5 more my love," he laughs, she turns to look at him "No! You don't include our room!" she protests. "I think you do," he laughs at her. "NO! No, you don't," he doesn't argue with her.
They dump their bags and head out to look around the city "Oh, they have a Harry Potter tour" Laila's tone is ecstatic, Harry sighs "Don't you want to do it?" she asks "If you want to we will do it" her eyes scan his face "Did the kids in school use to take the piss out of you in school because you had the same name?" she asks, he laughs, "No, if anything they used to call me...oh what was his fat mate called?"
"Crabbe?" she looks at him. "Yeah, that's the one," he offers a weak smile, she runs her fingers through his hair before her arms cling around his neck "Well, who's laughing now? I bet a lot of the girls and boys that bullied you regret it now! You are handsome, fit, funny and you are mine" she winks, he can't help smiling at her "And I have a drop dead gorgeous girlfriend" he says making her blush.
"We'll do something else," she smiles at him and kisses his lips "No, we'll do the tour if you want to!" she looks how long the tour is "2 hours, argh, I'd rather be doing some kinda cardio" he looks at her confused and she laughs, "use your imagination, you are a personal trainer" she winks. He quickly gets the hint "Right, what do we need to look at before I drag you back to the hotel?" he grins at her.
Later.
After dinner, they had back up to their room, "I'm going for a shower" Laila winks at him "OK, I'll grab one after you," she smirks "I was thinking more along the lines of you joining me," she doesn't have to ask him twice, he picks her up and she wraps her legs around his waist as he walks them to the bathroom.
After their shower, Laila notices the chocolate on the bed as she's drying herself. "Oh wow! They're shaped like handcuffs!" she giggles "Hmmm.....that reminds me," he wanders over to his case in just his towel and pulls out a pair of metal handcuffs. "And what do you intend to do with those Mr. Taylor?" she bites her lip "Oh, maybe make an arrest," he winks at her, she notices his arousal through the towel "Oh, on what grounds?" she asks.
"Hmmm....for being stubborn and sarcastic, but also gorgeous, funny, adorable and extremely impossible not to fall in love with" he stands in front of her, pulling off her towel until it drops to the floor. He cups her face, his thumb runs over her lips before capturing them with his, he lifts her arms above her head and his hands run up her arms before he suddenly cuffs her hands.
She smirks against his lips "Oh, PC Taylor, what do I have to do to get you to uncuff me?" his kiss becomes more intense. She drops her hands, so they are wrapped around his neck, he moves them until the backs of her knees hit the bed. They fall onto it with Harry landing on top of her "Well, Miss. Carelli, I think you can convince me somehow" his fingers finds her core.
She hisses at the contact, his other hand comes up and pins her arms above her head as he found her slick petals. "I thought I was the one who had to.....oh shit...convince you to free me," she can barely get her words out, his lips find her pulse line "How exactly are you planning on doing that?" he smirks against her neck.
"Stand up and I'll show you," he does as she says, she sits up and pulls off his towel. Grasping him, she works her hand along him a few times before her mouth follows the same path, he groans as his hips thrust forward in need. Her pillowy lips work along his hardened member, he grunts as her jaw slacks, taking him in further "Fuck...." he mutters.
He rocks his hips back and forth as her tongue runs along the ridges of his cock, he grips a fistful of her hair. His head fell back as he groans, "That's...it gorgeous! Fuck...". She hums against him and her pace moves faster. His knees bucks, her apex is throbbing as she feels him nearing the edge "Laila....I'm...gonna....fuck!" he jerks as he hits his climax and he groans.
She releases him from her mouth and looks up at him. "Are you going to uncuff me now?" she asks as she's sat on her feet, he looks down at her with a grin. He lifts her up and throws her onto the bed, making her giggle "Hey, you said would take these off!" he has a mischievous grin on his face. "Well, Miss. Carelli! I prefer to have you like this, sorry." he captures her lips.
"That's not fair......." she protests, but she soon cuts off as he moves down her body to her centre, his hands grasp the back of both her thighs. His tongue moves apart her folds "Oh Harry!" she moves her arms to run her fingers through his hair. He pulls away, lifts her arms above her head again and kisses her lips "Keep them there!" he tells her before moving back to her core.
Her breathing hitches, he sucks against her clit, making her cry out "Ohhh"
A little later.
His legs are entwined with hers beneath the sheets, she's cuddled up against him as her head rests on his chest "When we get back do you think we should look at properties?" she lifts up and places her hand against his chest stroking his chest hair, looking up to him. He smirks at her, "definitely!" he strokes her hair away from her face "What if we have a look online now?" she stares into his ocean blue eyes and bites her lip waiting for his response.
He reaches for his phone "Let's have a look," he loads up and scrolls through the properties. "What are we going for?" he asks "Somewhere with gates, private drive and pool," she laughs, he digs his fingers into her ribs and she tries to wiggle away "Ahhhh! Harry! Stop!!" his phone is discarded, he cups her face and claims her lips.
His body covers hers and he takes her against.
The next day.
They are back in the car on the way to Harry's parents cottage in Wyck Rissington, Gloucestershire.
Along the way they find a supermarket and grab a few essentials before they continued their drive. They arrive at the cottage 10 minutes later "Aww wow! This is cute!" she smiles as they get out the car. "And it's ours for the next few days" he winks at her.
They head inside, "wow, look at those beams!" she points up at the ceiling. "Have you been here before?" she looks to Harry. "Nah, Mum and Dad haven't let any of us use it...well until now" he winks.
Once they bring in their bags inside, he takes her hand and they have a look around when Harry spots a hot tub outside "Oh, what do we have here?" he nods as he opens the door "I didn't bring a swimsuit!" he has a devilish grin. "Who said anything about swimsuits?" she bit her lip and shook her head at him.
Harry runs Laila a bubble bath with candles around the tub and told her to relax while he cooked dinner. The water was warm against her skin as she sinks into the bathtub, a minute or so later there is a knock on the bathroom door before Harry wanders in with a glass of wine "Here you go, my love," she smiles up at him as she takes the glass "Thank you! So, what's for dinner?"
He leans over kisses her nose and winks "You'll find out when it's on the table. Now enjoy." He leaves her to it.
34 minutes later.
Laila walks into the bedroom and Harry has laid out a dress grey dress on the bed for her to wear. She smiles and starts to get dressed, underneath she puts on some lacy lingerie she had brought for the trip. When she's dressed, she goes in search for Harry, as soon as she saw him, she blushes but can't help but laugh.
"Harry!! What are you doing?" he's stood in the kitchen in just an apron and his boxers, he looks up at her and grins. "You've heard of the Naked Chef right?" he winks. "But he isn't actually naked!" she laughs at him. "I'm not either! I was thinking about it but I thought that would be unsanitary. I see you're wearing the dress I picked out for you." She makes her way over to him.
"Yeah, but the view would be...very sexy," she squeezes his behind "What's for dinner?" she looks around him on the kitchen side "Ah, ah, ah go and sit down," he moves, so she can't see, she sighs, "Fine!" Laila pulls out her phone and sends a picture she took earlier.
Laila looks over to Harry, biting her lip and he catches her checking him out. "You realise I'm not dinner right?" He says. She looks up catching his eye, "might not be dinner, but there is always dessert!" She winks twirling her hair. He chuckles turning back to cooking.
She puts down her phone as he comes over with 2 plates, placing them on table. "Ooo spaghetti and meatballs!" he pours them more wine, Laila twirls her fork collecting the spaghetti "Did you ever see the film The Lady and the Tramp?" she looks over to him. "I have. Mila made me watch it once." He laughs. "Do think we can do a Lady and the Tramp kiss?" she hold up a a string of spaghetti and he chuckles "We can try. Let me put it in my mouth first" Laila cracks and can't help but laugh "OH MY GOD!!"
"Come on, let's give it ago!" He takes the end of the spaghetti and lifts the other side to Laila, she takes it in her mouth and begins to get closer to Harry until their lips are just above each other's. He brushes his lips lightly over hers before pulling away. "Come on, eat up" he smiles at her and she rolls her eyes at him.
After dinner, he takes their plates. "I'll wash them up," she offers. "You can or I can put them in the dishwasher," he jokes, "Actually, you load the dishwasher. I'm going to start up the hot tub!" she gets up from the table "Already done, my love!" he winks at her. "Oh OK!" she stands and lets her dress fall off her shoulders until it's a puddle on the floor.
He looks her up and down. "I didn't bring a swimsuit, but this will do?" say asks as she makes her way to the back door. His eyes never leave hers, she grins, knowing she had him hook, line and sinker. He quickly closes the dish washer and chases after her, she squeals running from him and towards the door.
@lem-20 @aussieez @secretaryunpaid @irisofpurple @khoicesbyk @txemrn @gloriousalmondvoiddreamer @tea-me-kah @casualpostqueen @beautifuluknownvoid @wombatsxkookaburras
Their moans fill the night sky, both are blissfully happy.
Series 2 - Chapter 1
#atb#Always The Bridesmaid#final chapter#original writing#harry x laila#oxford#oxford castle#oxford martyr#oxford university#malmaison oxford#Original Work#original character#original story#@pixie 88 original
23 notes
·
View notes
Photo
It’s the first day of 2021, which calls (yet again!) for my ten favorite new-to-me movies I watched in 2020!
The rules are the same as always: no movies from this past year (2020) or the year before (2019). Every other year is free game.
All ten of these movies are fascinating and beautiful and well worth your time, so consider this a strong endorsement for all of them. I’ve also included ways to watch all of the films (as of this writing, Jan. 1, 2021).
01. Two for the Road (dir. Stanley Donen, 1967; USA)
Donen takes the ideas of romantic cinema and celebrates it while injecting a healthy dose of painful reality. He chooses two of the English language's most attractive movie stars, Albert Finney (in full himbo mode!) and Audrey Hepburn, and follows their ten-year marriage as seen on their various road trips across Europe. It's a memory piece more than anything else, but the arc of their relationship is clear and their palpable connection burns through the screen. These are two beautiful, intelligent adults who love each other deeply, who are still physically attracted to each other, who are able to hurl verbal jabs and insults at each other with the best of them. Finney is magnificent, but Hepburn sort of steals the show. In what is probably her finest onscreen performance, she gets to grow from a virginal bride to a fully fleshed out adult, living beautifully in different shades of sexy and goofy and bitter. They make a screen couple for the ages. The script is funny without losing its honesty, it's tragic without leaning too far into artifice, it's romantic without being treacly. It's a remarkable balancing act and makes for a masterpiece. (Two for the Road is available to rent online or viewed at this link.)
02. Stop Making Sense (dir. Jonathan Demme, 1984; USA)
Stop Making Sense feels like a miracle. It hints at a narrative arc, but that part is unimportant. It’s a live performance recorded and packaged specifically for consumption as a film. In its brief runtime, it becomes a living, breathing, sweating testament to David Byrne’s skill as a performer, as a songwriter, as a storyteller, and to the remarkable talents of everyone in Talking Heads. It’s a breathtakingly joyous experience. I can’t remember the last time I watched a recording of a live performance that captured the same brand of energy, of buoyancy, that you feel as you’re leaving a great communal experience. This is a masterpiece that proclaims as loudly as possible that there is no joy greater than making art with people you love. (Stop Making Sense is currently streaming on Amazon Prime.)
03. Scattered Clouds (dir. Mikio Naruse, 1967; Japan)
Filled to the brim with unspoken turmoil and emotional devastation, Naruse's final film chronicles the rough terrain of a relationship between a widow and the man responsible for her husband's death. Spanning years and exploring just how deeply these wounds can go, much of the Scattered Cloud’s success rests on the performances from Yuzo Kayama and Yoko Tsukasa. Kayama is a handsome, likable screen presence who beautifully lives in his own cloud of grief. Tsukasa gets a bit more to chew on, as this really is her story: her arc and her inability to move forward, despite the best intentions, is one of the film's most lasting ideas. Brutally sad but incredibly beautiful. The work of a master filmmaker. (Scattered Clouds is currently streaming on the Criterion Channel.)
04. L’Atalante (dir. Jean Vigo, 1934; France)
My only regret with L’Atalante is that I didn’t see it sooner. The final (and only feature-length) film from Jean Vigo before his untimely death at 29, this film is a technical marvel and a humanist miracle. Featuring spirited performances from Dita Parlo, Jean Dasté, and the great character actor Michel Simon, and intoxicating dreamlike imagery, as well as a relentlessly romantic score from Maurice Jaubert, this film looks and feels like no other film from its era. (L’Atalante is currently streaming on the Criterion Channel.)
05. Daisies (dir. Věra Chytilová, 1966; Czechoslovakia)
Věra Chytilová's iconic masterpiece of anarchic cinema more than lives up to its reputation. Operating on its own chaotic wavelength, Daisies follows the exploits of Marie I (Jitka Cerhová) and Marie II (Ivana Karbanová) who seek to spoil themselves after realizing how spoiled the world is. They begin to live extravagantly and rip off older men and cause general mischief. Over less than 80 minutes, Daisies upends a whole slew of cultural norms. Beautiful, ambiguous, funny, cynical, and truly visionary. (Daisies is currently streaming on the Criterion Channel and HBO Max.)
06. The Hero (dir. Satyajit Ray, 1966; India)
The Hero sort of feels like Satyajit Ray's answer to 8½ in its meditation of fame and regret. Uttam Kumar is fantastic as Arindam Mukherjee, a superstar actor who works through his career and his loss of values in an interview with a reporter played by Sharmila Tagore, who is also fantastic. Under Ray's sleek direction, gracefully opening up the world of the train, and with his intelligent and human script, the cast uniformly sinks their teeth into this film. Kumar is the MVP out of necessity -- without him, the whole film would fall apart -- but the whole ensemble is remarkable, peppering the background of the train scenes and in Arindam's flashbacks. This also has one of the all-time great nightmare sequences. Easily one of the master director’s best films. (The Hero is currently streaming on the Criterion Channel.)
07. Malcolm X (dir. Spike Lee, 1992; USA)
Malcolm X is a truly massive film housing an even bigger performance from the great Denzel Washington. Tracing Malcolm X’s life and career while juggling numerous tones and visual styles and spanning across decades and continents, this is surely Spike Lee’s most ambitious film up to this point in his career. Washington is onscreen for virtually all of its long runtime, from the early exuberant days before his imprisonment all the way up to that fateful day in the Audubon Ballroom, and he is, of course, tremendous. All that classic Denzel charisma and magnetism is on full display, whether in his impassioned speeches or in his more intimate scenes. Lee’s direction is top notch, making this full story about a life with an incalculably profound impact feel richly and deeply intimate. This is one of the essential American epics. (Malcolm X is available to rent online.)
08. Beau Travail (dir. Claire Denis, 1999; France)
Beau Travail’s place in the modern canon of world cinema is assured, and Denis is rightfully seen as a master, but it really can’t be overstated just how much of a gem this film is. Pepper with sparse dialogue (though always packed with meaning), the film lives in one of two modes: muscular, suntanned men doing slow, precise choreographed exercises in the heat of the day and those same muscular men dancing and gyrating with attractive young women in some ethereal nightclub. Between these poles lies Denis’ almost cosmic meditation on masculine ego, homoerotic obsession, and regret. A fascinating, enigmatic, devastating beauty. (Beau Travail is currently streaming on the Criterion Channel.)
09. Only Angels Have Wings (dir. Howard Hawks, 1939; USA)
Only Angels Have Wings might be Howard Hawks' crowning directorial achievement. The aerial work, the rainy nights, the beautiful atmosphere of the bars, the palpable camaraderie of the characters, the tragic loss of life and yet the persistence to move forward. Cary Grant leads a terrific cast, including a quietly moving Richard Barthelmess and a rarely-more-likable Thomas Mitchell, and his chemistry with both Jean Arthur (the most charming) and Rita Hayworth is a joy to watch. This film seems to dabble in multiple genres at once, subverting the cliches of the Hollywood formula while still embracing the melodrama and the artifice within. In that way, the film feels very strange, but if the viewer lets themselves be carried along with Hawks' unique rhythm, the reward is one of the most fascinating and exciting films in Hollywood's fabled 1939 output. (Only Angels Have Wings is available to rent online or viewed at this link.)
10. Closely Watched Trains (dir. Jiří Menzel, 1966; Czechoslovakia)
Between the precise composition of the shots and the young narrator-protagonist, Closely Watched Trains feels like a spiritual predecessor to Wes Anderson's work. This comparison extends to the thematic content of the film as well, as the story of a young man coming-of-age against the backdrop of the Nazi regime is definitely cut from the same cloth as The Grand Budapest Hotel. Lucky for me, I love Anderson's work, and Grand Budapest is my favorite of his, so Menzel's stylistic flourishes immediately endeared me to the film.Menzel maintains a skillful tonal balancing act throughout Closely Watched Trains. Even under the wry, almost self-deprecating humor, the film never loses track of preciousness of life and the horrific tragedy of war. Beautiful cinematography, strong performances across the board, a memorable score, and a clever script make this a gem of the Czech New Wave and a moving, delightful, and accessible coming-of-age tale. (Closely Watched Trains is currently streaming on the Criterion Channel.)
Honorable mentions (in alphabetical order): Ace in the Hole (Billy Wilder, 1951), The Band’s Visit (Eran Kolirin, 2007), But I’m a Cheerleader (Jamie Babbit, 1999), Carnival of Souls (Herk Harvey, 1962), A Cottage on Dartmoor (Anthony Asquith, 1929), Crossing Delancey (Joan Micklin Silver, 1988), Divorce Italian Style (Pietro Germi, 1961); Eat Drink Man Woman (Ang Lee, 1994), Fireworks (Kenneth Anger, 1947), The Freshman (Fred C. Newmeyer & Sam Taylor, 1925), The Hitch-Hiker (Ida Lupino, 1953), Kuroneko (Kaneto Shindo, 1968), Le Bonheur (Agnès Varda, 1965), Le Notti Bianche (Luchino Visconti, 1957), Like Father, Like Son (Hirokazu Kore-eda, 2013), Local Hero (Bill Forsyth, 1983), Love & Basketball (Gina Prince-Bythewood, 2000), Mad Max 2: The Road Warrior (George Miller, 1981), Monsoon Wedding (Mira Nair, 2001), One Sings, the Other Doesn’t (Agnès Varda, 1977), Pennies from Heaven (Herbert Ross, 1981), Pickup on South Street (Samuel Fuller, 1953), Rushmore (Wes Anderson, 1998), Seven Samurai (Akira Kurosawa, 1954), Sleepless in Seattle (Nora Ephron, 1993), Symbiopsychotaxiplasm: Take One (William Greaves, 1968), Tea and Sympathy (Vincente Minnelli, 1956), They Shoot Horses, Don’t They? (Sydney Pollack, 1969), Tomboy (Céline Sciamma, 2011), Wendy & Lucy (Kelly Reichardt, 2008), Within Our Gates (Oscar Micheaux, 1920), Whisper of the Heart (Yoshifumi Kondo, 1995), and Who Framed Roger Rabbit (Robert Zemeckis, 1988).
And some miscellaneous viewing stats:
First movie watched in 2020: A Fantastic Woman (Sebastián Lelio, 2017)
Final movie watched in 2020: Holiday (George Cukor, 1938)
Worst movie watched: The Notebook (Nick Cassavetes, 2004)
Oldest movie watched: Ten films by the Lumière Brothers (Louis Lumière, 1895)
Longest movie watched: Seven Samurai (Akira Kurosawa, 1954; 207 minutes)
Month with most amount of movies watched: December (58 movies, including shorts)
Month with least amount of movies watched: February (11 movies) (pre-COVID, naturally)
First movie from 2020 seen: Birds of Prey (Cathy Yan, 2020)
Total movies watched: 455
#sometimes elliott watches movies#year in review#two for the road#stop making sense#scattered clouds#l'atalante#daisies#the hero#malcolm x#beau travail#only angels have wings#closely watched trains
100 notes
·
View notes
Text
Here We Go Again | An MJF Fanfic Part 4
Status: *Not requested*
Description: Bella was a teen wrestler working in the Indy circuit until an injury cost her her short career. She and MJF were friends turned lovers, turned strangers and friends again. What happens when she joins AEW to lead a faction with her ex? Will their history jeopardize their rekindled friendship?
A/N: This is an alternate universe (no covid :p) where MJF didn’t earn a spot in the inner circle. Hope you all enjoy my original story!
See also: (Part 1) (Part 2)
“Is it possible for me to kiss you?” James’ voice was shaking. We parked up in front of Britt’s after our date. We had a great time at a bar in downtown Jacksonville. I liked talking to him. He’s very down to earth and mature. I’ve dated guys his age before and they weren’t mature when they were supposed to be. We got along great and the three hours we spent together felt like no time at all. We listened to music and talked about life and what we wanted out of it. The talks were never shallow which I appreciated. I looked at him with a smile. “It’s possible.” He smiled back and leaned in. I leaned over the consol. He placed his hand on my cheek and pulled me in softly. In one swift motion his lips connected with mine. It was slow and sweet. He was a good kisser but I couldn’t help but compare him to Max. They were both soft and tender. It was different though, there was love behind my kisses with Max, even last week. I had to figure what I wanted from him. Am I able to move on? Maybe it’s not with James, but maybe it’s not with anyone.
We pulled away, smiling. “Sweet,” he said.
I giggled, “you’re good.”
He laughed, “thank you, so are you.” We talked a little bit more before saying goodnight. He waited for Britt to open the door for me before pulling off. Britt hugged me when I walked in. “What the...?”
“How was it?” She grinned.
“It was fun.”
“And did he kiss you?” She grinned.
“Were you watching?”
Britt closed her lips together, looking around the room. “Nooo?”
I shook my head, laughing. “He did.”
“Was it good?”
“He was good.” I put on my best smile. Britt of course didn’t buy into my giddiness. “What happened? Did he say something douchy? I’ll kill him. You think you know a guy,” she shook her head.
“No, Britt. He’s great. It’s just...Max slipped into my mind.” I sat on the couch in defeat. “He wasn’t on my mind before that kiss.” Britt sat next to me. “Oh Bell, what are you going to do about Max?”
“I don’t know. All I know is this was a bad idea.”
“No, stop it’s not. You’re just confused.”
“How can I get over it?” I dropped my head to my hands. Britt rubbed my back to comfort me. “I don’t know babes, I don’t know.” I heard footsteps behind us. I sat up and looked back at Austin. “What’s going on?” He placed his hands on his hips. “She’s having a moment,” Britt said with a sigh. Austin nodded his head. “Are you okay kiddo?”
“Max,” was all I could say.
“My name isn’t Max, but...”
“It’s about Max you dip,” Britt rolled her eyes.
“I know that babe, I’m trying to make her smile.”
“Well you failed,” Britt said, causing me to chuckle. She looked at me, “I won.”
“Britt won,” I said softly. Austin shook his head, “seriously. What happened?”
Austin walked in front of us.
“How do I get over this comparing guys to Max?”
“Get under him,” he shrugged.
“Tried that. Made things worse.” Austin looked at me then at Britt with wide eyes. “I um shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t want to know.”
“She’s not a child anymore babe.”
“But she’s like my sister.” He turned his attention back to me. “You need guy advice, don’t you?”
“Duh, Jenkins.” I said and Britt laughed. “Seriously, what should I do?” I sat, laying my head on the couch backing. “Talk to him about it. you two will be working close together for a while. The tension might be great for tv, but you need peace of mind.”
“I had a feeling you’d say to talk to him,” I sighed.
He chuckled, “you have to be an adult about it.” He’s completely right. As much as I hated it, Austin is usually right when I get advice from him. Austin left for bed while Britt and I talked about my night. I needed to get Max off my mind, at least for the night. I was going to see him in the morning. I’ll have to rip the band-aid off and that’s just what I was going to do.
The next day Britt drove me to the airport. I made my way through TSA and met up with Max. He was sitting at a coffee shop, phone in hand. An announcement came over the speakers saying flights to New York will be delayed. I approached him and sat in the chair across from him. He looked up at his phone and smiled at me. “Hey, you.”
“Hey, how’s it going?”
“Eh, pissed that our flight will be another hour.” He looked at the board next to us with all the flights and times they will leave and arrive somewhere. “Well that sucks.” We made small talk. I couldn’t bring myself to talk to him just yet. We talked about next week. I didn’t want to bring down the conversation by telling him what’s on my mind. It started to irritate me to the point where I just had to tell him. “Max? Can I... I need to tell you something.”
“Yeah what’s up? You look nervous.” He placed his hand on mine and gave it a quick squeeze. My palms were sweating and my mouth went dry. I needed that to be the other way around. I just came out and spewed word vomit at him. “James asked me out so we went out and he kissed me. When he did kiss me I thought about you and now I’m a mess because I’m thinking about you.” I took a deep breath. Max had a blank expression on his face. We sat in an awkward silence for a couple of minutes. “So you went out with James?” I nodded. “And you kissed him?” I nodded again.
“And you thought of me?”
“Max I just told you.”
“Do you still love me? And don’t say you’ll always love me, you know what I mean.”
“I don’t know Max and that’s the problem.”
“How did you feel about me when we fucked?” His tone got more aggressive. I didn’t answer. He pulled his chair closer to mine. “How did you feel about me when we fucked?” He whispered in the same tone. His face was only inches from mine. “Look at me.”
“It felt amazing. I missed you and being in your arms,” I said softly. Our eyes connected. He reached out and cupped my cheek with his hand. “Then be mine again,” he ran his thumb across my cheek bone.
“Max I-I don’t know.” He dropped his hand and stood up. “Well when you know, come talk to me.” He took his luggage and walked away. I watched as we walked towards the gate. My head started pounding and my heart sunk. We can’t even be friends. I didn’t want to ruin things, but here we are. He doesn’t even want to be my friend and that’s what hurts the most. I got a text from James asking how I was. I lied to avoid conversation. He told me to have a safe flight and we left it at that.
Max and I sat in different rows. He didn’t even look at me I felt like a huge pile of crap. My throat tightened, I couldn’t help but let tears flow. All of a sudden a memory came back from when we were 16.
. . . . . .
I took the train from school to the training facility. It was only a half hour ride. Davey picked me up from the station and had another kid in the passenger’s seat. He looked about my age, dark hair and dark deep set eyes. He had an air of confidence about him, almost to the point of cockiness. He looked kind of small so maybe he was trying put on a façade. He would look at me every once in a while through the rearview mirror. It wasn’t anything creepy, more of trying to figure me out. Even though I had my school uniform on I still looked like I was fixing to fight someone. I always put on my own hard exterior even though deep down I’m a sweet person. I kept my head down to keep from an awkward stare. He talked to Davey about how excited he was to start training. I found out that Max was being trained by the main trainer at the school. Davey just started as a trainer last year when I began here. When I was 13 I went to a wrestling school just for fun. It was something I ended up really enjoying. I wasn’t serious about it though until I realized I could actually be successful. At 13 I did both dance and wrestling, but I chose the latter not only because it was more enjoyable, but it became my dream turned reality. Focusing on wrestling was the best decision I made.
Once we got to the school I went to the restroom and got dressed in my sweatpants. I tied my hair up and made my way to the main room. All the trainers would get together and set up matches for all the students. There were three people assigned to a trainer with five trainers in total. The females would go against each other and the males will. Sometimes we’ll have intergender matches if we begged for it. All the trainers introduced a new member to their team. The boy from the car’s name was Maxwell Friedman. He clearly looked like the youngest, but he carried himself as if he was older than he actually is. I on the other hand always seemed younger in the way I presented myself. I don’t have the best posture and radiated timid young girl vibes. He scanned everyone and rested his gaze on me. I looked away quickly. Boys never really looked in my direction before, at least I didn’t notice them looking at me. Going to an all girls Catholic school didn’t help the cause. We all gathered around the ring and had matches one by one. I was the fourth match and went up against a girl named Fiona. She was a few inches taller than me and had slightly bigger arms. I could lift half my body weight, but I didn’t do that enough to see major results. I didn’t want big arms, I just wanted to be strong. Davey coached me while her trainer coached her. There was no winners or losers in these matches. It was more to build up our endurance and skill. We all got 10 minutes for each match. After my match it was time for a dinner break. We all sat around to eat and talk. I ended up sitting next to Max. We started to talk since everyone else was scarce. He started talking first. “So, how old are you?”
“16,” I nodded. The corners of his lips turned into a smile. “So am I. What month were you born?”
“September, you?”
“I’m older. March,” he said proudly. I let out a chuckle. He continued talking, “you’re a good wrestler.”
I smiled. It was the highest compliment for me. “Thank you. I’m looking forward to seeing your skill.”
“I have plenty,” he smirked. I rolled my eyes and laughed. “You’ll see.” And that I did. He wrestled the next time we had class. On Tuesday’s and on Friday’s is a training class with our individual trainers. One Saturday a month the whole school would put on a show for friends and family. When the next Tuesday rolled around I became brave and started a conversation with Max. We decided to ask our trainers if we could have a match together. They agreed and let us do it. We were coached through and found out that we had a lot of chemistry in the ring. Every move I made was natural and didn’t have much thought behind it.
12 notes
·
View notes
Text
Fate and Phantasms #45: Mata Hari
Today on Fate and Phantasms, we’re building the living embodiment of clickbait, Mata Hari! If this post ends up getting five times as many notes as normal, it’s okay, I understand. Mata Hari is another bard/rogue combination, this time mixing the college of glamour with a mastermind. She can help out in combat, but her strongest points are going deep undercover to learn an enemy’s secrets.
You can read the level-by-level breakdown below the cut, or check out the summary spreadsheet here.
Race and Background
Mata Hari is a Human(though like the Phantom, if you want to spice it up Siren is a good place to start), giving her +1 to all stats. Mata Hari is the textbook example of a Charlatan, giving her proficiency in Deception and Sleight of Hand, as well as the Disguise and Forgery kits. She also has a False Identity she can assume, complete with disguises and documentation. Furthermore, she can forge documents she has seen before.
Stats
Your highest stat is Charisma: you’re so good at charming people they literally can’t tell you’re an enemy unless they’re told so, that’s pretty charming. You’re also a dancer, which requires a lot of Dexterity (or it would if dnd stats made sense). Next is your Wisdom, a good spy needs to know when they’re being watched. Follow this with Intelligence, you’re not unusually smart, but we need to keep your physical scores as low as possible. Constitution is next, because we’re never going to dump that if at all possible. Finally, we’re dumping strength, because dex builds don’t need it.
Class Levels
1. Rogue 1: We’re starting the build as a rogue because they have the most proficiencies, and they’re ones you want. At first level, you become proficient in Dexterity and Intelligence saves, as well as Persuasion and Performance for obvious reasons, Stealth for even more obvious reasons, and Insight. You can’t string people along if you don’t know what they want.
First level rogues get Expertise in two skills, doubling their proficiency. Your Deception and Persuasion should be as strong as possible, so let’s start there. You probably won’t use your Sneak Attack that often, but it’s always there if you need some extra damage on a creature you have advantage over or an ally within 5′ of. Finally, your Thieves’ Cant lets you talk to other rogues without people catching on, assuming there are other rogues. Maybe you should coordinate with another party member.
2. Rogue 2: At second level you get your Cunning Action, letting you disengage, dash, or hide as a bonus action. Ideally the enemy won’t know you’re working against them, but a way to get out of danger without being turned into a shishkebab is always a good idea.
3. Rogue 3: At third level you become an official Mastermind, becoming a Master of Intrigue and a Master of Tactics. Master of Intrigue gives you proficiencies you already have, two languages, and the ability to mimic speech patterns and accents that you’ve heard for more than a minute. There isn’t a limit on how long you can copy an accent for, so that’s why Mata Hari started the game with a thick scottish accent, and it has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that it’s the only accent I know, shut up. As a Master of Tactics, you can Help as a bonus action, and it has a range of 30′.
4. Rogue 4: 30′ is some rookie numbers, and we can improve that by using our first ASI on the Tandem Tactician feat. This increases your helping range by 10′, and you can help two people at once if they’re targeting the same enemy. Toss in some thieves’ cant or a foreign language and you’ll be useful for your party no matter which side you appear to be on.
5. Bard 1: When you multiclass into bard, you get one skill proficiency of your choice. Perception is a good choice-again, you need to know if anyone’s watching you before you do the whole “stealing state secrets” thing. You’re not making that mistake again.
First level bards have Spellcasting based on their charisma as well as Bardic Inspiration, a bunch of d6 you can throw at people to help them.
For spells, grab Friends, Unearthly Chorus, and Charm Person for extra charming action, Message because learning an enemy’s secrets doesn’t mean much if you can’t pass them off to your friends, Disguise Self to help you infiltrate no-humans-allowed areas, and Sleep for ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
6. Rogue 5: Your Uncanny Dodge lets you react to avoid half the damage of an attack. Getting hurt is bad, stop doing it.
7. Rogue 6: Your second round of Expertise boosts your Performance and Insight. You’re good at dancing, and stealing things from the saps watching you dance. Now you’re even better at doing both of those.
8. Rogue 7: Seventh level rogues gain Evasion, severely reducing the amount of damage you take from dexterity saving throw attacks. If you’re consorting with the enemy, some splash damage is going to hit you. Now it’ll hit you less!
9. Bard 2: You’re now a Jack of All Trades, adding half your proficiency to all nonproficient checks. You also learn how to sing a Song of Rest, adding a d6 to any healing your party does on short rests.
For your spell this level, grab Animal Friendship. Your charm might not hit most creatures, but it does work on Orion, so I’m counting it.
10. Rogue 8: Your next ASI is going to improve your Charisma for more charming and more Bard fun.
11. Bard 3: Speaking of Bard, here’s your last level in it. At third level you get Expertise in two more skills, pick Stealth and Sleight of Hand- you’re a spy, and those tend to help.
You also graduate from the College of Glamour at this level, giving you two more features. The Mantle of Inspiration lets you burn a bardic inspiration die as a bonus action to heal a couple people and let them move without causing attacks of opportunity. Is your wizard facing down a raging barbarian? Now they’re not.
You also learn to put on an Enthralling Performance, letting you charm a number of creatures once per short rest after you perform for a minute or more. They won’t fight for you unless they would anyway, but they’ll be good to you while they’re charmed.
Speaking of enthralling, Enthrall is your final bard spell. It causes any number of creatures within 60′ of you to make a wisdom save, and on a failure they have disadvantage against perceiving creatures who aren’t you. If you’re at the bar with your friends and your real friends show up, that could be a problem. This spell will keep everybody groovy for a while.
12. Rogue 9: You’re now an Insightful Manipulator, meaning if you chat up a creature for 1 minute outside of combat, you can learn two of the following characteristics: its Intelligence score, its Wisdom score, its Charisma score, or its class levels. You might also learn some of its history, and that last bit is the real goldmine here. You can’t be a fake manic pixie dream girl if you don’t know what hole in someone’s life you can pretend to fill.
13. Rogue 10: For this level’s ASI, you become a Linguist. This gives you a couple extra languages to pad out the number of countries you can pretend to be from, and more importantly lets you write down codes. Sometimes you need to talk to your party and you can’t get an opening for Message or Thieves’ Cant; this will help out.
14. Rogue 11: You now have Reliable Talent: any skill you’re proficient in will always have a roll of 10 or higher. This means your deception and persuasion rolls have a baseline of 24 that they’ll always be at or above, so your cover story is pretty much unbreakable.
15. Rogue 12: Max out your Charisma with this ASI for better lying, spells, and more inspiration.
16. Rogue 13: Thirteenth level masterminds learn Misdirection. If there’s an attack heading your way, and there’s a creature within 5′ of you between you and the attacker, you can react to make the attack hit them instead. This means if you play your cards right, your terrible AC is secretly someone else’s. Hang out around that guy in plate mail an get your party to send one attack your way each round, and he’ll be a pincushion in no time.
17. Rogue 14: You get Blindsense this level, letting you know the location of any creature within 10′ of you as long as you can hear. This isn’t particularly useful for this build, but you’re not one to turn down free things.
18. Rogue 15: You now have a Slippery Mind, giving you proficiency in Wisdom saves. Most of your stats aside from charisma aren’t great, so take what you can get.
19. Rogue 16: Use your last ASI to improve your Dexterity and Constitution. You aren’t using these that often, but if you go to stab the big bad in the back an miss, it would be really awkward.
20. Rogue 17: For your capstone level, you gain a Soul of Deceit. Your mind can’t be read unless you will it, and you can’t be magically compelled to tell the truth either. Falling into a zone of truth mid-job is a rookie mistake, one you won’t be making.
Pros: You’re an expert manipulator, knowing exactly what buttons to push to trick people into doing what you want. Moreover, you don’t have to worry about a fight breaking out, because your entire fighting style is letting someone else take care of it. Some advice here, a shove there, and soon enough you’re the only one still standing.
Cons: Your entire not-fighting style means you won’t get to use your sneak attack, and 9d6 damage per turn is a lot to just ignore. Skimping on bard levels leaves you with very little magic each day, and not getting the Font of Inspiration especially hurts. Finally, some games simply won’t work for you. Being a master of seduction doesn’t help when you’re fighting automatons. Also, like 90% of the evil groups in D&D are slavers; you probably don’t want to try and cozy up to them. Even when there’s an enemy army you can worm your way into, you might be forcing your DM to run two games at once, which they won’t appreciate.
Next up: We’re finishing off the assassins with someone we’ve already built twice. Kind of.
73 notes
·
View notes
Note
Please lemme read Cafe Latte!
Order up!!!
Alright so here’s what I had written for this before I dropped the project to focus on TLC and then swapped to the Mermaid Plot instead for Hattie’s parents
I also included the Synop I originally wrote when it was gonna be posted on Ao3 if I finished it
So A Time Traveler, her older inter-dimensional Demon brother, and a lawyer walk into a Cafe---
Arulius Law was a tired law student trying his best to manage school work and his Controlling girlfriend Vanessa. His life changed when a girl's dog ran into him in the park! Meeting that same girl again when walking home, he got dragged through a time rift and the two are trying to fix the matter together!
“Damnit, Damion! HEEL!” The young woman shouted as she ran after the great dane.
The poor young man who sat below the tree looked up a moment too late as he was barreled into by the slobbering pooch. He coughed as the dog placed its tongue all over him, covering him in drool. He wiped his face as the dog was abruptly pulled off of him by the very angry looking girl.
“Bad Dog!” She chided, clicking the chain around his neck, “Honestly I shift hands for five seconds to answer my phone and you book it!” she sighed, holding a hand to the young man while tightly holding the dog’s leash in the other, “Sorry About that Sir.”
He took her hand, standing upright and dusting off. She blinked in shock as he stood above her, not having expected him to be so tall.
“It’s fine. He spoke in a deep voice, unbefitting of his thin frame, “I chose a bad spot to study!” he laughed it off, cackling.
She began to laugh with him, placing her hand on her hip, “Still, I should have had a better grip on him. Sorry about it.”
“No one but the bacteria on my face got hurt, so I don’t see any need to apologize.” he cracked his back stretching, “I needed to get up for class anyway.” he checked his watch, “I have a lecture in about 20 minutes. Perfect time to get a coffee.”
“How About I treat you?” She offered, “Since he did take your kisses.” She snickered a bit. She brushed a loose strand of black hair behind her ear.
He thought about it for a moment. Vanessa wouldn’t mind, right? It was just a coffee as an apology?
He sighed, “yeah sure.” he grinned, “Anything for bean water.”
“Rad.” She smiled, sharp teeth peeking when she did, “Lead the way!” She laughed.
He grabbed his backpack from the grass, shoving his open books into it and began to walk towards the west of the park, “There’s a nice cafe this way owned by a lovely screaming couple. Dead bird Cafe.” he explained as they walked, “one of the owners is this older gentleman who’s always screaming, but he makes the best dark roast ever.” he grinned.
“Dead bird Cafe,” she repeated thinking about it. She snickered, “So that’s how it is.” She giggled brushing her thick hair behind her ear only to have it bush back. She groaned, “I need a haircut.”
“I feel you on that.” He laughed loudly, brushing his own back, “My girlfriend likes my hair long though so I leave it.” he sighed, “Long curly hair on a legal defendant doesn’t look good. I feel I look so unkempt.”
“If you want unkempt try having these cowlicks!” she chuckled as she ran a finger through the shorter parts of her hair, “At least yours looks on length! I can’t get mine to grow more than a weird mullet!” She sighed heavily, the dog she was walking barking his two cents. The two laughed as they made it to the western disco cafe.
She paused outside, trying to withhold a laugh, “What is this decor?!” She was holding her stomach as she laughed, bright blue eyes watering.
“Yes it…. It is a little. Different.” he admitted opening the door, “Let me see if your dog can come in.” He headed inside, “Conrad?” he asked as he walked in, “DJ?”
“Aye if it ain't the bean pole! What canne aye getcha today?” the golden-haired man asked as he was wiping out a cup. He sat behind the counter, looking out the door. The young woman was busy talking on her phone, seeming visibly upset over something. “Who’s the lassie? You finally cut it off with Vanessa?”
He shook his head, “No, NO! Perish the thought Conrad!” he chuckled, “Her dog tackled me in the park, she offered to pay for my coffee as an apology, but we can’t just tie a great dane who got loose once outside. I couldn’t recall if you’re pet friendly.”
He frowned, “Well technically we’re nawt. But we only opened a lil bit ago so no one is here yet, so.” He shrugged, “As the owner I say fine.” He laughed, “You can go tell her, Arulius.”
“Thanks!” he waved heading to the door, “He said it’s okay.” He tilted his head as she was frowning, creasing her brow heavily, “Are you okay?”
“Huh?” She blinked, snapping back, “Oh yeah I’m fine! My brother was just being really annoying!” she admitted, “Apparently he found something I have to go look at when he gets out of class.” She dropped her shoulders defeated, “Today was MEANT to be a relaxing day.”
“I get you.” he patted the top of her head. His eyes lit up surprised, “Your hair is very soft!” He stated. He had it to be coarser.
She turned a bit red, “O-Oi!” She pushed past through the coffee shop door, “It’s because I just dyed it! The conditioner makes it softer!” she flushed bright red, “G-Get your bean water!” She pointed to the menu looking it over.
He followed her back inside with a very loud laugh. She jolted as he cackled, her grip tightening on the dog. Her eyes were wide as she thought about it and covered her face, “Ah. So. you.” she was mumbling and he couldn’t figure her last words.
“Hrm?” he tilted his head, “Conrad I’d like my usual please, extra-large.” He ordered.
“Aye Figured.” the old man laughed, the sound similar bird cawing, “An’ for ya lassie?”
“Oh, Um.” she was scrutinizing the board, “I.. Actually don’t know.” she admitted, “I don’t drink coffee so I don’t know what’s good. I don’t like Bitter.”
“What about a cafe latte then?” Arulius offered, “it has a lot of milk and creamer in it so it’s sweeter than a normal coffee.”
“Is that so..” she mused as she tugged on the dogs lead, “Okay!” she smiled. He hadn’t imagined it earlier. He couldn’t help noticing her canines were very oversized.
“So a Death Macchiato and a Cafe Latte.” The older gentleman hopped off his bar stool. He barely stood taller than the counter.
“Don’t!” Arulius warned seeing her eyes go wide. He stood in front of her to whisper, “Do not laugh! He’ll put SALT in your drink!”
She was doing her best to not laugh, “I won’t, I won’t!” her voice cracked as she whispered. She covered her mouth in her hands.
“You are doing a bad job!” he snickered at her.
“I Know!” she wheezed and leaned against his back, “I wasn’t prepared! Ahh.” she sighed, taking a deep breath, “I’m cool, it’s cool!” she grinned widely showing off those odd teeth, “See It’s cool!”
“Well if ye are cool the coffee is hot.” The man put the two cups on the counter, steam rising off of them, “Drink up, it’ll be 12.50 pons lassie!”
“Oh good, it is still pons.” She sighed relieved as she pulled out her wallet and paid for the drinks. She took hers and handed off the other, “Cheers.” she smirked. She patted the dog’s head.
They tapped their cups together, taking a sip as they exited the establishment. Yup that was a Death Macchiato. He sighed happily intaking the illegal amount of pure espresso and a hint of cream with a sigh of relief, “Ah I live.”
“Do you?” she asked with a cheeky grin. She sipped on her own, “I don’t hate it. But coffee is still too bitter.”
“You think so?” he asked as they walked towards the campus. He froze, “Are you going here too?” he asked worriedly.
“No, I’m just meeting my brother.” She admitted, “He works here.” she shrugged, “he won’t get out for a bit, so I was just going to finish walking Damion and return him to his owner.”
“Oh, it’s not your dog?” He blinked at her, he was sure it was.
“Nope! I just walk him for his owner.” She gave another shrug, “I have to earn money somehow and it’s hard when you didn’t finish High School and have no trade skills.”
“Why not get your GED or something?” he pondered as they headed towards the history building, “are you following me the whole way?”
“Why not?” she asked with a sly grin, “Actually, I just don’t..” she paused thinking about the next choice of words, “don’t have time for it.”
“But you can dog walk, and escort a student to class?” he raised a brow.
“One day off does not make for a full set of classes.” she pointed out, “And I’m not worried, I mostly do this because I enjoy it.”
Standing on the building's edge she gave him a small bow, “have a good time in class, Arulius!” She grinned, turning heel and running off in her bright blue sneakers, the dog keeping pace as they vanished before he could respond.
He sighed waving and headed inside, setting his books down he froze.
He never told her his name.
-----
“Good work today class!” the teacher clapped his hands together, he wheeled around the classroom, picking up the students papers. “Remember Thursday is a test day! Time waits for no one, so please make sure to study!” he laughed as he rolled up to Arulius’s desk, “As for you, I know you are trying to succeed, but please when I say 6-10 pages, I only mean 10 max.” he grabbed the hefty stack from the desk, “Also when will you start typing your reports, Mr. law?”
“When Vanessa gives my laptop back?” he shrugged, rubbing his neck. “Sorry, I just really like writing them out.”
The grey-haired man sighed, tapping the other’s head with the stack, “use the computer lab next time.” the other students filed out of the classroom.
Arulius packed his bag up, pulling his phone out he sighed at all the texts Vanessa had left him. Typing back he shrugged the straps over his shoulder. He started his walk home with a disgruntled sigh. He couldn’t get a single day without her freaking out. What did he have to tell her to make her believe he wasn’t doing anything suspicious. He literally went to class, home, and the cafe.
He blinked as he watched the girl from that morning scoot by him into the classroom. He almost hadn’t noticed but she smelt heavily of pine as she cut by him.
“Sena!” She shouted as she headed inside with a wide grin, “Ready?” She asked as she stood on the back of his wheelchair, leaning over him.
“Oh more than. I’m getting sore.” he admitted with a laugh, “I know this was your day off but Tim said it was a pretty bad one. Friend was even worried.”
“Yeah. yeah.” she sighed and ruffled her hair. She turned towards the door giving the young man a wave, “Hi Again!”
“Oh. Uh right hi!” he waved back sheepishly as he turned to leave, having felt his face turn red. He couldn’t believe he got caught staring. He sighed looking back. So that was her brother. Weird. He didn’t recall his teacher ever mentioning any family. But then again it was his teacher. He felt his phone go off again. He started to run home with a heavy sigh.
-----
“So. Is it a violet, blue, red, green?” She asked as she closed the classroom door. She looked at her brother with a tilted head.
“Hold on. Let me just.” he pushed up on the wheelchair, his legs dissolving in an almost pixelated fashion as his skin turned light blue. His face rearranging into a more alien state, his head changing shape. He shook his head as he finished shifting and floating around her, “I love teaching but holding a human form gets so tiring. Plus the whole I don’t actually have legs thing.” he grumbled floating around her. He snapped his fingers so his chair folded up vanishing in a mass of red threads.
“Feeling better now you can stretch a little?” She chuckled as she raised her hand to reach into the air. It shimmered as her hand vanished, reappearing holding an hourglass.
“Oh much better. Also what was with you and Mr. Law?” he raised his brow curiously as he took the hourglass from her.
“Oh, Arulius?” She sighed, “The dog I was walking this morning jumped him.” She admitted, “I treated him to coffee as a sorry. You know. He reminded me a lot of that one shadow demon we met years ago.”
“You think so?” He tilted his head this time, clearly a family trait.
“His laughter.” she admitted with a big grin, “Also I totally found that old Firespirit! He runs a coffee shop! A far cry from a studio!”
“Well, that does happen when you jump dimensions as often as we do. Somethings get mixed around.” he shrugged as he flipped the glass, red threads around it as he did. “Though I highly doubt that Mr. Law is the Snatcher…” he frowned, “Actually, no. You may be right.” he sighed, “well let’s hope he meets a better fate here.”
“You going to steal his corpse?” She teased as she reached out a blue flame covering the red threads.
“You steal a prince’s body once and you never live it down!” he wheezed. “Almost got it!” he held his hands up, “Alright! I think we’re good for a jump!”
“Onward!” She grinned as she took the hourglass back and flipped it around, the air shifting as things began to rewind, the two of them standing still as folks moved around them as if in a movie.
“How far back?” She asked as she held the glass steady.
“About a day and OH!” he stopped her, the rift shimmering as they paused the world around them by turning the glass on its side. “There it is!” He pointed towards a shimmering crimson toned orb that floated above the students in the classroom.
“Oh booo. I hate red rifts.” She huffed as she got up on a desk reaching out.
“Wait Eclipse!” Sena shouted but it was too late, her foot brushed Arulius’s face as he sat at his desk righting. He blinked looking around confused. The trio was pulled into the orb with a fizzing noise. The world resumed without them.
----
“Uh...Uhh..” Arulius looked around as they stood on the ceiling in a rocky temple.
Eclipse was holding her head ashamed while he looked around. He winced as he felt blood from his nose, leaking down his face towards his mouth despite the way they stood.
“How do I explain this to Tim?!” she fretted as she held her head in her hands, “Sena! What do we do?!” she gasped.
The demon was looking around, inspecting the stonework, “Nothing can be done right now. We need to locate what caused this rift, be it a timepiece or something else. Since it’s a red one, that means there could be an escaped horizon lurker.”
“Sena! I think this is a little more pressing! Oh no.” She saw his nose bleeding and reached to wipe it, “Damnit.” she groaned, “I’m so sorry!”
“I’m just.” He was trying to figure what was going on. His head was pounding and his stomach lurched, “urp.” he covered his mouth with his hands as he paled trying to keep his lunch down.
A loud roar filled the air and she groaned, “Damnit. It is a Horizon lurker. Sena.” she held her hand out.
“Right.” the demon reached and grabbed the threads that materialized around his fingers and a golden halberd with a star theme formed from the threads. She took it and looked at the poor law student.
“Sena why don’t you stay with him. I’ll go get the timepiece.” she looked at him apologetically, “Sorry about this, Ru. I promise it’ll be like a bad dream when this is over!” She jumped from the ceiling landing on the ground and running off.
He could only stare in shock as he fell to his knees. He paused, “Sena…” he looked at the demon who was holding his hands and fretting, “Mr. Nightingale?” he asked quietly.
“Yes Um hello.” he waved with a low chuckle. He laced his fingers together and took human form, however he was standing upright as he rubbed his neck annoyed, “look this is just as weird for me!” he sighed heavily, “Dear Mother Moon. That girl I swear is always a wreck no matter which dimension I find her.” he grimaced and looked down, “We can make you forget this ever happened so don’t fret so much. Think of it like.” he waved his scarred hands around looking for the words, “well as Ammy said, a bad dream.”
“Ammy?” Arulius stared even more confused.
“Oh um. It’s my nickname for Eclipse.” the demon scratched his cheek and sat down beside the law student as he thought about the matter, “I should have activated the rift but she was so hurried. I know she has a quota to make but.” he stopped hearing a roar and a loud whooping noise, “seems she found the lurker.” he leaned on his hand and rapped his fingers on the stonework nervously, “please let her handle it without injury.” he begged.
Arulius stared, “what are you exactly?” he reached a hand to touch the smooth surface of the demon’s head.
#ask#anon#fan fiction#ahit au#Cafe Latte and Broken Dreams Au#ahit moonjumper#ahit prince#ahit fan character#Eclipse Guardian#Sena the threadsmith#Prince Arulius#I hope y'all enjoy!!#maybe I'll finish this au someday but this one ends sadly#granted i could change that#i should finish my coffee shop cinderella au as well#anyone wanna hear about that mess#ive actually posted art for that au
14 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
reiner55art
Art Blog
clipsmaza
clipsmaza
graveyardlimousines-blog
A Ride To Die For
alloutathletes-blog
ALL OUT ATHLETES
crazysupersweetlyawesomefan-blog
I Just Like Characters, Okay!?