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plush-rabbit · 9 months

Text

Too Soon

Part 5 to the Pouts and Spots Series

Word Count: 6.1K

A/N: sorry this is so late!! im like going through it and it sucks!! but here it is!! next chapter is gonna be my personal favorite and i wanna finish up cookies and cream mainly to get to one line that i really wanna use

The book is held carefully in your hand, spread just enough for you to catch the words, but not too far to ruin the paperback cover. Words turn over in your head, voices filling those for the characters, cadence heavy in your thoughts, but when spoken out loud to nobody but yourself, the words fall flat- so you’ve chosen to remain silent. Your home is quiet, the moaning of pipes and life outside from your walls echo through, and it’s the perfect background noise save for the barking dog that howls loudly in the confines of its home.

Pinched between your finger and thumb, the page turns, and your eyes skim over the words. Your tongue traces over the letters, and you startle when your phone buzzes beside you. You close the book gently, and place it beside you, careful to not let any of the corners be bent. It rests flat on the armrest of the couch, and you reach for your phone that continues to buzz harshly in the soft of your hand.

The name reads “Johnathan”.

You swipe at the green phone symbol and put the phone close to your ear.

“Hello,” you rasp out, your mouth dry and tongue rough.

Your name is called, nervously with only a hint of confidence laced into the last sound. “Hi, it’s Johnathan.” You can tell that he almost immediately regretted adding in that sentence. “What are- What’s up?”

You smile and tilt your head closer to the phone. “Hi Johnathan,” you tell him, stretching out your hand and looking at your nails, unpainted and pink. “I’m just at home, reading.” You flex your hand and think to yourself that you should paint your nails. “What about you?”

“Oh- I’m sorry. I hadn’t meant to interrupt your reading.” He says it as a nicety, but there’s no genuine sorrow in his words. and you bring your hand down.

“You’re good,” you reassure. “I needed a break anyway.” You glance at the book and trace your finger over the title. Your finger traces over the curves and sharp lines, up and down, and down and up. “The words were starting to look like words,” you mumble, tipping at the last point of the letter. “What are you doing?”

“I just got out of work-” and as if to prove himself, he yawns. “I’m-” the yawn still stretches through the words and you scoff a laugh. “I didn’t mean to yawn. I’m just,” he sighs, “tired is all.”

Pulling the phone away, the screen lights with the call and in the corner, the time reads much later than you had expected it. And to show how late it is, you yawn, and turn yourself away from the phone. You pull the phone close to you and blink away the tears. “You’re out late. Did you get a new schedule?”

“No,” he says dejectedly. “I’m close to something big, and the later I stay, the earlier I can finish the project.” You bite your tongue to refrain from asking anything about the project. “We’re close, but not close enough. But these late nights are killing me.”

“You’re there practically all day and every day. It’s definitely going to take it out of you,” you sympathize. You look over to the book, the spine unblemished and only little indentations give away that the book is being put into use. “You gotta see people other than scientists, ya know.”

He falls silent. “I’m sorry,” he tells you again, and this time, he sounds apologetic. You wait for him to continue. “I know that we’re-” he pauses- “something. I haven’t meant to be busy, but- it’s work and I can’t just stop working and-”

“It’s okay, Johnathan,” you tell him. “I hadn’t meant it to sound backhanded.”

“You said you were reading?” You hum into the phone. “What were you reading?”

“Um.” You turn to your book, mouth pulling into a thin line. “It’s kind of difficult to explain. It’s about cowboys? It’s supposed to be a classic,” you tell him.

“You think I could borrow it once you’re done?”

You snort a laugh, and then slowly let small giggles escape past your lips. “You never struck me as the cowboy type.”

He scoffs. “Why because I’m a scientist?”

“Yes,” you answer without hesitation.

“I will have you know I loved horses as a kid,” he says boldly.

“Really?” You ask not quite believing him.

There’s a pause. “Sort of,” he confesses and you smile, leaning into the back of the couch. “Their teeth freaked me out but I’m sure I owned a toy horse.”

You laugh and stare at the decorative pillow at the end of your couch. “I had these toy lions that I loved. They were like figurines for miniature sets, I think. They didn’t do anything special but I liked them a whole lot.”

“Do you still like lions?”

You shake your head to no one. “I’ll watch a video about them, but I’m not out there buying lion themed things, ya know?”

“Yeah,” he says softly. In the background, you can hear a car honk and you scratch over your knee mindlessly, the sharp curves of your nails leaving your skin with a light sting. “We should go out again.”

“You think so?” Your feet are flat on the ground as you stand up, grabbing at your book gently and letting it rest flat over the coffee table. You walk away from the living room. The bedroom door creaks open and it clicks shut. You’re in complete darkness, and only memory serves to be your guide.

He clears his throat. “I want to take you out.”

You step on your rug, the plush soft and a comfort compared to the cold floor. “Now it sounds like you want to kill me, Johnny,” you mumble.

“We should go on another date.” Your hands stretch out, the pads of your fingertips touch against the edge of your nightstand, and your fingertips bump against a candle that sits close to the edge. You hum in encouragement. “We can get coffee and go for a walk.” You find the body of the lamp and trace up the cool glass. “Afterwards, we can come back to my place-”

Your hand bumps against the lampshade harshly and you feel the lamp tumble. You gasp and both of your hands reach. The phone falls to the floor and you can hear his concern, cracked and trembling with static, through the phone. You rush to turn the lamp on and a warm glow fills the room. You blink away from the light and reach to grab your phone. You wipe the screen against your shirt and clear your throat.

“Sorry, sorry,” you repeat. “I um- I accidentally tipped the lamp over and I let go of my phone-”

“You’re okay?”

“Mhm,” you hum. ‘I’m good, sorry.” You pat the palm of your hand against your cheek, and in your chest, your heart drums rapidly. “You were-” your voice comes out in a squeak and you clear it away- “you were saying?”

“You know, after coffee, maybe we could come back to my place and-” he lets out a shaky breath- “watch a movie?”

Your smile stretches and you collapse onto the bed, trying to stave off the burning feeling that you have. “Yeah, definitely. When are you free?”

“Would you like to meet this Sunday? I should be able to have a day off.”

With your arm stretched out, you grab at your pillow, the silk case crumpled into your hand, and nails scratching at the fabric and feeling the soft cushion that rests underneath. “Sunday works,” you say quietly. He makes a noise, and you stare at your ceiling, a patch of white paint stains the blade of the fan. “How was work?”

“Work was good,” he answers softly. “I’ve been closer to figuring out how the-” he stops himself and you frown. “I’ve been busy and things are making more and more sense, but I still need to figure out how to actually make it work.”

He doesn’t want to tell you about it. That sentiment doesn’t stray away once you acknowledge it, it only lingers, and it feels like a heavy weight on your chest. You let go of the pillow case and rest your hand over the soft swell of your stomach. Your hand finds comfort over the fabric of your shirt. “I hope you figure it out soon,” you tell him earnestly. The lack of information that he shares with you can only be blamed on your profession and the way that the two of you had met. You sit yourself up, the bed creaking under the change, and you notice how the dog had stopped barking, leaving you in silence save for Johnathan on the other side of the phone.

“I just got home,” he tells you and you hear the car turn off. His words linger, and leave room for you to talk.

“I’m glad that you got home safe.” You stare at the corner of the bed, where the comforter is wrinkled and where your blanket is folded neatly, corners meeting corners. “I think I’m going to head to bed. You should do the same.”

“Oh- Yeah, of course. I- I’m sorry for keeping you.” You don’t reassure him this time, instead, you keep quiet, not a click of your tongue nor a sigh escapes from you. “Goodnight,” he says your name with the same gentleness that he always has, and you lean into it.

“Night, Johnathan.” The bed whines as you move, and in the corner where the wall and the ceiling kiss, you spot a spider, still and silent, and you watch it. And in the darkness, it disappears, and you can only imagine it in your mind until you think you feel something phantom over you.

The door clicks behind you, and you roll your lips to stop a smile from forming, but the effort is futile as your grin grows. “Johnathan,” you chirp, taking a step forward to look around, “your place is a mess.” You catch his eye and he visibly winces.

“I- I haven’t had the chance to tidy up.” He picks up a pillow, and attempts to fluff it. It’s placed delicately on the corner of the couch, and you both watch as it flops over. You huff a silent laugh over it.

You hum, taking a peek over to the kitchen. “Do you want me to take off my shoes?” You tap your heels against the floor and grab at a severely thinned pillow. The pad of your index finger traces over the edge, the fabric worn and threads pulled along.

“No, no. It’s fine. It’ll give me motivation to clean after I return.” He edges further into his home, and you follow, tossing the pillow back onto the couch without much care for delicacy unlike the one given to its match.

“Oh, so knowing that I was going to visit wasn’t motivation?” You cock your head to the side, and lower yourself to a squat to read over a stack of books that are cluttered onto the end table.

“That’s not- I was busy.” You give him an impish grin, and he rolls his eyes. “I haven’t been home in a minute, okay?”

Your smile falters, and your fingertip traces along a spine. Looking over to him, you quickly turn away when he catches your gaze. “Long days at the office?” You ask, focusing on a book. “Hah, “Does Any Of This Matter?’” You tap the spine of the book. “That’s funny.”

His gaze is resting on you, a soft look that makes your skin itch. “Yeah,” he breathes out. There’s movement in the corner of your eye, and you force yourself to read the other titles despite the lack of amusement. “Long days.”

“If you want-” you rise slowly, bending your leg behind you to give yourself some relief- “you can just rest and we can go out some other day.”

He shakes his head. “I’m fine.” And with his body betraying him, he lets out a yawn that he hides behind his hand far too late. Looking at you and your disheartened smile, he waves his hand. “I want to go out today.”

You force yourself to look at a whiteboard that is mounted over a counter. Black marker draws equations that only make your brows knit together. Orange and green are contrasted against the black and white. In the bottom-left corner, there is a crudely drawn person near a black swirled circle.

“Hm-” you cross your arms over your chest- “I don’t understand any of this.”

He laughs loudly, and his hands cup over your shoulders. “Don’t hurt yourself,” he tells you, giving what you’re sure is meant to be a reassuring squeeze.

Your mouth drops and you practically hurt your neck to whip around to look at him. He refuses to meet your eyes, and can only smile coyly. “You are so rude to your guest.” You pull away from him and swat at his arm. You can’t help but want to wander all over his flat, to peek at every nook and cranny, wanting to see more of him, the him that he is when he’s alone and no one is watching. Glancing at an empty water bottle, you find that he lets things clutter around him. A part of you entertains the idea of getting to clean his home together, to sit with him after a long day and have his arms wrapped tight around you. You shake your head at the thought and turn your attention elsewhere.

A bulletin board decorated with various images and newspaper clippings catches your attention and you let yourself be taken to where it hangs. There are sticky notes with random numbers stuck to the bigger poster that’s been layered with other items. You pinch over the edge of an old newspaper, and suck in your bottom lip. “I didn’t know there’s gonna be a new Alechmax in India.” You turn to him, your smile a poor mask for the anxiety bubbling in you. “You’re not getting transferred, right?”

“No!” He yelps, before clearing his throat. “No,” he says in a more controlled tone. “They’re hiring in the area. I might have to visit in the future, but even then it's just a possibility.”

You nod to yourself, and walk around his flat, peeking at every loose leaf of paper, and you can feel his eyes on you. In the kitchen area, you look at the refrigerator. You smile, looking at him with your finger pressed against the photograph. “Awe! Is this you?” He stands with other scientists, all pressed side-to-side, and his smile is small and stiff, shoulders hunched and head slightly bowed.

Soft footfalls quickly approach where you stand, and when you look up, he’s peering at the photo. “It was taken around the time when the new batch of scientists- including me- had started.”

You bump your back against his chest, and his hand wraps around your hand. “I didn’t know you were so sentimental,” you muse. Against you, he shrugs. “We can always take pictures together, too, ya know?”

“We can?” He asks in a timid voice.

“You know, I may be a writer, but I can also take really good photos.” You lift up your free hand and make a motion of pressing a camera button. “Haven’t gotten any complaints about my skill.” His hand squeezes around yours and your grin stretches. “Anyways, you gotta go change, remember?

“Hm? Oh- Yeah. Right, right.” He lets go of you and you turn around. “I’ll be-”

Something else grabs your attention, if it were just one, you could have spied on it on your own, but when grouped with so many, you have to ask. “Why do you have so many cages?” You brush past him and lower yourself, trying to find something inside the clear plastic boxes. They’re not labeled, and nothing seems to be inside. “They’re all empty,” you mumble. You tap against the clear screen, and your fingerprint is left behind.

He grabs you, pulling you away and putting your attention elsewhere. You gasp in shock, and give him a confused look. “Snakes,” he answers, practiced and perfected.

Your reporter senses tingle. “Snakes?” You ask, not believing the story, giving a side glance to the cages.

“Yeah, snakes.” His hands leave your body and you watch him. “Do you want a drink? I never offered you- That was my bad. You want water? I’ll get you water.”

“Johnathan,” you start, and he turns towards you. His eyes are scanning you, and he takes a brief look over to the empty cages. You follow his gaze, and return to him. Taking a deep breath, you take a step closer to him, and pull down the hem of his shirt. “We’re already getting drinks, remember? You need to change. I have an appointment early tomorrow, so I can’t really be out so late.”

“Right,” he breathes out. His eyes glance to the cages and you bite your tongue to avoid asking him anything more. “Let me go get changed,” he mumbles. “I need- I’ll be quick.” Without waiting for an answer, he brushes past you, and behind you, the cages sit empty.

Left alone, you walk back to the couch, grabbing at the thinned pillow and placing it on your lap. You fiddle with the corners, and turn to the end table, the lamp surrounded by books and binders, and giving a quick glance to the room that Johnathan disappeared into, you grab the binder and have it rest on top of the worn pillow.

You’re careful to open it, and your caution pays off when loose paper is at the front of the binder. It’s scribbled out notes, corners bent and highlights made upon certain lines. There’s a business card stuck through a ring. You read the name- Dr. Owens. You stick your tongue out and move on. You find more of what you found in the beginning. Notes that are scribbled out, some crossed out in angry pen strokes or in permanent black marker. Equations that make your head spin, and you flip through each page with care to not let anything slip out. Some pages are decorated with sticky notes that are wrinkled and brightly colored against the black and white pages- letters, question marks, exclamation marks, and doodles decorate each sticky note.

Whatever Johnathan has chosen to write about in this binder is not your concern. You don’t stop to read past a few words of what you can recount from what he’s said previously. In the middle of one page is a recipe, the words smudged, and smeared across the page. You wonder if he’s already made it, and another wonder passes in your mind if it’s something that he would like to do with you. On one page, is a roughly drawn picture of a spider. You stare at the black-inked spider, your finger tracing over it, practically covering half of the drawing.

You hear a rush of steps, and when you look up, the binder is snatched from your hands, and it is snapped shut, and held protectively in his arms.

He wears a white button-up, decorated with black squares and black outlined squares. It’s tucked into his pants. “Oh, you’re ready,” you chirp. The pillow is placed beside you, and you walk past him, standing by the door. “You got everything?”

“Why did you look at it?”

You scoff, a thin smile stretching across your face. “I was bored-” you shrug- “it was just there and I thought-”

“You thought what? You thought you could take a look at my things?” His tone makes you stand a bit straighter, your hands curling inwards, and your mouth goes dry.

You brows knit. “Johnathan-”

“I invited you here so you could wait-”

“You didn’t mind me looking around before-” You spit out, confused about what is unfolding.

“Because I was here,” he snaps. “I was letting you walk around, not open up my things. I don’t look through your things.”

“I’m sorry,” you mumble. “I just- It looked interesting. I’m sorry, Johnathan.” You know that you shouldn’t have looked through it and he has every right to be upset, but you don’t enjoy this feeling of him looking down at you.

“His hand slides through the air and you bite the inside of your cheeks. “Don’t touch things that aren’t yours. I shouldn’t have to tell you that.”

You feel your ears burn. “I’m sorry-”

“What did you see?” You turn your head, and your nails bite into your palms. “What did you see?” He repeats.

“Just equations and doodles. Nothing else that I could have understood,” you say meekly. You hate how you feel right now. You hate that it’s him that’s making you feel so small.

“I don’t know why you thought it was okay to look through my things,” he hisses out, and you never thought you’d see him so upset- “but I didn’t give you permission. You come into my home and touch everything and-”

“I’m sorry,” you say loudly, stomping your foot on the ground, and finally he stops. “I can’t do or say anything more about it.” Your face burns, and your hand has begun to shake and even with your nails piercing into your skin, you can’t stop the trembling. “You know what-” you turn your head and try not to feel cold in his home- “you said it yourself that you’re overworked and tired, and obviously I’m not helping, so I’m leaving. We can-” you turn to him, and the stress is leaving, his face softening, and worry replacing any previous emotion- “pick this up some other time. But I’m gone. I’m going home.”

The doorknob is cold in your hand, and it twists softly and you let it go with suddenness when a hand holds your wrist. “Wait, no.” You stare at the door, finding paint staining over the metal. “I’m sorry. I don’t know- It’s just that there are important notes in there and I shouldn’t have left it out-”

“It’s fine, Johnathan,” you say in a tone that makes it quite obvious that it is indeed not fine. “I’m just gonna go home. It was my fault; I shouldn’t have looked through it.” You stay silent, and weakly, you pull your arm free, and he lets it go without resistance. Your teeth glide over your bottom lip. “Good luck with your research or whatever.” You give a wave without looking back, and keep yourself focused on the doorknob, and your hand wraps around it once more, and it opens easily.

You don’t hear the door close behind you, nor do you care to look back. Your ears burn and your chest is hot. The outside air is crisp, and you keep your gaze on the sidewalk, carefully stepping out of people’s way by the position of their shoes. You focus on the weeds that bloom between the cracks. And you only stop when a hand grabs at yours.

Tears prick your eyes, and you pull your hand back to you, ready to spit venom at the other person, only to find Johnathan looking at you, out of breath, and glasses askew.

“You walk fast when you’re upset,” he says between breaths. You stare at him, your eyes wandering to the other side of the street. He follows your gaze, and he reaches for you again, only to stop when you step away from him. “Can we talk, please?”

“I’m going home,” you tell him. “Go get some rest or something.”

“Let me buy you a drink. I- I told you that I wanted-”

“I don’t want a drink,” you snap. And just as quickly, you regret it. You turn away from him, and wait at the crosswalk. You watch the pixelated red hand, and when it turns into the off-white figure of a man, you walk quickly, rushing between people, hoping that he isn't following you, but wishing that he is. You hope that you’re someone worthy of being chased.

Your stomach drops when he grabs at your hand and walks with you. “Then let me take you home,” he says in a whisper. “At least let me do that.”

“I don’t want you to,” you tell him, still walking with him hand-in-hand.

There’s far too many people, your body is growing restless. You walk without purpose, your steps quick and heavy and he follows without a sound, his hand neither tightening nor softening his hold as if in fear that once you’re reminded of him, you’d pull away again. You round the corner of a building, the back of it is empty save for the stray cat that naps over the dumpster. With his hand still wrapped around yours, you step away from him, your arm stretched and your hand clammy.

You take a deep breath and look at him, eyes wide and already filling with tears. He takes a step closer to you, concern creasing over his features. “I’m sorry,” you say in a choked voice. “I shouldn’t have looked through your place.”

Johnathan shakes his head. “You were just curious,” he tells you in a low voice. “I shouldn’t have gotten upset with you.” You turn your head and blink rapidly. His hand lets go of yours and he cups at your face, his thumb arching over your cheekbone. “Please, don’t cry.”

Shaking your head, you tilt your head away from his hand. Your fingertips find themselves pinching over the bridge of your nose, your eyes shut tight where light doesn’t peek, and where organic shapes are the only thing that you can see. “I just wanna go home, Johnathan.”

“Let me take you home, then. We can walk back and-”

When you open your eyes, the sun blinds you for a second. “No.” You hold your hands in front of you, your palms facing him. You turn your head, and let your hands fall. “I just want to be alone for a minute. I know that if I go back with you and we talk, we’ll just-” you stop yourself- “I just-”Your hands shake, a trembling that’s rapid and and makes you feel too seen, too vulnerable, and with the way that his hand stretches out as to grab yours, only makes you want to retreat away from him.

Something speeds by, a gust of air and a mechanical whir to it that has Johnathan reaching towards you. His arms wrap around you, and you’re pressed against his chest, your vision clouded by blue until you shift, pushing yourself away from him. You look up in time to see Spider-man swing by, his attention focused on whatever had just rushed by. Your hands reach for your phone, and you glance at the battery- seventy-eight percent. It’s enough.

You turn to Johnathan, and stare down at your shoes- while not ideal for chasing around the city’s web-slinger, it’ll have to do. Looking back up at him, you find that he’s staring at you, no movement, and no sound. You turn to look the way that Spider-man had just swung towards. You turn back to him, your phone held tight in your hands. “I gotta go,” you tell him.

“You’re going to chase after Spider-man and some villain of the week rather than talk to me.” His tone is a mixture of hurt and accusatory, as if you’re doing something wrong- again. And you know for sure that you are this time, you know that you should go back with him and talk it all out, but the thought of being alone with him right now makes you upset.

“Yeah.” You shrug. “Yeah, I will. I am. Get some sleep or something, we’ll talk later.” Your heels spin against the concrete, and you rush to chase after Spider-man.

As you trudge down the sidewalk, your camera is heavy around your neck and despite the padding, the straps make the soft flesh around your neck raw. All you want right now is to collapse on your bed, or take a shower. You hum, a shower would be nice. In your pocket, your phone buzzes- something that it’s been doing all day. If it’s not emails, it’s notifications from social media, and if it isn’t that, it's phone calls and messages. You answered the people who you wanted to talk to but when the name ‘Johnathan’ appeared, you promptly ignored it, the buzzing thick in your pocket and continuous.

You should talk to him. It was a fight- an argument, really. But you can’t look at him right now, nor do you have the energy to talk to him. You’ll figure it out in the morning. You’ll have a light breakfast and message him some type of apology and then he can make the difficult decision of replying or not.

Closer to your home, on the steps you see someone and you halt. Your hands grab at your camera, and you tap your fingers against the sides. You could turn around, find some other entrance. If people can use fire escapes for something other than their intended purposes, so can you. The heel of your shoe scrapes against the concrete, and before you can spin on your heel, the person looks up and sees you.

Jonathan stands up and pulls the hem of his shirt down, and you hold on tighter to your camera. Canines worry at your lip, the flesh soft and tender underneath the sharp points. He takes a step toward you and you glide your foot against the concrete, ready to run, ready to look at anyone but him. But he falters, and his shoulders slump, and the sad look on his face makes you walk nervously up to him.

You say nothing, and he stands at the bottom of the steps, and you stand above him, and he says nothing. Neither of you make a motion to talk to the other, and a part of you wants this to end. You don’t like the difficult bits, you like it easy. You like not having to worry about what the other person is thinking of you, but now, it’s all that you can do. You hold your breath, unable to think of anything other than the beginning of your supposed coffee date.

He points towards his neck. “When did you get your camera?”

Covering the lens of the camera with the palm of your hand, you tap your foot against the stair. “I was lucky Spider-man was near the office. I was able to pick up a spare.” He nods, and you move down a step when another tenant enters the apartment complex. “Do you want to come up?” He nods, and follows closely behind you.

Your apartment is cozy- littered with personal objects and mail that sits at the coffee table. The spare camera joins the mess of your stuff on the table. He makes a motion to his shoes and you wave your hand, not caring at the moment, only wanting to distract yourself. He nods, and slips them off. You keep him in the corner of your vision, watching as he walks gently to the couch, sitting at the end of it with his legs bent and knees and thighs close together. The blanket that you use is crumpled and he sits beside it, grabbing at the corner of it and testing it between his fingers. You hold your breath and walk toward the fridge, opening it and pulling out two bottles of water. The frost over its wipes away with your touch.

“Were you waiting long?”

“Since 8.” You look at the clock on your stove. It’s 9. “You didn’t answer my calls.”

“I was busy with work.” You're quick to get to the point. “Where there’s Spider-man and a villain, there’s always bound to be some sort of danger.” You place the water in front of him and sit a cushion apart from him. Your water is in your hands, the cold slowly numbing and wetting your palms. “Got some good pictures, still and all.”

His eyes scan you over and you look away. “Are you okay?”

“Peachy.” You press into the bottle and a droplet of water traces down your arm.

“I’m serious.” He turns himself to look over to you.

You hunch over, your forearms resting over your thighs. “I’m not in a hospital, am I?”

He swallows. “I don’t like how we left things.”

You sigh and dip your head down, before lifting it with weariness. “I already apologized, what more do you want?” The water bottle is placed carefully on the floor, and even with your carefulness and gentleness, it still falls over.

“I shouldn’t have talked to you like that.” Your lips pull into a line and you grab a bunch of the blanket and dig your hands into the soft plush. “That was wrong of me. But-” you push yourself against the back of the couch and he stops. “I apologize.”

Your chest rises with your inhale, and falls down at the quick release. “What more do you want me to say, Johnathan?” You turn to him and he pushes his glasses up by the bridge. “Let’s just forget it happened. I won’t go to your place and look through your things. We’ll just- I don’t know- meet at my place. It’s not like I’m doing anything other than journalism.”

He says your name delicately, whispered as if saying it out loud would be too much and said with strain as if your name is too heavy for his tongue. “That’s not it. I’m really sorry.” His voice breaks and you flinch, looking away. “Work’s been a lot, and Dr. Octavius and Mr. Fisk are breathing down my neck-” he waves his hands, rolling his hands and flexing his fingers- “but- but that’s no excuse as to how I talked to you. I don’t want- The less that you know, the better.”

“I know,” you say curtly. “I remember our conversation from before.”

He sighs. He crosses over to sit beside you, the blanket held in his hands, the corner edge of it now held tightly. “I’m sorry,” he tells you. “I’m not good at this. I’ve dated before, but that was before things at Alchemax were getting serious. I’m not- I like you a lot. When I saw you reading through it, I-” he shakes his head, and his knee touches yours. “We met because you were determined to know more about Alchemax.”

“I told you before that I’m not using you to get to that.” Your back is straight, and your hands curve over your knees, the knuckle of your littlest finger grazes against his knee. You want to take his hand. “I don’t know what else to tell you.”

“You don’t have to tell me anything else.” He takes your hand, and holds it tightly between the two of his. “We can put this behind us if you want, but I promise, I won’t talk to you like that again. I- I didn’t like getting mad at you. And I didn’t like the feeling that it left me with.”

“I didn’t like it either,” you mumble. “It felt like you were talking down to me, rather than to me.”

His hands tighten around your own. “I won’t do it again. I promise.” You nod and you feel much more tired than you had before. “Is it okay if I hug you?” You nod, and he lets go of your hand, and embraces you.

You lean into him, your hands fisting at his shirt, clawing into him to keep him against you. Unlike your feverish grasp onto him, he holds you gently, his hands laid wide and flat against your, curving over your body, and holding you close to him. He leans into your touch, whereas you push yourself against him. His hair tickles at your nose, and you keep your eyes close, full intent to sit there until he’s ready to pull away. You’ve made your peace to sit there, to let vines grow and keep you tethered to the couch, to not let go of the smallest comfort that he's given you. When you feel his lips press against the side of your head, you press a faint kiss over his shoulder, content when he runs his hand upwards and presses another kiss against you.

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lazlolemur · 6 months

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Rizene Valius, a rather gentle but charming fae fellow! He's Navis husband :-) rizene is a no op trans man by the way! he is on t but doesnt mind them! hard to be a fey and care!

despite him being feminine I would prefer nobody use any fem terms for him! theyre still transmasc thank you!

#dnd #dnd 5e #dnd stuff #dnd art #dnd character #dnd oc art #my art #fae #dungeons and dragons #rizene valius #eladrin #they aare my sweet darling felow........#navi and rizene have a kid as well haha! I need to draw her her name is dandelion! I dont know if anyone reads the tags but I still put em #scopophobia tw #just in case? I have a tendecy to draw characters looking at the pov and I didnt know that was a thing until recently so sorry for not tagg #tagging it before !

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soothedcerberus · 1 year

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Wash day! Rembrandt likes to be clean but hates water to get into his armor...Good thing his friends are so respectful of that.🙄

#nudity #sorry dael your nips were removed #pls dont drop kick me tumblr #original art #original character #centaur #character design #dael braam #rembrandt the knighttaur #dirk the dragontaur #mythical creatures #fairy #fae #my art #knight #artists on tumblr #EDIT BECAUSEI REALIZE DAEL LOOK PREGNANANT #gave her rolls

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walrussyy · 1 year

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i started to play Flight Rising so i had to draw one of my dragons

#i love her sm her color palette is so pretty ilove her #flight rising #she looks so silly <3 #top 10 autistic dragons #silly long neck #dragon #dragons #art #i called her Ataxic #im too lazy to draw the wings #fae #flight rising fae #fr #i want to draw my first dragon that i called Capgras #but i dont know how to draw him (helppp)#my art

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storytellerofuntoldlegends · 1 year

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jimmy’s new wings being called “gift of the fae” and the fact that there are fae popping up and demanding favors is making my fae folklore brain go brrrr

#mcyt #empires smp #jimmy solidarity #i cant make the words go rn but jimmy being favored by the fae is just. aaaa #makes me think his wings are some kind of magic now #like do you think they glow or something #or are like #you cant look at them directly because theyll give you a headache #AND ALSO LIKE #despite jimmy being yknow. jimmy he kinda did all the right things #he was super respectful to the fae #and they rewarded him #but also you def shouldnt trust gifts from fae #and they dont seem to be malicious but we saw in lizzies videos that they will do anything to get what they want #but what do they need these things for??#first katherine and lizzie had to fill composters #then lizzie had to get them an array of aquatic creatures #and now jimmy had to get them a shitton of water #what is going on here what are they doing with all that

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stevieharringtonwifeguy · 1 year

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changeling!steve part 2

part like. 0.5

part 1 (part 1 ao3)

ok so definitely the most fun part of any fae au is imagining the fae realm like. ooo alternate dimension thats pretty and creepy at the same time??? stunning, conceptually. basically i imagine it like the bubble in annihilation (great movie that was definitely about humans traveling into the fae realm and nothing can convince me otherwise).

and so far steve’s only been in there alone. it’s not really safe or healthy for humans to be there for too long (again this is a sign for you to watch annihilation on netflix if you don’t mind body horror and psychological horror. very spiral based if you subscribe to the magnus archives fear sorting system). he definitely wouldn’t take any of the party there if he could help it. eddie might be fine, but the very nature of the fae realm really wouldn’t mesh with the highly curious and intellectual minds of most of his friends. if the upside down is the human dimension turned upside down, then the fae realm is the human world turned sideways and inside out.

the whole place feels different. as weird and unsettling as the upside down is, it still feels fundamentally the same as the human world, just if the earth had had an entirely different geological and evolutionary history. but in the fae realm, it’s like the very atoms are put together differently. it’s hard to put your finger on it really. for all intents and purposes it looks like a normal forest on a sunny summer’s day. but it’s a little too bright, and it’s hard to tell where the light comes from, really. there might be a sun peeking through the dense canopy, but nothing casts shadows. the light seems to come from the trees themselves in a very strange way, not like a tree shaped lamp or anything but like the light starts in the air around the trunks. steve had to learn to turn his brain off every time he visited, like the more he tried to think and make sense of his surroundings the more his head hurt and his stomach turned. and that’s steve; dustin or nancy wouldn’t stand a chance.

unfortunately, he doesn’t really have a choice here. eddie’s dying, and they definitely don’t have the time to make it back to the gate and then all the way to the hospital before the magic keeping him alive gives up and he bleeds out. steve needs a shortcut. so he thinks quickly, ties jackets around his, nancy’s, robin’s, and dustin’s waists until they’re tied together like links in a daisy chain. warns him as best he can about the dangers of the fae realm as he bundles eddie into his arms, never more thankful for his unnatural strength than he is right now.

he tells the humans of the group to stay focused, keep their eyes on the back of the person in front of them, and that no matter what they hear they can’t look away. it’s so, so easy for a human to get lost in the fae realm, that’s practically what it’s for, and he’s not risking anything. tells them if they somehow get separated, to put their shirt on inside out and start walking backwards, to not stop unless steve shows up and picks them up bodily. under no circumstances should they follow any voices calling out for them, even if it sounds like one of their party.

when they’ve all repeated his instructions back to him, shown they’re taking this seriously (he knows the inside-out shirt thing sounds dumb, but it works. he’s not unconvinced that the tried-and-true methods for getting out of the fae realm aren’t supposed to sound dumb, like the universe left loopholes in fae magic that are so stupid humans dismiss them out of hand, getting stuck just because they don’t want to look ridiculous), he gets to opening a doorway. he’s glad he practiced before this, doesn’t have to hang around waiting, and soon there’s a little space between the twisted trees of the upside down where the light looks a little different, the air smells a little sweeter.

he leads them in, and the second his foot hits the soft, pillowy moss of the fae realm, all of his injuries seem to disappear. he breathes a sigh of relief, even if the rest of the group hisses in surprise as their eyes struggle to adjust to the harsh light. more magic funnels into him, and he sends all of it to eddie’s fragile form in his arms, willing the witch’s flesh to knit together. just being here has sort of stopped the bleeding; time works strangely in the fae realm, he can feel it trickling slowly over them. eddie’s still technically dying, but now he’s dying at like quarter speed.

steve leads them through the forest, looking for a good place to build a doorway to the hospital and occasionally glancing back at the group to make sure he hasn’t lost anyone. they’re all still with him, and just like he expected, their faces are pinched with pain and nausea, nance and dustin especially. robin’s head keeps twitching like she’s hearing something off to her side and half-turning to look, before remembering her instructions and keeping her eyes resolutely stuck on the back of nancy’s head.

he’s honestly not sure what they’re hearing. whatever magic is built to ensnare humans here doesn’t work on him. there’s probably not any other fae calling out to them- he’s reasonably sure he’s be able to hear it if there were. he’s met other fae a few times, never talking to them for very long, and each interaction has been both confusing for the part of him that still feels human (being raised as such for 18 years before learning otherwise definitely left a mark on his psyche) and deeply refreshing for the part of him that knows he’s not

they make it most of the way through without incident. he doesn’t talk to the group behind him, doesn’t want to confuse them further when he already said not to trust anything they hear in this place. but he talks to eddie, bundled in his arms and slipping in and out of consciousness, tells him it’s okay, steve’s got him, they’re almost at the hospital. tries to crack a joke and tells him to hold the blood in, which earns him a weak huff of laughter that lights up his heart until it turns into wet coughing.

eddie has to be okay. steve isn’t entertaining any other possibility.

he’s just found a good place for a doorway, two trees bent together in an arch in just the right location for steve to link it to the park right by the hospital, when he sees the fairy. they’re currently in the shape of another tree, but steve can see them plain as day as long as he’s not using his eyes. they’re watching him, watching the gaggle of humans he’s brought into their land, watching the witch currently bleeding out in steve’s arms. a breeze like a sigh ruffles through their leaves, the bow of their branches looks almost pitying. they don’t say anything as he passes them, and neither does he.

they’re all through the doorway in another beat of a heart. dustin lets out a gasp of relief as soon as they hit the cool night air, and nancy quickly unties herself to throw up into a bush. steve wants to check in on them, but eddie’s bleeding has picked up again now that they’re back in a dimension where time means something.

robin smiles at him reassuringly, regardless of how pale she looks. ‘i’ve got them. get him inside, quick.’

and steve does, rushing towards the hospital doors with the closest thing a fairy can get to a prayer sitting heavy on his tongue.

eddie can’t die. steve won’t let him.

....

tag list: @wonderland-girl143-blog @estrellami-1 @tauntedperfume @he-she-steveharrington @imfinereallyy @fairytalesreality @swimmingbirdrunningrock @pyrohonk

#steddie #fae!steve au #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #later nancy and dustin are like wow steve how can you stand to be in there it hurt my head #and hes just like yeah just dont like. look at it with your eyes.#theyre like what #yeah you know just. dont think with your brain. you gotta act like youre dreaming #theyre just absolutely baffled. cannot comprehend what hes saying #i like the idea of them slowly coming to the realisation like. steve isnt dumb actually #hes an entirely different species whose intelligence works very differently from theirs #the fae realm is like. the antithesis of everything nancy and dustin stand for they so arent built for it #also i got distracted while writing this about how good annihilation is for fae representation #fucking work of art #honestly its a good thing robin didnt look when she heard noises she absolutely wouldve seen that fucked up bear #my fics

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lexezombie · 5 months

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when the weird hoe takes u to their somehow weirder boss

and his boss may or may not be a cockatrice

#oc #original character #; )#Dox (oc)#Smanny (oc)#return of a certain someone my homies know #but now hes better #yes thats a male pin on his blazer #hes fruity ur honor #and a mantis btw #smantis : )#he looks rich but hes broke dont let him lie to you #cockatrice #lexeart #mantis #changeling #fae #fairy #The Neon-Wilds

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thebuginyourwalls · 8 months

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Finally got a copy of the book that got me into gt as a kid. It's been really fun to reread it again! The faeries in this are so interesting.

#gt #g/t #fae #faeries #I got the other books in the series too since I dont remember if I read those. Maybe I read Rebel? But I mainly remembered this one #I went crazy trying to look up what this book was called tho bc I only recalled the fairy on the cover & some vague things about the plot #but I finally got it! Its got some great gt moments that kinda make me wonder if the author was part of the community 🤔

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mokeonn · 4 months

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I started an honor mode playthrough with probably the cutest tiefling in bg3 and I fuckn got killed during the Phase Spider Matriarch, so I decided to continue my save with dishonor because my character was just so damn cute. Well for some reason or another the game didn't?? Switch it to custom mode?? It's still honor mode??

So I'm either going to get those golden dice in the most dishonorable way possible or the game is just pulling on my leg and It's just honor mode without the reward.

#simon says #the character btw is a pink tiefling fae warlock/bard named Poetry #she's wearing purple and yellow clothes until I find pink dye #and she's wearing the volo bard reward clothes which make her look absolutely adorable??#i just gotta draw her soon #she's also a Wyll romance. because I have yet to romance Wyll and I think warlock/bard is a GREAT combination to romance him with #it's funny because so far Astarion has been my main romance (i think 3 times now)#and he fuckin HATES her #Poetry is a little goodie two shoes who is not using those Illithid powers so everyone else loves her kindness and whimsy #and Astarion thinks she's the world's biggest pinkest killjoy #legit got angry at her and asked if it's her life purpose to ruin his fun #it's gonna take him a while and a lot of silly responses to get him to warm up to her #and i dont think the mild annoyance at her goody goody antics will go away #but yeah i just... love her so much #the other playthrough is another goody goody no illithid playthrough but he's a half-drow druid saving himself for Halsin #it's pretty funny as Poetry though because Shadowheart is already ready to start something together and Gale has started flirting #but she's only got eyes on the blade of Frontiers baby #oh and Poetry is also a dark urge playthrough who is avoiding her urges as much as possible #unless it's an unavoidable event she is surpressing that #Bhaal somehow spawned the world's cutest murder machine #anyways im gonna keep playing today because im tired (i drank last night) but I gotta draw poetry soon she's so cute

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sinew-lattice · 5 months

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its a start! some sort of scout thingy. probably used to kidnap subjects

#tendrilposting #Fae #it felt too front heavy so i gave it big arms to prop itself up lol. could probably also be used for whacking.#i imagine that the fae all have these cloaks on just for the aethetic. they dont even have any major goals they just fuck around so might-#-as well look stylish

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rosenfey · 2 years

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⊱ A PLAGUE TALE: REQUIEM — 1/?

#a plague tale #a plague tale requiem #gamingedit #hugo la rune #a plage tale requiem spoilers #*fae creations #*fae.gif #useraidan #useravallachs #swordcoasts #userbrujah #userwolfkissed #ehlnofaey #aelyosos #userarklay #lyriumrain #idk who to tag tbh just let me know if you dont wanna be tagged :3 #im so shy when it comes to tagging ppl in my edits but look its my son

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dissectedgrrl · 7 months

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in my dreams i still see that town 𓈒⠀⠀⠀ ׅ　⠀　⠀　₊　⠀੭

#amelia/venus ୨ৎ #any pronouns + it/fae #sagittarius #latina #minor #panromantic demisexual agender pangender #i change my account a lot (this is like my 14th time doing so) so beware !!!!!#if u look up “icons” on my account searchbar thingy youll find my mbs that get buried !!#AMELIA/VENUS was just a regular person #until a man with the legs of a goat took her to a camp full of great demi-gods called tumblr. As she made her way around worshipping the g #a holographic symbol burned above her head #a microphone. “Shes the daughter of Taylor Swift!” was the first thing anyone cried. “It’s impossible!” was the last.#if theres anythin else u wnna know just ask me ! i dont bite (usually) ! ^_^

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abyssalpriest · 7 months

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Honestly at a bit of a crossroads IRT what Im doing with Lev, because like. I think what I needed from my urge to revisit my "demonkin" days and identity - god just got back from the Astral talking to Hermes about shit and I look around in my body and its just. all rain outside. it feels like everything including the air itself is drenched lmfao god ok

Credit where it's due - my twinflame @rikagora has really helped me on the digestion of impulses leading me this direction to figure out what I feel about the label "demon", we discussed it a while back but

ANYWAY. i think what I needed was to reconcile the apparently disjointed "I dont relate to anyone anymore like i did when I was open about my Soul Race" and "I just dont want to go back to saying im 'demonkin' because (many reasons but at the forefront was Cringe bc it was my teenage years)" into... "Man there really isnt any options for connecting with Lev and his people in their deeper and darker aspects other than having to do it through the lens of 'demon', which in itself I dont personally agree with as a term"

Like. I'll put it this way, I want to keep exploring and working with those energies but I am tired of christianity always having to be in the background whether its catholic aesthetics or rejection of God for Satan - or its just plain using the word demon. Demon isnt ONLY used by christians I get that, but the idea of using a word for his race that is anything other than a neutrality just isn't for me* - a neutrality as in I want a term that doesnt always have anything to do with god, rebellion, teaching/knowledge, "falling", or the race that i primarily refer to when I say "angel", or even hell or hierarchies or war or antagonism or anything like. I want to work with him in ways that dont have this expectation on him, because even when we say we're divorcing the word demon from christianity, in using the word we are still conjuring a stereotype of them.

The biblical and christian and even demon idea of a demon is... Not one race, its an identity, its a political label, in terms of spirit racism its a racist label lmfao and im not saying people cant reclaim it, Im not saying people arent allowed to use it, i AM saying though that.... Look. Me and Lev (depending on what side of him you get) both enjoy the roleplay aspect of "oh yes I'm a corrupting demon im so scary and dark and haunting" but beyond roleplaying with humans, theres just so little ways of getting in contact w the energy that the label "demon" tends to be attached to

Like I would argue when Lev comes to me as Poseidon he's closer to that than when he's Shiva, Poseidon energy is the deep dark sea and the roughness of it and the stern father and the Ruler and whatnot, it grows close to encompassing black of "Emperor Leviathan" but like. This is what I missed about demonolatry: the mask-off, encompassing and swallowing teacher, the black energies, the bottom of the ocean, the darkness not painted in the light of social rules, the tendency towards elevation and respect of the animal nature, the antagonising of light-and-purity-is-the-only-good mindsets, etc... Insert other personal things from my own "demonkin" memories....

I'm tired, to summarise, of thinking I have to go to demonolatry to get what I want because "demon" isn't a neutral term for a singular race, its an identity label used (rightly or wrongly) by many different people of many different races who agree and vibe and therefore identify with the concept of demonhood; in my opinion in a couple centuries we COULD get the word to a point where it has nothing to do with christianity and its working and on-paper definitions synchronise as simply "spirits of the race of the slowest moving plane" with nothing added about anything religious, but like... right now....

Again. I dont care if others use it. I just have needed to acknowledge that "demon" for me is a really.... For me and my relationship with Lev it's roleplay. We both have an instinct to spook people who are too uptight about shit and get in our face about it, and living this life mostly in a Catholic country and growing up in a catholic school has left a huge impact, I have always felt like Im an antagonistic force by sheer existence to the foundations of catholicism, but honestly... im really neutral towards it nowadays. Now that its not pushed on to me I dont need to push back

Ive sort of been at this point for a while now because... Like how when I came up against the rebirth (more so afterbirth) of the "demonkin" label I knew I had to just jump in to my expectations and familiar places for it to then take me where it needs to go, I need to jump into this new fast-approaching gateway of... I really, really enjoyed the idea of demonolatry religions. I dont know how I feel now, but thats a part of stepping into the gate

As some of you may know, I started making my own religion for personal use with Lev. Its heavily based around the things that I'd been trying to cram and squish into the label "demonic" for years, except now it doesnt have that label. Its raw, its gorey, its animalistic, but refined in the black and adorned in ritual clothing and acts and solemn words decorated with grandeur. Its what I need. I know this much, but I stumble here because I know this is just the start of the gateway.... I thought I had several more paragraphs to go in this text because i FELT them but no, here's where I stop

I guess then I leave it at yeah, I dont like the term demon honestly, I use it for a reason but the reason doesnt fit my work. Trying to fit Lev into it beyond him dancing around in it as a barely-realistic mask to send out certain energies... Just. not feasible, nor is it something I want to do because beyond the fact that he obviously has complex feelings towards it (in positive and self-identifying ways in this case) because its such a loaded term for someone like him. He likes loaded terms, he identifies with antagonistic demiurge-esque ideas of relationships between God/Brahman and him, but like. I just.

Im trying to find, dig up, wear, coax out an energy. People slap the label "demon" (or "eldritch" as a variation, they're similar though distinct) on that energy, im tired of using terms based in/related to christians saying These People Are Evil and uhhh Lovecraft existing

#i think the issue is. as twinflame has said. that people on slower planes than ours like Lev's dont come here as often bc it takes a lot of #energy to go Up. so people dont have like... its not like all these fae and elemental and nature energies and ''high vibrational beings''#and all these types of things its like uhhh we have on the slower spectrum uhhh. shadow people. demons. eldritch.........#and then ''parasites'' but thats so vague AS IF DEMONS AND ELDRITCH ARENT VAGUE BUT #either way i need to go again i was busy so im not. look. im distant. Hermes says HIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIiiIiiii~#ramblings //#diary //#but lmfao i was answering my own gateway question as i started writing about us not coming 'up' here to this plane a lot as to #what exactly im supposed to be doing w lev ALSO. that thing about planes was really paraphrased and he knows more about that #so sorry if thats paraphrased into being incorrect

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