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fvckyouimaprophet · 3 years

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lights low, flames high

5x11 alternate ending where tabitha and betty "vibe" while they're on shrooms, and by vibe i mean make out | read on ao3

The music bounces off the bunker walls—small and insulated as it is—and melts into Betty until she’s not sure where it ends and she begins. Then again, she supposes the shrooms are partly to blame. She’s never been good at relinquishing control, and Jessica’s words loop in her head. Let the trip take you wherever it may go. She’s certain that the budding anxiety in the pit of her stomach is not what Jessica meant. It doesn’t help that the last time she was drugged—

Her nails dig into her palm, cutting off that thought. Deep breaths.

“What is this?”

Tabitha’s question makes her jump—the thought of anyone else in the room long out of Betty’s mind.

“What?”

“This music.”

“Oh, it’s from Hair,” Betty says.

“That’s that anti-Vietnam musical?” Her lips betray her, quirking upwards in amusement, but nonetheless, Tabitha sways along with it and drags her finger along the edge of the table.

“Most of my musical theatre knowledge comes from Kevin,” Betty admits. She closes her eyes and runs her fingers along the bed. So many memories for a hole in the ground—and mistakes too.

She pushes the thought out of her mind and focuses instead on the feel of the fabric and the pilled polyester of the pillow cover. Its touch is strangely satisfying and absorbing.

“Can I lay down too?” Tabitha asks, and Betty blinks her eyes open and back into focus as the room swims around her—the red of the lava lamp making the walls look aflame. Betty nods her head before she recalls the spare mattress and hobbles up.

“Wait, I have a better idea.” She tugs at the edge of the mattress, but her grip slips and tugs the bedsheet off instead. It’s hard to focus with her body floating, and she stumbles backward.

“Careful!”

Before Betty can fall into the table, Tabitha places a hand on each of Betty’s arms and steadies her with a light squeeze. As unexpected as it is, the sudden warmth of someone beside her feels nice, and her breath catches in her throat. With Tabitha this close, Betty notices—not for the first time—the scene of her perfume. It’s oddly comforting, if unfamiliar. She breathes in slowly, careful not to give herself away.

“Thanks,” Betty says, and when she turns around, Tabitha’s hands drop. The sudden lack of contact is inexplicably disappointing, but her mind can’t focus enough to linger on it. The music swells around them, swallowing them both, judging by the look on Tabitha’s face.

“What were you trying to do?” Tabitha asks.

“There’s a spare mattress. We can just move them to the floor if I can just…” She tugs at the mattress again, careful this time not to grip it by the bedsheet. And when it starts to budge, she grins.

“Let me help.”

They make quick work of pushing the table to the side and getting the mattresses to the floor, especially considering how much of a chore it is to move at all. It’s not the most graceful she’s ever been, but here in the comfort of the bunker, there’s little to worry about.

And the shrooms—Betty has to begrudgingly admit they make things a little softer at the edges. The moment Betty thinks she’s grasped a thought, it's out of reach. With everything that’s happened with Polly and the chaos of Charles and Chic, it’s a relief to be floating, untethered.

“You know this music isn’t half-bad, but I don’t know how Jessica had time to prepare it when we weren’t paying attention,” Tabitha says, and Betty rolls on her side to face her.

“I still can’t believe she drugged us. And then left us here with some music like that makes it all okay!”

They look at each other, the intensity of Jessica’s actions washing over them before Tabitha bursts out laughing. “I have to admit, this isn’t how I imagined spending my night, but it’s not so bad. You’re not the wet blanket Jughead made you out to be.”

The words linger between them for a second, Jughead’s name harsh and unforgiving.

“I shouldn’t have brought him up,” Tabitha quickly adds.

“It’s fine,” Betty says and is surprised by the fact that she means it. The silence draws out for another moment, and Tabitha rolls over onto her side as well. With their mattresses on top of one another, it means that Tabitha’s face is inches apart from hers.

It’s an intimacy Betty’s nearly forgotten. Glen hardly counts; half the time, Betty doesn’t remember him—which says something considering his role in recent events. And her training hasn’t lent itself to many new friendships. But now, with Tabitha so close that Betty can smell the artificial sweetness of a strawberry milkshake on her breath, it feels reassuring.

“What do you think of Riverdale so far?” Betty asks.

Tabitha laughs and puts a hand under her head, propping it up. “I’ve… never seen a place quite like it.”

“That’s one way of putting it.”

“What’s yours?”

“Haunted. Or… Sometimes I wonder what I’m fighting for. I grew up here, and I have all these memories, but it feels like I’m holding onto something that’ll never exist. I used to think the town would heal itself—that the bad things that happened were the exception, but I’m not so sure I think that anymore. When it was just Jason and Mr. Blossom, that felt like an anomaly. But then it turned out my dad was a serial killer and Veronica’s was a power-hungry egomaniac, and Jughead’s mom came to town and rallied the Ghoulies to sell Jingle Jangle, and—”

“Jughead’s mom did what?” Tabitha asks and stares, horrified and wide-eyed.

The absurdity of it all hits Betty until she can’t help but smile. “Oh yeah. And that’s hardly the highlights reel.” Her filter’s too far gone to stop herself, so she adds, “You know, we set her drug lab on fire.”

Tabitha shakes her head and laughs in disbelief. “Holy shit.”

“And I haven’t even told you about the cult, or the creepy video store that sold pornos and illegally filmed sex tapes.”

“My grandfather told me some stories—mostly about Hiram and Veronica, for obvious reasons.” She hangs her free hand over the mattress, close to Betty, and Betty glances down, distracted by it. “And hey, maybe you’re right that this place is cursed, but I gotta believe in it. I’ve invested everything into Pop's, and as fucked up as Riverdale is, I don’t think it’s a lost cause. And I don’t think you’d have chosen to stay here if you thought that either.”

Betty bites her tongue, ignoring the automatic urge to argue. “Maybe,” she says, but her voice doesn’t sound entirely believable, even to her own ears.

Tabitha reaches out prods Betty’s shoulder with her two fingers—light and teasing. “I can practically see the effort it’s taking you not to disagree.”

There’s no use lying. The shrooms have made sure any knack she has for it is out of reach. “Sorry.”

“It’s a little rude, but I suppose I can find it in my heart to forgive you.” She smirks at Betty, and it strikes Betty that Tabitha must be as at ease as she feels. The Flesh Failures—her favorite song from the soundtrack—starts to play, and Betty adjusts herself, dropping her hand just slightly until her fingers touch Tabitha’s.

It’s silly perhaps. But she can’t stop the thought of Tabitha’s hands on her arms from flickering through her mind. It’s been so long since she’s found a touch that she hasn’t wanted to pull away from but, instead, lean into. She waits for Tabitha to move her hand back to her mattress, but she doesn’t. The realization takes a second to settle in as Betty watches, her stomach tightening in anticipation.

When she glances up, Tabitha is staring at her.

“I can—” Betty starts, pulling her hand back, but Tabitha reaches out, her fingers hooking around Betty’s to stop her.

“You don’t need to.”

Her world feels fuzzy around the edges, and Betty can’t stop herself as she lets out a breathy oh. The sound of her own heart rises over the music, and she’s suddenly aware of how hot the room is. Next to her, Tabitha inhales sharply through her nose and leans in.

Betty’s hit with a brief moment of clarity just before they kiss. It cuts through her, all the emotions she’s kept curled inside spilling out. They wrap around her as the song starts to wind down, and their lips meet. It’s tentative and gentle, careful to give Betty room to move back if she wants.

But she’s tired of overthinking. Her body aches from near-sleepless nights punctuated by nightmares. All she knows is that Tabitha’s lips feel soft and inviting, and, for once, she isn’t going to question it. Betty leans in, sinking into the kiss as she reaches out and wraps her fingers around Tabitha’s shirt.

Tabitha cups Betty's jaw, and the feel of her skin against hers is electric. Betty’s eyes close, and a small whine leaves her lips as she tries to steady herself against the rush of blood in her head and the dip in her stomach. The high is still riding full force, amplifying each little movement they make, and it’s all too much.

Betty pulls back, breathing deeply and quivering.

“You okay?” Tabitha asks. She squeezes Betty’s hand as her brow furrows with concern.

“Yeah, I—” Betty struggles to find the right words, so she just nods her head and concentrates on her breathing until she settles into her body once more.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have done that,” Tabitha says, although she doesn’t look like she quite believes it.

“This,” Betty says, motioning to herself, “has nothing to do with you kissing me. Or, if it does, it’s in a good way.” A cautious grin spreads across her face. “Can’t say I saw that coming from you, though.”

“Well, you should know better than to underestimate me.” Tabitha grins back.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

The sound of the needle in the runout groove fills the silence, and Betty sucks in a sharp breath before pulling herself up with some difficulty, aware of how heavy her body feels. The mattresses, even just on the floor, look appealing.

“How do you feel about sleeping?” Tabitha asks, echoing Betty’s thoughts.

“I feel great about it.” Betty steps over to the record player, lifting the needle up and turning it off before making her way back. She half-falls as she sprawls back out.

Against the scratchy fabric of the mattress, her body feels weightless. It doesn’t take long for her to start to drift. She focuses on the sound of Tabitha breathing beside her until her mind starts to wander half toward dreams.

Just on the precipice of sleep, a hand brushes against hers, warm and familiar. Betty smiles, and the dreams overtake her.

#tabitha tate #betty cooper #tabetty #babitha #riverdale #riverdale fic #my fics

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june-louise · 3 years

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The Telephone Call

Another drabble, Elizabeth/Philip. Set while Philip is away on tour in season 2 of The Crown. Might be continued.

...

Elizabeth sat in the sofa; one leg crossed over the other as she listened to the reports coming from the television a few metres in front of her. Her mother was as per usual having her dinner next to her, joined by Margaret sitting across from them. Elizabeth had already had dinner, for once having shared the meal with the children who were now in bed.

Ever since Philip had left for the Royal tour, she had felt the need to spend more time with the children, surely to compensate for sending their father away for months on end. Philip had always been the more natural parent of the two, the one spending more time and playing with them. To Elizabeth, playing with the children had never been her favourite activity and with all her work she rarely spent much time with them during the weekdays.

Of course, she loved her children more than anything, but she had never felt like a natural mother as other women seemed to. With Philip gone though, she had felt the connection with Charles and Anne to be something of a comfort personally while she very much wanted them both to be happy and content. So, she had made it into a habit to join them in the playing room, listen to their talks and share more meals with them and help put them to bed. She even read books for them and tried to do silly voices as Charles called it. Because Philip usually did, and the children loved it.

“Your Majesty,” a voice said and interrupted her thoughts. She looked up to see the court martial approach her. “A telephone call for you, ma’am. The Duke of Edinburgh.”

Elizabeth raised her eyebrow in surprise and felt the eyes of her mother and sister on her, they obviously surprised as well. She felt a smile spread on her face and could not help the excitement building in her stomach. She had felt quite low lately, finding herself missing the company of her husband more than she had thought she would. Ever since Philip’s speech on Christmas and the film from Antarctica, the emptiness she felt had grown worse. Laying eyes on him after so many weeks and reading his handwriting had made her heart ache for him, and it had not stopped since.

Quickly shrugging the surprise off of her, she spoke to the man. “Thank you.” Standing up, Elizabeth turned to the other women and excused herself. She tried best she could to not let the other two see her vulnerability, holding herself together and making an effort to contain her smile. She knew they both loved Philip, but they had never quite understood him like she did. And her feelings for him had therefore also many times made Elizabeth feel misunderstood, and she had found she sometimes had to act down on them in order to keep their comments to a minimum.

Walking toward her study, she felt the tightness and nervousness grow in her chest. She knew it was a slight anguish she felt, a fear of him not being there on the other line. The last time Philip called the reception had been bad and the line was broken before she had a chance to speak to him. She tried to prepare herself for the disappointment that it would happen again.

“Hello,” she said into the phone, clearing her throat and taking a deep breath to calm herself. She saw the doble doors close behind her and as she finally heard the voice of her husband on the other side of the line, she beamed.

“Hello, darling,” Philip said and she could almost hear his smirk and tried to picture him there on the other side of the world.

“Oh, it’s working,” she let out in surprise.

“Yes,” he said in his sleek voice and she imagined he was leaning against some kind of furniture where he was, making himself more comfortable. She did the same and rested against the wooden desk. “These bloody telephones actually do work from time to time.” He laughed and she chuckled, feeling herself relax.

“It’s so good to hear your voice,” she said and got somehow more serious, feeling her eyes water slightly. This small gesture, a phone call, had her feeling as if there was a huge weight lifted from her shoulders, warming her heart.

“Are you admitting to actually missing me,” Philip said in a lighter voice, always the one to lift the mood. Elizabeth did love that about him, how he could make her smile and how life was far from boring when Philip was with. Many times, people around them showed their annoyance at his sarcastic comments, and she sometimes felt that way also, but deep down she knew she could never live without any of it. And she had missed hearing his voice immensely lately, finding herself imagining in her head what his replies would be and smiling to herself while everybody around her was oblivious.

“What if I am,” she replied and soared as she felt their familiar banter come alive. “And what about you, having the time of your life in all corners of the world?” She asked the question in a somewhat playful voice, but also felt nervous about the actual answer.

Ever since Philip had left, she had not heard much from him at all. A failed telephone call, a few telegrams mostly including updates on their whereabouts and well-wishes for the children, but not more than that. Except from the footage from Antarctica, where he had been surprisingly heartfelt.

Philip sighed. “Well, even though parts of the tour is surprisingly interesting and the places we’ve been has been quite incredible, I, too, must admit to missing my wife.” He paused, and she desperately wished she could see the look on his face. “Lately, a bit more than I imagined, actually,” he admitted truthfully.

“You have,” Elizabeth asked, her voice quite emotional revealing more vulnerability than she was comfortable with.

“Yes,” Philip started in a determined voice, “are you that surprised?”

“I don’t know. Maybe, but mostly happy to hear that I am not the only one feeling that way. Five months is incredibly long when all you want if for them to pass by, really. Did you get my letter,” she continued in an attempt to change the subject.

“Oh, yes.” She could hear him smile into the phone. “Made me think that I should grow a beard more often,” he chuckled.

Elizbeth blushed and cleared her throat, finding herself feel a bit embarrassed. “Really? I wonder what the reactions would be it you came home like that,” she said with a smile as she imagined the scenario. Her mother would be beside herself; Margaret would find it incredibly funny and Michael would uncomfortably try to work out how best to convince Philip to shave. “They were all quite surprised to see it, whereas I thought you looked like an explorer.” She smiled and added, “a very handsome explorer.”

“Five months really is a long time,” Philip sighed, and she felt her fingers go to the pearls around her neck. His words made the conversation shift, and she felt her chest tighten, her pulse quicken. “Trust me, it’s not only the sharing of bed I miss, but I’d really do anything to be with you right now.”

“Philip,” she said in a surprised voice, while blushing more, suddenly very aware of her most private parts. She shifted on the desk, leaning one leg over the other.

“What,” he said innocently. “Can’t a husband share his desires for his wife? I am alone here, aren’t you?”

“Yes, yes,” she quickly said, voice shaky. “I’m alone.”

“That’s it then, good, no worries. Wouldn’t want anyone overhearing this conversation, now would we,” he smirked.

“Philip,” she whispered and felt the need to sit down. Her breathing quickened and she pressed her legs together as she sat on the chair by the desk.

“You sound tense, darling. If I was there, I’d give you a big smooch, but since I’m not, what can I do?”

Elizabeth swallowed, “Philip, we can’t.”

“Why not?”

Her eyes searched the room, even though she knew no one was there. “You know why not. And besides, I can’t.”

“You can,” he reassured her, like he so often had done when she needed help to escape her up tightness. “Now, if it’ll make it easier,” Philip said, and she could not help but roll her eyes at his determination. “Tell me where you are” he started. “And what you are wearing,” he added before, she imagined, leaning back into his seat and with amusement waiting for her reply.

Her face felt hot and she was sure there was a visible blush on her neck. Though she gave in. “I’m in my office,” she started and looked around at the familiar surroundings. She spent much of her time in here, and often had different people come to her with various notifications. She sincerely hoped that no one would get the idea to enter anytime soon, hoping the call from the Duke would keep them out until she gave them a sign that she was finished. She continued to play with the pearls around her neck, a nervous habit she had. “And I’m wearing my usual clothes, in blue.” As she spoke the words, she felt quite dull. Not much surprise there.

“Oh, blue, one of my favourite colours on you,” Philip said, seemingly not finding her dull at all, and she relaxed a bit. Philip always made her feel more comfortable, somewhat making her feel sexy through her shyness and sometimes up tight behaviour. “Like those gorgeous eyes I adore.”

Elizabeth shifted in her seat and felt a bit braver. “And you? Where is that handsome husband of mine?” She raised her eyebrow and wettened her lips, eager to hear his reply.

“Well, I’ve abandoned the suit onboard Britannia where the bloody phone does not work. Now in the Falkland Islands, we have loaned a quite nice house with a big garden. I’m in my room, supposed to rest after a whole day of shaking people’s hands and cutting ribbons.”

Elizabeth chuckled and then questioned, intrigued. “And what are you wearing?”

Philip laughed and spoke with playfulness in his voice. “I am wearing my robe, sitting in bed.” She imagined he knew he was teasing her, knowing how she was one of the people who knew he secretly preferred to sleep naked, even though he rarely did it at home in Buckingham palace anymore.

“And you just decided to give me a call before going to bed?”

“I did have a dream about you, actually. And have been thinking about it the whole day.”

“Yeah, what about?” Elizabeth felt warm inside, happy to hear that she had been in his thoughts.

“Traveling together. Yesterday we were greeted into this house and I was reminded of the house we stayed at in Kenya, before your father’s passing. Where we visited Treetops.”

Elizabeth smiled, remembering the wonderful time they had had there. Before their whole world changed. “That was a wonderful trip, before, you know. I was so happy and so in love with you.”

“Me, too. It was just us there, our own special place of the world.”

“It was.” Elizabeth suddenly laughed. “Remember when you saved me from that elephant?”

Philip joined her laugher. “I did do that. It was quite terrifying.”

“It was,” Elizabeth concluded, and gave a sigh. “I miss that time.”

“Yes,” Philip agreed, and a quiet understanding consumed them both. It had been a time before life as they knew it now, with duty and obligations – a time where they could be more of a normal couple. As normal as they could be anyway, given their circumstances. Elizabeth still remembered the incredible loss she had felt, and guilt, for taking away her and Philip’s wonderful life even though she knew it had not been her fault. She seldom let herself think about the what if’s, or imagine what their life could have been. It was not constructive. And there was no going back. They had both signed up for this life together, and in many ways, it was also an incredible life. Only different.

“Philip,” Elizabeth said after a while, interrupting their walk down memory lane, and when he made a sound to let her know he was listening, she continued. “I know I don’t say it much, but I do still love you very much, adore you even. But you must know that, right?”

She thought she could hear his smile over the phone. “Yes, I know,” Philip said, his voice soft and reassuring. Elizabet had never doubted her love and adoration for her husband, she did not remember a time not loving him. The love had never been the problem, even though it might seem like it for anyone else. Maybe she should say it more often, she thought. Yet they were both not very emotional people, and they rarely exchanged words of affection. So, Elizabeth was glad he knew how she felt about him.

Philip continued, maybe also finding that the distance of the telephone made the words come easier. “I feel the same way. Even though I sometimes act like an idiot, I have always loved you, Lilibet. And I believe that it is my destiny that I always will.”

#the crown #queen elizabeth ii #duke of edinburgh #prince philip #philip and elizabeth #claire foy + matt smith #claire foy #matt smith #fanfic

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apothecarinomicon · 3 years

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Spring week 4 part 1

After I’d rested up, I remembered that I still hadn’t actually made it back to Morna’s chamber. While I wasn’t certain they’d be able to tell I was late, it was the principle of the thing to get the books to them in a timely manner.

I once again made my way to Hero’s Hollow, this time on foot and without being accosted by any bleeding people. I gave my name to the guards outside and told them I expected to spend less than an hour in the dungeon. I was able to make my way back to the gauntlet sticking out of the wall fairly quickly, and removed it to open the passage to Morna’s chamber.

I traversed the hall quickly this time and found them lying on their back, staring at the ceiling. They looked up when I entered and said “that was quick,” so I figured I was in the clear. I began unloading the books from my pack and they picked one up and leafed through it hungrily.

They asked me if the spelling was going to be so strange in all of the books (I’d made sure to get the editions with standardized spelling). I told them that it was just the way that people wrote now, and that they’d get used to it.

They asked me about the library, eager for any information about the world. I fibbed a little and said it was large. I told them about the slight tension with the owners and they said I shouldn’t let it get to me. They’d been a misfit all their life and look at them now. I didn’t say that their situation wasn’t exactly aspirational.

I asked them how long they expected it would take them to finish the books before realizing that they would have no way of knowing. I told them I’d try to come back in a week to check on them but I couldn’t make any promises. They said that would be fine, and any amount of time with something new was a relief.

They asked me what other businesses were open in Greenmoor. I mentioned the bakery and the tavern, the blacksmith, the farms, the doctor, the tailor, and rattled off a couple other places that I hadn’t been to but knew must be present for the town to function. Wistfully, Morna said they hoped to see it in person again someday. I asked whether they’d previously lived in Greenmoor and they said they’d been more of a visitor.

They began sorting through the books and I figured I should leave them to it—I had other people to visit before the day was out, anyway. I told them I hoped they enjoyed the books and that I’d be back soon.

I don’t actually remember the act of opening the door and walking back to the main hallway, but I know I must have because I found myself placing the gauntlet back on the wall, allowing the branching corridor to reseal itself silently behind me.

────⊱⁜⊰────

I exited the dungeon and made my way around to the far side of Moonbreaker Mountain to visit Ainsley on her farm. She was out on her front porch with a washtub when I arrived. She greeted me warmly and had me sit down, offering a drink which I accepted.

She asked to what she owed the pleasure, and I told her I was just looking for conversation with someone who wasn’t hostile. She nodded and said she knew the feeling well. She continued washing as we spoke and I felt a bit strange not helping, but I thought it would feel even stranger to offer.

We talked for a long while (I don’t remember what about—I’ll admit my mind was preoccupied) before I brought up my question. I mentioned the gameball field I’d found in Glimmerwood Grove, and asked Ainsley if she knew why Senga would have been one of the team mascots. She answered—as I expected—that it was because my predecessor was part of a small group that played on that field regularly. Ainsley said she herself never much got into the sport, but she would watch sometimes when there wasn’t too much farm work to do.

I clarified that this meant my predecessor definitely had friends in town (Ainsley of course, but at least nine more!), and Ainsley said ‘oh sure,’ as if it was silly that I might have thought she didn’t. I asked who they were, what their jobs were in town, and Ainsley looked puzzled for a moment before saying that they weren’t around anymore.

I asked her what exactly that meant and she said she supposed they’d left. By the time my predecessor disappeared, she was the last of them in town. I asked where they could have gone and she shrugged. I asked if they weren’t her friends, too, and she said they were. Then she said some of them were adventurers so she supposed they were off doing that. She said some of them had family out of town. She said she thought one of them might have gone off to get a degree.

All the reasons she gave were plausible, but her uncertainty in them was... disconcerting. I asked if she could give me any names, so that I might be able to ask around in town, and she told me some. Now, though, I can’t remember them for the life of me. I’ve always been bad with names.

Ainsley mentioned that, despite serving as a mascot, she didn’t think Senga was ever present at a gameball match. It made sense, she supposed. My predecessor had loved that sheep like little else, and wouldn’t have wanted to risk her getting hurt if and when the matches turned violent. I asked how frequently the game got dangerous and she asked me (with a hefty bit of snark) whether I’d ever seen a gameball match before. I said sure I had, but it had never been a particular interest of mine. She put it this way: of the (very few) rules of the game, the one outlawing death and permanent injury was by far the most frequently invoked. I must say, that detail certainly did paint a clear picture.

We talked about other things, though now my mind was squarely wondering about what the gameball matches were like. It was close to dinnertime when I left, thanking her for her hospitality and promising to visit again. I had one more planned stop before I headed home, and I was excited for it. I walked back around Moonbreaker Mountain, hurrying to get there before the sun sank too low.

────⊱⁜⊰────

After leaving Ainsley’s, I made my way to Glimmerwood Grove and finally re-located Calder’s stream. It was closer to the path than I remembered—I just hadn’t gone deep enough into the woods when I was looking the other day.

Upon finding it, I was tempted to throw myself in to see if he might catch me again, but I decided that might be a bit much. Instead, I called his name. After a moment, he appeared out of the water wearing a large grin. As before, his form only solidified from the waist up and transitioned back into water where his skin met the surface of his stream. He told me he’d been wondering when he’d get to see me again. I asked him if he ate, and he said he did—mostly fish, but sometimes bugs too. “What about bread?” I asked, and pulled a loaf from the Bankheads’ bakery from my backpack. He said that if I was offering, he wouldn’t refuse.

So, I sliced the loaf and I spread some songberry jam on it and we sat and we ate. I asked him about his relationship to his stream. He said they were essentially one being, and that the water was like his body. He could say at any point what animals and plant life were present and where they were. Excessive waste or toxic material in the water would make him sick. He could even, to a limited extent, tell how the trees and shrubs that used his water for sustenance were faring.

I asked whether that feeling extended into the source or the tributaries of the stream, or even the mouth—where did Calder end and separate waters begin? He said a lot of it had to do with motion versus stagnance—most of what made the water his/him was that it was flowing under its own power. He knew that his stream flowed into Meltwater Loch, but he couldn’t feel past where it settled into the calmer wave patterns of the larger body. He said his main source was near the bottom of Moonbreaker Mountain, but that he couldn’t feel anything before the water was above ground. He said one of his major tributaries came from Blastfire Bog, and that was a bit strange and fuzzy because the bog had such a dense network of mycelium that was in but not necessarily connected to part of his water.

I told him I hadn’t heard of Blastfire Bog before. He said I’d probably find it useful to visit—it was a densely magical place. He did say, though, that it was difficult and dangerous to navigate without the proper preparation—full of nasty diseases, unpredictable swamp gas, and isolated denizens that could often be a bit territorial. He said humans and humanoids typically needed a coracle boat to navigate it safely, but that shouldn’t be too difficult of a purchase in his estimate (not that he himself had ever needed to pay much attention to the exchange rate of silver). I said I’d be certain to take all the necessary precautions, but that I knew I could count on him to keep me safe. I freely admit this was more of a flirt than anything resembling truth, but it made him chuckle so I feel no remorse.

We ate and talked for a while longer (our fingers brushed as I handed him another slice of bread), before Calder sat straight up as if he’d heard an odd noise. I asked what was wrong, and he said I might be visiting the bog earlier than anticipated. Someone had crashed into his tributary just then in quite the hurry, and they seemed to be shedding the spores of some kind of infection.

Well, that certainly couldn’t be good. I quickly packed up my bag and asked if he could lead me to this person. He turned his back to me and said ‘climb on.’ I wasn’t quite clear on what he was planning, but I certainly wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity. He got me in a piggyback position and then, faster than I would have thought possible, glided upstream. He wasn’t exerting any visible effort, and yet we moved quick enough (and yet very smoothly) for the wind to whip my hair back.

I knew, though, that I couldn’t allow myself to get caught up in the moment. I needed to stay focused—there was a patient in danger, and they needed my help.

────⊱⁜⊰────

I’m very good with names. I don’t know why I wrote that before.

⇦●〇●⇨

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sithsecrets · 4 years

Text

A Matter of Expediency - Part IX

After being married off to Kylo Ren in the name of securing an heir to the First Order’s throne, a princess tries to navigate the ins and outs of married life. As she grows closer to her new husband, the princess also carves out a place for herself in the Order, assuming control over her life when she thought she would have none.

---

Part 9

4.7k words

Mentions: swearing

---

The next several weeks of your life are a virtual continuum of meetings and planning sessions. You work both with the Board of Charitable Affairs and alone, studying poverty statistics, learning about various cultures, and deciding which locations and issues take precedence over other points of interest. It’s a lot of hard work, but you find satisfaction in your duties nonetheless. Every positive report and letter of gratitude that falls into your hands staves off feelings of burnout and discouragement, and after a month and a half, you feel like you’ve made a real difference in the lives of some of your underprivileged subjects. Even so, there’s still so much to be done, but you’re more than ready to rise to the occasion.

Other members of the Board are wowed by your dedication, and even some the Chairwoman’s cronies admit that your proposals have merit. Evan herself is still a thorn in your side, but mostly harmless. Her jabs are sly, and you know that she gossips about you behind your back. She’s furious that you’re doing so well, and it shows in every malicious remark. The Chairwoman could do nothing to spoil the work you love so much, and in any case, the friendships you’ve forged with your peers are fine buffers for her nastiness.

Overall, you feel more comfortable on the ship now. You know your way around for the most part, the strangers are less strange… The Supremacy feels like home, almost. You still miss sunshine and breathing real air, but you’re acclimating to this environment, to this life. People regard you with respect, and you think that most of them even like you— what more could you want?

Even your relationship with your husband has become a bit… smoother. The two of you have fallen into a routine together, and though you sometimes wish you saw Kylo more during the day, you’re still content to spend your evenings with him, to share his bed. He remains pleased with your charitable work, and you even caught him singing your praises to a group of officers once. Every compliment from Kylo, be it about your work, your appearance, or something else, never fails to make your pulse quicken, and you try to show him just as much kindness. Kylo isn’t free with his physical affection outside of the bedroom, but he does hold you each night as the two of you fall asleep, regardless of if you’ve had sex first or not. Though you yearn for a bit more affection in your marriage, this gesture does give you a bit of hope. You know that you’ve come to care deeply for Kylo, and you think (hope, pray) that he cares for you as well.

You find yourself mulling over the nature of you and your husband’s relationship frequently, plagued with worries about your connection. Truthfully, you wish you could see into the future so you could confirm for yourself whether or not you and Kylo will ever fall in love, but you have no such abilities. So, you’re left to wonder in silence, alone with your thoughts. You ponder the notion of simply being friends with the man you’re married to, of being cordial with the father of your children. The idea leaves a bad taste in your mouth, and you finally gather up the courage to voice your concerns to someone you think may be able to understand.

“Miriam,” you say one evening, eyes your attendant in the mirror as she brushes your hair. She is focused on her work, never looking up at you even as she speaks.

“Yes, Empress?”

“Have you ever worked for someone like me before?” you ask, immediately realizing how the question could be cause for confusion. “I mean, have you ever worked for someone who’s marriage was arranged?”

“Oh yes,” Miriam says at once, adjusting her stance as she works out a knot. “Many of the women I’ve served had their marriages arranged. Some of them never even laid eyes on their husbands before their wedding day.”

The mere notion of such circumstances makes you feel marginally luck, seeing that you got to meet Kylo more than once after your engagement. Not knowing what your husband looked like before you married him? Stars above…

You sit up a bit on your stool, hands fidgeting. “Did… Did it usually turn out okay?”

“Define ‘okay’,” Miriam says slowly, throwing you a curious look in the mirror now.

“Well… Did the couples usually end up caring for one another? As lovers do, I mean, and not just as partners or… or teammates.”

Miriam sets your brush down on the vanity in front of you, running her fingers through your hair absently as she decides what to do with it. “I’ve only seen one such marriage play out terribly, and I think it had more to do with their age difference and the husband’s proclivities than anything else. In every other case, at least in my experience, the couples ended up caring deeply for one another.” Miriam expression shifts to one of concern, and she sets her hands on your shoulders rather gently. “Why do you ask, my lady?”

You could dismiss Miriam, you know. You could tell her that you’re done talking, you could shut her down completely and demand that she dress you without saying anything more. But Miriam doesn’t deserve to be treated that way, and your heart is too raw for cruelty at the moment.

Miriam must take your hesitation to speak as an indicator of trouble, because she narrows her brow and asks, “Has everything been alright with the Supreme Leader, Empress?”

It’s a bold question, almost too bold, but you’re happy to know that Miriam feels safe enough with you to speak in such a fashion.

“No, no,” you say quickly, rushing to assure your attendant that you’re okay. Because you are, in the grand scheme of things— you’ve just been locked inside your head too much lately. “Kylo’s been wonderful. I just— I just hope that I have his heart, or that I’ll come to have it, eventually.”

You hate yourself for crying, swiping away the tear that rolls down your cheek as if it’s burning your skin. Miriam watches you do this, concern and sympathy written plainly on her face. She finally takes her hands off your shoulders, threading her fingers through your hair now. An outsider would think that she was simply sectioning off your hair for styling, but her touch is far too gentle against your scalp to be anything less than comforting.

“Does the Supreme Leader have your heart, Empress?” Miriam asks quietly.

You force yourself to swallow the lump in your throat, biting back more tears. As a result, your voice is nothing more than a strained whisper. “I think so.” Miriam’s eyes soften considerably, and she quits fussing with your hair. You bark out a laugh, though it’s a humorless one. “Isn’t that pathetic? “I’m in emotional turmoil because I have a crush on my husband.”

Your attendant replies, failing to acknowledge your self-deprecating remark. “Though I don’t profess to know his feelings, I do believe that the Supreme Leader cares for you,” Miriam states, making an actual effort to style your hair now. “He doesn’t parade you around like a trophy or a decoration, but he does like having you by his side when the two of you make appearances. And you’ve told me yourself that he’s proud of the work you’ve done for all of the Order’s charitable causes. Men who don’t care for their wives definitely don’t care about what their wives do, no matter how great their achievements.”

Miriam pauses to meet your eyes in the mirror, smiling warmly. You return to the gesture, already feeling a bit silly about your little crisis. Everything that Miriam’s said isn’t news to you— perhaps you just needed to hear it from someone who’s not involved the way you are.

“And,” your attendant adds, “if I may be so bold… his affection for you is written plainly on your skin.”

Your entire body floods with heat at this, and your face turns so red so fast that it’s almost unnatural. You know good and well what Miriam’s referring to, the love bites on your shoulder, the bitemark on your chest. Kylo called them “reminders” the first time he ever put such a thing on your body— they’re supposed to help you remember how beautiful he thinks you are. And though you like to think that the sentiment is something special, you downplay it now in front of Miriam now.

“He could do that to anyone,” you say, flustered. Miriam raises her eyebrows a little, casual.

“He could,” she concedes, “but he doesn’t. He marks you where only the two of you can see. It’s not a possessive action, not meant for the benefit of others.”

You quite like the sound of that, but your embarrassment prevents you from saying so. Miriam tucks one last pin into your hair, and then her hands are gripping your shoulders again.

“The Supreme Leader thinks much of you,” she declares, “both as a diplomat and as his wife.”

You nod at this, encouraged by the serious look in your attendant’s eyes. Miriam gives you the smallest of shakes, a gesture meant to punctuate her conviction. “Love will come,” she assures you, “I promise.”

Part of you wants to argue, wants to say “what if,” but you push every doubting remark back down your throat. Miriam is no great oracle, she can’t possibly know how everything’s going to play out, but you trust her immensely. She’s lived far more life than you have, and if she says that something’s going to happen, then it likely will. And in any case, Kylo is sweet to you, he does hold you and kiss you and call you his when the door is closed and the lights are low. So for now, you choose to be content with what you have.

“Love will come.”

---

The rest of your day is rife with meetings and political engagements, more so than usual. You receive countless ambassadors and visiting parties in the throne room, talking with each and every single person at length about their concerns and worries. Winter is fast approaching on some of the Order’s most underprivileged possessions, and many leaders from those planets and territories fear for their poor and sick. You sympathize with them immensely, but still, it’s been daunting to take each proposal and plan in turn. But thankfully that’s all done for now; the throne room sits empty, the corridor outside of it vacant and quiet.

The ship’s evening cycle is upon you, and you’re more than ready to retire to your chambers. A hot meal and a warm bath would do you good, you think, along with a change of clothes. Your shoes have been pinching your feet for hours, and you’re just sick of being covered in beading and embroidery and delicate little things that you have to treat gently. Draping yourself in beautiful clothes is always such fun, but all the fussiness of it does get old after a while.

Before you can make it back to your sanctuary, however, two stormtroopers come out of nowhere and inform you that your husband wants to speak with you at once. With a raging headache and aching feet, you want nothing more than to send the both of them away, to send Kylo a com letting him know that he can come to your quarters if he wishes to tell you something, but you do none of this. If Kylo’s asking for you directly, it must be urgent, so you let the two troopers lead you through the ship, praying all the while that nothing too awful has happened.

It’s cold in the hanger bay when you and the stormtroopers arrive, icy air biting at your skin through the fabric of your sleeves and bodice. Kylo awaits you near a small craft, flanked by the other Knights of Ren. Though they bow deeply and regard you with the proper respect you deserve, you can’t tell what any of them think of you, these strange, powerful men and women who serve Kylo so loyally. Honestly, they unsettle you quite a bit, all of them faceless and expressionless behind masks and helmets, constantly armed and armor-clad. You suppose other people are afraid of Kylo for the same reasons when they first meet him, but you’re of the opinion that the other Knights are just simply less approachable, less human than he is. Perhaps if you could just see their faces…

Turning away from the stares of the Knights, you give your husband a tired smile. “What’s the matter?” you ask, bracing yourself against the chill of the hanger as goosebumps pop up all along your arms.

“I just wanted to inform you that the Knights and I will be leaving for a few days,” Kylo declares, voice robotic through the vocoder in his helmet.

A wave of sadness washes over you, heavy and completely unexpected. You try to cover it quickly though, keenly aware of your audience.

“Now?” you ask, voice rather small.

Kylo nods curtly. “Yes.”

Suddenly, you hate his mask, you hate the fact that your husband’s face is covered. You wish you could see his expression, the look in his eyes, anything that would let you know what Kylo’s thinking.

“How long will you be gone?” you ask, shivering now. It really is cold in this damn hangar, and you aren’t draped in a cloak like everybody else.

“Two to four days,” Kylo answers. The stab in your chest is inexplicable, but it pains you nonetheless.

“I see,” you say, just because you feel like you ought to speak. You cast a look towards the Knights, eyeing their weapons and protective garments, and it suddenly dawns on you that they may be armed for battle. “Where exactly are you all going?”

Kylo is in no mood to be specific, it seems, simply telling that they’ll be doing some scouting in the Minor Possessions. This feels like a lie, but you don’t call him out, unwilling to accept the fact that Kylo could be injured or killed in the very near future. You wish desperately that the two of you were alone, that you could maybe have a moment with him before he leaves. He’ll never let you show him affection, not out in the open like this in front of subordinates, so you just nod, trying to paint on a smile to the best of your ability.

“Well, I hope you all return safely.” You take a small step forward, addressing your husband directly now. “Please be safe.”

Kylo doesn’t say anything for a moment, and though you still can’t see his face, you do think his voice is a bit gentler as he goes to speak. “We’ll be back very soon,” he assures you, and your heart jumps when he reaches out to stroke your arm for the briefest moment.

You smile one more time, watching sadly as your Kylo and his Knights file onto their vessel. They blast off into space without another word, leaving you to watch as their ship becomes but a speck on the inky expanse of stars before you.

It’s an upsetting turn of events, Kylo leaving, and you feel almost childish for not wanting him to go. If he and the Knights decided to leave so promptly, whatever they’re off to do must be important. And who are you to hinder your husband’s work? He never begs you to take a day off from your obligations, nor do you think he would stop you from doing whatever you felt was necessary. But… It’s just that you’ve had a long, grueling day, and you were so looking forward to crawling into Kylo arms at the end of the night.

Thankfully, Miriam’s already waiting for you when you arrive back to your rooms. You drag your feet all the way into the ‘fresher, scrubbing at your eyes with makeup remover as your attendant works to undress you and let down your hair. After you’re changed into more comfortable clothes, you dismiss Miriam for the evening, unable and unwilling to make small talk any longer.

Eating alone is just as depressing as you thought it would be, though getting into bed is even worse. You turn in early, of course, completely drained from all you’ve done today, but you find the bed far too big and far too cold without Kylo beside you.

Tossing and turning, you lie awake until the wee hours of the morning, finally passing out after it seems your body cannot stand to be awake any longer.

---

Kylo’s absence and your foul night’s sleep does nothing for your mood the next day, and you spend much of the morning agitated and snappy. It feels as though your meeting with the Board will never end, and what’s worse, the Chairwoman seems to be in a particularly bright, almost mischievous mood today. You’re sure her cheerful demeanor stems from something that happened this morning, likely an incident that involved her spatting on a custodian or kicking a small child as she walked by. In any case, her shrill laugh and wolfish grin only serve to sour your mood, and as the meeting wears on and on, you grow more and more inclined to have Evan’s tongue cut out on site. However, she’s left you alone for the most part, so you feel as though the action would be unwarranted.

Not ten seconds after this thought crosses your mind do you find yourself reconsidering your self-restraint.

“Oh, my lady!” the Chairwoman exclaims, turning her sharp little eyes your way. Malicious intent curls out of her mouth like smoke as she speaks, you can practically feel the jab coming. “I meant to ask you— where has the Supreme Leader run off to?”

Holding back the urge sigh deeply, you regard the Chairwoman evenly, saying, “A planet in the Minor Possessions.”

You’re being very fair, you think, indulging Evan with the truth even though your husband’s location is none of her business. But she’s seemingly unsatisfied with this, and there’s a glint in her eyes that you don’t like.

“Well, you certainly are a good wife, letting him jet out like that on a whim,” Evan sighs. You’re keenly aware that all eyes are on yourself and the Chairwoman, everyone no doubt waiting to see how this volley between the two of you will play out. “I know I’d be much less inclined to let my man go if I knew that he was going to be out unattended with whores about.”

Evan’s smile is so bright, and you know it must be painful for her to set her face in such a fashion. Her comment is obviously meant to bait you, and you hate that you have to bite the hook— what she’s said is too scandalous to be ignored, and you risk letting her win if you don’t cast your own line.

“The Knights are not whores, Evan, at least to my knowledge,” you say, deadpan, though you do let a sort of wry smile play on your lips as you regard the rest of the table. “Though I don’t profess to know what they do in their free time, nor do I care.”

The quip gets most of everyone chuckling along with you, and Evan’s feathers are ruffled. She sharpens her verbal sword, trying in earnest to draw blood with her words now. “Yes, that may be true, but there are rumors that say that more than one of the Supreme Leader’s Knights of a Ren is a bit… more than just a knight in his eyes.”

If you didn’t know her, this remark might upset you, might make you worried that someone else is sharing Kylo’s bed while he’s away from you. But this is the Chairwoman, and she is nothing but a vile, spiteful woman who wants to make you squirm simply because she enjoys making people upset. She’s so threatened by you, this cruel, bejeweled woman. It’s pathetic.

You lean on the smooth black table before you, chin cradled in one hand. “Chairwoman, may I ask you something?”

“Of course, my lady,” Evan replies readily. Oh, and she thinks she’s winning, you can tell by the glint in her eyes.

“Do you ever get tired of coming up with the drivel that constantly spews out of your mouth?”

Your foe looks as if she’s been slapped, that stupid grin finally melting off of her face. She’s overstepped herself and she knows it.

“I— I was simply making conversation, Empress,” Evan says quickly, letting out a light, nervous laugh.

“No you weren’t,” you scoff, shooting daggers right into the Chairwoman’s gray eyes as you cut her down to size. “You were trying to insinuate that my husband’s abandoned me here so he can fuck someone else in peace.”

The Chairwoman flushes, sitting up straight as a pin as she goes to dispute this. “I—”

“Oh, will you shut up?” you spit, cutting her off. “All you do is fucking talk and talk and talk! Sometimes I think I should just do everyone a favor and cut your tongue out myself.”

Right about now, Evan, her little lapdogs, and even the other members of the Board all look like they’re about to soil themselves. The only person who remains cool, calm, and collected is Hux, glaring at the Chairwoman from your side as you finish your little tirade.

“But I’m not going to do that because I’m a nice person.” You break into a sarcastic, mean grin as you say this, turning Evan’s favorite expression right back on her now. “I am, however, ending this fucking meeting. My head is pounding, and I’m sick of listening to you hold court at my expense. Get your work done somewhere else and be ready to impress me tomorrow.”

Nobody moves, not even when you say that the meeting’s over. They’ve never seen you like this, threatening and aggressive. Really, you don’t take any pleasure in acting this way, but enough is fucking enough.

“Go!” you snap. “All of you!”

Everyone is up like a shot now, including the Chairwoman, fleeing from the room as if it were on fire. You remain seated, watching on with disinterest and contempt, sparing a glare to anyone who isn’t moving fast enough for your liking. Within seconds, you and the Chancellor are the only ones left in the room.

“You can tell me if that was too harsh,” you say to Hux after a moment, feeling a bit sheepish about your outburst now that it’s over with. The Chairwoman absolutely got what she deserved, but you probably shouldn’t have dismissed the Board the way you did.

Hux shakes his head. “They’re you’re subordinates,” he tells you. “You can talk to them however you like. Personally, I think it was time someone reminded them who they’re dealing with.”

That makes you feel a bit better about the whole thing, but you shoot Hux a look, teasing. “You’re my subordinate, you know.”

Your friend rolls his eyes, rising from his chair as he drawls, “Have me drawn and quartered for my insolence, if you must.”

But then the Chancellor gives you one of his reserved little grins, offering you his arm, and you can’t help but smile back.

The both of you decide that it would be nice to dine privately, so you arrange to have your lunch brought to you and Kylo’s quarters. Hux jokes that the Chairwoman will be accusing you of adultery next time she wants to toy with you, and the two of you have a good laugh about that one. Anyone who could actually believe that you and Hux are having an affair is an absolute moron.

You give Hux a little tour of your quarters while the two of you wait for your meal to arrive, letting him duck into your closet and ‘fresher to kill time. It comes as a bit of surprise to you that the Chancellor’s never visited these rooms before you and Kylo married, but you suppose he had no reason to. And in any case, you’re sure that Kylo’s always been a private person— he’s not partial to intimacy in general, and that goes double when it comes to conducting official business.

Hux is in the mood to chat, it would seem, tittering on about this and that as the two of you dig into your plates. You tell him about your abysmal night’s sleep, even going so far as to disclose that Kylo’s sudden departure upset you more than you’d like to admit. What with Hux’s usual no-nonsense demeanor, you’d been half expecting him to laugh at you for that; instead, he’s surprisingly sympathetic.

“It’s difficult to sleep without your lover,” your friend states, pushing some of his food around idly. “Some beds are just too big for one person.”

It’s only then that you notice how exhausted he looks, pale with dark circles stamped under his eyes. The vulnerability in Hux’s gaze is unmistakable when he sneaks a glance up at you, behaving as if he’s just told you something private, as if he’s made a confession. You assume that this is his very stiff, emotionally guarded version of opening up to you, and you feel rather touched that your friend has come to trust you in this way. Your first inclination is to press for details, to make Hux elaborate on what he’s just implied, but you know that he’d just clam up and refuse to speak about the matter ever again. So, you simply say that he’s right, eyeing your friend carefully as he nods and goes back to eating.

---

To say that you’re relieved as you crawl into bed that night would be an understatement. It’s been such a long day, and you want nothing more than to drift off to sleep and forget about everything for a little while. But like the Chacellor said earlier, your bed is too large and too cold without Kylo beside you, and you can’t make your thoughts stop racing. Your head is filled to the brim, images of the Chairwoman and Hux and your husband swirling together into a storm that chases sleep right out of the harbor of your mind. It’s infuriating, lying wide awake as your body screams for rest.

You find yourself tossing and turning, flinging yourself across the bed in every way possible in a vain attempt to make yourself comfortable. Still, nothing works, and after twenty minutes you’re about ready to burst into tears. The mere notion of getting another awful night’s sleep has you ready to throw a fit, and now more than ever do you wish that your husband was home holding you in his arms.

Kylo checked in with you earlier on the com, though your correspondence was quick. He told you that he and the Knights were doing fine and that the mission was going well, though he was vague on the details. You’d been reluctant to get off the line, happy to hear your husband’s voice, but then Kylo said it was time to make camp and that he had to go. Really, you would feel best if he were here with you, but hoping that he’s warm and safe will have to do for the night. Everyone is always telling you how tough Kylo is, but wish he didn’t have to be. It pains you to imagine him shivering, to think of him anticipating an attack even as he tries to rest…

Yes, you’d much rather have your husband next to you now.

Finally, after what feels like hours, your eyes grow heavy. Burrowing down under the comforter, you turn to face the pane of transperisteel on the far wall, drifting off with the stars glittering before you.

#kylo ren #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren imagine #kylo ren fanfiction #ame #my writing #star wars #star wars fanfiction

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athingthatwantsvirginia · 4 years

Text

EAT ME

PART NINE OF THE DO YOU SEE HER FACE? SERIES

Pairing: Jess Mariano x Original Character (Ella Stevens)

Warnings: mentions of death, underage drinking, mentions of vomit (just two remarks in passing), plentiful pop culture references

Word Count: 5.1K

Summary: After returning from her summer babysitting job, Ella has a rough night. With friends busy and out of town, she eventually ends up on the doorstep of the diner.

With a toddler asleep on her chest and a five-year-old dozing in a makeshift fort on the floor below her, Ella finally got a moment of peace. The Iron Giant hummed at a low volume on the TV, a naptime movie to celebrate her last day babysitting. She loved her aunt’s house, a hippie-dippie pad adorned with tapestries, iscense, and other random items. Ella herself wasn’t into the holistic lifestyle, but she appreciated how much joy her aunt derived from it. The children, two little girls with red hair and big brown eyes, were gentle and silly. Alongside her new husband, Ella’s aunt Julie filled the family household with joy and games. It made Ella nostalgic for a period of her childhood she almost couldn’t remember. Sprawled across the floral print couch, Ella almost fell asleep herself but decided not to screw up her schedule when she was going to have to go back to early morning shifts at Luke’s very soon. Instead, she stretched her arm over, careful not to wake Annie and grabbed the house phone.

After two rings, Luke’s grumbly voice came through the line: “Luke’s Diner.”

“Hey, boss, is Jess there?” Ella spoke in a hushed tone, eyes on the baby as she tucked the afghan which covered the two of them tighter.

He sighed. “With his petri dish of a girlfriend. Hold on one second.”

Ella smirked and waited, listening to the early afternoon commotion of the diner. She’d only called a few times since she’d been gone, and almost every time Luke had to pull Jess away from the mysterious new girl. But Jess always came to the phone, and she made a careful effort to avoid the topic of his girlfriend. Mostly, they discussed the merits of the Chuck Palanuik novel Jess had been reading. It was one of Ella’s favorites.

“Jess Mariano, may I ask who’s calling?” he began.

Ella rolled her eyes at his theatrics. “You’re hilarious.”

“It’s been said,” he replied, the usual amount of cocky. “Why are you whispering?”

“The kids are sleeping. The baby is literally lying on top of me.”

“And when I’m asleep in the middle of the day, suddenly I’m a world-class slacker,” he said.

“Well, the last time I remembered, you’re not two years old.”

Jess scoffed, disinterested. “Semantics.”

“Whatever gets you through the night,” she retorted.

“How’s it been otherwise? Annie still crawling into the bed and kicking you in her sleep?” Jess asked, having caught her in a middle of a sleep-deprived haze the last time they spoke.

She laughed fondly. “Only a little. There was also one projectile vomiting incident, but, hey, at least I got to watch an Exorcist reenactment in real time.”

“What a glamorous summer gig you scored.”

“It’s true.”

“But you’ll be back tomorrow, right?”

“Bright and early. You’re gonna have to fill me in on everything I missed,” she said, noticing how Erin had begun to snore from her place wrapped up in various throw blankets on the floor.

Jess hummed. “Well, let’s see...I think Taylor might have shifted the stand outside the market about an inch. It was on the front page of the Gazette for a week straight.”

“Riveting.”

“That’s one word for it.”

“Oh! I finally finished The Lovely Bones. You’ve got to borrow it when I get b-”

“Hey, sorry, honey,” he interjected, and she heard him mutter some irritated words to someone she couldn’t see. Jury was out on whether it was Luke or some other unlucky Stars Hollow civilian. After a pause, his rushed voice came over the line again: “Look, my new...I gotta go. But tomorrow I’m gonna need a full review.”

“Only if you finish the Palahnuik by the time I clock in,” she wagered.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, and she could practically hear the smirk on his lips.

. . .

Ready to close up and anxious for what awaited her at home, Ella sketched in the notebook her aunt Julie had given her after arriving home from the honeymoon. Since returning to work, spending sweltering days in the AC of the diner, Ella tried to ignore the strange feeling which pulsed through her. Every time Jess’s new girlfriend Shane sauntered in, she had to avert her eyes as they made out, Jess’s hands roaming her body. And not only because of the grotesque amount of PDA they engaged in. But as soon as the uneasy feeling rose in her throat, she began to sketch her feelings away, ignoring the thumping of her heart against her ribs. Jess always insisted on finishing his conversations with her, or saying goodbye to her, before going gallivanting with Shane. And where did she get off feeling jealous? Jess was her jackass coworker, who only bordered on a friend. It was easier to pretend nothing was bothering her, lest her cheeks burn with shame each time the bleach blonde girl walked through the diner doors.

The sky was overcast, but the night was supposed to clear up. With Luke out on some date, she and Jess were the ones charged with boarding up the shop for the night. Caesar had gone home early, since the Friday had been unusually slow and he was pretty much useless when closing anyway. When the last customer departed, though it was ten minutes until official closing time, Ella decided to use her authority to call it quits for the day. However, she first had to wrangle Jess off Shane while they made out on the sidewalk, up against the diner window. Shutting her sketchbook, she grimaced at the task at hand, but strode out confidently with her hands on the hips of her blue jeans.

Clearing her throat, she watched them disentangle themselves from each other, their lips parting with a smack! in the warm night air. Ella rolled her eyes. “Jess, we’re closing. You’ll have to take a rain check on the next round of tonsil tennis.”

Jess only smirked, planting one final kiss on Shane’s cheek before making for the door.

Shane rolled her eyes. “Jess.”

“Relax,” Jess grumbled, shoving his hands in his pockets as he walked away. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Crossing her arms over her chest, Shane shot a look at Ella. “That stick up your ass must hurt like hell.”

Ella only sighed, a unamused smile on her face. “Charming as always, Shane. Come again any time.”

With the situation diffused, Ella rushed back into the diner before Jess, who was chuckling behind her. Ella didn’t utter a word before she began closing, ducking behind the counter to grab the disinfectant spray and a clean rag. If it was possible, Jess thought she looked even more stressed than usual. She had her hair in a messy updo, cheeks flushed red. Her eyes darted around anxiously, her hands fiddling with the silvery chain of her necklace. Luke had almost sent her back home to change when she showed up for her shift, wearing a black t-shirt with the words EAT ME written across the chest in big white letters. Instead of changing though, she argued her way out of it. It was simply an endorsement of the diner’s products, she’d said. Luke’s eyes had rolled nearly up into the back of his head, but, nonetheless, he’d dropped the subject.

“Nice to see you and Shane bonding,” Jess quipped as he began gathering up the salt and pepper shakers to store for the night.

She scoffed. “Yeah, quite a winner you’ve got there.”

Jess raised his brows at her tone. “Are you upset about something?”

“No,” she shot back flatly. “It’s really just such a pleasure to have to watch you tongue-fuck her while I’m at work.”

He straightened up and stopped working, brows furrowed. “Says the girl who’s read Bad Behavior, at that very counter where you now stand, three times.”

Still, she didn’t look up as she sighed heavily. Her voice was tired. “I read it. I didn’t have to be subjected to a visual. Would you just wait to suck face until you’re not in view of the customers who’ve come to eat here?”

“Fine. Sorry,” he snapped angrily, going back to the shakers. “Didn’t mean to offend your delicate sensibilities.”

“Apology accepted,” she shot back.

“Great.”

“Good.”

. . .

Tense silence had stood between them for the remainder of the evening. Later, Jess laid on his twin bed fuming, the night darkening to an inky black. Stars glowed brightly, the moon new and invisible. The apartment over the diner had its familiar pine smell and was lit low by Jess’s desk lamp. He had no idea what time it was, but found it odd Luke still wasn’t back hours after closing. But the solitude meant he could blast his Shags through the speakers he’d brought back from his old room in New York. They were pretty much the most valuable items he owned, and he didn’t get to use them nearly often enough. Jess was nearly done with The Lovely Bones, trying to decipher Ella’s cursive annotations. Of all the books she had traded him, it was perhaps the saddest one yet.

The music was louder than he’d anticipated, as it took nearly four rings of the phone before Jess heard it under the lyrics. He rolled his eyes, but saved his place in the book, turned down the volume, and went to answer.

“Hello?”

“Jess?” came Ella’s voice through the receiver.

He furrowed his brows. “Eleanor?”

“No, it’s Virginia Woolf, back from the dead,” she said, slurring her words.

Jess let a chuckle escape his mouth. “Are you drunk?”

“I guess so. My dad was soooo pissed. He kicked me out, said not to come back until I had my head on straight. I don’t think my head’s been on straight my entire life,” she rambled, her voice husky and sleepy.

“Where are you?” Jess asked, his voice earnest.

“The phone booth on Main Street. Why do they still have this here? It’s such antiquated tech-”

“Just stay right there. I’ll come down,” he said shortly, then hung up before she could respond.

Jess rushed down the stairs and weaved through the dark diner, tables stacked on chairs, leaving the door open as he exited onto the sidewalk. He caught sight of her petite form almost immediately. Out on the deserted street, trudging towards the diner with her hands in her back pockets, watching the sky as she walked. The night was humid. Sighing heavily, Jess came over and touched her arm gently.

Ella flinched, but relaxed when she saw it was him. “Jesus, Mariano. Give a girl some warning.”

Shaking his head slightly, he brought a hand to the small of her back to steady her as they walked. He could smell the alcohol wafting off her, mixed with her normal aroma of lavender and rosemary. “What the hell did you drink?”

“A lot,” she drawled back instantly. They neared the steps of the diner and she blew out a shaky breath. “Can we sit down?”

Before he could even answer, she sat down heavily on the concrete steps. He took the seat beside her, leaving a safe distance between the two of them.

Ella brought her hand to her mouth and started biting at her nails. A warm breeze blew past them. Ella huffed in frustration and took the elastic from her hair clumsily. She ran her hands through her brassy waves and sniffed. Jess glanced over at her and could tell she had been crying. Her hazel eyes were red-rimmed and her mascara was running slightly. Even drunk, she flushed when she saw him looking at her, and wiped her hands over her cheeks self-consciously.

“My dad got engaged,” she said suddenly, frankly.

“Huh.”

“Yep.” There was a pause before she spoke again, crickets singing around them. “We had a fight about it this morning. I got home tonight, and he wouldn’t talk to me. So, I stole a bottle of his tequila to piss him off, get a rise out of him, but then I thought: ‘Fuck it. Just drink it. The day can’t get much worse anyway.’”

Jess nodded, listening.

“But then he kicked me out for the night. So, yeah, it could get worse. Lorelai’s not home, and Rory’s still in Washington. I sure as hell can’t knock on Lane’s door like this. I just wanted to call and say sorry for being such a jackass earlier.”

“I thought I was the jackass here?” he teased offhandedly.

She giggled drunkenly, though her eyes were hazy. “Usually. But, just this once, it was me. Just...a bad day.”

“It’s alright,” he assured her, standing up and holding a hand out to her. “You can crash upstairs. Luke’s out but I’m sure it’s fine.”

Ella shook her head and sighed. “Jess, you don’t have to be nice-”

“Fine, I won’t be nice then. Shut up and take my hand,” he said flatly.

After a long moment, she nodded, grabbing his hand and straightening up. Upon standing, she got dizzy and staggered back.

“Careful, Stevens,” Jess grumbled, hands hovering over her arms for a moment in the event she fell over.

“Shut up,” she snapped, retreating back into the diner.

The way up the stairs was iffy, and by the top Ella was practically holding onto Jess for balance. Jess’s mouth was set in a thin, stern line, though slight worry touched his heart. She sang along quietly with the lyrics of the song which still hummed lowly from the stereo as they entered. It almost made Jess want to smirk, if she hadn’t been so completely smashed. He steered her to his bed, where she immediately flopped onto her back.

“Is this your bed?” she asked, eyes closed and hands behind her head.

“Yes. But tonight it’s yours,” he sighed, shutting both the music and his desk lamp off. In the bluish glow of the room, he saw her sloppily tug off her shoes. Then, she sat forward with her elbows on her knees, head in her hands.

“I can just sleep on the couch or the floor or a park bench. Y’know, a couple years ago Taylor went on this asinine crusade to make the benches more comfortable-”

“Just go to sleep, Eleanor,” he scolded.

“You go to sleep,” she retorted lamely, but nonetheless, she flopped onto her back again and scooted up until her head laid on the pillow. But, her glassy eyes remained open and she stared at the ceiling.

Jess had been fetching her a glass of water, cold from the tap. He was surprised to find her still conscious considering how strong the smell of tequila was when entering her general vicinity. Instead of forcing her to drink the water, a fight which he knew would be fruitless, he just left it on the nightstand.

“Jess?”

“Yes?”

“Do you believe in fate?”

He scoffed, hands in his pockets as he stood by the bed. “Is now really the best time to solve the mysteries of the universe?”

Giggling, Ella let her eyes flutter shut. “No time like the present.” When she spoke again, her voice had a wistful, far-off quality. “I just...my dad told me he proposed to Fiona because it was fate which brought them together and they were immediately in love and all that shit. But he thought he was in love with my mom and looked how that turned out. I just...most of the time I can’t bring myself to believe in fate or love. Not after everything that happened.”

“Hm,” Jess hummed, brows furrowed. He waited for her to continue, as he knew she would.

“Fiona’s not a horrible person. But she acts like she’s my mom,” she said, defeated. “And she wouldn’t shut up this morning about me being disrespectful and just...and I can’t talk to Rory and Lane’s busy with her drums and...you with your girlfriend or whatever she is…”

Jess raised his eyebrows at her last comment, but at just the moment he hoped she would continue, she began to doze off. Her breathing deepened, and Jess sighed again. Before she could completely slip into unconsciousness, he went over and rolled her onto her side. Ella stirred, but did not fully wake. He threw the orangey afghan from the end of the bed over her form.

Creeping over to retrieve the book from his bedside table, Jess was reassured when she curled up into a ball on her side. Before he made it over to the couch where he planned to spend the night, Ella hummed drowsily.

“Jess?” she croaked, peeking through heavy-lidded eyes.

“Yeah, honey?” he asked, grouchy but not angry.

“Thank you,” she slurred, grabbing a handful of the blanket in her fist sleepily.

Jess sighed, and grimaced when a wave of fondness washed over him. “You’re welcome.”

As he flipped through to his marked page, flicking on the floor lamp near the couch and settling in for the night, she began to snore softly. Jess tried to concentrate on the final twenty pages of the book, but knew he would definitely have to reread them.

. . .

Around half past midnight, Luke’s booted footfalls sounded softly up the stairs to the apartment. He was surprised to find the door unlocked, considering how late Jess had been out with Shane the last few Friday nights. Soft, yellowish light illuminated Luke’s side of the apartment. He thought Jess had fallen asleep with a lamp on, and jumped when he found his nephew with his nose in a book on the old brown leather couch.

“Jeez!” he exclaimed as he shut the door behind him.

“Keep it down!” Jess hissed back, saving his place in the book again. Five more pages. “You’ll wake her up.”

“Excuse me?” Luke asked, accusatory, eyebrows raised as he followed Jess’s gaze to the left. He could make out Ella’s face in the dimness, and his confusion only grew. Instantly, he knew Jess had done something. He had to have done something. “What the hell is she doin’ here?”

Jess rolled his eyes as his uncle pointed a finger at him. He hopped up to grab a blanket from the top shelf of the nearby closet. “She called me. She got kicked out for the night and needed a place to crash. I figured it’d be okay.”

“Kicked out?” Luke echoed softly. In all his time knowing Ella, she’d never been one to piss her parents off so severely. The girl worked doubles every weekend and had a four-point-oh GPA. “Why?”

“She was wasted. Stole her dad’s tequila,” Jess explained shortly, shutting off the floor lamp and returning to the couch to get some sleep. It had been a long night to say the least. The twinkly lights of the town square still made for relative visibility in the apartment.

Luke sighed heavily at Jess’s nonchalance and loomed over the couch, not done with the conversation. “Did you get her drunk?”

“No,” Jess answered immediately, angrily. “She managed it all on her own. She’s a big girl, y’know.”

“Shut up,” Luke snapped. “You’re telling me Ella Stevens got drunk on her dad’s tequila and called you for help?”

Jess nodded and looked up at his uncle in aggravation. “Someone give the man a prize.”

“Why would she call you?”

“First, I’m absolutely flattered by your tone,” Jess droned. “Lorelai wasn’t home, she couldn’t go to Lane’s, and Rory’s still in Washington. So, I was choice number four. Quite an honor. She probably figured you’d be the one at home, anyway.”

Luke groaned quietly at his nephew’s attitude, his hands on his hips. After a particularly terrible date, he hadn’t expected to have to solve another problem at home.

Satisfied the game of twenty questions was over, Jess crossed his arms over his chest, turned on his side and closed his eyes.

“I gotta call Jake,” Luke thought aloud, starting towards the phone.

Jess’s eyes flew open and he jumped up to stop Luke. “No!” he blurted out, a hand on his uncle’s arm, and waited a long moment to make sure Ella hadn’t woken.

“Jess, she’s a kid. I have to tell her dad where she is,” Luke explained tiredly, rolling his eyes.

“Really? Her dad who just kicked her out in the middle of the night?” Jess asked doubtfully, eyebrows raised.

Luke sighed again, and seemed to actually ponder Jess’s words.

“Look, just let her sleep it off. I’m sure she’ll still have an earful waiting for her tomorrow morning,” Jess said urgently, his eyes flicking over to his bed.

Taking a long moment to stare thoughtfully at his shoes, Luke finally conceded. “Fine.”

Jess blew out a short breath in relief. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Luke snapped back.

As he retreated back to the couch, Jess caught one last glance at Ella’s sleeping form. Bathed in the starlight, she looked almost ethereal, despite the snoring. “She’ll be fine. I put her on her side so she won’t choke if she throws up or anything. And she’s got water by the bed.”

Furrowing his brows, Luke let a suspicious gaze linger on his nephew. “How’d you know to do that?”

Jess uttered a bitter chuckle. “Liz Danes is my mother. I’m sure you can fill the rest in yourself.”

“Right,” Luke sighed, nodding. He regained his harsh exterior after a moment, pointing a final, warning finger at Jess. “But call me before letting people stay here next time. And, just so we’re clear, there will not be a next time.”

Scoffing, Jess turned on his side away from Luke and gave only a noncommittal grunt as an answer.

. . .

Throwing up in the shower had actually been the high point of her morning. Sneaking out of the apartment at nearly five o’clock, Ella had left nothing more than an empty water glass and a folded afghan on Jess’s bed as traces of her being there. Though the morning was cloudy, her splitting headache still got worse trudging down Main Street back towards her house during sunrise. She’d never been on a walk of shame, and was glad there was no one yet awake to witness it. After unlocking her window with a bobby pin, she’d managed a few more hours of sleep before facing the music of her father’s rage.

However, stealing his alcohol had proved to have at least one silver lining. Ella was the one with the hangover, so Jake had opted just for disappointed yelling instead of screaming and breaking whatever furniture he could get his hands on. Instead, Ella had to sit through two hours of Jake and Fiona standing with arms crossed, looming over her while she sat hunched at the kitchen table. It wasn’t easy with her stomach swirling and her heartbeat throbbing painfully behind her eyes, but it certainly wasn’t the most brutal dressing down she’d ever received. A two-week grounding with the exception of work and school was in order, and Ella made the compulsory show of accepting the punishment. She knew they would likely forget to enforce it anyway, caught up in their own dramas.

A shower and a change of clothes had her looking slightly more human by the time she returned to the diner at noon for her eight-hour shift. At least she wasn’t on the books to close. She tried multiple times to apologize to Luke, but he was disinterested at best. Ella could tell he was disappointed, but she would have to wait it out before he would actually talk it out with her. By her break around four in the afternoon, it had already been a long day of the cold shoulder and demanding Saturday afternoon orders. Rather than staying in the diner for some lunch, she opted for a walk around town to keep the churning in her stomach at bay.

The summer haze cast long shadows on the cracked asphalt. As she passed the town square, she breathed in the clean air and decided the headache might finally be passing. The breeze was picking up, and the sound of the vibrant green leaves rustling in the wind washed over her like ocean waves. The smell of exhaust filled the air as she passed the bus stop, the city bus coming to a screeching halt by the bench next to her. She would have ignored it completely, but Jess caught her eye, deboarding the bus with his hands shoved in his pockets. Ella picked up her pace, but Jess had already seen her. He raced up beside her with a wicked smirk on his lips.

“Wait up, Speed Racer,” he quipped, panting slightly.

She chuckled halfheartedly. “I’ll give you a second to catch your breath.”

“Ah, I think I’m alright,” he assured her with a shrug. “You on break?”

“Yep,” she said shortly, avoiding his eyes. “Where are you coming from?”

“Shangri-la,” he answered instantly. They were circling back around to the square, and Jess tilted his head to the gazebo. “You wanna sit down? You look a little pale.”

“Sure,” she nodded. “I think the tequila’s had a bit of an effect on my complexion.”

Jess laughed. “Yeah, maybe if you hadn’t downed that last liter it wouldn’t be quite as pronounced.”

“Shut up,” she smiled, seeming to relax just a touch. She tucked some rogue wisps of hair behind her ears as they sat down on the bench in the gazebo, the town buzzing with tourist groups and regulars.

Before Jess could make some wiseass remark, Ella cleared her throat and cut to the chase. Her cheeks grew rosy but she powered through the nervous fluttering of her heart. “Look, I’m really sorry about last night.”

“It’s okay,” Jess said, shaking his head dismissively. “I’ve had a few nights like that.”

“But I don’t drink. Ever,” she said, speaking with her hands.

Jess snorted. “I’ll say.”

She scoffed self-consciously. “And I don’t steal my dad’s booze, and get black-out drunk, and steal my friend’s bed and piss off my boss-”

“Luke’ll come around. Compared to the shit I’ve done? You’re living out amateur hour,” he interjected with a smirk. Though he wished it hadn’t, his heart skipped a beat at her so casually calling him a friend. Even in New York, he’d only a few of those, and none of them had kept in contact with him since coming to Stars Hollow. It occurred to him in the moment how he may have never had a friend like her before, someone who wasn’t disappointed in him, who was excited to talk about books, who called even when they were many miles apart.

“Just let me finish,” she said earnestly, raising a hand to him.

Jess bit his lip to keep from chuckling at her stubbornness. “Go on.”

“I’m just so embarrassed and I don’t remember most of what I said but I’m just... I’m sorry,” she said, biting at her nails. Her ears were tinged with red, flesh hot with shame. “And thank you for letting me crash. You really didn’t have to do that and...thank you.”

Sighing through his nose, Jess nodded with more sincerity than she expected.

“And the last time Lane and I went to a party, I tried to recite all the lyrics from the whole Rumors album, so I’m also really sorry if I did that,” she added, a return of some levity.

Jess laughed. “Don’t worry. You’re in the clear.”

She sighed in relief. “Thank God.”

“Seriously, Stevens, don’t be embarrassed. If it makes you feel any better, I once ate a pumpkin raw when I was drunk,” he admitted, his voice low and conspiratory.

A confused grin crossed her face. “What?”

“Yep,” he confirmed, nodding. “I’ve sworn off both forties and Halloween parties since then.”

Ella laughed.

“Does that make you feel better?” he asked.

“A little.” After a moment, the serious air came back. “Thank you, Jess.”

He nodded again. “You’re welcome.”

And, just then, they locked eyes. A charged silence passed between them, and Jess thought he saw something flash behind Ella’s eyes. She had to avert her gaze to hide her blush.

Jess’s stomach did an involuntary flip. But Ella seemed to regain her composure quickly. Had he imagined the look on her face or the redness on her cheeks? When she spoke again, the weight of the moment was gone.

“So, really, where’d you come from? A drug deal? A prostitution ring?” she prodded in curiosity. “A date with Shane?”

Jess shook his head, clearing his throat. “No. Shane and I don’t exactly go on dates,” he joked suggestively.

Something between a grimace and a smirk crossed her lips at his implication. “Gross. But I suppose every relationship is different,” she teased.

“I think ‘relationship’ might be a bit of an overstatement,” he said, shrugging. His face was guarded, but Ella could see the corners of his mouth threatening to tick upwards. “She thinks Oscar Wilde is a type of cocktail.”

“No,” she said in disbelief, giggling a little. Eventually, Jess began to chuckle and both of them laughed together. People passing by raised brows at the two of them. Most of them had never seen Jess smile.

“And we don’t know each other's last names,” Jess continued, biting his lip to fend off another smirk.

She shook her head, but kept giggling. “How romantic.”

“That it is,” he quipped.

Ella smirked and glanced down at her watch.

“My break’s almost over. You coming back to the diner?” she asked, ignoring the still air sitting in the small distance from her face to his own.

He shook his head. “Not yet. I have some things to do.”

“Specific.”

“I know. I am famous for my candor,” he said. “But I’ll be by later to help with dinner. You’ll get your book back with some brand new notes in the margins.”

“Lucky me,” she smiled. “Next on your list….” she paused, racking her brain for one of the many suggestions she’d thought of giving him. “Joan Didion.”

“Is that the lady from LA?” he asked.

“That’s the one. She makes it sound even better than New York.”

“Well, I’ll be the judge of that,” Jess said, watching her rise from her seat. Her black skirt came to her mid-thigh, and he saw some yellowed bruises on her knees. “And you’re in for another classic. Bukowski himself.”

She leaned on the white railing, readying herself to descend the steps and return to the diner. Her eyebrows were raised doubtfully. “We’ll just have to see about that ‘classic’ business.”

“Prepare to eat your words!” he called after her as she rushed away. He could tell she was anxious to be back on time, for fear of even more passive aggression from Luke.

“Ditto!” she returned.

Jess watched her go, disappearing back into Luke’s with her nails chewed. And found himself oddly content in the July afternoon heat.

#jess mariano imagines #jess mariano imagine #jess mariano one shot #jess mariano one shots #jess mariano #jess #mariano #gilmore girls #gilmore girls fanfiction #jess mariano x oc #gilmore girls imagines #jess mariano x original character #original character #original character stories #luke danes

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jjkpls · 5 years

Text

Mean Yoongi 2 (m)

> genre : smut, light angst, fluff

> pairing : min yoongi x reader (f)

> words : 5.4k

> warnings : explicit sexual content, strong language

> For once, Min Yoongi is not that mean and tries to help you feel better after an umpteenth date fail. (sex in the genius lab basically)

> A/N : Feel free to listen to the inspiration for this :D I hope you enjoy, let me know your thoughts ❤

> previous

< next

“You're here?” Yoongi is standing up from his chair, face scrunched up in a scowl as he glares down at me.

I'm not sure what I'm supposed to answer to that.

It's been more than an hour since I've knocked on the door of his studio, entered and installed myself on the sofa, right behind him.

I was not sneaky about it too. He looked at me. He did. When I opened the door, we've glanced at each other. I mouthed something about wanting to hang out since he could probably not hear me with the earphones set on his head. Completely expressionless, he turned around in his chair and proceeded on working again, typing and clicking away on his computers, not minding me anymore.

I'm not sure what it meant. But it's not like I really cared at that point since I wasn't planning on leaving his studio and meeting stupid Taehyung and have a fucking painful time with this idiot.

So I've just remained there, keeping myself occupied on my phone. Eventually, he would finish what he's been doing and pay attention to me -at least, turn around and sneer my way or something. Maybe he wouldn't have been able to handle my presence, too obnoxious somewhere behind his back, and quit working to throw me out. I mean, anything.

But he did not. For more than an hour. And if the hardly raised dark eyebrows of his are anything to go by, he's completely forgotten that I was there.

“Uhm... but you've seen me?” I mumble, confused and slightly embarrassed.

“Why are you not with Taehyung?” I frown, diverting my attention back to the screen of my phone. There's still a little Chimmy asking if I want to “try again!” this level. I hear Yoongi sigh, gravely. He lets himself fall back in his chair, this time facing my lain form on the couch. One of his hand messes with his bleached-white hair. When it falls back down on his lap, he sighs again, asking the same question again this time pressing me with the stressed syllables of my name he's added.

I wonder how upset I must look for him to show so much patience. We haven't talked in quite a few weeks, mostly because of my schedule being suddenly overbooked by a sudden shit load of work being dropped in the office I work at. But from what I remember, he wouldn't have made the effort to ask twice the same question before.

“He's going to annoy me...” I peek at him from the corner of my eyes. He's leaned on his right side, the tip of his fingers pressing against his worn-out eyes. When he's done and the silence of the studio is striking him, he opens them up and stares back, in expective. “It's dumb...” Straightening up, he leans back, elbows setting on the armrests, fingers intertwining on his stomach. His piercing gaze is not leaving me longer than it takes for him to blink and I know I own his whole attention.

I feel kind of silly now. Taehyung would be a pain but Yoongi surely won't be much better. The plan was just to hang out with him, or next to him at least, not to actually have him show interest and concern for my life. Never failing to disappoint.

Laboriously, I get up, getting in the best disposition to tell my little lame tale about the whole Tinder debacle. I tell him, trying to avoid digressing on meaningless details that could earn me time, about this guy I've met. About how he came off weird by sending me a dick pic the day following our very first text exchange but how I gave him a pass for his “momentary lapse of judgement”. There're not many movements on Yoongi's part. His face has never been an opened book but I would expect him to show some reactions. Since he doesn't, I suppose he doesn't think it's that much of a big deal so I keep going, summarizing briefly the beginning of our first (and last) date and more precisely, I tell him about how he didn't look at all like his cousin's pictures he had used on his profile. I can feel fire burning my cheeks both from anger and embarrassment, as I start, mindlessly, counting on my fingers the other lies and other uncharming quirks of this guy as I name them out loud.

I've lost myself in a passionate tornado of complaints, now lashing on how greasy his hands were (and not from being sweaty, actually greasy with a something that I could not pinpoint but definitely fucking gross) when Yoongi starts mumbling something. I shut my mouth right up, all ears for the first comment he's about to give me.

“Okay. Why are you here? Isn't it Taehyung's job to list-”

“Min Yoongi.” I don't mean to but I whine. Because all the pent up frustration from this terrible day has been awoken by my telling and I don't feel like dealing with Mean Yoongi right now. He looks at me, eyes dark but oddly soft. I note how the light blond hair makes wonder for his naturally sharp glare. Smacking his lips, sighing again, Yoongi tilts his head to the side. “Actually, Tae told me not to go meet him because of the whole dick pic thingy but I didn't listen. We fought a bit about that. Now he's going to be oh-so-happy to have this whole shit to rub in my face,” Taking a stupid voice and twisting my face in an even stupider expression, I mimic, “'I told you so, dumbass! You should listen to-'”

“Tae's your friend. He's not gonna be happy that you had a miserable date.” It's my turn to sigh. Deep and hard, for it to resonates in the whole studio and Yoongi to hear it well. He is so disagreeable. He doesn't know anything about the proper friend etiquette. Yet he's right. And he's talking with me instead of throwing me out, and cursing at me for making him waste his time which I am sure, he strongly feels the need to.

“It's not the first time, right?”

“What is?”

“Tinder fail.”

“Oh.”

No, it's not. I've decided to stop counting when I realized that I was about to miss fingers to tally them on.

I can’t say that I’m starting to lose hope in my dating abilities because I’ve never really thought I was made for it. Which might be the reason why it all went down to shit. That’s what my mom would say. If I start with that attitude I shouldn’t feel struck by the result. In the end, there’s one common factor to all these equations.

That being said, why would falsely cute catfishes be so good at texting, I don’t get it? I meet them and they fucking suck balls, but at some point, they were nice and charming and normal. Well, most of them anyway if we put aside the one from today. Yes, it was in this very case a lapse of judgement on my part but the dick pic, not that I condone it or even liked it, intrigued me. It was a good one. Not his -also his cousin’s from my understanding, don’t ask me how he got that. But a nicely shot one, by clearly a professional, and I thought vaguely that maybe a guy that knew what he wanted, was so confident in his own attributes, might be a good option for my slow prude ass.

A mistake.

“Why are you so desperate to date?” Yoongi’s nose bridge scrunches up so tight, the round tip of his nose seems to try to meet the low frown of his dark eyebrows. I almost wish out loud for his stupid face to stay stuck in that position. He wouldn’t be any less irritating but at least, slightly cuter. And he hates cute.

“Desperate? I- Yoongi, do you know for how long I haven’t dated? I’m human, I get lonely!” I can’t help my voice to raise a few octaves. If I hold in more of my frustration, I’m sure I’ll end up doing something terrible and impossible to undo like crying, for example. “Don’t you?”

He shrugs. His expression has softened back into his regular blank one as he just contemplates in front of him. Not really me, not really the small coffee table or the carpet. I’m about to pry a word from him when his phone starts vibrating furiously on his desk. Turning hardly enough to check from over his shoulder, he looks then presses the screen turning it back to black.

Maybe I should leave now. I’m more upset than I thought myself to be. Which is so stupid. I couldn’t care less about that Bamboum guy or whatever his real name was. I still feel pretty stupid except more stupid than pretty and kind of helpless. Taehyung was going to be annoying as fuck if I had chosen to go seek him, but it was a mistake to even think Yoongi would, in any way, make me feel better. I should have clung to someone else like Jungkook or something. “How’s your ass?” I can’t even attempt to hide the startle his low voice, erupting after such a long painfully silent moment, provokes me along with the mention of the incident. Because it has to be what he is referring to.

Yoongi, still sitting in his chair, knees spread wide like he is trying to prove he owns the whole place as if I don’t already know from the multiple apparitions of his stage name all over the walls and shelves, ponders me, awaiting patiently for an answer. He has the faint shadow of a growing smirk painting his pink lips. He looks at me like he knows he’ll get an answer. He’s decided he’ll have one. Squeezing my fists tight to try and conceal the tension in my voice, I start, “Why are you mentioning this now?”

“I haven’t seen you since. Just inquiring.”

His voice is strained by a faint amusement. It’s lighthearted, I’m pretty sure. I, therefore, decide to just ignore it. Because what the hell does he want me to say anyway? That it felt alright on the way home but the sting was almost unbearable when I woke the next day and that I couldn’t even spend a minute without being reminded of his ministrations for the following three days as any movement, any brush of material against my skin, awoke the burn.

Yeah, sure.

Yoongi chuckles. He sees me looking down at my hands, turning mortified and embarrassed, and he decides it’s enough teasing. He grabs his phone, checking the time quickly.

“Have you eaten yet?”

“Yes, we ate at a restaurant.” I grumble, eyes still not raised enough to have to acknowledge his upsetting face.

“You ate with the guy? What's wrong with you?”

And here I realize why, maybe, I'm blessed by his usual lack of responses. Maybe I should try and actually cry in front of the guy, I know him to have something of a soft heart hidden somewhere. The one that winks when he expects it the less, when he lets his guard down. I could try and trigger it. Maybe he'll be less of an ass then.

“I'm not- what was I supposed to do? I'm not a bitch.”

“It's not about you being a bitch, it's about raising your standards a bit, damn...”

“D'you remember me explaining you, like 5 seconds ago, why I didn't want to see Tae right now?” He's rendered speechless. I don't know if it's from my doing or his own but he just stays there, exchanging a knowing look with me. I think he's giving in. He realizes that maybe he's being too much of an ass for what I can take.

Yoongi then swirls around on his chair. I start gathering my few belongings, assuming I'm being dismissed since he's starting to type away on his computer again but he startles me when he grabs the little stool, hidden under his desk, to drag it on the floor and set it next to his own chair. His other arm reaches out to unplug his headphones, while he throws out in the air, “Wanna listen what I've been working on?”

I gasp aloud, voice squealing a bit, as my heart is seized by a shock wave of excitement. YES, I DO. Anything else, any concern or growing grudges just annihilate all together when I jump on the little stool, unable to contain my grin and watching with wide eager eyes the screen displaying a music editing software I’ve seen him used multiple time before.

His lips are stretched by a tiny smile when he clicks a few times until the first notes drop. While I’m appreciating, mouth agape, all attention on the sample, Min Yoongi lays back in his chair, the back of his head leaning impossibly far to stare at the ceiling, his long milky neck exposed. It lasts about 30 seconds but those are the wildest seconds I’ve ever experienced. The sample is a bop. It’s that mix between heavy languish bass and a light melody alike an oriental traditional instrument, added to intricacies faint, subtle that my ignorant and so impressionable dumb brain can’t but feel without really deciphering. It’s different from what the band makes. More mature and hefty in a way. Something Agust D would manage well but then again, it has a delicacy to it that doesn’t really fit to his dark, raw character.

And here again I’m astonished by the extent of his talent as an artist, being able to surprise and reinvent himself while still producing something -and I know it’s just a snippet of a song that is far from actually existing yet but damn it is- that phenomenal. 30 seconds is very short of a time to convince someone your song will be a hit. But it’s enough there to fucking blow me away. I’d ask him to save this on an hour loop for me to take home if only he were not looking at me with this expression.

That’s so Yoongi. His mouth shut won’t say a thing but his eyes are very talkative except I’m missing a lot of words. He’s put his hat on, swiping his hair backwards, exposing his dark set of straight eyebrows so that his eyes are back to being sharp and dark, soft in the fineness of their upper line’s course but raw and assertive in expression.

“Yoongi, it’s-“ There’s a sudden drilling sound cutting me off and making me jump on my stool. It’s his phone again. Sliding on his chair to get closer, he reaches over me to check it quickly and shut it off under my curious eyes. When he leans back, leaving a breeze of a too common yet nice male cologne on his path, his attention doesn’t waver from my face as if trying to make it out into something or figure something out of it.

“You were saying?” He mutters, his knee lightly bumping into my thigh. What was I saying? Is it happening again? Is his studio cursed or something? Maybe for someone who wouldn’t know him he’d look cold, almost mean from how uninterested his facial expression is looking. But to me, who’s had my fair share of Yoongi's not-so-wide spectrum of different attitudes, he’s being exceptionally present.

The way his whole attention is silently driven to me, how he actually asks me to speak, and the proximity -my legs pulled tight together so they don’t dare brush against his, squaring them- he doesn’t hint to wanting to pull away from. It feels nice but awfully intimidating. I could spend a whole afternoon annoying the crap out of him, stuck to his backside like a piece of gum to a shoe, if he barely acknowledges me enough to make me feel like we're still making progress in this friendship, we’re getting somewhere. But this I'm not used to, and it feels like it's too much.

“I- I think it's incredible...” His fingers reach behind his head, scratching the hair there, while a locked-lips smile draws itself on his face.

“There's a lot of things left to do. It won't do like that...” He's the genius artist and producer. And I don't know shit about music. So no matter how bad I want to express my adoration for this sample, how bad I want him to not change anything except if it's to add his low, charismatic voice, I decide not to get into it. I've observed him from beginning to almost end of making and editing a piece, a few times, and it's not the first time a very early version seems like the one to me. He wouldn't really listen, though. And that's probably the main reason for him being such a good artist. He's confident, resolute, and incredibly talented.

“Are you still feeling lonely?” I feel better. Him sharing something as meaningful as his music with me sure cured my mood immensely. That being said, the feeling of unsatisfaction and the creeping hopelessness in regards to the future of my dating life, are just hovering in the back of my head, shadowing like a pre-thunder cloud.

It seems like I caught his bad habit of expressing only crumbles of the full extent of my thoughts and emotions. I shrug. Nod, fidget a bit. “What does that mean? What do you need?” The tip of his forefinger is teasing the pink of his bottom lip, smoothing the skin out, while he just ponders me and probably his own questions.

Blushing furiously, I'm quick to stutter, “I don't need anything...” Because I think I know what he's implying. There was no warning but I think I recognize the switch, subtle and so sudden, just like last time. The difference here is that, instead of having me on all fours, unable to see his ominous expression, he is facing me full-on with his demand and his intonation, lower, lazier, more languorous, he's perspiring this odd feeling coming straight from the curious place his mind has taken him. And once again, he's taking me there and while it's tempting, it's also terrifying. Maybe too scary for me to indulge in.

“You don't?” Yoongi's eyebrows raise high. He pouts, tilting his head to the side, eyes diverting away breaking all of the heavy tension streaming between us, “Alright...” And as soon as his burning gaze leaves me, the cold hits me like a harsh winter breeze.

“Actually I do! Sorry, I do.”

There’s a silent agreement passing between us. I’m not sure if it’s him being so loud and opinionated about what he wants that make it so I understand him, as opposed as us just getting each other now, but it feels so pleasing.

Yoongi raises from his chair, sharp eyes glowing like a wolf's gaze in a kid's nightmare. He’s so scary in a way. He’s like the terrifying werewolf with no hidden agenda, bloody quest exposed right in the open, except I want to fall right in between his pointy canines.

Yoongi throws a quick glance to the closed door of his studio before his incisive eyes find me again. He looks so intimidating from up there, I want to ask him to at least take his stupid hat off.

When he grabs my chin in between his fingers, I’m sweating bullets, heart losing it in a feast of tachycardia, wondering how the big wolf is going to eat me up, and why the hell did I think for a second it was a good idea. Yoongi simply kisses me. Simply being the keyword. Softly, he presses his lips against mine, adding enough pressure to turn the butterfly switch on but nothing more just yet.

Parting away to look for something in my eyes, I catch a glimpse of his pink tongue swiping over his lips before they stretch into a pretty smile. Is that what Yoongi needs to smile? Intimacy?

But then he’s grabbing me by the hand, lifting me to my feet, meeting my mouth again more roughly, more insistent, dragging tiny whines from deep within, carving his fingerprints in the flesh of my waist. I’m impossibly close to him, feeling the hard edges of his belt digging into my stomach, and I’m turned a little crazy.

I’m flushed to the tip of my hair. Wavering eyes watery, hardly making out my surroundings. My head is spinning. Maybe I’m too sensitive for this shit. It’s been some time since the last time I’ve been any close to intimate with someone, nevertheless, I’m pretty certain it has more to do with him than with the period of my inactivity. I don’t think anyone has ever made kissing so breathtaking. Those nice but rather plain and awkward kisses from before are put to shame. And who would have thought Mean Yoongi would be the one to do so?

“Is this what you need?” It’s like there’s only greed and eagerness filling me up now. I nod furiously while he cackles and I’d be annoyed if it were not for his cold hands still holding my waist. He leans in, nibbles gently on my bottom lip, “More?”

“Yes please.” He chuckles against my face and gives in to me. It's strange how different yet recognizable he feels. His body, as he crashes me against it by his grip on my ass, feels sturdy, still like a statue. It's so Yoongi. As opposed to his mouth, scorching, wet and sultry.

Where does it even come from? Was he always this way? I know, well know, that Yoongi is made of thousands of layers. More or less hidden, more or less guarded. Yet, I had no idea that he had one like this one. The way his hands knead my ass, my sides, my thighs, the way his mouth cherish mine with so much confidence and natural -when did that antisocial hermit learn to melt with someone else like so? It's like he's taken me in a hazy half-conscious-slumber, I end up waking up from once I'm straddling his lap, on the sofa.

Yoongi looks into my eyes, his even more squinted than usual. “Is this okay?” His fingers, now torrid, are teasing the hem of my shirt, not yet daring wandering under the tissue.

“Yes, touch me.” Something in his eyes clicks. I'm sure he's about to comment on my almost order but for some reasons, probably the same for my dripping panties, decides to ignore it.

It feels so strange. I was there for the whole thing, my sticky panties and flushed skin witnesses of it, yet it feels so sudden when I'm lain there, my tee thrown away, and his hands undoing my pants. It's the cold from the leather couch, shocking my naked back, the view of the ceiling I've never thought about ackowledging, I almost feel like it's too much, too weird and it shouldn't be happening. Because who is Yoongi, who am I, what are we -even though I like to slip and impose my existence into his life, and I'm sure he doesn't mind as he is one to express himself pretty well. If there is one thing that I can admire about his rudeness, it's that it doesn't come from a bad place. It comes from one of love and respect and consideration for his own person, and that's respectable. Therefore I know he would have worded it out if he really wanted me out of his way, strictly in Taehyung's hair and not bleeding on him. I guess we're friends. Sort of. Not the most intimate of friends but close enough to count on each other -if plants need watering. That's pretty big. Isn't it pretty big? Namjoon said so anyway, but it might just be because he is peculiarly serious about his own green friends.

So, as our friendship is just blooming I'd say, it still holds a dear place in my heart and I'm confused as to this whole thing being a good idea or not. Just lying there, in the cold, it feels horrible.

But then he's purring. His eyes are grazing my body, blessing every single inch of it with his attention, pink tongue poking at the side of his half-opened mouth, and he's purring. It's that other very Yoongi thing: a mix between a hum and a moan, coming right through his pretty crimson lips like a big cat's purr. He does it all the time, unconscious of it, and hearing it warms my heart with a blanket of reassurance. I could not say if it's the familiarity or his heated gaze, either way, I know I want it. The consequences will have to be dealt with later on.

(“Beautiful.” It's so quiet. Not meant for me to hear but I can make it out from the way his lips wrap around the word.)

Yoongi is not a douche. A little bit, but certainly far from enough to break my heart. Why do I even bother worrying?

I jump off of the couch, my hands joining his on my jeans to get me ridden off the now offensive clothing quicker. He feels the switch. His eyes bore into mine with a glint, eyebrows slightly raised and a smirk showing off his cute turtle teeth. Jumping back on his lap, I kiss his mouth, wanting to catch his pretty smile.

How lucky I am. How wonderful it feels to have this man dive his whole precious attention on me.

“I really want you, Yoongi.” I say because he needs to know, especially when he's lowering his head slightly to avoid meeting my intense eyes directly. I'm sure if Yoongi was one to blush, his soft cheeks would be covered in crimson. He can't handle the compliment, I can tell. Maybe I should make fun of him but I don't want to when I look down at his beautiful hands, white as snow, streaked with large veins, looking so nice on me. Therefore, I don't say anything and he deems it's time to start again.

His thumb falls over my panties, pressing nicely right on my buddle of nerve. I exhale, loudly, as he circles over it. My hands titillate at the hem of his black tee, hoping he'll hint at taking it off. Of course, he doesn't, even makes me forget about it by slipping his whole hand in my panties, his mouth eagerly attaching back to my gaping lips. It feels delectable, my clit sitting perfectly in the pit of his warm palm while his fingers dip in between my wet folds, teasing my entry. And when he finally indulges in it, my craving hole sucks his bony fingers in. I gasp messing up my breathing, he smiles in the kiss, already adding a second finger. It's a tight fit. His fingers are not that large, quite long and angular, but it's been some time and I can't help my walls from clamping around him each time the thought of Min Yoongi having his fingers buried deep in my cunt floats in my messy consciousness.

“Yoongi, I really want you.”

“I know.” He mumbles, lips pressed against the corner of my mouth. He doesn't understand though.

I'm humping on his lap now, helping his fingers fucking me by riding them but the slow, lazy course along my neck hint at something I don't want. He wants to take his time. I'm not up for it though. Taking off his hat without thinking it over, my hands reach to smooth his bleached hair down. He's watching me with big curious eyes while I arrange them on his forehead. Yoongi looks soft again. His white gold locks are falling low under his eyebrows. Hard to be intimidated by this look, so I demand, “I mean now, please.”

Yoongi slips his hand out of my panties -my mouth falls into a pout on reflex, thinking he's going to be mean again-, and grabs his belt to tear it open. Holding me by his free arm wrapped around my back, he raises up enough to free himself from his jeans. I land back, flushed as ever, my heart burning in my chest from how hard and fast it beats. His cock, snow white except for the tip, flushed and shiny with precum, appears to me. The way his hand slides along it, firm and harsh, hints at how hard he is. It feels indecent, this moment, him stroking himself so close to me, a hand on my hip, his eyes deep in mines. “Do you have a condom?” I stutter.

He reaches for the little drawer of the coffee table, catching one and proceeding to put him on. Why would he have condoms in his studio? In the coffee table?

“Aren't you glad I do?” Yoongi asks, a smug smirk painting his face. His pointer slips under the crotch of my panties, dragging to the side to uncover my sex. He gives me a soft kiss. “Sure?”

I have to literally violent myself into not rolling my eyes to the back of my head. I do a bad job apparently, as he groans something I'm pretty sure to be a cuss, lifting me up to have me sink down on him in one go.

I'm glad to see he's as affected as me. He's pressing his lips compressed together, frowned eyebrows peeking out through his fringe. And I wonder what words, maybe insanities, he'd be saying if he wasn't trying so hard to conceal any sound from leaving his mouth. It takes me what feels like an eternity before I feel safe enough to start moving, sliding slowly up and down his shaft. From the way his grip on my hips had getting mordacious, he was not ready to have me slide on him which I kind of love to think about. I'm quite impatient, greedy on the edges. But the stimulation is vivid. Overwhelming. He's not only buried deep in my cunt, but he's also clouding my mind, making my brain lag, burning my heart in a bitter-sweet fire at each wet kisses to my face, each purr in my ear.

“Come on...” He groans, one of his hand befalling hard on my ass cheek. “Fuck me-”

“Yoongi-” I ride him harder, meeting his thrusts, helping him graze that triggering spot, blending my moans with his. He tries to stay quiet, I can tell, but fails miserably. His face is hidden in my hair, his mouth attached to my ear, I can hear the full extent of the erratic breathing and his groans and his purrs. Fisting his sweat-soaked tee, I whine shamelessly, “I'm almost-”

“Come- come for me.” My fingers hardly touch my clit before I'm exploding around him. He lashes our mouths, catching my cry and swallowing it in, before he growls from the back of his throat, teeth accidentally biting hard on my lip. “Shit.”

It takes a little while for us to come down from the high. I can't help but keep languishingly riding, caressing the back of his hair and placing thankful kisses on his cheeks and jaw. His rough hands smooth my skin out, from my shoulders to my thighs, he's so gentle, refusing to slip out of my warmth and my cheeks flush from the thought alone.

“You're not gonna say thanks?”

“Min Yoongi!”

“You look way less miserable than you did earlier.” He comments, observing me slipping my tee back on, crimson abused lips stretching on his turtle grin. “Should say thanks.”

“You sleeping here?” Sleeping here? I can't even imagine the discussion over logistics. Sleeping in his studio? In his bed? On the living room couch? What about the fucking morning? I furiously shake my head no. “Hm. Text me when you get home.” He says as he or another one of the 6 other young men living in the dorm says each time I leave this place relatively late in the evening.

So it should be it. I don't know if I'm disappointed or not. I am waiting for something else, yet without really knowing what I have to admit. As I open the door to leave, waving my hand awkwardly his way, he grabs it, brings me to him to place a sweet peck on my mouth. “Text me.” I wish he'd say more but that's Mean Yoongi. It’s fine because this time I’m sure he means more.

#btssmutclub #btswriterscollective #bts x reader #bts smut #yoongi x reader #yoongi smut #yoongi angst #yoongi fluff #bts angst #bts fluff #bts scenario #bts fanfic #yoongi scenario #yoongi fanfic #my writing

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tasmyn-pearce · 4 years

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Smoke on the Water, Fire in the Sky || Tasmyn & Ulfric

TIMING: 5/24/2020 (Last Sunday) PARTIES: @big-bad-ulf SUMMARY: Two Non-Humans attempt to go moongazing and have a bonfire picnic at Hanging Rock. What could go wrong? (Smoke Monsters, smoke monsters could go wrong.)

Ulfric took in the scene he’d set up along the edge of Hanging Rock with satisfaction, although truthfully nature had done most of the work for him. The uninterrupted night sky sparkled brightly over the bonfire pit and picnic spread, and the sound of waves lapping against the cliffs below was only vaguely reminiscent of distant, muffled screaming and both things set the mood for… whatever this was supposed to be. People didn’t generally take him up on offers to go moongazing, at least not in human form, and he wasn’t exactly sure how to proceed or how to classify the meeting. Regardless, it would be nice to spend some one on one time with an adult who wasn’t the spawn of his sworn enemies. He heard footsteps along the cliff path, and fiddled with the thick blanket he’d laid out to straighten it before turning to greet the approaching woman. “Tasmyn? It’s good to meet you properly,” He offered her his hand to shake with a smile. Her proximity didn’t trigger a reaction that signalled recognition of one of his kind, but after the incident with Morgan he was more careful about getting his hopes up in that regard, so the disappointment bore softer edges. “I thought we could enjoy a bonfire picnic along with the view.” Leaving her side for a moment, he retrieved a small tupperware container from a wicker picnic basket and presented it to her unceremoniously. “I managed to find some of those strawberries you asked about. Stubborn things grow in abundance around train tracks, human plans be damned.”

Tasmyn was looking forward to seeing the moon, and the stars of course! They deserved equal recognition, equal respect. After all, human scientists claim that the light we see is from stars that have already exploded. That was insane, and very metal. She followed the directions that the internet man gave her, she thought about looking up a map beforehand, but this wasn’t her first time in a forest, she was confident she’d be able to figure it out. After getting a bit turned around a few times, she finally made it to the clearing. “Yes, hi! Ulfric?” Usually she tried to take people’s names whenever she could, but he was being nice and offered to show her a good moon spot, so she was paying forward some kindness, even if he might be human. “Oh my! A Moonlit picnic? Bonfire? Do you know how to start a fire? Cause I don’t. And strawberries??” Tasmyn was pretty shocked at how lovely the set up was, so she decided without any real evidence that this man must not really be human. No human could do something this lovely. In fact, it might be the nicest thing anyone had done for her in years. “This is all truly wonderful. Thank you, genuinely.” She told him, looking up to make eye contact with him and grinning. “And you went on train tracks for the berries! How marvelous!” She grabbed the container and immediately took the lid off, picking up one of the berries and putting it in her mouth. “MMmmm, you want one?” She asked, picking one up and offering it to him.

“You make it sound a lot more daring than it was,” Ulfric chuckled, “I knew the next train wasn’t coming through for at least an hour, they have these handy things called timetables they’ll just give you at the station.” He left out the part where his presence on the tracks did still technically count as trespassing. “But yes, I’ll bite,” the werewolf accepted Tasmyn’s offering, warmed by her excitement. The small red berry was tarter and earthier than the kind you’d find in a grocery store, but all tastier for it. “The complicated part is the assembly,” he surveyed the conical, balanced structure of the bonfire with pride. Digging a pit beneath it, finding stones to place around it to prevent the fire spreading as well the materials to build the actual fire had been physically demanding, but it had made for quite a peaceful afternoon on the cliffside with only his thoughts and the waves. He was glad someone appreciated the effort. “Lighting it is quite easy,” he pulled a book of matches from his coat, motioning towards the gap between the logs which exposed the kindling, before holding them out to her. “If you’d like to do the honors?”

“People always take the fun out of things. I’m sure it was a fun adventure even if the danger level was low.” Tasmyn replied, wondering suddenly if this man was a warden who lured her to her doom. People did say she would learn to be more careful online. The thought passed almost as quickly as it formed, as her eyes widened slightly at his comment. “You built this?” She had foolishly presumed that the structure was already there made for anyone who happened to be out here, but no - Ulfric had taken his time and come out here to build this. A soft blush crept over her face as she grabbed the matches from him. “Yes, absolutely.” She held the matches in her hand and made her way over to the bonfire pit. “Right here?” She asked to verify, then pulled a match out and struck it against the matchbook. She admired the flame for a moment before carefully placing the flame against the kindling, letting it light then dropping the matchstick into the fire. Almost immediately she reached her hands out to feel the warmth of the new flames.

Ulfric nodded encouragingly as the flame sparked to life. “Yes, like that. You should make a wish too, it’s the right time for it.” His eyes drifted out over the ocean and up towards the glowing main attraction that had brought them both there. “Waxing crescent moon; the phase for planting your intentions and desires so that they’ll grow over the next cycle.” He sighed and lowered himself onto the picnic blanket, and then onto his back with his arms crossed behind his head. Strategically, he’d taken up the position to shield his eyes from the bonfire’s light, so they wouldn’t reflect it back at her (Tasmyn seemed unfazed by the sordid history of Hanging Rock, but he wasn’t sure how she’d react if her companion suddenly looked possessed), but he found he was also surprisingly relaxed. It had been awhile since he’d spent time with someone who didn’t depend on or at least expect something from him, and as sacred as his duties were, it was a relief to shrug off some of that weight for a moment. “Do you know any constellations? That bright star just to the west of the moon is Canis Minor, the lesser dog.” Ulfric traced a line from the centre of the moon to the star with one finger so that she could follow. “And then all the way on the horizon its companion the great dog, Canis Major is leading all the stars in setting for the night.” He left out the propaganda about the celestial beasts supposedly belonging to hunters, so as not to spoil the mood.

“I didn’t know the moon phases had certain things you’re supposed to do with them.” Tasmyn said with some excitement in her voice. That sounded so fun, such a wonderful way to honor the nature of it all. After taking another moment by the flames, she made her way over to the blanket that was laid out and took up the spot next to Ulfric just in time for him to start pointing out constellations. Maybe she was lying down a bit too close, but she wanted to be able to see what he was pointing at - and she never was very good at giving people personal space. “I know a few, ones that were over the town I grew up in. This is maybe a silly question - but would they be the same ones above us now?” Sometimes Tasmyn was embarrassed at her lack of booksmarts, chalked it up to years of Spriggan-only education. But she was comfortable around Ulfric, comfortable enough to ask a potentially stupid question. “Canis Minor.” She repeated, her eyes following his hand as he traced out the star formation. “Wow. That’s such a beautiful story. I didn’t know they all had stories with them. How’d you learn so much about all of this?” Tasmyn heard the fire crack slightly and the noise startled her, her body tensed up and she looked over towards the flames. But it was nothing, the fire was just growing and the sparks were crackling as they do. After watching smoke start to form at the tip of the flames, she turned her attention back to her picnic buddy. “What else do you know about the sky?”

Ulfric held back a laugh in case she took it as a slight against her lack of knowledge in the subject, rather than just being amused at her earnest enthusiasm. “It’s not silly, they’re mostly the same in the northern hemisphere, it’s just their positions and the times that they appear that change.” It was thought that had brought him a lot of comfort when he’d first been forced to leave his home, that he could still look up and find the same bright point in the sky as his family members who remained. “I grew up in a small village where there was much to do but listen to old stories.” He answered in fond remembrance. “Well that, and fight with my siblings but that doesn’t impress people as much.” He noticed Tasmyn tense listened in for any sound of an intruder making their way up to the clifftop, but heard nothing but the waves, though the flames did seem to be burning brighter. “Well, not much that can be backed up scientifically, but where I grew up they used to say the moon is chased across the sky every night by a wolf called Hati, and the sun is chased during the day by another wolf named Sköll. Some even say if they ever catch up they’ll swallow the heavenly bodies whole and cause the end of the world, but, uh…” He shifted uncomfortably. “I’m sure that part was just added for dramatic effect.”

Tasmyn looked up longingly at the stars as he spoke. She liked that the stars she was seeing were likely the same as her parents and loved ones. She liked less that her not-so-loved ones were under the same stars, but she pushed those thoughts for the time being. “I grew up in a very small village too! We were quite isolated, only some people went into the other towns and it always sounded like a dangerous trek.” Naturally she left out the part that her village was Spriggan-Only. But that wasn’t necessary information. She didn’t want him to think she was a freak. Ulfric had a nice way of speaking, as he explained the story of the sky to her she felt like she could really see it all written out there in the stars. Spriggans in her colony were known to be creative in their truths and half-truths, but making up stories was never their strong suit. “Nothing wrong with a bit of dramatic effect. It makes it that much more…” She paused briefly, searching for the right word. “That much more interesting, that much more comforting.” Just then Tasmyn heard the fire crack again. She wasn’t startled this time, but she did look over towards the flames. At first she thought the smoke was just growing very rapidly, but then she saw… were those arms? Arms of smoke reaching out towards her. Quickly she stood up, taking several steps backwards away from the fire, almost tripping over a few rocks as she moved. “What! Why! Oh my god are the witches mad at us? For disturbing them? It’s okay witches! We aren’t here to disturb you.” Trying to reason with a smoke monster wasn’t her finest moment.

Ulfric was surprised at Tasmyn’s description of how she grew up. Human communities who live that kind of self-sufficient lifestyle were increasingly rare, what were the chances that two people from such similar situations would end up in the same small Northwestern town? The spirits of his ancestors must have had some hand in guiding them together, though he wasn’t sure if his efforts to protect the wolves of White Crest so far had been enough to warrant such a reward. He was about to gently argue that comforting maybe wasn’t the right word for a tale of Ragnarök when she suddenly jumped up. “What? What’s wrong?” He leapt up as well into a defensive stance, but could neither see nor hear any trace of what had her so startled. “If I did something to offend you, you can just—” He coughed to clear his throat, tasting smoke. Odd, since the breeze wasn’t blowing in their direction. “You can just leave.” Maybe she had caught a glimpse of the firelight bouncing off his eyes after all, since she seemed so scared and hadn’t been able to think of a better excuse to get away from him than ‘witch ghosts’. “I won’t stop you, and nothing’s—” His speech was interrupted with more coughing. “Nothing’s going to hurt you.”

Tasmyn was beyond confused about what was going on, and felt awful that he thought he had done something to offend her. “You’ve been lovely… it’s that thing that’s ruining things!” She exclaimed, pointing towards the cloud of smoke that was heading towards them. Tasmyn didn’t understand why Ulfric didn’t seem to see the increasingly growing smoke monster that had begun to form. To her, having never seen a creature like this before, that could only mean one thing. This thing was sent to kill her and that’s why she was the only one who could see it. “No! No! Stay away from him!” She yelled at the creature, hesitantly moving closer to it to try and grab it off him or shoo it away. But as her hands tried to make contact with it, they went right through. The creature seemed to dissipate then reform where her hand had gone through. “It’s not hurting me, it’s hurting you! Can’t you see it?? Stop breathing in it’s smoke!” Tasmyn picked up a few small rocks from the ground and threw them through the monster, but every time something went through it, it always just re-formed.

Ulfric tensed and pivoted in the direction that Tasmyn pointed, poised to fend off an attack, but none came, at least not in the form he was expecting. The taste of smoke on the air was getting stronger, and he soon found himself subjected to another coughing fit, all the while groping blindly around him whatever thing or creature had set her off, but his fingers slipped uselessly through the air. In all the coughing and flailing he lost his balance and failed to dodge one of the rocks she hurled at the invisible menace, which smacked him firmly in the temple. “Ow, hey! I don’t see anything, and I don’t think that’s helping!” He called out, rubbing the bruised area, though it came out considerably raspier, and less calm than he’d intended. The mention of smoke stood out to him though, as despite the relatively clean appearance the air around him appeared to all his other senses to be thick with it, a vile ashen sensation coating his mouth and nostrils and stinging his eyes. “Water cooler—With the basket,” he managed to splutter, “We’ll put it out.” If there was something wrong with the smoke their best bet would be to stop it at its source.

Admittedly the idea to throw rocks at a smoke monster wasn’t Tasmyn’s finest moment. But it had been all that she could think of at the moment. “I’m so sorry!” She exclaimed, immediately stopping what she was doing. Her breath became so heavy, she evidently had gotten too close to the smoke and breathed some in. She coughed heavily, then nodded at his suggestion. “Okay! Okay!” Tasmyn ran over to where the basket was and found the water cooler. Quickly she unscrewed the top of the cooler and made her way over to the fire, dumping the contents of the container onto the flames then stomped out the remaining hot coals. As soon as she felt confident the flames were out she turned back to see if the monster had in fact disappeared with the elimination of the fire. A sigh of relief passed through her lips as she saw that nothing was attacking Ulfric anymore. “I am so sorry,” she told him, small tears beginning to form in her eyes. “I don’t know what that thing was, but it had to have been here to get me. My god he must’ve found me…” She trailed off, looking around them to see if anything was out there in the woods near them. “This is all my fault.”

Much to Ulfric’s gratitude once the flames were thoroughly quenched the choking sensation dissipated, though he was left hunched over, humbled, and hacking his lungs out by the time it did. Not a position he was used to being in, but one he took advantage of to heap handfuls of soil onto the remains of the bonfire, to make sure any surviving embers were smothered. “I think it’s mine actually,” he managed to retort once his airways had become less obstructed. “This spot is reported to be cursed, but in my defence, I doubt there are many places in the world where something tragic or bloody hasn’t occurred at some point in history.” He covered his mouth and cleared his throat, and when he pulled it away in the moonlight he thought he could make out a dark smudge of ash. Even if he never saw what caused it, he couldn’t deny he’d felt something real. “What did you see anyway? Why would someone be after you?” He asked, finally registering what Tasmyn had said, eyes darting in every direction in anticipation of another threat.

Even though the monster had dissipated with the flames, Tasmyn still felt on edge. Could he be right? Was this just the work of the witchy spirits that had been brutally killed on this very cliff? She thought she had been careful in her last move. Stole a random name, took the passport, made her way to America as someone other than Tasmyn. Maybe witch ghosts was the reason they were attacked… but that didn’t explain why she was the only one who could see it. “No, no, the witches wouldn’t make only one of us see it.” She mumbled, without fully realizing she had said it outloud. “I-I should go… If he’s here, I can’t let him…” Tasmyn turned to run away from where they were, then she stopped herself briefly. She looked back and then picked up the container of strawberries that Ulfric had picked. Even though she had little proof, she was convinced that her husband was behind this attack. She turned again, this time actually running away. “I’m so sorry!” She shouted as she left. She had an awful pit in her stomach, feeling awful for getting him attacked and then running away, but it felt like the safest option? He had been so nice to her, she didn’t want to be the reason he got hurt.

#smoke on the water #ulfric #chatzy #chatzy:ulfric

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eltanin-malfoy · 4 years

Text

From the Dining Table

based on the song by Harry Styles

pairing: draco/ginny

word count: 2.5k

warning(s): heavy sexual themes/sex mention/non-graphic smut, angst, alcohol, cursing

requested: not

a/n: yet another depressing ass songfic! am i even surprised? not even a little bit. also, drinny >>> ALSO, v importantly, i’m gonna dedicate this to the lovely drawlfoy bc it was her 18th birthday on the 17th :) happy late birthday!!!!!!!!!! (also evi watch out, i’m working on a (v :/) late bday present my writer’s block has only just gone down recently :3)

taglist: @acciodracoo @drawlfoy @war-sword

also available on ffn, ao3 and fia

It was warm and it was satisfying. But then it was over and it wasn’t anymore.

It was incredibly pathetic.

Draco lifted the sheets and brought his hand nearer to his face, turning it over. The skin of his palm was red where he’d held himself tight and was speckled with the evidence of the climax he’d brought himself to. The haze, the heat, he’d found himself in had practically vanished into thin air. He stared at it with disgust, then reached for his wand, placed precariously at the edge of his nightstand.

He could almost imagine what she’d do if she was here. Poke his nose and giggle. Maybe even peck him on the cheek while she chided him for being silly. Ginny was always overly cheery after it was over, sometimes even uncharacteristically so.

But Draco wasn’t. Especially not now.

Memories of her pulsed through his mind. The sore stiffness on his front threatened to stir once more and Draco quickly flicked his wand towards his nethers and cast a cleaning charm under his breath. The sheets would be fine now. Not a soul would know what had transpired there that morning. But he… he felt tears dripping down his cheeks before he realised that the swirling in his stomach wasn’t just the aftermath of his orgasm. It was that awful, awful mixture of regret and anxiety. He was supposed to get used to it, he knew. But it felt just as painful as it had the moment it had all ended.

There were a million ways to get over exes and he’d attempted and succeeded with them before. It’s just that this time around, he wasn’t trying. Maybe, he just didn’t want to. His heart was shattered, and instead of looking to mend it and try over again, for some reason he felt it was simpler to just mull over what had been. Or long for it, rather.

A few minutes had elapsed, and while his sniffing had ended, his eyelids were beginning to grow heavy. His wet cheeks felt oddly bloated and he knew his fantasy had long since ended. He’d attempted to imagine morning sex, pretending the hand he didn’t use often was hers. Why? Who knew. Who knew. He wondered when even something as primal as stroking himself would return to normalcy and he wouldn’t have to imagine it had anything to do with what used to be. This train of thought, however, was much too complex for the moment. He blinked slowly, letting the lids of his eyes droop and shield his pupils from the soft sunshine. He felt himself falling back into the void of sleep, succumbing to some odd sense of calm. The dark dreamlessness of his slumber was more comforting than anything else.

But it wasn’t long before he felt the harsh rays of the early afternoon sun beating down on him, the glare from the french windows on the side of his room enveloping him in the heat. It was time to get up. But his feet suddenly felt too large and too heavy for the rest of his body. He could barely even fit two and two together before he walked over to the desk in the front of his room and picked up the receiver of the intercom and dialled for room service.

Woke up alone in this hotel room

Played with myself, where were you?

Fell back to sleep, I got drunk by noon

I've never felt less cool

The harsh scent of whiskey could be smelt off his person. He knew it. Earthy, ethanolic, evocative. He’d ordered the most expensive bottle of whiskey they had and now he knew it’d been worth it. It tasted richer than that usual phenolic taste he’d become used to. You could even call it slightly leathery, with those soft notes of chocolate and smoke that Gin had taught him to look out for. Fucking hell.

He’d poured himself just half a glass at first, mostly in an attempt to lie to himself. He wanted to limit his consumption of alcohol in the daytime, but it had been no good. The ice in his drink was still mostly solid after he’d finished his first glass, and it still was as he poured himself another.

He’d relished the fervid feeling down his throat, the burning sensation that he hoped was numbing the pain in his chest. He stared at the half-empty bottle with nothing but remorse. He was laying back on the bed now, thoughts flitting through his mind while brain felt oddly fleshy in his skull. Every part of his body felt so heavy now he could barely lift a muscle. He’d always been deplorably lightweight. And now that he’d drunk so much all within thirty minutes, well, he was doing miserably. He could already feel his impending hangover, even the blood pumping through the veins on his head was cacophonic.

Now, now, he wished Ginny was here to take care of him. He knew this thread of thought was so very pitiful, but it was sensible. She was scarily good at handling her liquor, she always had been. Somehow. He supposed the only girl among a few brothers could certainly turn out just as, if not more, tough than the rest of them. It was something he admired, he’d told her. She could protect him when they’d be drinking. (She was a little more protective over him than he was towards her anyway.)

His plan to distance himself from everyone and everything in an effort to get over his ex-girlfriend - ex-fiancée-to-be, ex-future-wife, whatever you wanted to call her - now seemed doltish, futile, even. Every single thing he did only reminded him of her. His original intent for his stay at this hotel had long since been lost. He’d stopped trying long since. There was no point.

The day everything had gone to dust, it didn’t feel like it would be permanent. They’d had plenty of rifts between the two of them, which was to be expected really, what with them being as competitive and quarrelsome as they were and Ginny being a Quidditch player ( god, what a dream that was), they had their fair share of conflicts. But that time, he didn’t know that that evening, when she stepped out of his apartment, that they’d never speak again.

We haven't spoke since you went away

Comfortable silence is so overrated

Why won't you ever say what you want to say?

Even my phone misses your call, by the way

It had been a jealousy thing, he’d thought. Why she’d got so annoyed at him for spending time with Daphne. He didn’t say a word when she went out with her friends, regardless of their gender. Sure, she was very pretty, he’d admit that. But it wasn’t fair that she got annoyed at him for it. There’d only been two times when he’d had to blow off plans with her to spend time with Daph. He hadn’t meant anything by it. He hadn’t meant to forget that they were going to have dinner with her parents.

He’d told her so many times. But she hadn’t accepted his excuse. Not at all.

“You’re a grown man, Draco. You were supposed to remember this. It was-” “Come on, Gin, I told you! I didn’t mean to forget.” “ Of course you didn’t! You didn’t mean to make my parents disapprove of you even more. You didn’t mean to make Ron hate you!”

“Gin, come on, I-” “No, don’t you ‘Gin’ me. You fucked up. Seriously. And I cannot believe you blew me off to spend time with her.”

“Her? What do you mean ‘her’? You can’t even say her name, do you despise her that much? I don’t say anything when you’re out with-with Luna or... Potter.”

“You know there’s nothing going on between me and any of them. And there never will be. You know that. And you’ve met Luna enough times.. you don’t have to keep being snooty about her.”

“What? How was I being snooty?”

“You-you made that face. The one you make when you’re disgusted. It’s awful, you know? She’s one of my dearest friends and-” “Oh, and Daphne’s one of mine but I’m cheating with her, right?”

“I’ve told you, I trust you, it’s just that she’s so goddamn touchy and all of that. And she makes you-”

“God, I shouldn’t even bother trying to make you like her, should I? You’re so fucking clingy.”

“Draco, goddammit, I-”

Her freckled cheeks had gone from slightly flushed to a deep crimson through the length of their conversation. With how mad she was at him, he knew she was fury in person. But now, there was something in those brown eyes of her that made him weak at the knees. Not in desperation, but more so in regret. The tears beginning to well up in the corners of her eyes made him feel like ripping his hair out in tufts. He wanted to make it all okay again. He wanted to lean down and kiss her and hug her and do anything and everything he could to make her stop looking so sad.

“I can’t do this anymore, Draco.” “G-ginny, I didn’t mean any of it. I was mad and-” “It doesn’t matter. Y-you said it. And if you said it, you must have felt it, at least a little bit.” “No, but… I.. I’ll make it up to you. I’ll do anything, I swear.” She kept looking up at him so solemnly, so softly, with little tears streaking down her face while her dainty lips began to quiver. “It doesn’t matter.” “Ginny, I.. I’ll make it up to your parents. I’ll make them all dinner all by myself. I’ll-I’ll help.. your brothers. I’ll pay for anything. I swear. I’ve fucked up, I know. Please-” “Draco. Stop.”

She took a deep breath and looked to the side as she used the sleeve of that cute blue jumper to wipe away the mess on her face. He could hardly muster up the courage to look at her face, knowing it was him that had made her feel all that. It was enough to make his stomach drop low into his abdomen and the little food he’d had out with Daphne threaten to exit through his mouth.

Maybe one day you'll call me and tell me that you're sorry, too

He moved out of his parents’ estate and into muggle London for her, but he wasn’t even sure if she knew that. His father had never liked it at all. Him and the Weasley girl, he remembered the sour way it had dripped out of his mouth. But for once, he couldn’t take it anymore. The bloody Gryffindor he’d fallen in love with had made him feel brave enough to stand up to his father, somehow. His parents seemed okay with it. His mother did ask him to get himself his own place, however. He couldn’t even imagine what would have gone down had he fallen in love with a muggle-born, or worse, a muggle.

But here he was, making love to one, staying in a hotel in a part of London he’d never frequented before. And why? Because he thought it as revenge. It was a girl who looked similar enough to her when he squinted. Long, red hair and shapely legs. Not as freckled though, and not nearly as gorgeous. He tried not to look at her face much, because he knew the only way he could even get it up any more was by imagining it was Ginny with him.

And it wasn’t even like he loved one night stands or something. He hadn’t even stepped out of his room much the whole time he’d stayed here. And yet, seeing him had sparked this rage, this uncontrollable hunger within him, that he just had to do something about it.

Seeing that son of a bitch out that morning hadn’t stirred much in him at first. He’d thought now they finally had one thing in common. They were both Ginevra Molly Weasley’s exes. But of course, that was no longer true.

Ginevra Molly Weasley was seeing the other again. Or at least sleeping with him.

And how did he know this? The usual browned skin on his neck was adorned with hickeys and ceremonial bitemarks, much in Ginny’s fashion. His face was dazed and even his short, dark hair looked the slightest bit mussed. But oh, oh no. The shirt he had on.. was one of Draco’s own. Or at least it used to belong to him.

That once elegant navy button-up seemed hideous to him in that instant. Even thinking about Ginny having given it to him made his blood boil and swelter. And.. and imagining the context...

It made him want to get on his knees and wail in front of Ginny like a child. To beg for her back. Oh, how much he hated Dean bloody Thomas.

And that was how he justified his going out on the town and getting drunk that night. How he justified charming and shamelessly flirting with a girl he wouldn’t’ve even have treated with an ounce of respect even ten years earlier. It wasn’t his fault he could be so seductive when he tried to be. And he knew she was nothing but a piece of meat to her. A piece of meat that looked just enough like his lovely. Just enough for him to pretend that he loved her that night.

He thought it would help a little bit, skin slapping against skin. He thought it would help ease that pain he felt deep inside of him. That perhaps holding someone the way he used to hold her would help him. But he knew it was no good. Because even while he tried his best to get her out of his head, she was there again.

She was in between his fingers when they walked in a park. She was lying across his lap when he gave her the punishment she’d begged him for. She was in between his sheets while he fixed them breakfast. She was everywhere he looked, and yet she wasn’t.

She was in the teardrops that dripped down his face as he realised the girl he’d snuggled up to all night wasn’t even her. And she was still there, heavy in his heart as he quietly made his way out of the girl’s house. God, he didn’t even remember her name, did he?

But Ginny, Ginny, Ginny’s name was all over him. Blazing red burned into his skin forever and ever still. No matter how hopeless he knew it was. No matter how much he knew there was nothing to come, no positive emotions from her to come into fruition ever, but the way she’d looked at him, so piercingly, so angry yet so calm, when he stepped out of her apartment that night, that was all he could see.

But you, you never do.

#harry styles songfic #draco malfoy #draco #ginny weasley #ginny #draco/ginny #drinny #fire and ice #draco smut #ginny smut #drinny fic #draco fic #ginny fic #smut fic #angst #angst fanfic #post break up #draco x ginny

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thesevennumbers · 5 years

Text

everyone's watching (to see the fallout)

The Handler's had her eyes on Number Five for quite some time, little does she know..so have the other Commission Workers

AN: I’m self-promoing here cause I can

They’d discuss it over lunch, like it was some casual everyday thing at work, not the life of a person. It was simply another funny story, “Did you see what the kid did today?” Or “you’ll never believe what happened!”

Here in the cubicles and harsh conditions of sitting in an office all day, the mind tends to be on the rather indifferent side.

There’s a massive betting pool running in the underground of Commission headquarters. It’s mostly on the mundane things, how much liquor the kid could consume, how many rib cages he’d accidentally step through, how many times he’d return to the place where he’d buried his siblings. All silly mundane things that could be predicted with numbers and estimates, something not uncommon in Commission headquarters.

But none of that compared to the betting pool on his life. Because not even the best of the best could calculate every single factor into the lifespan of a teleporting miracle baby. The life of a kid that most of them didn’t even bother to know the name of, their expectations for his lifespan quite low.

They held parties for milestones. He was a mascot of sorts, they praised him in the halls.

“The apocalypse kid reached 16 today!”

“I can’t believe he’s made it this far.”

“Who’s still in the race?”

“I think Joel got out today, he said only 2 years.”

“Please, any reasonable person would say around 3.”

“You’re both wrong, he’s going to succumb to starvation in 6 years, I’m telling you.”

“6 years is crazy, you won’t win.”

“We’ll see about that.”

As the kid grew up, time flying by for him, the betting pool prizes grew more and more insane. First, off the initial 30,000 American dollars bet, the money had increased from there to the hundreds of millions. But that wasn’t what made the bet so intoxicating, money didn’t matter to the workers of the Commission. The promises woven in were the real bread and butter.

The first promise added was the promise of your own personal briefcase to travel anywhere you liked in the world, (as long as you didn’t mess up the timeline of course, and the office workers knew better than anyone just how brutal the temporal assassins could be.) The freedom to be able to leave the office they had to spend the rest of their lives in was too good to be true, many workers changed their bets after that.

The second was the ability to insert yourself into one pivotal moment of history, to have your name imprinted forever, replacing one person involved in a conflict. To be recognized for your efforts. The money skyrocketed.

The third was the tipping point for many, the ability to be allowed to see their families that they left behind once more. Some of the office workers bawled their eyes out and added multiple more bets on the life of the apocalypse teen.

Eventually, there had to be a limit set on the amount of bets one can place and the office rioted. The fights continued for weeks until an agreement was set at 10 total.

Everyone took the opportunity to bet all 10 of their votes on the kid, who had just hit 18 and was now shooting upwards, though not as much as he probably could’ve with proper food.

Once he was 18 was when the concerns began to be voiced. Of course, there had been whispers before, about the cruelty of placing cash over the life of a child, but they had only been whispers. And once he’d spent 5 years in the end, these whispers turned to shouts.

“He’s talking to a mannequin. Do you know how depressing that is?”

“The management should be doing something, the kid’s smart, did you see that equation he wrote yesterday? I couldn’t figure that one out for a week.”

“That’s an obscene amount of alcohol for an 18 year old.”

“I had an 18 year old kid when I got recruited and if anyone ever did this to him, I’d rip their throat out.”

“Yea, I bet almost 1,000 on the kid, but I regret it now, you know? He almost collapsed from dehydration yesterday.”

Other people than the office workers began to take notice of him such as the temporal assassins and the time calculators. Multiple requests came into the offices from the assassins to just put the kid out of his misery, or at least put him to work. The calculators were often seen taking photos of his math and applying it to their own.

There were protests. Office workers with little time on their hands began to research the apocalypse teen. They’d relay the information to the others, whispering as the management walked by, looking for the troublemakers who started the rumors. The anger grew, many office workers pulled their bets from the pools, furious at the management for keeping a kid in the apocalypse.

They related to him, because just like him, they were trapped, held down in place simply by the neatly manicured hands of the Handler. She began to patrol the halls during breaks, eyeing the files room and waiting for an unsuspecting office worker to try and sneak in. Many met the furious nails of the Handler during these attempts and never were the same after that.

It only boosted the protests.

Eventually, the management had had enough, they shot down every single betting pool and hid all of the apocalypse files in one place. They put one trustworthy person in charge of everything apocalypse and swiftly eliminated everyone who’d loudly protested against the treatment of the apocalypse kid, (he was still called that, even after they had learned his name.)

The apocalypse kid faded out of the collective memory of the office workers. Until he showed up, almost 40 years later (in progressive time, not Commission time). Being office workers, they weren’t allowed to see him very often, but they did relish each time he was near the offices and laughed at all the little ways he rebelled against his instructions.

“The instructions simply said to kill William Frontier, but the apocalypse kid set the entirety of London on fire! He’s crazy!”

“Apocalypse kid almost went to go see his siblings during his assignment today, he almost broke the entire timeline.”

“I wish he did, we need a day off.”

“God, did you hear what apocalypse kid did this time?”

“No.”

“He increased the amount of time it will take Julius Caesar to die by almost fifteen minutes.”

“Shit man, that’s actually hilarious. Did management kick his ass for it?”

“No they just let it slide. They’re getting lazier.”

They rooted for apocalypse kid, Number Five all the way until March 24, 2019, when he enacted a plan he apparently had planned for years to escape. The Handler sent Hazel and Cha-Cha after him and the office workers waited for the news of Number Five’s demise.

Imagine their surprise when a younger version of Number Five waltzed into their offices with the Handler at his side. He barely spared them a passing glance but they all watched him with wide eyes and mutters. They side-eyed him as he awkwardly typed at a typewriter for maybe three minutes before shutting down Dot with a simple, “I must have utter silence to complete this task.” One of the workers snorted into their coffee as Dot stared at his back, flabbergasted.

Number Five ignored the whispers of the workers when he entered the forbidden void of the Handler’s office.

Then he blew up the entire base, allowing himself to escape.

As the Commission office workers scattered around outside the burning building, watching the destruction of the place they’d slaved away in for so long burn, an office worker spoke, “Well, what are we supposed to do now?”

None of them had any clue.

#tua #the umbrella academy #the handler #number five #five hargreeves #the commission

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remedialpotions · 5 years

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Over Biscuits

Happy birthday to one of my very favorite people, the amazing @aloemilk ! I feel so lucky to count you as a friend ❤️ I hope you enjoy this fluffy little fic!

Word Count: 2,075

Rating: K+

This can also be found on FFN (author: bowtruckles) and AO3 (author: remedialpotions)

***

Pausing in the doorway, Ron furrowed his brows at the scene developing before him. Hermione stood at the stove, her bushy hair just barely contained in a thick knot at the back of her head, gaze fixed intently on a saucepan. Not unsurprisingly - she was skilled at a great many things, but this really wasn’t one of them - her face betrayed more stupefaction than she’d ever displayed in Potions class. Given that this was his wheelhouse, he knew he should help her, but when she started nibbling on her lip, a flush rising in her cheeks from the heat emanating off the range, he thought there also wasn’t much harm in allowing himself to watch her.

Just for a minute, anyway. He didn’t see as much of her lately as he would have preferred, and it gave him a small glow of warmth, deep in the pit of his stomach, to see her standing in the kitchen of the Burrow, scowling at a recipe. Too many times over the past four months, he had thought the Christmas hols might never actually be upon them and that he would spend the whole of his life missing her, but she was home. For two glorious weeks, he had her all to himself, and he wasn’t going to let any of it slip away.

He always loved watching her when she didn’t know he was looking. Hermione was rarely vulnerable, but when it was just the two of them together, or he caught her in a moment when she thought she was alone, all of her pretenses fell away. She stopped being Hermione Granger, Head Girl and war hero and ‘brightest witch of her age’, and simply became the woman that he loved - the one standing in his parents’ kitchen with streaks of cinnamon across her cheeks.

“After melting butter on low heat,” Hermione was muttering to herself, eyes fixed on the stained and crumpled parchment before her, “stir in brown sugar, molasses, salt, and spices.”

She tugged a sack of brown sugar toward her, picked up a measuring cup, and dutifully dug it in.

“There are spells for that, y’know,” said Ron, opting to make his presence known and striding across the faded tile floor toward her. He plunked a tub of molasses down on the work surface and grinned at her.

“Yes, well.” Hermione used the back of her wrist to push a rogue lock of hair out of her eyes. “It never hurts to do things the Muggle way, does it?”

“No, s’pose not.” Stepping behind her, Ron set his hands on her hips, his chin coming to rest on the fuzzy wool covering her shoulder. As she leaned back against him, one of her hands falling onto his, he peered into the saucepan. “Er - I should probably tell you-“

She craned her neck to meet his eyes. “Oh no, what?”

“The butter,” said Ron, wincing. “It’s a bit - er -overmelted.”

With a sorrowful glance down at the oily, golden-brown liquid in the pan, Hermione let out a sigh of resignation.

“You can just say that I burned it, Ron.”

Suppressing a laugh, he pressed a firm kiss to her temple and tightened his arms around her waist. So many times over the past four months he had wanted to hold her, just to feel the warmth of her in his arms, and he wasn’t about to take it for granted now. He only had a second to relish it, however, before she wriggled out of his embrace to retrieve her wand from the kitchen table. In the next instant, the burned butter had vanished from the pan, replaced by a fresh new block from the cooling cupboard. Instantly it began to sizzle and hiss against the scorching cast iron.

“Oh, that’s too hot, see?” Ron reached around Hermione’s hip to dial down the flame. “It isn’t supposed to bubble like that.”

With her lips pursed tightly together, she glared at the butter as though it had committed a personal slight against her. She never did cope well with being less than the best at anything, even something as trivial as baking gingerbread biscuits.

“Just pretend that it’s Potions class,” he told her, wrapping one arm around her shoulders and using his free hand to gently stir the butter with a wooden spoon. “You’re brilliant in Potions.”

“But you hate Potions - and yet you like doing this-“

“Yeah, well, this is better, it results in food,” he grinned. “And anyway, Potions was different, there’s no way to like a class when you've got either Snape breathing down my neck, or Slughorn, who poisoned me and still couldn’t remember my name-“

“Technically it was Malfoy who poisoned you, not Slughorn-“

“Still,” argued Ron, that little spark inside of him igniting like it always did when they bickered back and forth, “you’d think if someone nearly drops dead in your office, you’d-“

“Oh, stop,” Hermione whined. The genuine anguish on her face was like a blade through his chest. “Let’s not talk about that anymore.”

“Sorry.” He dropped a chaste kiss on her lips by way of apology. “Look, it’s really not a big deal,” he continued, deciding to pick up where she left off with the brown sugar. “We’re only responsible for the entire pudding portion of Christmas Eve dinner, so no pressure - oi!”

For she had pinched him on the arm.

“That isn’t funny,” she moaned. Eyes closed, she leaned her cheek against his shoulder. “What if I end up ruining it-“

“You won’t.”

“But-“

“You won’t,” he repeated gently. “We - we’ve had some pretty shit Christmases in our day, my family, but none of them have been completely ruined.” He quickly shoved away the thought that, in his eighteen years of life, no Christmas on record had ever followed events like that of the spring, and instead offered Hermione a smile. “It’d take a lot more than some botched gingerbread biscuits, I promise.”

She gave an relenting nod. “Fine.”

Her fingers brushed his as she took the wooden spoon from him, stirring as he poured the brown sugar into the melting butter. There was still a streak of cinnamon across her cheekbone, and he wiped it softly away with the pad of his thumb.

Unbeknownst to Hermione, Ron had actually offered, in conversation with his father one Sunday evening, to make all of the Christmas puddings. It was the one part of the meal he felt he could successfully prepare, and while he wasn’t naive enough to think that it would relieve the weight that had permanently settled onto his mum’s shoulders since the second of May, he felt it was the least he could do. He wasn’t naive, but he also wasn’t blind. He saw the weariness in her every time he and Harry visited for Sunday dinner, and as the pang of guilt shot through him, he would always promise himself he would do more, be there more. The only problem was that the Ministry of Magic seemed to think he had no life outside their intensive Auror Training program - and then George had asked him for help getting the shop back in order, and he couldn’t say no to that - and he’d also been Apparating to Hogsmeade every chance he got-

Anyway, baking a few batches of biscuits and a treacle tart felt like the very least he could do.

A companionable silence fell between them as they continued to prepare the dough, punctuated only by the occasional shared kiss or murmured request for an ingredient. And Ron let himself pretend, just for a second, that perhaps this wasn’t his parents’ kitchen, but their own, and maybe they weren’t baking for his family, but for their own children - and it was madness to think about, at eighteen, things like marriage and babies, but he couldn’t stop himself. He looked at Hermione, and he saw the whole world before him.

“So now,” he said, giving the sticky dough one last stir, his biceps sore from the effort, “this has to cool for about an hour, then we bake it.”

“So how do we spend our free hour?” asked Hermione, a sort of mischievous twinkle in her eye that made Ron deeply remorseful that his parents were in the next room. Kissing was one thing, but he definitely couldn’t sneak her up to his room undetected.

“I - well - as great an idea as that is, I - I got you something,” he confessed.

He had never seen her look so indignant. “You - but we promised-“

“I know, but it really isn’t a gift - just stay here for a second, yeah?”

Before she could respond, he kissed her hastily on the forehead and darted out of the kitchen.

It had been a strategic move to stow this little token of affection in his former bedroom at the Burrow, knowing that he and Hermione would be spending a good portion of her Christmas hols there. And while he understood why they had agreed not to exchange gifts, given that neither of them had any income to speak of, he couldn’t resist wanting to show her what she meant to him. He hoped this little item, silly and useless as it might have been, would maybe at least come close to doing that.

Her eyes were still shooting daggers at him when he returned to the kitchen.

“If it helps, you don’t have to think of it as a Christmas gift,” he said as he pressed the box into her hands. “It’s really just because I love you, anyway.”

At his words, her expression softened, and she leaned back against the work surface as she prised open the box; Ron’s stomach shook with nerves.

Gingerly, as though scared to harm it, Hermione pulled the little gold key from its bed of cotton with two fingers and looked expectantly up at Ron.

“It’s to Grimmauld Place,” he explained, though this did nothing to assuage the polite bewilderment on her face. “And I know what you’re thinking, that you don’t need a key to get into Grimmauld Place, but it’s - y’know, so that you know that it’s as much yours as it is mine or Harry’s.”

Her lips were on his before he could keep talking. Though he had more to say, he couldn’t help leaning into it, forgetting everything but her and the taste of sugar on her lips.

“But also,” he said around one last kiss, “it’s really mostly symbolic so it could also be for - for anywhere, really, that you and I might live together. Y’know, in the future.”

As Ron watched, a series of emotions crossed over her face in rapid succession as she pieced his words together: confusion, surprise, happiness.

“So you want to live together,” she stated as a smile split her face.

“I definitely don’t want to live apart,” he assured her. “Not any longer than we have to, anyway. This is for later, by the way,” he felt compelled to clarify. “For once you’re done at Hogwarts and you’ve set the record for most NEWTs achieved by a single student or something-“

“Stop-“

“I just mean,” he said, sobering a bit, “that it’s there for you whenever you’re ready - if that’s what you want-“

“Of course it’s what I want-“

“I’ve completely bungled this up, haven’t I?” said Ron, now a bit sheepish. “It was supposed to be romantic-“

“And it was - oh, come here-“

And she grasped him by the ears and kissed him soundly on the lips. When she pulled back, her fingers remained plunged in his hair.

“You still don’t really get it, do you?” Her nails tickled down the nape of his neck. “I love you-“

“I know you do-“

“And I want all the same things that you want.”

He knew that. Of course he knew that. Two people couldn’t share all that they had over the years without knowing, but she had never stated it quite so plainly before. It was something quite different to hear it aloud, to see their future etched more clearly before him.

“All right,” he said, reaching up to take her wrists in his hands. “All right, you decide, then. Wherever you want to live, whenever you want to live there - you just tell me and I’ll be there.”

“Sounds perfect.”

“And in the meantime,” Ron said, giving her forearms a tender squeeze, “we’ve got a treacle tart to make.”

#romione #romione fanfiction #ron weasley #hermione granger #romione fanfic #my writing #happy birthday! 🥳#also I hope you know which part is inspired by a certain gif of harry and meghan #that may or may not have been my starting point #anyway LOVE YOU!#also lol at not being able to link anymore #I like my workaround

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whenispeakicrossmyfingers · 6 years

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the year ahead

I really liked @joyfulrachel‘s goals for the next ten years, so I’m going to do something similar to that, because maybe if I put these notions somewhere other than my own head, I’ll actually stick to them. (Probably not, but let’s humor ourselves).

take better care of myself

this is multifold I think. I’ve recently gone off birth control, which I’ve been on for the last 6 years (!?), and it has made some unwanted changes appear in my life. Namely acne and hormones. So that said, I want to be much more intentional about what I eat and how I take care of my skin and body because I’ve never really been good at that. 2017 I made the effort to have a face routine and I stuck to that fairly solidly for the year and only when I was traveling did I neglect it (I know that’s when my skin needed it the most but I’m still learning how to travel best for myself so maybe that’ll be a goal in the future idk). I also have started eating healthier since moving to France (because I have no friends and no one to go out to eat with lol) and I really like that I’ve done that! That’s something I want to continue doing in 2018 and hopefully it’ll cement itself into my life forever.

I also want to exercise more. I’m not very good at it, but I want to improve it in a way that is good for me. I really enjoy walking, and I walk nearly everywhere I go, so I want to do that more often. Also yoga or some simple exercises I can do in my apartment that are relatively low impact and don’t leave me completely gasping for air. This goes with the whole intentionality goal that I have for 2018, but I want to be better about my overall health and well being and unfortunately exercise is part of that too.

this is a huge goal for 2018. College kind of killed my love of reading because I was doing it so much, and now that I’m in France I can only find French books (still good, but I’m not quite good enough to read full novels in French yet). But in Dublin this past week I got two new books: Sive by John B. Keane, which is actually a play that I saw at the Abbey Theatre in Dublin four years ago that irrevocably changed me, and I’ve been searching for ever since. The other is How Much the Heart Can Hold: Seven Stories on Love, and I’m v excited to read it because it deals with different types of love, not just romantic. The cover art is beautiful too and I might steal Rachel’s idea (again) and post some thoughts about the books I read this year. To both hold myself accountable and give more of my thoughts to people who haven’t asked for them.

write more

I’m being published at the end of the month (!!) and I’ve been writing a lot more creatively (it’s all fan fiction tbh but there’s value in it so don’t @ me), and I’ve been talking a lot with @stardustheartbeats about creative writing and prose and basically everything writing related, and it’s reminded me how much I really do love it. I don’t necessarily have aims to write a novel or essays or even really publish anything, but I do miss fiction writing and the joy it brings me. So this year I want to be more intentional about writing and revising--especially revising because I’m terrible at it--so I want to look at old things I’ve written and see if I can breathe new life into them. Or write some new things. Or at the very least, journal with intention, not just when things are falling apart. So yeah, writing more is a big goal of mine just for life in general.

apply to grad school

I’ve been thinking lately and this just feels like the right step. There are several programs I’ve been looking at, currently all in Europe, but I need to do more research on US based ones too so my mom doesn’t think I’m abandoning her. There are a few in Ireland that would be fantastic, and a few in Oslo that sound incredibly cool. I really need to sit down, weigh out the pros and cons of each, decide which ones I actually want to apply for, and then actually do it. This is actually my main goal for January, because this needs to be done soon. I might scream into this void to do that, so if anyone wants to chat about my future and help me figure out what I’m supposed to do, hmu. I like talking about myself and my passions, but I’m bad at being objective about my own life.

apply for jobs

In case grad school doesn’t work out! I’ll also need a job when I return to America, so I’m going to need to do this anyway. I’ve always been bad at this, because my college gave me so many connections, that networking and getting jobs via that was so easy. So I need to polish up my resume and send it out to people and hopefully nonprofits will hire me so that I can make a difference in the world and not have to go back to the donut shop I was at.

improve my languages (and potentially learn a new one?)

I really need to buckle down and work on my French. My goal by the time I leave at the end of April is to be mostly fluent. I know that’s not going to be easy, but that means I need to leave my house more, listen to more French podcasts, and talk to people in French instead of relying so heavily on English as I do. I also really want to improve my Norwegian. I started learning it around this time last year because of Skam and I ended up really falling in love with it. When I was in Oslo for Christmas, I felt like I could grasp Norwegian about as well as I understood French when I first got to France, which is saying something for having only learned it for a year. It’s also just a really cool language and I like finding the nuances and connections between it and the other languages I know. So I’m probably going to do the same thing I am with French and search out more media in Norwegian (podcasts, movies, music, etc).

That said, I think it would be really cool to learn another language this year. Probably, if I do, it’ll be something either Romantic or Germanic based (I’m not quite ready to tackle languages with completely different structures, but maybe one day!). So if anyone has language suggestions or wants to talk to me in another language, feel free! I want to practice more, and it’s nice to do it with someone else, rather than just myself.

use this blog more intentionally

I’m still not entirely sure what I mean by this, but I’ll probably use this more to keep myself accountable of everything I just listed above. I tend to not put a lot of effort into anything I do. Call it laziness, call it a short attention span, call it me being a true Taurus and just preferring to stay in bed all the time. Whatever it may be, I’m going to try to be more intentional about what I do all the time. I’m going to curate my life to what I want it to be, and that might seem silly or superficial to do it with aesthetics and stuff, but knowing me as a person, that’s a good way to ease into caring about everything on a larger scale. So starting small and making a point of doing things, rather than just doing them willy nilly, I think will somehow work it’s way into my life. Hopefully. We’ll see.

manage my time better

I’m horrible with my time!! I spend too much time watching netflix and not enough time doing other productive things! I need to force myself to be better about that, starting small with making myself write for a bit every day and focusing on my lesson plans. Then maybe making it bigger with other things like the first goal on this list.

Anyway, that’s enough rambling from me! It’s not ten, but this is all I can think of. These are things that I’ve been thinking about a lot. So, like I said, hopefully me writing them down will hold my accountable for my actions. I really have made strides in the last three months, being on my own and doing things for me, just because they feel good (read: doing the dishes every night, making my bed nearly every day, and actually cooking myself real meals). Here’s to 2018 and the growth it will inevitably bring. Hopefully it’s good.

#this might be the longest personal post I've ever made on this blog wow #i've been here for nearly seven years and now I'm actually going to try using it instead of screaming in the tags? who is 2018 miranda??#anyway #personal #idk how to tag this #I should probably make a catchy tag or something so I can watch my progress over the year #i'll just tag it with the title for now bc i'm not creative rn #the year ahead #this actually felt really good to do #it was small but it felt super productive #;slrgkajr okay enough rambling byeeeeeeee

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kansetsukiss · 6 years

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Winter 2018: First Impressions

The new year always comes with a bout of unwarranted confidence and energy, and what better way to spend it, I thought, than by keeping entirely up to date with the new anime season. (I say “entirely,” though I have clearly omitted several shounen / fantasy shows out of respectful disinterest, and Citrus, for reasons that may evolve into their own post.) Here are the first impressions of the season’s first episodes. I’ll be checking back in halfway through and at the end of the season to chart each show’s progress. Saa, hajimaruzamasu yo!

Ramen Daisuki Koizumi-san

Though they’ve since been deleted, the first episode of Koizumi-san encouraged two extremely negative reviews to surface on MAL. Why anyone would submit a formal review after one episode is beyond me (get a tumblr blog, you herbs), but why this of all shows should warrant such backlash also confounds me. Yes, it’s silly - it follows goofy lesbian Oosawa Yuu as she follows her crush, the enigmatic Koizumi, from one ramen eatery to another, while Koizumi rebuffs her flirtations and educates her on various ramen cooking styles. It should be pretty fucking clear from this set-up that we’re not in for a thematically dense thrill-ride - why is this Cute Girls Doing Cute Things show apparently that much worse than others with equally pointless premises? All this said, I’m certainly wondering if the show can expand on its small roster of characters and settings to fill a full cour. Stranger things have happened. I’ll be following along, if only to hear more of Ayaneru’s darling voice acting, dreamy sigh.

Yuru Camp∆

(Don’t forget that delta!) This season’s iyashikei delivers exactly what was promised on the package, resulting in not much to say about it at all. I’m not sure the ambience here is quite luscious enough to warrant this many slow shots (cf. Studio Ghibli, Mushishi), but I was never bored, and it looks like we’ll be heading to more slice-of-life settings soon enough anyways. It’s quiet, thoroughly nice, even somewhat educational. Healing as it may be, it’s also definitely a Cute Girls show, and yes, the girls so far are very good. Fingers crossed we get some yuri with that yuru…

Sanrio Danshi

Ahh, a familiar conflict: a mega-corporation creates / sponsors art that supports progressive politics, but is also using the medium to shamelessly promote their products - cf. Pepsi, Heineken, etc. This time it’s Sanrio fighting restrictive gender stereotypes: why can’t boys be into cute animal mascots too? It’s a sweet message, but the irony of it coming directly from the merchandiser is hefty. Sanrio Boys makes an inoffensive first impression - the titular boys are entirely generic in design and expression, distinguished mostly by their mascot kyara of choice (disappointingly, my lovely Cinnamaroll has been claimed by a boofy-looking doofus). It’s shallow and ironically enjoyable, as most teen-girl-oriented media inevitably is, alas. Here lies another mystifying contradiction: a clearly low-effort show featuring an ensemble cast of five handsome but emotionally vulnerable boys is so clearly aimed at girls, so how is their boys-can-have-feelings-too message even going to land with its supposed target audience? Are the boys themselves just another marketable Sanrio product for girls?? Christ.

Violet Evergarden

Speaking of mega-corporations, Netflix is still on track to subsume all art and artists by 2020 - but hey, they’re putting out some good stuff. Violet Evergarden is a decisive question mark. I’m partial to both its main tropes of “post-war melancholy” and “emotionless person learns to feel again,” but they can intersect respectively with “leaning heavy on the Feels” and “literal objectification of women.” Violet’s emptiness doesn’t make for a compelling main character - it’s strange to see KyoAni’s unparalleled expressivity lavished upon an unexpressive character - and it’s hard to say whether her traumatic past will justify this, or just fall flat. I’m cautiously optimistic for now, and if it all does go south, I’ll always have Sora no Woto to give me the good stuff. (Special shout-out to both all-too-brief timelapse shots. KyoAni, you magnificent bastards.)

Sora yori mo Tooi Basho

I think it’s understandable that I would enter into this with trepidation - it seemed somewhere between a sports anime and a Cute Girls Etc., both of which can stretch to ridiculous settings. But it seems, in a weird way, fairly grounded. Well, I mean, for a show about high school girls travelling to Antarctica. I’m really hoping they’re not just on their way by episode 2 - Shirase’s struggle with the depressive realism of her ludicrous dream is ripe for exploring in itself. Both the main characters are wonderful; Shirase’s design indicated another taciturn raven-haired maiden (cf. Kousaka Reina), but she’s wonderfully expressive, and I’m always happy to hear Kana Hanazawa doing any voice other than Default Kana Hanazawa. Overall, it’s very nicely animated and paced, quietly comic, and almost definitely going to trip over its absurd premise by the time I next check up on it, but I suspect it will still be a fun, if silly, ride.

Cardcaptor Sakura: Clear Card

OH MY GOD. I’ve only been living in a post-Sakura world for about 2 years, and this was still a quasi-religious experience; I can’t imagine how this would feel to the fans who grew up on the show. Everything about this is fucking fantastic. I’m losing the ability to criticise. I’m dangerously close to “I can’t even”-ing. The production is perfect, the sakura petals are abundant, there’s a fucking oboe solo stripped-back rendition of Platinum when Syaoran appears, the fucking ED is so beautifully animated. I’m sorry, I’m doki-doki-ing all over the place. This is the by far my favourite of the season so far. Not even Meilin’s absence can sour this for me. (Okay, maybe a little, if I really think about it :c)

Pop Team Epic

Hmmm. This was preceded by its reputation, evenly regarded by my Twitter feed as “a shitpost in anime form” and “excellent lesbian representation.” Given how dense my watchlist already is, I’m pleased to say I absolutely don’t care about this. It conveys the same humour as short-form absurdities like Teekyuu or Plastic Nee-san, but mostly leans on shallow pop-culture references and crudeness. The face that it’s a full-length show - let alone the fact that the first episode is the same half-length episode played twice - is exasperating. As a fan of Wonder Showzen and the Eric Andre Show, I see the appeal of the style, but it definitely falls short of both such marks. (And though I know this is unfair, it’s a little hard to get into something so well-received by 4chan dipshits.)

Darling in the FranXX

There’s a sexual harassment joke roughly 4 minutes into the first episode - nowhere near Bakemonogatari’s record, and not damning in and of itself, but it unfortunately does reflect the overall tone. This feels like a weird teenage rebellion by Studio Trigger, defying their parent by making their own Evangelion, with blackjack!, and hookers!, and absolutely none of the subtlety or character exploration that made Eva great. Zero Two is a deafening klaxon of fanservice masquerading as a sexually autonomous character - I wanted to believe otherwise, but her fucking robot has nice boobs, and even gets its own panty shot. The robot, which is powered by making out, mind you. I’m not one to hold low-brow shows to higher standards - I will call a fanservice-y spade a spade - but I expected more out of Trigger at this point, especially on the heels of extremely wholesome Little Witch Academia series. Even the mediocre Kiznaiver had loftier goals. I’ll keep tabs on this one - if nothing else, Trigger’s animation style and an excellent OST will sweeten a bitter pill.

Mitchiri Neko

Hard pass. If you’re gonna watch a banal, cutesy, 3-minute runtime cat show - like, if you really need that - watch Bananya.

#anime review #anime #sanrio danshi #ramen daisuki koizumi-san #yuru camp #sora yori mo tooi basho #cardcaptor sakura #violet evergarden #pop team epic #darling in the franxx #mitchiri neko

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footballfinns · 6 years

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Talking It Out

Summary: Finn and Rachel work out their relationship some more.

Finn knew the more he talked the bigger the whole he would dig, but as usual when emotions ran high he couldn't stop himself until he just flat out didn't want to go home to her. He had been miserable living at Kurt’s house, but there was a part of him that wondered if he would have gone home so soon if he had really had a place to go. Especially when things still felt this way with his wife. He hung out at Puck’s apartment for as long as he could before he decided he had enough of sitting in the marijuana fumes and watching Puck play video games. He hadn't been in the mood to do anything but sit there and think. After leaving Puck’s, he took his time getting to the apartment and sighed as he stepped in and quietly shed his shoes and jacket at the door.

Rachel wanted to throw the dinner she'd made specially for Finn out the window. Instead, she wrapped it up and put it in the refrigerator and laid down on the sofa. Her feet froze because of the drafty window but she didn't bother with the blanket. The whole conversation with her husband had left her drained and feeling… stupid? Low? All of the above. Every problem in their marriage felt like it was her fault and she was never going to be able to make it right. Sighing, she turned herself so her back was to the room. She cried quietly until she heard a key in the door, swiping at her eyes quickly.

Finn started to walk back to the bedroom, but stopped when he noticed her on the couch. “Hey. Thought you'd be in bed or something.” He leaned against the back of the couch.

Rachel wasn’t sure how to respond. That she didn’t go to bed because she didn’t want to force him to sleep next to her? Or she didn’t want to be anywhere she wasn’t wanted but had no place else to go? Nothing she could say wouldn’t sound pathetic. “I just didn’t make it that far.”

“Okay..” He stayed next to her for a moment before accepting that she wasn't interested in talking to him at all. “Okay, well I'm going to go to bed… if you're planning on doing that anytime soon.” he walked to the bedroom and stripped down to his boxers before climbing into bed.

Rachel was about to turn over and attempt a conversation but he was out of the room before she had the chance. Her cheek pressed against the small throw pillow she’d been laying on, Rachel knowing full well her neck would be sore from it by the morning. The tears were quiet - she’d already upset Finn enough for one day - and she thought about what it would be like to have him gone again. How quiet the apartment would be, how lonely. Everything would remind her of him because everything was ‘theirs’ instead of ‘hers.’ The only thing worse than him actually going was the idea that he wanted to, Rachel having to bite the inside of her mouth to keep her sobs inside.

Finn sighed as he lay in bed by himself. He hated it when one of them refused to sleep in bed. If there was anything worse than sleeping apart, it was doing it and only being feet away from each other. He got up and walked out to the living room, peeking over the couch to see if she was still awake. “Are you going to come sleep with me?” He asked softly.

Though it was dark in the living room, Rachel still wondered if he could see her how badly she felt, how bruised her heart was. Had she no self control, she would have jumped into his arms and let him carry her to bed where she would cuddle into him and sleep soundly through the night. Her reserve had to be greater than that, so she sat up and fidgeted with the sleeve of her shirt instead. “I want to but I don’t want you to lose sleep because I’m there and we’re not… getting along.”

“I mean, yeah it sucks but I'm not too much happier with you on the couch… so we might as well just go to bed like normal.”

Rachel had mistaken something in his original question as kindness, or the want to have her near him like she wanted him to her. Hearing his ‘we might as well’ attitude caused a sharp pain in her throat. “You’re right.” Standing from the couch, she buckled slightly because of her numb feet.

Finn reached out to help her “You okay?” He asked her as he kept his arm around her.

Rachel’s eyes began to water again. She was absolutely not okay and, without thinking, she turned into Finn and put both arms around him. “I’m sorry.”

It took him a moment to catch up but he wrapped his arm around her slowly. “I am too.” He said quietly.

Rachel held on tighter, unsure of what to say next. It was how she imagined he’d felt when he told her he had been careful not to tip the balance in their relationship lately. Avoiding a fight was key. But if they couldn’t talk candidly to one another… then what? “This was all I wanted.” Even if it made her the most boring wife on the planet, it was true.

“You were being kind of mean… I thought you didn't want me around at all.”

“I want you around constantly. It’s likely part of the reason I got upset about spending quiet time at home being less exciting than other things.” Rachel finally managed to look at him, her eyes still glistening. “I am not a fun, party girl. I’m just me. And there’s always going to be a part of me that wants you to be happy with a wife that’s like that.”

“I'm fine with it. I mean, yeah.. Sometimes it would be cool if you liked to go do things that I like to do but I do like being home with you too. I don't expect you to change.”

“I’d like to do things you like to do with you, mostly because I like being with you.” Her eyes dropped and her nerves jumped to life. “I just want to be a good wife and a good best friend. Maybe that’s silly and old fashioned but it’s important to me.”

“It's not silly… We are supposed to want that. You are a good wife and best friend.”

Rachel wanted to cry again, her sensitivity feeling like the greatest detriment that their marriage faced at the moment. “I'm trying to be. It just felt like you were bored and would rather be out with friends and having fun than indulging my clinginess.”

“I don't know why you would think that. I chose you over Puck like three times when he first got here. I choose you every time.”

“I don't think it's me versus him and I don't want you to have to choose.” Her hair tickled her neck as she shook her head. “You're not the only one in this marriage who feels less than sometimes. And after everything we went through recently, I'm just a little unsure of myself.”

Finn frowned “Well I'm sorry that you're feeling that way because of me..”

“It's more complex than that. I think I try too hard then I feel like I overdo things which means I have to pull back but I end up doing that too much. I know that makes no sense. I don't know how to explain myself any other way.” Her hands covered her face, the frustration she was feeling with herself getting the best of her. “I'm kind of a mess.”

Finn had to admit that it was kind of nice not being the only one who was insecure. He hated the feeling it brought to see her like that, but he did not feel so alone. “I'm just not that hard to please, I don't think. I'm happy as long as we are getting time together and being close.”

Even though Finn may not have seen it, Rachel smiled a little. It was the first time in awhile that she’d felt the burden of having to be everything rise off her shoulders and it made her feel like they were them again. “You aren’t. Like I said, I get ahead of myself sometimes and I can’t seem to keep myself under control.” Her hand found his as she laid her head to his chest. “I love you. And I don’t want to fight or for everything to be weird. I really am sorry when I make that happen. It’s the last thing I want.”

“I love you too. I hate fighting with you more than anything.” He gave her a kiss on the forehead.

The kiss was pure relief, Rachel wishing it was a real one. Baby steps, she told herself. “Can we forgive and make up then?”

“I would like that.” He smiled.

“Good.” Rachel's arms were around his neck, her legs stretched as far as they could go, when she kissed him. Her hope was that he'd accept the affection like he had the apology.

Finn wrapped both arms around her and gave her a soft kiss, his forehead resting against hers when it was over.

A shiver moved along her spine, the whole of her tingling as they kissed. It almost made her sad that their lips had to part. “I should change into pajamas but I don't want to be anywhere but here right now.”

“Well I will cuddle with you after if that helps.”

“You know my true weaknesses.” Finally, she let go of all but his hand, an indication that she wanted him to come to their room with her. “Since we're forgiving, does that mean I can wear one your shirts?”

He followed after her and shrugged “Sure you can. You know I love it when you do.”

“I do. But they're still yours and it's good to ask.” She parted from him in the doorway and plucked the first t-shirt she could find from the drawer. Eying the bathroom, she decided the effort was beyond her so she started changing where she was.

Finn sat on the bed, his eyes on her as she changed. He wanted to be blatant about his sharing but he looked away, deciding that maybe it was too soon after fighting to be too intimate.

Rachel wanted to peek over her shoulder and know if he was watching her. She liked the way his gaze normally followed the lines of her body as she moved and even though it might've been inappropriate to want at the moment, she wished she could see that familiar expression. But she didn't turn until she was covered and he was looking away at that point.

Finn scoot back on the bed and got comfortable and ready for her to join him. “I really do love it when you wear my shirts.” He commented.

Rachel smiled as she climbed on the bed and moved in close to her husband. “I know. I'm the only woman on earth who doesn't need lingerie to seduce my husband. Just one of his old football t-shirts.”

“You're making me sound like I'm weird.” He joked. “Are you seducing me?” He asked with a teasing smirk.

“Not weird at all. It's like you said, you're not difficult to please.” Turning into him, his expression made her skin prick with heat. “What if I were?”

“Speaking of lingerie… you bought something that you wouldn't let me see when Puck was here… I wanna know.” He bit his lip, a little surprised because Rachel had set the standard of waiting after fights to have sex. “Then…. I would have to let you.” He said with a laugh.

“That was suppose to be for a very special follow-up striptease. All I'm going to say is that I think you'll like it when you see it.” Rachel normally was more reserved in their intimacy when things had been strained between them. But they were technically making up, and sex was usually part of that. “Which could be now, if you think something like that is seductive?” Her breath teased the skin of his neck before her lips moved there, Rachel giving him a chance to weigh his options though she was sure it wouldn't be clearly.

Finn smiled as she offered to show him “You know I can't say no to that.” His eyes closed as she kissed his neck.

Rachel didn't make the move to stop right away. First she bruised his skin ever so slightly, leaving him with her tease at the forefront of his thoughts. “Don't start without me.” Grabbing the small bag from one of her drawers, Rachel ducked into the bathroom. Changing was as simple as tossing his shirt on the counter and slipping into the skant lingerie set. It left little to the imagination, the deep amethyst of the lace trimming her breasts and the barest bit between her thighs. Rachel couldn't believe she was actually wearing it, much less that he'd see her in it. Taking a deep breath, she teased her hair before leaning with her back to the door frame. “Well?”

Finn hadn't expected things to take this turn at all. He moved to sit against the headboard, anticipating her walking back out. When she did, he was not disappointed at all. “So sexy.” He bit his lip. “I love it.”

Rachel turned fully toward him, the sway of her hips emphasized as she walked to the edge of the bed. “You should come a little closer. I have something for you.”

Finn crawled to the edge of the bed and sat down. He was trying hard not to be hands as he looked up at her.

Rachel leaned forward, palms on his knees, and let a kiss build between them slowly. Her hands inched apart his legs and she moved between them as she faced away. She didn't know if what she planned would be considered an actual lap dance since she was unsure of what that entailed. But she slid her body against his, her nearly bare back against his chest as she angled her hips so the curve of her ass pressed into him.

Finn couldn't believe she was actually doing this. He hadn't ever had a lapdance before so he didn't have much if a reference or a want to judge hers. He let his hand move up to her waist, needing to touch her a little bit.

Rachel smiled at the feel of his hands - she had to be doing something right if he couldn't keep them to himself. Her hips rolled as she reached to unhook her top, the grind of her body to his growing in intensity. Her hands covered his, bringing them up her sides then leaving them to rest on her breasts. She moaned at the feeling, Rachel wanting Finn to know how much he turned her on.

He was in heaven feeling Rachel move against him this way, watching her shed the already minimal clothing on her. His fingers toyed with her nipples as she placed his hands on her breasts and his mouth left kisses on her now bare back.

A shot of heat coursed through Rachel, Finn’s touch and his kiss making her whole body shiver with desire. This was what she needed - the distraction from their problems and woes, to be lost in this inexplicable thing he always made her feel. They didn’t have to be adults or worry about jobs or bills or… anything. They could be together, no burdens to bear. “You’re… breaking all the rules. And I like it.”

“I didn't know there were rules.” He said with a soft chuckle. “But I can't help it. You're so fucking hot. I can't believe you're mine and I get to touch you.”

Rachel couldn’t resist turning her head, her lips reaching for a real kiss. It was but a taste of what she really wanted but she would happily take it, especially when it was accompanied by him talking her up. “All yours, baby. To touch how and wherever you want.”

Finn kissed her back heatedly “You're not done putting on a show yet, are you?” He asked with a teasing smile.

Rachel’s lip caught between her teeth, contemplating his question. “Not just yet.” Moving away from him, she turned to face him, her body on display. “Maybe I should lose these?” Her thumbs slid under the band of her panties.

Finn looked up at her, sure his excitement was showing. He couldn't understand the psychology behind being so turned on by her taking clothes off of a body he had seen a million times, but it was working for him. “You should.” He nodded his head.

The material was soft against her hip as she slid it down. She stepped away from the garment, a smile shaping her lips as her eyes met Finn’s. “Better?”

Finn couldn't help but run his hands up her torso “so good.” He kissed along her stomach.

Rachel's fingers combed at his hair as he kissed her. She loved the way it felt and the tenderness he was exhibiting. “I'm glad to see you enjoyed it.”

“Of course I did. You're so sexy. I love it when you do things like this for me.” He tugged on her arm hoping to get her to move back to the bed with him.

Finn needed no insistence when it came to get Rachel into bed with him, especially when he was complimenting her. “Well, I am crazy about you so little something special once in awhile is a given.” Sitting down in his lap, she kissed his lips before moving to his neck. “But you've got me naked and turned on. You should probably use that to your advantage.”

“Oh, I plan to baby. You've got me so hard.” He wrapped his arms tightly around her so he could safely roll her onto her back and pepper kisses along her neck.

Finally on her back, underneath her husband, she sighed happily. Nothing felt more right, his lips on her skin the one exception. “I could feel that, baby.” Rachel shifted her thigh so it rubbed against Finn's erection and gave him friction he likely needed. “You're so big, it's impossible to miss.”

He groaned against her skin before sitting up so he could take his boxers off, which were the only clothing he had on. He moved between her legs as he kissed her again, his hips teasingly pushing against her.

The momentary separation would have caused Rachel to pout had watching not been so enticing. It always baffled her that he couldn't see how sexy he was, especially when something as simple as him moving could make her practically touch herself. He was back before she got to that point, though she was sure she appreciated his teasing. “Don't be mean.” Rachel pushed up a little so her body was flush against his. “You know how bad I want you right now.” Her leg pulled him snugly against her as she ran her nails down his back. Her lips worked on his neck before her teeth nibbled on his ear. “Please, baby. I need you to fuck me.”

He had been prepared for more foreplay, but her words were the end of that for him. Reaching between them, he guided his member into her, a low groan leaving him as he pushed his hips into her.

Rachel moaned into his neck, the feeling of him inside her stirring so many emotions. Everything was good, and right, and she couldn't think of anything better than being with him after the difficulties their relationship had recently faced. Here, she was safe and assured. She kissed him as he began to move against her, the words forming so easily. “I love you.”

He knew it may have been wrong, but this was the point where he always felt validated that they had made up and things were better. When they could be together completely like is. “I love you so much.” he replied before focusing more on making her feel good. His lips moved to her neck as he thrust into her.

Rachel held tight to Finn, her whole body wrapped around his. She held nothing back, Finn’s body eliciting a reaction that she knew he enjoyed as much as she did.

Hearing Rachel's moans urged Finn to move harder into her, wanting to hear more and more of that. “You've got me close baby.” He warned her.

Rachel smiled, at least as much as she could, and let her head fall back about against the bed as he continued to push her toward release. “You’re the good one. Just touch me, baby. That’s all I need.”

Finn reached between them to press his finger against her clit as he moved into her. His body tightened as he released, a small groan leaving him as he finished.

The feeling of his fingers and his orgasm pushed Rachel over the edge, her body coming completely undone just after his. She slumped against the bed, inhaling slowly through her nose before making a satisfied sound.

Finn peppered kisses along the top of her chest and her neck for a moment before rolling to lay on the bed beside her. “I think we needed that.”

Rachel didn't like the fact that he moved away from her but she let him, knowing he needed a minute or two to recover as well. “It always feels right when I'm close to you, no doubt about it.”

He looked over at her with a smile “I'm glad we made up. It makes everything stressful when things are bad between us.”

“It does. And it's hard because I don't think either of us knows when or what to say at times.” She smiled back at him, reaching for his hand. “Is it bad that this makes it better without words sometimes?��

“i don't think that's bad.. It's like the best way to show our feelings.” He shrugged.

Rachel turned onto her stomach and looked down at him. “It's no surprise that you think that. But you aren't wrong. It definitely has its benefits.” She kissed him softly. “Especially being close to you. That's my favorite part.”

“It is the best part to me too. It has emotional aspects for me too, you know.” He gave her a playful smile.

“I know. If I thought any differently, we wouldn't be married.” Rachel twisted a lock of his hair around her finger. “But you also like the naked breasts aspect, which is fine.”

“Well yeah, I have a super hot wife. Being attracted to you is like an awesome perk.”

“True, especially when your husband is sexy and knows his way around the bedroom.”

“Well good thing we find each other so hot.” He gave her a kiss.

“We never really have.” Which was true. If nothing else, the attraction had always existed between the two of them. It was a prominent part of the intimacy they shared and, like they’d both just expressed, that helped them get through the times when words seemed to fail. For a long time, she felt that was somehow a detriment - that communication should be more functional than sex and how could they ever survive without being able to talk? Time was gradually changing her mind. Not on the importance of being able to communicate but that being ‘good’ at the sex part didn’t make them worse at talking. If anything, it added a necessary layer to their relationship. As long as sex wasn’t all they had, she would be satisfied with the state of things. “I’m just glad we have more than one way of working towards a better place.”

“Me too. I hope that we stay in a good place now.” He said as he rest his head beside her.

“All we can do is try and take it day by day.” Rachel's gaze fell on his face. “Right now, I'm feeling quite in love with you.”

“I'm feeling very in love with you too.” He smiled. “I always do.”

Rachel sighed and bumped his nose with her own, the warmth of his breath against her skin making her feel cozy. “I would make a joke about the lingerie being the culprit, but I like very much when you’re in love with me for no reason at all.” She moved a little closer, both of them having had the time to fully come down from their excursion.

“Well.. The lingerie helped.” He teased, giving her a kiss. “But you know that I just love you more than anything.”

“I do. Just like I love you the same.” Which was what made the fighting so hard for her, and she assumed him as well. She could never reconcile two people loving one another as much as they seemed to making attacks one another. Butting heads and differences of opinion, those she understood. The fights, though… they were, like he said, hated more than anything. “And I’m glad we got to share a night like this, even if it started out rough.”

“i am too. The rest of my week should be a lot better than it has been. It always works that way when things are good here.”

Rachel nodded. “At least when thing are good between us, the other stuff seems a little less daunting when it comes up. I can deal with school and work and stress if we’re good.”

“Yeah, me too. I'm not so annoyed all the time.” He said with a laugh.

“No one wants that.” Her fingers stroked his cheek as she kissed him. “Especially since you smile more when you're not and your smile gives me butteflies.”

He tried not to smile but failed, shaking his head “Cheesy.” He nudged her. “I like that you still feel that way about me.”

“I am but I'm kind of cute too.” His nudge made her blush in that ridiculous way only she could, even though she'd been grinding on him like a stripper not long ago. “I always want to feel that way about you. The one of my favorite things about being in love with you. It feels the same in so many ways as it did in the beginning.”

Finn often worried that their fighting would end in them losing their feelings, so hearing that she still felt the way she did in the beginning made Finn feel relief and happiness. He didn't want to start too emotional of a conversation though, so he just kissed her. “I feel the same, baby.”

Without much invitation, Rachel politely curled herself under his arm. The space was basically ‘her spot’ at this point in their relationship so she was sure he didn't mind. “Oh yeah? Do I give you butterflies?” Her smile turned mischievous as she poked a bit of fun to lighten the mood. “Am I going to find an old notebook with ‘Finn + Rachel = TLA’ in it?”

Finn laughed as his arm moved around her shoulder. “What does TLA mean?!” He shook his head. “I only stalked you a little bit, okay? You're not gonna find any proof.”

Rachel giggled right along with him, the idea that he’d ever ‘stalked’ her truly amusing seeing as Finn wasn’t made to be stealthy. He was much too tall and noticeably attractive for that. “It means true love always. And you’re not creepy enough to stalk anyone.”

“I don't think I ever got that into someone to stalk them.” He said with a laugh. “I'm glad I'm not creepy… enough.”

“You aren’t creepy at all, baby.” Rachel gave him a kiss, assuring him of her words. “Protective and sweet is more your style. Smart and funny too.”

He smiled at her words “You love me.” He gave her another kiss.

“More than anything in the whole world.” Moving slightly, she stretched her back before settling next to her husband. “I settled on the fact that you were the very best and most important thing in my life long ago. I can live without lots of things. You, however… well, I don’t ever want to find out what it’s like having to.”

“I feel the same way. I mean, even just that week away from you was the worst. I hated it.”

Not wanting to think about any of that experience, Rachel kissed her husband. “We're here now. That's what matters most.”

“Yeah, that's true. Hopefully we will never experience that again.”

The thought of a fight that led to Finn moving out gave Rachel anxiety and turned her stomach in knots. All she could do was settle back next to him. “Hopefully.”

He turned to give her a kiss “I'm getting tired.”

Rachel gave him a small smile. “Me too. Tomorrow is an early morning.”

“Can we plan a weekend off together soon?” he asked her as he snuggled close with a yawn.

“That sounds good. I'll double check the schedule at work and we'll firm things up tomorrow night. Okay?”

“Okay, that works for me.” He gave her another kiss. “Goodnight baby. I love you.”

“I love you too. Goodnight.”

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beelieveinfandom · 7 years

Text

The Breakfast Cult

A worldbuiling heavy short about the Circle from an outsiders perspective. 1964 words.

AO3 link

Vivier stared at the paper in her hand.

It was a perfectly normal looking flier, a low quality print job with bright colors and questionable font choices.

She was really doing this.

She couldn’t believe she was really doing this.

It wasn’t that it was only questionably legal. Ever since she stopped making an effort to pass, it was starting to feel like her very existence was illegal, and knowing that police could find a reason to arrest her for waiting for the bus was making it very hard to care about the possibility of getting caught doing something that actually merited such an action.

It wasn’t that she was afraid. In an abstract sense she realized she perhaps should be afraid - there were many things that could go wrong - but Ison was her best friend and she trusted them. She was also, admittedly, slightly burned out about worrying about her own well-being, which she also knew was probably a bad thing, but frankly she was so tired of being afraid and too angry to keep doing nothing.

There was nothing remotely ominous about the flyer. In large, badly justified letters it cheerfully advertised a planning session for a community outreach program.

She ignored the quiet thoughts that told her that the seeming innocence of the flyer was itself ominous. It wasn’t going to be some sort of strange trap; Ison had told her too much, and frankly if things were going to go wrong they probably would have done so years ago.

From what Ison had said it should be rather innocent. Not that she had expected to be told much, with how reserved Ison always was about their religion. At the time they gave her the flyer she had been ranting for the sake of ranting. There had been some bigoted graffiti that had somehow avoided being painted grey for over a month, and it was really starting to get to her. The rant transformed into her talking about how she really wanted to become more involved in the community. Find some activism work that suited her energy levels. She hadn’t really expected any utilitarian response. She really hadn’t been expecting to be handed a flyer for a cult meeting.

“We’re starting up a breakfast program,” Ison had said. “We’re currently still planning the whole thing, and would love input from the greater community. I think it’ll be a great way to get to know our neighbors better. And the whole thing is totally secular. I’m not trying to sneakily initiate you into the Circle; I know how you feel about it.”

It was interesting that they chose to end the conversation on that note, as Vivier herself wasn’t quite sure how she felt about the Circle.

She was aware of it, of course. Her best friend had been a part of it for years now, even if they didn’t talk about it much. And really, everyone knew about the local chapter of the Circle of the Dreamers’ Star. They weren’t exactly secretive about who they were, at least not on a day to day level. Officially, of course, no one had any idea what could possibly be going on in the former school, as not reporting a demonic cult was technically illegal. There was a general communal consensus that if anyone came asking, everyone had been absolutely terrified that the Circle would feed them to the demon the whole time, hence couldn’t possibly tell anyone about it.

Even if people actually trusted anyone of authority to get involved, it was hard to have anything against the Circle, really. They were surprisingly harmless, all things considered. They did a lot to support the community in small ways, especially with a focus on helping kids. Admittedly, this sounded incredibly suspicious at first, but many of the Circle members had children and they kept true to their official policy of not pushing their beliefs on anyone. They were very adamant about that actually, to the point that joining the Circle was an endeavor that could take months.

To even know the name of the entity they worshipped (although with some of the comments Ison had made, Everline wasn’t sure ‘worship’ was quite the right word) was illegal. Not that it was hard to understand why, considering what had just happened to California, but it did mean the Circle was very adamant on not allowing the initiation of anyone who didn’t fully understand the potential consequences of being one of its members.

They had an open door to anyone who needed it, and considering what they worshipped they were certainly in no position to judge those who came to them. Vivier had actually spent a few weeks under their roof when she first left her parents, back when she had decided she didn’t have the energy to constantly make herself look the right kind of feminine, to look like the right kind of human, to look human at all, to put all her energy into emulating people that would turn on her in an instant if they ever learned the truth. She was perfectly content to just look like a doppelganger. Her parents didn’t understand that. They didn’t understand a lot of what she did. The didn’t understand how she could ‘be too sad’ to hold a job down when she could still do freelance art. They didn’t understand why she spoke so lowly of their ‘friends’ who didn’t know they weren’t human, whom her parents were afraid would find out. They didn’t understand why she was considering HRT if she could just make herself look like ‘whatever she wanted’. They didn’t understand her gender at all, really, and they held her pronouns and name over her like they were a privilege to be won.

They didn’t kick her out. They didn’t even understand why she left.

When Ison got her to the Circle, they welcomed her without any questions. After spending so long under the scrutiny and constant questioning of her parents ‘trying to understand’, such unconditional acceptance was almost more welcomed than the promised shelter. She didn’t have any idea who the people of the Circle were at that point - she had come in from the suburbs and Ison wasn’t yet willing to explain too much about the nature of the organization they were trying to join.

She might have freaked out a little when she did find out. It was probably why Ison thought she had some sort of problem with the Circle.

She hadn’t been back to it since, but that wasn’t out of any malice or sense of betrayal. She of all people understood that there are things you don’t tell a person until you have an idea about how they will react.

The temple was only a block away now. It was an old building, made of ivy-covered crumbling red bricks and slanting tile floors. It had two stories normally open to the public and a basement that wasn’t. According to Ison the basement was mostly utility rooms and other building maintenance things, and the Circle normally performed rituals in the better lit second floor conference room. She managed to keep to herself how silly she found the mental image of a bunch of cultists summoning a demon while sitting in large plush chairs. They probably rearranged the room when they did this. Or maybe they didn’t - Ison’s ‘cultist’ outfit was just an old-fashioned suit. Maybe they worshipped the patron demon of benevolent capitalism - totally fitting for Ison’s extremely leftist political stance.

The exterior of the building had changed little from when it was a school. The old playground - currently containing a handful of excited children - was contained in a large garden in full bloom. Most of the plants were either edible or had some other use. A dense thicket of raspberry bushes lined the fence, with less prickly plants closer to the walking path. A chicken coop had been added to the far end of the property. It was now disused, a change for the last time she was here and it was full of weirdly friendly hens. She guessed some of the neighbors had complained, and she couldn’t really blame them. She didn’t even know how many times they woke her up during her stay.

The pollen filled late spring air pressed down on her lungs and throat as she walked past the garden. Any desire to linger outside quickly passed with her ability to breath easily.

Her grip on the flyer tightened.

She was doing this.

She walked inside.

The interior was largely the same as it had been before. A sign requesting that she disable or turn off all recording devices for everyone’s comfort and safety immediately grabbed her attention, along with the signs flanking it reminding her to avoid having fragrance, holy symbols, or other common allergens on her. There was new information on the two large bulletin boards that lined the entry hallway, but they were still the same old pinboards, lightly disintegrating for years of use as she remembered.

A sandwich board was sitting in the hallway, helpfully directing everyone here for the breakfast program to the open doors of prayer room - the largest room in the building. Inside it, five rows of benches were arranged in a circle around the center of the room, where there was a slightly elevated speaking platform. This particular sect of the circle was non-hierarchical, and arrangement was supposed to foster a feeling of equality among those present, as well as encourage group discussion.

Hanging from the ceiling were numerous banners decorated with a one-eyed star. They had always made Vivier slightly uncomfortable, like they were watching her. Not that it was at all unlikely that something was.

The room was nowhere near full, which wasn’t surprising considering its size. A large wedding might be able to fill it, but even a well-attended community meeting didn’t have much of a chance. Still, there were a fair number of people milling about, only a few wearing the star laden suits (or, in one case, the oversized fuzzy sweater) that the Circle members were garbed in.

Vivier sat towards the back of the populated area. She wished she could be with Ison, but they were busying themself with official duties. They also needed to situate themself towards the front in things like this so they could actually hear anything that was being said, and there was absolutely nothing on this Earth that could drive Vivier to sit in the front right now, years of friendship be damned. Not after how many spoons it had taken to come at all.

Someone cleared their throat on the speaking platform. A spell on it magnified their voice across the room as they introduced themself as the moderator of the discussion and went over the itinerary.

The meeting went surprisingly quickly. Vivier had nothing to contribute to the discussion - there were plenty of people there who had experience planning programs like this and knew exactly what they were talking about and she was not one of them - but by the end of it she did find herself with a biweekly volunteer position doing inventory management and, possibly more significantly, a few people’s contact information.

It was good to talk to other people who felt the same way she did. People who had actual ideas about how to fight back against everything that the world was throwing at them. She felt like she might be able to find an outlet for her anger. She felt more energized than she had in recent memory. She felt very strange, and for the first time since high school found herself thinking about the future with a feeling that could possibly be described as ‘hopeful’.

#Transcendence AU #Fic #my shit

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